There’s a Story to be Told: NCISLA Fan Fiction

A/N: I can’t recall if it’s ever implied or stated if anyone besides Kensi, Hetty, and Nell knows about Deeks’ father and the shooting. I feel like it must have come up at some point. So, this little fic explores that very question.

***

Eric 

July 2011

“Hey Eric, would you be able to find me some information on a person who died?” Deeks asked. He’d found a few moments where everyone else was otherwise occupied and not in Ops, including Hetty and Nell. 

“Probably,” Eric responded, drawing the word out. “I’m guessing this isn’t case-related.”

“No, it’s not. I understand if you don’t want to risk the wrath of Hetty,” Deeks said. 

“It’ll be our little secret.” Pulling up a new search, Eric poised his hands over his keyboard. “Who are we looking for?”

“Gordon John Brandel.” Deeks rattled off his birthdate and birthplace. “I’d like to know what he was doing between 96-98.”

“Alrighty. Let me see what these magic fingers can pull up.” The only sound in the room was tapping and fans running in the background. 

Deeks stayed silent behind him, while Eric sifted through the information his search generated. He’d been curious ever since Hetty shared that his dad died years ago in a car crash, but put it off for months. He wanted to know what his dad had done in the short timespan between his release and dying. If he’d actually changed.

“So, what did you find?” 

Eric didn’t speak for a moment, and when he did, he sounded oddly cautious. “Before we start, how deeply do you want me to search?” 

Deeks frowned at Eric’s back. “Beale?” 

Spinning his chair around, Eric faced Deeks and regarded him seriously. With too much knowledge in his eyes.

“You already know, don’t you? About my dad.” 

“I swear, I wasn’t searching for that specifically. I found your dad when I was initially investigating you for Hetty. After the MMA case,” Eric explained. 

“So, I guess you know it all then.”

“No. I found your closed juvenile documents and that Gordon Brandel was convicted of several domestic crimes. I didn’t open anything beyond that,” Eric insisted.

“And you didn’t tell anyone else? Even Hetty.”

“It wasn’t mine to tell.” Eric shrugged, as though it was that simple. Deeks supposed it was. When it came down to it, Eric had proved himself to be pretty loyal.

“So when Hetty had Nell rifle though my past—”

“I pretended I didn’t know anything,” he confirmed. “That also applies to anything I inadvertently discover today.”

He thought of when he’d told Kensi part of the truth after he’d been shot and Hetty’s revelation later that night. In both situations, he hadn’t been in control of sharing that information. 

“I shot my dad in self-defense,” Deeks told Eric, trying to sound off-hand. He didn’t think he was exactly successful. He’d only said the words out loud a handful of times, if that. He was pretty out of practice.

Eric was quiet for several achingly long seconds following Deeks’ revelation. “Well, based on everything I know about you, and him, you made the right choice,” he decided eventually. 

“Thanks, man.” Deeks nodded in appreciation, and Eric smiled back, turning to face his computer again. He cracked his knuckles.

“Ok, what do you want to know about this guy?” 

***

Sam

January 2014

“You’ve been quiet today,” Sam observed as he and Deeks made their way back into the mission. 

“Tracking through the desert tends to do that to me. Just ask Kensi,” Deeks said. He regretted bringing his missing partner up almost immediately. The last thing he wanted was a discussion about how the forced separation was affecting him or how Hetty knew best.

“Kensi would say otherwise. Besides, I’ve been through the desert and forests with you before. You talked 90% of the time.”

“Maybe I just didn’t appreciate the wonders of the sun beating down on me while I walk for miles on end,” Deeks suggested. 

“You know, I used to go on hikes all the time with my dad. Long ones too. He thought the discomfort built a certain amount of character.” 

“Well, my dad believed in punching the daylights out of you, so I guess that’s kind of the same,” Deeks said in an offhand way, face lowered over his bag as he dug through it. “Not so sure about the character-building part.”

“My dad was tough, but he never used violence. I’m sorry yours did.”

“Yeah, well, it was a long time ago, right?” 

“Some things never fully go away no matter how hard you try.” 

Deeks didn’t respond to Sam’s observation, not really certain what he could say. They worked in silence for a few minutes, Deeks setting up his laptop, Sam attacking a pile of paperwork. 

“What happened to him?” Sam asked after so long, Deeks had to think back to recall the previous topic. 

“Who? My dad?” When he looked up, Sam nodded. “You know the story.”

“I know the basics, but nothing specific.” At Deeks’ raised eyebrow, he clarified, “Nell and Kensi are pretty loyal to you when it comes to this particular topic. They’ve never let anything slip. I didn’t bother asking anyone else.”

