Author's Note: Originally posted on AO3

Xxxxxxx

Falling through the Cracks

Chapter 1

With the return of consciousness, pain crowded his whole being. He tried moving when a wave of pain rushed through him that was so intense it stole his breath and his coherence.

It took him several moments to understand that the low whining noise he heard came from him.

He forced himself to lie still, to stop any and all movement, and to please, please let the pain abate.

He'd felt pain before, but anything he'd experienced so far, being tortured, even being shot five times and waking up after that… nothing compared to this.

What the hell had happened to him?

Had he been shot again?

Had his foster father gone overboard and beat him with that rusty pipe like he'd done before?

Time lost all meaning as he lay there and wished for the pain to stop. Eventually, it abated to an almost bearable level. Not daring to move for the moment, fearing a repeat performance of before, Callen tried blinking his eyes open, but his right one wouldn't obey. He frowned when he only saw grey and green blobs with his left. Trying unsuccessfully to blink his vision into focus, he let his eye close once more. Resting his head against the ground, he focused on breathing, on just being for the moment.

His body demanded more air and he tried to breathe deeply. Sand or dust hit the back of his throat and he started coughing, pain exploding through his chest and robbing him yet again of any sense.

He tried to hold on to consciousness but the pain that swamped him was followed by a black cloud of nothingness that dragged him under.

Xxxxxxx

His instincts had been right. He'd thought that something fishy was going on, that somehow something had set them off. Not that it helped him much.

He fled through the shipping yard, hiding behind containers while listening for sounds of pursuit. One container looked like the other, but the sound of the water was getting louder, letting him know he was getting closer to the end of the road… hopefully not literally.

He knew his way around the water - preferably on top of a board, but he could also make do without. Despite that, he wasn't sure if he had better chances to survive this by hopping into the ocean or trying to outrun his pursuers on dry land.

Deeks cursed under his breath when he stepped around the container and was confronted with one of his pursuers. Not wasting the moment of surprise in the other man's expression, he pushed forward, tackling the guy and landing several blows that stunned his opponent.

The short scuffle seemed to alert his other pursuers though and he heard multiple sets of footsteps approaching from different directions. Landing another blow for good measure, he pushed up and sprinted forward, towards the sound of water. All other avenues were closed off for him. The decision had been made for him. He was being herded towards the water. He reached the railing just as the shouts behind him reached a crescendo.

Vaulting over the railing, he pushed forward, towards the edge of the quay. The distance down to the water would be considerable, but he would rather risk his neck in this jump than having his pursuers catch up with him. His chances were worse if they got their hands on him.

He made the last two steps to the edge of the quay in long leaps, pushing off for the jump while mentally calculating how to turn his body to improve his chances of survival when something slammed into his back, pitching him forward.

Pain burned bright and some part of his brain not only registered the pain, but compared it to previous experiences, letting him know that he had just been hit by a bullet. The shock of pain and surprise threw him off guard and his jump turned into more of a fall as he hurtled towards the water below.

The impact with the water surface was harsh, the speed of his fall pushing him deep under. The shock of cold-wet was instantaneous, luckily bringing him back to his senses. Forcing himself to disregard the pain in his back, thankful that the impact of the bullet hadn't made him exhale so that he still had enough air in his lungs, Deeks pushed forward, away from the quay, remaining under the surface of the water and striking out so as to put as much distance between himself and his pursuers as he could. He doubted they would follow him into the water.

Moments later, he heard the dull impact of bullets striking the water around and behind him. He pushed on, ignoring the way his lungs were beginning to burn. In all his years of surfing, he'd developed a quite impressive lung capacity if he dare say so himself. He'd been wiped out often enough to know how to survive beneath the surface until he could orient himself and make his way back up. Inwardly, he compared those instants to now… and had to admit that he would prefer a wipe-out over this any day.

Bullets continued to strike the surface, by now just behind him as he out-swam the range of their guns and he made a split-second decision. They had blasted enough bullets into the water that he could have been hit. Ceasing all movement, he let his body float to the surface, turning his head away from where it could be seen and taking in a few shallow breaths. His messy hair would obscure his face, making it seem as if he was floating face down as he did his best to make a passable imitation of a dead body in the water. His survival probably hinged on how convincing his performance was.

He didn't want his pursuers waiting for him on the opposite side of the port to where he planned to make his way and climb out of the water. Therefore playing dead was probably his best chance at getting away.

He heard the shouts behind him slowly fade away. He could practically feel their eyes on him as they waited to see if he would move again. He was out of their gun range, so he forced himself to stay still, knowing he didn't have to fear another bullet in his back due to the distance between them... speaking of bullet wounds: it was starting to throb.

