Brotherhood

Chapter 27

...

Callen stared solemnly out the window of the hospital at the diffused glow of the sleeping city. It was a night without a moon, the stars swallowed by the black sky, reflecting the emptiness he was feeling. The others had left hours ago to get some rest at Safa's place, but he remained, unwilling to leave his brother to sleep alone.

Everything that had happened to Deeks had been while he'd been safely back at camp dreaming as he slept unawares. He found it hard to forgive himself for that, even though Sam had talked long and hard to convince him he couldn't have done any more than they'd been able to. He sensed all their guilt, even the hint of it in Hetty's voice, Elan unable to hide his except when Deeks looked at him. Why he thought it necessary to do that he had no idea, but Elan had always been intuitive about Deeks' response to others' guilt over what he was going through. Callen knew that too, but this time he couldn't let it go, and Deeks had called him on it after the others had left. His own anger had exploded, leading him to spew out threats about what he wanted to do to Pierce and White and the others. Deeks had simply watched him, his eyes wide in surprise at his vehemence. Then he had smiled and laughed, which had been quite disconcerting and humbling, finally silencing him. Deeks had a natural inclination to make jokes about almost everything, but he was stunned when he began making fun of himself and the supposed seduction by Jacqueline Bennet. He'd tried hard not to see the humor in the scenes his brother parodied, but finally warmed to Deeks' self deprecating humor and let his anger fade. Even though he could read the underlying rage his brother covered so well, he kept that knowledge to himself, seeing no need to upset him and cause him to relive any part of the painful interrogation that had followed.

A soft murmur from the bed scattered his thoughts and he turned back to try and comfort him if a nightmare had taken hold. The bedclothes became tangled as Deeks writhed in distress, fighting his interrogators in the darkness of his unconscious mind.

"It's okay, brother," Callen said softly as he squeezed his shoulder. "You're safe."

The unexpected sound of the door opening made him jerk to attention, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun tucked behind his back. Antoine Guidry stood silhouetted against the dim light from the hall, his hulking form dark and foreboding, and Callen wanted nothing more than to shoot him where he stood. Deeks suddenly cried out in his sleep, and the man moved swiftly to the other side of the bed and gripped his brother's shoulder, whispering something in Cajun he didn't quite catch. Deeks froze, his hands rigid as they held the sheet against his chest, and Callen prepared himself in case he unknowingly revealed who he really was.

"I'm Jimmy...I'm Jimmy Hale..." He began to mumble.

Guidry's face was barely visible in the darkness of the room, but Callen heard a low growl come from deep in his chest, as the man rested his rough hand on Deeks' forehead as if seeking signs of a fever. The gentle gesture surprised him.

"What de shoot 'im up wid?" He asked.

"Somethin' called scopolamine mixed with chloroform and somethin' else," Jake reported. "Lots of it. Died once while they worked on 'im. They said he was lucky."

"Shoulda shot dos bastards when I had de chance," he said.

"I woulda killed the sonsabitches, if I'd been there," Jake said coldly. "Jimmy's the only family I got."

"Dem couyons disrespected me doin' dis."

"Don't think those assholes care. I won't trust 'em again, and neither should you," Jake warned.

"Don't tell me what ta do, Jake," the man growled.

"Hey...what's going on?" Deeks said as he woke, looking around in confusion.

"Boss Guidry here to see ya, kid," Jake said in the low, hard voice of his alias.

"Really?" Jimmy asked honestly.

"You part of de family, boy," Guidry said. "Now tell me what dem bastards did to ya."

Jimmy looked up at Jake and then back at Guidry before reaching for a cup of water on the side table. There were questions in his eyes, but his jaw tightened as he settled back into his alias. He turned the light up to a muted glow and raised the angle of the bed until he was comfortable. Starting at the beginning, he made a couple of crude jokes at Jacqueline Bennet's expense, but stopped after telling how he was handcuffed and tied down. From then on, his narrative became halting and disjointed as he tried to recall their comments, but rushing with anger when he told of the beat downs when he failed to answer quickly enough. When he finished what he could remember he looked exhausted, and laid his head back and closed his eyes.

