Life, Lies and Video Surveillance

by Cortexikid

Choking back the sob, she raked in her partner's tear-streaked cheeks before cataloguing the extent of his injuries in the most painful couple of seconds of her life. She had to get him outta here. Dropping to her knees, she forced herself not to touch him, unable to unglue her eyes from the torture device jammed in his mouth. Post-Descent. WOTD: Compunction

38. Compunction Part III

Life, Lies and Video Surveillance

By Cortexikid

Chapter 38: Compunction (Part III)

A/N: So, as of May 22nd I've been writing this fic for a year :O Wow. How time flies! I sincerely apologize for the lateness of this chapter; RL intervened as it's so inclined to do.

I'd like to dedicate this entire story to my cousin who recently passed away. She was always so supportive of my writing in all shapes and forms and is missed by all of us every single day. x

I also want to dedicate this particular chapter to BrunoMars (I assume that's a penname and not the real guy. If I'm mistaken, I just wanna say Mr. Mars, you have damn catchy songs :P) for being awesome :D and Winnie69 for their hilarious and lovely insights :)

Warning: Spoilers for the Season 4 Finale "Descent." DARK THEMES AHEAD! LONG CHAPTER, TAKE BREAKS IF NEEDED!

Disclaimer: NCIS: LA isn't mine.

---

COMPUNCTION; com·punc·tion noun. Regret, sorrow.

"Jack?"

Deeks stiffened as he heard his partner's voice call out in his ear.

No, no it can't be...not him...not now...

He could feel his heart begin to thunder in his ears, beating rapidly, thump-thump-thump as he struggled to remain expressionless.

Meanwhile, the man in question, Jack Bennett, the Jack, her Jack, stood staring at him, green eyes widened curiously.

"Are you alright Mr. Deaton?"

After a beat, Deeks mentally shook himself, forcing his brain out of the would-be-panic-mode-if-he-weren't-in-the-middle-of -an-op and managing a twitch of his lips that could be construed as an attempt at a smile if looked at with particularly optimistic eyes.

"Yeah...Jack, I'm good, lead the way," he cleared his throat, straining his ears to try and hear if Kensi had anything else potentially life-altering to say or if she was just going to stick with the re-emergence of her ex-fiancé to shock him to his very core. But it appeared that his more-than-partner had gone completely radio-silent. In fact, everybody had. Nell, Eric, even Hetty seemed to have lapsed into a dead stillness. He didn't think that bode well for him.

The two men walked in silence down the long, gleaming corridor, its pristine pallor almost blinding as Deeks fought off his inner turmoil. This was him. The man that he heard very little about but had formed a half-baked image of in his head and really...this wasn't what he was expecting.

Perhaps it was some light-hearted superciliousness on his part but, he always pictured Jack as being a lot like himself. Especially after Kensi dated that accountant guy a few months ago, Rain, Sleet, Snow, whatever his name was. He thought that maybe she did have a type after all, despite her protests, but this guy, this ex-marine leading him down the hall of a clinic for wounded ex-law enforcement and military, was the opposite of Marty Deeks in every possible way. He was tall, yeah, but really, that's where the comparison ended. Physically, he was incredibly muscular, the type that wasn't a normal work-out that Deeks entertained with surfing and jogging but the type that was built over years of intense training, his was stocky, broad, that much was obvious even from under his baggy shirt, he practically screamed marine in his posture, the way he held himself, walked, talked. His features were dark, dark hair, sallow skin, dark green eyes that really could pass for brown, clipped black hair not an iota out of place, a dusting of moles on his face and down his neck. He was as pristine as the hallways they walked.

"Uh...Mr. Deaton?"

Deeks snapped out of his reverie at the sound of his alias.

That's when he realized that he'd been openly staring at the man who once was his more-than-partner's more-than-partner.

Awkward.

"Uh, yeah, sorry. I—uh...is that Doctor Murphy's office?" he changed tact, not sure how to answer the man.

Jack knew he was undercover, that he worked with NCIS. Did he know that Kensi—

"Yeah, that's his office. The doc will be with you in a few minutes, you can just wait out here and he'll call you in. I gotta go do my rounds now but I'll see you later for our group session," Jack responded, interrupting his troubling train of thought, apparently shrugging off Deeks' strange behaviour and offering him a polite nod before making his way past him and down the corridor.

Deeks watched him go, his jaw still slack from the shock. After a moment, he heaved a small sigh and sat down on the chair outside the doc's office.

"E.T phoning home," he murmured under his breath, "you guys still there?"

"Affirmative," Nell mumbled, sounding almost robotic.

"Kensi?" the agent whispered, pressing a palm to his chest as if that could physically stop it from beating out of his rib-cage.

There was another stretch of silence that seemed to last for eons.

"She..." Hetty's voice began, her tone reserved, "she stepped out, Mr. Deeks."

---

Gentle streams of sunlight shone through the passenger side window of a Dodge Challenger SRT8, basking Agent G Callen as he squinted at a piece of paper in his hands.

"You better not be trying to make more origami swans, G," his partner Sam Hanna murmured under his breath as he glanced through his binoculars into the dusty, desert road.

"And ruin your favourite pastime, Sam? Never," Callen smirked before crumpling the candy wrapper in his palm and throwing it up on the dash.

The binoculars were lowered from his partner's face as a look of disdain was thrown his way.

Callen merely shrugged before his attention was caught from the windshield, where there were two black SUVs approaching them, followed closely by a large truck, pulling a huge container, much like the ones they'd seen when rendezvousing with The Red Team.

"That's them," Sam said to his partner before stepping out and making his way towards the cars.

The loud rumbling of the truck's engine died down as two people stepped out of one SUV, two more people out of the other to lean against the cars' hoods until they were eventually being joined by a tall, fair-haired man after he jumped down from driver's side of the vast vehicle pulling the containers. Once convened together, The Green Team was formed, comprising of three females and two males, five pairs of eyes locked onto Sam and Callen.

"You must be Agents Callen and Hanna," the driver of one of SUVs spoke after a moment, a middle-aged, dark-haired, Asian-American woman stepping forward and extending her hand.

"I'm Special Agent in Charge Lucy Twirling," she continued, shaking both of their hands before motioning behind her, "this is my team. Special Agent Liam Carbury," the fair-haired, pale-skinned, driver of the truck raised his hand in greeting, "Special Agent Chase Grayson," the other man, shorter of the two with a surfer's physic, nodded before folding his arms, "Tech-Analyst Kim Hanway," a rosy-cheeked, brunette young woman with a streak of purple in her hair smirked in their direction, "and Special Agent Megan Collins..." the last team-member, Megan, barely looked up from where she was staring at the ground, her jaw clenched, her hands balled into fists at her sides, her dark skin shining in the bright sun, it gleaming with sweat as if she had just completed a rigorous work-out.

"Nice to meet you," Callen replied, taking the time to memorise them all, "we were—"

"You got any leads on who killed my brother yet?" Megan cut across him, her voice hoarse, her eyes heavy-lidded as she finally looked up from the ground.

Sam threw his partner a glance before replying, "we've got one of our Agents on an undercover op at the clinic and have uncovered two suspects—"

"Who are they? Have you questioned them yet?" she interjected again, stepping forward, her gaze hardened.

"Agent Collins," Sam held up his hands, "we're doing—"

"Don't give me that 'we're doing everything we can' crap. My brother's already been..." she swallowed, "it's already been over 24 hours. If this has something to do with...to do with me..." she bit her lip, "I need to know."

"You think somebody is targeting you?" Callen asked.

Something fizzled within The Green Team then, a heightened charge, a sudden tenseness in the atmosphere.

"You're not doing your job unless you make a few enemies Agent Callen," came her ambiguous reply.

The faces of Marcel Janvier and Isaak Sidorov swam in front of Callen's eyes like an ever-taunting film-reel, their features morphing into each other as he fought to control his response. He had to admit that he agreed with the younger agent's theory.

"In that case, are there any enemies that stick out against the rest?" his partner inquired as Callen fought to banish Janvier and Sidorov and that-time-of-which-they-don't-speak from his brain.

There was a long beat of silence amongst the two teams. Twirling and Collins exchanged a glance before the former turned her attention back to the OSP agents.

"Do you...have somewhere more secure where we could have this conversation?"

Callen and Sam nodded simultaneously.

"We've got just the place..."

---

She was warm, sleep-swept and comfortable, a pleasant fuzziness encasing her as she blinked her eyes open to find herself shrouded in a cocoon of blankets, soft tufts of sunshine peaking through the cracks between her sheets. It was Sunday, the day of rest, and she fully intended to utilize it. With a small grin, she stretched her long limbs, groaning a little as some of her bones cracked in just the right way and threw her head back onto the pillow, pulling the blankets down from her face and staring up at the ceiling.

The long shadows from the flowing drapes of her large bedroom window danced across the pale walls as she stared, transfixed, engulfed in her own little world. She couldn't keep the beam off her face as she conjured up memories of last night, of how content she felt, how comfortable she was in his arms, how she loved to rake her fingers through his hair, how soft his lips were against hers, how his touch made her shake, quiver in anticipation. It was addictive. His touch, his smell, his taste. It scared her just how much she had fallen head over heels for him, not that she'd ever admit it. He with all his quirks, with his sometimes irritating tics and with his emotional troubles, his difficult past – she'd take all of it. All of him, in a heartbeat.

