Author's Note: First, many apologies for the delay. I've really tried to keep to the every two weeks time line, but every now and again, the real world interferes. I'm back on schedule, though, and the next chapter should be up two weeks from now.
Second, again, thanks for all of the kind words. They mean the world to me, and definitely spur me along.
"Easy guys. Go easy," she says, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time. She watches as her two teammates pretty much carry the weakened and exhausted form of Marty Deeks back up to the safe house. He's conscious, but leaning heavily against both of them, not even bothering to protest their assistance as he normally would if he had even a bit more strength.
It's been one hell of a day.
One hell of a week.
And a rather hellacious last seven months.
For everyone.
"Welcome back, Mr. Deeks," Hetty says kindly as the guys help him through the front door. They drop him down onto the couch, which he sinks down against.
"Thanks," he replies, feeling the weight of his eyelids. He's tired, so damned tired. Everything feels so strange and out of sorts right now. "I think," he adds a moment later, his voice sounding drowsy.
"You should sleep," Kensi tells him, coming to his side, She hesitates for just a moment, and then realizing that she just doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks about her relationship with Deeks, she reaches out and touches his cheek. His skin is warm but damp, sweat still beading against his flesh. She allows her fingers to ghost across his rough stubble, enjoying the familiarity of his facial features.
"Haven't I been?" he asks, his eyelids sinking almost all of the way down now. He feels a blanket being placed over his legs.
"No," she says. "You've just...been away."
"That's what we're calling it?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." His eyelids droop down again before suddenly opening back up. He looks at her. "You won't leave, right?"
"No," she says simply, her hand still on his cheek. "I won't."
Most people believe that it's the actual sex part that's the most intensely intimate part of lovemaking. They're right in a way, he supposes, but they're also wrong as far as he's concerned. It's not just about the physical act for him; it's also about the serenity of the aftermath.
It's quite early in the morning, and they're both still lying in the bed, naked and exhausted. She's wrapped tight in his arms, sleeping. Not quite soundly, but not exactly restlessly either.
In a million years, he never could have imagined this moment actually happening. Okay, that's something of a lie. He's certainly imagined it a time or two, he just never actually though it would ever come to pass.
His joy and elation are tempered hideously by the extreme circumstances that it took for this night to happen.
And though he wasn't actually around when what had happened had happened, he can somehow still see it clear as day in his mind.
She'd been intentionally vague about the exact details of what had occurred, but he'd pretty much gotten the gist of it all. Kassel had come to the apartment with Sanchez, and then forced her to have sex with him in order save Jimmy's life.
His life.
The crushing implications of what she had done for him hit him like a ton of bricks. For a moment, he can't breathe. For a moment, all he wants to do is scream and curse and hit things.
But then he feels the rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps against his own. He hears her make a small noise - something caught between a grunt and a whimper - and then she digs her way deeper against him.
He puts a hand into her hair and moves it away from her face. He touches her cheek, enjoying the softness of well-moisturized skin. She might be tough as nails and generally more comfortable in jeans and hoodie than a sundress, but she nevertheless takes excellent case of herself.
Yeah, as far as he's concerned, she's stunning in every way.
Well stunning except for the bruises.
They run the length of her, some in places that make him want to vomit. The pressure that Kassel had had to exert in order to leave the marks must have been severe because many of the bruises are deep and dark.
Signs of possession and ownership.
Only, Deeks thinks with a smile, no one owns Kensi Blye. No one ever will.
She stirs, turning slightly. He loosens his arms, and allows her to settle against him, her back to his chest. Her hair tickles his nose. He presses a light kiss to her neck, not enough to wake her.
He wishes he could sleep as she is now, but he can't. He knows that the only reason she is at all is because of sheer exhaustion. He still has enough energy left to allow her mind to roam.
He thinks about what she'd said to him in the bathroom, thinks about her insisting that it had been her choice, and that she'd allowed it to happen. She's deluding herself, of course. There had been no actual choice, and the act hadn't been in any way consensual no matter what she tries to tell herself.
No, it had absolutely been rape.
It's almost like a spray of cold water hits him as the word echos in his mind. He feels his stomach lurch violently. Tears sting his eyes. And then fury surges through him as he remembers who had allowed this to happen.
That little son of a bitch Sanchez.
Sanchez should have warned him what Kassel had had in mind for Kensi. Obviously, he'd "forgotten" to do so. Which means that Sanchez is just as culpable as Kassel is.
As far as Deeks is concerned, the deal with the government is off. There's no way that Sanchez is walking when this is all over.
His eyes slide over to the LED clock. It's too early to do anything about Sanchez now, but in a few hours…
He sits up, separating from Kensi as he does so. It's jarring for him, but apparently, also for her because her eyes flicker open. He sees his real name on her lips. "Hey," he says, interrupting her.
"Where are you going?"
"Bathroom," he tells her. "I'll be right back." He steps into the bathroom, finds his jeans, pulls out his phone and sends Sanchez a text. "I need to see you in the morning. Beach. 630AM. Don't be late." He puts the cell away, flushes the toilet, washes his hands, and steps back into the bedroom.
"You okay?" she asks, sitting up in the bed (and rather adorably holding a sheet over her chest) her bloodshot and exhausted eyes wide with worry. She reaches out a hand towards him.
