A/N: Annnnndd here comes the smut. Let's make this clear: I did not write this smut. My roommate did, and I am so proud of her for being able to write Het smut :P I get far too bashful to write smut, so she had to do it for me and we got into one of those "we shall never speak of this again" moments.

So, kiddies, avert your eyes if you are sensitive to sexual content. This story will get back to the case, it's a major plot point, but this chapter is character-driven, and by character-driven, I mean smutty.

Three weeks and two days ago. That was how long it had been. Not that Deeks was counting. Twenty-four days. Five hundred seventy-six hours.

The last few weeks had been such a blur that Deeks would swear it was only a day or two. Forty-eight hours. Two thousand eight hundred eighty minutes.

Deeks considers the possibility that he may be going crazy.

He can practically hear Sam's voice inside his head. "Going? You reached crazy years ago, Deeks."

He'd have to be inclined to agree, but then he has always thought the worst of himself. Deeks supposes it was a byproduct of his old man and his drunken ramblings, wherein he let his son know exactly what he would amount to.

Ain't got a snowball's chance in hell. Don't even know why we didn't get rid of you. See this bottle? This is your future. And that's only if you're lucky.

Most days, Deeks liked to think he'd showed up the old bastard. Today was not one of those days. He'd probably screwed up his relationship – partnership – with Kensi forever, he wasn't even allowed to talk to her, and now their scumbag suspect was accusing her father (who Kensi had always held up on a pedestal) of being involved in a notorious drug cartel.

She didn't know about that last one, of course. Hetty had insisted she go home as soon as Degros was brought in. She had, predictably, protested, but Hetty was not to be argued with. Kensi had decidedly stomped out of the boathouse, fuming, but Deeks forced himself to focus on the meager positive elements.

At least, tonight, he could go grovel for forgiveness without Sam and Callen in the way.

That is, assuming he even got in the door.

Two hours of frustrating, fruitless interrogation later (Degros had apparently said what he needed to say, felt no need for a lawyer, and despite their best efforts to antagonize him, he remained resolutely silent), Deeks was headed out.

Degros had been turned over to LAPD for now, and Deeks was headed to Kensi's. He knew the route by heart, so he spent the time manufacturing possible scenarios for when she arrived.

They included, but were not limited to, gunfire, physical violence, shouting, insults in various languages that he'd have to record to Google later, or tears.

That last option did seem the most unlikely.

He gave two tentative knocks on Kensi's door and got an immediate response.

"Fuck off, Deeks."

"Ironic considering recent events, but I'm staying, Kens."

He heard the lock turning and felt a brief flash of hope. Kensi's face appeared, pressed against the chain. Her eyes were hard and angry, and there were badly concealed tear tracks on her cheeks.

"Fuck. Off. Deeks."

He shook his head resolutely.

"I'm staying, Kens, if only to grovel for forgiveness."

"Then this was a wasted trip, because you won't get it."

"Not even if I use my most adorable smile?" He flashed said smile, but Kensi's expression didn't even change.

"Go to hell, Deeks."

How their roles had changed, Deeks mused. Only this morning it was her coming to him, trying to fix their partnership. Now Deeks feared he'd crossed the line for good.

"Kens, I can and will stay here all night. We both have work tomorrow, so eventually you're going to need to come out of there, and I will wait until then if you don't open this door."

He leaned against the door, as if to prove his point.

Suddenly, his knees buckled as the door swung open and Kensi's fingers gripped his shirt, yanking him inside her messy house.

He was shoved against the wall, his partner backing a safe distance and crossing her arms.

"Say it, then. And then you're leaving. You have three minutes and twenty-six seconds, make them count."

Deeks sighed, reaching for her arm. Kensi yanked it violently away, and Deeks backed away pleadingly.

"Kensi, I am so sorry. I…I guess it goes without saying that I didn't mean any of that, but I was so far out of line. I was just…so angry at you, and it just kind of all came out at once, but you didn't deserve any of that."

He peered at her, noting how her arms relaxed just a little.

"Can you forgive me?"

"Is that it?"

Confused, Deeks' brow furrowed as he looked at his partner.

"What?"

"Is that all you wanted to say? Can you leave now?"

Deeks groaned. "Come on, Kensi…you said some shit to me too, you know."

"Yeah, and I am sorry for that Deeks. But you don't even know why this bothers me, so I don't really find it necessary to forgive you."

