Wow. 105 alerts to this story, 24 favorites, and 94 reviews. That is the most feedback any story I've written has generated (proportionately). I thank each and every one of you. I really was worried for a while there, but people turned out to like Evan, so my worries were for naught. This was all planned out from the get-go, I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I'm horrible at wrapping things up. I find it easier to just keep going, BUT I'm not going to do that with this. This is the end, just a little wrap up, after the fact. The story actually ended last chapter, but this just sort of adds a little bow on top.

Chapter 10: For the Record

Callen walks through the doors to find Hetty waiting for him, her hands crossed behind her back, and he can tell that she's reading him. He inhales deeply as he meets her eyes, slowing his pace as he adjusts his grip on the bag in his hand.

He lifts the bag, resting it on the corner of his desk as he prepares for Hetty's version of a debriefing. "How did you know that I'd come back tonight?" he asks, leaning against his desk, his arms automatically folding across his chest.

"Because I know you, Mr. Callen," she answers with a smile. She looks to the large monitor stationed behind Deeks' desk. The screen is off, but he knows that earlier, images of DJ Miller and Evan Hudson had been shown continuously on every news station. "Did they make it home okay?" she asks, and he knows she's asking about Kensi and Deeks.

"Yeah, Sam's dropping Deeks off as we speak." Callen looks down at his feet, his tongue worrying his lower lip as he weighs his options. "You know don't you?"

She turns back towards him, her eyes wide with feigned ignorance. "Know what, Mr. Callen?"

"That he let them go." He watches as she skillfully schools her expression. If he hadn't known her for so long, he might have missed that little tell, that subtle way she closes her mouth, or the way the wrinkles around her eyes tighten when she knows she's been caught.

"From what I hear, Evan Hudson and DJ Miller got away, they weren't let go." She says it with a small smile, a slight tilt to her head.

Callen nods, returning her smile as he rubs tiredly at the back of his neck. "You know DJ Miller was being abused?"

Hetty nods, her smile turning sad. "Yes, Eric showed me the hospital records."

"So you also know that the abuse slowed once Evan Hudson came to California?" Callen continues, already knowing the answer.

"It seemed pretty obvious that the hospital visits began to decline in frequency about two years ago, yes. But can I ask why you're bringing this up?" Hetty takes a step back and leans against the edge of Deeks' desk, her eyes looking up as she studies the man in front of her.

Callen looks towards the darkened window, glancing around the empty office, only he and Hetty remaining this late at night. "They were with them for almost three days," he begins, his eyes purposefully avoiding hers. "According to their statements, Evan Hudson helped them escape."

"And you think Mr. Deeks and Miss Blye were returning the favor and helped Evan Hudson escape?"

"Officially, I think Hudson got away," Callen says, finally meeting her eyes. "But hypothetically," he continues, "If they were to have let them go, I think Deeks did it to help DJ Miller not Evan Hudson, and Kensi did it to help Deeks."

Hetty straightens her posture, her head slightly tilting back as she continues to look at her agent. "And why do you think they would do something like that?"

Callen doesn't answer. They both know why they did it, and if Callen is being perfectly honest, he can't say he'd have done anything different. Daniel Miller is going to prison, Sherrie Miller is dead. The only place for DJ would have been foster care, and Callen knows first hand what that's like.

He pushes the bag farther onto his desk. "Like I said, officially Evan Hudson got away. There's nothing more for us to do other than to let the FBI handle the kidnapping case."

"I think that's a wise decision," Hetty tells him.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The fridge is open, the cool air causing goose bumps to rise on his arms. Deeks lazily runs a towel over his hair as he tries to determine if there's anything worth eating in his apartment. So far, he's come up with a couple of poptarts, and a box with what used to be half a pizza inside, although he's willing to bet it passed its 'eat-by' date while he was away.

He settles for a beer, letting the damp towel rest on his shoulder as he makes his way to the couch, his eyes searching for his phone while he tries to determine whether or not he wants Chinese or Mexican.

He plops down on the worn cushions, his feet automatically lifting to rest on the coffee table as he brings the phone to his ear.

"Szechwan Palace, how may I help you?"

"I need to place an order for delivery," Deeks says, taking a sip of his beer. A light knock at his door causes him to look up. He sets the beer on the table as he stands to answer the door, reciting his order as he goes. "Yeah, I'd like a small beef lo mien, and one order of fried dumplings—"

He opens the door to see Kensi smiling, two brown paper bags in her hand, the logo for Szechwan Palace printed across the front.