"With a smile like that, you gotta be thinkin' about me, huh Kens..." his voice came from the doorway, snapping her out of her reverie with a roll of her eyes.

"Someone's sure of himself," she murmured, fighting the blush that was attacking her cheeks, sitting up and noticing what he held in his hands.

"You made breakfast?" she couldn't keep the surprise out of her tone, her eyebrows raised in shock.

"Kensi," he admonished as he made his way towards her, "of course I made breakfast. Have to pull my weight around here somewhere, don't I?"

She bit her lip, raking her dark gaze over the slightly burnt toast, the sloppy scrambled-eggs and half-empty glass of orange juice in a champagne glass. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her.

"Thank you," she smiled, leaning forward and capturing his lips before plucking the toast off the tray and tucking in.

She could feel his eyes on her as she chewed, brow furrowed.

"What?" she asked, noticing for the first time how on edge he looked.

"Uh...nothing," he cleared his throat before motioning to the tray, "why don't you have some orange juice? I squeezed it fresh myself..."

A snort of laughter erupted from her chest.

"Okay Farmer Joe," she laughed, picking up the juice, catching his eye as she tilted back the glass and took a large gulp, feeling something bounce against her lips.

"What the—" she broke off as she fished out whatever was floating at the bottom of the glass with her finger.

"Oh my god..." she gasped, her heart hammering in her chest as a silver ring complete with a gleaming diamond fell into her palm.

"What..." Kensi gasped, glancing up to catch his eyes that were now glistening.

"Kensi Marie Blye," he began, his voice cracking, "I've—I've known from the day I met you that you were the only woman for me. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

There was a beat of silence; all being heard was her laboured breathing. But in reality, it was just a moment for her to let it all sink in, because really, it was a no-brainer.

"Of course, yes!" she squealed before launching herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him tightly.

"Well then, it's official," he murmured after a second, leaning back and taking her hand in his, slipping the ring onto her finger, "soon you'll be Mrs Kensi Bennett."

Kensi chuckled, kissing him deeply before tilting her head back and catching his gaze.

"I love you Jack..."

"Kensi...?"

Her eyes snapped up from where she was staring at her desk to find Nell standing there, watching her quietly with an odd expression on her face.

"Are you...okay?" she asked softly, picking at a loose tread on her sleeve.

The agent nodded, clearing her throat, trying to shove down the lump that had formed there as she thought about the day that Jack proposed to her, only a few short months before she woke up alone.

"I'm fine," she replied, her voice sounding more confident than she felt.

The intelligence-analyst nodded, they both knowing that she didn't believe her.

"How—" Kensi coughed, shuffling a few papers around on her desk, averting the red-head's gaze, "how's Deeks?"

Nell folded her arms, her shoulders tense.

"He's uh...he's just waiting to be fake admitted into the clinic's records by Dr. Murphy, then he'll become Jeremy Thyne's new roommate and...then he has a group session with uh...with Mr. Bennett," she rushed over his name, trying to quench her discomfort.

Kensi nodded, her stare still downward, "and Marlowe Green?"

"Ms. Greene will be in attendance at the group session, as will Mr. Thyne," she responded, realizing that the agent was struggling to keep up the sense of professionalism.

"And Ja—Mr Bennett, he's...he's the group councilor?" she asked, her voice half an octave higher than usual.

"Yes," Nell murmured, biting her lip.

"That's—that's good," Kensi stood up suddenly, a flash of discomfort crossing her features before she picked up some documents and finally met her friend's gaze, "I—have some filing to do...keep me updated?"

Before she could reply, the brunette turned on her heel and sped away, out of the bullpen.

Nell watched her go, a sigh on her lips.

After everything that had happened lately, this was the last thing Kensi needed.

---

A soft drumming of fingers reverberated around the large, ovular office as Marty Deeks (posing as ex-narcotics-detective Marty Deaton) sat impatiently in front of Dr. Leo Murphy as he looked over a rather large file in front of him.

"Nervous tic?" the doctor said after the second minute of Deeks' frenetic drumming.

Marty's hand immediately stilled, his eyes locking on his fingers as if just noticing what they were doing.

"Uh...no, just enthusiastic to get this show on the road," he responded, not meeting the man's eye.

"How long have you been in law-enforcement, Marty?" Murphy asked suddenly, a crease between his eyebrows.

Deeks frowned, gesturing to the file, "everything you need to know about my cover is in—"

"No, Marty, you misunderstand me," Murphy paused, throwing down the file full of fake back-story, "I'm asking you, the real you, not Marty Deaton. How long have you been in law-enforcement?"

Silence engulfed the room as Deeks was made very aware of the fact that his button-camera was recording every part of this conversation.

"With all due respect doctor," he replied evenly, "I'm not the one under investigation here."

The doctor nodded, seemingly mulling over his words.

"That may be true Marty but...you are in law-enforcement and have gone through a trauma—"

"And you would know this how?" Deeks cut across him, leaning forward in his chair and wincing as his still-healing arm gave a twinge.

"I've been doing this a long time Mr. Deeks," Murphy sighed, taking off his glasses and wiping them, "let's just say I know the signs. Now, I've done my interview with your colleagues, my alibi has been checked and I've been cleared...so when the investigation is finished, I would like to help you in any way that I—"

"Has Marty Deaton been fully admitted?" Deeks cut across him, staring at a point on the desk.

The elder man inhaled a large breath before shaking his head, "yes, your cover is fully admitted to our records. But really Mar—"

"Then we better get this show on the road. There's a murderer to catch," Deeks leapt up out of the seat, racing to the door.

"Well then," Murphy stood to follow him, a resigned twitch to his lips, "let me show you to your room..."

The journey from office to sleeping quarters was a quiet one. Deeks didn't feel like engaging with a man who wanted to study him, and the man that wanted to study him didn't feel like engaging with someone who was defensively opposed to any help whatsoever. He had come across types like Mr. Deeks before, heels dug stubbornly into the quick-sand, sinking lower and lower into their despair until they were eventually engulfed by it. It was sad, tragic, a by-product of the high-stress, high-danger job they usually had. It was what got the good doc into this profession in the first place, his own brother suffering from PTSD after a particularly bad case when he was a cop. In a way, Marty reminded him a lot of Felix, from what little time he spent with him. It was also why it was so easy for him to spot Deeks' obvious distress.

"Room 224, here we are," Leo attempted to inject a smile into his voice as they stopped at a doorway, "I'll just introduce you to your new roommate and then I'll leave you to get settled Mr. Deaton," he finished, motioning for Deeks to step through the door where a tall man with salt and pepper stood by the window.

"Jeremy? Your new roommate is here. Jeremy, meet Marty, Marty, meet Jeremy," the doctor motioned between the two of them, watching intently as Jeremy turned on the spot and regarded Deeks' outstretched hand with distain.

"Geez Murph, Collins is barely cold and you're already renting out his bed? Nice," he growled before begrudgingly squeezing Deeks' hand, not meeting his gaze.

"Don't get too comfortable kid," he murmured, stepping away from them and turning towards his bed by the window, "you won't last long in here...if you know what's good for ya..."

Deeks' eyebrows rose as he and the doctor shared a look.

Seemed that the rumour Collins' mother talked about Jeremy and TJ having a tempestuous relationship wasn't just a rumour...

"Now Jeremy, play nice, it's Marty's first day here," the doc said pointedly before clapping his hands and rubbing them together, "well, I've got my rounds to do so I'll leave you gentleman to get acquainted," he finished, stepping towards the door.

The newly-appointed agent nodded at Leo and he took his leave of the room with a reminder that their group session was at 2pm. The blond stood in the middle of the room, his gaze jumping from the crisp, clean bed and dresser, it void of all possessions, personality, anything, to where Jeremy now sat, on his bed that was haphazardly made, his dressers alight with knick-knacks, mementos, personal items.

"Stupid sun's on the wrong side," Jeremy murmured under his breath suddenly, startling Deeks.

"Excuse me?"

Thyne jerked around to meet his gaze, his eyes wide; as if he'd forgotten that he was no longer alone.

"The sun...in my old room it was on the other side," he groused, "but seen as my idiot of a roommate decided to go get himself murdered, I've had to relocate to this crap shack of a room..." he trailed off, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his bedside table and patting himself down as if searching for a lighter.

Deeks watched as he found it in his breast pocket and went to light the cigarette, walking over to the window and opening it.

"Didn't think you were allowed smoke in here..." he piped up as Thyne took a long pull of the smoke.

"Didn't think you looked like a snitch...are you a snitch, Marty?" he rasped between puffs, levelling him with a pointed glare.

"You know," the blond stepped closer to his bed where his solitary go-bag lay, "my dad didn't teach me much more than what were the wrong things to say and do when he was hammered," he paused, shoving his hand into one of the pockets and fumbling with something inside, "but there was one thing he knew well..." he trailed off, pulling his hand out of the bag and holding up two Cuban cigars with a smirk, "cigars..."

