Author's Note: Okay, so I'm about a week behind. Can I blame the holidays? Well, I am anyway. :D So here it is and it's a long one.
I would, of course, suggest reading from Chapter 1 and I apologize for any weird inconsistencies that show up.
Thank you for all of the kind words - please continue to let me know your thoughts.
As always, anything in italics is a flashback of what happened during the mission.
J, you are so up.
She's honestly not all that sure which is worse – the fact that she can't seem to remember anything for longer than five minutes at a time or the terrible flashes of white hot pain that continue to tear back and forth through her wounded body.
About the time she asks the pretty young nurse with the clearly dyed bright red hair and the sparkling green eyes where she is, and the woman gives her a sympathetic pat on the arm that seems to suggest that maybe she's already answered this question a few times, NCIS Special Agent Kensi Blye begins to realize that the electric shockwave that she keeps feeling radiate up and down her frame is nothing compared to the dullness in her head.
No, dullness isn't quite the right word.
At least not as a description of the aching pain she feels in her skull. That pain, well it's sharper and more intense – just about blinding in nature.
But her brain itself, well that feels dull. And unfocused.
It's a bit weird, really, because she thinks that some of her memories are beginning to return. She's seeing more and more of what she figures has got to be the last several weeks of her life.
Which, she figures, will probably help shed some light on how she ended up in a hospital bed with a raging headache (God, what an understatement, she thinks) and enough aches and pains to make a daredevil envious.
Problem is, she's seeing more, but not necessarily understanding more.
Like for instance, why she keeps hearing her partner screaming her name.
She tries to focus her mind, tries to grab at his voice and pull it like one would yank at a stray thread of an old sweater, but it seems like every single time she tries to block out everything besides him, her body screams out in protest and demands that she listen to its many howls of agony.
It's almost like her body doesn't want her to remember how it got hurt this badly.
The nurse touches her elbow softly, pulling her away from her dark thoughts. When she looks up, she realizes that she has salt in her eyes – not tears, but rather sweat. She's burning up again.
Or maybe she never stopped running a fever. She's not completely sure.
All she knows is that every now and again, her vision begins to swirl and swim, and it feels like the whole world is tumbling away from her in slow motion.
That feeling – that crazy absurd feeling – is always followed by unconsciousness.
It's getting to be a bit of a cycle.
"Shh," the nurse murmurs. "It's okay."
"I'm okay," she insists, staring directly into her partner's bright blue eyes. They're wide and worried, full of a thousand emotions.
"God," he says again. It occurs to her that he hasn't said anything besides that for the last five minutes. It's almost like he's in a state of shock.
She's pretty sure one of them is.
So again, she tells him, "I'm okay." She puts some attitude behind the words, meaning for this to be the last time she says them.
She just wants this moment to be over. And suddenly, she just wants this whole damn thing to be over.
She knows better; it's all so very far from ever.
There's still bad guys to catch.
One in particular.
One who really just made everything very, very personal.
"Please," she whispers when he doesn't speak.
His silence is maddening to her.
"Please say something," she just about begs him. She wants to add his name – almost does – but then remembers…
"What, dear?"
She blinks, and returns to the present – to the hospital room with the purposely-dimmed lights (the brightness hurts her head, something the doctors had realized almost immediately after she'd regained consciousness). She feels a cool cloth on her forehead, wiping away the beads of perspiration.
"What do you want me to say?" the nurse elaborates.
"Nothing," Kensi stammers. "I…Nothing."
"Oh," the nurse says suddenly. "Looks like you have a guest."
She looks up, and then smiles slightly when she sees her visitors – Hetty and Sam. Sam's eyes sweep her over, taking in her injuries. If she felt better, she'd let him know him much she hates it when he does that.
Right now, though, she lets him have it.
"Miss Cochran," Hetty says, stepping into the room, Sam just a few feet behind her. "It's good to see you awake."
Her tone is warm and loaded – there's a lot going on here. For one, she's reminding Kensi of her cover, but the most important part is that she is trying to express to her junior agent just how very worried she is.
"Hey," Kensi replies, her tongue suddenly feeling big and cumbersome. Her words slur just a bit.
"I'll leave you three," the nurse says quickly, getting up. To Kensi, she says, "If you need anything, I'll be just outside."
"Thanks," Kensi replies, and again, to her own ears it's sounds like she's half drunk. But that can't be right. After all, the doctor has told her at least five times that they can't give her any pain meds because…
Because…
It occurs to her that she has no idea why she can't have any pain meds. Her injuries and the state of her body certainly seem as though they'd justify a little bit of chemical relief. And yet…
"Are you all right?" Hetty asks, her voice low.
"I…how did I get here?" Kensi asks. "I don't remember." Her hand strays up towards her forehead. As her fingers trail upwards, they slide over lacerated and brightly bruised skin and she winces. "How…"
"Hey," Sam says, coming over to the bed. "Easy…
"Sam, I don't understand."
