Author's Note: First, let me say thank you for all of the amazing (and often passionate) comments that you've sent in. I've been overwhelmed. I appreciate the kind words, and in response, ask for your continued trust going forward - even through the dire moments. I assure you - I have a plan. Second, this chapter is again, very long (once again, the longest yet). Early on, I decided to just let my muse have free reign - he's the one telling the story, I'm just the typist. I apologize for any rambling (and possibly duplication of themes) as well as typos. Finally, this chapter deals with some violent themes so please, be forewarned. Also, note I am not a medical professional. I've made a ballpark attempt at accuracy, but for any pros out there, mea culpa.
Again, thank you, and I hope you continue to enjoy reading the story as much as I have enjoyed writing it.
NCIS Special Agent Kensi Blye has lost count of the number of times that she's had a loaded gun pointed at her face over the last few years of her life. She figures that it's got to be well into the triple digits by now.
Each and every time it happens, there's a weird kind of…feeling that comes over her. It would be wrong to call it fear. No, adrenaline enhanced excitement is much more accurate.
Normally, it's exhilarating, and one hell of a rush.
Normally anyway.
This situation she's currently in – the one that has her lying on the floor of her Living Room, blood spilling down her arm from a nasty looking bullet graze on her shoulder – well it's about as far from normal (and exhilarating) as you can get. And what she's feeling right now? It's well past fear.
More like terror mixed with a liberal sprinkling of confusion.
All thanks to him.
Deeks. Marty Deeks. Only problem is, the guy standing over her with his gun pointed down at her, he doesn't think his name is Deeks. No, this high as a kite mean son of a bitch thinks his name is Jimmy Reese.
Also known as the college student turned drug dealer that Eric had invented out of thin air for the deep cover operation that she and Deeks had worked together on seven months earlier.
"Deeks," she says, a slight tremor in her voice. She kind of hates herself for the fear she's showing, but it's hard to mask it considering the situation.
Earlier that afternoon, as internally gutting as it had been for her, she'd all but admitted to her shrink that she pretty much figured Deeks for a dead man – had for many months now.
Turns out she'd been wrong. Turns out, he'd just been changed into someone else entirely – a completely different man.
"Told you, baby," Deeks laughs, and there's a kind of grotesque leer on his face, "Name is Reese. But you don't gotta worry about that for too long. In about thirty seconds, you're not gonna have to worry about anything ever again."
"You don't want to do this," she tells him, her eyes darting around the room, looking for something she can use to fight back with. Kicking out isn't really an option – he's just far enough away where she'd practically have to lunge. He'd have to be a horrible shot to miss her at this range.
He shrugs, "Don't actually care one way or the other."
She lifts her eyes to his, staring up and into beautiful blue orbs that she knows so well. They're bloodshot now, showing clear signs of exhaustion as well as lack of proper sleep and diet. She searches them for a sign of recognition, but sees none. He simply has no idea who she is or what she's supposed to mean to him.
"Wait…wait…before you…before you do it, tell me why you're here. Please?"
"To kill you."
She'd already pretty much figured that part out for herself, but for the sake of figuring out why, she plays dumb. "But you just said you didn't care one way or –"
"No, babe, I said I didn't care. My boss cares."
"Kassel." The name spits out from her lips almost before she can stop it. She feels a wave of ice water rush through her veins, and then a dull ache as her heart starts to hammer in her chest again. She hears the words "panic attack" echo through her skull, almost like some kind of creepy warning. As it does, she becomes acutely aware of the warmness of the blood sliding beneath her fingers.
"Yeah. Him. Dunno what you did to piss him off, but he wants you hurt badly."
"Yes, you do," she answers quickly, trying to keep him talking while she works on coming up with a plan to disarm him. "You know what I did to piss him off because we did it together. You and me, Deeks."
For the briefest of moments, she thinks she sees the dim light of recognition in his blue eyes. Maybe even a foggy memory caught in the weird bramble bush that is his drug (probably heroin knowing Kassel's business, she thinks to herself) soaked brain right about now.
"Deeks," she presses, emphasizing his name. "It's me, it's Kensi. Your partner."
He makes a strange flinching motion, and then laughs, the sound almost cruel. "No, no. I don't have a partner. I work alone." He aims the gun at her again, his finger sliding to the trigger.
Behind him, Kensi hears the soft whimper of Monty coming to, clearly still dazed from having been thrown across the room. Just the pained sound he's making is enough to tell her that he's been hurt far more than she had initially thought, which means that the brave little mutt will be of no further immediate help to her.
"Wait," she says again, her words coming out as more of a pained gasp as her breath catches in her chest. The warning bells are clanging louder now, telling her that if she doesn't get control of this situation – and herself – it won't be Deeks that she'll have to worry about, it'll be her own heart thanks to another panic attack. "You…you said your name was Jimmy, right?"
"Yeah. Jimmy. I thought we covered that." He's smiling at her still, the expression almost sadistic. If she didn't know better, she'd think that he was playing a part – just acting a cover, but her instincts are telling her otherwise. This is no cover; he really believes that he's Jimmy Reese.
The strange part (well okay, there's a lot strange about this, she admits) is, this man in front of her isn't the Jimmy Reese that Eric had created either. That Jimmy had been a bit of a wanna-be bad boy, but he'd pretty much whipped by Kara, and fairly devoid of any kind of mean streak.
It's clear to her that this guy standing above her is all mean streak. At least this hopped up on drugs version of him anyway.
"Then I don't understand why you don't recognize me," she says, her mind whirling as she tries to come up with the right words to properly play along.
"Why would I? Did I fuck you and forget about it?"
She flinches involuntarily, but then collects herself enough to force out, "Jimmy, baby, come on, it's me," she tells him. "It's Kara."
He blinks, and shakes his head, his demeanor suddenly changing dramatically. He seems a lot more like Eric's Jimmy now. "You said…you said…Kensi…"
"I said that because I had to become her. I was hiding from Mr. Kassel…you know what he's capable of, Jimmy. I got scared."
He stares at her, and this time, she does see recognition. Only he's not recognizing Kensi Blye, he's recognizing that vapid twit Kara Barstow. It's enough to break her heart right in two.
"You're dead," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "He told me you were dead."
"I had to make him think that so he'd leave me alone. I thought you were dead, too, baby," she answers, and this time, she's not really acting even if she using a term of endearment that she can't ever see her using for or with Deeks. No matter what relationship they might ever have.
The next thing he does surprises her completely. He drops down next to her, the gun at his side, and then he reaches out with his hand and ever so gently touches her face. She feels his thumb trace her jawline. The gesture is so incredibly loving and deeply emotional that it would almost be touching if either Kara or Jimmy were real people.
"Kara," he whispers, and then without further warning, he leans in and kisses her. She hadn't been expecting it at all, but she's quick enough on her toes to play along, and besides, he's kissing her with so much passion and force that it's almost impossible to resist without a show of violence.
Which would probably result in an equal show of violence from him. Not a good idea – at least not yet. So instead, for the moment, she focuses on him.
And the kiss.
Oh, the kiss. It feels good – really good if the truth be told– but underneath her rather embarrassing enjoyment of it, she can still feel fear slithering through her like a predatory snake about to strike. She can just about hear her heart slamming away in her chest. She knows then that time is short. She has to stop this. She has to get control of this before he does something he can't undo.
Like kill her.