"You know what, just cancel that order," he says into the phone, stepping back and holding the door open.

Kensi walks in and sets the bags on the table before turning and walking towards the kitchen. Deeks hangs up the phone and watches as his partner helps herself to a beer. Her hair is still wet and pulled over one shoulder, soaking her t-shirt where it lays.

"I got you dumplings," she says, tossing the bottle cap into the trash. "And your noodles." She's smiling, knowing she got it right, having heard him making the same order as he walked to the door.

"What do I owe you?" he asks, looking for his wallet before he remembers he still hasn't gotten it back. It's probably still being sorted through along with the rest of the evidence gathered from the trailer. He begins to go to his bedroom for his spare cash when Kensi's words stop him.

"How about an explanation?" She eases down on her end of the couch, kicking off her shoes as she tucks her toes beneath the middle cushion. She watches as he turns to her, a crooked smile hiding what he's really feeling.

"An explanation for what?" he asks. He's still standing in the middle of the room, halfway between his bedroom and the couch.

"For why you gave Evan a head start," she clarifies, careful not to make her tone accusing as she lifts the beer to her lips. "And don't say you were returning the favor."

He rubs his fingers through his wet hair, his lower lip making its way between his teeth. Eventually, his shoulders fall in defeat, his eyes closing as he prepares to face the firing squad.

"You know why," he says slowly, walking towards her and reclaiming his spot on the couch.

Kensi nods, the bottle resting on her knee, the condensation leaving a wet ring on the dark denim. "True. Then how about you tell me why you're regretting it now?"

He looks up, confused and a little taken aback. "What?"

Kensi leans forward and sets her beer on the table. She reaches in one of the bags and hands him a pair of chopsticks as she begins to sort out their dinner. "From the moment you walked back into that shop, you've been second guessing your decision to let them go." She takes one of his dumplings before passing him the container, dropping it amongst her sesame chicken as she continues. "So that I can understand what you're feeling now, why don't you tell me why you let them go in the first place?"

Deeks accepts his food, frowning when she steals a dumpling. He sits there, holding the chopsticks in one hand, a warm container of Chinese in the other as he tries to think of a way to avoid this conversation.

"Humor me," she says, her eyes pleading as she balances a piece of chicken with her chopsticks.

Deeks sighs heavily, stabbing at the dumplings as he begins to try and explain. "How much of it did you hear?"

"All of it," she answers honestly, expecting him to do the same. Deeks nods having assumed as much.

"My mom wasn't like Sherrie Miller," he begins, his eyes focused on the edges of the dumplings, on the impressions left in the dough. "She didn't act like I was an inconvenience, but…"

Kensi keeps quiet, not even chewing for fear it'll stop him from finishing.

"I know what it's like to have a parent not care, for them to look at you like you're just that, an inconvenience, and…I mean I know that there was no way DJ was going back with Sherrie or Daniel, but it doesn't mean he'd have been okay. You know?" He looks to Kensi, looking for understanding. She nods slowly, her eyes focused on his as she gives him what he's looking for.

"I just thought, that with everything Evan went through to get that little boy, I thought maybe he'd be better off with his uncle, with someone who loves him." Deeks sets the container of food down on the coffee table, resting his feet on the floor, his elbows on his knees as he covers his face with his hands.

"I agree," Kensi says quietly, setting her own food on the table. "Now that we're clear on why you did it, lets talk about why you're regretting it."

Deeks laughs, though it's void of humor. He looks up, his hands falling to hang between his knees. "I'm a cop, Kensi. I'm pretty sure somewhere in the job description it says I'm supposed to stop people from kidnapping little boys, not be a freaking accomplice."

Kensi frowns as she hears the frustration in Deeks' voice, she can see it in the stiffness of his shoulders. "You know Evan saved our lives," she says, leaning forward to retrieve something from her back pocket, the movement causing a slight wince as it aggravates the sore muscles along her ribcage. "More than once," she adds, "And I don't think you're upset because you believe you didn't do your duty as a cop. I think you're afraid that Evan won't be any better for that little boy."

She holds up a stack of papers, folded tightly and slightly creased from having been in her pocket. She sets it on the table, pushing it towards him as she grabs her food, dropping a piece of chicken in his container before stealing another dumpling.

Deeks looks at her with slanted eyes, one eyebrow cocked in a very Spock-ish kind of way as he watches her devour another one of his dumplings. He picks up the folded papers, opening them slowly.

