First, thanks for all of the wonderful feedback - it's been great. And very much appreciated. Keep it coming!
Second, I want to make it clear that I am not wise in the ways of drugs and medicine or undercover work so there are likely some liberties taken.
Third, this chapter is a bit slow and deliberate, but I wanted to set the table for the story. I promise, it will speed up and get a lot more dramatic going forward.
Finally, please note that anything in italics is a flashback.
The doctor is waiting for them just outside the door to Kensi's private room when they get there less than five minutes later (which, considering that the cafeteria is several floors below the ICU, is remarkable in and of itself).
"How is she?" Callen blurts out, his words tumbling over each other. His approach is aggressive and thoughtless; he doesn't care who he intimidates. Sam is a step behind him, slightly more conscious of their surroundings, but only slightly. Hetty hangs back, within earshot.
"Serious, but stable," the doctor replies. "Once she's fully coherent, we'll need to put her through a series of tests to ensure there was no brain damage, but we're reasonably hopeful. We were fortunate; the damage she sustained was mostly to her skull – there's been very little bleeding and we've been fairly successful at controlling it. That said, she's running a pretty high fever and she's in a good deal of pain. Pain, which we can do nothing about."
"You can't give her anything because of the drugs already in her system," Callen mutters.
"Right. We don't dare. And, unfortunately, to call the headache she's experiencing a killer migraine would be the understatement of the century and that doesn't even begin to address the rest of the beating that she suffered."
"But?" Sam prompts, sensing Callen's anxiety starting to grow.
"But, I think if we can get through the night, she should be all right."
"Good," Callen says, visibly exhaling. "Can we see her?"
"Yes."
Both Sam and Callen start towards the door, practically in lock step.
The doctor steps in the way and then puts up a hand to stop them. "I understand that all of you want answers. I respect your need to know what happened to her tonight, but if you think I'm going to allow any of you to put her through any kind of emotional ordeal, you're quite mistaken."
"Ordeal?" Sam repeats and now he's the one who is visibly anxious. "We won't hurt her."
It's quite apparent that he's offended by even the idea of being the one that would hurt Kensi. This woman -the youngest agent on their team, but more capable than many thirty year veterans – is like a little sister to him.
"Intentionally, probably not, but I can't even begin to stress how weak Agent Cochran is. She's been through quite the trauma and while she is currently stable, her condition remains quite serious. She was injected with a high dose of heroin. She came extremely close to a fatal overdose. It's imperative that she stays calm, do you understand me?"
"Gently," Hetty tells the men as she steps forward, reminding everyone of her presence. She knows these two well and can tell that they're starting to get impatient.
Kensi is family to them. They'd sooner cut off one of their own hands than cause her any harm.
Right now, they want two things: to know that she's okay and to know what happened to her – and Deeks.
And in that order, too.
"Kid gloves," Callen assures her. And then to the doctor, "I promise."
"Fine. Five minutes. No more." There's a crispness to this tone, the kind that suggests that he's not thrilled with giving them even that much time.
The men nod and reluctantly, the doctor steps away and allows them entrance.
Callen takes a breath and steps in, followed closely by Sam. Hetty hangs back and out of the corner of his eye, Callen sees her take the doctor by the arm and lead him away. He makes a mental note to ask about the conversation later.
For now, he turns his attention to the beautiful woman lying in the bed, barely moving except for a slight tremor every now and again.
That he thinks Kensi looks better now is a sign of how badly she'd looked when they'd found her. How horribly hurt she'd seemed to be.
Her face is bruised, swollen and cut and there's a just changed out still all-white bandage on the left side of her head. Her mismatched eyes are open, but there's a glassy unfocused quality to them.
He tries not to even think about the beeping machines and all of the damn wires.
"Hey," Kensi whispers, her voice hoarse and cracking. She tries to force a smile, but lacks both the ability and the energy to do so.
"Hey," Sam says first and emotion nearly chokes him. He approaches the bed, but stops just short of reaching out to touch her.
"I really got myself into it this time, didn't I?" she chuckles. The sound is terribly pained.
"Yeah, you did," Sam agrees.
She looks past him and sees Callen still hovering close to the doorway. He may have entered the room first, but he seems quite reluctant to move any closer to her. "I'm sorry," she says to him.
"Sorry?" he repeats. "For what?"
"You said I wasn't ready."
"Kensi, this isn't your fault," he answers, coming towards her.
