A/N – My version of how this enemy reappears. Be gentle – we all have a version of it floating around our head. I feel comfortable that this fic is rated T, but it's a strong T. Not gratuitous or graphic, but dark. Darker than my usual fare. If it's not your cup of tea I get it and I'll see you at my next offering. Follow the story to get notifications when I update. Leave a review to let me know how you're liking it along the way. Gratitude to Phnxgirl (mashmaiden) for taking a read and giving me a sanity check. Heaven knows sanity isn't my strong suit.
Deeks wakes but doesn't feel Kensi against him. He turns his head to find his wife, and she's there – sleeping on her stomach, hugging her pillow, reminding him he's the luckiest man in the world. Her hair fans out on the pillow around her, her bare shoulders showing around her tank top are proving too tempting for him to ignore.
With little movement needed he moves to her, his lips contacting the closest skin. He kisses the top of her arm, over the tank top strap and up to her neck. He collects her hair and slowly trails it across her back so that his path can continue. An inviting moan meets him as he makes it to her ear. Poised just above her earlobe he makes a noise, and the no longer sleeping woman laughs at him.
"That is not at all what a velociraptor sounds like," she giggles.
"I actually think I'm getting pretty good at it."
"You still have some work to do," she jokes as she turns to face him.
His eyes get mischievous. "Oh really? I felt like I did all the work you could handle last night." It was gravelly and low and sent shivers through her whole body.
She thinks about telling him he didn't, but there's no denying his skill or effort in that department. She rolls over onto her back. "I promise, last night you did your job like a champion. That was new, wasn't it? That thing with you standing on the side of the bed and lifting my hips?"
"Thank you for noticing, princess."
"Where did it come from?"
"Well, I won't divulge my sources, but I will say that I do do some independent reading to keep up with you."
They are laughing as they get out of bed, finding the time to take a shower together, which always involves some distraction and delay. He makes her breakfast and coffee, and he sings in the kitchen while he cooks, thanking the universe that after what he lived through with family and relationships in his past that he found her, found this, and they've built this life together.
$%^&*
Settled in at her desk, Kensi does a little thing with her hands that is meant to help her take a moment. She tries to think a positive thought and say a little prayer that today will be the day they see some movement on their adoption application. It's been stuck as pending for months. They can't even get into the matching part of the process because the website the department uses to track application status says their application is still pending.
So every Tuesday morning, Kensi relaxes her shoulders, tries to push the tension from her frame, does a little positivity ritual, and checks the website. They say Tuesday is the day it shows updates. She opens her laptop and logs into the site.
In thirty seconds she is biting her knuckle to stop herself from saying a string of words she learned from her dad's Marine friends when she was a teenager that she's sure are inappropriate for work. Not that anyone here would blush at them, but she tries to maintain some semblance of decorum. The finger biting is, however, accompanied by what might be described as a growl, and it catches Sam's attention.
"Everything ok over there, Kensi?"
"There is only one thing that elicits that level of frustration from our Kensilina," Deeks says. "Patricia Livingston."
"And who is Patricia Livingston?" Callen asks.
Kensi is still incapable of speech, and gestures at Deeks for him to continue.
"Patricia Livingston is the incredibly unhelpful person who has been assigned our adoption application. We reach out to her every week to see if our application has moved to complete status, and she assures us that she will look into it, and we check every Tuesday and it's still pending."
"I could just punch her," Kensi says with her hands balled in fists and her teeth locked together.
"Which wouldn't do much to demonstrate what great parents you guys will be," Sam says, understanding.
"Ex-actly," Deeks confirms.
"This is worse than a PSB," Callen tells Kensi with compassion.
"Much," Kensi replies, grateful for the solidarity. Regrouping, Kensi looks at Deeks. "Is it my turn to reach out, or yours?"
"Mine," he tells her, and she nods.
Fatima's face appears on the screen behind Deeks' desk, a serious look as she hugs her tablet close.
"We need you guys up in Ops."
Everyone stands and makes their way towards the stairs. When Deeks' shoulder is next to Kensi's he offers something to look forward to.
"Can I buy you a margarita tonight?"
She nods and smiles through her frustration. "Many, many margaritas."
The foursome makes their way up the stairs into the Ops Center, finding Rountree already there. Kilbride's severe face can be seen over his shoulder, his visage telling them not it's not good.
"All hands on deck," Deeks comments, seeing the whole team together, but Kilbride ignores him, telling Fatima to begin.
"Last night LAPD got a call from a gas station clerk. A woman appears to have escaped from a truck that was transporting her. The clerk helped her hide in the back of the shop and told the man looking for her that he hadn't seen her."
A picture of the victim appears on the screen, the violence she experienced obvious on her face and arms and neck – everywhere they could see. They were certain what they couldn't see was equally bad if not worse.
"What happened to her?" Kensi says outside in little more than a whisper.
Fatima filled in what else they knew. The woman told the police she had been held in a building, that she never saw the outside and had no idea where it was, and that she'd been repeatedly assaulted. The word changes the posture of the men in the room, all unable to fathom touching a woman with that intent. Fatima continues, reporting that the woman told police there are other girls and women still there.
"Traffickers," Sam says with disgust.
"Do we know who she is?" Callen asks.
"We don't. She wouldn't give her name. They said she didn't even seem to know she was in Los Angeles."
"She may have been trafficked from a bad situation in another country. She may be afraid to be sent home," Rountree postulates.
"She described many of the men who assaulted her as being in uniform and used terms that LAPD thought sounded military. They called to request our assistance."
"And we are going to give it," Kilbride states for clarity. "Rountree, you're in control here at Ops on overwatch. Agents Blye, Namazi – you're going to head to Pacific Medical and speak with this woman. Let's see if we can find out who she is and what she can tell us to find these bastards." Kensi and Fatima nod in understanding, and Fatima hands the tablet to Devin. "Gentlemen," Kilbride says looking at Sam, Callen and Deeks. "Head to the gas station. Interview the clerk. See if you can get video of the truck, direction, receipts for the gas, anything we can use. If there are American servicemen who are complicit in the abuse of these women, we are going to find them and end them. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Sir," Sam responds, almost from instinct.
As Deeks follows Sam and Callen out, he turns briefly and puts out his hand. Kensi brings her hand down on top of his. It might be mistaken as a casual low-five by an onlooker, but the way his thumb runs over her knuckles as it lands, the way he squeezes her just a little – it's much more. He's promising her that they will get these guys. He is loaning out some strength to carry the weight of the interview she's about to do. He is reminding her that he's always with her. She grips his hand a little tighter, nods her gratitude, and they get to work.