Well since I was a week behind last time, I decided to be a week ahead this round. This is definitely the exception, and not the rule.
Please note that this chapter deals with a very difficult and uncomfortable sexual situation. I've been alluding to it all along so it shouldn't come as a surprise, but I do want to forewarn you that it will likely be an uneasy read. It's not graphic, but the emotions(if I did my job) should still very much be there.
As always, thanks for the kind words. I hope you enjoy.
A glance up at the circular clock high on the wall of the overly sterile private hospital room shows that over fifteen minutes have passed since Nate Getz had first entered her room.
Ten minutes earlier, he'd gotten up and closed the door to provide them more privacy. Renko is standing just outside; hand on his gun, making sure no one gets to her. And that's great, but the problem with him being here is that Kensi clearly, desperately, doesn't want him to hear her story. She knows he'll hear it from the others eventually, but the idea of this man who thinks of her as tough and strong hearing it from her…it's far more than she can cope with right now.
Her simple request to close the door had been enough for Nate to realize just how awful her tale would really be. And yet she hasn't said a word since then.
So almost absurdly patient as always, Nate simply waits for her to talk. He's done this many times before – she's never been someone who opens up easily – but this is so much harder than any of their previous conversations. Mostly because this is clearly so much worse for her.
"Kensi," Nate says softly, reaching out and taking one of her hands (the one he takes shows visible signs of damage to the knuckles). It's a sign of how much she trusts him that she doesn't pull away, and he's oddly touched by it. "I'm here," he tells her, his voice almost achingly sincere. It's just about too much for her, and she feels the hand that's not in his clench into a hard fist, her nails digging harshly into her palm.
"I know," she replies shakily, shifting her eyes away from his. "I just…"
"You said you did what you had to do. What does that mean, Kensi?"
She knows what he's doing – making sure to use her name. It's his way of not only creating a connection, but trying to ground her. God how she hates when he psycho-manipulates her or whatever the hell he's doing.
"You going to do this with Deeks, too?" she asks suddenly, abruptly redirecting the conversation. Her lip quirks just slightly in almost perverse amusement as she sees him blink in surprise.
"Uh…"
"No, you're not, are you?" she replies, the humor rapidly falling away. "Because we don't know where he is, do we?"
"No, we don't."
"So, why are you wasting time with this instead of being out there looking for him? He thinks maybe he hears a hint of panic and hysteria in her voice.
"We are looking for him, Kensi."
Nate thinks about what Hetty had told him on the phone when she'd called him at the hotel he'd been staying at in San Diego (just days away from another trip back to the Middle East, he's really starting to get sick of that place). She'd said that the guys had located the place where Deeks had been kept captive for the last few days and that the scene had been terrible. He'd asked if anyone could survive what they'd found. Hetty had replied confidently that Deeks could, but that time was surely slipping away from him.
"What aren't you telling me?" she demands. "Have we already found him? Is he dead?" He hears the dullness in her voice. After the last few days that she's had, she just about numb.
"We don't believe so," he replies honestly though succinctly.
"Nate…
"Kensi, I understand that you're afraid…"
"I'm…" she stops short. She'd been about to protest and say that she's not afraid, but she suddenly can't make the words work.
Because she is afraid.
She's fucking terrified.
In the last five days, her world has been turned upside down. Less than a week earlier, she'd been playing a game of house with her partner, albeit a dangerous one that had even then felt like it was slipping out of their control bit by bit. Now, she's in a hospital bed, frantically trying to hold onto memories as they float by, and only completely aware of one fact – that Deeks is missing.
And probably dead.
That guts her. It absolutely guts her.
She feels Nate squeeze her hand, trying to pull her back into the now. The problem is, she's not sure that she wants to be in the now.
"I know you don't want to," he says, his voice so amazingly calm and controlled. "But we do need to talk about this."
"Why?"
"Because we need to know how this happened. That might help us figure out where Kassel has Deeks, and how to stop him. Kensi, it's profiling 101 – learn everything we can about how and why something occurred. You know this."
She nods slowly, but he can tell that she's still bothered.
"What is it?" he prompts.
"It's not all in here, Nate," she says, pointing a finger at her head. "I don't remember how this happened to me." She indicates towards her body suggesting that she doesn't recall how she had gotten injured. He'd expected as much; the doctors had been clear about how concerned they were about her head injuries.
"Then let's start slow. Tell me about the night Kassel and Sanchez came to the apartment. Tell me what happened then."
She meets his eyes, and he knows that whatever else she doesn't remember, she remembers that night perfectly. "Nate," she says again, her voice a plea.
"I'm here. I'm with you. We have Sanchez, and no one – not Sam, not Callen, not Renko, not me – none of us are going to let Kassel near you ever again, okay?"
She swallows, a flush of anger overtaking her.
This isn't her. She isn't afraid of anyone. She doesn't need anyone to protect her.
And yet…
Nate squeezes her hand one more time, and then says, his voice as gentle as possible, "You can do this. Tell me what happened after you let them in?"
Reluctantly, just the slightest sheen of tears in her dark eyes, she begins to speak. The whole time she does, she never lets go of his hand.
She closes the door behind her, and then 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?"
