A/N: Thanks for the continued support, everyone. Glad to see the strong feelings on both sides of the Kensi/Ascent question raised in the last chapter.

I'm the son of rage and love
The Jesus of Suburbia...
No one ever died for my
Sins in hell
As far as I can tell
At least the ones that I got away with
And there's nothing wrong with me
This is how I'm supposed to be
In a land of make believe
That don't believe in me

- "Jesus of Suburbia," Part I of "Jesus of Suburbia," Green Day

. . .

Over the next ten days, Kensi continued to look after Deeks as he recuperated at home. The pain from his broken ribs gradually subsided and his doctor tapered him off the prescription meds. He still hurt, particularly whenever he moved or, god forbid, moved quickly. He told Kensi he preferred it to the fuzzy thinking caused by the heavy-duty medication, but she knew it wasn't easy to go without it.

She drove him to appointments with Emily, his speech language pathologist. She had helped him relearn how to speak and swallow effectively, and his voice had already grown less scratchy sounding and somewhat stronger. Kensi had secretly found his raspy voice quite sexy, but she hadn't shared her observation, afraid that it might upset him.

They'd also attended a few physical therapy appointments to learn exercises to keep his leg and wrist as strong as possible. Kensi hoped more than anything that his broken kneecap would heal well. The doctors had told them he might need as much as six months to regain full strength, that arthritis was a possible side effect, and that activities involving a lot of bending – like surfing – might prove difficult. Hearing that news and seeing the lost expression on his face had nearly brought her to tears. She understood how much he loved spending time out on the water, riding free on the waves. Her fingers were crossed that he'd have a trouble-free recovery. He certainly deserved it.

While Deeks had still been hospitalized, Ehsan had generously brought in a contractor friend and together they'd installed the ramp in the garage and a stairlift so Deeks could get upstairs to sleep in his own bed. He seemed to find it humiliating, making comments about how he wasn't ninety years old, and she looked forward to being able to remove them both once he had fully healed.

She'd cherished the opportunity to be his nurse, and his cheerleader, to repay him for all the support he'd given her as she'd recovered from the helicopter crash. She tried her best to read his moods and give him space when he needed it. She couldn't help but feel hurt when he lashed out in frustration or pain, but she remembered doing the same thing to him and held onto the idea that it would all pass as soon as he felt better.

Deeks became most frustrated around Delilah. The now eighteen-month-old had been especially clingy since he had returned home. She suffered separation anxiety when one of the moms took her out, or when Deeks left for an appointment. She constantly tried to climb up into her daddy's lap. Although she didn't weigh much, her complete inability to sit still for long often made it too painful or tiring for Deeks to try to contain her there.

Kensi knew he hated not being able to give his Little D exactly what she wanted. They tried to make up for it by setting Delilah on a chair right next to him, with Kensi assisting, so he could read to her. And they started letting her into bed with them. Having his daughter snuggled in between the two of them seemed to sooth him like nothing else. And seeing them nestled together with their matching sandy blond curls always brought her comfort and a smile.

They both spent as much time with Derrick as they could without smothering the boy. School was starting up again soon, and Kensi knew Deeks would miss having him around the house every day. Derrick continued to ask Deeks questions about his ordeal, and he continued to try to answer them. She thought it had brought the two of them even closer, and could easily envision what their friendship would look like when Derrick was a grown man. The thought filled her with joy.

Earlier in the summer, a few weeks after he and Deeks had begun volunteering at the shelter, Derrick had told her that he thought he might want to be a teacher. He'd enjoyed tutoring the kids there a great deal. But more recently, he'd shared that maybe he'd become a therapist. She'd told him he'd be incredible at either job, and she'd shared both conversations with Deeks, wanting him to feel pride in the positive influence he'd provided and stressing how Derrick had learned the importance of helping people directly from him.

