Author's Note: And we're back on the every two weeks schedule. Another fairly long chapter here, hopefully moving the story along here. Word of warning about this chapter - there's some very salty language herein. Also, the violence starts to step up a bit. As always, I advise starting from chapter 1. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for all of the kind words - they really do encourage me to keep at this.
He thinks that if he could have gauged out his eyes to stop himself from watching the video, he would have. Being that his hands are still unavailable to him, what with them being cuffed to the chair he's in and all, that's not an option for him.
So instead, he tries to simply close his eyes, but he quickly realizes that his frantic effort to block out the video is all in vain. Because no matter how he tries to shut his eyes against the images, he can still hear the sounds.
Her screams. Their laughter.
It's only when he hears Kassel say, "Shoot her up, and let's get the hell out of here," that he opens his eyes.
His eyes reluctantly on the screen in front of him, he sees her lying on the ground – his partner, his friend – bleeding and bruised, her clothes torn, a man crouched atop her, his hands touching parts of her that he has no right to be touching.
He watches as Kassel hands the man a syringe. Almost methodically, the man ties Kensi's arm off, very quickly finding a vein. Just before he injects her, he leans down close to her, his mouth inches from hers, like he's going to kiss her.
Only the shadow of Kassel moving into his light stops him from doing it. The man looks up at his boss, and then leans back down and presses the needle into Kensi's vein. She gasps, her mouth opening wide, and her back arching. A small decidedly un-Kensi like whimper escapes from between her lips.
"No, come on, it's too much," Deeks whispers feebly as he watches Kassel empty the syringe into her vein. She's already shaking, already trembling fiercely.
The two men above her watch her for a moment, and then Kassel bends down and touches her face, almost gently. "Rest in peace, Agent Blye."
He stands back up and motions towards the camera. "Turn it off and let's go."
"Sure, Boss," the man says.
Deeks stares at the man, anger flowing through him. He knows this man, knows him well, knows that he should have known better than to ever trust him. They all should have.
"Sanchez," he growls.
"At your service, my friend," Paul Sanchez says, stepping into the room and pushing pause on the video as he enters. The screen freezes on a close-up of Kensi's bruised and now tear-stained face. Her typically beautiful features are horribly contorted, stretched by her pain and fear. "You like my work? I edited that together just for you, added some better lighting, sharpened things up."
"Why? Why did you do this You had a sweetheart deal on the table."
"Boss made me a better deal."
"Your life?"
"Something like that." He glances back at the screen, then reaches out a hand and touches the image of Kensi's face. "Even like this, you have to admit that she's beautiful woman, no?" It strikes Deeks as slightly odd that Sanchez seems to be talking about Kensi in the present tense. He stamps down on the surge of hope by convincing himself that it's probably just an inadvertent turn of phrase.
"You're a cowardly piece of shit," Deeks hisses, trying to get Sanchez's attention back on him. It doesn't matter that Kensi's not actually in the room, it doesn't matter that she's already dead – Deeks doesn't want the bastard speaking about her much less looking at her.
His words work like a charm; it's like a switch is flipped somewhere inside of Sanchez, and suddenly the almost amused expression that he had been wearing fades away only to be replaced by fury. He strides quickly across the room, and balling his fist, strikes Deeks hard across the face.
"I'm going to enjoy watching you die," he says as Deeks jerks to the side, staying seated in the chair only because he's being held there by the metal cuffs.
Deeks laughs (almost manically, he thinks) and spits out a mouthful of bright red blood, the metal taste sharp and tangy against his tongue. Then, looking up, smirking, "Not if I get to watch you die first. And I will. I promise you, I will."
"You don't get it, do you, Jimmy-boy?"
"Deeks. My name is Deeks."
"Your name is whatever the fuck we want it to be, you get it? You're whoever the fuck we want you to be now. You want to live another day after this one, you best start thinking about ways to become valuable to us."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about something you're not yet ready to consider, but you will be. And sooner than you think."
Deeks laughs again as he picks up on the implication (it's not a new one in his line of work – he's seen more than a few once considered "incorruptible" cops go bad.) "You're insane if you think I'd ever flip." He looks back towards the TV screen. "The only thing I care about anymore is making you pay for that."
"I know," Sanchez nods. "But the closer you get to realizing you actually are going to die in this dirty little room, the easier it will be."
A burly man (Deeks thinks he recognizes him from the inspection at his apartment several weeks earlier) steps into the room and hands Sanchez a small box. Sanchez opens it and takes out a rubber cord and a syringe.
"I have a job I need to attend to for Mr. Kassel, but I wanted to give you a present first," Sanchez tells him, gazing at the liquid inside of the syringe.