"No," he admits before taking her hand and letting her pull him back to the bed. He crawls back behind her and slides his arms around her again. A voice in his head tells him that he should probably stop this. What had happened in the bathroom – and earlier that night in the bed – had been due to an explosion of tortured emotion. Now, what's the excuse? Now, how can he justify holding her like this?
He doesn't care to even try to justify it to be honest. He just doesn't want to be anywhere but here.
"But it will be," he assures her. He weaves his hand into hers, then presses his face against her shoulder. He hears her chuckle, and then she's sleeping again.
She refuses to break her promise to him. When the others suggest talking in the kitchen, she insists on staying in the same room as him. Where he can see her if he wakes up. It's as much for her sanity as for hers.
Reluctantly, the others agree to hold their conversation against the far wall of the Living Room, about ten feet away from where Deeks is slumbering restlessly on the couch. He's already tossed off the blanket. Three times. She keeps putting it back over him. No one even considers telling her not to bother.
"So what's our next step?" Sam asks, casting a worried look over towards Deeks. The young blonde cop looks as though he's caught in the middle of a dream he'd rather not be having, but no one dares to wake him for fear of interrupting what little sleep he might actually be getting.
"We need to find places for Kensi and Deeks to live. We let his lease run out when he was listed as missing, and Kensi can't go back to her house now that Kassel knows about it," Callen states. He looks at Kensi. "By now, he certainly knows that Deeks is lost to him. Chances are he's casting a pretty wide net to find both of you."
"Maybe we can use that net to lead us back to Kassel," Nate suggests.
"It's possible," Sam agrees. "I'll put some feelers out to some of our sources, see what they're hearing."
"In the meanwhile, I will take care of the housing situation," Hetty says. Then, with a smile towards Kensi, who clearly seems displeased by the idea of having her next home chosen for her, she adds, "I have a good idea of your likes and dislikes, Ms. Blye, have no fear."
"What about Deeks? Is it safe for him to be alone? We know that Kassel is going to come after both of us, but I can defend myself. Like he is right now, he can't," Kensi says, lowering her voice.
"She has a point," Sam nods. "It might be best if he stays with –"
"No. I'm not staying with anyone," Deeks says from behind the group. As a whole, they turn to face him. He's sitting up, though still leaning heavily against the back of the couch, clearly still exhausted. "I'm me again, and part of being me again means that I can take care of myself. Like I always have."
None of them miss the uncharacteristic edge to his tone.
"We're not saying anything different," Callen assures him. "But…"
"But what?" Deeks challenges. "But I've gone through hell, and you're not sure I could stop an old lady – no offense, Hetty - from taking me out much less a sociopathic mob boss and his many half-witted goons? That it, Callen?"
"Deeks," Kensi says, taking a step towards him. "No one is saying –"
"Do me a favor, huh? Don't insult me by humoring me. Especially you, okay?"
His tone is so serious – so heartbreakingly serious – that it's actually a little bit difficult for the others to really believe that this is truly Marty Deeks standing in front of them.
"Okay," she says softly.
"Thank you." Then, to Hetty, he states, "I don't know about the housing situation, but I do know what comes next for me."
She shakes her head. "You're not ready, Mr. Deeks."
"Ready for what?" Sam asks, though he has a pretty good idea he knows exactly what Deeks is talking about. He's pretty sure that if he – or any of the others - were in Deeks' place right now, they'd want the same damn thing.
Justice.
Revenge.
Peace.
"Maybe I'm not," he admits. "But you guys will be there to cover my back, right?" He's looking directly at Kensi when he says this.
"Help our backs," she tells him. "I owe him for a few things, too."
"I know you do. So let's do this, huh, partner? Let's finish what we started." His eyes are locked with hers. It's an obscenely intense moment, and one that feels a bit personal as well.
"Okay," she says quietly.
"Wait, no. Look, as a psychologist, "Nate inserts. "I have to strongly advise against this. Neither one of you is in any condition to be going after Kassel. Especially you, Deeks. You need rest and time to recover and –"
"You're absolutely right, Nate," Deeks agrees, his tired blue eyes intense and turbulent. "I need a lot of those things. And midnight strolls down the beach and picnics in a field of sunflowers, but right now, that's not going to happen. Right now, I need this. We need this." He turns his attention to Hetty. "Please," he pleads. "Let us – let Kensi and I – let us finish this. Please."
"I suspect, Mr. Deeks," she tells him, "That you and Ms. Blye will be doing whatever you need to do regardless of what I or anyone else tells you." She looks pointedly at Nate when she says this.
"You're right," Deeks confesses. "But I think we'd both feel a lot…safer…if we had all of you behind us."
"We would," Kensi confirms and the others all know how impossibly hard it is for this woman to ever ask for help from anyone. Hetty suspects, though, that it's at least somewhat easier being that in Kensi's mind, she probably sees it as requesting assistance on behalf of Deeks and not herself. Semantics, of course, but useful ones at least.
"We're a team," Sam assures them.
Callen nods. "Which means we'll be there with you. Every step of the way." He meets Kensi's eyes, and then adds softly, "Like always."
She's standing alone in the dressing room, still inside the curtain, staring at her reflection in the body length mirror. She's in jean and a ribbed tank. She looks like a typical Los Angeles girl. Pretty and carefree.
