Marty was in the shower by the time Jack meandered in, having made a slight detour via his own room to pick up a bottle of whisky he'd brought for just this occasion. It was a rare single malt, from the year of Marty's birth, from a tiny distillery in the Highlands and had taken no small effort to track down. Like most men, Jack had never been good at saying what was in his heart and, as a father, he had relied upon demonstrating his love in practical ways such as spending time with both of his sons, hugging them and generally being involved in their lives. Only that had all imploded on him in the worst possible way and it had been impossible to talk about his activities for the CIA and the effect this was having on his psyche, even if he had wanted to bear his soul.
Jack's original involvement in covert activities had started when his younger son was threatened, and they had used this as leverage to recruit him. When Marty was then kidnapped, compliance had seemed the only way to guarantee the little boy would be safely returned. The intervening days had been taken up with complicated and time-consuming negotiations that started with initial agreement to recruitment, were followed by threats from the then Soviet Block, who sought to blackmail Jack into acting as a double agent had finally resulted in agreement from the CIA that he should work as a triple agent. And meanwhile, Marty was gone, with only a blurry video-tape of the child sobbing piteously and begging to come home as any proof that he was still alive.
The entire period had been a living purgatory for the whole family, from thirteen year old Chris, who felt guilty that he'd not been able to protect his baby brother, right up to Hetty, who felt that it was the initial feelers she had put out to Jack had resulted in such a cataclysmic chain of events. No matter that no-one could have predicted the outcome –the result was the same. But eventually Hetty had prevailed on her informal grouping of cross-border agents known as the Catena, or Chain, to help. They had managed to find the little boy and bring him home.
But the four year old that had returned to the house was an entirely different child from the happy, carefree and outgoing boy who had left. This child was traumatised and had withdrawn into himself; he was skinny, bruised and filthy and could barely talk at first. It had taken weeks before Marty started to recover and after a while, he seemed to have blotted the whole experience from his memory, as if a wet sponge had wiped away all traces of chalk from a board. No-one else who had lived through the dark days would ever forget them, but by tacit agreement, it was never spoken of again. If that was how Marty was able to heal and to move on, then nobody wished to jeopardise the process. And that had only been the beginning of things starting to go wrong. It was the precursor that first signalled the road to hell.
"I messed up. I totally screwed up." Jack stared out of the window and cursed his stupidity, the way he had made his family vulnerable and then his failure to protect them. His subsequent actions had only compounded the original error and made things ten times worse. His son had suffered God knows what and he was to blame.
"Don't beat yourself up, Dad." Marty knew exactly what his father was doing, because he'd inherited the same trait. It was something the Brandels specialised in – feeling guilty. And self-analysis just made things worse.
"I should have been there for you." Only when he had been released from prison, Jack had discovered that his son had moved on, was at college and seemed to be enjoying his new life. To have reappeared at that stage could have ruined everything. It seemed better for Marty that Gordon John Brandel should just stay in the background, almost forgotten. And the fact that he had dropped his first and last names to become Marty Deeks just seemed to confirm his decision. Mikey Brandel had tried to bury his past and what possible good could exhumation do?
"That would have been good. Only I don't know how I would have coped if you'd come back right after you left prison. I still had a bit of wild streak." His first year at college had been eventful, to say the least, as he threw off the traces of the past and set about re-inventing himself. It was only the calming presence of Nico and Tad that had tamed Marty's worst excesses.
"Which you've now traded in for a death-wish?" Jack shook his head. "Couldn't you have gone in for a safer profession – like bomb disposal or something?" He'd been drawn into the murky world of espionage by default, while his son seemed to positively embrace all the things that had so terrified his father. From the little he had been able to glean about Marty's activities for NCIS, even the hazardous job of being an undercover detective for LAPD seemed positively tame by comparisom. And, of course, being a Brandel, he'd not opted for the ordinary part of NCIS, but for the rather shadowy Office of Special Projects, which just appeared to be another way of saying 'extremely hazardous to health'.
"Or I could have stayed practising law and bored myself to death?" Marty suggested and looked at the whisky longingly. "Are we just supposed to stand here and look at that or are you actually going to offer me a drink?" this really wasn't the time or place to talk about career choices, was it?
"Are you sure you're old enough to drink legally?" Jack took another look at the neat hair and smoothly shaven face.
"Very funny. It's been a long time since anyone carded me." Marty took the glass his father handed to him, their fingers touching for the briefest moment possible, and took a sip. "This is amazing. Smooth and with that peaty taste." And it was going straight to his head.
"You keep the bottle. It's a present." Jack handed it across and saw his son recognise the significance of the label.
"Thanks, Dad. I'll think of you when I drink it." He was incredibly touched that his father would go to all that effort.
"Here's to you, Mikey." Jack raised his glass. "You're a remarkable young man and I'm very proud of you. And I love you very much." It wasn't easy to say, but then the really important things never were.
