orionares

[orionares]

Whumptober, Day 2

Prompt- Day 2- "They don't care about you."

NCIS: Los Angeles

A/N: Late start!=]

—---

"Kade King- that name mean anything to you?"

Marty Deeks stops in his tracks, barely through the threshold of the Admiral's office. He hadn't expected anything remotely close to this question at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning- hell, he hadn't expected more than 'a 'sign this paperwork and then go back home to your girls' or a 'my bad, I missed dialed'.

Not the Admiral dressed in a black tux, LAPD Commissioner Imani James and a question about that man. 

Ex- detective Kade King, also known as current inmate#6395 at Twin Towers Correctional Center in Los Angeles.

Kilbride sits down in his office chair and leans back, emitting a squeak from the chair. "When was the last time you spoke to King?"

Deeks glances between Commissioner James and the large, weathered LAPD file sitting on her lap. "The last time I talked or looked the man in the eye was 2010. It was for his trial….Hetty gave me the day off and….why? King got twenty-five to life for rape, bribery and second degree attempted murder. "

"Attempted murder against you," Commissioner corrects. She's around his age with a cold expression across her face as she continues, "Investigator Deeks, as I know you have a newborn at home, I'll get to the point. King has information about the Skorpios crew and he won't tell anyone other than you."

Deeks' eyes flicker over to the Admiral, also displaying an impassive although grumpy expression. "King got twenty to life, meaning his minimum for parole is 2030. What could he possibly get from bartering? He's not getting out early unless he breaks out- elopes- escapes? Don't they all mean-"

"Investigator Deeks!" Kilbride calls out. He scowls when Deeks freezes mid-rant. "A driver is downstairs to take you to Twin Tower Correctional. Take the time to review everything that's happened with King and maybe review your last interaction."

No need to review that day, Deeks thinks as Kilbride and the Commissioner share a glance. I've never forgotten. 

—------

King is waiting, without a lawyer, when Deeks arrives .

Deeks slides past a bored looking Correctional officer and enters interview room #4 to face the sixty-one year old King. The man, once 5'8 and yet bulky and quick on his feet, leans back as far as he can with his wrists cuffed to the table. He's a little rounder now with his cold green eyes and scar hidden under his beard. 

"Look who the cat dragged in," King jokes. He scans Deeks from head to toe and snorts, "You haven't aged a day."

"Why am I here?" Deeks snaps. He crosses his arms and peers down at King. "Scratch that- why am I here at 7:15 in the morning?"

King scoffs, glances over towards the barred window in the right corner of the room and mutters, "You remember the last time we saw each other?"

When you'd glared at me across the courtroom,  Deeks recalls silently. The memory of sitting in the courtroom and feeling the anger resonating off of the ex-detective during sentencing.

"I hereby sentence you to twenty years to life, Mr. King, for the rape of Madison Nikalov, bribery and the attempted murder of a LAPD officer-"

King slams his both palms on the table, jolting Deeks out of the memory and back into the interrogation room where King is shaking his head at him.

"Still an idiot-"

"One- it's Investigator," Deeks huffs in annoyance and then asks, "Does Skorpios have a target?"

King ignores the question and points at Deeks' right leg. "How's the leg?"

Another memory flashes across Deeks' mind- King, charging at him after receiving the news that the officer who'd reported King for his crimes, was Deeks. No one had tried to stop King as he'd tackled Deeks to the ground, grabbed the closest sharpest object and-  

"By the way you walked in here, I'm guessing my little cut didn't do much damage," King continues. He cocks his head to the right and Deeks can feel the man's eyes linger on Deeks' neck. 

Deeks bites down on the inside of his cheek and thinks, Slicing my leg isn't a cut, you jackass. You gonna call you trying to strangle me as a snuggle?

"And when I-"

The Investigator holds up a hand. "I'm going to stop you right there, King. I am not here to share our feelings and catch up like old friends, especially-" He pushes himself off the wall, "- if it's for you reminisce on you trying to kill me for telling the truth-"

"After all these years, you still think you're special," King sneers. He leans forward across the table as far as he can go. "Good. That makes this so much more fun."

Deeks shakes his head, "The hell does that mean?"

"You know when I found out that you'd become a Fed, I'd been in disbelief…I thought I had taught you that you are a traitor and can't be trusted. But then I thought, NCIS would figure that out with their fancy government checks and big brains-"

"Stop-"

King's eyes darken as he smirks, "What makes you think NCIS won't throw you to the wolves at the drop of a hat? They don't care about you, Deeks- I thought I made that clear. "

"And I'm done." Deeks turns on his heels to walk off before King holds up a hand and mutters, "Fine."

King slides a crumpled piece of paper from the sleeve of his right arm and holds out the crumpled piece of paper. 

"What is this?" Deeks mutters and takes the paper. He unfolds the paper and feels a chill run down his spine at the dated printed image of a middle eastern woman, early twenties, grinning in front of an unrecognizable building. Below the picture are two handwritten names, the first one being- Talia Amin. 

"She's the daughter of Bahrain NCIS Station Chief Sayed Amin and about now," King twists his left wrist as far as he can in handcuffs, "he'll call his little sunshine and realize that she isn't traveling with her girlfriends around the capital." 

Deeks examines the handwriting that scribbles a second name- his own. 

"And in about an hour, Amin will get an email with one simple easy request to get his little girl-"

The Investigator doesn't need to hear the rest. Everything connects- the random call from the prison, the reminiscing and now the note-

A father will do anything to protect his child. Even if it means trading a life to get them back.

"My life for hers," Deeks concludes aloud. "I'm a bargaining chip."

King's smile widens like a Cheshire cat. "Told you it'd be fun." 

-------‐-

A/N: Part 2?

[orionares]

BTHB: Depression

BTHB: Depression 

NCIS: Los Angeles 

@badthingshappenbingo

—---

A/N: Trigger Warning for descriptions of depression.

A/N2: Takes place during 12x08 "Love Kills" and 12x09 "A Fait Accompli"

—-----

Glynco, Georgia

It's pouring out.

It's storming actually, dumping up to two inches of rain on Glynco and the rest of the Georgia coast. With the outside night classes canceled, Marty Deeks lies on his dorm bed and watches his ceiling fan spin. 

He could go to the dining hall and attempt to socialize with the other cadets or walk over to use the dorm building's gym.

But instead, he lies on his back with bruised ribs and shoulder pain, and just….lays there. 

Hey, Cadet! How was your day?

He could answer Kensi's text, received two hours ago. He really could. Hell, Deeks could picture himself rolling onto his stomach, taking his phone in hand and texting- I'm fine. The usual. Miss you and the team. 

It'd be easy. Simple. It'd also be a lie.

He isn't fine. 

—--

"I'm so sorry, Deeks."

His eyes fly open at the memory of the four words he's heard dozens of times since being cut from NCIS and LAPD. He can picture Sam and Callen's solemn expressions, the pat on the backs from other agents and even the glances from officers on the day he had turned in his badge.

God, the looks he'd gotten walking into LAPD-

Deeks lets out a slow long breath before glancing over to the clock on the dresser. 

8:15

I've only been here for twenty- five minutes. Great, he thinks before gingerly pushing himself into sitting up. Deeks rubs his bruised ribs- earned from an overeager ex- Marine during sparring- and winces. 

In the silence of his room, he can feel his chest tighten at the sudden surge of intrusive thoughts.

I hurt and I'm exhausted. I can’t sleep and I’m running on empty.

Unexpectedly,  he lets out a sob.

I can’t fail-

I can't-

His cellphone rings from behind him, causing him to flinch. Deeks grabs the phone and looks at the screen to see a video request from Kensi. He takes in another slow breath and musters the closest he can to a smile.

"Hey, Kensalina," he greets and sees Kensi laying back on her pillow on their bed. The sight of her makes his heart skip a beat and he takes a long moment to take in the sight of her. 

"Hi," Kensi answers softly. "It's what- 8 or so over there? I just wanted to check on you. How was your day?"

"I'm hanging in there, Kens. There's a storm that canceled a few classes," Deeks replies. He swallows and glances off to his left. "How's…how's it going over there?"

Kensi frowns and sits up on the bed. "It's fine….Baby, are you okay?"

He stiffens at her question and looks away from his phone. The tears forming in his eyes sting as he looks away and feels his wife's eyes on him even from a thousand miles away. "I'm getting it done, Kens-"

"You didn't answer my question."

 "I didn't.." He chuckles sadly before looking back at the phone. "Kens, I…I'm drowning and I don't know how to get out of this. I know I have two weeks left but I just….I don't know."

Kensi tucks a loose hair behind her ear. "I'm so sorry. I can come up for a weekend if that'd help?"

 "No, no, no- don't waste a couple of days on me," He mutters. "I just need to finish and maybe us driving back and taking some time for ourselves will help."

Kensi nods in understanding before a small warm smile appears on her face. "I have an idea that may help. Tell me three things that you are looking forward to when you come home."

"What?"

"Tell me three things that you are looking forward to when you come back home," Kensi repeats. She holds up the familiar desk pad and holds it up in front of the camera. "We can both list three things that we'll do when you come home, whether it's sleep in all day, surfing or whatever. Just three things."

 Deeks drops his head and sighs. "Kensi…I…. fine, I guess I could go see my surf students over in Malibu. They know I went to a work thing and might get a promotion." 

Kensi nods and scribbles 'surfing lessons' on her pad. "That's one. By the way, that taco truck that you've been fangirling over finally opened yesterday."

It's not fangirling, it's- He smirks at the thought and mumbles,"That's two. Look, Kens-"

Kensi sits up suddenly, cocks her head slightly and smiles with chin resting on her hand. "And I think…I'm pretty sure that there's another activity that we can catch up on when you come home."

"Kens-"

"The attic had been in need of cleaning for forever!" Kensi jokes. 

Corny as it is, Deeks lets out a chuckle, the first one in weeks. He settles in the warmth it brings.  "I miss you."

"Deeks,"Kensi smiles. " I'm going to ask you the same question every day until I drive up to you. You've been through so much and you are so loved and so amazing. You are almost done. Hold on to the things we talked about. Promise me."

God, he loves her. "I promise."

"Ok." Kensi sits up. "New topic- I've got a new story about Tiffany, Mindy and a six year old Facebook post. Up for it?"

Deeks lays back on the bed and replies, "Of course."

—-----

2,500 miles away, Kensi Blye listens to the soft snoring on Deeks via video chat. He'd only made it four minutes into the story before he'd gone quiet on his end. 

I knew telling him a story would work, Kensi thinks proudly. She places the pad back on her dresser , recalling the idea from a phone call from Nate.

"I'm really worried about him, Nate, and I don't know how to help him across the country."

He'd told her to start with something simple- "Just be there for him. Give him something to hold onto."

"I love you," Kensi repeats again as she relaxes into the pillow. "Good Night, Deeks."

[orionares]

BTHB: Painful Wound Cleaning

BTHB: Painful Wound Cleaning

NCIS: Los Angeles 

@badthingshappenbingo

-----

A/N: Tried a different route with the prompt.....

------

"Hello….Gordon."

It's the first time in decades since he's called his father something other than dad. The last and only other time had been at the age of ten in the midst of an attempt to de-escalate an argument between Gordon and his mother. 

Now, the use of his father's first name comes nearly forty years later  on a cool April night. Marty Deeks tucks his hands in his jacket pocket as he turns the corner onto his old childhood street. He enjoys the quiet as he walks and imagines the alcohol induced stagger of his father walking next to him, hissing- you know goddamn well tha' you don't call me that, brat.

"My daughter," the use of referring to Rosa as his daughter feels weird, "called me dad today. And I-uh-"

He stops in his tracks, nervously scratches the top of his head and admits, "It was terrifyingly beautiful."

The image of Gordon John Brandel peers at him in disgust, swaying slightly while on his feet. You want a goddamn medal for that? You want me to hug you and tell you I'm proud of you or something? - the mental image sneers, triggering a shiver from Deeks. The Investigator turns his head slightly away from the image and begins a brisk walk down the street.

Look at you. Runnin' when things get hard, boy? 

"I need you out," Deeks answers. He feels eleven years old again as he walks in his navy blue sweater and blonde hair rustling from the cool breeze. "I need you out of my head because I'm a…I'm a parent now and I can't be- I can't be-"

Weak- Brandel's voice booms in the back of his mind. The forty year old memory of Brandel's belly laugh, low and brash, rings in his ears. Deeks shuts his eyes and breathes out through pursed lips.

"I can't have you in my head anymore," the Investigator corrects. "I can't have you being at the tip of my conscience, ready to eat me alive every time I doubt myself when it comes to being a parent. Especially not after today."

Today, more specifically eleven hours ago, when Rosa had called him dad. Twice. 

"Your parents are so cool, Rosa."

"They are until they do the things like run background checks on half of the boys in my class! My dad used to be a cop and freaked out over Steven sending me flowers."

Outside her room, he had stopped, briefly smirking at the absolute right he had to run a check on Steven. Especially after sending $150 in flowers to the house.

It then dawned on him- Did she just say 'my dad'?

Rosa, likely on video chat with her newest best friend Cecilia, had followed up with-'' That's just how dads are. So overprotective. My birth dad freaked out when Fernando Diego gave me a flower and called me 'Rosita' and now Deeks is doing the exact same thing."

The second time- that's just how dads are- had paralyzed him. His heart skips a beat even now as he recalls standing in the hallway, unable to move for one of the longest thirty seconds of his life. 

