Namaste, Salaam, Bonjour, Anyoung Hashimnikka! Hey Ladies and Gentlemen, two updates in one month! I'm happy with myself, but worried that I haven't been performing at par. This is it, the last chapter of He's Mine. I have more plans for other Callen and Deeks adventures so if you like this, stay tuned. Now, for SG-1 fans, YES, I stole a very famous line, and this final chapter pays honor to SG-1 more than any other. If you're wondering, 'where's Daniel?' never fear, his AU counterpart will show up in a tale of mine sooner rather than later. Daniel and Sha're are my very favorites!
Despite the best medical care made available by the United States government, ample time to convalesce, and a job that usually only requires sitting at a desk and talking on the phone, I must admit that my latest injury has left me below par. Granted, at my age, I no longer have the constitution of my younger days, but these brushes with mortality have become a heavier burden now. If I had to do it over again, I can't say that I wouldn't make the same choices. This blood feud has gone on for too long, and the Comescus had gotten too close this time. I thought I could convince them that Callen had been killed, but I failed. That in and of itself didn't surprise me. I knew the odds were slim; that's why I'd carefully arranged for Lauren to come and offered Detective Deeks an application for NCIS. I should have taken Callen's nature into better consideration. He trusts nobody over his own instincts, even those he loves most. While I'm grateful to be alive, I can't help but worry that the outcome of his official entry into this feud (along with the entire team following him) made things worse instead of better. The Comescus are wounded but far from destroyed. A wounded animal is always the most dangerous. Of course, what's done is done. For good or ill, the consequences will make themselves felt over time. The one regret I take from this is the damage I've done to Callen's trust in me. I'd always thought that an incomplete answer would hurt him more than none at all. In that, I made my greatest error in judgment.
I'm just about to make myself a hot pot of Chamomile tea and prepare for bed when I hear my cell phone ring. I sigh and force myself to answer, finding myself longing for peace and quiet more as each year passes. "Yes," I answer as abruptly as possible without resorting to rudeness.
"Hetty, I know you need your rest. I'm truly sorry, but Deeks and I have a problem." I grip the counter for support at hearing Callen's voice. He sounds tired, frustrated, and like he really didn't want to call me. What I don't know is whether his reluctance stems from our current conflicts, or the situation he and Mr. Deeks have found themselves in.
"What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Callen?" I ask, using every technique I've honed over the decades to keep my voice even.
"Well, it seems I'm about to be arrested, and Deeks is going to be hauled in and dressed down over a bar fight."
"Mr. Callen!" I snap as my indignation rises. "I realize that today's case was difficult for us all, and particularly so for you and Mr. Deeks; however, couldn't you both have found a more constructive way to deal with it?"
"Hetty, I don't have time to give you the whole story right now," he groans. "If you don't get down here, Grace will be in a cell with me for assaulting the cop who wants to take us in. I've got a broken knuckle that I'm sure of, Deeks has bruised ribs, and the guy isn't too keen on us receiving any treatment right now." He takes a deep breath, and I can hear how close he is to losing his temper. "Please, Hetty, if there was any other way of resolving this mess, I'd use it. I'm scared that we might lose Deeks over this if it isn't handled right."
For an instant, I'm tempted to tell him that I'll deal with this in the morning, but Callen isn't one to plead for anything from anyone. Tonight, he's come as close to it as I've ever known. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Do you think Grace will be able to keep you both at the hospital?"
"I just hope she isn't carrying her knife!" he answers, with a slight chuckle.
Just then, I hear Grace's voice faintly drift over the line. "Hang up, you brat, and get in the exam room!"
He complies without a goodbye, but I'll lecture him on proper telephone etiquette later. I go into my menu of contacts and pull up the name I need. For his sake, he'd better take this call promptly. Three rings later, I'm just about out of my limited resources of patience when I finally hear the gruff, bitter voice I've been waiting for. "What is it, Miss Lange?"
