Slightly delayed, but here we go. Again, thanks for the kind words. This one a bit different in how the flashbacks go - they're not exactly based on what's happening in the present so much as the evolution of Kensi and Deeks. Since this story kind of broke off after OVERWATCH, that's what we go up to. One note - the DISORDER flash kind of ties in with another piece I wrote called SLEEP. Enjoy.
The world passes by in front of her eyes in a blur of nearly psychedelic motion and color. She can see images ghosting by on the LCD, and she can hear voices drifting out of the speakers, but if someone were to ask her to explain what's occurring within the Interrogation Room at this exact moment in time, she'd be at a complete loss.
To be honest, she's at a complete loss for just about everything right now. Her heart is slamming violently against her ribcage, and her head is pounding with the maddening and nearly psychotic intensity of a fourth grader getting to play with a steel drum set for the first time.
"Kensi," she hears Callen say, but even her own name means nothing to her. She feels his hand in hers – his palm dry and cool. He squeezes again, still desperately trying to get a reply of some kind from her.
Her only response is to whisper her partner's name. "Deeks." Her voice is low, almost inaudible, but everyone in the room hears exactly what she says.
She continues staring directly at the LCD, her eyes opening and closing almost lazily, like she's half-asleep. Absently, she sees Nate and Dr. Wilson flying across the screen, rushing to treat Deeks, working desperately to save his life. She hears them calling out a myriad of medical terms, giving each other instructions (mostly, it's Wilson telling Nate what to do), but the words might as well be in another language. To her ears, they're absolute gibberish.
Violent colors swirl in front of her suddenly extremely dark and wide eyes. The part of her mind that's still working at least somewhat right is beginning to wonder if she's about to finally succumb to the panic attack that's been nipping at the edges of her consciousness for the last twenty-four hours.
It's a horrific thought, and if her mind could wrap itself around the situation at hand, she'd be disgusted with her weakness. Right now, though, she's about as far removed her own mind and sense of self as is humanly possible.
She feels Callen press his fingers between hers, forcing her to hold his hand back. He squeezes again (this time with much more force and urgency), and she has no doubt that she's scaring the hell out of him right about now. She wishes that she could apologize to him for worrying him needlessly, and she wants to remind him that his attention should be on her partner and not herself.
She's unable to say any of this, however. Instead, the words stay locked within her. Sealed behind the sudden intense fear that is gripping her heart with the intensity of a frantic lover's embrace. Ironic, really.
She hears her name again. This time, Sam is the one calling out for her.
And then the colors increase.
The day is done, and the battle won, but no one is sending up any victorious celebratory flares. This case – this horrific human trafficking monstrosity – well it has taken quite a toll. All that's left to do now is pick up the pieces of it all.
One of those pieces is definitely Detective Marty Deeks. Just a day earlier, he'd been pretty much out of sight, out of mind for the OSP team. Now he's back and once again – for better or for worse - one of theirs.
Kensi watches him across the parking lot. He's standing under a row of massive trees, pacing back and forth as he waits for them to finish up with the now disgraced Detective Frank Scarli.
"Go on," Sam says to her.
She looks over at him, a bit surprised. "What?"
"Go talk to him."
She turns her head and glances over at Deeks again. He's anxious and agitated, flexing his sore hands repeatedly. He looks like he might even be talking to himself, maybe trying to calm himself down. "What am I…"
"Offer him a ride home. He looks like he could use a good nights' sleep," Callen suggests as he tightens the cuffs on Scarli. "If he wants to talk, there you are."
"Right," she nods, but she's no more certain than she was two minutes ago. She barely knows Marty Deeks – has only worked two other cases with him. The last thing she wants to do is intrude where she's not welcome. They just don't have that kind of comfort level with each other yet.
It's possible, she thinks to herself as she watches Deeks run his fingers through his shaggy blonde mane, that they never will.
Still, she has something of an idea of what he's going through. Dealing with loss and grief, well, unfortunately, she's something of a pro at that.
She steps in his direction, but is stopped by the growl of Scarli's voice. "I wouldn't get too close to him, Agent Blye," he tells her. "He destroys everyone that does."
Before she can even think of a response, Sam reacts with a kind of cold fury. He grabs Scarli away from Callen, and then shoves him face-first against the wall. "Shut up," he orders, and Scarli's suddenly smart enough to realize that he's just seconds away from getting his ugly mug punched in.
Assured that Sam has the situation well in hand (and really wanting to get the hell away from Scarli before she finds an excuse to bury her knee into his crotch), Kensi crosses the parking lot quickly. "Deeks," she calls out.
"We done here?" he asks, spinning towards her. When he looks up at her, she takes in his swollen and bruised face. His blue eyes are shimmering, and to herself, she wonders if the gleam she sees is from the sun or from unshed tears.
"Yeah. Want a ride home?" she offers, knowing that if she just out and out tries to talk to him about Traynor and his feelings about everything that's happened over the last few days, he'll blow her off.
Turns out, he blows her off anyway.
"Thanks, but I think I'm going to walk it," he says, a slight hard edge to his tone. She's fairly certain that it's unintentional or at the very least, not aimed at her.
"Are you close by?" she asks gently.
He shrugs. "Not really, but I need the air."
