I bet your window's rolled down and you're hair's pulled back. And I bet you've got not idea you're going way too fast.
She threw her sunglasses and her cell phone in the passenger seat. The night was approaching; the Los Angeles sun was setting quickly. She pulled herself into the car and tightened her ponytail. She wasted no time to put the car in reverse and drive away, leaving him behind, and part of her heart behind too. She was running away, faster than the speed of light, away from everything she wanted.
You're trying not to think about what went wrong, trying not to stop 'til you get where you're going. Try to stay awake so I bet you turned on the radio.
She turned on the radio as she hit traffic. Always traffic in Los Angeles. You could try to get anywhere as fast as you could, but that didn't mean anything. The radio played the same song over and over again. She couldn't find a station that wasn't playing it. It didn't do a very good job of distracting her, or waking her up either. She was tired, confused, angry, and all the stupid drivers in LA had come out for the night.
I can't live without you.
The highway won't hold you tonight. The highway don't know you're alive. The highway don't care if you're all alone. But I do, I do.
I bet you've got a dead cell phone in your shotgun seat. I bet you're bending God's ear talking about me.
She reached over to check her phone, looking down from the road long enough to almost get herself killed. She jerked up and realigned the car with the highway, then glanced back at her phone. "He's got to have sent something," she whispered to herself. But as she pushed the power button over and over, she realized that her phone was dead. In anger, she threw her phone into the passenger's seat floorboard, cursing and shouting, even though no one could hear her. "Why?" she shouted. "Why? How could I let this happen?"
You're trying not to let the first tear fall out. Trying not to think about turning around. You're trying not to get lost in the sound but that song is always on, so you sing along.
She blinked, her eyelashes pulling the first tear from the center of her eye down her cheeks. She's Kensi Blye. She doesn't cry. Her mind raced, and she was about to turn the car around to run back to him. But she couldn't, and she wouldn't. She turned up the radio a little louder, until it was loud enough to drown out the sound of her own thoughts, the sound of her cries, and she hummed along to the song.
I can't live without you, baby.
The highway won't dry your tears. The highway don't need you here. The highway don't care if you're coming home. But I do, I do.
She listened to the words of the song over and over, "I can't live without you, I can't live without you, I can't live without you." She was already crying, but in a split second that last bit of composure faded away. She threw her head back, and sobs washed over her like violent ocean waves. She completely lost herself to her emotions. Because she'd run out on all she needed and wanted in her life, and now she was alone. It was a stupid argument, and she stormed out on them. Their thing. All of that, gone. No more date nights that weren't technically dates, no more Top Model marathons, no more soft kisses, no more cuddles, no more anything that their partnership a relationship. She lost control of her vehicle, and the world grew pitch black around her. She remembered their screaming match, reaching for the door, and him calling out behind her, "I love you, Kensi Marie Blye!"
She'd crashed her car, driving it off of the road and flipping it. She was knocked unconscious, and remained there on the side of the road in a tangled mess of car parts, until an off duty EMT pulled over to try and help revive her. The highway didn't care, and LA was heartless on that cold, cold night.
The highway don't care.
He paced up and down the floor of his place. She'd call when she got home, right? At least to let him know she was okay. They were partners- even though they'd just broken off their personal relationship. He was so angry, but at the same time he was nervous. Because none of this should have happened. They shouldn't have even gotten in that stupid fight. Yeah, maybe it was too early to ask her to move in with him; she practically lived here already. But no, she was afraid to commit, and then his communication skills failed him yet again. Shouting ensued, and then cursing, and he'd called out an "I love you," but it didn't really matter. She was gone.
The even stupider part was that he knew she wanted to move in with him. But she was still too afraid to commit. Darn you, Jack.
He picked up his phone to call her. The roads were dangerous, and he wanted to make sure she was okay, physically at least. Her phone went straight to voicemail. Either she had turned it off, or it had died. He imagined it was the latter, as her phone charger remained plugged into his wall, left there when she stormed out. He ran his fingers through his hair, and Monty yelped helplessly under his table in the other room. He'd retreated to there when the fighting was going on, and had yet to come out.
"I'm sorry Monty, Mommy won't be back for a while, if ever." He said. As that realization sank in, he began to tear slightly. He didn't want her to go. She was out on some road all alone, when she should be with him, and it wasn't okay. It was all wrong.
The highway don't care. But I do, I do.