"I…I don't understand. What are you talking about? Why would you kill -" Kensi replies, a strong sense of dread overcoming her. "Is this…this is a joke, right? Jimmy put you up to trying to freak me out, right? Paul?"
She forces a smile, tries to play off that Kara just doesn't understand what's going on here even if Kensi gets it perfectly.
She might be new to the deep cover world, but she understands a little bit about creeps like Christopher Kassel; they think they own everything and everyone. They believe that no rules apply to them, be they societal or social. And the way he's looking at her now, well it sends a chill up her spine.
"No joke, Kara," Sanchez says simply. He's looking at her the same way Kassel is. "Mr. Kassel just wants to have a…word…with you."
"A word," she repeats, and then returns her attention to Kassel. "What do you want from me?"
"You are beautiful," Kassel says instead of answering her question, his eyes sweeping unabashedly over her. "Does Jimmy tell you that when you're in bed together. He really should."
It's easy to play Kara's fear now because Kensi is feeling more than a little bit of it herself. "I think maybe you should leave," she tells him, knowing damn well that it isn't going to be near this easy to get rid of these two horrible men.
She thinks about her gun sitting in her locker back at the Mission.
She thinks about Hetty's knife, which is in her purse. Which is in the bedroom.
"Oh, no, no, Kara. We're not leaving," Kassel replies. "Not before you and I come to…I think an agreement is a better way to say it really."
"Please. I really want you to leave." She hates the pleading sound she hears in her voice. This isn't her. She can make these men leave.
And completely destroy her cover while doing it.
"As I said, not before you and I work something out between us." He's smiling at her, and it just might be the creepiest expression she's ever seen.
"What do we have to work out?"
"Jimmy."
"What about Jimmy? Is he all right?"
"He's fine. For now. But here's the thing, he failed me. And that my dear, sweet, silly girl, is unacceptable."
In her entire life, Kensi Blye cannot recall a single time where she has ever been called silly. It annoys her more than she cares to admit, but with the way both he and Sanchez are looking at her, she has little time to dwell on it.
"I'm sorry?" she asks, trying to sound confused even though she knows exactly what he's talking about. Immediately, she's wondering if letting Deeks talk her into not asking for an extraction is about to bite them both in the ass.
"Oh, no, you shouldn't be sorry. His mistakes are…his mistakes."
"Then what do you want from me?" she asks again.
"I want your help, my dear. To help him understand that the team is more important than anything. More important than him. More important than you."
"You're scaring me," she says, and she's only half pretending. This man is scaring her (she'd like to think that she doesn't have the fear gene in her, but she knows better. She has it, she's just much better at glossing over it with adrenaline and sheer force of will), but he's also pissing her off.
"Good. You should be scared of me. I'm not a very nice man, Ms. Barstow. How much has Jimmy told you about his work?"
"Not much. He says he delivers packages for you."
"He does. Of heroin." He says it so simply and matter-of-factly.
If this wasn't such a horrifying moment, she'd almost be tempted to take a moment to laud her considerable acting skills as she manages to show exactly the amount of shock and surprise that Kassel had apparently been expecting.
"You're mistaken," she insists, allowing for a soft tremble of uncertainty. "Jimmy wouldn't…"
"I'm not. And he would. I should know; I'm the one who sends him on each one of his…deliveries. Well, the one who orders him to be sent in any case."
She turns towards Sanchez, and tries to ignore the amused smirk he's wearing. He's getting a right kick out of this. "Paul?" she just about pleads.
It seems almost perverse to her that she still has to act her heart out while dealing with these men whose intentions are far from gentlemanly. She tries not to let her mind jump too far ahead, but she can't quite stop it. She hopes she's wrong and these two monsters don't have rape on the mind, but she's pretty sure she's not, and that they do. Her mind is already whirling, trying to figure out her best course of action.
Fight back, her instincts are telling her.
She's not sure she's going to be able to listen to them, and that scares her more than anything these men could ever do to her. She's lived her whole life off of listening to her instincts. If she has to abandon them now, she's not sure who or what she is or more to the point, she's not sure how to survive.
"It's true, Kara," Sanchez says smoothly, interrupting her quickly running away thoughts. Well that's something, she thinks, at least she and Deeks' covers are still truly intact. "Your boy has been delivering heroin to clients all over the Los Angeles area for the last several weeks."
Pulling herself back together, and getting back to the character, Kensi puts her hands over her mouth to affect shock and surprise. Softly she says, "He's not…"
"I know you're a simple child," Kassel says in a bemused tone, "But do you really think a normal delivery job pays as well as he's been getting paid. Think, girl."
"Oh my God," she says, looking up at him.
"Do you recall the party that you and he threw a few nights ago?"
"Yes."
"He was supposed to generate new clients that night. He failed to do so. He said he couldn't' bear to sell to people he knows. Pathetic isn't it?"
"He's not cut out for this," she says. "He's not this kind of man."
Kassel laughs. "Actually, my dear, he's quite good at this. And I think that he has a brilliantly promising career ahead of him. But, in light of what happened at the party, I need your help to make that a reality."
"I won't help you turn him into a drug dealer," she replies, outraged.
"Oh, my dear, he's already that. You and I are just going to help him reach his potential. And in the process, you will get everything you've ever wanted."
"What kind of woman do you think I am?"
