First, it may seem that this chapter is not related to the previous one. But it will be, later on the story (at least, that's the plan).

Second, NCIS LA does not belong to me ... obviously.

Thirdly... Third, please enjoy (or so I hope) the second chapter of 'Purple'.

- Purple -

Chapter 2 (World War III)

(Several months later ...)

2 weeks, 14 days, 336 hours, 20160 minutes ... he looked at his watch and took a deep breath, he was sure that that was exactly the time that had passed since he had been (world-shockingly) surprised, when entering the gym and finding her there, trying to release all her frustrations onto the punching bag… She had returned… she had returned, but she hadn't called him or paid him a visit. She hadn't been calling him for a few days before her return and his worries were only growing more and more with each passing day. And neither Hetty, nor Nell, not even Eric (regardless of the mind games and interrogative strategies Deeks tried on the young and naive computer genius) gave him any information about her whereabouts or situation. But none of that crossed his mind in that moment. By seeing her, he felt the indescribable force of a punch to the chest, he felt all the air escape from his lungs and his voice was suddenly stuck inside him. But despite his shock and the tears beginning to form inside him (making themselves almost perceived), he felt he was whole again. Deeks felt whole again as he hadn't felt for a while… gosh… as he had no memory of ever having felt. She was back, she was alive and physically well, capable of all those exercises in the gym, in their gym – she was back on their team, back to him, back home. He imagined each step he should take to approach her, the way his arms would go around her waist, the way he would tighten his grip around her to make their bodies be as close as humanly possible, the way he would revive memories of sunshine and gunpowder, and finally, the way they would kiss (the way he would hold her soft lips between his own) ... but he did nothing. While his thoughts swirled around all these plans, his body froze, as if his muscles deeply distrusted his vision.

Kensi was convinced that doubt was the reason why she was always so profoundly scared of him. She still did not understand how she wasn't scared of almost anything but him, though she was one "billion per cent" sure, beyond a shadow of doubt, he would never, ever, do her any intentional harm. She had really thought that doubt was the reason why she hadn't called him, informed him of her return or visited him… she had known she would see him, sooner or later, but she hadn't been able to figure out what would happen then. And when she saw him, she just thought to herself that what was happening wasn't a question of doubt – she was terrifyingly sure about him; it was a problem of guilt.

And the things he was just imagining and planning (while standing motionless in the middle of the gym), she couldn't avoid putting into action. She ran to him and hugged him and whispered words of apology and gratitude – she was sorry she hadn't called, she was sorry she hadn't told him about her return, she was sorry she hadn't shown up at his doorstep immediately, she was thankful cause he was there, cause he was patient, cause he was "him", incredibly "him", and they kissed. They kissed and they hoped that neither Sam nor Callen, nor Nell, nor Eric, (and particularly) nor Hetty or Granger would see them.

But later on... after they had had to end their kisses, pulling apart; after all the team members had greeted her and made a toast for her return; after all the meetings with Hetty and Granger to summarize what words will never truly describe; after she had stated several times she was good to everyone and after the happy farewells for the day, that were accompanied by cheerful see-you-tomorrows; after the day in the headquarters had ended and, interestingly , after she was no longer capable of prolonging it, they spoke.

They spoke and he broke. She broke him, he was no longer whole. She wanted time, space, seclusion, she did not justify, she did not explain, she did not even ask him to be patient, she didn't ask him anything. With no understanding of what was going on, but detecting that there was something to understand, something more than the heavy shadows of a mission like the one she'd just finished, he had not the strength he once demonstrated to argue with her. He was, however, convinced that all would end well, that it would be better to give her the time, space and seclusion she needed ... he would not be the one breaking the thin ice that existed beneath their feet.

But that morning, after there had been 20160 minutes, 336 hours, 14 days, two weeks, his spirit seemed to have already experienced all the possible emotions - confident, hopeful, afraid, scared, frustrated, depressed and deeply angry.