Just over a month after the attack, Deeks had the cast on his knee removed. His leg had grown quite weak and given that his ribs and wrist still weren't fully healed, the doctors instructed him to continue using the wheelchair except for brief periods when he could walk short distances with another person's support and the use of a cane in his good hand. He immediately felt less like an invalid and, even if he was still stuck in the damn wheelchair, knowing he could get up out of it any time gave him a new sense of freedom that he relished.

That same day, once they'd finished up at the doctor, they met Sam and Callen for a quick lunch. Sam, whose ribs had been more badly broken than Deeks' but who didn't need a wheelchair, looked much improved. It made Deeks happy to see his friend getting around so well, though he still carried guilt over what Sam had suffered to save him.

After they finished their lighthearted lunch, Callen left to pull his car around and Kensi took a trip to the bathroom while Sam and Deeks remained at the table. Sam quietly told him, "You know, I heard from Hetty that Detective Leibovitz is doing well."

Sam's mention of the man he'd tortured may as well have been a literal slap to Deeks' face. He searched his friend's eyes, trying to understand why he'd felt the need to bring up such a hurtful subject.

Sam explained, telling him, "I'm just saying, Deeks, maybe it would be good for you to meet with him. He might not blame you nearly as much as you blame yourself. He might surprise you."

Deeks recoiled at the image of Isaac's pained face that had leapt into his mind. He told Sam, "Yeah, maybe. Or maybe he'd spit in my face and curse me out. Either way, I'm not sure it would really change how I feel about what happened."

"Maybe not," Sam said. "But what if it did? Don't you want to stop imagining the worst about how he feels? We weren't in that room with you, but we saw everything that happened, Deeks." Deeks looked down in shame at the reminder that his team had witnessed his misdeeds.

"Listen man," Sam told his friend, "None of us think you did anything wrong. You made a series of incredibly difficult decisions that all led to saving a man's life. All I'm saying is give yourself a chance to find a little closure. Give yourself a chance to find some forgiveness from Isaac. Maybe that'll help you forgive yourself."

Sam reached his hand out and wrapped it around Deeks' head, making him look up at him. Deeks took in the sincerity in his friend's words and expression, but couldn't imagine finding the courage to go through with his suggestion. He could only nod as Kensi awkwardly rejoined them.

He was quiet the rest of the day, pondering the idea and knowing he should do it, if only so he could follow through on Derrick's earlier recommendation to apologize to the man he'd hurt. The next morning, he asked Kensi if she could arrange a meeting.

It was a few days later at the end of August and Deeks felt every degree of the hot, dry afternoon with its Santa Ana winds blowing in from the distant desert. Kensi was driving him to the Venice Beach Pier to meet with the LAPD detective he had tortured at the start of his assignment. He'd barely slept the night before, waking every few hours with another nightmare about that night.

He was more nervous than he had been at the start of the assignment. Every few minutes, he opened his mouth to ask Kensi to turn around, but then stopped himself, knowing she'd only offer more encouraging words and continue driving. He didn't know how he'd be able to face the man, and thought he might throw up.

He knew Isaac deserved the chance to release any pent-up anger he held toward him, and he mentally prepared to have his own innate cruelty thrown in his face. He just hoped the weight of it all wouldn't crush him. He cursed Sam under his breath for instigating this little escapade, and distracted himself by plotting revenge.

Kensi parked and wheeled him out onto the pier. The sunshine bounced a thousand bright white reflections off the water all the way to the horizon. They stopped to look out on a few surfers enjoying the warm waves. He felt a pang of envy, wishing he could be out there and hoping someday he would be again. After a few minutes, Kensi seemed to sense his wistfulness and kept moving out to the end of the pier, well beyond the breaking waves.

They stopped next to a bench where she sat, and they waited. Deeks closed his eyes and listened to the waves and the wind. He took a series of deep breaths, soaking in the salty air and focusing his attention on the familiar sounds of the crying gulls. After a few minutes he felt Kensi's hand on his shoulder and he looked up to see her standing, looking back down the pier at an approaching figure, a stocky man with long, dark hair that curled in front of his face in the wind.