"An uncomplicated one," he tells her. "And believe me, that's a compliment."
She almost laughs. Uncomplicated is right up there with silly as words that would never describe her.
"I won't help you," she says. "But I am going to get him away from you. Far away."
Before she can even think to react (and to a degree, thankfully so because she knows that she would have responded in kind) his hands is up, and he's slapping her hard across the face. Hard enough to cause her head to jerk to the side. She places a palm over her now burning cheek, eyes wide.
He probably sees fear and shock. She'd describe the emotion more as just barely controlled fury..
Oh, how she really wants to beat the shit out of this guy.
"Please don't misunderstand me," he says, voice cold as ice. "I wasn't asking. Jimmy let me down. No one lets me down and lives. That's just the way it is. The only reason that we are having this conversation at all is because I believe that Jimmy has enormous potential, and I am willing to give him a second chance. But seconds chances, my dear sweet stupid girl, do not come without a price. Do I make myself clear?"
"No."
"Then let me. At this moment, Jimmy is working a job with one of my other employees. In two hours, if Alejandro doesn't receive a call from me or from Paul, he will put a gun to Jimmy's head, and blow his fucking brains out."
"No!"
He smiles, and for the first time, she realizes just how horribly cruel this man really is. He doesn't sell the Prince Charming just for the obscene profit (though, that's certainly part of it), he actually gets a sick thrill out of destroying lives.
Innocent lives.
And right now, he sees her as one.
She thinks that she could probably correct him; she hasn't been innocent for a very long time. But if she did correct him (ideally in the most violent and forcible way possible), she'd never be able to save Deeks.
She knows that her partner has been doing these deliveries for Kassel pretty much unarmed. And even if he hasn't been – even if he had somehow found a way to sneak in a small caliber pistol unbeknownst to Sanchez or Kassel – he still has no idea that his life is in imminent mortal danger. He has no idea what Kassel has ordered his man Alejandro to do if the "call" doesn't come in.
Knowing Deeks, he's completely focused on repairing the damage to this mission that he believes he caused by his unwillingness to sell to the kids at the complex. Focused so hard, in fact, that he's probably missed the way Alejandro is watching him. Watching and waiting for orders from the boss.
"Be calm, my dear," Kassel says. "You can help him."
"How?"
"By proving your commitment to the cause."
He steps behind her then, and she freezes. A moment later, she feels his hand on her shoulder, and then he lowers his mouth and presses it against her neck.
She'd expected an attempted assault of some kind. She hadn't expected this.
This is, somehow, so much worse.
"We all must make sacrifices," he says.
She inhales sharply. "No. Please, stop…"
"Do you love Jimmy?"
"Yes."
"Then this will just be…a sacrifice for him."
"Please, I don't…please…"
It kills her to be begging this man. She'd much prefer to be putting a bullet between his eyes.
But she's not Kensi Blye here, she's Kara Barstow.
And she's utterly stuck.
Refuse him or fight back, and she'd better hope that either Kassel is bluffing (which she knows he's not) or that she can find a way get to Deeks before the deadline passes. Before Deeks is the one taking a bullet between the eyes.
She's down to one play then, and it's an unimaginable one.
She thinks back to Callen telling her that she has to be willing to do anything – whatever it takes – to make the mission a success.
"I know you don't want to do this," he says, allowing his hand to slide down the hip so as to make his intentions very clear, "And that's why it means so much that you do it. Still, it's your choice completely, Kara. I won't force you."
"You won't?"
"No, but be aware that if you decline my…offer…then I will be forced to decline to make that phone call. I like Jimmy, but the very nature of teamwork is that we all must work together. And when one of us fails to do their jobs, the others must pick up the slack. That's what I'm asking you to do right now."
She's not sure what disgusts her more; the way he's boiling down what he's doing to her to a simple business transaction or the fact that his hand has moved up from her hip to the hem of Deek's oversized flannel shirt, his fingers slowly unbuttoning it from the bottom-up.
"I don't want to do this," she says again, and she feels her vision blur. She's not sure if it's fear or rage causing the moisture, but either way, she orders herself to stop. He may be expecting Kara Barstow to cry while this is happening, but Kensi Blye isn't about to give him the pleasure, op or no op.
Seems to her that he'll be getting enough pleasure out of her…sacrifice.
"I know. But you're going to, Kara," he says. "We both know that you're going to. Because you really do love Jimmy."
She closes her eyes. He's wrong, of course. This isn't about love. In a weird way that only a person who really knows her could understand, this is about something much, much deeper than just simple love. It's about family. No, Deeks isn't anything like a brother or a relative to her. There's far too much chemistry and sexual attraction between them for that. But he is her partner, her friend, her family and for him, there's almost nothing she wouldn't do to protect him.
Even this. Oh God, even this.
She hears a low cough that didn't come from Kassel. She opens her eyes again, and turns her head slightly to the side, noticing Sanchez watching everything, that same perverse smirk on his face. She's pretty sure that he'd cleared his throat on purpose, just to make sure that she's aware of his presence.
"Does he have to be here?" she asks.
"Sam's going to kill him," Eric says. Then he laughs bitterly. "I might kill him myself. If I…killed people, you know." He trails off, and looks down at the table in front of him. He doesn't like these emotions inside of him. They're not ones that he knows how to deal with.
