Who Am I
Chapter 3: Callen
It's late; real late…probably technically morning…but I haven't slept…cant' sleep, and don't want to sleep most nights. If Sam knew that I was existing on less than my usual four hours a night; and that it was only because of super hi-test coffee (that would put even Deeks caffeine addiction to shame) and the job induced adrenalin, that I have been able to function these last six months, he would be in the market for a new partner.
My head is a scary, crowded place. So many nightmares…so many bad memories…so many horrific images seared and branded into my mind. Most of the time I can push all the crap of my past, my childhood…this job, into a box and bury it; not anymore. Not when I face those bad memories and bad choices every single day that I get up and come to work.
The decisions that used to come so easy, the risks I used to be willing to take; both with myself and my team-not so much anymore. This job… It's no secret or surprise, we've all been wrong; been played by our mark…been battered, bruised and beaten…threatened and even taken bullets that had some of us hovering just a little to near death's door. As sad as it is to say, it is part of the business. But none of that…'none of it', compares to knowing it was mydecisions that caused brutal suffering, and near death to the people I call my team…call my friends.
I pull out my wallet and open it to stare at the picture. I've done that so many times in the last several months, trying to carve it into my memory; every line, every nuance…the happy smiles. But I can't. I can't keep the happiness in my memory…only the horrific. My eyes roam the picture…a little girl of eight…she's eying the candles on her birthday cake, a proud and loving papa stooping at his side; an expression so full of love and happiness not even the camera can truly measure it. In the background, almost too small to see because of the photo's size, is one of those bouncy playhouses, a light haired man and ebony woman can be seen to usher excited kids from the inflated toy to the table.
With the picture to guide me I can pull up those memories and with it a gentle smile…Sam's daughter's birthday party. It was a raucous affair…twenty some kids running around on a sugar high. Not normally my cup of tea, as Hetty might comment, but it was family…and I did enjoy it. Seeing Sam and Michelle…alive and happy with their little girl…my honorary "niece. Looking at the picture of the smiling father and daughter I had to viciously wipe away moisture that had suddenly formed in my eyes. That I could have been responsible for taking that memory…that happiness, away from that little girl. It makes me physically ill and sends a wave of anxiety and rage rippling through me.
My eyes settle on the proud papa.
Sam…the man that has been more like a brother to me than a partner. Who, despite his rather rigid ways, still manages to balance me out; still manages to keep me grounded with some semblance of humanity…to not get lost in the games we play. He's a hard man at times, but he is a fair man; a man willing to own up to his mistakes and willing to stand on his principles, even with his back to the wall.
He's let me into his world. He shares the most precious thing he has with me; not out of pity, not out of duty or obligation…but out of genuine compassion. He can't imagine someone not given the opportunity to experience family. So, whether I was of a mind to accept or not, he freely shares his happiness with me. And I don't know if I can ever express my gratitude for that little bit of normalcy he allows me with his family.
And I almost lost that…
My eyes continue to wander over the photo, and I squint to make out fuzzy, background details. I have half a mind to take the photo to Eric to clean up and enlarge…but wouldn't that just raise the tech's eyebrows. No, don't need that kind of scrutiny or questioning looks from my team mates.
So, I squint at the blonde in the background, though too small to see, I know he has a wide open and genuine smile on his face. So much like the kids at the party. I have to wonder, when he sees happy, smiling children, secure in their knowledge that they are safe and loved, what he thinks, what he sees? Regret…remorse…maybe some righteous anger at all the unfairness and insecurity he had to suffer at the hands of his father. Or maybe relief…that these children don't know the horrors of an abusive parent. And the open, smile on his face answers that question and I envy him his ability to get past the horrors and not let those memories mold him into a bitter parody of his father; like I know I let the uncertainty and horrors shape me…to be untrusting, aloof…and alone.
But thoughts of our shared childhood horrors is not what has kept sleep even more elusive to me these many months.
Yes, he's a cop. Yes, he's taken his fair share of hits in the field long before he joined up with us. Despite, his lacksidasical attitude that he presents to the world…the man does know his stuff. I will never dispute his skills…nor that fact that he has picked up and honed skills that would make him a fine agent; but, until that time that he turns in his LAPD badge, he is a civilian.
I do love the little tyke, so much like her daddy it's scary at times. But what really had me smiling that day was Deeks. We came to close to losing him and Sam to Siderov and the aftermath of that whole disastrous op. The detective had come up against things he had never experienced before in all his time as a cop or "liaison"…but perhaps his biggest wound was not from the terror and torture at the hands of a mad man, but from the wounds delivered by his own team. In those weeks the team recuperated…the detective pulled further and further away from us…even Hetty wasn't sure he would return-to us or even to the PD. But, he pulled himself together, drawing on that deep inner strength his childhood had forged in him and he came back to us; only to be dealt a near devastating set-back with the reassignment of his partner. I just shake my head at how fucked our lives have become in the last six months.
I am appalled that he was alone, without any support, when he saw those photos. I know what it did to Sam and I. Had us shaking our heads in stubborn denial, seething with anger that had no outlet and pain that cut us to the core. I can't imagine the shock and pain it must have brought to Deeks to see Kensi's lifeless body…blood surrounding her like a morbid halo. But he pulled it together…kept it together and saved our asses…so it wasn't one of my better ideas, but we were out of options. I haven't really seen the report, and he hasn't offered up any boasts or explanations of exactly how he knew our exact location…how he knew we were in deep shit.
At first, I just chalked it up to the long hard months of Kensi's absence, of still recuperating from Siderov and the off-balance of our team's dynamic. The shock of hearing that Kensi's mission had gone sideways only to be confronted with those photos and then finding out Kensi was alive; finding out that Jack was alive. The awkward phase were all in now as we try, again, to reconnect. Just all of it! But now, weeks later, I'm not so sure. He hasn't been the same since we got back and I can't quite put my finger on why or even how he is different…he's just not Deeks.
He now has this guarded and hooded look that wasn't even there after he come back after Siderov. His demeanor, to those that know him, is more subdued…his words and actions more calculated than natural. Even his "thing" with Kensi seems forced, like it is expected so he goes through the motions…especially after they spent so long with the rogue agent from our last case…I need to watch those interrogation videos…something set both he and Kensi into a tailspin.
Maybe I just need to give him, them…us, more time. It's not like we don't all have major demons to wrestle into a dark recess of our minds…that old wounds, ripped and bloodied, need time to scab over and scar; because, for us, nothing ever really heals…only managed.
For myself…time won't matter. The masks and barriers won't matter. I know what I did…know that I will face the consequences of my decisions everyday…in the haunted faces of my team.