He entered the bullpen trying to disguise the irritation he felt. He took a deep breath and tried to convince himself that he had no right to make demands. The way she was behaving was infuriating him more and more each passing day. She was infuriating him, like she had never done before, believe it or not; he was getting incredibly mad… angry (he corrected his own thought) with the attitude she was presenting to the entire team – including himself; the superiority, the desire to show how she's better than him in every detail, this recent distance to the touch (his touch), to the truth, the sharing, the affection, her recent inflexibility, arrogance, seriousness ... the boring seriousness ... She claimed she was the best in the course of up and down something (he didn't really remember), she was the first of the group to finish the amazing rat race (yeah… pointless!), she was the ace of the famous unicorns' hunting (mmmh! mmmh!), she displayed an elite performance in the sand grains' battle... or whatever! She repeated these conversations, these speeches, as if they hadn't already gotten over this dynamic. And she repeated this behavior every day and, at times, he even thought she was intensifying it. His moments of silence were growing amazingly longer and her incessant rambling was growing to the point of bothering everyone. Sometimes, he responded to the same extent, that is, he used jokes and taunts which were never as true and genuine as before - not because their relationship had changed the day she was gone, but because something changed within her in the day she returned. And it was not difficult for him to understand the reasons of this behavior, she wanted to return to the old scenario of their lives, she wanted to depart from the present and erase the last chapter of their story, she wanted to re- treat him as an outsider (of her heart) - like a stranger… But, while there wasn't a reason - and he was quite sure that no reason would ever be sufficient - this love story would be eternal. And if he had fought so hard until that day, he thought he would rather die fighting than give up.

With the conviction that he was not an intruder, that assuredly, between them, there wasn't the distance of a world but a world of reasons to come closer, that he should walk slowly, but still walk and not stop, he entered confident into the bullpen, showing a grin from ear to ear (which, actually, had no true reflection on his eyes), and he offered warm greetings to everyone. He held her gaze, silently questioning her whether that day would be the day she would give him the time and answers he deserved.

Again, she looked away, trying to deny him.

But he saw something different there ... Could it be anger?

She was furious with what appeared to be a look of triumph on his face, that morning. In the twelve previous mornings of work since her return, twelve times she had seen in his eyes the request for more - more explanations, more words, more closeness, more answers... But this morning, all she could remember was how he had had this cheeky behavior almost every day – with no exception - some time before: he had this behavior of an irresponsible teen, who has nothing to justify, who is not committed to anything, who is never responsible for the words he chooses. He used the flirting, the big flattery words, nicknames such as princess or goddesses, excessive interjections… but all those were empty words. Maybe he had no truth. And to make it worse, he arrived looking deeply into her eyes, making demands, even after he had started the day the way he did. In the twelve mornings of work since her return, twelve times she had taken the most inappropriate, confusing and long route to the headquarters - one that went along the beach (his beach). She never saw him in all those drives, not until that morning, a morning in which she saw him chatting enthusiastically with an almost naked chick that was almost on his lap, speaking almost in his ear, and almost using her hands to touch his hair... almost. But he was not almost laughing, he was not almost rambling fake impressive stories, he was not almost showing off his naked torso, he was not almost using Monty an excuse for conversation ... No, it wasn't almost... it was completely – he was completely doing all that.

And, contrary to what had happened in similar situations - or worse situations - she was not able to restrain herself. Their old dynamic had really changed and, although a part of her brain was screaming that she was the one at fault and not in a position to question, the other part of her brain assertively argued that the errors of both of them were different, her justification was the guilt she inexplicably felt and the respect that another human being, another life story deserved (despite everything that happened in the past) and his motivation was simply the fast and cold desire from a morning at the beach.

Almost… she almost could not control herself, she almost demanded the key to his heart to enter it with a microscope in hand and analyze all his cells of passion and reason, she almost started the third world war… almost! Had Hetty not called her for the last meeting about the secretive mission she had faced and it wouldn't have been "almost", it would have been completely.

He knew something was deeply wrong that morning; something was agonizingly different - even more than in the last two weeks (since her return). He decided to take a step out onto the thin ice and find the strength to argue with her. Then, he waited for the end of her meeting with Hetty, Granger and another agent with whom they shared those bad memories. And it was at the end of that meeting that the detective thought he had found the answer to the mystery at hand - the door opened while Granger was leaving and he saw Kensi in a close hug with the guy that almost had his hands too low on her back, who almost touched the skin on her neck with his lips, who almost had his chest glued to hers, who was not almost Sabatino… who was completely Sabatino.

Third world war...

;)