After Dom had died, he'd lost himself in his games and computers and anything that could be a distraction. While his friends had been sifting through the ugly emotions of loss, he'd found ways to stay upbeat and positive. This case – what's happened to Deeks and Kensi – is severely testing his ability to do that. Right now, his mood anything but upbeat and positive.
Hetty places a hand lightly on his shoulder, but continues staring at the LCD in front of her. She's been doing this job a very long time, and the story she's hearing isn't, unfortunately, new to her – undercover agents are often forced to do things that they would never choose to do under normal circumstances.
Still, this is different simply because this isn't just some random undercover agent – these are her agents. Kensi and Deeks. And that man inside the Interrogation Room with Callen and Sam, well he'd them both very badly.
"He will get his," she promises Eric.
He looks up at her, sees the deadly seriousness in her eyes, and nods. He doesn't even want to know the why and hows of whatever kind of justice Sanchez will eventually get, he's just glad that he'll get it.
And he feels a little bit sick of how glad he is.
Callen circles the table slowly, trying to control the fury pulsating through his blood. This is his team and protecting them is his job. He's come close to losing every member at one point or another, but that's part of the gig – life and death situations. But this, this is beyond that.
This is the evil that men can do. And really, for no other reason than because they can do it and they can get away with it.
He understands trafficking. He even understands murder and greed. What he doesn't understand is the need to cause someone pain just because.
"Why were you even there?" Callen asks, glancing quickly over at his partner, who is standing straight as a board on the opposite side of the room, glowering.
"I wanted to see what he did to her," Sanchez answers.
"Were you expecting Kassel to…" he can't even get the words out.
"Let me share? Man, you got a sick mind, bro." Then Sanchez shrugs his shoulders, not bothering to deny that the thought had, in fact, gone through his mind. "Nah, Mr. Kassel never shares when he does this."
"He's done this before?" Sam asks, surprise in his tone.
"If he has a thing for the girl, yup," Sanchez says with a cocky grin.
"So you knew that Kassel would do this?" Callen asks.
Sanchez simply smiles.
"And you didn't warn Deeks?"
"Didn't want to," Sanchez answers, his smile growing.
The only thing that saves his life is Callen stepping in front of Sam.
"Smile away," Callen tells him. "My partner wants to kill you. I want to kill you."
"You need me."
"Only for a little bit longer," Sam tells him.
He and Sanchez stare at each for a moment. Finally, Sanchez looks away, and turns his attention back to Callen.
"You ready to continue?" Callen asks. "Or do you want to keep being a little smartass?"
"No, I'm good."
"Great. You still haven't answered the question. Why were you there? Why did Kassel bring you along?" Callen demands.
"Why else? To humiliate her."
She's staring at Sanchez, and he's staring back at her, a smile on his lips.
"Shh, don't pay any attention to him," Kassel says, touching her face and turning her back towards him. He forces her to look directly at him. "You really do have such interesting eyes, Kara."
"Does he have to be here?" she asks again, ignoring his comment about her eyes. She has no interest in talking about any of her features with him.
"Yes," Kassel says simply. "I want him here."
And suddenly, she gets it. This isn't just about Jimmy. This isn't just about teaching his man a lesson. This is also about ownership and possession and pain and humiliation.
In Kassel's mind, he owns Jimmy. Which means he owns Kara.
Jimmy failed him and that means that Kara has to pay the price. And that price is her body and her pride.
Which is all fine and dandy (all right, a horrible kind of fine and dandy) except for the fact that there is no Kara Barstow.
Kensi glances once more over at Sanchez, and then turns her eyes away from him (though she can still feel him watching her, his lecherous gaze traveling up and down her body as Kassel slowly and methodically exposes her – both figuratively and literally).
"Shh," Kassel says, his hands sliding beneath the now open folds of her shirt. She feels his palms – soft and overly moisturized – touch her skin, and she lets out a soft and completely involuntary whimper of protest.
She hates herself for it.
She orders herself not to react – not to give him any more satisfaction than she absolutely must. She won't let him see her cry. She won't. She won't.
He doesn't seem to care.
He slips her shirt off of her (she has a sudden manic impulse to grab at the shirt, but manages to stop herself), and then places a hand over one of her breasts, gently squeezing it. "You truly are exquisite," he tells her, inclining his head to kiss her neck, taking just a moment to scrape his teeth over her skin.
She has a moment of panic then, a moment where she knows that she can't do this – she can't allow this man to do this to her.
This isn't her. She doesn't just lie down and let this kind of thing happen.
But Deeks. Oh, Deeks.
She knows that he would do anything to protect her. Anything.
She closes her eyes again, the fight seeping out of her body.
She feels his hands on the clasp of her bra, and then on the buckle of her belt. She bites down hard on her lip, cutting it slightly. He doesn't even let her have that, though. When he notices what she's doing, he presses his mouth to hers, and forces her to let him kiss her. And then he makes her meet his eyes again.
He tells her that this isn't rape. He reminds her that she's allowing him to do this. He insists that she's an active participant. Completely culpable and willing.
In the end, the best that she can say about what he makes her do is that it's not unbearably painful though it is quite – and she guesses intentionally so – uncomfortable to say the least.
