The second time it happens is three months later (eighty-one days to the date to be more exact). Since that night, he's spent a lot of time trying not to remember (not because he wants to, but because it seems the only one to keep himself from losing his mind thinking about it), and she's spent just as much time trying to pretend it never happened at all.

He's pretty sure that neither of them has been all that successful.

Still, their partnership is solid (and nearing almost a year in length) and for both of them, that's worth ignoring the non-platonic feelings that seem to creep up on them from time to time.

That said, on the night (well, really the morning) of the second time, ignoring those swirling feelings is the last thing either of them is capable of doing.

This time doesn't involve alcohol, but the anger is there. More frustration really, and then a whole lot of other dangerous emotions.

It all starts for him because long after the day is done and the NCIS OSP team has said its typical "have a good nights", he's restless and anxious, and he can't quite figure out why. He has a nagging feeling that it has something to do with his partner (he's beginning to realize that much of his life has come to revolve around her), but he can't quite figure out or put a finger on why just yet.

It's not until he's driving around town, flipping through channels on the police radio in his car (maybe looking for something to get involved in or maybe just trying to see how alive the city is), when he begins to think back a few hours.

It'd been a fairly routine and boring day, one full of working out in the gym, reading over case reports and finishing up paperwork. In fact, pretty much nothing of consequence had occurred. The team had a few active cases running, but none that required constant undercover work – at least for the time being.

So yeah, it'd been a dull day overall.

Still, he realizes that there'd been a few things that had been unusual and a bit out of place. Well, okay, one thing really.

Kensi.

She'd been quiet and focused, absolutely refusing to be pulled off task. She's a serious woman typically (though he refuses to admit by nature. In his mind, she's the way she is because it's how she chooses to roll with the punches that life keeps delivering to her.), but this afternoon had been more than that.

Usually, he can get her to banter with him, throw a few jokes back and forth. Sometimes, if her mood is dark enough, he'll set himself to be laughed at or mocked, just because it makes everything easier. It's a harmless pattern, and by now, there's no malice or ill intent. It's comfortable and easy and it's their thing.

She'd been in no mood for that, however. The best he'd gotten out of her had been a few smirks and a small smile or two, but no return shots and certainly no direct hits. That alone should have set alarm bells ringing, but he'd gotten distracted by basketball talk and for a while, forgotten all about her odd mood.

Now, with nothing but the chatter of cops and dispatchers filling the air around him, there's little to stop him from thinking about her.

He thinks maybe he should call her and check up on her, but then quickly disregards the idea. They're partners and they're friends, and maybe even something a lot more than that, but he knows that if she's just having a bad day or not feeling well for whatever reason, the very last thing she'll want is him to come around asking questions.

No, if it's something simple (and even if it's not), she'll want her space, and though it pains him desperately, out of his very deep respect for her, he'll give her it. For twenty-four hours at least.

Once today is tomorrow, if her mood is the same, he has every intention of annoying her until she talks. He always wins that battle and they both know it.

He sighs and looks at the digital clock on the console. He's been driving around for over an hour. In that time, he's heard the dispatcher send black and whites to at least three B&Es and a couple of hairy sounding domestic disturbances.

Bored with the chatter, he reaches down, and is just about to turn off the radio, when he hears a loud honk on his left. He turns and sees a bright red Ferrari speed past him and then through a red light, going at least eighty-five on a forty-five mile an hour street.

"Awesome," he mutters, reaching for his radio. He's in no mood to chase the guy down, but he figures he should at least call it in and get someone to pull the jackass over before he kills someone.

He's just about to push down the button and speak into the mic when he hears an address come over the radio that sends ice water through his veins.

Kensi's address. Likely domestic disturbance, sounds of fighting.

He calls in the Ferrari as quickly as possible, then quickly turns his car around and heads across town, to his partner's apartment.

By the time he gets there, the uniforms are just arriving. He knows the two guys by name only – McCain and Dillon. McCain is older and suitably grizzled, Dillon is young and eager. They're a pairing right of a television show.

"Deeks," McCain growls as he approaches.

"What do we have?" Deeks asks, already on his way towards the door of the building.

"Called in by a neighbor, said she heard shouts and the sound of glass breaking. Maybe a scream or two. Why you here, Deeks?"

"I think I know the woman who lives in that apartment," he replies. "I work with her in my…other job."

"That government thing you've been doing?" Dillon asks. That's all the rest of the LAPD knows, that he's been loaned out to the government. The hows and whys and whats are pretty much need to know and only the top brass are that.