"I know. I know." He interlaces his hand with hers and lightly touches the bandage on her head. Then he folds his hand over hers and squeezes. "But everything, it's all still in there, and we'll get to it. I promise you, we will."
She meets his eyes. After a moment, she nods.
"The doctors would prefer that we not stay long," Hetty tells her, "But we wanted to stop by and see how you are." She leans in closer. "And we wanted to assure you that we are doing everything we can to find Deeks."
"Deeks," she repeats.
"I must admit," Kassel tells her, his voice silky smooth, "You two – you and Detective Deeks – well you actually fooled me. You two put on one hell of a show. You especially." He caresses her face, and quite instinctively, she recoils from his touch. He laughs. "Now, now, Kara…Agent Blye…Kensi, I presume I can call you that after all we've…shared."
Her only reaction is to meet his eyes and then spit.
It's decidedly unladylike in nature, but then, no one has ever accused Kensi Blye of being a perfect little lady anyway. And really, spitting at Christopher Kassel is the very least of what she actually wants to do to the son of a bitch.
For a moment, he's surprised.
And then he laughs.
And then he hits her.
Right across the face. She just about blacks out.
Instead, she falls to her side. Lying there, she looks around the room she's in, sees that it's covered wall to wall with mirrors – almost like a funhouse. Only these ones, they're not distorted. These ones, they're showing the true horror of the situation she's in.
"Tell me, Kensi, my sweet little toy," he says, bending down next to her and whispering in her ear. "Did you and your partner have time to say goodbye to each other? For your sake, I hope you did." Then, to the man standing in the doorway, watching with a grin, Kassel says, "Do it."
She hears footsteps heading into a different room, a cry of pain and then two gunshots.
"Deeks!" she screams.
She looks up at Sam and Hetty, her eyes wide.
"What?" Sam asks, urgency in his voice. "What did you remember?"
"I…" she stops short. She has no idea how she can possibly get the words out.
He takes her hand. "It's okay, you're safe."
"I am," she says. "He's not."
"We know he's missing. We'll find him."
"He's not missing," she says softly.
"What do you mean?" Hetty asks even though far too many years of doing this are telling her exactly what Kensi is going to say.
"He's dead. They shot him. I heard it. They shot him in…" she stops for a moment and thinks. "I don't know where we were. I can't…I can't remember."
A tear tumbles down her cheek. She puts a hand over her mouth.
"I can't remember where we were."
"We found you in a warehouse," Sam tells her. "Was that where you heard the gunshots? Was that where they took you and Deeks?"
"I…I think so?" she seems confused, disorientated and more than a little scared.
Seeing those things on Kensi – who is now covered in a thick sheet of sweat - is a whole lot unsettling for both Sam and Hetty.
Leaning down close to Kensi, Hetty whispers softly (but firmly) into her ear, "I need you to listen to me carefully here. We haven't found his body, Ms. Blye. Until we do, we operate under the assumption that he can be and is alive. Do you understand?"
Slowly, but surely, Kensi nods.
"Good. Now there are officers from the LAPD outside your room. Detective Bernhardt put them in place. I trust that they are of the highest integrity. They will ensure your safety. Do you understand that?"
Kensi doesn't ask why Hetty feels it necessary to have security on her; she knows enough about Kassel to know that he'll be coming for her.
Kensi nods again.
"Good. Mr. Hanna, I believe that we should let Ms. Blye sleep," Hetty says as she turns to face Sam. She makes it clear with her eyes that this isn't up for debate.
"Fine."
Kensi feels Sam's hand on her own again and then they both leave the room just as the doctor and the nurse enter.
As she lies back against her pillows, trying to ignore the bolts of pain surging through her like firecrackers, it occurs to her that she doesn't really mind if Kassel is coming for her.
In fact, she rather hopes he is.
She figures she'll be waiting for him, too.
They're back in Sam's Charger before either of them utters a word.
"She seems better," Sam says hopefully.
Hetty nods slowly. "Considering all she's been through, yes. Still, I'll be relieved when they're able to start giving her painkillers. The doctor told me they're hopeful they can begin doing so within twenty-four hours."
"Good." He pauses for a moment and then asks, "What do you make of her saying she thinks Deeks is dead?"
"I don't think at this point that we are going to be able to rely on Ms. Blye for any information about what occurred. Her head injuries are too significant and she's still showing signs of short-term memory loss. Whether it's temporary or permanent…well, for now, we'll need to stick with what's in the journals, and hope that Mr. Callen and Mr. Renko can dig up more for us."
"You didn't exactly answer my question."
"I don't exactly have an answer for your question."
"Right."
After relaying their conversation with Kensi to Callen and Renko, who have spent most of the early afternoon harassing their mob contacts around the Valley and seedier parts of Los Angeles, those at the Mission settle back down in front of the large LCD screen.