Deeks continued to wait, allowing the current to slowly move his body around. It was moving him away from where he wanted to go, but that couldn't be helped. At the same time it was slowly turning him around so he could see where he had come from without moving his head, allowing him to see if anyone remained on the quay. Even in the dim light he could see that none of his pursuers was on the quay any longer. He gave it another few minutes, letting his eyes roam over the area to make sure that no one remained. Only when he was certain that no one was watching anymore, did he begin to move. Swearing softly when the wound in his back was making itself known, Deeks turned back to where he had been going, setting his eyes on the distant shore.

His strokes were growing shorter as he slowly covered the distance, pain burning through him and fatigue slowing him down. Deeks sighed in relief when he reached the rocky shore of Terminal Island. He staggered out of the water, gasping in both pain and exhaustion. Sitting down, he gave himself a few moments to rest, hanging his head.

He was dripping water - and possibly blood - onto the rocks and Deeks felt exhaustion pulling on him. His body demanded to rest, to be patched up and given something against the pain, but for the moment he couldn't provide either of those things. To do that, he had to move first.

Gritting his teeth, Deeks pushed up, swaying dangerously until he got his balance back. He made his way up to the street. He followed the fence line, feeling somewhat stupid as he approached the guard house. He seriously hoped the Coast Guard base was manned at night. If not, he might consider a break and enter to get to a phone. The other option would be to go across the street to the Federal Correction Institute, but he would prefer the US Coast Guard over a prison.

Deeks sighed in relief when he stopped in front of the guard house and met the eyes of a surprised and astonished guard.

"Marty Deeks, Federal Agent," he identified himself. Officially, he was still a cop, but considering he worked for a Federal Agency, he decided to go with that. He doubted he would be believed anyway considering he was dripping wet and his long hair was half obscuring his face. He probably looked more like an escaped inmate from the other side of the street than a respectable officer of the law… not that he ever looked like a respectable officer of the law, but anyway. "I need access to a phone."

The guard's eyes narrowed and he stood, his hand resting visibly on his gun. "Show me some ID."

Deeks prided himself for refraining from rolling his eyes. "Lost it when I took a long walk off a short pier," he sniped back before he could activate his brain to mouth filter. Callen and Sam would say he didn't have a brain to mouth filter at all, but he actually did. It was just that… usually, Marty Deeks decided to forgo working with it.

Callen…

He internally shook his head and straightened.

"Look, man, I'm not here to give you trouble. I just need to call my team. If you don't trust me, you make the call. They will verify my ID," Deeks said evenly, his voice smoothing into a soothing tone.

The guard continued to watch him, obviously undecided on what to do.

Without breaking eye contact, Deeks rattled off the number to OSP, "please, make the call, Johnson," he pleaded softly, using the man's name that was displayed on a plaque on his uniform to forge a connection.

Slowly, the man reached for the phone. When he glanced up, Deeks repeated the number more slowly. He knew the wheels would start turning now. He could rest soon. As soon as he had briefed his team.

Shivering and swaying, he leaned against the guard house, appearing casual to the untrained eye when actually, the guard house was pretty much the only thing holding him up right now.

Xxxxxxx

The hour it took before the Challenger screeched to a halt in front of the guard house seemed way longer to him. The guard had provided a blanket, but had otherwise remained somewhat suspicious of him. Or he was just uncomfortable with having his nightly routine of boring nothingness being broken by a wet and shivering man.

Sam was out of the car basically the moment the engine cut off. He approached the guard house with long strides, his ID visible in his outstretched hand. The guard opened the gate for him and Sam entered the guard house, his expression of worry growing even more profound when he set eyes on Deeks.

He glanced up and tried giving Sam a smile. The way the other man's features tightened, he guessed it wasn't as reassuring as it should have been.

"Callen?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "We haven't managed to locate him yet. Eric is working on it."

Another car screeched to a stop outside and Deeks blearily glanced up, relief surging through him when he saw Kensi.

Sam gave the guard a nod. "She's with us."

"Deeks," Kensi cried when she careened inside the small building. She enfolded him in a hug and he managed to suppress the wince of pain, relief burning brightly and counteracting the worst of the pain. "What happened?" she asked when she drew back, watching him.

Deeks sank back down into the chair he had been occupying before, his legs unable to hold him up. "Something was off," he murmured, his head down, his eyes on the edges of the blanket that dangled from his shoulders, "we came to the container yard across Terminal Island for some shipment. Something felt off though, before we went there, but I wasn't sure." He sighed. "The others went to get the shipment, I started to follow but Dean held me back. They loaded the crates into the van. Suddenly I had three guns in my face. I have no idea how, but they made me." He shook his head, still unclear of just how he had been made, how quickly everything had crumbled to ash. "Fought them off, ran, jumped off the quay into the water, swam here," he reported shortly. Deeks glanced up. "Callen is still with them," he implored quietly, knowing they would feel the same urgency as he did. "They left two days ago. Something about a secondary site they were setting up north. They never told me more. I don't know where it could be." He heard the rising panic in his voice, the way his voice wavered and shook.