"Yes, it is."
A machine beeps nearby.
"Calm down," Sam pleads.
"I didn't know what to do," she says. "I had to do what she would do and then everything was spinning out of control…I don't know how he knew…"
She's starting to babble now, her voice taking on an almost hysterical edge.
The machine beeps again.
"Kensi, please," Sam pleads, taking one of her hands in his. "Calm down."
She looks behind him, looks around. "Where is he?"
The two men exchange a look.
"Where's Deeks?" she asks again and both notice that her breathing has gotten faster, almost like she's in the middle of a panic attack. "Tell me Marty got away."
Neither one of the men misses that Kensi calls Deeks by his first name. Neither can recall a previous time when she had.
"Please…" she practically begs.
"Kensi…" Sam urges.
"Sam, Callen, tell me he did…"
They both notice that the machines are now going crazy.
"Dammit, I told you not to stress her out," the doctor snaps as he enters the room. "Get out. Get out now."
"No," Kensi calls out, reacting to the loss of Sam's hand. "You have to find him."
"We will," Callen promises before Sam pulls him from the room.
"What happened?" Hetty asks as they exit. Callen is still leaning in, as if trying to see what the doctor is doing to Kensi.
"She asked about Deeks," Sam replies. He chooses not to mention the part about Kensi claiming that she's responsible for the case going bad.
He's been around the block enough to know that emotional confessions while drugged up on pain meds aren't exactly trustworthy.
And he also knows Kensi Blye.
She's one hell of an agent.
Maybe she had made mistakes during the case.
Even the best did from time to time.
But then again, this was clearly more than one mistake.
Something had gone very wrong and it had put one agent in the badly hospital hurt and the other missing in action.
Whether it was because Kensi and Deeks had screwed up or something else, well that was still to be determined.
"All right, she's calm" the doctor says, coming out of the room. He looks directly at Sam and Callen. "Agents, I'm going to be as gentle as I care to be. Go home. There's nothing more any of you can do tonight. She's not going to be receiving any further visitors and we're going to have her on constant watch to ensure there are no complications from the heroin or the head injury. So, please go home. If anything changes, we will call."
"Very well," Hetty says, cutting off any objections from either Sam or Callen. "Gentlemen," she says, directing them to follow her.
"One more thing," the doctor calls out. When he speaks again, his voice is soft and almost compassionate. "I've been dealing with this drug for awhile and most of the cases I get in here tend to end up very badly. If we're very, very lucky, the victims survive, but they're usually out cold for a while. This garbage screws people up real bad. That your agent is awake tonight, even in the state she is, well I have to believe that that's a damned good sign. For whatever that means to you."
"It means everything," Sam tells him.
And it does.
They're back at the Mission before anyone says a word.
"What did you talk to the doctor about?" Callen asks Hetty as he and Sam enter to find their office manager (God, what an underwhelming title for what Hetty really is to this team, Callen thinks and not for the first time) waiting for them.
How she got back to the Mission before them is a mystery to him. After all, Sam was pushing ninety on the speedometer in his Dodge Charger.
"Hm?" Hetty replies, meeting his eyes.
He's in no mood for this. "You know what I'm talking about. What were you and the doctor discussing in your hush-hush meeting?"
"Oh, that's not important right now." She doesn't add an impatient and dismissive wave of her hand, but she might as well have.
"Hetty," Callen replies, stepping towards her. There's a slight menace to the movement, but if she's intimidated (which is highly unlikely, Sam muses), she sure doesn't show it. "Is there something about Kensi's condition that you're not telling us?"
"You know everything that is important for now," she replies, her voice cool
"So that's a yes?" and now Callen's voice is rising.
"It's neither a yes nor a no, Mr. Callen. Ms. Blye suffered a great amount of trauma this evening. As the doctor said, it's a small miracle that she's in the state she's in considering. As for anything she went through, well she has her own part of this story to tell and thankfully, it appears that she will be able to do so. It's not my place to say anymore than that."
"But it's your place to know more than that, right?" Sam snaps.
"Yes," she says simply. "Now, since the earliest we're going to be able to see and talk to her again is sometime tomorrow afternoon, we have two options – either continue gathering facts or go home and sleep. And might I remind you both that if Detective Deeks is, by the grace of another small miracle, still alive, his clock is likely running down quickly. "
This hits both of the men hard.
While Kensi means more to them, Deeks is one of the team now, too. If Kensi is the tough little sister, Deeks is the bratty little brother.
