Brotherhood

Chapter 12

...

She scrolled through the photos on her phone for the third time, lingering over the one of Deeks smiling broadly as he came out of the ocean with white surf foaming around his knees. He looked calm and happy, the smile coming so easily and making her miss him even more. Looking down at her cast, she reread the nicknames he had written there before he left, and she was suddenly angry that he would believe she considered him an "option" she could easily dismiss. She had wanted to pull him close in that hospital room, to convince him that she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life, that there was no one else who could fulfill her needs and deepest yearnings the way he did, but the unanswered questions about children just seemed to muddle things up. Why she resisted his need for an answer, she wasn't sure, except she didn't like being pushed to make a decision that would be so life changing for her. She had never liked being cornered, especially not emotionally. Why couldn't he see how difficult it was for her to make that commitment? Why did he feel the need to rush into it? He hadn't even asked her to marry him, and that had made it seem as if he wouldn't want to be with her if she decided against having children. They had the same argument over and over, going round and round the issue and growing no closer to a solution and she hated that, feeling it was all her fault at times or all his at others. Now he was out there undercover in the midst of vicious men who thought nothing of setting a pack of dogs on a man. He had been wounded and she was afraid for him. She could only hope the decision wouldn't be made for them, leaving her alone without the man she loved to the depth of her being.

"Take Pony, Kay Kay," Little Chris said, startling her out of her thoughts as he held the stuffed toy out to her.

Deeks had taught him to call her that, and at first it had bothered her, but now it sounded sweet coming from the little guy that looked so much like his father.

"Sorry Kensi. I told him not to bother you," Di said as she followed him into the living room. "Aunty Kens needs her rest, Sweetie."

"Pony help," he insisted as he started to climb up into her lap where she lay on the sofa.

"It's the one toy he wants when he's not feeling well," Diane said as she reached to pull him away.

"It's okay," Kensi said as the toddler straddled her stomach, causing her to wince and suck in her breath as one of his tiny knees connected with her tender ribs. "I could use the distraction."

"Oh, he's good at that," Di laughed, and Kensi could see the sadness behind it.

"Sounds like he's learned a few new words," she said, as the boy placed the stuffed pony on her chest.

"He's turning into a chatterbox," she replied, her voice dropping as she continued. "Keeps asking for his daddy."

"That's tough. What do you tell him?" Kensi asked.

"Daddy gone bye bye," Chris said with a yawn, slipping down between Kensi and the back of the sofa and cuddling against her.

"Time for his nap. I can take him if you like."

"No, it's okay," she replied. "I could use a hug."

"Me too," Di said softly, her eyes filling with sudden tears.

"Is it okay to talk?" Kensi asked, looking quickly around the room, wary of the bugs Michelle had warned her about.

"Hetty insisted Roger Stinson sweep the whole house clean of any listening devices," she replied, clearly pleased with the victory. "I thought that bastard Slater was going to pee his pants when he was informed. He was mad as hell. Stormed out of here like he had a bee up his ass."

Kensi laughed at the image in her head, happy for her and for George. "Must feel good to know you can finally talk freely."

"First time I've seen George smile since he got here," Di replied. "Heard anymore about Marty? George was really shaken when Elan called to tell him he'd been shot. Is he doing okay?"

"Elan called me again. Wanted to reassure me. The doctor treating Deeks said he would be fine, but I could tell Elan was still upset," Kensi said, slowly running her long fingers through Chris's curly hair.

"He was pissed wasn't he?"

"Yeah he was," Kensi smiled at her perceptiveness. "Frustrated too. He hated that he couldn't be there to help. Deeks had lost a lot of blood, and it scared him. Didn't trust the doctor either."

"Why?"

"Said he couldn't tell me that. Hetty's orders."

"George got so quiet," Diane said softly. "There was so much pain on his face and neither one of us could do anything to make the other one feel better. It's like he was holding his breath...waiting, you know?...like me...and like you. Kens...it's like we're expecting bad news now."

"Please don't lose hope..."

"I hate this," she snapped angrily. "I hate not knowing where Joe is and now Marty's wounded. How can you be so damn calm?"

"I'm not really, but I'm sort of used to it. Doesn't mean I'm not worried," Kensi replied. "I'm scared to death to be honest. Just like you. They're going to find him, Di. They won't come home until they do."

