Yikes - it's been a while, guys! Blame it on the fact that this last year or so has been full of life changes - moving from country to country, starting uni, now fishing my first year etc etc..regardless, I'm hoping to get at least one more fic up within the next few days too.
I based this one-shot off of the (literally heart-stopping - I flatlined, guys) promo for 'Neighbourhood Watch' - therefore this is actually a possible way I see it being played out (or one of the possible ways I see it being played out).
Anyway - enjoy! Tell me what you think of it! :)
Day one starts off smoothly for the both of them.
In the morning they're fully debriefed, and then spend their lunch break learning the back-stories to their aliases -even having a laugh about the whole situation with the rest of the team. How long will 'Justin' last before 'Melissa' kills him in a fit of (reasonably justified, Kensi claims) anger? Who will sleep on the bed and who will sleep on the couch?
Or, Callen smirks as he suggests an alternative; will they just share the bed like the seemingly mature adults they are?
That's when it all starts going south (and in more ways than one), because whilst Kensi blushes furiously and brushes the joke off, he's left feeling strangely worried about what this week could do to his sanity.
The afternoon finds them settling into the new house (why a newlywed couple would need a three storey, seven bedroom house is beyond him – a seven bedroom house with only one bed, he might add) and checking that they had a stable connection with OSP. Whilst they'd be able to contact Eric and Nell in a heartbeat and vice versa, they need to establish whether there was any risk of them being hacked.
Trying to keep up the light-hearted jests is becoming a little tiring for the both of them, and as night approaches, he feels apprehension deep in his gut. He watches Kensi daintily place a morsel of pizza in her mouth and chew slowly, chin coming to rest on slender hands. When she looks up at him, he doesn't see any trace of worry in her two-toned eyes.
Perhaps he's wrong about this, and he's making it seem a lot harder than it is. She's his best friend, and there was an element of fun to be found amidst the danger of it all. Playing house. Watching her cook (questionably), teasing each other mercilessly, getting to put his arm around her, being allowed to kiss her forehead, her nose, her soft lips…
Bittersweet is the word he'd use to describe it, because he'll have to forget it all by this time next week, and go back to normal (although the definition of 'normal' doesn't really encompass them), and it scares him because he's pretty sure he's going to be incapable of letting it go.
'So, Justin.' she swallows the last bite of dinner down. 'Despite Callen's teasing, I really think it'll be best if we share the bed,' her eyebrows quirk upwards challengingly, 'I mean, if that's okay with you. I just figured you're a little too…delicate. You sleep on the sofa and you'll be waking up with a crick in your neck. I'll never hear the end of it. And I don't mind if you don't.' Her voice wavers at the end, and with a jolt he realises for the first time that she might be fighting to stay focused just as much as he is.
'Okay.'
She doesn't force any friendly banter – doesn't tease him that he's going to have trouble keeping his hands to himself, or threaten to cause bodily harm if he attempts to grope her in her sleep. The small smile she gives him contains the merest trace of understanding.
It's only three hours later – when she's passed out next to him in pajama pants and a tank top (he pretends to pout when she reveals she's not going to sleep naked despite her revelation a couple of weeks before, and earns himself a sharp pinch in his side), her face so close to his he can feel her breath on his shoulder –fingers occasionally grazing his forearm as she shifts on the mattress, that he realizes that no, it's not okay.
It's not even in the vicinity of okay.
They might have to prove that they're wildly in love for the rest of the neighbourhood, but as far as pretending goes, he's not going to have to do a lot of it.
He awakes on the second day having had only two hours sleep and finds her hands grasping one of his.
In typical Kensi fashion, she's still out cold– having never been one to wake up easily. He allows himself to glance sideways at her -just a quick look. It won't cause him to suddenly be unable to fight the urge to wrap her in his arms. It won't do him any harm, either. Maybe it'll put a smile on his face for the rest of the day.
