Let me tell you a little about this story (but quickly, because it's almost five in the morning where I am). I started this months ago, and only found it a few hours ago on my computer. Only a quarter of it was written, but as soon as I re-read it, I couldn't let it go.

You could say this is an Alternate Universe (honestly, this backstory is incredibly unrealistic). However, just - what if? And, it was cute to write - among other things.

Important notes:

1) The slight differencese between how Deeks says 'daddy and mommy' and how Kensi says 'Mommy and Daddy' (having captial letters) is intentional - I did it mostly to emphasise the importance Kensi places on her parents compared to Deeks' feelings surrounding his own.

Anyhow - I hope you enjoy this - as unrealistic as it might be! Let me know what you all think :)

For Martin Brandel, the last Sunday of the summer holidays are the worst day of the week for two reasons.

The thought of the first one sends a shiver of dark frustration and fear through his lanky body, and causes a thin sheen of sweat to break out on his coppery skin. Monday signified his return to the cage that was his house, signified counting the bruises that sickeningly adorned his mother's face, counting the number of broken household items. His return to a house whose flimsy walls were solid enough so that the neighbors turned a blind eye to the daily domestic disturbances caused by a sick bastard who couldn't control his drink, but weak enough to crumble whenever said man pushed him into one.

One day, it's going to end – something is going to snap inside of him. He can feel it bubbling in the veins underneath his skin, the faded bruises and bony stature hiding a horrible monster that will one day lash out and inevitably change his life.

But today is his last chance of unlimited freedom, so regardless of what comes tomorrow, he holds his head high and marches on to attempt to find a good starting place to surf.

Which leads him to the second reason. On the last Sunday of summer vacation, the beach is full of tourists, determined to make good use of their last day at Santa Monica beach. Sometimes, when the waves are too calm for surfing and his pockets are penniless, Ray and him spend hours squirting water guns at the dozens of sunbathers lined-up on the sand, sprawled out on beach towels and turning as red as lobsters. The fleshier the holidaymaker, the funnier it is, and they have to hold back guffaws and scamper off before the tourist realizes who their attackers are.

On days like today, everywhere is crawling with people – land and sea alike. He lets small growl of frustration slip out. There's absolutely no way he can get away with surfing in these tourist-riddled waters without hurting himself or anyone else around him. Leaning on the side of the railing and standing on one leg, he scans the east side of the beach, waiting to see if Ray will turn up.

Ray is older and taller, but his dad still beats him to a pulp too, so they have this arrangement to meet at the same time and place each day. If one of them doesn't turn up, the other knows why it is, and the next day the black-eyes and split lips speak for themselves, no questions need to be asked. He keeps on telling Martin – or Marty, as he'd taken to calling him (he said that it made him sound slicker), that it's only a matter of time before something will change, perhaps for the better.

Everytime his father lashes out, everytime a bone crunches, everytime his mother cries - Martin tries to think of 'perhaps for the better'.

It looks like Ray isn't going to be turning up today, ten minutes have already passed and that's usually the point at which it becomes clear that something has happened. He swallows down the sheer worry he feels for his friend as he moves away to find a more isolated place to bask in the sun and sea. Generally, he's well known along this strip of beach, he's been caught once or twice with Ray trying to steal beer and cigarettes from beachside hangouts – but for the most part he's a good kid, and he knows he's looked out for by some of the locals. However, if he wanted to catch some good waves, he'd have to catch the bus to the beach two miles from here in the hope of finding a good spot to practice. Sighing, he leans against the hot metal railings separating the row of bars and grill restaurants from the sand, sitting on the raised concrete with thin tanned legs dangling downwards.

He sees her then – a small girl, standing in the middle of the beach, amidst a swarm of senior-citizens waddling over to the shore. She couldn't be more than six, her bronze skin and small frame making her look completely out of place compared to her elderly companions. Suddenly she whips her head around and he quickly averts his gaze, pretending to focus on the bathers in the sea. Out of the corner of his eyes, he perceives her confused movements, looking around uncertainly as if searching for somebody…

It dawns on him then that perhaps she's gotten separated from her parents, and feels his skin flush with envy, knowing with certainty that if that's the case, her parents are most likely sick with worry. Immediately, a pang of remorse bites at him for this selfish and childish thought.

Although the kid shows no signs of distress, she's young and vulnerable. Eyes skimming across the waterline for someone who looks remotely related to her, he wonders how far she could have wandered off from her family.