"Commissioner Kawalski, we have a problem—"
Traffic is deplorable this evening, and I fear that I will not arrive in time to prevent even more ill-will from building up between the OSP and the LAPD. In all my years of dealing with the politics that come with this life at every level, I will never understand why inferiority complexes and turf-wars must rule the day. Of course, while I might despise such situations, over the past four decades I've become extremely adept at dealing with them. It is times like this that I find President Theodore Roosevelt's most famous maxim, 'Walk softly, and carry a big stick,' to be most apropos. Tonight, I am tired, stressed, and fed up enough that I'm bringing the biggest stick I have in my repertoire at this hour. If this second rate beat cop wants a turf war, then I'll give him one. Nobody disrespects any of mine. After I've dealt with this situation, I will need to come up with a suitable penance for both Mr. Deeks, and Mr. Callen for getting neck deep in disaster once again. Perhaps a month's worth of yard work will cool their blood. I've been wanting to plant some new willow trees in my yards, but the expense of hiring landscapers has put me off until now.
Finally, after a forty-five minute drive that should only take twenty, I walk into the ER. Unfortunately, the sight I'm greeted with is most displeasing. Grace is right in the Officer's face, her eyes nearly full of murder, and the Officer is long past any sort of niceties. "I told you, Officer Wilks," she hisses low and deadly, "my patients leave this hospital when I say they can leave, not before!"
I continue to wonder at the types of people who are drawn to law enforcement these days. The quality of deductive reasoning seems to fall lower on the list of abilities with each passing year. This particular specimen of "LA's finest" is exceptionally deficient. Any person fully armed with half a brain would question why an apparently unarmed woman would take such an aggressive stance without any hint of hesitation or insanity. From his reaction I can only surmise that Officer Wilks possesses even a tinier fraction of common sense than usual. He has the gall to start shouting in a place where people are sick and injured.
"Lady! None of these men's injuries are life threatening. I can bring them in at my own discretion. Now, if you don't shut up and get out of my way, I'll book you for Obstruction of Justice!" My stomach twists in disgust. Whatever happened to the motto, 'To Protect and Serve'? How has the code of honor and decency faded so drastically?
"Look, buddy," a sarcastic, antagonistic, and brash voice from the past interjects itself into the situation. "Did it completely escape your pea-brained notice that the guy pressing these charges assaulted a fellow cop?" he sneers, with the same acidic venom I remember in Kuwait.
A sadistic and malicious smile breaks out on Wilks' face as he turns his attention to Deeks. "No, you old drunk, it didn't." If Hank McCorley can be considered an 'old man', I am either a petrified bat or a piece of coal. Unfortunately, Wilks keeps spouting. "The victim alleges that Marty here used excessive force, but I'm not arresting him. We'll just go down to the Precinct and he'll have a nice chat with the guys in Internal Affairs." My heart skips a beat seeing the dread filling Deeks' eyes. The love lost between him and Internal Affairs is no secret. Wilks then turns back to Grace, his smile gone and only rage painted on his face. "As for his drinking buddy, who you're hiding behind your white coat, he's going in a cell NOW!"
Grace folds her arms across her chest, spreading her feet shoulder-width apart. It's a classic stance that screams, 'go through me' and I happen to know that very few people have gotten through her, and none of them have lived to tell the tale. "I don't like to repeat myself. I want to wrap Detective Deeks' ribs myself and make sure he's up-to-date on his Tetanus vaccinations. As for Mr. Rostoff, he needs stitches, and could have a possible concussion. You'll wait until I am good and ready!"
Deeks' eyes flick over to Callen when he hears the name Rostoff. I'm not sure how much he knows about the history of this name, but if I know Ms. Blye, she's told him about the case with Alina.
"Lady, I've given you almost an hour! They're not dying, and I'm not screwing around!"
I only remain calm through decades of experience holding back when watching evil, amoral, or just plain stupid people ranting and raving while being forced to wait for the right time to act. Right now, I'm waiting for that moron Kawalski. The wait will be worth the annoyance, because I intend to ensure that a situation such as this never occurs again.
"You might not be screwing around, Mister, but you are disturbing a lot of the innocent people you're sworn to serve and protect!" Hank barks, and a warm feeling spreads through my heart, knowing that he's found himself once more.
Wilks moves toward Hank, and Mr. Deeks reaches out to grab his arm. "Wilks, don't be an ass he has nothing to do with this!"
The Neanderthal throws off Deeks' hold on him, nearly knocking him out of the chair. "Now, you've gone too far, Deeks," he growls, yanking him to his feet, heedless to the pain that forces Marty to cry out.
