Fallout: Chapter 4

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Disclaimer: Nothing is mine


Kensi's relief grew during the week, as Deeks seemed to handle his desk duty well. After pulling Sam aside and giving him a firm talking-to, she persuaded the large man to shut it for the time being. The result was a wonderfully uneventful week. No more confrontations, no dramatic exits or raised voices. Just boring paperwork, day in and day out. One minor, low-priority investigation, that Sam and Callen handled easily and quickly, leaving Deeks and herself (thanks to Hetty's silent all-knowingness) doing support work and phone-manning from HQ.

It was Saturday morning; after a much-needed night alone watching a soppy romance movie, dining on burgers and beer, and unwinding from the long week, the couple were sleeping in. Kensi was awakened by the bright Los Angeles sun pouring from the open curtains, onto her face. She squinted and rubbed at her eyes then reached and arm out beside her, searching for her lover. But instead of warm smooth skin, her fingers caught cold sheets. She sat up, pulling the sheets up with her, and looked around the room. Deeks was nowhere in sight. The familiar flares of panic were about to take flight, when she heard a clash coming from the kitchen, followed by a series of expletives. Thankful, she let a sigh escape her lips, and pulled herself up fashioning the sheet as a dress.

As expected, she found Deeks in his kitchen, juggling a bunch of pans.

"Morning." She greeted and he spun around with an adorable shocked expression.

"Oh damn. I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed. Did I wake you?"

"It's fine." She walked closer and encircled her arms around his slender waist. "You're in good mood this morning."

"Yeah, guess I just kind of woke up on the right side of the bed. Hey buddy!" He bent down and petted Monty, who had in the meantime ventured into the kitchen hearing all the activity, on the head. Kensi swore the mutt raised a questioning eyebrow. "Anyway, I've got pancakes on the stove. Coffee's on its way." Deeks was up at eye level with her again, and had a smile on his face. His fingers were playing with the seam of the sheet at her bust. "I was thinking maybe we can have a Saturday in. Finish up the pancakes and have breakfast in bed. Then maybe lunch in bed…"

This wasn't the Deeks Kensi had been dealing with these last six months. And no matter how much she wished it was so, how hard she prayed, silently, every night, she knew that this couldn't be real. Or at least not lasting. Then something crossed her mind. "Don't you have a therapy session today?"

Deeks shrugged and turned back to the stove to flip a pancake with practiced perfection. "I could play hooky this once. I've been feeling so much better lately, since going back to work. I've been sayin' from the start, that's all the therapy I need. Busy hands." He slid the pancake from the pan to a plate and turned off the stove. "Cinnamon and sugar, or syrup?"

Instead of replying, she hugged him from the back, stilling his actions.

"I'm really glad you're feeling better," She said, her voice soft, and kissed a freckle on his bare shoulder. "I really am. And as much as I absolutely love your idea… I think maybe you should go."

He stilled beneath her touch. "Seriously, Kens. I'm in a really good mood today; I don't want to ruin it by talking about my childhood, and my feelings, and-…" He cleared his throat, and reached forward to pick two coffee cups off the shelf above him. The action simultaneously shrugged her arms off of him. "I've been going to these things every couple of days, ever since I woke up. I've went to every one thusfar, co-operated real nice, looked at all the ink blots and everything. Can't I just have one proper day away from all that shit… me and you?" He turned to face her and she was looking into the sultry blue eyes of a version of Deeks she knew too well. Undercover Deeks – the Seducer. Man, was he good at that. She had spent years developing an iron-clad defence against his charms (he loved to whip them out of nowhere in the middle of banter), but now – knowing the feeling of his lips on hers, the comfort of his touch – hell, her knees turned to jelly every time. It took all of her strength not to fall for it. Fall into his arms, let him kiss her senseless and carry her away to the warm, secluded world of his (their?) bed. Where there was no drama; no tension in the workplace because of unresolved conflict; no turbulent emotions and New or Old versions of anyone.. Where they could just be a normal couple.

"I know." She whispered; their lips brushed, he was so close. It almost did her in all over again. "I know, you've been working really hard and how well you're doing is testament to that. And I'm so happy and proud of you. But skipping sessions is like a slippery slope… I've had this conversation before."

She bit her lip and her eyes dropped as the memories came flooding back. That happened all the more often these days. And she remembers it like yesterday – one day, a bright moment, then back down into the spiral of anger and hatefulness and depression all over again. Then, she was too young, too naïve, to properly deal with it. She believed the horrible things he said to her, blamed herself whenever he went back to the dark place. When Nate, after speaking to Deeks after he woke, confirmed he was suffering from PTSD she promised she'd be better this time. Stronger. And that meant that in moments like these she couldn't let Deeks skip sessions on "better" days, like Jack did. Because skipping on "better" days, turned to skipping on "okay" days, and skipping altogether. And then there gets to be less and less "better" days.