"Jeremy Thyne, comes from an abusive background, a heavy smoker...he's trying to bond with him. Deeks is good," Nell murmured as she and Eric exchanged a glance back in Ops, listening to the entire conversation.

Thyne looked from the cigars to Deeks' face and back again, a small smirk slowly spreading across his haggard face.

"Well kid," he sat forward, looking directly into his eyes for the first time since he entered the room, "you gonna share?"

The agent barely contained a pleased smirk as he handed the man a cigar.

It was the beginning of a not-so-beautiful relationship.

---

"A boat shed."

It was a statement rather than a question as the curious eyes raked over every inch of the place, Callen and Sam watching on patiently.

"It suits us," the former murmured as he and his partner exchanged a glance, The Green Team assembling around the table.

"It's...different," the analyst Kim said almost to herself, "I like it," she nodded, before sitting down, pulling out a laptop from her backpack and booting it up.

"Kim, pull up the files on the Dante case," Twirling instructed as she took a seat at the head of the table, entwining her fingers and placing them under her chin – Sam and Callen pointedly ignored how much she resembled Hetty in that moment and moved swiftly on to whatever the younger woman was doing.

After mere seconds, the tech-analyst turned the laptop around to face the partners, a mug-shot of a tall, broad, bald man on the screen, a rap sheet as long as both their arms accompanying his menacing face.

"Meet Karl Dante, ex-Navy SEAL and current smuggler of all things illegal," Twirling motioned to the picture, before folding her arms, leaning closer to the table, and levelling the two agents with a heavy stare, "this case is highly sensitive, classified...I have it on good authority that none of the following information shall be discussed with anyone outside of your immediate team do I not, Mr Callen?"

At Callen's affirmative nod, she took a deep breath, "a few years ago when Dante killed one of his former SEALs for reasons unknown, Agent Collins was instructed to get close to Dante by any means possible to find the evidence needed to convict. She went deep undercover for over six months and eventually gave Dante just enough rope to hang himself..." she trailed off, shooting a glance at Agent Collins who was hanging back from the table, her eyes still averted from the proceedings, Carbury, her partner, stepping a little closer to her with a look of concern on his face.

"He went down...but due to a technicality, an oversight from the prosecution, he got a reduced sentence...he was released just over seven months ago," Twirling finished, as Sam stepped forward to take a closer look at the screen.

"And you think he's out for revenge on your agent?" he asked, not taking his eyes away from Dante's picture.

"He had a real problem with soldiers," Megan Collins piped up, the fury in her soul bubbling up to the surface of her skin, her fists tight at her sides, her eyes alight with anger, "when I got him, when he found out I was NCIS, he got his cronies to dig up as much dirt on me as they could. It may not have been much, but he knew I had a brother in the army and that just...rubbed him the wrong way. He—when he was awaiting trial, he would ask to see me sometimes and—I went once. All he did was taunt me. Tell me how he was gonna ruin my life when he got out and—and said he'd make me pay for what I did...and found it funny that there was a family out there that had both Army and Navy personnel happily coexisting..." she trailed off, lifting her head to finally look at Callen and Sam, "he did this to TJ, I know it was him."

There was a dead silence in the boat shed as both teams let that sink in.

"Any idea where we can find Dante?" Callen asked, figuring it was about time they got a decent lead on this.

"Same place you can always find him," Megan shrugged, "Flattery's Bar. He popped back up on our radar a few weeks ago in the drug smuggling business according to a few informants and that bar is his known hang-out, we just haven't been able to nail him for anything yet."

The partners nodded, sharing a glance.

"We still have to clear a few alibis from the hospital, the night-nurse and Collins' councillor and then we're chasing down Dante...in the mean time," Callen stepped forward, looking directly at Twirling, "I'm not sure how deep your team's involvement is allowed be considering the...personal angle but, we'd like to extend you the invitation to stay in town," he paused, tilting his head, "apparently, Deputy Director Granger would like a word with you in the morning, Twirling."

The agent didn't look at all rattled by that information, her face remaining stoic.

After a beat, a loud rumble of a stomach could be heard, all eyes shifting to Agent Chase Grayson whose cheeks had a tint of rose to them.

"Uh, so..." he mumbled, looking a little sheepish, "where's the best place to eat around here?"

---

"What were they like?"

"Were they like The Red Team?"

"How many were there?"

Sam and Callen stared down at the dynamic duo as they fired questions at them, their faces brimming with curiosity as they gawked up at the partners from their computers.

"Got anything on the case, Eric? Nell?" Callen chose to ignore their queries and folded his arms, nodding at the screens.

Nell sighed as Eric visibly deflated before whirling around in his chair and vigorously typing.

"We dug further into Collins' background. There was only so much we could do, the army is not the most forthcoming," Nell paused to share a look with her colleagues, "but," Eric took over, "when looking more into his personal life, we did find something."

"I'm on the edge of my seat, Eric," Sam replied sarcastically with a shake of his head.

"Before Collins was admitted to the hospital," the tech-analyst spoke pointedly, ignoring Sam's jibe, "he had a roommate that he shared his apartment with..."

There was a pause at those words, in which Callen and Sam used to silently say "so...?" with their eyebrows.

Eric rolled his eyes.

"Collins' ex-roommate, Frankie Davidson, has very interesting priors...possession, aggravated assault, assault with a deadly weapon—"

"I'm sensing a theme," Callen interjected before Sam nodded, "looks like we've got another name to add to the list. We'll get Monroe on it," he finished before nodding at his partner, they both turning to leave.

"Wait!" Nell exclaimed suddenly, leaping out of her seat.

The pair turned and stared down at the petite redhead in confusion.

"Uh..." she mumbled, "are you guys going to the clinic to finish the interviews?"

"Yeah, why?" Callen asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Well," the intelligence-analyst said with a tenseness in her shoulders, "there's something you need to know about the councillor, Jack Bennett..."

---

She drummed her fingernails on the steering wheel (a nervous tic she's convinced she picked up from Deeks), a sigh escaping her lips as her eyes fixated on the side-mirror that was reflecting the building's gate, watching people go about their business, the bright sun shining in the sky, it glorious, the heat radiating against her skin. It was stifling, almost unbearably so, forcing her to crack a window and tilt her head, trying in vain to catch a non-existent breeze. She had been sitting there, in the same position, for over an hour, just staring, her eyes unseeing, her mind far away from the Los Angeles hustle and bustle...

He was late.

She sat motionless at the kitchen table, trying and failing to not look at the clock every few seconds. He had said seven-thirty and it was now past nine. The storm was getting pretty bad outside, the wind whirling, blowing leaves by the window, the rain splattering heavily against the glass. With a bite of her lip, she stood up, sauntering over to the window and looked down into the parking lot, her eyes scanning every inch of it for any sign of his car. Her heart sank into her stomach as she came up empty. She was trying hard not to panic, after all, he could have just gotten stuck in traffic or Joe kept him late (lord knows than man could talk) but with the way he was acting lately...

Jack Bennett was always a stubborn man. It was something she both admired and abhorred about him. He had this streak in him that was unrelenting and was partly what made him so good at his job. He was always dutiful and served his country well but he also had a habit of not letting things go, which proved to be problematic sometimes. When he got irked, he couldn't back down and sometimes that got him in trouble. But she took the good with the bad with him, always.

Lately, the bad just seemed to be more frequent than the good.

She knew it'd be hard, when he came home. She knew what he went through, what he faced. She knew it'd more than likely be something that would stay with him for the rest of his life, something that would forever be etched into his brain...

But she did not expect this.

He insisted everything was fine. That he was good, that nothing fazed him, that he was unaffected by the horror, the agony, the despair, when in reality, he wasn't dealing, at all. He acted as if everything was as it was before when clearly it wasn't. He awoke covered in sweat, his heart pumping a mile a minute, his fallen friends' names on his lips. He would lose hours at a time, be spaced out, in his own world, even when surrounded by family and friends. His mood could change at the drop of a hat, one minute he'd be laughing and the next withdrawn, quiet, even angry. He would start at the slightest noise, a car backfire, a police siren...Kensi wasn't a doctor, but she knew the signs of PTSD when she saw them.

That thought had barely left her brain when she heard the heavy thud of footsteps at her door, followed by loud shuffling and the scraping of a key against a lock. After a few moments of scratching and fumbling, she frowned and stepped over to the door, looking through the peep-hole, every drop of blood draining from her face as she gasped.

"Oh my god, Jack!" she exclaimed, pulling open the door and revealing her crimson-soaked fiancé, jaw swollen, face already turning purple with bruises, a deep cut under his left eye, the eye-lid half closed, his bottom lip split.

He seemed to sag at the sight of her, his whole body crumpling in on itself when he fell forward into her arms, knocking the wind from her lungs as his entire weight descended on her. Stepping back to balance herself, she looped her arm under his and sprawled it across his back, gripping him tightly and pulling him towards the couch. A gut-wrenching groan escaped him as he hobbled with her, his eyes downcast as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. After a minute or so they reached the couch and Kensi bent her knees to begin lowering him down onto it.