Nothing to worry about.
Like most things about Kensi Blye, the appearance is something of a trick of smoke and mirrors. Something of well-told lie.
Such is the life of an undercover agent. Such is her life.
She's gone undercover more than three dozen times. She's played a stripper, a madam, a waitress and a biker chick among many odd and assorted roles. She's been submissive and she's been a ball-buster.
Therefore this job, she tells herself, is nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary.
Unfortunately, this, too, is a lie and she's pretty sure that Callen and Sam can see right through this one.
Today is something new for her completely.
Today, she has to pretend to get shot three times.
The job is simple enough. Walk into a bank, charm the teller who just so happens to be their prime suspect, be there when the gunmen come in, fight a little bit with Matt Bernhart, and then pretend to take three bullets to the mid-section.
Piece of cake.
She's gone over the plan at least half a dozen times with Sam and Callen. She's worked out the basics of the fight with Bernhart. She knows exactly what has to be done, and exactly how to do it.
And yet, to herself – and only herself – she has to admit that she's scared.
So many things can go wrong even in a well-planned op, and this one is far from that. This one is more thrown together. It's got good logic behind him, but still, there are just so many opportunities for everything to go upside down in a hurry.
What if Curtis is packing, and if he is, what if he pulls his gun and shoots her before Bernhart can? It's not like Bernhart will be able to do anything to help her - if he does, the entire op will be blown. And she, well she'll be going in sans a vest. In fact, the only thing she'll have on her is a gun that'll be loaded with blanks (the plan is for Bernhart to shoot her with own weapon - a scenario which she's actually had nightmares about) and a coat full of packets of fake blood.
Which essentially means that if things take a turn for the worst and she finds herself taking a real bullet to the chest (or anywhere else), it'll be real blood – her real blood – that she'll be spilling.
A real shooting isn't the only thing that can go wrong, though. What if the fake one is botched? What if the blood packets don't explode right and Curtis and his partner realize that they're being set up? What if –
"Pretty sure you can do this all day," Callen says as he enters the dressing room. He's holding the fake blood packets in his hand.
"Do what?" she asks.
"Go through everything that can go wrong in your mind."
"I'm not," she lies.
"Of course you are," he chuckles. "And we all do it. Me, Sam, even Hetty. And it's okay to do it. It's part of the job, Kens. We have to think through every possibility, even the really bad ones. "
"Callen, I know," she tells him. "I've done dangerous ops like this before."
"I know you have, but there's a big difference between pretending to be a stripper," he smirks when he says this, causing her to roll her eyes, "And pretending to take three bullets to the chest. You have to sell the shock and pain of the moment. You have to sell the…disbelief."
"Was that how it was for you?"
"You know, I still don't remember much of it, but yeah, that's about right."
"Funny," Sam says as he enters the room. "I remember every bit of it." A look passes between the two men, and not for the first time, Kensi feels a bit like a third wheel, like maybe she's intruding on something deep and personal.
She's had her share of partners. Inclusive of Dom (who she still believes is out there, and still believes can be saved) she's cared about each and every one of them in a professional kind of way. She's covered their backs, and always been reliable and trustworthy. She's even been remotely friends with a few of them.
Still, she's never had a relationship like this with any of them. She wonders what it's like for them. It seems so powerful. Maybe even deeper than most marriages, and more intense than most blood ties. She envies it even as she's certain that she'll never have anything like it.
Callen turns his attention back to Kensi. "You've been shot before, right?"
She nods slowly, but says nothing more. With Callen, she doesn't need to. He understands secrets and the need to keep them close more than most people do.
"Do you remember it?" he asks.
"Only somewhat," she hedges, and Callen is certain that she's lying, but chooses not to push her on it. "I mostly remember waking up…after everything was over. I remember what it felt like while I was healing."
"I guess we have that in common," he muses.
Sam shakes his head. It's clear that he's not terribly thrilled with this conversation. He steps towards Kensi. "Sit," he says. He reaches out and takes the blood packets from Callen. She drops down onto the bench. He seats himself across from her. "The packets will be attached to the inside of your coat. You need to keep it closed until you get shot. Once you do, you can push it aside, and show off the blood on your shirt." He points to the white tank she's wearing.
"Got it," she replies, watching him affix the packets to the inside her dark blue coat. He's clearly done this before, knows exactly how to do it.
"After your fight with Bernhart, he's going to aim his gun at you. That's the moment, Kensi. That's the moment when you have to sell what's about to happen. Neither you nor Callen saw it coming last time, right?"
She nods in the affirmative, but again refuses to say more than that.
"This time you do. I've seen it coming," he tells her. "You think you're about to die, and it's not your life that you've already lives that rushes in front of your eyes, it's everything you'll never get to do, everything you'll never get to say. In that moment, I wasn't scared, I was sad. Horribly sad, do you understand?"
"I think so."
"Good."
He says nothing more for several minutes. In fact, the only sound there is that of him attaching the packets to the insider of her coat.
Finally, it's Callen with a slightly thick voice who says, "We'll be there the whole time, Kens. Me, Sam, Renko. All of us. You won't be alone. Not for a minute."
"I know," she tells him.