"Okay," she nods, backing off completely. Space is another thing that she understands well. Sometimes entirely too well.
He turns his back on her (much later, she'll realize that this is one of the very few times in their entire relationship/partnership where he'll do that), and starts out of the parking lot, his gait purposeful and still agitated. Abruptly, though, he stops and turns back. When he does, she sees the smallest of smiles on his lips.
"What?" she asks, cocking her head to the side.
"You missed me, didn't you?" he asks.
She groans, she's vaguely aware that she in spite of herself, she's returning his smile . "See you Monday, Deeks."
"See you Monday, Kensi."
The strange thing is, just as she somewhat returns to her mind, becoming at least slightly aware of what's occurring around (and to) her, her bizarre condition seems to suddenly get just that much worse.
It's almost like she's been hit by some kind of heat stroke. Her vision is nothing but a bright wall of blinding color – mostly white. She can hear the sound of her own breathing – it's labored and unsteady. She thinks that maybe she's going into some kind of shock. It's an absurd thought really, but then again, so is having a panic attack at the moment when your partner – your best friend, and God probably so much more – is fighting for his life on a gurney.
She hopes he is fighting. Prays to every deity willing to listen that he is.
She feels herself being moved – walked across the floor and then settled back down onto the softness of the couch that she'd previously fallen asleep on. A blanket is pressed tight around her shoulders, but suddenly feeling like she's overheating, she shrugs it off of her. A moment later, as her body breaks out in an icy cold sweat, she finds herself groping for the warmth again.
"Easy," she hears Sam say, and she can just practically physically feel his worry. "Come on, just take a deep breath."
She wants his words to help her, tries to reach for them, and pull them in, but her always-stubborn mind refuses to release the fear that is surging through her veins like venom from a poisonous snake.
Now it's Hetty speaking to her, saying her name over and over. And then she hears the diminutive office manager say, "I need you to listen to me right now. Don't give up on him yet, Ms. Blye. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"
Kensi tries to nod her understanding, but it feels like she's suddenly completely lost the ability to move any part of her body. The white light in front of her eyes seems to increase in intensity. And then, to her horror, she feels tears spill from them, leaking down her ashy cheeks. Angrily, she tries to will them back.
For the first time in her adult life, her force of will alone isn't enough to stop the dam from beginning to crumbling.
He's sitting at his desk, hunched over his new NCIS issued super high-tech laptop when she gets into the office. It's quite early, and she'd expected to be the first one in. A glance at her watch shows her that it's just past five in the morning.
"Deeks?" she says, stepping towards him. She makes sure that he hears her approach before she speaks. In their almost always dangerous and often deadly line of work, sneaking up on someone – even as a joke – is rarely a good idea.
Especially if you want to keep yourself in one piece and absent bullet holes.
He looks up at her, and smiles almost boyishly. Dressed in baggy sweatpants (which are clearly covering up board shorts) and a well-worn slightly sun-bleached Billabong hoodie, he looks so young and fresh-faced (and downright sleepy) at this time of morning. "Hey, Kensi," he replies.
"Everything okay?" she asks, dropping her bag down onto her desk.
"Yeah, fine. I'm just trying to figure out all this paperwork." He holds up a file. "So, I printed my after-action report out because that's what Hetty's instructions said to do. Care to explain to me why I'm printing things out in this day and age?"
She laughs. "Ah."
"You do know that's not an answer, right?"
"If Hetty could destroy every computer in this place," Kensi elaborates as she settles herself behind the desk across from his, "She would. Making us print out all of our reports, and then sign them in about twenty completely unnecessary places, that's her revenge on technology. I'm sure of it."
"Awesome," he nods. He taps a few more keys on his laptop, saves whatever file he's working on, and then closes it.
"So, why are you here so early?" she asks as she starts looking around the chaos of her desk, searching for the tape that she typically uses for her hands when she really wants to go at the heavy bag hard. She's quite certain that she'd left it here after a pretty heavy workout a few days earlier.
Deeks shrugs his shoulders in a noncommittal kind of way. "I just…woke up, realized it was too early to hit the waves just yet, and figured I might as well try and get my report done now so I don't have to do it later. Your turn."
She seems a bit surprised. "What? Sorry?"
"Why are you here at five in the morning, Kensi?" he's smiling slightly, his blue eyes shimmering mischievously in the dim light of the Mission.
"Uh…you know."
He shakes his head. "No, I don't know. That's why I asked the question."
She seems irritated by his response, which makes him wonders how often Sam and Callen let her get away with such lame replies. They both treat her like their little sister, and while sometimes they're more than happy to annoy her, they also clearly protect her. Probably more than is wanted or is necessary.
"Kensi?" he prompts. Then, before letting her answer, he adds, "I mean, I'd have understood if you knew I was here. I'd want to come see me, too."
"Oh, please," she laughs.
He waves his hand dismissively. "What you must have been thinking last night. You and me taking on the bad guys side by side. You know, I bet you were lying in bed this morning thinking how lucky you are to have me in your life now."
"Have you been drinking, Deeks?" she shoots back.
"So you haven't thought about last night at all?" he asks, tilting his head and giving her that "come on, now" kind of look.
"What's to think about? We took out the bad guys. We did our job," she tells him, her words crisp. She's trying to make it clear that this is the end of this particular conversation. That's her intent anyway.
