This is set after the t-shirt dialogue in 3x21, and will continue throughout the rest of season 3 and 4, and possibly continuing into season 5, depending on where the writers take it this season. The chapters will all be their own stories, some light and humorous, some angsty, others a mix between hurt and comfort. I WILL BE INCLUDING THE SPECULATIVE SPOILERS FOR SEASON FIVE, SO ONCE WE REACH THAT POINT, THOSE WHO DON'T WANT TO KNOW WILL BE WARNED.
Disclaimer: I would buy myself a new immune system, but alas, I do not own them.
First one is in response to 3x22, Neighborhood Watch. Enjoy!
Marty Deeks stood outside the suspect's house looking rather gob smacked. His fiery and bold partner had just pressed her body up against his in ways that should be all kinds of illegal. Granted, it was to draw attention away from the fact that he had finally said aloud that he knew where his missing t-shirt had gone, but still, it counts. He could recall exactly when she must have taken it, too.
They had been watching the game and making pizza when he, in his child like haste, had turned right into her, dropping the pan right onto the front of her shirt. The pizza was salvageable; her shirt was another story. He had merely pointed in the direction of his bedroom and told her to take her pick. He made a quip about what it took now a day to get women out of their own clothes and into his. She laughed and went on looking for something to wear. She came out wearing his Oakland Raiders t-shirt.
"Ha. You might not want to wear that one. I'm pretty sure it was on its way to the laundry pile." He turned his smile into a smirk, knowing that her adorableness, and his willingness to tell her he thought as much, would not help his current standings.
She shrugged and just said, "Smells fine to me. Smells just like you, and I put up with that stench every day." And they were back, he thought with a minor dose of relief. He wasn't ready for any type of change when it came to her. Best to keep it status quo.
He probably wouldn't have even noticed, except that he did, many weeks later when he was doing her laundry, to be precise. His t-shirt had been bundled up with a pair of her gray sweats, near the top of the laundry bag. And he found the thought that she was wearing his shirt, smelling his scent while she sat curled up on her sofa, strangely comforting and oddly erotic. So he did what any man would do. He washed the shirt in his own detergent and softener, and then slept in it for a night, spritzing some cologne on it before he gave it back to her, clean and folded along with the rest of her clothes. She didn't say anything about it, so he figured they were in the clear.
She knew that he knew that she had the shirt. And she was completely trying to be ok with that. When she was a murder suspect, that t-shirt was what she wore to bed for those two long nights. And then when she got back, she found that Deeks was more than willing to be her personal pillow for a night, something they've done on occasion, when falling asleep on the couch is just more preferable. She didn't need his shirt that night, because she had the real thing. It's not like she wore it all the time, just when she was away from home and missing him.
Now here he was saying the words out loud, verbally confirming that he knew that she knew that he knew. So she reverted, flirting her way out of the situation long enough to confuse the poor man, while also trying to reassure him that there was nothing between her and the five-0 boys, or at least, nothing tangible.
"Well THAT was uncalled for." Then they're back and they're off, into the house, the conversation stowed away for another time, one that seems to get further and further each day.
That night he comes over and they watch a cooking show while talking quietly about random nothings. When he slowly got up, announcing that he was going to wake up early to try a new surfing spot, she pouted slightly, and then bid him goodnight. When she was sure he was gone, she donned his shirt, wistfully wishing she were brave enough to do so in front of the man himself, that she were brave enough to speak about this thing they are forever tiptoeing around.
A week later, in a whirlwind affair, they are whisked off to a cover house in the suburbs. She's not as used to undercover work as he is, especially not long operations. Clearly she isn't thinking when the agent is given thirty minutes to go home and pack and the first thing she throws into her duffle is his damn t-shirt. For the first week, it doesn't matter since she wakes up nearly every morning sprawled across his chest. It's enough to know that he's not the one moving through out the night, that's all her. But once week two rolls around, she finds that she misses her couch, and the comfort of her little apartment, where every room can be seen from that one spot in her kitchen. She misses the messes and the warmth that they bring, the safety in the permanence.
So the eighth night that they are there, she walks downstairs to the living room in his t-shirt and her grey sweats and curls up next to him. Legs folded underneath her, she leans her body onto his own, both of her arms wrapping around his one. A shocked Deeks throws up his arms and uses humor to diffuse.
"Permission to touch, ma'am?" Only it's not funny, because she's homesick. She misses being normal with him, they own version of normal, not the white picket fence brand of American dream that frankly makes her think too much of the way her childhood was before her mother took off.
Instead of answering him, she burrows her head into the space between his shoulder and neck and doesn't say anything.
"Kens, you ok?" His question is soft and brings tears to her eyes because she doesn't want to have to be ok. For once she just wants to be able to be NOT ok and have everything be fine the next morning.
That's when he notices his t-shirt and suddenly he gets it. He himself brings Monty's dog bed when he goes under. It's something small that keeps him tethered to his life. But she hasn't ever been under for longer than a week, and she's obviously feeling it. His hand, connected to the arm she's holding hostage, comes to rest on her bended knee, kneading and rubbing through the fabric found there.
"If it makes you feel better, I can start making inappropriate comments, or we can throw clothes around, make it look more like home for you?"
She sniffs, and then laughs. Her body rises with a sigh, and she settles further into him. A thought comes to her, and she tilts her face up to look at his eyes. It takes him a few minutes to notice that he's being looked at before he meets her shining orbs.
"Say anything about this ever, and I will beat you unconscious only to drag your body to Hetty and tell her that you did something stupid." Even her threats were cute and affectionate, when he read between the lines, of course.
So they didn't talk. Instead they watched a scary movie where the rarely seen jumpy Kensi Blye made an appearance. She let her guard down, seeking comfort from someone who knew exactly how she was feeling. After the movie, they went through the house hand in hand to turn off all the lights and lock all the doors. Entering the bedroom, she didn't even pretend that they wouldn't end up tangled together anyways. He stripped off his pants and his shirt, lay down next to her, just holding her. He knew he couldn't say anything to help, so he just held her. The next morning she was awake before he was, making a mess out of "their" closet, and calling him sleeping beauty. Nothing had changed and for that, she was grateful.
A/N: I'm not going to make any promises or guarantees about when I'll be able to get new chapters out, but I can tell you that I tend to have a lot of free time through out the week, so it should be up fairly soon. Love you guys, and thanks so much for reading! Have a fantastic rest of your week.