Before Callen or Hank can react, Grace strikes, twisting Wilks' arm around his back and ramming him into the wall. Her call-sign from her days flying in enemy airspace during the gulf war has never seemed more appropriate; she remains the Avenging Angel. "No, Officer," she sneers, with such hatred that even the three hardened men around her blanch at the tone. "This time you, 'have gone too far!'" When he tries to throw her off, she twists his trapped arm with a vicious jerk. "When I think of the risks these three men have taken, the things they've had to do, all for the sake of scum like you who dares to put on the uniform of a Policeman, I'm glad I had to get out! If you ever lay a finger on any patient in this hospital again, I swear on all that is holy, you'll beg me to let you die!"
Wilks turns his head, trying to look back at Grace. Despite limited success, a lurid, filthy leer forms on his face. "Sweetie, you just ruined your whole life. You can't hold me here forever. The minute you let me go, I'll cuff you and take you in to the precinct. I'll book you and throw you in a cell. It won't be the regular holding cell with the hookers and junkies. No, I'll make sure you have your own private cell, and believe me, I'm going to enjoy what comes next. Count on it."
Hank lunges at the officer, determined to neutralize the threat. "Hank, NO!" Deeks shouts, and he and Callen rush to stop him from reaching Wilks.
I'm just about to step in myself when Kawalski bursts into the waiting room, doing much too little and nearly too late as usual. "WHAT IS GOING ON HERE OFFICER WILKS?" he bellows, and once again I am appalled at the modern world's lack of manners, courtesy, and complete disregard for appropriate public behavior.
"You've arrived right in the nick of time, Commissioner," I greet, not bothering to conceal my lack of admiration for his timing or his entrance.
"I can't control the traffic, Miss Lange, even with an escort and sirens, it takes time," he grumbles, like a child being scolded for tardiness.
Callen and Deeks keep a hold of Hank. Grace immediately releases Wilks, who looks slightly green due to the arrival of The Commissioner. She moves next to Callen, as close to Hank as she can get. "Stand down, sir, I'm fine," her warm soft voice flows like honey. "Colonel, he's not worth the price of a bullet or the energy it'd take to crush his neck. We're not in the desert anymore. There's no sand to swallow him up. Is it really fair to make Murphy clean up the mess after he helped carry the kids in from your truck? From what I remember hearing about your reputation, legend had it that you were the biggest jerk in the entire USAF, but you were also obsessively fair. I believe that, because my uncle used to tell me stories from when he roomed with you at the Academy. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff is a very good source of information."
Hank slowly turns his head to look at Grace. He blinks once and shakes his head. "Your uncle is Samuel Carter? He told me he had a niece once, but I've forgotten your name."
She smiles. "I'm only sorry it took me this long to remember you." Then, she taps Callen on the shoulder. "Let him go. You boys are manhandling a very good friend of my family." Callen complies, but Deeks keeps his hands firmly on his surrogate father's shoulders.
"Deeks, if you trust me, trust her," Callen softly orders.
The desire to comply is written on his handsome face, but he hesitates, clenching the fabric of Hank's shirt in his fingers. Hank raises his hand to grasp Deeks' arm. "It's over now, sonny. I'm not gonna blow." Deeks sighs in relief and drops his hands. "You're a good boy, Marty," Hank assures, pulling him into a quick hug and ruffling his hair.
"Isn't that sweet!" Wilks crows.
Before Callen, Deeks, Hank, Grace, or I can lose our tempers, I decide to let Kawalski to do his job, or to at least make the attempt. "Commissioner, I don't believe Officer Wilks answered your question."
"I believe you're right, Miss Lange. Well, Officer, what do you have to say for yourself?" he demands, effectively putting a stop to Wilks' despicable display of macho arrogance.
"Sir, this isn't what it looks like," he stammers. He reaches up to tug at his collar as if it's too tight then remembers it's unbuttoned.
"Really?" Kawalski replies, with that boorish, bullying tone that anyone who's spoken to him has been subjected to. Although I normally despise it, in this situation, it is as beautiful to me as my favorite Bach Concerto. "I'll tell you what this, 'looks like' to me, Wilks," Kawalski continues. "It 'looks like,' you were assaulting a fellow cop. It 'looks like,' you were threatening a respected surgeon and former Servicewoman with sexual assault in the foulest, most base abuse of your authority there is! IT 'LOOKS LIKE,'" he bellows, "you're about to use excessive force to arrest a Federal AGENT!" I suppress the urge to smile as I watch the blood drain from Wilks' face, leaving him ashen. Kawalski sighs, running his hand through his unkempt hair. "You tell me that, 'this isn't what it looks like.' Very well, Wilks, WHAT IS IT THEN?"