So as he continues to kiss her, his tongue pressing into her mouth and oxygen quickly becoming an issue for both of them, she moves a hand around to the back of his neck, massages it for a brief moment, and then with sudden violent force, she drives her fingers – nails and all – into his soft skin and muscle.
He howls in pain and pulls away, the gun dropping from his hand as he reaches back to grab at his now bleeding flesh. She doesn't give him time to react or really even to absorb what she's done to him. Instead, she sweeps out with her leg, and drops him flat on his back. A hard follow-up kick to the face, and he's in serious agony, wincing through eyes filled with blood and probably tears.
She dives for her gun, grabs it, and then standing above him (bitterly musing on how their positions have abruptly changed), she takes time to kick his gun (a rather cheap street piece – not the kind Deeks usually carries) away.
"Don't move an inch," she says. "Or I will shoot you." She lowers the gain and aims at his crotch. She knows that she'd never shoot him there, but if Deeks really doesn't remember who he is, then he doesn't know that.
"Kara," he gasps out, a hand waving in the air, as if reaching for her. She almost feels bad for him – for his apparent confusion. Almost.
She shakes her head. "I'm not Kara and you're not Jimmy, and I promise you – Deeks -, we're going to get this figured out, okay?"
His expression changes from confusion to rage. "I'm going to kill you, you fucking whore," he hisses even though he's not a terribly threatening figure lying on the carpet, his gaunt face covered in blood.
"Yeah, you already tried that," she replies dryly. "And I'm going to remember you called me that. You're going to be apologizing for it for a very long time."
He grunts something crude in response, but she's already tuned out his words. She turns her head slightly to the side, looking around to see if maybe there's a pair of handcuffs nearby. He mistakes her glance away for lack of attention, and chooses that moment to try to attack her again.
She pays him back by driving her bare foot – heel first - into the middle of his crotch. Perhaps frustration and fear overtake her for just a moment because she steps on him hard enough to make his eyes roll back into his head. His head hits the ground with a hard thud and he lets out a loud pained squeal of pain.
And then she pushes down just a little bit harder, and shoves her heel in just a little bit deeper. He gasps, and stops moving, momentarily blacked out thanks to the intense pain he's in.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, feeling a thousand different conflicting emotions (anger, guilt, fear, shame) surge through her. Looking around again, and finally seeing cuffs on a table near the door (what are they doing there, she wonders to herself), she grabs them, and quickly cuffs him, hands behind his back.
She makes her way back into her bedroom, picks up her iPhone, walks back into the Living Room (so she can keep an eye on Deeks-Who-Thinks-He's-Jimmy). Just as she's about to tap Callen's name in her favorites list, the cell buzzes. The LCD screen of the iPhone shows Callen's name. She hits the ACCEPT button.
"Callen…" she starts.
"Are you all right?" he cuts her off. He doesn't let her reply, just continues on, his words a breathless stream of worry. "Eric just said there was a report of shots fired at your bungalow. There are cops on the way."
She looks at her arm, then down at Deeks, who has somewhat regained consciousness, but is still on the ground, utterly consumed by the pain he's in.
"Just one shot," she clarifies.
"Are you –"
She cuts off the question with, "How far out are they?"
"You have a little bit of time," he tells her. "There was a pretty big gang shoot-up about a mile from your place. Most of the cop cars are still there trying to sort everything out. You probably have a half hour or so before they roll over your way. What's going on? Are you okay?"
"I'm…fine. Really. But…you need to get over here. Now. Before the cops do."
"Why?"
She takes a breath, and then says softly, "Because Deeks is here. And he just tried to kill me."
"What?"
"Get Sam and get here. Now."
"We'll be there in twenty," Callen replies, choosing wisely not to bother with any further questions. At least not yet.
"Ten, Callen. Be here in ten. I don't want to have to try to explain this to the LAPD. They'll try to take him. We can't let them take him. You understand?"
"No."
"Just trust me, please."
"Always, Kens. I'm on my way."
The line goes dead. For a moment, her mind circles on Callen telling her that he'd always trust her – an amazing statement from a man who trusts so few people. Perhaps, on a different day and with different issues at hand, she'd allow herself time to really dwell on the nature of trust.
And family.
And love.
But for now, all she can think about is him.
Deeks.
And then she laughs because in the end, Deeks (and her relationship with him) is about all of those things. Trust, love, family. All of them and so very much more.
"What the hell has he done to you?" she whispers. She wants to drop down, and touch him. She wants to run her hands over his bearded face, feel his skin and confirm for herself that he's really there, but she doesn't quite dare.
For one, this man isn't exactly Deeks right now, and even hurt and in pain, he's still dangerous enough that if she were to give him an opening, he could make her pay for it – likely with her life. She'd already done that once by lowering her gun – she has no intention of making the same rookie mistake twice.
For two, her wounded shoulder is starting to seriously smart right about now. Bullet graze or otherwise, it hurts like hell.
Yeah, probably not a good idea to go to Deeks right now. Not a good idea at all.
So instead, after grabbing a dishtowel out of the kitchen, she makes her way over to Monty. "Hey, buddy," she says, dropping down next to him, her gun still pointed at Deeks' fallen form. He's moving a bit more now, but mostly he's still rolling from side to side, still trying to absorb the groin shot. If it was anyone but Deeks, she'd actually be proud of herself for such a brutal hit.
She feels no such pleasure in hurting him.
Monty whimpers pathetically as she runs her hands over him, checking his bones. She grimaces when she comes to his front left paw, which is bent at a nasty angle. "Oh, baby," she whispers, running her fingers as lightly as she can over the clearly broken bone. It's a sign of how much he trusts her that he doesn't flinch away from her or show any aggression at all. "Your Daddy isn't okay right now, Monty. He's just not. He didn't mean to hurt you. But he is going to owe you lots of treats for this one. I'll make sure he pays up."
He answers by whimpering again, and then putting his head in her lap. She slides the fingers of one her hand into his fur, sighs loudly, and then leans back against the wall behind her. She places the dishtowel against her shoulder, slowing the flow of blood. As she does, she listens to the sound of her heart beating, then focuses on her breathing.
In. Out. In. Out.
She takes control of herself, forces the panic back, refuses to let it win.
Refuses to not be strong.
For herself. For him.
Right now, he needs that more than ever.
It's almost exactly ten minutes later when she hears a hard quick knock on the front door of the bungalow. A moment later, the door opens and Sam and Callen enter, both of them wearing expressions of concerns.
"Hey," she says tiredly as she pushes herself to her feet. She drops the bloodied dishtowel to the floor, leaving it a few inches away from Monty.
"Are you all right?" Sam asks immediately, his eyes flying up and down her, doing a quick field check of her. Normally, this would annoy her, but right now, she understands his need to ensure her safety enough to let it pass.
"Fine," she says. She indicates (reluctantly) towards her wounded shoulder. "He shot me, but it's just a scratch. Just stings a little is all."
"We should still get you checked out," Callen tells her.
"Later," she replies dismissively, and both of the guys know immediately that she has no intention of spending any time in a hospital tonight. She turns and points into the Living Room. "He's in there." A spray of moonlight shines in through the glass side-door, illuminating Deek's fallen form.
"Why'd he shoot you?" Sam asks.
"Apparently he thinks he's Jimmy Reese."