"I feel like we should have popcorn," Eric says. Then, quickly, "I mean, I don't…"
He stops, drops his head down, and starts nervously tapping away out his keyboard. He's halted by the feel of Hetty's small hand on his shoulder.
"Easy, Eric," she says softly.
He considers responding, but then decides to do what Sam and Callen would do.
What Kensi and Deeks would.
Focus on the job at hand.
Figuring out what the hell went wrong and where Deeks is.
Dead or alive.
"Next journal coming up," he says, his tone firm. He's trying to tell Sam and Hetty that he's okay, trying to tell them that he doesn't need their compassion.
He doesn't need them worrying about him.
Not right now at least.
Every bit of worry and concern should be focused on Kensi and Deeks.
He taps a button and the LCD turns on.
"And on screen now."
They're a week into their undercover gig, and it occurs to her that she still hasn't woken up next to her partner.
Since the first night of the op, they've been sharing a bed. In spite of the initial anxiety, it's all been very professional. No touching and no invading of each other's personal space no matter how cold it gets.
She's all right with that; she's never been much of a cuddler anyway, and well, Deeks is her partner after all.
Still, she can't help but think it a little strange that he's already up by the time she comes to every morning. Sure, she can (and does) write it off to him being a morning person (ugh), the kind of guy that likes to rise with the sun. He's a surfer, someone used to being on the waves by the time the first rays of light are shining down across the San Fernando Valley.
It all makes sense. Really, it does.
And yet, she finds that she is one hundred percent annoyed to be waking up alone.
Not that she'd ever let him know that.
Oh, no no no. He'd take it the wrong way. Or make stupid jokes. Or both.
Whatever.
She rolls over in the bed, winces a bit at the slight alcohol related hammering in her skull (good God, how many times had Kassel refilled her wine glass?) and then pushes herself to her feet. She wobbles just a bit, then steadies out.
She showers quickly, dresses even faster and then makes her way out to the kitchen where she knows he'll be, coffee ready and breakfast made.
He doesn't disappoint her; as she comes into the kitchen, she sees pancakes waiting and a mug already filled with coffee.
"Morning," he says as he sees her come in. He's in swim trunks and a blue Billabong tee. She glances down at herself, dressed in jeans and a gray full zip hoody. Neither of them are exactly what someone would call glamorous.
"Morning," she mutters back. She picks up the coffee cup, inhales the rich vanilla aroma and then takes a deep swig of it. After all of their time working together, he's become something of a pro in regards to knowing how she likes her coffee.
"How'd you sleep?" Deeks asks, offering her the plate of pancakes.
She shrugs, dropping down into a chair and picking up a fork.
"Really? You were dreaming a lot." He says it lightly, but she can hear the slight undercurrent of concern.
"Was I?"
"Yeah, kicking around and everything. Put your heel right into my shin."
She frowns. She can't remember any dreams that would have caused such a physical reaction. "Sorry," she finally says.
"It's okay," he responds. "I like pain. And bruises. Really colorful ones."
Her only response is to roll her eyes. Seeing that he's not going to milk any sympathy out of her, he changes the subject.
"So, today's the big day."
"That's right," she nods, almost like she'd forgotten (and for a bit, she had). "What time is your meeting with Kassel?"
"Ten this morning." He glances up at the digital clock above the oven – the one that say fifteen minutes until nine. "Sanchez is going to come pick me up in about forty-five minutes and take me over to Kassel 'office'."
"You know I don't trust that guy," Kensi notes. "Sanchez, I mean. He's creepy."
"You? You're creeped out?" Deeks teases. "I'll be damned, there is some girl in you somewhere."
"I didn't say that," she shoots back. "I said he was creepy, not that he creeps me out. There is a difference." And then, with a slight pout. "And I'm a girl."
"If you say so," he shrugs, blue eyes twinkling. She briefly considers tossing her coffee at him, but realizes it'd be a waste of good caffeine.
"I do. Anyway, all I'm saying is there's something about that guy. I don't care what deal he struck, I think we should keep an eye on him."
"I agree. We'll keep him close," Deeks assures her.
"Good."
"So," he starts, unable to stop himself. "How's the hangover?"
"There's no hangover," she answers quickly.
"Okay, sure."
"De…James." She smiles at she says the name.
"Honey."
"I hate you."
"I know. I'll get you some aspirin."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"I still hate you," she grumbles before swallowing a bite of pancake. She has to admit; he's a hell of a cook.
"That's why we're so good together," he grins, offering her two pills. "Oh, wait a sec, I'll grab you some orange juice."
"Don't bother," she replies. "Don't need it." And with that, she tosses the pills in her mouth and then crunches them down dry. He watches, his look a disbelieving mix of amazement and disgust.
"I was wrong; no girl there," he finally says.
