STRENGTH… Write about someone struggling with or overcoming their animal instincts.
Max. Max Gentry. Marty. Marty Deeks. Max. Marty. Max. Marty.
Two different people. Same person. Who was he supposed to be?
Marty. Max. Marty. Max.
Deeks splashed water over his face and leaned forwards over the grungy sink. He gasped as the water washed over him, stinging his eyes. Just a job. Just an op. When it was done, he was done.
Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. In. Out.
His heart was still pumping heavily in his chest. No amount of breathing exercises could slow it.
His reflection cracked across the glass of the mirror, splitting his face into pieces. Breaking his mask.
In. Out. In. Out.
Marty. Max. Marty. Max.
He wiped the water from his face and closed his eyes. He couldn't look at himself and see the hard clenched line of his jaw and glaring eyes. He hated this. Hated Max. The anger and the fists. It's a job, just a job. Nothing more than that. He just had to walk out there, into the car and get this done. Then he was done. He could go home. Back to NCIS. Back to Kensi.
Kensi. That got a smile on his face. She had wanted to get in on this Op, claiming that the liaisonship worked both ways. He'd put a stop to that thought, via pleading with Hetty. Not that he didn't think Kensi could do it. Of course, she could. She was fantastic. It was just... He didn't want Max around Kensi, ever. Kensi didn't belong anywhere near Max King. Max didn't deserve anybody.
Max. Marty. Max. Kensi. Marty. Max.
His phone buzzed in his back pocket. A different one than usual. Max did everything differently. Even down to how he brushed his hair. Deeks never wanted any of his actions to remind him of Max. Didn't want to bring him back home, invading every aspect of his life.
His phone buzzed again. He had to go. Deep breath.
Marty. Max. Marty. Max.
He opened his eyes and looked straight into the mirror.
A different person looked back.
He was furious. Max was furious. The strength of his kick sent the stupid drug deal into the wall. They guy was still conscious. He wanted more. Blood coursed through his veins like a wildfire and his vision went hazy.
Then he blinked. Vision clearing. The other guy was down. He didn't have to do more. Skidding to a halt, he changed course and got the hell out of there.
Hands were wrapped around his neck. He couldn't breathe but his hands were doing the same. Squeezing harder if the guy's bulging eyes were anything to go by.
His breath tried to come out in gasps. Blood pounder in his head. He should be trying to get the hands off his neck but he didn't want to give in first.
His fingers clenched harder, purple-red skin went white under the pressure. A gargle came from the guy's mouth and the pressure lifted from his neck as the owner's hands were occupied by scrabbling at his.
Lips twisted into a smirk.
He was winning.
With shaking hands, he dialled the text. Making sure his sent message folder was clear, he rested his head against the wall. It was disgusting. All slimy with moss and soot marks. Or maybe blood marks. He couldn't tell in the evening light.
It would be over soon. He'd got what they wanted and then some. They should be pleased. He just had to hang on for a few more days.
In. Out. In. Out.
Max was getting too comfortable.
The LAPD cruiser tore off into the distance with another round of suspects. That was the last one. Max waited for the blinking blue light to get out of sight before staking a deep breath.
He shuddered and the mask came off. Deeks emerged. He always reckoned that it was like emerging from a chrysalis; shaking off the remnants of a past life and stretching out into the warmth of the sun. Getting rid of the sticky mess that you had cocooned yourself with to keep yourself safe. Deeks still felt sticky. He could never emerge cleanly. The rage Max used to power himself was still coursing through him. It burned in his veins.
Marty. Max. Marty. Max.
Another deep breath. His phone vibrated. Deeks ignored it. He knew who it was and he couldn't talk to her. Not yet. Not while he was still in Max's skin.
Marty. Max. Marty. Max.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Blood. So much blood. And he had relished in it. Glassy eyes. His stomach rolled.
There was a steadying hand on his back as he retched into a drain. Nothing had come out; his stomach was empty. When had he got over here?
"You alright, Deeks?"
Sam? When had Sam arrived?
"We have him, Kensi!" he faintly heard Callen shout as he regained his bearings.
"She was arguing with LAPD to try and find you," Sam informed him, pulling him to his feet.
"That's my Kensi," Deeks weakly chuckled out.
Sam snorted and ran a critical eye over him. He shifted nervously on his feet. He looked bad; he knew. Max was a scrappy fighter. The half healed cut over his left eyebrow still throbbed. The other guy looked worse. A lot worse.
Max. Marty. Max. Marty.
"You good?" Sam checked.
"Will be."
"Deeks!"
He had to really resist the urge to not turn around to his partner's shout. He didn't want her to see him but he wanted to see her.
Max. Marty. Marty. Max
Kensi practically jumped on him with one of her running hugs. The sheer force of it made him stagger forwards. Her arms wrapped around him felt so good. He closed his eyes and soaked it in. Seeks hadn't felt a comforting touch in weeks
Max. Marty. Max. Marty.
"You're back," Kensi breathed into his ear.
Max. Marty. Marty. Deeks.
He was home.