A/N – Okay. So, uh… wow. I totally had that cliffhanger plotted before I got around to watching the Castle season finale. I've just had to pause the show so I can do this Author's Note, before I've even finished writing the whole chapter. It was totally coincidental, I swear. I guess great minds think alike, and all that, right?
Disclaimer
– Hetty would like me to point out that I do not own any character from NCIS Los Angeles. She was most persistent in this request, and I kinda got the impression I should do as she asked. So here it goes; I don't own any of the characters from NCIS Los Angeles.


When she'd woken up this morning, she hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected to be made. Hadn't expected François St James to pull a gun on her, force her from the bar and up the multistory car park. Force her to remove the earpiece he already knew she wore. She hadn't expected his ploy for escape was to throw her bodily across the roof, hadn't expected to tumble and roll.

Hadn't expected the unthinkable to happen.

Time seemed to crawl to a slow; each fraction of an inch that passed seemed to take a lifetime. She became acutely aware of everything around her. She could feel the rough and gritty concrete that made the floor. Could smell salt, carried on the breeze from of the nearby ocean. She saw St James, already moving away from them. And could see Deeks, alarm on his face and her name on his lips, as he raced towards her.

The ground disappeared beneath her like a gaping chasm, and Kensi felt the air open up as her body crested the lip. Madly, her hands flashed out, catching the course edge of the roof, her chest slamming hard into the hard wall, sending the air blasting from her lungs. The concrete lip was sharp, like the blade of a dagger, cutting into soft flesh of her palm.

Her relief was short lived. Even as she watched, the concrete crumbled, and her fingers lost their grip. For a moment, it seemed like gravity had forgotten her existence. It felt like she hung there, unable to move, above the emptiness.

The hard and merciless ground loomed hungrily so far below her, threatening to surge upwards and claim her as its own. It would not be a pretty death, the tiniest part of her – the part not awash with pure terror – knew; a long and unstoppable plummet, followed by a stiff and assured end at the bottom, bones and body broken.

Then gravity remembered her, and she began to fall. Her arms and legs swam impotently around her, and she finally screamed; a hoarse and fearful cry of pure, unadulterated terror.

Suddenly, she felt a firmness around one wrist, and her plunge halted, the momentum crashing her back against the thick external wall of the building. The joints of her arm stung; the sudden halt had almost pulled her shoulder from its socket. Her legs and other arm dangled loosely below her like lead weights, threatening to drag her loose from whatever had stopped her plummet. She pulled her gaze up from them, and saw him above her. Deeks. Sat back in a squat, strain showing on his face, both his hands clamped tightly around her wrist.

"I got you," he growled.

Emotion caught up with her, forcing a hardness into her breathing, demanding that her heart thump in her chest as fast as a piston engine. She gritted her teeth, letting out a grunt, and swung up her heavy free hand, fingers grasping the edge of the roof once more.

"Just leave me, Deeks," cried Kensi. "I got this, I'm good!"

As if giving her lie form, her fingers slipped free from their purchase, limply flailing below her once more.

"No," he snapped at her, refusing to release her hand. His muscles strained; it wasn't that Kensi was heavy, but even her slender frame, dangled over the lip of the building, was difficult to hold. Sweat beaded his forehead, dripping down on the hard concrete below him, and he gritted his teeth.

"Deeks," she shouted again. "I said I've got this; get after St James."

"Nope," he said again, putting as much sternness into his voice as he could manage. "Not gonna happen. I am not leaving you, Kensi. You hear me?"

Their eyes met, and he finally saw acceptance bloom there. Acceptance, and trust. Her free hand reached up again, this time grabbing him around the wrist. Together, they hauled and pulled, and Kensi inched slowly and painfully upwards – her feet scrambling against the walls in a search for purchase – until she crested the lip. They rolled from the edge and collapsed together in an exhausted pile of limbs, each on their backs. Kensi's head was on Deeks' abdomen, and she could feel the ragged rise and fall of his lungs, and the deep throb of his heartbeat.