"Please, Marty." She swallowed. New Deeks wasn't easily manipulated, but she knew he still loves her. He knew how much Jack leaving hurt her, scarred her. She never really knew what to expect from Deeks in situations like this anymore. She hoped it was enough.

There was a tense pause and Deeks sighed and slowly nodded. "Yeah, okay. Fine, I get that. You're right, I should probably… probably not go there." There was a crooked quirk at his lips and she couldn't help mirroring it herself.

"However…" She drawled, letting her fingers languidly drag through his hair. "We do seem to have a couple of hours to kill before your therapy session." She pressed herself tightly against him and wiggled, as the tie at her bust holding up the sheet loosened. "Got any ideas, Detective?"

X

"So how are you doing today, Martin?"

His shrink, Doctor Ericson, was a slender redheaded woman who always wore her hair in a tight bun and pursed her lips when she was psycho-analyzing him. She was pretty enough, but it was hard to be objective with the taste of Kensi Blye's cinnamony sweet kiss on his lips. Initially he struggled with her; there were a bunch of little things about her that irked him a bit, like how she persistently called him by his full first name, no matter how many times he corrected her. And the lips-pursed thing. He had actually lost his temper over that once or twice… But at the core of the problem, probably because he had just started to actually open up with Nate. A former member of the team, Nate at least knew the ins and outs of what they did; he had a context. But he had to go back to whatever top secret mission Hetty had him on, so he referred him to this lady. A specialist in PTSD, the plaque by the door to her office said. But Deeks knew that a letter from this therapist was the only way that he would be able to get back to work, even with Hetty's greatest efforts. With that motivation, he had actually tried to open up despite his previous and current defenses.

"I've been doing good." Deeks replied with a smile. "Excellent actually. Best day in a long, long time. Had a restful sleep last night, all the way through without waking up. First one in a while… Had breakfast with my partner."

"You are spending a lot more time with your partner recently?" Doctor Ericson said. "I've noted you're mentioning spending time with her all the more."

Deeks pulled the corners of his mouth downwards. He hadn't told her, or Nate, or anybody, about his and Kensi's change in relationship. "You could say that." The doctor raised an eyebrow and he felt defensiveness rise up inside of him. "She's… dealt with something similar in the past. A previous relationship. So she's helping me a lot. To help distract me when I'm thinking about it too much; motivate me. I actually almost didn't come this morning cause I was feeling so much better, but she reminded me not to go down that track."

The woman before him nodded slowly and scrabbled something down on her notepad. "Alright, how about we pick up where we left out last time. We were talking about your childhood; specifically your relationship with your father…"

Deeks sighed heavily and swung his legs up over the couch, lying down.

X

The door creaked open and stomping footsteps echoed through the hallway. Marty's head snapped up; he hadn't heard a car pull up to the house or anything.

Shit, shit, shit…

"EM! EMILY! Shit…" There was a load crashing sound. His father had walked into something, the mangy armchair in the living room probably. A couple more crashes, like drunken kicks to an already half-broken piece or furniture Marty heard a whimper coming from the room next to his, his mother. Frightened, just by those sounds. He heard sluggish, off-beat footsteps stumble closer down the hallway. Stopping, and scratching noise like metal on metal. The eleven year-old boy's blood rang cold in his veins. He was taking the shotgun off its perch by the mantle. That's been a new development lately. He'd grown used to the yelling, the hitting, the kicking… But lately he's been taking out grandpa's old shotgun. Last time he even fired a shot. Straight into the wall. It was harder to explain away to the police when they came knocking with another noise complaint. But Marty's heart was beating a million miles a second, and he heard the words of every social worker he's spoken to echo in his mind: it's just going to escalate until you make it stop. It's just going to escalate…

They had wanted him to admit to it, to talk. But he couldn't do that. He was all his mother had, and he knew she'd never leave his father. He had asked her; he had begged her. And she always promised, but she never did. So now he had to step up and really be the man of the house; he had to stop this himself. His fingers, crooked from a couple ugly breaks, ran across the long scar that ran across his eyebrow. It still stung, still burned, and the impatient nurse at the free clinic didn't stitch it up properly, grumbling about kids and their skateboards, so it was still gaping open at the top edge. His hand dropped from his face to the smooth, black exterior of the gun lying beside him on the bed. He picked it up. It was heavy, felt weird in his hand. Wrong. But at the same time, as he clutched to the cool, metal object, it gave him a head rush. Like he was holding his salvation and his damnation at the same time.

He heard his father getting closer, grumbling out expletives as he went. A loud, terrifying sound that sounded terribly like the cocking of a shotgun. Now was the time to make the decision.