He's indecisive about alerting a member of the lifeguard patrol; though he's tolerated by some of the beachside businesses, he isn't exactly what you'd call popular with security around the beach (even though he'd tried to explain it wasn't him who had stolen food from the fridge of Watchtower One, he swears on his life). Scanning the crowd in front of him, he searches for another authoritative figure, even though in this sticky, sweltering chaos it's very difficult for him to distinguish anything-

A split second later and he turns around, only to find that the little girl has gone, and he tries not to fear the worst. The most rational explanation is that her parents have whisked her away to safety – not that she'd been kidnapped in broad daylight, in front of the wandering eyes of hundreds of potential witnesses.

He keeps trying to think logically as he leaps up and stands on the bottom metal railing once more, trying to see if he can catch a glimpse of her. It's nothing to do with him anyway – worst comes to worst, he'll have to give a statement to the police (like he hasn't had to do that before). Still, he's overwhelmed with guilt at the thought of having done nothing and let someone get away with kidnapping a child.

Something small and warm grabs at his ankle and has him almost toppling backwards onto the concrete.

'What the fu-'

The small girl stares up at him, large dark eyes staring into his from under curly bangs. He can't help but stare at them – one eye is much lighter than the other and it makes her look like something exotic and magical.

'What do you want?' he nods at her stiffly.

The soulful eyes blink.

'I'm lost.'

He attempts to shrug nonchalantly, trying to ignore the fact that her chin is quivering in an attempt to hold back tears of terror and desperation at the predicament that she's in. 'What d'you want me to do about it? Find a lifeguard.'

'I can't find one.' She rolls her feet so that she's resting on the outside edges of them. 'And Daddy told me that if I have to talk to a stranger because I'm lost, I should try and find a woman or a child. You're a child,' she squints up at him.

'Go and get one of those old ladies,' he signals with a nod of his head towards the line of beach whales in bathing suits. 'I'm just a kid, too.'

'But I'm scared; they're really big and old.' Mismatched eyes brim with tears, and he feels his heart constrict.

He sighs. Perhaps by helping the kid out, he'd gain good Karma, or whatever the hell Ray called it. 'Okay, squirt.' He casts another look around the over-populated area. 'How did you get lost?'

'I dunno.'

'When did you first realize that mommy and daddy weren't with you?'

'I was with Daddy by the car he told me to stay close, but then I thought I saw Mommy so I followed her for a bit, only it wasn't Mommy.'

'By the car?'

She sticks out a small hand and points vaguely in the direction behind her with a small finger. Martin groans as he realizes she's referring to the car park nearest the east side. They'd have to walk almost nine-hundred meters with patches of shade being scarce – though he'd probably be being more responsible if they walked to the nearest watchtower.

Well, he guessed that was the more responsible option. Responsibility was concept he had yet to master properly.

'You walked that far?'

She puffs out her chest in pride. 'I ran a lot too.'

'Why didn't you just turn around?'

'I was far away already and got more scared because of so many people,' two tears roll down chubby cheeks.

He kneels down, so she's not craning her neck to talk to him, and sighs once more. 'Okay, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to go with you back towards daddy's car.' She nods, and he awkwardly represses the instinct to wipe at her tear-stained cheeks. 'But when we see a coastguard – he's like a…cop – and you can stay with him and he'll get your parents to come over, okay?'

She frowns. 'How will he get my parents to come?'

'I don't know, kid. He uses this special microphone and radio all the other cops and coastguards to use their microphones and your parents get the message and come and get you.'

'Are you sure about this?' she gives him a look that's strangely similar to the look his mom gives him when she's thinks he's making stuff up, only it's amusing on such a small face.

'Yes,' he gives her an annoyed sneer. Pointing to the nearest watchtower in the direction they were going to be heading in, which was about two hundred meters away, he gets up and holds out his hand. 'There's where the coastguards are. Let's go.'

'I lost my sandals.'

He follows the little girl's forlorn look and sees her small feet bare and covered in sand. Struggling to suppress another groan of frustration, he tries to figure out what to do. Babysitting had not been his idea of an ideal Sunday afternoon, after all – he still has his board, and there was no way he'd be able to carry both it and the girl in his arms. Shoving his hand in his pocket, he takes out the ten dollar bill he'd swiped from his father's wallet. For the last couple of years, he'd taken to doing this in the mornings after his dad had gone out on an alcoholic field trip the night before – knowing that the stupid low-life would never be able to remember how much money he'd spent anyway.

Staring at the note between his fingers, and back to the girl, he decides he might as well see whether going all out with this Good Samaritan business was worth the bother.

'Okay. Let's go and buy some – we got a shop that sells 'em right next to us.'

Twenty minutes later (and after trying on about five pairs of sandals – it appears that shopping is some sort of weakness that affects girls of all ages) they exit the all-purpose beach store with the little girl wearing red flip flops that match her swimsuit.

