Apologies for the delay - the real world caught up with me for a bit. Please be advised that this chapter included some mild sexual situations as well as some language. Please let me know if you're still enjoying the story. Thanks for all of the kind words.
LAPD Detective Matthew Bernhart is an anxious and excitable guy by nature. When he was a young boy, his parents had kept him busy through sports. As a teenager, he'd continued being involved in multiple athletic programs, even earning himself a choice of scholarships to different highly ranked colleges
After much thought, he'd chosen to be a Bruin at UCLA and pitch for their baseball team. And he'd been good – real good. The draft had been knocking and insane monetary amounts had been suggested. To everyone with an interest in his career to be – primarily his parents and his agent – it had seemed that his future was to be full of gold and champagne.
All of that had changed in the time it took for him to say, "I want to be a cop."
Of course, no one had supported him. His agent had tried to remind him of his talent. His parents had tried to remind him of the dangers of a badge.
No one had changed his mind.
He'd been asked why repeatedly – why would he throw everything away for something as senseless and deadly as wearing a gun and badge.
He'd never really been able to explain it to them – he'd just known.
Now, sitting at the bedside of NCIS Special Agent Kensi Blye, completely over-caffeinated to ensure that he doesn't fall asleep even though it's been several days since he took more than a quick nap (he's old school – when one of his brothers in blue is hurt, he goes to red alert and stays that way until either the missing man is found or he collapses from exhaustion), Matt Bernhart thinks about what might have been if he'd chosen baseball over law enforcement.
He thinks about standing on the mound in front of thousands of people – more if he'd made it the big leagues. He thinks about the red-hot pressure of staring in at a hitter, and praying that what he's throwing isn't about to get cranked into the outfield bleachers.
That pressure, well it's nothing like this moment.
This moment full of wondering if he's going to have to defend this unconscious woman from another brutal attack.
He slides his hand down to the handgun on hip, his fingers coming to rest on the handle of his Beretta. He's expecting to have to use it. Which means he has to be ready. He has to make up for before.
He has to make up for the mistakes of his men.
Their incompetence had led to this woman being hurt. Their incompetence was on him. No matter what anyone else – even his old buddy Renko – had to say.
"Ow," he hears a small voice whimper. He looks down and sees that Kensi's moving slightly, but her eyes are still closed, almost pinched shut as if to suggest that she's in considerable pain.
"Hey," he says softly.
She forces her eyes open, and he can tell for a moment that she has no idea who he is. Maybe it's the panic in her eyes or the visible tightening of her muscles, but whatever it is, he can tell that she's scared.
Of him.
He's spent a good portion of his career wanting others to be afraid of him.
And by others, he means the bad guys. Though on occasion, he hasn't minded when an idiotic paper-pushing road-blocking jerk-off bureaucrat pissed his pants after a run in with him.
Right now, though, scaring this woman is the very last thing in the world he wants to do. "Hey, it's Detective Matt Bernhart," he says quickly. "We worked together last year, you remember? You clobbered me in the face with your elbow."
She blinks again, and he can tell that she's struggling to adjust to the lights of the room (which aren't terribly bright, but seem to be bothering her just the same). He jumps up, crosses the room in two long strides and turns the lights completely down. Almost immediately, he sees her body relax.
"Sorry," she mumbles. "For the elbow."
He laughs. "If I recall, I hit you across the face. I figure we're even." Then, getting deadly serious, he says, "Look, I'm the one who should probably be apologizing to you. My guy left his spot. I take full responsibility."
She looks at him blankly, and vaguely, he recalls hearing the doctor talk about how severe her memory loss was – and is. Apparently, that includes her most recent attack by Paul Sanchez. "I…I don't…"
"It's not important," he cuts in.
She blinks slowly – almost as if in acknowledgment of his words(though he's not completely sure of that) - and then her eyelids drift close. A moment later, he can tell she's sleeping again. He exhales, and then reaches for his phone.
"Well," Sam says as he and Renko enter the Boatshed at just after seven in the morning. "I have good news and bad news."
"You didn't find Deeks," Callen puts in.
Sam nods. "They were long gone. It didn't look good."
That hangs in the air for a moment as they all consider the hell that Deeks is likely going through.
"So what's the good news?" Callen asks after a long torturous moment.
"Bernhart just called from the hospital," Renko replies, scratching at his beard. "Kensi woke up for a few moments. He said she doesn't appear to recall what happened to her, and she fell back asleep almost immediately."
"But she woke up," Hetty puts in. "And that's the most important part." Her tone leaves no room for argument. She knows these men well, knows that they'll dwell on the concerning condition of their teammate instead of the fact that she's alive. Alive means she can recover.
"So where are we with Sanchez?" Sam asks, looking over at the LCD, which shows Sanchez inside the interrogation room. He's leaning forward in his chair, head against the table, looking utterly exhausted.
Join the club, Sam thinks.
"He's stonewalling," Callen sighs.
"I can fix that," Sam assures him.
"Look, I'm not saying don't do it, but if you break every bone in his body, I don't think he's going to be much use," Renko tells him.
"So, I'll do it slowly."
"Hold off on that, Mr. Hanna," Hetty says. "We're rapidly coming to the point where we'll need Mr. Sanchez – and Ms. Blye – to answer a few questions for us." She holds up a journal. "There are only two left."