"You don't deserve that title," Deeks mutters under his breath towards the conjured image of his father. The looming image is no longer swaying on his feet, black out drunk but now somehow larger and looming like a storm cloud. 

And you do?-  the image snarls- you've just started and you know what they always say- like father, like son-

His cellphone suddenly chirps and he stops in his tracks to pull out the phone from his jacket pocket. On instinct, he knows there are only two two reasons for a phone call in the middle of the night- a case or Kensi.

"Come back to your truck," Kensi says as soon as he presses the phone to his ear. 

"How'd you know I'd be here?" Deeks replies, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. 

"Because I know you and I had a feeling. How far are you?"

Deeks glances up to the stop sign a few feet away. Even in the darkness, he recognizes exactly which intersection he's standing at. "Give me 5 minutes?"

—------

"How'd you find me?" 

Kensi's leaning against the front of the Audi, parked next to his new Ford F-150 navy blue truck, as he approaches. He knows the answer to his question already; however, his question comes as a cushion to soften her likely first  question  to be asked- why are you walking around your old neighborhood in the middle of the night?

"I have my ways," Kensi replies with a soft chuckle. She pushes herself off of the hood and wraps her arms around him. He settles into her warmth, choosing to tuck his head into the crook of her neck. "What happened?"

"I just needed…" Deeks pulls back and blinks away the unexpected tears forming in his eyes, "I don't know- somewhere to get perspective, I guess."

She tilts her head back to meet his eyes. "Perspective on what? It's…2:15 in the morning." 

Deeks rests his nose against her forehead and lets out a sigh. He hesitates, feeling uneasy to use the word 'dad' aloud. The constructed image of his father, which had disappeared during his walk back to the Audi, reappears behind the Audi, once again sober and scowling.

"Rosa…she-uh- called me dad," He admits, "when she was on the phone with her friends earlier. I overheard her say it and-"

Kensi tilts her head back and cups his chin in her hand. "And it was overwhelming."

"Honestly, Kens- it scared the hell out of me," Deeks admits. "I panicked, thought of Dad and somehow ended up here." His eyes flicker to the left, behind both vehicles to see Brandel smirk at him.

The familiar amused smirk he'd flash during anytime his son attempted to protect his mother.

"I have to let him go," Deeks whispers, his voice unexpectedly wavering. "He's in my head and he-he's fueling that doubt I have about being a parent. And- how do I let him go, Kens?"

Kensi sighs, eyeing him worriedly for a long beat. "Maybe….maybe you let him go by healing."

He steps back from her, expecting for a follow up. Instead, Kensi smiles at him and explains, "You are so much better than what Brandel could ever be as a father."

"Kens-" 

She closes the gap between them and squeezes his hand. "Look, what is the one thing you want to do right now?"

The memory of Rosa in tears from laughing during their movie night a few days prior brings a warmth to his heart so encompassing he can't describe it. "I want to go home," he admits, "and hug our kid. And see if Amazon Prime has teenage sized bubble wrap."

Kensi snorts and rolls her eyes. "We are not  bubble wrapping our kid. Baby, you are not like your dad and you never will be."

In the corner of his eyes, he can see the constructed image of his father sneering and muttering- don't listen to her, boy. You will end up just like me. 

"I cant-" Deeks drops his head and huffs in frustration. "I'm trying but Kens, I feel like I'm stuck in a loop, you know? I know I wo- can't turn out like him but then my confidence breaks and I'm back here again. How do I get it to stop?"

"Maybe- '' Kensi's mismatched brown eyes narrow as she pauses, "-maybe we can go talk to someone. Someone that can help you see the things that I see in you."

He doesn't flinch, nor does a joke to evade the topic come to mind. Instead, Deeks inhales and exhales, allowing an unexpected emotion washing over him. His eyes flicker back over to the left, expecting to see his father again.

And sees nothing.

Blinking away newly forming tears,  Deeks tearfully asks, "And what's that?"

"A good man, a wonderful father," Kensi wipes away a fallen tear from his cheek, "and someone who with so much love, grace and so much heart. Ok?"

Deeks nods as another tear falls. "Ok."

[orionares]

Communication Cut Off

Communication Cut Off

Law and Order: SVU/ OC

@badthingshappenbingo

—-----

All units be advised. Shots fired at West 177 Street and Broadway. Officers in need of a 10-13. All nearby units respond.

At first, the radio call of an officer involved shooting in Washington Heights, doesn't phase her. 

With McGrath up her ass about the latest Compstat report for SVU and Velesco and Muncy visiting a victim near the courthouse,  she doesn't have the manpower to send for support.

The second call from Dispatch, coming exactly eleven minutes later, does stop her in her tracks.

All units be advised.  Additional units needed at W117th and Broadway. Multiple DAs and two officers are MIA.

Olivia slides her glasses off and stares at her radio sitting upright at the corner of her desk. She can feel a sense of heaviness creep onto her shoulders as she stares at the small device.

It couldn't possibly be El, she tries to reason as the heaviness morphs into the recognizable feeling of panic. Out of habit, she rubs the center of her chest- like a self soothe- just as the sinking feeling in her chest grows.

The chances of her ex- partner being either being one of the dead or missing officers are just- 

"Elliot, I'm not ready for this."

Her own words from that conversation in her kitchen pop in her head, eliciting an unconscious shake of the head. 

A 'no' in all sense to the impending panic attack over the small possibility that those words could be the last words she'd ever-

Stop, she snaps to herself, you can't lose it over-

The door to her office files open and Fin stops in the doorway, hand outstretched onto the doorknob. In twenty four years, she's known the man to carry his emotions close to his chest. He's her lightning rod, seemingly always able to bring her back to Earth with a simple, confident nod.

Today, he isn't. 

Fin's eyes flicker back and forth between the growing commotion she can now hear from the bullpen. "Liv, you heard the radio?"

"Gunshots." Her voice comes out as a squeak. "Who - Fin." Just tell me.

A thought fires across her mind that causes her heart to drop- You weren't ready to take a risk and now Elliot might be dead.

"Stabler and Sergeant Bell are the missing cops," Fin states. She doesn't release her breath as he continues, "It was a shootout….it's bad, Liv."

Her conscience seems to take news and hit her with the same thought that had taken her breath away earlier. 

You weren't ready and now he might be dead.

It repeats and repeats.

You weren't ready and now he might be dead.

You weren't ready and now he might be dead.

"Liv?"

She blinks as Fin's hand on her shoulder brings her back. His brown eyes are wide and filled with pure concern. "You with me?"

Imagine if- the voice starts and Olivia shakes her head, a quick nod to shut it up. She can feel Fin's worry rise as he steps closer to her and repeats, "You with me?"

Her breath hitches before she nods weakly. "Tell me- " her voice cracks, " Tell me what happened."

—------

The Diablo gang, under investigation in a joint operation between Organized Crime and the Bronx's Gang Unit, had ambushed two SUVs carrying Ayanna, Elliot and Sergeant Damien Holloway in one and two of Holloway's officers in another. 

"Diablo's crew ran them off the road and started firing in the middle of Washington Heights," Fin explains. He's still standing inches from the now closed door of her office. He's on edge as he speaks, his eyes flickering over to the elevator and back to her every few seconds.

"It looks like Stabler and Bell retreated into the neighborhood, " Fin continues with another glance towards the elevator,"But with the Diablo gang roaming the street, I don't see anyone giving us information on where Stabler and Bell went and in what condition they were in. "

"Elliot, I'm not ready for this."

She shuts her eyes at the memory of her own voice. The same squeezing sensation in her chest elicits a sharp inhale. To counter, she forces a recall of every expectation known for a missing person's case:

The first 48 hours are the most important.

No assumptions can be made without a full investigation, evidence collection, inter-

You should have told him what you felt and now he might never know.

You should have told him what you felt and now he might never know.

You should have-

"Liv!"

Her eyes fly open to see Fin now sitting next to her on the couch. His hand rests on her shoulder as he stares up at her wide eyed. "You with me?"

Olivia exhales a slow, shaky breath. She looks away from Fin and pauses to find the words to say. All she can muster is a soft, barely audible, "I just got him back, Fin."

"We don't know anything-"

"I know," Olivia replies. She rubs a hand over a face and shakes off the tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I know I'm supposed to know that there are steps before I should even begin to panic-"

"But things are different, I'm guessing," Fin says. 

"When he'd dropped off Noah," Olivia sniffles, "we'd nearly….he was ready and I wasn't- I couldn't." She drops her head and lets out another shaky breath. "I have been replaying that moment in my head for weeks, wondering if I'd screwed up everything. And now he's missing."

Fin hums in acknowledgement. "We don't know anything yet other than the fact that he and Bell ran. Until we know-"

"Don't panic yet, right?" She lifts her head up and looks up towards the ceiling. The loop of thoughts start up again- 

You weren't ready and now he might be dead.

You weren't ready and now he might be dead.

Trembling again, Olivia finally looks down to meet Fin's worry filled brown eyes and mutters, "Too late."

—----

Grace Muncy’s only heard rumors of the infamous Bensler and Stabler. 

The rumors back at the Academy during the classes on fraternization had spurred a group of trainees gossiping over stories of officers dating, marrying and cheating. She remembers resting against a bar and hearing two cadets loudly gossiping-

“And the affair between McGaffee and Rammey is soap opera worthy. Oh- did you hear about Benson and Stabler? I heard they were sleeping together-”

“Didn’t he have a wife?”

“Yeah, but come on. Be realistic here. You think they didn’t sleep together?”

The stories seem more true than anything now as Grace sits at her desk and watches the closed blinds of her boss's office. In the seven hours since the news of the attack on Organized Crime and the Gang Unit, she's only seen Fin enter and exit the room once. 

"Has she left her office?" Grace asks, waiting for a response from Velesco sitting in his desk across from her. He looks from his laptop and leans back in his chair. 

"Not really. I know Sarg told her about the second shooting and the eyewitness," Velesco replies. The second shooting- more of a show than an actual attack had taken place about five hours after the attack. After the arrest of one of the shooters, an eyewitness had been shot at while en route to a local precinct. 

No injuries. Only a terrified witness with news of spotting Detective Stabler and Sergeant Bell.

"They cut through my backyard. The lady cop looked like shit and was being carried by the big guy. He was limpin' and bleeding badly from his leg."

Grace eyes her watch just as Velesco's phone vibrates on his desk. He eyes the screen as Grace mutters, "Almost nine hours running from a gang. Hell- they won't last much longer out there."

“Yeah….hey, Sarge wants me to back him up in directing the search  over at 1PP,” Velesco replies after a long pause. He rises to his feet and slides his badge onto his waist. “He wants you to keep an eye on the Captain."

She nods and glances over to the closed door. "She uh….she's not in the sharing her feelings stage with me yet. Especially about anything to do with Stabler."

"At least check on her, you know?" Velesco suggests with a shrug. He squeezes her shoulder in support in passing before heading towards the elevator. She rocks back in her chair, blows away the loose bang from her eyes before rising to her feet.

How can I do that with someone who barely trusts me? Muncy thinks as she crosses the quiet bullpen and stops at Olivia's door. She raps her knuckles against the door and waits a long uncomfortable silence for an answer. If I go in there and she’s in the middle of a phone call or something, I’m going to be chewed out. But if I don’t and something is wrong…

"Enter," Muncy hears beyond the door. She turns the knob and pushes the door open to find the Captain sitting on her couch, head bowed and hands clasped together in her lap. It's an eerie sight for the detective, seeing her boss, a beacon of strength and confidence looking so-

Broken, Muncy thinks. I've never seen her look so…broken. "Captain, are you okay?"

Olivia lifts her head but doesn't meet Muncy’s eyes. She rocks slightly back and forth in her seat before muttering a weak, "I'm fine."

Good because what I'm about to say may get me fired, Muncy thinks before rambling, “Look, Sarge told me to help you and I don’t know how to help because you're my boss and you don’t really trust me with stuff like this and I’ve heard things about you and Stabler and if the rumors are true, then-"

Her train of thought suddenly crashes and she's left holding her breathing. Olivia finally cocks her head towards Muncy and eyes her impassively for another painful minute for the detective. 

"I'm sorry, Captain. I don't know what to do," Muncy stammers. She takes in another short breath and waits for an inevitable firing or a professional stay-in-your-lane. 

Instead, Olivia’s shoulders drop and she answers softly, “I feel like I’m drowning.”

“What?”

Olivia taps her chest and begins fiddling with her necklace. “I feel like I’m drowning. The last time I felt like this was when my son was taken from me.”

"Someone took Noah- what?" The detective shakes off the dozens of questions now circling her mind. "Look, I know he's important to you,” Muncy states. She takes a step closer and decides to take another risk with another question, “Are you and Detective Stabler…uhm…sorry, if that’s too personal but-”

“It’s complicated.”

“Ok.” Muncy sits on the arm of the couch and begins shifting her hands between being cupped together to resting on top of one another. “Is there anything that I can-”

“There’s nothing that you can do or anyone can do because there is no trace of him and Ayanna,” Olivia mutters. She sighs and drops her head again, “It’s like they disappeared off the face of the Earth. I know it’s only been nine hours but the radio silence-”

“Cap-"

“It’s deja vu,” Olivia continues. “He disappeared for ten years and I’m reliving it along with every moment we’ve had together since he came back and it is suffocating.”