Her only response is an icy glare.
His only response is a wide grin.
They hold like that for a moment and then she laughs.
She can't help it. He may drive her insane, but he also has a way of making everything feel so silly and absurd that laughter really is the only solution.
Still smiling (and feeling a bit foolish), she says, "Go shower would you? You smell like dead fish."
He sniffs himself, then shrugs. "Anything for you, my sweet."
She groans and swats at him. Only a quick darting move on his part saves him. He grins at her and then takes off down the hallway. A few moments later, she hears the shower turn on.
Shaking her head, she returns to her breakfast.
She thinks about the day ahead.
The night previous had all been about setup, and it had worked. She'd caught Kassel's eye and Deeks had managed to get himself a "job interview".
Now is the frustrating part for her – the waiting and doing nothing.
Today is all about Deeks. He and he alone has to convince Kassel to hire him. If he can do that, they're on their way.
She's certain he can do it.
Doesn't mean she's any happier that she can't do anything to help him out.
Sanchez is perfectly on time, showing up at the front door of the apartment right around nine-thirty. He's dressed casually, in jeans and a non-descript hoody. When Kensi opens the door, she doesn't miss the way his eyes slide over her.
Like a pervert sizing up his next target.
Before she can say anything, however (and truthfully, she's not sure what she would say if anything at all), Deeks appears in the doorway.
"Paul," Deeks says, and there's a slight warning tone in his voice. He steps in front of Kensi, partially blocking Sanchez's view of her.
"Hey, Jimmy," Sanchez says easily. If he's annoyed by Deek's rather obvious visual block, he doesn't let on. "You ready?"
"Yeah. You sure I'm dressed okay?" Deeks asks. He sounds nervous and uncertain. Kensi has to give her partner credit; he's doing a bang up job of selling the part of a guy who knows he has to get the job one way or another.
"You're fine," Sanchez answers. "It's all very casual. Don't worry."
Considering that everyone in the current conversation is in on the op, this whole thing is for show – it's all about making sure that if any of the neighbors are watching, James and Kara pass the sniff test.
Deeks turns to Kensi. "What are you going to do today?"
"I was thinking I'd head over to the mall."
"Just window shopping, right?" His tone is light, like a boyfriend that knows that he's treading dangerous ground here. Kara is a spender and a mall rat, but these two don't have the money for her shopaholic habits. Still, James wants her to be happy so he doesn't tend to call her on her expensive ways. At least that's what the write-up the LAPD guy created said.
"Don't worry, honey," she assures him. "I'm just looking. Now go on. And hey, good luck." And with that, she leans up and gives him a quick peck on the lips.
"Thanks."
"Ready?" Sanchez asks.
"Yep."
As they turn to leave, Deeks doesn't miss the way Sanchez holds back just a moment – just long enough to do another visual sweep of Kensi.
She's right, he realizes; Sanchez is not to be trusted.
And maybe he is just a little bit creepy.
No, if Kensi is creeped out by him, that means he's a whole lot creepy.
Yeah, he's going to have to be kept close.
Very close.
Sanchez drives them damn near across Los Angeles, well down into the San Fernando Valley. As they head down Sepulveda, entering Van Nuys, Deeks can't stop himself from asking, "We going to a porn studio?"
"No, no, Mr. Kassel normally operates out of his beach house in Santa Monica, but he has business here today so it seemed as good a place as any to meet."
"Got it," Deeks answers, eyes skittering around. He grew up in this city, knows just about every part of it, even the bad ones. Still, finding ones way back to a spot can be tricky and often requires damn near perfect attention to detail.
"Here we go," Sanchez says as they pull into a parking lot in front of a big metal warehouse. It's big and old, the paint on the outside stripped almost completely away. "Funny you mentioned a porn studio. This place used to be one a few years back. No idea why they abandoned it, but Mr. Kassel has used it since."
They get out of the car and walks towards the heavy metal doors.
"So any last bits of advice?" Deeks asks.
"Just relax, Jimmy, you're good," Sanchez tells him, and then pulls the doors open. They creak just a bit before admitting the pair in.
Once in, Deeks looks around.
It has all of the trappings of a low budget Hollywood sound stage only it looks like it's been a few years since the set designer stopped by.
"Right on time, Paul," Kassel calls out as he steps out of a room, hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his rather expensive dark suit. "And you brought Jimmy. Fantastic. Come in, come in."
He leads them back through a jumble of tiny rooms, towards a rather bare office in the back. It occurs to Deeks that these guys probably go to great lengths not to leave too much of their business just lying around where the cops could find a way to happen upon it.
As such, this office – well it could belong to anyone. A look around it shows nothing that screams that it belongs to a drug kingpin.
"Sit," Kassel says, indicating towards a ratty chair in front of an old metal desk. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Uh, a coke?"
