Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, favorited, alerted, etc. I'm glad you're enjoying this little fic. Im having a lot of fun writing it. One more chapter to follow...Enjoy!

He gathers up his things and heads out, fully intending to surf. He watches her taillights disappear, and somehow he isn't surprised at the odd sense of emptiness he feels. He arrives at the beach not long after, with little recollection of the drive over. He hopes he didn't run any red lights. His mind was definitely somewhere else.

He un-straps his board and carries it toward the tideline. Once he's on the sand, though, all he can do is sit down and watch the water. Thoughts of his partner keep flooding back, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else. He's completely lost in thought when a little blonde boy toddles up, chasing a ball. The child giggles, and Deeks is completely surprised and caught off guard to see him standing there, only a foot away, smiling at him.

"Hey, buddy, what's up? Your ball get away from you there?" He picks up the red bouncy ball and hands it to the little boy.

A truly gorgeous blue-eyed blonde runs up. "I'm sorry. The wind pushed it away from him. Thanks for grabbing it. He would never have caught up to it," she says, smiling. "Say thank you, Joseph."

The boy smiles shyly, now peeking out from behind his mother's perfect legs.

"It's cool. Hi, Joseph," Deeks says, ruffling the boy's hair. He looks up at the mother. "Cute kid. How old is he?"

"Thanks. He's two. Almost three. He loves to play ball. Wears me out."

"Yeah, I'll bet."

"I'm Lia," she says, reaching down to offer her hand.

"Marty." He shakes her hand, and Joseph immediately extends his chubby fingers towards Deeks'. He takes his little hand and laughs. "Good to meet you, Joseph. You've got a strong grip, there, buddy."

"He can't be left out of anything."

"Kids are great. So much less complicated than adults," Deeks says, wistfully, watching the boy reach for his ball with a look of pure joy on his little face.

"For sure. Do you have any?"

He laughs. "No."

"Not a kid person?" Lia asks, smiling. "Could have fooled me."

"No, I love kids. I just don't have any. Maybe someday." He gets the impression she wants to join him. There's no ring on her finger, and no man anywhere in sight. She's friendly and flirty, and definitely hot. Nice body, long, tan legs. Probably about Kensi's age.

And there it is. Kensi.

Lia seems to realize she's already beat, and laughs a bit. "Does she know, or is she totally clueless?"

"Excuse me?"

She smiles knowingly. "The girl you're sitting here pining for. Does she know you're in love with her, or is she clueless?"

He cannot be that transparent. But apparently, he is. "Um…" He laughs. "She's clueless, thanks."

"Thought so. You have that longing, aching, wondering what to do, look. Not the, I can't believe I've lost her forever look."

"That about sums it up," he says, with a wry smile.

"It's simple. Tell her how you feel," she says, scooping up Joseph and his ball. "What's the worst that could happen?" She turns to leave, sending a smile his way.

The worst that could happen. Well, the worst thing would be losing Kensi by telling her he's falling for her, and having her shut him down. The worst thing would be wrecking their perfectly symbiotic relationship over his stupidity. Yeah, those would be the worst things that could happen. And not things he's willing to risk. He sits for a while longer, remembering the scene in the bullpen not long ago. God, she was beautiful. Sad and sexy and totally vulnerable. Aside from that day in her mother's garage, it's the closest he's ever seen her to totally open and unguarded, and he still can't quite wrap his head around what it did to him to see her that way, completely exposed.

He finally gets up and brushes off the sand, and collects his neglected surfboard. He straps it back onto the roof of the car, and fights the urge to drive to her house. He wants to see her. He needs to see her. She's probably sitting on her couch watching reality TV, or curled up with that book. Either way, he doubts she wants to be disturbed, and he reluctantly turns his car toward home. Tomorrow's another day, Deeks. Deal with it. You'll see her soon enough.

He walks into the bullpen and sets down his stuff. He looks around for her, but she's not here.

Sam sees him glance around, and smiles, shaking his head. "Gym."