Muncy sighs and eyes the large office for anything that she can use to guide the conversation. Her eyes fall to the line of awards and an idea- a less risky one- comes to mind. “Can I sit here with you, Cap? We don’t have to talk about anything or you can tell me more about your son. You-you can even tell me about you and Stabler back in the day. If you want-”

“Grace,” Olivia interrupts. She nods slowly and finally turns her body to face Muncy. Her voice cracks as she adds, “You don't need to babysit me.”

"It's not babysitting. It's-" Muncy smiles warmly at Olivia, "supporting family." 

—------------------

Sometime in the hours after Muncy’s visit, Olivia drifts asleep.

It's a short, fitful sleep that brings flashes of her fears and brief glances into the possibilities of him being gone. For good.

"We found him. I'm so sorry, Liv."

"They beat him-"

"Liv, I can't wait anymore. I have to move on-"

She's in the middle of dreaming of another phone call bringing news of Elliot dying when she jolts awake at the sound of voices outside her office door. Carisi's voice registers first and closest to the door.

"Sergeant Bell's rescue is going to end up on the radio and the news is gonna spread like wildfire. Liv's gonna find out eventually."

Olivia pops her head up off one of the cushions. She takes in a sharp breath and waits for any further explanation- from her best guess, Carisi’s leaning against her office door or pacing in front of whoever he’s talking to. 

“I’ll tell her-” Fin’s voice is quieter than expected, likely standing by or sitting on his desk, “-She’s…she’s not in a good place, man and this won’t help.”

Amanda’s unexpected reply to Fin and the unexpected sound of her friend leaves Olivia sitting up alright and holding her breath , “She needs to know about Ayanna.” 

She’s immediately on her feet and feels the familiar squeezing sensation in her chest grow. Olivia reaches a shaking hand out towards the door just as her conscience spurs an uneasy thought- El would protect Ayanna with everything he has. What could have happened to her and not him?

Maybe he’s dead. 

The second thought that crosses her mind causes her to yank the door open and meet the eyes of Carisi, Amanda and Fin scattered around the bullpen. It’s a brief reminder of the days of the old team, the days of Carisi and Amanda stopping their banter to look up for directions, Fin toying with a giant rubber band or his favorite black pen and all three eyes looking up at her ready for her leadership and guidance.

Instead, her voice cracks as she calls out, “Tell me what?”

Fin lets out a huff and sighs, “Liv-”

Her eyes flicker from Fin over to Carisi. The ADA uncharacteristically fidgets as he explains, “There’s an update on Detective Stabler and Sergeant Bell. After the shootout, they cut through buildings and a neighborhood before hiding for a few hours. Dario- the gang’s number two- completely flooded the area looking for them.”

Amanda, without a thought, takes a step towards Olivia, who jerks back from her friend. “Just say it,” Olivia snaps. “Say ”it."

"A family on the edge of Washington Heights brought Ayanna to New York Presbyterian," Fin says. He pauses before adding, "Stabler convinced them to take her in while he distracted the gang by engaging two of them. Both of them were already In bad shape but Elliot took a gunshot to the shoulder,  according to a bystander."

Carisi nods. "He's still on the run, Liv and the lows tonight are going to be in the low twenties."

Meaning unless he gets help, he probably won’t survive the night- the voice in the back of her mind seems to yell- And you won’t get to tell him anything. 

The loop is booming in the back of her mind, somehow laughing at her, teasing her.

You weren't ready, you pushed him away and now he’ll never know.

You weren't ready, you pushed him away and now he’ll never know.

"I need-" Olivia stammers before briskly walking past the group and straight to the stairwell door. She pushes the door open and sprints down the first flight of stairs as tears burn her eyes. On the bottom of the second flight of stairs, her right knee buckles and she collapses against the stairwell railing. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, brea-

You weren't ready, you pushed him away and now he’ll never know.

The voices- the cacophony of voices explode in her head once more- 

You weren't ready, you pushed him away and now he’ll never know.

She rests her head on the stairwell and shuts her eyes.

I wasn't ready. I pushed you away, El. I may never get to tell you that I love you. 

I wasn't ready. I pushed you away, El. I may never get to tell you that I love you. 

"Liv, take a breath," she hears from Amanda on her right side. Amanda rests a hand on her back and sits on the stair to her right as Olivia feels her body shake under her fighting off the need to cry. "Don't go there."

"Amanda, don't. Don't coddle me- we both know that the chances of him surviving the night drops every minute,"she snaps. 

"And again, we have people searching for him. Don't start expectin' him to be gone."

"He'll freeze-"

"He made sure Ayanna was safe. Did something happen between you two?"

Olivia sighs slowly and then lifts her head to meet Amanda's eyes. "We nearly but….I froze and I told him I wasn’t ready. It sounds so stupid now.”

Amanda rises from the stair and rests against the railing next to Olivia. “It isn’t stupid. We can’t spend our time gettin’ lost in what we could have or shouldn’t have said.”

"Amanda," Olivia sighs.  She rests her head on the railing again and hears, “I don’t particularly like what he did to you but I know he loves you and will move heaven and he'll to get back to you. "

Why does everyone keep saying it? “And how do you know that?”

“Because of a message he asked the bystander to pass along when he handed over Bell,”Amanda states. “He specifically asked the bystander to tell his partner- semper fi.”

The words break her. 

The same two words he’d sent to her that last form of communication before he’d disappeared. For ten years.

The anxiety that’s suffocated her for nearly not just thirteen hours but two years causes her to sob. As Amanda brings her into a hug, she can’t help but fear- the last time you said that, you left me. You do not get to leave me. Not again.  

-----------------------

I'm not ready for this.

She doesn't attempt to go home during the overnight hours. 

Instead, Olivia sits behind her desk alone in her office and  loses herself in the noise. 

The noise- a cacophony of doubt, anger, fear and regret consume her as she sits, arms wrapped around her knees. 

 The doubt that had stopped her from taking that step forward seems to drag her further into the darkness. The doubt, she realizes with every passing hour, is something that's run wild in her life without restraint.

What if I fail?

What if I can't help those who need help?

What if I ruin and destroy everything and everyone in my life?

What if I'm not meant to be loved?

She's drowning in self doubt and fear until 1:16 in the morning- eighteen hours or so after the attack on Organized Crime- when she decides to move over to the couch. She rises to her feet and without a second thought, walks over to the small window that sits above a small bookcase.

Elliot, you bastard- you do not get to die and leave me again. It isn't an angry thought that crosses her mind but an unexpected message she knows he won't be able to  answer. 

It's calming, weirdly but briefly quiets the worry. So she continues. 

Elliot, I want you home.

 I want us to figure out a way for the next step. 

And if you come home, I'm yours.

—-------------

"Liv?"

Olivia jolts awake at a hand gently shaking her shoulder. 

"Olivia." Amanda's voice is soft,  immediately worrying to the Captain as she stands above her. In the darkly lit office, she can't read Amanda's expression and croaks," Wha-?"

Amanda steps closer to the couch, a warm smile illuminated by light shining through the window . "He’s alive. We found him.”

Her breath hitches. "What?"

Amanda kneels in front of her, grinning ear to ear. Olivia feels tears form in her eyes at the relief in her friend's face. Amanda explains, "Stabler limped into the three-four in Hudson Heights and those officers took him to New York Presbyterian about an hour ago."

He's alive.

He's alive and he's safe and he's here. 

He's alive and-

"Liv, look at me," Amanda calls out to her. Olivia looks to her, trembling as the tears begin to fall. "Fin's downstairs with the car ready to take you."

—---

By the time they makes it to New York Presbyterian,  the stupid loop in the back of her mind starts up again. 

The loop is different this time, oddly different as she passes police officers loitering around the entrance, patients scattered around the room and a few hospital staff.

Don't screw this up. Can't screw this up. What if I screw this up?

Don't screw this up. Can't screw this up-

A woman around her age in navy blue scrubs catches her attention and narrows in on her. She's crossed paths with the woman, Ja'Nae Holmes, more than a handful of times during through Ja'Nae's travel nurse position around the boroughs. Olivia watches Ja'Nae mark something down on a tablet, scan the room and finally meet Olivia's eyes. 

"Captain Benson, you got here pretty quick," Ja'Nae remarks as she approaches Olivia. "Your Sergeant called ahead and said it was your old partner and that you'd be coming in hot."

"I-" Olivia glances behind her to Fin, who only shrugs. "Can I see him? How is he?"

"Detective Stabler received twenty-three stitches, which he argued through," Ja'Nae snorts," and insists that his dehydration and mild hypothermia isn't a big deal."

Olivia lets out a tearful chuckle. "That sounds like him."

Ja'Nae nods at the emergency room doors. "I had a feeling. Most important thing, though, is that he's been asking if you've come yet."

Olivia opens her mouth, finding herself speechless, as she follows Ja'Nae through the security doors to the emergency room bays. They pass the first closed bay before the nurse points to bay 7 where a security officer stands guard.

And then everything seems to slow.

Ja'Nae's voice, the beeping monitors- everything- falls to the thumping of her heart beating between her ears. There's no loop of impending anxiety driven thoughts, no what-ifs, no doubts.

Just her heart beating out of her chest.

Ja'Nae steps to the side as they stop at the bay doors. She nods towards the door and says, "He's been anxious to see you, Captain. Go on."

Just do it.

Olivia slides open the door and steps in to see Elliot staring off towards the window from his hospital bed. Stitches line his right arm that is propped up on a pillow and continue down his right leg that sits propped on a pillow. He's paler than she'd like him to be as he fidgets with a loose thread from his gown

"Nurse, like I-" Elliot begins to say, bringing his gaze from the window to the doorframe. He stops at the sight of her and smiles in relief. "Liv."

"Hi," Olivia manages to say. She walks to the right of the bed and her heart flutters when he holds up his uninjured arm. "You're here."

"I'm here, " Elliot replies. His hand brushes her knuckles before gently taking her hand in his. "I'm OK, Liv. You got my message?"

"The last time you said that to me, El, you left me for a decade."

Elliot's brow furrows as he thinks back. "No, no- Liv. I meant that to tell you that I was coming back. I will always come back to  you. I won't make that mistake again."

"You're an idiot," Olivia laughs. She closes her eyes as she rests her forehead against his, taking in the warmth resonating off of him. With a quick exhale, Olivia whispers, "I love you."

It's a fearless declaration- one that doesn't trigger any anxiety, any doubt or any need to run. 

And when he chuckles and replies, "I love you to,", she's no longer afraid.

I'm ready.

[orionares]

BTHB: Make an Example of Them

BTHB: Make an Example of Them

NCIS: Los Angeles

@badthingshappenbingo

—----

A/N: This takes place during episodes 12x07 "Overdue" through 12x09 "A Fait Accompli."

—-----

December 2020- Brunswick, Georgia

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” 

Ex- NCIS Supervisory Special Agent and FLETC Trainer Benjamin Lowe pulls off his glasses in disbelief at the cadet file that sits at the top of the pile on his desk. He briefly rubs his eyes as he sits at the mahogany desk in his study, hoping that the name of the cadet and more importantly, that the operations manager and office of origin listed is either a mistake or his imagination. 

Applicant Office: NCIS- Southwest: Office of Special Projects, Los Angeles

Operations Manager: Admiral Hollace Kilbride/ Henrietta Lange: 

Applicant Name: Deeks, Martin Atticus 

What in the absolute hell? One of Hetty’s little pet projects got into FLETC? 

Lowe leans back in the chair and pulls the file into his lap. Henrietta Lange is a name he hasn’t heard a lot since retiring from NCIS and opting to teach at FLETC. He’s found it to be a gift, not having to deal with the woman who’d damn near got him killed in 1998 during an investigation in Djibouti and interrupted four of his investigations during the last fourteen years with her little team back in Los Angeles. 

And that  little pet project- the motor mouth had rambled incessantly during every bloody  investigation. When Lowe opens the file and sees the blue eyes, the cocky smirk and the messy blonde hair of Marty Deeks, he remembers his eye twitching during the last investigation while thinking- someone needs to chop off your damn hair.

Lowe’s eyes flicker over to the man’s age and he’s immediately tempted to break open the twenty-six year old scotch sitting in his bookshelf at the obvious gap between the cut off age and Deeks’ age.

“What kind of strings did that little psychopath pull to get you in?” Lowe mutters as he scans the recommendations from LAPD and various members of the Navy, Marines and even Interpol. “Blackmail? Money? Because my God- I’m not wasting time on-”

Reason for termination- Liaison position cut; budget cuts at LAPD

A small smile grows on Lowe’s face at the line at the bottom of the first page. “You sound like a desperate man in need of a job, Detective.” 

He flips the page and scans the first two paragraphs of the interview that had taken place a week prior. Nothing stands out at him- nothing screams out at him to give him answers to the question he needs. 

How did you get into FLETC- no, how did Henrietta get you in?

Lowe glances over to the remaining pages in the file and decides to shut the case and exhale. He replays the last time he’d crossed paths with Henrietta and her merry band of agents. 

“You screwed me, Lange. This is my-”

“Walk it off, Lowe. This investigation is mine."

He huffs in frustration again and makes his decision- Alright, Marty Deeks. You are going to be the shining example of what a FLETC and more importantly, a federal agent shouldn't ever look like. 

Lowe glances back over to the scotch and sighs, thinking- And I’m going to make sure everyone knows that everything and everyone Hetty touches is poison.

—-----

Federal Law Enforcement Training Center, Glynco- Brunswick, Georgia- January 2021

"So you're doing Advanced Interviewing? Cool, cool, cool- look, Deeks- there's something you need to know."