Now that natural light filters through the blinds, he's able to see her better. She looks ridiculously adorable. He carefully tucks an errant curl behind her ear, smoothing her hair back.
Now, that wasn't too bad.
And suddenly, he feels incredibly guilty about it all, because he's using his cover as her 'husband' to allow himself the luxury of watching her – touching her. It makes him feel dirty. This isn't how he'd imagined it going – in his head, it would be one hundred percent real. This is all fake. This is Melissa and Justin, not Kensi and Deeks- and he needed to make sure that there was clear line separating the two.
Gently, he slips his hand out of her grasp and decides to go for a run to explore the neighbourhood.
Still, as fast as he sprints, as loud as the blood pulses in his ears, he can't get the image of their intertwined hands out of his mind.
They establish contact with two of their targets shortly before lunch – or rather, the two men present themselves on their doorstep, conveniently accompanying their wives to welcome the newest couple in the area. Joseph Caplan and Hugo Simmonds are two of the five members of the sleeper cell that had been suspected of living in the clean-cut neighbourhood, on the surface appearing to blend right in to suburban life in Los Angeles. Simmonds (neé Suvurov) was, according to intel, the man in command, so Kensi works her charm on the wife and he goes about making small talk with their target, not liking the bleak emptiness he sees in the man's eyes.
They return home satisfied to have secured an invitation to dinner at Simmonds' house, to which many other of the neighbourhood residents had also been invited - Caplan and the other three members- Gary Roser, Matthew Mavis and Luke Radcliff- along with their families, included. Melissa was, according to her back story, a fan of baking, so Kensi had eagerly agreed to bring some freshly homemade cookies along for the children to enjoy as a snack.
Kensi. Otherwise known as the woman who didn't know what the inside of an oven looked like.
Naturally, he keeps an eye on her as she bustles around the kitchen in the stunning red dress that Hetty had picked out as one of Melissa's outfits, tying a white apron around her middle with a flick of her wrists.
'You totally dig the housewife look, don't you?' she smirks, as she catches him watching her intently.
'Just wondering when you're gonna get round to making me a sandwich and do the rest of the housework,' he quips.
Seconds later, she smacks his forehead with a cookie dough covered wooden spoon.
At night they go for a walk, mentally placing faces and names to houses in the neighbourhood so as to set up a surveillance schedule. He casually takes her hand in his and is surprised to find that she says nothing, turning her head away from him and smiling.
'You wanna hold hands when we're doing other ops too?' he asks. 'Or only on the ones when we get to pretend we're married?'
'It would get in the way, don't ya think? Besides,' her eyes glint mischievously. 'What makes you think I want to hold hands with you?'
'You appear to like it.'
She snorts in that overly-dramatic way she has of letting him know she's trying to prove a point. 'I appear to like going to spin class, but I only do it because I have to.'
'I knew those amazing legs weren't purely down to genetics.'
'Do you ever see the neon orange 'Danger' sign flashing above my head that means you should stop whilst you're ahead?'
'All I'm seeing is that you're still letting me hold your hand, 'he grins wolfishly at her.
'Would you like me to let go?'
'No,' he says quietly, squeezing her hand a little, giving her a small smile. 'No, I would not like that.'
He's aware he's said too much when all he hears in response is a small sound of acknowledgement. Feeling the warmth of her arm through the material of his jacket, he wonders if he's made her blush.
They hold hands all the way home, and neither of them talks again.
On the third day, all hell breaks loose.
It starts with him waking up to an empty space beside him, and finding a handwritten note (smiley included) telling him she'd gone out for a run. He'd taken the second surveillance shift that night, and at eight o'clock, when Simmonds had left to go to the law firm where he worked, he'd woken Kensi up briefly to tell her it was over, and had promptly zonked out on the bed next to her to get another hour of sleep.
