Thanks for the amazing response to this. I hadn't really planned on adding to it, but it seemed to be the majority vote, so here's a second chapter. Who knows, maybe there'll be a third if anyone's interested. Enjoy!

Okay, so there was no excuse for it. None. What she did was inexcusable. He was drunk. She was not. And yet, she justifies it to herself by saying over and over that he won't remember it anyway. That he was so wasted that he'll be lucky to make it to work in the morning. She doesn't envy him the hangover he'll have in a few short hours, or the crap everyone will give him for it. She can picture it now; Callen bouncing tightly packed paper wads off his head, Sam talking at a decibel level far above his normal speaking voice. She smiles.

Settling into bed, she watches the play of passing headlights on the ceiling, and thinks back to the scene at the bar. It had been priceless, really. It couldn't have gone off any better had she been planning it for days. The look on his face, as it changed from relief, to hope, to horror had been better than she expected. It had been a mean thing to do, but hey, he'd asked her to come get rid of the girl. He hadn't specified as to how to get rid of her.

She feels a little guilty for ruining his favorite bar for him. She also feels guilty for causing him to cut his hand. And now that she thinks about it, she feels guilty for not cleaning it up and bandaging it for him. She doesn't like guilt, hates shouldering blame, even when it's entirely her fault. So, she reminds herself he had it coming all day for being such a pig. Annoying is one thing. Perverted is another. But he had apologized, hadn't he? He'd even gone so far as to say she's beautiful. Hot she's used to. Hot she gets all the time. There's just something about beautiful that gets to her. And when it comes from him, well…

He was annihilated. Tanked. There's no way he'll remember this night. That, she tells herself, is the only reason she let him kiss her. The only reason she kissed him back. The only reason she kissed him again, at his door. He'd looked so sexy all hurt and vulnerable and all. Vulnerability is not something she usually sees from her partner. He's human – well, most of the time – so he's capable of being vulnerable, and she's seen it once or twice, very briefly, but most of the time he's cocky and annoying and full of himself. And she has to admit, vulnerability looks kind of good on him. Those slightly hurt blue eyes, that pouty lower lip. And just the right amount of alcohol to keep his mind free of any memory of it. Or at least she hopes so.

She's thought about him a lot after hours. Even more so lately. With each passing week, they seem to get closer, know each other better, each learning a bit more about the other. He knows a little about her past, and she knows a little about his. Just enough is left unknown to make each something of a mystery to the other, a riddle to be unraveled, a puzzle to be solved. She has so many questions. She won't ask any of them, though, because that would be an invitation for him to ask her, and she has no desire to answer him. Just yet.

She thinks over the day and the case and that damn dress and the way he'd looked at her in it. She isn't pissed anymore, not even annoyed. She's just…what? She has no idea. Flattered? That's not it. Appreciative? No. Secretly happy that he's enamored with her? Well, that's a little closer. Turned on? Maybe. She's spent a fair amount of time thinking about him in not so innocent ways. She's had a fair amount of inappropriate thoughts about him. Even a fantasy or two. About the way he fills out his faded jeans. The way his shirt stretches over his back sometimes, as he reaches for something. Her, perhaps. That damn smile, and what she might do to evoke it. So being presented with the opportunity to experience one of the more innocent fantasies was a rare gift. One she couldn't pass up.

Granted, he was drunk. His balance was slightly off, and he was probably far more uninhibited than he would normally be. Well, obviously. He did kiss you. But still, he had pretty damn good command over himself. He didn't falter once he made the decision to go for it. He'd been halting at first, tentative and gentle. But once she'd opened her mouth, he hadn't hesitated to slip his tongue inside and thread his fingers into her hair. At that point, it was a matter of what the hell, he's not going to remember it anyway, and she'd responded in kind, allowing her own inhibitions to slip away and her tongue to explore his mouth. She'd been in no hurry to end the kiss, and apparently neither had he. In the few minutes it lasted, their breath became ragged, and her pulse began to race.

It was probably a good thing he stopped her at the front door. Self control was waning, and the more she touched him, the more he touched her, the more she can't be sure she wouldn't have gone inside and done what she's wanted to do for so long. And that would have been a disaster. If, by chance he remembers the kisses, it's one thing. An embarrassing, hard to explain thing. But sex is another mess altogether. One she isn't sure she could talk herself out of. Or if she'd even want to.

