You know when your brain does a thing, and all you can do is go along with it and quietly ask "why?" I think this is my way of coping with the world going to Hell in a hand basket.

If anyone were to ask, Deeks would blame it all on Sam. Sam fully believes it's all Deeks' fault. Callen is of the opinion that Hetty's getting more sadistic as the years pass.

The argument that had started in the gym earlier that morning as friendly barbs hidden amongst trash talk had somehow made its way to the crime scene, slowly morphing into something more akin to an attack on each other's personal character and proficiency at doing their job. And seriously. Hadn't they already worked this out?

It had been about the time they wandered into the bullpen that things came to a head. Or at least as close to it as Hetty would allow.

"I was just trying to ease the tension," Deeks says, "What's wrong with that?"

"At a crime scene? It's called etiquette, Deeks. Something you'd do good to learn," Sam tells him, ignoring Kensi and Callen's shared eye roll as he points a finger at Deeks. "Seriously, my son has more discipline than you." And before Deeks has a chance to respond, Hetty steps in.

She stares at them each in turn, eyes narrowed, mouth pursed in disapproval before slowly spreading into a smile. Her head bobs up and down, as though she were agreeing with whatever thought popped into her head before pointing at the men before her (Kensi carefully taking a step back, out of the line of fire).

"I think this is a perfect opportunity, gentleman. A learning experience for all," she says, smile widening.

Deeks tilts his head, that affronted glare morphing into a grimace, "I'm not gonna lie, that grin's got me a little worried."

Kensi hides behind her desk, whispering "I don't blame you."

Sam, still amped on annoyance, meets Hetty's eyes, crosses his arms, and (politely) demands, "Define learning experience."

"An experience in which one learns, Mr. Hanna," she answers, tone completely and intentionally patronizing. "In this case, Mr. Deeks will 'learn etiquette discipline' and you will learn to put your money where your mouth is, as they say."

Before anyone can object, Hetty points at Sam and Callen, eyebrows raised. "Take Mr. Deeks with you," she says, grin growing even wider. "Teach him what you think he's lacking. Lead by example."

Slightly insulted, Deeks steps forward, finger absently pointing towards his chest. "Just to be clear, Hetty, what exactly am I 'lacking'?"

"You don't want that answered," Sam mumbles, while Hetty smiles in what looks to be a reassuring way before raising her chin and clasping her hands behind her back.

"I, myself, find you lacking no more than any other member of this team," she says, her tone reminiscent of an old school principal. "You each possess unique skills and strengths that are invaluable to this team. But we are never through learning, and there are always new skills that can be acquired."

Callen shakes his head. "But why—"

"Mr. Hanna believes Deeks has more to learn," Hetty says cutting him off.

Sam frowns. "What are—"

"'My son has more discipline', I believe you said," she interrupts again. "Well, teach him. Mold him, like a father would a son."

And with that, she turns and leaves. Kensi sitting at her desk, fighting back a smile as Sam, Deeks, and Callen glare at one another.

Deeks picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder, before looking at Sam. "I am not calling you Daddy."

It's hot. Like Southern California, wildfires everywhere, ten minutes past noon hot. The windows are rolled down, the charger parked close enough to the building to get a good line of sight but still too far away to be covered by shade. Each movement disturbs the sweat on their back, neck, and the bend of their knees, magnifying the uncomfortable feeling of fabric sticking to skin.

Callen sticks his arm out the window and empties the last of his coffee. "This is all your fault."

Sam props his elbow on the open window, leans his head against his fist as he gives his partner an incredulous look. "How is this my fault?"

Callen tosses the empty cup in the backseat before explaining. "If you hadn't complained, he'd be bothering Kensi right now."

"You guys know that I can hear you, right?" Deeks asks, knocking Callen's cup out of his lap and pushing it to the floor.

He's completely ignored as Sam says, "Something needed to be said."

Deeks leans forward and balances his elbows on the back of their seats. "I'm, like, right here. Back seat, guys."

Callen continues to ignore him. "Yeah, and now we have to 'mold' him."

"Not that I need 'molding'," Deeks says, loudly, "but if I did, I highly doubt either of you would be qualified."

That earns their attention.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Sam asks right as Callen points out, "Hetty thought we were qualified."

"Hetty thought Sam was being an obnoxious pain in the ass and decided to punish him," Deeks says, leaning back and choosing to answer Callen, pretending not to see Sam's frown. "And since it's a two-for-the-price-of-one deal when it comes to you two, you got to tag along. I'm just here as collateral damage."

Callen gives a snort of laughter that's borderline 'scoff' and turns to Sam, thumb pointing over his shoulder towards Deeks. "Is it funny or sad that he actually believes that?"

"Definitely sad," Sam answers meeting Deeks' eyes in the rearview mirror. "And for the record, I've actually raised children. Taught them right from wrong, about responsibility and the importance of self-discipline. If anyone on this team is qualified to train you towards being a half-decent agent, it's me."

"Pretty sure raising kids and training agents isn't the same thing…" Callen points out.

Sam arches a brow, his elbow pushing against Callen's arm. "Whose side are you on, G?"

"My bad," Callen deadpans, "you're absolutely right. Continue."

Sam smirks, dimples shining but turns his attention back to the rearview mirror. "Of course, working with my kids is more ideal—"

"Hey!" Deeks interjects, leaning forward once more, "I'll have you know, I was, and still am, the ideal son."

Sam begins to respond, but stops, his eyebrows meeting together before he turns in his seat to look at Deeks. "Didn't you shoot your dad?"

"I was referring to my relationship with my mom, but I can shoot you if it'll make you feel better," Deeks offers innocently, brow raised as Callen stifles a laugh.

Sam rolls his eyes and turns back towards the front. "It will not make me feel better."

"It might make me feel better," Deeks mumbles none-too-quietly as he slumps back in his seat. Callen just laughs again, not even bothering to try and hide it.

"I don't know why you're laughing, G," Sam says, "Bad behavior from the child reflects poorly on the parent."

Callen spreads his hands in a consenting gesture. "I agree."

Sam's smile widens. "And his behavior is reflecting poorly on you."

Callen frowns. "Wait, why's he my kid when he's misbehaving?"

"Because that's when it's most obvious," Sam tells him. They continue to argue, alternating between questioning the other's parenting skills and dissing their training tactics. Deeks leans back in his seat, wipes the sweat from his neck and brushes his hair out of his eyes.

It's probably another thirty seconds, Sam and Callen still tossing jibes back and forth when Deeks leans forward, pushing himself between the two front seats, and bringing the hypothetical conversation to an end. "Okay, I have a question?"

" What?" both Sam and Callen ask in unison.

Deeks just grins and points towards the window. "If I'm so bad at the secret agent game, why am I the only one to notice the bad guy leaving the building?"

There's a moment of stunned, confused silence where both men follow the direction of Deeks' finger before both car doors are opened, someone muttering "son of a bitch" and Sam and Callen both trying to discreetly cross the street and follow their target.

Deeks just laughs as he tries to squeeze out of the back seat. "Half-decent agent my ass."

The End.