Thank you so much for the absolutely insane support on this story! It has honestly blown me away.


They were watching the extravagant estate from the safety of their black SUV, as they found themselves parked further up the avenue, the tinted windows adding to their anonymity, as they continued to watch the front entrance for any movement.

The seasoned agents had been on countless stakeouts, but the seriousness of the case hung thick in the air and the tension was palpable. On the backseat, the female agent was getting increasingly fidgety. Normally she would have nothing but patience in situations mirroring the one they were currently in, but the thoughts of her boyfriend's almost certain suffering didn't allow for any of her usual composure.

"Why aren't we going in?" She asked, frustration clearly evident in her voice.

"It's best to take them as they're coming or leaving, you know that, Kensi." Callen tried appealing to her logic, looking over his shoulder to make eye contact in order to gauge her reaction.

"But while we sit here and do nothing, Deeks is out there having," her harsh voice cracked. "Having to deal with whatever that monster is doing to him," she croaked the last part of the sentence.

"But if we go in and no one is there… it might spook them," Callen argued.

"Or," she raised her voice. "They could already be in there, and we're wasting valuable time."

"Kensi-"

"There could be something to point us to the right warehouse," she interrupted her team leader. "We can't just be sitting here doing nothing, Callen."

"We don't have to," Sam interrupted the argument between his coworkers.

"What?" Kensi snapped.

"Two men, eleven o'clock," Sam nodded in the direction of the house, which both Callen and Kensi had neglected looking at during their somewhat heated argument.

Kensi immediately moved her piercing gaze away from the team lead, so she could see the two potential culprits. They were moving away from the large estate and towards a dark Mercedes parked just outside. Neither of them looked like Ryan Powell or Jonah Troyger.

"Let's go then," Kensi was ready to open the door, wanting to apprehend the suspected affiliates of Deeks' capturers.

"Wait," Sam called aloud, stopping her in her tracks.

"Neither Powell or Troyger is with them," Callen stated, sounding somewhat disheartened.

"They're getting in their car. We can follow them, they might lead us to where they are or where they're holding Deeks," the larger agent reasoned.

"Do it," their team lead ordered, as Kensi reluctantly sat back down into her seat.

Logically, she knew that they could not allow taking any chances, but her emotional turmoil didn't allow her to not do anything.

...

"Don't lose them," Kensi ordered exasperatingly.

"I won't," his gruff reply sounded, before he immediately realized that answering in an equally annoyed tone would do nothing to help alleviate the tension.

"But they're getting away."

"No they are not," he countered, using a calm voice this time.

"But you barely have them in your line of sight," she argued, sounding more and more agitated.

"It's called giving them ample space," the larger agent replied, continuing his calm demeanor.

"Well give them less," she chastised, annoyance clear in her voice.

"I know how to run a tail," he finally let some of his irritation through again.

"They're our only lead to where Deeks is, and if you lose them, I swear to god I-"

"Kensi," Callen warningly interrupted her sentence.

"Right," she attempted to control her emotions, taking a deep sigh. "Sorry," she apologized.

"I want to find him too, Kens," he told her softly.

"I know, it's just…" the sentence drifted off.

"I know, Kensi. I know," he assured her, when she couldn't find any more words.

His facial expression had softened at her short attempt at an explanation. He cared for the man as well. He and the detective had figured out their differences in the dark wake of the Sidorov case, but even despite that newfound connection, he could hardly fathom what Kensi was going through. Deeks was not only her partner and friend, but also her lover, and that additional level of compassion between two people meant a world of difference in how one handled situations like the one, the team currently found themselves in.

Kensi managed not to make any additional comments in regards to the tail Sam ran. Instead of voicing her annoyance, the female agent had continuously shifted in her seat for the remaining ten-minute ride, much to the annoyance of her fellow agents. They, however, had not mentioned it aloud, knowing that their colleague would be unable to be calm until they had securely recovered her partner and boyfriend.

They pulled up at the end of the road, still keeping distance to where the marked vehicle had pulled up. The two men Sam had expertly been following exited their vehicle and walked towards the house they had parked in front of. With its' seemingly newly painted façade and two stories, the house was well above average, but still nothing in comparison to the extravagant estate, which they had been seen exiting earlier.

After a minute of observation, another vehicle pulled up behind the dark Mercedes and out jumped another two men.

"That's Ryan Powell, right there," Sam pointed out, as he was using a pair of binoculars. "Don't know who the other guy is."

"Can we go now, then?" Kensi asked. She was still obviously agitated, but managed to ask in a much nicer tone than previously.

"Yeah. Let's go," Callen said after checking over his weapon one last time.

...

The darkness surrounded him, but unlike the last time, he didn't find any rest in the realm of unconsciousness. In fact, he found no rest at all. His entire body was aching due to the plethora of previous strikes, canings, and the shocking, as well as the painful position his body was forced into in order to fit into his claustrophobic prison.

