AN: So, first NCIS: LA story. Just a fun little one-shot I thought up while listening to some particularly inspiring music. I don't wanna give too much away, so I'll just leave you to enjoy! Let me know what you think.

Oh, and in case anyone from the show is reading this (yeah, right), all rights go to the creators of the show and its characters. I just like to play around with them. No infringement intended, yadda yadda...


Always

He is always there.

She can count on him to cheer her up, to protect her, and even to stand up to her.

He is fearless, fiercely loyal, and stubborn as hell.

He is everything she needs in a partner. In a friend.

The others are there, too, but not in quite the same way. He never pushes her to talk, never analyzes her. He is simply there, for anything she needs, even if that means nothing at all.

He has an easy smile, a laid-back attitude that belies his love of surfing. He is happy just sitting beside her, watching TV with a six-pack of cheap beer to split between them. She pretends that it's because of the beer and not the company, but she hopes it is the latter. She jokes about his hair, but truthfully, secretly, she likes it. It suits him, that dirty-blond mop that just reaches the bridge of his nose, partially obscuring his blue eyes before he shakes his head, pushing his bangs to the side. She likes that he isn't afraid to wear sandals, even when they're on a case. He is never ashamed to be himself, and he makes sure she knows she can always do the same.

He is there now, his arm wrapped around her waist as they huddle together for warmth. She shivers and he pulls her closer, his breath so hot on her freezing ear that she nearly sighs aloud.

"Stay awake," he tells her, his voice sounding just as tired as she feels.

"Trying," she replies, her teeth chattering. "So cold."

"I know. Help is coming."

She believes him. She has to. He's lied to her in the past, but she knows him well enough to understand that this is not one of those times.

"Talk to me," she pleads, desperate for a reason to stay conscious.

"About what?" He asks.

"Anything."

She expects him to crack a joke, but either he is too tired or too cold to think of one.

He takes a breath. "I ever tell you about my trip to Ireland?"

She shakes her head. "No. Tell me."

And so, he talks for what seems like hours, describing in great detail his every sight on the Emerald Isle. By the time rescue comes, she feels as if she had been right beside him on the trip, from the tomb of Saint Patrick at Down Cathedral to the Blarney Stone. She can almost taste the Guinness he'd drunk in countless pubs across the country and smell the wild heather of the mountains. It all sounds so magical, and when she says so, he promises to take her there in person sometime.

Finally warm, wrapped in a thick blanket with a cup of steaming hot coffee in her hands, she catches his eye and smiles. He grins back and nods slightly, and she can almost hear what he means by it.

We did it again.

We made it.

We're safe.

As he walks past, his lips still tinged blue, she reaches out her hand and he grasps it, squeezing her fingers in his palm.

"Thanks, Deeks."

He glances down at her, puzzled.

"For what, Kenz?"

She smiles again, beaming with pride and gratitude.

"Being there."

He brings her hand to his mouth, kisses the backs of her fingers.

"Always."

The End