"What?" Callen demands, peering around her. Deeks is still moving around, still not quite able to get his balance back. Every time he tries to sit up, he falls back.
"He believes that his name is Jimmy Reese. He thinks that he was sent here by Kassel to kill me." She points to her arm. "Which he tried to do as you can see."
"How'd he get in?" Sam asks, touching her arm.
"He picked the lock, and shorted the security system. He surprised me completely. And he probably would have killed me, too," she admits (hating that she has to). "Monty saved me." She gestures towards the pup, who is watching the three of them with wide pained eyes. As if hearing that they're talking about him, he whimpers. "Front left leg is broken. Looks like a compound fracture."
"I know a guy who can help," Callen says, eyes flickering over towards Monty.
"You know a Vet?" Sam asks.
"Didn't say he was a Vet, just said he could help."
In spite of everything, Kensi snorts. "Uh huh. No. Once we've secured Deeks, I'll take him over to an animal hospital. You know, where actual Vets can help him."
"Have it your way," Callen shrugs. Then, looking over at Deeks, he asks, "What'd you do to him?"
She smirks then, "Kicked him in the…Nom de plumes."
"Harsh," Sam says.
"He shot me. I owed him. And I didn't really kick him. I more…stepped on him."
Callen and Sam exchange a semi-amused (if slightly pained) look. Then, "So what's your plan?" Sam queries. "Cops will be here soon."
"I know. I need you guys to take him back to the Boatshed. I'll deal with the cops, and then I'll take care of Monty and meet you guys back there."
"Kensi…" Callen starts, his eyes on her shoulder.
"Call Hetty. Tell her find Nate. Whatever it takes, we need him back here."
Callen nods. "All right, fine. How are you going to explain the gunshot wound?"
"I'm not planning to." She looks around the room, and sees her father's USMC sweatshirt flung over the couch – where she'd left it the morning before. She pulls it on quickly, effectively hiding the wound. Before Sam and Callen can protest (and she can tell that they're both about to), she says, "I'll let Hetty check it out as soon as I get back, but it's nothing, I promise."
"And Monty? How you going to explain his injury?"
"That part is easy. I thought I heard someone in my house, I walked out with my gun, I tripped over my dog, and accidentally fired. He got hurt, no one else did."
"You lie too well," Sam notes, and maybe there's a hint of sadness there.
"Yeah, maybe. Get him out of here."
They nod and step towards him. "Come on, Deeks," Sam says, sliding an arm under the confused blonde man. He takes in the gaunt look of the cop, and sees the sure signs of severe drug addiction. It's enough to break the heart of even a tough guy like former NAVY SEAL Sam Hanna.
"Jimmy," Deeks grits out. Then, looking around, his eyes settle on Kensi. "Uncuff me, bitch, and let's go again, huh?"
Before Kensi can reply, Sam tightens his hold on Deeks, digging his fingers into the blonde man's arm. "That bitch just ensured that you won't have kids for a few years," Sam growls. "Now show some respect before I finish the job for her."
"Sam," she whispers, wanting to tell him to ease up.
"I got him," Sam tells her, his tone telling her that he understands what she's trying to say, but that he has no intention of letting anyone insult her. She appreciates the sentiment even if she doesn't really feel like she needs it.
She watches him drag Deeks from her bungalow, her face showing the sadness and horror of the situation. It's almost too much.
"You okay?" Callen asks.
"Fine." It's an automatic response.
"Kens…"
"Just take care of him, please?"
"You know we will."
For a moment, she says nothing. And then, quietly. "I've never…I don't know what to do here, Callen…how do we…"
"We'll figure it out," he promises, turning to face her. He forces her to meet his eyes. "We've got Deeks back now. We're not going to lose him again. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Good. Now it sounds like the cops are finally on their way here – I think I can hear sirens. Take care of them. Take care of Monty. We'll take care of Deeks, and we'll meet you back at the Boatshed."
He's simply repeating what she'd said a few minutes earlier, but somehow, right now, he's saying what she needs him to say. He's giving her a plan of attack. Right now, more than ever, she needs that.
She simply nods.
The cops are easier to deal with – and make go away - than seems right (or safe). They believe her story completely, and then, much to her surprise, they even offer to escort her to the Emergency Veterinary Hospital a few miles away. She politely declines the offer, and apologizes for wasting their time.
Afterwards, she drives to the Veterinary Hospital, and checks Monty in for the night. She hands over her cell number, and then authorizes them to do whatever they need to do in order to help him. In this case, that means surgery to repair the compound fracture in his left leg.
Before she leaves, she hears the words she needs to – the first good words she's heard all night. "He's going to be fine," a kindly nurse tells her.
She feels relief flood through her. She hopes to God that this isn't just the calm before the proverbial storm.
She's pretty damn sure that it is.
She arrives at the Boatshed at just before five in the morning. She's tired, and the vast majority of her adrenaline has worn off, which means that she can now feel the sharp stinging pain in her injured shoulder.
"How is he?" she asks as she enters. She looks up at the LCD, which shows Deeks sitting on the floor in the interrogation room, head resting against one of his no longer cuffed hands. He's trembling and twitching now, in need of a fix.
"Pissed," Callen replies, pressing a cup of hot coffee into her hands. She nods a thank you to him, and is rewarded with a small smile.
"And sore," Sam says with something of a smirk. He indicates towards an ice pack that's lying in Deeks' lap, held there by one of his shaking hands.
"He looks like he's coming down from the Prince Charming pretty fast," she says. "Has he had any muscle spasms yet?"
Both guys eye her curiously. "Not yet," Callen finally says.
"Probably means he took his last hit only a few hours before he came to kill me." Seeing their looks, she sighs, and decides just to answer the question that they don't seem quite able to ask. "Not sure if you guys remember the briefing about this stuff, but it's almost instantly addictive – especially in the dosage they gave me. I was in the hospital and completely out of it for all of my withdrawal period, but afterwards, I did some reading up on it. I just…needed to know what had been put into me, and what I'd gone through."
"Ah," Callen nods. "Never done heroin," he adds cryptically. Both she and Sam know better than to bother trying to get him to elaborate; he simply won't.
He still calling me names?" Kensi asks instead.
"More than a few," Sam grunts, clearly unhappy about this.
"It's fine," she says him with a smile. "Did you guys call Hetty and Eric?"
"Yes on Hetty, no on Eric," Callen replies. "That's not much he can do here except worry. Nothing to type, nothing to look up."
"Right," she replies. "Is Hetty already here?"
"I'm right here, Ms. Blye," Hetty says as she comes around the corner, her heeled boots lightly clipping the ground. "If you'll please remove your sweatshirt."
In spite of everything, Kensi almost cracks a lame joke – one that Deeks (the real Deeks) would be proud of. Instead, she reaches down and pulls the USMC sweatshirt off of her, which leaves her in just the tank top that she had worn to bed hours earlier. Forced to raise both arms in order to move the now bloodied sweatshirt up and over her head, she reluctantly allows a small hiss of pain to escape from between her tightly clenched teeth.
"Sit, please," Hetty orders. Kensi does so without protest. A moment later, she feels the sharp sting (and bubble) of disinfectant as Hetty begins to clean and probe the wound. It hurts – ridiculously and somewhat embarrassingly so – but she just clenches her teeth tighter.
Unfortunately, Sam and Callen notice. And they're grinning at her.
"Shut up," she mutters, barely moving her lips.
