As promised, here we go. We're starting to really ramp up here, and you should be starting to notice signs of what caused everything to go upside down. Please be forewarned, language, violence and very very mild sexual situation are within. Thank you as always for your kind comments.
It's almost an hour later when the doctor, who had originally treated Kensi when she'd been rushed in previously, finally emerges from the OR. He steps towards the trio of men, his movements seemingly carefully calculated.
"Gentlemen," the doctor says, and for the first time, Sam Hanna notices that the name Hardy is stenciled in blue on the pocket of the doctor's white lab coat.
"Is she?" Callen starts, his thoughts clear. He'd seen the way Kensi had been laying there, not moving, the heart monitors going crazy. He'd heard the way the doctors had been screaming out horrible sounding medicals terms.
He realizes that this is the second time in less than two days where he's had to ask this doctor whether or not he's lost her.
Callen tries again. "Is she…is she okay?"
Hardy nods his head slowly, "Your agent is tough. She's…well she's nothing short of amazing, really."
"We know that," Renko says softly.
"So?" Sam presses.
"She's holding on."
"What does that mean?" Callen asks. There's a heavy weariness in his voice.
"It means that we've stabilized her again, and I'm again cautiously optimistic that she's going to pull through."
"What aren't you saying?" Sam demands.
Hardy thinks for a moment, as if carefully gauging his words. Then, "Oxygen to her brain was cut off for at least fifteen to twenty seconds, maybe more. Normally, that wouldn't be a massive concern, but after everything she's gone through, and with the head injury she already has…"
"You think there could be brain damage?" Renko interrupts.
"Well, the thing is, we thought there may have been brain damage previously. While we were initially optimistic about the lack of bleeding in her skull, we've been fairly concerned about how severe her memory loss seems to be. While still remembering that the original trauma occurred just over thirty-six hours ago, it's been a bit alarming how much she's been struggling to recall anything – even very remedial things - from moment to moment."
"She might be worse now," Callen translates.
"It's possible," Hardy acknowledges. "But we just won't know until she comes around again, and until we run some further tests. I will say, best case scenario, your friend is going to be spending a few weeks here with us."
"Got it," Sam mumbles, shaking his head. He clenches his hands, his nails digging into his palms. He desperately wants to hit something right about now.
Hardy looks at the three men in front of him, all of them wearing matching expressions of fear, frustration and anger. "Look," he tells them. "I probably shouldn't be saying this, but to hell with it. Your agent, I meant what I said before, she's tough. She's a fighter. To be honest, she has no business being alive after what's happened to her in the last two days, but she is. Who knows what that means overall, but I think right now, I wouldn't bet against her."
"Nor would we," Renko assures him, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Good. I promise you, as soon as I know more, I'll let you gentlemen know, but for now, like last night, there's not much you can do here. I understand that the security on her will be greatly enhanced, yes?"
"Yes," a voice says from behind the men. They turn to see LAPD Detective Matt Bernhart quickly striding towards them, anger creasing his normally handsome features. To the NCIS agents he says, "I'm sorry, I have no idea what the hell my guy was thinking leaving his post. I promise you, it won't happen again. I'll be personally be taking over standing guard."
Callen stares back at Bernhart for a moment. He'd love to rail at the impulsive cop, but it would be wasted energy; the detective already feels terrible for what occurred. After a beat, Callen simply nods.
"Good," Dr. Hardy answers. "Then I will leave you four to the organizing of that. We'll talk soon." And with that, he moves away, back towards the OR.
"I want a check-in call every hour," Sam tells Bernhart, turning to face him.
"You got it."
"Who's spelling you in the morning?" Renko asks softly. He's known this cop for a very long time, knows that beneath the thick layer of bravado and crazy recklessness is a young man who has an almost compulsive need to be doing right by people.
In a way, Matt Bernhart a lot like everything Renko's ever heard about this Marty Deeks guy.
Bernhart shrugs. "I hadn't gotten to that part. I'm good to go, though."
It's quite clear that he's taking the responsibility for this all on himself. Whether that has to do with the failure of his men to stay at their posts, the fact that he somewhat partnered with Kensi a year previously on the bank job, or the realization that even though he and Marty Deeks have never worked together, they share a bloodline of blue, the end result is the same.
"I'll be here by 8AM," Renko says. "We can go in shifts."
"When are you going to sleep?" Bernhart asks.
"Come on, Matt, you know me better than that. I'll catch a nap while Callen's filling up his coffee cup for the twelve time," Renko smiles.
Bernhart simply nods, very little humor in the motion. It's enough to make Sam reach out and squeeze him on the shoulder. It's meant to be somewhat reassuring, but Bernhart is in no mood to be reassured.
"What about Sanchez?" Callen asks. "Where's he?"
"Getting his leg wound cleaned up. The doctors in the room said they could release him into LAPD custody within the hour."
"We're going to want him," Renko tells him.
"You'll have him."
They don't end up getting Sanchez delivered into their custody until a quarter after twelve at night. The only upside of the delay is that Renko manages to sneak about an hour or so of sleep in.
Once one of Bernhart's most trusted guys drops Sanchez off at the Boathouse, the three men realize that at some point or another, Hetty has joined them. Callen considers asking her where the hell she came from, but then figures why bother, she'd just say something cryptic and odd anyway.
"I'll go first," Callen says simply, heading towards the door.
"G," Sam says, stopping Callen in his tracks. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone in there with him."
