Hello everyone - dipping my toe into a new pairing.
And yes - not mine. I would have ruined more than one television show if they were. And that's without considering the dreams of shippers everywhere...
He goes on vacation and she misses him. Which she finds strange, considering it's by no means the first time they've been separated. It's not until Eric innocently remarks that they can't have been apart for as long as two weeks since they became partners that she realises quite how much time they spend together.
Her first instinct is defensive: she points out that when Deeks was shot, he was in the hospital for eight days and then wasn't even allowed back for paperwork for another week. That's over two weeks. And then there are all those weekends and holidays they spend apart.
She doesn't mention those evenings in the hospital trying to beat him at cards. Or those weekends when she finds herself at a loose end, texts to see what he's up to and somehow ends up running along the beach with Monty; comparing paint in the hardware store because he needs to repair the spot he scraped; watching complete rubbish on the television because secretly they like to tease each other; ordering Chinese because neither really likes cooking.
And she definitely doesn't mention the time he fell asleep on her couch and she decided that if they could manage to share a bed for three weeks undercover then surely they could manage it for one night as platonic friends. He'd been so drowsy when she woke him that she's still pretty certain he doesn't remember moving to her bed. But she does. She remembers the haze in his eyes as she pushed him through the door; she remembers trying not to stare as he automatically discarded his jeans before stretching out on her bed; she remembers hearing his breathing change instantly as he dropped back into sleep. She'd changed right next to him, knowing there was no way he would wake up, unable to take the slight smile off her face. It had been a long time since she'd voluntarily fallen asleep next to anyone - she discounts their stint undercover - and there's something vaguely comforting about it.
She won't ever mention, either, that she'd woken up in the night to find his arm flung across her and hadn't even tried moving it. Or that by the morning they had both migrated to the middle of the bed, pressed together so haphazardly that it would never be possible to call it spooning but close enough for her to feel his breath on her shoulder, his thigh between hers and an unmistakable warm swelling against her hip. For a moment, she had dismissed guilt in favour of illusion and stayed still, just about able to pretend that they were just a man and a woman who should naturally be waking up together, rather than two partners who shouldn't even be in the same house. She'd indulged herself with the thought of rolling him over, bidding him good morning with a kiss.
And then she'd eased away from him, padded into the kitchen to set the coffee brewing and headed for the shower. By the time she'd come out, he was in the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards in search of food; she'd dressed quickly, pulled a clean towel from the pile and dropped it over his head with an instruction to make himself presentable. She didn't tell him she quite liked him wandering around her kitchen in his boxers with his hair dishevelled - well, more dishevelled than normal. He'd just laughed and obeyed.
Only when he'd gone did she realise that it hadn't been awkward. She wondered later, too, why they had ended up in that position that morning when for twenty-one mornings they had remained resolutely apart, even whilst unconscious.
And right after she fails to mention all that, she doesn't fail to notice Callen's raised eyebrows. He says nothing but she suspects he's not blind to the increasing closeness between his colleagues, however hard they try to maintain their mutual facade. She can't meet his gaze and excuses herself hurriedly, leaving him to listen to Eric's explanation of their new communications software. It's not like any of them will ever understand it, anyway.
Downstairs, she checks her phone and can't help smiling when she realises her partner's sent her some kind of media message. She presses the screen to agree to the download and waits, glancing furtively over her shoulder to make sure she's still alone.
A man she doesn't recognise appears on the screen, grainy and shaking as he holds the phone in his hand and looks towards it.
"Hey, Kensi… Um, I'm Sean, Marty's friend… We haven't met. Anyway, he told me you'd want to see he's having a good time. Actually, he said he wanted to make you wish you weren't stuck in the office. So, yeah…"
The image blurs as he moves the phone round to face the sea. In the distance, a distorted figure rides a distorted wave and she hears a muted whoop; even if there was any chance of it being someone else, she would know it was her partner. Something about the way he holds himself, the way he waves at the camera. He glides into shore and she can see him jogging towards the lens.
"You met Sean?" he says, laughing. Sean's hand waves in between them in greeting. "You'd love it here, Kens. Well, if it wasn't so cold. And it rained a bit when we first got here. But the last couple of days have been amazing." She can see the enthusiasm on his face as he speaks. "Waves are totally different here. I'm still king, though!" He blows a kiss at the camera. "Back Friday, K – well, if I don't decide to stay." He winks and the message ends, the image diminishing to a thumbnail.