Kassel seems determined to mark her, whether with his teeth or his hands. He holds her down several times, pressing his fingers into her skin, leaving behind either small gashes or round bruises that darken almost immediately.
That's not the worst of it, though. No, the absolute worst is that he makes sure that he touches every part of her. It's an ownership thing again, and he wants her to know that he's the one completely in control. He wants her to know that he's utterly possessed her inside and out and that she had allowed it to happen.
The whole time it's happening, she's completely aware of the fact that Sanchez is watching, his eyes never leaving her body. It's creepy and horrifying, and yes, just as she's certain it's been planned to be, utterly humiliating.
When it's finally, mercifully over, and Kassel is standing above her, calmly buckling his belt, he looks down at her and smiles almost lazily at her.
She's on the couch, legs tight up against her chest, holding a blanket over her, trying to cover herself up. It seems a silly thing to do after all that's happened, but she has no desire to let this man gawk at her openly.
He's done enough. He's seen enough. He's touched enough.
"Paul," Kassel says, "Once we've left the apartment, I'd like you to call Alejandro and let him know that Jimmy's debt has been paid for him."
"Sure, Boss," Sanchez says, his eyes still on Kensi.
"I'm impressed," Kassel tells her. "I figured you'd be a blubbering mess. But aside from a few tears, you didn't cry at all."
She says nothing. She's afraid that if she speaks at all, the real her will come out. Right now, she's holding onto her self-control by the slimmest of threads, and it just wouldn't take much for her to explode.
Explode and destroy the mission, and likely get Deeks killed in the process.
"I do have one favor to ask."
Her eyes widen. "Favor?" she asks, incredulous, her voice barely a whisper.
"I want you to tell Jimmy about this."
"No…"
"Yes, my dear. He needs to know what the price for failure is. He needs to understand that no action happens in a vacuum. Everything has a consequence. He let the team down, and you had to pay the price for that. He's very lucky he has you. Make sure he understands that, Kara."
"Please, don't do this."
It occurs to her that she's the one actually begging him now, not Kara. The very last thing she wants Deeks to ever know about is what had happened to her – what she had allowed to happen to save him.
She knows how he will react.
She knows what it will do to him.
"I insist you tell him." His tone is clear; this isn't up for debate.
She knows that she's once again, completely and utterly stuck.
They may have removed all of the video surveillance around the apartment, but they're quite certain that there are still several audio bugs that they haven't found. Audio bugs that they can't remove even if they could find them because it would out them as being cops.
Which means that Kassel plans to listen to her tell Deeks what had happened to her. It's enough to make her stomach roll violently.
"Excellent." He finishes buttoning up his shirt, and then leans over and presses a kiss against her cheek, his smooth recently shaven skin pressing against hers. She shudders at the contact, but doesn't stop him. "I'll be seeing you, Kara."
He takes a step for the door, Sanchez right next to him. Then, abruptly, he stops and turns back. "Oh, there's one more thing," he says.
"What?" she asks warily. She's pretty much done with this now, wondering what other horrific bombshells he has left to drop on her.
"I understand that today has been a very trying day for you, and I'm sure that you are wondering if what you feel for Jimmy is worth…all of this. I must warn you though; I consider you part of the team now as well. If you try to leave him, leave us, I will hunt you down and I will make sure that no one will ever be able to claim your body simply because they will never be able to identify you."
She stares back at him.
"Very good," he nods. "I think we understand each other. Have a nice evening."
And with that, he and Sanchez exit the apartment.
Once the door closes behind them, Kensi does the only thing she can; she very calmly gets up, walks over the door, locks and deadbolts it and then turns and makes her way to the back of the apartment.
She heads into the bathroom, turns the shower on and gets under the water. She stands there as the steam rises, filling the room completely.
And then – the blistering hot water beating down on her – she screams. It's an absolutely primal sound. Of rage, of pain, of anger, of disgust, of fear.
Her eyes clouded with water and steam, she reaches forward and slams her fist against the tile in front of her. Once, twice, a third time, all the while screaming.
The pain she feels radiating up her arm and running through her fist is enormous, but it feels good. Good because she understands pain, is pretty sure that she can handle and cope with pain. It's the loss of control that she doesn't know how to deal with. More to the point, it's the voluntary ceding of control.
That's what it all comes down to – she'd given herself up to him, allowed him to control her completely. At no point during what had happened (she refuses to call it sex or rape or anything else for that matter) had she been in even the pretense of control. She could have stopped him, but Deeks would certainly have paid the price for her stubbornness, and that, she could never have allowed. So in a warped kind of way, she supposes, she had been in control. She'd been the one deciding whether Deeks would live or die and…
She stops. She knows she's rationalizing, trying to find a way to convince herself that she hadn't completely given in. But she knows the truth; she had.
She screams and hits the wall again, and it cracks, splicing her knuckles. Blood flows over her fingers, mixing with the water and turning pink as it swirls down the drain. She'd moderately amazed that she hasn't broken her hand yet.
When her strength finally gives out on her – along with her legs – she collapses to the floor of the shower, holding her body close, nearly in the fetal position.
And then, head in her hands, she becomes aware of the fact that she's not sure where the water on her face is coming from.
He wonders if this is what insanity feels like.