"Commissioner," he mumbles hoarsely, looking down at his feet. "I received a call from…"
"LOOK ME IN THE EYES WHEN YOU SPEAK TO ME!"
The young man's head snaps up, and his voice becomes stronger once again. "Sir! I received a call from one Stanley Marks claiming that Detective Deeks and Mr. Rostoff interfered in a private moment between him and his girlfriend. When he politely objected to this intrusion, they goaded him into striking Detective Deeks. A brawl ensued, and all four men were severely injured. Mr. Marks' injuries include: four broken ribs, a sprained knee, and a possible torn rotator cuff. The other three young men all sustained similar or worse injuries, but only Marks is willing to press charges."
"And I thought my fishing tales were a load of crap," Hank scoffs.
"Shut up, Hank," Deeks growls, as angry as he'd been this afternoon after seeing Kensi shot.
"Is this story true, Mr. Deeks?" I ask.
Before he can answer me, Kawalski interrupts. "Miss Lange, as much as I value Detective Deeks' liaison position with NCIS, please remember that he is first and foremost a member of the LAPD. It's my responsibility to question him, not yours."
"Very well," I concede, avoiding Marty's eyes.
"Detective," he barks. "Please tell me your version of events."
He stands up slowly, and for a moment I fear he'll fall flat on his face, but as usual, his stubborn pride keeps him upright. "Commissioner, Agent Rostoff and I witnessed this Marks guy and his friends become increasingly intoxicated throughout the evening. Their speech grew louder and more abusive. Mr. Marks eventually grabbed his girlfriend by the arm and broke her wrist. It was then that I attempted to reason with the four young men, suggesting they go home, while Agent Rostoff and I sought medical attention for the girl. He chose to threaten me. I warned him that I was a cop and again asked him and his friends to leave the bar. His answer was to swing an empty tequila bottle at my head. A fight began, and Agent Rostoff had my back the same way he's done ever since I began working with NCIS! The truth is that they started a fight after I clearly identified myself. Officer Wilks' behavior is beyond contempt."
I walk over to Callen, taking my time to examine the damage done to his face and hands. He looks like a dog's breakfast, and a sharp stab of pain pierces my heart, as it does any time I see him hurt. "Well, Agent Rostoff, is that what happened?"
He attempts to grin but his split lip ruins the effect. "Damn straight, Hetty. All five of them are low on brains and high on anger. If you and the Commissioner need more testimony, there's the barmaid and the girl." He turns to Wilks and smiles the cold shark's smile he saves for his enemies. "God help you if you even look at Grace again."
"You never identified yourself as a Federal Agent," Wilks accuses, his voice shakes with rage. "Marks said that you specifically told him you weren't apart of law enforcement."
"I said I wasn't a cop, Wilks. There's nothing false about that statement. When he swung that tequila bottle at Deeks' head, I figured that those idiots had enough trouble without adding Assaulting a Federal Agent on top of it. Call it a charitable impulse," he leans his head back against the wall and shuts his eyes, something that he only does in extreme exhaustion. "Commissioner, if Deeks and I are guilty of anything, it's choosing the wrong bar to unwind in. The last time I checked, that isn't a crime."
"YOU THREATENED TO KILL HIM!" Wilks shouts, losing all control of his temper.
Kawalski charges up to him and grabs him by the collar. "And you threatened a doctor with rape! I doubt Agent Rostoff would kill this Marks kid in cold blood, but I don't doubt you meant to carry out your threat with the good doctor!"
"Commissioner, please," he gasps, his eyes wild with fear, "she was obstructing justice. I had a complaint, Deeks' and Rostoff's injuries were not life-threatening, and she refused to release them into police custody."
"In what class in the Academy did it teach that sexual assault was an appropriate threat for an officer of the law to use?" Kawalski demands, inadvertently spitting in Wilks' face.
"We threaten suspects every day with the rape that happens in prisons," he murmurs, shocking me with a use of logic, however misapplied.
