Author's Note: Here we go - this is another transitional chapter, this one moving us from what's happened before to what will happen. This tale still has a few more twists in the road, and a bit more to go. At least another 3 chapters, possibly 4. I hope you're still enjoying it. Thank you for all the comments - they have been appreciated.
Marty Deeks is running an extreme fever, and has been for hours now.
He can only guess at how bad it is. Everything feels hot and sweaty. Everything hurts and yet feels a strange kind of numb and cold. Every now and again, an icy chill tears through him, and salty water pours down his skin making him feel sticky and oily.
He keeps slipping in and out of consciousness. He's not sure if it's the repeated doses of heroin that he's been given (and is still be given on almost regular schedule) or the fever brought on by all of his injuries (especially the ones on his back, which have become inflamed and infected). Either way, he's either being overtaken by nightmares or plagued by delusions.
But that's not even the worst of it.
No, the worst of it is her.
Kensi.
He thinks he sees her in the room with him. And not just once, but a handful of times. Sometimes she's the Kensi he knows and adores – quick and witty with a cocky smirk for a smile. When she's that, she gives him peace, and for the briefest of moments, everything hurts a little bit less.
Other times, though, she's his fears and doubts made flesh. When she's that, she's angry and cold and she blames him for everything that's happened to both of them. When she's that, she breaks his heart because her hatred is so strong and vibrant – so corrosive.
Right now, she's something close to the latter as opposed to the former.
She's sitting next to the bed, on the ground, her long legs folded beneath her. She's wearing jeans and a white tee-shirt that looks like it's fresh out of the package with how brilliantly bright it is. Her hair is loose and flowing, and though she looks typically beautiful, there's an unusual coldness about her.
"Talk to me," he pleads, shifting slightly so that he can look at her too-serious face. He's used to her focused gaze and determined expressions, but this is somehow far different than that. There's a kind of seething fury just beneath the surface of this Kensi, and it frightens him more than just a bit because he knows that this rage is all directed at him.
"What do you want me to say?" she asks, and Deeks thinks to himself that she actually doesn't sound angry, but maybe bored? She looks down at her nails, and picks at one of them as if to remove a speck of dirt from beneath it.
"Anything. Tell me how to hold on? Please?"
"Why bother?" she replies, looking up at him. Her eyes, typically so unique and unusual are now a matching shade of coal black. He searches them for familiar emotion, for something that tells him that this is his Kensi. He's looking for something that reminds him of the deep emotional bond that he knows they share.
"I don't want to die like this," he insists.
"You really think you deserve any better?"
"Kensi," he pleads. "I'm sorry."
"You should be. It was your job to protect me."
Rationally, he knows that this could never be her. His Kensi has never been the kind of woman who wants anyone to protect her. His Kensi detests the idea of needing to be saved. In fact, when she'd had the option – when he'd tried to give himself up so that she could go free, she'd stubbornly refused to play along.
Still, the words hit hard. His mind feels like a battlefield, and the war is still going on. On one side is the part of him that is the cop and on the other side, the man.
The Cop is somewhat sensible and logical, able to at least try to strip away emotion and try to see what's actually going on here. He knows that all of this is some form of drug and guilt fueled hysterical delusion.
The Man is much more raw and irrational, driven by pure emotion and pain. The Man only knows (and cares) that his partner and a woman that for all intents and purposes is (or at least was) his best friend is now dead.
The Cop tells him that there was nothing he could have done to stop what had happened to her. The Cop insists that he'd heroically tried to throw himself in front of her. The Cop insists that this is one of the hazards of the job.
The Man scoffs derisively in the Cop's direction. The Man insists that he could have and should have done better. The Man wonders what he has left to fight for. Sure, she wasn't his only reason for living. Certainly no. The job was a big part of it. The need and desire to do right and good by people.
The Man tells him he's a failure at all of it. The Man tells him that even if he were to find a way out of this mess, the team – her team – would never accept him back. The LAPD never wanted him to begin with.
Almost like he's looking from shoulder (from the angel on one side to the devil on the other), Deeks turns to the Cop to disagree. The Cop says nothing.
Turning away from the Cop and the Man, Deeks looks down at Kensi, who is still sitting on the ground, her legs now spread out almost leisurely in front of her. One of her long hands is resting on her knee, her fingers tapping against the denim of her jeans. She looks impatient, almost irritated.
Like she's annoyed that his subconscious keeps pulling her to him.
"I'm so sorry," he says, certainly not for the first or last time.
"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" she replies, looking up at him. As she does, her face changes (slightly at first), a few jagged red lines creasing her skin.
He's seen this transformation a time or two already so he's no longer shocked by it. He's still plenty horrified by it, though.
His beautiful partner, her skin typically smooth, her dark olive complexion normally flawless, starts to look like what you would expect the victim of a horrific domestic abuse incident to look like.
Bruises appear around her eyes and jaw. Cuts snake across her flesh, digging valleys and raising mountains. Blood seeps from open gashes.
"Kensi," he whispers.
The only mercy is, she always disappears afterwards. She doesn't disappoint this time, either. As soon as she's turned from looking healthy and safe to how she'd looked just before Kassel had dragged her out of the dungeon room (or at least how his mind recalls her looking), she simply fades away.
Out of his life yet again.
He's not sure if he wants to come back or stay away.
Then again, he's not completely sure right now if he wants to live or die.
Marty Deeks has spent most of his life being a survivor, but right now, his body on fire with fever and infection, he's not sure if it's all worth it anymore.
The Cop and the Man continue to do war, and he finds that after awhile, he stops caring who wins or loses. He's both of these things (both Cop and Man), and yet neither fits him at the moment.