One of theirs.
And they've already lost too many of theirs.
No need to go down the list and tick off the many names.
"All right," Callen sighs. "We'll do it your way."
"Excellent. Then, let's reconvene upstairs shall we? I'm sure Mr. Beal would like to be updated and I believe he can be of some assistance with certain details."
Ten minutes after Hetty has made a pot of tea and Sam one of coffee, the team comes back together up in the Ops room. The clock reads two in the morning.
The absence of Kensi and Deeks is noticeable to all.
Normally, they'd be teasing each other, tossing insults back and forth.
Now the room is quiet and moody.
Tense and fearful.
"Mr. Beal," Hetty says softly (she doesn't miss the way he startles). "While you continue running your searches and while we wait for a lead to act upon, we are trying to pull together a full report of what occurred during the operation."
"Okay?" he says, spinning in his chair to face her. "We have most of their journals. At least up until this week. I can start…"
"No, we'll get to those, but I want to stay in the order of events. Your job was to fully backstop Kensi and Deeks, yes?"
"Yes," he nods. "And their covers were good." There's an urgency to his tone, like he's trying to convince her of something that he's suddenly not completely sure of himself. "I made sure that all of their paperwork was solid and their records were exactly as they were supposed to be. I made sure of it myself."
"I have no doubt," she reassures him, hand lightly squeezing his shoulder.
One Month Earlier.
"Shiny new licenses," Eric grins as he swings around in his chair and offers up two California Driver's Licenses. "Right off the uh, proverbial presses."
Deeks reaches out and takes his. "James Reese, born in April, twenty-three old. You think I can pass for twenty-three?" He turns to Kensi and flashes a cheesy over-the-top smile. She snorts derisively.
"Well, you certainly act like a twenty-three year old, that's for sure," she notes, reaching for her own new license. "Huh."
"Huh, what?" Deeks asks, leaning over her shoulder. Then he laughs. "Oh, oh, look at you, you're older than me. You cradle robbing cougar."
"I am no cougar," she snaps. "I'm the same age I normally am - twenty-six. See?" she holds up the license. Then turns to Eric. "Why am I older than him?"
"Fits the profile. Kara Barstow may be an orphan, but she's one that was left a whole lot of money so she's been something of a professional student, jumping around from major to major for awhile." Then he grins. "My touch, you like?"
"Love it," Deeks grins. "I like older women."
"You're a pig."
"And you're a hot cougar."
"Do you have any clue what a cougar actually is? I don't think being three years older than you…"
"Someone is awfully sensitive about their age," Deeks quips. Then he leans forward. "Don't worry, I think you still look great."
"This is your fault," she growls to Eric.
"It fits the profile, I swear," Eric insists. "Look, both of you are transfers from Arizona State University. You came out to follow Kara's dream of 'making it big' in Hollywood. Mostly though, you just wanted out of Arizona. James is a computer science major and while he's definitely macho when he needs to be, he tends to be in the shadow of his woman."
"Of course," Kensi smirks.
"But?" Deeks prompts.
"No buts. Leaving Arizona to come to Southern California was Kara's idea. He's a bit aimless right now. Which is a really bad when you mix that with the skeletons he has in his closet."
"What kinds of skeletons?"
This is a bit weird for Kensi; it's like story time only it's their stories and they need to remember and internalize each and every one of the details.
"The kind that would appeal to a guy like Paul Sanchez who would be looking for someone to recruit and bring to Kassel."
"So he's a junkie?" Kensi asks, eyebrow up.
"He considers himself more of a casual user who has had a couple run-ins with the cops. He sees no harm in having a good time."
"Does Kara know?" Deeks asks. He turns to Kensi and offers up his most innocent smile. She returns the smile with a push of her hand against his shoulder. The contact makes him almost lose his balance and he stumbles a bit. He recovers, smirking at her in response.
"No. She knows he's tried a few things, but she's pretty much unaware of how much he understands about the drug world. And if she did know, she'd think she could save him anyway."
"Oh, so she's that kind of woman."
"What kind of woman?" Kensi demands.
"The kind who thinks she can make her man a better one," Deeks sighs. "Also known as every woman that I've ever dated."
"Clearly they've all failed," she fires back.
"Clearly," he admits. "Alas, my beloved, Kara, I fear that you, too, will fail."
"No one actually says 'alas', Deeks."