"I don't think it's a good idea for either of you to be alone with him," Renko comments. His tone is somewhat light, but he's being dead serious.
"Join them," Hetty tells him, and then looks at Callen and Sam to let them know that she's not making a request, and her words are non-negotiable.
Callen nods, and then leads the way into the interrogation room. They see Sanchez hunched over the table, dressed in loose light blue hospital scrubs. One of the legs is noticeably larger, the sure sign of the thick medical tape and dressing beneath the cloth. "How's the leg?" Callen asks.
"Hurts like a mother," Sanchez whines. They can see that he's shaking a bit. The doctors at the hospital had wanted to medicate him, but had been instructed that he was to be delivered completely free of all drugs in his system.
"Good," Sam replies harshly. "Who sent you and where's Deeks?"
Sanchez shrugs.
"Wrong answer," Callen replies, reaching forward, grabbing Sanchez by the hair, and then slamming his face down into the table. There's a terrible crack as his nose breaks, and blood streams away from his face.
"So again," Sam asks, seeming completely oblivious to the pain that Sanchez is in. The truth is that he's not oblivious at all – he sees it, and deep down, he's glad for it. This little weasel deserves at least this much pain. At least. "Who sent you and where's Deeks?"
"Sam, I think we can skip the who sent you question. It was Kassel, right?" Callen presses.
"You know it was," Sanchez replies. "And I'd say the Big Boss won this one, huh?"
"You're awfully brave," Renko comments, stepping towards him. Previously, he'd been leaning against the far wall, just watching. Normally, he's a man of action and not words. He's almost always just fine with letting others do the interrogations, but on this one, well he wants to be involved.
"Who the fuck are you?" Sanchez spits.
"Not important," Renko replies. "My question for you is, why do you care that your boss won? You're going to spend the rest of your life in a Federal prison. And that's if you're very, very lucky. I'd say you lost."
Sanchez swallows.
"Looks like he hears you loud and clear, Renko," Callen comments. It's taking everything in him not to reach across the table and rip Sanchez's throat out. In fact, the only thing stopping him is the knowledge that this man to cooperate is probably their only chance to find Deeks alive.
"I don't know where Deeks is," Sanchez sighs.
"You're lying," Sam snaps.
"No, I'm not. I swear. I mean, I could tell you where he was five hours ago, but the moment all those reporters put that there was a shoot-out at the hospital on the nightly news, my boss moved him, and I got no idea where to. That's the God's honest truth."
"I doubt you'd know honest if it bit you in the ass," Sam snarls, taking a step forward. There's clear menace in the big man's eyes.
Renko surprises even himself by stepping in front of Sam. "Where was Deeks as of five hours ago?"
"What do I get if I tell you?"
"To have a chance to spend the rest of your life in a Federal prison," Callen answers. "If you don't tell us everything you want, I'm thinking maybe you have a mysterious accident and end up washing up on the beach a few days from now."
"You're bluffing."
"We're not," Sam tells him, sidestepping Renko. "After what you did to Kensi, and what we know you've done to Deeks…"
"You don't know the half of it," Sanchez chuckles.
Callen shakes his head in disbelief. "You really are a dumb son of a bitch, aren't you? Do you understand, we're not playing with you? You have one of ours, and one way or another, we are going to get him back." He looks over at Sam and Renko, and then motions to him. "And not one of us in the room gives a damn about what happens to you in the process. You get it?"
"I got it."
"Give me the address," Renko says, kneeling down next to him. It's amazing to him that he's the calm one right now. He's known Kensi just as long as Sam or Callen and for a few minutes way back, had even had something of a thing for her. They'd gone out for drinks one night, and it'd been all he'd needed to realize that she was way out of his league. Even so, she'd stayed a good friend.
Yeah, it would be wrong to say that his desire – almost need – to make Sanchez pay for what he and had his boss had done to Kensi was somehow less significant than that of Sam or Callen.
And yet he finds himself almost being the voice of reason.
It's enough to make him sick.
He pushes a pad of paper towards Sanchez. Then nods towards it. Reluctantly, but now seeming almost terrified, the former soldier writes an address down.
"Go," Hetty says from the doorway, and once again, they all wonder where she came from. "All of you."
"I'm not comfortable leaving you with him," Callen replies.
She tosses him a withering look. Then, "Go."
"Come on, G, she can handle herself."
"No," he says. "Kensi could handle herself, too, and we saw what happened. You and Renko go, I'm staying."
Hetty looks like she's about to argue, but the look Callen throws her is one part stubborn and another part frantic plea. It's enough to make her back down. She nods to Sam and Renko. "Let us know what you find."
"I hope we're calling you from the hospital after we find Deeks," Sam answers, and then is out the door with Renko in tow.
Once the door to the Boathouse closes, Hetty sits down at the table, across from Paul Sanchez, who is staring back at the diminutive woman, looking more than a little nervous and uncertain. "Mr. Sanchez, I want you to tell me everything you know about what happened. How this happened."
"You don't want to know."
"I'll make that determination," she replies coolly.
"You're not going to like what you hear."
"I don't doubt that. Now, I'd like you to pick up after the dinner party where Mr. Kassel threatened Agent Blye's life."
"You know about that?"
"We know quite a bit," Callen says, dropping a journal down onto the table.
"But you don't know everything do you? You don't know what he did to her."
Callen's eyes narrow dangerously. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Hetty lifts a hand. "We're not there yet are we, Mr. Sanchez?"
