I am SO sorry for the delay in uploading this chapter. Real life has been real crazy and I have been beyond busy.

This will be the last update of this story for quite a while, reason being that I, in April, will be traveling to the United States to work at a Summer Camp until mid August-ish. Because of this, I simply won't have the time (or internet connection) to upload. I hope that you will all understand and accept this.

Anyways, hope you enjoy this (long delayed) chapter!

-Cape

Hetty leaned back in her comfortable office chair, her usually well-hidden triumphant smile made a rare appearance on her face, when she saw two of her agents descend the stairs in only four leaps. She knew that her contact within the agency had come through for her, despite having to be strong-armed into cooperating with her in the first place. Never one to shy away from keeping favors from anyone, she had merely reminded him kindly, but firmly, of why he would do it for her, to which he finally relented.

When she saw Sam and Callen rush into the armory, she knew that, as much as she liked accumulating them, calling in that favor had been worth it. They had gotten the information needed to track down the loathed individual, whom had caused such despair in her young detective, and through him, the rest of her team. Although she would never voice it aloud, she wouldn't exactly be opposed to the idea of Jonah Troyger never being able to see the inside of a courthouse. She felt torn at the thought, not because she was opposed to off someone…unofficially, of course, but because she was unsure of whether she would prefer the longevity of suffering for Troyger in prison or the swift mercy and vengeful justice of a bullet in order to be able to tell Mr. Deeks that he was gone.

Taking another long sip of her newest acquisition of exotic tea, she decided that as long as her agents didn't do anything that would lead to an internal investigation with certainty, she would be okay with either of the outcomes. She was positive, that she would be able to dissuade any investigation if their actions merely hovered somewhere in the grey area.

Not even a minute after her two seasoned agents had made their way to don the tactical gear, her technical analyst quickly walked down the stairs and towards her office in order to inform her of the development of the case. Although she already knew what her employee was about to tell her, she smiled welcomingly at the red-haired woman nonetheless.

...

Deeks looked bashfully at the sheets that were covering him, mindlessly fiddling with the soft cotton, even though he hadn't cowered at the sound of the Doctor's voice, he still felt uncomfortable having eye contact with anyone but Kensi.

"So, Mr. Deeks, I'm not sure whether or not Agent Blye has spoken to you about it yet, but I aim for you to begin your mandatory therapy sessions starting tomorrow," Doctor Jameson informed his patient after he had gone over his vitals. Although his voice was warm and calming, the experienced doctor's voice left no room for arguing. Doctor Jameson had only had a few visits with Deeks, where the blond detective was actually awake, but he had somehow already managed to be able to keep the injured man from fearing his presence, a great sign of improvement, which he had been happy to write down.

Kensi looked to her boyfriend with a softened expression, hopefully optimistic that he would not turn down the offer of professional help, as he had the last time. He had already promised that they would get through this awful time in their lives, but promising something and going through with it were two very different things, especially when the one who made the promise had just gone through another unthinkable and traumatizing event.

She gave his hand a squeeze, and hoped the small reminder that she was by his side was enough for him to draw the strength needed to accept the silver-haired doctor's suggestion of starting therapy by the next day.

In response to the squeeze, Deeks slowly turned his head, removing his gaze from the spot it had been fixated on since the physician had entered, and settling his sight on the beautiful woman. Although he knew, she tried to hide it; through her weak façade, he saw the hopefulness painted clearly on her soft expression alongside with what he deciphered to be fear. Fear that he would turn down the need for therapy. She needn't worry, he thought to himself. He had promised her that he would get through it, that they would get through it, and he had meant it. He had learned from the previous experience he had at the hands of a psychopath, that he needed someone to talk to, someone to vent all his anger, frustration, and sorrow to and even though he knew he could do that to Kensi, he needed someone unbiased and unaffected by the whole situation.

Having reached his conclusion, he nodded, timidly at first, but as he grew more confident that he had made right decision, his nodding became more assuring in its movements.

Accepting the offer, he was rewarded by the most beautiful sight he could ever imagine, as the wide, affectionate smile of Kensi Blye slowly crept forward. Although a bit watery, there was no mistaking the smile that she saved specifically for him, the one that would light even the darkest of nights, just as she brightened the darkness of his thoughts currently.

"Thank you," she whispered loudly to him.

"I promised, didn't I?" He asked rhetorically, his voice matching her loud whisper, albeit a bit gruff with emotion.

"You did," she pecked his lips and leaned her forehead against his, not caring that the doctor was still in the room. "I'm glad you went through with it."

...

Two streets over from the hostel, where Eric and Nell had confirmed the alias 'Trent Mumford' had accommodation, the two senior agents stepped out of their vehicle and waited for the arrival of the tactical squad, whom would be arriving within the next few minutes.