"They're gonna kill us all, boss," he said without energy. "They didn't think I'd remember that, but I do. I heard what they said. After we do what they want, they're gonna send in Feds to raid the camps and shoot us all to hell."

Guidry's hand shot out and grabbed Jimmy by the neck, his fingers clawing into his throat and his face now just inches away.

"Dis de truth, boy?" He asked gruffly. "Don't ya lie ta me, or I'll cut your fuckin' throat."

Callen slowly pulled his gun, and rested it on the railing of the bed where Guidry could see it. "My brother's got no reason to lie. Now, let 'im go."

He wasn't sure how this had come to a head so quickly, and not even sure Deeks was fully aware of what he'd done. None of the team had agreed that Guidry should be told, but now that he had been they were all flying by the seat of their pants.

"Don't you go up against me, Jake. Y'all both gonna lose if ya do."

"Thought we was family," Jake said with irritation, not backing down at all. "Those assholes don't give a shit about any of us. You neither. They're just usin' The Brotherhood ta do their dirty work, boss."

"They called you a dumb hick," Jimmy said, and Callen realized he was winging it. "Said you was the perfect scapegoat. Not sure what that is, but it don't sound good."

"Who call me dat?" Guidry asked, releasing Jimmy and gripping the railing with both hands.

"Harrison White and the woman. They was laughin', too," he replied. "What's it mean, sir?"

Deeks had changed his voice, sounding young and inexperienced, and Guidry fell for it, even smiling at his false innocence.

"Stakin' me out ta take all de blame, mon fils," Guidry replied. "Dey take us down and go scot-free."

"They're traitors to the cause...ain't they sir," Jimmy said. "Don't seem right."

"Dey done fucked wid the wrong Cajun," Guidry said under his breath.

"What ya gonna do about it, boss?" Jake asked.

"Make 'em sorry dey ever been born," he replied in a gruff whisper. "I'll send Prou for y'all in de mornin'. We got plans ta make."

"What if the doctor won't release him?" Jake asked, worried it was too soon.

"Don't fuckin' matter. Your brother a tough sonofabitch," Guidry said with a quick smile. "You be ready like I say. No time ta waste layin' around."

"We'll be ready, sir," Jimmy said.

"We gonna make 'em pay for what de did to ya, mon fils," Guidry promised. "Already got Doc Mouton. Got dat weasel Eliot, too. We gonna have a little fun wid 'em tomorrow."

Callen felt chilled by his words and put a hand on Deeks' arm, feeling his muscles tighten with tension. Even after all the doctor had put Deeks through, he didn't want to watch the old man suffer under Guidry's hand. He felt adrift, unsure if there was anything they could possibly do to change what was sure to happen to the man. Would it really be for the greater good for the doctor to be tortured and killed? Could they both live with such an act of vengeance? They had come to stop all of these men from an act of terrorism, but now they both had become part of it all. Arresting a man was one thing, but becoming complicit in his agonizing death left him feeling unsettled and trapped, questioning his own morals.

"Have to see the doctor before he'll sign me out," Jimmy said. "He comes 'round about ten. Prou can come for us after that."

Callen sucked in a breath at Deeks' sudden arrogance, but Guidry simply nodded and lightly slapped his cheek.

"Be good ta have ya back, boy," the man said before turning and walking back out the door without another word.

Neither one said a thing for several minutes, the room so silent they could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall at the end of the bed.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Deeks whispered, rubbing his hands over his face and back through his hair.

"Drink a little water," Callen said quietly, feeling somewhat nauseous himself.

Deeks' hand trembled as he held the cup to drink, and Callen finally took it from him. This assignment had taken a toll on both of them, but Deeks looked deeply shaken and Callen worried that he might not be able to continue. He didn't want to underestimate him, but the thought of him falling apart in the middle of The Brotherhood camp was a concern. It could put the whole mission at risk, and their lives as well.