A moment passed, as they both stared, unseeing, at the dark sky above them. Kensi was sure that she'd never seen the stars so bright before, or the moon so full and wondrous. It felt good to be alive.

"Plus," said Deeks, around pants of laboured breath, "I could totally see down your top."

Without even thinking about it, she drove the point of her elbow hard into the small ribs at his side, getting a satisfactory "Oof" as the last of the air exploded from his lungs. But he continued to laugh around the racking that sputtered from his mouth.

She rolled onto her belly, lying across his broad chest and catching contact with the endless blue of eyes again. Despite the rasping of his breath, he wore a wide grin. And something else, floating behind his eyes, something she didn't want to think about too much, because she was fairly certain that it was mirrored in her own. He reached up, brushing her hair out of her face. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips gently against his, briefly and softly, before pulling back. "Thank you," she whispered at him, before climbing off his body with a greater deal of effort than it should have taken.

She stood, glancing off towards the now-deserted car park, shaking her head.

"Yeah," she heard Deeks say behind her, around a sputtering of coughs. "Totally worth it."

Kensi couldn't help but smile. Then she turned serious, dialling her phone. It was answered almost instantly; "Callen? Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. You got eyes on?"

The reply came back negative. Lost him.


Early morning sunlight flooded into the Spanish Mission, bathing the OSP with a warm orange glow. Callen was already hard at work when Kensi arrived, bringing with her coffee and glazed donuts from her favourite bakery a couple of blocks from her house. Sometimes it seemed like the man didn't sleep at all. After a brief greeting between the two, and an assurance that she was fine following her spill from the building, Callen turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk, searching for a clue that would hopefully blow the case wide open for the team.

It was certainly a difficult one. Kensi couldn't seem to see the link between Adrian Anderson's group, and the office of Lt Saunders, or the death of Agent Guerrero. Nothing added up, and every fresh lead just made it that much more confusing. Even the unknown man with St James the evening before was just another mysterious fly in the enigma ointment.

A few minutes later, Sam arrived, and Kensi was once again forced to reassure him of her mental wellbeing. It was a lie, but probably not for the reasons the two men may have guessed. She tried to work, but was find it difficult to concentrate. Kept zoning out, staring off into space. The night's sleep had been complicated. She'd expected nightmares, imagined she would have a restless night dreaming of the ground opening up beneath her and slipping away. That had happened, though not as much as she'd feared.

Instead, she'd mainly dreamt of Mason's Place; of Deeks' hand, drifting down her butt, closer and closer to her centre. Only, in the dream, there had been no other people about, and she hadn't been forced to stop him by the urgency of the case they were working. When she'd finally awoken, around dawn, her hand had been on the slick wetness between her thighs. Note to self, she thought. Punch Deeks hard for this when you get the chance. It's all his fault. She hadn't gone back to sleep, had been more than a little nervous to do so, afraid of what her subconscious mind might present to her.

Her conscious mind was bad enough, acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. Over Deeks, of all people. Deeks! Still, she was certainly nervous to see him. She didn't know what their new game meant, where it was leading. And a small part of her – a very small part, minuscule even, thank you very much – was anxious to find out. She would have said her brush with death the night before had changed the way she looked at him, but that wasn't exactly the truth, now was it?

Since she'd already been up, she'd taken a brief run, then returned and used up all the hot water by taking a luxurious shower, letting the hot jets of water loosen all her muscles. Once her hair was dry, she styled it; light, wavy and bouncy, the way it was when she'd first met Jason Wyler. Then, even though she had only done them recently, she made sure her long legs were freshly shaved. Once she was convinced they were appropriately smooth and exotic, she slipped into a tight pair of black denim jeans. She'd slipped into a black lace bra, covering it with a figure hugging blue-checked shirt that she knew Deeks would enjoy. She'd hated herself for wearing it for him rather than herself, but somehow managed to convince herself it was only so she could continue to mess with him and make him uncomfortable as the day progressed.