"I thought I had to ask for it," Deeks reminds him, a hint of hysteria in his tone. He feels panic go through him. His plan – admittedly a flimsy and ill designed one – was to find a way to refuse the drugs long enough to stage just a small breakout.
Just enough of one to take down at least Sanchez and hopefully Kassel.
He'd fostered no delusions of surviving the breakout attempt. But then, it hadn't been about that anyway.
It had been about revenge. And guilt.
And Kensi.
"We changed out minds," Sanchez smirks. "So will you. Everyone does. No matter what you think, Jimmy-boy…Deeks, you're nothing special."
And with that, he injects the needle.
As the heroin fills his veins, Deeks tries to focus on his partner. He turns his eyes away from Sanchez and back to the television screen, back to Kensi and the raw unfiltered agony that is contorting her facial features. Sanchez is wrong; she's not beautiful like this and he hates his captors for that. Among many things.
He tries to focus on his anger and his need to get vengeance for her.
He tries to focus on his plan – get loose just long enough to kill Sanchez and Kassel. Just long enough. Just long. Just…
And then there's nothing but peace.
All of the fear, all of the anger, it flows away.
He remembers the first girl he ever kissed, how soft her lips were.
He remembers the first woman he ever slept with, her gentle her arms were.
He remembers the last woman he made love to, how astonishingly strong and beautiful she was even when….
He shakes his head and forces the thoughts away.
He tries to think about his plan, but he realizes soon enough that he just doesn't care anymore.
He surrenders to the drugs, to the memories, to the peace.
He forgets about his plan.
Instead, he remembers a night of walking along the beach, the water lapping at his bare feet, the sand scratching against his ankles…
"I'm stuffed," Kensi moans loudly, and not for the first time.
"You're the one who ordered a sixteen ounce steak," Deeks shoots back. "You know, you don't have to take every dare every time."
"And if I hadn't, I'd never hear the end of it," she replies with a lazy smile.
"Probably true," he chuckles. "Still, a seventy-five dollar steak? Really?"
"You only want the best for me, don't you, honey?" She tosses him a wide-toothed grin.
"Of course. I'm just saying, usually that kind of dinner gets…" She lifts an eyebrow and he stops abruptly. "Right. And moving along." He glances around, taking stock of where they are. They're in Santa Monica, reasonably close to the Mission if they wanted to just drop in and say hello.
Which, of course, they won't. Cover and all that.
Instead, his eyes flicker down towards the beach. "Fancy a stroll on the beach, Kara, my love?"
"It's kind of cold," she notes. And for Los Angeles, it is somewhat chilly, the thermostat somewhere just north of fifty-five degrees.
"Come on," he grins. "I dare you."
She turns to face him, and smiles up at him. Suddenly, it occurs to him that he has no idea what she's thinking right at this moment. The expression on her face seems almost loving and full of affection – not emotions that Kensi Blye typically broadcasts to anyone, especially him.
"Well when you say it like that," she drawls, "Of course, I'd love to."
He holds out his hand to her. She immediately takes it, intertwining her fingers with his. He guides her down the cracked streets, towards the beach. They're a bit away from the Santa Monica pier so this stretch of sand is far less populated. Instead, there's only a few couples spread around, most of them curled up together on blankets or towels.
"Cozy," Kensi notes dryly, flicking her hand towards a couple that is clearly doing a lot more than just cuddling.
"Nice night for it," he responds.
"Uh huh," she answers before reaching down to pull off her sandals. "Shall we?"
"Sure," he says, walking them towards the surf. Just before they're there, he pulls off his sneakers and socks and then places them on the dry sand just a few feet above where the water is coming up to. Kensi drops her sandals next to his, wrapping her arms around his waist as she does so. He looks up at her, eyebrow lifted.
"Are we okay?" she asks, her face practically against his.
It's an odd question, a seemingly out of nowhere one, but he understands it perfectly. All throughout their dinner at the steakhouse, they'd stayed in character, acting like James and Kara – acting like two young adults enjoying an extraordinarily rare treat of a very expensive dinner.
Now, however, she wants to know if it's okay to break cover and be Kensi for a moment. It can be a dangerous thing slipping back and forth between character and reality, but sometimes, it's the only way to maintain self and sanity.
He smiles slightly, one of his hands going over hers and running it over his chest. It's a very sensual move, but he's not coming on to her or suggesting anything erotic. No, he's simply telling her that he's not bugged.
He'd wondered about that after Kassel had walked him out. He knew their apartment would be audio bugged, but he had been curious about anything that might have been placed on his clothes. In his time doing undercover work, he'd seen it happen a time or two. It was almost always a waste of a good bug because of quick clothing changes, but the more paranoid a mob boss, the more likely he was to bug anything he could.