"I don't know why…Kensi, I just apologized, because I know why this bothers you!"

Kensi scoffed. "No, you don't Deeks. You think you do, but you have no idea."

Deeks took a chance and stepped a bit closer.

"So why, Kensi? What am I not getting?"

She gave a bitter laugh and swiped at one tear that had tracked down her cheek.

"You think it's the first time I've ever considered what you told me, Deeks? That's exactly what I think about every single night. Every goddamn night I wonder if it was me that drove Jack away. Or what my father thought of me. Or why I am as – how did you put it? – emotionally stunted as I am. And you knew that, Deeks."

She angrily swiped at more tears, and Deeks so wished he could hug her, but he knew she would never let him.

"Imagine what it's like, Deeks, to think the worst possible things you can about yourself, then to have the person you trust and care about more than anyone not only think them too, but actually use them because he knows they'll hurt you."

Deeks was speechless. He was an asshole. Worse than his father. At least his father was indiscriminate; he turned against the people he cared about most.

Kensi glanced down at her wrist. "And with that, your three minutes are up. Get out, Deeks."

"Kens…"

"Please."

And Deeks is so absolutely unwilling to hurt her more than he already has, that he allows himself to be lead out.

As soon as he's back in his car, his fist flies against the dashboard, then against the window, then the steering wheel.

He was lost. He had just ruined his best relationship; therefore ruining the best job he's ever had. He has friends who hate him and a boss who will never trust him again, and for what?

One night. One night that he still can't get out his mind.

Deeks had expected the memory to be hazy. Blurred around the edges by the four quarts of fine American beer they'd consumed, even after it was sopped up with too-spicy chicken wings and nachos. It wasn't though. She was wearing that skin-tight purple top, with the little buttons and the half pocket over her right boob. (he always wondered why they placed it there – it was immediately where his eye went, then he was smacked for being a pig. Unfair.) The skin-tight jeans he'd grown accustomed to (as much as one man can), but something about that top…

They'd been sitting together on her couch, watching another bad movie neither of them was really paying any attention to. At some points, Kensi paused the movie just so she could go off on a tangent about the complete inaccuracy of the muzzle flash, or slow-mo through some of the more x-rated scenes to laugh at the awkwardness of onscreen touching, and bemoan the fact that none of her lovers had ever looked quite that good in bed.

Okay, come on. She'd set him up for that.

Cause really, he looked that good in bed! He had testimonials!

So one minute, they're laughing/fighting because she says real life isn't that clean and…scripted…and he's calling her bullshit, because come on – she's Kensi. Of course she looks good in bed.

And then there's kissing.

It's not even awkward. It seems like there should be awkwardness, but there isn't any. They just…fit. No biting tongues or lips, no clashing teeth, no embarrassing spit exchanges, just…really nice making out. With the movie still paused on a lewd shot, and a half eaten chicken wing still in Kensi's hand. (Deeks always liked a girl with class).

Ok, there it goes blurry for a second, though Deeks is convinced it's more from the kissing than the alcohol. But they make it to her bedroom, and the purple shirt is somehow left on top of the greasy food on the table in the living room. Her surprisingly lacy black bra was just…there, right in front of him, all enticing, and her hands were running just under his shirt, skirting along his jeans and tickling him.

He wanted to take his time. He wanted to remember this – savour it. It felt too much like a dream for him to rush it – this was not a one-night stand he'd put behind him as soon as morning came. This was not a beautiful woman – well it was, because – yeah Kensi's a beautiful woman, but she was more. She was…Kensi. His partner, his best friend, his…Kensi! He wanted to remember this dammit!

But she wanted to rush. She was pulling at his clothes half-desperately, mumbling 'off' between kisses, tugging ineffectually at his belt even as she kicked her boots off. He decided to oblige her as far as his own shirt went, but when she reached for her bra – no. That was his job.

A job he was very good at thank you very much.

As he slipped his hands under her back to reach the bra clasp, he placed a careful kiss just below her throat, part of him kind of expecting her to smack him for getting too friendly. Instead, she pushed into the touch, her hands scrabbling at his shoulder as his lips traced lower. He only pulled away long enough to toss the bra behind him, before leaning back down to latch on to her breasts again.

It wasn't long before she was gasping and moaning like a porn star. (Or what he assumed a porn star might sound like if…well…never mind.) He pulled back long enough to look at her and had to grin.