"I knew we had to scrape the bottom of the barrel for a lot of reasons, but I didn't realize we'd started reaching directly into the sewers! It's the policy of the LAPD to allow a doctor to use their own discretion on when to release a patient into custody. You know that!" Kawalski releases Wilks, sending the man back into the wall. He takes out a pair of handcuffs and restrains the disgraced officer. "You're under arrest." Then he turns to Deeks. "Detective, I want to have you make an official report tomorrow morning. Please contact any other witnesses, and ask them to come in to make their statements about what happened at that bar."
"Yes, sir." Deeks crisply replies.
"By the way, where is the young lady serving as the catalyst for this evening's events?" Kawalski asks.
"She's in surgery. Her 'boyfriend' nearly shattered most of the bones in her wrist," Grace answers as if her mouth is filled with lemons. "One of the boys, the youngest, got the worst of the Detective's and Agent Rostoff's fists. He's being treated for his cuts and broken bones. After a good night's sleep, I'm sure he'll cooperate in any way he can. However, he's staying here at least forty-eight hours, or until his family arrives."
"We didn't throw him into the glass on purpose, Doc!" Deeks objects, his face falling with regret at her words.
"Detective, I assure you, I know that neither of you did anything other than what you needed to do at the time. Look at it this way: you thrashed him into a new life. I'm sure you'd have rather helped the kid differently. We all would, but don't guilt yourself into ignoring the good that can come out of this," she reaches down to ruffle his hair and gives him her brightest smile.
"Listen to the woman, Detective," Kawalski orders, in an uncharacteristically subdued tone. "Doctor, I want to assure you that this unfortunate incident will be dealt with in the most…"
"Ron, stop!" Grace interrupts. "I don't need the official line, I'm not going to sue anyone. I've dug more bullets out of good cops than any doctor in the city for the past ten years, including a few out of you and your son. I'm not the type of person that undoes a great relationship because of a hiccup. There's only one thing I want from you other than seeing that waste of humanity get what's coming to him."
"Name it," Kawalski barks, back to his normal self.
Grace's crystal blue eyes flash with fierce determination. "From tonight on, every cop in this city knows that it's the doctor's decision when to release anyone into police custody, and if anyone, ever gives a doctor a hard time about it, you'll reach down from that very big desk of yours and smack them down."
"Done!" He turns to Deeks and Callen. "Detective Deeks, Agent Rostoff, I'm truly disappointed that this happened. Rest assured, there will be no record of any wrongdoing by either of you in this case. By tomorrow, everything will be taken care of."
Mr. Deeks quite foolishly stands again, but it gives me hope that proper respect for authority and one's elders might last another two generations. "Thank you, sir."
"See you tomorrow, Detective. Keep up the good work with NCIS, and do everything the Doctor orders."
"Yes, sir," he replies. Then, his legs give out, and he flops back into the hard chair.
Callen puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him down. "Sit, Marty, sit. Good boy."
"That's Kensi's line," Deeks whines.
"Maybe, but now its Doctor's orders. Ron, I've got patients to treat, and my ER's in chaos. Would you please get out of here, and take him with you," Grace demands, flicking her hand as if swatting both men away.
"Goodnight, Doctor. Miss Lange," he says, meeting my eyes. "Thank you for informing me about this problem. I hope this doesn't affect the way we work together."
I tilt my head toward him in a gesture of approval and he starts to walk away, dragging Wilks along. I wait a count of ten and speak. "By the way, Commissioner!" he turns to face me. "Detective Deeks is indeed a member of the LAPD, and all of us at NCIS hold that in the highest esteem. However," I snap, "when he joined our team he became one of mine! From now on, I'll speak to him whenever I deem fit. Do we understand each other?"
I have him, as the saying goes, 'over a barrel,' and he knows it. Commissioner Kawalski is a fine cop, and a good man, yet we've never been able to get along. A classic clash of personalities. He looks at Wilks and sighs. "Until we meet again, Miss Lange."
As Kawalski leads Wilks away, Grace heaves a sigh of relief. "All right you two, get your sixes in that exam room, now!" she orders. "I'm calling this my two-for-one special. I have babies to deliver and heart attacks to deal with. Thanks to your antics," she drawls, pointing at Callen, "this place will turn into a madhouse soon."
"Hey, all I did was have a drink with a friend," Callen chuckles.