"I love you too Dad. I never stopped loving you." Blue eyes met blue eyes and locked in mutual understanding.
"Even if you didn't always like me very much?" Jack had to ask, even if he was dreading the answer.
"Even then." Marty had tried to deny that for a long time. He'd spent even longer trying to pretend that his father had never existed in the first place, even changing his name in attempt to reinvent himself. And although he was now definitely Marty Deeks, there was a part of him that would always be Michael Brandel. It might go some way to explaining how he was so good at maintaining a long-term undercover alias. He'd always been good at pretending, at putting up an elaborate smoke-screen. It had taken Kensi to break down those barriers and find her way through to the real man behind all the subterfuge.
"I missed you every single day. I thought about you every single day. And I still do." You are the single most important person in my life. Once you become a parent, you never stop being a parent, no matter what. And I wasn't the sort of father I wanted to be. I let you down so badly. I could understand if you hated me, if you wanted nothing to do with me.
"We've been given a second chance." Not everyone was so lucky. This time last year, Marty had thought there was nobody in his life, and now he had a father, a great aunt and Kensi. Plus the rest of the NCIS team. "It's never too late."
Jack looked at his watch. "And talking of being late – I thought that was the bride's prerogative, not the groom's?"
"Crap." Marty made a dive for the wardrobe, and only just managed to hold onto the edges of the towel in the process.
"Make sure you remember to put on some underwear, son." You could never be too careful, Jack had found. Wherever possible, one really should be prepared for all eventualities.
"I wish Mom could have been here," Marty said, pulling on his pants. "Not that I don't think Rowena's not great, because she is, but… but just because I still miss Mom."
"So do I," Jack admitted. "I think I always will." He'd had it all and then he'd thrown it all away. But now he'd been given a second chance with his son and that was more precious than anything. "You look after her, Mikey. You look after Kensi, and love her and cherish her. And that way, you won't go far wrong. As long as you stay out of danger, that is."
His son grinned. "Not likely, Dad. Not in my line of work." Here it comes: why don't you just resign and go and work for the family business? As if! Still, it shows he cares.
"You don't have to do this. You don't have to work at all, far less in something as risky as NCIS."
"I do. Because I'm out there making a difference. That's all I ever wanted to do." It really was as simple as that.
Jack watched as Marty buttoned up a pristinely white shirt and then tucked it in before fastening his belt. "You've made a difference since the day you were born. Your mother and I tried for a long time to have another baby after Chris, and when you arrived we were so happy. You were a blessing to us from that day onwards."
"Even when I was running around naked and frightening the hell out of all your guests?"
"Even then. Your mother loved you so much." And yet Maryanne had taken her own life and left their son alone. Jack could not bear to think what pain she must have been in. He finished off his drink and picked up the pale blue tie. "How about I help you with this – for old times' sake?" Like that song we sing at New Year in Scotland – for auld lang's syne.
"You never did show me how to tie a Windsor knot." Marty quirked his left eyebrow invitingly.
"It's never too late." Jack swatted him gently on the back of his head, taking care not to disturb the still-tidy hair. "I never taught you how to shave either – so maybe that's my fault too?" He stood behind his son and deftly knotted the tie, carefully creating the distinctive triangle that would allow the knot to stand out proud. Once finished, he patted Marty lightly on both shoulders in a gesture of completion.
"Or I could just be congenitally lazy?" Marty picked up his waistcoat and pulled it on. "Nearly ready now." For some unaccountable reason, his stomach was starting to churn. "Caroline's got my jacket downstairs, to put the buttonhole on. She seems to think I can't do anything properly," he complained half-heartedly.
"That's because she still thinks you're a little boy. There's just one thing." Jack unfastened his watch. "My father gave me this on my eighteenth birthday and I'd like you to have it."
It was a vintage Patek Philippe that Marty could remember Jack wearing on every single formal occasion of his childhood. "I can't take that. You love that watch, Dad," he protested.
"That's why I want you to have it. With my love. And because I wasn't there on your eighteenth birthday."
"You're here now." And, in the end, that was all that really mattered: the immediate present. The past was just that, unchanging and fixed in amber. But the future had still to be written and what you did in the present opened up a myriad of possibilities, if you were but brave enough to take up the challenge.
"I'm here," Jack agreed. He was here and he was about to watch his son take the biggest step of his young life and enter into a union for life. There was so much he had missed, but he was here today.
Details about the history of the Brandel family can be found throughout this series. For more information about Jack's recruitment, Marty's childhood kidapping and how Hetty was involved, please see The Chain, where all is revealed.
Okay - they're nearly ready now. Will Deeks be on time for once and arrive before Kensi? How will Callen and Sam cope with their duties as ushers and will Crosby behave himself during the ceremony?
Keep tuned to find out all this and more... including the first dance.