Fatima's warning, coming in the form of a nervous, rambling phone call, brings just fabulous news. 

Marty Deeks winces as he gingerly walks behind a group of cadets walking to classroom 226. He inhales and exhales every few steps as he fights off the pain from his sprained ribs and shoulder strain from an overzealous cadet during sparring. 

And now, Deeks thinks as he pauses in front of the classroom, I'm about to be taught by someone who hates me and Hetty. Great.

Deeks pushes the classroom door open and finds the room to have four rows of three desks each, all facing a broad shouldered older man writing something on the board. Deeks slides into the closest available seat in the back row. 

“Sit down,” Lowe grumbles. He continues to write out the full class name- Advanced Interviewing for Law Enforcement Investigators- on the board as he continues, “I only have you lot for five days and there is a hell of a lot to cover.”

And hopefully you don’t spend half of that picking on me, Deeks thinks. He quickly glances over to the other cadets, recognizing the arrogant ex- soldier mirroring Sam in his early days, the ex- FBI agent going through retraining and two cadets that could be twins scattered around in random desks throughout the room.

“So, let’s begin,” Lowe states. He steps towards the first row of desks and he begins to scan the group of students. “You all already have the basics for interviewing victims, witnesses and suspects but now we’re going to refine it with more techniques, more opportunities to practice those techniques and-”

Lowe stops just as his eyes fall on Deeks. The ex-detective looks down to his desk and waits for the impending comment. 

Briefly, after a few seconds pass, he has hope that Lowe will be professional. 

But of course, Lowe doesn’t. 

“But before we start,” Lowe says with a grin. He walks around the furthest corner desk and towards Deeks. “We have a unique case as a cadet here. A police detective who got in over the age limit."

Goddamn it, Deeks thinks. He sneaks a glance over to another cadet- Jameson or Johnson if he can remember correctly- who eyes him suspiciously. Lowe stops in front of Deeks’ desk and smiles down at him as if looking at a child. “Ladies and gentleman, I’ve worked with this man and he thinks everything is a goddamn joke.”

“Knew something was off,” the ex-soldier mutters under his breath. 

Deeks shakes his head and looks back up to Lowe. “It was a pleasure each time,” he replies through gritted teeth. 

“There’s that sense of humor,” Lowe counters and turns on his feet. “So let’s start this class with you all learning on what not to do when interviewing. Learn from someone who shouldn’t be here, by any means.” 

“And how is that…..sir?” 

Lowe pulls out a chair from an empty desk and turns it towards the class. “By answering a few questions. Sharing your own experience as a ‘liason’. Let’s go.”

This can’t be a thing, can it?  Deeks wonders as he rises to his feet and starts walking up to Lowe, feeling every pair of eyes on him. It’s a stark reminder- a flashback- of his sixth grade teacher who had paraded him up to the front of the class to try to catch him for not paying attention.

He had been paying attention and easily vindicated.

Or the time a Lieutenant Compton had paraded him in front of officers on his first day in the undercover unit as an example of ‘lawyer turned cop wannabe’. 

“Take a seat, superstar,” Lowe orders. He leans against his desk with crossed arms as Deeks sits in the chair. He opts to look straight ahead instead of on the crowd or Lowe.

He wants me to look uncomfortable. He wants to feed off of the power. 

“I’ve crossed paths with you four times, Detective-” Lowe states, “and every single time, you've seen to take things as a goddamn joke. Every time . And that proves that you've skated through this job without a scratch."

He’s underestimating me. Just like so many others have. Deeks shifts in his seat but keeps his eyes glued on the door. "I disagree…sir."

"Really now?" Lowe challenges. He kneels on Deeks' left side and scoffs, "What's the worst thing you've seen on the job?"

Deeks can’t tell what shocks him more- the unprofessionalism or the questions in itself. Even in the sessions with Nate and the NCIS psychologist Kilbride had required the team to go to a few months after his arrival, no’s ever asked that question. 

So Deeks opts for the only thing he can think of. “No.”

"Excuse me?"

“I’m not- I can’t answer that,” Deeks replies, “Your question is leading. Law enforcement officers are usually asked questions like that in therapy or intimate moments. My instinct with a question like that is to recall cases that were traumatic to me physically and or emotionally. So-"

"You got here on special treatment, " Lowe sneers. "What could possibly qualify-”

"You haven’t- Fine." Deeks leans forward and cups his hands together. "You need a cognitive restatement when doing a cognitive interview- think back to such and such and tell me what you hear, see, feel. I have to pick a case first."

In the corner of his eye, he can see a few of the cadets exchange looks. "Do you want something from the years of me going undercover in the LAPD, knowing that no one cared if I lived or died? I could recall the time where after being beaten for hours, my Lieutenant threw me an ice pack and threw me on another case right after? I did that for years- it'd take me a minute to pinpoint one."

Lowe holds out a hand to stop him but the ex- detective continues, as if on autopilot. He's numb as he continues to recall every traumatic moment that comes to mind. “I could do the times I’ve gone overseas to places like Syria and Iraq and put my life on the line to protect this country?" 

Behind him,  Lowe mutters, "You didn't- You never-"

Deeks feels himself shaking with anger but can’t bring himself to move. Instead, he takes a breath and says as calmly as possible, “I could recall the injuries myself and my team have experienced- the helicopter that nearly killed my wife and took her leg, the TBI I had from a rocket blowing us up in Mexico?”

Deeks drops his shoulders and finally looks back to Lowe. “Or do you want to hear the time when someone took me, tied  me down and drilled in my mouth! Because if you want a memory to start the conversation, I could focus on the sound of the drill or the feel of blood drying on my mouth and my neck from sitting in a room for hours after!” 

“Jesus,” a cadet in the front mutters under his breath. It pulls Deeks back into reality and he lets out a shaky breath. “Most importantly, in cognitive interviewing, you do not overwhelm the person you are interviewing as it will cloud the rapport and their recall. So am I done?”

After a few moments of silence, Deeks looks up to see Lowe staring him down blankly. He’s pale and unnerved as he takes a few steps back from Deeks and rubs his chin. 

“Fine. All of you can go. That’s it for the day.” Lowe mutters. He waves off and turns his away and Deeks doesn’t take another second before calmly rising from his chair and walking back towards the door. He’s the first one out of the room and takes an immediate beeline towards the closest empty classroom. 

Shutting the door behind him, Deeks puts his hands on his knees and mutters, “What the hell was that?”

He slides down to the ground and feels  his body continue to shake. What the hell just happened? What did I just do?

[orionares]

Distress Call, Part 2

@badthingshappenbingo

A/N: Part 1 can be found here

A/N #2: Was 20 when I joined this fandom (season 3) and now I turned 32 this past weekend. Time flies and it's been fantastic. =]

—---------

"You want to talk about what happened down there?"

Of course he doesn't but Sam knows better.

He takes a slow inhale, taking in the smell of cinnamon buns from a bakery two doors down and the feel of dampness still lingering after a downpour the day before. Sam pushes himself off the rail and turns to see Deeks standing a few feet away with two cold beers in hand and a look that says- are you okay?

"Did that little punk complain about me?" Sam snaps unintentionally. He huffs in frustration and then sighs at Deeks' unchanging expression.

"Considering that you rightfully tore into a Master Chief Petty Officer," Deeks replies while approaching Sam's side and extending out one of the beers. "I doubt Valez will complain since you were technically correct. "

"Doesn't matter," Sam grunts. He twists off the cap of the beer and stares down at the frothy drink in his hands. He can't bring himself to look at Deeks so he opts to focus on the beer as the younger man sighs heavily. 

"Sam, what happened back there?" Deeks asks. The question tears at Sam, eating away at the already self critical, angry state he's still in. He takes a sip of his own beer and finally tears his eyes off the bottle and over to the Investigator. 

And when he does, Sam sees the eyes of twenty-six year old eager Petty Officer Jamal Holliday. 

The twenty-six year old bright and eager Marine who'd been bullied and assaulted, allegedly, by a trio of arrogant, high ranking Marines during a training session. He replays the broken look in the young man's eyes as he sat bloodied and bruised in a hospital bed, interviewed by Sam and Callen as a part of the investigation. 

He also feels the need to punch the agitator, Master Chief Valez. "Holliday doesn't belong here, sir. Whatever happened during the sparring match was all by his own doing."

"You with me, Sam?" Deeks asks. His head is cocked slightly to the right as the Investigator eyes him suspiciously from head to toe. Sam turns his head away, grumbles, “Let it go, Deeks,” before looking away again. 

"My spidey senses are telling me that this isn't about Velez." The Investigator takes a sip of his own beer, letting another silence fall between them for a moment before adding, "Not all Marines are good, honorable men, Sam. They aren't like you."

Aren't like you- the words echo in his head, bringing a rush of memories proving otherwise.

"You're just a temp."

"Didn't mean to bug you, Sam."

"I'm Navy, straight up. Everything you do is different. The way you dress, your jokes. Your hair-"

Sam winces at the last memory and takes a large gulp of his beer to fight off the growing tightness in his chest.

The guilt, eleven years strong, eating at him.

"Velez and his group of cronies or whatever will get what they deserved," Deeks mutters. "And Petty Officer Holliday will transfer to another unit or squad or whatever the Navy calls-"

"Why?"

Deeks narrows his eyes at Sam. "Why what?"

Sam shakes his head and looks over to the pattering of passing headlights on the overpass a mile away. "Velez being…what made Velez think that he could do those things to Holliday? Why did he think he was so much better over someone that he'd..he'd-"

He stops himself before the words he wants to say tumble out- I thought I was better than you because I'm a SEAL. Please tell me that my stupid, selfish reasons were different from his.

In the corner of his eye, Sam can see Deeks, in the middle of lifting his bottle, suddenly freeze. He lowers the bottle before his expression shifts to confusion. Deeks' blue eyes stare at Sam for a long beat before the Investigator steps back, cocks his head and asks incredulously,  "You think you're like Velez? Wait- you think what Velez did to Holliday and what you did to me are the same thing?"

Sam straightens up and fully faces Deeks. He oddly feels calmer than he'd ever expected when ever having this conversation.

 Deeks, on the other hand-

"Why would you- Sam, you honestly think you are the same as the psychopath who essentially used a rookie for target practice?" Deeks exclaims. He shakes his head and scoffs. "Did you try and use me for target practice?"

Sam steps back from Deeks, actually a touch insulted at the question. "I'd never-"

Deeks jabs a finger in the direction of the roof door. "Did you take pleasure in knowing that I was miles behind you  and leave me hanging or did you help me to be better, moaning and bitching the whole time?"

Sam opens his mouth to respond but stops at the look in Deeks' eyes. 

Anger. Disappointment. Disbelief. 

The Investigator shakes his head and sighs heavily, "Most importantly- why- I thought after Sidarov and everything that we'd moved past-"

"Do you remember calling me when you'd been stabbed?" Sam blurts out. He catches himself, takes a breath and continues, "Petty Officer Holliday was assaulted and then tried to call one of his team members for help and…you called me once when you'd been stabbed during a LAPD op, instead of Kensi or Hetty or anyone else."

Deeks' eyes flicker down for a moment as he tries to think back. When the memory clicks, his eyes widen. "I remember…that was uhm…I was in an alley and then it went blank until I woke up. I called you?"

Sam shakes his head and looks back to the beer sitting on the ledge. "You apologized," he explains with a sniffle. "You thought that calling me while you were bleeding in an alley was such an inconvenience."

"Sam-"

The older agent can feel tears forming in his eyes."You would've died thinking that and I don't- that wouldn't have been true. Not even close."

Deeks walks over to the ledge and leans back against it. Sam can feel him watching him for a few seconds, this time with a little less confusion than before. "Sam, what was the last non- work conversation we had before today?"

"What?"

Deeks smirks a little and repeats the question, "What was the last non- work conversation you and I had?"

"I need you to talk me out of doing something stupid. Probably not too stupid, considering..."

The memory triggers a small smile on Sam. "About the ethical ways to do a background check on one of Rosa's friends. And how I should buy my own golden shark to put on my boat."

Deeks nods. "Which would be awesome by the way. And why do you think  a year and a half into my time on the team, bleeding and delirious and well- aware of you and Callen's dislike of having me on the team, that I called you for help?"

Sam's conscience screams in the back of his mind the answers he's afraid to hear.

Because I was delirious.

Because I made a mistake.

Because I was naive. 

What he doesn't expect is Deeks' answer.

"Because I trusted you to get help."

He doesn't remember the immediate emotions as he had after directing Eric and Kensi to get help but he remembers the automatic instinct to rescue the team's liaison.

Deeks' expression softens as Sam's realization rises. "I knew you didn't like me," he admits softly, "but I knew you, Callen, Kensalina, Hetty- I had to have known you'd come help me, at the minimum. I trusted you even when you were at your worst and was right."

Sam watches Deeks clink his beer against Sam's before he nods. "That's the difference between me and Velez and Holliday- you changed. He hasn't and probably never will."

"You're a good man, Deeks." Sam says. "If I didn't tell you."

Deeks takes a final large gulp of his beer and stands. "And so are you. So let what happened between us go, alright? Promise me."

"I'll try." His answer to the request is as honest as it can be. The guilt still remains but feels different.

Lighter.

And in time, Sam realizes, it'll heal. 

—---

The end. 

Thanks for reading!

[orionares]

BTHB: Distress Call

BTHB: Distress Call

NCIS: Los Angeles

@badthingshappenbingo

—----

A/N: Takes place mid season 3

—-------

"Twenty-three…."