"You really think he'll talk without…encouragement?" Sam asks.
Callen turns and looks at the LCD. "I think so."
"Why?" Renko queries.
"He wants to talk," Callen replies. Then he laughs, almost bitterly. "No, he wants to gloat. Whatever happened in there, whatever he and Kassel did to Kensi and Deeks, the son of a bitch is actually proud of it."
Sam just about clenches his jaw loud enough to make an audible cracking noise.
"We'll give him his chance then," Hetty says softly.
Sam shakes his head in disgust, but stays quiet. He's afraid that if says anything right now, it'll be words – and fury - that he can't take back later.
"Well then," Callen puts in, "Let's get through the last of these damn books so we can get him talking and then get him the hell away from us before one of us does something we won't regret."
"Very well," Hetty says. She glances up at the wall, looks at the time and then says, "Mr. Renko, shouldn't you be spelling Detective Bernhart shortly."
"On my way," he nods. "Keep me looped."
"Will do," Callen replies. "And –"
"You don't even have to say it, she won't be out of my sight for even a minute. Even if that means I have to pee in the room."
For the first time in several days, Sam allows himself a small chuckle. Renko smiles in response, then takes one last look into the Interrogation room, glares at Sanchez, and turns and exits, the door shutting heavily behind him.
"We'll begin shortly," Hetty says, handing the journal over to Callen.
"Why shortly?" Sam asks.
"Because I have a phone call to make, and while I am, I want both of you to get something to eat. It's been at least a day since either of you had more than a quick snack, and I suspect that very soon, we'll all need our full energy at our disposal. Oh and gentlemen, that wasn't a request."
"How long will you be?" Callen queries.
"Fifteen minutes. Please be ready to begin at that time."
She's never been so happy for the rain.
It's Friday morning, and soon, she and Deeks will be driving up the coast to Monterey to spend the weekend at Kassel's beach house. Normally, a weekend of sun would be the preferred option, but she has no doubt that there are massive strings attached to this "generous" offer. Strings and all kinds of creepy video and audio surveillance.
That's where the rain comes in perfect. It's only a bit drippy in LA, but the weather report claims that it's coming down in sheets in Monterey. That storm will provide them the cover they need to be able to knock out Kassel's eyes and ears under the guise of a massive electrical outage.
Which means, hopefully, a weekend of rest and sleep.
This is her first deep cover mission, and three – almost four weeks in – Kensi Blye is somewhere well beyond exhausted. Having to be in character constantly is consuming almost all of her energy and focus. She's at the point where she would just about kill to hear her own name be spoken.
And yet the beat goes on.
With each day that passes, Deeks gets in a little deeper. He's been running a few solo ops in pre-established zones (typically party scenes where Prince Charming is well known and well used). Very soon, he'll be asked start bringing in new clients of his own. She knows that he's dreading that part.
It's one thing – he rationalizes – to sell to kids who are already using. It's awful, and he hates it, but they're going to either buy from him or someone else. It's another thing all together, though, to go out searching for a way to prey on young adults who are just out looking for a good time.
Kensi turns towards the window, and looks out at the drops of rain as they splash down against the cement outside. It's a cool day, but in typical LA style, it's still warm enough to wear a light sweater and be perfectly comfortable.
"Hey," she hears from behind her. A moment later, the strong arms of her shaggy haired partner are around her. It takes her a moment to remember that this is all a show (they're standing right in front of the window, visible to anyone who might pass by the apartment on the way to their own). Even that knowledge doesn't keep her from a small moan when his lips press up lightly against her neck. "Like that do you?" he asks, and there's far too much amusement in his tone.
She turns around, still in his arms. As she does so, she takes one of his hands in hers, and pushes back his thumb. He might be stronger; but she knows a lot more pain points, and isn't afraid to use them when needed. "Very much so," she says sweetly, offering him a wide almost predatory smile.
"Uh huh," he replies, his own smile somewhat forced and mingled with pain. He moved away from her, then goes to the side of the couch. "You about ready?"
"Sure. Did you let everyone know we'd be out of town?" she asks.
"Mr. Kassel already knew. I reminded Paul."
"Good," she replies, even though they both know that she wasn't talking about either Sanchez or Kassel.
Earlier in the afternoon, Deeks had made a stop by a doughnut shop in Encino. He'd ordered a few maple bars, eaten them in his car and then tossed the bag towards the dumpster. It'd cleared the back of it by a good two feet, but no one around had noticed or seemed to care. He'd gotten into his car and driven away.
Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, a young blonde man walking a dog had stopped by for breakfast of his own. When he'd tossed the bag, and it had missed the dumpster, he'd gone around to retrieve it. On his way, he'd dumped his own bag, and picked up the one Deeks had left behind instead. Then he'd walked away, bag under his arm.
That young man had been Eric, (and the dog had been Monty, who Eric had taken in while Deeks was undercover and unavailable) and he'd been conducting his normal Friday morning pick-up. Inside the bag had been two journals and a note about the beach house in Monterey. A request for assistance had also been there. The request had been simple – kill the electricity once the storm hit, and keep it down all weekend.
A simple task for a guy like Eric. The second half – the part Deeks hadn't explicitly asked for, but clearly wanted – was for all surveillance gear to be blocked out as well. That part wasn't near as easy, but still, piece of cake.