Kassel laughs. Then, seeing the confusion on Deek's face, he smiles and says, "Of course. Paul, if you would be so kind?"
"Sure, Boss."
"So, Jimmy," Kassel says, turning to face Deeks, "I understand that you have a problem, yes?"
"A problem?"
Kassel smiles again. It's probably meant to be empathetic in nature, but to Deeks it comes off as purely predatory. Right now, Chris Kassel is a shark playing with its food, chewing it up and getting it just right to devour.
"Your finances, Jimmy."
"No, I'm fine," Deeks says quickly. "There's nothing for you to worry about, I mean. I'm not gonna steal from you or nothing."
"I wasn't worried about that at all. At least not yet anyway. Look, I know that money can be…uncomfortable to talk about, but I assure you, we have all had times when we didn't handle our obligations as we should."
"I'm not a deadbeat."
"I didn't say you were." Kassel leans forward. "I must say, Jimmy, I like your fire. And I like your integrity. I think we could be good for each other."
"I'm don't understand."
"What did Paul tell you about this job?"
"He said it was delivery stuff."
"That's about right. More or less."
At that moment, Sanchez reappears with a couple of bottles of beer – not the cheap stuff, but rather the real expensive import kind. He puts two bottles on the table. Deeks notices that they've already been opened.
"Look, Jimmy, when Paul suggested you to me, I took the liberty of doing a pre-emptive background check on you." Kassel puts a file on the table, and then gently pushes it towards Deeks. "I presume you know what it says in there?"
"How…why?"
"I need to know the men working for me. You understand? I need to know the demons haunting the guys who are going to be taking care of my business. After all, I can't help you if I don't know what your poison is."
It's a horribly loaded statement, and Deeks doesn't miss the implied threat within. He also knows that as Jimmy Reese, he's not supposed to have a clue in the world about what Kassel is going on about.
"Sir…"
"I'll be plain here, Jimmy, I have a very lucrative business that I'm running, and I need young men like you to move my…product around. I think you would be excellent for it. In exchange, I will pay you very, very well. That's what I mean when I say that we could be good for each other. Very good."
"What kind of business? And what kind of product?"
"The kind that you're familiar with," Sanchez says, dropping down into the chair next to him. When Deeks reacts with a show of surprise and then almost shy embarrassment, Sanchez follows up quickly with, "Hey, relax, buddy. We've all been there. Nothing to sweat around here. You're among friends."
"No, I'm past that stuff. I've got a girl…"
"Yes, you do. A very beautiful girl," Kassel nods, a smile flittering across his face. "And if I'm not mistaken, a girl who likes to run up large shopping bills that you have no real way of paying for. Women, right?"
"I can manage."
"There's that fire again. Stubborn pride, I like it. However, Jimmy, stubborn pride won't pay the bills and keep the lady from looking elsewhere."
"She wouldn't…she loves me…"
"I'm sure she does. But come on, let's be real. Maybe she wouldn't look around when you were in Arizona, and there wasn't much else to see, but here in Los Angeles? My friend, this town does not favor you, and there are men at every corner looking for a beautiful girl like yours to throw their money away on."
Deeks swallows. "So," he starts, trepidation in his tone. "What would I be doing?"
"Making deliveries to some of our regular clients, that's all." Kassel makes it sound so plain, so simple, almost like he's be delivering Girl Scout cookies.
"So I wouldn't be dealing, right? Just dropping stuff off?"
"If that's all you ever want to do, that's all you ever have to do. And you'll make really good money doing it."
"You're saying I could make more…" Deeks stops. "No, nevermind, I don't want to know. I just…just delivering, that's it."
"Fine. So, Mr. Reese, do we have a deal?" Kassel holds out his hand.
Deeks pretends to think about it. Then, slowly but surely, he extends his own palm and takes Kassel's. They shake.
"Excellent." He points to the bottles of beer. "Imported from Ireland. Best of the best, trust me." He holds up the bottle. "To new business partners."
Deeks leans forward, picks up the bottle, and then clinks it against Kassel's. He makes sure to still be putting off a general vibe of uncertainty.
Kassel doesn't seem to notice – or maybe care. "Good good. Now drink up, Jimmy. And welcome aboard."
"Thanks…thanks. So, how does this work?"
"Hm?"
"How do I know when to…"
"Paul?"
Sanchez turns to face him, and then repeats what he'd already said in the Interrogation Room of the Boathouse a week earlier, "When we have a delivery for you to make, we'll send you a text with an address. It'll probably be to some fast food dinner somewhere around LA. Every now and again, it might be here. Anyway, you pick up the package from your handler – probably me most of the time - and an address, and then you make the drop and collect the cash. You take five percent, and bring the rest back to me. I take five percent of that and then I bring the rest back to the boss."
"Pretty simple," Kassel says.
"Sounds nice. So, I'll be working with the regulars?"