"Twenty-four….."

"Twenty-"

Sam Hanna is cut short in his count as his cell phone rings out from below the bench. He sighs, places the fifty pound dumbbell onto the mat with his right hand and picks up his cell phone to see- Caller: Marty Deeks.

Why the hell is Deeks calling me? Sam thinks, nowhere in the mood for a ramble or random, idiotic question that's just popped in the detective’s head. Sam is especially not prepared for a question from Deeks while he's in the middle of LAPD undercover op.

The last one? "Sam, there's a shop out here in Boyle Heights- well, technically not Boyle Heights since we passed the sign- anyway, there's a boat sweater out here that has your name on it-"

Or the one from 3 months ago? "I hear you guys are undercover at a country club.  I'm jealous- Bates wants me to hangout under an overpass. Wanna trade?"

Out of curiosity and the knowledge that he'll likely here about it anyway when Deeks comes back, Sam presses answer and prepares for well, nonsense.

What he does not expect is the deep, pained breathing on the other end. 

"Deeks?" Sam calls out and drops the other dumbbell onto the mat. "What- what are you-"

"Sam…." The usually happy detective wheezes on the other end. Sam can hear the faint sounds of honking and a train over Deeks' labored breathing. "'Meant to call K'nsi."

"Are you drunk?" Sam asks, praying, please let it be that you are drunk or just woke up or-

"No…oww…I got…someone sta-stabbed me and m' bleeding, " Deeks slurs. Sam hears him grunt out in pain and what he assumes to be sliding or falling to the ground. "Where's K'si?"

Sam rises to his feet, turns and starts walking towards the gym's entrance. Although he's never told Deeks or well, anyone on the team, he's had two talks with Lieutenant Bates on backing up Deeks on undercover OPS.

I'm not in the mood to train another Rookie, Sam had snapped at Bates. 

I might have to do a third-

He shakes off the question and moves through the entrance and towards the bullpen.  "Deeks, you got hurt on another op? What did LAPD say?" 

"Didn't call 'em. Wouldn't come if I did anyway- ouch." 

"Are you moving? If you're moving, stop moving and stay still!"

Deeks groans out in pain again before silence  passes on the line. Sam stops in his tracks and calls out, "Deeks?"

No answer.

"Deeks!" Sam yells now and his voice echoes throughout the mission, attracting the attention of a few agents, Eric and Kensi. Kensi appears from behind the desk divider and raises an eyebrow at Sam.

Thankfully, the labored breathing starts up again. Deeks groans and slurs, "Drop-I'd…I think I dropped the phone on the- on the ground. I'm sorry-"

"Stop moving and stay on the line." Sam looks up to Kensi and Eic on the staircase. "Deeks was injured on an op and called me. Eric, get LAPD down to- Deeks, where are you?"

"Boyle He-Heights. M'gonna call Kensi. Didn't mean to bug you, Sam. I'm gonna-"

"Deeks, if you hang up the phone, I swear to God," Sam snaps. "Eric's going to alert LAPD and I'm going to put Kensi on the phone with you."

Sam hands off the phone to Kensi and watches Eric sprint up the stairs to the OPS center. He stands in the middle of the Mission for a beat and lets the adrenaline running through his veins settle. Odd to Sam, the only moment his trained mind can't skip over are-

Didn't mean to bug you, Sam. 

Or the true meaning behind the words-

Didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were doing, Sam, to trust you enough to save me from dying alone. My bad. 

I'm sorry that I thought you'd care-

Sam shakes his head and forces a new thought into his mind- No, push the words off and go make sure he doesn’t die.

After a minute or so passes, Sam moves back into action, heading up the stairs to meet Eric. He expects the detective's pained voice and the words- didn't mean to bug you, Sam- to fade after they find Deeks.

However, even after LAPD calls to report Deeks alive, unconscious in an alley with a knife sticking out of his thigh, Sam Hanna's left with a set of unexpected emotions. 

Emotions that even as he teases and pokes at Deeks for another year and a half, sit in the back of his conscience. 

Emotions that multiply after he watches the detective scream in pain from being tortured. Tortured to keep him and his wife safe.

Guilt. Disappointment. Worry. Sadness.

Each emotion carves a spot in his conscience that he  carries during every happy and heartbreaking moment during the nine years that follow. 

The ex-SEAL never brings it up once to anyone. 

In nearly 11 years, Sam never brings it up, never asking- after everything I had done do you Deeks, why'd you call me of all people for help?

—-------

Part 2?

[orionares]

BTHB: Used as Bait

BTHB: Used as Bait

Law and Order: SVU/OC

@badthingshappenbingo

—------

"WHAT THE HELL IS TAKING SO LONG?" 

Olivia Benson watches the erratic, lanky man pacing in front of her check his phone the tenth or so time. She's handcuffed on a pallet in a warehouse room with a throbbing headache she's blaming on being pistol whipped.

"You kidnapped a police captain. I can guarantee you people are looking for me," Olivia says. The man in front of her stops pacing to shoot her a scowl. 

"It better be Stabler and his ego walking through the door," the man snaps and points in the direction of the door. Olivia swallows hard at the sight of what looks like a homemade explosive the size of a computer box sitting against the wall. She can see wires running from explosives to under the pallet but she can't see where they run to. 

Her conclusion terrifies her but she maintains her composure- I'm connected to a bomb.

The man kicks the wall, yanking her out of her thoughts, yelling, "I made sure everybody knows I took you because of him. Where is he?"

Burning the city down looking for me- the voice in the back of her head says. She shakes off the thought as a second, less hopeful one takes its place. 

He won't look for you. He left you for a decade, remember?

"What's your name?" Olivia asks to distract him. In the short time since waking, Olivia had clocked him to be in his late twenties and based on her knowledge of Elliot's latest focus- the Huerra cartel- a buyer or a lower level member. 

"Why? We're not friends."

"I could call you 'John Doe'."

The man sniffs, wipes his nose and grumbles, "Zeke Solomon. Stabler knows who I am."

Olivia nods. "Care to enlighten me?" 

Zeke crosses his arms and scans her head to toe. It's an uncomfortable leer he gives her before pointing in the direction of the door. "Stabler and his band of merry cops somehow figured out where our headquarters were and arrested half of my crew! It all got blamed on me! My life is over because of him. So I'm going to ruin his."

"By killing me in front of him?"

Zeke smiles greedily at the Captain. "By wiping everything he loves off the face of the Earth," he sneers.

Zeke starts to pace, giving her a minute to think. A part of her knows that Elliot's  likely a mess, arguing, threatening and destroying everything he can get his hands on. 

Or maybe he isn't coming. He wasn't here during the accident and he won't be here now. 

Maybe it's something she can use.

 So she decides to bluff.

"He won't come for me."

Zeke stops in his tracks and slowly turns his head to look at Olivia. "Excuse me?"

"He won't come for me," Olivia blurts out. "The NYPD won't let him and-"

"Stop talking."

"You chose wrong," she hisses. The line between bluffing and the last ten years blurs a bit further. "He left me for a decade without a word. Who does that to someone they love?" 

Zeke snorts at the question and walks over to a grocery bag by the wall. He pulls a roll of duct tape from a grocery bag and turns to Olivia. "I followed Stabler for a bit because I was going to confront him- shoot him," he explains, "and then I saw you two talking in front of one Zo's cafe in Brooklyn and I knew."

Oh. She remembers the chance meeting with Elliot two weeks prior in front of the cafe a few blocks from OCCB.  She had been buying a pair of ballroom shoes for Noah when Elliot had jogged up to her with a grin on his face.

He'd asked her about the shoes, Noah's dance and soon they'd talk for over an hour about life with a break for coffee.

He saw Elliot and I be….us. Whatever us is right now.

"You saw us?" Olivia repeats. Zeke tears off a piece of tape and walks over to her. He kneels in front of her and presses the tape over her mouth. 

"I did," Zeke replies, "Now enough talking."

—-----

"Let me at least buy you a coffee since you're here, Liv. I'd love to hear more about Noah if you'd let me."

Olivia jerks upward when a banging beyond the door interrupts the memory. She watches Zeke push himself off of the wall and pull a Glock 26 from his waistband. 

"NYPD! Zeke Soloman, come out with your hands up!"booms from beyond the door. 

"Stabler, you better be out there or I'm putting a bullet in your girlfriend's head!" Zeke yells.

Outside the door, Olivia can hear shuffling behind the door and guesses it to be ESU shifting and taking sides on each side. 

"I'm here, Solomon," Elliot's voice brings a relief that nearly brings Olivia to tears. "What can we do to get you to release Captain Benson?"

Zeke aims his gun at Olivia while reaching out and turning the lock. He carefully backs away from the door, careful to step over the wires and stop directly behind Olivia. 

"I'm coming in unarmed," Elliot warns and steps into the doorframe. He's wearing a navy blue Henley under a NYPD Kevlar vest and jeans. "Zeke, let her go."

"I was starting to believe that you weren't coming," Zeke sneers. He presses the muzzle of his Glock against the back of her head. She winces and hopes- prays- that their uncanny ability to communicate without speaking still works. 

El, there are wires and explosives.  Do not come any closer- Olivia thinks hard while flicking her eyes over to the explosives. Do not blow us up before-

"You got my attention," Elliot replies. He doesn't give her any sign that he's caught on her message. Instead, Elliot holds up both hands and pleads, "Let Captain Benson go."

"Do you know my bosses think I was the one who gave them up to the NYPD?" Zeke yells. 

"Your cartel put drugs on the streets that were killing people," Elliot growls through gritted teeth. "I did my job, neither of which have anything to do with her!"

"Mmph!" Olivia moans before jerking her head towards the explosives. Please, Elliot. Look to your left!

Elliot steps to his right, keeping his eyes on Zeke. "And you killing two cops isn't going to cement you in history. Especially when they've dismissed you for kidnapping a police captain."

Zeke's mouth drips open slightly before he shuts it and shoves Olivia onto her side. As the man steps towards Elliot, Olivia inhales and waits for an explosion.

Nothing.

"You're lying, Stabler!"

"Zeke, listen to me-"

Olivia looks down to a gap in the pallet to see the end of the wires sitting unconnected. 

It's a dummy bomb. 

The Captain turns her head to see Zeke and Elliot a few feet apart. She takes a sharp inhale and kicks as hard as she can at Zeke's foot. Her heel hits his ankle, causing him to yell out in pain and jerk his head towards her. 

Elliot takes the opportunity and charges towards Zeke and tackles the man to the ground next to her feet. She hears footsteps and a chorus of "Get down!" and "NYPD!" from ESU enter the room out of her eyeline. 

"Take him!" She hears from Elliot. Olivia moans as she hears someone approach her from the left, grab her shoulders and turn her over. Elliot lifts her up into a sitting position, removes the tape from her mouth and then presses his forehead against hers.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he pants."you okay?"

"You came," Olivia whispers. Tears begin to form in her eyes as she meets his blue eyes and truly sees her partner, here and now. “You came for me.” 

Elliot pulls back and looks at her in confusion, hurt clear in his eyes. “Liv?”

Olivia's sobbing now as she tucks her head into his chest. “You came for me.”

Elliot kisses the side of her head and drops his voice down to a whisper. "Liv, I love you," he whispers," I will never not come for you. I'm not making that mistake ever again. I promise. "

[orionares]

BTHB: Mind Games

BTHB: Mind Games

NCIS: Los Angeles

—-----

A/N: References to 11x10- "Mother"

—-----

"What do I do if I feel a panic attack coming on?"

Ground himself.

Marty Deeks has to, somehow in the middle of the cafe, ground himself from letting the three year dormant trauma from drowning him. He cannot lose it in the middle of the cafe while that song plays from the speakers. 

"Well, you do enough talk, my little hawk, why do you cry?"

Five seconds, breath in-

"Tell me what did you learn-"

He inhales and flinches as the small cafe's suddenly stuffy and small like the box-

Hold breath for five seconds-

The cafe's air is suddenly thick and something is clicking and bright like the box-

 "-from the Tillamook burn? Or the Fourth of July?"

His mind is racing and between the lyrics and the shrinking cafe and my God, wasn't it sixty-five outside a second ago?

"We're all gonna die."

He releases the breath, forgoing exhaling for five seconds and barrels out the door. Somehow, as his heart thumps on his ears, he staggers towards his truck in the lot and damn near collapses onto the driver's door. 

He is not in the box where a bomb ticks to end his life.

He is not on the other end of the glass from his sunshine and gunpowder, letting her and his own life go. 

God, he needs to breathe. 

He attempts to inhale for five seconds, makes it to three seconds and chokes out a sob. Getting a damn breath shouldn't be so hard, especially when he's outside, damn it, in fresh air and not in that gentle contempt with dying. 

—--

"What comes after I catch my breath?"

He needs to see five things. 

The technique recommended by Nate requires 5 things to be seen, four things to be felt, three things to be heard, two things to smell and one thing to be tasted. 

Five things- his breathing, still uneven and hoarse, quickens as he opens his eyes to his own pale reflection. The high school pickup pass that sits in the cup holder grabs his attention first.

His messenger bag strewn on the passenger seat floor is second. 

Trees rustling through a reflection is third.

 Kensi’s forgotten bottle in the cup holder is second. 

His own blue eyes are last.

—-

His new Nike's still feel stiff.

The truck door feels grimly, in need of a deep wash.

One of his loose strands of hair tickles the back of his neck. 

His heart is still nearly beating out of his chest. 

