A/N: So, as with all my stories, this one has already been planned out, it just needs to be written. For those of you who have read any of my other stories for this fandom, you know that I have a more than obvious tendency to focus on Deeks and am a true-blue Densi shipper. That hasn't changed, just keep in mind I like to keep things as close to canon as possible, allowing for a little creative licensing every so often, i.e. there will be flirting, banter, and caring for partners, but nothing that wouldn't be in the show. I save all of that for one shots that inevitably end up two shots.
For some reason, my mind as twisted and is wanting to focus on Callen. This story will be centered around Deeks (because my mind won't work any other way) but will feature a good bit of Callen, and by extension, Kensi and Sam. Unlike my other team-fics, Hetty, Eric, and Nell won't be present as much, if any. For some reason, I like putting the team in weird places outside their comfort zone. I love LA, but I thought 'why not Montana?'
Just a little warning, there will probably be some language (not much) and some gore, because I'm weird that way.
Chapter 1: Temper Tantrums and Ninja Turtles
The sudden gust of cold air draws Clive's attention from the small TV. He barely registers the tiny, metallic chime of the bell as the door slowly closes, the wind and angry mumbling drowning out the normally annoying clanging. Clive watches the man shake the snow from his hat, kick the ice from his boots before wrapping his arms tightly around his center as he looks around. This guy's lost. Clive can tell, anyone who lives here is used to the cold, they wouldn't be shaking like a freakin' Chihuahua. Hell, this guy's practically vibrating, he's shaking so much.
When the guy reaches a gloved hand towards one of the small, shopping baskets, Clive lets his attention go back to Wheel of Fortune, or at least what he can make out through the static. Stupid satellite goes out anytime the wind blows, which means the near blizzard outside has caused him to resort to classics. Nothing like a nice set of rabbit ears to keep you entertained—that and a near freezing city-boy fumbling for supplies.
The guy's got to be at least six feet tall, a hell of a lot taller than Clive. Young, too. Probably early thirties? The guy hasn't looked at him yet, but Clive can tell the kid's probably a looker, making him glad he told Lindsey to stay home tonight. He loves his daughter, but the seventeen year old is drawn to the opposite sex like a moth to a flame. She also has a tendency to forget she's still a minor. Clive tries to ignore his oldest son's attempt at brotherly love by endearing his sister with the nickname Jail Bait.
"Excuse me?" The guy says, his accent unrecognizable. Yep, definitely not from around here. "You got any batteries?"
Clive gestures towards the wall behind him with his thumb. "Keep 'em behind the counter. Kids like to steal 'em." The guy nods as he walks up to the counter and starts unloading his overflowing basket.
Two travel-sized first-aid kits, two bottles of Nyquil and other cold medicines, four flashlights, two bottles of transmission fluid, several magazines, books of word puzzles, a deck of cards, and a large variety of junk food, complete with the entire shelf's supply of Twinkies.
"I'm gonna need eight of your nine volts, please." The guy smiles, blue eyes shining, and Clive takes a moment to silently thank God he told Lindsey to stay home tonight. Those blue eyes would be a blazing bon-fire to his little moth.
"You like Twinkies?" Clive asks, ringing up the batteries. The guy laughs and scratches at the hat on his head, causing a few blond curls to fall loose.
"Not really, but a friend of mine does. She's kind of down, thought I'd cheer her up." The guy lets his shoulder rise and fall in a nonchalant shrug. He's flexing his fingers, trying to warm them up, and Clive can still make out a few involuntary shivers.
"You're not from around here, are you boy?" The guy just looks at him, smiling that smile without missing a beat, making Clive glad he had three sons—one daughter is more than enough to worry about.
"No, sir. Just passing through." The guy doesn't offer any more information, just patiently waits for Clive to finish ringing up his items. When Clive reaches across the counter, grabbing two small, orange packets, the guy frowns, arching a questioning eyebrow.
"They're hand warmers. Shake 'em and put 'em in your gloves. Trust me, you'll thank me." Clive tosses them in the bag, not even bothering to ring them up, but stops when the guy reaches for the whole box.
There's that smile again, "I'll pay for these." Clive just laughs as he rings up the many hand warmers, adding them to the two already in the bag.
"You be careful, Son. They'll be closing the roads soon." Clive offers a wave with his warning as the guy pulls his coat up around his nose before pulling the door open and letting in another gust of cold air.
