A/n This chapter is partially rated M, so fair warning. Inspired by the spoilers and the interview where it looks like Deeks has a gash on his face.
She can sense that the end is coming. The rest - what will happen before, during, and after - is a haze. She wonders when he's going to be taken away from her, and if there's anyway to hold on. Would the hings on the door they're currently opening give way, or would the wood splinter, when they kicked their way inside? How hard should she fight them? Is he going to resist, when they tear everything she and him have worked so hard for apart?
Or maybe he'll leave her before they come for him. She has no doubt that he can stay under the radar until she's able to prove his innocence, however long that may take. Months. Years.
The idea of waking up to find his side of the bed empty makes her cold. Her heart pangs with the empty fear of abandonment that used to be apart of her everyday life, until he came into it. She kicks off her shoes and tries not to crumble under the onslaught of emotion that's attempting to suffocate her.
The LAPD's case is built. The evidence has mounted, and the allegations are concrete, copious. Deeks knows it, too. He hasn't said a word since Detective Rivera approached them in the parking garage earlier that evening.
His demeanor is stagnant, something that's not quite resignation but very close clinging against him, and his eyes lack the warmth that she can almost always depend on seeing when she looks at him. Next to him, her current mood is the opposite of his; she's bristling, unable to deal with the helplessness she's feeling. She hates not having control. She hates knowing that she could have control, she could fix this for him, if he would just tell her the fucking truth...
"Marty-" She turns to face him but any words she was about to say are lost when she meets his eyes. The intensity she finds in the shades of blue startles her and a thrill runs down her spine, because for a second, she doesn't know him. He pulls her against his chest and she presses her lips to his, soundly. A fire is starting its course in her veins, burning bright enough for the both of them, replacing the cold feeling that thinking about him leaving her brought about. He pins her against the door, holding her shoulders as she runs her hand from his heart to his cheek, deepening the kiss.
They need to talk, she thinks distantly as he trails his lips down her neck. But he makes her forget, when he hoists her up, pressing his entire body against hers. Even through the denim, his proximity allows her to feel how hard he is, and need knots low in her abdomen. She squirms against him when he brushes his thumb underneath the denim of her jeans and the lace of her underwear, but the friction her movement creates makes her frustrated more than anything.
The fact that they're barely inside the house doesn't seem to faze him, and he's doing a pretty good job of distracting her from the fact. Her eyes flutter nearly closed as he traces his thumb between them, and then they fly open when he gives her a taste of what she needs, with the end of one of his fingers inside of her. She grabs onto his hair, his name falling from her lips when he breaks the contact, only to press his thumb against her bundle of nerves, transforming his name into a moan.
He steps away from her, all at once. She's left in a shaking, tousled state against the front door. The loss of contact elicits a groan of frustration from her lips. A few steps away from her, his eyes are dark cerulean, swirling with desire. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and then he offers an explanation for the abrupt end of his teasing by saying the word "Bed". The low resonance in his inflection and the lack of his body against hers causes her to shudder. He grabs her hand, leading her up the stairs. In their room, she tries to control her shaking hands as she reaches to undo the first button of her flannel. But before she can, he's pressing her against the edge of the bed, and the only thing separating them is fabric. He moves against her, and the feeling of deprivation makes her want to cry. She needs all of him.
He pushes her bottom layers past her waist, not even pausing to unbutton her jeans. She can see the frustration pass over his features in a wave of impatience as he struggles with his belt. She, being every bit as anxious as he is, tries to move to help, but by the time she sits up, his boxers are down and he gives her what they both need with a thrust of his hips.
He's addictive, and she's craving the delicious pressure that him inside of her provides. She meets his thrusts, trying to get more of him. "Harder," she begs (it terrifies her how easily he can make her lose control of herself, something that she's only okay with when he's the cause of it), and suddenly the pace quickens and explosions of spots start to block her vision.
"Fuck, come on, Kensi," he urges, and the pace becomes desperate, frantic.
