Chapter 6: Burn

"Love is a fire. But whether it's going to warm your heart or burn your house down, you can never tell." – Joan Crawford

Kensi's just to the point of questioning her sanity because really, what was she thinking? Riding into the desert, wanting to be captured, is at the top of the list of the stupidest things she's ever done. Still it's done now and there isn't any going back, not without completely tipping her hand and putting the local Taliban on high alert. She still has a ceramic blade hidden in the folds of her vest, but she's saving that for a last resort should they decide that she's not worth the trouble of keeping around.

It's a smoky, hazy hell hole that they're keeping her in, but she's seen worse, not much worse but still worse. She shifts closer to the fire, stilling instantly when the guard by the door glances her way. "I need to see the one they call White Ghost," she says in English and Pashto, but the guard goes back to staring at the wall and ignores her. She's reasonably sure he doesn't understand a word she's saying, but she keeps repeating it anyway, hoping maybe one of them will respond.

Kensi needs to get in touch with Jack soon. She's gone six years without him, moved on with her life and her heart, but still the thought of seeing him again twists her insides into knots. It's a primal, urgent kind of thing, something that churns in her stomach and burns itself into the back of her mind. She needs to see him, find her answers.

She's not sure what she's going to do then, not really. Can she bring him in if he is White Ghost, kill him even? Kensi's not entirely sure, doesn't even know if she wants to know the answer. Still, she supposes she owes it to herself to find out.

The door creeks open behind her, even footsteps and quiet breathing giving away his entrance, and Kensi stiffens. She knows who it's going to be before she turns, almost doesn't want to confirm it, but she does anyway because she's Donald Blye's daughter, a marine at heart.

Kensi stands tall and holds her head high in pride; she's not the same girl he left on Christmas morning. She's grown a lot, lost a lot, and she can stand up to him now. She turns on her heel, holds her hands stiff at her sides, and refuses to acknowledge that they're shaking as she looks him in the eye, "Hello, Jack. Or is it White Ghost now?"

Callen retreats to his car as Deeks throws a mismatch of belongings into a bag and tries to deny the shaking of his hands. He needs to be strong right now, because wherever she is he knows that Kensi's probably counting on him, but suddenly this is too real, too raw. He rakes a hand through his hair and fumbles with the zipper on his bag, his partner's two continents away, missing, maybe hurt, and he can't even manage to pack without nearly having a breakdown.

Monty whines, pressing into the back of his owner's knee and the detective heaves a sigh, knowing the dog is probably sensing his mood. He snaps the clip around Monty's collar and wraps the leash around his hand before snatching up his half-packed bag and heading for the neighbor's. He leaves Monty with Miss Kay-Kay because he doesn't really have time to arrange something better and glances over his shoulder to see Callen already in the front seat of his car, the sat phone against his ear.

Deeks crosses the shared courtyard of his apartment complex to the road where Callen's blue Jag is pulled up against the curb. He pops open the passenger door just as Callen replies, "We're leaving now, be there in twenty."

The lead agent waves Deeks into the passenger seat before hanging up the phone and turning to him, "You ready to go yet?"

Deeks nods, infinitely grateful that his hands have stopped shaking, "Where are we going?"

"Camp Pendleton," Callen says, throwing the car into drive and screaming down the street at speed that puts even Kensi's lead foot to shame. "There's a Gulfstream waiting for us."

Deeks reaches for his seatbelt and tries not to hang on for dear life because if there's one thing Kensi's driving has taught him it's that it never does any good. He clips his seatbelt, glancing into the backseat as he goes to put his bag into the space behind Callen's seat, and freezes when he sees the open rifle case. There's a disassembled rifle lying in pieces and Deeks can't help thinking it looks remarkably familiar, "Is that Kensi's?"

"No," Callen says presumptively, something unreadable crossing his face, "It's mine."

Deeks does a double take at that one because he's only ever seen Callen take up the snipers perch twice, both of which were because Kensi couldn't, "You snipe?"

"No," Callen snaps again, his tone clearly stating that the conversation is over, "not anymore."

He reaches over to crank the radio, blaring soft rock over anything else Deeks has to say and the detective turns away to stare out the window, pressing his hands to his knees to disguise their shaking.