Like skydiving knowing that there's no parachute in the pack, and in about half a minute, you're going to be eternally one with the cement beneath you.
Like driving towards the edge of a cliff going ninety knowing that the brake line on the car is cut, and there's no way to escape fiery death inside twisted metal.
No, all of that sounds too much like the every day that is – was – his partner. She'd been the crazy one of the two of them, the one most likely to actually try to pull off the standing up on a motorcycle firing two guns at once kind of stunt.
Yeah, this isn't like that at all.
This is more like knowing that one way or another, your life – but mostly your soul - is one hundred percent completely forfeit.
Badly hurt, lying on his stomach on a bed that desperately needs to be changed, Marty Deeks is higher than a kite, and completely aware of it. He feels the slippery tendrils of certain addiction slapping against his cheeks, but knows that he's helpless to prevent the inevitable chemical dependency.
Because right now, his back soaked with his own blood and every single nerve ending he has on fire, he just doesn't give a damn. He figures he probably won't live long enough to have to worry about the ugliness of being a heroin addict, and besides, right now, he just wants the pain to please, please just go away.
Not exactly intentionally, he allows his mind to slip backwards to the hours just before this one. To the beating that had seemed like it would never end. To the one that had happened after the last time the drugs had worn off. Apparently, Kassel had enjoyed the first whipping enough to ask for an encore. And his man with the whip (Deeks is pretty sure that it's his old "buddy" Alejandro back there) had been more than happy to enthusiastically comply with the request to make it as painful as possible.
Oh, but Deeks had been been strong and he'd been tough. Kassel had offered numerous times to stop the beating if he'd only give in and swear his fidelity.
Almost like a scene out of a really bad mobster movie.
He's not sure how long the scourging had gone on, but at least long enough for him to lose consciousness twice. By that point, the thick lacerations up and down his back had simply been too deep for him to just gut his way through the pain.
Kassel had, of course, waited for him to come back around, and then started the whipping anew, all while keeping his voice completely flat and calm.
Finally, when it had seemed like maybe there wasn't any more skin left on his back to strip away, Kassel had told his man to stop.
And then he'd bent down next to Deeks, and asked softly, "Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"I like pain," Deeks had gasped out between hard dry hacks.
Kassel had just smiled. "Is this still all about your partner?"
He'd looked up at met Kassel's eyes, anger in his own bloodshot blue ones.
"I'm curious," Kassel had continued. "Did she tell you what really happened that afternoon between she and I? Did she go into details? Would you like me to?"
"Go to hell," Deeks had finally growled. He'd been desperately trying not to rise to the obvious bait, but Kassel knows exactly what buttons to push by now.
"When you saw her, did you see the bruises I left? I left them just for you. Well, for Jimmy. But since there never was a Jimmy, I suppose I left them for you."
And then Kassel had laughed. A simple and easy sound. Completely devoid of empathy or compassion. Absent of human soul.
"We'll have to break you of this idea you have that you're in control, Detective Deeks. From the moment you and I met, you were never in control. You're not in control now, and believe me when I say that you will never be in control again."
The absolute certainty in his tone had been chilling, but Deeks hadn't been allowed too much time to think about it before he'd felt the sharp prick of the needle as it was once pressed into his arm, heroin flooding his veins.
"There's only one thing that I want you to think about before you pass out," Kassel had told him, "I was able to make your partner do what I wanted her to do. Whatever I wanted her to do. And she did it all to protect you. That's on you. And what happened after that, what happened to her, that's on you as well."
Then he'd leaned in even closer.
"Detective, what do you have left to fight for now? You don't have her, and there's no point in saving yourself. Give in, and I can make everything better - I can help you stop feeling the anger and guilt that you are. Refuse to give in, and I will hurt you in ways that you never imagined possible. I will break you completely. Really, it's your choice. I'm a big fan of choices."
He'd smirked when he'd said that, and then he'd gotten up and left the room, leaving Deeks to the pain and the drugs and the searing self-hatred.
Now, minutes or hours later (the passage of time feels completely alien to him now) he feels that self-hatred strong in his blood, eating away at him.
She'd given herself to Kassel in order to save him.
He tries to remind himself that she is – had been – his partner, and the very nature of their job was protecting each other.
That doesn't make it even a little bit better because then he just realizes how badly he'd let her down.
As the heroin ravages his mind, turning all of the colors inside out, and pushing open doors to memories he's long forgotten (and never wanted to remember), he wonders what death feels like.
Does it hurt? It must because this hurts. This hurts so badly.
And if this hurts, oh God, Kensi….
He thinks about the bruises he'd seen on her arms – and legs – that night when he'd returned to the apartment. Dark spots intentionally created on her skin, angry souvenirs of an act made horrible by the evil of one awful man.
He feels a flush of violent anger, but it fades quickly as the chemical delirium once again overtakes him. He wonders really how bad it would be to just let go.
He'd like to think he's strong enough to hold out.
But as everything inside of him spins more and more out of focus, the belief he has in his own strength seems to give out.
He thinks back to that night.
To coming home to her. Tired and wanting nothing more than a quiet night.
He's really starting to hate this Op.
It's exhausting and frustrating, and he feels like after four weeks, even though he's in deep with the big boss and he's met a few of the suppliers, he's really not all that far along. He feels a bit like he's running in slow motion.