He steps outside to retrieve the paper and stands there for a while, hands resting behind his head, observing the lane Melissa and Justin lived on. Houses with white picket fences, and dog kennels with matching paintwork. Not one blade of grass out of place. It was all too perfect for him, the neatness of it all disconcerting. Too much perfection wasn't perfect at all.
He sighs. Two nights in a row without much sleep were beginning to take effect, and the majority of the time he'd been observing the Simmonds household from their bedroom window, he'd been all too distracted by Kensi happily snoring away on the bed, long legs twined into the sheets, dark curls spilling onto his pillow…no wonder he'd fallen asleep basking in her scent…
'Hey, sleepyhead!'
Kensi's running towards him in a sports bra and running shorts, showing a lot of tanned skin and taut stomach muscles and all of a sudden he's feeling unbearably hot and his blood flow is redirecting itself to a part of his anatomy that is embarrassingly all too eager to see such a beautiful sight. She cocks her head at him questioningly and it's such a frustratingly naïve gesture coming from her that he has to curl his toes to stop himself from striding over and kissing her senseless.
He needs to stop. He needs to stop trying to fool himself that anything that happens on this case is nothing but an act, because he knows better, and ultimately - although he's pretty sure that she'd die before admitting it- so does she. A little flame of anger sparks inside him because since the beginning she's been calm and composed, and he's spent the last fifty or so hours pretending he's not a hot, confused mess. It makes him wonder if this mission really is testing her restraint as much as it's testing his.
He's so deep into trying to make sense of what's right and what isn't that he doesn't realise she's right in front of him until her hand is on his shoulder and a bold kiss is pressed to his cheek.
'Hope you've made breakfast, honey-buns.'
They've just finished lunch and are sitting on the sofa when he senses Kensi scrutinizing him. Her legs are tucked underneath her and she's looking at him with the oddest expression.
'Something wrong, sweetheart?'
'Funny,' she responds quietly, 'that's just what I was about to ask you.'
He looks up at her, and wonders if she has any idea. She pats his arm, resting her hand on top of his. 'I don't know…you had a sad look on your face this morning. Are you okay?'
I don't know, Kens, am I? I've spent the majority of the last two days wanting to jump you, which, whilst inappropriate, at least means that I'm not having to work that hard at my cover, seeing as what I feel is by all means real. You're frustratingly calm about the whole thing which isn't doing wonders for me either, and I also have this overwhelming fear because I know that once we finish this, it's going to be impossibly hard going back to not being able to watch you being all cute in your sleep whilst you lay in our shared bed.
'I'm pretty knackered, that's all. Our first night here you kept me awake with your incessant kicking.'
She doesn't buy it, exotic eyes flashing with something akin to hurt. In the last few months the intensity of their 'thing' has strengthened, and it's rare for one of them to hold something back from the other. The last thing he wants is to upset her -if he's pissed off, it's his own damn fault.
'It's just…I'm finding it hard to distinguish the line between-'
Her phone goes off, startling them both. She shrugs apologetically and answers- it's Eric and Nell, and they've tracked down a sixth unknown member of the cell. By the time they've been updated on everything and have assessed any new threats to their safety, both of them hurry to get ready for the dinner, and all previous conversations are forgotten.
It's just after dinner when shit really starts to go down.
One moment Kensi is frantically whispering to him that she's just witnessed Simmonds drown Radcliffe in cold blood in his own back-yard swimming pool, and the next, she's grabbing his face and giving him the most unplanned yet spectacular kiss of all time.
As her lips move against his, her hands cradling his jaw, he no longer cares about Simmonds, or the rest of the guys, or even the mission. Something surges inside him and for a moment he stays perfectly still, because if he so much as closes his eyes, Kensi will disappear. She brings one hand down and laces her fingers with his, and that's all the reassurance he needs to kiss back, gently biting her bottom lip, his tongue tentatively caressing hers. She moans softly into his mouth and the sensation travels right down to his groin.
This is happening.
Wait, why is this happening?