"Okay, you just sit here, I'll be right back!" she called over her shoulder, racing to the bathroom to get supplies that would help clean him up a little.

"Kens, I'm fine!" he hollered after her, before doubling over and holding his head in his hands, trying to block out the sound of her rattling around and gathering things.

"Oh really? You're fine? Well, you don't look fine, Jack," she said lowly as she made her way back over him, a washbasin, cloth and antiseptic in her hands.

He shook his head as she knelt down in front of him, soaking the cloth in the basin and wringing it before gently applying it to the cut under his eye.

"Shit!" he hissed as his skin stung, "warn a guy Kens, geez," he growled, wincing as she dabbed at the cut.

She ignored him, working meticulously to clean the deep gash that looked like it was caused by a ring.

"So...you gonna tell me what happened or am I supposed to guess?"

Her words rang in the near-silent room, hanging over them like a large, black cloud. It wasn't the first time in the last few months he'd come home like this, she didn't need to be a genius to figure out what had happened. Still, she preferred to hear it from his mouth and not be left making her own conclusions – that's how the arguing would start and she hated arguing with him.

"Me and Joe went to Patterson's...guess we had too much to drink," he replied more out of necessity than the desire to share – she knew the difference by now.

"And what...? You got in an argument with the juke box? C'mon, Jack, talk to me," she shifted on the floor, leaning up higher on her knees to sweep a tiny tendril of dark hair from off his forehead. His buzz-cut was growing out...

His eyes finally met hers in the semi-darkness, they glistening with the effects of too much alcohol or unshed tears, she didn't know.

"Some guys were a little too rowdy, started hassling the bar-tender. When I politely asked them to stop, one of them grabbed me and..." he trailed off, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration, causing Kensi to veer back to avoid being accidently hit.

"I just—I don't get some people, you know?" he continued, standing up unsteadily from the couch and beginning to pace back and forth, "they just piss me off! I mean, who the hell do they think they are? Stupid idiots who can treat people like crap just because they can? It's disgusting. The bartender was a vet, served his country for twenty years only to come back to be treated like dirt by jackass kids?! And what about Joe, huh? He—he lost his leg, his leg...and Mike—" the words died in his throat as he stopped abruptly in his tracks, looking down at his fiancé as if just remembering she was there, she staring up at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, clearly disturbed by his rant, one of his many rants this month.

"Mike he..." he swallowed, not able to finish the sentence, confusion flashing across his face.

Kensi slowly stood up and made her way towards him, hands outstretched to take his, "Mike died, Jack..." she said gently as to not startle him, stroking her thumb across the back of his hand, "remember?"

"Of course I remember!" he snarled, wrenching his hand away from her and beginning to pace again.

Her heart clenched painfully as he turned his back on her, mumbling under his breath. He'd been getting worse these last few weeks. She wondered if it was the time to bring back up the conversation again...

"Jack, honey, let's get you to bed, okay? You haven't slept properly in over a month and you're gonna need your rest for your job interview in a few—"

"I'm not going," he interrupted, whirling around and glaring at her, "I'm not going to some stupid interview for a job I don't even want just because Dr. Know-It-All says it'll 'be good for me.' I know you and he seem to think you know what's best for me Kens but really, you've no frickin' idea. I'm sorry, I love you, I do, but ya gotta stop it, stop smothering me. I'm not some broken vase for you to glue back together, okay? I'm not some pet project—"

"I know you're not!" she gasped, not believing her ears, "how could you think—"

"BECAUSE THAT'S ALL YOU'VE BEEN DOING, KENSI!" he erupted, shouting out his frustration at her.

Kensi jumped, startled at his outburst. But before she could reply, he was ranting and pacing again.

"You and Mom and the doc and Sarah...you all keep going on and on and on and on about how I'm not coping and how I need help and how if I don't treat my 'PTSD' I'll only get worse. But you wanna know the truth, Kens?" he asked, not really expecting an answer as he turned back around to face her. "The truth is, being over there was like falling through the sky. I was weightless, I was flying, rapidly tumbling towards Earth, but I knew, even when times were at their worst, that what I was doing was for something good, I was serving my country, being ever faithful, like I always wanted. I was being the best Marine I could be. But here? Here I can't do anything. I'm not anything. I'm not falling through the sky, I'm not flying. Being here, with you, is like hitting the ground..."

A fresh wave of pain rose in Kensi's chest as she thought back on that moment, so long ago, when Jack was suffering the most. She struggled to get a hold on her emotions as she sat there in her warm car, staring out at the busy Los Angeles street, a stinging rising behind her eyes as she pushed down the pain, much like she had that night when he said those words to her that she'd never forget, before retiring to bed alone, leaving her standing in the middle of her living room in complete shock.

She thought back to everything she tried to do to help him. All the doctor's appointments, all the therapy sessions, all the physical therapy for his arm, all the different medication she managed for him¸ all the talks she went to learn about PTSD and how she could help, all of it. She spent months and months, before and after their engagement, trying her absolute best and yet, it just wasn't good enough. He still left. Left her. Left their life together.

But he had gotten his life together. It may have been without her, but that didn't matter, not really. All that mattered was that he was well now, even helping others like himself to deal with their illnesses. He was a councillor now, a damn good one, she'd guess. It still hurt though, it hurt a lot, she couldn't lie to herself. All the unanswered questions that she had buried a long time ago in order to survive, came bubbling back up to the surface when she saw his face up in Ops, it a little distorted from Deeks' button-cam but it still undeniably him. All the torturing and taunting notions of 'where is he?' and 'is he okay?' turned back into the more agonizing queries like 'why didn't he come find me?' 'Why did he only get better after I was removed from his life?' 'Was I part of the problem?'

Before she could go too far down that particular rabbit hole again, she spotted a familiar figure, two familiar figures actually, approaching in her side-mirror and realized that she had been spotted, it was too late to speed away.

"Damn," she sighed as Callen rapped his knuckles on her window, he and Sam smirking at her.

"You stalking us, Kens?" he asked as she rolled down her window fully and tilted her head at him.

"Gotta get my kicks somehow. You know how much I hate being benched," she faux-smiled sweetly at them, glancing again in the mirror towards the entrance of the clinic.

"And this would have nothin' to do with the fact that we just got back from interviewing Jack, right?" Sam asked, clearly already knowing the answer as it was etched across her face.

"I'm just worried about my partner, being undercover at a place where they may be a murderer lurking, that's all," she responded easily, not caring that they were trained professionals and could see right through her.

The partners exchanged dubious looks while Kensi rolled her eyes, a thought coming to mind.

"But..." she grinned a saccharine grin, "you know what would put my mind at ease?"

There was a pause where it was made obvious that neither man was going to bite. She leaned against the open window, staring right up into her friends' faces.

"If I could get my hands on a com...you know, the one that's directly hooked up to Deeks' button cam? That way, I could still feel like I have my partner's back..." she trailed off, watching intently as Callen put his hand in his pocket and pulled out an ear-bud.

"You mean one like this?"

She nodded, her eyes glued to the little device.

"What do you think, Sam?" Callen turned to his partner, his tone faux-serious, "should we break all the rules and let Kensi listen in?"

The ex-SEAL took a moment to fake-think-about-it before replying, "I don't know G...I mean, if Hetty found out, she'd have our asses. She was very clear about Kensi being benched—"

"Oh c'mon, please? I'm going crazy back in Ops, there's nothing for me to do but paper work! Just let me have a com, I swear I won't interfere or anything, just listen, that's it," she held up her hands as a sign of her would-be pure intentions.

The partners did their silent communication thing for a moment before Callen held out the com in front of her face. As she went to take it, he pulled back and stared her straight in the eye, "don't make me regret this, Kens..." he warned, before he dropped it into her palm.

She smiled her thanks, putting the com into her glove compartment.

"Where are you guys on suspects?" she asked, figuring she may as well get caught up while she could.

"We cleared Dr. Murphy, the night nurse Derek Reed and Jack," Sam paused, an earnest expression crossing his features, "but as for the other night-nurse who was working on that floor, Dylan McBride, apparently he picked up a shift for today but ended up leaving early..."

"We have Monroe on another lead, Collins' old roommate with some interesting priors," Callen continued, "we met with The Green Team this morning about a possible revenge-angle against his sister Special Agent Megan Collins, and Deeks is working the murderer-being-a-patient-angle..."

Kensi sat back in her seat, letting all the new information wash over her.

"So we've got a guy that was not only given an overdose of Ketamine but hit over the head with a blunt object and there's dozens of suspects from every aspect of Collins' life? Looks like you guys got your work cut out," she smirked, starting the ignition and quirking her eyebrow at them.

"Remember Kens," Callen said with a hilt to his tone as he and Sam stepped away from the car, "you're just listening, not interfering...got it?"

"Got it," she mock-saluted before taking off, shaking her head as she stared at her colleagues in her rear-view mirror as they made their way back to the challenger.