There's a picture of Evan dressed in his Army uniform, his features stoic for the camera. Deeks reads that his last name is Hudson, that he had been a medic in the Army, and had done three tours within five years.

Deeks peeks over the edge of the papers to find Kensi watching him as she steadily works her chopsticks. Looking back and turning the page, he sees why she had given him Evan's file.

Unlike the others, Evan wasn't dishonorably discharged. He had been injured while on tour, rupturing three discs in his back, along with taking a handful of shrapnel. He had been given the Purple Heart among a few other commendations in his file before being honorably discharged two years ago.

"So Cowboy Evan was on the up and up," Deeks says, dropping the papers on the table and retrieving his dumplings before Kensi can steal anymore. "Except for the whole kidnapper thing."

"Eric's got a bolo out for him," Kensi says, "He's the FBI's concern now, they're taking over the missing person's case."

"And everybody's okay with that?" Deeks asks, finally taking a bite of his dinner. "I mean, normally everyone gets all angsty when another team starts playing in our sandbox."

Kensi rolls her eyes, her toes once again digging beneath the cushion. "I think everyone's ready for this to be over. We got Snow White and five of the seven dwarves. So two of 'em got away, nothing we can do about it."

"Not now anyway," Deeks amends, taking another, much larger sip of his beer. "Do you think Callen knows?"

Kensi stills her chopsticks as she thinks over the last few hours, the way their team leader had questioned them, how he had purposely avoided asking for specifics to how Evan had gotten away. "Probably," she admits, "but if he were going to do anything about it, he'd have already done it."

"You sure about that?" Deeks asks.

Kensi swings her legs around, scooting towards the center of the couch so she's sitting right beside her partner. "Deeks," she says, her voice low even though they're the only two in the apartment. "No matter what happens, whatever the fallout from this, I've got your back." She nudges his shoulder with her own, smiling. "I mean we tunneled out of a bathroom together, that's a partnership." Her smile widens as Deeks begins to laugh. "We're in this for the long haul, Mister."

"Can you believe we tunneled out of the bathroom with a spoon?" he says, grabbing his chopsticks and stealing a few pieces of her chicken. "That's almost as cool as that time I saved your ass with the lasers."

"Almost," Kensi agrees, her eyes searching towards the second bag on the table, knowing there's a carton of lo mien inside.

"You know, both of those were my idea," he says, reaching for the second bag before she has a chance.

"But I helped," she points out, reaching into the bag despite his efforts. "Don't even try to take all the credit."

"I'm not, I'm just saying that I was the brain's behind both escape plans." He waits patiently for her to steal a portion of the noodles before accepting what's left. He smiles again, "You think Sam or Callen can top either of those?"

"No, but I bet Hetty can," Kensi answers, matching his smile.

"That doesn't count. That's like trying to compare a padawan to Yoda, that's not fair."

Kensi purses her lips as she accepts the truth in his words. They continue to eat in silence, neither one wanting to turn on the TV, both knowing they'll only see DJ Miller's face.

"He'll be okay," Kensi says after a few minutes. When Deeks turns to look at her, she continues on. "DJ, I mean. He'll be okay. I don't think Evan was the bad guy in this story."

Deeks turn back to his chopsticks, his brow furrowing as he tries to fight with his feelings. "Do you really believe that or are you just saying it for my benefit?"

"Deeks, I wouldn't have let you do what you did if I didn't believe it." She waits for him to look back up, for him to make eye contact. "You're my partner, Deeks, and I wouldn't have sat back and let you do something that wasn't in your best interest."

Deeks frowns as he shakes his head confusedly. "You think letting Evan go was in my best interest?"

"No," she tells him, brushing her shoulder against his once more, "I think helping DJ was."

Deeks smiles lightly, one corner of his mouth barely rising as he pushes his shoulder against hers, a silent 'thank you'.

They spend the rest of the evening talking, stealing one another's food as they discuss anything and everything not related to DJ Miller or Evan Hudson.

They'll keep their eyes and ears open for any sign of the two, listening to see whether or not they've been found. They'll play along with the rest of the team, each pretending that Evan had given them the honest slip, that what the record reflects really happened.

Eventually, everyone will stop worrying. DJ Miller's name will still be listed on a missing person's list, Evan Hudson will still be in the FBI's database as a person of interest wanted in connection with his nephew's disappearance.