"Oh, I can't wait," Deeks says. "A whole weekend of just you and me and me and you and the bed and…"
"If you're good," she grins. "Very good."
"Oh, I can be good. Very good," he repeats.
She can't help herself; she snorts derisively, and then moves away from him.
He almost shoots back with a quick-witted (and utterly tasteless) joke – almost is Deeks to her Kensi, but then stops himself. James and Kara have a totally different relationship – she's the boss, and he's almost ridiculously subservient to her. To the point of becoming a criminal in order to keep her.
He follows her to the car, finds her already seated in the passenger seat, which is another difference between Kensi and Kara. Kensi can't stand not being the one behind the wheel – she's more than a bit of a control freak. Kara is controlling, but she also thinks she should be waited on and would prefer a man to drive.
He thinks about this girl that Kensi is playing. Thinks about how as Marty Deeks, he would probably be willing to go out on a date with Kara Barstow. Maybe even go back to her place for the night. And then he'd lose her number.
If she didn't lose his first.
In his experience, girls like Kara didn't tend to have much use for a joker like Deeks (rarely did they ever take the time to look beneath the surface to see the real man). They usually saw him as a fun night out kind of guy, but little more. Certainly not the kind of boy you brought home to mom and dad.
"Story of my life," he mutters, getting into the driver's seat.
"What?" Kensi asks.
"I'll tell you later," he promises. "Want to listen to some music?"
"I'm going to try to sleep," she replies.
He knows that she's not napping just to try get some rest, but rather because they both know that the car is bugged so they can't actually talk, and neither one of them really has any interest in staying in character for several hours of idle and worthless chit-chat. Just the same, he can't recall the last time she rode shotgun and wasn't completely on-edge about it the whole time.
"Sure, babe. Get some rest. I'll wake you up when we get there."
Slowly, almost groggily, she comes to her senses several hours later. She looks around, and sees that they're parked outside of a beautiful beach house. One glance out the window of the car shows rain coming down in thick sheets.
"I slept the whole way?" she asks, somewhat incredulously.
"I guess you were tired." He's not surprised. The longer this op goes, the more restless her sleep has seemed to become. She's on edge.
They both are.
They both get out of the car and make their way around to the trunk to grab their bags, moving as quickly as they can, but getting drenched nonetheless.
"I'm sorry," she says as she slams the trunk closed, and he knows that this is Kensi apologizing, not Kara. She's sorry that she made him do the whole long drive without any conversation (idle or otherwise) or companionship.
"It's fine. I listened to sports radio. For most of the trip anyway. About a hundred miles ago, I started only getting religious stations."
"Like the 'praise the Lord' kind?"
"More like the 'you are going to hell, son, and there ain't nothing you can do about it so you might as well kick back and enjoy it' kind."
"Nice."
"I thought so," he replies as he yanks off his jacket, and then puts it over both of their heads to shield them from the onslaught of rain.
They make their way up to the house. He unlocks the door, and they step inside.
"God, I am starved," she says as they enter. And then she stops abruptly and looks around, wide-eyed and amazed by what she's seeing.
The place is massive and super-modern. Gorgeous and elegant. Expensive and in your-face dramatic.
The kind of place that Kara Barstow would love.
The kind of place that Kensi Blye despises.
"Yeah," Deeks nods. Then, turning to her, "You are soaked. We should get you out of those clothes." He means it at least somewhat innocently.
She cocks her head, considering him for a moment, and then a smile steals its way across her face, and he wonders what devious thoughts she's having.
A moment later, as she slams him up against the wall, he has a pretty good idea of what she's up to. "I agree completely, baby. We should get these clothes off."
Before he can respond, her mouth is against his neck, her lips pressed up against his pulse point. A moment later, he feels her hand slide under his wet tee shirt, her palm flat against his hard stomach. He wonders if she can hear his heart hammering against his ribcage – he knows he can.
"Cameras everywhere," she whispers when she moves her mouth away from her neck, and presses it instead against his left ear.
"Mm hmm," he mumbles. Finally, almost reluctantly, he pulls himself away from her and steps back. "Wow. I thought you said you were hungry." He says this while glancing around – and confirming her words for himself – he can see at least three small webcams tucked away into the bookcases around the room. There's a bigger camera – one that looks vaguely like a Kinect – above the 65" television. He supposes if he wasn't a cop and Kensi wasn't an agent, neither one of them would have noticed all of the surveillance gear around.
"I am," she smirks.
He laughs. "And I'm good – I'm so good – with that, but how about we actually eat first, and then we can, uh…" He grins suggestively.
She sighs. "If we must."
"We must." He moves towards the kitchen, passing two more small cameras as he enters the large circular room with two massive refrigerators in it.
Soon enough, he reminds himself, these cameras will all be turned off.
And they maybe both he and Kensi can rest for a few hours.
He has a feeling that they'll both need it.
His gut is telling him that the next phase of the operation – the part where he branches out and actually starts selling – is going to be where it gets rough. He reminds himself that no matter how much he hates it – no matter how much he violently despises what he has to do - it's a necessary evil.
And once that necessary evil has allowed them to bring down the bad guys, well then, then he can rationalize it all away.
Like always.
They're sitting on the couch together, curled very close, both quite content after consuming a nice large chicken parmesan dinner that he'd prepared (he's amazed by just how many fixings he was able to locate – the kitchen here is wonderfully stocked) when the lights in the house suddenly turn off. Just as quickly, they snap back on, back off again and then back on.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles.