Shit. There's that damned transparency thing again. He's going to have to work on that. "Thanks."

"Yep."

He sets goes to her desk and sets down the cup of coffee he brought her, and walks to the gym. He stops just outside, and - like the stalker he fears he's becoming – he watches her. She's working out on the treadmill, like she's running for her life. Her dark ponytail swishes back and forth in rhythm with her steps, brushing each shoulder blade in quick succession. Her tan skin is slick with sweat, and he can hear her labored breaths as she runs far too hard. Intense workouts are nothing new for her, but this seems extreme, even for her. He can't help but think something is bothering her. He briefly considers walking up to her and asking, but he sees her ipod clipped to her waist, and knows she wouldn't hear him anyway. That, and the fact that if she's listening to her music, she's likely trying to block out everything else. He wonders if she's trying to block out what's going on inside her head.

He turns and goes back to the bullpen.

Sam looks up from his paper. "Find her?"

"Yeah, man. Thanks. Where's Callen?"

He nods over his shoulder. "Hetty."

Deeks nods back, and picks up his coffee. He sits and sips it, half-heartedly catching up on the sports page until Kensi comes in, freshly showered, hair still damp and pulled back into a ponytail. He can't help but think she looks tired, sad, and preoccupied. She walks past to her desk and sits, closing her eyes for a moment. He watches her take a deep breath and open them, focusing on the coffee in front of her.

He smiles. "Stopped on my way in. Thought you'd like one. It's your favorite. Mocha, extra shot of espresso, double chocolate, whip, and dark chocolate shavings." he says.

She doesn't make eye contact. "Thanks. I owe you one." She picks up the coffee and takes a tentative sip, then another, and closes her eyes again.

He can't tell if she's savoring it, or fending off thoughts she'd rather not have. He stares at her, waiting. Something isn't right. There's no smile, no banter, no nothing. Something is definitely bothering her. "You okay, Kens?"

"Fine."

Her pat answer is just about to earn her a, Don't bullshit me, Kensi, when Eric's whistle interrupts him. Deeks chews his lip and watches her as she gets up, abandoning the coffee, and heads for the stairs. He gets up and joins her, and can't help but think she's trying to avoid him. As soon as he falls into step beside her, she takes the stairs two at a time, leaving him behind.

They're briefed and sent out to interview neighbors near a crime scene, and the drive there and back is so painfully quiet, he half expects to hear crickets chirp. She's sealed off in a world of her own, walls up and firmly in place. The total opposite of what he saw yesterday. He begins to wonder if he imagined or maybe dreamed it.

By lunchtime, he's truly worried. Not just bugged by her odd silent treatment, but honestly concerned that something is wrong. She won't give him a different answer no matter how he phrases the questions. She swears she's fine, that she slept on her neck wrong, and it's causing a headache. He wants to believe her. It's simple and easy, and with anyone else, it would be totally believable. He knows her better, though, and knows she doesn't let things like headaches affect her. At least not outwardly, which might give someone a chance to be concerned over her. God forbid that were to happen.

He's careful the rest of the day, keeping an eye on her as she keeps her distance. She's too quiet, too distracted. It isn't the current case they're working. That's too straightforward. Too typical of what they do everyday. No, it isn't work. It's something else. Something personal. She seems to grow more distant as the day progresses. There's no smile, no banter, no wiseass remarks. No punches to the shoulder, playful or otherwise. And it's driving him crazy.

When it's time to leave for the day, he watches her pack up. She looks a thousand miles away, and totally exhausted. She opens her bag to fish out her keys, and he sees the book from yesterday still tucked inside. Tangible evidence that he's not going insane or imagining things. He walks up to say goodnight, and when he places a hand on her shoulder, she shrugs away from him. That's never happened before.

He stares at her, his brow creasing with worry. "Kens, you sure you're okay? If your head hurts that bad, I can drive you home. I'll walk or catch a cab from your place."

"It's fine. Thanks, though." She grabs her bag and does her obvious best to slip past without touching him or making eye contact.