But one day, Deeks won't look back on the case and feel guilt and worry. Eventually, he'll realize he did the right thing.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

He runs his fingers through his hair. It's the shortest it's been in his entire life, the first time he can remember it not covering his ears. The towel's still wrapped around his shoulders, random tufts of baby curls falling all around him.

He's excited, a little sad, but still excited. Uncle Evan had asked him a long time ago if he wanted to leave with him. He hadn't even had to think about it, he already knew the answer.

He's sitting on the kitchen counter, his legs folded criss-cross apple sauce like the lady at day-care had taught him. The back of his neck itches, but his uncle takes care of that, sweeping away the little itchy hairs as he removes the towel, setting the scissors down before lifting him off the counter.

"Alright, kiddo. Ready to see the damage?" his uncle asks, and the little boy nods, his tongue stuck between his teeth as he smiles excitedly. He's never had a hair cut before. His mom had told him she liked his baby curls, it was one of the few things she told him she liked. That and his eyes, she said he has her eyes.

Uncle Evan turns on the bathroom light and stands him on the counter so he can see. He looks so different. His hair is short, short enough that he can see his ears.

"It's like yours!" he says, looking back and forth between him and his uncle. Uncle Evan smiles as he puts him back on the ground, ruffling his new haircut.

"It's a little longer than mine, kiddo. Now," his uncle says, bending down to look him in his eyes, and that's when he notices that Uncle Evan has his mom's eyes, too. "Do you remember what we talked about on the way here?"

"Yep," he tells him, proud that he remembers.

"Good," his uncle says with a smile. "Now, what's your name?"

"Kyle Dutton," he says, pronouncing each sound carefully, his head bobbing with each syllable.

His uncle nods. "Good, and what's mine?"

"Daddy," he answers, fighting the urge to giggle at the weirdness of it all. Uncle Evan smiles.

"That's what you're gonna call me, but what if someone else asks, what do you tell them?"

He pauses for a moment, his mind going back to the long car ride. "Joseph Dutton!" he yells when he remembers.

Uncle Ev—Daddy smiles again, patting him on the shoulder as he stands. "Good job, now why don't you go watch cartoons okay. I'm gonna make us some lunch."

Evan watches his nephew run away and climb on the oversized sofa. Walking back towards the kitchen, he grabs a broom and dustpan and begins the task of cleaning up the remains of the haircut.

The house is small, nothing too special. It's in the country, so there's not a lot of neighbors. He had paid cash for it, used the blood money he had earned from working with his sister and bought the land and all.

It had taken a long time to get everything ready. The money was only an issue at first, but eventually he had enough, more than enough. The real problem had been making everything legit. He had needed paperwork, and there was no way he was trusting Gadget to get it for him.

Evan empties the dustpan and peeks into the living room. SpongeBob Squarepants is on, the little boy watching attentively, his little hands occasionally rising to feel the new shortness of his hair.

Resting the broom in the corner, Evan reaches for the envelope, the one that had cost more than the house and land combined. Birth certificates, social security cards, shot records, a driver's license, high-school diploma—two lives on paper. Everything they'll need to start fresh.

By next year, the news of the missing boy from California will be mostly forgotten. He'll be able to enroll his 'son' in school and he can get a job as a paramedic or something. Who knows, if he has enough money left over he may open up a shop, be his own boss so he'll have time to look after DJ—well, look after Kyle.

He sits down at the kitchen table and looks out the window to the large front yard. There's a little white car out front, nothing flashy, nothing that'll call attention. He had swapped cars when they crossed into Arizona, and then again once they hit Texas. He had planned it all from the beginning, each and every step, including where they would stop for gas and where they would eat.

He isn't stupid, he knew the news would spread nationwide. So far, he's kept the little boy from seeing the news, from seeing his face plastered on almost every channel. The drive from California to Kentucky had been long and tiring. There were moments when DJ would cry, when he would ask if his mom was going to meet them. Evan had talked to him the entire time, telling him his mom had gotten in trouble like his dad, that she was going with the detective. DJ had stopped crying then, deciding instead to talk about the detective, telling his uncle how the man had said he could call him Marty, and that he had a dog, and that his partner was really pretty. Evan had simply smiled and steered the conversation towards new names and playing make-believe.

Laughter from the living room brings him out of his reverie, his mind coming back to the present. Closing the envelope once more, Joseph Dutton stands and begins the task of making a sandwich for him and his son.

The End