A/N – Slight mentions of domestic violence. Always wondered what makes Deeks tick, and come undone with a past like his. One Shot. Hope you like it. If I offend your Deeks sensibilities, you have my sincere apologies. Just taking him for a little spin around the block. Let me know what you think.
Deeks is shaking. His body is actually shaking as he cries, and he's pulled the hoodie up over his mouth and will do anything to have his breakdown be silent and unnoticed in the dark of the night. His arms are wrapped around himself in a desperate attempt at something – to steady his body, to hug himself through his tears, to wish the arms were Kensi's and not his own.
All he wants is go back in time. Not long. He isn't asking for much. Six hours would do it. He doesn't need the whole six hours, either, only ten seconds six hours ago. Ten seconds that have shaken his trademark confidence and optimism and sent him down a dark path. Even knowing it's irrational hasn't helped him get passed it or over it.
Six hours ago he lost control, and Kensi wears the evidence of it in black and blue on her face, and he can't look at her without wanting to be sick, and he can't look at himself without wanting to punch his own reflection.
The third postcard from Kessler arrived this morning. This one was in front of the Hollywood sign. Not doctored. Not a composite. And this one had timestamp information. Deeks now knew that eight days ago Kessler was wandering the streets of Los Angeles looking for his wife because he wants to rape her and kill her.
Kensi – I've set aside some time the next time I'm in town. Waited too long already. Even if you don't think you want to, I'm sure you'll come.
Written perfectly to inspire terror in Kensi, while being so conversational in tone that it isn't actionable for law enforcement. Kessler has a plan, though, and there won't be another postcard. He's coming for her and the clock is ticking and Deeks has nothing tangible to do to stop it.
When Fatima put it up on the big screen he watched the way Kensi steadied her face. How her breathing changed. How her eyes flashed panic and then buried it. The Ops center is her safezone. He doesn't ever remember seeing her afraid in that room.
She thinks she needs to be strong. She needs the team to see her as strong for her own sanity, even if he knows that no one would think less of her if she showed that this was eating her up. The only way she can exert any control over the situation is to control her response. She's afraid to be vulnerable, afraid that being vulnerable makes her weak, afraid that the weakness means he's winning. She's barely holding it together, in the Ops Center or anywhere else.
It might work on other people, but one look at her this morning when she was reading Kessler's words and he knew she was unravelling. And one look this evening when they told her they have no idea where he is, no way to know if he's still here - it told him the fear is breaking the woman he loves. And then Fatima reminded her that despite Kessler's obvious desire to hurt her, he's untouchable. A free man.
Deeks stood there knowing he had no way to get to Kessler and that Kensi was trying so hard to be strong that she won't let him be there for her. He's helpless.
And helpless is his trigger.
When he was willing to torture a man in Afghanistan to find her. When he used Sabatino as a punching bag to get information when Kensi was missing. When he destroyed the stool in the armory when she hung up from Colorado after what was for all intents and purposes a just-in-case-goodbye. When he threw the chair across the boatshed in frustration at Sullivan and Hetty and anyone who contributed to putting her in danger.
When he can't protect her, when he can't help her, when he can't keep her safe – the helplessness builds until he lashes out. He hits something or throws something, and in Ops this evening he felt it building and didn't think he could hold it in. He tried to match her stoicism in a show of support despite how worried he was for her emotional state, but he couldn't keep it in. When they took the postcard off the screen he walked to the armory as deliberately as his rage would allow.
He looked around for something to throw, finally grabbing a stool. Deeks torqued his body with all his anger, then twisted back and let it fly, watching as it hit slightly off the intended mark. It bounced off the corner and came apart, his strength no match for its construction, its several pieces bouncing off the wall into the room.
It happened in slow motion. He was too busy listening to the blood rushing in his ears along the way to realize that Kensi had followed him. As the stool hit the corner and disassembled, two pieces flew at Kensi. The large one heading for her body she caught. The smaller metal bar flew up and hit her square in the face.
She dropped the piece that she caught, her hand going to her left eye. She made a small sound that was more surprise than pain.
"Oh my god, Kensi." He rushed to her, taking the frame of her face in his hand and tilting it so he could see her cheek better.
"No, no, it's fine. I just came to check on you." If she was angry or in pain she gave nothing away in the tone of her face.
There was a scratch that had the slowest trickle of blood Deeks had ever seen. Or maybe everything was still in slow motion. He pulled his shirt down over the heel of his hand and pressed it to her skin.
"I'm so sorry," he said, overwhelmed, knowing it couldn't possibly be enough.
"Hey, it's nothing," she assured him. "I'm good."
She tried to push his hands away like he was fussing over her, but he wouldn't have it. He lifted his hand to check the bleeding and put it back in place giving it another minute.
"I didn't see you there, I didn't …"
"Baby, I know that. Of course I know that. It's nothing."