It's not going to happen. She's freaking him out. He catches her upper arm and holds her between himself and her desk, their denim-covered thighs pressed together, obviously too close for her comfort. He stares down at her, completely invading her personal space, giving her little choice but to look back. He stares deep into her dark, sad eyes, searching for an answer. He sees things he's rarely seen in her close up. Anguish. Pain. Worry. Sadness.

Caught in his gaze, she stares up at him, into his eyes. Her mouth falls open slightly, then she swallows. "Let go." Her voice is barely a whisper, but she clearly means it.

He stares down at her for another second, needing to say something, but having no idea what. He lets her go, and she shrugs past him and walks silently out of the building, leaving him lost and confused. He stands there at her desk, staring after her. Even once the door closes behind her, he doesn't move. He doesn't like this. Something is wrong, something is hurting her, and he needs to know what.

It's likely that the harder he pushes, the more she'll pull back. It's what she does. It's one of the hundred things about her that drive him out of his mind. That, and her smile and her eyes and her voice and her odd sense of humor. And her heart, so guarded and sacred, he can't even imagine her sharing it with anyone. He wants that more than anything. Her heart. And unlike the men of her past, he'd cherish it and protect it with his life. He only wishes he could tell her, and that she would give him the chance to prove it.

He let it go as long as he could. He left work, got coffee, drove to the beach, and went for a surf. He ran three miles when he got home, and stood under the cool spray of the shower, trying to put it all out of his mind. But he couldn't. The thoughts of her sitting at her desk yesterday, tears on her cheeks, lip caught between her teeth as she'd turned those pages just haunts him. And then there was today, and the 180-degree turn from emotional to distant. And not just distant…distant from him. Every interaction between them had been strained today. He hadn't been able to make her smile or laugh or even roll her eyes at him. She hadn't let him in at all. It's worse, he realizes, than when they'd first been paired up and didn't know each other at all. This isn't a step backwards in their partnership, it's an enormous leap, and he has no idea what caused it.

He sits on his couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort out why it bothers him so much. Sure, she's his partner, and it should bother him if something is wrong with her. He'd be a crappy partner if it didn't. But this is different. Personal. Between them. He can't imagine anything he's done to piss her off lately, and that wasn't it anyway. She wasn't pissed. She was…he actually has no idea. He's never seen that particular brand of emotion in her before. It was almost as if he'd hurt her somehow. The last thing on earth he would ever do.

He finally gives up on trying to put it out of his mind. It's not going to happen. She's hurt or sad or…he can't even imagine what, and he has to be there for her. He thinks he'll probably be up against a fight, but he chooses not to care. He's her partner – her friend – and he's going to be there, whether she wants him or not.

He drives to her house and sits outside, gathering the nerve to go up and knock. He's almost afraid of what he might face, of what she might be like towards him. He knows she can probably hurt him like no one else. He's opened himself up to that by falling for her. He's opened himself up to a lot of things. Frustration, hurt, longing, unattainable desire. Yep, he's in for it. He's screwed. He wonders, as he finally approaches her door, what kind of scars he'll leave here with tonight. Will they be on his heart or his soul or both? Either way, he knows they'll be permanent.

She comes to the door and looks even sadder than she had at work. And by the look of her red, slightly puffy eyes, she's been crying. It stabs him right through the heart. He wants to grab her and pull her into his arms and hold her. But he doesn't. He stands there looking down at her, feeling his heart ache.

"Deeks, hey. What's up?" She sounds like she's been caught off guard and she's embarrassed. "I wasn't expecting you to come by."

That's obvious. He realizes she's wearing a very familiar t-shirt. His t-shirt. An old gray LAPD number that's been washed nearly to death. He'd let her wear it one day after he spilled coffee on her at work. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be?" She pulls the black elastic out of her sloppy ponytail, and pulls the hair back into some semblance of order, before replacing it. An oddly self-conscious move he's never seen before.