Deeks manages to nod his thanks before turning to face the relentless wind. He's parked right outside the door, the only vehicle in the parking lot. He climbs behind the wheel and tosses the bags into the passenger seat, hurriedly searching for a pair of the hand warmers.
Reading the instructions, he rips one of the packages open with his teeth and begins shaking the small pouch. He immediately feels the warmth, it's not much, but it's more than welcomed in this frozen hell in which he currently finds himself. It doesn't snow in Los Angeles.
He sticks the steadily warming hand warmer in his glove against the back of his hand and readies a second as he waits for the truck to warm up. Within minutes, he's putting the truck in gear and slowly pulling out of the parking lot, clenching his teeth to keep the shivering from cracking a tooth. It doesn't snow in Los Angeles, but it's a freaking blizzard in Montana.
"I should kill them when I get back," Deeks says to no one, his warm breath fogging up the windshield a moment after the words are spoken. "They deserve it. Probably won't be expecting me to make it back. I mean, look at this," he gestures to the non-visible road, No One making a silent, but attentive audience. "Getting out in this weather is the equivalent of a kamikaze mission. There's no way they're expecting me to survive."
He turns on the radio, letting whatever song play as background noise. He doesn't really listen to it; he just wants something to take his mind off the dangerously slick road and the fact that he can't see more than five feet in either direction. Damn, he wishes he were back in LA. He only thought he wanted a white Christmas. He was wrong, he's man enough to admit it.
The remainder of the drive is quiet. There aren't any other cars on the road, and Deeks silently thinks it's for the better—one less thing he has to worry about hitting. Twice now, he's already swerved, the tail end of the truck threatening to fishtail every time he presses the breaks. The fluorescent paint of the guardrails is the only thing keeping him on the road as he slowly creeps towards the cutoff leading towards their temporary home.
They have no idea how long they'll be there, Callen hadn't been able to give them any information. One minute, Deeks is sitting in a sun-soaked chair, his feet propped against his desk as he fights off a nap, and the next Hetty is telling them to pack for cold weather, telling them to keep receipts to be reimbursed for any supplies they may have to buy.
Deeks isn't used to the snow, he's always lived in LA. Sunshine and an occasionally stifling dry heat. That's what he's used to, not blizzards and worrying about a freaking yeti.
He sighs with relief when he parks the truck in front of the large house. It's nice, one story, wide and open. There's a barn out back, complete with stalls and hay, there's even a silo on the edge of the property—a regular Greene Acres. Deeks has no idea how Hetty came to acquire it to be used as a temporary headquarters for NCIS, but it's better than sleeping in a tent.
Once, when Deeks was still in grade school, his class went on a field trip to a cattle ranch. That was the one and only time he had been on a farm. Until now anyway. They're in farm country. All the land outside of town is privately owned, each family claiming several acres and putting them all to use.
Deeks knows that if the snow weren't so thick, he'd be able to see the lights from a neighboring farm to the east. When they first arrived, it was obvious that whoever lived there before had kids, the second bedroom was decked out for two little boys.
The set of wooden bunk beds was pushed against the wall, complete with Ninja Turtle bedspreads and a Power Ranger nightlight. Toy cars and parts of mangled action figures were littered across the floor, covering an area rug displaying bright geometric shapes with smiling faces.
Sam had already claimed the master bedroom for himself, taking no prisoners when pulling the I'm-the-Senior-Agent-therefore-I-get-my-own-bathro om card, trumping Kensi's I'm-a-girl card.
Deeks hadn't even had a chance to call top bunk before Kensi was telling him to help her separate the beds. Instead of arguing, he had grudgingly helped lift the top bunk and rearrange the room, quickly calling dibs on the Michelangelo covered bed.
Kensi had smiled, saying in a falsely sweet voice, "Fine. He suits you more."
"If you mean because he's awesome, then yeah, he does," Deeks had shot back as he kicked toys out of the way.
It's been three days since then, and already Deeks is ready to go home. He isn't against the snow, hell he even likes it sometimes. But a blizzard isn't snow. It's a tsunami of ice that blinds anyone dumb enough to venture out. The idea of spending any large amount of time in a snow-blanketed farmhouse, sipping hot chocolate by the fire had never really been on the top of Deeks' to-do list. A cabin in the mountains, maybe. Farmhouse at good old Greene Acres, no. On occasion he'll go to a resort, spend a few days on the mountain with a snowboard, a few nights by the fire in a comfy bed, preferably not alone. There was that one year he spent Christmas with a girl at her family's cabin in Colorado, that hadn't been that bad. Of course, the cabin came with automatic heat, there wasn't a freaking blizzard, and she had done a good job of distracting him from the fact that it was freezing outside—shared body heat will do that.