Squinting down her new addition, she pats his forearm. 'I like them.'

'Whatever,' he huffs, fingers curling around the spare change he'd received for the purchase. 'Wanna get some ice-cream?'

'No, thank you,' she responds politely.

'You don't want ice-cream?'

'Daddy tells me never to take food from strangers.'

He feels the familiar unpleasant buzz of envy rise inside him. 'Daddy tells you a lot of things, doesn't he?'

'Doesn't your daddy tell you that too?' incredulous eyes look up at him.

'No. He doesn't.' Fighting to keep his voice level, he grits his teeth. 'Fine. If you don't want ice-cream, I'm getting some for myself.' He stalks off toward the nearest ice-cream bar – Stannie's Ice Cream Parlour, the sign read - hearing her light footsteps falling quickly behind him as she runs to keep up.

'What's your name?' he asks her as he inspects the flavours.

'My name…'he watches with amusement as she frowns, clearly thinking hard. 'Mary.'

'Mary what?'

'Mary…' she stares towards the green material covering one of the tables. 'Green.'

'You're lying.'

'No,' she tries to keep a straight face, but can't fight the large smile that breaks out across her face as she hops onto one foot and twirls around. 'No I'm not.'

'Tell me your real name.'

'Daddy told me to never tell my real name to strangers unless they are in-you-ny-form. I don't know what that means though.'

'It means that if you lie about your name to a cop or a coastguard, they won't be able to find your parents,' he snaps without thinking, instantly regretting it as distress shows itself briefly on her small features before she starts to cry. Guilt floods his brain and for a moment he wants to cry himself for having said something so shitty to a small child – it's the type of emotional pain his father often uses to gain the upper hand, and the thought of having sunk so low has him feeling sick.

He really, really doesn't want to become that.

He drops to his knees and pulls the child close, giving her a hug, feeling her small body shake with sobs. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. We'll tell the coastguard together and your parents will come to find you in no time – because they really love you like that. Please don't cry.'

Calming down, she brings her thin arms around his neck, and hiccups quietly. 'My name is Kensi Blye.'

'That's a really nice name,' he says honestly, relieved that his companion has stopped crying and feeling a little better about himself. Pulling away from her gently, he offers her a hand. 'I'm Martin. Marty. Marty Deeks. Nice to meet you.'

She takes it – her smaller, more tanned hand looking tiny in his. 'Nice to meet you, Marty.'

He finds a genuine smile begin to pull at the corners of his mouth – and it's odd, because he's not much of a smiler, really – unless Ray is telling him bawdy sex jokes or he's pulling a funny prank. This seems purer and much more natural – and it makes him feel light and good.

'Well, now we know our names, we're not strangers anymore.'

'Can I please have ice-cream then?' she asks politely.

'What flavor?'

'Strawberry. It's my favourite.'

'Mine, too.'

'Are we friends?'

They're walking slowly, partly because her short legs would struggle to keep up with his longer ones. He hands her a napkin to wipe at her face. She'd eaten her ice-cream surprisingly quickly for such a small person. 'Sure, we're friends.'

'I don't have many friends.'

'Smart girl like you?' Why not?'

'Because in kindergarten I punched Michael Anderson in the face for trying to pull my skirt up and the teacher put me on the naughty stool and nobody wants to talk to me because they think I'm trouble.'

'You punched him?' he grins amusedly at his small companion. 'That's bad-ass.'

'What does that mean?'

He winces. 'You'll learn that when you're older.'

'How old are you?'

'Twelve.'

'I'm six, but I can count to one-hundred. Daddy and Mommy taught me.'

He finds, to his surprise, that envy doesn't surge too high at her comment. In fact, he feels contentment. He's glad that Kensi is well looked after. She'll become a great person, he's sure of it. 'Your parents sound nice.'

'I love my Mommy and my Daddy,' she squeezes his hand, giving him a radiant smile. 'Daddy is going to take me fishing next weekend because I start school tomorrow!'

'Awesome.'

'Do you love your Mommy and Daddy?'

He thinks of the possible answers to that question. He thinks of 'it's complicated' and of trying to explain something to such an innocent child – something that she's best kept in the dark about until she's older. 'Sure.'

'Why is your hair so long?'

'Because I'm awesome. Why do you have two different colour eyes?'

She shrugs. 'I dunno. Mommy says I was born special like that.'

'They're really pretty.'

She gives him a look that's almost threatening, and he has to admit, he actually feels a little terrified. 'That's what Michael Anderson said before he tried to pull my skirt up.'