—-------

His heart rate is thumping in his ears. 

His heart is so loud, thumping in his ears. 

His heart rate that's too loud and too fast is thumping in his ears. 

—----

He smells the cinnamon dipped cronut- he's supposed to get three for the girls- one Rosa and two for Kensalina-

Good lord, the new sandwich place next door to the cafe reeks of bread. Reeks enough to carry across the parking lot.

—------

The gum he'd been chewing and had forgotten still tastes like mint-

—-----

He wraps his fingers around the door handle, presses the open button, pulls open the door and slides inside.

 The breaths are starting to become easier.

There's now a faint twisting sensation in his chest that eases as his body settles. He may drive home and forgo the cronuts or he may give himself time to truly settle. 

Someone's playing some John Denver nearby- he can hear it now over the settling heart rate. 

"Take me home, country roads. To the place, where I belong ...."

—------

In the hours after the panic attack, he wonders of the mindset of Hetty's protégé.

He wonders if the man was truly delighted at the ensuing mind game- leave the person to die and there is nothing you can do about it. Had he predicted that there was a chance both of them would walk out of this with emotional scars?

Did he want a mind game just for Hetty? No, he realizes once he remembers their wedding photo plastered behind a map. 

Or is this the mind game?

You could have died because of me….because you follow Mother.  You gave up- you let go- because you follow her into the abyss. 

[orionares]

BTHB: Missing and Presumed Dead

BTHB: Missing and Presumed Dead

NCIS: Los Angeles

@badthingshappenbingo

—-------

Palmyra, Syria 

"I've been looking for you. "

Henrietta Lange lowers the small cream colored tea cup from her lips and sets it on the table. The voice comes from a man standing in a white shemagh, red tee shirt and white linen pants that sits across from her at the cafe table. She knows almost immediately that the visitor isn't a local but in fact- an American asset.

No one- well, little to no one- knows where I am. 

"I am not a person that should be easy to find, Mr. Isaac," Hetty counters. CIA agent Rowan Isaac chuckles and grabs the battered white menu resting against the wall. 

He remains quiet as he reads over the back of the menu before finally replying in a low voice, " It's Jessup, here. We need to talk somewhere privately. "

She smirks. "You should have thought about privacy before interrupting my afternoon tea."

"You are a hard woman to find," Jessup says. He closes the menu and leans back in his chair. "I'm actually here to deliver some bad news. About your kids."

Hetty inhales slowly and exhales as she lets the news settle in her. The only person who'd referred to the team back in Los Angeles as 'the kids' since her departure was Admiral Hollace Kilbride. 

Jessup's eyes flicker over to a man standing crossed armed in front of the counter. He lowers his voice and explains, "The…..children were engaged in a job where….a fire destroyed a building they had just entered.  They are missing."

Hetty maintains her composure, deep down grasping onto it for security. She's also angry at herself at allowing herself to be complacent. 

No news isn't always good news- she thinks angrily to herself. 

"And with them missing," Jessup leans forward towards Hetty, "for three days now, they've been…presumed to be dead. Now mind you, this is only the oldest four but….you needed to be updated."

Updated and now involved. Hetty pushes the saucer away from her and clasps her hands together on the table top. She states in flat voice, "Then I have some transportation to take care of."

—----------

Ninety minutes after departing in a loaned Bombardier Global 500, Hetty makes a video call to Kilbride. 

It's two in the morning in Los Angeles; however, the OPS center is brightly lit when Kilbride appears at his desk on the screen. He sighs slowly when he sees her and he sits up further in his seat. 

"I'm on my way back," Hetty states and her comment earns a snort from Kilbride.

"I sent Rowan Isaac to you with the full intention of retrieving you for that particular reason," Kilbride replies with an unwanted level of snark. 

She ignores the comment and narrows her eyes at him. "Are we going to spend twelve hours arguing, Hollace, or can you tell me what the hell happened?"

Empathy flashes as Kilbride's shoulders drop. He's exhausted, beyond exhausted and just as worried as she's beginning to be. 

"Rowan said they were presumed dead?" Hetty asks. Saying the words - presumed dead- feels suffocating; she can feel a tightness in her chest. "Tell me everything- please."

Kilbride opens his mouth to respond but the sound of a door off screen opening draws his attention. He leans his head off the camera- or at at least tries to- and says something that leaves her puzzled.

"No, you don't have to go to school today….are you hungry? I can have anyone here grab you some food….my treat and that's a special Hollace deal…just give me a second."

Kilbride leans back into view, his expression much softer than she's seen in him. Before she can ask any questions, he sidelines her.

Bloody sidelines her.

"I'll send you the basic reports and have someone who will drive you straight here," Kilbride states. "And they will make sure you come straight here. You've been gone for a while, Henrietta, and I will not have you running wild while I try to keep things afloat with three quarters of my team missing."

Hetty sits back in the chair as the screen suddenly goes dark. Yes, she's had things to take care of in Syria- messes to be dealt with of her own.

But she is a woman who does not like being left alone with unanswered questions. It's kept her alive, knowing every possible play available and knowing her opponents. 

But sitting on a flight hours from Los Angeles with dozens of questions running rampant in her mind? Especially when one of the answers to the question could be- yes, Callen, Sam, Kensi and Deeks are all dead.

Hetty reaches forward and slowly closes the laptop screen shut. One of the questions that had popped up in her mind during the conversation comes to the forefront.

You aren't the overly touch type, Hollace. Who were you talking to?

—-------

OPS is quiet when she arrives.

With the only bag she's traveled with in Syria slung over her shoulder, Hetty enters the bullpen and takes a moment to note the changes since her last visit nearly a year ago. 

New additions to the tech workspace…a few touch ups on furniture….the bullpen divider is a different sha-

"I'm allowed to be here," Hetty hears softly from the couch that borders Callen and Deeks' desk. Hetty clasps her hands together and looks over to see a teenage girl sitting on the couch under a crochet blanket and surrounded by a tablet, wrappers and a familiar light blue sweater. 

"I have no doubt you are," Hetty replies as she walks between the set of desks towards the teenager. She nods at the visitor sticker on the teenager's jumper. "I can see your sticker. Have people given you trouble?"

The girl sits up a little straighter and her eyes flicker up to Kilbride's office. Hetty glances up to see the Admiral pacing in front of his desk with arms crossed behind his back. "Some people were but Hollace told them to stop."

"Considering you are the daughter of two federal agents," Hetty says with a smile," You have every right to be here, considering the circumstances. "

"You know who I am? How?"

Hetty nods over to Deeks' light blue sweater. "Mr. Deeks' sweater. I also remember when a family rescued by Ms. Blye and Mr. Hanna gave them both those blankets. What's your name?"

"Rosa Reyes." The teenager relaxes slightly against the back of the couch. "Are you an agent, too?"

"No, my dear-" Hetty pauses and contemplates her answer. Without knowing how much Kensi and Deeks have told Rosa or how much of their work is shared, she opts for a more neutral answer. "My name is Hetty Lange and I've known both of your parents for more than a decade. They, like Mr. Hanna and Mr. Callen, are some of the most courageous, graceful people I've ever met." 

Rosa's head bobs as tears begin to form in her eyes. She opens her mouth and lets out a sob. "Are they really dead?"

Hetty glances up to the glass office where Kilbride now stands at one of the windows, peering back. Although he's too far to get a clear view of his expression, she's well aware of what he's likely thinking.

You've missed a lot. Here's an example of what you've missed- Hetty imagines him saying. Behind her, Rosa tucks her head against her chest and starts to softly cry. 

I damn well know that, Hollace, Hetty thinks with a soft huff. She turns back to Rosa and feels a vibration in her pocket. Pulling out the phone, Hetty finds a message from Kilbride. 

Have an update for you. We may have found them.

Hetty lets out a slow, soft sigh at the message. She's been in protective mode for over a day now since leaving Syria. Her instincts have her needing to march up the stairs, get what she can and dare Kilbride to stop her from finding the remainder of her team. 

But a new rising part of her needs to stay and comfort the teenager desperate for news on her parents. It's a funny feeling to her to finally meet essentially the fourth child of her agents that she'd die for. 

Another buzz from her phone brings another message- Or you can stay with Rosa. Deeks' mother is stranded out of town due to a storm. She needs someone.

Hetty lowers the phone and walks over to settle onto the couch next to Rosa. She sends a quick glance up to Kilbride before placing a comforting hand on Rosa's shoulder. The descion made, Hetty smiles before saying, 

"May I tell you the story about the first time I met your parents?"

—--------

Six hours after beginning her story, Hetty leans against Callen's desk, sipping from a glass from Macallan Fine Single malt liquor. A celebratory glass, she supposes, after the news that had arrived an hour ago.

All four agents were alive, hungry and exhausted with minor injuries.

She takes another sip of her scotch as footsteps approach her side. Kilbride holds his own glass out to clink hers.

"How long has she been asleep?" Kilbride asks, nodding at the sleeping Rosa.

"After speaking with Ms. Blye and Mr. Deeks, she fell asleep almost immediately," Hetty replies. She clicks her glass against his and takes another sip. "Miss Reyes was exhausted."

"How'd it feel to be on the sidelines?" Kilbride asks. There's no malice in the question or his tone, only true curiosity. 

"I wouldn't call it being on the sidelines." Hetty nods slowly. "You were right to say things are different, Hollace. No matter how….different this was, helping Miss Reyes was where I needed to be."

[orionares]

Whumptober, Day 29

Whumptober, Day 29- Defiance

Law and Order: SVU/OC

—---

A/N: Wrote a lot of pieces that I couldn't quite perfect as a solid 1,000+ word piece and  had let them sit in drafts for awhile.  However, I've decided to post these little guys anyway. Happy Halloween. =]

—-----

"Are you dating Detective Stabler?"

Such a goddamn loaded question.

The Captain shifts in her seat, keeping her hand over sore left wrist. Normally, she'd argue, outwit and slam the interviewer from IAB sitting across from her. Hell, she'd scowl at the man- Philip Daniels- with contempt before explaining the audacity of someone from IAB asking questions about her life.

McGrath's fingerprints all over the question.

So instead, she stares at him impassively without saying a word.

Daniels glances towards the one way mirror and coughs, likely due to the crowd of higher ups hovering outside. He's young and reeks of eagerness to please the higher ups. "Captain Benson?"

Olivia blinks, brown eyes remaining narrowed at Daniels. She's tempted to look over to the 'old boys club' likely behind the glass and ask- I'm going to need a list of your love lives, past and present, for all to see. You first, Chief.

"Do you need a moment?" Daniels asks, interrupting her train of thought. He's visibly cracking under the thick, awkward silence in the room. "Did you hear what I-"

"My answers will only, " Olivia makes sure to enunciate the word," answer questions about the task force. Which I have already answered."

Daniels pulls a 8x12 written statement she hasn't been allowed to see from a file. "Well, an anonymous individual reported that working with Detective Stabler is a conflict of interest, especially if you two are dating."

She can see a bead of sweat run down the man's forehead. When the interview's over, she'll find Daniels outside of any prying eyes and ears and apologize- My tone isn't about you, it's towards the overeager higher ups hunting for blood. 

"C-Captain?"

Olivia leans forward over the edge of the desk to truly get across her next question. "Have I answered all of the questions related directly to the task force?" 

The man nods wordlessly, giving her the out she needs to end this. 

"Then we're done,"Olivia snaps. Standing to her feet, Olivia ignores the color draining from Daniels' face and the rising voices from behind the one way window. Before she can turn away from the table, McGrath bursts through the door, red faced and pointing a finger back at the chair. 

"Interview isn't done, Cap," McGrath states. "I need to know exactly how our case fell apart! The Feds have questions and more importantly,  1PP have questions. Being defiant-"

"Four police officers were killed yesterday, six were injured, including myself, one of my detectives and four others from the DEA and Organized Crime, " Olivia counters. She steps closer to the Chief and drops her voice low enough to keep the remainder between the two, "And you want to waste time having IAB investigate my personal life instead of finding out why someone targeted the NYPD. This is the hill you want to die on?"

She watches the intensity on his face falter over the fifteen seconds of thick, tense silence between them. McGrath wrinkles his nose in frustration before stepping back. "Fine. But I want you on leave-"

"For not answering a question about things unrelated to the case," Olivia challenges, "Is this the hill you want to die on?"

McGrath's voice rises suddenly and his eyes flicker over to the window. "Captain Benson, thank you for coming in. Now, please - go home and rest while we continue to investigate. "

His words carry a hidden message- Stabler's a liability and an asshole. I want him gone and you'll help me do it, one way or another.

 I will use Stabler against you to get compliance, Captain.

Olivia waits a beat before walking around the Chief towards the door. She hopes her determined walk sends an answer to his unspoken threat -

 I goddamn dare you.

[orionares]

Whumptober, Day 25

Whumptober,  Day 25- "You better start talking"

NCIS: Los Angeles

—-----

A/N: Wrote a lot of pieces that I couldn't quite perfect as a solid 1,000+ word piece and  had let them sit in drafts for awhile.  However, I've decided to post these little guys anyway. Happy Halloween. =]

—-----

"You aren't what I had expected."

Investigator Marty Deeks slows to a stop at a man resting cross armed against a lone minivan sitting in a parking lot. At 4:45 in the morning, a lone vehicle in a lot isn't unusual.

A man seemingly waiting for him halfway through his run is.

"Do I know you?" Deeks calls out. The man peers at him without moving for a moment before answering in a faintly accented voice, "I'm someone with questions, Investigator."