He tried pushing the lid of the tiny, wooden prison with his shoulder, but was unable to make it move, quickly giving up as he realized that it must have been locked from the outside.

His knees were pulled abnormally close to his chin, aggravating his already cracked and bruised ribs, making oxygen an almost scarcity, his ability to breathe regularly was overtrumped by the pressure on his lungs. The pressure his ribs were exerting on his lungs combined with the mild panic he was feeling in the extremely confined space was ensuring that he was constantly on the verge of hyperventilating.

Since he was no longer being abused physically, or at least wasn't taking any beating, his other senses were able to take over. His hearing sharpened, making him flinch any time a car screech, a clang sounded, or any other immediate noise came, fearing that it might mean the arrival of his tormentors once more.

The metallic smell of blood assaulted his nostrils, a constant reminder of the crimson pool he had seen beneath him, when the men had removed his black hood. The smell forced him to fight nausea and he was suddenly almost appreciative that he hadn't eaten in what seemed like an eternity.

Even though his body was unable to register specific places from where pain erupted, he was easily able to localize and feel the tickling of slow moving dribbles of blood, from where the caning welts had broken the skin, causing involuntary shivers throughout his whole body, which only added to his pain due to the confinement.

His hypersensitive senses led to a heightened state of consternation, which disallowed him any focus for extended periods of time, essentially leaving him unable to use his previous detachment strategy of thinking of Kensi in vivid detail, thoughts that usually ranged from certain joy filled moments they had shared together, to her specific characteristics such as her smile and laugh.

The realization that his main coping mechanism was currently unavailable to him was his undoing. He began to quietly sob, tears rolling down his bruised and cut cheeks, finally letting out some of the agony that he had been desperate to keep hidden from his tormentors.

...

They moved quickly towards the estate in a line, one after another, Sam leading the silent encroachment, his rifle pointed steadily forward, as they moved through the backyard of the neighboring house.

"Remember, no identifying NCIS, only yell 'federal agents' if necessary," Callen reminded his two teammates.

Hetty had, after some thought, rationalized that her team was not to wear the usual bulletproof vests where the agency's initials were written in large letters across the chest, instead she had told them to wear some of the non-identifying protective gear instead. She reasoned that if the reason that Mr. Deeks had been taken was indeed to determine which agency he was working for, he would no longer be of need if they gave that information away through their raid, and as such, could be the cause of his death.

They were quickly stacked at the door, having moved unseen through the yard of the house and around to the front. Kensi had peeked through the windows and informed her team that it seemed like the four men, which they had spotted exiting vehicles, were the only ones currently in the house.

Just as Callen padded his partner's shoulder, signaling him to breach, they heard a sound coming towards them from inside the house. Kensi informed them that the small group inside had moved in different direction, before she quickly took a few steps back, ensuring that they covered the entrance from multiple angles.

The door opened and a man stepped out with a smoke in hand. Luckily, he was alone, and somehow incredibly unaware of his surroundings, as he managed to take a few steps past the two agents hunkered next to the door without noticing either of them. The ex-Navy SEAL capitalized on the opportunity, by silently taking down the suspect, through a rear naked choke, rendering the man unconscious after a few seconds.

After securing the unconscious man with zip ties, the team silently moved through the front door. They entered the hall, which had doors on either side as well as a staircase, as such, the three agents split up. Sam veered towards the left, Callen towards the right, and Kensi stayed put in the room, covering the stairs and ready to back either of her teammates up.

"Federal agent," she heard Sam's deep voice, quickly followed by two familiar sounding gunshots that she recognized to be from a SIG.

"You good?" She yelled, not wanting to stop covering the stairs in case the remaining suspects tried to escape.

"Yeah," he yelled back. "Clear."

A few seconds later, Callen called from the other side, echoing his partner, "Clear."

The senior agents joined her in the large hall once again, and they made their way towards the stairs. Just as they were about to ascend the first steps, one of the suspects peaked from above, but before he was able to pull the trigger on his weapon, he received two bullets center mass, dropping him instantly, as he fell over the railings of the interior balcony.

Kensi went to the downed man, kicking away his gun, before crouching down to check his pulse. Upon not finding the sign of life, she shook her head and quickly moved back to her team, so they could continue to sweep the premises.

They continued up the wooden staircase until they found themselves on the second story, quickly ensuring that the lounge-esque area was secure.

"Federal agents, put down your weapons," Callen yelled, as Ryan Powell slowly approached them from the connecting hallway, carrying a pistol along the side of his body.

Unsurprisingly, they received no response to the order, somehow anyone wielding a gun seemed extremely displeased to part with it, even if they were outnumbered and outgunned. The resigned look on the Powell's face, quickly made Kensi realize that the man in front of them was looking to commit suicide by cop.