In this case, however, Kassel's apparent arrogance had won out meaning no audio bugs had been placed on either his or Kensi's clothing (he'd made sure to do a visual check on her as well after Sanchez had leaned in towards her).
Of course, with Kensi, it hadn't mattered; she'd changed into a dress to go out to dinner in. And oh, what a dress. Short without being too revealing. Colorful without being audacious. Low cut at the top without being overly provocative.
"You're staring at me," she whispers into his ear.
"Sorry," he says quickly. "Uh, we're good. I mean clear."
"Good," she answers, taking his hand again and walking him into the surf. While they're reasonably sure that they can't be overheard, they have no doubt that they might be being watched by some of Kassel's men. That possibility is one of the reasons they had gone out of their way to be so much in character at dinner.
And now, even now, in at least appearance, they continue to be James and Kara.
"You grew up here?" she asks finally, about five hundred feet down the surf.
Her words pull him from his thoughts, which had drifted off into thinking about…well nothing, really. That's the pleasure of the surf, he muses, how wonderful it is at making the world and all of its craziness just disappear.
"Yeah," he finally responds, and then laughs.
"What?"
"It's nothing." He looks out towards the water, the moon glinting off of it. It's only about six at night, but the sun has already long vanished into the winter night.
"What is it?" she prompts again.
"When I was a kid, when I was growing up, me and my dad…" he shakes his head and when he speaks again, there's a hint of a bitter laugh in his tone, "We never really ever got along. Ever. So I did everything I could to be somewhere else whenever I could be. I started coming down to the beach. Take a bus, ride a bike, hitchhike if I have to. Just get here. Starting hanging with the surfers and badgering them to teach me. And they did."
"Sounds nice."
"It was. Whole summers disappeared here. I'd get to the beach at four in the morning, wouldn't leave until night. Found some odd jobs around the area, anything to keep me here and not there."
"I'm sorry," she says, squeezing his hand.
He looks down at their hands, almost like he'd forgotten that they were intertwined. For a moment, he doesn't know what to say in response (a rare and somewhat annoying thing indeed), but finally, almost gruffly, "Don't be."
He can tell immediately that she's a bit stung by his tone. "Sorry," she says again, and this time she means for getting too much inside of his head. This time, she's apologizing for having got a glimpse beneath the mask.
He feels like an ass.
This is his partner, the one person in the entire world that he has to trust. She should be the one person that knows who the man beneath the many different covers and well-created fake personalities is.
And yet, he finds that he doesn't have the words to tell her such.
They fall into an uneasy silence, only the sound of rushing water and their soggy footsteps filling his ears.
He wants to apologize, wants to tell her that he doesn't regret letting her see what she did, for however long she did. And yet he can't because he realizes that she's still keeping her mask on.
And her mask is a lot harder to get off. If it's even possible at all.
No, he realizes, it's possible. It just hurts like hell when it slips.
He thinks about watching her in the room with that little jackass Talbot – thinks about her having to lay all of her pain bare, knowing full well that her team had been just outside, hearing it all. Her mask had slipped then and she'd paid the price for it.
It only gets harder after that.
"Hey," she says softly.
He looks at her. "What?"
"Your pants are getting wet."
He looks down at his once beige slacks, now darkened by the rushing water. The he shrugs. "Your turn." Suddenly, he gives her a hard push towards the water. She shrieks, decidedly lady-like for once, and stumbles off-balance into the surf, the freezing water rushing over her face.
It's far too cold of a night to be playing in the ocean, but he doesn't care. He just knows that this moment is one that needs to happen between them. This easy, simple, uncomplicated, stupidly fun moment.
She gasps in surprise, and then looks up at him, the side of her face covered in dark wet sand. "You ass," she calls out, her mismatched eyes sparking dangerously and a bit mischievously, a hint of a humor in her tone letting him know that his life is not in danger.
"Now you're wet, too," he grins.
"Yeah, well you're not wet enough," she answers, and then grabs him by the legs and pulls him towards her. He falls forward, arms out to brace and collapses atop her, both of them in the surf, water slapping against them, soaking them.
Anyone who is watching would call it sensual and romantic moment, but for them, it's simply a few seconds of no danger.
Peace.
And then she pushes her knee up against his crotch.
"Hey," he gasps, looking down at her.
"Get off me."
"You could just ask. You don't have to threaten."
"I haven't yet," she teases. Then she gives him a push backwards, which causes him to fall away from her and back into the surf.
Laying flat on his back, covered in wet sand and cold water, he looks up at her. "Hey, I can see through your dr…"
She groans and walks away from him, up the sand.