"Not directly. In this business, Jimmy, no one trusts no one," Sanchez tells him. "If we're shipping to a City Hall guy living down in Marina Del Rey, he sure as hell ain't making the pickup or the buy himself. He doesn't want anyone connecting to him so he'll have his Chief of Staff or some lackey do all the dirty stuff that way if anything ever goes bad, his hands are completely clean."
None of this is new knowledge to Deeks, but it's interesting to him how much the bad guys seem to understand about the business of plausible deniability.
"When do I start?"
"Not for a few days. I want you to enjoy some of the spoils first," Kassel says.
"Spoils?"
Sanchez reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. He peels off five one hundred dollar bills and hands them to Deeks.
"A signing bonus if you will," Kassel tells him. "And I promise you, there will be plenty more where this came from if your work is good. Now take this and take your beautiful girl out on a night on the town. Let her know that you're everything she needs you to be."
"Thank you, sir." He pockets the cash.
"Not a problem." He stands up. "Paul, if you'll close up around here? I'll walk Jimmy out to the car and meet you there."
"Certainly, Boss," Sanchez replies before turning and walking away.
"Come on," Kassel says, indicating that Deeks should follow him back through the warehouse. They pass a small room with all glass walls, and then another that looks oddly enough like a made for television (or porn) dungeon.
They're just about back to the entrance of the warehouse before Kassel speaks again. "Jimmy, there's one last thing I wanted to let you know about."
"Sir?"
"At some point this evening, a few of my men are going to stop by your apartment, and do a full sweep of it."
"Why?"
"Just to ensure that you're not a cop, and there's nothing for us to worry about."
"I'm not –"
Kassel holds up his hand to stop Deeks from speaking. "Even if you were, you'd say that so why don't we just skip this part. "
"What do I tell Kara if she's home – or if she comes home – and she wonders what these guys are doing in our apartment?"
"My guys are wearing coveralls so just tell her the landlord sent them over to check gas and power lines. Something tells me your girl won't have a problem with that."
Deeks wants to laugh, but instead manages, "Yeah, probably not." He thinks to himself that had Kensi heard that, she'd likely knee him in the groin in response.
"My boys are very good at this and they will do their best to be as non-invasive as possible. If there's nothing to find, you have nothing to worry about."
"Okay," Deeks replies, sounding uncertain, and maybe a little scared. His tone reflects the idea that maybe he's having second thoughts about all of this.
"Don't worry, Jimmy," Kassel laughs. "It's going to be fine. A couple days a week of work, and you'll be able to buy your girl a house and give her the wedding of her dreams in no time."
"That'd be nice."
"Yes, it would."
They step outside into the brightness of the Los Angeles afternoon. A look at his watch, and Deeks realizes that it's just after twelve noon.
"I'll be seeing you soon, Jimmy," Kassel says, clapping him on the shoulder. He nods to Sanchez, who has also exited from the warehouse. "Paul, my regular office later?"
"Sure, Boss."
"Excellent."
And with that, he turns and strides away, off towards a very expensive SUV parked a few spaces away. Deeks makes a mental note of the model, but quickly notes the absence of license plates.
They get back into Sanchez's car. "See, I told you, piece of cake."
"You didn't tell me what kind of business you were in," Deeks replies, keenly aware of the chance that the car is bugged.
"I knew you wouldn't come if I did. Look, your sheet, and your experience, everything you've told me about yourself, it all means one thing – you know that rules are just what society expects. You've done some of this stuff, it didn't do you any bad except for when the cops decided you'd done bad, right?"
"Yeah."
"And playing by the rules hasn't really helped you out much either, has it?"
It occurs to Deeks that Sanchez is trying to explain himself, trying to justify why he does what he does. It kinda makes Deeks want to slap him, but he bites back on that urge and plays along instead.
"True."
"Now here's your chance to actually win a few. For you and your girl. I mean, she means a lot to you, right."
"Yes, she does," Deeks answers, and he tries to put some emphasis behind his words – the kind that says, "Back off."
Sanchez smiles. "Yeah, thought so."
There's a malicious undertone to the response, and for a moment, Deeks considers reaching over and slamming Sanchez's face into the steering wheels, but he bites back on that urge as well. Probably wouldn't go over well anyway.
"So the guys tonight?"
"Usually two dudes. And to be honest, they're probably already there. Boss doesn't want you having any time to hide anything. Your girl is out, right?"
"I think so."
"That's good," Sanchez says, but it sounds to Deeks like he's a bit disappointed.
"Yeah, it is," Deeks responds. He turns to look at Sanchez, meets his eyes and tries to make the point again – back off.
Sanchez's only response is a small half-smirk.
The door to the apartment is standing open when Deeks and Sanchez enter. A quick look around reveals that Kensi is still out.
"There," Sanchez says, pointing to a burly man wearing what looks like a phone company uniform. The man sees Sanchez and recognizing him, nods hello.