Sanchez stares at her for a long moment, like he can't quite figure this woman out. Whatever her game is, it's beyond him. Slowly, he shakes his head. "No, that happened later. After your boy screwed up."
Before Callen can press on that – and it's quite clear that he wants to – Hetty shakes her head. " No. We stay in order as much as we can. We'll get to that, Mr. Callen. Now, Mr. Sanchez, please start from that night forward."
He shakes his head. "Make me another deal," he says.
"No," Hetty says simply. "Mr. Callen, if you'll come with me, please?"
Callen starts to protest, but then instead turns back to Sanchez. He leans in. "We're not done here."
"No, we're not," Sanchez replies with significantly more bravado than he actually feels. His leg is on fire from being shot, and he's as close to scared stupid as a man can get, but he's not dumb – he knows that right now, these people have a frantic need for knowledge that only he can supply. Which means that for right now, he still has at least a little bit of power and leverage.
He figures that he's going to use up every bit of it.
Callen just about growls at him, and then turns and exits the room with Hetty. Once outside, Callen rounds on her, "What the hell was that?"
"He believes that he has leverage right now."
"He does."
"Maybe, but we can't let him believe that."
"So what's our game plan? These damn journals again?" He holds one up.
"To a point anyway. The entries stop as of three days before Agent Blye's distress code was sent out. I suspect that there's where the problems began. And that's where we'll need Lieutenant Sanchez's help. At least until Ms. Blye wakes up again."
"Until then?"
She points to the journal.
He sighs, and then opens it up.
He'd love to burn this damn thing.
It's just after four in the morning the day after the dinner with Kassel when Marty Deeks wakes to feel a gentle pressure against him. Actually, what had woken him up was the simple biological need to empty his bladder, but what he sees stops him from moving even an inch.
At the beginning of he Op, he and Kensi had laid down rules about sharing the bed. Not exactly verbally, but just the same. A pillow had been placed between them to separate sides and there had been unspoken obvious decision to always be dressed while under or on top of the sheets.
The clothing thing hadn't been a problem – apparently neither one of them is the sleep naked kind (well not in the Winter anyway). The separation of the bed, however, well judging by the fact that she's damn well nuzzled up and into chest, well that rule has clearly been thrown out the window.
He's not at all surprised.
One of the first things that he had realized after the Op had begun was that Kensi Blye wasn't a calm sleeper at all. As such, not a night has passed without some kind of fit, be it slight tossing and turning or on the night when she'd clearly been having bad dreams, much more dramatic thrashing around.
He doesn't remember either kind of sleep disruption tonight, but then he admits to himself that he'd probably had a bit much to drink over dinner, and they'd both passed out soon after getting back to the apartment.
Sometime in the night, though, she'd slid right past the pillow between them, and placed herself just about into his arms.
The devilish part of him wants to wake her and tease her with something like, "Ah hah, I knew you were a cuddler" or maybe even the one phrase that he knows for certain would piss her off which is "I knew you couldn't resist me."
Deeks does neither.
Instead, even feeling the urgent need to pee, he stays perfectly still, doing nothing but watching his partner sleep. She seems at peace, and he's in no hurry to change that. It's only fifteen minutes later when she finally rolls away that he urgently pushes himself up from the bed.
When he returns from the bathroom, she's somehow completely back on her side, one leg sticking out from under the blankets, her hair going every which way. He knows that she'd kill him if she knew that he was standing above her watching her, and yet he can't not.
He finally crawls back into the bed, but sleep never returns to him. An hour and a half later, he gets back up and heads out for his morning surf.
He's standing on the beach, enjoying the feel of his feet in the sand, and the coolness of the morning breeze slapping against his bearded cheeks when he hears the sound of footsteps approaching from behind him. His first instinct is to reach for a gun, but then he remembers that he's not carrying.
"Deeks," Paul Sanchez mumbles as he comes up to stand next to him. The kid is dressed in jeans and a black hoodie, a Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap crammed down over his dark eyes. "There a reason we had to meet so damned early in the morning?"
"Not a morning person are you, Paul?"
"No. And I left the bed of a beautiful woman." He smirks then. "So did you."
"Yeah, about that." Deeks turns to face him. "I want you to stop."
"Stop? What are you talking about?"
Deeks takes a threatening step towards Sanchez, and then lowers his voice when he speaks. "I see the way you've been looking at her, and I don't like it."
"You're seeing things, bro."
"Am I? I know about guys you like, Paul. You see women like her, and all you think about is how to own her. Well stop."
"Why, she yours?"
"Yes."
Normally, Marty Deeks would never claim ownership of any woman, especially not his super independent partner, but it seems the appropriate course to take right now. If Sanchez won't respect Kensi because she's a woman, well then maybe he'll respect Deeks because he's a man.
"Fine, whatever, not my way to cut in on another man's woman. But hey, ain't that kinda weird, partners hooking up?"
"No."
"All right, I get you loud and clear."
"Good. Now smile."
"What?"
"She's coming this way."
Sanchez turns to see Kensi walking down the beach, dressed in a pair of capris and a spaghetti strap shirt. She looks so fresh-faced and innocent like this.
"Don't think she's appreciate you pissing on her, do you?" Sanchez taunts.
Deeks responds only with a cold glare. Sanchez immediately shrinks back. Deeks turns away from him, and towards Kensi. "Hey, babe."
"Hey!" she replies, as she comes closer. They're all pretty sure that they're safe out here in the middle of the beach at just after six in the morning, but just to be careful, they're trying to stay at least outwardly in character.