"I-" But she can't even tell him how close she is. His movements, the way he makes her body react, are unlike anything she's ever felt before. For a split second before her climax, she feels like she's dying, drowning in a wave of sensation. He rides it out with her when she finally comes, grabbing her thighs as he allows himself to let go. She's positive that she blacks out for a good fifteen seconds, and when she can see and breathe again, he's buttoning his jeans. She sits up, knowing that she looks decidedly less put together than he does, considering she can hardly even sit up from her position on the foot of the bed.
The euphoria makes her partially numb. He watches her try to put herself back together again, reveling in the knowledge that he fostered her reaction. When he speaks, his words come out as a low sigh. "Come here."
She doesn't completely trust herself to stand up yet, but she manages to find her footing and stumble into his waiting arms. When the ecstasy that had momentarily overtaken her dissipates, she starts to shake as the imminence of her losing him and her inability to protect him hit her full force. She hides her face in his embrace, so that he can't see the tears that fill her eyes.
She's able to hold it together enough to blink the dampness away so that he doesn't know she's crying when he pulls away to unbutton her shirt. After they've both shed themselves of all of their layers, they step into the shower together, and he wipes the evidence of their intimacy from the inside of her thighs with a washcloth before lathering shampoo onto her scalp. He rinses out the bubbles and massages conditioner throughout her hair. As they wait for it to sink in, they slide to the floor of the shower, holding onto each other.
Her quiet words are almost lost to the sound of water hitting the bottom of the shower, but he hears her when she says, "Talk to me."
"About?"
Wrong answer. She looks up at him, her eyes beautiful daggers, exhaustion written clearly on her features. "Deeks."
"What do you want me to tell you?"
"The truth." Her voice drops, as if somebody could be overhearing their conversation, which he realizes isn't so far-fetched of a possibility. "It's your last chance."
He places a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. "You'll understand soon. I promise."
"That's all you're going to tell me?" It's more of a statement than a question. She already knows the answer.
He strokes the inside of her wrist, playing with her fingers. "I hope you realize..." He trails off, seemingly distracting himself by tracing a path up her palm with his thumb. When he continues, his hand is intertwined with hers, and his arm's around her waist. "...how much I love you."
She keeps thinking about his words from the shower, turning them over in her head as she tries for the thousandth time to make sense of everything. His mother keeps talking about how she doesn't understand, how her Marty's always been a "good boy", and it's all very depressing. He's in jail now, and he's still unwilling to shed any light on the predicament. She swears if it's something to do with protecting her, she's going to kill him.
She walks into the jail like she owns the place, as she's done everyday since he got thrown into the hellhole. She's had an awful, partnerless day, and as pissed as she is for what he's done to her, she's even more angry with him for his mother. She's been worried sick and confused about her son. And also, concerned about Kensi, who she understands is taking the brunt of his absence. In essence, his mom is an angel, and she doesn't deserve to worry like she has been.
She's prepared to give him an ass chewing, as she waits for him behind the glass. But when the guards set him in front of the phone, and she sees his gorgeous face, swollen and bloodied, the anger falls away. She can't help the crack in her voice when she picks up the phone and asks, "What happened?"
"Reunited with some old friends." There isn't a hint of humor in his voice. He looks broken.
Tears fill her eyes. The last time she saw him like this was after Sidorov. And she's going to have to leave him again, soon. "Deeks..."
He watches her cry, and he wants to touch her more than anything. He seriously contemplates breaking the glass before telling her an extended version of the truth. "Some guys that I put away found me during rec time."
"Oh, God."
"I'm fine."
She ignores him, wiping away a tear with a hand that's clenched into a fist. "Who did it?"
"Somebody I put away for domestic violence awhile back. He jumped me with some goons." He tenderly traces a bruise on his jaw, wincing. "I guess it was inevitable, with all the people I've made enemies with."
"What did they do with the person who did this to you?"