"I'm so sorry Marty got hurt," Diane whispered, dropping her head down, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Joe will hate that he got shot because of him."

"It wasn't Joe's fault, Di. We face the same danger every day. It comes with the job."

"Is that why you're afraid to have children?"

"I'm not afraid," Kensi snapped without thinking. "Sorry...We've been having lots of arguments about kids."

"He talks to Joe about it sometimes," Di said quietly. "Me too, but he doesn't always like what I have to say."

"I know he wants what you and Joe have, but I'm not sure that's me," Kensi said, as Chris clutched her shirt in his small fist as he slept. "Everything would change."

"It might change anyway," Di said. "No decision is still a decision."

"Did you always want kids?" Kensi asked softly, staring down at little Chris.

"Honestly, I didn't think much about it. I was happy. Loved my job. Loved being independent until I fell in love with Joe," she replied. "Having a kid just seemed like a natural outcome of our love for each other."

"That's what Deeks says," Kensi said.

"I know you said you're not afraid, Kensi...but you are," Di said. "You're afraid you'll be damned if you do and damned if you don't. You think he'll leave you if you don't agree and afraid you'll grow unhappy if you do and resent him because he pushed you into something you weren't ready for. But you have to find out what else you're afraid of, because it's not just your fear of losing Deeks. It's something else. Something deeper."

"I thought you were just a physical therapist," Kens said with wide eyes.

"We learn to care for all aspects of our patients' health, and that includes their emotional state...not to mention that I've watched you two together for awhile now. Sorry to break it to you, but neither one of you is that hard to read," Diane smiled. "It's just you and me, Kensi. George and Michelle won't be back for a few hours, so if you want to get into it, I'm here. We can hash out anything you want. You can curse and scream for all I care. I'll join you. You're pissed. I can feel it. So am I. You're like a sister to me, Kens...so say whatever you want. It won't go past this room."

"Unless Hetty put in a few bugs of her own," Kensi said, looking around as if she expected to find some.

"If anyone would understand your concerns it would be Hetty," Di said with a laugh. "I have a feeling she's made a lot of personal sacrifices in her life and not having children was undoubtedly one of them."

"You're probably right."

"So...stiff drink or coffee?" Diane asked as she got up. "Oops, sorry...forgot you were on some serious pain meds."

"Do you have any ice cream?"

"If you ever do have kids, they're going to love your sweet tooth," Di laughed as she headed for the kitchen.

The little boy nestled against her side, his small body warm and comforting. He made soft, almost mewing sounds in his sleep and a tiny bubble formed on his lips. It made Kensi smile and she slid down lower and tucked him up closer, marveling at the softness of his skin. She felt a sudden urge to touch his plump little fingers, but was afraid it would wake him, settling instead for pulling his blue and white striped top down to cover his little belly button. Deeks had bought him the shirt for his second birthday, and it had a graphic of a tiny red surfboard on the front. Deeks never had a problem bonding with kids of any age and they all responded to that smile of his. He was a natural and she had no doubt that he would be an incredible father, one completely the opposite of his own.

Diane was right. She was afraid of something other than losing Deeks or losing her job. She questioned her own ability to connect with a child the way Deeks did. She was a "daddy's girl". He was the one she had always emulated. She prided herself on being like him, not her mother. Deep down, her fear was that she would end up being more like her mother than her dad.

"Three scoops...two chocolate, one coffee," Diane said, handing her the bowl and spoon.

"Whipped cream's a nice touch," Kensi said appreciatively before sliding a spoonful into her mouth.

"You deserve to be pampered," Di said as she settled back in her chair and began delicately eating her own.

"My mother tried to take me away from my father when I was a little girl," she said haltingly, poking at her ice cream. "She just packed up the car and we drove away. When she told me we were never going back...I screamed at her. I told her I hated her and then I waited until she was in the bathroom at the motel and I ran."

"And you're afraid you'll be like her if you have a child."

"What if I already am?" Kensi asked. "What if I end up doing the same thing? She never came back, Di. She didn't fight for me. She just kept on going. She ran from me. Not just my dad. From me."

"Kensi...From what I've heard, you've never run from anything in your life."

