"The keys, Mr Deeks," Hetty prompts and then she actually snaps her fingers, like I'm a dog, or something. It's a fair bet she wouldn't bother trying that with Monty, who wouldn't even twitch an ear, far less react in the expected way. How come my dog is smarter than me?
You know something? I was actually looking forward to coming in to work this morning. I had this corny idea they might have put some streamers round my desk, maybe bought in some pastires – you know, the kind of things you do for a colleague who nearly died. Can I just repeat that? I nearly died out there, people. And this is my first day back. Is it too much to expect Hetty might actually be a little bit considerate, rather than subjecting me to ritual humiliation in front of everyone? And if she really has to do this (which I don't think she does) then couldn't she at least take me to one side and do it in private?
I can feel a flush of anger, mixed with a healthy dose of embarrassment start to rise up as I dig in my pockets and eventually locate the damn keys, which I deposit in her outstretched hand. And I feel exactly like a kid again, just like that time back in third grade…
I'm eight years old, burning with shame and just wanting to run away. Only I can't because the teacher is holding onto my arm and looking at the bruises on it, while the other kids giggle and nudge each other. There's a look in her eyes and even though I'm just a little guy, I can recognise pity when I see it and that just makes things worse, so I tell her I fell over. And then John Young (may he rot in hell) sniggers and says 'Marty falls over a lot, Miss Ainslie,' in a snide tone of voice. I wait until recess and then I flush his head down the toilet.
Miss Ainslie makes sure she talks to my Mom when she comes to pick me up at the end of the day, and Mom's face grows red and angry, then she starts shouting. I don't like it when she shouts and I usually go to my room and hide under the bed. There's nowhere to run to at school though, so I just have to stand there and make like nothing is happening while Miss Ainslie talks in a low, calm voice, that just makes Mom more annoyed. We've got this gerbil in a cage at the back of the classroom and I go over and watch how he's running round and round in his wheel, going nowhere fast, trapped in that cage. I kind of know how he feels. We move a week later and I go to a new school. I don't get any more bruises on my arms though. They take more care after that.
"Thank you." Hetty's fingers close around my keys and I feel absurdly disappointed, like part of my life's been taken away. Okay, it was just a crappy car, a Chevy Malibu of all things – but it was my car.
"Don't you have something to say?" Callen enquires.
I don't know – do I? How about 'thanks for a really crappy welcome back to work?' I really am trying not to just open my mouth and say the first thing that comes into my head, so I just sort of shrug.
"Why don't you ask Hetty what the doctor did say?" Kensi suggests, with just the merest hint of patronisation in her voice, like I'm some sort of not-very-able child. Et tu, Kensi?
"Or maybe she could just tell me?" I'm guessing it has to be bad news, because Hetty has pocketed my keys. One month's driving ban? Two? Surely if I had brain damage I would have noticed by now – wouldn't I? Or is that one of the signs of brain damage?
"Play nicely, Deeks." Great, even Sam's joined in now. What is this: have a dig at Deeks day?
Oh well, if you can't beat them, then your next best bet if to lull them into a false sense of security. John Young can tell you how that one worked out for him. He cried for two hours straight after his impromptu shower and Miss Ainslie just told him to be a man. I think she guessed it was me. Perhaps it was the big grin on my face that gave me away?
"What did the doctor say?" I say wearily. I've been back at work for ten minutes and already I want to go home. Some days I wonder why I bother, I really do.
Hetty bestows a benevolent smile upon me. Whoopee. That's working. I feel so much better. Not. "He said there was no reason that you shouldn't start driving again. As long as you don't push yourself too hard."
"Really?" Now I am officially confused.
"Yes, really." Kensi gives me a look that clearly indicates she will physically restrain me if I don't take things easy. Which sounds pretty good to me. There's nothing like a little light bondage to make you feel alive. How handy that NCIS equips all its agents with handcuffs. Just wait till I get her home.
"So can I have my keys back?"
"Regretfully, no. And that is on the express instructions of Director Vance."
I knew it. That guy has never liked me. Somehow, guys with Marine buzzcuts often take an automatic dislike to me, although I can't work out why.
Hetty holds out her hand again, and this time there's a brand keychain sitting in her palm, with a logo that is instantly recognizable even from ten paces away (I've learnt to always keep a safe distance between myself and the miniature ninja), complete with a very familiar logo. "Director Vance thought it was about time you had a vehicle that was more suitable. And I agree with him. Enjoy."
Okay. I've been had. I've been well and truly had and I've fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.
I can't move. Really, I actually can't move. All I can do is just stand there and kind of gawp. This has to be a wind-up, doesn't it? I'm going to go outside and find this little model car sitting there in my space in the parking lot, because it's always been Sam and Callen who get the performance cars, not me. They get Aston Martins, and Bentleys and Dodge Challengers, and I get a Chevy Malibu. It wasn't until Hunter came along that I even got a parking space. It's a fact that you can tell your standing in any organization by the position of your desk (Hetty has the power corner, cunningly situated so that she can keep a beady eye on everything) and where your parking spot is. Mine is in the far corner of the lot. Callen's is closest to the door. Go figure.
"Are you getting all this, Nell? Because I don't think we're ever going to see Deeks completely speechless again. This is a once in a lifetime occasion."