"You're set," Sam tells her.
"Okay. Then uh, let me finish getting ready and I'll be out in a minute."
The men nod and stand up. They both cast another look back at her before they leave. She waits until they're gone before standing up. She makes her way over to the mirror and looks at her reflection.
"Sadness," she says to herself. "I'm pretty sure I can do that."
She leaves the locker room a moment later, stops down by the Ops, reaches into the box of her personal belongings, and pulls out her jelly bracelets.
"Shut up," she mumbles to Eric, who is watching her with a small smile.
To his credit, the only thing the blonde tech says is, "Good luck, Kensi. And don't worry, I'll be in your ear every minute of the op."
True to his word, he is.
The job goes down exactly as planned. She sells the shooting, even manages to dig deep and say something that she hasn't said in years, "Please, don't."
It works. It all works.
And true to their words as well, Sam and Callen are with her the whole time.
It's two hours later, and he's back on the beach, sitting in the sand, watching the birds fly by, his eyes on the setting sun.
"Hey," she says, sitting down next to him. She resists the urge to reach out and touch him. After everything he's been through, she has no idea what he can and cannot tolerate. He's always been a man who could take close contact before, but it's not hard to imagine that maybe that's all changed now.
"Hey," he repeats. "I think I want to surf," he says after a moment.
"Yeah? That's good."
"I'm not sure it is."
"I'm not following."
"I'm not…I'm not sure if I want to surf because I want to surf or because Marty Deeks wants to surf."
"You're one and the same," she says with a frown, wondering if maybe they'd been wrong about the Jimmy Reese persona having been wiped out.
"Maybe." He turns to face her, reacting when he sees the surprise and uncertainty on her face. "Let me guess; don't worry, Deeks, we've got you home now, and everything is going to be just fine now that you're safe and sound."
"Deeks…"
"I'm guessing by how thin and tired and worn out you look that the last several months haven't been all that kind to you either, huh, partner?"
She flinches back from the hardness of his words. It's not that Marty Deeks hasn't hit her with a few truths from time to time, it's just that his usual delivery system typically utilizes more humor than bluntness.
This feels a bit like being bludgeoned with a baseball bat.
"Didn't anyone ever teach you that you shouldn't always tell a woman the truth?" she finally manages.
"Yes," he nods. "But I figure after all we've been through, Kensi, why bother with the lies?" He's staring right at her now, his blue eyes fully of fury and pain.
"Deeks, I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so sorry. If I'd know…if…"
"You think I blame you?"
"Don't you?"
"Why? Because you didn't go through six months of torture?"
"Deeks…"
"Kensi, I might be a wreck right now. I might be doing everything I can to hold it together just long enough for us to find a way to bring Kassel down, but I'm not crazed out of my mind. I'm not pissed that you made it out. I'm happy. You mean…well there aren't words for what you mean to me. The idea of any of what I went through happening to you, it makes me sick. What actually did happen to you makes me sick."
"Quite the pair we make," she says softly, turning her head away from him so that he doesn't see the tears on her cheeks.
"Always have to be the tough one don't you?" he asks.
"I'm not always tough," she answers.
"I know that. But you never let me see it. You never let anyone see it."
"Deeks," she says, but her tone is almost a plea, a frantic request for him to stop.
"You don't really like this me do you?"
"I like any you," she tells him, turning to face him. "Well except for the Jimmy version of you. He was kind of a dick."
Deeks chuckles. "Yeah, he kind of was." Then, his face growing serious, he says, "I wonder if it's true."
"What?"
"They always say that if you're an addict, you're an addict for life. So does this mean that I'm a heroin addict?" Anger flows through him in a way that seems almost dangerous and frightening. It occurs to her that she's seeing Marty Deeks in a completely raw and unfiltered kind of way. There's no humor here, no attempts at softening the pain or making it less uncomfortable for her.
This is a test, she thinks to herself. Not one that he's conducting exactly, but one that's happening just the same. This is a test of their friendship, their partnership.
Before everything had happened, she'd typically been the moody and intense one of the two of them. He'd had his moments for sure, but generally, he'd joked them away. He'd never let his pain step into the light, he'd never really allowed anyone to see behind his carefully constructed mask.
That's all changed now.
Thanks to what Kassel did to them and to the process of deprogramming him, she knows exactly what the skeletons in his closet look like. She knows how bloody and truly awful they are. She knows how deep his pain really is.
And so now, he's not even bothering to try to hide the scars from her. Worse than that, though, almost all of the wounds have broken open and are bleeding anew.
She's not sure if she wants to hug him or run from him.
She settles for staying seated beside him, her fingers digging into the cool sand beneath her.
"I've never seen you so much as take an aspirin," she tells him, and she intends that to mean that he needn't worry about the supposed addiction.
"Different story when I was in college, but I was just a stupid kid then. Once I became me, the only thing I really knew for sure was that I never wanted to be him," Deeks replies bitterly. "I wanted to do everything I could to be anyone but him. No addictions, no dependencies. I counted on me and just me." He looks over at her. "And then you came along."
She has no idea how to respond to that so she settles for staring out at the sky as the sun continues to set. Streaks of purple and orange are beginning to mix and weave their way across the Los Angeles horizon. It's a stunning visual.