Right now, all he is a half-broken captive in a dirty room.
Right now, he's not much at all.
With great effort, he thinks back to the last time he remembers being himself. He thinks back to that horrible little dungeon at the warehouse in Van Nuys.
For the moment, he's alone in the weird little Dungeon. He has no idea where Sanchez had dragged Kensi off to. He only knows that in the space of just a few moments, she's gone from being in terrible danger to being in mortal danger.
Kassel is clearly furious with her. And while in a normal and sane situation, Deeks would find it amusing and perhaps even a bit of a turn-on to watch her refuse to back down to a creep like Kassel, this just isn't the time or place for her kind of reckless bravado.
He feels like a bit of an ass even thinking that. It feels like a bit of a betrayal of her to be wishing that she could back off on being so stubborn and defiant every now and again. He loves those qualities about her – they are what make her Kensi Blye. And yet right now, he wishes she could find a way to not piss off the big bad guy quite so much.
He hears the sound of impact somewhere down the hallway – like someone, most certainly Kensi – being thrown to the ground.
Without even bothering to look up at the cuffs, he begins to struggle and yank at them. He feels them cut into his wrist, gouging giant bloody holes into his skin.
"Where you think you're going, Jimmy?" Sanchez says as he re-enters, that damned smirk playing on his lips again.
"Deeks. My name is Deeks," the blonde cop reminds him, teeth grit.
"For now," Sanchez chuckles.
"Where'd you take her? Where is she?" Deeks demands.
"Oh you don't need to worry about that anymore," Sanchez assures him. "She's not a problem for you – or anyone - anymore."
"If you hurt her…"
Right as he says that, he hears the sound of flesh being hit – hard – come from that same room down the hall. He thinks he hears her cry out in pain (something he knows she probably hates).
Sanchez smirks. "Oh, we haven't even begun to hurt her yet. But we will, don't you worry about that." He leans forward. "I will. But hey, since I know it means so much to you, I might even take a few pictures for you. Just so you know how much she really enjoyed it. How much she really enjoyed me."
Deeks struggles again, the rips in his skin deepening. He feels the sticky blood flowing down his palms, dripping from his fingers. He doesn't care.
For his part, Sanchez just laughs.
"Dear God, man, do you know what you look like right now? You really think this is doing you or her any good? There's no way you're getting out of those chains. There's no way you're saving her. No one can save her now. No one."
"I'm going to kill you," Deeks promises.
"You keep saying that. We both know it's never going to happen."
At that moment, Alejandro re-enters the room. "Boss wants to wrap things up," he says simply.
"About time," Sanchez nods. He steps towards Deeks. "Ready for a nap, Jimmy."
"Deeks," he growls again.
Sanchez just shrugs, and then with all the force and anger he can muster (which after everything that has happened between he and Deeks is fairly significant), he pulls back and slugs Deeks across the cheekbone.
Excruciating pressure explodes in Deek's face, and he almost immediately sees bright red in front of his eyes. The last thing he sees before he passes out, is Alejandro pointing a gun at him.
Suddenly, he finds himself hoping that there is God somewhere. He hopes that his cosmic balance card is good.
"Do it," Sanchez says.
As he falls into unconsciousness, Deeks hears the sound of two shots get fired. Oddly enough, he never feels the impact of the bullets.
He doesn't understand why until much later.
By then, he's wishing to that same God that he had been shot.
Unfortunately, Kassel has other things – much worse things – planned for him.
"We're almost done," Callen says softly, looking into the Interrogation Room. He's leaning heavily against the table in the outer room of the Boatshed now, every bone in his body feeling the exhaustion and fatigue of several days of almost no sleep.
"How do you know?" Eric asks. Callen glances down at the young tech, his eyes doing a quick inventory. Eric looks as wiped out as the rest of them do, but there's something more. Deep in Eric's blue eyes, there's a kind of aching pain, the kind that comes with loss of innocence.
Eric has been with the team for a while now, he's seen pain and loss before. He was front and center for Dom's disappearance, recovery and eventual murder.
This is somehow so much worse.
Dom had been captured by essentially nameless and faceless terrorists (with the exception of Moe). It had been horrific and personal, but it hadn't been like this.
Maybe Dom had gone through hell during the months he had been held captive – maybe he had been brutalized – but if he had, the team had never been told as much.
Callen had reviewed Dom's autopsy report, and looked at several files (and videos) that had been recovered from the theatre where Dom had been held – and eventually murdered. Yes, he had been beaten, but only occasionally. It appeared that for the most part, he'd simply been thrown into a room and forgotten about until it was time to use him as leverage.
Terrible certainly, but not at all like this.
This…well Callen almost doesn't have the words for the anger and hurt he feels at what Kensi and Deeks have gone through.
She hurts him the most – he adores her like a little sister, and the very idea of her being injured in this way pains him more than he cares to admit. He's always been insanely proud of her ability to take a punch without flinching. He's always grinned and smirked his way through her shows of defiance and stubbornness.
Right now, though, it sounds like that defiance and stubbornness had just gotten her injured more. And that kind of breaks his heart in half. He doesn't see these things as weaknesses, he sees them as defining traits and the idea that they could have caused her pain, it just reminds him that this job very seldom leaves any part of their souls undamaged.
He hurts for Deeks as well. He kind of likes the scruffy cop. He's been doing this job for a long time, and unlike Sam who seems to think that everything should always be by the book, Callen sees a place for guys like Deeks. The job can be hellish and far too serious and painful. A man like Deeks serves to remind everyone why they stick around. He reminds them why they do this.