"Monty okay?" Sam asks.
"He will be."
"Good. So just a scratch, huh?" Sam says, watching as Hetty continues to clean the wound, exposing slightly more damage than Kensi had realized.
"A deep scratch," she amends. Then, to Hetty, "What about Nate? Were you able to find him?"
"Yes. We're in luck," Hetty says. "He's in town already. He'll be here shortly."
"Why's he in town?" Callen queries, eyebrow lifted.
Kensi chuckles humorlessly. "Probably for me. Let me guess, you wanted him to verify Dr. Crosby's assessment of me being ready to return to the field?"
"No, my dear, I wanted him to make sure that you are all right. Director Vance cares about your field readiness. I care about you." She says it so gently, and with so much sincerity that it's almost too much for Kensi.
The last twenty-four hours have been hellish in regards to her emotions. It's clearly not getting any better. A glance up at the LCD, and she knows damn well that it's not about to get better anytime soon.
"Right," she mutters. She turns her attention back to watching Hetty clean the wound. Her eyes focus in on the bright red blood that is still dribbling down her arm. As she does, it's almost like a strange sort of tunnel vision overcomes her. For a moment, all she can see is the blood. She can hear Sam and Callen talking, but their words are gibberish to her. All she sees is the red.
"Kensi?" she hears, and it sounds like Callen.
"Hm?" she says after a moment, blinking and looking up.
"I…asked you if you were hungry."
"No," she says with a shake of her head. She looks over at her shoulder, sees that there's now white gauze around it, and asks, "Am I good to go?"
"Yes, though I don't think you'll be throwing any punches with this arm for a few days," Hetty tells her with a small smile.
"We'll see," Kensi replies with a much smaller smile. Then, "Nate's on his way, right? But still a few minutes out?"
Hetty nods. "Why?"
"I…I think…I need air."
And then, without waiting for anyone to tell her to go ahead (as she knows they will), she stands up, grabs a jacket off of one of the chairs (the jacket is Sam's so when she puts it on, it seems to dwarf her), and then exits the Boatshed.
"Leave her," Hetty says before either man can move. "If we're going to pull Mr. Deeks through this, he's going to need her more than anyone else. She's going to have to be strong for him, which means that she needs to be strong for herself. Let her have this. At least for now."
Reluctantly, they do.
It's early in the morning, and the sun isn't yet up, but there are already surfers on the beach and in the water. She sits down in the sand and watches them, thinking about a time several months earlier – during the undercover operation - when she'd watched Deeks surf.
That hadn't been the first time she'd watched him surf. Far from it really.
She knows that one of these days, he's going to get them both in a lot of trouble by doing this. And she knows that it's likely that she'll be the one catching the majority of the heat simply for allowing him to do it.
And yet, it's a lovely late Fall afternoon, and the thermometer is still close to eighty-five, and so when he suggests pulling over on the way back to Ops, she finds herself doing it with only the most cursory of protests.
They've only been partners for a few months now, and still, she gets the feeling that he's learned how to get what he wants and needs from her. That she's allowing him to take a surf break in the middle of the workday (and in the middle of an active homicide case), well that pretty much proves it.
"Hey," he says, as he climbs out of the backseat of the car. He's changed into a pair of board shorts, and a gray tank top. "Want me to rent you a board?"
"Nope," she chuckles. "You're breaking the rules, not me."
"Ah, but you're letting me break the rules. Makes you an accomplice."
"Mm," she says. "Go surf."
"That sounds suspiciously like enticement to commit a crime."
"Whatever," she laughs. It always amuses her when he starts breaking out the legal jargon. She doesn't know much about his short past as a law student, but something tells her that if he had chosen to stay on that path, he would have ended up being a very good lawyer indeed. Not that she would ever tell him that.
"You sure you don't want to join me?" he asks again.
"Nope, I'm good right here."
"Uh huh. Admit it, you're just afraid that you won't be perfect your first time out. And that kind of drives you nuts, doesn't it?"
He's right, of course, but she has absolutely no intention of letting him know that.
"Deeks," she warns. "If you don't stop annoying me, I'll leave you in the water, and let you walk back to Ops and have explain why you stopped for a surf break in the middle of a case."
"You wouldn't."
"Oh, Deeks."
"You totally would," he nods. "Fine, fine," he says with a wave of his hand. "Have it your way. You can watch. I think you'll enjoy the view."
"Yup," she replies easily. "There are some beautiful men out there."
"Sometimes, partner, you're just mean."
Her only response is a half smirk-half grin. It's beautiful, and just a little bit scary.
He turns and walks down the beach. A few minutes later, he's out on the water, crouched on his rented surfboard, waiting for the wave to crash towards him.
Despite her words about the other surfers, he's the only one she watches.
As the memories hit her hard, she puts her head into her hands, and feels a few tears escape and slide down her fingers. Her body shakes as she silently cries. For the second time on this terrible night, a massive part of her wants to come apart completely, wants to let everything out.
She didn't do before, though, and she sure as hell won't do that, though. Even this feels like too much.
She allows it simply because she can't stop it. And because she's pretty much alone, and no one (the surfers are too far away) can see how weak she really is.
The tears don't last long, maybe only a couple minutes. When they're done, she pulls herself together, and brings her knees up to her chest.
She watches the sun rise. It should be an amazing event, the beginning of a new day. It should bring promise and hope and serenity and all of that other Zen crap.
It brings different things for her. Sadness and loss and loneliness.
And determination. That, too.
The sun reflecting brilliantly off water the color of his eyes, she makes a solemn promise to herself, tells herself that whatever she has to do, whatever it takes, she'll pull Deeks through this.
Nate has already arrived and been briefed by the time she returns to the Boatshed about an hour after she'd left. As she steps inside, she can hear him talking to the others, discussing the details of their rather dire situation.
"Have you ever dealt with anything like this before?" Callen asks.
Nate nods. "I helped out with an undercover DEA agent."
"Is this case like that one?" Sam asks, knowing full well that most people would have asked questions about whether or not it had worked out for the DEA agent. Subconsciously, he knows the reason he doesn't ask is because he's afraid of the answer. What if the attempt had failed? What then?
"I won't know until I talk to Deeks."
"Then talk to him," Kensi says, slowly stepping into view. The foursome turn to face her, all of the men wearing matching expressions of worry. It's almost funny.
"You good?" Callen asks, and his look seems to say that he's not interested in the usual lies and lines.
"Yeah. My arm hurts, and I feel like an idiot, but I feel better. Really." She meets each of their eyes one at a time, desperate to make her point.
It's Hetty who then turns to Nate and says, "Talk to him."
"Okay, but no video," Nate states.
"What?" Kensi demands. "Why?"
"I don't know what he's going to say. Probably not much at first, but I just don't know. For right now, he's a patient without a course of treatment. And…and we know he's been through a lot. If it were any of you, you might not want everyone to know what you'd been through."
"I didn't have a choice," she says quietly. "You made me tell every part of the story." There's no doubt about which part she's thinking about when she says that, and immediately, Nate feels awful (as he had then as well).
"I know," he tells her.
"Nate, he's my partner," she insists, trying a different angle. "I should be the one helping him through this." There's anger and frustration in her voice.
"And you most likely will, but just…let me talk to him. Just him and me, okay?"
"Do what you need to do," Sam says. "We'll be out here waiting to do what we need to do." He looks at Kensi. "And we'll do whatever we need to."