"Box for three weeks. Bastard."
She knows that a similar situation is bound to happen again. She can't leave him like this, vulnerable, beaten, confined with people he's given life sentences. "I don't know what to tell your mom."
"Hopefully that you're going to get me out of here soon." His eyes meet hers, and the silent plea she finds inside of them breaks her heart.
She inches her hand across the table and taps the glass with her finger. It's the closest she'll get to touching him. "Working on it." She wishes she could reassure him more, but there's not much she can do from her position on the other side of the glass. She holds his gaze, trying to convey everything that her words can't. How worried she's been. How hard she's fighting for him. How much she misses him. She'll get him out, but until then, he has to stay strong. "Hang in there."
"As long as I have you waiting for me on the other side." His insecurity breaks her heart. They share a lot of fears, but that of abandonment has never been more prevalent to her than in this moment. He's made a lot of mistakes, but she still loves him. She could never stop loving him.
She offers him a tight smile, trying to hide how affected she's been by everything. She hasn't slept soundly since he was arrested, occupied by her worry and the thought of him alone on a hard slate for a bed. "I'm not going anywhere."
His eyes soften, filling with admiration and surprise. And then it's like a shadow passes over his face. "Maybe you should."
"Maybe I should," she agrees. "But I won't."
"I hope you don't regret saying that."
"I'm not going to." She raises an accusatory eyebrow, to make him aware that she knows he knows the true reason he's in here. "Because you have nothing to hide, right?"
He cringes, and she feels the self-loathing emanating from his disposition. She's always hated that part of him, the parts that are full of unwarranted hatred for the man that he's become. "I'm sorry." He frowns, fidgeting with his bangs, so that he can see her face without hair obstructing his line of sight. "I mean it."
She know that she should be concerned about how easily she's forgiven him. Whatever his sins may be, she knows that in her heart, it won't matter. She knows what he's capable of, and whatever he did 'wrong' was probably committed with the intent to protect somebody, or to entertain the idea of a greater good, and even if it (whatever "it" may be) was committed in anger, she's confident that Deeks acted like he did for justice, or for retribution. Her trust in him is rooted with her own pride; she knows that she wouldn't have opened her heart to somebody capable of heinous immoralities. "I know."
"Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me. I trust you. I love you."
Before he can reply, a guard tells him that it's time for him to go back to his cell. She feels a lump form in her throat, knowing that anything could happen between now and the next time she gets to see him. "Tell my mom I said hi, okay? And that I love her."
"I will. Just be careful." The guard tells him to stand up, and she locks eyes with him as the handcuffs are fastened behind his back. She smiles, the only encouragement she can offer to him. His bloodied face is steered away from her.
When she walks outside of the prison, she finds a uniformed officer smoking a cigarette against the side of the building, presumably on break. She approaches him with two hundred dollars and her dad's knife, and promises another payment if it's delivered to the blonde detective arrested for charges of misconduct. The knowledge that he isn't completely unprotected ebbs away some of the all-consuming worry that was only amplified when she saw how he'd been beaten.
When she gets to her house (his house, but whatever), she deadbolts the door he had cornered her against. The empty feeling in her heart is back, and with it, a lack of security. Deeks makes her feel a plethora of emotions, ranging from annoyed to loved to needed, but the one she's come to rely upon the most since the beginning of their partnership is protected. Without his presence in the house, a bout of vulnerability prompts her to sleep with her gun underneath her pillow, something she hasn't done in years. She leaves the door cracked and the hallway light on, like she's ten years old.
Considering she hasn't been arrested for attempting to smuggle a weapon to a criminal, she trusts that her knife made it to Deeks. She used to think about him and that knife all of the time in Afghanistan, wondering if he had to use it, wondering if it was serving its intended purpose of keeping him safe. And just like she used to do in Afghanistan when she was too far away from him, she tells the empty room, "Goodnight, Deeks." She closes her eyes.