As soon as she's close, Deeks reaches out and slides an arm around her, pulling her to his body. There's just the slightest bit of a hitch in her accepting the embrace; it's clear that she hadn't been expecting it. Still, after just a moment, she leans into him.
"What are you doing out here so early? You hate mornings."
"I do," she confirms. "But I wanted to see my man surf."
"Your man," Deeks murmurs, a smile playing over his lips. A moment later, he feels Kensi's elbow thump into one of his ribs. "Ow."
She smiles super sweetly, and then turns her attention to Sanchez. "So, Is Kassel buying it so far?"
"Completely. He loves you guys. Especially sweet innocent Jimmy," Sanchez chuckles. It occurs to Deeks that maybe Sanchez has as much active disdain for his boss as he does for the cops.
"So when does he try to move Jimmy onto dealing?" Deeks asks.
"Soon. Real soon. Usually when he finds someone he likes, someone he thinks he can control like he does Jimmy, he moves in fast. He's going to want to get an anchor on you as fast as he can. You know, make sure that you're in too deep to get out even if you want to."
"Perfect," Deeks nods, more than slightly aware of the fact that Kensi's arm has slipped around his waist, and now her fingers are absently drumming against his hip. For her part, she seems completely oblivious to what she's doing.
"If you want, I can push on him a bit to speed up the timeline," Sanchez offers, his eyes sliding across Kensi's body. It's like he can't help himself.
"No," Deeks replies. "You don't know Jimmy all that much better than he does. If you're suddenly willing to go head over heels to vouch for him, it's going to come off as suspicious. Let Kassel determine how fast he wants to go."
"Okay."
"You don't use do you?" Kensi asks suddenly.
"The Prince Charming?" he asks. She nods. "Nah, not that shit. It's garbage. It'll fuck you up faster than you can imagine. I've seen kids take one hit, and be crazy addicted almost immediately. Some kids don't survive their first hit."
She wants to ask him why he'd be involved in pushing such a monstrous chemical concoction, but decides not to. In the short time that she's known Paul Sanchez, she's realized that he's not much of a man at all. He likes to walk around like he's a tough guy because he has military training, and the backing of a major mob boss, but at his root, Sanchez is little more than an angry coward.
A dangerous angry coward.
"We're done," Deeks says dismissively.
Sanchez clenches his jaw. For a moment, Kensi wonders if the former Marine is considering throwing a punch at her partner; her certainly looks angry enough to. But then, Sanchez simply nods. "Sure. I'll be in touch."
"Keep your wits about you," Deeks reminds him.
"You, too. After all, my friend, I'm not the only one with my eyes on her."
And with that, he walks away, back across the sand.
"What was that?" Kensi asks, arm still wrapped around him.
"Nothing," he lies.
"Deeks."
"Really, it's nothing."
"Don't bullshit me."
"I told him to stop looking at you. As I'm sure you noticed, he did it anyway."
"You shouldn't have done that." He opens his mouth to protest, but she pushes on, stopping him before he can even start. "I can deal with him leering at me. Trust me, he's not the first guy. In fact, half the time, that's what Callen sends me in for, to have them looking at me like that. I'm used to it."
"I know, and I know you can handle it. I can't."
"What are you…why not?"
"Because I know guys like Sanchez. I've worked with way too many of them. They think they're smooth operators, but they're anything but. They're usually angry little men who like to hurt people. Who like to hurt women. A lot. They get obsessed with them, and then they do horrible things, Kensi. Terrible things."
There's a hard sincerity in his voice – something she's completely unused to with him – that makes her stop cold. She stares at him for a moment, and then says softly, "Deeks, look at me. Look at me."
He does so, lowering his eyes to meet hers. She's not all that much shorter than he is, but she's still leaning against his chest, which gives him a significant height difference. She reaches up to touch his face, and it occurs to him how much more familiar they've gotten with each other in such a short amount of time.
"I can more than take care of myself."
"I know. It's just –"
"No. You can't be worrying about me, okay? This doesn't work if you are. You're the one who said I was ready for this. Have you changed your mind?"
"No," he says immediately. "I think I'm the one screwing this up."
"You're not screwing this up. We're exactly where we want to be. But I need you to stop, okay? You said you know what kind of guy he is, well so do I. Unfortunately, I've dated guys like him. He's a mean little bastard with delusions of grandeur. As long as we keep him close, he can have his delusions and we can control him. If you push him away, and piss him off, he's more likely to do something stupid."
He nods his agreement.
"Good. Now go surf."
"Did you really come out here to watch me?" he asks curiously.
She laughs.
"You did, didn't you? You came out to watch your man."
She yawns and the drops down onto the sand. "Go."
He shrugs, grins, and then picks up his board and heads towards the water. He looks back at her once, sees that she's now reclined, arms behind her, hands creating a pillow for her head.
He thinks about Sanchez, and about what Kensi said about him. She's right; pissing him off and trying to over-control the little bastard is likely to backfire on them, and yet allowing the creepy almost stalkerish way that Sanchez behaves around Kensi to continue doesn't work for him either.
He wonders for a moment if maybe he should have allowed Sanchez to try to speed up the timeline. After all, as much as he's enjoying spending time with Kensi (and he really, really is), he can't help but feel like there's a clock ticking down somewhere.
He's not sure what it's ticking down to, but whatever it is, it's not good.
The next two weeks pass in something like a blur of motion and sameness. A simple routine is formed between the two partners that feels almost like a kind of normal. It feels almost like something an actual couple would fall into.