He glances down at Kensi to ensure that she saw it as well (he wasn't sure if maybe she'd dosed off). Her dark eyes, locked on his own blue ones, confirm for him that she recognizes the signal from Eric for what it was.
"I think we're about to lose power completely," he says softly, one of his hands moving up to gently push hair away from her eyes. He's pretty sure that she had started the evening with her hair up, but somewhere along the way, she'd lost the tie, and now it's flying every which way.
Which, of course, makes her look almost ridiculously beautiful.
"Yeah," she agrees, her dark eyes flickering around the house. While Deeks had been cooking dinner, she'd done a walk-through of the house and found several more cameras – a rather creepy amount of them located in the bedroom (more specifically, around the bed). Thankfully, Kassel is far too full of himself to use simple battery operated surveillance.
Which makes him vulnerable to Eric.
"Maybe we should head into the back. Curl up and uh…" he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. A small smile pulls up the edges of his lips. "Pick up where we left off before with the whole getting rid of our clothes thing."
She wants to ask him if these lines actually work with a normal breathing girl, but instead, she replies, "Mm, why do we have to move? I like you right here." And then, with absolutely no warning whatsoever, she leans up and kisses him soundly on the mouth. This isn't a peck or a play kiss, and it's not chaste either.
He knows why she's doing it this way; they need to sell the moment and what they're about to do so that when Eric kills the cameras, Kassel isn't likely to be suspicious at all. That probably means that Eric will start by fuzzing up the signal until he knocks it out completely.
Which means that once again, they need to put on one hell of a show.
Still, even understanding exactly why Kensi is doing what she's doing, he's a bit thrown by just how aggressively she's kissing him. That isn't like before in the bedroom (or even at the front door) when it had been all about body position. No, this is equal halves acting the part and trying to crawl under his skin.
It's working. Oh, buddy is it working.
But then, two can play this game.
He slides an arm around her, and then with one quick move, flips her onto her back. She grunts indelicately as she's pressed into the cushions of the couch.
He kisses her hard, enjoying the fact that this time, he's the one in control.
He wonders – dangerously – if she does as well.
He tries to banish that thought from his mind.
This is a job, he reminds himself, just a job.
There's a massive part of him that would love to give into this moment. He's well aware of the strong mutual attraction between the two of them, and he has no doubt that they would be absolutely compatible in bed (even if he wonders if they'd end up fighting for dominance, an idea that in a very warped way, amuses him to no end), but still, she's his partner.
Keep it professional, he tells himself.
That just about goes out the window when she shoves him backwards and then puts a hand on the bottom of his shirt. While he watches in mute amazement, she pushes it upwards, almost to his armpits. But that's not the worst – or maybe best – of it, though. A moment later, he feels her mouth leave his only to press against his abdomen seconds later.
He almost says her name as her cool lips crash down against his hot skin.
It takes everything he has not to.
When she pulls back, she's smiling triumphantly. Before he can manage to stammer out some kind of ridiculous response to her clearly intentional antagonizing of him, her mouth is back on his, sealing his words away.
A moment later, just as she's tugging at his shirt again, as if to push it up and over his head, the lights go off again.
They both pause, waiting for them to come back on. A minute passes in silence, and then another. A flash of lightning brightly illuminates the dark rain soaked sky, but the electricity inside the house stays off.
Another three minutes passes before their silence is broken by the sound of Kensi's voice, "So you going to get off me or…"
"There's an or?"
"There's no or." And with that, she gives him a hard push. He falls back, into the sofa – and back into the position he'd been in before she'd "jumped" him ten minutes earlier. He hopes Kassel enjoyed the show.
No, scratch that. Even as glad as he is that they likely played their parts to perfection, and convinced Kassel that his surveillance really had gone down during a bad storm, he hates the idea of them – especially her – being watched.
"Hey, you okay?" she asks.
"Yeah."
"What are you thinking about?
He considers telling her the truth, but quickly decides against it. She'd be pissed if she knew that he was still worried about her, and the growing obsession that both Sanchez and Kassel seem to have for her.
At first, it'd been just Sanchez he'd been worried about.
Slowly, but surely though, he's come to understand what Kensi – or rather Kara's – part in Kassel's whole game is.
She's more than just the insurance policy on Jimmy.
She's the one who Kassel invests heavily in – makes sure that she's happy and well-kept by her man – simply because once she's all-in (even unwittingly), there's no way that Jimmy gets out if he's really head over heels for this girl.
Control the girl, control the boy.
But in order to make to make sure that he controls the girl; he has to keep a near constant eye on her. He has to know what she's doing almost all of the time, know what she needs and what's upsetting her.
It's pretty ingenious in its simplicity.
And obscenely perverse.
He hates it – the idea of his more that super capable kick-ass partner being reduced down to nothing more than a creatively manipulated and controlled piece on a chessboard.
"You going to answer me?" she asks, pulling him out of his quickly darkening thoughts. He forces a smile, and only years of practice make it credible.
"I was thinking about going for a surf."
It's an obvious lie, but for whatever reason, she chooses to play along.
She turns towards one of the windows and watches the rain slam fiercely against the glass. Another strike of lightning flashes in the night sky.
"Try not to get fried," she says, and then yawns.
Ah, so this is how she's going to play it – like she doesn't care.