As he heard his mother failing to swallow a cry, he made the decision he'd been struggling with so long in that split second. He grabbed the gun and sprinted out. He opened his parent's bedroom door, finding his father standing before her, drunk as all hell and making a lot of noise and pointing the shotgun with terrifying accuracy. His mother saw him first and her eyes stretched out with terror. She didn't say anything, didn't want his father to notice him, but shook her head at him trying to tell him to just go to his room. Then his father turned his head. Hard blue eyes – the mirror of his own, just angrier and clouded and less terrified – locked on the small, skinny blonde boy. He turned his back to his wife, and that made Marty feel immense relief already. But the dangerous look in his father's eyes made that relief quickly fade and get replaced by panic.

"What, you gonna shoot me boy?"

His father was walking closer. His shotgun wasn't even raised, it was held loosely in his hand. Marty's hands shook. Practicing shooting cans in the junk yard with Ray did nothing to make him feel prepared for this.

Gordon chuckled low and sinister. " Course you're not. You're a stupid kid. A little piece of shit. Not worth nothin', not ever gonna be worth nothin'. Just like your mother. You stupid little piece of shit, you don't even know what to do with that thing!" Marty's hands couldn't stop shaking; he felt warm tears streak down his cheeks and he couldn't even fully register it, much less try and control it. His father was losing control now, and his mother was trying to pull herself up to her feet.

"Gordy please, he's just a child." Her voice was so timid and soft, if Marty didn't know it as her catchphrase by now he might not have caught it. She would've been fine had she not placed a hand on her husband's shoulder. This seemed to set him off on a whole new level of hysteria. His father was on a full-on drunken rampage now; he yelled at her with newfound violence, raised his free hand and slapped her hard, sending her falling down by Marty's feet with a cry. Then he took the shotgun in his hand and aimed it.

A shot rang out with deafening loudness and then everything kind of stopped. Marty only realized that the shot had come from his gun when his father stumbled back, an expression of disbelief and anger on his face, and thin white line of smoke rising from the barrel.

X

"I'm exhausted." Deeks slammed the door as he entered his apartment in a fever.

Kensi, who was sitting on his couch with her laptop out, looked up at him. "Hey. You okay?"

"Fine." He made a beeline to his bedroom, throwing his messenger bag down on the coffee table on the go, and closed the door behind him.

Kensi swallowed. She should've just let him play hooky.

Hours passed and Deeks hadn't woken up from his afternoon nap. Kensi had ordered in some Thai food for dinner, but the sweet scents didn't lure him out of bed. Knowing that fits depression was part of the ups and downs of his PTSD, and that it was probably brought on by a trying session, she let him have his rest. She was enjoying her dinner while watching a cheesy reality show, when she heard the screaming. She immediately dropped the box of food and instinctively went for her gun, before she realized that it was Deeks' voice that was crying out from the bedroom. She shot up and ran to him.

She found Deeks tossing and turning on the bed; he had kicked the comforter off the bed and the sheets were crumpled up at his feet, and still his T-shirt, hair and his pillow was wet with sweat. He was kicking, punching with his arms, and periodically crying out. She had seen this before; Jack had had nightmares like this routinely. But she had not yet witnessed it with Deeks. If he had been having nightmares, it had never been this violent before, and he had been doing a hell of a job keeping it from her.

The sight of Deeks vulnerable and terrified was heart breaking and upsetting and made her stall for a second in the doorway. After a beat, she sprung herself into action and went to sit on the mattress beside him. She took hold of his shoulders and braced him against the mattress with her arms. "Deeks! Deeks!" She said, loud enough but gently. "Marty, please. Wake up, you're having a nightmare! Wake up!"

Deeks' eyes fluttered wildly as he started to wake up. He was panting heavily, and his skin was warm and moist beneath her touch. "K-Kens…"

"Hey." She whispered. "It's alright… You were having a nightmare, but it's alright now."

He nodded.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No." He shook his head. "No, just-… just forget it, okay?"

She paused, but finally nodded. "Yeah, that's okay. You don't have to talk about it. Can I, uh… Can I get you some water, or tea or whatever?" He shook his head, and sat up, hands in his hair. "Okay, can I change the sheets? We can lie down a bit. Together."

"Just leave me, Kens, okay?" He stood up and started going through his closet, pulling out his sweats and running shoes. "I think I'm gonna go for a run."

"It's pretty late. It's dark out."

"I'll be fine." He quickly shed his clothes and put on his exercise attire, and fast-walked away. "Don't wait up."

Kensi heard the front door crash close and she startled at the noise of it. Tears were falling before she could stop them.


Okay then… hope you guys enjoyed that. I apologize for any inaccuracies; I am by no means an expert on PTSD. I'm working from general knowledge and Google knowledge and whatnot. I really hope I'm not doing too badly and offending anybody. This was a bit of a longer wait for this chapter – I have no excuse, inspiration was just slow. I hope a slightly longer chapter makes up for it.

I only have one week of vacation left before it's back to work. I'm gonna try to update during term and finish as much as I can, but I fear there might be a hiatus in this fic's future. Thanks to all for continuous support and feedback; as always, I greatly appreciate all reviews, comments, ideas and constructive criticism!

Much love, Zanny