She looks at the time he sent the message: twenty minutes ago. A quick calculation tells her it's almost 5pm where he is now and it seems late for him to still be on the beach.
She hits reply. Very funny, idiot. You'll pay. You been on the beach all day?
She wants an instant response and it's hard to concentrate on her expenses claim without looking at the screen every few seconds. She's grateful when Sam comes in, muttering something about a lost sneaker and how children should never be allowed to put their own stuff away. It's a distraction and soon he's mid-tirade as he acts out the saga of the missing sneaker that delayed him leaving home. She laughs and it's slightly surreal because he never really talks about his family and now it's only taken a sneaker to break him.
By the time her phone beeps, Callen's joined them, the threat of Hetty is making them all file their expenses by the deadline and she's almost forgotten she's waiting for a response.
Most of it. Gotta make the most of the weather. How ya doing without me?
She can picture his knowing grin and pulls a face.
"That Deeks?" Callen asks, seemingly casually.
She knows he's fishing. "Yep. Trying to make me jealous. Of his vacation," she adds quickly, not wanting to give either of the men now looking at her the chance to think Deeks could make her jealous of another girl.
For a moment, she thinks Callen is going to pursue it, but he seems to change his mind. "Say hello," he says, his head dropping back down to focus on his paperwork.
Sam snorts. "Maybe he won't come back," he suggests, deadpan.
Kensi knows he doesn't mean it – but it still hurts a little that he makes remarks like that about her partner. Sure, she's allowed to do it, but still…
All good. The guys say hello. Sean looks nice.
She knows her last sentence will get a reaction, short though it is.
Sean looks engaged, comes back almost straight away, and his girl is scary. You picking me up Friday?
They'd talked about it before he departed and she'd left it at 'if I have time' – even though she knew she'd make time. She's memorised his entire trip schedule without even trying.
As long as nothing unexpected happens. Make sure you don't miss the flight.
It's four days till he's home and she tries not to think about what it means that she can almost say how many hours.
There's another blurry video on Wednesday, this time of him licking an ice cream cone suggestively. She can hear Sean in the background commenting that he doesn't think he should be a part of this. Deeks just laughs and tells Sean he's making sure people don't forget him.
Sometimes she thinks there's more truth to that than he lets on. After all, it's not as if he has a lot of people to remember him.
She texts him to say that she'll never let him near ice cream again and spends the rest of the day with the image in her head.
His flight lands at 1905, it's bound to be at least an hour later by the time he's reclaimed his luggage and got through immigration and she knows that will feel more like 4am to him; when she gets home she drops a cushion next to the front door so she won't forget it, just in case he wants to sleep on the way home. She knows he'll tease her about it – but somehow the urge to look after him wins.
She resists the instinct to check her make-up before she leaves – because honestly, this is getting ridiculous, she chides herself – and angrily shuts her wardrobe door to dispel even the slightest twitch of her eye towards a dress rather than the clothes she's had on all day. She wonders if he even knows she owns a dress; yes, he's seen her in a few of the collection Hetty's accumulated at NCIS over the years, but they tend to be a little glamorous for her own taste.
The familiar beep cuts into her thoughts and she quickly reads the message.
Bored. Haven't been able to sleep. How was your day?
She frowns. Stop texting on the plane!
The reply is almost instant: Not until you answer the question.
She pulls a face; she knows he means it. Routine. Nothing even worth mentioning. Now turn it off!
The problem is, she knows exactly why he's asking. He's checking she's still coming.
I'm sure someone proved it's not dangerous now. Think we're landing soon. You should probably leave, honey-pie.
He'll run out of stupid pet names one day, she's sure. Until then, it seems easier to put up with them than attempt an argument. She doesn't answer the message, grabs her keys, the cushion and the bag of supplies and heads towards the car.
It's not far, but she knows it'll easily take her an hour at this time of day and she'll never hear the last of it if she's late. She finds herself singing along with snippets of the radio and tapping her fingers on the steering wheel and mentally kicks herself for her vastly improved mood. Earlier, she all but snapped at Nell in response to a perfectly innocent question about an earpiece failure – only at the last moment did she manage to turn her reply into a frustrated rant about the new technology.
Not him. It's not because of him, she tells herself firmly, as the words become almost a mantra in her head.
Not him. Not him. Not him.
