"Who Am I"
Whether in the dead of night or the scorching light of day, a cacophony of disjointed and surreal images, overwhelming anxiety, and cold rage constantly wash over and through him as his mind continually assaults him with these phantasms of the last six months of his life…at this point he doesn't know anymore what's real and what's not; all he does know is that he is always, always angry…and always…afraid.
…the torture he endured at the hands of Siderov; the reeling fear, the wrenching pain, the helplessness and uncertainty that followed…it is now a constant companion riding just under the surface.
…and the torture he…what he did-for the sake of his…; he shook his head, as that cold terror and mindless rage of those last few hours in Afghanistan tore through him, threatening to drive him to the very precipice of his sanity. It staggered him what he now found himself capable off…whether for friend, lover or country, to him the reasons didn't matter. All that matters is the sickening terror it has left behind.
He looks down at his hands and contemplates with an almost clinical detachment. Yes, these hands have lashed out…marred flesh, drawn blood, caused pain. Yes, these hands have even killed-pulling a trigger and ending more than one life…was it justified? He always thought so…he was doing the work of the law. Evil, selfish people had to be stopped for the greater good of society. He had to do for the helpless what was never done for him, he had to know that it mattered. It was a messy and unpleasant affair, at times, to bring in the "bad guy". Not pleasant, but necessary…and the situations often gave him little option or leeway for mercy…where innocents were involved.
Innocence…he didn't even know what that was anymore. He vaguely recalled the team talking about the young girl that tried to kill them; how her innocence was used and twisted. At one time he would have supported Sam one hundred percent in his quest to help the girl. Now…now, he wasn't so sure. If another innocent girl stood between him and…he shook his head again, he didn't want to go down that road.
And mercy…justice…what exactly made actions "justified"? His actions did save his partner…did, in fact, save the team; hell, to read the mission reports-it saved the mission.
"The Mission". His mind played over the disjointed pieces of "the mission": to locate and save who…"Jack"-his mind spit the name. Another phantom that had haunted him these few years, haunted his partner and kept her trapped in the past, unable to really move forward…to trust. It would be so, so easy to direct all his rage towards "Jack"…even towards Hetty, for putting Kensi and the team in such an untenable situation.
But a small part of him, that part that made him such a good cop and a good man, rebelled at the idea. As with the girl, Jack, too, was a victim in all of this: and Hetty was doing what she always did-looking out for her own and what she believed was her responsibility, in her own twisted, master spy kind of way. So his rage had nowhere to go.
He looks at his hands again…turns them over and over as he contemplates his actions in that little hut. It wasn't Max or Sully or any of the dozens of alias's and covers he had donned like a second skin through his years as a cop, detective and part time NCIS liaison…
No, the man who had wrapped that towel around an old, blind man's face; who had, in a manic and terrified rage, poured that bucket of water over the squirming and terrified man was none other than Martin Deeks…and that revelation alone left him more staggered and unbalanced than anything he had ever experienced in his entire life. Monica's accusations coming back to him in stark clarity…who was really responsible? Who was really behind the alias…the name; no matter which one was given.
He thought he knew evil…knew ruthlessness… Thought by now he had seen everything. He never really and truly understood the implications of the phrase…'the end justifies the means', until now. And again he wonders…who decides what is 'justified'? Would he…could he, actually do something so extreme again…was he justified; or was the cost too high this time…how do you weigh one life against another…
In another life, he thought he had that answer…