While this house comes with a thermostat, it's old and obviously on its last leg. But to make up for the lack of electrical heat, the house also comes with a large fireplace. It sucks, because the fire only warms the main room, leaving the antiquated central heat to warm the bedrooms.
Another downside Deeks is all too aware of, is this house doesn't come with a more than friendly co-ed wanting to teach him the finer points of college life. It does however come with a former Navy SEAL who is too worried about his partner to bother being nice, and an irritated Kensi Blye who's suffering from a bad case of Cabin Fever.
Deeks slams the truck door shut before running towards the porch, a task made all the more difficult by the ever-deepening snow. He kicks the front door shut behind him as he moves to set the bags on the counter.
"It's about time. We were starting to worry you wrecked or something," Kensi says from the couch, the dishcloth she had been clutching when Deeks left still held tightly in her hand. "What took you so long?"
Deeks stops unloading the bags long enough to level her with a stare that screams are you kidding me. "Well, Partner. In case you haven't noticed, we're in a freaking snow globe, and Mother Nature just decided to turn it upside down." He tosses his gloves and hat on a chair before working to remove his outer coat. "I hope you're aware that I just risked my life for you."
When Kensi looks as though she's about to argue, Deeks hurriedly reaches in the last bag and holds up one of the Twinkies, effectively cutting off whatever she had been about to say.
"Thank you," she says, reaching out and snagging the Twinkie with her right hand, the hand not holding the bloodied dishtowel.
Deeks just grins as he picks up the bag and empties the rest of the Twinkies onto the counter. He's almost certain if Kensi were any other woman, she'd have kissed him. But Kensi being Kensi, she punches him in the shoulder before stuffing half of the now opened Twinkie into her mouth.
"You're welcome," he tells her as he works to pull the plastic wrap off one of the first-aid kits. "But just so you know, physical abuse isn't how most people show appreciation." Kensi rolls her eyes as she reaches for a second Twinkie.
They have enough food to last them at least another week, none of it being junk food. The pantry's stocked full of rice and pasta, cans of various vegetables, and a bag of potatoes. Not to mention the freezer with a few nights worth of pork chops, chicken breasts, and one pack of hamburger meat.
Deeks and Kensi have both been more than happy to leave the cooking to Sam, who seems to need the activity to keep his mind off of the fact that his partner is undercover with an increasingly aggressive militia group with no way of contacting them outside the use of a burn phone.
Callen's supposed to check in each day, sending a quick text to let them know he's okay, calling only when something big is happening. The last time he called, the militia was sending him and a few others to meet up with a separate group in Montana.
With each passing day, Sam grows more irritable, lashing out at every 'annoying' thing Deeks does, or quickly pointing out when Kensi's being unreasonable. Having no TV or obvious source of entertainment, Deeks and Kensi had quickly discovered that cooking acted as an outlet for Sam's growing frustration.
Turns out, Sam's an excellent cook, making it a win-win situation. However, Deeks couldn't help noticing that Kensi was starting to go stir crazy, her mood worsening with each sugarless meal, prompting the Twinkie splurge as well as a separate arsenal of fatty treats to be shared amongst the three amigos.
"Where's Sam?" Deeks asks as he picks up the first-aid kit and gestures to the living room, wanting to get closer to the fire.
"Right here." Sam emerges from his bedroom pulling a sweatshirt over his head, a dimpled smile on his face as he walks into the kitchen. Deeks can tell from the relaxed and some-what cheerful mood that Callen's already sent a text, but he asks anyway.
"Callen check in?"
Sam nods as he stirs a pot on the stove, "They're laying low until the storm passes."
Deeks nods, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose when he feels a sneeze coming on. "You know it's better if you just let it out," Kensi tells him, patiently waiting with her hand in her lap.
Deeks just shakes his head, turning away when the sneeze inevitably breaks through.
"Did you buy any medicine?" Sam asks, reaching for the kit in Deeks' hand.
"Yeah."