"Even after my dad was killed I heard nothing from her," Kensi spoke softly, absently swirling the melting ice cream. "She didn't want me, Di, and I wonder now if she ever really did."

"Is that your fear? That you won't love your own child?" Diane asked gently. "Have you told Deeks?"

"I told him once that if I were ever to lose him I would be sorry that I didn't have a tiny piece of him to hold on to and to love," she said, letting her tears overflow. "Is that a good enough reason to have a child? It sounds so selfish."

"It isn't," she said gently. "When I look at Christopher now, he reminds me so much of Joe it's almost painful. I love Joe with all my heart and I always will, whether he comes home or not. But Chris is a piece of us both. The best of both of us and there are no words to express how much I love that little boy you're holding."

She stood and walked over and picked up her son, wrapping him in her arms and he snuggled against her.

"Your child won't just be a piece of Marty," she said through her tears. "He'll be a part of you too, Kensi. A child you carried inside of you for nine long months. The two of you will have created a unique person. A child forever connected to both of you. And if I know anything about you Kensi Blye, I know you will love your child just as fiercely as you love Marty, because you don't know how to do things any other way."

...

Sam fidgeted with the thick knot of his dark blue tie as he waited for the elevator. The collar of the gray, silk dress shirt constricted the anger that rose in his throat, the news about what had happened still unsettling. It was frustrating to be stuck in New Orleans when Deeks was lying wounded somewhere out in the boonies, surrounded by men who would kill him without a second thought, with a partner he was pretty sure was pissed and right on the edge of doing something stupid. He'd insisted that Roy repeat everything Callen had said verbatim, and then grilled Elan about how he'd sounded emotionally, until the big Arapaho said something softly under his breath in his own language, making him realize he might have pushed too hard and been slightly unreasonable in his questions. He knew how Callen got when someone hurt Deeks, and it had eased his mind somewhat when he was told his partner had killed the man who shot him. Callen was usually quite dispassionate, but not when it came to the man he had finally come to accept as his true brother. To say he was over-protective would be an understatement. It was why Hetty had sent him along on overwatch. But it was also Hetty who had not allowed him to speak directly to Callen after the shooting, and that had made him mad. She'd insisted he needed to concentrate on his own undercover assignment as Frank Goodman of the DOJ, telling him getting caught up in what Deeks and Callen were doing would be a distraction they could ill afford at this time. He'd been sent all the information Nell and Eric had gathered on Eliot Dale, but they could find nothing that connected him to anyone on the New Orleans Task Force. The information was troubling and made his undercover assignment that much tougher. He would be on a scouting mission that would need all of his attention in reading the personalities of the men and women he was about to encounter, and Hetty had known that.

He straightened his tie once again as the elevator arrived at the top floor of a four-story brick building in the Warehouse District. The task force was the lone tenant on the floor, so he walked straight out of the elevator and up to the front desk, which looked to be constructed from steel I-beams and aged copper. The woman behind the imposing desk was imposing in her own right, black and incredibly attractive, and who eyed him sharply as he approached.

"Can I help you?" She asked, her voice sultry and with no hint of a Southern accent.

"Franklin Goodman of the DOJ, National Security Division," he said firmly, although he couldn't help but smile at the woman. "I'm here to meet with the director."

"Do you have an appointment?" She asked.

"I'm pretty sure he's expecting me," Sam said warmly. "And if he needs confirmation he can call the Attorney General. Now, let him know I'm here...please."

"Did they give you a badge?" She asked flippantly.

"And a very high security clearance," he said easily as he held up his fake ID.

She glared at him for a flash of a second, but his smile must have finally overcome her natural reserve. She kept her eye on him as she called her boss, while he looked around the ultra modern space that looked the opposite of most government offices.

"This space was originally home to a failed dot com company," she said as if reading his mind. "It was cheaper for the task force just to keep the look."

"I'm not here about your expenses," he replied.

"I imagine not," she said, her voice softening. "If I can help you with anything, please let me know."

"Are you talking about restaurants or inside information?"

"Emeril's is a couple of blocks over," she replied, her eyes calculating. "Order the rack of lamb."

"That the only thing on the menu?" He asked, hoping she wouldn't misconstrue his meaning.

"It is right now," she replied. "Unless I've read you wrong, and you make me kick your ass."