"You were sort of…off today, at work. I was worried. Can I come in?"

She moves away from the door and reluctantly ushers him in. "I told you I'm fine."

"Uh, huh. Headache, right?" He sits down on the couch and stares at her. He thinks her hair would probably be down if she has a headache.

She nods, looking down. God, she's a bad liar.

"Kens, what's going on?" He holds out a hand to her, hoping she'll take it and sit beside him.

She ignores the hand, and sits just out of his reach. "Nothing. I have a headache, Deeks. That's all."

"You said you slept on your neck wrong. I could rub it for you."

She moves just slightly farther away. "No."

He studies her for a moment, then catches sight of the book lying on the coffee table. He nods toward it. "I saw you reading that yesterday. Good book?"

She nods, but says nothing.

He keeps his voice is soft and coaxing. "You looked upset reading it."

She swallows, looking uncomfortable, and shrugs. "Sad part."

"Yeah? Did you finish it?"

She nods, looking down at her hands in her lap.

He smiles a little, trying to draw her out. "Happy ending?"

She hesitates for several moments, then shakes her head, still refusing eye contact. She swallows hard, and then looks up at him, straight into his eyes, her voice barely a breath. "He died."

He watches her struggle with those two words; sees a sheen of tears come to her eyes, and her try to blink them away. One slips down her cheek, and he sees her fingers begin to tremble in her lap. He realizes in that moment, that this has very little to do with that book. Whatever she read strikes way too close to home. To them. It rips his heart out, seeing her like this, and all he wants to do is comfort her. He treads lightly though, knowing how easy it would be to screw this up.

"It's just a book though, right?" he says softly, touching her hand.

She takes a shuddering breath, and her words are barely audible. "He was a cop."

He feels his chest tighten. "What?"

She doesn't repeat herself, probably can't. She swallows back tears; clearly trying to reign in emotions she wants no part of. But they have her.

"Kens, what's this about? Tell me. You kept yourself distanced from me all day. "

She shakes her head, taking even breaths.

He squeezes her hand to bring her back. "Hey. Talk to me."

She closes her eyes, and the tears she's obviously been fighting so hard, slip out. She bites her lip and swallows over and over again.

He sees the pain she's in, and although he doesn't completely understand it, it breaks his heart. He tries to pull her toward him, but she pushes back, attempting to yank her hands away.

He holds onto them, hoping he doesn't hurt her. "Kensi, stop. What's happening? Tell my why you kept me at arm's length today. Why were you so distant with me?"

"We're too close, Deeks."

"Too close? Kensi, we're partners. Friends. We need to be close. Our lives depend on it."

Something about that statement undoes her. "They were partners," she whispers.

That simple statement makes it all perfectly, painfully clear. Suddenly, the fact that she's wearing his t-shirt makes sense. He reaches for her. "Kens…"

She pulls away. "This can't happen," she says, her voice catching. "I can't let this happen. I can't feel like this."

"Why? Who says? The Employee Handbook? Hetty? Vance?"

She swallows and sniffs. "Common sense."

"Not everything has to make sense. That's what you were doing today? Trying to put distance between us? To protect yourself? Backing off so it won't hurt as much if…"

"Don't," she warns, tremors visible

"If something happens to me?" He lays a gentle hand on her arm. "You know you're not alone in this, right? You have to know that. I'm in that same boat, partner. Right there beside you."

She looks at him like it can't possibly be true. Like she doesn't want it to be.

"I feel things for you, too, Kensi."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"I can't…we cant. One of us could…" She's having trouble getting the words out, probably past the lump in her throat. When she does, he can barely hear them. "You could die."

"Kens…"

She looks up at him, tears in her eyes, defiance on her face. "No! I watched Dom die just out of my reach. There was nothing I could do. Nothing. I can't lose you that way. I couldn't live with that…without you."

He strokes her arm and speaks softly. "Yes, you could."

She shakes her head, looking back down. "I wouldn't want to."