She couldn't let someone, who potentially knew the location of her captured boyfriend die before she had gotten that information. Making a decision, she took aim and shot the man through the thigh, making him drop his weapon as he howled in pain.

"He was about to aim at us," she said stoically, daring anyone to challenge what she had just done.

"I know," Callen replied, as he kicked away the handgun from the downed foe before restraining him. "Sam," he looked at his partner, before he nodded towards the hallway.

Sam took the hint and went to ensure that there were no others in the remaining rooms, before finally confirming it. "All clear," he told them as he reentered the overlook.

"Eric we need an ambulance," the team leader told the technical operator through his earwig.

"We can't let him go to the hospital," Kensi argued exasperatingly. "Deeks doesn't have that time," she looked pleadingly at Callen, hoping to convince him.

He nodded at her, knowing that she was reasonable in her request, "Eric, make sure the EMTs just patch him up quickly and bring him to the boatshed."

"Thank you," she told him. "I'll grab the other guy," she notified them, as she walked down towards the other living suspect, to see if he had regained consciousness.

...

He had no idea for how long he had been in his own private, cramped hell, when he finally heard footsteps close by. His breathing stopped as he heard the door opening, confirming that the person was coming for him, his heartbeat galloping away at such a rate, that he was sure, whoever was approaching could hear it. He hadn't been sobbing when the sound rattled him, he simply had not had any tears left for that.

He heard someone fiddling with the lock to his personal prison and the blood in his veins turned to ice. The lid slowly crept off the box and light started pouring in, momentarily blinding the beaten detective as his right eye slowly started to adjust.

When he finally regained his sight, he saw the nasty face of his tormenter smiling down upon him, sending a whole new wave of nausea through his body, as the slim hope that it had been his rescuers dissipated.

"Hi Marty, did you miss me?" He chuckled nefariously.

"N-not particularly," the injured man croaked after a moment, the predicament of his contortion made it incredibly hard for him to find his voice.

The response caused another chuckle from Scarface, "Good. Now let's get you out of that box… at least for a little while."

A different man lifted him up ever so slightly, his body heavy as he had no energy to remain standing by himself. When the man had raised him enough to clear the edge of the box, he pushed the injured man forward. With his hands tied behind his back, Deeks had no way to break the fall, as the back of his skull collided with the concrete flooring sending rippling pain throughout his body.

"Are you ready to talk this time?" The suit-wearing man asked him.

Deeks attempted a defying gaze, but due to his facial injuries it turned out more like a grimace.

"Right," Scarface responded, apparently his grimace was enough to get the point of non-cooperation across. "It seems that we have to get through it then, don't we?" He nodded to the brute in the room, who quickly left the room.

When he didn't receive any immediate beating, Deeks got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had no clue what was coming, except for the part that it would be incredibly uncomfortable if not downright painful. But since he was out of the dark, confined crate and actually had a tangible threat in front of him instead of his inner fears, he started attempting to focus on the best part of his life once more, Kensi.

He heard the door open once more, signaling the arrival of whatever misery he had to endure. It quickly became clear, when the large lackey placed two large jugs of water next to him alongside a small towel.

He looked pleadingly at Scarface, who was towering over him. "Please don't do this," he begged.

"Then talk," the man replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"I-I can't," the defeated voice of the detective replied, just above a whisper.

It would be so easy just to utter the word. Say four initial and get rid of all the pain, but he couldn't turn on his colleagues… his family.

"Very well," he nodded to the brute, who started soaking the towel in some of the water.

His breathing quickened, at the anticipation of the horror to come. He knew that he had to remain calm, but found that he was no longer able to follow that advice, as the man towering above him had instilled his entire body with dread.

He drew out one last breath before the brute pulled the soaked cloth around his mouth, nose and eyes. He held tightly at both ends of the towel, disallowing their prisoner any significant head movement.

The first few drops were teasing, Scarface marking his dominance over his helpless victim, like an animal playing with their doomed prey before finally sinking its' teeth into it. The scarred man finally took that bite, tipping the jug further and pouring water over the sprawling detective's face, the liquid a constant stream of agony, as oxygen became a scarcity, causing him to battle the sensation of drowning.

His nose and lungs burned, when the cloth was finally lifted. He had no idea how long they had been pouring the water, probably no more than fifteen seconds, but it had felt like hours.

"Ready to talk?" Scarface asked almost indifferently.

A shaky breath was his only reply.

Taking that as his cue, the brute once again held the towel tightly over his face and the water started pouring, repeating the process of anguish.

...

The team had split up into the two interrogation rooms at the boatshed. Kensi was trying to get any information out of the unknown culprit, whom Sam had rendered unconscious, whilst the two senior agents were in with Ryan Powell.

"I need to go to a hospital," the detained man demanded.