More than that, though, a guy like Deeks is the perfect partner for Kensi.
Callen doesn't know all of her secrets. To be honest, he probably doesn't even know half of them. What he does know is that her past is littered with pain and loss. All of that hurt has made her serious and somewhat hard far before her time. Left to her own devices, she could very easily be cold and angry, a warrior fighting for no other reason than because she don't know what else to do.
Deeks – a man with his own secrets and his own painful past – is the perfect ying to her yang. A ridiculously optimistic man who seems to have perfected the art of refusing to let anything keep his mood down for longer than a few minutes at a time (except when Kensi's safety is involved, Callen has noticed) he does what no other partner has ever been able to do – he makes Kensi laugh.
It's not just the laughter, though, it's the trust.
Callen knows that Kensi trusts he and Sam. Until Deeks had come along, he'd been pretty sure that the listed had ended there. Okay, you could probably add Hetty and to a much smaller degree, Eric, but after that, everyone else was an outsider and she'd sooner allow the loss of a limb than the revealing of a secret.
Deeks, in less than six months, has wormed his way into her circle of trust. It had taken him and Sam at least a year – and many harrowing missions - to do that. For Deeks and Kensi, it had taken two cases – one involving a young man with an absentee father and the other dealing with murderous Russians who had considered her to be little more than a means to an end.
He'd proven to her that he'd be there for her, that he wouldn't let her down. He'd proven to her that he would protect her life with as much force as he'd protect his own. For her, that had earned him entry into a very exclusive club – people she would trust to guard her back without question or reservation.
And now, that trust had been used to destroy both of them.
They'd stood beside each other, supported each other relentlessly, and both refused an opportunity to get out. They'd both offered themselves up to protect each other, and they'd both paid dearly for doing so.
The question is now, can she survive if the end result of all of this is that a week from now, maybe two or three, they're burying Marty Deeks as they once did Dominic Vaile.
Callen doesn't think so.
There's only so much hurt and loss that any person can take.
He fears that if she has to watch Deeks get lowered into the ground, her next move will be turn around and walk away.
From them. From everything.
It hurts like hell to even think about that, but Callen has been doing this a long time, and he's seen damned good operatives walk away more than a few times.
Even Kensi, stubbornly strong and shockingly resilient Kensi can only take so much. Sometimes, the job and all of the loss and pain it brings with it, simply finds a way to break you. Sometimes, it just becomes too much.
"Callen?" Eric says softly, pulling him back to the present.
"How do I know he's almost done?" Callen repeats. "You can see it in his eyes." Callen points up at the LCD screen, gesturing towards Paul Sanchez's face. "He's no longer getting off on telling us how much he hurt them. He's scared and exhausted, and in pain, and he just wants this over as much as we do. All that's left now is to find out if he knows what Kassel's plan for Deeks is."
"You think he does?" Eric asks as Sam enters the room with Hetty and Detective Bernhart in tow. They'd gotten a call from Bernhart about twenty minutes earlier, something about a lead he'd dug up and needed to talk to them about right away.
"Not sure," Callen answers quickly before turning his attention to the incoming trio. "What have you got, Detective?"
"Jennifer Donovan."
"Who?" Callen asks.
"Kassel's wife," Sam answers. "Well, his live-in girlfriend anyway. There's no official paperwork, but Detective Bernhart was able to dig up a connection."
Out of the corner of his eye, Callen sees Eric lean over his keyboard, his fingers flying furiously over the keys as he starts to run checks on the name Jennifer Donovan. His brow is furrowed, and Callen has no doubt that the tech is wondering how he missed the connection. To be honest, Callen is wondering the exact same thing.
"After I heard you guys talking about the dinner party that they went to with Kassel and his wife, I started looking around for her."
"So did I, " Eric insists. "I came up empty." He looks up at Hetty, who offers him a gentle smile in return.
"Me, too," Bernhart replies. "Until I started talking with a guy I knew who had worked on a case involving Kassel from a few years back. I asked him about anyone named Gabrielle. He said the name rang a bell, and went back through all of his old notebooks. That's where he came across the name Jennifer Donovan. Middle name – Gabrielle. On paper, there is no connection, but most of Kassel's inner circle know her as his wife. And they all call her Gabrielle."
"Got her," Eric says, voice flat.
Callen turns and leans over Eric, settling a hand on his shoulder. On the screen is a picture of a beautiful blonde woman with nearly flawless features. The quintessential trophy wife if ever there was one.
"Jennifer Gabrielle Donovan, thirty-three years old. She's the daughter of a movie producer, and while her family is pretty well off, it's safe to say that a good chunk of her money comes from Kassel." Eric informs them. "She has a whole list of properties under her name."
"At least some of them probably belong to Kassel," Sam suggests.
"We should check them all," Callen nods.
"I'll get my guys on it," Bernhart replies, taking a step towards the door.
"Wait," Hetty calls out. "The moment your men raid the first residence, Kassel is likely to find out and either move or kill Detective Deeks. We need a plan."
Bernhart stops in his tracks. "All right, tell me what you want me to do here."
It's a strange sight to see such a typically cocksure cop be so subservient. Just the fact that he is makes it fairly clear to everyone in the room that Bernhart is still blaming himself for allowing Kensi to be attacked at the hospital.
"Eric, compile the full list. Check all of her relatives, anyone connected to her. Get every property that she might have even a tertiary relationship to."
Eric nods, "Already on it."
"Detective, gather your men, get them on stand-by. As soon as we have a full list, we'll move everyone into position and hit all of the locations at the same time," Callen continues. "In the meanwhile, Sam, you and I have a story to wrap up."