She was gorgeous. Way better than what's-her-face still paused in the living room.

"Deeks?" she demanded insistently, pushing at him to get him moving again. He laughed as he started kissing her stomach.

"God, Deeks, get on with it."

"Marty." He would have elaborated, but he was busy.

"What?"

"My name. It's Marty." She tasted really good just below her belly button. Maybe if he moved these jeans a little further out of the way he could taste more.

"Deeks, come on."

He nipped softly around her hips as he pulled her jeans down.

"Ugh…Fine! Marty! Hurry up already."

Chuckling smugly, he finished pulling off her jeans, and while he fully intended to go back to kissing her amazingly fantastic body, she was so…open. Lying there, chest heaving, looking up at him with that bitchy-impatient-yet somehow indulgent look on her face, he had to lean up and kiss her properly.

Fortunately, his hands knew what to do in this situation, and while one went up to brace him, the other slipped down to start stroking her, finding her already wet and ready for him.

"Is this the part where I tell you you're a naughty girl?" he asked, smirking again against her lips. She, predictably, hit him.

"You're such a perv…" she responded, even as she arched into his fingers, carefully finding their way inside her.

"I'm not the one who's about to cum like this."

And she was.

He watched her face, watched the expressions, watched her gasp and close her eyes, groaning deeply.

"Deeks," she breathed helplessly.

"Marty," he answered, pinching his fingers on her clit a little too firmly.

"Marty," she agreed, breathless. "Marty…."

"Come on, sugar. Come on," he gently encouraged, trying to help her along without making her laugh.

He might do that next time, but not right now.

"Ah…"

She collapsed onto her back again, breathing hard and staring at him with something between sexily open and vulnerable, and disturbingly fish-like.

Beautiful.

"In me," she said, when she was able to speak again. "In me now."

"Demanding," he responded, but obediently stripped off his pants. As soon as they were gone, she took him by surprise when she effortlessly flipped him onto his back.

"My turn, cowboy," she said, straddling his legs to keep him still.

"See, I'm not really a cowboy…I'm more a surfer than anything."

"Shut up Marty."

"Yes ma'am."

She leaned forward, pulling a low groan out of him as her body pressed firmly against his, and he wasn't at all surprised to see that smug grin of hers as she reached for the bedside table to pull a condom from the drawer.

And honestly, it shouldn't be that hot that she could hold him down with one hand, and open the condom with her teeth, but somehow her multi-tasking was a freaking turn on!

"So tell me," She said conversationally as she slid the condom over his length, stroking firmly to make sure he was at full strength. (He had been since the purple shirt had come off.) "Do you want it hard…or soft?"

"What do you think?"

"I think," she answered slowly, shifting her hips and sliding down to take him all in one deep stroke. "That you want to say hard, but really, you want me to take it nice and slow."

"Oh God…" He might be in over his head. This woman might be the death of him.

And he was good with that.

She braced her hands on his shoulders and leaned down to kiss him roughly, sloppily, but somehow still perfect. Her hips shifted so slowly, he could feel just about every muscle in her body as they rhythmically tightened around him.

"God, Kensi," he moaned.

"Yes, Marty?" she asked innocently. Yeah – she was gonna kill him.

"More…Come on…"

"Oh no. You like it this way."

"Kensi…Come on! This is cruel and unusual! This is unconstitutional sex!"

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked, halting her movements completely.

"Oh for God's sake!"

He wrapped his arms quickly around her back, and as she squealed in delighted surprise, rolled over on top of her.

"Soft my ass…A man has limits you know," he grunted as he began thrusting more forcefully inside her. She giggled.

She giggled!

He leaned down, because if he looked at her for one more second he'd come, and buried his face in her neck, kissing it to keep from begging incoherently. She traced her hands over his back and arms for a long moment before she somehow got a leg under him, and flipped them over again!

Right onto the floor.

He let out a loud groan of pain, because of course he was on the bottom, but he didn't complain when she immediately started slamming down onto him.

And hey – he'd missed the nightstand.

She was collapsed on top of him in a sweaty mess, and he had yet to regain his breath. The carpet was scratchy and uncomfortable on his butt, and his shoulders hurt from the fall. The bed was right there – they should at least make it that far.

But fuck it. He reached up to pull the duvet over them, and they both fell asleep.

A/N: Mood whiplash much? Also, little Friends reference in there! Read and review, the next chapter will be more case-based.