"You lied to Hetty didn't you?" He finally said. "You're not even close to being physically ready for all this."

"But I don't have a fuckin' choice, do I?" He snapped back.

"You ready to watch that old man ripped to shreds by dogs or gators or whatever else that depraved bastard can think up?"

"Are you?" Deeks choked out. "Is anybody? Shit, G. I don't want to go back there. My skin crawls every time that crazy sonofabitch touches me, but what else can we do? We have to play this out. Going back is the only way."

"And you don't think you rushed things just a little by telling him Pierce was gonna massacre The Brotherhood?" Callen asked, trying hard not to completely lose his temper. "That wasn't your call, brother. It's Hetty's."

"Hetty ain't here," Deeks growled, sounding exactly like Jimmy Hale.

"You're right," he conceded. "But she's still gonna be pissed, and you know how she gets when she's pissed."

"I know, okay? But I'm tired as hell, G. And to be honest, I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up," Deeks confessed. "I need it to be over, brother. The sooner the better."

Callen's anger faded away at his honesty and he gripped his shoulder, sorry he had chastised him. "Me too, kid, but you spilling the beans doesn't give us much time to figure out who else in Washington is involved."

"But Eliot and Doc Mouton sure as hell must know," he reasoned. "All we have to do is find a way to get them to tell us."

"Think you can get Guidry to give us a little alone time with those two?" Callen asked.

"If I kiss his ass enough he might," Deeks said softly with a quick, but sad grin.

"Quoi que ce soit pour un fils," he said under his breath.

"What's that?"

"It means 'anything for a son'," Callen replied softly. "That's how he thinks of you now."

"Seriously? A few minutes ago, the sonofabitch told me he'd cut my throat if I was lying to him," Deeks said. "Not exactly something a Father of the Year would say."

"Must be some of that tough love you hear so much about," Callen smirked.

"Been there, done that, got the T-shirt," he said a little sadly.

"He likes Jimmy," Callen said as he slumped into a chair. "Use it. Get us time alone with Mouton and Eliot so we can finish this."

"Yes, boss," Deeks said wearily, but he grinned at the end.

"Now go back to sleep, little brother," Callen ordered firmly. "You still look like crap."

"Just hope I don't feel like it when I wake up," he replied, ending it with a yawn.

Callen waited until he was snoring before he pulled the phone Sam had left with him. Walking out into the hall so as not to disturb Deeks, he found a quiet sitting area by a window and sat down to call Hetty. His report was greeted with disbelief and a rigid anger he let her vent without a response. He explained their new plan and she agreed it might bear fruit, but she was not happy, and he knew Deeks would be in for one of Hetty's stiff reprimands when this mission was over. She admonished him as well, reminding him he was the senior agent, and that left him defensive and annoyed.

"Guidry cares about him, Hetty. He'll do things for him now, that he won't do for me. Deeks has good instincts and you're just going to have to trust us both."

"Then you both better not screw this up," she charged. "I don't want to explain to George Atwood that he got one son back only to lose his other two."

Her remark stunned him. He never thought of George as his father, and was surprised she did. He admired him and gravitated towards him whenever he was at the ranch, but his father? No. His real father was somewhere in Russia, and he never wanted anyone to take his place, even a man he respected as much as George Atwood.

"And take care, Mr. Callen, and tell Mr. Deeks to do the same," she replied. "That man's a shrewd, immoral devil."

"I don't think I have to tell Deeks that, Hetty," Callen replied. "You've never been in the same room with Guidry. Believe me, Deeks knows the risks, and so do I."

"Watch out for each other, Mr. Callen. The country is counting on you, and so am I."