Hetty nods her approval of her words. In a normal time with less stress and fear, she'd admit to herself how proud she is of his strong and calm leadership. She figures that there will be time for that later. She just hopes that that time comes hand in hand with the return of Deeks and Kensi to the team.
Sanchez looks up at Callen and Sam when they enter. His eyes are ringed with exhaustion and pain. The meds they'd given him have long worn off and no one seems all that interested in giving him any more relief.
"I ain't got much more," Sanchez says wearily.
"We want what you have," Sam tells him. "And then we'll hand you over the marshals, and you can spend the night in the infirmary of a Federal lockup."
Sanchez smiles slightly. "You know I'll be dead within the week, right? No way he lets me live after he knows I talked. One betrayal was bad enough, but he had a use for me. Now he doesn't. I'm a dead man." His voice is calm, and almost sad. It's like for a minute, all of the bravado has been stripped away, and all there is left is a sad pathetic man who knows that he's got very little of his life left.
"We'll have you put in isolation," Callen offers.
"Why would you do that? You two want to kill me yourselves."
"You're right, we do," Sam confirms. "And maybe if we didn't have these badges, we would."
"But you're not like me, right? You're the good guys."
"For the moment," Sam agrees.
"For all the good that does you guys. For all the good that did them."
"Just talk," Callen says, too tired to even be angry anymore. At least for the moment.
"Right. Where am I starting from now?"
"You knocked Deeks out, right?" Callen asks.
"Yup. Right across the cheekbone. I heard a long time ago that if you hit there just right, the sudden pressure can be awful and down you go. Down he went."
"And then?"
"Then Alejandro dragged him to the van and cuffed him to the wall. Even if he'd come around, there was no way he was getting loose. After I injected Agent Blye with the heroin, Alejandro and I returned to the van. Deeks was still out cold. Our job was to get him back to the first hideout. That's what we did."
Deeks is lying unconscious on his side inside the van, his hands cuffed behind him, when Sanchez and Alejandro climb inside.
"How long you think it'll take her to die?" Alejandro asks with an almost cruel kind of curiosity. He slides behind the wheel and fires up the engine of the van.
"Ten minutes. Five if she's lucky."
"Shame," Alejandro shrugs. "She was hot."
"Yeah," Sanchez mutters, his mind replaying the moments he'd spent touching her. Truth be told, he'd seen no reason to rush things along and leave so quickly, but he sure as hell hadn't been about to say no to Kassel. Not after everything else that has happened.
"Which house are we going to?" Alejandro asks.
"The one a couple miles from here, right on the edge of Van Nuys."
"The one that smells?"
"What do you care?"
"I'm the one whose probably gotta stay and watch him."
"Deal with it," Sanchez growls.
They drive about a mile and a half before Alejandro – a mean bastard for sure, but never the brightest crayon in the box – asks stupidly, "So you think he'll kill you for what you did? Working with the cops and all, I mean."
Sanchez gives him a look that he hopes is cold enough. "No, I have value to him, and he knows it."
"You brought them in."
"And I'm helping take them out."
"Okay," Alejandro mutters. "But, if he asks me to do you, it won't be personal, you know that, right?"
"Shut the fuck up and drive, would you? We don't want Deeks waking up while you're having one of your fucking Dr. Phil moments."
"I'm just saying."
"And I'm just saying, we have an unconscious cop in our car, and we just murdered a Fed. Now is not the time to be screwing around. The Boss wants him at the house and tied up, and ready for his first dose."
"Any idea why we didn't just kill him like we did her?"
"Boss has his reasons."
"You know what they are?" Alejandro pushes.
Sanchez sighs loudly. He's always hated working with partners. They tend to always find a way to screw things up and get in the way. "He's probably gonna try to flip him," he finally replies.
"This dude? No way. Especially not after we killed his girl."
"You'd be surprised how good the Boss is at flipping these cops. Take away everything they have, juice them up, promise them some power and money and freedom, and these guys, they're so sick of playing by the rules and always losing. You remember Cain? Or Hudson?"
"Cain is dead. Haven't seen Hudson in awhile."
"He's dead, too, but both were cops at one point. Both got sick of making pennies while guys like Kassel and you and me roll fat. A little bit of green and they went easy." He gestures back towards Deeks. "He won't. And I don't think he can be flipped, but the Boss wants to try, and we do what he wants."
"You mean you do what he wants because if you don't, you know you're dead."
"We're here," Sanchez says shortly. He knows that Alejandro – idiot though he be – is likely right. He's hanging onto his life by the slimmest of threads. Right now, Kassel has a use for him. If that changes, he's a dead man.
The van parks and both men get out. "Grab his feet," Sanchez directs. The two of them carry Deeks into the house, and then into the dirty window-less room in the back. They tie him to the chair as tightly as they can. In the position he's in, it'll be nearly impossible for him to squirm his way out of the binds.
Once he's sure that Deeks is secure, Sanchez slaps his face. "Wake up, Jimmy."
"Why you calling him that?" Alejandro asks. He's holding a box in his hands, prepping the contents of it.
"Boss wants me to. And no, I don't know why. Probably has something to do with flipping him." Sanchez slaps him again. "Wakey-wakey."
Deeks blinks. "Kensi?"
Sanchez smirks, then nods to Alejandro. "Inject him."
Alejandro pulls out the needle, the same one that had twenty minutes earlier been jammed into Kensi's arm. He leans over Deeks, making sure that the cop can just about taste the fried chicken that he'd had for lunch. He ties him off, locates a vein, and then injects just a small amount.