"Hey!" he calls out. "You just going to leave me here?"
Without turning, she replies, "Come on, it's cold out here, stop playing in the sand like a three year old."
"You pulled me in," he retorts, standing up and running up the beach, his wet pant legs slapping loudly together.
She stops and looks at him, eyes gleaming wickedly, "I did, didn't I?"
"Yes."
"I suppose you could say, I won that one."
"Oh, so that's what that was all about?" He tries to play it hurt, but she sees right through him and laughs.
She steps towards him, circling her arms around his waist. He thinks that if he were a lecherous man or one without respect for his partner, he would notice how thin and wet the material is between him. Of course, he both has respect for her and is not by nature a lecherous man. That and he's a smart one.
This time anyway.
"Deeks," she whispers in his ear. "It's always about winning." Before he can form a response, she pulls away from him and grabbing her sandals, makes her way up the beach, towards the street.
He sighs. Shaking his head with amusement, he bends to pick up his own shoes. As he stands back up, he notices a in the parking lot above, leaning casually against his Porsche, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.
To a cop like Deeks, however, the man sticks out like a sore thumb.
He sticks out like some who is there specifically to watch some folks stroll along the beach. Maybe folks like he and Kensi – a seemingly young and innocent couple enjoying a romantic walk along the sand.
He looks away quickly, so as not to let the man know that he'd seen him, but he has no doubt that the man is one of Kassel's guys.
In fact, now that he thinks about it, he's pretty sure he saw the guy at the steakhouse as well, sitting a few booths away, enjoying a prime rib of his own.
As Marty Deeks, these realizations come easy to him. As James Reese, he pretends he notices nothing.
Instead, he simply wanders up the beach, slides an arm around the now shivering form of his partner and gives her a quick kiss on the neck, moving her slightly around as he does, just enough to enable her to catch a glimpse of their observer as she tilts her head to give him access to her neck.
She slides a hand against his face, scratching gently at his beard with her short nails. "Nice," she purrs. If she were his real fiancée, she'd be pretty much assuring him one hell of a night. Right now, though, Kensi is just playing her part to ridiculous perfection.
He reluctantly moves away from her, pulling the passenger door of the car open. She reaches into the backseat, pulls out a towel and puts it beneath her. He heads around to the opposite side, stealing one more glance at their observer, and then getting into the Honda himself.
It occurs to him that maybe they should have spent the time on the beach talking about the case, maybe planning their next move. Then again, though, the game plan for this one is pretty simple; get inside Kassel's org, crawl in even deeper, and then do whatever it takes to bring down the bad guys.
He reaches across to the passenger side and takes Kensi's hand. For the briefest of moments, she's surprised; the car might be bugged, but no one's watching. He squeezes her hand. She looks up at him, and for just a second, he lets his mask slip and he lets her see inside (panicking all the while).
He lets her see it all. All of the pain, all of the hurt, all of the fear.
And the other stuff, too.
Like the almost violently compulsive need to make a difference. To be someone worth a damn. Someone his father could be proud of even if he never will be.
He lets her see his trust for her as well.
She stares at him for a moment, and he wishes he could see inside her mind, hear her thoughts and know if she really reciprocates the trust. After a moment though, her only answer is to squeeze his hand back.
Good enough, he thinks.
For now anyway.
"Deek is alive," Callen announces as he and Renko enter the bullpen.
"You're sure?" Sam challenges.
"They faked the shooting. Two bullets in the wall, and only two shells found," Callen answers, showing the group the picture of the room on the iPad.
"Maybe they cleaned up their brass," Sam offers.
"No. These guys left in a hurry; they didn't bother removing anything else around the area. It was sloppy and violent," Renko counters.
"Deeks is alive," Eric repeats softly, sounding almost incredulous.
Hetty nods. "At least for now. But we're almost twenty-four hours in. His odds of survival decrease with every hour that he's missing."
"And Deeks doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut," Callen notes. "Which decreases his odds even more."
"Why would they keep him alive at all?" Eric asks.
"Payback?" Renko offers. "We've seen it before; the cop who effectively infiltrated them is held for a few days and tortured to death. It's a sign to other cops – this will happen to you, too."
Sam turns to Callen. "How much time you figure he has?"
"Depends on what they want him for. If it's payback like Renko said, a few days at most. If it's something more than that, then maybe he has a bit more time. We can't be sure,"
"Right," Sam nods, suddenly seeming distracted. He reaches out and picks up Renko's iPad. He pinches a photo to make it larger.
"See something?" Callen asks.
"Maybe. Renko, who's the guy in this picture?"
He points to a picture that had been snapped just outside of the warehouse. It had been meant to show the exterior of the building and all of its identifying marks. In the photo, cops are swarming about.