As expected, two black vehicles with dark tinted windows parked haphazardly in the otherwise barren parking lot, and a single man exited the leading car. "Callen, Hanna…wish it was under other circumstances," he greeted the two senior agents before reaching forward and offered his hand.

"Good to see you, Carmichael," Callen greeted, shaking the proffered hand.

"So who are we looking for?" The seasoned marine-turned-NCIS agent asked.

"Jonah Troyger, rented a room under the alias 'Trent Mumford'; a freelance 'special interrogations technique' contractor." The senior special agent quickly briefed the leader of the tactical squad, as he showed him a printed photo of the culprit.

"This about Deeks?" Carmichael asked solemnly without taking his eyes off the picture now in his hands, which surprised both the senior agents.

"How do you know?" Sam demanded, somewhat angrily. Furious that someone had leaked the fact that their team mate had been injured and was hospitalized, and that was without even thinking of the potential security issues that came with such a leakage.

With a somewhat non-committal shrug, the tactical squad leader explained, "Something like that travels fast through the grapevine, and though I usually try to ignore any rumors, something like that is pretty hard to ignore." He looked at the two agents, whom he considered friends, "And from the look on your faces, I take it that it is actually worse than what I've heard."

Nodding solemnly, Callen confirmed what Carmichael had just said, "It was really bad, yeah…" The team lead sighed deeply, "We know a few of the things they did to Deeks based on, what we saw in the room and what his injuries told us, but he hasn't even been able to actually speak of the things Troyger did to him yet."

"Son of a bitch," the grizzled squad leader muttered under his breath. A stern, almost hateful expression set on his face; they knew that the only thing that trumped the seasoned agent's loyalty was his fiery protectiveness of anyone of his fellow agents. With a harsher voice, which both senior agents knew was directed at the situation and not them, he asked icily, "What's the goal here? Do you want to take him alive, or are we hoping to see him draw a weapon?"

Callen's eyebrows shut up in surprise at the questions, he knew that Carmichael was a 'get stuff done' type of agent, but was still taken aback by the vehemence portrayed in the man's voice.

"Alive," Sam took over from his partner. "However…if he goes for a weapon, we are authorized lethal action, but I'd prefer to see him interrogated by Hetty before being sent to some black-site, never to be seen again."

That response seemed to greatly satisfy the tactical squad leader, whom with an almost feral smile asked, "Want to get this show on the road then?"

...

Kensi once again found herself sitting watching her partner in everything sleep. She was carefully monitoring the rise and fall of his chest along with any signs of terror on his face.

Although he was awake and lucid more often than when they first brought him in, he still slept a lot due to the nature of recovering trauma. At first she had been worried, but the doctor had settled her fears, telling her that it was more than expected that a man with 'such an amount of varying injuries' needed almost constant rest.

It seemed the most common reason for him waking up was the night terrors, which his dreams brought him. He had told her about the one dream in particular, which seemed more prevalent than others. It was the one, where instead of getting rescued as had happened, the one opening his torturous prison was no savior, not one of his colleagues from OSP, but instead he would see the feral grin of the psychopath named Jonah Troyger yet again.

As if merely thinking his name summoned him in Deeks' dreams, he started weakly thrashing underneath the thin, white sheet covering him. Instantly Kensi was at his side, lovingly caressing his cheek with her left hand, being mindful of the cuts and bruises there, whilst her right hand was secured firmly in his, drawing comforting circles on the back of his palm.

"It's alright Marty. You're okay. It's me, Kensi…you're in the hospital," she repeated the mantra, or a variation of it, to him as he slowly awoke from his dreadful dreams. She still deliberately used his first name, as she knew it would be a further comfort to him, since she usually would only call him that in the security of their own home.

"'M sorry," he mumbled once he was sufficiently lucid again.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," she softly admonished him.

He seemed to accept her words, as he leaned into her loving touch, reveling in the comfort he gained from such a simple gesture. It was both incredibly heartwarming and heartbreaking to the female agent that such a simple act from her meant so much to him currently.

Although quite redundant, she once again vowed to never leave his side throughout his recovery.

"M-my mind's not going," he said very timidly after a few minutes of gathering strength through her touch.

"Hmm?"

"My mind's not going," he repeated a little louder, but Kensi still had to strain to hear it.

Her brows furrowed at the strange sentence and she asked softy, "What do you mean by that, Marty?"

"It's not like last t-time," he started. Taking a deep breath, or as deep as his injured ribs would allow, he continued, "My mind i-isn't all jumbled…I c-can make sense of m-my thought, b-b-but…" he started sobbing, trying to get the words out.

Kensi wrapped her arms softly around his head, pressing it tenderly towards her chest, as one would do a crying child. She bent her head down to place a timid kiss into his hair, and without moving her lips further away, started whispering comforting murmurs to the sobbing form.