So Deeks simply nods.

"Lead the way then," McCain says.

They get up to her apartment – upstairs in the building, second floor, fifth from the elevator. The first thing he notices is that door is slightly open, and that alone is enough to turn his gut to ice. His partner is as security conscious as you can get. She almost never leaves her place in any way unsecured.

He pulls his gun, and puts a finger up for McCain and Dillon to be quiet. They both take out their own weapons, and then fall back behind him.

He pushes the door open, and steps inside, followed by the two cops. A quick look around the room shows chaos, but he's not sure how much of it is her normal clutter, and how much of it has to do with what's happened here.

Upon further entrance into her apartment, he sees his partner almost immediately, lying on the floor, on her stomach, just to the side of her couch.

"Kensi," he calls out frantically, ignoring the fact that he probably shouldn't be revealing her real identity to these cops. Then again, NCIS has typically been honest with other law enforcement.

"I'm calling a bus," McCain says, and then slips into the kitchen.

Deeks ignores him (and Dillon, who is hovering nearby). He pulls his partner into his arms, and turns her over. He almost recoils when he saw a massive bruise on the left side her jaw, bright red with specks of purple in it. He's pretty sure that the mark is why she's out cold – someone clocked her good.

The question is, why?

"Kensi?" he says softly, gently patting the side of her face that isn't injured. He repeats her name. It isn't until the third time when she groans. "Hey," he whispers, relief shooting through him.

"Deeks?"

"Yeah. What the hell happened to you? You start trying to…" he stops cold because while there are a thousand jokes he could try to tell, right now he's pretty sure that none of them are funny because right now, he's not at all sure that she's okay. He simply has no idea how badly she's been hurt.

And by whom.

She tries to sit up, but immediately, she winces as the blood rushes through her, and she feels the pain of whatever had hit her. "Ow."

"Easy," he prompts.

"No, I'm fine. Really, it's nothing."

"Nothing?" he asks in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"

"Just…need an icepack," she groans.

"An icepack. No way, you're going to the hospital, and then you're going to tell me what happened and who did this to you."

"It doesn't matter," she answers. "And I'm not going to the hospital." She pushes him away from her, and then groggily gets to her feet.

He stares at her in shock. "You can't really be this stubborn," he insists. Her only answer is a half-grimace/half-smirk. It's utterly charming, and completely infuriating. He's not sure if he wants to kiss her or shake her.

Either one is probably not the best of ideas.

"I'm fine," she says again. "I just…"

"Ran your jaw into a wall?"

"Yes."

He blinks. He really hadn't been expecting her to throw up such a pathetic excuse for the fact that someone – most certainly a man – had hit her hard enough to knock her out. And in her own apartment.

"Deeks, what do you want to do here?" McCain asks, coming back into the room. "I have an ambulance on the way."

"Call it off," Kensi demands.

"Keep it coming," he snaps back.

"You're wasting their time, Deeks. I won't accept treatment, and I'm not going to the hospital. Call them off."

Reluctantly, Deeks nods.

"Okay," McCain replies. Then, "You want me to write this up…what do you want this written up as?"

"Kensi?" Deeks asks. "You care to tell us what this was?"

He knows damn well that she's going to stonewall even more now that he's put her completely on the spot with people she doesn't know and trust. He's not wrong; she shoots him an icy glare and then turns to McCain. "There's nothing to write up. I had too much to drink, and my neighbors are nosy."

Deeks sighs, "Guys, I'll handle this from here."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Whatever happened, she's all right. I'm sure there are other people out there who need your help. I'll file this one for you."

"Thanks," Dillon says.

Deeks nods, and then walks the two cops to the door.

"Woman problems, Deeks?" McCain cracks as he walking out it.

"You have no idea." And with that, he shuts the door, and turns back to face his partner, who is now standing next to her refrigeration, taking out an icepack.

He glances around the place, observing broken plates and overturned boxes. Then his eyes sweep up to the couch, and he noticed a pillow and a blanket on it.

"Someone stayed here last night?"

She snaps around, and immediately regrets it, wincing slightly as the blood again rushes through her, turning her cheeks bright red. After a brief moment of nausea, she says tightly, "It's none of your business."

"Really. Okay. Tell me this then, when are you going to get this through your damned head, Kensi, huh? We're partners, and I thought friends, too."

"Deeks…"

"Which means that I care about you. You know what? I care more than a little bit about you, I care a lot. A whole hell of a lot." His voice is starting to go up in volume, and they both know it.