She's right about the traffic – it's stop-start for far too much of the journey and she has too long to think about this situation she's got herself into. This thing, as he calls it, is fast becoming a thing she can't ignore. Yet something tells her she has to, at least for a while longer. They can't afford to leap headfirst into anything.
She finds it strange that she isn't even considering that he might not feel the same – surely she should have some doubts? Okay, so he hasn't exactly hidden his attraction to her – more like flaunted it on occasion – but with his track record she has no real reason to assume he would be interested in any more than one hot night. It's just instinct that tells her he has more invested in this than he does in almost anything else in his life. He has too little that's important to him to take risks with what he does have.
By the time she parks the car, he's already texted that he's landed, but she knows she has time. He'd have to be first through immigration and customs to have any chance of beating her and there's no way he will be. She scans the area when she reaches Arrivals but he's not there – she could spot him in a crowd of blond men and this is certainly not that.
Don't keep me waiting too long, she texts, unable to stop herself smiling.
She stays towards the back of the meet-and-greet area, watching other people anticipating their own returners. After a while, passengers start filing through from the Tokyo flight that landed ten minutes earlier than the one she's looking out for, weighed down with luggage, breaking into happy laughter as they spy familiar faces. She can't help wondering if her partner is going to look at her like that.
It's a long fifteen minutes later before she sees another crowd of people headed towards her looking like they've been subject to a ten-hour flight in the company of strangers. Her eyes flit quickly across the throng in search a swagger and a shaggy head.
She sees him before he sees her. His eyes are cast downwards and when her phone beeps she knows what he's doing.
You hiding? Can't see you.
She pulls a face – she's barely fifty feet away – and looks around for an identifiable sign he can use as a landmark before texting back. She could just call him but somehow this is more fun.
His head flicks up to glance around him, his eyes still skipping her. As his gaze slides back the opposite way, she waves and catches his eye.
And yes, the smile does spread across his face when he sees her, instantly quickening his pace. She knows she's grinning manically but no matter how hard she tries she simply can't wipe her expression back into its customary sane state.
"Hey Kens!" he calls when he's in earshot. "Knew you couldn't stay away!"
And he's back. She rolls her eyes. "Shame you couldn't," she retorts merrily.
He drops his bag on the floor as he reaches her, laughing. "Nice greeting. Couldn't you have started with Welcome back?"
"Too easy. Gotta keep you on your toes."
For a moment, it's awkward, because she wants to hug him but feels too self-conscious. They don't really hug, although perhaps, she realises suddenly, that's because they're never really apart long enough these days. They don't avoid touch – it's just another aspect of this game they play – but their touches are mostly innocent on the surface, all the meaning trapped inside their heads. A hand on the back; the stroke of an arm; a finger lightly brushing stray hair out of an eye.
He breaks first, pulling her into his embrace easily. It's only a few seconds but the warmth that flows through her is unmistakeable; it makes her want to kiss him as though she's entitled to do so.
She pulls away reluctantly and looks behind him. "Isn't Sean with you?"
He shakes his head. "Nope. Flew straight from London to San Francisco to see his folks."
She nods. "You got everything?" she checks, automatically relieving him of the deceptively heavy bag that is his carry-on. "Oof. What have you got in here, Deeks?"
He looks sheepish. "Bought a few books in the airport. Might have gone a bit overboard. It's what happens when I'm not supervised."
"Clearly. Come on – I'm parked pretty close."
She turns from him as he reaches to pick up his massive backpack, starting to lead the way; later, she realises how close she was to missing the question that will signify a change in their relationship.
"Hey, Kens – you miss me?"
She's so close to a flippant answer but this time it just doesn't feel right. She can hear the slight tension in his voice, even though his question is posed lightly. He wants the reassurance of a proper answer.
So she turns and forces herself to meet those clear blue eyes that have wormed their way into her life so deeply that even though he's been gone for two weeks she's spent far too much of the time thinking about him.
"Yes," she admits, knowing there's more behind that one syllable than either of them is ready to face right now but also that now is the time to say it. If this thing is ever to have a chance, they can't just keep forcing it into a box.
He says nothing because he doesn't need to. They'll talk about it one day – and at least now they know they'll both recognise that day when it arrives.
I always love to know what people think but I hate pressuring for reviews. I have an almost-complete companion piece to this which looks at the same period of time from Deeks' perspective, but I'd like to know I'm not going completely wrong before I finish and post it!