After a few minutes, when he seemed to have calmed down, she let her thoughts drift back to his words. It was quite evident that he was comparing, what he was currently going through to the other time he had endured unspeakable things. She knew, through various heartfelt conversations with him, that he had felt his thoughts overwhelming back then. Was that what he was referring to now? It would make sense, since he had told her that Nate had said the feeling of being overwhelmed was probably because he did not have anything to compare that experience to. He did now, she thought gloomily.

Deciding it best not to push for what he was about to say, she continued rocking back and forth ever so slightly, continuing to comfort her boyfriend to the best of her ability.

...

The two tactical vehicles sandwiched in the Sam's beloved muscle car, all three vehicles were parked just around the corner from the sleazy hostel, waiting for green light for the operation.

Just before Carmichael departed from the parking lot to brief his subordinates, Callen had received a phone call from Eric, whom had been able to further hack into the hostel's booking list in order to get the exact room number for Jonah Troyger aka. 'Trent Mumford' was staying. That little tidbit had made the operation much less risk-free for any civilians, who might be on the premises.

Once they had been able to confirm, through a call from Nell to the front desk, that the target was indeed in his room, the back door to the two vans swung open and out rushed the tactical squad. Through their rigorous training, they operated like a well-oiled machine, and as such, almost wordlessly got into their assigned positions. Two teams of two agents split off and moved to cut off any potential escape route from the back, whilst one of the few female agents broke off and made her move towards the reception area to inform, whomever was currently working there of the situation. They were ready to breach the door to the room within two minutes of exiting their vehicles.

At the front of the line stacked on the door was the one wielding the mini-ram closely followed by Sam and Callen, whom after explaining the situation to Agent Carmichael was actually offered the spearhead position on the breach, much to the surprise, and appreciation, of the senior agents.

Receiving a curt nod from the senior agent standing opposite of him, the agent with the breaching tool drew a deep breath before expertly slamming the mini-ram into the door. The door flew open and he quickly took a step back, allowing easier entrance to the other agents, whilst he quickly dropped the tool and reached for the carbine he had in a strap on his back.

Before he even had a chance to enter the sleazy hostel room, it had been secured.

They had surprisingly been able to catch Troyger whilst sleeping. He had been awoken by the door to his room getting smashed open, but had little time to prepare himself for the rush of agents, whom currently stood looming in the room, each with their own weapon fixed at him.

"Please go for the gun," Callen almost growled at the man. Whilst he was against using excessive force, an inkling within him had hoped that Troyger would have been able to reach it before they had secured the room, thus giving them an excuse to end his miserable existence.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably more around fifteen seconds, Sam had enough of waiting. "Get up," he barked at the scar-faced man; wrestling him to his feet before he slammed him into the wall in order to more safely cuff him.

None of the agents in the room even lifted an eyebrow at the rough handling of the man and all seemed more than contempt with how him being detained was handled, perhaps a little disappointed that the culprit was still breathing.

Even though Deeks wasn't technically an agent…yet, most of the tactical team had met him on a few different occasions and, as with all else, were quickly on friendly terms with the normally cheery detective. As such, once they knew the man they were to capture was the one, whom had injured their friend and colleague, they had taken to the task with upmost vigor and professionalism.

Less than five minutes after the start of the operation, three vehicles were driving away from there, one arrestee richer. Their destination was the boatshed and the entire tactical squad was acting as personal convoy to ensure that the culprit would arrive at the location without any incidents.

...

Some time whilst gently continuing her rocking motion, the emotionally exhausted, and physically damaged, detective had fallen into fitful sleep once more. Only when she had been absolutely certain that he had gone to the land of dreams had she tenderly placed his head back down on his fluffy pillow.

As such, she once again found herself sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair that had been in the hospital room for her. Leaning her head back she closed her eyes for a few moments, the darkness helping her make sense of her thoughts.

Upon hearing the door handle slowly turning, Kensi shot to her feet. She had no idea how long she had drifted off for, but she was now alert and ready again. The trained agent reacted instinctively and had already pulled her gun free from her small, although still chose to keep it behind her back.

Half a moment later she released her breath, unaware she had even held it in the first place. Into the room came not an unwanted culprit, but instead the kind and pixie-like face of her friend.

The small woman turned into a read-headed missile and, what seemed instantaneously, had her friend enveloped in a tight hug.

When they broke apart, Kensi could see clear concern in her friend's eyes, which had a thin layer of unshed tears in them causing them to glean.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't get here earlier," Nell broke the silence. "It's not that I didn't want to, it was just we needed to find Troyger and because of that me and Beale had to-"

"It's okay Nell," Kensi interrupted the incoming tangent. "I understand."