Deeks struggled up out of his chair, wanting to face the man on his own two feet. As Isaac arrived at the end of the pier, he stopped in front of them with a serious expression on his face. Deeks had no idea what to say and was grateful when Kensi took the lead and introduced herself.

His eyes widened in surprise when Isaac then extended his hand toward him, introducing himself and saying, "Detective Deeks, it's good to see you." Deeks didn't know what to make of the greeting but extended his hand to shake Isaac's.

Kensi reached out to skim her hand down Deeks' arm, asking him if he wanted her to stay. He shook his head and she told them both that she'd be nearby, moving just down the pier out of earshot but close enough to come running if Deeks needed her.

He'd relaxed slightly as she'd stepped away, happy that she might not witness any verbal barrages Isaac might unleash. Yet he also appreciated that she remained close enough to provide him with silent support. Her refusal to judge him and her unwavering love gave him the slightest whisper of hope that this conversation wouldn't prove as painful as he expected.

Isaac pulled Deeks from his thoughts by asking, "Should we sit?"

Deeks nodded and sat back down in his wheelchair, still not having said a single word to the man he'd hurt so badly. He looked Isaac over and was relieved to see that he seemed fit. He noticed a few scars from the burns Dexter had inflicted, but otherwise found no physical signs of what Isaac had endured.

Before he could figure out what to say, Isaac asked him, "How are you doing?"

Exhaling a short, surprised laugh, Deeks replied, "Me? I'm fine. I'm pretty sure I'm the one who should be asking you that question."

"I'm good, you know?" said Isaac.

"You are?" Deeks asked, confused over the man's lack of apparent anger.

"Yeah." Deeks nodded in acknowledgment but then vivid images of Isaac tied to the chair, begging for his life, jumped into his mind and he rushed out an apology, telling him, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's OK, Detective." Deeks didn't understand Isaac's response, but it settled his nerves slightly. He told him, "Please call me Deeks, or Marty."

"It's OK, Marty. I understand why you did what you did. I don't blame you. And I'm really glad that you took them all down. I sleep a lot better at night because of that, so thanks."

Deeks couldn't understand Isaac's mindset, he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that the man had just thanked him. He continued to remember back to the dark trailer, and reiterated, "I'm sorry. I couldn't think of any way to get you out of there. My team was nearby but I didn't have comms and I just couldn't come up with a better option."

He stopped as his stomach heaved. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he said, struggling to stand and turn to the railing, and then vomiting over the side. The movement caused his knee and sore ribs to complain, and he stayed clutching the railing, his eyes tightly closed as the nausea and pain slowly subsided. He felt a warm hand on the back of his neck and thought Kensi had returned, but then realized it was Isaac.

"It's OK, Marty. You're OK. Here, have some water." Isaac pulled the bottle out from the side pocket of Deeks' wheelchair and he took a long drink, rinsing out his mouth and then turning to sit back down, exhausted by the short conversation.

As Deeks sat quietly in his chair waiting for his breathing to return to normal and his stomach to settle, Isaac told him, "You saved my life that night... You do know that, right?"

Deeks gazed into Isaac's friendly brown eyes to try to gauge the truth behind his words. He asked, "Do you really see it that way?"

Isaac smiled and told him, "Yeah, man, I do. If you hadn't been there, that crazy son of a bitch would have carved me up with his hunting knife and they'd have fed me to the fishes. If you'd broken cover, then he'd probably have carved both of us up, plus the whole case would've been blown." He shuddered and added, "You have nothing to be sorry for, Marty. Please don't blame yourself. I don't blame you, OK?"

Deeks nodded gratefully, feeling lighter than he had since his fateful encounter with Ripley. The relief he felt at Isaac's words brought tears to his eyes, and he turned and blinked them away. "OK," he said. "Thank you for saying that, Isaac, and for coming today."

"I almost didn't," he said in a quiet voice. "I didn't want to relive that night, you know?"

Deeks nodded and said, "Of course I know." Visions of Isaac in the trailer returned, but this time he saw them more objectively and he told him, "You were brave."