It's more than enough, though, to send Deeks flying off into delusion land.
"Now what?" Alejandro asks.
"Now you stay with him. Boss wants me to go back to the scene and see what's going on there. You know, make sure she's dead. When Deeks wakes up, ask him what we were asking back at the warehouse. See if he'll talk about the other jobs his team is doing around LA. Shit like that. Point is, try to get him talking."
"You think it'll be that easy?"
"Nope. When he refuses, hit him. Break shit. Boss doesn't care. Just don't do anything that won't heal up. After you're done slapping him around a bit, shoot him up. But be careful, we do not want him overdosing, you get it?"
"Yeah, loud and clear."
By the time Sanchez gets back to the warehouse, a ballcap pulled down over his eyes, the place is a madhouse of law enforcement. The ambulance is long gone when he arrives, but by lurking around, he's able to catch bits and pieces of several conversations from the cops working the scene.
Enough to know that, much to his surprise, Kensi Blye had been taken to the hospital alive. At least for the time being. Or so they think. It's clear to him that the Feds on the scene aren't all that interested in clearing up the details. Which in and of itself suggests to him that yes, she's alive.
Or at least was fifteen to twenty minutes ago.
He doesn't stick around long – he's not stupid enough to test fate.
Not this time anyway.
The next couple of days pass quickly for Paul Sanchez. He spends his time between the house in Van Nuys and the hospital. He's amazed by just how stupidly easy it is to get access to the critical care wing.
And that's where he sees her. The police wires all claim that she's dead, but one of his sources at the hospital had told him that a badly wounded Fed who had suffered a near fatal drug overdose had been brought in. Adding one and one together had been easy. Kassel had told him to keep an eye on her.
Keep an eye on her and kill her at the first opportunity.
It's clear to him that Kassel's hatred at the girl for defying to defy him hasn't been tempered even a little bit by what he's already done to her. Which is fine by Sanchez. In his mind, Agent Blye is exactly the kind of woman who needs to be shown her place. Preferably, a permanent one in the ground.
Sanchez realizes quickly that he's going to have to make an opportunity of his own, though, because there are always cops around her. Cops or members of her team.
So, he waits for his chance.
He hears her condition relayed from doctor to doctor, and he knows that she's feverish and constantly in and out of consciousness. Apparently, she's also suffering from a massive head injury – surely the result of Kassel's slamming her head repeatedly in the glass wall – and is therefore having memory issues.
He reports everything he hears back to Kassel, and as a reward, Kassel lets him be the one to go in and see Deeks after Kassel has shown him the videotape of what Deeks believe is his partner's murder.
He taunts him and plays with Deeks, letting him know that his only chance at living is to allow himself to be broken. And then he shoots Deeks up again, watching in amusement as the once steady as a rock and completely in control cop spins down the rabbit hole of addiction and insanity.
Kassel doesn't let him in on any more of the plan, but Sanchez actually doesn't care. His hope is that once he murders Agent Blye as ordered, the Boss will be so pleased with him that he'll assign him back to the streets.
Let him get on with what he's good at. Selling and moving drugs around.
His opportunity to take Agent Blye comes a few days in.
He sets up the distraction at the hospital, has a couple local thugs start a fight in the hallway. Once the idiot cops who are supposed to be guarding her room move away to check out the disturbance, he sneaks in, intent on changing his own destiny, and getting himself back in Kassel's good graces.
Of course, all of that goes to hell in a hand basket when the dumb bitch fights back. Again.
All she has to do is die. Go out easy. Just stop being a stubborn pain in the ass for fifteen or twenty seconds. That's all she has to do and it'll all be over.
But no, no, no, instead, she digs her nails into his hands, and struggles like crazy. She gives her backup just enough time – once again – to get to her.
And then he feels the pain of a bullet tearing through the flesh of his leg.
Paul Sanchez knows in that moment that one way or another, he's a dead man. He either dies of the wound (doubtful), her team kills him (possible) or Kassel has him murdered (probable). Either way, there's no more seconds chances.
Either way, he's done.
Nate doesn't say a word as Eric replays the audio from the end of Sanchez's story. He simply listens, his mind dwelling on the horrific pain that Kensi and Deeks have been put through.
"That's it," Eric finally says, his voice thick with emotion.
"Are you all right?" Nate asks.
"I'm…I'm not fine," Eric admits. "But I'm…I'm okay. That's what…that's what I'm supposed to say, right?"
"You're not an agent," Nate reminds him.
"No, but I am part of this team, and they need me to be strong. So maybe I should be like them. For now anyway."
"For what it's worth, Eric, I don't think you ever need to be like them, and I hope you never are," Nate tells him. Anyone else might think that he was disparaging the OSP undercover agents, but Eric understands exactly what Nate means by that; the world doesn't need any more damaged souls.
"Yeah," Eric agrees quietly, wondering if perhaps it's too late for this. His life story isn't nearly as traumatic as the ones belonging to say Kensi or Callen, but he's certainly seen his share of pain. Thus far, he's been remarkably resilient in the face of it, but really, even he can only take so much.
Right?
"So what's next?" Nate asks. He glances down the hallway, his eyes settling on the anxious and pacing form of Mike Renko. Renko has been at the hospital since he'd relieved Bernhart much earlier that morning.
"We found eight locations owned by either Jennifer Donovan or someone related to her. Most of them are fairly high end, but there's a couple reclamation projects owned by her brother. They might be legit investments, they might not. In any case, NCIS and the LAPD are getting together to raid all of them simultaneously."
"So we should know soon?" Nate queries as he walks down the hallway.