Or maybe that's just his gut talking – the same gut that had been telling him all day that something wasn't right. The guy that Kassel had had him working with, a fellow named Alejandro, had pretty stayed by his side. It had felt kind of strange and weird, like maybe he was being watched.
He unlocks the door to the apartment and turns the doorknob. To his surprise, it holds. He frowns, wondering why Kensi had locked the deadbolt as well. Even as security cautious as she is, she hasn't been locking that until bedtime. He unlocks that as well and steps inside. "Honey, I'm home," he calls out as he enters. He turns and relocks the door, including the deadbolt.
He turns back to the Living Room, and the first thing he sees is her clothes (including one of his flannel shirts – and observation which makes him smirk) lying in a hastily discarded heap on the ground, next to the couch.
"Okay, that's weird," he mutters. He looks towards the kitchen, doesn't see her in there. He starts towards the hallway.
He enters their room, and sees her immediately. She's bent over the dresser, in front of the mirror, wearing a bathrobe pulled tight over what looks like pajama bottoms. Her hair is wet, like she's just come out of the shower. It occurs to him that maybe that explains the clothing in the Living Room.
Actually, no it doesn't. Kensi is, by nature, a messy person, but in the four weeks that they've been essentially living together, he's never seen her just drop her close and walk – obviously – naked through the apartment to the shower.
He stops for the briefest of moments and lingers on that mental image. Immediately, he pulls himself out of it. Bad thoughts there, oh very bad.
"Hey," he says, stepping towards her. He puts his hands on her shoulders. To his surprise, she immediately shrugs them off. And then she turns to face him.
His mouth just about falls open as his eyes sweep across her tear-stained face. He can't even begin to imagine what could have caused this. The only time he's ever seen her even begin to cry is when she'd spoken of a lost lover, but even that had only been water in the corners of her eyes. This is so much more.
"What's wrong?" he whispers, biting down on the urge to say her name.
She looks up at him, her dark eyes blazing furiously. "I did what I had to."
"What do you…what does that mean?" he asks, fear streaking through him. He reaches for her again, but again, she pulls away and steps back.
He sees that she's struggling to find words. She looks up, and around the room, her eyes settling on the air vent in the corner, a place where they know one of the audio bugs is hidden.
Finally, her voice barely a whisper, "Mr. Kassel came by today, Jimmy." She's biting off the words, which tells him that she may be using the names of their covers, but whatever had happened, had happened to her. To Kensi.
"Why?" he asks.
"Because of the other night. He told me…he told me what you've been doing. He told me about the drugs."
He tries to meet her eyes, tries to figure out where this is going. Why are they having this bizarre conversation? And why is she so upset?
"Kara," he forces out. "I'm sorry."
"Too late for that," she says.
"What does that mean? Are you leaving me?"
He rather hopes that her answer is yes. Then, at least, he could get Kensi the hell away from this whole op before it goes upside down.
She laughs then, and he feels his stomach lurch. The sound she's making, it's not controlled. She's not playing a part. "I couldn't if I wanted to," she tells him.
"Kara."
"He's making me tell you," she says. "I don't want to. And I didn't want to do...what..."
"Didn't want to what?" he asks, dread sinking in on him.
She takes a breath, and then reaches down and opens up her bathrobe. Underneath, he sees that she's wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a wifebeater, but he doesn't see any of her clothing, he just sees the bruises. They're up and down her arms, large finger-shaped marks pressed hard into her skin. A few of them are already purplish.
"The guy you were with today had orders to kill you if I didn't…if I didn't. I had no choice. I had to…I had to let…let him."
She doesn't even need to completely say the words for him to understand what had happened to her. The pile of clothes in the Living Room, the dark bruises on her, the overly-scrubbed nature of her skin, and the way she's refusing to let him touch her, it all makes a horrible kind of sense.
"I let him," she says again.
She lifts her eyes up to his, and he sees how truly difficult this is for her. Normally, she would have just internalized it, dealt with it on her own. That she's being forced to tell him, to make him go through the pain as well, it's killing her.
"God," he says.
"I'm okay," she replies, and he has a feeling that she's intentionally breaking character now. It's dangerous and risky, but maybe she sees something in his eyes, something telling her just how hard this is hitting him. It's kind of amazing to him that after what she's gone through, she's trying to protect him.
"God," he repeats, because he can find no other words.
"I'm okay," she insists again, and he hears anger in her tone. She's trying to convince him, and this all seems so surreal.
He just stares at her, at her arms, at her face.
"Please," she whispers, after almost a minute has passed. "Please say something."
"I'm sorry," he finally manages. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."
The words sound childish and insignificant even to his own ears.
"This is my fault," he continues.
And for him, there can be no denial of that. She had wanted to end the mission, but he'd insisted on staying in simply because he's never asked to leave an op before. Stubbornness really.
Stubbornness that had gotten his partner hurt.
"It is," she says simply. And then he sees her eyes go to the vent again. "But we have to deal with this."
"No. I'm done," he tells her, knowing that she will understand that what he means is, "We're done, mission over, time to pull the plug."
She looks back at him, and shakes her head frantically. "No, we can't. He said he'll hunt us down if we try to run."