Well, okay then.
He wonders for a moment if she'd really let him go out in this kind of storm, and he considers testing her.
After all, she may know him well enough to know he's just playing around, but he knows her well enough how hyper cautious she is. She has no problem with taking risks with her own body, but she's damned protective of everyone else.
She's bluffing, and they both know it.
He just doesn't know how to call her on and make her admit it.
For a moment, they stare at each other, and then she says, "You want me to grab you a towel."
"This is for always railing on you about your sense of humor isn't it?"
She tries to play innocent, but she does it horribly. After a moment, she shrugs.
"Fine, I apologize," he continues.
"You do?" Now she sounds suspicious.
"No, not really."
"That's what I thought."
"Don't worry, though, I still like you," Deeks tells her.
"Yeah, but here's the problem: I don't like you."
"Yes, you do."
"Mm. I guess. I'm going to sleep."
"Am I allowed to join you?"
She looks around again. They're in a multi million-dollar beach house, but rather oddly, the place only has one bed in it.
"I suppose, but the same rules as back at the apartment hold true."
He just smiles. He figures that he could tell her that she's the one that always breaks the no touching rule by rolling into his arms at night, but he's not sure how she would respond. "Deal," he says.
"We have that video," Eric says softly once Hetty closes the journal. There's only one left on the table. He'd joined the group when Hetty had returned from her mysterious call (one which she had, of course, provided no details on).
"What?" Sam asks, the question a bit harder than he had intended it to be. He softens his tone, and follows up with, "What video?"
"Of the show they put on for Kassel. I took over the cameras before I knocked them out so that I could make sure I could tell what video Kassel was seeing." Eric touches a key on his data pad. "See?"
On the LCD in front of them, a picture of Kensi and Deeks comes up on the screen. They seem to almost be cuddling together, her head rested against his chest, her eyes closed. The screen goes dark for a moment, and then comes back a second later, full of static.
Now they see Deeks looking down at Kensi. His hand is in her hair. "Maybe we should head into the back," he says to her. "Curl up and uh, pick up where we left off before with whole getting rid of clothes thing."
"Mm," Kensi responds, her voice far more seductive than any of the team has ever heard before, "Why do we have to move? I like you right here."
And then she leans up and kisses Deeks about passionately as she can. To his credit, Deeks plays it off perfectly, pulling her towards him.
"They make a credible couple," Callen notes. "If I'm Kassel, I'm buying this."
"So what went wrong then?" Sam wonders, eyes still on the screen. He watches as Kensi yanks at Deeks's shirt, as if to pull it off of him.
It's right at that moment that the static increases, eventually turning to snow. A few seconds later, the video feed cuts out completely.
"I didn't restore electricity until Sunday afternoon. The storm was still in effect so we had plenty of weather cover," Eric says. "When I did turn the power back on, this is what Kassel would have seen on his video feed." He clicks another button.
Video comes back on to show Deeks dozing on the couch, a blanket slung over him. He appears to be wearing just boxer shorts.
"Planning on driving back to LA in those, baby?" Kensi asks as she enters the room, wearing jeans and an ultra-fashionable sweater.
Deeks opens his eyes and lazily replies, "Mm, don't want to get up. Come back to bed." He reaches out for her.
"That's a couch," she replies. "Now up, come on. We have things to be doing back in Los Angeles. You have work to do."
"Yeah, work."
She gives him a hard look. "What does that mean?"
He shrugs. "It's just…this work..."
"What about it?"
"Maybe it's not the right fit."
"Are you kidding me? It pays great, Jimmy."
"I know. It's just…"
"You can't spend all day every day surfing, honey. We have a wedding to plan for. And a family. You have responsibilities."
"I know."
"Then?"
"Nothing. You're right." He stands up and crosses over to her and hugs her. It's an odd visual to see barely dressed Deeks with his arms around sophisticated looking Kensi. "I'm sorry," he tells her. "I just really enjoyed this weekend and not having to do anything besides just spend time with you."
"I enjoyed it, too, Jimmy." She pulls him tighter. "And I'm sorry if I'm being too overly. If you really hate your job…"
"No, I don't. I just…it's fine. It's fine. Let me get dressed, and we can get going."
She reaches up, and touches his face, her palm flat against his cheek. For a moment, no one in the room is quite sure whether Deeks and Kensi are still acting or if this is the two of them have a sweet moment together. Either way, they're selling the hell out of a connection.
Eric hits another key on his pad, and the LCD goes dark. "After that, they left the beach house. I was able to confirm that the data was transmitted back to another location, presumably Kassel's. I wasn't about to track it, unfortunately."
"So that leaves us with this," Callen says, lifting up the last of the books.
"Let's get through it then," Sam replies. He looks back into the room, towards where Sanchez is slumped against the table. "That way we can get back to dealing with him."
"How was your weekend?" Kassel asks as he accepts a cup of tea from Sanchez. It occurs to Deeks that Sanchez may see himself as a vital part of the operation, but Kassel treats him as little more than a well-placed lackey.
"It was nice. We had a really good time. Thank you for letting us use your place," Deeks replies. He's sitting with Kassel on the deck of the Malibu beach house.
"It was my pleasure. Now, I expect you know that I was watching, yes?"