"We'll figure it out, Deeks," Kensi said soothingly after sharing a brief glance with Sam. "Come on, we'll take you back to Ops, then we'll pick your brain for information."

Deeks nodded and stood, swaying slightly but quickly catching his weight. He rolled his shoulders a little to get the blanket off, unable to reach up for it. Just by rolling his shoulders his vision grayed out briefly. Feeling was creeping back into him, overpowering the numbness of shock he had settled into.

Xxxxxxx

Sam reached for the blanket that still hung somewhat precariously on one of Deeks' shoulders. He went to hand it over to the guard when he did a double-take, opening the fabric further. His eyes were drawn to a spot.

Blood.

Sam's attention snapped over to Deeks, finally putting the pieces together. Their Detective had seemed out of it, but Sam had chalked it down to the shock of what had happened, of being made, the exhaustion after the adrenaline faded. Still, it didn't fit with any previous experiences they'd had with Deeks. The man was always there, focused and quick-witted. Whenever he had been recognized before, he had switched gears quickly and usually managed to salvage the operation, easily handling everything in the aftermath as well.

Now though, he had seemed withdrawn and exhausted.

Sam suddenly recognized that the withdrawn appearance was actually shock, his body shutting down after sustaining an injury.

He let go of the blanket and took Deeks by the arms, pushing him back down into the chair, meeting little resistance. Sam crouched down in front of him. "Where are you hurt, Deeks?" he asked, watching the Detective blink somewhat slowly and stupidly, as if trying to understand the words. Kensi sank down beside him, urgency tripling in her movements upon his question. "Help me get the jacket off," he told her and together they peeled the dark jacket off his shoulders.

A low moan of pain escaped Deeks' lips and Sam glanced over the Detective's shoulder, hissing in sympathy and anger at the bloodstain on the shirt. He stood and looked at the US Coast Guard, biting back words of anger and frustration that the man hadn't noticed anything off and had called an ambulance earlier. To be fair, they hadn't noticed immediately either. "You got some scissors?"

The guard nodded shakily and stepped over to a container holding office supplies.

Kensi was talking quietly to Deeks who looked even paler than he had moments before. Shock and pain was obviously catching up with him, now that their attention was on his wound, now that he had backup and was safe with them.

Sam took the scissors and returned to his team mates. He put a hand on Deeks' good shoulder and then reached for the still damp shirt, peeling it away and cutting it open. The wound was high on his right shoulder, obviously a bullet wound. It was still seeping blood, albeit sluggishly. He glanced at the front, seeing no exit wound. Sam cursed softly and turned to the guard. "Call an ambulance," he directed. He glanced at Kensi, seeing the worry in her eyes. "Keep him talking," he ordered her before he quickly left the guard house and sprinted to the Challenger for the first aid kit - well, Sam's version of it, which was quite a bit modified compared to the regulation first aid kit that was sufficient to bandage a paper cut but not much more than that. He needed something to pack the wound. The current blood loss wasn't too bad, but Deeks had probably already lost a fair amount of blood.

He tapped his ear wig when he reached the car. "Eric, Deeks has been shot. An ambulance is on the way. Notify Hetty."

He distantly heard the "copy that," but didn't focus on it. Instead, he grabbed the first aid kit and returned inside, sinking back down beside Deeks. The younger man's eyes were clouded with pain and his skin looked clammy.

"How bad?" Deeks asked quietly.

"No exit wound. Bullet is still lodged inside. It's also still bleeding sluggishly. Your impromptu swim in the harbor will probably not have helped in preventing contamination," Sam reported. "Be glad you didn't have a shark nibble on you as an appetizer," Sam teased gently, trying to distract and engage the younger man in banter. He opened the pads of gauze and gave Kensi a meaningful look, watching her shift her hands to Deeks' upper arms in response. "Now, Deeks, keep breathing," he told the other man and pressed the gauze to the bullet wound.

The pained yelp quickly faded into a moan as Deeks' body curled forward to escape the pain. Kensi held him stable and upright while Sam kept the pressure on the wound. "Keep breathing through the pain," he reminded the younger man who took a gulping breath in response.

"Yeah, no…" Deeks panted, "I'm good."

Xxxxxxx

A/N: so the story is finished and as I said has been posted on AO3, but I decided to post this chapter-wise here to add a little suspense ;)

There will be daily updates so you won't have to wait long