Isaac laughed bitterly and said, "I wouldn't say that. I was scared shitless."

Deeks understood exactly how Isaac had felt and told him, "Yeah, of course. But you kept to your cover story for as long as you could. And when it seemed clear that you weren't gonna get out of there alive, you gave us a different cover story, Homeland Security, right?" Deeks looked over to see Isaac looking down and decided the least he could do was share part of his own past trauma. "Listen Isaac, I've been where you were that night. It was one of the worst things that's ever happened to me. You should feel proud of how you handled yourself."

Isaac looked up at him behind long eyelashes and Deeks looked back, holding his gaze, determined to convey the truth of his words.

"You were tortured?" Isaac asked him. Deeks nodded, hoping Isaac wouldn't prod for details but willing to share whatever he could to help. Isaac asked, "How did you ever manage to go back to work?"

Deeks thought back to how long he'd suffered alone before getting help and told him, "It took a while. I had support but I didn't accept it at first. That was not smart and it just made things worse. Talking to people was key, as horrible as it felt at the time... Do you have people to talk to?"

Isaac shrugged his shoulders and said, "Yeah, I guess. I'm just not sure they're the right people to hear that particular story."

Deeks nodded in understanding. He thought back to everything Isaac had revealed that night and asked, "Do you really have a wife and children like you said?"

"No, I'm single. My sister lives in Hollywood and my folks are down in San Diego."

The man's ability to tell a convincing lie impressed him, but instead of offering more compliments, Deeks focused on how he could help and replied, "I get it." He couldn't believe the conversation had led to this point, but offered, "Well, you probably don't want anything more to do with me, and I completely understand that, but if you ever need somebody to talk to, I'd be honored to help."

"Thanks, man," Isaac said.

They sat together in the sun for a long while. Deeks found out more about Isaac's career and work with the Gang and Narcotics Division, a big achievement for someone his age. He also learned more about how his own cover had been blown when the ghost skins inside LAPD had found out about Isaac. The good news was that some of the Brothers who'd been arrested had given up their own men in blue, and at least some of those ghost skins had been arrested too. Sadly, more remained, yet to be uncovered, though Isaac and others had plans to root out as many as they could.

Finally Isaac stood to leave, and Deeks stood with him. He told Isaac in a voice thick with emotion, "Thanks for coming today. It means more than I can say."

Isaac reached out and shook his hand, then pulled him in for a hug. "No, man, thank you," he said.

Deeks stood staring as Isaac walked back down the pier, trying to hold onto the sense of absolution he had been gifted.

It was the weekend after school had started back up, and Derrick sat eating lunch with Kensi and Marty. Over the last few weeks, it had become more and more apparent that his adoptive father would physically recover from his injuries and his traumatic assignment. Better yet, he felt pretty sure that Marty would never again attempt to take on a dangerous job with his old team. He couldn't help but dwell on all the other times Marty must have put his life in danger to do his job, and he shuddered to think about how he might have never met him or Kensi, given the risks they had apparently taken when they worked at NCIS.

Marty appeared to pick up on his unease, and asked, "Hey Big D, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said, not wanting to bring down the group's relatively upbeat mood.

"You know what a very wise person said to me recently?" Marty asked.

"What?" Derrick asked, squinting in suspicion and pretty sure he wouldn't like the response.

"He said that talking about my feelings would help me feel better," Marty said with a small smile. Derrick mock glared at him, and Marty added, "He was right. He's a very smart guy."

Derrick shook his head, knowing he'd been bested, and told Kensi and Marty, "I was just thinking about how dangerous your jobs were, and how easily one or both of you might've been killed before we ever even had a chance to meet."

Kensi and Marty looked at each other, appearing to silently communicate about how to respond to his concern. Kensi reached out to briefly place her hand on his cheek, reassuring him, "We had dangerous jobs, that's true, Derrick, but you can't think about all the bad things that might've happened, or even all the bad things that did happen. You have to focus on all the good things that came together so we could be there for you when your mom was killed, and so we could become the family we are now."