He has no idea that he's echoing the promise she'd just made to herself.
"I know you will," Nate agrees. He reaches up, flips the LCD off, and then turns and walks into the Interrogation Room, shutting the door behind him.
"Hi, Jimmy," Nate says as he enters the room. Deeks is still on the ground, the now useless ice pack still resting against his wounded crotch. When he looks up to acknowledge Nate's presence, Nate sees the beads of sweat covering his furry cheeks. He reaches out, takes Deeks' left wrist, and checks his pulse, even though he already knows what he's going to find.
Withdrawal – even the early stages of it – is a real bitch. For everyone involved.
"How are you feeling?" Nate asks, using his watch to time Deeks' pulse.
"I need something," Deeks replies with a small nervous laugh. "Just a little."
"I know," Nate nods. "And maybe when this is all over, I'll be able to get you something that will help you feel better."
"That'd be good," Deeks replies. "Real good."
"Tell me about yourself, Jimmy," Nate suggests as he puts down Deeks' wrist.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Tell me about what you've been doing for the last six months."
He shrugs. "This and that."
"You've been working for Mr. Kassel?"
Deeks looks up at him sharply, fear shining in his eyes. "What are you? LAPD?"
"I'm not a cop. I'm a psychologist. My name is Nate Getz."
"Nate," he says, turning the name over.
"You recognize me? My name maybe?"
"I…" and for a moment, it's clear that he does. But then, oddly, he winces, as if he's suddenly in a great amount of pain. Absently, one hand reaches out and scratches at his left arm. Nate can see several small prick marks there – signs of recent and continuous heroin use. "No. I don't know you. Should I?"
"Yeah," Nate replies. "We know each other."
"No…no we don't."
"Yes, we do, Deeks. Marty Deeks. That's who you are."
"No. No." There's an almost frantic nature to his words. And dammit if he doesn't sound like he's terrified. "You have to…you have to stop saying that. Okay?"
"Okay, okay," Nate agrees, holding up his hands as if to surrender. "Then how about we just talk. Just you and me. What do you say?"
Deeks' only response to Nate's question is to scratch his arm again.
Nate sits down on the ground, just a few inches away from Deeks. There was a time when he wouldn't have dared to get so close, but now, after all the day and weeks and months spent in the worst places in the world thanks to the missions that Hetty has been sending him on, he finds that he's afraid of little these days.
No, that's not quite true.
He's still afraid of a whole lot – just very little of it physical in nature.
Mostly, just as Kensi had told him so many months ago, he's afraid of receiving that phone call – the one that tells him that one of his friends is dead. He fears that call more than ever these days because as his skill with a gun improves, he understand just how easy is it to take a life and lose one as well.
"Tell me about Mr. Kassel, Jimmy," Nate suggests, his voice gentle and conversational.
"No. Can't."
"Why not?"
"We're not supposed to talk about the Boss to anyone. Snitches get stitches. That's what Alejandro always says."
"Who's Alejandro?" Nate asks, even though he knows. Per his previous conversation with Kensi while she'd been in the hospital (and confirmed by Lieutenant Sanchez – the inside guy who had eventually betrayed Deeks and Kensi only to find himself back in NCIS hands and now locked away in extreme solitary confinement in order to keep him "safe" from Kassel), Alejandro was Kassel's chief thug. Not terribly bright, but a real mean son of a bitch.
Deeks shrugs, suddenly looking very nervous and uncomfortable. He scratches at his arm again, opening up a scab there, and causing it to bleed. Nate makes a mental note to himself to grab a first aide kit the next time he leaves the room.
"I understand that you can't talk to me about Mr. Kassel," Nate says gently. "But are there any such rules about Alejandro?"
"No. I don't think so."
It's weird really; this guy looks vaguely like Deeks (a very strung out and almost frail version of him), but he couldn't be acting any less like him. Marty Deeks may play the joker, but underneath it all, he's an extremely intelligent and courageous man. This guy – this Jimmy Reese character – is anything but.
"Then talk to me about him. Tell me about Alejandro."
"What do you want to know?"
"Tell me about the first time you met him."
Deeks looks up at him with confusion, almost as if to say he can't really remember the first time. "I…I can't…but…but you know…my head…if I could just get…if you could get me something…I think I could remember then."
"Okay, then let's try this; whatever comes up, just tell me about it."
"And then you'll get me something?"
"Help me, and I'll see if I can help you."
Deeks scratches his arm again, then mumbles, "He brought me back."
"Brought you back?"
"To me. He brought me back to me. To Jimmy."
He's naked and bleeding, and just so fucking sick and tired of being hurt. Their game has changed now – but only by degrees. It's still pretty much the same as it's always been – a brutal combination of pain and drugs and mental abuse.
Every day starts the same for him. He wakes up after maybe an hour or two of sleep, and the very first question he gets asked is, "Who are you?"
For the longest time, he's answered the question with two words. His name. Marty Deeks. And then much to their annoyance, he usually follows it up with a lame joke – maybe a knock-knock one if he really wants to irritate them.
That response is always rewarded with a beating. After that, either Kassel or Alejandro comes in to try to forcefully insist that he's mistaken about his identity. He's not Marty Deeks at all, they say. He's someone else.
Jimmy Reese.
These conversations – and the intermingled beatings – typically go on for hours.
The sessions always end the same way every time. After hours of pain and agony, finally, mercifully, a needle is stuck into him, and he can feel the oblivion of heroin as it flows through him. What had started out as hatred of this chemical peace has become an almost obscene kind of desire.
Addiction.
Once upon a time, he'd even cared, wondered how he'd survive the hell of addiction, wondered how he'd find a way to come out on the other side of it.
He no longer cares. He's stopped believing that there is another side. He's stopped hoping that he'll be rescued or saved – he knows he's too far gone for that to matter anyway. Now, he just wants peace.
And calm. And quiet. And forgiveness.
And so every day, he endures the abuse and the stories and the pain because at the end of that rocky useless path is the quiet of the needle.
And so far, the needle hasn't taken away who he is.
Still Marty Deeks.
All of that changes one morning three months after the day Kensi had been murdered. That's how he measures the passage of time now. It serves two purposes – to help ensure that he never forgets her, and to remind himself of the guilt that he should always feel for letting her die. He owes her that, he figures.
That morning, three months after her death from a heroin overdose, the idiot thug known as Alejandro comes up with a brilliant idea – probably the only one of those that he's ever had in his entire life.
Instead of a brutal beating, he kneels down next to Deeks, and says, "You want to feel better, don't you, Jimmy?" Behind him, in the doorway, Deeks sees Kassel watching, a small knowing smile spread across his thin cruel lips. "Don't you?" Alejandro repeats, his face just inches away from his.
And God, doesn't he. Because it's not actually morning now, it's afternoon, and he's been without a hit for almost twenty-four hours. Everything hurts, everything itches and burns and feels like it's on fire. His body feels slick and cold and awful.
"Yes," he gasps, hating himself for the weakness he hears in his voice. He wonders what Kensi would think of him, wonders what the expression on her face would be. Disgust. Yeah, that for sure.
"Deeks," the blonde cop tells him. And then he steels himself, ready for the hit that always seems to come whenever he insists that he's still Deeks.
Oddly, it doesn't come.
"I can help you," Alejandro tells him.