"You will once you've told us what we want to know," Callen answered stoically.

"I need to go to the hospital now," he tried more angrily.

"You've been seen by a paramedic," the team leader shot down his request.

"I want my lawyer," he tried changing his demand.

Callen smiled at him and leaned over the table, "Have you heard of a thing called The Patriot Act?" He asked smugly.

"That's only for terrorists," Ryan Powell huffed.

"And associates of terrorists," Callen corrected. "And since you're working with Jonah Troyger, you have waived your rights as a US citizen."

"With who?" Powell asked.

"You know damn well who," Sam angrily broke his silence, visibly startling the man sitting across from him.

"Tell us where he's keeping Detective Deeks, and maybe we won't ship you off to Guantanamo," Callen threatened, still keeping his voice stoic.

"You can't do that," he responded exasperatingly.

"Maybe not," Callen shrugged. "But how long will it take to correct the mistake? Six months? A year? Perhaps more."

"You can't do that," he continued the exasperating tone, but the agents did notice a slight quiver in his voice.

"Watch me," Callen said, staring challengingly at him.

"I'm not a terrorist," he claimed loudly.

"Then prove it by telling us where Troyger keeps Detective Deeks," Sam challenged.

"And if I don't?" He asked.

"I heard Gitmo's nice this time of year," the ex-Navy SEAL shrugged nonchalantly, following the lead of his partner perfectly.

He looked uncertainly at the two agents sitting across from him, "If I tell you where he is, I won't go to Gitmo."

"You have our word," Callen assured him.

"And I get to go to the hospital," he added another demand.

"As soon as we have secured Detective Deeks," Sam stated, his voice leaving no room for disagreement.

"Alright," Powell conceded after a shaky breath.

He gave them an address, which Eric promptly confirmed was within the area they had narrowed Deeks' location down to previously. They quickly got Kensi out of her interrogation room, since there was no longer any other information she could get that would be of equal importance.

Together, the three agents drove towards the address, determination clear in their expressions.

...

"Tell me who you're working for," Scarface demanded harshly.

"N-no one," he croaked sobbingly, the words burning as they left his throat.

Once again, the ruthless tormentor had been impressed by the injured man, most people would have given up any information after a few doses of waterboarding, yet the broken man was steadfast on keeping his secret. An admirable trait, the man recognized, but smiled to himself at the challenge of extracting said secret.

It wasn't often that he had a fighter, a real fighter, whom would do anything to protect whoever it was that he or she was protecting. No, they would most always break within the first few sessions, which meant a short playtime for him. This time, however, he was determined to draw it out over a lengthy period, and it seemed that the detective was unknowingly enabling him to do that.

"Maybe you need a bit more time in the box to figure out your answer," he spoke in a nauseatingly soft voice.

Deeks shook his head slightly, making sure to keep the rest of his body as still as possible, since the tiniest of movements were painful. "I-I know my answer," he forced the words out.

"And?" Scarface pushed, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice at the thought that his playtime might be over.

He released a shaky breath, pushing past the lump in his throat as tears started to form in his eyes, "I-I d-don't work f-for anyone."

"See, I know that you're lying," he didn't even sound angry, almost relieved, actually. "But since you're adamant on being untruthful, we seem to find ourselves in a bit of a predicament here… I think maybe you do need some time to ponder your choices." He had a feral grin on his lips.

"From my experience, The Syrian Torture Box always makes people reconsider their choices. It apparently just takes a little while longer for some of its' patrons," he continued the mental abuse.

"P-please don't," the injured man pleaded, but it fell upon deaf ears, as Scarface's brute dragged him over to the wooden box by his feet.

The man attempted to pick up the damaged form by himself, but dead weight is hard to control, and as such, he looked upon his boss for some assistance. With a deep sigh, the well-dressed man dirtied his hands, as he helped lift the man, who was now grunting in pain.

"He's actually crying," Scarface chuckled, as they forced Deeks into the cramped box once more, "Isn't it adorable?" He asked patronizingly.

Deeks hardly heard the condescending words uttered, as a combination of pain and panic started taking over his entire being once more.

He only recognized the villainous laughter, as the two men slowly pulled the lid over the torturously small box. As he heard the recognizable clang of the padlock being locked, he gave in and the darkness overtook his thoughts once more.

Breathing was even harder the second time around, courtesy of the burning in his throat and lungs after the harrowing experience with the waterboarding. As he lay in the box, his joints already excruciating, his thoughts went to his team. He had no idea how long he had been the lunatic's captive, but long enough for doubt to finally having taken root in his mind.

As he became increasingly sure that his team would be unable to find and rescue him, he finally gave in to the despair. Tears flowed down his eyes, one bloodshot and one swollen shut, yet both surprisingly still having tears left to shed.


I'm sorry anonkp; he's still in the box.