The thing about good intentions though, is that they say the road to hell is paved with them. So when Kensi barely made it half a mile away from the clinic and saw Dylan McBride, the night-nurse that Sam and Callen couldn't track down, looking very shifty as he climbed into a car with no plates, she couldn't really stick to her promise, the agent in her just wouldn't allow it.

So she'd tail him for a while. See where he goes. That's all.

No interfering.

She could do that...

---

"So Marty...what're ya in for?" Thyne asked after enjoying his cigar, staring at the younger man pensively.

"PTSD apparently," Deeks scoffed, knowing that Thyne would respond to his scepticism, "but really, I'm just here to get everybody off my back. I figure one or two days in this joint and everyone will leave me the hell alone. You?"

The elder man nodded, buying Deeks' story from his perch on the window sill.

"You're a cop, right?" Jeremy asked; at Deeks' nod he continued, "yeah, me too. Takes one to know one and all that. They got me for that PTSD baloney too...and a bullet to the leg. Loada crap if ya ask me. But, it's mandatory. They put me 'on leave' and sent me all the way to L.A. from Boston to 'get away from it all.' Bullshit. My wife just wanted me outta the house so she could buy more of her stupid ceramic cats..." he scowled, awkwardly descending from the windowsill and grabbing the cane beside his bed.

"How long have you been married?" Deeks inquired, wanting to keep the cop talking organically until the topic of Collins was brought up.

"23 years in September," he deadpanned, his face expressionless.

"And what's the secret to a long and happy marriage?" the blond pondered aloud, trying not to think of the beautiful, badass, brunette that captured his heart all those years ago.

It was too soon to be having thoughts like a shared-house, engagement, marriage and kids...wasn't it? He felt like it should be, but honestly, he wasn't kidding before, having mini-mutant-ninja-assassins that were the perfect mixture of he and she sounded amazing to him. Screw too soon. He'd hold onto that fantasy until it became reality...and he really hoped it would one day become a reality.

"The secret to a long and happy marriage?" Thyne sneered, awaking Deeks from his happy-place, throwing him a wink, "have lots and lots of affairs."

Deeks tried not to wince at that. Clearly this man didn't have a happy home-life, was put on permanent 'leave' from his job and wasn't enjoying his time at the clinic at all. Could this blend of unhappiness and disappointment be enough to push him over the edge and act out his frustration on his ex-roommate?

"Yeah, Collins didn't appreciate my particular brand of advice when it came to how to treat the ladies either," Thyne said suddenly, clearly seeing some distain on the younger man's face, "like he would know the first thing about women..." he trailed off with a roll of his eyes.

"Collins...the guy they found dead? What was he like?" Deeks prompted, hoping it was enough to get him talking, he had a feeling, once he got going, Thyne could be quite the talker.

Jeremy snorted, hobbling over to his bed and sitting down, staring straight into the other man's face.

"He was a real bleeding heart, always tryin'a play the hero. Army, ya know what they're like. He had so much honor. Probably why he always hated when I talked about my conquests. Heh—thing is, the ladies would always take the company of his type over me any day," he lowered his voice, his eyes darting to the door as if he expected it to burst open any second.

Deeks frowned, not able to get a read on just how Jeremy truly felt about Collins yet.

"His...type?" he decided to play dumb, just to see how deep and horrid this man's prejudices were.

"You know," Thyne waved his hand, "he was..." he paused, shaking his head, "he had a thing with McBride...who's you know...a guy."

Deeks eyebrows shot up.

Collins had a thing with one of the staff? After he busted Marlowe Greene and Doctor Evans a while back? Very interesting...

"But hey," Thyne held up his hands, "I passed no judgements; my nephew is...you know. Ya can't help who you fall in love with. Or lust, whatever. Everybody should be given equal opportunities to be just as miserable as everyone else if ya ask me. I just didn't think it was so smart for him to be fooling around with a goddamn junkie," he snarled, clearly still irked.

"I even confronted him about it, tried to get him to pull his head outta his ass. We got a little rough, the bastard was military and had moves I'd never seen. So we got into it, I regret it now. His poor mother thought I tried to kill him for god's sake. I admit, I'm old school, can be a bit of dick sometimes, I know that, but I look out for my own and...and Collins, he and I shared space for two years. He was a good man and I didn't want him getting himself involved in something he couldn't come back from. And that McBride? I've been a cop for over thirty years...I know a junkie skimming from the supply when I see one," he finished, standing up from the bed and pointing his cane at Deeks, leaning down and staring him straight in the eye.

"So you keep all that in mind, won't ya? Terrence Collins deserves some justice," he stated with sincerity before throwing him an enigmatic wink and limping out of the room, leaving Deeks alone.

"I think I was just made," he gaped to the empty room, knowing his team were listening in.

"He certainly seems to suspect you're in the position to investigate the homicide, Mr Deeks," Hetty's voice sounded in his ear.

"Do I abort?" he asked, staring at the spot where Thyne once was.

"What does your gut tell you? Will he attempt to blow your cover?" Hetty asked, trusting him to make his own call.

"No...he really did care about Collins, I felt that when he spoke about him. I think Collins may have been the closest thing he ever had to a friend...and he did give us a lead, Dylan McBride," he replied, running through the last few minutes over in his brain.

"Then he very well may prove to be an asset, Mr. Deeks," he could practically see Hetty's smirk, "now, don't you have group therapy to be going to?"

God help him, it sounded like she was actually enjoying this...

---

The thing about tailing someone is that it is remarkably easier than one might think...especially if the guy you happen to be following is a complete and utter moron. In the thirty minutes that the temporarily-benched Agent Blye had been following McBride he had left quite the incriminating trail of suspicion in his wake, driving along in his sans-plates Prius as if he'd not a care in the world. His first stop had been an alleyway, where he met a very unsavoury-looking, heavily-tattooed man and exchanged what looked like a wide range of prescription drugs in exchange for hard cash. Kensi, being the dutiful agent she was, got multiple shots of this with her surveillance camera and keenly continued to follow the naughty-nurse as she dubbed him in her head (damn Deeks and his bad influence) to his next destination, which turned out to be a place known for its illegal gambling circuit.

Just like that, a story began to form. Nice nurse gets in way over his head when he develops a gambling addiction so he begins to nab some drugs to sell to try cover his debt...only he can't totally kick the cards so he nabs more and more drugs to fuel his snow-balling gambling problem and so on. It was a vicious cycle. But could this not-so-nice-anymore-nurse be responsible for the death of Terrence Collins? Had the soldier unwittingly discovered McBride's little side-project and was killed for it? The Ketamine dosing certainly raised red-flags. Maybe once McBride realized that the drugs weren't doing it quickly enough, he lost his patience and blitz attacked Collins?

The problem, for now, was that everything was circumstantial. And really, Kensi knew she shouldn't even be doing this at all. Which was what made her decide (once it appeared that McBride was finished with his illegal activity and actually on the way home) to turn around and head back to OSP. She had to figure out a way to get the evidence she obtained to Callen and let him know that McBride was home without tipping off Hetty that she'd broken the rules by sneaking off and getting involved in the case.

Shouldn't be too difficult...

With a sigh, she knew she was lying to herself, but just couldn't sit back and do nothing. Not now. This case, whether she wanted to admit it or not, was different to all other cases because...it involved Jack. Right now, he was at his steady job, helping others, being everything that she knew he always could be after all this time...and he was with Deeks. The two men in her life that had made her heart do somersaults were in the same building, probably the same room together at this precise moment in time.

Why the hell wasn't she listening in again?

At that thought, she leapt forward and snatched the com from the glove-box and shoved it in her ear, willing her heart-rate to calm down when the familiar voice of her ex-fiancé flooded her eardrums.

"Okay everybody, if you'd all take a seat, we can get started..."

---

"Okay everybody, if you'd all take a seat, we can get started," Jack Bennett called from the doorway of the spacious games-room, walking over to the row of chairs that were positioned in a large, open circle and sitting down.

Deeks cleared his throat, vigilant eyes raking in every person in the room from his perch of the last half-hour, leaning beside the old-school arcade game Pacman. Straightening up, he walked over to the chairs, noticing that Jeremy had opted to sit next to him without acknowledging him in any way, while he also spotted Marlowe Greene (recognizing her from the picture Nell showed him) take a seat next to Jack.

Jack.

Jack Bennett.

Ex-fiancé to Kensi Blye.

He still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that he was actually in the same room as the man that left his partner high and dry when she was 21 years old without a backwards glance. In a way, he hated the man. He had caused Kensi an immeasurable amount of pain, being the second man to leave her after her father. Surely, he should have known what that abandonment would have done to her? And yet, Deeks couldn't find it in himself to truly hate Jack. From what very little Kensi had told him about Jack (and that was barely anything really) was that he had been very ill, suffering badly from PTSD. He knew what that could do to someone. He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy.

But it wasn't just that. There was another reason why Deeks couldn't find it in himself to hate the man sitting directly opposite him, addressing the large group, his face full of calm confidence. He couldn't hate him because, had he not left Kensi, had he not been one of the dominos that pushed her to pursue and flourish in her career at NCIS, Marty Deeks would never have gotten to meet her, become her partner, become her best friend and slowly but surely, fall in love with her.