I look up to see that Nell is standing there on the balcony, capturing all this for posterity on a camera, and that's when I realise my mouth is hanging open and I probably look like I'm first cousin to the village idiot. Meanwhile, Sam and Callen are grinning like they're fit to burst and practically thumping each other on the back in one of their shows of macho bonding. Fair enough – whatever turns them on.
"Go on. Take them," Hetty encourages me, and behind her I can see Kensi is looking at me, with something that's awfully close to pride in her eyes. That's when I know this is for real, that it isn't a joke. Because Kensi wouldn't lie to me. She's genuinely happy for me. So I take the keychain, and look at the shield logo with the black horse in the middle in a sort of stupor of disbelief, before staggering in a semi-coordinated fashion towards the courtyard.
I have just died and gone to heaven. There is most definitely a God and he is so good. And this was actually worth getting shot for. Well, almost. Because sitting outside the main door of the Mission is a new car. And not just any new car, but a brand new Porsche 911S Turbo. I know this because Kensi whispers that in my ear as I just stand there, looking at this thing of power and beauty. Now, normally a car is pretty much just a car to me – a method of getting me from A to b as quickly as possible. But this isn't a car. It's a Porsche. And, better than that – it's my Porsche. And it's top of the range, with a dark blue metallic exterior. I'm practically drooling, just looking at it.
The minute I open the door the tempting scent of expensive leather upholstery comes floating out towards me and I still can't quite believe it. This is the sort of car that grown men dream about, and all of a sudden I have this image about how cool Kensi and I are going to look together in it. I always thought I could look like a rock star if only I had the right sort of ride and now I'm going to get to find out if I'm right.
"I'm expecting you to take good care of this vehicle, Mr Deeks." Hetty hands me a procurement form and I scrawl my signature on the bottom of it, accepting responsibility for this beautiful beast of a car. I'd happily sign in blood, if that was what was required. I've never bothered that much about cars – until now. Suddenly Sam's obsession with his Challenger seems perfectly normal.
"I'll make sure he washes and waxes it every weekend," Kensi vows. "And that he rubs saddle soap into the seats too."
11. Care.
Consider getting something to take care of together: a fish, a dog, a chia pet…whichever you prefer. Sometimes sharing responsibility can promote the idea that you are a team and bring you closer.
I have to bite my tongue so that I don't say that is fine by me – as long as she's there to help.
"Just make sure he doesn't trample sand into the interior and I'll be happy," Hetty says tartly. "Or rather, Director Vance will be happy."
Hmmm – was that a slip up on her part? Surely Hetty couldn't have twisted Vance's arm to make him agree to this – could she?
"Thanks, Hetty. Really – thank you." I run my hand over the roof of the car, still trying to take it all in.
"Why don't you get in and then take it for a spin?" she suggests, and it's almost like she's my indulgent maiden aunt or something, giving me a present for being a good boy. And do you know what? That's fine, that is absolutely fine with me. I've no objection to that in the slightest. I know from the look on Hetty's face that she has twisted Vance's arm to get him to agree to letting me have this car and she knows that I know – and that's fine. Well, seeing as how Hetty is my official next of kin, why shouldn't she spoil me a bit? She might be the world's most unlikely fairy godmother, but that woman has a heart of gold, careful hidden away behind armour-plating.
My leg is still a bit stiff, but there is nothing that's going to stop me driving this car today. The seat feels like it was made for me, like it is cradling me in its grip. And when I turn the engine on, it purrs into life, with a low, throaty roar. This isn't a car – this is sex on four wheels. This is the sort of car that guarantees you are going to get great sex. And talking of great sex, Kensi is standing there, watching as I make final adjustments to the seat and mirrors, so that everything is just perfect. And that's when I realise that this won't be half as much fun without her.
"How about you come with me?" If a thing is worth doing, then it's worth sharing. Do you know, I think I'm getting the hang of this whole business about being a better partner? It's not really that hard after all – in fact, it's not hard at all. Not when your partner is Kensi.
She gets in and gives a little wriggle of happiness. "This is better than your Chevy."
"Way better." I can't resist revving the engine, and you can just feel all that power building up and just waiting to be released. I'm officially in love. And the car isn't bad either.
Callen leans in through the window. "You do know how to drive a stick-shift, don't you Deeks?"
"Learnt to drive using a stick-shift. Back when I was all of twelve." Why don't you go teach Hetty how to suck eggs, Callen? Of course I can drive a manual transmission. Ray only stole the best cars, after all – the expensive imports from Europe, where they regard automatics as sissy. It's something you never forget, so when I engage the clutch and slide the car into first gear, it reacts as smoothly as silk.
"Don't let Kensi drive, whatever you do," Sam yells as I accelerate out of the gates of the Mission and start to make my way towards the freeway so we can see exactly what this car is capable of.
"You're not going to listen to him, are you?" Kensi asks anxiously. I know she's dying to get behind the wheel of the Porsche and I can't blame her. To be honest, Kensi is a terrible driver. I always get the impression she learned to drive in a tank and she's never really realised that she doesn't have to be that aggressive under normal conditions.
"Baby, you can drive my car." She can do whatever she wants. Once I've given her a few lessons, of course. This is a Porsche, after all. But right now the open road is beckoning and we've got the coolest, most amazing car and I can't wait to see what it's going to do. Right now, anything is possible and life seems very good indeed. Life seems almost perfect, if you want the truth.