"Ideally," Eric confirms.
Nate stops halfway down the hallway, ducks into a break-room, pours a cup of coffee, and then brings it to Renko. "Here, drink this. You look like you're about to pass out."
"Thanks. Anything?" Renko asks, taking the cup and a long sip.
"Raids starts soon."
"Got it. I should be there."
Nate squeezes his shoulder. "She needs you here."
"I know."
Nate offers him a small smile, then walks back towards Kensi's room, intent on keeping her within sight at all times. "Sorry, you were saying?"
"I wasn't really. How's Kensi doing? Any better?"
Nate steps into the hospital room where she is. She's sleeping soundly, all of the monitors beeping in time with her heart and other vitals. For just a moment, even with all of the bruising and bandages, she looks somewhat peaceful, no doubt thanks to the heavy painkillers that she's finally on. "Resting."
"Is she going to be all right?"
"I hope so," Nate says softly.
"Yeah."
"You don't sound very optimistic," Nate notes.
"It's not that. It's just…can a cop like Deeks really be flipped that easy?"
"Nothing easy about it," Nate replies. "It takes a long time to make a man sell himself out. They haven't had him nearly long enough."
"But if they had? What if…what if we don't find him? I mean, who feeds his dog then? I stopped by the place this morning, but...what happens if we don't find him? What happens to him?"
"Deeks is a good man. He's got morals, and he's got a reason to be himself. He may not be proud of every decision he's ever made, but I think deep down, he knows that he's made a difference. If he can hold onto that, he'll be okay."
"Okay."
"You'll keep me posted?"
"I'll let you know as soon as we know anything," Eric promises him. Then, "If she wakes up, what are you going to tell her?"
"Hopefully good news," Nate answers.
"And if not?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to. But Eric?"
"Yeah?"
"Callen and Sam by nature expect the worst. Right now, they're thinking there's no way they find Deeks or if they do, he's dead. They need you to believe that he will be found and brought home. Someone has to."
"And if I'm wrong?"
"They won't resent you for hoping. They need that as much as you do, even if they'll never admit it."
"Thanks."
"I'll talk to you later," Nate says. He hangs up the phone and heads back into Kensi's room. He drops down next to the bed. Now, sitting closer to her, he can see that her sleep isn't near as peaceful as he'd previously thought.
He reaches out and slides his hand into hers. "I don't know what's going to happen today," he says softly. "But you got to promise me, whatever happens, you won't lose yourself."
Being that she's sound asleep, he obviously doesn't expect a response. But then again, he probably never would have asked the question had she been awake. If he had, she would have simply replied that she'd be fine.
They'd both have immediately known it for the lie it would have been.
He knows this woman, sometimes he thinks perhaps even better than Callen or Sam do. He can't speak for her relationship with Deeks – he's seen very little of it in person – but he knows how she deals with pain and loss. She closes down and up, she looks for ways to get tougher and stronger.
How do you not lose yourself when you're insistent on locking yourself away in order to protect what little of your mind, heart and soul you have left?
He squeezes her hand, weaving his fingers between hers.
He thinks about what he'd told Eric about the need for someone to stay positive. Ever since he's started doing the missions for Hetty, he's found it harder and harder to be a glass half-full kind of guy.
Which means that right now, every part of him is buzzing with fear.
Every part of him is telling him that today is not going to go well at all.
Unfortunately, he's right.
Eight houses in five minutes. That's how it goes down. Sam and Callen are across town from each other, each leading up a team of heavily armed agents. They burst in, kicking down doors and firing shots when they meet resistance at two of the residences.
Two of them are the hide-outs of low-level members of Kassel's gang. They're taken easily and with casualties to only the drug dealers.
Three of the houses are completely clean, showing no-signs of any affiliation to Christopher Kassel. The sixth one is a gorgeous beach house –the one that Deeks had visited Kassel at several times (Sanchez had confirmed the address).
The seventh and eighth houses – the ones that Sam and Callen go to – are the reclamation projects legally owned by Porter Donovan, Gabrielle's brother. Both are empty, but show signs of recent use, and not the savory kind.
The one Sam goes to – a real nasty one story house deep in the heart of East LA – is the one where Deeks has obviously been kept.
"He was here," Sam says.
"How do you know?" Callen asks over the earpiece.
"I'm in a room with a bed. There's blood all over the bed."
"That doesn't mean…"
"His watch is here," Sam says, leaning down to pick up the black watch that had been left on the blood soaked mattress.
"Bread crumbs?"
"I don't think so. I don't think Deeks left it behind."
"You think Kassel did? Why?"
"Because there's a note here. Says 'Detective Deeks is dead.'"
"That's it?" Callen asks, his voice thick with disbelief.
"That's it."
"How'd he know we were coming? How'd he know to move Deeks?"
"I don't know how Kassek knew, but…maybe he didn't move him," Sam says. "The LAPD is sending over their dogs and equipment. They're going to tear this place board from board to make sure that he's not buried somewhere…here."
"Right," Callen replies. "I'm on my way over."
By the time Callen gets there, the house is full of cops, each of them wearing matching expressions of anger and determination. Callen looks over and sees Sam and Bernhart standing off to the side, having a quiet conversation.
"Anything?" Callen asks.
"We have Sarah Donovan – Gabrielle. She's down at the precinct, but I don't think she's going to be of much use," Bernhart says. "She's a trophy wife in more ways than just looks."
"You're saying she doesn't know anything?" Callen presses.
"He's saying she doesn't know anything useful," Sam answers, fatigue and disappointment soaking his tone. He's experienced a lot of loss in his life, but it never gets easier to lose a member of your own team.