He laughs. 'Michael Anderson likes you.'

'Ewww.'

'It's okay. You'll understand it when you're older,' he blinks in surprise when he looks up – they're only a few meters from the watchtower. He tries to ignore the sadness slowly seeping into him as he realizes they'll soon have to say goodbye. In all honesty, he didn't want to go back to being lonely, but he forces a smile and lifts their joined hands up in triumph 'We're here, Kensi! We made it!'

'Yeah!' she shrieks with delight. They run the last few steps, around to the front of the stairs, and are just about to go up when-

'Kensi! Oh my God!'

'DADDY!'

Kensi's small hand slips from his and he drops his board to the sand, turning around to see a tall, imposing man running towards his new friend and picking her up in a bear hug. The dark haired attractive woman at his side looks like she's been crying, and she strokes Kensi's hair and cheeks. 'You had us so worried, baby! What were you thinking?'

'I thought I saw you and I followed - only it wasn't you,' Kensi cries with relief, burying her face in her father's neck. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!'

'It's okay, sweetheart,' he hugs her close. Martin looks down at his shoes and shoves his hands into the pockets of his board shorts, digging his fingernails into his palms and fighting the urge to cry. He'd thought he'd feel envious of this reunion scene – resentment at watching a scene so foreign to him unfold before his eyes. The only thing he felt, though, was relief. Relief that Kensi was spared the childhood he was cursed with. Relief that the look in her father's eyes was happy and tender and not empty and cold, that he was looking at his daughter as though she was the most treasured and wonderful thing on this earth. Relief that her mother seemed strong and happy, and didn't have bruises marring her face.

'Daddy, Marty was the one who helped me here.'

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the elder man's gaze flicker from his daughter to him. Raising his head, he gives the guy a shy nod, and tries to resist the urge to cower in fear as the man approaches him with his hand outstretched.

'Is this true?'

'Uh…'

'You told me to find a child or a woman! And I found him!' the small girl says proudly. 'We're friends now.'

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and fights the panic rising inside him, reminds himself that this is not his father coming to beat the crap out of him. His blue eyes finally meet kind brown ones. 'I don't think I can thank you enough, son.'

'It's okay,' he mumbles. 'She's a smart girl. Real smart.'

The hug he's pulled into surprises him – all of a sudden a strong arm surrounds him, warm embrace confusing but so needed – so needed. For a second, he wonders if - had his dad been a different sort of person - his hugs would have felt like this. He swallows down the lump in his throat before a sob threatens to escape.

Stepping away and giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder, Kensi's father seems genuinely lost for words. 'I…If something had happened to her, God,' he shakes his head in relief. 'Thank you, Marty. If there's anything I can do-'

'Anything at all,' the woman places her hand on his forearm, smiling through her tears. 'We can't thank you enough.'

'It's fine,' he mumbles. The tenderness directed toward him has thrown him completely off balance. 'I should get going. My mom is expecting me,' he offers up a smile that he hopes isn't too watery. 'You have a great kid. I'm glad she's well looked after.'

'Do you need a ride anywhere?'

'No man, I'm good-'

'Please. It's the least we can do,' the woman pleads, offering him another beautiful smile. Now he sees where Kensi gets it from.

'Please Marty, please!' Kensi begs, now with both flip-flopped feet on the sand (but with her hand firmly held by her father).

His heart is tearing in two, half of it telling him to run from this happy family, as fast and as far as he can, the other half telling him to stay. Just pretend for a while. Have a family car ride.

He'd never have the chance to do that again.

'Um, please could you drop me off by the McDonald's on Pine Avenue? I-I mean if that's not any trouble-'

'Sure thing, kiddo. Like I said, it's the least we can do to thank you.'

As they walk the rest of the way, he stays a respectful distance away from the family – that is, until Kensi, who has decided she's gonna stick to walking all of the way back, suddenly lets go of her mother's hand and skips towards him. Her warm hand slips into his and she gives him that radiant smile again. 'Why are you walking so far away from us?'

'Because they're your mommy and daddy. Not mine.'

'It's okay. You can borrow them until you're with your Mommy and Daddy. I don't mind.'

'Okay.'

She pulls him along, and he turns away to wipe his eyes before she sees.

'Okay,' Donald Blye, as he'd come to know him as – quips. 'McDonalds, Pine Avenue. Let me help you with your board, kiddo.'

'I know I've said it already, but I just can't thank you enough. You're not that much older than her in the end – you could have just walked away – thank you for not doing that,' Julia Blye says quietly. 'I mean it.'

'It's okay. Thank you for the ride.'