Off to the side, however, looking like just a regular guy who'd happened to casually wander by is a man in a baseball cap and a black hoodie. He looks like he's intentionally trying to hide his face from cameras.
Renko leans in. "No idea. Why?'
"There's something about him," Sam notes. "Something familiar."
"Wait, let me see that," Callen demands, taking the iPad from him. He flips through a few pictures, and then increases one o full size. Then, to Eric, "Can you make this even bigger?"
"Probably, why?"
"Check out the reflection off the window of the car over there."
"Might be a face," Eric nods. He grabs the iPad, hooks it up to an adapter, pulls out a keyboard and starts typing. A moment later, the picture appears on the LCD in front of the group. "Zooming in, zooming in and…hey, isn't that…"
"Sanchez," Callen finishes softly as the face of their former snitch comes up on the screen, a bit unfocused and fuzzy in nature, but clear enough to make the ID.
"Son of a bitch," Sam growls.
"This your inside guy?" Renko asks.
"Apparently not," Callen replies, grabbing for his car keys. A moment later, he's striding purposefully down the hallway, trailed closely by Renko and Sam.
"Wait," Eric says, once the men vanish from sight. "Why do they think…they think Sanchez is going after Kensi?"
"They're not sure. But they're going to make sure that Ms. Blye is all right."
"What about the guards that Bernhardt has on her?"
"Hopefully they're enough."
Eric swallows and nods. The unspoken implication is that Hetty rather suspects that they're not enough to stop Kassel or Sanchez from going after Kensi.
"Eric," she says softly, fatigue in her voice. "We'll know what's going on soon enough. In the meanwhile…"
"I know. The journals, right? We have to be doing something, right?" He's just about babbling now.
She offers him a small smile of understanding. "Yes," she says. "We have to be do something."
The first drop is almost ridiculously easy. But then again, it's not like this is the first time that Marty Deeks has ever pretended to be a drug courier.
Just the same, his first transaction for Christopher Kassel takes place in the parking lot of a very old Taco Bell in Encino, over a box full of bean burritos and hard tacos.
His first client is a young college kid who looks like he's been doing pick-ups for his boss for years. The kid is dressed in jeans and a dark sweatshirt, but his walk is casual, easy and more than a little cocky. When he approaches with the box of food, he calls out and says, "Hey, I hope you don't like soft tacos. I hate that shit."
Deeks laughs. "No, I'm a burrito guy." He reminds himself to act slightly nervous, just in case this is a test. He's supposed to be new at this, and so some degree of nerves are to be expected. If this isn't a test, then it's one of Kassel's most trusted regulars, the kind of guy that knows the game and how to play it.
"Awesome." The kid offers him the box. For about ten minutes, they lean against the hood of Deek's car, eating in silence. Then, the guy asks, "You from around these parts, buddy?
"Nah. Arizona."
"Fucking hot out there."
"You get used to it."
"Sure you do if your AC is running twenty-four fucking seven, right?"
"Yeah," Deeks laughs. He makes note of the kid's rather crass speaking rhythms. He's probably not an assistant to a politician with that kind of mouth on him. Much more likely is it that he works for some kind of celebrity, either a musician or a comic. And definitely a male one.
"Nah, I prefer beautiful LA. A nice 80 degrees even in January and only a few days of one hundred plus. Once you get used to all the smog, it's paradise, you know?"
"I could certainly get used to the beaches."
"And the babes, right? You have to admit, they're better out this way." As he's saying this, his hand slides inside the front pocket of his hoodie, and then he's extracting an all white unmarked envelope. He slides the envelope into the box of tacos and then hands it – casual as can be - over to Deeks. "I mean, Jesus Christ, have you ever seen tits and ass like this?"
Deeks reaches into the box, pulls out another burrito and the envelope at the same time. With one hand, he unwraps the burrito, with the other; he slides the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans. "No," he admits. "This is…new."
"Yeah. And there's so many of them." The guy takes a sip from his soda, slurping loud enough to make it clear that the cup it empty. Then, he places the cup behind him on the hood of his car.
"I got a girl," Deeks shrugs, turning around and putting the box of food on the hood next to the cup. Using the bulk of his body to hide the cup from view, he pulls the plastic lid off and inserts four small glass vials into the cup. He puts the lid back on, then turns back around and resumes eating his burrito.
"Everyone who comes out this way comes with a girl, bro. I give it three months until you realize Ms. Arizona can't possibly compete with the girls out here who will do anything for what they want. You just got to find their poison." And with that, he reaches back, grabs the cup again and takes a sip from the dry straw.
"I guess so," Deeks replies.