"Deeks, please. I can't deal with this tonight."

"Deal with what?"

"You. This. Please."

"What is this?" He motions to the couch. "What happened here? Who did this?"

For a moment, she says nothing, but the dampness he suddenly sees around her eyes tells him that she's far more hurt than she'd like him to know.

"Kensi…"

"I tried to help him."

"Who?"

"Jack."

He looks at the couch again. "Jack was…Jack was here?" He feels a surge of what he can only guess is jealousy go through him. He's not proud of himself for the feeling, but nor is it something that he can completely control.

To himself – and to her if she'd allow it – he admits that his feelings for this woman go far beyond just friends or work partners. Their night together a few months back had been fantastic even with the alcoholic haze around it.

She's the one who wants to act like it never happened and like it doesn't mean anything. He doesn't buy it, but there's no point in pushing her. Maybe it's safer anyway. Like this, just partners, there's little that can come between them besides the bad guys they chase. As more than that, well then they have to deal with the perils of honest and real romantic emotions.

He's pretty sure that that's the last thing she wants to do.

All because of Jack.

And now, it seems like her mysterious ex has returned for another round of seeing how much he can hurt it. This time physically so.

It's enough to make Deeks want to find the guy and beat the shit out of him, which is pretty much a completely abnormal kind of feeling for him.

He doesn't much care for it at all.

"Yes," she replies, her eyes following his to the couch.

"Oh," Deeks says simply. Then, "I see." After a moment, though, he shakes himself out of his stupor and continues, "No, actually, I don't see. Did he hit you? Did he leave that…did he do that to you?"

"Deeks, I can take care of myself," she answers.

"That's not what I asked, Kensi. Did he do that to you?"

"Yes."

"You let him hit you?"

"No. Of course not. I…he surprised me. I never…I didn't block."

"He just came up to you and hit you?"

"Look around you, Deeks. Does that seem like what happened?"

"How the hell would I know? As usual, you're locking me out. If you would for once tell me what the hell is on your mind or what you're thinking, maybe we wouldn't have to play these games all the time."

"I didn't know our relationship was a game."

"You're doing it again. You know what? Screw this. Explain something to me," he demands. "Why after all this time do we still have trust issues?"

She looks directly at him, her eyes on his, and that's when he sees the exhaustion – and sadness – deep in her own mismatched orbs. She looks so tired and weary that for a moment, his anger seems to seep away. But then she replies, "I'm not in the mood for this."

It's enough to push him on. "Too bad. Answer the question."

"I didn't think we did."

"Really? So why won't you tell me why your ex-fiancée was here last night?"

She laughs. "Are you jealous? Is that what this about? You are, aren't you?"

"No, I'm…worried about you."

"Why? I've already told you I can take care of myself. You more than anyone else knows that I can."

"Normally I would agree with you, but Kensi, I just walked in on you lying unconscious on the floor of your apartment with a bruise the size of my fist on your face. You'll excuse me if I think that entitles me to be a little bit worried."

She sighs. "Fine." She looks back over at the couch, and he sees sadness overtake her expression.

"What happened?" he prompts again, his voice gentle now. He's realizing very quickly that anger isn't going to propel her into talking to him.

She pauses for a beat, as if deciding whether or not to open up. Finally, to his great relief, she chooses to do exactly that.

"A couple days ago, after work, I was at a bar, and I ran into one of the guys from his old platoon. He told me that he knew where Jack was, said that for the last several years, he's been in and out of homeless shelters between crashing with old Marine Corp buddies. Yesterday, I tracked him down to a shelter in Hollywood. He's so pale and thin, he looks like he's like half of his body weight."

"So you brought him back here?"

"Yeah."

"Did you two…"

"Sleep together?" she asks, looking up at him. "That's what you think this is all about? Sex? Do you really think I'm that easy?"

"No, I think you loved – love – him that much."

She smiles at him, some gratitude in the expression. After almost a year of working with him, she figures that she should by now that he's not the judging type, but it's hard to let go of the past and the expectations of everyone else.

"My relationship – whatever relationship it is now – it's more complicated than that," she says. "But no, we didn't sleep together. I offered to let him stay in the bed with me, but he refused. He stayed out here on the couch. When I left for work, he was still sleeping, and he looked so peaceful and calm, I didn't have the heart to wake him up."

"So what caused him to lose it?"