He reeks of beer and bar, and has blood and filth all over him. So, as badly as he wants to just fall into bed, he strips off his clothes and takes a shower instead. He's pretty far gone, and getting worse by the minute, and manipulating the water temperature is a real challenge. The water is scalding hot, but the anesthetic affect of the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream helps to numb him slightly. He does notice, after a few minutes, that his skin is red. Which immediately brings his mind back to early this evening, and a particularly hot brunette with similarly red skin, climbing out of a hot tub, wearing what appeared to be wet white tissue paper. He suddenly thinks he should switch to cold water.

Had he really kissed her tonight? Where had he found the balls to do that? He's wanted to, God knows, but sober it would never have happened. They don't call it liquid courage for nothing, buddy. He washes off the blood and beer, and fumbles with the tap. He makes a half-assed attempt to dry himself off, and gives up. His hand is bleeding again, but he knows there's no way he has enough dexterity to work a bandage right now, so he gives up on that, too. He staggers into his bedroom, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. He collapses naked onto his bed, and closes his eyes, the room beginning to swirl. Shit. Not this. He opens his eyes, which are beginning to feel like someone may have pissed in them recently, and the room stills. Damn it.

He needs sleep. He has work in a few hours, and he cannot show up like this. That thought leads him straight back to another…Kensi. He'd really kissed her. For real. Tongue and all. Had he groped her? He doesn't think so. Had she groped him? That would be nice, but he doesn't think that happened, either. She had kissed him back, though. For real. Tongue and all. Maybe he had groped her.

He rubs his hands over his face and wonders exactly what morning is going to feel like. How embarrassed and/or ashamed is he going to be when he sees her? How awkward will it be, and how long will it be awkward? And who else is going to notice not only his hangover, but the awkwardness and embarrassment? Shit. He's sobering up. He has to be, or none of this would matter. He could pass out in blissful apathy if he were slightly more intoxicated. And he has just the thing.

He peels himself off the bed, rubbing his stinging eyes, and staggers and sways his way into the kitchen. The lights are still on, and his blinds are wide open, and he's stark naked. It briefly crosses his mind to care, but he just can't pull it off. He grabs a fifth of Jack from the cabinet and tips back the bottle. Hmm. No fire in his throat. That's a good sign. For good measure, he throws back another long swig, and heads back to bed, hitting the light switch on the way.

He collapses again onto the bed and closes his eyes. They sting and water unmercifully, and he groans. The headache isn't improving, either. He hopes the booze kicks in soon and finishes him off. He has to pass out. He has to forget, as much as he doesn't want to. He'd love to remember that kiss for the rest of his life, and what it had felt like. But that would only cause problems he doesn't need. He prays he wakes up in a few hours with no recollection of tonight, and that his partner never brings it up.

She wouldn't? Would she? After all, she did kiss him back. Like she meant it. And she'd kissed him again before she'd left. Which means she wanted to kiss him. Probably has, for quite a while. Surely, she won't embarrass herself by bringing it up. That would be about the most un-Kensi-like thing he could imagine. He knows she was betting on him blacking out. That's why she did it. No, she sure as hell won't remind him.

He feels the alcohol begin to pull him under, and he surrenders to it. Sweet dreams, as she had said. He imagines they will be, if he dreams at all. He's fading fast, hanging onto that memory for as long as he can.

Before he knows it, and all too soon, the alarm is going off.

It sounds like a cross between a jackhammer and an air raid siren. Has it ever been this loud before? He rolls over and swats it off the nightstand, groaning loudly at the pain in his head. Holy crap. How much did he drink? Work is not going to be fun.

He staggers to the bathroom to pee, and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Blood smears his face and hair, and his eyes are so bloodshot and swollen, he looks like he's been beaten. Has he? Where did the blood come from? He doesn't remember a fight. His nose isn't broken. A quick check tells him all his teeth are still in his mouth. What the hell?

He showers, washing off the blood and realizing once soap hits it, exactly where the injury is. A nice, deep cut in his hand. Great. He struggles to remember what happened last night after he left work. Kensi wouldn't join him for a beer. She was pissed at him. Well, that made sense. Everything after that is a blank, though. He gets ready for work, swallowing Tylenol with strong coffee, hoping they both stay down.

Outside, to his surprise, there is no car. That's kind of a relief, actually. No one that drunk has any business behind the wheel. He thinks of calling Kensi, like he's done a dozen times before, but somehow thinks better of it. He isn't sure why.