"You'll figure it out soon enough, bro," the guy says. He pats Deeks on the shoulder, and then starts to wander away. After a moment, he stops and turns back. "Oh, some advice, cut that fucking hair. We LAers only have shag like that in the movies." He laughs and disappears into the shadows, off towards his car.
Self-consciously, Deeks runs his fingers through his hair. "Awesome," he mutters. He shakes his head and then heads around to get into the car.
About ten minutes later, he's at the warehouse in Van Nuys.
Sanchez is waiting for him outside the doors, wearing a baseball cap and smoking a cigarette. "How'd it go?" he calls out.
"Piece of cake, I think."
"Good, good. Let's see it."
Deeks reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the envelope. Sanchez takes it from him, opens it up, counts the cash inside and then nods. "Looks good. Come on. Boss wants to pay you himself this time."
He leads them inside the building. Once again, Deeks is struck by just how massive this warehouse is.
Sanchez knocks on the door to the office in the back. "Me and Jimmy, Boss."
"Come in," Kassel's voice calls out.
Sanchez pushes the door open and they enter. He puts the envelope down on the table. "All here."
"Fantastic." Kassel reaches out and picks up the envelope. He counts out several bills and then holds them out to Deeks. "Your cut."
Deeks doesn't make a move to take it, his expression one of wariness, like he's still not completely convinced that this is a good idea.
"Don't worry, Jimmy, it's get easier. Six months from now when you're planning your three week long Honeymoon to the Bahamas, you won't have a worry in the world about a few drives across town a week."
"Right."
"Go on, Jimmy, take the money. You earned it."
Slowly, Deeks reaches across and takes the cash from him.
"Wonderful. Now that that is done, I wanted to invite you and your beautiful fiancee out to dinner tomorrow night."
"I'll have to check with her."
"Really?"
"I mean, I'm sure she'll be fine with it. You know what, we'll be there."
"That a boy. Never let your woman run the show. You wear the pants, don't forget that, all right?"
Deeks almost laughs. Instead, he forces a smile.
"I'll have Paul text you the name of the restaurant sometime tomorrow."
"Okay."
"Good. Now if you don't mind, Paul and I have some business to address. I believe you know the way out of the warehouse?"
The next day moves slowly – Kensi calls it anxiety and is nearly relentless in her teasing of him. When they're outside and away from the possible prying ears of the audio bugs, she can't help but say, "I thought you were the grizzled pro."
"I am. We're heading into his playground," Deeks insists. "I don't know what this dinner is all about."
"Control," she replies. "Remember what Sanchez said when we got him? He tries to control his couriers through their girlfriends."
"Yeah, I recall."
"I can handle my own," she reminds him.
"I've never doubted that. Not for a moment. But I'm not exactly excited about putting you in the line of fire, either."
"It's under control," she assures him.
He chuckles. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"
"Why?"
"Because you're the only person in the world – even more than Callen or Sam – who I actually believe when they say that. I believe just about everything you say, and that's ridiculous, too. You tell me you can hotwire a helicopter –"
"Piece of cake," she grins, and he's not sure if she's being serious or not.
He snorts, and then finishes, "-and I believe you. That's what ridiculous."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's something like that."
"Well, thank you."
"Anytime, partner."
The restaurant ends up being a fancy Italian place in the middle of Beverly Hills. For just the briefest of moments, Deeks considers making a crack about the Godfather and clichés, but wisely thinks better of it.
The two of them are lead into a private back room, where several couples are gathered. Kassel is there with a beautiful blonde woman. To his side is Sanchez and another blonde, this one almost frighteningly young looking.
They enter arm in arm, Deeks in a nice suit and Kensi in another showy dress, this one providing a nice view of her muscular legs.
"Jimmy," Kassel calls out. He stands up and offers a hand to Deeks. Deeks takes it. Kassel then turns to Kensi. "And Kara. You're looking…well absolutely stunning this evening."
She smiles widely, seeming utterly charmed. "Thank you," she replies. She accepts a kiss on the cheek and a hug from him.
"Please sit." He motions to the woman at his side. "My wife, Gabrielle."
It doesn't surprise either Deeks or Kensi that this horrible man is married. It just amazes them how often this seems to be the case.
The two of them sit down, and almost immediately, wine is put in front of them.
"So, Kara, picking up on our conversation from the night of the party, you're a theater major, right?" Kassel asks.
"Yeah. I've always wanted to act. So cliche, right?"
"We all have dreams, sweetheart."
Deeks sneaks a sideways glance over at Kensi; "sweetheart" is certainly not one of her favorite terms of endearment. To her credit, she doesn't react at all.
"Whatever happens," she shrugs.