"Yes, we did," he replies with a grin.
She sighs, annoyed by the cockiness that seems to be rolling off of him in waves.
Only a few hours earlier, the two of them had been standing side by side, firing their weapons back at a team of paid assassins sent to murder a former Chechnyan Black Widow named Emma Mastin. It'd been their first case as actual partners, and overall, she had to admit; it'd gone well.
And yet.
She and Deeks couldn't be more different. Everything she is, he's the reverse of. There's more to it than just being polar opposites, though. There's something about him, something that just crawls under her skin, and annoys the shit out of her. She still bristles when she thinks about him calling him a one-upper. He's wrong, of course. She's not. She's never been that. Never had to be.
Mostly because she's never really had to worry about anyone being able to keep up with her. Aside from Sam and Callen, no one else can. It's as simple as that.
"Kensi?" he says with that grin still crossing his lips. That it's clear to both of them that he knows that she'd been thinking about him just irritates her all the more.
"You're right, Deeks," she nods. "I was thinking about you this morning."
"Oh?" he seems both genuinely curious, and slightly surprised.
"I was wondering how long it's going to be before I shoot you."
"Shoot me. Wow. Ouch. Why would you shoot me?"
"Oh, I think you know why." And now she's the one smiling, only this grin, it's vaguely predatory, and it kind of scares him. And kind of turns him on.
"Yeah. Okay. So, uh, how'd your thing with your friend go last night?" Deeks asks, changing the subject away from his rather disturbing dual feelings.
Her mood alters again. The humor drops away, and it's almost like he can see the dark cloud float over her head. "I should have known better," she replies simply, crisply. "This life doesn't allow for old friendships. Or even real ones."
"So you're not real friends with Sam or Callen?"
"That's different."
"Different because they might know you better than any of those old friends that you haven't seen in years?"
"Just…different," she says, and he can tell that she doesn't want to be having this conversation. In fact, she looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here.
"So, what about us?" he asks. "Are you saying we'll never be real friends?" He's trying to charm her with the whole boyish grin.
"I don't really like you," she tells him, but she's smiling slightly, defusing her words, and taking all of the bite out of them.
"Oh, you will," he assures her. "One day, you'll wake up, and realize that you adore me, and can't imagine your life without me."
She snorts.
"Anyway," he says, changing tracks. "You never answered the question. Why are you here so early?"
"I like to work out before anyone gets here," she replies, finally locating the tape. She shows it to him as if to prove her point.
"Why?"
She considers her answer for a moment, and then decides to tell him the truth. "Because sometimes I want to hit the bag without anyone asking me if something is wrong because I'm hitting it too hard."
"God forbid people be concerned."
"Deeks," she warns.
He holds up his hands. "I was just heading out anyway."
"Good." She stands up and tape in hand, heads towards the gym. Over her shoulder, she calls out, "Don't wipe-out, Deeks."
"Don't break a hand, Kensi."
She rolls her eyes and keeps walking, fully aware that behind her, he's wearing that damnable smirk.
She has a feeling that she's going to be seeing that smirk when she hits the bag in a few minutes. Actually, she thinks, that's not a bad idea.
Not a bad idea at all.
The tears only last a few seconds before the remaining strength in her just seems to leak out of her. She suddenly slumps backwards against the couch, completely unaware of the terrified expressions that her friends are wearing.
Distantly, she thinks that she hears the sound of a door open, and then the click of shoes along the wooden floor of the Boatshed. They're coming closer, she realizes with a strange jolt of fear. Her body stiffens, her spine straightening. She can't really see what's happening around her, but she's ready to fight if she needs to be. It's an absolutely bizarre visual, but she's utterly unaware of it.
She feels Callen's hand tighten around hers. She thinks she hears him say her name again, his voice very soft and worried now.
"Okay, so – whoa, what's going on here?" she hears Nate ask. At least that's what her mind finally – and with significant effort – translates his words as.
"She started doing this," Callen replies. "Right when the monitors went crazy."
"Dammit. All right, let me in here," Nate offers. She hears the sound of his knobby knees hitting the ground in front of her. A moment later, Callen's hand is gone, and then there's a much longer hand in each of hers. "Kensi," he calls out.
He repeats her name, but try as she might, she can't force her voice to work. Even trying (and failing) to do so simply serves to send another shockwave of panic rushing through her. She feels a hand touch her face gently, and then, with no warning whatsoever, she feels a slap against her cheek. It's not especially painful, but it's sharp and unexpected enough to serve its' purpose brilliantly (strangely, pain has always served as a focuser for Kensi); the white screen in front of her eyes cedes back, and suddenly, she sees the Boatshed around her.
"Nate?" she stammers, her voice throaty and choked. She looks up, and into his worried eyes. She looks down and sees his long fingers tangled with hers.
"I'm here, Kensi. We all are. Callen, get her some water, please," He moves one of his hands down to her wrist, checking her pulse as he does so. It's not lost on anyone in the room that he'd done this exact thing with Deeks many hours earlier, when he'd first been brought in to check on their newly recovered LAPD liaison officer. Almost conversationally, and knowing exactly what answer he's likely to get from her, he asks, "Are you all right?"