"She knows that Kassel is a drug dealer, but she doesn't know any of the details of any of his operations. She only knows that she plays her part, and he makes sure she's always happy," Bernhart explains. "She remembers Kensi and Deeks, but has no idea what was happening between them. She's a complete empty."
"Fantastic," Callen says bitterly. He reaches out and takes the watch from Sam. "There's still no body…"
"And until there is, there's a chance," Sam replies.
All three men exchange a look, one that says simply that they don't believe their own words.
All three of them believe the exact same thing; that the next time they see Marty Deeks, they'll be seeing his lifeless body.
She knows the news is bad when its Hetty who comes to deliver it. The tiny Operations Manager enters with Nate, whose face is somber and drawn.
She knows the news is really bad when Hetty calls her by her first name.
"Kensi," she says. "How are you feeling?"
"He's dead isn't he?" Kensi asks, her voice flat. She's in no mood for pleasantries. The fog that had been draped over her brain like a thick cloak just minutes earlier thanks to all the painkillers is now gone, replaced by a searing pain that seems have no focus point. No beginning and no end.
Except maybe in the middle of her chest.
"We don't know that," Hetty replies. "We just know that he's missing and we…we have no further leads."
"He's dead," Kensi says again, this time making it clear that she believes it to be the truth of the situation. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Renko appear. He stays in the doorway, as if unwilling to enter.
There's an old way amongst field operatives – a way of dealing with death and loss. They're supposed to be strong and stoic and they're not supposed to show pain or fear or weakness. Even to each other.
Callen and Sam are old pros at that. Renko, too. Deeks is only the second person that Kensi has ever lost in the line of duty, but she's got a lot of practice thanks to Jack and her father at learning how to internalize grief and loss.
A voice in the back of her head tells her that this is the wrong path to take, that Deeks wouldn't want her to do this. Hell, it says, Deeks would be the first one annoyed at her for not showing emotion at his loss.
But she won't, she simply won't.
"I know this is difficult," Hetty starts.
"It's not. I've been through this before. I know how it goes."
"It never gets easier."
"Actually it does. It gets easier because you learn…" she stops short, emotion choking off her words. She takes a moment to steel herself, and then finishes, "You learn…you learn not to…you just learn."
She means to say that you learn not to let anyone in again, you learn not to allow people to get close. You learn not to believe someone when they tell you that they'll always be there, always have your back.
You learn how to ignore them when they say to you that they'll be with you every step of the way, even if you don't see them.
Because in the end, it's all lies.
Whether willing or otherwise, everyone leaves. Everyone.
"Oh, my dear…"
"I'm…I'm fine. Just…tired," Kensi cuts her off. She's staring straight ahead now, calmly ignoring the worried looks she's getting from Hetty and Nate. Renko's expression is harder to read, but she recognizes it, and thinks that she's probably wearing some variation (albeit a much more emotionless one) of it herself right now.
"Would you like me to let you rest?" Hetty asks.
"Please."
"Certainly."
Hetty takes a step towards the door, then, "If you'd like to talk…"
"I don't need to."
"If you do, you know where I am."
"Do you know when I'll be released?"
"Not for a few days," Nate puts in. "At least a week if not more. Your head injury…"
"Is healing."
"Is still quite serious," Hetty inserts. "And you need to stay here until all of the doctors working your case clear you to return home."
"And then?"
"Why don't we worry about 'then" then?" Hetty suggests.
Kensi's eyes flash up, showing emotion for the first time. "Am I…have I been…do I still have a job to return to?" For the first time, fear shows in her eyes.
There's a tsunami of violent emotions swirling around within her, but through sheer force of will, she's able to control them enough to keep them inside. The fear of not having a home to return to – a place (and that place is certainly her job – is enough to press cracks into the thick wall that she has put up around her.
Hetty leans forward. "That will never be the case as long as I am there," she assures Kensi. "But you have been seriously injured. You have a lot of healing to do before we worry about you returning to action."
"But I can…return to action, right?"
"We will do everything in our power to make that happen."
"Thank you," Kensi replies, letting Hetty see the gratitude she feels.
"Anytime, my dear. And I meant it, if you would like to talk, I am always available to you. Night or day."
"I know," Kensi answers, her voice hardening again, her tone making it clear that she has no intention of talking. A look over at Nate tells him the same thing – story time is over; she has no desire to speak to anyone about Deeks or the painful feelings that are tearing at her insides, threatening to rip her apart.
She'd told Deeks during their captivity that she wouldn't break. She doesn't intend to break now. At least not in front of anyone. Maybe not at all.
"I'll let you sleep then. Mr. Renko and Detective Bernhart will continue to stand guard for you until you are released."
"You really think that's necessary?"
"I think I don't care if it is or not."
Kensi simply nods. Hetty tries again to find her eyes, but all she gets is a distant gaze from her youngest operative. It's enough to break the heart of even the most grizzled of operatives.
Hetty steps out of the room, followed closely by Nate.
"You want me to keep trying to talk to her?" Nate asks.
"Not tonight. Tonight, leave her alone with her feelings."
"Is that safe? Or healthy?"
"Probably not, but she's still not physically well enough to handle all of this. If you push her, she could have an extreme reaction that could cause her even more harm. We should let her come to this in her own time."
Nate shakes his head. "You know better than that. This is Kensi. She doesn't come to things like this in her time. She represses them and locks them away. But you know what, Dom was one thing. She and Deeks, they were actually partners – in every sense of the word, I suspect. It's not healthy for her to lock all of this away. It's not right."
"And you won't get her talking – even to you – before she's ready."