"I was so good at taking care of myself, so good at relying on only me. The guys at the department all hated me, but I could deal with that. I could. Then Hetty does her recruiting thing and suddenly there you are. Suddenly after promising myself that I would never get so invested with a partner that I couldn't imagine not having them around, I realize I've got a big problem."
"I don't know what to say here."
"Then don't say anything. Just listen, okay?"
"Okay."
"Jess Traynor was an amazing woman, and I think I cared a lot about her, but when she died, I had a couple beers in her name, I went to see her parents, and I laid some flowers on her grave. It hurt me, but it didn't break me. When I thought you were dead, when they told me that Kassel had murdered you, I gave up. I didn't care anymore. I let them have me."
"Don't say that," she pleads. "Please."
"Why? Because it scares you."
"Yes," she admits. "Because if that's the truth, then I don't know how we go back to what we were after all we've been through and I'm sorry, Deeks, but right now, that's all I want. I want it to be like it was."
"You want me like I was."
"Yes, but it's not just you. I want me like I was, too. I want the me that felt confident all the time back. I want the me that knew I could hit a mark from across a football field. Now I'm lucky if I can out-shoot Eric."
"You're right," he says with the smallest hint of a familiar old smile. "We really do make a hell of a pair."
She chuckles. "Who would have thought?"
"Pretty much no one."
"Fifty bucks says Deeks doesn't last a month before he's asking to return to the LAPD," Sam says as he as Callen make their way up the steps.
"Fifty, huh? You're awfully confident," Callen replies.
"He and Kensi, they're like oil and water."
"You sure you're not like oil and water with him, Sam?"
"I'm sure. And this isn't about me. It's about them."
"Could be interesting," Callen shrugs. "You and I worked."
"I'm charming."
Callen snorts.
"I am."
"Fine, you're charming. What does that have to do with us working?"
"I make up for your utter lack of charm. And everything else."
"Nice. Well, maybe Kensi can make up for –"
"My utter lack of charm?" Deeks says as he comes up behind the two. "Not needed. I'm definitely the charmer of the two of us. And the looker for that matter. And you know, I'm also –"
"Delusional," Kensi grumbles as she passes them all on the stairs. "And Sam, I'm in for a hundred that Deeks doesn't last two weeks. In fact, I bet he begs Hetty to send him back. On his knees."
"Oh ye of little faith, my dear sweet, Kensi," Deeks grins. "And besides, I'm not much for on my knees."
"Shut up, Deeks."
"Oh come on, don't be like that."
"One week," Callen says. "Hundred and fifty."
"You people really have no belief in me?" Deeks asks, pretending to be hurt.
"It's not you," Sam tells him, then shakes his head. "Well it is you a little bit."
"But mostly it's Kensi. She uh…well…I don't know, Deeks, you and her could make a really interesting partnership," Callen puts in.
"Interesting good, I hope."
"More like interesting explosive is what I'm guessing," Sam says. "But I guess we'll find out." Then to Callen he adds, "When I win, I'll be nice and take you out to dinner."
"That's really sweet of you."
"I'm sweet like that."
"Uh huh."
They pass Deeks on the stairs, leaving him to stand there and stare up at Kensi, who is talking to Eric on the top level. She seems to feel his eyes on her, and glances over at him. Her eyebrow lifts and it's almost like a challenge.
He grins, and makes his way up towards her, determined to prove everyone wrong. For no other reason than because that's what Marty Deeks does. It's what he's always done.
"What'd you end up doing with the money you won?" she asks, smiling slightly. She notices that she's built something of a sand castle over her feet. It feels good, nice and cool.
"You know I don't remember," he replies.
"You don't?"
He shrugs. "Coffee money."
She shakes her head, but is smiling affectionately at him. After a moment, her expression grows troubled and finally, her voice abnormally quiet, she asks, "After everything that's happened, do you still want to be my partner?"
"It's funny," he replies after a few seconds of thought. "That's about the only thing right now that I am certain of. Well besides the fact that I've never hated someone – even my father – as much as I hate Kassel."
"We will get him."
"Yes, we will. And I hope the others are there to stop us from doing something that both of us might regret."
"Regret," she repeats thoughtfully. "I kind of doubt we would. Regret it, I mean."
He smiles sadly. "I know. And I think that scares the hell out of me."
"Me, too," she agrees.
"So," he says. "Where do we start?"
"I would say you would start with Lieutenant Sanchez," Hetty says from behind them. They both turn to see her and Nate standing a few feet away. Hetty's wearing a typically stoic expression, but Nate is clearly concerned. Neither Deeks nor Kensi has any idea how long Hetty and Nate have been there, but chances are, they'd heard the entire conversation.
"Sanchez is still alive?" Deeks asks. "I figured after he'd disappeared that Kassel had him whacked for working with us."
"He made another go at killing me. While I was still in the hospital after Sam and Callen rescued me," Kensi tells him. "He's in a Federal prison now, in solitary confinement to keep him away from Kassel's men."
"Shame," Deeks says. "You should let Kassel have him. One less rodent for the government to take of."
"Our place is not to be judge, jury and executioner, Mr. Deeks," Hetty says gently. At her side, Nate shifts uncomfortably. It's quite clear that he'd like nothing more than to pull the plug on this entire idea of going after Kassel. It's also clear that he's been overruled by all over the others, including Hetty.
