NCIS LA does not belong to me ... naturally.

Please bear in mind that things are not always what they seem to be and enjoy (if possible) the first chapter of «Purple». ;)

- Purple -

Chapter 1 (Home)

Though he just found Monty waiting each time he returned home (a 'just' he did not usually recognize in those homecomings, because Monty used to be enough, even more than enough), he loved being back. He had this feeling of comfort and peace; he saw a small absence of the constant struggle in which he lived, each time he returned to his house...

It was clear that he (deeply) loved his job. He loved the adrenaline it gave him, he secretly loved that feeling of being a special human being (a wonder man) each and every time his team helped to save the world ... Sometimes, he loved it for the feeling of redemption that it inspired in his heart. Because not infrequently, he found himself lost in stubborn memories, remembering how he shot his father, the man who gave him life, the drunk and violent aggressor, the first one who threatened to take his life. Years and years of words from social workers, psychologists, teachers and one or two foster parents with more respect for the human condition, repeating that he had no responsibility or liability in the awful events of his childhood didn't quiet the voice that lived within him, reminding him of what she had said.

Sometimes, he thinks about the day one of his colleagues at a children's centre - with a life story not too different from his - called him a "drama queen", claiming that "life is life" and things are just the way they are. From then on, he got used to wearing a disguise... and he kept on doing so. After all, maybe it was indeed an exaggeration; maybe he did indeed overreact; he had no family really, but that's the past; he lives daily with the death of others (victims included), but he should have already become accustomed to that; his life hangs by a thread, repetitively, but that's part of the job; he survives daily to the agonizing fear of losing all those around him, but ... he shouldn't and he won't create exaggerated drama ... Yeah... Right…

These days, he loves his job even more, because now "job" also means Kensi (though he wouldn't put this feeling into words). Nevertheless, the homecoming continued to be, for a long time, the return to his safe heaven. What he wasn't expecting was to react so differently to this homecoming ... this homecoming, after this last mission.

They had lived several days as husband and wife and the word "home" began – within him – to be composed of so many different elements. "Home" has become less silence and more techno blasting, less organization and more confusion, less right side and more left side, less empty chairs across the table and more breakfasts convoyed by strange (and ... "physically disturbing" ) moans of pleasure caused by the simple chocolate pancakes ... less a warm body on autopilot at the end of the day and more - much more - a hot body, pulsating and always in the limit between the right words and the excessive statements, between the justifiable gestures and the gestures impossible to remove or undo.

When he returned to his house, wrapped in a nauseating discomfort, with the hassle of having what he does not have, with the certainty that he feels but he denies, with the frustration of getting away but wanting to stay, he found a small - tiny - smile when he started unpacking his clothes.

Purple.

How is it even possible? Purple.

She had this tummy ache like if it was her first day of school (or one of her high school days…), she had a debilitating tremor in her legs and she felt her hands wet from the nervousness sweat- all because she was about to knock on that door, at an odd hour , on such a different day...

Honestly, she thought he would be the one conceding. She thought he would be the one knocking at her door and not the other way around, she thought he would arrive at her house with his beautiful million-watt smile, an apologetic expression, looking as a bashful boy who is never invited anywhere, shrugging and hoping she would completely open her door to him ... but he did not. During the first hour, she imagined how she would pretend to be upset and annoyed and surprised before letting him in. (Actually, she would let him in just for pure education and mere lack of an alternative.)

In the second hour, she began to think that she wouldn't need to be so harsh. By the third hour, she already questioned everything she had read in his eyes during their last mission and she felt her heart constrict and all the air escape her lungs. And finally, by the fourth hour (it always takes her long enough, right?), she decided she is Kensi Blye and a Blye is never wrong and rarely has questions, and if he does not solve something, she takes care of it.

Then again, in front of his door, the fear appears.

Fear.

How is it even possible? Fear.