"Happily married man," he said, huffing out a laugh. "And I'm pretty sure you know exactly what I was referring to."

"Anybody ever tell you you're full of yourself?"

"You're not the regular secretary are you?"

"Lila's out sick and I got the short stick," she replied. "FBI Agent Safa Jordan."

"You're not from around here are you?" He asked, warming to the woman's demeanor, and flirting just a bit.

"That all you got? You actually got someone to marry you with that weak stuff you're pushin'?"

"I just noticed you have no accent," he laughed. "And my wife is tougher than the both of us."

"Asked to be transferred to New Orleans after my brother got drafted by the Saints," she finally offered.

"Bet you get good seats on game day," he said.

"He's a pushover," she laughed. "He's my baby brother and he knows not to cross me."

"I got a feelin' most men don't cross you," Sam said with respect.

"Most don't even try," he replied.

"Now that's a real shame," he said, smiling widely at the woman.

"You here to clean house?" She asked, suddenly quite serious.

"If there's anyone you think should be gone you let me know," growing serous himself.

"I'm not a rat," she said in a low, warning voice.

"Somebody was."

"That someone wasn't from around here either," she said sullenly. "I saw the bulletin on the traitor everyone in the bureau is looking for. Joe Atwood. Turned on his own partner and got him killed. He's the rat."

Sam found it hard not to blow his own cover as he watched the woman's face twist in disgust as she spoke Joe's name. He wanted nothing more than to defend the honorable man he knew, but now wasn't the time. This woman might eventually help him, so he kept his face solemn and nodded.

"He might not be the only one," he warned. "So if you are suspicious of anyone I expect your cooperation. I need that from you."

He saw her look around her for the first time, and saw the nervousness that hadn't been there before. She was definitely worth talking to again. He could see it in the way she stared back at him, unable to keep the emotion from her face. She knew something. All he had to do was encourage her to help. She read people well and she knew the staff and the members of the task force. He needed her to cooperate and he needed to talk to her in private.

"Interested in joining me for dinner?" He asked, smiling again. "It's my first day in a new town. New restaurant. You could walk me through the menu. Tell me what's good, other than the lamb, of course. I'm buyin'."

"Damn right you are," she said quickly, a relieved smile flashing briefly, but he could see the intelligence in her final expression. "Emeril's at nine. Tell 'em Cameron sent you."

"What position your baby brother play?" He asked as he saw the director walking toward him with a couple of men.

"Defensive end," she replied. "Looks like you played a little football yourself."

"Wide receiver," he said, hoping Eric was still listening in on comms and adding that to his legend.

"Mr. Goodman? I'm Director Harrison White. This is Special Agent Colin Murphy of Homeland Security and Special Agent Bryce Overton, our counterterrorism analyst."

"Gentlemen. I'm assuming you have a private conference room we can use?" Sam asked, looking each man over with a critical eye.

"Of course. Follow me," White said, sounding slightly affronted by his sharp tone.

Eric came on comms as he walked between workstations toward a wall of multi-paned windows. The tech reiterated the information he'd shared with Sam during his drive into the city, giving him a brief synopsis on each of the men he was with, highlighting their impressive records and pointing out the reprimand in Overton's personnel file. None of them seemed the type to betray their country or the people they worked with, but Sam couldn't let that blind him, so he kept his mind sharp as he was ushered into a glass enclosed room dominated by a smart board and a large table with four laptops strategically placed. They were ready for him, so he decided to immediately go on the offensive.

"Which one of you was Joe Atwood's handler?"

"I thought this was about the mole, Peter Sawyer?" Director White said quickly, his eyes going dark under his bushy gray eyebrows.

"This is about a lot of things, gentlemen," Franklin Goodman boomed out as only Sam Hanna could. "Washington is calling this a clusterfuck, as my immediate superior noted before I left, and they won't settle for anymore bullcrap coming out of this task force. Now, unless you all want to be working out of North Dakota for the foreseeable future, tell me who was handling Joe Atwood? Someone here had to be his FBI contact."

"None of us knew who Joe Atwood was until Sawyer was outed," Overton said. "All we were told was that Atwood was a traitor working with the terrorists and The Brotherhood. Then a few days later a special ops team swooped in and arrested Sawyer in his office."

"Seems no one has very good investigative skills around here," Goodman said smugly.