He just smiles at her. "So why is James willing to hook up with Sanchez?"
"The usual suspects; money and love. Kara is a high maintenance woman. She likes the high life and James thinks if he doesn't provide for her, she'll leave him."
"Women," Deeks mutters. "Want to change you, want your money, but won't…"
"I'd stop right there," Kensi warns.
"Anything you say, dear."
Kensi shakes her head at him and then turns her attention back to Eric. She picks up the file on Kara Barstow and flips through it. "Eric, where did you get this character breakdown from?"
"I've done a few of these," Eric shrugs. When both Deeks and Kensi look up at him, doubt clear in their eyes, he sighs. "Hetty gave me the basic parameters, I did a write-up and then gave it over to the psychologist the LAPD sent over."
"Mike Harrison?" Deeks queries.
"You know him?"
"He's been behind a few of my covers. He's fairly thorough…and creative." He laughs. "Former screenwriter. Only in LA, huh?"
"Of course."
"Anyway," Eric tells them, "He wrote up a complete dossier for each of you. You have one night to read them over."
"Ooh, we better get cracking," Deeks says. Then to Kensi, "Maybe we should practice." Off her icy glare, he quickly adds, "I meant, practice liking each other and being affectionate, you know?"
"It's going to take me a lot more than one night for that," Kensi mutters.
"It had better not," Hetty says as she enters. "One night is all you have, I'm afraid, Ms. Blye."
"So we're going in tomorrow?" Kensi asks, all business again.
"Yes," Hetty replies. "Tomorrow morning, the two of you will be moving into your off-campus apartment. We are releasing Sanchez this evening. On Wednesday, he and James Reese will meet in a class they share. Per what Lt. Sanchez explained earlier this afternoon, he will invite James and his fiancée to a party. At this party, which will occur on Friday, he will actively recruit James."
"And in the time between when we move in and I meet Lt. Sanchez and the party?" Deeks asks, though more for Kensi's benefit than his own. He's done deep cover before, he understands the ebbs and flows of it. She's done many a short and spontaneous cover op, but never one where multiple periods of in-character down time had to be absorbed.
"Go to class, make friends, try to learn as much as possible about how Prince Charming is moving around campus. Kassel's dealers may be the primary pipelines, but there are likely smaller distributions points that have popped up."
"That's my part then," Kensi nods. Her mind is whirling, thinking ahead.
"You sure you're ready for this?" Callen asks suddenly and no one is all that sure where he came from. Just the same though, he's there now, Sam at his side. He's looking at Kensi when he speaks.
She bristles. "Of course I am, Callen."
"Good," he says. "Then stow your rivalry with Deeks. You two want to harass each other and try to get under each other's skin, do it when this is over. While you're James and Kara, you're a couple and that means you actually like each other and want to be near each other."
It would be funny if the situation weren't so serious.
And as a sign of her understanding of just how serious it is, Kensi simply nods.
"Okay," Callen nods. "Eric, have you gone over surveillance with them yet?"
"No." He turns to them. "What we have will be extremely limited. You'll each be wearing watches that have been outfitted with a GPS tracker, and the clothes you wear to the party will be outfitted with transmitters that we can remotely turn on and off. We figure Kassel probably sweeps, but on the off-chance he doesn't, we want to try to get some ears inside."
"He'll definitely sweep," Deeks says, more to himself than the others. Then to the rest of the group, by way of explanation, "Kassel hasn't made it as far as he has without being suspicious of newcomers."
"Which means you'll have to be careful how much snooping around you do, Deeks," Sam says. "I would leave as much of that to Kensi as possible so that you play the game with Kassel. From everything Sanchez has told us, she's just Kassel's insurance policy. He's likely to not even notice her nosing around a bit."
"And since you won't be able to use bugs or wires for the most part, you'll have to stick to journals," Eric says. He pulls out several steno pads and puts them down on the table.
"Every observation, everything that happens," Callen explains. "Full descriptions. We'll need everything when we bring them to trial. The more detail, the better."
It's not lost on Kensi that Deeks has pretty much excused himself from the conversation. He's leaning against the table, listening as the rest of the team gives her advice and instructions.
"What about our apartment?" she asks.
"The LAPD is taking care of that part. They rented a place fairly close to the UCLA campus. They're sending over a moving van showing Arizona plates. Our people will be packing it up with stuff for a couple fitting your profiles. It should be here and ready to go at 6AM tomorrow morning. Deeks will drive it to the apartment. You'll be following him in a Honda also showing Arizona plates," Eric informs her.