"Yeah, I know you can," Deeks laughs bitterly. "So come on now, let's get on with the beating, okay?"
"No beating today, Jimmy. You only gotta do one thing for me, and I'll give you what you want." He holds up the box with the syringe in it. To Deeks' horror, he feels his heart quicken in anticipation. "Promise," Alejandro adds with a smirk.
"What I gotta do?" Deeks asks tiredly. "Because if it's anything kinky, I don't swing that way, man. Sorry."
Alejandro chuckles. "Nah, nothing like that, Jimmy. All you gotta do is say your name for me. That's it."
"Marty. Marty Deeks." He braces again. And once again, the hit doesn't come.
"Okay, Marty Deeks, when you're ready to call yourself Jimmy Reese, you let me know, and I'll give you what you need."
And then he gets up and leaves.
Two days pass, and Deeks is coming completely apart at the fucking seems. He should be hungry and thirsty and sleepy, but he feels nothing except the horrible muscle cramps, and the gnawing pain in his gut. The nausea comes and goes, and he's thrown up every little bit of grime and acid in his stomach.
Still, he holds out.
Still, he stays Marty Deeks.
When he gets weak, he thinks about her. Thinks about how much he misses her and how much he owes her. It's a debt he can never repay, and never forget.
That buys him another hour or two each time.
But by day four, it's all over for him. By day four, he's broken and he hates himself for it. By day four, he's utterly and hopelessly lost.
"Tell me your name?" Alejandro asks.
"Deeks," he mumbles.
Somehow, Alejandro knows that Deeks is just fronting now. "Tell me your name," he says again, his voice ridiculously soft. It's amazing that this terrible thug has the ability to pretend to be kind and gentle.
"Jimmy," Deeks whispers, his voice a pathetic whimper. He's shaking so hard now that he wonders if he's having a seizure. Tears streak down his face.
"Your full name."
"Jimmy Reese."
"Good boy." And then he feels the prick of the needle.
As the chemical poison rushes through him, he apologizes to his partner. He begs her for her forgiveness even though he knows he doesn't deserve it.
She never replies. He never expected her to.
By the fifth time he plays this game with Alejandro, he's stopped apologizing to her. Not because he's stopped being sorry for his weakness, but rather because by then, he's somewhat forgotten who she is.
The fifth time is the last time he has to play that particular game with Alejandro. After that, he really believes that he is Jimmy Reese.
After that, he believes that Marty Deeks and Kensi Blye are just names. Names that mean nothing to him, and never have.
At least, that's what he tells himself. That's what he makes himself believe. Any time he falters, anytime he wonders aloud who Deeks is, he's reminded forcefully. Apparently, now that he's broken, Kassel and Alejandro don't mind returning to the physical abuse to make their point.
The one night he relapses and screams out that his name is Marty Deeks, the one night he calls out for her, they break every finger on his right hand.
He never relapses again. From there, everything seems to get better.
The pain stops. The guilty feelings stop. The memories stop.
He is Jimmy Reese.
Nate listens to the story, his face passive, and his expression unreadable. After it's over, he asks, "Did they ever tell you why you believed you were Deeks?"
"I was doing a job for Mr. Kassel. Getting in with the cops. I just lost my way," he says the words in such a monotone that it's clear that this, too, has been beaten into him. It's enough to make Nate want to scream in frustration.
Instead, he simply quietly agrees, "Yes, you did."
He stands up to leave.
"You gonna get me stuff now?" Deeks asks.
"I'm going to get you something to help," Nate confirms. He takes a step towards the door.
"Wait. You said we knew each other. How?"
"You were a member of my team," Nate tells him. "First time we met was the night you signed up."
"You really think he'll show up tonight?" Nate asks, his words interrupted by a yawn. It's late at night, and he's tired, but his curiosity is making him stick around to see if Hetty is right about this LAPD Detective she's got her eyes on.
"I do," she says, as she offers him a cup of tea.
He takes it from her and sips it, his keen mind whirling. He could have left hours earlier, with the rest of the team, but just as he'd been about to pack everything up and head home, Hetty had handed him a personnel file.
"We'll be having a new operative join the team," she'd said.
"Dom's…replacement?"
"There is no replacement for Dom," she'd replied simply. "And he's not a temporary agent. In fact, he's not an agent at all."
Nate had opened up the file. "Deeks? The cop?"
"We could use a liaison," she'd told him.
"Really? Because we…really haven't needed one before."
"Times and needs change, Mr. Getz."
"Ah," he'd said simply as he looked down at the personal file of one Martin Andrew Deeks born in January of 1977.
"Ah?" she'd prompted, a small smile on her lips.
"You're recruiting again, Hetty," he'd told her.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean," she'd replied, trying to play innocent, and failing badly. He's always been good at being able to read her (he suspects, though, that he reads as much as she wants him to).
"Of course not," he'd said agreeably. "Are you sure about this?"
"I wouldn't be bringing him in if I wasn't."
"Are you sure he'll agree to join the team? From what I heard, he didn't exactly hit it off with the others. Especially Kensi."
"True, Mr. Deeks and Ms. Blye certainly had a reaction to each other didn't they?" She'd smiled slightly and then continued with, "But yes, I'm sure. And I'm pretty sure he'll be dropping by tonight to confirm that."
"Is there any point in me asking what you're up to?" Nate had queried.
"None at all," she'd told him with chuckle.
Now, two hours later, he's wondering if she'd been wrong. But just as he's about to grab his bag and call it a night, he hears footsteps from down the hallway, coming towards the bullpen. He sees Deeks step into the light, his hair slightly wet from an evening surf.
"Mr. Deeks," he hears Hetty say as she appears out of nowhere. "You found us. Excellent. May I presume then that my directions were adequate?"
"Pretty simple," Deeks says warily. He steps towards them, a packet of papers in his hand. "You forgot to mention the bum peeing on the wall outside."
"I assume you waited until he was done to come in?" she asks.
"Of course."
Nate takes that moment to step forward, hand out. "Uh, Nate Getz. I'm the Operational Psychologist around here."
"You guys have your own shrink?" Then, before allowing Nate to reply, he laughs, "Actually, that doesn't surprise me at all. I'm guessing Kensi needs a lot of time on the couch, right?"
"Uh…"
"Never mind. Marty Deeks." He takes Nate's hand, and gives it a good firm shake. Then, to Hetty, "So, what's the plan? I come when you need someone to help you on LAPD cases from time to time?"
"Actually, I was thinking you'd work with us on a more day-to-day basis," she tells him. "I've already cleared it with your boss."
"Oh."
"You'd still, of course, work your own open cases, and if any of them get to the actionable stage, they would take priority," she assures him.
He nods, seeming relieved. "Okay. And the others…they're good with this?"
She shrugs. "Doesn't matter if they are."
Deeks plows right past that. "Because, I kind of got the impression that there was no love shared between any of us. Especially me and Kensi."
"You and Ms. Blye may have gotten off on the wrong foot," Hetty confirms, smiling as Deeks unknowingly echoes Nate's previous words.
"Wrong foot? Really? Because that's an…epic understatement."
"First meetings are often difficult, but I have no doubt that you two will do wonderfully as partners."
"Partners?" Nate interjects.
"With Mr. Vaile still missing, Ms. Blye needs a partner," Hetty tells them both. "I think you two will make a fantastic team in no time."
"Is she on something?" Deeks asks Nate.