Coming quickly to her senses, she pushes his hand off of hers. "Fine. Deeks?" she demands, eyes wide and fearful. A voice in the back of her head tries to tell her to calm down, tries to remind her that she's acting in a way that is utterly unlike her. The voice is right, of course, but right now, she ignores it completely.
Right now, she's just so tired and ready to finally break. She hates that this is the truth of the matter (it's not her, she never breaks) but after everything that's happened, well it pretty much is what it is.
But before that break happens, before she becomes incapable of remaining strong and dignified, before the dam that has been holding her together for the last six months crumbles and she inevitably loses the faith and respect of all her teammates (and friends), she just has to know if he's dead or alive.
"We stabilized him," Nate tells her, grabbing her wrist again. This time, she doesn't protest as he times her pulse out, frowning as he does so. Callen appears from behind him with the water. He presses the paper cup into Kensi's shaking and sweaty palms.
"Drink," Callen orders.
She ignores him (and the water) completely, her attention still on Nate. "Stabilized?" she repeats, clearly confused.
Nate glances up at Wilson, who has suddenly appeared in the room. He nods to her, urging her to explain. She steps forward, and addresses the team.
"Your boy almost gave up there for a few minutes, but Nate and I, we pulled him back from the edge. That's the good news," Wilson says, a slight British lilt to her voice that none of the team had previously noticed.
"The good news?" Callen echoes. "What's the bad news?" As he speaks, he motions towards the water cup again. Reluctantly, Kensi takes a sip, and then feeling the cool liquid on her dry throat, another and then another.
"He's not out of the woods yet. His system was nearly flooded with heroin. They've had him arm popping what we typically see guys who have had a habit for years doing. Getting all of it out of him is extremely hard on his entire system. We're having to go very slowly to keep from shocking his heart."
"Is that what just happened?" Sam queries, frowning slightly. He turns his head and looks up at the LCD. Deeks' pale face is just barely visible behind all of the medical equipment that is currently crowding the Interrogation Room.
She nods slowly, solemnly. "More or less. He seemed to be progressing at a rapid rate, and I think we got perhaps a bit too aggressive with our treatment. We won't make that mistake again, I assure you."
"So what's the next step?" Hetty presses, her eyes following Sam's. She'll never get used to seeing her people like this. She never wants to, either.
"We need to move him," Wilson replies bluntly.
"What?" Kensi demands, suddenly snapping back into the conversation.
"Kensi," Nate starts softly. "Deeks' condition right now is very tenuous. We were able to pull him back this time, but if it happens again – maybe while one of us is sleeping or out of the room for whatever reason…well, in our…in my opinion, I just think it'd be better for him to be around more medical professionals."
"So bring them here," she shoots back. She looks at the others, expecting for them to echo her words and back her up. Callen and Sam look like they want to – Hetty, too – but none of them say anything. "Guys, come on…"
"Kensi," Sam tells her. "We have to protect this place. We can't bring in too many other people. We risk compromising the Boatshed if we do."
"Sam, it's Deeks," she pleads, eyes wide with surprise and anger. "He's one of ours. He's my partner. Please…"
"He knows, Kens," Callen assures her. "We all do." He turns back to Nate. "You guys have a place in mind?"
"Her clinic. It's small and contained. We can have Detective Bernhart's guys guarding it. If we're lucky, Deeks will only need to be there a couple days, and then we can move him to a regular NCIS safe house for the rest of the process."
Callen looks at Sam, then at Kensi, and finally at Hetty. After a moment, realizing that it's his call, he says simply, "Do it."
"Callen," Kensi protests immediately, and there's a kind of frantic wildness in her eyes. The kind that tells her everyone just how close she is to cracking. "We're giving Kassel an opening to find Deeks. We can't –"
"No one is going to find Deeks," Sam growls. "And even if they do, they're not getting past us. I promise you that." He reaches out and puts a hand on both of her shoulders. Then he repeats his words. "I promise."
She shakes her head, still not quite able to wrap her mind around the idea of moving Deeks from a place that she considers completely safe to one that she can't control. It's a bad idea. It's a terrible idea.
No one is listening to her. She feels the blood began to surge through her veins again. Her heart begins to hammer against her ribcage anew.
"How are we going to get him to the clinic?" Callen asks Nate. She almost completely zones out before she hears the response (which involves something about ambulances and decoy cars), her eyes locked on the LCD in front of her.
This time, she sees exactly what's on the screen.
Deeks. Lying in a bed, just barely moving, slightly twitching.
But dear God, still alive.
She tries like hell to hold onto that.
After the day they've had, she doesn't have the heart to crack on him about running the timer out the shower four times in a row. On the other hand, if he doesn't stop complaining about how he's got dirt and sand and other desert grime in places that he doesn't even want to begin to name (and she doesn't want him to, either, thank you very much) she's going to kill him.
"Deeks," she calls out as she enters the steam filled shower room.
"Should you be in here?" he calls out over the roar of the cascading water. He peeks around the curtain, his soaking wet hair dripping down onto the tiles. "I mean we are in the men's shower room."
"It's a co-ed shower room," she reminds him. And it's true. The Mission is small, and hardly has adequate space for a full shower room much less segregated ones. Instead, they rely on a rather archaic warning system involving signs.
"Well I clearly put the in-use by man sign on the door."