Deeks steps back and tucks a hand in his shorts pocket. He can hear approaching footsteps from behind as his fingers brush and press against the Agent in distress button on his phone. He's outnumbered two to one but he isn't panicking.

That plan immediately goes out the window when both men charge him.

 Deeks sidesteps the man behind him and shoves him towards the van, giving him the space he needs to escape or fight: however, the move opens him up to the first man to deliver a kick to the Investigator's knees. The kick lands in the back of his right knee, causing the knee to give out.

"Ahhh!" Deeks groans as he lands awkwardly on his right knee. Whoever's responsible for the kick hooks an arm around the Investigator's neck  and yanks him back against their chest. The attacker in front of Deeks settles and even smirks as Deeks struggles against the chokehold.

"You made this harder than this needed to be," the attacker in front teases. He's around Sam's height with a very familiar military buzz cut and hollow green eyes.

"Kidnapping…" Deeks gasps, "makes….me…a little…antsy…"

"Now you have some questions to answer," the lead attacker nods and the attacker behind Deeks tightens his hold over Deeks' neck. "About an old friend of yours. You can do this now or we can actually take you and you'll be more than a little antsy."

Deeks digs his fingers further into the second attacker's arm as he begins to see dots appear in his vision. His lungs are beginning to work overtime under the increasing pressure on his neck. By a quick estimate, he's got a minute or so and even less, if more pressure is applied.

"Tell me about Anatoli Kirkin and you better start talking ." The lead attacker steps closer to Deeks with an increasingly smug smile growing on his face. He kneels  in front of Deeks and asks, "Kirkin took something from me before he died and I'm guessing the only person who'd know where it is you."

"I don't -" Deeks' vision narrows and blurs- he's got a few seconds at best. "It was years….ago that he….died."

The smile on the leader's face grows into a Chesire-like smile. The Investigator gasps again as the pressure around his neck increases. As he slips into unconsciousness, Deeks hears, "Anatoli was a liar and it seems you are one too. We'll fix that."

[orionares]

Whumptober, Day 6

Whumptober, Day 6: "I've got a pulse"

The Rookie

--------------

This is a part 3 written for Whumptober.

Part 1 is here

Part 2 is here

-----------------

Elysian Valley, Los Angeles

Lucy slams the SUV door open and peers up at the abandoned four story building, once home to a Veridian Insurance, a doctor's office and a tattoo shop. As Nolan walks around the front of the SUV to meet her and additional units arrive, Lucy replays the information the LAPD’s found since receiving the text.

Veridian Insurance moved out of the building two years ago and has no employees with any red flags. 

The doctor's office closed down in 2018. 

Lucy flinches at Nolan's touch on her shoulder. She shakes off her haze and watches Angela lead a group of ESU officers towards them. Angela's attaching a radio to her hip when she reaches Lucy and Nolan. 

"Our focus is KC's Tattoo shop," Angela calls out to the group, "The tattoo shop was the last to leave the building but has- had an employee with a penchant for being hired for robberies, small jobs and thanks to him being a cocky bastard on his social media, he was hired for a job about three hours before Sergeant Bradford was taken."

"We have a picture?" Nolan asks.

"Yep." Angela holds up her cellphone and displays the face of a man of medium build with mousy brown hair and beady eyes. "Thomas Hamilton. We will have two teams, one taking the entrance in the back led by Nolan and the second through the front led by me. Any questions?"

"No," Lucy answers. She glances down to her watch and sees 26:02 on the stopwatch. "We've just passed twenty- six hours."

"Then let's go." Angela points to two of the ESU officers. "Vanderbilt and Comiskey with me and Wilson and Morrison with Officers Chen and Nolan. Be smart and radio for assistance if you need it. Let's go."

—----------------

After clearing the tattoo shop, Nolan and Lucy enter the old doctor's office. 

Lucy and Nolan follow the pair of ESU officers in the waiting room. The room, outside a layer of dust over the furniture, appears just as if the previous tenant had never left- chairs lining the wall, a coffee table set in front to sofa chairs and a mural covering the corner wall.

No sign of Tim.

Wilson and Morrison move in sync, one behind the other, as they walk towards the office door, open it and disappear into a long, dark hallway. 

"Hallway clear," Morrison radios after a minute. Lucy nods, aims her pistol and flashlight in front of her and walks into the hallway. Morrison and Wilson are waiting in front of the first door on the left. "We've got blood."

Lucy peers up at the dusty sign on the wall and reads exam room 1. She motions to both officers to prepare to breach. "Nolan, on your count."

"Three, two-" Nolan counts down in a whisper, "-one. Go."

Morrison pulls the door open and lets Wilson, Lucy and Nolan through the door. The exam room is dark and appears untouched like the others except for a large blue tarp on the floor in a corner of the room. 

"Wait, " Lucy steps closer towards the tarp and feels a chill run down her spine at the glimpse of brown boots peeking under the edge of the tarp. 

The same boots Tim wears. 

Nolan passes Lucy and tugs the tarp off, revealing a pale, bloodied and bruised Tim. Lucy fumbles for her radio and yells, "We need an ambulance here. We found him!"

Nolan looks up as he feels for a pulse during a long pause; tears are brimming in Lucy’s eyes when Nolan suddenly looks up to meet her eyes. “I’ve got a pulse. It’s faint but he’s alive, Lucy.” 

Lucy walks over and kneels near Tim's side.  She enlaces her fingers with his and feels her chest tighten at the cold touch. He’s frighteningly still to her, even as a person who’s not as vibrant or excitable as her. She holds his hand close to her body and begins to whisper, “Ambulance is almost here, Tim. It’s ok.”

Tim moans, eliciting a tearful sob from Lucy. Nolan’s hand on her shoulder keeps her from spiraling until Rosalind's voice appears in the back of her mind.

“And if he lives long enough, maybe you can grade the quality, Lucy.”

Lucy freezes at Rosalind’s voice, replaying the warning in the back of her mind. She’s slow to realize that she’s starting to tremble until Nolan scoots closer to her.  

“Luce-” He starts to say before she reaches out to lift the hem of Tim's shirt. Lifting his shirt reveals a dark bruise just above Tim's hip and when she lifts the shirt another inch, every ounce for her, every bit of worry that's fueled her for the last twenty-six hours immediately turns to anger.

Either Hamilton or Rosalind, Lucy doesn't really care who, had tattooed Tim. 

Not with a death date like her, but in big black letters- R.D

Rosalind's initials.

[orionares]

Whumptober, Day 7

Whumptober, Day 7: Shaking Hands

Law and Order: SVU/OC

—----

He doesn't move for an hour after she's finished telling the story.

Olivia sits by Elliot and watches his eyes, wet with tears, flicker back and forth between a small spot on the coffee table. She doesn't need to ask any questions to know he's replaying every detail of the four days of her kidnapping over and over, letting his imagination construct darker and darker images of every detail he's heard.  

In the hour he sits there, Olivia knows he's mentally tearing himself apart. 

A small resentful part of her wants him to sit there and suffer from the guilt.

Let him feel the anger she'd carried in the days after being rescued where she'd called a dead number and scream-"You were supposed to be there for me and you left!"

The empathetic part of her knows he's drowning. This part of her takes the lead as Olivia sits forward far enough to get a better look at him. Elliot in his hulking frame appears small and feeble with his shoulders hunched forward and head hung low.

"Elliot?" Olivia calls out softly, her voice in a whisper. His frequently darting eyes suddenly halts and widens as if readying himself for her to yell. 

Instead, she exhales before reaching up to him and cupping his cheek in her hand. Elliot lets out a small squeak and shuts his eyes. She can feel his body tense under her warm, compassionate touch as if he's undeserving of it.

"Elliot, look at me," Olivia says. He flinches as she says his name but keeps his eyes closed. She can feel the fear of her next words resonating from him. "El."

The nickname works like a charm- he opens his eyes a little timidly before meeting her eyes. The unshed tears finally fall and run down his cheeks down to her thumb. 

"Where's your head right now?" She asks. He lets out a shuddering breath and looks away. Again, Olivia already knows exactly where his head is. "Don't…don't shut me out."

Elliot looks up and tries to blink away the tears once more brimming in his eyes. "I'm-" he croaks, "I'm trying to figure out- I'm trying to..figure out why you haven't told me to get the hell out of your life."

"Elliot."

He laughs, a tearful grief filled laugh, at her exasperation. "Liv, what I feel is…."he holds up a shaking hand between them, "I'm drowning. I'm drowning in anger and guilt and because I would have noticed. I would have noticed something was wrong a hell of a lot earlier than two days."

But you ran- the resentful part of her screams in the back of her mind- you were happy and healthy in Rome while I was fighting to live.

Olivia sighs, letting her competing emotions settle before continuing. "Don't do that to yourself-"

"Stop trying to be diplomatic," Elliot snaps. He jabs a finger at his chest. "You should be yelling at me! You should-"

Olivia scoffs, "I am so sick and tired of everyone telling me how I should feel!" She turns and sits on the floor, resting the back of her head against the edge of the bed. "And you of all people, do not get to tell me how I feel in regards to what happened."

She can feel Elliot's eyes on her from his perch on the bed. He's hesitant to make another move, say another word that'll push her away from him. 

You need to find out what you deserve.

"How do you see me?" Olivia asks after a long silence passes between them. The question, she decides, isn't as ransom as initially thought- instead, it's a question that she'd kept to herself in the days after being rescued.

How would he see me now?

Elliot slides down onto the floor next to her, sniffling and grunting and groaning as he settles next to her. He sighs with exasperation before saying, "I don't understand."

"People looked at me….differently for the longest time," Olivia admits. As she had when first telling him of Lewis, she doesn't give eye contact. " I became a victim and….the looks…how do you see me, now that you know?"

Now it's his turn to initiate physical contact by touching her shoulder. Olivia flinches before finally looking over to him. 

"When I look at you," Elliot answers, "I see everything I've ever wanted and could never let myself have. What happened to you just proves how strong you are."

"I didn't feel strong then and even  today, I don't feel strong, " she admits. A moment like this is what she's missed and craved since he's returned - the two of them together, alone and safe enough to reveal bits and pieces of themselves to each other. "When you say things like.."her voice briefly drops to a whisper,"like I love you, I don't feel strong. I feel….afraid of so many things."

"I don't feel strong either. I'm afraid of failing everyone again " Elliot blurts out and her mouth drops slightly open, "I failed you in so many ways, Liv. I failed Kathy and got her killed. I've failed the family by being an absent father and husband and I'm beginning to feel like everything I do is going to burn and-"

He's trembling when she suddenly grabs his hand and presses it against her chest. Elliot's body tenses under the feel of her beating heart. "I'm still here, Elliot and so are you. Focus on that."

He nods but remains quiet. Olivia feels her heart quicken and her cheeks redden over the words sitting at the tip of her tongue. "I'm afraid of us and- I'm more afraid of letting myself- letting us figure this thing out and failing." Tears are starting to finally form in her eyes. "I don't think I deserve to be happy, most days."

"Me too." Elliot reaches out to her and stops halfway between them."I'm sorry."

Olivia scoots a little closer towards him." Sounds like we both need to heal." 

"And I will spend the rest of my life doing that." 

"Be patient with me while you do," Olivia replies. Something indescribable rises in the Captain as she suddenly lifts Elliot's arm and scoots as close as she can to his side. 

Maybe it's hope that rises in her as she rests her head against his shoulder. 

When Elliot hums softly and enlaces his fingers with hers, she's almost positive that she's feeling hope.

And when Elliot buries his face into her hair, she can finally identify this feeling.

Happiness.

[orionares]

Whumptober, Day 17

Whumptober, Day 17: Breaking Point

The Rookie 

-----------

This serves as a sequel to "This shouldn't have happened", found here.

—-------------------

Lucy hits her breaking point at the twenty- four hour mark. 

In the academy, cadets are taught to be smart during investigations. Especially during cases that hit close to home. 

Know when you're compromised- a retired officer now instructor had warned though his eyes had told a completely different story. 

Walk away and let the others take the lead- another instructor had concluded at the end of a lesson on the catastrophic kidnapping case that had rocked the LAPD back in the 80s. An officer's wife had been taken by a high ranking cartel member in retaliation and poor guidance and the officer's recklessness had led to the wife's death. 

For the first twenty- four hours, Lucy stays, knowing full well that she should step away and let the others take the lead on finding Tim.

But when the stopwatch she’s set on her phone clicks over to 24 hours, 0 minute, 1 second since the security alert in Tim’s home system had gone off, she’s done. 

Lucy rises to her feet and starts marching towards the door of the conference room. She ignores Thorsen’s hesitant calls of her name as she moves into the wallway and down towards the interrogation rooms corridor of the precinct. 

When she passes the briefing room, Lucy can see Angela's eyes widen at the sight of her and Nolan shoot up from his chair. 

They're going to try and stop you, her conscience screams in the back of her mind, but this ends now. 

Sergeant Grey is standing outside the interrogation door when she turns the corner. She's sure he's either keeping guard from her last blowup or he's somehow gotten wind of her approaching and beaten her to the door. 

Grey doesn't look up from his open folder in hand until she's a foot in front of the door with an arm stretched out towards the handle. In the blink of an eye, he shuts the folder and grabs the door handle. 

 "I hope like hell you aren't about to do what I think you're about to do," Grey asks, frowning. 

“Sir…move,” Lucy growls. “please.” 