His conversation with Sam was brief. He simply told him about Guidry's man coming for them and warned them not to show up in the morning. After he hung up he realized how much he missed Sam, a true brother to him for so long. If he or Deeks needed him, he would be there. He always had been, and that gave him immense comfort. Timing was now critical. He could feel the end was close at hand and he suddenly longed for it all to be over, just as much as Deeks. He wanted to see him back to his easygoing nature, laughing and being a wiseass. He was growing tired of being the mean bastard that was Jake Hale, and living a lie. A sudden yearning to be at the Atwood Ranch took hold of him. He longed to relax in the sun by the cold rushing creek, to ride across the open range side by side with men he considered brothers, and to be relieved of the fear that haunted him whenever he saw Guidry look at Deeks with those dark, consuming eyes.

Somehow Joe had managed to stay undercover with the man for over a month, but it had cost him dearly if what Deeks had told him was true. This assignment had caused him to reconsider how he wanted to live the rest of his life, and Callen wondered if it might not have the same affect on Deeks. Guidry kept pulling him closer, and Deeks was disturbed by that, but unable to distance himself without jeopardizing the mission. It had been tough on him and was only going to get tougher. He could read his hatred of the brutality of the man. It was familiar, but Deeks' father paled in comparison. He had to believe his brother was strong enough to navigate the cesspool that was Antoine Guidry, and he had to be strong enough to help him do it.

...

Jimmy Hale was a tough little bastard, at least in the eyes of the man called Prou. He had expressed that small gem when he'd first met them in his room at the hospital. The doctor had tried to talk him out of leaving, but good ol' Prou had told him to fuck off, causing the man to shake his head in what looked like disgust before he quickly left. Once they were in the car headed north, the skinny man didn't talk a whole lot, which Deeks was grateful for, but when he did he'd had to listen to the man's descriptions of how he looked when he and Tino had hauled him away from Pierce's yacht. That unvarnished truth made him queasy and had ignited Callen's rage, and his brother's repeated questions were starting to get on his nerves, eliciting answers he had no interest in hearing. Prou could be quite descriptive and from the backseat he could see the smoke practically coming out of his brother's ears, until he finally used Jimmy Hale's voice to tell them both to shut the hell up. Callen had stared at him for a long moment after that and then cocked his head slightly, acknowledging the reason for his explosive response. After that, the road trip was rather peaceful except for the throbbing headache behind his eyes.

"We comin' into Baton Rouge," Prou announced. "If y'all are hungry, we could stop and grab somethin'."

They both declined and Deeks felt his stomach turn over as they crossed the Mississippi on the interstate, and he looked down on the dock where he's first met Pierce and the sick bastards that surrounded him. He ran his hand up through his long hair, grateful for the hot shower he'd had before breakfast, but now he felt dirty again. He'd been a little shaky on his feet this morning, but he was a lot shakier now, the memories bubbling up with the sudden anger he felt.

"You ain't lookin' so good, Jimmy," Prou said as he looked at him in the rear view mirror. "Don't go throwin' up in my car now, dude. Bought this beauty my first day back from Iraq."

"Maybe we should stop and get a bite to eat," Jake suggested. "Might help, little brother."

Deeks could only nod as dark memories flooded into his mind. He definitely needed a distraction and some roadhouse diner might not be such a bad idea.

"There's a good little BBQ place called Uncle Coot's just up ahead in Grosse Tete," Prou said, smiling widely. "Best chicken around and got a damn pretty waitress."

He silently nodded and rolled the window down, letting the warm air whipping past dry the clammy sweat on his face. His head was swimming by the time they got there, and the concern in Callen's eyes let him know he probably looked as wrung out as he felt. He did manage to snort out a soft laugh at the so-called BBQ joint. It was a ramshackle mess, long and low, painted a sickly, dark pink with a rusted corrugated tin roof and Christmas lights draped under the eaves. The wooden sign on the roof called it a juke joint and a paper flyer nailed to the door flapped in the subtle breeze, announcing the coming appearance of the Lost Bayou Ramblers, which seemed very appropriate considering. He was just thankful they weren't playing today, cause the way his head was pounding, any noise at all, even music, would be intolerable.