If it were not for Jack, Deeks would not have what he has now. A new, beautiful, potentially life-altering relationship with a remarkable woman that he admires, respects and loves.

But that didn't mean he didn't want to punch his stupid, perfectly-symmetrical face in.

Jealousy wasn't his best colour.

Shaking his head, Deeks decided that he should probably listen to what Mr-Ridiculously-Ripped was saying before he was caught daydreaming and there was a pop-quiz or something.

"First of all, I'd like to start off today's session with a moment's silence for TJ. He was a remarkable man, soldier and friend and will be sorely missed," Jack said quietly, with his head bowed.

Everyone followed suit, bowing their heads and lapsing into silence, most closing their eyes.

Deeks took this as an opportunity to people-watch, his eyes drinking in each individual. He saw a wide range of people, all of different ages, ethnicities, genders, socio-economic backgrounds, grouped together in their pain and suffering, all trying to get better. It was beautiful really, what greatness he had seen in the clinic in less than a day. Physically wounded people doing physical therapy, building up strength in the gym, emotionally wounded people working with therapists and groups like this...it was just so tragic that Terrance Clarence survived two tours of Afghanistan, suffered so much but getting better only to die before he could begin living again. But, it reminded Deeks why he was here. To help get justice. It put everything, his job, all he'd been through over the last two years, Jack, Kensi, into perspective.

He could panic. He could freak the hell out about how the re-emergence of Jack was going to affect his partner and their relationship but decided not to. Whatever happened, whatever Kensi may or may not do or say about all of this, he vowed to himself then and there that he would just be there for her and everything else could come as it comes. He realized that the world, life, was going to do whatever it liked and there was no use worrying over the what ifs even if they scared the ever living crap out of him. So, as his eyes landed on the man who could very well tear apart every inch of his happy-place complete with his more-than-partner and their mutant ninja assassins, he took a deep breath in and out, feeling fully calm for the first time in a long time.

The job. That's what he was here for. Everything else could wait.

"May TJ be at peace wherever he is," Jack whispered after a minute or so, before slowly raising his head and looking around him, "okay, thank you everyone. Let's begin. First, I want to introduce some new members to the clinic, please welcome Glenda, Tim and Marty," he finished, gesturing to each person, they each responding with nods and strained smiles.

"Welcome," the rest of the group said monotonously.

Deeks threw a few more nods at people before Marlowe Greene caught his eye, smiling coyly at him and winking.

He immediately averted his gaze somewhere else, anywhere else. He knew trouble when he saw it.

"Glenda, Tim, Marty, you're all very welcome. My name is Jack Bennett and I've been the head councillor here for the last five years. I work closely with Dr. Murphy on each of your cases in order to help you deal with your traumas. These group sessions are a safe space for each of us to discuss everything and anything that we may be struggling with. Anybody can have the floor, all that I ask is that we're all respectful to whoever is speaking and wait our turn, leaving any comments that wouldn't help benefit anyone left unsaid. With that, I think we left off with Vincent last week, which means that we've yet to hear from Jeremy," he turned towards the ex-cop expectedly, "you have anything to share Jerry?"

"Yeah," Thyne grunted, shifting in his seat, "I hate to be called Jerry."

The room erupted in laughter, Jack shaking his head in amusement.

"I'm sorry man, I always forget. Jeremy, you got anything for us?"

And so Deeks got to hear many thoughts, comments, stories from various different people over the next hour, all ranging from happy (the birth of a child) to sad (the loss of a life) to downright haunting (taking a life). It brought a lot of memories back to the agent, memories that he would rather keep buried. A certain memory in particular he had forced himself to bury nearly a year ago. A time of which none of the team spoke about. Ever. Not since it happened.

Shaking his head, Deeks forced himself to tune back in to what the latest person was talking about. Bill, an ex-U.S. Marshall that was psychologically and physically tortured by the man that he was chasing...

Deeks' stomach clenched painfully as he heard the word 'tortured...'

The two new people, Glenda and Tim had spoken a little about their experiences and before he knew it, Bill had finished his harrowing tale and Jack was looking with that same expectant expression on his face, towards him.

"What about you, Marty? Would you like to share something?"

Deeks froze in his seat. Screw what he said about Jack before, the man was a bastard. He knew he was an undercover agent, knew that it was all pretend...a role.

"Uh...I'm good for now, thanks," he cleared his throat, willing himself to stay perfectly still and not fidget in discomfort.

"You're going to have to talk about it eventually, Marty," Jack murmured, clasping his hands in front of him and leaning forward in his chair.

Deeks could feel half a dozen pairs of eyes all on him as he shifted again, feeling as if somebody had dialled up the heat as he tried to play it cool.

"I—uh...I'm sure nobody wants to hear—"

"You were tortured too, Marty, like Bill. You've been suffering from PTSD, like Bill and Andrea and a lot of the others here as a result. If you can't talk about it here, a place where people like you have experienced exactly the same as you, where else can you talk about it?" Jack continued as if Deeks had not spoken.

"PTSD?" Deeks croaked, his pulse racing, "is that Dr. Murphy's diagnosis?"

Jack shook his head.

"This isn't the place we discuss your progress, that's private and confidential but Dr. Getz—"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Who?"

"No Marty, Dr. Getz," Jack smiled softly as a ripple of laughter erupted from the group.

Deeks recognized it for what it was. An ice-breaker. The guy was good.

"You...you spoke to my psychologist?" he gaped, not believing his ears.

He was gonna kill Nate...what the hell was he thinking putting things so close to the truth in a fake-file for a fake persona?!

"I didn't speak with him, no," Jack looked Deeks straight in the eye, "but I just want to remind you that you have people around you that are trying to help. Dr. Murphy, Dr. Getz, this group, every little helps. I understand if you're not ready yet, everybody has their own pace, but don't forget that we're all here for the same reason, because we all want ourselves and each other to get better."

Wow. This guy should write self-help books or something.

With that, Jack went away from Deeks, moving onto someone else who was willing to share but it was already too late. The floodgates had opened and that stream of memories that Deeks had kept firmly shut for nearly a year now, violently burst open and suddenly he was transported back there, back to that abandoned building with Isaak Sidorov standing over him as Sam watched on...

"That doesn't look very fun..."he tried to laugh as the Russian held a metal contraption in front of his face, steadily getting closer.

"Is it safe to sell the bombs or are there other undercover agents?"Sidorov asked impatiently.

"I already told you I'm an LAPD Narcotics Officer, we were casing the house—"

Isaak grabbed his head roughly, squeezing painfully.

"I don't even know him, man," he gasped, his voice growing higher as he tried desperately not to panic.

Suddenly the metal thing was shoved roughly into his mouth. He winced at the raw burn that shot through his jaw, unable to stifle his yell.

"Is Quinn an undercover agent, yes or no?"

His eyes turned towards Sam, lingering on his wounded expression as he stared out at the scene, tied to a chair after being electrocuted. He looked...jaded, pleading silently. Deeks' heart panged in his chest at the sight of him.

The shrill sound of a drill broke his attention away from his friend, his eyes widening as Sidorov's crony moved the electric tool closer to him.

"Come on man..." he croaked, fear seeping into his tone, "what are you doing?"

The Russians' smiles were enough to tell him just what was going to happen.

"What are you...no, no...ah! AH!"

A thunder roared in his head, a grotesque mixture of metal and flesh. Loud, pulsing, dulling the shrill buzz of the drill as the cold metal was jabbed between his teeth, pushing to near breaking point, the tool beginning to shred his mouth. The pain was...indescribable. The rush of his pulse rang in his ears as his eyes rolled into the back of his skull. The booming snarl of the drill almost drowned out his spluttering screams – his mouth awash with the taste of dirty copper as the blood dripped out of his lips and down his chin.

"You ready to talk?" Sidorov shouted over the drill.

Deeks took a large gulp of air, blood slipping down his throat, choking him.

Sidorov waved a hand to his crony and suddenly the room lapsed into silence, the drill now still.

"I will ask you one more time, pig. Is Quinn an undercover agent?"

Deeks' throat constricted as he fought to form a response. The wound was gaping, right under his tongue, two of his teeth shattered, talking would be agony...but he had to save Michelle. As he stared into space, focusing on his breathing, a face suddenly swam before his eyes. Kensi. Her face, right after he kissed her what felt like a lifetime ago. He had to do this to save Michelle and see Kensi again...

He gave one large, whooping cough before forcing himself to speak, "Q-Quinn is...an a-assassin," he spluttered, spitting blood onto the floor, his brain foggy with the ache, "s-she...came to...the attention of the...LAPD and—"

"So she's not an agent?" Sidorov stepped forward, clearly intrigued by the web of lies that Deeks was craftily spinning off the top of his head, hoping against hope that his quick-fire plan would work.

"The b-bitch...killed my brother," he injected as much venom as he could muster whilst practically choking, before spitting again, the amount of blood alarming him.

The Russian motioned for him to continue.

"I—I was investigating her, following her when...I s-stumbled onto...your operation. I-I'm a narcotics cop like...I said but I'm—"

"A vigilante," Sidorov smirked, "a vigilante who stumbled upon something much bigger than him..." Sidorov trailed off, scratching his chin in thought.