He wants to hold her, to absorb her tears, to tell her he has the same set of worries she does. He wants to give them the reassurances they both want and need. But he can't. They are who they are. There can be no promises, and he refuses to lie to her.

"I'm here right now," he offers.

She shakes her head, tears dripping onto her thighs.

He lifts her chin to make her look at him, and he wipes away a tear with his thumb. "In a perfect world, what would happen right now?"

"In a perfect world, we'd both be unemployed. This damn job wouldn't exist, and we'd both be safe."

He repeats the question softly, staring into her eyes. "In a perfect world, what would happen right now?"

She takes a shuddering breath. "It isn't perfect."

"For just right now, let it be," he whispers, stroking back a strand of loose hair.

She stares at him, her gaze moving slowly from his eyes to his lips.

"Let it be, Kens," he breathes.

She raises her hand to his face, her trembling fingertips ghosting over his scruff. She traces a crease along his forehead, and runs a finger over one silky blonde eyebrow, before skimming his jawline with one trembling hand.

He watches her lean closer, eyes drifting closed, and his heart thumps hard, making him lightheaded. He feels her warm breath on his lips before hers settle onto them, and her hand slides to the back of his neck to tangle in his hair. He opens his mouth and captures her lips, hearing a soft whimper when his tongue delves into her mouth, languidly playing over hers. He kisses her deeply, his arms circling her, a soft moan escaping him when her tongue sweeps slowly against his. He feels her trembling as she holds onto him, pulling him closer. He never wants this to stop. He doesn't want her to pull back and say the words that would end him.

The kiss goes on and on, with his hands roaming over her back, and hers tangling in his hair and grasping his shoulders. He feels them fist into the back of his shirt as his tongue traces the inside of her lower lip, before delving back into her mouth.

She draws back breathless and shaking, and looks up into his eyes, hers dark with passion. "In a perfect world, this would be every second for the rest of our lives," she breathes against his lips. She closes her eyes and swallows hard, pressing her forehead to his. "But it isn't."

He touches her face, tracing the hollow below her cheekbone. "I don't want us to miss out on something incredible because we're afraid we might lose it, Kensi." He kisses her softly, and nuzzles into her neck. "It isn't a perfect world, but we can make it as close as possible. We just have to do it. We can't be afraid of what we might lose."

"I've never been afraid of anything. Now, I'm scared to death."

He gazes down at her, stroking her face, a smile playing over his. "What have I done to you, Fern?"

"You've made me realize what there is to lose."

"I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"I can't think of anything worse than losing you," she says.

"I can't think of anything better than loving you." He kisses her softly. "We might have seventy years left, Kensi. We might have none. There's no way to know. But I know one thing…I want whatever time we do have, to be spent together."

She blows out a breath and drops her head to the crook of his neck, and wraps her arms around him. He pulls her against his body and holds her close, rubbing gentle, reassuring patterns on her back. "I'm done, you know. Finished. Gone. Wrecked. You own me, heart and soul," he whispers against her hair. He pushes her back just enough to look down into her eyes. "And if I wasn't completely ruined before, yesterday finished me off." He strokes her face, a soft smile on his. "When I saw you with that book, just totally unaware of anything else, just lost in it, I was…I was captivated. And just when I thought you couldn't possibly be more beautiful, I saw you cry. And it was the most beautiful thing I think I've ever seen." He kisses her forehead and looks back into her eyes. "I'm a goner, Kens." He shrugs. "I'm yours."

She stares up at him, eyes damp. She opens her mouth to speak, but he doesn't give her the chance. He brings his lips to hers in a long, sweet kiss.

She reciprocates, tangling one hand in his hair and the other in his shirt. Then she pulls back and looks at him with sadness and fear in her eyes. "I'm so afraid of losing you," she whispers.

"I wish I could promise that you won't."

She bites her lip, and then looks up at him with new resolve. "It can't matter. I can't let it." She reaches up to plant a soft kiss on his lips. "I want us. I want you."

He smiles at her before capturing her mouth with his. "I want you, too."