Something caused her to look up from her blank monitor, back to the here-and-now; Sam was waving to get her attention. "Earth to Kensi," he said. "Earth to Kensi, you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied, not even thinking. "Do we have anything new on Anderson?"

Callen shook his head. "Granger wants an update, as soon as he's here."

Kensi nodded, drumming her fingers on the desk before her for a moment. "So," she began, as casually as she could. "Anybody seen Deeks yet?"

Sam snorted with laughter. "Fat chance of that, this early. My money's on him still catching some waves."

"Oh, you'd lose that bet, Sam," said Callen, with a faint smile. "He was already here when I got in this morning. Working out, if you can believe it?"

Kensi's treacherous heart skipped a small beat. "He still there?"

Sam and Callen both turned identical looks on her. A moment later, Callen replied; "No, I think he was upstairs with Nell."

Kensi craned her neck towards Ops… in time to see Deeks making his way down the staircase, the short redhead at his side. Nell was saying something, quite animatedly, but the man didn't seem to be responding. Kensi was about to throw him a smile, send a greeting his way, but the words died in her throat. Something was wrong. There was something… off… about the man, and she couldn't –

There was no smile. That's what it was. His face wasn't split into its usual grin. It looked unnatural.

He stopped at his desk, nodding a greeting to the others, though she noticed that he didn't meet her eyes for long.

"Everything alright, Deeks?" asked Sam. "Not like you to be here early. Or even on time."

"Peachy," replied Deeks, head already buried in some paperwork.

"It's just you look a little outta sorts. Did you have dreams keeping you up all night like Kensi?"

How did he…? Kensi thought, then realised; he'd meant the night before.

"I just wanted to get caught up on my paperwork, is all," replied the detective.

Kensi caught Sam and Callen's eyes, seeing the confusion there. This most certainly wasn't the usual Deeks.

Then Callen's face broke into a broad grin. "What about you, Kens? Any more dreams about kissing Deeks?"

"I did not dream about kissing Deeks," she replied, exasperated, but trying not to go red in the face. Still, she gave a glance over at her partner; he didn't even seem to be paying attention.

Sam stared at Deeks for a long moment. Finally, the other man turned to look at him. "Since you're feeling okay," began Sam, "when we get a moment, you and me're gonna have a long chat about waiting for backup."

Deeks nodded. "Can't wait," he sighed.

Nell was still standing before the group, listening to the conversation, fingers knotted before her but resting the indexes together. "Sorry to interrupt, guys," she said. "But Granger's ready for you,"

The group rose, Sam and Callen leading the way briskly up towards the darkened room. Kensi scurried to catch up with her partner. She placed a palm against his bicep, and he paused to turn to her.

"Everything okay?" she asked, tilting her head to one side with concern.

"I'm fine," he replied, a little gruffly, before turning back and continuing up.

Oh, no you didn't, Kensi thought, but before she could protest his choice of words, he disappeared into the room.

Feeling more than a little hurt and confused, Kensi followed after him.


"Tell me where we are," said Granger, once the team was all in attendance. Callen cast a glance towards his companions, taking them all in. Sam stood – well, loomed was a better choice of word – by the middle console, arms folded over his chest. Kensi stood on the other side, her face knotted in confusion, and throwing small looks over her shoulder at her partner. And Deeks… Deeks stood in the corner, leaning casually against a desk. The detective's face was calm, impassive. Callen hadn't expected that; he had expected Kensi to be the one out of sorts today, after her experience the night before.

But Kensi seemed okay with herself, and it was her partner who was acting withdrawn. Perhaps the previous night's events had affected him more than Callen would have realised? Or perhaps he was just coming down with a virus? Nobody was at full physical health one hundred percent of the time. Not Deeks; not Kensi; not even Sam with all his vitamins and healthy eating.