She's trying to say something, but either it's not clear or he's not hearing it. All he wants right now is to get her to safety.
"I don't care," he replies. "I don't."
"I do," she answers, her voice cold. She sounds completely like Kensi. Angry, but in control. And out for blood.
He gets it; this is personal now, and she has every intention of seeing it through to the end. She wants – needs – to bring Kassel down. In person.
"No," he says, shaking his head, trying to convince her.
He should know better; even hurt, she's an unmovable block when she wants to be. And right now, she wants to be.
His eyes track back down to the bruises – and to what he's sure is a bite mark on the inside of her elbow. He wonders if those same marks are on her legs.
Suddenly, her hand is on his arm, and she's yanking him towards the bathroom. She all but throws him into it, and then closes the door behind him. They know for a fact that there's no surveillance equipment in here. Which means that for just a few minutes, they can be Kensi and Deeks.
"We're not walking away," she says, anger making her hammer out each word.
"We need to. This has gone too far. We should have gotten out a few days ago. When you wanted us, too."
"We made that decision together," she tells him. "What happened today, I let it happen. It's not your fault."
"It is," he says, this time repeating her words. She'd said them before for Kassel's ears. He's saying them now for hers. She may not have meant what she had said, but he certainly means what he's saying. "It is my fault."
"Stop. We're a team, right?"
He looks back at her, not understanding. Slowly, though, he nods.
"I need you with me on this then," she says, and he thinks he hears a falter in her voice. Maybe a bit of fear.
"I'm always with you," he replies. It could be a corny statement at any other time, and perhaps, at any other time, she would have mocked him for it. But now, she looks utterly moved by it. He sees her force a smile of gratitude.
And then, quite inexplicably to him, she steps towards him and reaches for him. She stops just short, almost like she's uncertain.
"Kensi," he mouths, needing to say her name.
He reaches out and pulls her close, holding her as tight to him as he possibly can. It's bone-crushing really, but neither of them care. She presses her face against his chest, and while she's not crying, she is shaking.
They stay like that for several minutes, just him holding her. And then, she pulls back and looks up at him. She reaches up with her injured hand (he sees the nasty cuts across them – they've been cleaned up, but they're still ugly) and touches his face, running her fingers over his bearded jaw.
He says her name again. He puts his hand over her hand on his cheek, and gives it a light squeeze.
"It's not your fault," she tells him again, and he thinks she probably knows him well enough to know that he'll never believe that. But then she adds, "And I am okay. I am. I am." He's not sure exactly who she's trying to convince.
And then she does something he absolutely never saw coming – she leans up and kisses him, pressing her lips (he thinks he feels a slight cut on the lower one) softly against his own.
She stops talking abruptly, then reaches for the glass of water on the tray in front of her, and takes a healthy swig of it. Almost immediately, she winces as the water rushes through her, and her ribs protest the sudden activity.
"Kensi," Nate says softly. "What happened next?"
"It doesn't matter," she replies, settling back against the pillows. He's noticed how much weaker she's been getting throughout their conversation, like her energy has slowly been seeping out of her. "It's not important to the case."
"If something happened between you and Deeks…"
"It wouldn't have mattered if something had or hadn't happened, Nate. He was always going to do what he did the next morning. That's how he's built. He wouldn't listen to me when I told him it wasn't his fault."
"Do you believe that?" Nate queries. "That it wasn't his fault?"
"Yes. We made the choice to stay in together. I made the choice to do what I had to do to protect him. He made the choice to try to do the same the next morning."
"Are you angry about that choice?" It's a careful question, but a purposeful one – he's trying to get at her mindset in regards to her partner, trying to gauge her feelings for him and for what had occurred between them.
She smiles softly. "Angry? No. Do I wish he hadn't? Of course, but it doesn't matter. Sanchez was always going to break and sell us out eventually. We just didn't realize it until far too late. Besides, if anyone is to blame, it's me. I pushed us to stay in."
"Like you said before, you two made that decision together. You followed him after he wanted to stay in and he followed you after you did."
"Right."
"So why didn't you at least make contact with Ops to let them know that the case had taken a turn for the worst? They could have been better prepared to help."
"Partly because we knew Hetty would pull us out if we had, but mostly because everything went upside down so quickly. You realize that less than twenty-four hours passed between when Kassel came to the apartment, and when Sanchez blew our covers?"
"I do. Do you remember that part? What happened after your covers were blown?"
"Only bits and pieces," she replies. And then she yawns.
"You're tired," he notes.
"Exhausted," she confirms. "But I can do this."
"An hour ago, you didn't want to talk to me at all."
"I still don't really want to, but you're not going to leave me alone, are you?"
"Actually, for a little bit, I am. I want to call over to Hetty, and make sure everyone is on the same page. Should take me a little bit. While I'm doing it, I want you to try to sleep. And for once, Kensi, don't fight me; you desperately need it."
She nods slowly, her eyelids suddenly, almost obscenely heavy. Then, softly, "We are going to find him, right?" there's a desperate almost child-like plea to her voice.
"We're going to do our best," he promises.
"Sometimes I wish you could lie to me," she says, eyelids drooping. A moment later, he can tell that she's sleeping.
"Sometimes, I wish I could, too," he replies, then turns and exits the room.
TBC...