"And our guns?"
"Those need to stay as hidden as possible," Callen answers. "If you absolutely must keep them in the apartment, find a secure location that could survive a possible search should Kassel send anyone to check James out."
"So we're going in functionally unarmed?" Kensi asks and now, for the first time, her unease is starting to show. She realizes that she should have expected this – known this – and yet the idea of not having her trusty Sig nearby gives her more than a bit of trepidation.
"No one ever said you couldn't carry some kind of weapon," Hetty chuckles. "A knife, pepper spray (at this, Deeks noticeably winces), something small that wouldn't raise eyebrows. But no, not your gun."
These words are a small relief to Kensi, but one just the same. She nods slowly.
"For the same reason, your apartment won't be wired for audio or video," Eric tells her. "We expect that once Sanchez brings Deeks in, Kassel is going to want to run a full background check. He'll be checking out your place trying to make sure it's not a surveillance shop for cops."
"No eyes, no ears," Sam says softly.
"You still in?" Callen asks and it's just short of a dare.
He should have known better.
"Of course," she says, meeting his blue eyes with her mismatched dark ones.
"Good," Hetty says. "Then the two of you should go home, get a good nights sleep. Be back here bright and early."
"What about Sanchez?"
"G and I will take care of releasing him tonight." He touches his shoulder. "It's all good."
She smiles at him, but he can tell that there's some fear in her eyes. Normally, that would worry him; Kensi fears so very little. However now, on the eve of her first deep cover assignment, it's to be expected. She may be amazing and at times just a notch short of a superhero, but she's still human.
And young.
Fear is good.
It keeps your eyes open.
And in undercover work, fear keeps you from ever assuming you're safe.
"Okay," she says. "Then I guess I'll go home and study up."
"I'll give you a ride," Deeks offers.
"Didn't you jog in this morning?" Eric asks him.
"I guess I'll give you a ride," she sighs.
"Thanks, honey," he grins.
"Not yet," she growls. And then turns and exits the Ops Center.
Deeks turns to the others and grins, "She loves me."
"She's going to kill you by the end of this," Sam assures him.
"Hey," he protests. "Maybe I'll kill her. It's not like she's the easier partner in the world, you know."
"But she is your partner," Hetty reminds him. "Take care of her."
And suddenly no one is joking anymore. Deeks nods slowly. "I will," he assures her solemnly. "Don't worry."
At just before five in the morning, Hetty sends everyone home.
To a man, each protests and reminds her that they are losing time with each moment that they're not out looking for Deeks.
She counters with reminding him that they haven't a clue where to start looking.
She orders the men home, demands that they get at least a few hours of sleep and then once the Mission is silent and still, slips behind her desk and puts her head in her hands.
She's not one to second-guess herself and yet in the last year, this is the second time in which she's wondered if she should walk away from all of this.
Dom was horrible and tragic and yet in a full and honest review, no one on the team could actually be held accountable for his death.
Agent Blye and Detective Deeks, well this is clearly another story altogether.
She thinks about Callen telling her that Kensi wasn't ready.
She wonders if maybe he was right.
She glances across her desk to where a stack of journals sits. She's been reading them as they've come in and so she's mostly aware of what's been going on during the last month.
Up until the last week anyway.
She thinks about her last conversation with Kensi, the morning the operation had launched. Had she missed warning signs? Had she overlooked the obvious?
"No," she says out loud. "She was ready."
She yawns as she steps out of her car. Mornings have never been her thing and being up and moving at the ungodly hour of six in the morning is just shy of obscene as far as Kensi Blye is concerned.
"Red Bull?" she hears an all-too chipper voice say from her side. She turns and sees her partner standing there, looking wide-awake, his hair wet from the morning surf. He's holding two cans in his hand, one already open. "I got you the sugar free variety," he tells her. "To help preserve your girlish figure."
She growls in response.
"Well that's a fine good morning," he huffs. "Drink, it will make you nicer."
She takes the can from her, pops the tab, takes a healthy swig and then says, "This is disgusting."
"True," he admits. "But it grows on you. Now say thank you for me being considerate enough to think about your well being."
"Thank you," she sighs.
"See, that wasn't so hard."
"Deeks."
"I think what she means," Callen says as he steps out in the courtyard of the Mission, "Is don't push your luck, Deeks."
Deeks just grins in reply.