They part for air, and he opens his eyes to find her with her eyes closed, breathing heavily. Only now does he realise that Simmonds is in the room, and by the look on his face, if he'd ever doubted the legitimacy or stability of Justin and Melissa's marriage, he certainly didn't now.
With his empty, cold charm, he winks at them, before slinking out of the room to join their other guests, and they hear a quiet 'sorry for interrupting' before the door to the main dining room opens and shuts.
So that's what it'd been about.
Kensi turns to face him now, quivering with adrenalin. 'We have to get out of here. Now,' her breath fans across his face. 'The new guy – Jordan? He was outside with Simmonds when he was dealing with Radcliffe, and caught me watching,' she curses. 'I'm certain he hasn't told Simmonds - and he's just made an excuse to go and get something from his place. We need make sure he doesn't come back here and compromise our cover.'
He doesn't move.
'Deeks, we have to go!' she whispers frantically.
'I got it,' he snaps at her. He yanks his hand out of her grasp, and doesn't look back as he slips out the door to inform their host that they're leaving.
Two hours later, Jordan is being held in custody, and the two of them are told to head home. The man had bent surprisingly easily under the influence of Sam, and had informed them that tomorrow, Simmonds and the rest of his cell had arranged to meet a possible missile seller in none other than the cell leaders own house. It was almost predictable, and quite possibly a trap.
The drive back is so silent it makes him feel claustrophobic, but he doesn't trust himself to say anything to the woman next to him.
Day four is when he cracks.
He'd taken the second surveillance shift again – even though he's pretty sure that neither of them had slept at any point during the night anyway. At three o'clock on the dot, he'd slipped out of the bed to take over, and she'd crawled onto the mattress, hoping to fall into slumber. She'd been unsuccessful – he'd glanced at her through the reflection of the glass every now and then and had seen her eyes fixed on the ceiling.
At five minutes to eight, Simmonds reverses out of his driveway, and he rises from his seat to stretch his legs. He needs to get as far away as possible as he can for a while.
'I'm going for a run,' he nods sharply at Kensi. 'Don't bother making me breakfast, I'll grab something for myself on the way back.'
When he returns an hour later, he's no less frustrated than before running nine miles, and still can't shake the memory of warm lips moving against his own.
As he enters the house, he sees she's gone and made him a cup of coffee anyway.
He's had enough with the mixed signals.
He's had enough, full stop.
'Okay!' he shouts as he marches up the stairs. 'We really need to talk, don't you think?'
Bursting through the door to the bedroom, the last thing he expects to see though the double-doors leading to the huge en-suite is a very naked, wet Kensi. The sight has him too paralysed with shock to turn around, and he's thankful for the fact that he's wearing a belt bag with the pouch conveniently covering his groin area.
'DEEKS! What the hell?' Flailing hands find a large towel and she quickly makes herself decent.
'Ah…'
She's getting riled up now, cheeks scarlet with shame and rage. 'What the fuck is wrong with you?'
'Um..'
'Are you kidding me?' she growls. A small part of his brain registers some semblance of guilt that he's made her feel embarrassed.
Awkward silence follows for a minute whilst they stand staring at each other. 'Uh..' He knows he owes her more explanations than she owes him. 'Listen…if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to talk about last night.'
'Talk about what? What is there to talk about?' she tries to sound demanding, but her nervousness betrays her as her voice rises a notch. Before he can get another word in edgeways, she finds something else to change the subject to. 'You're sweating and your shoes are gonna stain the carpet.' She nods at his damp outfit. 'Take that off.'
And he snaps.
'Allright.' With one fluid motion, he pulls down his pants, then bends up and unbuckles the belt bag, letting it fall to the floor. Kensi gasps in shock, but he continues to remove clothing so that he's finally standing barefoot and in his underwear not five metres away from her.
'Why are you so surprised? You asked me to,' he bites out. 'This what any married couple would do, right?' he pretends to look around. 'We need to make sure we don't compromise our cover, right?'