Considering that her habit of curling close to him has become something of a nightly thing now (he's not sure where the pillow they used to have between them disappeared off to) he makes sure that he's up and out of bed before she has the chance to realize what she's doing. He admits – only to himself – a selfish desire not to interrupt the nocturnal closeness. He's pretty sure that if she knew, she'd be embarrassed and do whatever she could to make it stop.
So instead, he gets out of bed, surfs, and then returns to the apartment before her eyes open. He makes breakfast and coffee, and then waits for her to join him. They chat idly and tease each other, making sure not to call each other by their real names (he suspects that this is much harder for her than him as she's lost her favorite way of admonishing him – with his own name).
Their days are pretty much the same as well. After they share breakfast, they both head off to class. She's there for the first half of each day, and then either goes out with other students from the theatre group (she says that a few of them aren't too bad, but a couple of them with their constant melodrama have made her wish she had her gun nearby) or finds something else to do.
In any case, she spends several hours of each day alone (mostly in the afternoon to early evening) at the apartment. He can tell that the inactivity is driving her crazy; she wants to be doing something to help him.
Unfortunately, there simply isn't anything for her to do besides play the role of the girlfriend who wants everything.
It's a bit weird for her to be pretending to be someone so unbelievably materially obsessed. Yes, Kensi Blye has always been a packrat, but what she gathers and holds onto are items that seldom have value to anyone but her – such as the King Cobra that her father had brought home to her from a street vendor in Iraq.
Kara Barstow, though, she's a woman who likes expensive things. She's a woman who wants to stand out. And so Kensi spends time at the mall, making sure that it seems as though she's blitzing through the money that Jimmy is bringing home at the end of every night (in reality, that money is being dropped off with the journals, and they are instead using petty cash supplied by Hetty).
The goal is to push forward the idea that Jimmy has to get more and more involved in Kassel's business in order to keep Kara.
It seems to be working.
Each day after class, Deeks reports to Sanchez and spends most of each afternoon and evening make deliveries all across Los Angeles. It occurs to Deeks that they'd underestimated just how much of a hold Kassel has on the area – just how many fingers he has sunk into the City of Angel's proverbial pie.
Most of his drops are pretty much cut and dry. It's not until he's just about two weeks into working for Kassel when things get changed up just a little bit.
This job takes him over to Brentwood, directly to the oversized house of a once famous producer who made his fortune on spaghetti westerns in the fifties and sixties. He doesn't enter the property, but rather parks just outside of it.
While he waits (per the instructions provided) he looks over at the bag of Chinese food that he had been ordered to pick up on his way to the house. Five vials of Prince Charming have been tucked into the various white boxes.
It's a young man with sandy hair and a wild look in his eyes who comes out to meet him after about ten minutes. Immediately, Deeks can tell that this kid is a hard-core user. And worse, he's one who has gone too long between doses and is now more than a little strung out.
This transaction isn't like the one in the parking lot of the Taco Bell. This kid simply comes over, pulls out a massive wad of cash and then takes then back the bag of Chinese food from Deeks. There's no conversation involved, and for that, Deeks is somewhat thankful because he can't help but think that if this kid tries to say or do anything, things could get very very weird in a hurry.
He's just about halfway back to the warehouse when his phone rings. He picks it up, looks at it and sees that it says Sanchez on the LCD. He answers it. "Hello?"
"Jimmy, Paul."
"What's up, man?"
"Change of plans. Boss wants you to drop by his place in Malibu. New job."
"Right now?"
"Right now. I'm texting you the address."
"Okay."
"See you there."
The call disconnects. A moment later, a text comes across with the address.
Showtime, he thinks to himself.
Christopher Kassel's beach house in Malibu is a surfer's wet dream. Massive, modern and devastatingly beautiful.
"Jimmy, there you are" Kassel greets as Deeks comes up the steps. Kassel is standing on the edge of his cherry wood deck, looking out at the water. It's almost ten at night so all the illumination available on the surf is what is supplied by the moon.
"Sorry, there was some traffic," Deeks says. He holds out his hand, the wad of cash from earlier in it.
Kassel motions to Sanchez, who comes out of the house with a beer in hand. Sanchez takes the cash, and starts counting through it.
"I thought we should talk about what's next for you."
"Sir?"
"You've been doing very well in the last few weeks."
"Thank you?"
"Still hesitant are you?"
"No, not hesitant. I just...no, I'm fine."
"Good. Tonight was a big test for you."
"It was?"
"You delivered to a very big client of ours, and you did it well. No problems. You didn't ask questions, and you didn't draw attention to yourself."
Deeks simply nods.
"All of that is very good, Jimmy, but I think you're capable of so much more."
"I don't understand, sir."
"You remember what we talked about when you first came on?"
"Not exactly."
"The dealing part."
"Oh right."
"Jimmy, how much money are you making a night?"
"Three, four hundred dollars."
"Which over a week is a nice chunk of cash. But you could make so much more."
"I don't know…"
"Think about it, instead of four hundred a night, almost a thousand, maybe more. Think about moving you and your girl into a house instead of a nasty apartment."
"We're doing okay."
"Are you? Paul." He motions to Sanchez who brings over an envelope. He pulls out pictures and shows them to Deeks.
"Where did you get these?" Deeks asks softly, holding pictures of his partner, dressed in far too elegant clothes for her to be comfortable in, standing in front of the checkout stand of a jewelry counter.