There was a horrible beat of near-complete silence, only interrupted by Deeks' involuntary groans as he fought to stay conscious.

"Okay pig," Isaak smiled devilishly, leaning forward and staring Deeks straight in the eye, "you've worn out your welcome," he waved his hand at his henchman and the shrill vibration of the drill sounded in Deeks' ears, getting closer and closer to his temple.

"Wait!" he coughed, spraying crimson-tinged vapour into the air, "Q-Quinn will...never forgive you if you...kill me. She's vowed ven-vengence on me since...I started my investigation into her. Bring Quinn...to me. The only way...I—I can go out is if...if it's by her hand...or she'll...be pissed..." he trailed off, feeling exhausted, his entire face feeling as if it was on fire, his jaw aching from his surely-broken teeth, the wound in his mouth swelling so much that it was getting hard to swallow.

The Russian nodded to himself, mulling over what the cop said. After a moment, he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and dialled a number, waiting patiently for someone to pick up.

"Where is Quinn?" he spoke into it, eyes locked onto Deeks.

"Was she captured?"

The blond forced himself to keep his eyes open, even though unconsciousness was calling out to him like a siren.

"Is she dead?"

Deeks slowly raised his eyes to meet Sam's gaze from where he sat in the other room. He looked...dejected. Haunted. Marty could only imagine what he must look like, he reckoned it must be pretty bad if the agony he was feeling right now was any indication.

With one final nod, Sidorov lowered his phone from his ear and turned to his companion.

"It seems Veronica and Myra disobeyed my orders. Tell Yefim to dispose of them. Then find Quinn, kill the agent that's after her and bring her back to corroborate the pig's story. In the meantime," he leaned down, flashing a menacing smile at Deeks before whispering in his ear, his fingers digging into his shoulders hard, "I'll keep blondie company..."

---

Kensi Blye sat motionless in her car outside OSP, her mouth agape, her eyes brimming with tears, a solitary one escaping and rolling down her cheek. She had heard the entire group session, heard the awful things that had happened to those poor people. It stirred something excruciating in her chest when Jack willed Deeks to talk, reminding her of a time that they all tried to put out of their minds forever...

For as long as she lives, and even after everything that had happened recently, as horrible and terrifying as those events were, she would never feel that same gut-wrenching agony that she felt the day she realized that Isaak Sidorov had kidnapped and tortured her partner.

She vowed to herself, and had promised to him and the others that she'd never dwell on it, would just try and move on from it, lock it away in a box to only be opened in a few decades when the pain subsided, but now that it was brought up, by her ex-fiancé of all people, she found she couldn't stop the memories from flooding back, they still as crisp and sharp and agonizing as they'd been that very day...

Kensi lunged forward towards the glassless window, falling down onto her knees and flinging her torso over the edge, her right arm outstretched trying to reach Michelle.

"Grab my hand!" she yelled, clutching at the plastic with her left hand, trying to pull the CIA operative up to clasp her right hand.

"I can't—reach," Michelle ground-out, her breathing hitched as she fought to hold on, dangling off the side of the building like a rag-doll blowing in the wind.

The agent gripped the plastic, desperately hoping that it would hold out as she began to pull it upwards, gritting her teeth, her muscles beginning to feel the strain.

"Come on Michelle, you can do it. Just a little bit further," Kensi called, beginning to feel her body lose its equilibrium and tip over the side a little as she stretched out her arm, her fingers an inch away from the other woman's hand.

With a determined grunt, Michelle stretched up that last inch and finally caught Kensi's hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Okay, good, hold on," the NCIS agent rumbled, feeling the pressure of Michelle's weight burning her muscles almost unbearably as she began to pull her up.

Clenching her teeth even harder, she held the woman's hand tightly and began shuffling her body backwards, using her knees to support herself. When Michelle inched closer, she gripped her with both hands, feeling the extra strength of both arms helping aid in the rescue. After several agonizingly painful minutes, Michelle reached the edge, able to throw her arm onto the floor and help Kensi hoist her up the last foot.

The two women collapsed, breathing heavily onto the floor, Kensi on her back, Michelle on her stomach, gasping as the adrenaline pumped through their veins. Talk about a close call. Neither would say it, but they really thought that they may have been goners there for a sec.

"You...you okay?" Kensi asked, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, staring up at the ceiling, feeling Sam's wife shift herself further away from the edge, somewhere to her left.

"I'm...good..." came the raspy reply, "thanks to you..."

"Don't mention it," Kensi responded with a chuckle, sitting up and resting her arms on her knees, catching Michelle's eye who had sat up too, "no seriously, don't mention it. Sam will have a heart attack."

That got a laugh from Michelle as she rubbed her arm; it feeling like it was on fire.

"Have you heard from Sam?" she asked suddenly, her face growing grim, "he should be still with Sidorov...and if Sidorov thinks that I'm an agent—"

"He probably thinks Sam is too," Kensi finished with a worried glance, before searching around the floor for her fallen ear-bud.

She spotted it several feet behind her and scrambled to clutch it, shoving it into her ear.

"Kensi? Kensi!" Eric's worried voice was calling, every couple of seconds.

"Eric what—"

"Kensi! Are you guys okay? Where's Michelle?" Nell's voice came over the com, sounding just as concerned as her partner.

"She's okay. Sidorov's people shot at her. We think that he—"

"Kensi, we lost contact with Sam and Deeks! Sidorov knows Sam's an agent. They're both gone," Eric's voice stopped her heart, her blood running cold.

"What? When?" she gaped, catching Michelle's confused and worried gaze, willing the desperation that had clawed her way up her stomach to quieten down.

"Five minutes after you left to follow Agent Hanna," Hetty's voice came over the com.

"What?! Why didn't you tell—"

"To keep you focused, Ms. Blye," Granger interrupted, "now that—"

Kensi didn't hear whatever the Deputy Director was going to say next because the ping of the elevator distracted her. In a flash, she whipped out her second gun from her ankle holster, threw it at Michelle who hid it in the waistband of her pants, pulling her jacket down over it and motioned for Kensi to take cover. Crouching, she hid behind one of the large pillars and watched silently as one of Sidorov's men made his way into the room, making a beeline for Michelle.

"You're still alive," he said without preamble, a smirk lining his face.

"No thanks to those biker bimbos...bitches took a shot at me," she growled in response, dusting herself off, the transition from Michelle to Quinn complete with the overly-confident hilt in her tone.

"Ah yes, there was a slight...miscommunication," the Russian responded with a shrug, "what about the agent?"

Kensi tensed as she caught the gaze of the other woman who quickly lowered her eyes to the floor and back again before addressing Sidorov's crony.

Quinn shook her head before stepping over to where Kensi had been hiding, pointing to where the agent now lay flat on her stomach, her head turned away from them, her body completely still as she held her breath.

"Went down like a sack of potatoes," the faux-assassin smirked, glad that the agent had understood her.

The Russian seemed satisfied by the so-called turn of events.

"Sidorov requires your company. Come," he ordered, motioning for her to walk in front of him.

"You just expect me to come running after he gets his girlfriends to try rough me up? Nuh uh, you tell Isaak that that's it, he and I are done, I'm takin' my damn money and—"

"We have an old friend of yours. A cop. Says that you and he go way back. That you killed his brother and he's been hunting you ever since. This true?" the man interrupted, head tilted to the side.

Kensi stiffened, forcing herself to remain still as she lay on the ground.

Cop? Was that the story Deeks came up with?

"So what if I do?" Quinn stepped closer, mimicking the man's stance, "that's between me and him. Neither you or Isaak have anything to do with it," the haughtiness in her tone was so damn believable even Kensi was having a hard time doubting that the story was true.

"What the hell gave you the right to drag him into all this anyway?" Quinn continued, her outrage growing, "I'm perfectly capable of—"

"I don't answer the questions, I just do my job. Now come," Sidorov's acquaintance clearly had enough so Michelle complied, hoping that where he was taking her would lead both she and Kensi to Sam and Deeks.

Kensi hoped so too.

She waited until she heard the elevator doors snap shut before she leapt back up off the floor and took off like a bat out of hell to follow them.

She was pretty sure it was the most intense tailing she'd ever completed. Even if it was only twenty minutes or so in reality.

Staring off in the near-distance, she waited with bated breath as Michelle and the Russian passed her, the former careful to stay on the side closest to Kensi in case anything went down. She watched as the pair made their way into an abandoned building, Sidorov's man holding the door open for Michelle and motioning with his gun for her to walk in ahead of him.

After they stepped inside and the emergency-exit door slammed shut behind them, Kensi began her trek, gun poised at the ready, her eagle-eye vigilant for any sign of movement. She knew the dangers of what she was attempting, there could be any number of armed people behind that door, ready to put a bullet in anyone that walked through. But Deeks was in there. Sam was in there. Had been for a while now, unarmed and both covers possibly blown. That thought just made her stomach quench with worry, bile rising in her throat as she thought of what Sidorov and his men could be doing with them. A shiver ran up her spine...