"Uh huh. You have nothing I haven't seen before."
He opens his mouth to reply, but then stops and settles for simply smirking.
"We're wanted up in Ops," she tells him, unwilling to play his game.
"Give me a few more minutes to clean up and I'll be up."
"You've already had almost an hour," she reminds him, no longer able to stay away from at least a light jab. She's been so good…
"Hey, I'm not like you, Princess. I can't spit on my hand, rub it over me, and declare myself clean."
"That's disgusting, Deeks." She looks vaguely offended.
"I'm sorry," he says, and for a moment, she almost believes it, but he's not quite able to keep the corner of his mouth from lifting up.
"You're an ass." She turns and starts to walk away.
"Kensi, come on, wait," he calls out.
She turns back. "Why?"
"Because I saved your life today," he tells her. "Least you could do is walk upstairs with me."
She sighs. "Fine. I'll be waiting outside for you." She starts to move again, but then stops. "I had it under control," she says softly. Then, before he can answer, she turns and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.
It's about five minutes later when he joins her, back in the white shirt and jeans that he'd been in before they had headed out to the desert to save the kidnapped Marines. His hair is damp, and there are still droplets of water streaking across his tanned skin. He smiles easily at her as he comes out.
"You waited."
"I said I would," she shoots back.
"Yes, you did. Shall we?"
She nods curtly and heads towards the stairs, up towards Ops. He follows close behind her, maybe a step back. Just before they enter the room where the others are gathered, he stops her progress by stepping in front of her.
"What it is?"
"I know that you had it under control. I just gave you an assist."
She looks at him for a long moment, and then shakes her head. "Come on, Deeks, you've already made us late."
"It's good to be late from time to time," he says. "Good for the soul."
"Uh huh. I'm going to let you tell Hetty that."
"Tell Hetty what?" Hetty inquires as they enter.
"Nothing. We were just…you know what? It's not important," Deeks says with a shake of his soggy blonde mane, thereby confirming for everyone that Hetty remains the one person that can shut him up.
Kensi looks over at Callen and Sam and shares an amused smile with them. Then her eyes flicker over towards Deeks, and she's surprised to see him watching her, almost studying her.
This time, when she looks away, back over at Sam and Callen, their grin is directed at her. And this time, she doesn't care for their amusement at all.
She knows that they're talking about her. Well, of course they are. They leave her pretty much alone, still sitting on the couch, her eyes remaining glued on the LCD. She's watching Wilson in the room with Deeks, her practiced hands moving over him gently as she readjusts equipment and sensors.
The others? Well they're outside of the Boatshed. Yeah, talking about her.
It annoys her, and if she could focus, it would actually even piss her off.
Right now, though, there's no room in her mind for anything besides Marty Deeks. Right now, all the energy she has left in her is directed towards willing him to survive this.
To come back to her.
To not leave her like everyone else does.
She's waiting for him by his car, staring up at the sky. The blue of the cloudless afternoon has given way to a black velvet cloak punched full of bright stars. When he comes up and stands beside her, he expects her to look at him, but for a moment, her eyes stay locked on the dark heavens above them.
Finally, "Nice night," he says.
"Yeah."
"What are you thinking about?"
"Alaska."
"Really?"
"My father took me there when I was thirteen. He wanted me to get a chance to step foot in every single state. Said it was important that I understood the differences between the people who live in Alaska and the ones who live in New York. He said that the differences are what make this country great." She smiles as she says this, lost in a memory far in the past. He's seen this look before, even in the short time that they've been working together. It's part crushing pride, part absolute love and part unbearable sadness.
"Wise man," Deeks nods.
"Yeah, but I was thirteen, and didn't want to spend my vacation where it was cold. I didn't even really want to be there, to be honest. I wanted to be home hanging out with my friends." Her look is wistful.
"Teenagers are stupid sometimes."
"And selfish. But you know what I remember from the trip?"
"Hm?"
"The sky. I remember looking up and feeling like I could see every star that had ever been created. I felt so small and insignificant." Her eyes drift back upwards.
"You don't strike me as the kind of woman to care much for feeling like that."
"There are times when even I don't mind. I didn't mind then," she replies with a shrug. "It was about being part of something bigger. The grand plan of the universe, you know."
"So you believe in grand plans?"
She looks at him again, then after a beat, shakes her head. "No, I don't."
"Why not?"
"Because any grand plan that involves my father be taken away from me like he was…when he was…isn't a plan that I want any part of."
He has no answer for that so he settles for just staying quiet. For the moment anyway. After about five minutes have passed, and her eyes are still affixed on the stars far above, he asks gently, "Why were you waiting for me?"
"Hm?"
"You're out here by my car. I assume you wanted to talk to me away from the others?" he presses.
She looks at him, and frowns, and for a moment, he thinks he can see some kind of bubbling need just beneath her surface. It passes quickly, though, and she shakes her head. "No, I got distracted."
"Kensi…"
"It's fine, Deeks. We did good work today."
"Even if I did piss you off by putting my arm around your waist?"
She laughs in response.
"So you didn't get mad? Sorry, angry."
She meets his gaze evenly. "No. I'm good. My Sweet."
"Sounds better coming from me."
"Uh huh."