When he was content that the bleeding had stopped he ushered her to the gym where most of the first aid supplies could be found. He grabbed a bandaid and an icepack and sat her down on a bench, covering what he could of the scratch and shaking the icepack to start the chemical reaction that would get it cold. He placed it gently on her cheek and eye, and when she took it with one hand to hold it in place, he grabbed her other hand with both of his.
"Kens, I'm so sorry."
"Deeks, babe. Stop. It's nothing. You're welcome to take me home and dote over me, but I'm really fine." Her look told him she meant it, and he was grateful for the reassurance. "Maybe some dinner? Maybe a mojito."
"With fresh mint from our garden?" he offered to up the value of the reparations.
"Well you're the one who keeps it alive, so it's really your garden, but yes."
"Sounds like a plan," he told her.
He made her stay sitting and went back to the bullpen, gathering their things. Then he met her back in the gym and slid an arm around her waist as he walked them to the car. He told her twice to keep the ice on her face, but said little else on the drive.
When they got to the house, Kensi opted for a shower before they kicked off their evening. He started dinner and made drinks and she showered and put on comfy clothes and forty minutes later she was having her favorite drink with her favorite person in her favorite place. It didn't remove the anxiety of the Kessler development in their day, but it did remove a tension from her features and a sadness in her eyes.
When they were home together, in their place, living their lives, everything seemed manageable. Even the trauma of a psychopath hunting the woman he loves was diminished in the cocoon that they created together. Eventually as the evening went on their guards came down, they cuddled together, and they were able to sleep.
It was the nightmare that woke him. Not a story, or a discernable plot, just images. A boy with golden wavy hair crying in a corner. A woman covering her face as she cowered. A fist swinging in the air. His own face, chiseled in anger and rage as he swung at something. And Kensi on the ground holding her head in her hands.
He stayed still while his heartbeat returned to normal. He tried to put it out of his mind. He turned over to face her, and in the moonlight of the room he could just make out the darkening skin high on her cheekbone. His fingers began to tremble.
And it led him here, to the top of the stairs. He was afraid Kensi would hear him if he went down to the living room, and he knew she would hear him if he stayed put, so he made it to the top of the stairs and sank down on the top step, his breathing rough and ragged, giving way to tears that gave way to sobs.
When he hears her approach behind him he tries to pull it together. He wipes his cheeks and his nose on the hoodie and unwraps his arms from his body just as she reaches him.
"Baby, what is it?" she asks, worry in every syllable. "Are you ok?"
"Am I ok?" he laughed sardonically at the irony. "Am I ok? I'm fine. Go back to bed." It wasn't an order. It was pleading.
She passes him by two stairs and gets on her knees in front of him. He avoids her gaze. "What's wrong?"
"I lost control today," he admits. "I lost control and I hurt you." Hi voice is a mix of contempt and self-loathing.
"You've never been out of control, Deeks. That's crazy. I've never seen it."
"That's because you are usually missing or in danger when it happens," he explains as he thinks back.
She isn't sure how to take it. "Are you saying I make you lose control?" She tries not to pull away, but there is suddenly unmistakable hurt in her voice. "Do you think I'm bad for you?"
"Oh god, no. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, baby. I'm grateful for you every minute of every day. I just look at your face and I know I did that, that I'm capable of that."
"You didn't do this to me. It just happened."
"Well however you describe it, I have to be better."
"Better than what?" He sees the change in her expression and recognition hits her face. "A better man that your father? You were a better man than your father at eleven years old. You couldn't be a better man, Deeks. You're it. The whole shebang. I'm the luckiest woman in the world. I love you more than anyone or anything on this earth."
His hand goes to the side of her face and his thumb gently brushes against the bruise and scratch that are there.
"But I did this to you, baby. You deserve to never have to worry .."
"I don't worry. Not for one second of one day. Deeks, you didn't even know I was there. You broke a chair. That's nothing. You would never hurt me. I know you would never hurt me. You'd do anything in your power to keep me safe and help me be strong. You've built an entire life around protecting people. A lawyer. A cop. An investigator. A husband. A friend. Protecting people is what drives you. I have never, ever been afraid of you."
"Kensi, I feel so helpless. You're going through all of this, and this crazy guy is coming right for you, and there's nothing I can do."
"Even when you don't know it or feel it, you are helping. Tonight when they showed me that postcard again and told me he's really been here and he's really coming for me this time, Deeks I've never been so scared in my whole life. And it took my breath away, that fear. And I honestly thought I would fall over. But I felt you there. You're always helping, Deeks. Helping me be strong. It isn't as flashy, maybe, as kicking in doors or a double tap to the head, but I'd be lost without it."
He finally makes eye contact with her, and all he sees are acceptance and love. He knows the difference between what he did and what his father did, and if he didn't, it's written in the calm, all-encompassing love on her face. She pulls him into a hug from her knees on the step in front of him, kissing the top of his head as he holds her.
"I love you, Kensi."
"I love you, Deeks."
When his grip on her loosens she takes his hands and leads him back to bed, her love and her touch enough to keep the nightmares away.