This is rated M for a reason. :)

I don't own any of these characters.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, Deeks thought as he sat on his couch, holding his empty beer bottle and staring at the blank television screen in front of him. They should really change it to absence: it ain't for bitches. He ran his empty hand through his hair and sighed.

He was lonely, sure. Lonely, bitter, scared, horny, angry, lovesick; he was a whole gamut of emotions. It had been eight weeks; exactly 57 days since he had experienced the best 20 hours of his life, and then the most heartbreaking minute. He wondered if Hetty's news that night wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been so high on Kensi at that very moment. His mind had been flying as fast as his car on his way to the Mission. She would be waiting for him, he would make some cheesy joke about getting her out of her smelly shirt, and then they would leave…together.

"Dammit," he groaned, slamming his beer bottle on the coffee table and walking to his bedroom. He couldn't go anywhere in his apartment without being reminded of her. The couch brought back memories of years of growing friendship. The doorway reminded him that she refused to let him shut her out. The hallway to his bedroom reminded him that he carried her to his room 57 nights ago and that they tripped and fell into the wall, laughing. One of his hanging pictures was still crooked.

Stripping off his shirt and jeans, Deeks threw them in the corner of his bedroom. His head was spinning as he fell flat on his face in his bed; he hadn't been drinking much lately, but tonight decided to tear through a six-pack of Dos Equis in less than an hour. "I don't always drink," he mumbled. "But when I do, I get fucking wasted." He turned his head towards the empty side of the bed, the side where she slept that night. The side she should be sleeping on every night.

He smiled as he remembered the way she looked in his bed. Her hair splayed across the pillow as she slept on her side, body barely covered by her sheet. He almost thinks he can see her there now, but he knows he is just imagining things. Still, he can see her vividly. Her hair is down and curly. She's wearing one of his shirts and nothing else, not even makeup.

"Hi."

"Hey you," she responds.

"I miss you so fucking much," he said, reaching his hand out for her face; but the sheet is cold. "I know I can't touch you, but can we just talk?"

Imaginary Kensi smiled and nodded.

"I just can't stop thinking about you, about us. About that night, and what should've been every night after that…"

"Tell me about that night," Kensi said.

Deeks pursed his lips and looked around his bedroom for a second, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him. "I must be really drunk…."

"Just go with it, Deeks," Kensi said, batting her eyelashes.

He smiled and traced his fingers down his sheets, pushing the covers away. "I remember everything."

"Like?"

"Like how you smelled like coconut. That organic shampoo I bought for you and you laughed at me, but kept buying it for yourself anyway. And how you tasted, salty and sweet. You were nothing like I'd imagined."

Kensi bit her bottom lip.

Deeks blinked his eyes quickly; forcing them to stay open for fear that his fantasy would disappear when he opened them. "I thought you would be really rough and aggressive and hard. But you were soft, and tender, and quiet. Your breasts were the most amazing I've ever seen. And I think you kinda liked mine too." Deeks smiled to himself.

"And I'll never forget the look on your face when you came. You grabbed my hair so hard that it hurt but I didn't care. And you didn't scream, you whispered my name." He was starting to lose focus. "You have no idea how amazing that was, watching you. I had to try so hard to hold out for you, and I never wanted it to end. You were so warm, and so soft, and…" he closed his eyes and whimpered, and then sighed. "And real."

When he opened his eyes, she was gone. He knew she was just a figment of his imagination, just a fantasy, but he still felt empty knowing that he was alone again. He threw his boxers on the floor next to his bed, and ran his hand across the empty sheets. Still cold, still empty. So he did what he'd done for the last 57 nights: he grabbed her pillow and held it to his face. He knew he should have washed it a long time ago, but he couldn't. It still smelled like her, and for now, that's all he has left.