"And what if she's never ready?"
Hetty just gives him a small smile.
"You've seen this before," Nate says, and he's not asking a question.
"Agents turning hard because of too much loss?" Hetty asks. She nods. "Unfortunately. Too many times."
"There's nothing we can do?"
"I didn't say that. But now is not the time. She needs to grieve in her own way. And she needs to heal. We can deal with everything else later."
"Just as long as we do plan to deal with it."
Hetty simply nods, and says, "We do, Mr. Getz, I promise you that."
She's with him again, sitting next to the bed, her hand wrapped in his. She's been his Kensi for hours now, teasing him about lying down and whining, harassing him about being delicate and soft.
Only the fact that his body is simply too weak keeps him from enjoying her presence. Still, he makes no move to pull away from her.
He just listens to her voice, thinking if one of these time Alejandro gives him too much of the heroin, he'd be fine with her words being the last he ever hears. Even if they're not real, even if they're just figments of his imagination.
Vaguely, he recalls hearing Alejandro and another man talk about the cops being on the way. And then he remembers being thrown back into the van, and then drugged up. He'd come to many hours later, somewhere far away from Los Angeles, likely outside of the immediate reach of his team.
He's in another little room now, this one much cleaner. He's again on his stomach, on a bed with clean white sheets. He's not sure why he's moved from filth to near respectability, but even in his state, he knows it can't be a good thing.
"Jimmy," he hears, as the door opens, and Kassel enters. He sees the man's leather loafers as they cross the floor.
"Deeks," he replies, still not understanding why they continue to call him Jimmy.
"We should talk," Kassel tells him.
"I thought we had been. Like old friends."
Kassel chuckles. "We are old friends."
"I think you've been shooting some of your own product," Deeks retorts. He glances up at Kensi, who smirks at him. He thinks how much he loves that look.
"No, not really my thing. But I'm wondering, are you just about done with this?"
"This? You mean the whole getting the shit beat out of me?"
"No, the whole pretending to be someone you're not."
"I'm not following."
"Jimmy…"
"Deeks," the young cop insists again.
"See, son, that's the problem. You think you're someone you're not. You think you're someone you never have been."
"What?"
"There is no Marty Deeks. There never has been."
Deeks blinks. He wonders if he's hearing things, he wonders if this entire conversation with Kassel is just another delusion. He looks up towards Kensi again, and sees that she's wearing the same confused expression that he is.
"I don't know what you're playing at…"
"I'm not playing at anything. I'm simply trying to bring one of my best boys home. Jimmy, I want you back."
"My name is Marty Deeks. I'm a Detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. I don't…have a serial number. I think."
Kassel ignores the half-assed attempt at humor, intent on pushing forward his agenda. "No, you're not. Your name is Jimmy Reese, and you work for me."
"That's bullshit."
"No, it's not. Listen to me, Jimmy. Listen. Three years ago, you got in a fight with a young man named Marty Deeks. The real Marty Deeks. You killed him, and buried him in the Los Angeles National Forest. Afterwards, you stole his car. That's when you discovered that he had tested to join the police department. With my help, you took his place. You took his life. You became Martin Deeks. Everything that has happened, everything that you remember, it's a lie. Marty Deeks is dead. You are Jimmy Reese."
He blinks. It's absurd. It's preposterous. He laughs.
"Really? That's how you're going to try to break me?"
Kassel just looks back at him, an almost patient paternal expression on his face. "I know this is difficult. I never thought you'd get in so deep that you'd actually start believing that you were him, that you were one of them. I never thought I'd have to hurt you so badly to bring you back."
"And my partner? Let me guess, one of your people, too? Or maybe an actress?"
"No, no. She was a real Fed. Agent Blye. But, unfortunately, she was in the way. It's strange really, three years ago, you would have killed her yourself."
"No. Jimmy Reese is a cover that Er…that was made up. It's a cover."
"You're confused. I can help you."
Kassel stands and then nods towards Alejandro. Deeks feels the pressure of the needle a moment later. Familiar colors wash over him, sweeping him backwards, and into a wash of peaceful calm. He embraces it fully.
"Everything is upside down right now, Jimmy, but I promise you, before long, everything will make sense. You'll remember who you are. You'll remember whom you belong with. You'll remember who your family really is."
The last thing Deeks does before he fully surrenders to the heroin is look around the room for Kensi. She's gone, though. Nowhere to be seen.
Which means that aside from Kassel and Alejandro, he's alone. Alone, afraid and confused. And much to his surprise and horror, wondering who is real – Marty Deeks or James Reese.
"Deeks," he mumbles. "I am Marty Deeks."
Kassel touches his face. "Deeks is dead. You are Jimmy Reese. You always have been. You always will be."
"No..."
"Yes. Now rest, Jimmy. You're still quite sick."
Kassel stands up then, looks at Deeks one last time, and then turns and exits the room, a small smile of victory and satisfaction playing across his lips.
These two law enforcement officers had come after him, deceived him and dug their way into his organization. They'd made fools of him, and turned his own best man against him.
For that sin, they would both pay dearly.
For that sin, he means to ensure that neither of them ever have another moment of peace or happiness.
Originally, death had seemed an adequate price to pay (and in truth, he'd have been happy if Agent Blye had died in that warehouse, but somehow, the second chance at her he's gotten is so much better), but betrayal is, in his mind, the greatest sin of all. Therefore, the punishment must be equally as horrific. A simple loss of life is too easy.
There must be more.
There will be more.
For both Marty Deeks and Kensi Blye, as far as Christopher Kassel is concerned, the worst is yet to come.
TBC.