He followed his brother inside behind Prou, who was greeted with a shout out from the man behind the bar. The place was almost empty, quiet and dark, mostly illuminated by more multicolored Christmas lights, giving it a look of cheeriness that he wasn't feeling. An old black man with white hair sat in a far corner softly strumming a beat up guitar and humming a melancholy blues tune that fit his mood. Deeks gravitated over to him as Prou and Callen ordered at the bar. He dropped into one of the different colored chairs surrounding a round table close by and buried his face briefly in his hands, hoping the dim light might ease his headache.

"You lookin' poorly, boy," the old man said, his voice low and deep.

"Headache," he croaked in reply.

"I'll sing ya a lullaby blues song my mama taught me," he said even more softly. "Always takes the tension out."

The melody was haunting, the old man picking the slightly out of tune nylon strings in a slow, steady rhythm, humming the sweet song before easing into the words. It was a sad story, that song, but it fit the way he was feeling and the gentle sounds were soothing and did help alleviate some of his pain. He leaned the chair back against the wall and closed his eyes, allowing the moody strains of the old tune to wrap around him and he felt his muscles uncoil as he dropped his head down onto his chest. The melodic, undulating melody made him sleepy, evoking dreams that held no fear. It was only Callen's warm hand on the back of his neck that drew him back to reality.

"How about a little chicken and rice?" Callen asked quietly. "They gave me a handful of aspirin too. I told them you were just out of the hospital and not feeling well."

He looked over to see Prou leaning against the bar with a beer in his hand, trying to charm a cute girl who looked as if she wanted nothing to do with him, not that he noticed. The scene made the day seem normal, not a trip back into hell. A solid looking woman with gray hair piled on top of her head and wearing a flowered apron, was looking him over with a critical eye as she carried a tray of food to their table. She greeted them in a heavy Cajun accent and smiled softly, revealing a gold tooth.

"You take dem aspirins, son," she ordered. "I kin see de pain in dose pretty blue eyes of yours. Chicken won't roil your belly, and de rice'll help calm it a bit."

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied with one of his best and widest smiles.

"My, ain't he a handsome one, Cotton," she said to the old black man.

"'Preciates the blues, too," he replied.

"Better 'preciate Coot's chicken or he'll come on outchere and wanna know why," she laughed.

The food was good and relatively mild as well and the aspirin finally began to work its magic, so he asked Cotton to play another song before they had to leave. The old blues man smiled, the deep wrinkles around his bleary eyes making Deeks wondered just how old he was.

"Now I knows you ain't from 'round here, so I'll do ya one I learn from ol' Gatemouth Brown," he said. "Called 'Long Way Home'."

The slow moving beat relaxed him even more, but the words touched him deeply, making him instantly homesick. His thoughts strayed to Kensi, which was a dangerous place for his mind to be, but as the old man sang he took it for what it was, a rare gift, one he could secretly hold close to his heart. In the rough world he was going back to, he could replay that sad song in his mind when he needed to remind himself who was waiting for him when he got back home. When the song ended he had tears in his eyes, and stood to thank the old man who had eased some of the trouble from his mind.

"Y'all take care now," Cotton said softly. "Looks like y'all been travelin' a hard road. Don't get lost now."

Deeks felt a shiver go down his back, and had no idea what to say to the man in response. Callen offered him a tip, but he refused, telling them he was just here practicing for a gig later that night. Prou was waiting by the door, and he found he didn't want to leave. This place had been a safe haven, a brief respite from the harsh world they were returning to, and he wondered if he was ready for it.

"Come on, brother," Callen whispered as he wrapped an arm around his shoulder and urged him on. "You can do this. It's time."

"Yeah...no...I'm just glad we stopped. It was a good place to catch our breath," he finally replied, raising a hand in a goodbye gesture as he walked back out into the bright heat of the day.

Once in the car and back on the highway, he found himself nodding off, especially when they hit the long bridge over the Atchafalaya Swamp. It looked endless and foreboding, and he shut his eyes against his thoughts and tried to talk himself back into becoming Jimmy Hale again. He felt himself slide that way when Prou pulled off and followed a one-lane road that led to a wide bayou.