“Why now?” Deeks asked with a shrug. “We’ve known each other for about four years. You’ve never seemed to care about my childhood in all this time.” 

“Before, I didn’t think it was important. In the last year, I’ve learned there’s a lot I need to reevaluate about my beliefs. Particularly about you, Deeks,” Sam answered. 

Deeks felt an odd mixture of gratification and wariness. He was grateful that Sam trusted him now and apparently saw his worth since Sidorov. They’d even had several long conversations, during which Sam apologized for some of his past actions. That didn’t mean Sam would be so understanding once he heard it all laid out. Few people could fathom any reason for shooting a family member.

Deeks focused on a small patch of his desk, the smooth brown surface blurring into a smudge as he started speaking, his thoughts traveling back a few decades. 

“You want to know the whole story? My dad was violent. You know that part, right? He beat on my mom and broke her down to the point she was a shell of herself. At some point he started hitting me too. We put up with it for as long as we could, hid it—though most people didn’t really seem to care if I showed up to school or the playground with a bloody lip and black eye—until one day he just kept going. That day he had a gun, and I knew he would use it if I didn’t do something, so I shot him first.” Deeks lifted his head, peering up from beneath his bangs, to meet Sam’s gaze. “Does that align with your current beliefs about me?” he asked, almost taunting him. 

He waited for Sam’s disgust. For some form of condemnation, but none came. Instead, Sam stared back with an almost mournful expression. 

“You made an impossible choice that day,” he said finally. “A brave one.” Sam shook his. “No kid should have to deal with that.”

“No one else was going to do it. It was either that, or let my dad kill my mom,” Deeks whispered. 

“And you’ve been protecting people like your mom ever since then.” It was an observation that took Deeks by surprise. Just as when he added, “You don’t know how much I regret that I didn’t realize that sooner. That I didn’t notice your integrity, your bravery, and commitment to defending those who don’t have a voice.”

“I never want anyone to feel like we did, if I can help it.”

“You’re a good man,” Sam said, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder.

There aren’t a lot of people who’ve told Deeks that over the course of his life, but for some reason when Sam said it, he almost believed it. 

***

Callen 

October 2013

Deeks could probably count on one hand the number of one-on-one conversations he’d had with Callen over the years. Maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but not by much. Despite their mutually traumatic upbringings, he’d never had the strongest connection to Callen. Especially with how Callen reacted when he came back from his extended medical leave.

Something had changed the other day. When Callen somewhat casually and distantly talked about his former foster family, he’d never felt more connected. It was a unique thing to fear and even hate your own parent, or their proxy, that no one on the outside could ever quite understand.  

It took a few days to find a good time to talk with Callen alone. That time came late on a Wednesday night while Callen finished some monthly paperwork. Technically, it wasn’t due for another week, but Deeks figured he was in the throes of another bout of insomnia. Emptying his in-box definitely seemed less destructive than obsessing over his past, or disassembling the few appliances in his home. 

“Hey, that’s a pretty good stack you got going there,” Deeks commented casually. 

“What are you doing here this late? Shouldn’t you be rushing home to Monty?” Callen asked, leaning back in his chair to look up at Deeks. “Or watching trashy reality TV with Kensi?”

“Just thought you could use some help.”

“That’s generous. What’s really going on, Deeks?” 

He’d hoped to ease into this discussion, but it looked like he wouldn’t get that luxury. He rounded the other desk, sitting with an involuntary sigh. “The other day when you were talking about your foster families, you brought up some arguably deep things.” He shrugged. “I thought you might want to talk about it.”

“Pretty sure I don’t,” Callen replied, going back to typing and writing. “I’ve come to terms with all of that.”

Deeks thought that was the farthest thing from the truth he’d ever heard, but he didn’t voice that thought. Sometimes it was just easier to pretend that you’d moved on.

“When we were looking at those old pictures, you said you hit your one foster dad on the head with a broomstick,” Deeks said bluntly. 

Callen’s pen stilled, his face clearing of any expression. “Yeah, I know. It fits the troubled, infinitely orphaned backstory, right?

“Actually, I was just going to say that I understand.” Deeks hesitated, licking his lips before he took that leap once again. “I, uh, I had to shoot my dad to protect myself and my mom. He had a shot gun, and my mom was practically unconscious on the floor. That’s how he ended up in prison.” 

Callen’s right eyebrow shifted, the only indication that anything Deeks said surprise him.

Deeks expected he’d ask one of the usual questions. 

How old were you? Did you kill him? Were you arrested? You couldn’t have figured another way to stop him?

“That’s why you never talk about him,” Callen went with instead. “Seems we have a lot more in common than I realized.”