"You're also hiding injuries from me. The next time you get sick of Sam and want to spar with me, I'll knock you into next week!" She blows a strand of her lovely blond hair out of her face and gently pulls both men to their feet. "God, help you if you even look at Grace again!" she mimics in a child's voice. "What? Do you think just because my reproductive system is on the inside, instead of the outside, I wouldn't hurt him if I had to?"
"How many times do I have to hear the same lecture? You've been saying the same thing for almost thirty years!" Callen whines.
"Stop giving me a reason!"
Just before they disappear into the exam room, Hank calls out. "Hey, doc! Do you mind telling me your name?"
She turns her head and smiles, keeping a firm grip on her two patients. "Doctor Grace Jean Hammond, formerly Major Grace J. Hammond-Peters, USAF. Nice to meet you, sir, officially that is. One pass-by on a dusty tarmac in a god-forsaken hole in the middle of a desert doesn't count."
"Stop flirting," Callen teases.
"I have huge needles," Grace threatens.
That quiets any teasing either of the young men might cook up, and they offer no more resistance to being examined. I take a seat next to Hank, but I won't speak to him unless he addresses me. Our time working together left many scars on us both. I have no desire to intrude on his life if he wants to leave the past alone. I'm not even sure he remembers me. I watch the staff milling about and the patients with their families waiting for help. I wonder about them, their lives, and if they have any idea about the true danger there is in the world. I hope they don't. It's a terrible burden to live with.
Just when I feel certain Hank will not acknowledge me, or doesn't remember me, he speaks. "It's been a long time," he says in a soft, hesitant voice.
"You look well," I answer with a smile, and he does.
"I should have known Marty started working for you. Now, some of the things he's said make sense. You're his tiny ninja!" he chuckles.
"He's a great man, Hank. You've done right by him."
He shakes his head, and a bitter smile forms on his lips. "Well, you know what they say, 'better late than never.' All the good that's in him is his own," the guilt in his eyes mirrors my own these days. We've both hurt our boys. "He likes working with you guys."
I twist in my chair to face him directly. "He's become family, and I can't imagine the team without him. Callen will tell you the same thing."
"I don't want him doing the same things we did, Hetty," he whispers, his voice turning dark. "He can't handle it."
I put my hand on his face and make him meet my eyes. "That's not what he's doing now, I give you my word. I won't lie, we deal with monsters, but not in the same way. Everything has official sanction, and everything is on the books, unless they all disobey me again."
"You're one of the few spooks that never lied to me, Hetty," he acknowledges with his typical brand of understatement.
I take his hand in mine as I had nearly thirty years ago. "I'm not lying now. I meant every word I said to Kawalski. He's one of mine now. You know just what I'm willing to do in order to protect what's mine."
There's a long pause, and we sit there surrounded by the hustle as more people start pouring in. Finally, he squeezes my hand. "Yes, I do," he whispers.
Ten minutes later, Grace appears with our two boys. "I assume Marty is with you, sir, because I know my brat goes with Hetty."
A charming grin breaks out on Hank's face. "At ease, Major, I'm retired. The name's Hank!"
She giggles like a little girl. "I'm medically discharged, so let's make a deal. I'm Grace, you're Hank, and if either of us slip into old habits, we forgive each other."
He nods. "Sounds fair, but no giggling, Major."
We all start laughing. The doors burst open, and a man shouts. "PLEASE HELP MY WIFE!"
Grace quickly pecks Callen on the cheek. "Try not to need me too soon!" she pleads, as she sprints away yelling orders.
"That's one hell of a woman," Hank murmurs as he wraps an arm around Deeks to support him.
"Drool later, Old Man. I need you to drop me off somewhere," the young man sighs.
"Shut your mouth, brat," Hank scolds, gently pulling at Deeks' ear. "Miss Lange, thanks for having his back. Callen, it's been a pleasure, kid. I hope we meet again."
Callen smiles and shakes Hank's hand. "I'd like that too."
"We'll go play golf Sunday," Deeks groans sarcastically. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get out of here."
"Yes, it's time we make space for the people who need it," I say, taking Callen by the hand. We all walk out to our cars. "Goodnight, gentlemen," I say, helping Callen into the car.
"Goodnight, Hetty. Thanks for telling Kawalski I'm one of yours," Deeks replies, throwing me a sheepish grin.
I return a wide smile of my own and tell him what I'd tell any of my family. "What else could I tell him, Mr. Deeks? That is exactly what you are."