"Ms. Blye, a word if you don't mind?" Hetty says, approaching from well…God only really knows when it comes to Hetty.
"Sure," Kensi replies. She follows Hetty back inside and over to her desk. "Please don't tell me that you're about to ask if I'm ready for this, too."
"No, no," Hetty chuckles. "If I didn't think you were, I wouldn't be allowing you to go in."
"Good," Kensi says, smiling just a bit.
"I wanted to give you something. I know it will be quite difficult to be without your firearm, but I thought maybe this could be of use somehow." She offers up a small wonderfully ornate dagger. Its hilt is encrusted with several bright red rubies.
"Hetty," Kensi breathes. "This must be worth a fortune."
"A small one," she admits. "But it has kept me safe more than a few times and I expect that it will find a way to do the same for you."
"Thank you."
"Of course, my dear."
At that moment, Sam approaches. "Moving van and the car are loaded up. Good to go whenever you and Deeks are ready."
"No time like the present," Kensi replies with a tight smile.
"Then let's get this show on the road," Sam says.
He leads Kensi and Hetty around back of the Mission, to where the many cars of the OSP are parked. Right in front is a dusty looking moving van and an older Honda. Both are packed high with the personal belongings of James Reese and Kara Barstow.
Deeks and Sam are waiting for them, Deeks leaning casually against the Honda.
"Ready to go, honey?" he asks, smiling brightly.
She sighs. "Get off my car, you're going to put a dent in the door."
"Aw, our first fight."
"Won't be our last," she grumbles as she steps over and pushes him away from the car door. She pulls it open and gets in.
Callen leans in.
"What?" she asks.
"Keeps your wits about you, be on your toes, remember your training, trust your partner and you'll be fine." His words are so solemn that she doesn't dare crack even a nervous joke in response. She simply nods.
He steps away from the car.
She takes a breath and shuts the car door.
Marty Deeks has been high on drugs more than a few times in his life.
When he was a teenager going nowhere fast.
When he was a college kid trying to stay awake long enough to pass his law classes.
When he was an LAPD undercover agent playing the role of a dealer.
He remembers a time when he'd enjoyed the rush of delirium and delusion. He thinks about moments of lying on his bed staring up at swirling colors.
And then he remembers waking up on the floor of his dorm room one morning, completely unaware of what had happened in the eight hours previous.
That had been the end of his recreational use.
Also the end of his law career, but that's a thought for another day (assuming he has another day, that is).
The end of his law career had become the beginning of his law enforcement one.
So now, when he uses, he does so in order to keep his cover, whatever it be.
It's a choice he made when he started doing this job – do whatever it takes to catch the bad guy, clean up afterwards.
So far, he's been tremendously lucky.
He's managed to pretend mostly and then only dabble when he has no choice.
Right now, he quite literally has no choice.
And he's not dabbling.
He feels the heroin in his veins and he has a vague idea that this is some form of torture. They could have killed him a thousand times over if they'd wanted to.
Instead, for the last twelve hours, all they've done is beat him, inject him, let him rest and then repeat the cycle.
They're giving him just enough to get him high.
Which is making him see and hear all sorts of crazy things.
His father screaming at him.
His mother pleading him to please, oh please just do what his father wants him to.
Gunshots in the darkness.
His arms around a woman, dark hair tickling his nose.
A sound of a pained scream.
A wet thick thud.
And then an explosion of colors.
He has no idea what their end game is.
The two times he's managed to gasp out a question, they've both been about his partner. "Where is she?" he'd asked the first time, praying to God (albeit stupidly) that maybe somehow, she'd gotten away.
Which is a strange hope really because in the middle of all of his drug induced visions, he's positive that he sees one where a bloodied Kensi is being dragged out of a room.
Still, he asked the question anyway.
The first time, the man with the needle (a man he thinks that maybe he recognizes through his drug addled haze) had laughed.
The second time, he'd simply and with a smile replied, "Dead."
The word rolls around in his brain, heavy and painful.
After all they've been through…dead.
It's unthinkable. It's unbearable.
Kensi…dead.
He assumes that's to be his eventual fate as well.
For now, though, his captors (he has a strong sense that he knows who has him, but he's struggling to be able to connect two thoughts together in the delusional state he's in) seem to be enjoying themselves by seeing how much he can take.
As his consciousness fades away again, the shadows of his minds creeping inwards, he can't help but wonder the same thing.
TBC…