Abu Dhabi International Airport
"Damn, I didn't think it be this hot out."
Sam steps out into the dry hot air outside of the arrivals entrance. It isn't his first time to the desert country, but the near 100 degree weather is a stark difference from the cool 60 degree Los Angeles weather he just left behind. The twenty two hour trip that had been split into two separate flights had been uneventful- Deeks slept through both flights while Sam anxiously watched his new partner sleep.
"Deeks?" Sam calls out when he realizes that he's standing alone. He turns around to see Deeks slowly stepping outside while clutching his duffel bag. Outside, his slightly swollen cheeks and the bruising around his chin is highlighted by the sunlight. His eyes flicker around him with fear blazing in his blue eyes.
"What's wrong?" Sam asks. Deeks rubs his jaw a few times and opens his mouth to speak. It violates Yentz's orders for Deeks- go straight to the clinic, stay there and no talking for at least a week."
"Hey, don't say anything," Sam tells him. He ignores the scowl on Deeks' face as the detective pulls a map out of his bag and irritably points to the clinic circled on the map. He traces an imaginary line from the clinic to Al Goa before pointing to himself.
"No, you aren't going with me, Deeks. We talked about this." Sam holds up a hand to wave down a cab, " When we get to the clinic, I'm going to scout around the clinic to make sure it's safe for you while I go to Al Goa." He glances back to Deeks, expecting to see another scowl growl but finds himself alone once more with the detective angrily walking away towards the bus line.
"Hey, hey!" Sam calls out while jogging after Deeks. He quickly reaches Deeks' side and grabs his shoulder. The detective yanks his arm way and angrily holds out the pendant that he wears around his neck- Sam's old pendant.
"This isn't me dumping you, Deeks. We agreed on this back in Los Angeles, remember?" Sam reminds him calmly. Deeks' loyalty has been something that's always scared him because it's the same loyalty that he's only seen in SEALs. Before Deeks followed the team to Romania, Sam had never expected to see such a strong loyalty in someone so different from him.
"I know you want to have my back and you will be my partner from the clinic. I'm not going to run and not come back again until the end. I promise you that I'm not going to dump and run."
Deeks breathes in slowly through his nose before dropping his hands to his side. Before Sam can stop him, he mumbles something that sounds like, "Fine."
"No talking, remember? If you do it again, I'm going to have tattle to Kensi on you," Sam jokes and it sparks a small, almost non- existent spark in Deeks' eye, a first in weeks.
After dropping Deeks off at the clinic, Sam steps out onto the street in front of the clinic. Sam's extremely knowledgeable in Arabic culture, but he's confused by the hundreds of people and the fanfare scattered throughout the streets. It's perfect for someone like him trying to stay under the radar. In the midst of the chaos, Sam decides he needs a spot where he can scope the crowds and stay inconspicuous.
Lidra's Drinks will do. I can get a better sense of the street from there, Sam thinks at the sight of an outdoor bar two stores down. He pulls down the edge of his hat, but decides to leave the hood of his jacket off. He needs to become a ghost in the crowd, not someone of suspicion.
When Sam reaches the bar, he sits at the stool closest to the street leading deeper into the city. The packed streets completely block his view of seeing anything further than half a block. The clinic is in a popular area and it's a US linked clinic. I think Deeks should be safe here.
"Damn," Sam mutters softly when he thinks back to Deeks' untrusting glare at him when he had helped Deeks check in under a fake name before turning on his heels and leaving. It was as if the little progress they had made during the past week had gone straight down the drain. His trust in me is probably ten times worse.
"Need anything, sir?" a young waiter asks as he steps in front of Sam.
"Yes, do you have any scotch?" Scotch seems to be the only thing Sam can think of to help him out of his momentary funk.
"Of course. Give me a sec." The waiter reaches under the bar table and pulls out an unrecognizable bottle of scotch. He pours in a glass in front of Sam and gives him a nod before moving onto a couple on the other side of the bar.
Sam takes the glass in hand, swirls it lightly and breathes in the smell. The single malt scotch pales in comparison to the bottle Hetty keeps in the armory. When we get back, I want to split that bottle with Deeks over a football game, Sam thinks before he takes a sip. The taste is decent in his opinion; he doesn't get any more time to process it before his cell phone battery beeps in his back pocket. He pulls it out and sees that there are two voicemail messages he's received in the past two days.
"Crap," he mutters before checking the voicemail. The first message is a completely unexpected- it's from his seven year old daughter, Kara.
"Hi, Daddy. Are you coming to Boston? Mommy said that you were coming here to Auntie's sometime soon. Also, where's Mommy? Oh, I saw snow yesterday and it's so cold like you said! Please call 'cause my birthday is coming up soon. I love you. Oh yeah, it's Kara. Bye!"
Sam rubs his forehead and winces at the bright, happy tone of his little girl. The last time he held Kara was about two weeks ago at a friend's pool party. He tickled his little girl while laughing and calling her his 'mermaid'. "I will come back, Mermaid. I promise."
The second message is from Hetty; a simple, shocking message. He had expected a long, deep speech about how Hetty would string him on a flag or make him spend a stakeout with Deeks on caffeine. No, her message is the complete opposite:
"You're going into dangerous territory, Mr. Hanna. Dangerous territories can never be conquered alone."
"Damn it, Hetty," Sam groans. He slaps down a dirham on the counter and breaks out into a jog out of the bar and onto the crowded street. He can see the roof of the clinic off in the distance and it takes him no more than two minutes to reach it. When he walks into the doorway of the clinic, Sam is soaking with sweat in his long sleeves and vest.
"Mr. Smith, you came back," the blue eyed secretary greets him from the main entrance, " I thought it would be a few hours, not…..fifteen minutes. Your friend just left."
Fighting the urge to scream at the young woman, Sam grumbles, " What do you mean he left?"
"Yes, he left about five minutes after you did. Why….. was he not supposed to?"
Sam turns and scans the crowd in the streets outside the clinic. A cop with PTSD who can't talk- No, he isn't supposed to leave!