Face turned away from him, she eyes his reflection in the mirror, eyes blinking owlishly from under long lashes.
'It's about what happened last night, isn't it?' she mumbles.
'Partly,' he grinds out.
'Listen,' she turns away from the mirror and comes to stand in front of him, I'm sorry I had to go all nymphomaniac on you – but you understand, don't you – that if we hadn't convinced Simmonds we were legit we might not have escaped alive?'
'I know, it was uncomfortable, and perhaps we should have discussed the possibility of needing to use such a diversion. But it's a professional-'
'Professional?' he roars, incredulous. 'Tell me, Kensi – look me in the eyes, and tell me that what you did last night was one-hundred percent professional.' Taking hold of her shoulders in a firm but gentle grip, he lowers his voice. 'I dare you.'
Her eyes meet his. Pale electric blue staring into black and brown.
'What do you want to hear, Deeks?' she shouts back, face flushed with anger. His heart twists as he feels her trying to suppress a frustrated sob. 'You want to hear that this isn't as bad for me as it is for you- isn't that what you want? So you can continue feeling sorry for yourself and blaming me-'
'What I want to know,' he interrupts her quietly, 'is how much of this you're really having to fake.'
'Deeks..'
'Because quite honestly? I haven't been doing a lot of faking this week,' he strokes his thumbs over her shoulders and sighs. 'You're, uh..you're right. I'm feeling sorry for myself – this isn't your fault. I was bound to get carried away with this mission from the beginning.'
'We both were,' she swallows.
'Hmm.'
'And for the record,' she gives him a small smile. 'I didn't have to act that much, either.'
He pulls her into his arms, and sighs contentedly. 'You don't know how glad I am to hear that.'
'I know you're still grumpy about last night,' he feels her give his stomach a tentative poke. 'Sorry.'
He pulls away a little, and offers her a bashful smile. 'That kiss…well, it wasn't how I'd imag- it wasn't meant to happen like that.'
'Not like that,' she agrees quietly, taking a deep breath and looking down. He feels a droplet of moisture fall on the bridge of his foot. 'I didn't know what to do - so I risked using what we have to our advantage - our thing. Deeks, I really am sorry – I didn't realise how much it would hurt you until I realized that it had hurt me just as bad.'
'It's okay,' he rubs small circles on her back. 'I know. I'm just being a soppy idiot, that's all.'
'You aren't being soppy.'
'Yeah, well, soppy or not, I'd like to kiss you again – for real this time. When you've stopped crying.'
She looks up at him with that familiar lively spark in her eyes. 'I'm not crying. And technically, I kissed you – but it doesn't matter, because that wasn't our first real kiss.'
'I didn't know you were the type of girl who keenly remembered their first kisses,' he whispers against her lips, feeling her smile widen.
'Well,' she laughs, threading her fingers through his hair and reaching up to kiss his nose before he can make a move on her, 'only if it's something worthy of being remembered.'
Five days later, after the mission's conclusion and a very…eventful weekend, they sit side by side at Hetty's desk, objects of scrutiny for the tiny woman sitting opposite them. He doesn't doubt for a second that she knows full well the impact the last few days have had on them.
'I feel like I've been sent to the principal's office,' he jokes.
'Have you done something wrong?' Hetty asks, hands crossed primly in front of her desk. Behind her glasses, her eyes hold a spark of mirth, and for once, as cryptic as she may be, he knows exactly what the elder woman is referring to.
He pretends to pause, taking the opportunity to reach for Kensi's hand under the table. Soft warm fingers find his and hold on firmly. He can feel the hum of happiness through her skin, and out of the corner of his eye, sees her calm, content smile.
'Not at all,' he responds honestly. 'You have my word.'
'Not to worry, Mr. Deeks,' Hetty winks at Kensi, offering the pair a knowing smile (he'd swear later that it was almost congratulatory). 'I didn't doubt that for a second.'