"They're being careful, right?" Deeks asks.
"They won't break anything unless they have to."
"Hey, honey, I'm…"
Both men turn to see Kensi enter, shopping bags in hand. She stops, and watches as the burly man passes by her.
"Um, Jimmy, who is that?"
"The landlord sent him over. They've been having some power issues."
"Oh, okay. Hi, baby." She steps forward and gives him a quick kiss. He can taste strawberry flavored gloss on her lips. To Sanchez she says warmly, "Paul."
"Hi, Kara," Sanchez answers, and then leans forward and kisses her cheek. She accepts it without showing the least bit of discomfort.
Deeks, on the other hand, wants to rip his throat out. Apparently, his warning about backing off of Kensi had gone unheard.
"How did the interview go?"
"Great," Deeks replies. "I got the job."
"Yeah? Yay!" She practically throws herself into his arms and hugs him. For a moment, it surprises the hell out of Deeks; he's never seen her show this much girlish enthusiasm. And he's certainly never had her hug him like this.
"Yeah. They even gave me a signing bonus. I was thinking we'd do dinner somewhere fancy tonight. Just you and me."
"I'd love to," she gushes, still hugging him.
He kisses her cheek, hugs her back. "Good."
It's a weird moment for him, standing here holding his partner in his arms. He wishes he knew what she was thinking, wishes he knew if it's as awkward and odd for her as it is for him.
If it is, she doesn't show it. She rests her hold on his shoulder, and whispers, "I knew you could do it."
He's not sure if she's talking to Jimmy or Deeks.
Either way, he says simply, "Thank you."
Their weird strange odd hug is interrupted by the sound of the burly man and his partner coming into the room. He looks first at Sanchez, "All good."
Sanchez nods, but says nothing.
Deeks pulls away from Kensi, "You, uh, found the power problem?"
"Yep, no worries at all," the burly guy says. "Take care."
And with that, he and his partner leave.
"Well, I think that's my exit song as well," Sanchez sighs. "You two lovebirds have a fantastic evening. I'll be in touch soon, Jimmy."
"Sounds good," Deeks replies.
"Kara," Sanchez says. "It is always a pleasure to see you."
"You, too, Paul," she replies, but stays next to Deeks.
"Night," Sanchez tells them, and then turns and leaves.
Deeks shuts the door behind him, and then turns back to Kensi. Both of them now aware that every conversation they're having is likely being listened to, he motions to the bags on the ground, "So much for window shopping, huh?"
"Found some shoes I just couldn't resist."
"Uh huh."
"Didn't you say you were taking me out to dinner to celebrate?"
"Yes."
"Well then let's go. I'm starving. And I love it when you pay."
"Yes, you do."
"Is this the warehouse?" Mike Renko asks as he steps inside the metal building located in the heart of Van Nuys. He's got a backpack slung over his shoulder.
"Yeah," Callen responds. "Used to belong to a porn production company a few years back. Now some investors back in New York own it, but I don't think anything has been done in it for awhile."
"Nothing legal anyway," Renko remarks as he glances around. "No power?"
"Not sure. There might be a breaker somewhere in the back."
"Nevermind that," Renko mutters. He pulls his backpack off, opens it up, takes out a flashlight and tosses it to Callen, who promptly turns it on.
Callen looks around, taking in the almost maze like floorplan of the building. "Kensi's Agent in Distress beacon brought us here last night. I don't think the Forensics team has had time to do a full rundown yet."
"Not a full one, but they did send over their preliminary findings and notes," Renko replies. He holds up an iPad. "Come on."
He leads them down a hallway, past a room with a bed in the middle of it. He brings them directly to another room, this one full of what looks like chains.
"Check out the ground," Renko says, pointing downwards.
Callen quickly sweeps his flashlight down. He sees streaks of red leading out of the room and down the hallway. "Blood."
"And on the walls, too. Someone got beaten up pretty bad in here, and then dragged out."
"Someone didn't," Callen notes, stepping over to the wall. "Bullet holes. Two of them." He reaches out and touches two circular indents in the wall.
"Right. 22s. Both bullets were recovered."
"Interesting."
"You said Kensi claimed Deeks got shot, right?"
"Right."
"That doesn't figure. The blood splatter in here doesn't indicate a bullet wound, and from where the shooter would have been standing..." Renko backs up to the entrance of the room, and then points at the wall with the holes.
"There's no way he could have missed," Callen finishes.
"Which means Deeks is alive. They lied to her. But why?"
"To break her," Callen responds. "Everything they did to her was about breaking her, including the overdose."
"Yeah." Renko flicks his hand across the screen of the iPad. "Oh, man."
"What? What is it?"
"Come on, you should see this."
Callen follows Renko out of the room, and down the hall again. As they walk, Callen notices that the blood streaks are on the ground, seeming to indicate that whoever was dragged was yanked along this path.