"I don't know. When I got home, he was in the kitchen cooking. He was singing and he was so happy and excited. It was like he was manic. When I tried to talk to him, get him to calm down and take a breath and talk to me, he blew up at me and started screaming. None of it made any sense, it was so much gibberish. He started jerking around and getting really demonstrative. I tried to grab him – I just wanted him to calm down before he hurt himself, but he…"

She puts her hand up to her jaw and rubs it.

"You never saw it coming."

"Stupid, right? I can't remember the last time someone knocked me out with one hit. I don't have a glass jaw."

He shrugs. "You weren't expecting the hit. No reason to, and no way to brace for the impact."

"It's our job to be prepared for anything."

"Our job, not our lives. If I went to have drinks with an old girlfriend, I wouldn't expect her to knock me out cold." Then, smiling slightly, "Well, maybe I would."

She laughs. "You're a fool, you know that, right?"

"A lovable one."

"Yeah." Then, her voice soft, "Go home, get some sleep. I'm okay."

"What are you going to do?" he asks as he sees her reach for her jacket.

"Try to find him again."

"Why?"

"I don't…in all of our time together, in all of our fights, Jack never so much as raised a hand to me or even backed me up against a wall. He was such a gentle man, and doing what he just did…I may not know him anymore, but I know enough to know that he's beating himself up for what he did, and I have to find him before he does something stupid. Do you understand that?"

"I do. I'll help you look."

She's surprised. "You don't…you don't have to."

"I want to."

"Why?"

"Because he means something to you. Am I a bit jealous because of that? Maybe, but I'll get over it. Now come on, the two of us can cover a lot of ground if we go in separate cars. He's on foot, I presume. Probably not far he can get."

For a moment she has no words, she just stares at him.

"Kensi?"

"Yeah, let's go," she answers, her voice thick with emotion.

And with that, she turns and is out the door. He follows close behind.

It's almost four hours later before they both return to her apartment. They've checked just about every shelter and every motel within a thirty-mile radius, but to no avail. He's called a few of his LAPD contacts, and put out word to keep an eye out for Jack, but neither of them is terribly hopeful that the Marine will be found anytime soon. Even in his state, Jack is well trained and knows how to avoid being located if that's what he wants, and Deeks is pretty damn sure it is.

Hitting and knocking out your ex-fiancée? Yeah, pretty much one of those things thats likely to make you run and hide under whatever rock you can find.

By the time they're both back sitting on her couch, he's exhausted and she's utterly worn down, both physically and emotionally. The bruise on her jaw stands out in sharp colorful contrast to the almost waxy paleness of her skin.

"Ice," Deeks says, offering her a new pack. She takes it from him and puts it against her jaw, wincing slightly. After a moment, he says, "I'm sorry."

"I know you are," she replies. "And I appreciate you coming with me. You really didn't have to do it."

"I'd do anything for you."

She turns to look at him. "Deeks."

"I mean it."

"Stop," she says. "Please."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't –"

"Deeks, I don't know what to say here."

"Well, I suppose you could start with telling me how roguishly handsome I am, and how devastatingly sharp my wit is."

She laughs. "Really? That's what you come up with?"

"Just a couple of examples. I have more if you'd like."

"I'm afraid of your more."

At first, he thinks she's talking about his self-compliments, but a look into her dark eyes tells him that her reply had been far more loaded than that.

"I know," he replies. "But I'm not such a bad consolation prize."

"You're not a consolation prize at all," she admonishes.

"That sounds like a compliment there, Kiki."

"Kiki? We're having a serious moment and you call me Kiki?"

"Would you prefer Fern?"

"You really are a fool."

"You already called me that."

"Yeah, I did." She looks up at him then, and for a moment, gets hopelessly lost in his blue eyes. So serene and deep, so full of emotion. She reaches up and touches his face, her fingers tracing over his bearded cheek.

"Kensi," he whispers, not sure if he's asking her to start or stop.

She chooses to start.

She leans up and kisses him, her mouth insanely soft on his. It's a complete departure from the urgency of the last time she'd kissed him (well, not the absolute last time – that had been during their first night together, in bed). That one had been frantic and fueled by anger and alcohol. There's anger in this one as well, but it's muted and pained and more hurt than rage.

There's something else, though. Need and not just the base carnal kind. This is more emotional, and it makes the kiss that much sweeter.

He's absolutely helpless to resist her, even though he knows that he should (just as he knows that he should have last time as well). She kisses him and he kisses her back, and then he's lowering her against the sofa, his hands sliding under the fabric of her shirt, pushing it upwards, her skin warm against his palms.