He put it out of his mind, turning his attention to the Assistant Director before him. "Nowhere," he answered honestly. "At least, not anywhere significant. Yet. What we do know is that François St James, an associate of Adrian Anderson, is in Los Angeles. And he still seems to be interested in the Communications Office at Long Beach. Though why that is, we weren't able to ascertain. Even looking through Agent Guerrero's case file… It seems he wasn't any closer to figuring out why, though he was convinced that they held an interest. He also hadn't found any leaks in the office; didn't even suspect Saunders. Described him as 'too weak minded' to consider betraying this country. Though we don't even know if Saunders was a mole, or if he ran from us for some other reason."

"I can shed a little light there," said Eric, sliding his chair across the room and taking control of the console. A brief flash of fingers across the screen, and fresh data appeared on the large monitor. "I managed to pull some information off Saunders' home laptop; information relating to an offshore account. He'd been receiving regular payments over the past year, totalling just over three million dollars. Looking back at his financials, he wasn't in any desperate debt, or had more outgoings than incomings. I guess that's why he didn't raise Guerrero's suspicions."

"Any idea where the money was coming from?" asked Granger.

Eric shook his head. "I traced it as far as I could, but all I got was a shell company. That's where the trail ends; I'm not even sure who owns the company."

"But you think it safe to assume it was from St James?"

"I'd put money on it," said Sam. "We know that the death of Special Agent Guerrero wasn't an accident; not only was the kidnapping staged, but the man we suspect to be behind it was Raymond Carter. Another man with ties to Adrian Anderson. It's too much of a coincidence."

"Carter's not the only one here though," said Nell. "It took a long time, but we managed to get images of at least a dozen of Anderson's associates entering the Los Angeles area over the past three months, under falsified documents." Security footage, images of men and women walking through LAX, flashed onto the screen. "No sign of them having left."

"There's still no sign of Anderson himself either," said Deeks, from his darkened corner. "We suspect he is here though; Smith was hired by someone with an English accent, and no one else in the gang fits that description."

"We've got a BOLO out on Carter, but nothing has come in yet," added Kensi. "He looks like he might be a good lead to finding Agent Dorsett, since we're assuming they have him. And as for who St James' companion from last night was… we have no clues. Nothing came up on any of our searches."

She typed on the console, the picture she'd managed to take the previous night flashing up. Granger stared at it for a moment.

"Jamie Anderson," said the Assistant Director smoothly. "Adrian Anderson's younger brother. According to our records, he's still in London, and had nothing to do with his brother's illegal enterprises. I didn't think they'd even spoken since Adrian was arrested for treason."

"Jamie Anderson," repeated Nell, already working. "That'd be why we couldn't find him in our records. Okay, I got him. Flew in from the UK four days ago, his details are with their consulate. He's currently staying at the Los Angeles Hilton. Quite a nice suite, too. Pretty expensive, for an Estate Agent."

"Okay," said Callen, turning towards his team. "Sam and I will check out Jamie; he clearly knows St James well enough, so that indicates he knows more about his brother's business than we believed. If we sit on him, maybe he'll give us a lead towards Adrian."

"Try not to let him know you're there this time," warned Granger. "We don't want him to spook his brother."

The group began to head towards the door, when they slid open to reveal Hetty. The small woman made her way into Ops, her hands clasped behind her back. The foursome held back, letting Granger leave alone.

Long moments passed, as he eyed each of them in turn. Even Callen felt a little uncomfortable under her gaze.

Finally, she spoke. "Would someone like to tell me exactly what happened last night? How St James was able to escape when you had him in your sights?"

"We were made, Hetty," said Kensi, before anyone else could speak. "He only let me get as far as I did because he wanted to know what I knew, and who I worked for."

"And do you have any idea how he was able to ascertain this?" asked the older woman.

"It's my fault," said Deeks. The LAPD liaison dug his hands into his pockets, looking abashed. "I got distracted, wasn't in-character enough, and St James noticed. It won't happen again."

Idly, Callen wondered what Deeks had done to raise St James' suspicion so much.

"Make sure it doesn't Mr. Deeks," said Hetty.

"It won't," replied Deeks, visibly withering under the glare.


They exited Ops; Sam, Callen and Deeks taking the lead. Kensi held back a little, allowing Nell to fall into step.