His phone buzzed, and he dove for it anxiously- but it was just Callen.
"Hey, I know it's late, but an NCIS agent has been in a car accident, and for some reason Hetty wants us to do the investigation. Can't seem to get ahold of Kensi. Are you with her?"
"No." Deeks said weerily, clearing his throat.
"Well, we can probably handle it with three people. I'll text you the location," Callen said.
Deeks grabbed his badge and his wallet, then Kensi's phone charger and few other personal items she'd left behind. While he was out, he should at least take them to her. Even if she wouldn't answer the door, he could leave them at her doorstep.
He drove distraughtly to the location Callen had sent him. His mind was a mess, and he almost crashed multiple times himself. He breathed a silent prayer that Kensi had gotten home safely. He finally made his way through the traffic to the site of the wreck. A car flipped and slammed into a tree, shattered windows and blood stains splattered the interior.
It took only a second for Deeks to realize, "That's Kensi's car!" he shouted. He panicked. No longer was he an investigator, he was a victim. He exploded with emotion, completely lost. That, was Kensi's car.
Callen and Sam exchanged worried and pissed off glances. They hadn't known this was why Hetty had called them. Why did Hetty continue to do this kind of thing to them? Why was she never clear? Why weren't they informed?
Deeks ran to the car and climbed around the wreckage to peek in. Her phone lay on top of a pile of shattered glass, and blood spotted the upholstery.
And he cried.
Where was she?
He ran up the hill again. Looking toward the small crowd who had gathered. He went straight to them and called out, "Where's the driver?" It wasn't in an angry tone, or a mad tone, but a distressed call. His last hope.
The crowd was quiet for a long time, until one woman finally piped up. "They took her to the hospital. She was unconscious."
Unconscious didn't mean dead.
He risked losing his job, but he drove like hell to the hospital, taking off without telling Sam or Callen where he was going. He threw himself into the ER information desk.
"Kensi Blye? Car accident? Is she here?" he huffed out.
The woman at the desk had tired, concerned eyes. "Are you family?" she asked.
Deeks bit his lip. "Boyfriend," he said. It was true just a few hours ago. She looked at him forlornly, and then he remembered his best defense- his badge.
"Also her partner. LAPD NCIS liaison officer." He said, whipping out the badge and practically shoving it in her face.
She flinched slightly and said, "Okay, follow me."
He followed her back into the emergency department. "She has experienced head trauma. She's awaiting an MRI just to make sure it's not worse than just a concussion. Many cuts, lots of stitches. She's lucky." The woman stopped in front of a door, pointed toward it, then returned to her post.
He daintily opened the door, as if opening it would be the end of it. She glanced up when she saw him, and her demeanor changed. Her ponytail had almost come out, and her hairline was covered in dried blood. One eyebrow was cut, and he could tell that she'd had stitches. Cuts laced her face and the visible parts of her chest and arms.
She sprung up, and before he could stop her, she was completely out of the bed.
"You need to sit down," he said, but he didn't say it fast enough. She wrapped her arms around him, flinging herself forward. He wasn't braced for the impact or the intensity of the hug, and he had to shift his balance to keep from falling backwards. He hugged her back with everything he was. She was crying, vulnerable and broken in his embrace, clinging to him to keep herself together. Sobs wracked over her frame, and she whimpered "I can't live without you," over and over, like it was a song or rhythm that had danced around in her head for hours.
"Shhhh…" he cooed, but unsuccessfully. She just kept saying it.
I can't live without you.
The highway don't care.
But I do.
He felt more loved in this moment than he probably ever had been in his entire life, and he felt guilty for it. Here she was, brokenly leaning on him, crying in her fear of losing everything, and all he could think about was love. Because she wasn't saying it, but in every "I can't live without you," came a hidden "I love you."
"Kensi, we don't have to be over. That fight doesn't have to be the end," he said, placing a finger over her lips to muffle her mumbled calls.
She looked up, her bloodshot eyes and tearstained face lifted, as she said, "I'd like that very much. And maybe we should move in together, if that offer is still on the table?" She was asking hesitantly.
His thumb went to slowly caress her palm, as he whispered, "That offer is always on the table. Always for you."
She kissed him, and though he could taste the metallic flavor of blood on her breath, he really didn't care. "I can't live without you either, Kens. I need you. I do," He said.
Thank God for her. Thank God he had her. He did care, but,
The highway don't care.