Disclaimer: I write much less interesting stuff than this for a living. I don't own, claim, or make any money from the NCIS LA characters or scenes. Wish that I did.

Sorry for the long delay for this. I wrote the rest of the story before Nate became super-Agent, and to tell the truth I kinda hate writing non cannon, which slowed me down some. And then came a typhoon…and a nuclear disaster…and a few trips…

I know. Excuses excuses. Well, here is the:


It was dark out and the office was quiet when Sam entered to find Nate, G, Deeks and Kensi relaxing on the leather couches next to their workspace. G's white cane was propped in a corner nearby as he sipped (carefully) on a cup of tea. Their laughter reached Sam's ears as he shucked his uniform top at his desk and grabbed a cup of coffee, wincing as he tasted the bitterness of the late-night dregs. He plopped himself into one of the overstuffed chairs.

"So?" G piped up, looking at Sam's blurry outline expectantly.


"I think maybe you owe Nate here an apology."

Sam smirked, then turned to the psychologist/agent. "Nice job, Nate. I am sorry I doubted you."

Nate shrugged, no longer smiling. "Not that I don't appreciate the apology, but don't worry about it. I didn't know if I could shoot until after I did it. Truth is, I didn't really think about it. Davies was pointing that gun at G…and…well…" the tall man shrugged again. "I'm just glad I didn't kill the guy." Indeed, Davies would heal physically from Nate's shot to his shoulder. Nate wondered about the man's psychological state, though.

"I'm just glad you got that time on the range!" replied G. "You could just have easily missed D'Shawn and hit me right behind him! Last thing I need is another hole in my body." He switched tones, once again the serious head agent. "Nah. You did good. You saw the situation and let training take over. Once Davies settled on the course of action he was on, you had no choice but to shoot. You did good."

There were general murmurs of agreement, and the psychologist was secretly glad Callen couldn't seem his blush. "You get everything cleaned up over at Coronado, Sam?"

"Yeah. Turns out DeSoto was sharing those energy drinks around a bunch. That clumsiness Deeks's nurse told him about? Turns out that every time the baby SEALS had some kind of test coming up, they'd psych themselves up using the drinks."

"So," continued Kensi, "when they had a physical fitness test, they'd all come in hyped up on caffeine, which hid the sleepiness from the oxycontin, and they'd end up falling flat."

"Right. And then they'd end up in NMCSD, where their injuries were chalked up to nothing more than the result of regular SEAL training, until Deeks and Eric saw the overall pattern."

"And thank you, Sam, for acknowledging the amazing job done by us civilians in this case," Deeks answered smugly. "Just for the record, I think Davies didn't want to kill anyone either; just wash DeSoto out of the program so he'd go away. Only problem was that Davies wasn't all that consistent with the dosing in those little bottles. Or maybe Boeing just had a few more than usual."

Nate nodded. "So where one bottle would make the trainees a bit clumsy and more likely to fail the tests, two or three bottles, plus the rigors of Hell Week training, stopped Boeing's heart."

Sam nodded, "that's about the size of it." He studied the psychologist. "So, Agent Getz, you thinking about more field work? Come on over to the dark side—we've got cookies!"

Nate glanced over his shoulder toward the empty office which ordinarily held their tiny Operations Manager. He smiled, thinking about the conversation he' had with Hetty earlier that afternoon. "I might. Can't rule it out." The other agents noted Nate's hesitation immediately. There was more to that statement than Nate was saying. Interesting…

"Well," said Callen, awkwardly getting to his feet and groping for his cane, "if someone would drive me home, I'm ready to sleep off this idiotic medication. Maybe tomorrow I'll actually be able to eat something without throwing it back up."

Sam grabbed the cane and took G's arm. He began to guide his partner toward the door. "Yeah, you're skinny enough without starving yourself. Don't need…" he trailed off as the office intercom came on, blasting music throughout the building. ICE, ICE, BABY…

"Ow!" came G's voice, as Sam smacked the blind man with his own cane.


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