“Yeah. Add another chip to the dysfunctional family bingo card.”

“Do you regret it?” Callen asked.

Deeks shook his head slowly. “No. Do I wish it wasn’t necessary? Absolutely. But I, uh, will never regret stopping him from hurting my mom.” He paused. “Do you? Regret taking that broomstick?”

“Not for a second.”

Deeks cracked a smile, dark as the conversation was. Callen got it. He wordlessly grabbed the top half of the remaining stack of paperwork, sliding it onto his desk and retrieved a pen from his bag. They worked in companionable silence for a couple minutes.

“You wanna grab a beer after this?” Deeks asked. 

Callen waited long enough to reply that Deeks thought he’d decline. Instead he shrugged, and nodded slowly. 

“Sure.”

***

Kensi

Early March 2011

Recovering from bullet wounds was not fun. His little jaunt through the hospital to come to Kensi’s aid hadn’t helped either, and now three days after his release, he wondered if it would ever stop hurting when he breathed.

Fortunately, Kensi had found a reason to stop by almost every day, even if for a few minutes, which made for a nice distraction. Often, she came bearing food and found some show he’d never heard of to watch. Tonight, she’d brought foam containers of ice cream and some of her old comic books. Deeks had read most of them before, but appreciated the gesture.

Apparently, Kensi had nowhere to be tonight since she lingered, watching an entire movie—of his choice. He thought Kensi’s sudden attentiveness came largely out of guilt, or maybe gratitude was the better way to describe it. Either way, he found himself propped up on his couch with Kensi on the other side, discussing random facts about themselves. 

It was mostly random and superficial; Kensi still refused to confirm if she’d been shot or not. She did share that she once drank an entire pitcher of root beer on her own during a birthday party, on a dare, and then proceeded spend the rest of the day sick. 

For all they talked on the job, there were a lot of holes and missing pieces. Deeks relished any opportunity to glean a little bit more about Kensi Marie Blye.

“OK, what about broken bones?” Kensi prompted, dragging her spoon through her ice cream. “I broke my big toe climbing over a fence and my elbow trying a new trick on my best friend’s bicycle. What about you?”

“Broken wrist when I was six and then my radius when I was eight,” Deeks said. Usually, he’d make up some fantastical story to match the injuries, but tonight he decided on the truth. Kensi already knew the worst parts anyway. “The first one, my dad got mad I wasn’t moving fast enough and yanked me out of the car. The second time, he threw me into the wall. I think I’d asked if I could go to a school play.”

“Deeks,” Kensi breathed. He could sense she’d stilled completely next to him. 

“He started in on me when I was maybe 4 or 5.” Deeks shrugged, shaking his head. “You’d think I’d remember, but after a certain point, it all blurs together.” 

“And no one said anything all those years?” Kensi seemed to be moving past horror and sympathy to anger. 

“People thought I was just a particularly clumsy or adventurous child. At least that’s what I told myself to cope. Realistically, a lot of people turned a blind eye or probably figured someone else would deal with it. The couple of times someone did express concern, it didn’t go anywhere, and it just made dad that much angrier.”

“What happened the night you—?” Kensi started to ask, then cut herself off, as if she couldn’t voice the words. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s OK. That night wasn’t the worst for me, which, granted isn’t saying much. My mom wasn’t so lucky. I came in halfway through him bea—through it, and right away I could tell he was drunk and angrier than I’d ever seen him.” He swallowed heavily, grateful for the light fog of medication keeping his emotions at bay. Even so, he couldn’t look Kensi in the eye. “Anyway, my mom was already on the ground, bleeding, there were broken dishes everywhere and a chair. It looked like he tore the place apart. He had a shotgun.”

“Oh god, Deeks,” Kensi whispered. He flicked a glance at her and saw she had her hands cupped over her mouth. There were tears in her eyes. 

“I tried to get in between him and Mom, but he hit me, threw me on the floor. I guess he figured I wouldn’t try again and started in on mom again.” He shook his head, momentarily transported back to the terror of his eleven-year-old self, the scent of blood and cheap whiskey in the air. 

“He was so angry. I just knew this time he wasn’t going to stop, so I snuck out, and I got a gun I had hidden in the floor under my bed. When I got back to the kitchen, dad was standing over mom, shot gun on her head, and I”—he shuddered— “I told him to put it down or I’d shoot. He laughed. God, he laughed so hard like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard and started waving the thing at me. And I pulled the trigger.” Kensi made a soft, pained noise. “I still remember how shocked he looked right before he collapsed.”

He was quiet, the memory lingering in his mind. 

“What did you do then?” Kensi prompted softly, yet he still jerked as it drew him back to the present. The sudden movement jarred his still tender chest, and he pressed his hand over the bandages.

