Prompt:- Deeks has recurring nightmares and goes to Kensi for comfort.

The incessant buzzing finally bore itself into Kensi's sleep, interrupting her dream. In it, she'd been a small girl again, camping with her father. Even as the buzzing drew her back to the waking world, she could still feel the comforting presence of Donald Blye. Still, her brain felt like it was made entirely of cotton candy, as the buzzer on her front door – she figured out what it was, at least – sounded again. In little more than a daze, she pulled herself from her bed, noting the time on the clock by the side of her bed; a little after 3AM. Who could that be at this hour?

Digging around under her pillow, she found her SIG, slipping the safety off. Then, barefoot, she padded into the living room. The lights from nearby streetlamps streamed through the windows, casting shadows that seemed to dance. It was only then that she recognised the familiar silhouette through the window of her front door. Sighing, she lowered her weapon, flicking the safety back on, and opened the door.

"Hey," said Deeks, and Kensi could tell instantly that something was wrong. It wasn't because here he was, at her door at three in the morning. Nor was it that he had beer, takeout and his dog in tow. No, it was his face that spelled it out for her; his trademark grin was nowhere to be seen.

"Deeks," she said, jaw cracking against the yawn that threatened to devour her. "Everything alright?"

"What!" he exclaimed. "I can't stop by my partners for some beer and a Top Model marathon?"

She cocked her eyebrow at him, before affixing him with a calm but expectant stare.

"I couldn't sleep, is all," he shrugged. Kensi could have heard the lie in his tone even if she weren't a trained investigator, even if she weren't hyper aware of his moods.

"Come on in," she said, opening the door wider and accepting the case of beer. Monty scampered ahead of Deeks, tail wagging as he snuffled around Kensi's feet. She leant down, scratching the mutt on the chin, before he dashed into her living room. She kept a bowl there now, so used to the dog being a part of her life. And his owner.

Deeks had already dropped himself down onto her couch, setting the cartons of Chinese on the table before him. Without a word, she joined him, the cushions dipping under their combined weights.

"So what's up?" she asked, opening a beer and passing him one. He took it, taking a swig, but didn't answer. She watched him a moment, noting the deep circles under his eyes, which seemed to be staring at nothing. It seemed like the life had gone out of her partner, and Kensi found that scared her more than anything she'd come across in her work. But he wasn't going to speak anytime soon, and she couldn't force him.

Instead, she flicked on the TV, shifting through her DVR for an episode of Top Model she knew they hadn't watched together, and turned the volume right down. She leant back against the couch, placing her feet on the table in front of her. Her stomach growled slightly at the smell of the Chinese, but she made no move towards it. Deeks leant forward, his head bowed, the cold glass of his beer pressed against his forehead.

"I was dreaming about my father," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Me too," Kensi replied, smiling. Then it clicked into place. "Oh," she said.

"Yeah," Deeks breathed.

Silence hung in the air between them, thick and oppressive.

"Every night this week," he continued, finally. "Same thing every night."

"Was it…" she began, before her mouth went dry. She swallowed. "Was it the night you shot him?"

Deeks nodded.

"What happened?"

"I can't move," he said, voice cracking. "He's coming, he's so angry – I'd never seen him that drunk or that angry before, and I'd never been so scared before, for me or for my mom. And I can't move, even though I struggle, even though I fight. Even though I know the gun is there, even though I can see him beat her, see what he does to her and know that I'm next…" He trailed off. Kensi felt her gut twist, and a tidal wave of affection for her partner wash over her. Her father hadn't been perfect, but he'd done everything he could to make sure she had a childhood, and she missed him every day. Deeks' father though… Gordon John Brandel was a monster, and she was glad he was dead.

Slowly, tentatively, her hand crept out towards Deeks, resting against his shoulder. She could feel his body trembling. Then, he started to cry.

In an instant, she had moved closer, wrapping her arms fully around him, squeezing him tight as he sobbed. "Shhh, shhh," she whispered at him, voice thick with compassion. "It's alright, Deeks; it's okay." He clung to her, his body racking from his sobs. "It's okay," she breathed again. Then she scooted back across the couch, pulling Deeks' head down onto her lap. Gently, tenderly, she began to stroke his golden locks. "It's okay," she told him again. "Go to sleep. It's okay. I'm here."

She leant down, pressing her lips to his cheek, tasting the salt of his tears. "I'll never let anyone hurt you again."