"No," Nate chuckles. "And if I were you, I'd pretty assume she's right about this. She almost always is."
"Yeah," Deeks says, his doubt clear. He holds out the papers. "Here. Signed."
"You didn't need to bring these back to me tonight," she tells him. "I told you that you could think about it overnight."
"Uh huh. You clearly knew I would be bringing it by tonight, though, right? That's why you were waiting here for me?" She simply smiles in response. To Nate, he says, "She's a bit creepy."
"Yeah."
"Yeah," Deeks echoes. "Good night, Hetty. Nate."
"Nine-thirty, Mr. Deeks."
"I'll be here," he sighs, then turns and walks away, disappearing into the darkness, and most likely vanishing out into the air of the warm Spring night.
"You sure about this?" Nate asks.
"As sure as I was when I told Agent Macy to actively recruit Ms. Blye."
"That sure?"
"That sure," she confirms.
Deeks looks up at him for a moment, eyes wide.
"Do you remember that?" Nate asks gently.
"I…I…no…no." Then he shakes his head, again reacting as though he's been struck by something hard. "No. I don't."
"Nate reaches out and touches his arm. "I'm going to go and get you some help now. Just relax, okay? I'll be back shortly."
Deeks responds by simply dropping his head back into his arms. It's almost amazing to think that just a few hours ago, he'd been strong enough to almost kill Kensi in her apartment. Now, he's just a pathetic shell of a man.
Nate exits the room and walks down the hallway, back to where the rest of the team is waiting, their anxiety clear. Kensi sees him, and practically charges him.
"Well?" she demands.
"Well, there's some good news and bad news."
"Start with the bad news," Callen says.
"His heroin addiction is severe. Breaking him of it is going to be extremely hard. We'll need to bring in some help in order to keep safe as we bring him down."
"That's the bad news?"
"I wasn't done," he says gently. "He honestly believes that he's Jimmy Reese. He thinks Deeks is someone that he pretended to be so that he could be a cop on the inside for Kassel."
"Complicated bit of turnaround," Sam notes.
"Very, and that's actually where the good news comes in. The story they created for him was badly constructed – it falls apart almost immediately with any degree of introspection. The brainwashing itself was all done by force. That's not really the best way to do it. Typically, the most effective way to brainwash someone is by using their beliefs and desires to manipulate them."
"Like cults do." Callen notes.
"Exactly. Members of cults are already somewhat bought in to what's happening, and are therefore more likely to ignore the warning bells in their head. They're more willing to turn their back on their pasts anyway. For Deeks, that wasn't the case at all. They essentially forced him to forget who he was using using drugs and torture. He probably hasn't had a clear thought in months. Chances are that under the drugs, Marty Deeks is still very much there."
"So we just need to get him clean, and he'll be all right?" Kensi asks, hope glistening in her eyes.
"It won't be that easy," Hetty says with a shake of her head.
"She's right. Deeks may be there underneath, but they've built Jimmy over the top of him using drugs and torture. We can remove the drugs, but we can't take away the torture and the fear that they used to break him down. Every time he tries to remember who Deeks is, he thinks he's about to be hurt. I hate to use this comparison, but he's a bit like an abused dog right now – the name Deeks causes him to flinch away like he's about to be hit."
Kensi turns away for a moment, not wanting the others to see the tears forming in her eyes. She's not naïve; she's always known that they'd have done horrible things to Deeks (she'd even told Dr. Crosby as much), and yet hearing her worst nightmares confirmed is almost too much for her.
"Kensi?" Sam asks.
"I'm fine," she replies, putting up a hand. It's one thing to have a minor breakdown on the beach (or in her shower) where she's alone, but she won't do it here. Not in front of her friends. They need and expect more from her, and she's not about to let anyone else down. She wipes the moisture away, and then turns back. When she speaks again, her tone is hard. "Go on, Nate."
"It all comes down to his psyche. It's completely confused and traumatized at this point. In order to bring Deeks out, we'll need to not only convince him that Deeks is real, but convince him that he's safe and won't be hurt for believing that."
"How do we that?" Callen asks.
"Step one is getting him clean," Nate tells them. "That's ground zero. Nothing else is possible until he's able to think at least somewhat clearly. He has to be able to understand everything from a logical point of view for this to work."
"You have someone you can bring in?" Hetty asks.
"I do. I have friend who has dealt with a lot of Prince Charming detox cases that have been coming through. She's a specialist at the new kind of rapid detox that's being used by many of the Hollywood elite. It's expensive, though."
"Money is no object," Hetty says immediately.
"Understood," Nate replies.
"Wait, rapid detox?" Kensi asks. "Sounds too good to be true."
"It can be," Nate agrees. "In the best case scenario, the patient is put under anesthesia, and then his system is cleared out of the opiates in it using prescription meds – primarily one called Nalexone. The patient doesn't have to feel any of the mental side effects of normal detox."
"And in the worst case scenario?" Sam pushes.
"Sometimes it doesn't work, and sometimes a patient is too weak to be able to handle it. Their minds may not have to suffer through the detox, but their bodies feel every bit of it, and often in a very accelerated way. It can put a tremendous amount of pressure and strain on the patients' already weakened body."
"So it's risky," Callen notes.
"Very. On the other hand, if it works, we can keep him from having to endure any further pain. And then we can move on to trying to deprogram him."
"Detox and deprogram," Kensi repeats bitterly.
Nate reaches out and touches her arm. "I know how it sounds. I'm sorry."
"Seems like we have a decision to make," Sam states. He feels much the same way that Kensi does about the terms being thrown around, but there's time for those feelings later. After Deeks is safe. And clean.
"Rapid or regular detox," Callen clarifies.
Both of the men look at Kensi, and for the first time that either of them can ever remember, she looks absolutely terrified at the idea of having to make the choice.
Thankfully, Hetty saves her from having to. "Mr. Deeks has been through enough pain. Bring your friend over, Mr. Getz. Let's get this started."
"I'll make sure she knows that this location of the Boatshed is confidential."
"Just get her here," Sam tells him.
The friend of Nate's is a pretty young redhead with a calm bedside manner named Doctor Jane Wilson. She brings a mobile treatment unit, which includes a gurney - complete with restraints – monitoring equipment, and several IV bags.
After a brief series of introductions, and a quick rundown of what the treatment will entail, she enters the Interrogation Room with Nate, and they stay in there for over an hour.
At first, there'd been discussion about moving Deeks to an actual clinic for the treatment, but the memory of Kensi being attacked by Sanchez while she had been in the hospital and in critical condition, is still relatively fresh for everyone.
So they do it here. It's makeshift, and far from optimal, and yet for everyone, this is exactly how they want it to be. Mostly because they can keep an eye on Deeks, and make sure that he doesn't disappear again.
When Nate finally comes out of the room, he's holding a folder in his hand (Dr. Wilson's on-the-go medical assessment of Deeks' condition, and the injuries that she believes that he has sustained). He says simply "It's started."
The next twenty-four hours are absolute hell for everyone.
Sometimes, rapid heroin detox can occur in as short as four hours, but typically, it takes much longer than that – sometimes up to forty-eight hours.
Sam and Callen are tired – having managed no more than a few hours of sleep, and Eric, who is checking in from Ops every fifteen minutes or so, is clearly on edge, but it's Kensi who is a complete nervous wreck, utterly unable to put up her typical calm wall of cool steel. Right now, she's hyped up on caffeine, having consumed at least three pots of coffee, and maybe a Red Bull or two.