"I thought you said you wouldn't be doing that anymore," Deeks replies, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
"I said I wouldn't be doing it in your apartment. My house is a different matter all together. Look, Jimmy, as we've discussed, you're an asset of mine, now. I will go to any lengths to protect my team and my assets, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. I just…she'd freak out if she knew someone had seen everything we…you know…did this past weekend." He looks down and away, seeming almost shy and embarrassed.
"For now, there's no reason for her to know."
"For now?" Deeks asks, looking up at Kassel, his brow furrowed. As both Jimmy and Deeks, he doesn't like the sound of that one bit.
"Never mind that. Let's talk about your next operation. I think it's time for you to branch out and start making customers and connections of your own."
"You think I'm ready."
"I think so, but we'll start simple."
"How?"
"Throw a party at your apartment complex tomorrow night."
"You want me to sell to my neighbors?" he asks incredulously.
"Yes."
Deeks turns slightly to look at Sanchez, and isn't at all surprised to see the man grinning. He wonders if this idea had originated with Sanchez. He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if it had.
"Isn't that really dangerous…and close to home? I mean my next-door neighbor knows my name. If I screw up and try to sell to the wrong guy, he turns me maybe he goes to the cops and I'm done."
"Then don't screw up," Sanchez says dryly.
"Paul," Kassel admonishes. Then, to Deeks, "The first time is rough for everyone, Jimmy. The first time you sell to someone you know is even rougher. We're just going to get everything out of the way at the same time. Trust me, you'll be better for it in the long run."
"I don't have the supplies to go at it by myself."
"Don't worry about that," Kassel says. "Paul is going to take you out to meet a friend of ours this afternoon. He'll make sure you're well set up."
"Okay."
"I'll expect a report right after the party."
"Yes, sir."
"Good." And with that, Kassel dismisses both he and Sanchez by picking up his newspaper and opening it up. Deeks stands and starts down the stairs of the deck. Before he can get too far, Kassel calls out. "Jimmy."
"Sir."
"She is beautiful, Jimmy. I could see by watching you two this weekend how much you love her. I hope you're willing to do anything for her."
"I am," he replies, more Deeks than Jimmy now.
"As it should be. I would hate – hate – to make her have to pay for your failures."
"I won't fail you."
"I didn't think you would." And then he lifts the newspaper back up again.
Deeks watches for a long moment and then – his fury just barely controlled – makes his way off the deck. Sanchez is waiting for him on the sand.
They walk a few feet up the beach and then Deeks turns to Sanchez, "What's with all of his threats?"
"You mean against your girl?"
"Yeah."
"Control. He figures you won't let her get hurt."
"What's he done to the other girls of the guys like Jimmy?"
Sanchez shrugs. Deeks takes a step towards him. "Whoa, easy up, buddy. Usually, he just makes a lot of threats. Occasionally, he'll have the girl get roughed up a bit if a guy screws up real bad. But it's nothing serious, you know? Maybe a parking lot mugging where she gets slapped around a bit. No real pain, but it'll freak her out and freak the guy out. Get them both in line."
Deeks isn't quite sure why, but he knows that he doesn't believe a word Sanchez is saying. Still, he grits out, "And when Kassel wants to make a more serious point? What's he do then?"
"Usually, if it comes to that point, he has both the guy and the girl killed. He makes him watch her die first. It's pretty nasty stuff when it gets to that point, you know? But hey, don't worry about that. Kassel likes you, you'd have to epically fuck up for him to even think about really hurting you or your girl. You're good."
Again, Deeks isn't sure he believes Sanchez, but he doesn't know how to force honesty in this case. So instead, he simply nods.
"Are we going to meet one of the suppliers?"
"Yup. But you gotta be cool, man. No acting like a cop, you know? I mean you want to cause problems? Ask too many questions. These guys are nervous as hell. It's their asses on the line moving shit back and forth across the border."
"I know how to do my job," Deeks replies. "Just do yours."
"You really don't like me, do you?"
"No, I really don't, but that's neither here nor there. We both have something we want to get out of this, let's just focus on that."
"Sounds good to me."
The meeting with the supplier is somewhat underwhelming, but Deeks gets what he needs out of it. Basically, he learns that the men bringing in Prince Charming are doing so through pre-existing Mexican drug tunnels that are typically utilized to move cocaine. It's not a surprise in the least – he's seen a few of these smuggling operations in action, even walked a couple tunnels.
After the meeting, he returns to the apartment complex, and then goes across the courtyard to Tony's apartment. He knocks on the door. Tony answers it almost immediately.
"Jimmy, hey, bro."
"Hey, I was hoping you could help me out."
"Certainly, what's up?"
"Kara and I were thinking it's been a bit quiet around here the last couple weeks."
"You've read my mind, my man."
"I have?"
"You want to throw a party."
"I do," Deeks confirms.
"Got a guest list?"
"I was thinking the more the merrier."
"Sounds like a plan. I'll make it happen."
"You are the man," Deeks tells him, feeling like a jerk. He hates the idea that he's abusing the innocent trust of this young man – it makes him feel sick.
"Start time?"
"Eightish?"
"Party."
"Cool," Deeks nods. "See ya then?"
"You betcha."
Tony closes the door. Deeks takes a deep breath, and then heads back to his own place. He enters to find it empty (Kensi is out with students from the theatre group), and is actually glad.
Right now, with everything going on in his head – his worries about trying to sell to young innocents and his concerns about Kensi's safety – it's better to have a few moments to pull himself together.