Monty had desperately needed a walk and despite the late hour and the odd cold showing its presence, he relented (of course he did). He wasn't expecting to find her at his door when he returned to his house, but it was so good, it was so spectacularly good that it had happened.

Hesitating, she was in front of his door, but she wasn't knocking. She raised her fist two or three times, but she never finished her action. She also didn't turn or walk away.

However great his curiosity was, his ability to control his little fellow was not enough. Monty seemed to sympathize with Kensi's situation – or maybe he already loved her as much as his master- and so he ran to her, stirring her from her thoughts. When she saw them, she used the euphoria of that adorable puppy and gave him her attention, taking the opportunity to look for a reason to be there. Suddenly, all the reasons she had planned to enumerate had vanished.

But he did not ask her any justification.

He simply smiled, opened his door and invited her to join them inside. (Beautiful.)

He approached her and wordlessly led her into his living room. He led her to the sofa, made her sit down and gave her a blanket. Using his humorous and relaxed manner, he teased her, claiming that Monty had "stolen" the blanket on the street market weeks before, forcing him, not only to pay much more for it, but also to invest his charm on the task of calming down the hot saleswoman. The adjective did not please her, but she noticed how he was trying to gauge her reaction, and so she pretended not to care. Shortly afterwards, he could not help his wish to sweeten his incessant rambling, explaining that Monty just stole the blanket to give her, to make everything very comfortable for her, expecting she would come and visit them more often, simply because she already bewitched him (Monty, of course).

This was what she needed and exactly what he wanted to give her, because she was the first one conceding. The truth was that if it hadn't been for Monty "requiring" that walk, he would have been the one making a trip to her house to stay, probably, standing at her doorstep.

He went to the kitchen and brought a box of candies. He introduced her to the "cronut". Then, he sat by her left side and pulled part of the blanket, making it clear that he had no other blanket (Yeah! Right!) and so they would have to share.

In the absence of the right words to say (and still unable to explain that trip, at that hour, to that house), her thoughts ran restlessly without any glimpse of a conclusion. Actually, she wasn't even aware of what was happening in the show the TV had on. She just knew she wanted to be there, but she couldn't expose the reasons to justify that desire and that was the thought that tormented her. And she fought, she fought even with her desires, her wishes, her reasons ... well, she fought the truth. And the growing fear, the growing fear that suddenly he would question her, as he had not done yet, was there. So, she thought it was better to leave and hoped to do it avoiding all his possible questions.

She moved a little and looked at him.

He slept.

Apparently, he had accepted the inevitable and decided to just live what both of them wanted to live (or at least, a glimpse of what they really wanted to live and share). And he lacked only the courage to engage her in his arms, still remaining, between them, a small physical distance, on that couch, under that blanket.

She usually didn't repeat those romantic nonsenses that describe butterflies swirling in the stomach, but at that time, it seemed that her brain (with all its reason and calculated thoughts) was misleading her into wondering and feeling just that - a thousand butterflies in full spins inside her body. She felt happy. She felt happy and ahead, ahead of him, because if you think about it, he slept and she was awake; if you think about it, on the awakening, nobody would know who had done what; if you think about it, at dawn, all cats and all acts are gray; if you think about it, Justin and Melissa, at dawn, destroyed successive distances and the mornings that followed never identified the wrongdoers (or the right doers).

It was then her turn to accept the inevitable, it was her turn to do something and so she closed the distance between them, and when she approached him, her partner was identical to the alias previously created – Deeks was Justin – and had the exact same reaction he used to have on their previous assignment. Quickly, he enveloped her in his arms and rotated a bit, turning his chest (and his heart) to her, pulling her closer to him. And there was exactly where she wanted to be – her or Melissa or Tracy or Kiki or Fern (there).

If she took the first step, by approaching, it was not too hard for him to do all of the following steps – much more assertive by the way. He turned, hugged her and pulled her closer to him. He was disguising, as he was not even sleeping. But that was the only thing he was disguising. He was happy – there.

They had returned home.

;)