“One of the neighbors had heard shouting, and then the gunshot, and called the police. They showed up to me holding a gun, freaking out between my half-unconscious mom and bleeding dad. Neighborhood rumor mill had content for weeks.”

Kensi didn’t laugh, but he hadn’t expected her to. Instead, she slid off her side of the couch, and bent over him, carefully wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I am so sorry.”

He clung to her for several moments, letting himself accept her comfort. When Kensi finally eased away, they both hastily wiped at their eyes without looking at one another. 

“It’s lucky you were there to stop him. Even though you shouldn’t have had to,” Kensi murmured, and he shrugged. To this day, he couldn’t fully rationalize his actions.

“He’s still in jail, right?” Kensi’s question drew him back again.

“Actually, he’s dead, so I guess it doesn’t matter either way. Though they did release him after five years. Guess he reformed himself after all,” he drawled with a bitter chuckle.

“You know, I’ve only told a couple people the whole story before. More know bits and pieces than I’d like, but besides my mom and anyone involved in the court case, I’ve only told one other person everything that happened.”

“Thank you for trusting me. I won’t betray that trust,” she promised.

“I know you won’t.” He wasn’t sure he’d have meant that even a week ago. Prior to his shooting, he wasn’t sure he fully trusted Kensi in the way he did now. Something had shifted between them.

He held out his hand, leaving it between them, and Kensi took it, tucking it against her thigh as she sat down again, this time leaning against his side.

***

Rountree

November 2022

Deeks rubbed his eyes, exhausted in more ways than physically. Cases like Alice Morgan’s always brought on a conflicting mix of emotions. He was glad that they’d helped her, furious that she’d been left to suffer for so long, and still feeling the lingering trauma of his past.

If only someone had bothered to take her reports of domestic abuse against her husband seriously. The sight of the bruises on Alice’s arm and her attempts to hide them reminded Deeks so much of his Mom when she’d hidden behind long-sleeve shirts.

Forcing his mind away from the dark thoughts, he pulled his laptop closer, and started typing. 

He’d been working for some time when Rountree cleared his throat tentatively. Since Kensi was out for the day, he’d taken over her desk. When Deeks looked up, he found Rountree staring at him uncertainly.

“Something on your mind, Devin?”

“Uh yeah, I was just wondering–um, what do you want me to put in my case report?” Rountree asked. Normally he only got awkward and tongue-tied around Kilbride these days. Deeks raised an eyebrow, waiting for further explanation. “Not that I’m expecting you to write it for me, but is there anything you want me to leave out? From your conversation with Alice Morgan.”

Rountree eyed him significantly as he said the last part, and Deeks’ tired brain put the pieces together.

“You mean the story I told her about me and my mom being abused by my father.” Deeks said, and Rountree nodded reluctantly.

“And shooting–”

“Shooting my dad,” Deeks finished for him. “It’s OK. This isn’t the first time I’ve said it.” He sighed heavily. “Besides, it’s been over thirty years.”

“Sometimes that’s not a very long time at all. Especially for certain topics,” Rountree observed quietly.

“That’s true.”

“So, what should I say?”

“The truth. You can include anything you feel is relevant to the case and Alice’s interview and statement,” Deeks told him.

“Yeah, but anyone will be able to read it,” Rountree said incredulously. “That story about your mom at the baseball game, and, and…that was a really personal thing you told Alice Morgan to gain her trust.”

Deeks appreciated Rountree’s concern; it was more than a lot of other people had ever shown.

“Thanks, Devin. It’s OK, though.” As Rountree started to object again, he added, “Everyone here knows. They know about my dad, and what I did to stop him. Maybe they don’t know that particular story, but it was worth it to get through to Alice. Otherwise, I don’t really care who else might see it. I’m not afraid of it anymore. I was abused by my dad when I was a kid. So was my mom. And one night I made a choice that saved both our lives.” Deek shrugged, surprised how easily it came after all these years. “I have nothing to hide or be ashamed of.”

“No, no you don’t,” Rountree agreed softly. He stared at Deeks for several seconds, until it became slightly uncomfortable. “I don’t know if I could have done what you did. Especially as a kid.”

“Personally, I’m glad you never had to find out,” Deeks said adamantly. “Thanks for looking out for me, Rountree.”

Deeks sat back, contemplating Rountree’s observations. He would always carry his dad’s abuse and that awful night with him, but he realized it didn’t rule him like it once did.

***

A/N: I like the idea of showing how Deeks chooses to share his father’s abuse and the shooting with each of the main team, and how his comfort with it evolves over time.

Thanks to Lyssa for proofreading and brainstorming with me!