Suddenly, he smiles. "That's what this is about isn't it? You want to know what my type is, don't you?"
"You're really full of yourself, you know that?"
"You and me, we're always going to be driving each other crazy, aren't we?"
"Assuming we last that long."
"Oh, Fern, I wouldn't worry. I'm not going anywhere."
"That sounds like a threat."
"A promise."
She looks at him for a long moment, searching his face, trying to read his eyes. His tone is jovial, but his words are serious. And intense.
It's too much for her. She reaches out, pats his shoulder and then yawns. "I'm heading home. Catch you in the morning."
"Night, Kensi."
She meets his eyes, sees that same seriousness there, the same promise as before. After a beat, she simply nods, and then turns and walks away, leaving him with nothing but a sky full of stars to keep him company.
"So, full disclosure," Callen demands once the foursome of he, Hetty, Sam and Nate are outside the Boatshed. They're confident that Kensi can't hear them even though they're pretty sure she knows that they're talking about her.
That she hasn't stormed outside to demand that they knock it the hell off is enough to tell all of them that this conversation needs to be had.
"This has been a long time coming," Nate says with a sigh. "She's been carrying all of this around with her for the last six months. It's a terrible burden."
"Is she going to be all right?" Sam asks.
Hetty nods quickly and then adds in her no-arguments allowed tone, "Ms. Blye is strong. She might seem otherwise at the moment, and she might seem like she's breaking, but I assure you all, she is far from broken."
"Hetty's right," Nate agrees. "This Deeks situation, it's overwhelming her right now. She's spent the last six months convincing herself that he's dead and dealing with survivor's guilt. Now he's alive and he's hurt and he's been through hell, and her guilt is a whole different kind, Now, she's the partner who got off easy while he got tortured." He holds his hand up to stop Callen and Sam from interrupting. "I know. I'm not saying what she feels is accurate. It's not. But it is what she feels, and that's where we have to start from."
"What about Deeks?" Callen asks. "Is he going to make it through this?"
"I think so, but we won't know until his system is completely flushed. Once it is, Dr. Wilson and I will monitor him for a few days just to make sure there aren't any unusual post-detox reactions."
"And then we start the deprogramming."
"Which will make what he's going through now look like a vacation. Look, breaking someone down to the point where they're willing to give up their entire personality, their memories, and well everything that makes them who they are, it's not easy. Reversing that is even harder. We're going to need Kensi. She's the one person who I believe whole heartedly can get through to Deeks."
"Which means we need her strong for him," Hetty notes. She turns to Sam and Callen. "After we've moved Mr. Deeks to the clinic, one of you will accompany Ms. Blye back to her place to pack a suitcase with enough clothes for a week."
"Her place has been compromised," Sam says, more to himself than the others.
"Exactly. Take her back to my house in the Hollywood Hills. I believe you know where it is, Mr. Callen. She'll resist certainly, and want to be with Mr. Deeks while he's going through the detox, but as long as she's near him, she won't rest."
"And it's absolutely imperative that she have the energy for going rounds with the Jimmy Reese identity that is currently front and center in Deeks. She needs to be able to talk to him and not be so exhausted and worn down that she can't keep herself from collapsing," Nate inserts.
"Or having a panic attack," Callen adds. "What's that all about?"
"Another problem that she's been ignoring. She's not one hundred percent physically healthy but she's close enough to it to be able to returning to the field. Her mental issues, however, aside from the guilt, are completely unresolved. She won't admit it, but she was as much a victim of Kassel as Deeks was. She's refused to deal with even a little bit of it. She's not sleeping or eating."
"So what you're saying is that I'm a complete basket case," she says from behind them. She steps outside, wearing Sam's oversized jacket again. The lines on her face spell out her exhaustion vividly.
"Kensi," Callen starts.
"I'm no one's victim," she starts off with, her eyes locking coldly on Nate's. After a moment (one in which he refuses to look away from her), she continues. "But I am tired. It doesn't matter, though. I need to be here for him. He would be here for me. He wouldn't leave my side. For anything."
"You're no help to him like this, Ms. Blye," Hetty tells her.
"Please, don't make me leave him." she says. "Please."
"I've never seen you cry," Sam notes. "In there, you were crying."
She shakes her head. "No…I…"
"It scared the hell out of me," Sam continues.
"Us," Callen corrects. "You're right; Deeks needs you, but we need you, too."
"And what if he dies while I'm curled up in a bed. What if…"
"Then it's his time," Hetty interrupts. "And you being there will make no difference." Kensi opens her mouth to argue, but Hetty silences her with a hand on her forearm. "You're not a doctor, Ms. Blye, and right now, Mr. Deeks is unaware of who he is much less who you are. Right now, you can't help him, but very shortly, if the universe wills it, you will have your chance to bring him back."
"This is wrong," Kensi replies, feeling the exhaustion as if it were a hundred pound weight on her shoulders. She's just so damned tired.
"Maybe, but it's what we're going to do," Hetty says gently. Then, to the men, "Let's get Mr. Deeks prepared for transport. The sooner this part is over, the sooner we can work on bringing Marty home."
"So how did you know?" he asks when they're back by themselves in the solitude of her Cadillac. After his failed attempt to do a night out on the town with the guys while still wearing their James Bond tuxedos (thanks to Hetty), Kensi had been kind enough to wait around long enough to give him a ride back to his place.