On the way in to OSP, he hears a song on the radio in the cab that jars a memory. Last night in the bar. A blonde. Red lipstick. Kensi…Herpes? What the hell? Little by little, it all comes back. Right up to the end, where she had eagerly returned his kiss in the parking lot, no holds barred, with full-on passion, then again sweetly at his door. Holy shit.

He isn't sure what to do, what to say, how to act. He was wasted. She was sober. She'll remember, but he's banking on the fact that she thinks he'll forget. Somehow, he wishes he could. Those kisses could change everything between them, and probably not in a good or positive way. Shit.

He walks into the Mission with the worst hangover of his adult life. His gut twists with nerves. His eyes sting, his head throbs, and he can only focus on one thing besides his physical discomfort. Those kisses. And okay, that dress makes an appearance in his head every other thought, too, but he tries really damned hard to stop it, because it's not helping any and he'd rather not fight off a hard-on all day.

She's at her desk, and as she watches him walk in, he's infinitely glad he still has his shades on. She laughs at him, but blessedly, she plays dumb. She actually asks what happened to him. Oh, so this is how we're doing it. The It Never Happened dance. Got it. Inwardly, he smiles. She's embarrassed and doesn't want him to remember. Cute. She had kissed him because clearly, she wanted to. She wanted to see what it was like, or to fulfill some fantasy, without any strings. Without getting caught or admitting she has a fantasy. He may be able to capitalize on that once he feels better. If he ever feels better.

She's at her desk, glancing at her watch. He's late. And not because his car is gone and he has no way in. He probably hasn't even realized that yet. A small smile plays across her lips. He's so hung over it would be a miracle if he even heard the alarm. She considers calling him to wake him up, because that would be normal. Just as she reaches for her phone, he shuffles in, sunglasses in place, coffee in hand. She bites her lip to keep from laughing. She's dying to ask how he got here, but that would mean she knows his car is still at the bar.

"Wow. You look…"

He holds up a hand. "Shh."

"What happened to you?"

"Shh."

She laughs, though her stomach is filled with butterflies. How much does he remember? "Rough night?"

"Rough morning. I had to call a cab. I think I left my car at the bar last night and got a ride."

"Ah. Nice hangover. Sam and Callen are gonna love it."

He groans, dropping into his chair and laying his head on folded arms. "No," he whines. "Make the bad men go away."

She laughs again. "How much did you drink?"

"Obviously, way too much."

Callen and Sam walk in and catch sight of Deeks. Both laugh, and Callen kicks his chair. "Jesus, Deeks. What the hell happened to you? I mean, yesterday was memorable, but you didn't have to celebrate quite so hard."

Kensi glares at him. News of her wardrobe malfunction had already made the rounds.

Deeks growls. "Funny. I'm dying here. Have some respect and leave me alone."

Sam looks at Kensi. "You have somethin' to do with this?"

She holds up both hands, a huge smile on her face. "Innocent. This is all him."

Deeks groans. "You are all way too loud. And did we get new lights, because it's like the surface of the sun in here."

Eric whistles from above, causing Deeks to wince. "We've got a case."

"Ugh. Of course we do."

Kensi gets up and slaps him on the back on her way to the stairs. "Come on, partner. Time to start the day." She smiles as she sees him grimace and hold his head. As bad off as he is this morning, there's no way he remembers last night. She takes the stairs two at a time, feeling lighter, relieved beyond belief that she's completely off the hook.

He struggles through the day, and even winds up chasing down and tackling a suspect to the ground without killing himself near the end of it. The hangover never quite goes away, though, and by quitting time, he just wants to die. His head still hurts, along with his ass, which is in fact bruised from his fall last night. He split his hand back open when he hit the pavement taking down their suspect a little while ago, and it hurts like hell.

She's been eyeing him all day, covertly watching him from the corner of her eye. She obviously thinks he hasn't noticed. Sometimes, she actually looks guilty. It's kind of funny. Okay, it's really funny. Something he's never quite seen from her before. He decides he likes it. It's cute. And what's even better is the fact that she's been playing innocent all day, like nothing ever happened last night. He decides it's just too good to pass up. The question is when does he nail her on it? And how?

She comes to his desk when things have settled down, and kneels beside him. "Hey, let me see your hand. It looks like you tore it open back there."

Really? Seriously? "Actually, I woke up with it this way. I can't remember how I did it, though."

She looks a little flushed, a small smile tugging at her features. "Wow. Must have been some night. You get in a fight?"

Wow. "I have no idea. No bruises or anything. It's a mystery."

"Maybe you shouldn't drink so much, Deeks. You never know what might happen. You could do something you might really regret."