"Of course. Well if you recall, I told you that I'm something of a producer myself. While I'm not currently casting for anything myself, my wife might be able to help with that. She actually works with many of the casting agencies around town. Maybe she can set you up with a few auditions."
"Really?" Kensi gushes, like she can't contain her excitement. "I mean, is that even possible?"
Kassel turns to his wife and nods his head slightly. Dutifully, Gabrielle Kassel nods. "Of course it is, honey. How about you and I go over to bar and get something a little bit stronger than this wine. We'll talk about it there."
"I'd love that," Kensi replies, standing up. To Deeks she says, "You mind, baby?"
"Not at all," he replies.
"Come on," Gabby says, reaching out and taking Kensi by the arm. She guides Kensi over towards the bar.
As soon as they are out of earshot, Kassel motions to the chair next to him. "Sit here, please, Jimmy."
"Okay," Deeks replies, moving chairs. He sees Sanchez look up at him, clearly curious about the conversation that is about to happen.
"She's stunning, Jimmy."
"Yeah, she is."
"We should talk about her."
"Sir?" Deeks turns back to face Kassel, showing confusion on his face.
"Have you spent any of the money you earned yesterday?"
"A little bit. On rent. And a little bit on her. She has expensive tastes."
"I bet. Here's the thing, Jimmy, the moment you took that money, you joined the team. I'm a big team guy, Jimmy. You know what that means?"
"Not exactly."
"It means that I put the team about everything else. Everyone else. Above me. Above you." He looks over towards Kensi and Gabrielle. "Above our women."
"Sir, I'm still not understanding."
"You're very new at this and I know it can at times see weird and overwhelming. You're probably at war with your base morality. You probably keep asking yourself what the hell am I doing?"
Deeks looks away.
"Relax, Jimmy, it's only natural."
Deeks lets out a breath. "I can't tell you how good it is to hear you say that. I –"
"Now get over it."
"What?"
"You're in the game now, Jimmy. You've made your first drop. You carried almost five thousand dollars worth of heroin across the city. You made two hundred and fifty dollars off of it. And you know, if you'd been picked up by the cops, you'd likely be looking at at least a dime behind bars."
Deeks swallows. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because I need you to understand. There's going to come a moment when the impact of what you're doing hits you and you'll get a crazy thought in your head that maybe if you just go to the cops, they'll cut you a deal and everything will be all right. You'll be all right."
"I…"
"And maybe that's true. Maybe they will cut you a deal and instead of a dime, you do a nickel in a low security Club Med." He looks across the room, towards where Kensi and Gabrielle are getting drinks at the bar. "She is beautiful. Tell me, is she that beautiful in bed, too? I bet she is."
"Are you threatening her?" Deeks asks, an edge of alarm in his tone.
Kassel chuckles. "I don't make threats, Jimmy." He lowers his voice then and leans in. "I make promises." He slides a hand over Deek's left one. "I'm not a man to be betrayed. You try to go to the cops, you try to fuck me over, and I will rip her limb from limb. I promise you this; I will put her in the fucking ground, but before I do, I will destroy her. "
Deeks wonders what a real Jimmy would be feeling right now. He imagines that it's fairly close to the panic he feels, even knowing how strong and capable his partner is – how much she really can take care of herself.
"Do you understand what I've just said, Jimmy?"
"Ye…yes."
"Good, good." Then he claps Deeks on the shoulder. "Now lighten up and drink your wine. The food will be here soon and I wasn't lying before, it's excellent. The best spaghetti I've ever had. I mean that, too."
It's a bit like the previous conversation had never occurred. Kassel seems calm and at ease, his posture relaxed and almost jovial. It's more than a bit disconcerting. But then, it's probably to be expected from a man who is absolutely a certifiable sociopath.
Deeks looks first across the bar again, his eyes lingering on Kensi. She sees him, and offers a smile. He tries to return it, but can't quite make it work.
"You'll probably not want to say anything to her about all this," Kassel says calmly, breaking apart a breadstick and using it to stir a cup of soup. "A girl isn't likely to understand business like ours."
"No," Deeks agrees, eyes still on her. He knows that he's worrying her, but he can't quite pull his gaze away from her. Almost out of nowhere, there's something in the bit of his stomach, something that feels a whole lot like a really bad gut feeling, the kind that seems to say "this is about to go really bad, really soon".
"You're scaring her," Kassel notes. "She thinks something is wrong. Give her a smile. A real one now, Jimmy. Let her know that nothing is wrong. Let her know that you're going to make her the happiest woman in the world. That's all women care about. That's all she needs to know of anything."
Deeks thinks to himself that he can't wait until they're able to end this whole op by arresting Kassel. He thinks maybe he'll make sure to give Kensi just enough time to get in a good kick to the balls. This guy actually deserves it.