"She's spending your money just as fast as you can bring it in."
"I'll talk to her."
"Why do that? Why not just make her happy."
Deeks almost laughs. It's amazing to him just how misogynistic these men are. Maybe it's because he's always worked with strong women or maybe it's because he hated the way his father treated his mother, but whatever it is, he thinks that these two creeps haven't a clue about a real relationship.
Still, the name of the game is playing along and so he does.
"I…What if I sell to a cop?"
"You'll be smarter than that. Paul here will help you learn to spot them, won't you, Paul?" He turns to look at Sanchez, who is wearing an obvious smirk.
"Course I will. Jimmy."
Kassel doesn't catch the weird emphasis on his cover's name, but Deeks does. He wonders what Sanchez is up to, but decides to dwell on that later.
"What about Kara? What if she finds out?" he asks Kassel.
"She will eventually anyway, Jimmy. All of our women do, and you know what? They don't care. They just want to be well kept. Kara does as well."
"I don't know…"
"Yes, you do."
"How would I do it?"
"Well, your first run would be riding shotgun with Paul. He'll take you to a house party and show you how it's done. After that, we'll give you your own assignment. Once you're successful there, you can start expanding your own zones."
"This stuff is pretty nasty isn't it?"
"It's no worse than anything else, Jimmy. Trust me, this won't hurt these kids worse than anything else they're snorting, smoking or shooting. What it will do is ensure that you get plenty of follow-up customers. Better for business."
"What do you say?" Sanchez asks. "You joining me tomorrow night?"
"Can I think about it?"
"Sure. But don't think too long, Jimmy. I really believe that you're going to be one of the best I've ever had. There's something special about you. People, for whatever reason, they instinctively trust you. If you let us, we're going to use that and you're going to make yourself rich, and your wife to be very, very happy."
Deeks simply smiles uneasily.
For a moment, he's not sure if he's acting or not.
That night, as he lies in bed, listening to the sound of silence, and waiting for Kensi to come out of the bathroom (it occurs to him that she's been in there for awhile, and he heard the shower turn off about ten minutes ago), he wonders why he's feeling the way he is. There's a strange sense of foreboding that he just can't seem to push away. He tries to remind himself that he's been here many times before – these are the big moments, the ones that push cases forward and turn them into convictions.
And yet…
The door to the bathroom suddenly opens and Kensi exits, wearing – much to his surprise - not her usual checkered flannel pajama pants and female wifebeater, but rather a purple silk robe pulled tight around her.
"Hey, baby," she purrs.
He blinks. His eyes sweep over her body, going from top to bottom, taking in her exposed long (and flawless) legs. "Hey," he finally stammers.
She reaches down, and pulls the rope loose on her robe, causing it to open and reveal black lingerie. It's not overly revealing (he's seen her in a bikini, this shows much less than that), and yet he can't stop his mouth from just about dropping open in surprise.
"You like?" she asks, and he can't help but wonder who this woman is and what she did with his tomboyish partner.
"Yes?"
She pulls up straight, looking irritated. "That's all I get? Come on, Jimmy, I'm wearing this for you. I thought you'd like it."
He adapts quickly, even if he's not sure why he has to. "I do. I just…I'm…I didn't…you look amazing."
He wonders if Kensi realizes that he's not acting when he says that.
She smiles at his words and then comes over to the bed. In one quick move, she's atop him, straddling him. She then lowers her head down and nuzzles her face against his, her mouth up against his left ear. Then, just as he's beginning to wonder if she accidentally ingested something she shouldn't have, she whispers, "I found a video camera above the mirror. They're watching us."
His body tenses up sharply. He thinks about all of their interactions over the last several weeks. They've been careful, but careful enough? He's not sure.
Before he can charge too far down the panic trail, she whispers again, "It just showed up this afternoon. Hasn't been here before."
Her voice is so low that he really has to strain to hear her, but he figures that he's pretty much getting the gist of things. "When?" he just about gasps as she continues nuzzling against him. He's more than vaguely aware of how close her under-clothed body is to his.
"When I was checking my makeup earlier." She gently bites his ear and then slides around to nip at his neck, her tongue flickering over the pulse point. Whether she intends to or night, she's grinding into him, and he's having a hell of a time forcing himself to think straight.
"You're sure?" he stammers. He wonders if she knows how insane she's making him. He wonders if she has a clue how to close to doing something very, very unprofessional (and probably unappreciated and unreciprocated) he is.
"Yes."
He hopes that they're on the same page, and that she understands that he's asking her if she's sure that the camera just appeared. Before he has time to think too much about it, her mouth is on his.
He figures that the camera angle isn't great so it probably can't tell that the kiss is fairly chaste, no real tongue involved. That doesn't change it all that much for him, though. This is more than the quick pecks she's been giving him all along. This one is meant to sell a romantic moment that's about to become much more.
He thinks to himself that she's doing a hell of a job. He's buying it completely.
Still, this is a moment that he needs to break up. Even if doing so is the very last thing he wants to do right about now.
"Did you get this while you were out shopping today?" he asks once she's moved her mouth back to his neck. One of his hands slide across the back of the lingerie, dipping perilously close to backside.
She pulls back and away from him. "What? How'd you know I went shopping? Are you following me around again?"
"No, I… did you enjoy yourself?"
"My God, you were, weren't you?"
"Kara…"
"Fuck, Jimmy!" she shouts and then pushes off of him, and out of the bed, tying her robe back around her as she does. "When are you going to start trusting me, huh?" Rather stupidly he thinks to himself that she's damn beautiful when she's angry. Then again, he's known this almost since the day he met her.