Suddenly, she was accosted with the ghost of Deeks' lips on hers, his hand on her cheek, the intensity in his eyes as he stared down at her, his voice wrecked as he asked "how's that for communication?" It took her breath away. She stopped abruptly at the door and threw her back to the adjacent wall, gasping in a desperate breath, trying to regain her composure. She wouldn't admit it, but she was absolutely terrified. Not for herself, but at what she might find when she walked through those doors...

Taking a few more calming breaths (that did absolutely nothing whatsoever) she prayed that the team managed to get a hold of Callen and she wasn't about to walk into an ambush. She was aware of the risks (even without Granger's protesting in her ear) but there was no way she was going to sit this out. Right now, her partner needed her. Sam needed her. And she'd take on a hundred of Sidorov's people if it meant that she could try and help them.

So, squaring her shoulders and getting a tighter grip on her weapon, she peered through the glass window in the door, saw that it was clear and opened it, stepping through as quiet as a mouse, shutting it softly behind her. It was an old and decrepit building, just as run down as it appeared on the outside with one exception – there was high-tech, expensive equipment throughout the place, it a stark contrast to the worn, filthy walls.

A long corridor was straight ahead of her and she heard voices omitting from somewhere in the near-distance. Her stomach leapt with anticipation. As she drew nearer, looking around her at every inch, every blind spot so she wouldn't be blitzed, her ears began to pick up on an awful sound, a groaning, wretched and hoarse, like a wounded animal in agony.

What the hell was that?

"Had enough, Blondie?" Sidorov's voice came from her right, followed by a loud thump and a muffled yell as she ducked behind a crate, peering through a gap, barely stifling a gasp at what she saw.

There, tied to a chair, bleeding profusely from everywhere it seemed, was her partner, Marty Deeks, his face marred with soon to be shiners, his grey hoodie spattered with specks of crimson droplets, his breathing uneven, hitched, as he struggled to breathe. It looked as if he had a few broken ribs too, but it was the wound that appeared to originate in his mouth that worried her the most.

"Well? Give up? A nod will do, don't want to do anymore damage to that pretty mouth of yours," Sidorov was leering before delivering a swift blow to Deeks' cheek, the crack reverberating around the room straight to Kensi's heart.

"Oops," he chuckled.

She had to stop this.

Before she could move however, Michelle came into view, walking right up to Sidorov, angling him with a glare.

"That's enough, Isaak. He's my problem, not yours. Leave him to me. I think you owe me that much after today's events, don't you?"

The Russian stilled at her tone, looking deep into her eyes before his attention was caught by something on his left.

"And David? You really didn't know he was an agent?"

Michelle reached up to Sidorov's face and ran her fingers up his cheek.

"I really didn't. It ain't often someone gets the drop on me. I swear I never would have let him come here—"

"I know that now," Sidorov cut her off, "still..." he continued, turning his back on Deeks and motioning to his crony, "we can't let it go. Have to make an example out of him. Care to sit in?"

Kensi blanched at his tone of voice. She could only imagine what was going through Michelle's mind.

"Sure. I'm interested in that little device you got there," she was saying as Kensi tip-toed nearer, trying to control her ragged breathing as she got a better view of Deeks.

He was...broken.

"Oh, you'll love it. Electricity is a wondrous thing," Sidorov smiled at Michelle as he led her further away, "but first, there's certain business to attend to. My good man here will look after our friends, don't worry."

The agent watched as Michelle was ushered out of sight and took her split-second window of opportunity, leaping into action, tackling the other man, winding her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly, cutting off his airway and waiting until he went lax in her arms before quietly lowering him to the floor. Slowly, she straightened, finally seeing Deeks fully in the flesh.

Choking back the sob that wanted to wrack her soul, she raked in her partner's welling eyes, his tear-streaked cheeks before cataloguing the extent of his injuries in the most painful couple of seconds of her life. She had to get him outta here.

Dropping to her knees, she forced herself not to touch him, unable to unglue her eyes from the torture device jammed in his damaged mouth. Removing it was going to be...excruciating.

"Okay Deeks, everything's okay, I'm here, I'm gonna get you out," she was whispering as her mind reeled, "we just have to—"

"...aumm!"

She gaped, realizing that he was trying to say something.

"What? No, don't try to speak Deeks, I have to—"

"Auum!" he insisted, his gaze lingering on something behind Kensi before his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Deeks! Deeks dammit you promised me you wouldn't get yourself killed! You don't leave, you hear me? Don't leave me..." she trailed off, swallowing deeply, her hands shaking rapidly as she tried to feel for his pulse in his neck, taking in a relieved breath when she felt it, faint but certainly there.

Wiping a rogue tear from her cheek, she turned on the spot to see what he was so persistent about and gasping as she caught sight of Sam sitting in a white room, also tied to a chair, staring at her, pain etched across his face.

"Oh my god."

---

The loud squawk of a bird spat Kensi out of her unpleasant trip down memory lane.

She was still sat in her car, staring out of the windshield at nothing, her mind far away from now, back in a time where she thought she might not only lose a close friend but also the man that made her feel so much, made her desire so much when they had just shared their first real kiss as Kensi Blye and Marty Deeks. The events that transpired after the kiss that she forced herself not to think about anymore had been some of the most harrowing of her life, the following weeks being some of the toughest ever for all of them—

"Marty," a voice this time broke her from what was going to be her next reverie, the group session clearly at an end, "would you join me in my office for a few minutes?" her ex-fiancé was asking her current-not-sure-yet from the facility down town, "I'd like to talk to you about something..."

Kensi frowned.

She did not like the sound of that.

She did not like any of this at all...

---

"Fourteen."

Deeks glanced up to catch Jack's eye, his brow furrowed.

"It's been fourteen minutes since you came here and you've not spoken a word," Jack clarified at the agent's obvious confusion.

Deeks shrugged, "well, I haven't really got anything to talk about."

The councillor leveled him with a stare that seemed intent on penetrating his soul, before heaving a sigh and opening the large file in front of him, balancing it on his lap.

"In the space of less than two years you have –" he leaned forward in his chair, his eyes staring down at the page "been tortured by a drug lord, found out your abusive father kept the murder of your friend a secret, uncovered that a cop, a man you once respected not only was dirty but was the father of the man who killed your friend and subsequently helped cover it up. You were blown up by a bomber on a vendetta and dealt with your partner getting shot and you think we don't have anything to talk about?"

Deeks mouth dropped open.

"It says all that in there?"

Had Nate lost his goddamn mind?!

"It tells me the broad strokes, yes, but nothing too specific, no names, locations etc. I know how NCIS likes things classified. But yes, your case file and psych eval say a lot about you Marty."

Deeks sat back in his chair, his shoulders sagging. It unnerved him knowing that Jack (the man that first stole his love's heart) had all this information on him, even if it was mostly embellished with half-truths.

"Well, like I told Dr. Murphy, I'm here on an undercover investigation, I don't really have to adhere—"

"Dr. Getz begs to differ. He seems to think that you'd benefit from an outside party, someone completely unbiased and objective to talk to while you continue your investigation."

Yeah but Nate didn't know who Jack was to Kensi...or who Kensi was truly to Deeks...

"With all due respect to Dr. Getz, I don't think that's his call," he said pointedly, knowing well that the psychologist could hear him back in Ops.

"Regardless, I'd like to talk more on a one to one basis once the investigation is over. I really think you could benefit—"

"Yeah, no thanks," Deeks leapt up out of his chair, hands held up, "look, I'm here to do a job, try catch a killer and not for any psych mumbo jumbo, been there, done that, got the too-tight, too-garish T-shirt. It's just not for me. But hey man, thanks for the offer. I'll be sure to be nice in the questionnaire," he finished, walking to the door, hand on the handle, turning to mock-salute Jack who was now stepping towards him.

"Now if you'll excuse me, it's arts and crafts time," he forced a smile, backing away, before flinging open the door and coming face to face with none other than Kensi Marie Blye.

Wide eyed, his partner stared at him silently before a voice exclaimed behind him.

"Kensi?!"

The brunette's face broke out into a nervous smile, looking over Deeks' shoulder.

"Hi Jack."

A/N: 15,000+ words. I'm so sorry. More post-Descent stuff will be in the next chapter.

On a different note, I recently read an interview with Shane Brennan basically saying that Jack will look a lot like Deeks and I gotta say, I'm not happy about it. I decided to make Jack as different physically and in personality to Deeks as I could. I just don't like the idea of Jack being the first 'Deeks' in Kensi's life if you know what I mean. Like we're meant to think 'oh look, she was engaged to him, he looks/acts like Deeks, oh that's why she likes Deeks!' Deeks is his own person, they can't just make Jack like him or vice versa. It's not fair to the character. There can only be one Marty Deeks. 'Nuff said.

^Wow. Sorry for that. I just had to get that off my chest. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter :)

I'm also on Tumblr under OctoberObserver if anyone is interested in what is probably the ridiculous ramblings of an insane and insomniac fan-girl :D

NEXT CHAPTER TEASER:

"Why are you here Kensi? For me or for him?"

"Honestly?" she croaked, staring up into his eyes, "I don't know."