Still, Deeks forces another smile, this one slightly more convincing. Kensi pretends to buy it, then turns her attention back to Gabrielle.
"We're going to make a great team," Kassel assures him. "All you have to do is never forget the team."
"I won't," Deeks promises.
"That's my boy," Kassel laughs.
Deeks' eyes flicker across the table, and he catches Sanchez looking at him. There's a strange smirk on Sanchez's face – an almost amused one. Like he knows exactly what just happened in the conversation between he and Kassel.
Deeks meets Sanchez's gaze evenly, and for a moment, they both just stare at each other. Unsurprisingly, Sanchez looks away first. And then turns his gaze towards Kensi and Gabrielle. His eyes sweep lecherously over Kensi.
The bad feeling in Deek's gut grows just a little bit worse.
Someone is playing someone here. He's not sure whom.
But if it's Sanchez, and this is all some giant game to the little bastard, well then he and Kensi are screwed.
He reaches for his glass of wine, and takes a hearty swig. To the other at the table, it appears that he's indulging in the available liquor. To Kassel, it seems as though he's steeling his nerves after having received a rather vicious threat against his fiancée's life.
To Paul Sanchez, it seems as though the young Los Angeles Police Department Detective is starting to realize that this case could very easily go upside down.
Sanchez is right.
He's very, very right.
The screaming down the hallway wakes her up. She blinks and tries to gather her senses. After a brief moment, she realizes that there's a fight happening nearby – and it sounds like an especially violent one.
She glances towards the door to her room, noticing that the cop who had been standing there every other time she'd woken up has left his spot. Idly, she wonders if that's a good idea. And then she thinks about how odd it is to have such a dramatic fight nearby.
Before she can think too much about this, however, a man enters the room. He's dressed in jeans, a black hoodie and a baseball hat. The cap is puled down over his eyes, effectively hiding his face from view.
Her first thought is that she remembers seeing him that morning, on the way to the lab to get tests done on her head. When he removes his cap, however, she realizes that she knows this man very well.
"Hello, Kensi," Paul Sanchez grins, stepping towards her.
"You stage the fight?" she asks warily, suddenly understanding what's going on.
"With some help."
"You here to kill me?"
"Yes."
"You think I'm going to just let you?"
"God, I hope not. That would be such a letdown after well…everything." He walks towards her bed. "You really are beautiful."
"Come a little closer, and I'll show you how beautiful," she hisses, one of her hands reaching down and yanking the IV needle out of the top of her crook of her elbow. She bites back a surge of pain as blood leaks down her arm.
He laughs. "Tough girl. What are you going to do with that? Give me a little prick?"
"I'm guessing you already have one of those."
He snarls at her. "You really think you can stop me with that?"
"I know I can." She's amazed at how confident she sounds especially considering she knows how very weak her body is.
"This really is a shame," he sighs. He reaches over to the chair and plucks up an extra pillow. He moves above her, holding it over her face. "But orders are order, Agent Blye." He starts to lower the pillow.
She reacts quickly, thrusting out with the needle and slamming it into of his palms. He staggers backwards, surprised, like he can't quite believe that she was actually able to put up any kind of resistance.
"Bitch," he growls. "You fucking bitch!"
"I warned you," she replies triumphantly.
"Yeah, you did. And now it's my turn." And then suddenly, he's atop her, his weight utterly overwhelming her weakened body. Normally, she'd still have at least a fighting chance to take him out, but now…
She gasps as the pillow is shoved over her face, covering up her mouth and cutting off her oxygen. She screams into the pillow and claws at his hand.
Not like this, she pleads to herself. Please, not like this.
She feels her nails dig into his rough flesh, drawing blood, but still he presses the pillow against her. It's a strange, almost absurd feeling to be suffocated. As the air leaves, lightness overtakes her, and she thinks that maybe she's floating.
Still, she continues fighting.
Fighting. Fighting. Fighting.
Her frantic motions slow, her fingers scrape across the backs of his hands, then slide off and away. One drops down.
This is it.
Oh, God.
And then suddenly, abruptly, quite out of nowhere, there's a terrified shout, a too-loud, too-close gunshot, and a pained scream.
She feels the pillow being lifted away from her face.
"Callen," she gasps out as she sees her savior standing above her. His hands touch the sides of her face. She thinks she hears him telling her that it's all right now, everything's all right. She's safe. She's okay.
She lifts her hand up in front of her face, sees the blood – Sanchez's blood - beneath her nails. She smiles victoriously. She mumbles something incoherently.
Then her eyes roll back and she passes out.
The last thing she hears is Callen screaming for a doctor.
TBC.