"Then you'd better make sure either Sam and Callen comes with us," Deeks replies, standing up and brushing sand off. "Because after what Sanchez did to us, to her, after how he set this whole thing in motion, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to stop myself from strangling him."
Perhaps the brutal unfiltered honesty is too much for even Hetty now because uncertainty streaks across her face. She looks over at Nate, and starts to open her mouth, maybe considering finally following his advice.
"We'll be there with them," Callen assures her as he and Sam step out to join the group. "No one is getting strangled. Not today. Right, Deeks?"
"Right," Kensi answers for him. After a brief moment of hesitation, she reaches out and touches his forearm, lightly squeezing it. He looks down at her hand, then puts his own over hers. It's gesture that no one misses.
"Right," he echoes. "It'll be fine. We'll just talk. That's it. That's all we want."
"Good," Hetty nods. "Then Lieutenant Sanchez is currently housed at MCC in San Diego. I believe Mr. Callen and Mr. Hanna that you know the way quite well by now, yes?"
"We do," Sam confirms. Then to Deeks he says, "We tried to convince Sanchez to tell us where you might be. He kept saying he'd told everything he knew."
"We never believed him," Callen adds.
"Do you know where Kassel is?" Callen asks once he and Sam have seated themselves across from Sanchez. They're in one of the meeting rooms of the prison, the ones usually reserved for visits by lawyers.
"You're wasting your time," Sanchez answers with a laugh. He's been in solitary for about a month, and the strain of it is clearly already catching up to him. He looks ill rested and edgy. "Your boy is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead."
"Maybe and maybe not. We're willing to take our chances," Callen replies with a shrug.
"But you need my help."
"Yes."
"Too bad. Look, you're deluding yourselves. He's dead, and nothing you can do to find him will change that. Now, if you insist on doing this again, at least bring Agent Blye with you. Then, at least, I could have had at least had something nice to look at. No offense, fellas, but neither of you is exactly what I'd call a cool glass of water after a long walk through the desert."
"Someone's been reading," Sam notes.
"Got nothing better to do in my little cell. So, tell me, how is Agent Blye doing?"
"Agent Blye is none of your concern," Sam growls.
Sanchez laughs again. "It's kind of amazing isn't it? I saw this bitch go head-to-head with Kassel. Man, she pissed him off so badly that he fucking snapped and tried to break her skull open. She's got balls of steel of her own, and yet all of you big boys are protecting her from a dude in chains. Pathetic."
"Do you know where Kassel is?" Callen asks again, his voice hard and cold. Neither he nor Sam have any intention of humoring this piece of human vermin's sick obsession with Kensi.
"No."
"You're lying," Sam announces.
"Maybe. But if I am, maybe I want to know what you'll give me to tell you what you want? More to the point, what will Agent Blye give me? I saw what she gave Kassel to save Deeks' ass. Maybe I want the same. You know what? I do. You tell Agent Blye that if she wants to get her beloved partner back that –"
"We're done here," Callen announces, standing up.
"I guess the good detective isn't that important after all," Sanchez cackles, sounding just a little bit crazy.
Neither man replies. They simply get up and leave the room.
They never tell Kensi about Sanchez's so-called offer.
"Just me and Kensi," Deeks says once the foursome is standing outside of the Meeting Room at the Federal prison in San Diego. It'd been a long quiet drive – and an uncomfortable one at that.
After all, what do you say to a guy who has just remember who he is and what's been done to him? How do you apologize for not getting to him earlier? How do you say you're sorry for the pain and horror that he's suffered.
You can't really. You just…can't.
"You sure?" Callen asks. "Just two hours ago you were telling Hetty to make sure that we came with you in case –"
"I know what I said and…I was in the moment. My head is still a bit confused, but I'm not a lunatic and I'm not going to do anything to him. And besides, we all know that if I even think for a second about getting stupid, Kensi will do what she always does; she'll pull me back, won't you, partner?"
"Yeah," she says, but she's frowning just a bit. It's fairly obvious that she's at least somewhat worried about his self-control.
"See?" Deeks says. "All good."
"We'll be listening to everything," Sam tells him.
"I figured as much." He takes a deep breath and then starts for the door to the Interview Room, Kensi just a step or so behind him.
They enter to find Lieutenant Paul Sanchez sitting at the table, his hands cuffed in front of him. He's lost weight, and clearly hasn't been sleeping well.
Join the club, Kensi thinks, glancing over at Deeks.
"Sanchez," Deeks says as he closes the door behind them.
"I'll be damned, Deeks, I figured you for dead," Sanchez chuckles. He lifts his cuffed hands and pretends to clap out a sarcastic kind of congratulations.
"Sorry to disappoint," Deeks replies quietly.
"Oh, no, you misunderstand, my friend. I'm not disappointed at all," Sanchez shrugs. "I figure if you're alive, that means the Boss had his fun with you. And the way you look, I can see he did."
"You don't look like things have been going so great for you either," Kensi fires back, moving herself so that she's standing side-by-side with Deeks.
"Well, I've been locked away in a little cell for the last six months. I get one hour in the yard and fifteen minutes in the showers so yeah, it hasn't exactly been a vacation at the beach, you know?"