"How's things?" she asked the Analyst.

"Okay," replied Nell, drawing out the vowels of the word in her own unique Nell way. "And you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. So, anyway, enough small talk; what were you and Deeks talking about?"

Kensi would have missed the almost imperceptible half smile on Nell's face if she hadn't been looking for it. "Oh, nothing really. Just this and that, you know. Work stuff."

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing else," replied Nell. "Oh, hey, I just heard that there's gonna be a monster truck derby next month. You wanna make a girl's night of it again?"

Kensi, being a master of the art, noted the subject change with interest. But she smiled instead; she enjoyed spending time with the other woman. It was… it was nice, to be a little girly, after spending so many hours a week in the testosterone-filled world of an NCIS Agent. Okay, so maybe monster trucks weren't what most people would instantly think of when you talked about 'girly', but then again, most people probably hadn't even been to one so they couldn't talk.

"I'd like that," she said. "Maybe we should ask some of the other female Agents if they want to come?"

Nell's face broke into a wider grin. "That'd be so cool. I'll ask about and speak to you later."

Kensi said her goodbyes, bounding down the stairs. Sam and Callen were in the process of grabbing their gear to depart. Deeks was… well, Deeks was back at his paperwork. Kensi's sudden buoyant mood deflated and she slumped down into her chair.

"What kept you?" asked Callen.

"Oh, I was just talking to Nell. Private stuff," she replied, still looking at Deeks. Her eyes narrowed, wikedly. "We were just organising a girl's night out. Just us women. Alone. Together."

"That sounds nice," said Deeks, not even looking up. His voice was dry, emotionless.

Kensi's jaw dropped. What? That's it? She sent up a perfectly pitched lop, and he didn't even take a swing at it?

With a shake of her head, Kensi stood. She caught Callen's eye, and nodded, once. Then she crossed the small bullpen area, to stand directly next to her partner's desk. At first he didn't acknowledge her presence, focussing instead on the paper in front of him; a report related to a case so cold, Kensi was surprised the file wasn't covered in permafrost. Deeks' pen hovered just above the sheet, quivering slightly. Finally, he sighed, putting the paperwork down, and turning towards her. His face remained an impassive mask. On Deeks, it just looked… wrong. It was weird that she already missed his lupine grin.

Their eyes locked, and Kensi poured determination into her brown orbs. Taking him by the hand – feeling the contradictory coarseness of his skin and the suppleness of whatever hand lotion he used – she roughly tugged against his arm, pulling him up. The set of her face said everything she needed to; Shut up, and come with me.

She could feel the confused look on Sam and Callen's face as she hauled Deeks – straining to shift his weight – through the building, but she didn't care; she'd already had enough of whatever it was that had affected her partner's mood this way.

He let her lead him into the burn room, his own eyes just a little bit puzzled by her behaviour. As she closed the door behind him, she placed her hands on her hips, maintaining eye contact. His soft blue eyes wavered a moment, before he glanced away towards the large oven used to incinerate classified documents.

"Okay," she said, feeling the roughness of her own voice. "What's with you today?"

"I'm fine," he muttered, still not looking back at her.

"Fine?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow. "Right, 'cause we all know how well you buy that when I say it."

He pushed his hands into his jeans pocket. "No, seriously, Kensi, I'm okay."

"You're not okay," she contested. "You've not smiled all morning. It's actually unnerving. What happened to the guy who told me that he was three hundred and sixty five days of fun? Did he take a vacation today or something?"

"I'm just doing my job." His words were distant, as emotionless as his face. "Like I should have been last night."

"What?" she said, blinking in surprise.

Deeks closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath through his nose. Time seemed to drag on. She considered asking him what he meant, but realised he needed to gather his thoughts. Needed to settle within him whatever it was eating at his clearly troubled mind. "It's – It's my fault," he said after a moment, voice breaking with strain. "I didn't give it much thought at the time, what St James said. But last night… I just couldn't get it out of my head. That it was my fault. My fault you almost died. I was so busy playing grab-ass that St James made us, and it almost got you killed."