"Got us a boat waitin'," Prou said. "Now we follow the water."

It was if his real mind went blank as Jimmy Hale clawed his way out. He felt gnarly, the nasty kind that ended up getting you in trouble. The closer he got to the bayou, the more irritable he became, and Callen watching him carefully was not helping his mood. He stared out at the slow moving brown water, and the sight of it pissed him off just as Prou slapped him on the back.

"Don't fuckin' touch me, asshole," he growled, shoving the man away from him.

"What the hell got into you?" The man asked, looking confused.

"You forget where he's been the last couple of days?" Jake snarled, aggressively backing him up. "Just get in the boat and start the damn motor and let's get movin'."

Prou looked irritated, but nodded as he stepped down onto the dock and untied the boat. "Guess it takes awhile to get over being dead."

For some reason that made Jimmy laugh out loud, which got Jake to smirk and finally join him, both unable to stop laughing as they climbed into the metal boat and sat down.

"Y'all are a couple of weird dudes," Prou said as he started the motor and pulled out.

It was a hot day and there was no escape from the heat or the mosquitos out on the open water. They traveled in silence, seeing only one or two boats as they made their way south, the hours passing slowly until Prou pointed out where they were going. They all welcomed the canopy of trees as he guided the boat through a narrow break in the bank and struck out on a lesser waterway that led to Bayou Chene and the camp. The now familiar sounds of crying birds closed in around them, their high screeching making Jimmy's nerves taut until he was almost vibrating.

"How's your head, brother?" Jake asked softly.

"Too many damn birds," was his only answer.

Once they were on the upper reaches of Bayou Chene, the twists and turns had his head spinning, the damp smell of the swamp making him gag. He saw how worried his brother was, but he was determined not to succumb to the weakness he was experiencing. He couldn't, so he wouldn't.

"How far, Prou," he asked quietly.

"'Bout half an hour," he replied. "But I can cut it a bit if you need me to."

"Do it," Jake said, his blue eyes probing his own.

"I'm okay, Jake," he told him.

"Yeah, right."

Prou seemed to understand and opened the throttle, finally getting them to the now familiar landing next to camp. They were greeted by four heavily armed men and they could see lookouts posted around the perimeter of the camp. It was eerily silent and he could feel the tension crackling in the air. Guidry was preparing to defend himself and wasn't about to be caught unawares. Jake walked up close and bumped his shoulder, nodding toward one of the platforms close to the edge of camp. Doc Mouton was tied to one of the posts and Elliot to the other. Both had been beaten and his stomach clinched into a hard knot. If they were killed before they had a chance to question them, this op might take a lot longer than any of them wanted it to.

"You look like shit, kid," Tino said as he approached.

"Thought I looked pretty good for a dead guy," he said cockily, falling back on being a wiseass as he tried to get his mind around being back here.

"Didn't think you'd make it to be honest," the tough man replied. "Those bastards did a number on ya. Antoine's damn pissed. Took it out on those two when he got back early this morning."

"We get a go at 'em?" Jake asked. "Maybe let us take 'em for a little walk in the swamp?"

"That's the boss's call," he said as he led the way up to Guidry's cabin.

The smell of roasting pig and smoke wafted over the camp, but there was none of the easy laughter or conversations taking place as there usually was around suppertime. The men had gathered in small groups, and there were some he had never seen before. He saw none of the men who had tortured them, and that surprised him and he could see it surprised Jake as well. When he saw Guidry coming toward him he put on his alias as he would his bullet proof vest, settling into Jimmy Hale even more deeply than he already was. His brother saw the change and gripped his shoulder, stopping him from getting any closer to the crazy bastard approaching as if trying to put off the inevitable.

"Mon fils," he called out. "You home, boy."

He slid into darkness as the cold, rough hand of the man gently slapped his cheek.

...

...