He puts his head into his hands, his fingers weaving into his hair.
He reminds himself that he's good at his job.
He reminds himself why he's doing this.
He tries to justify the inevitable collateral damage.
He figures bringing down Kassel, Sanchez and the rest of the Prince Charming ring will be enough to help him live with the things he has to do.
It never gets easier, this he knows. But there's supposed to be a greater purpose, something that makes everything worthwhile.
He hopes to God that there is that in this case.
The party is in full swing by ten at night, and the alcohol is flowing freely. Around eleven or so, as he and Kensi dance in the middle of the courtyard, she appearing to be slightly tipsy(he's not sure if she actually is), he starts smelling marijuana and he knows that his opening has been presented to him.
"Showtime," he whispers to Kensi.
She feels him squeeze his hand. Though they haven't had the opportunity to really talk about all of this – and how much he detests what he has to do – she knows. It's why they make a good partnership; she just knows.
He smiles at her gratefully, and then breaks away. She, for her part, heads over to a group of girls and starts chatting them up. He watches for a moment, a small smile on his lips as he sees his decidedly un-girlish partner carrying on like a hyperactive giggling teenager.
"Jimmy," Tony calls out.
"Hey, buddy, great party."
"Yeah, it is."
"Do I smell…" Deeks makes a sign like he's smoking something.
"Yeah. Want some?"
Deeks considers this for a moment – this is his chance, and he should take it. But as he looks back at Tony – a kid full of energy and life – he pulls up short. "Nah, I'm good. Shit tends to give me a headache."
"Bummer, dude." And with that, Tony turns and walks away.
For a moment, Deeks considers calling him back, considers telling him about the glass vials in his pocket. And yet when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.
He simply can't do it.
Not to these kids.
Deeks looks across the courtyard and meets Kensi's eyes. She can immediately tell that something is wrong. She breaks away from the girls and comes over to her. He reaches out for her, and she steps into his arms. "What's wrong?"
"I couldn't do it," he says simply.
His anguish just about breaks her heart. She reaches up, and touches his face. "Hey, it'll be okay."
"I screwed up," he says, and it's like he's lost in his own thoughts.
She suddenly wishes to God that they were anywhere but here. She pulls him tighter, and isn't all surprised when he doesn't protest. "Okay, we're done. I'll contact Eric, and we'll ask for an extraction tonight."
"No," he says pulling away. "I can't sell to these kids, but maybe I can still salvage this thing. If I go hat in hand to Kassel…"
"He's going to be pissed. He could hurt you," she says, eyes wide with worry.
"We finish what we start," he tells her. "Are you with me?"
Normally, she'd be more pragmatic and that would mean insisting that they walk away from this one – the risk levels are simply too high, and yet his passion and his need to see this through, it keeps her locked in.
With him.
He's her partner. Where he goes, she goes.
She nods her agreement.
The conversation with Kassel (conducted on a payphone outside of a grocery store in the middle of Hollywood) goes surprisingly well, which should have been his first clue that the shit had just hit the fan.
Kassel is remarkably understanding, and tells him that he had expected him to have trouble selling to people he knows – most new guys do. He promises Jimmy another chance soon, and says that for now, until Jimmy is ready to try again, he'll just stick with established routes.
At the end of the call, when Deeks should feel better about the case – he instead feels like everything is caving in.
He wonders if he should call Eric, and request immediate extraction as Kensi had suggested. Yes, it would ruin four weeks of progress, and would end up in Sanchez's cover having to be blown as well, but maybe that would all be for the best. Maybe, he thinks, this case is getting too dangerous too quickly.
What keeps him from making the call the fact that in his entire career, Marty Deeks has never made that call.
He's seen every case he has every worked through to the end – sometimes for better, sometimes for worse – but always through to the bitter conclusion.
Kensi is an NCIS agent, she understands danger. She knows how to protect herself, he reasons. She can more than take care of herself – no one is going to hurt her. She won't let it happen.
And so on the call with Kassel, when Kassel offers him a job two days later in the OC, he jumps at it, looking for a way to make up for what he couldn't do, looking for a way to re-establish his credibility with the big boss.
In short – with Kensi's support - he decides to see the mission through.
On the way back to the apartment, he drops the journal off behind the dumpster.
"That's the last of them," Callen says, closing the book. "Date on the last entry is three days before Kensi's Agent in Distress alert came through."
"They should have asked for extraction. She doesn't know any better, but he does," Sam growls, shaking his head.
"There's no way Deeks could have known this would happen," Hetty inserts. "But what's done is done. We can assign blame once Mr. Deeks is home, and Ms. Blye is out of the hospital if we want to, but for now, we need to assume that they both had their reasons for not making the call."
"And nothing in operational guidelines demanded they make the call," Callen puts in. "It was entirely up to them. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't."
"You're awfully calm about this," Sam notes.
"No, I'm not. I'm just saying, I understand why they would want to see it through. I think I would have wanted to as well."
Sam looks unconvinced, but chooses to push that away for now. "So now what?" he asks. "We're done with the journals, can we talk with Sanchez now?"
"Talk to him," Hetty says. "He's aware that we need what he knows. Don't threaten him. Play to his ego. He's proud of what he's done, work with that."
Sam looks disgusted, but nods.
"Eric," Hetty says, "If you'll put the Interrogation Room back on-screen."
