A/N: A month ago I started writing a post-finale fic "in which everything is going to be okay." It grew to 13k words and will be coming soon. Consider this a prelude (and I'm sorry).
Suddenly, it's pushing. It isn't really sudden—it doesn't come out of nowhere—there are so many signs and forewarnings that he could study them for weeks.
But suddenly, it's pushing. He doesn't notice at first, too worried about her welfare to check her mood: normal partner business until she turns it around. And that's different. She isn't usually the one doing the turning, unless it's twisting pieces back into their standard, accepted positions.
Then he feels it, the energy coming off of her in waves that isn't pre-mission tension or some unrelated annoyance. It's pushing, and it's aimed straight at him.
"Do you know what you mean?"
He offers the standard out: where does that leave us, aka are you okay, aka are we good. And instead of answering, instead of simply telling him they're fine, she throws it back again. She's poking around with a stick, crudely, and there is something specific she's seeking to find. Not that Deeks has the faintest clue what that is.
He pleads with her ("You can't keep doing that, you can't keep just answering my questions with questions") and then he tries, tries to turn it around ("You have terrible communication skills").
It doesn't work. She says it flat out, "You're the one who never says what he means," and all of Deeks is in his reply when he says, "That's not true." He knows he's lying as he says it, yet his whole heart wants it to be true. It isn't even close.
The dare follows quickly: "Then say something you actually mean."
Does she know what she's asking? he wonders. Does she have any idea what's going on behind his eyes when they drop away from hers? Because his mouth is locked and the words bouncing around between his teeth are I love you and I want you, Kensi and Please, I would give you everything.
She's smiling as she says it, he thinks. She can't possibly understand. If she knew, she wouldn't ask. If I answered her, she would regret saying anything at all.
It's been three years, you know. He can keep up the joke, he can keep up the pretense—he's always been a good actor, abused children often are. But three years of her mean right hook and her dismissive looks and that no, no, don't even ask, and still no takes its toll on a man. The fact that through all that he was falling stupidly in love just makes him angry at God or the universe or whoever. How is that fair?
What does she want him to say? She's looking for something specific, he knows. But he only has the words locked in his mouth and so he watches her walk away. She looks back at the door—what does she want him to say? The truth is, he would probably say it if he knew. If he knew without a doubt the one thing that would make her believe him.
She looks back at him, at the door, and it signals a change. She's looking, looking, prodding with that indelicate stick of hers. She isn't turning away. Something has changed.
What does she want him to say?
Neither Kensi nor Deeks is aware of the filter covering their gaze. They can't see above it or around it or under it, only through it, so they only see what it allows them to see.
Deeks sees someone pushing and pulling at him with no clear motive. He sees someone he loves but who doesn't love him back. He sees someone he has to protect, by having her back and by keeping certain words locked tight in his mouth. He sees someone who doesn't hear him when he's speaking the truth, only when he's joking. He can only see the version of Kensi he holds in his mind; it is close to the real Kensi but leaves certain things out.
Kensi sees a boy in the body of a man. A boy she cares for, but who can never really give her what she wants. He jokes, he jokes, he is always talking over and around what he really means to say. She needs to hear the truth and when she challenges Deeks, she only sees someone who doesn't rise to the challenge.
She doesn't see that his face is a tragedy mask; she doesn't see the hopelessness painted on every inch of his skin in bold strokes.
Kensi feels like she's won and lost at the same time. Deeks just thinks he'll never win.
When they see each other again, it's business as usual: he makes a joke, doesn't even stand behind that joke, and she snaps. And Deeks is right behind her, like inches behind her, because he's been simmering on this all day (just as she has) and he knows it's getting close to do or die time. If she's going to keep poking with that stick—it's do or die.
So he does. Seconds behind her, in the middle of her tirade, one kiss. Because he has to, because he has no choice. Because he wants to, oh god, he wants it so much.
He expects a reaction—if he's honest, he expects her to sock him, and hard. The last thing he expects is to see her looking back at him openly for what may be the first time. He has shocked all her defenses away and he sees straight through to the inside of her, where she wants this just as much. She is shocked and he is shocked and they go back to work, all unsaid.
She wasn't expecting it. What was she expecting? He doesn't think he'll ever understand her, but then he hasn't really actually tried. To really actually try he would have to speak to her, seriously, without pretense, and he's never been brave enough to do that (or rarely). But just now he has kissed her, seriously, without pretense, and he hasn't taken it back, he hasn't made it a joke. He was brave. Will it be enough?
The world is ending, or his world is. He's never known pain like this. And all he can think is,
She'll never know I loved her.