"Joe Atwood is a traitor who has nothing to do with this task force," Colin Murphy of Homeland Security said, obviously irritated. "We are a disciplined team of men and women dedicated to tracking down these terrorists and shutting down The Brotherhood."

"Really? Then explain how a mole was working right under your noses delivering classified information to the terrorists you're trying to bring down," Frank Goodman railed at them. "And while you're at it, explain how this so-called well oiled task force had someone you are refusing to name, handling an FBI undercover agent inside The Brotherhood who is now being hunted as a traitor and who was supposedly working with those same terrorists. Do you know how bad this really looks in DC? All of your careers are on the line here, so who the hell knew FBI agent Joe Atwood was undercover in The Brotherhood?"

"We don't know," Director White admitted sheepishly.

"I don't think I believe you director," Frank Goodman said, anger settling into the bottom of his stomach.

"Are you accusing us of lying?" Murphy growled, his face growing red as he clinched his fist on the table.

"You're either incredibly easy to fool or you're lying and it doesn't really matter which," Goodman said coldly. "Believe me when I tell you...this will not look good on any of your records. So think real hard about who his contact here might have been and when I come back tomorrow I want an answer or I'm personally interviewing every single member of this task force."

"What reason could we possibly have to lie to you?" Overton asked, his hazel eyes wide behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Embarrassment? Trying to cover up you're own incompetence," Franklin Goodman piled it on, watching for any telltale response that might reveal who had betrayed Joe.

"Your comments are outrageous," the director said as he pushed back his chair and stood, almost shaking with anger.

"You can't really believe what you're saying," Overton said, looking baffled as he stared at him.

"Then give me a reason not to," Goodman shot back. "To be perfectly honest, this task force is a disgrace."

Colin Murphy was on his feet immediately and looked ready to take a swing at Sam and might have if Overton hadn't taken his arm.

"I'll be speaking with your superior, Mr. Goodman," Director White said haughtily as he started to leave. "Your comments are unacceptable and way out of line."

"Here's her private number," he replied. "Enjoy your conversation. I'll see you gentlemen tomorrow."

Sam turned and smiled inwardly at the turmoil he'd created. Hopefully it would get a rise out of more than just these three.

"Interesting tactic, Mr. Hanna," Hetty said tersely in his ear. "I fear it's quite possible I will be in need of ear plugs when Director White finally calms down enough to call. Hopefully you've stir the hornets' nest just enough. I have a call in to Roger Stinson. I believe he knows who Joe's handler was and he's going to tell me whether he wants to or not. I'll let you know as soon as I have something."

...

Having decided to arrive at the restaurant a little early, he sat quietly at the bar and observed the scene. He was wearing a button cam and had Nell in his ear tonight, watching for anyone who might be on the task force. She had been going through the files of many of the top level agents and was familiar with their faces, and using a specific facial rec program she and Eric had developed that would scan through the task force's personnel files if they needed to. Sam sat at the bar savoring a fine Argentine Malbec, his phone close to his ear so those around him would assume he was talking on it while he asked Nell questions over comms.

"How's our boy doing?" He asked.

"The same as he was an hour ago," she said, and he had to smile at her scolding tone. "Deeks is on his feet and making jokes about their new location as you might imagine. Lots of corny references to Deliverance, but..."

"But what? What's wrong? Is it G?"

"Calm down, Sam," she chided. "They just seem a bit nervous. The men in camp are real hard-core militants. The news that they saved Guidry's life preceded them, so they are trusted and being shown some deference, but Callen is worried that when they do locate Joe Atwood, these men will kill him before they can stop them. Deeks went silent after that. Not even Callen could get him to say anything."

"I'm wondering if he should have been on this assignment at all," Sam said. "He's too close to it."

"You know he would have just gone rogue if Hetty had tried to keep him here," she reminded him.

"I know," he replied. "Hetty get a name from Stinson?"

"I won't repeat her exact words, but that would be a big 'no' followed by a long line of expletives."

"She got any idea why he won't reveal it?"

"I believe she is attempting to go over his head on that one."

"As only Hetty can."

"So your date tonight is kinda hot," Nell teased. "Does Michelle know about your little clandestine meeting?"

"Are you trying to blackmail me?" Sam smiled.