He nodded and Marty added, "Plus, it's not like every assignment we had was all that dangerous. Once we even played husband and wife in a fancy suburb." He turned to Kensi, smiling and saying, "Even then, before we were together together, she was totally into me."

Derrick did not like the direction this conversation was heading, and interjected, telling them, "Ewww! Please stop. I don't wanna hear any details about that!"

Kensi tried to make him feel better, laughing and telling him, "No, Derrick, we were on our best, most professional behavior, I swear!" She turned to Marty, who looked at her with amusement in his sparkling eyes and an eyebrow raised as if challenging her to contradict him. She admitted, "OK, maybe I was hoping you'd make a move, but-"

"Seriously, please stop!" Derrick whined.

Marty and Kensi laughed together and Kensi apparently took pity on him, changing the subject slightly. She told him, "There were other fun assignments. Marty was always very committed to fully bringing his undercover characters to life. He had this one character named Sven. I didn't get to work with him, but I heard your Uncle Sam talk about him."

Marty continued the explanation, telling him in a weird accent, "Sven vas an interior designer. He sought zat color vas important ven choosing ze elements of von's design, ya?"

"Really?" Derrick asked, feeling much better at the idea that not every assignment had been filled with terror.

"Ya," Marty replied. "I sink you should ask your Uncle Zam about ze color. Tell him, in fact, zat he can't be afraid of ze color."

Derrick made a mental note to do just as "Sven" had told him, figuring to get a fun reaction out of his uncle.

Kensi prompted Deeks with a smile, "Tell him about Matthew Dunkler."

Marty grinned, watching as Kensi got up and rifled through a kitchen drawer. He told Derrick, "Matthew Dunkler was a railroad inspector who took his job very seriously. He was a bit, hmm, what would you say, Kens? Attentive to detail? Caring about a job well done? Maybe a bit sensitive?"

Kensi pulled a pair of Roberta's reading glasses out of the drawer and grabbed a brush from her bag, wetting it under the sink. She walked over to Marty, who first leaned away, laughing, before allowing her to fiddle with his appearance. She replied to his question, saying, "He was more than sensitive. I think 'delicate' would be the right word."

When she'd finished wetting down – and parting – his long hair, and had added the glasses, Marty looked over at Derrick, trying to keep his expression serious although Derrick could see the corners of his mouth trying to turn up in a smile.

Marty said to him in an odd, nasally voice, "You see, Mr. Mosley, it's just, it's just, very, very important that we examine all of the relevant XP-52 and NS-354 forms and that we complete our XZ-78 reports in triplicate. We must follow all procedures and guidelines to the letter." He pushed his glasses farther up his nose, and looked at the food on the table with a suddenly alarmed expression, saying, "Is that basil on that sandwich? Oh, no, mustn't have basil. Allergies. Allergies to basil will cause hives and eczema, and, and an increase in… mucus production."

Derrick was amazed at Marty's transformation, and loved the silliness of his Matthew Dunkler character. He laughed along with Kensi. It was as if a weight were being lifted from his shoulders as he watched these two people he loved so much smiling and laughing and just being goofy. It gave him confidence that Marty would do more than physically heal. That he would heal emotionally too, and return to the man who had taught him the joy in the silly side of life.

A/N: I had this story written before I ever started posting. Up until last night, the paragraph about the remaining ghost skins at LAPD ended with, "Sadly, there'd likely always be more." While I'm certainly not naive enough to believe the problem will be solved quickly, the events of the past couple of weeks have made me resolve to demand more and to be stubbornly optimistic about the possibilities, so I shifted the sentence to give it a slightly more hopeful tone.

I know that given the current state of the world, there's no end of people and charities in need. It seemed an appropriate time to repeat that the Anti-Defamation League or ADL, which I've used as a super helpful resource for this story, does great work exposing extremism and delivering anti-bias education. Check them out if you're looking for a good charity to support.

One more shout-out to ejzah for her assistance with details on Deeks' speech language pathologist interactions. And one final chapter (plus epilogue) to go.