He can't help it. He laughs out loud, startling her. He thinks she looks a little worried. "And what might that be?"

She becomes unusually flustered. "Uh…you know. You could…get into a fight, or drive home drunk and have an accident."

"Yeah, you're right. Nothing clouds a person's judgment or kills their inhibitions like too much alcohol. I should know better, right?"

"I'm going to go get a bandage for this," she says, rising quickly and walking away.

Bull's-eye.

He laughs to himself, watching her practically run from him. When she comes back, he decides to take mercy on her. "Wanna get a burger later?"

She avoids his eyes, clearly concentrating on the simple task of cleaning and bandaging his hand. "You could've probably used a couple stitches in this."

He shrugs. "Nah, I'm good. Nothing a Band-aid and a week won't fix. So, burgers?"

"Um…sure."

He smiles. "No beer, though. For me, anyway. You can have all you want. I'll even buy."

She looks at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I just feel bad about yesterday…the dress and all. I shouldn't have stared. And I know I drove you nuts all day, too. Nervous energy, you know? Too much caffeine and sugar and not enough activity."

She looks mildly relieved. "Okay. You were a pain in the ass all day."

He smiles. "Great, then. Let's get out of here."

It's taken him two weeks, but he's gotten over his hangover and aversion to alcohol. The hangover was gone the next day. The idea of never drinking again, however, hung on a bit longer. Kensi is now back to her normal self, and isn't as nervous or on edge as she was in the few days following their little encounter at the bar. She obviously thinks he has no recollection of that night. And it's exactly what he wants her to think. He had nearly blown it near the end of last week though, when she had walked in wearing that same white top. He had felt his mouth drop open and the crotch of his jeans tighten uncomfortably as she had set a cup of coffee on his desk before moving to her own.

Today, just over two weeks since their unmentioned encounter, he's decided to see if she'll come out for a drink with him. At his favorite bar. He'll never show his face there again, but he's dying to see if she'd actually let him humiliate himself that way. He's betting on no, but with Kensi, you can never tell. He's pretty sure she won't give up her little secret, no matter what. He may have been drunk, but she was stone sober. And that says a lot.

He'll have to be mindful of how much he drinks. He's already proven he has no self control around her when he's had a few too many. He wonders if she'd have the same problem. And then he gets an idea. Maybe he could get her drunk without getting drunk himself. Reverse the roles. Of course, he can't let her know he's staying sober. After the last time alcohol was added into the equation, they both behaved unlike themselves. Or maybe like their true selves. He wonders if history might repeat itself. He hopes so. Because if it does, this time he won't stop her at the front door.

It's driving her mad. Two weeks have passed. Two whole weeks, and she still can't get that kiss out of her head. He's nearly caught her staring more than once, and she can't imagine how she'd explain herself if he did. Is it her imagination, or is he even more attractive now than he was just a few days ago? Yep, she's losing her mind.

She sees him approach with a smile on his face, and unlike two weeks ago, it doesn't unsettle her. He has absolutely no recollection of what happened at the bar, or the heated kiss in the parking lot, or the one at his front door. Thank God.

"Hey, Kens. Wanna go get a beer?"

"Sure. Where do you have in mind?"

"The place I always go, unless you'd rather go somewhere else. I'm cool with whatever."

Her stomach lurches. Just because he doesn't remember it now, doesn't mean he won't when he drives into that parking lot. And she did manage to make everyone there think he has herpes. She can't let him go back there. "Um…how about somewhere else? At the beach, maybe."

He looks puzzled. "The beach?"

"Yeah. Why not? Something different, you know?"

"Uh…sure. Okay. Take two vehicles or drive together?"

Suddenly, she has an idea. "Let's take one home and drive one. One of us should be good to drive, but if not, it'll be easier to deal with one. At least one of us will have a car at home. If it's me, I'll pick you up in the morning, and if it's you, you can come get me."

"Or we can just sleep together."

Her heart nearly stops.

He laughs. "Joking. Totally joking. Sounds logical. Let's go."

She follows him out, her pulse pounding. She goes her separate way in the parking lot, meeting him back at his place after a shower and changing into her favorite jeans and the white top she wore to the bar that night. She'd seen the way his eyes popped when she walked in, and did her best to emulate that same look tonight. Same hair, same makeup. Different game plan. She's going to see how drunk she can get him, without getting herself drunk at all. She just won't let him know that. Where things might go from there is anybody's guess. But she knows what she's hoping for. And this time, it won't be quite so innocent.