"That sucks," Deeks says, his voice dull. "But I honestly don't give a shit if you spend every day protecting your ass. I don't."
"Oh! Your boy has changed," Sanchez chuckles, his eyes settling on Kensi. "And not for the better. How do you like that, Agent Blye?"
"Focus on me, Sanchez, not her."
"Still protecting her, huh? How'd that work out for you last time, Deeks? Seems like it bit you in the ass then. You really want to lose everything again just to protect that whore?"
Before Deeks can move more than an inch in Sanchez's direction, Kensi reaches out and grabs his hand. "Stop," she says. "He's baiting you. Don't let him."
"You're right. You're right. I'm good."
She loosens her hold on his hand, but doesn't let go.
"Aw, that was almost cute. I had forgotten how much she controls you, Deeks. Like a dog on a fucking leash. It's actually kind of pathetic."
"Enough, Paul. Cut the bullshit," Deeks says coldly. "There's only one thing I want from you and then I'll leave you to rot away in your cell. Where is Kassel?"
"Don't you think your boys here have asked me that already?" Sanchez answers, slouching back in the chair, a smirk on his face. This is the most interesting – and lengthy - conversation that he's had in six months, and he's not about to do anything to speed it along.
"I'm sure they all have," Deeks replies.
"No, no, not all, just Callen and his bodyguard. Your girl hasn't been by even once. And you know if she had…come to…see me, well then, this could have all been over months ago."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Kensi demands.
Before Sanchez can answer, Deeks says, "It doesn't matter. I'm here. And we're not playing any more games."
"Games, huh? You think that's what this is?"
"I do. We both know that every time they've come to see you, you've yanked them around and lied to them. You've claimed they know all you know. But that's a lie isn't it, Paul? You know exactly where Kassel is."
"You really have changed, Deeks. No more Mr. Nice Guy."
"No, no more. And right now, all I want you to hear is this; before we leave this room today, you are going to tell me everything we want to know. You're going to tell us where Kassel is. Do you understand me?"
"Or what? You'll kill me?"
"Oh, no, no, Paul, I'm one of the good guys," Deeks replies dryly. There's something in his tone, something that seems to suggest that he's not completely sure that he is still one of the good guys.
"She won't let your cross any lines."
"Maybe, maybe not. You never know. And besides, who's to say I will cross any lines? Maybe I'll just practice a few of the things Kassel taught me on you. That'd be poetic justice, now wouldn't it be?"
Sanchez looks up at Kensi. She simply stares back at him. Her look is cold, almost chilling. It's enough to send a shiver along his spine.
"I can't," he finally says. "If I do, he'll kill me."
"You're not really living now are you, Paul? You're locked away in a little room and you can't ever leave that room or else someone might slit your throat with a plastic knife. Or maybe they'll do it with their hands. Beat you to death. Kassel does like to make it as painful as possible He digs that kind of thing. I'm sure you remember. I know I do."
"I think you're scaring your girl," Sanchez says, a slight tremble to his voice. "I don't think she likes this side of you."
"She'll be fine. We both will. After we take down Kassel."
"You never will. He'll see you coming and just when you think you've got him, he'll turn everything around. He always wins. Always. Maybe this time, he'll take her. Maybe this time, she'll be the one he breaks."
"No," Deeks says simply. "That's not what's going to happen. Now, where is he?"
"He'll get me in here. You know he will, Deeks."
"I know. I don't care. Frankly, I hope he does."
Sanchez looks over at Kensi. "You going to allow this?"
"Where is Kassel?" she asks in response, her gaze even and cool. If Deeks is scaring her – and he is – she's sure as hell not showing it to Sanchez.
He's surprised for just a moment, and then resignation comes over him. Whatever joy he'd had earlier at seeing Deeks and Kensi in front of him, both of them clearly still deeply scarred by what Kassel had done to them, is long gone now. Even wounded, it's plain to Paul Sanchez that they're the ones in control.
"My blood is on your hands."
"Pretty sure I can live with that," Deeks replies. "Where is he?"
"I don't know. I…I honestly don't know. But…but I know how you can find him."
"Keep talking."
"He has a lot of kids, but most of them, he has no interaction with. There's one, though, that he's close with. Kid is nineteen years old and already he's a little bastard. He's spitting image of daddy through and through."
"What's his name?" Kensi asks, lifting her hand to her ear as if to touch her earpiece. It's a wasted motion, though, because she's certain that the others are already paying full attention to the entire conversation.
"Justin Cavanaugh. Follow Justin, and he'll lead you right to wherever Kassel is. He probably goes to see his dad once or twice a week." Sanchez looks up at Deeks. "You probably even saw him a time or two and didn't even know it."
He's coming down.
Again.
They seem to enjoy making him crash to earth completely before injecting him more of the heroin. They seem to delight in the agony of the despair and fear that seems to wash over him.
He's lying on the floor of the room, twitching, trying to remember just the who the hell he is.
Marty Deeks. Jimmy Reese.
A hundred other names.
He claws at the ground, his dirty nails scraping painfully against the floor. He tosses and he turns, and he tries to find even a second of peace.
There's none to be found.
All he hears is the sound of his own shattered heart slamming against his ribcage. And the sound of an adult man crying like a three-year-old child.