"Remember I can hear everything and pretty much see everything too," she replied. "Don't steam up Hetty's button cam."

"That ain't happenin'," he said with a light chuckle as he saw Safa walk in the front door. "Gotta go...she's here."

She spotted him immediately and headed his way, and he heard Nell do a wolf whistle in his ear. Safa's hair was loose, in a natural Afro that framed her face, her eyes darkly made up and her lips a deep red, making him wonder if she was going to try and seduce him. It certainly got his guard up.

"I think she likes you," Nell sing-songed.

"You are one hell of a good looking woman," Sam said to Safa as she stopped in front of him.

"Hungry?" She asked in her sultry voice, making him unsure if that was a come-on or a legitimate question.

"I hope you're referring to the rack of lamb," he replied, feeling slightly off balance.

"What else?" Her eyebrows raised and smiling seductively as if mocking him.

"Can I buy you a drink before dinner?" He asked quickly.

"I have a bottle of wine waiting in our private room," she said and turned, sashaying away, beckoning him to follow.

He was fairly sure if he was being played, and got the distinct feeling she was working him for information as much as he was trying to work her. She was good too. The question in his mind was why and for whom. The private room was way in the back, with one large round table set for two. He saw her tip the waiter before he poured the dark red wine, none of it lost on Nell as she told him to be careful. He grunted his acknowledgement and plastered a huge smile on his face as she handed him one of the glasses of wine, expertly swirling her own.

"What are we drinking?" He asked.

"Brunello di Montalcino," she replied, holding her glass up in a toast.

"Should pair well with the lamb," he said before sniffing the deep red liquid with appreciation.

"You're a connoisseur," she noted. "What else are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"The men you met with this afternoon had quite a few names for what they think you are," she replied, her eyes now hard and inquisitive. "None of them very nice."

"Which one of them do you answer to?"

"You think this is a set up?"

"Isn't it?" He replied, his smile fading. "You definitely have some agenda tonight."

"Maybe I simply find you attractive," she replied, but they both knew she was lying.

"Or you were sent to find out what my agenda is, and if I'm a danger to you," he said calmly. "The whole sexy seduction thing is kind of a tip off. Old school. You're good at it and I would normally appreciate your skill, but I really don't have the time to let it play out. Now...who set this up?"

"Who the hell are you?" She asked coldly. "Cause you're definitely not DOJ."

"Who told you that?" He asked, setting his wine down as Nell alerted him she was pulling the woman's file.

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," she said with a smile, setting her own glass down.

"Old school jokes too. Okay. Let's say you could try and kill me. Why do you want to?" His hand sliding behind his back to grip his gun.

"Because I don't trust anyone right now, especially someone who walks in and throws the task force into turmoil," she said, her dark eyes piercing even in the low light.

"Did I disrupt someone's plans?" He asked, pulling his weapon and holding it where she could see it. "You in touch with the men running the mole, Peter Sawyer?"

"You think I'm working with the terrorists?" She asked, her surprise real.

"Are you?"

"Who's asking?" She demanded defiantly.

"Did you know Joe Atwood was undercover with The Brotherhood?" Sam asked, growing tired of their dance.

"What happens if I say yes?" She asked quietly.

"Do you think he's a traitor like they say?"

"Do you?" She asked.

"I asked you first."

He saw a slight sag in her shoulders and he knew he had bested her. He saw a hint of resignation, but also defeat and he thought she probably hated that feeling.

"Joe Atwood is one of the most dedicated field agents I have ever met. He's honest and brave and I think the charges against him are a sack of shit," she said, sounding relieved and looking defiant. "If that opinion costs me my job then so be it."

"You were his handler," Sam said softly, tucking his gun behind his back.

"Oscar Doucet's too," she admitted, tears suddenly standing in her eyes. "Now will you tell me who you are?"

"Special Agent Sam Hanna," he replied. "I work for NCIS, Office of Special Projects in LA. Our team has been authorized by Terrance Rigby, head of the National Joint Terrorism Task Force to find Joe Atwood."

"He's not a traitor," she said fiercely.

"We know."

"How?"

"Because he's our brother," he said softly. "We're here to bring him home safe and clear his name. Can you help us do that?"

"Whatever it takes," she said, lifting her glass to join Sam in a toast to their new partnership.

...

...