"Look, I'm sorry," he insists. "I didn't mean anything. And I wasn't following you. I just assumed that was new and all and we…I'm not sure we can afford it."
She paces the room for a moment and then turns back on him. She's being very theatrical, very dramatic in her anger, but then Kara would be. And to a degree, Kensi is actually a little bit that way as well. When Kensi's actually angry, everyone knows it so this isn't all that much of a stretch for her.
"Really? Then why tell me to go spend whatever I want, huh? You say be happy, Kara. Get what you want, Kara. So I do and then when I do, you pull this stupid passive aggressive bullshit! I'm sick of it, Jimmy!"
"Wait, come on, calm down and let's talk about this, okay?"
"No. I don't want to talk to you tonight. You know what? I don't want even see you." She comes around to the top of the bed, grabs a pillow and the top blanket, and then throws them at him. "Couch. Now."
"Really?"
"Really. Get out."
He climbs slowly out of bed, thinking that while he's sure that the show has been effective, he's going to want to remember this little play fight at the end of the Op. He's quite certain that somewhere deep (or maybe not so deep) inside of Kensi, she's getting a bit of a kick out of this whole making him sleep on the couch part.
Either way, he's pretty sure that this little fight has given him the opening he needs to move the Op along. Kassel may have put the cameras up to keep an even closer eye on his new guy, but like the pros they are, he's pretty sure that he and Kensi just flipped everything around to their advantage.
He looks back at Kensi one more time, but she's still casting angry eyes. Slowly, he leaves the room. She slams the door behind him.
He makes his way out to the couch, throws himself down on it, and then closes his eyes. He takes a breath, then exhales. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.
Morning comes quickly – maybe too quickly. He surfs for slightly longer than normal (needing the reliable calm of the water), and then returns to the apartment, slightly surprised to find that Kensi has already left. It's not until he steps into the bedroom, and sees that she's laid his clothes for the day out in front of the mirror when he realizes what she's up to.
He showers, and then returns to dress. As he does, he acts like he's seeing something strange. He leans in, puts his hand out and touches the lens of the super-small camera. It had been sloppily installed, which makes this all that much easier. He yanks at it, and pulls it out. "What the hell?"
He pulls his phone out and dials Sanchez's number. "It's Jimmy," he says immediately so as to let Sanchez know that this is part of the Op. "I need to meet with you and Mr. Kassel immediately."
He's told to come to the warehouse in Van Nuys. He arrives just over an hour after the brief phone conversation with Sanchez ends. He enters, makes his way back to Kassel's office and then slaps the camera down on the table.
"What is this?"
Kassel picks it up, delicately fingering the wires. "A bad installation," he says, then looks up at Sanchez. "One of your guys?"
"He'll be dealt with."
"Make sure of it."
"What is it?" Deeks says louder, bringing the conversation back around to him. Getting in the face of a psychotic mob boss is pretty much always a bad idea, but it's also pretty what any normal person who had just found a camera in his room would do. z
"Easy, Jimmy."
"Have you been watching us? Have you been watching us do…stuff?"
"I had to be sure that you're with us."
"How much more sure do you need to be? You've already got me involved delivering the drugs, you've threatened my fiancée' and now you're watching us in our bedroom?" His tone is a well-practiced mix of fear and anger.
"That was the only camera, Jimmy, and it's out now."
"What stops you – or him – from putting another one in."
"My word. I'm convinced you're with us. No more camera needed."
"Why do I feel like there is a but?"
"There's always a but, Jimmy," Sanchez says, and once again, he's smirking. Deeks wonders if he watched the video feed from the previous night, wonders what he'd thought of he and Kensi's brief little make-out session.
"What you're doing here, Jimmy, it's important. It's big business. I would be remiss if I wasn't watching what my people are doing. I understand that you don't want your lovemaking – or your fights - with your fiancée to be watched, but I will not apologize for keeping you close."
"I…"
"From the moment you delivered your first package, you became part of my team. You remember what I told you about teams?"
"Nothing is more important."
"Very good. Now I accept that you had legitimate concerns about what you found this morning, but I need to warn you, if you ever come at me again like you just did, I will make sure that when they find your body, it will take the authorities months to identify who you were. Do you understand?"
Deeks nods slowly. It's strange, but there's something about Kassel that reminds him of another person in his life – namely Hetty. Sure, Hetty is not a lunatic peddling poison to children, but she – just like Kassel (or perhaps he just like she) – has the ability to make even the strongest person quake in their boots.
To date, Deeks has yet to see Kassel actually carry out a threat, and yet he has no doubt that this man is pure evil and completely capable of every act of violence that he promises. He's to put it bluntly, not someone that most people would ever want to cross.
Unless you're a cop, of course. Then, well, then it's your job.
"Now, in light of your argument with your beautiful fiancée over her spending habits, have you thought about the offer that I made last night?
"Yes. That's what I was going to call about until I saw the camera."
"I hope that didn't change your mind."
For a moment, Deeks hesitates. Then, he shakes his head. "No. I'm in."
"Excellent. Then as we talked about last night, you'll be accompanying Paul to a house party this evening. Shadow him, take point when you feel like it. You go live with your first solo gig tomorrow."
"Should I bring Kara tonight?"
"No. Tell her you're working late tonight, but then let her know that you're sorry for the fight last night. Let her know that you'll be taking her away for the weekend. Up the coast to Monterey. You can use my beach house there."