"Did you take any?" Sam opens the kit, pulling out the necessary supplies before gesturing for Kensi to give him her hand.
Deeks rubs at his tired eyes, hating the way he feels when he's sick. "Not yet," he answers, watching as Sam removes the bloodied hand towel, revealing a nasty looking cut along Kensi's left palm. "I was gonna do that." He gestures to the wound, feeling a small sense of pride when he doesn't hear any trace of a whine in his voice. Of course, it's probably hidden by the oncoming cold.
Sam doesn't look up from cleaning the cut. "If you want to play doctor so bad, why don't you go take some of the damn medicine, cause I swear, if I so much as get the sniffles, I'm blaming it on your contagious ass."
"Your concern for my well-being is overwhelming, Sam. I think I might cry." Deeks sees the grin on Sam's face as he makes his way back to the kitchen, peeking in the pot to see the makings of a promising looking potato soup.
"Don't eat any of my Twinkies," Kensi calls to Deeks as Sam covers the cut with Neosporin before wrapping it in gauze.
"You were absent on the day they taught sharing in kindergarten, weren't you?" he calls back, holding up a small bag of chips, showing her he has no interest in her precious Twinkies.
"You do know I'm cooking, right?" Sam frowns at the large pile of junk food covering the counter as he tosses the bloodied dishtowel in the garbage.
"I'm aware." Deeks opens the bag of chips anyway, smiling when Sam continues to frown. "Isn't that what started my whole quest out into the great white abyss?"
"No, Kensi slicing her hand open like a rookie can be blamed for that." Sam lets his frown morph into a smile when Kensi tosses one of the couch's throw pillows at him.
"It's not like I peel potatoes all the time, it was an accident." Her voice is indignant and somewhat embarrassed.
"Kens, you personally have one of the biggest knife collections I've ever seen. You actually know like a thousand different ways to kill a guy with a butter knife, yet you slice your hand open peeling potatoes." Deeks shakes his head in mock disappointment, reaching into the bag for another chip. "You're slipping Agent Blye."
"Shut up and take your medicine," she says, slamming the unopened bottle of Nyquil into his chest.
They spend the rest of the evening putting away the supplies Deeks had bought, enjoying hot potato soup, and working on crosswords. Eventually, Deeks' medicine kicks in, and he falls asleep listening to the sound of the storm raging outside the window as he snuggles deeper into the cocoon of blankets and pillows, the outline of a Power Ranger nightlight glowing from across the room.
-:-
Deeks isn't a heavy sleeper, or at least he doesn't think he is. Admittedly, there are times when someone has to say his name more than once to get his attention, maybe even shake his shoulder once or twice just for good measure. But yeah, not a heavy sleeper.
Of course, he's normally not doped to the gills on Nyquil. At some point between fighting over the last bag of Cheetos and falling face first onto the Ninja Turtle comforter, Deeks had decided to write a strongly worded letter to the makers of Nyquil, requesting that they add "leaving you with no choice but to be horizontal" to their little slogan. Maybe between 'sneezing' and 'the best sleep you ever got with a cold'. That would do.
He feels the side of his mattress dip, but truthfully, he's too tired to care. He's fully aware that he's in a farmhouse in the middle of Bumfuck, Montana with Kensi and Sam standing guard somewhere nearby, most likely bickering over whose turn it is to do the dishes. He's perfectly happy staying where he is, face first in cotton-polyester blended sheets.
At least until Kensi decides to stick her freezing hands to his forehead.
Deeks slowly opens one eye, surprised to find the only light in the room coming from the window and the full moon outside, although the thick snow only allows a little light to filter through.
"What are you doing?" he asks, turning away from her cold hand.
"You have a fever," she says, a hint of concern prevalent in her voice. Deeks shakes his head and closes his eyes again.
"I'm sick and your hands are ice cubes," he counters, already halfway back to sleep. Instead of leaving him to rest, she shakes his shoulder, forcing him to open both eyes and face her.
"The power's out. We need to move into the living room to keep warm," she explains, and Deeks suddenly realizes that the Power Ranger light has gone dark, and that his toes are cold.
"Or…" he begins in that slow tone, the one that tells Kensi she should just go ahead and roll her eyes before he even begins. "I could scoot over and we could keep each other warm."
Cue eye roll, followed by a barely hidden smile. "Nah, I think I'm gonna lie by the fire, but if you want, I could get Sam to come keep you warm. You know, if you're dead set on cuddling."