The response caused a careful smile to emerge from the redhead, "It's just that you're been here for Deeks the entire time…but who's been here for you?"

The concern for not only Deeks but also her was incredibly heartwarming to the otherwise tough female agent. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she answered, "I'd much rather you and the guys spent your time getting the bastard, who did this to Deeks than you came here to comfort me."

Although the words may have been somewhat harsh, the tone was surprisingly cautious. Nell thought it must have been because her friend and colleague had realized that no one on their handpicked team would actually do that. Even Kensi had left her partner in the hospital at one point because of her sense of duty. She might have regretted it terribly afterwards, but she had done it nonetheless.

Deciding to put the brunette's worries to rest, she told her, "We got Troyger, Kensi. Sam, Callen, and a tactical unit caught him in a hostel near Palmdale and were transporting him to the boatshed, when I left to go here."

Seeing Kensi was about to protest, she continued, "They're okay with me being here. Callen and Sam have everything under control on their end, Hetty is headed to the boatshed to lead the investigation, and Eric can take care of the fort up in OPS for the time being."

As she finished unconsciously accepting the information, Kensi's slow nodding turned firmer as she finished processing, what was being said. With a now firm expression on her face, she ordered, "Tell me everything."

...

As Nell was starting to wrap up her in-depth description of how everything came together, the blond form slowly started rousing from his sleep. Kensi's attention was, of course, immediately drawn to the movement and quickly signaled for her friend to be quiet. She knew that Deeks was slowly becoming better at not panicking at new voices, but there was no need to start startling him now, when all it took was a little pre-warning of another person being in the room.

As such, she stood up and walked the few steps to stand besides the hospital bed, "Morning Marty," she softly whispered. When she got a mumbled reply in return, she continued, "Nell is here with us, baby, okay?"

Upon receiving a nod in confirmation, Kensi signaled to her female colleague to join her at the bedside. When the tiny lady stood there, she saw the injuries to Deeks' face up close. The numbers of cuts and bruises visible was too much for the usually bubbly person, who was unable to keep the tears at bay any longer and quietly started sobbing.

"It's alright Nellasaurus," he surprised both women by breaking the silence. "I'm okay…I will be okay," he corrected himself.

"You'd better," Nell told him firmly. "Otherwise you won't get anymore Scooby Snacks."

The casual bantering caused a chuckle from Kensi, a chuckle that quickly turned into a full laughter. She wasn't actually sure why she was laughing, probably relief she though. Relief that it would all be okay in the end. Nearing the end of her laughing fit, she looked down at her boyfriend and saw the fist real smile from him since the incident; the sight brought happy tears to her eyes. She kissed him carefully before dragging the chair over, so she could sit and hold his hand.

Nell mimicked the gesture and dragged her own chair closer to the bed. Once settled down, she started re-telling Deeks, what she had just told Kensi.

...

On the busy streets of Los Angeles, the convoy of two inconspicuous vans and a Dodge Challenger was getting closer to the destination, the boatshed. Although they were nearing their secret facility tensions were running high amongst the agents. Their previous bad experiences telling them that it's not over until you are safely back at the predetermined location, in this case the boatshed.

Because of this, Callen had called Eric with a request that the technical operator had seemed a little too giddy to perform. He had asked if it was possible to force all the intersections they were driving through to turn green, when they would approach them. Apparently that had been something Eric had wanted to test for a long time, and as such, he attacked the task with childish glee. The result was that the convoy arrived at the pier almost fifteen minutes earlier than they most conservative estimation would have had them do.

Parking right outside the facility, they quickly, and roughly, ushered their arrestee into the building. Once inside, they guided him into interrogation room one, where they roughly shoved him into the chair and secured him to it. Without uttering another word, they left the room in order to let him stew.

A few minutes later, Callen and Sam could hear distinct tire screeching outside of the boatshed. Even though they had an entire tactical squad surrounding the area, they stood up in preparation if need be. Seconds later their operations manager walked through the door wearing a deeply serious expression on her face, an expression that would have anyone who recognized it running away in terror.

The two senior agents nodded a greeting to her, but it was Sam who broke the silence, "Troyger's in room one, has been for the last five minutes."

"Good. Thank you Mr. Hanna," she gave him an appreciative nod. "Whilst driving over here, I contacted our friends in the agency, whom were most eager to get their hands on Mr. Troyger. They were most insistent that it is to happen instantly, but I managed to sway their decision towards delaying that for an hour by claiming to have an entire tactical squad standing guard currently. We do have them standing guard, do we not?"

"You do," another voice sounded, entering the building.

"Thank you, Mr. Carmichael," she sent another appreciative nod to the leader of said squad.

"If you would excuse me gentlemen, I do believe I have something to attend to," the tiny operations manager icily said and was walking towards the interrogation room before anyone could respond.