Sometimes, if he's left with just Alejandro watching him, the fix is given to him fairly quickly. Alejandro is impatient and this isn't his game. He doesn't care to listen to the blonde cop crack and crumble and fall to pieces.
If it's Kassel watching over him, though, then he's allowed to suffer through the pangs of withdrawal for hours. It's only when exhaustion seems to finally overtake him that Kassel reaches out and forces the poison back into his system.
And then the cycle starts anew.
"Please," he always says. "Please just let me die." He's long since stopped caring about the humiliation of begging. He just wants it over.
The answer that comes back is always the same. "No, I'm not done with you yet."
Deeks can't help but wonder just how much further he has to fall.
One night, he finds out just how far he has left to go.
It's late in the evening, and he's coming down hard when a man that he's never seen before comes into the room. The man looks a lot like Kassel, but he's younger, maybe still in his teens. It occurs to Deeks that this kid might actually be Kassel's son. It's a horrifying thought, but he doesn't have long to dwell on it before he's feeling a razor blade get run across the palm of his hand.
"Please," Deeks says.
"That's a good start," the kid says. "But I think you can do better. Now I want you to feel free to scream. Honestly, the louder the better." And then he presses the blade in deeper.
Deeks screams.
Hours later, when the heroin is mercifully surging through his veins, and the tears have finally stopped running down his cheeks, Deeks promises himself that he'll never wonder how far he can fall again.
Because the answer is clearly that as far as Kassel is concerned, there's no floor. There's always more pain to be had.
Always.
"Got him," Eric says, his fingers flying over the keyboard. He's happy to be able to stare at his screen, and not Deeks. Every time he looks at the blonde cop, he feels a wave of nausea crash through him. Deeks is too skinny, too sickly.
And too angry.
Eric's never been good at handling anger. He's usually the one who retreats from it, finds a way to hide until the storm passes.
Right now, Deeks is the storm. A focused and furious tornado about to go shred everything in its path. It's utterly terrifying.
"Where?" Kensi says, leaning over him. Her hand rests on the back of his chair, and then slides to his shoulder.
"Beverly Hills, where else?" Eric notes. He pulls up a map and shows a house on it. "The place was owned by his mother, but she died in a car crash about a year ago, which meant that he inherited somewhere north of fifteen million dollars."
"Suspected foul play?" Callen asks.
"Suspected, but never proven."
"So what's our angle?" Kensi asks. "Follow him until he goes to see Kassel?"
"Or see if any of our street contacts can come up with anything," Sam offers.
"No," Deeks says with a shake of his head. "No more waiting around for informants to talk. No more lurking in the shadows following these bastards around. We finish this. Today."
"All right. You got a plan?" Sam queries.
"Yeah, me."
"You?" Hetty questions, eyebrow up.
"Me. I go in as Jimmy, act like the lost puppy coming home."
"No, no way," Kensi snaps immediately.
"You're not understanding what I'm saying. I'm not asking for permission to do this," Deeks replies. "I'm going in with or without permission."
"Deeks..."
"Kensi, this is the right play. I know it is. Sanchez was right; I remember this little creep. He tortured me in there. He knows who I am and I know who he is. He'll think I'm Jimmy. I'll be all confused and unsure. And I'll get him to take me home to Kassel."
"I don't like this," Nate says quickly. "You've just gotten clear of the brainwashing. It's completely unadvisable for your to take on that persona again. It's…"
"I know who I am, Nate. I promise you, I'll never forget that again."
"What if he sees through you?" Hetty asks.
"Then I'll start breaking bones until he takes me see dear old dad," Deeks answers without a trace of humor. He's clearly dead serious.
"This is idiotic," Kensi says. "We are not sending you right back to Kassel. Absolutely not."
"It might be the best way," Callen suggests, though more to himself than the others. "Chances are Justin is on the outside of the operation, probably only knows Deeks as Jimmy the druggie. He might not even know Jimmy is missing."
"That's a lot of 'mights'," Sam notes.
"Too many," Kensi says. "Hetty, come on."
"Stop," Deeks cuts in. "Just stop. Kensi, I know you want to protect me. I know…and…that…it means something, okay? It means a lot, but I need this over. I need this bastard behind bars or in the ground or something. I can't…every time I close my eyes, I see him. I feel the pain, I feel everything. I'm afraid of everything. I can't…it has to end. Please."
His words are spoken rapidly and emotionally, and Kensi is struck with the visual of a spool of yarn rapidly coming unwound. She's not sure if she's glad that the others are there or if she wishes they would all go away so that she could take care of him by herself.
"This is a bad idea," she tells him.
"Wouldn't be my first bad idea," he says, his eyes meeting hers. She sees sadness in them - and maybe an apology as well. She assumes it's for going after Sanchez the morning after what Kassel had...what she'd let Kassel do to her.
"Deeks, are you sure you can do this?" Callen asks.
He doesn't reply immediately, instead looks at Kensi. He lowers his voice when he speaks to her, making it seem almost like this is an intimate conversation between just the two of them. "You'll be there, right?"
"You know I will be."
"Then I'm sure." He looks up at the others. "But if I'm going to sell this right, then I'm going to need Jimmy's clothes back."
TBC...