“Officer Chen, I’m going to take your tone being due to going a day plus without sleep,” Grey replies. He steps directly in front of the door. “You aren’t going anywhere near Rosalind.”

“Tim’s missing- he's been missing for a day because of me.”  Lucy points at the one way window where Rosalind is visible, smirking as she continues to sit at the center table. “I am done sitting around and letting her get off on us running around-”

“Rosalind’s been enjoying toying with people and getting under their skin for years,” Grey argues. He narrows his eyes at her and asks, “You know that this is what she wants, right?”

“If it gets Tim home, I don’t care!” 

Grey glances up above her to where she assumes tNolan, Thorne and Angela are hovering. He sighs and removes his hand from the door. “And when lawyers tear up the charges she’ll get for kidnapping Bradford because I let you scream at her multiple times-”

If he’s still alive, Lucy prays silently.

“-everything that we can use goes out the window and we’re back to square one, maybe even further if you go in that room and do anything that could end your career.” He looks around the hallway again before lowering his voice, “this isn’t on you, Lucy.” 

“She said that she’d-” the words, trying to say the words Rosalind marked him like she and Caleb marked me fail to leave her lips.

“And we won’t know that to be true until we find him.” Grey reminds her just a small beep rings from Lucy’s phone. He nods down to the phone and says, “Take a step back and let us handle finding Bradford while you go home, take a shower- hell, answer your phone.”

“And I’ll take you home,” Nolan offers. Lucy winces and drops her shoulders before pulling out her cellphone. She’s expecting an update text from Ginny, an update demand text from Harper, still home on medical leave ,or a random spam text. 

Instead she finds an address from a burner phone and in all capital letters-

COME GET YOUR BOY

—-----------

I can’t die here.

I can’t die here.

Tim Bradford repeats the four words over and over as he shivers on the cold, concrete floor. It keeps him grounded during his brief periods of consciousness and distracted from the regrets creeping up on him in the passing hours.

I should be a more involved, better uncle. 

I should do more as a training officer for future officers.

I should be a better friend. 

In the dark room he’s been abandoned in, Tim hears a voice grumble something inaudible. He shuts his eyes and tries to maintain a steady breath that’ll keep whoever sits in the room from checking on him. 

 I can’t die here. 

The words suddenly change as he feels himself beginning to drift.

I will make it back to you, Lucy.

[orionares]

Whumptober, Day 4

Hidden Injury

NCIS: Los Angeles

---------

2002

"Up and at 'am, blondie!"

Officer Marty Deeks lifts his head off of the cot and groans at the sharp pain that runs from his shoulder blade down to his hip. He's sure something is broken, sprained at a minimum, after fighting off a low level gang member with a metal pole.

Sergeant Michael Ferguson appears over Deeks and kicks the foot of the metal cot. The vibrations from the bed sends another sharp pain across his shoulder so painful that Deeks winces. 

"For someone who has enough time to rat out other brothers and sisters in blue," Ferguson sneers, "You seem to have a lot of time on your hands. Let's go."

"Where-" Deeks swings his legs off the bed and sits up to a wave of nausea,"- are we going?"

Ferguson opens his mouth and then pauses to read Deeks' pale skin. "Undercover too much for you, rat?"

The term rat stings, even six weeks after Deeks' testimony to IAB about two dirty cops. As the rat, he's found himself talking to no one, trusting no one and as of now, relegated to the worst undercover jobs available.

"I'm fine," Deeks lies. The lie, as he's learned, is safer than the truth.

 I should probably be in a hospital right now.

I feel so alone right now that it's suffocating me. 

I'm positive no one will care if they find I'm injured anyway. 

2012

Get your ass back here for a stint. Tell the little ninja you'll be back in three days. -Bates

Three days, like every other last minute undercover stint, is wildly off.

The stint- infiltrate a crew of robbers going after a string of homes in Beverly Hills- takes seventeen days. 

Seventeen days of being surrounded by highly paranoid, itchy trigger finger crew. Very little sleep, very little food and water that isn't energy drink and donuts. 

Seventeen days where Detective Marty Deeks is on his own, back in an element of only relying on himself. He's still in a flight or fight state when he's with NCIS with his guard down only a hair when he's with Kensi. 

And because of his luck, the  stint ends exactly on day seventeen- 4:30, actually- when he's thrown through a plate glass window.

—---------

Unlike the previous times he's walked into work, Deeks receives a few concerned looks from his team. 

He hobbles over to his desk and lowers himself in with a sigh. Sam, as warm and friendly as expected, raises an eyebrow at him and motions to the small cut on his forehead.

"What's that for?" Sam asks. Deeks glances over to Callen, who watches with an impassive look on his face and Kensi, who watches him with concern. 

"Ah, it's nothing. Had a boring stint with LAPD," Deeks lies. No, he will not mention the six stitches, the mild concussion and the signing himself out against medical advice. 

The reactions are as expected- Sam and Callen share a look that reminds him of dismissing a child while Kensi eyes him worriedly. Her look lingering on him gives him hope that she'll dig for answers in front of the boys.

Instead, Kensi gives him a short nod that says you and I are going to talk about this later, reserved for conversations that usually happen one on one. 

And in the meantime?

"What'd I miss? Hetty finally getting Granger to smile?" Deeks jokes, earning a snort from Callen, a small smile from Kensi and an eye roll from Sam. The detective settles in the silence until he meets the gaze of Hetty from across the bullpen.

It's an all knowing, near omniscient look the operations manager gives him from across the bullpen. It's a look that screams many messages that'll eat at him for the following days.

You aren't going into the field. I hope you knew that when you signed yourself out of the hospital AMA.

I will be having words once again with Lieutenant Bates regarding your undercover stints. 

You can tell them. You aren't alone.

Deeks swallows, dropping his gaze. I've been alone for so long- the temp- for so long. Easier said than done. 

2022

"It's always fun for us to share and care about our feelings with the FBI and LAPD," Investigator Marty Deeks wonders aloud, earning an eye roll from Kensi. She tucks her hands into her Kevlar vest and teases, "You are just happy that you got to put that Agent Beckett in his place. 

"Damn straight," Deeks replies. He surveys the clean up of the tri- agency task force to shut down a domestic terrorist group. He overlooks the smug Agent Beckett, the scattering of officers and agents until his gaze falls on a young police officer limping towards a squad car.

"Hold on, Kens." Deeks walks towards the officer and clocks him to be a probationary officer by the absent insignia on his sleeve. As he gets closer, the younger man's poor attempts to hide the grimace of pain brings Deeks back to his early days of being an officer .

"You good?" Deeks calls out. The officer stops in his tracks, groans loudly and calls back over his shoulder, "m fine."

"That limp says otherwise."

The officer scoffs and awkwardly hobbles a turn to face Deeks. He's a few inches shorter than Deeks with dark brown  hair cut in an undercut. "You don't know me."

"I know you were overeager in there," Deeks replies, nodding towards the entrance of the raided warehouse. "And that you've avoided talking to anyone in the chances of getting called out for getting injured."

The officer's scowl softens into a frown before muttering," No one needs to worry about me. Look, I don't know what kind of things you've heard , Agent-"

Investigator, Deeks corrects silently. "Look. All I can tell you is to go check yourself out by paramedics because killing yourself and hiding injuries won't give you what you're looking for as a cop. Take it from an ex-cop who was alone most of his career. One who isn't alone anymore."

Recognition sparks in the younger man's eyes. "You're…uhh, Deeks?"

Deeks extends his hand forward and as the man shakes it, he replies, "Investigator Deeks, actually for NCIS. Go get yourself checked out-"

"Officer Morgan," the younger man pipes. He gingerly touches his ribs and admits, "I think I broke a rib."

"I've lost count how many of those I've broken," Deeks chuckles. "C'mon- let's get you looked at."

[orionares]

Whumptober, Day 1

A/N: A day late but…..

—---

Day 1- "This should have happened"

The Rookie

—-

"LUCY! DON'T GO IN THERE!"

Do not try and stop me, John, Lucy Chen thinks as she pushes open the door to the observation overlooking interrogation room A. She shoots a daring look to Detective Marcy Harrison, a newbie detective sharing the case with Angela Lopez before freezing at the soft singing coming from the interrogation room. 

“Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’,” the voice sings and the familiar lyrics not only send a chill down her spine but also spikes the anger cursing through her veins. 

This ends now. 

Lucy passes the detective and pushes the door open to find Rosalind Dryer sitting, handcuffed, at the table. She’s no longer wearing the wig she had walked into the police station with hours earlier or the expensive sunglasses, jewelry and scarf that had given the air of being a socialite in Los Angeles. 

“Lucy!” Rosalind greets in a sing-songy voice. “It has been just too long since you and I saw each other face to-”

"Where is he?" Lucy growls through gritted teeth. She takes a step towards the table and feels her body trembling with anger. 

"Where is who?" Rosalind teases. Lucy huffs as the door behind her opens and Nolan rushes in, slightly out of breath.

"Where is Tim?" Lucy growls. She steps forward and feels Nolan's hand wrap around her bicep. "And I am not in the mood for games."

"Ooh, you and Sergeant Bradford on a first name basis." Rosalind leans to her right and waves her fingers at Nolan. "Hi, John."

"You psychotic-" Lucy stammers, "What is it with you and your obsessions? With your need to ruin me and John's lives? Where is Tim?"

"Sergeant Bradford is where he needs to be, just as I am where I need to be and you-" Rosalind chuckles, "-are exactly how I want you to be."

What in the hell does that mean?  Lucy shoves Nolan’s hand away and points a finger at Rosalind. “If you've hurt-” 

Rosalind settles back in her seat and laughs, "This side of you, Lucy is fascinating. If I'd have known that I’d see this fiery side of you, I would have skipped hurting your little Chris all together.” 

Somehow, Nolan moves faster than Lucy can lunge towards Rosalind and he yanks her back towards the door. Lucy tries to push Nolan’s arm back again and screams, “I’m fine!” 

“You should listen to her, John,” Rosalind calls out. “Plus, I’ve just come up with the most delicious idea of how to get Sergeant Bradford back, safe and sound.” 

Panting, Lucy settles slightly against Nolan’s shoulder as he asks, “What are you talking about?”

Rosalind looks down to the table and traces an x shape with her pointer finger. "An easy, easy trade. Tell me how you found out that the Sergeant was missing. Tell me how it happened and I’ll tell you where he is.”

The details of finding Tim missing sits at the forefront of Lucy’s mind. In the six weeks since finding Chris on her couch, she’s planned and coordinated every possible safeguard to keep her people safe from Rosalind. 

“Lucy, I’ll be fine,”  Tim had told her on her fifth request to review his home security. Then he’d asked the question that she couldn’t and wouldn’t answer aloud.

‘“Why would she go after me?”

Because I’m in love with you and she knows it- sat at the tip of her tongue but never left her. 

Lucy shuts her eyes and tries to shake off the would have- could haves circling her brain. When she reopens her eyes, Rosalind’s smug smile reminds her of a simple truth. 

We should have been smarter about this. This shouldn't have happened. 

“So what’s it going to be, Officer Chen?” Rosalind asks. “Spill the tea…quickly though because Sergeant Bradford’s time may be ticking.”

“He didn’t report to duty,” Nolan states. “You hired a crew of six to break into Sergeant Bradford’s home and kidnap him. Three of them were found DOA when we arrived-”

Rosalind smirks at Nolan. “As much as I enjoy your vivid storytelling, John, I want to hear from Lucy.”

Lucy’s voice comes out weaker than expected. “Myself and two other officers were at his home and saw the damage….and the destruction. He’s been gone for sixteen hours.” 

“Time flies when you're having fun.” Rosalind starts to trace a circle on the table with her finger. “He put up a fight even after the little crew I hired,” she says, “brought him to me. How'd it feel when you realized that you couldn’t keep him safe?’

"Stop….talking," Lucy snaps. She feels Nolan hovering behind her.  

"I had to settle for second best," Rosalind continues, " with that Chris fellow when you and Sergeant Bradford were out of the state but, my God,  it was worth it when they brought me ‘Tim’."

“Lucy, let’s take a walk,” Nolan whispers in Lucy’s ear. She hesitates briefly and lets Nolan pull her back a few steps towards the door. She won’t give us anything. 

Rosalind stops tracing her finger and suddenly sits up straight with a wide grin. The woman’s sudden eagerness puts both officers on edge.

“Just so you know, Lucy,” Rosalind states, “I made sure that both you and Sergeant Bradford matched.”

Match? Lucy thinks. She replays every detail of the courthouse escape, Nolan’s trips to visit Rosalind in prison, her own kidnapping and-

“No,” Lucy gasps when it clicks. She unconsciously brings her hand to her abdomen. Caleb tattooed me last time. She wouldn't- 

“Rosalind, you didn’t,” Nolan mutters in disbelief. 

“I did,” Rosalind laughs, “and if he lives long enough, maybe you can grade the quality, Lucy-”

Lucy lunges towards the table, stopped halfway by Nolan wrapping an arm around her waist and dragging her back out of the room. In the observation room, Lucy screams out in frustration and points towards the door. 

“If Tim dies because of her!” Lucy yells, “I swear I will-”

Nolan steps in front of the doorway and holds out a warning hand to Lucy. “Attacking Rosalind won’t help us and it won’t help Tim. Beating yourself up won't help either.” 

Lucy gasps for breath and plants her palms on her thighs. “If we can’t find him, John, I don’t- John, I-”

“I know,” Nolan replies with a nod. "We'll get him back."