"In here," Renko says, stepping aside to reveal a room with glass walls. Only now, the walls are broken, like someone had been smashed into them. Red bloodstains trail down the sides.
"Kensi," Callen whispers. He looks back down at the blood trail. "Oh, God."
"Yeah. Whoever did this –"
"Kassel."
"Right, Kassel. He must have smashed her head into the wall. Once, twice, maybe three times. It's a damn wonder he didn't up gouging her eyes out or causing her even more damage."
"She's lying in a hospital bed unable to stay conscious or remember what the hell happened to her. I'd say he did more than enough damage."
"Didn't say otherwise, Callen. But she's alive. That's something, too."
"Yeah," Callen replies, reaching out to touch the dried blood droplets on the broken mirror. He can see dark hair stuck to it.
"Okay, so is this where you found Kensi?"
"No. We found her in the middle of the warehouse, a big open space."
"That must have been the actual warehouse part – where there's no sets and rooms. They brought her out there and –"
"That's where they injected her, and that's where they left her."
"Why bring her out of this room?"
"No idea," Callen replies, pulling his eyes away from the cracked mirror.
"G," Renko starts, and then stops.
"What?"
"Was she…I mean did they…I mean…"
"Was she raped?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know. Doctors didn't say one way or another, and if Hetty knows, she's not saying. But why do you ask?"
"It might explain why they yanked her out of the room. There's a lot of glass everywhere. Someone lays down on the ground, they're just as likely to hurt themselves as they are to hurt her."
"There's got to be another reason," Callen insists. "Something besides that."
He's not naïve; he knows that the job they do tends to end violently and often horribly. He knows that rape (and often much worse than even that) is a very real possibility for female agents whose cover gets blown.
But this is Kensi.
Bad enough that they'd just about lobotomized her, but to think of anything more – anything worse – well right now, he can't.
He can't.
"I'm sure there is," Renko agrees. "Let's go have a look at where you found her."
"Right."
They make their way down the hallway, noticing drops of blood as they go.
"She was carried not dragged over here," Renko notes.
"Okay so, the goons drag her away from Deeks, bring her to the glass room. Kassel comes in, smashes her head against the wall and then has her carried into the middle of the warehouse?"
"Okay, fine, I can buy that, but we still don't have a why. Why not just shoot both of them back in the room with the cuffs? Why drag her around? Why pretend to kill Deeks? What's the point of all of this?"
"Got me," Callen shrugs. "Got me on all of this."
"Yeah, me too."
They step into the large open area of the warehouse – a place Callen remembers far too well. He'd been there less than twenty-four hours earlier.
Watching Sam cradle Kensi's broken body against his chest.
Considering all that, it's a damned miracle that she's alive and even slightly conscious today.
"There," he points, indicating towards an area in the middle of the warehouse. He can see droplets of blood staining the ground dark.
"Okay," Renko nods, looking around. Then, "Okay."
"What?"
"Camera tripod. There."
He points to an area about ten feet away from where Kensi had been lying. There's a thick layer of dust on the ground so the feet of where the tripod had been are still indented there.
"They were filming her."
"Kassel likes trophies," Renko says. "All the sickos do."
"Awesome," Callen replies bitterly.
"We'll get him, G."
"Yeah, we will."
Callen isn't a man prone to fits of dramatic overstatement. He's not the type to make promises he doesn't intend to keep.
And in his life, he's never wanted to catch a man as badly as he does right now.
He wants Christopher Kassel.
And he doesn't want to catch him; he wants to kill him.
"How are you feeling, Marty," Kassel asks as he enters the room.
"Oh, now we're calling me by my first name, huh? Is that in the Evil Drug Dealer handbook? How to make a connection with your hostages?"
"Page fifteen."
"Fantastic. Mind if I read the book? I'm kinda bored in here."
"Don't worry, I brought you some entertainment."
"Great. Popcorn, too?"
Kassel chuckles. He comes over and touches Deek's forehead. "You're burning up here, Marty."
"Is this where I'm supposed to beg you for another hit."
"Yes."
"Yeah, well fuck you, too."
"Charming."
He turns to the doorway, motions towards one of his guys. A moment later, the guy brings in a TV and VCR on a cart.
"Cool," Deeks quips between coughing fits. "I'm way behind on my soaps."
"You don't know when to quit do you?"
"No," he replies, lifting his eyes up.
"Maybe this will help."
He turns the TV on, and then pushes play on the VCR. The screen shows the dirty floor of the warehouse.
A moment later, the bloodied and badly bruised body of a dark haired woman is thrown to the ground, in full view of the camera.
"Kensi," Deeks whispers.
"Enjoy. Marty."
The door shuts, but Deeks doesn't take any notice of it. All he sees is the screen.
All he sees is Kensi.
Bloody. Beaten. Broken.
Dying.
TBC….