She's anxious, pacing the front room. Every time someone suggests that maybe she should sit down, she snaps back a quick, "No, thank you." The only time she softens is when the Vet calls her to update her as to Monty's condition. The news there is good; he came out of surgery just fine, and will recover completely.
After she hangs up, though, she returns to pacing.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a caged tiger about to explode.
It's finally simple sheer exhaustion that makes her sit down to take a breath. Too tired to get back up, but feeling as though she has no right to try to sleep while he's going through what he is, she instead busies herself with reading the diagnostic file that Dr. Wilson had compiled.
It's comprehensive, and horrifying – a list of injuries, scars and probably drugs. They don't tell the complete story of what was done to Deeks, but they create a pretty nasty visual for sure.
As she looks at the hand-written words on the page – horrific words that seem to describe repeated brutal beatings involving belts and whips and other sharp objects - the energy seems to literally drain from her body. Even as she fights desperately against the sudden onslaught of fatigue, she feels her eyelids sagging, becoming almost unbearably heavy.
And then she dreams.
It's the same nightmare that she's had for month. As usual, they're - she and Deeks - back on that damn wall in the warehouse, both of them still chained to it. They're both battered, bruised and struggling with figuring out how to survive.
This one is the worst one yet because this time, when she turns to look at him, he doesn't like he actually had on that day, but rather as he will a few weeks later (at least according to Dr. Wilson's assessment).
"Deeks," she whispers.
"This is your fault," he says, his tone angry and hard. She's never heard this before. Sometimes, she's seen accusation in his eyes – maybe even hate if she projects hard enough – but he's never actually said the words to her.
Not these ones anyway.
"You left me to this," he continues. "You let this happen to me."
"No…"
"Did you even look for me?"
"Yes!"
"Really? For how long? A couple of days? Maybe a week? How long until you told yourself that I was dead and just let me go. Is that what helped you sleep at night? Is it, Kensi? Be honest for once in your life. Come on."
"Deeks…"
She almost wants to laugh at the idea of sleep. Doesn't he know that she sees him every single time she closes her eyes? Can't he see how exhausted she is?
"That's what I thought. Do you know what I've been through?" he asks.
"I'm sorry," she finally whispers. "I'm so sorry."
"You should be."
He doesn't look or sound like himself, but she has no doubt that she's talking to her partner because he's saying everything that she already feels. Everything that she's been telling herself from the moment she woke up in that hospital bed.
She had let him down, and she had presumed him dead.
She'd even derived some sort of strange comfort out of that presumption.
All to come to this.
"You know I won't stop," he says suddenly.
"I don't know…won't stop what?"
"Trying to kill you."
Suddenly, he's no longer chained to the wall. Suddenly, inexplicably, he's standing in front of her, just inches away from her.
"Deeks," she breathes.
"Kassel may have sent Jimmy to kill you, but I'm the one who wanted to do it. I'm the one who offered to do it." He leans in, so close that she can feel the red hot heat of what she can only imagine to be fever rolling off his skin. "I'm the one who wanted to do it. I want to do it now."
And then he leans in, places his hands around her throat, and squeezes.
She gasps out his name.
"Marty…"
She comes awake with a violent start, nearly falling off the couch, his name bursting forth from her lips. She can feel her heart hammering in her chest, and for a moment, she absolutely can't breathe. For a moment, all she can do is violently gasp for air. In the back of her mind, she once again hears the shrill warning of an oncoming panic attack.
"Kensi," Sam says, running to her side. He places a hand on her back. "Breathe, breathe, girl. Come on. It was just a nightmare. Come on, breathe."
She feels his hand moving, rubbing circles into her back. Slowly, her throat begins to open back in, and she feels air rush into her lungs. Her heart continues to pound away, but she can feel control returning to her. The sirens quiet.
"Kensi?" Callen asks from above them. Nate and Hetty are next to him. It's all a little bit embarrassing. She's starting to get really sick and tired of showing weakness in front of her teammates and friends.
"I shouldn't have read this," she says weakly. She holds up Dr. Wilson's assessment of Deeks.
"You're not to blame for what happened to him," Nate says, as if reading her mind. She smiles wryly in response. "I'm serious, Kensi."
"So am I, Nate."
"Are we missing a conversation here?" Callen asks.
"Not really," Nate chuckles. "She's just insisting on taking on all the blame for what happened to Deeks. I told her not to, she basically said she was going to do it so I might as well just back off and let her. I pretty much sum it up, Kensi?"
"Pretty much," she agrees dryly.
"Ridiculous," Hetty announces. "You protected Mr. Deeks the best you could. He'll be the first one to tell you that once he's able to."
"It's a nice thing to say," Kensi replies carefully.
She's about to say more (something like "but we all know you're wrong) – or maybe one of the guys is about to try to convince her that she's mistaken – but none of them has the chance to. Down the hall, they hear the door to the Interrogation Room open.
A moment later, Dr. Wilson appears, and the looks of hope that had snuck onto their faces (in spite of their fears) slide away when she says sharply, "Nate, I need you. Now."
"Why?" he asks, already in motion.
Her reply sends chills through everyone in the room, "I can't wake him up." And then, without a further word, she turns and practically runs back to the Interrogation Room, her urgency apparent. Nate is right on her heels.
Before they get too far, Kensi reaches out and grabs Nate's arm. "Nate, what does that mean? What's going on?"
He turns to face her, his expression somber and serious, "You remember me telling you about the risks of rapid detox? One of the worst involves the actual drug we use to help the detox along. Sometimes, the Nalexone causes complications. Sometimes…sometimes patients don't wake up."
She falls back then, unable to say anything, shock written across her face. Nate wants to reach out for her, puts his arms around her, and offer her comfort, but for now, at least, there's no time for that. Instead, he turns and follows Dr. Wilson back into the Interrogation Room.
After a moment, Hetty says softly, "Mr. Callen, please turn on the LCD."
For a brief moment, Callen seems surprised. So far, everyone has gone out of their way to not watch what's happening to Deeks. It almost seems wrong to turn the LCD on now. Especially considering what he's going through.
"Are you sure?" he asks.
"I am."
He leans over and turns the LCD on. It flashes and then shows Nate and Dr. Wilson standing over Deeks. They can't actually see much of the blonde cop, but what they can see shows pale skin - shiny and soaked with sweat.
Off to the side of the gurney are several monitors, showing things like blood pressure and heart rate.
"God," Kensi whispers, a hand covering her mouth.
Callen turns his head and looks at her. Months earlier, he'd wondered if they'd lose her if Deeks had died. Back then, he'd been sure they would. Now, watching her stare at the LCD, seeing the horrified expression she's wearing, he's moved from sure to certain. If they lose Deeks today, they'll lose her as well.
He reaches out, slides his hand into hers, and squeezes.
She doesn't squeeze back. It's almost like she doesn't even recognize that he's standing next to her, trying to offer her whatever comfort and support he can.
Or maybe, he thinks, she just doesn't believe she deserves it. The thought breaks his heart, and yet for Kensi, it feels accurate.
A moment later, he's pulled from his thoughts of her by a loud shrill noise coming over the speakers of the LCD.
The sound of a heart monitor signaling that Deeks has taken a turn for the worse.
TBC…