Restless
It had been a day and night of fitful, sedative induced dreaming for Deeks. He dreams of a Latino standing over him and repeatedly pulling the trigger. No matter that the reality was only two shots. In his dream, the man continued pulling the trigger long after the bullets were gone. The Asian storekeeper was replaced by Sam Hanna shaking his head while he watched Deeks die.
He didn't scream awake, nor was he soaked with post traumatic sweat. He woke with a deep breath and a long sigh of resignation. His semi conscious heroics in the hospital courtyard were over. There was no fan fare, no ticker tape parade, no congratulations. There was a wounded man "chained" to his hospital bed. And, there was Kensi.
She sat next to his bed as she had after his shooting and watched. He always wondered what visitors did when they held vigil over unconscious patients. He imagined they prayed; even those who have never professed a belief in God. However, he wasn't in a coma or near death. He was sleeping; recovering; trying to make the best of being incapacitated.
What was her motivation for watching him? He didn't exactly not like it, but it was weird none the less.
"You're making me nervous," he croaked. "Stop staring."
"I was just trying to determine if it's the job or the salty, sunny SoCal climate that's put so many lines on your face."
"Ha…ha," he groaned. "I've been shot. It ages a guy."