"Living room it is," Deeks says, pushing up and grabbing his pillows and comforter. Though she's walking ahead of him, he knows she's probably smiling, most likely that smug I won smile.
Sam's already got the large queen-sized mattress from his room laid out on the floor in front of the fireplace. He's placing another log in the fire when Kensi and Deeks enter the room.
"Who gets the couch?" Sam asks. He's wearing a knit cap to help keep his head warm, his phone's visible in the pocket of his sweat pants, always within distance should Callen need him.
"If you're actually gonna give us a choice in the matter," Kensi says, still a little upset over the loss of the private bathroom, "Then I say we play a game or something. Make it fair."
"Or, we can let the contagious sick guy with a fever have the couch," Deeks speaks up, looking very much like an overgrown child with his Ninja Turtle pillows in one hand, the comforter dragging the floor behind him, his hair a mess of sleep raddled curls. Just to emphasize his point, he throws in a very wet sounding sniffle.
Sam shakes his head, smiling ruefully as he stands from the hearth. "You're shameless, Deeks."
"Not shameless, crafty," Deeks corrects with a smile of his own.
"I was thinking something more along the lines of rock, paper, scissors," Kensi says, gaining both men's attention.
Deeks inhales deeply, feeling the rattle in his lungs as he does so. He holds it for a long, dramatic moment before releasing it in one quick huff of air. "Alright," he says, dropping the pillows and blanket on to the end of the couch.
Kensi smiles and tilts her head as Sam shakes his once again. "I swear, my kids are more mature than you two," he mutters as he raises his hands, one fist lying on an opened palm.
It's Deeks' turn to smile as he mirrors Sam's position. "And yet, you agree to play."
Sam just ignores him as Kensi begins to count off.
"Rock, paper, scissors, go!" she says, and all three of them put a little more enthusiasm into their reveal than any of them would like to admit.
Deeks just moans as both Sam and Kensi's rocks crush his lone scissors. Retrieving his pillows and comforter, he claims the side of the mattress closest to the fireplace, leaving his comrades to battle it out for the couch.
He's too busy spreading out the comforter to see, but judging by Kensi's triumphant 'yes!' and Sam's irritated yet determined "best two out of three," Deeks figures he's bunking with Sam.
"No way, Sam," Kensi says, already walking away, flashlight in hand as she leaves to retrieve her own pillow and blanket. "You lost, fair and square."
"Come on, Kensi. Two outta three, lets go." Sam is anything if not relentless.
"Is that how your kids play, Sam?" Deeks asks tauntingly from beneath the covers.
"Shut up, Deeks," Sam says with a defeated look in Kensi's direction. Deeks knows better than to laugh, that or he's really just too tired to put forth the necessary effort.
He's asleep before the others get settled.
-:-
It's been said once before, but reiteration never hurt anybody. Deeks isn't a heavy sleeper, or at least he doesn't think he is. Although, unlike before when he was awoken by a pushy woman and her cold hands, this times a bit more annoying and somewhat alarming all at the same time.
It's the sound of a generic ringtone, a little bell sounding through the silence that wakes him this time around. Deeks opens his eyes, but remains still as he feels Sam shift beside him, undoubtedly reaching for the phone.
"G, you okay?" Sam asks, no trace of sleep in his worried voice. Now, Deeks sits up. Callen's supposed to text, he only calls when something big is about to go down or he's in trouble. Last Deeks heard, the militia was laying low until the storm passed, and judging by the mournful whine of the wind outside, the storm's deciding to stick around, which leaves…
"Where are you?" Sam's already standing, searching the dark room for a flashlight. Kensi's sitting up, the thick blanket pooled around her hips as she watches Sam, waiting for word as to what's going on, what it is she should be doing.
"Hang tight, we're on our way." Sam hangs up the phone, and grabs the flashlight from the coffee table. He's already halfway to his bedroom before he decides to let Kensi and Deeks in on what's just happened.
"That was G. He's in trouble, we got to go."
And that's all it takes. Deeks and Kensi are both up, and dressed. Pajama tops hidden beneath heavy coats, laces tucked into boots as they grab their guns and follow Sam out into the snow and the still raging blizzard.
It doesn't matter that Mother Nature's throwing a temper tantrum, Callen's waiting.
TBC...