'Are you going?' Kensi asks groggily. For the last fifteen minutes, she'd promptly conked out in her booster seat. 'Will I see you soon?'

He takes her small hand in both of his. 'I don't think so, Kens.'

'Why not?'

'Because you live far away.'

'Well, can you promise that we'll see each other again anyway?'

For a split second, he wonders how he can solve this dilemma without upsetting her. It appears he's not the only one who has grown attached. Then, he realizes, in a week, she'll be so caught up in starting school that she'll forget altogether. Perhaps it's okay to tell a little lie if it's going to make her feel okay right this instant.

'I promise.'

'Are you sure?'

He pauses, and removes one of the many jelly surfer bracelets he has on his wrist. His favourite one – the red one. 'Sure,' he says. 'You can look after this until the next time you see me.'

'Okay,' she laughs.

'Okay.'

He gets out the car, and exchanges a few words with Donald before stepping back and watching as the small family drive away, Kensi waving frantically at him through the rear glass. Waving back, he slowly sinks to sit on the curb, hugging himself tightly, letting himself cry a little.

Today hadn't been what he'd expected at all. It'd been a surf day, for all he'd known. If Ray had turned up, he wouldn't have gone on this weird adventure. Weird, but good. He wouldn't have helped someone in need. Wouldn't have realized how good that was for the soul.

Maybe he should look into that. He was fairly smart – maybe he could make something out of himself. Maybe when he was a couple of years older, he could get a lifeguard's qualification. Yeah, that sounded like it'd be something fulfilling.

As he walks along Pine Avenue, watching neighbours hose down their cars and children riding their bikes down the streets, there's only one thing he's thinking of.

He wants to make a difference.

That, and the name Marty has really grown on him.

Twenty One Years Later

'You really need to clean up your car. It's actually reminiscent of a dung beetle's natural habitat in here,' Deeks muses as he searches for a chocolate bar in his partner's, earning himself a punch in the shoulder from the woman next to him. 'Also, please don't tell me you've eaten the chocolate bar I put here. That was, like, the one thing I was looking forward to all day.'

'Sad life you have, if that's the highlight of today for you,' Kensi smirks, as she pulls the car into the OSP parking lot. 'Honestly, look harder. I haven't eaten it, swear to God.'

As he fumbles around in the compartment, his fingers catch on a thick rubbery band. Snagging it, he lifts it out, and his heart leaps.

He'd never mentioned it, because he wasn't sure if she'd remember. It was one hell of a coincidence – a serendipitous act of chance that twenty years on, almost to the day, he'd be fighting crime with the very girl that had led him to want to do just that. He'd almost let it slip, the moment he'd seen those mis-matched eyes at the MMA gym he'd been working undercover in - the first time he'd met her again. She'd grown up – grown up well, in fact – with a blunt yet honest personality, as tough as nails and as loyal as you could get, full lips, high cheekbones and dark wavy hair making her just as exotic and magical as she had the when she was six years old – although if he was honest, it was an entirely different kind of 'magical' and 'exotic'.

The kind that made him want to say 'I love you'. That kind.

'I still have the red flip-flips too,' she says quietly, and when he turns to face her she's looking at him with an expression that mirrors the words he has on the tip of his tongue.

He gives her a small, happy grin and watches with pride as the blush spreads across her cheeks. 'I wasn't sure you remembered.'

'You still have that look about you.'

He rubs the back of his head in embarrassment. 'What look?'

She takes his hand in both of hers. It's a gesture that's a little uncharacteristic- something that means a lot for both of them – to her for displaying it, and to him for being on the receiving end of it. 'That look that says that you're incredibly kind, even if you sometimes don't feel like showing it.'

He looks down at his feet. Both of them stay sitting in silence for a little while, her hands surrounding his.

'It's been twenty years.'

'Still, I didn't forget that promise you made me. Knew we'd meet again eventually.' The cockiness she forces fails to mask the shakiness of her voice. 'We've been though a lot since then, huh?'

'We've been through a lot,' he agrees. Now, both their fathers lie dead, one of them greatly missed, the other gladly forgotten. Stirring up childhood memories is painful for both of them, but for different reasons, and it's not something they often discuss. When they do feel like sharing, though, they share with each other. Always.

A soft kiss presses to the edge of his lips as her hands squeeze his. Vivid blue eyes meet mismatched brown and hazel ones in a mutual 'thank you.'

'You know what I feel like?' he says softly.

'What?'

'Strawberry ice-cream.'

She responds with that familiar radiant smile as she starts the car and pulls out the parking lot once more, setting the destination on the GPS for Stannie's Ice Cream Parlour.