"Not here," she whispers.

He's not completely sure how they get into their bedroom, but somehow or another, they do, and then he's peeling her clothes off, and she's doing the same to his. It's amazing to him, though, that neither of them has passed out from lack of oxygen since they've barely stopped kissing each other for longer than a second or two.

He feels her hands wind into his, and then they're on her bed. Everything happens quickly after that, no more words and no protests or requests to slow it down, just passion and pleasure and raw unfiltered emotion.

Long after she finally falls asleep, soaked in sweat and completely spent, he's awake, just holding her, against him, his fingers playing in her hair.

As he finally dozes off, he prays that she's next to him when he wakes him.

She's not.

He comes to just before ten in the morning, her blankets wrapped around his legs. He turns to his side, and sighs when he sees that he's alone.

Then he remembers that they're at her place, and wonders if she'd really leave him alone in her bed just so that she can go on pretending that what's now happened twice between them never has.

He dresses in a hurry (somewhat amused that she'd managed to snap the button of his jeans off completely) and makes his way to the front. He stops when he sees her leaning over the kitchen sink, staring out the window.

"Nice view?" he asks, approaching from behind her, his footsteps soft. He slides an arm around her waist and presses a kiss to her neck.

"Not really," she shrugs. "From here, I can see the parking lot of the All-You-Can-Eat Mexican restaurant next door. Well, mostly I can see their dumpster." She puts a hand on his cheek, holds it there for a moment, then takes it away and turns to face him. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like a baby."

"You kick like a baby, too."

He laughs. Then, "So does this mean we're not going to magically will last night away like we did last time?"

"Deeks."

"What? I'm just asking."

"Why do you have to always push?"

"I'm not trying to. I'm just…is the idea of us really such a bad thing?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay."

"That's not what I meant. It's not the idea of you and me, it's the reality. And it's not you and it's not me."

"Wait, I've heard this before."

"It's us."

"Us, right."

"Deeks, why do you want this so badly?"

"Because I think we work. Both on the playing field and off of it. As partners, we're good, Kensi, we're really good. I think we could be good here as well."

"And if we're not, if we screw this up, then we both lose. We could lose everything and I…I can't do that again, Deeks. I can't lose you."

"So that's it?"

"That's it."

"I don't get a say?"

"Not in this."

"Fine."

"Please…"

"No, it's okay. I just…I wish sometimes you weren't so scared."

He sees the flare he'd been expecting – Kensi Blye is rarely afraid of anything – but it disappears almost immediately, and instead, quietly she replies, "I know, and I'm sorry, but this is the way it has to be."

"So just work partners then?"

"And friends. We're still friends, right?"

"Yeah." Then, quietly, "I should go."

"Right."

He turns and heads towards the door.

"Deeks."

"What?" he asks, turning back to face her, perhaps too much hope in his eyes.

She crosses the room quickly, and then steps into his arms, wrapping her own around him. He pulls her towards him, enjoying the feel of her.

"You mean a lot to me, and I would do anything for you, too," she tells him.

"I know," he says. "I just…I know."

He leans down, and kisses her. It's light, but no less sweet. After a moment, he reluctantly breaks away. They stare at each for a couple of seconds, and then, just as its starting to feel uncomfortable, he cracks, "You know you still owe me a shirt, right? And a new pair of jeans now, too."

"Oh," she groans, pushing away from him. "Go away."

"For now," he says. "But I'll always be back."

"You promise?"

"Yeah."

"I'm holding you to that."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Go home, Deeks."

"Going home, Fern."

She laughs, and then watches as he turns and leaves. She locks the door behind him, and then sinks down onto the couch.

Now, sitting on the couch that Jack had been sleeping on two nights earlier, her jaw still terribly sore from his unexpected strike, she's sure that she made the right decision in regards to Deeks.

It'd be so easy to let down her guard and let him in. She wants to – she really wants to. He's right, they'd probably match up wonderfully as a couple, but it's a risk she simply can't take.

He means too much to her.

He grounds her, he makes her laugh, he helps her to forget about the darkness that seems to hover so terribly close to her.

What he is to her, what he does for her, she's come to a place where she's not sure she can survive without it. She rather suspects that she somehow fills the same voids in him as he does for her. Which means that if by denying the emotions and feelings they have for each other, they protect the partnership, well then they can both live with that, she figures.

In any case, it's just how it's going to have to be, and that's all there is to it.

TBC.