"Know what?"
"All the pregnancy stuff."
"I'm a woman, Deeks, do try to remember that."
"I do try," he nods. "But in my defense, MacGyver, you sometimes make it very difficult. I mean I still want you to explain hotwiring an airplane."
"Wanted to see if I could," she shrugs.
"Of course. And pregnancy?"
"What are you asking, Deeks?"
"Have you ever been?"
"Do I have a kid?"
"That doesn't answer the question," he tells her. "And you know it."
"Crackers and ginger ale, anyone who has ever watched a romantic comedy knows that when women are pregnant, that's what they eat and drink."
"So you're movie experienced is what you're telling me?"
"Yes. Now drop it."
For a moment, it seems like he's going to but then he asks. "Never pregnant, but thought you were at some point?"
"Deeks."
"Bullseye."
"We're not talking about this."
"Which pretty much means I'm right."
"You always think you're right," she grumbles.
"So do you," he counters.
"No, I don't think I'm right, I know I'm right," she replies with a grin.
"Maybe, but do you look as good as I do in a suit? You have to admit, I looked smoking hot."
"I don't know about smoking hot. Smoking pretty maybe."
"Oh, nice. You know what? That was mean. And hurtful."
"I'm sorry," she tells him.
"No, you're not."
"No, I'm not."
"Fine."
"Oh, look who's pouting now."
"Yeah, drive, Blye." She just smirks in response, and fires up the ignition of the car. They're halfway to his place before he says lightly, "Ever think about it?"
"Excuse me?"
"Being a mom, I mean."
"Deeks."
"I'm not pushing. I'm not asking. I'm just…spitballing here, Kensi. Have you ever thought about it?"
"Sure," she replies, clearly guarded as if expecting this to be some attempt to get answers that she's not prepared to provide.
"You think you'd be good at it?"
"Probably not," she admits.
"Oh."
"You? Ever thought about it?"
"Being a mom? Nah. Missing the vital equipment, you know."
"You're an idiot."
"Thank you. And we're here." He points to his place.
"You didn't answer the question," she notes.
He gets out of the car, and then leans back in through the window and says with a smile, "Sometimes, my sweet, it's better to be left wanting." Then he winks, and turns and heads towards his place.
She watches him go, her mind whirling. His experiences with his father have (and had) clearly been far different than hers with own dad. Terribly different, apparently. And they've left deep scars behind to prove it.
Scars that she's not sure she has the right to pick at.
Especially since she's not willing to let him pick at hers.
It's about an hour later, and she's in Sam's car, resting her head against the door, staring out at the dark Los Angeles streets as they pass through them.
"Kensi?" he asks, frowning slightly. He'd helped Callen and the others get Deeks transported to the tiny clinic in the heart of Torrance. Callen would be staying behind to stand guard – at least until Bernhart arrived. And likely after as well.
Which made Kensi his priority.
"I'm fine, Sam," she says softly.
"You're not," he tells her.
She shakes her head, "I'm not."
"Tell me how I can help."
"Talk me out of ever going on the case in the first place. Make me not be so stubborn and bull-headed that I wouldn't listen when Callen told me I wasn't ready. Make me not make it personal and insist that we stay in."
"Don't do this to yourself," he says.
She looks at him, and he once again sees the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "How can I not?"
"Look, Kensi, missions go bad all the time. It's the nature of our work. I've had it happen and so has G. So has Hetty. Terrible things happen, and you're always lucky to survive with your life. Which you both did."
"Did we? What if we can't get Deeks back? What then? This Jimmy Reese, he's not the one Eric created. He's some screwed up thug that Kassel invented. If we can't –"
"Stop. You can't even allow yourself to believe that possibility for a moment. You have to –"
"Be strong. Got it.
"It's what you do best," he tells her. "It's one of the things I love about you."
"You always know the right words, don't you, Sam?"
"I have to make up for G never knowing them."
"Yeah. You two make good partners."
"So do you and Deeks."
"I miss him," she says, her voice raw with emotion. It's an admission that she'd never believe she'd make to anyone else, not a million years, but her emotional and physical exhaustion is so overwhelming now that it feels like a new crack forms in the wall of her dam with each passing minute.
"I know." He pulls the car up in front of her bungalow and parks it. They both get out of the car. For a moment, standing side-by side on the street, looking up at the bungalow, neither of them moves.
"I'm going to have to give this place up, aren't I?" she asks, knowing the answer.
"Probably. No way of knowing how many people know about you living here."
"I liked it here," she says with a note of sadness.
"I've moved three dozen times since I started with NCIS," he tells her.
"Only my second."
"Your third one will be even better," he assures her.
She looks over at him. "You're a good friend, Sam."
"So are you. And there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."
At his words – words that so terribly echo ones that she and Deeks have said to each other (if not exactly, in spirit and action), another crack in her wall explodes, sending emotion spraying forward. Without warning, she leans up and hugs him.
He reacts without surprise, simply pulls her closer and holds her to him.
It's two weeks after the case with the bounty hunter is in the books when they first switch weapons for a target practice session at the range. To his slight amusement, despite her words, Kensi seems reluctant to hand over her gun.