"Thank you, sir."
"Anything for one of my boys, Jimmy. Like I said, we're a team."
The party is much like the previous one. The only difference is that this time, he's not walking in with a beautiful woman, but rather a dirtbag drug dealer.
He thinks that this is one of the harder parts of the job – having to actually bait a line for young unsuspecting kids who are just out looking for a good time. Still, he passively watches as Sanchez effortlessly makes deal after deal, taking cash and handing over small glass vials of heroin.
At just before ten at night, Sanchez presses him to make the transactions himself. It's simple and easy, and afterwards, he feels horrible.
As they're leaving the party, he turns to Sanchez and asks, "Was that really the only camera inside the apartment?"
"Yeah."
"Who put it there?"
"One of our maintenance guys."
"Will another one show up?"
"Probably not, but we're still listening so make sure you're putting on a good show from time to time, huh?"
Deeks wants to strangle him, but instead stuffs his hands into his pockets. "What now? I get my own assignment."
"Yep. You going to be able to do it? You looked like you were green in there."
"Don't worry about that. You just do your job, and remember what I said about keeping your eyes and hands away from Agent Blye."
Deeks sees the way that Sanchez tenses up.
"Whatever," Sanchez grumbles. He pulls the door to the car open. Just before they get in (and thereby within the hearing range of possible bugs in the car), Sanchez turns to Deeks and says, "You keep pushing me, man, you might not like what happens, you know?"
"I'm not worried."
"You should be, Detective Deeks. I can make your whole world go boom."
They stare at each other for a long moment, and not for the first time, Deeks is hit with the realization that they have a lot balancing on a man who at best is simply unstable and who at worse is a murderous lunatic who will certainly betray them at the very first opportunity to.
He can only hope that the sweetheart deal that Hetty had worked out for Sanchez is enough to keep the former Marine from flipping.
He's not sure it is.
In fact, he's pretty damned sure (and becoming more and more sure by the day that it's not.
Not surprisingly, by the time Sam and Renko get to the address that Sanchez had provided – a nasty little house on the edge of Van Nuys – everyone has already emptied out. And they've taken Deeks with them.
"Sam, you need to see this," Renko calls out. He's starting to get a little sick of having to bring his teammates to see bloodies crime scenes. And yet here he is again. This one is in the back of the house, in a small windowless room.
Sam enters and inhales sharply. "They had him in here."
"Oh, yeah."
Renko takes a camera out and starts snapping pictures of the walls and ground. There's droplets of blood mixed in with dirt. The smell in the room is hideous.
"Needle here," Sam notes, pointing to the ground.
"Seems their MO," Renko nods. "Shoot them up."
"To what end?" Sam inquires. "I mean we talked about it before, the idea of making him suffer for betrayal, but why keep moving him. Why not torture him to death and be done with it."
"Maybe they're trying to flip him."
Sam is about to protest and say that Deeks would never jump sides, but then he thinks back to his time lying in a wood box in the ground. He remembers thoughts that he's never shared with anyone – not even G – about just what he would be willing to do to make the nightmare end.
Whether he would have gone through with any of those thoughts is another matter altogether, but he distinctly recalls wondering about the point of holding so tightly to his morals. He remembers wondering if it'd really be so bad just to tell his captors a few things. Especially if by telling them those few small details, maybe well then he'd be allowed to return home to his children.
That opportunity never came for him, and he's hideously glad for that, but he wonders if maybe it will come for Deeks. He wonders about what they're doing to the young cop. Does Deeks have the courage and strength to hold out?
"Sam?"
"He's one of ours. Not theirs. We find him."
"I know, Sam, I'm just saying, that's probably their plan."
Sam simply nods.
He screams.
He'd thought that the pain from before was bad, but this is worse. This sharp hideous agony screeching across every nerve is so much worse.
"Again," he hears Kassel say in the same tone someone uses to order a Big Mac.
He thinks it's some kind of whip that's hitting him. Whatever it is, it's sharp and has hooks on it, or at least something specifically made to tear at the flesh.
He feels tears on his cheeks, and he hates himself for that. But the pain, God the pain, it's so much worse than anything he's ever felt before.
"Now, Detective, we can end this with a simple apology."
"What?" he gasps out.
"I want you to apologize for letting down the team."
Deeks looks up at him, blue eyes watery. "Go to hell."
"Wrong answer. Again."
There's a brief moment, the sound of air parting, and then a harsh stinging slap against his back as the whip collides with his skin.
He tries not, but he can't stop himself from screaming again.
"It's humiliating isn't it? Knowing how weak you are right now? Nothing that you can't stop me from seeing it?"
Deeks looks up at him again. "You're wasting your time."
"I've only had you going on three days now, Detective. This is just the pre-show. We haven't begun yet. I promise, by the time I'm done, you'll either be swearing me your absolute allegiance, or you'll be dead in a gutter somewhere."
"I guess I'll be dead."
Kassel smiles, and it's enough to turn the blood in Deek's veins to ice water. "Not yet, my friend. Not yet." He turns to face his man. "Again."
The whip crashes down again. And again. And again.
Until finally, mercifully, it just suddenly stops.
He feels himself being lowered to the ground, his back flaring white hot as his severely lacerated skin touches the cold floor. He feels the rubber pulled tight around his arm and then the prick of a needle.
He exhales as the drugs overtake him, and the pain fades.
He hears a door close. Then his eyes do, too.
TBC.