A/N: If you read this story before July 29, there were two lines that said that the strap on the chair was loose. That was a mistake from the original draft that somehow made it into the end of the new draft.
In other words, Sam is still stuck in the chair.
"LAPD Detective Martin Deeks."
There's a moment of absolute panic running through Sam's head when he hears Sidarov's man state Deeks' full title. There's no possible way for Sidarov to have figured out who exactly Deeks is in five minutes. And to make matters worse, Sam concludes that if that can happen in five minutes, ten or twenty minutes more could lead to them connecting the detective to NCIS.
And if that happens, they're both good as dead.
Sidarov's man cocks his head and smirks. "You look surprised, David."
Sam quickly thinks of comeback while glancing over to see Deeks lying still on his back. Sam turns his attention back to Sidarov's man and retorts, "I'm surprised at how proud of yourself you must be."
The smile disappears off of the man's face and turns into an annoyed glare. "This means that you weren't lying; just waiting until the very end to tell me this. Why?"
"He's just a backup-"
Sidarov's man drops the knife and the drill on the table and shrugs. "Just a backup? Then I'll just kill him, if he's just backup. That's interesting since he saved your life." He clicks off the safety on the pistol and that's all Sam needs to see to know that he needs to shut this down.
"I wouldn't do that. Yes, he's just a backup," Sam lies, "but it'd be pretty bad if you had a dead cop on your hands, especially one that could help us. That's why I asked him- worse comes to worse and the LAPD comes around, he could get them off our tail."
Sidarov's man raises an eyebrow and grabs the knife before walking over to Deeks. He turns the handle of the knife in a circle and then looks down to the detective. Deeks is lying on his back, his head hovering barely an inch from the ground. By now his cheeks are swollen and red and the pressure from his sore, swollen bloody gums are causing him to squeak through the back of his throat. With Sidarov's man now standing over him, there's no way that he can beg, plead, or hell, charm his way out of taking more abuse from a knife.
"Why do you wait until last minute to tell me things? It takes the fun," the man sits the knife between two fingers, "out of all of it."
"I don't trust or particularly like you," Sam snarls back, "Don't kill him, he's useful. Saving me was just him doing his job. And if you're worried about his loyalty, no one in LAPD gives a damn about him. That's why I got him." Sam swallows hard at using Deeks' trouble with LAPD as the cover-up.
Sidarov's man pauses before lowering the knife to his side. Deeks drops his head to the ground and lets out a huff of relief. He doesn't get to enjoy the relief before Sidarov's man delivers a powerful kick to his gut. Deeks grunts and curls up in the best ball that he can through the searing pain.
"Hey, what the hell is that for?" Sam yells. Sidarov's man shakes his head before walking out of the room without a word. He also walks out of the room without taking the gun and drill sitting on the table that held the battery used to torture Sam earlier. It's such a miracle that Sam worries that it's another hallucination. When a few minutes pass and Sam feels a rush of pain so painful that he begins to lose consciousness, he concludes that it has to be real.
Or not, who knows.
For fifteen minutes, Sam is dreaming, remembering really, his first conversation with Deeks after the detective had been shot.
Deeks is staring at the hospital room ceiling, hearing only the dull noise of Sam talking from the foot of the bed. It's been a questionable amount of minutes since Sam had decided to walk into the hospital room and start quizzing Deeks on basic security rules. It's especially questionable since Sam had originally said that it would be done after Deeks had gotten out of the hospital, not the day after he had shot one of the men after Kensi and tore out his stitches.
" And you should have a backup location for your mutt….are you listening?" Sam snaps. Across from him, Deeks drops his gaze to Sam and narrows his eyes. Yes, he's been on the team for only six months and yes, he had screwed up, but right now he wants to sleep and not feel like he's back in high school with an angry teacher hell bent on making him feel stupid.
"Sam, I just want to sleep," Deeks mutters.
"Deeks, you got shot because you got lazy with your routine," Sam taps the pack of diagrams, lists, and whatever else the SEAL had cooked up in the last 24 hours that's on the bedside table. "We're doing this right now."
"But-"
"Focus, Deeks. What did I say earlier about my four day plan?"
Deeks closes his eyes and exhales very slowly. He's pissed that the idea of having the recently injured detective rest is absurd to Sam. So in a very mature fashion, Deeks opens his eyes and slides his hand to the right where he presses the nurse call button.
"Sam," he says slowly, "You have about fifteen seconds before the very abrasive Nurse Roberts walks into the room and asks what's wrong. And in that fifteen seconds, you can decide whether I tell her that my teammate is badgering me with 20 questions and doesn't give a damn about my well- being or that my friend needs a pillow and blanket because he's going to spend the night in the room with me. Pick one."
Sam stares at Deeks open mouthed and then looks down to the papers on the table below him. At the same moment, a grumpy Nurse Roberts marches into the room and growls, "Mr. Deeks, what do you want?"
Deeks looks over to Sam and gives him an expecting look. Sam nods and turns to Nurse Roberts , saying, "I was wondering if I could have a blanket and pillow. I just want to see if he's ok for tonight. I won't be a bother."
Deeks smiles triumphantly and Sam smirks at the cop's trick, impressed as hell.
When Sam wakes up, the only thing he can hear is the labored, heavy breathing coming from Deeks.
He opens his eyes and looks over to see Deeks still lying on the back and looking up to the ceiling. He's still in the same haggard condition- swollen cheeks and bloody cuts, along with a new addition- a single tear that had run down his cheek while Sam had dozed off.
"Deeks?" Sam whispers. He has no idea if Sidarov has the room miced up or not. Until they've been rescued, Sam has to play it as if it was. Deeks doesn't answer and Sam at first assumes it's because of the abuse of the drill.
"Hey, it's ok. We'll be ok. Look at me."
No answer.
Sam sits as forward as he can in the chair to get a better look at Deeks. He doesn't know if it's the electrical torture he's endured or because he's in the middle of his massive guilt trip, but once more, it takes a minute for Sam to realize why Deeks hasn't looked at him.
It's because Deeks won't look at him.
It's the anger and the buildup of taking three years of pokes and insults from that's finally come to a head for the detective. Sam can see the detective doesn't want to look over to someone that hasn't trusted him even in the darkest, most dangerous missions that the team has taken. The single tear on Deeks' cheeks says it all to Sam, who can only imagine what Deeks is thinking at the moment,
I've just taken the worst torture of my life for you , Sam. Will this be good enough for you to trust me?