"What?" she said again. Then, she felt the heat rising in her, and she stepped forward, jamming a finger against his chest as hard as she could. Through gritted teeth she said, "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Surprised by her venom, Deeks took a half step back, his confusion writ clear on his features, but she kept in pace with him.

"I asked you a question, Deeks," she continued, eyes burrowing into him. "Who do you think you are, to control my actions? What makes you think you have the right to be responsible for my actions? You were not the only person there last night; I was too, and I knew exactly what you were doing. I could have stopped it, and I didn't, so it is not all your fault. I was the one dangling off a building, by the way. That wasn't exactly fun for me, and I'll probably need to talk to Nate about it if he ever shows up again. But we're partners, Deeks; we're both grownups, and that means we share the responsibility for this."

Deeks eyes were wide with shock, trying to pull his head back from her verbal barrage. After a moment, she calmed, removing her hand from his chest.

"Okay?" she asked, voice softer now.

He nodded gingerly. "Okay," he replied.

"Good. Now, do I have my partner back or are you going to continue moping all day?"

"I don't mope." Deeks's response was automatic, and he smiled. It wasn't his usual smile, still a little wan, but it was a start.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a tight, brief, squeeze. "And I'm fine, by the way. Thanks for asking."

He shook his head ruefully, grin getting bigger. "Sorry," he said. "Anyone ever told you how cute you are when you're angry?"

"Yeah," she said, pretending to roll her eyes. "You do. All the time."

"Hmmm," he replied, more of the real Deeks coming back every second. "I must mean it then."

She couldn't help the small smile that flashed over her lips. Then, she sighed. "Whatever this thing is, that we've been doing the last couple of days, we need to stop it when it affects a case. Okay?"

He nodded, though it was almost reluctantly. This time, Kensi managed to stop the smile, though it was with some great difficulty. He was pouting beautifully again. Okay, okay, so she did find it cute on him. He clearly hadn't caught the condition she'd added at the end. Time to change that, she thought, stepping close to him so that their faces were inches apart. Her breath became husky, and she swallowed. "That doesn't mean the game is over," she clarified. Now it was his turn to blink in surprise.

Then, feeling especially brazen, she moved forward more, until their lips were mere inches apart. She could smell all of him again, the deep musk that was all just Marty Deeks. It was intoxicating, heady, and made her thoughts swim. It took everything in her power to not cross those last few inches, to not press herself against him and devour him. She could hear his breathing become shallow, ragged. She glanced down at his lips, found them parted, and softly tugged at her own bottom lip with her teeth. Kensi looked back up, into Deeks' clear eyes – a fine grey now, due to the lighting of the room – seeing a tremble there, and a raw need that no doubt matched her own. Her whole body began to hum, feeling a surge of adrenaline and excitement that threatened to wash over her.

With a great deal of difficulty, she opened her mouth, breathing the next words out; "That also means I have no intention of letting you win."

And suddenly, she forced herself backwards, turning around and marching out of the room before her knees gave way. Behind her, she heard Deeks' lament. "Oh, come on," he moaned. "That's not fair."

Another smile found her lips, though it hitched the air slightly in her lungs.

"That's not fair at all!"


Callen leant back in his chair as Kensi re-entered the bullpen, followed a moment later by Deeks. Both Junior Agents looked a little flustered, but – with the exception of Deeks – their hair didn't look out of place. But that, he added, is probably because Deeks' hair is always out of place. He was pleased to note that the detective seemed in a better mood; whatever had taken place in the Burn Room had clearly shaken him from his funk.

Across from him, he could see Sam about to make a comment, but then wisely chose to keep it to himself.

Callen's keen investigative mind concluded that Kensi and Deeks hadn't been kissing*. Though, he amended, it does seem like it's only a matter of time.

And when they did? Well, as Team Leader, he'd have to cross that bridge when he came to it.


Secondary A/N – *As a writer, I despise my choice of words in this sentence. As a fan, the childishness makes me squee, so it's staying.