"Sure," Eric replies, voice soft. He has a feeling that he doesn't want to be here for what Sanchez is about to say, and yet he knows he couldn't move if he tried. He's as much a loner as the rest of the team, which means that they're the only family he really has. He needs to know what was done to them so that he knows what he can do to help them.
"About time," Sanchez sighs as Callen and Sam enter. "You bring some alcohol to kill the pain?"
"No," Sam says gruffly. Callen shoots him a look, and then moves in front of him. It's quite clear that Sam isn't capable of playing around with this guy.
"So Deeks screwed up," Callen says, sitting down across from Sanchez.
Sanchez chuckles. "In more ways than one."
"Let's talk about the not selling one."
"What an idiot, right? He has the perfect opportunity to get in even deeper, and he lets his morals get in the way. That's why cops are always a step behind."
Callen doesn't miss the way Sam's jaw twitches.
"Sounded like Kassel forgave him," Callen notes.
"You kidding me? Kassel forgives nothing. He just pretends to. He plays with everything like a cat with a string, you know?"
"So what'd he do?"
Sanchez shrugs.
Callen leans in. "What did you do?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Look, you're already in way too deep, you know that. You tried to kill a Federal agent at the hospital in full view of twenty cops. There's no mercy for that."
"So why should I talk? Why should I help you?"
"Because this is your chance to talk. After today, no one is going to care what you did. You can brag all you want, but none of the guys in lock-up will give a damn about how you helped take down a cop and an agent after the first few hours you're there. More to the point, they probably won't believe you. We will."
"He's going to kill me, you know that, right?"
"We can arrange to have you put in isolation, away from general pop. You'll be safe. Eventually, we'll take Kassel down, and you won't have to worry about him," Callen assures him.
Sanchez considers this for a moment, then shrugs. "What the hell, right?"
"Good. So Kassel, he was pissed, yeah?
"Oh, yeah. Like I haven't seen in a long while."
"What'd he do?" Sam asks, steeping forward.
"He decided to teach good old stupid Jimmy a lesson about who's in charge. And he let me come along to watch."
It's around two in the afternoon and she's lounged on the couch wearing jeans and one of Deek's oversized flannel shirts (none of Kara's clothes are terribly comfortable for just kicking back and relaxing) when she hears the hard knock on the front door. Barely five seconds later, there's another knock.
She stands up and opens the door. She blinks when she sees Christopher Kassel and Paul Sanchez standing there.
"Paul, Mr. Kassel, hi," she says, more than a little uneasy. She's trying to be friendly and cheerful, like she has no idea how scary it is to see these men here.
"Hello, Kara," Kassel says smoothly.
"Jimmy's not here. I think he's out…he said he was doing a job for you. In fact, he told me he was going to be out most of the day."
"He is," Kassel nods. "I'm here for you."
"M...me? Why?"
"I was hoping that maybe we could talk about an important business matter that concerns Jimmy. May we come in?"
She really doesn't want to let him in, but knows she has no choice. "Sure, of course. Please."
She holds the door open, and allows them entrance. As Sanchez passes her, he offers her a look that can only be described as amused and slightly lecherous.
She closes the door behind her and turns to face Kassel and Sanchez. "What can I do for you?"
"That's a very good question, Kara," Kassel says with a thin almost cruel smile. It's enough to send a chill flying up her spine. "But I think perhaps the better question here is, what can you do for Jimmy? Or more to the point, my dear sweet girl, what can you do to convince me not to kill Jimmy?"
"Do you remember?" Renko asks her after he's brought her up-to-date on everything the team has thus far learned from the journals and Sanchez.
"You mean do I remember what happened that night?" she responds quietly, her hand rising to her head, and scratching at one of the bandages. "Yes."
"Can you tell me?" It's clear to him that this is something she doesn't want to talk about and won't unless she's absolutely forced to. Unfortunately, they both know that has no choice in the matter – he has to get her to reveal what she knows.
"Mike…" she starts, wishing she had a way to explain how hard it would be to tell him what she had allowed to happen. This man is not only a dear friend, but also a teammate, and she dreads what he might think of her after he hears her story.
"If you can't tell him, maybe then can you tell me."
She looks up to the doorway, and can't help but laugh just a little bit. "I wondered when she'd call you in."
"Soon as she could."
"Hey, Nate," Renko says, standing up and offering the team's resident shrink (and now, thanks to Hetty, perhaps so much more) his chair. "I'll uh, go get some coffee, then." He almost seems relieved. He probably is, Nate figures.
"Renko," Kensi calls out.
"I'll be right outside the door if you need anything, Kens."
"Thanks," she replies. "Thank you."
"For you? Anything," he replies, and then steps out into the hallway.
"You know," she says, turning her attention to Nate. "I really don't want to talk about this."
"I know, but I understand your work, Kensi. I understand that sometimes you guys have to do things you don't want in order to catch the bad guys. I get that. And you know me. You know I won't judge you."
"You don't need to," she replies, leaving unsaid the obvious end of the sentence, which is, "I'll judge myself for both of us."
He reaches out and takes her hand. "Tell me what happened."
For a moment, she says nothing.
"Kensi?"
She smiles, but it's a pained awkward one. He thinks maybe he sees tears in her eyes. And then she says, her voice barely audible, "I did what I had to do."
TBC...