Still, because she's too far in now to back out and refuse to trade guns when he's the one offering, she hands over her Sig and takes his Beretta.
Turns out it hardly matters what gun she's firing; the lady is a crack shot with just about any weapon she touches. And just to show off a little bit, she fires a shot into the groin of the paper target, and then adds a second hole just for effect.
"You have a really twisted sense of humor," Deeks tells her.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she says with a smile as she hands him back his gun, and returns her own to the back of her jeans.
"Uh huh. So, how'd it fire?"
"Nice," she nods. "Not much kick."
"But you prefer your Sig."
"Yes."
"Because it's part of you and you count on it to keep you safe."
"Are you trying to make a point here, Deeks?"
"It's all about trust," he says.
"I trust you to have my back in a firefight. That's trust."
"I trust you not to shoot me in the same firefight."
"I wouldn't do that," she says with a shake of her head. "I mean, I won't let anyone else shoot you, but I can't be held responsible for if I happen to…"
"Miss your target and hit me?"
She shrugs her shoulders. "You just got to trust me, Deeks."
"Right. Just the same, I think I'm going to start wearing a Kevlar cup when we go out in the field together. Just in case you happen to miss your shot, and hit my groin instead, you know."
"Good idea," she winks. And then, her face growing serious, she adds softly, "Thank you."
"For?" he asks, slightly confused.
Her eyes drift down towards his Beretta, which is now rested in his palm. "All about trust, right?" he says again.
"Yeah, it is."
Kensi's place looks like a pack of thieves have been through it. In the twenty-four hours since the guys had helped her get Deeks out of the bungalow, it's clear that other visitors have been inside of it.
And not the kind of visitors who leave their business cards behind.
Every drawer in the place has been tossed, every cabinet emptied. Some of the damage is senseless, clearly purely rage inspired. Some of it seems more focused, like they were looking for something specific.
It's the note on her refrigerator that gets her and Sam's attention, though. It's written in black ink on a piece of white and gray stationary paper. It says simply, "I will find you both."
And in that moment, the cracks in her dam widen, and everything finally pours out. It's finally all just too much. When her legs collapse out from beneath her, and the world turns upside down, she's aware of almost nothing.
Nothing besides the fact that when she falls, she doesn't hit the ground.
Someone (Sam) catches her.
"So, I'm sorry," he says as he sits down next to her at the table. They're in a bar with the rest of the team. The others are scattered about, some dancing, some playing pool or darts. Kensi, for her part, is just watching everything.
"For what?" she asks, turning towards him. She'd been about ready to get up and go searching for a dance partner when Deeks had sat down.
"This morning at the park."
"You mean when you tried to use me to pick up on the –"
"Whoa, watch it there, partner."
"What?"
"You were about to say some not very nice things about other members of your species. Aren't you ladies supposed to always stick together?"
She snorts. "You clearly haven't been around a lot of women have you?"
"And you clearly don't have a lot of woman friends do you?"
"I thought you were trying to apologize, Deeks," she snaps back. It's clear to him that his barb cut her a bit deeper than he'd intended it to.
"You're right, I'm sorry."
"Fine. Apology accepted."
"Great. Your turn."
"For what?"
"Apologizing. For the sleeping with your brother bit. Which was…really mean."
"And well deserved." And then, with a wrinkle of her nose. "And you have to admit, kind of funny."
"Yeah, no. If not for you, I could be spending tonight in the arms of one of those beautiful yoga bunnies instead of out with you guys."
"You're the one who asked all of us out."
"Doesn't mean I wouldn't rather be –"
"Please stop."
"Right. Stopping."
"So, tell me - and with as few actual details as possible, please - what is Marty Deeks' idea of the perfect date?"
"Dinner and dancing and maybe a midnight stroll on the beach."
"Classic."
"Exactly."
"Of course, a girl knows that dinner and dancing and sand between the toes usually means the guy is expecting a nightcap."
"And that's a bad thing why?"
"Didn't say it was."
"You implied it."
"You're sensitive, Deeks. I implied nothing."
"Liar."
She laugh, turning her head as she does so. That's when she notices two beautiful brunettes babes watching their table, talking to each other and giggling like young women are apt to do. "Oh, look, new bunnies for you."
He looks over at them. "Pretty," he notes.
"Go get 'em."
He stares at them for a moment, then turns his head back towards her and shakes it. "Nah. Pass."
"Really? On interested girls? Are you feeling all right? Do you need some water."
"No, and yes, I'm feeling just fine." He stands up. "Care for a pool game, Partner."
"You know I'm going to kick your ass, right?"
"I wouldn't have expected you to believe anything different, but I think you'll realize, I'm no push over at the eight ball."
She grins, stands up, and follows him over to the pool table, across from the one Sam and Callen are playing at.
The rest of the night seems to flow by in a swirl of alcohol, pool and laughter. It occurs to him (if not her as well) that they're enjoying themselves off the clock and as friends, not just partners.
He's pretty sure that no yoga bunny in the world could make this night any better.
Not that he would ever tell Kensi that.
She has no idea what had happened after she'd collapsed at the bungalow. All she knows is that at some point, she'd passed out in Sam's arms and now she's waking up in a super soft bed, covered up by thick blankets that probably cost several thousand dollars each. If not a whole hell of a lot more than that.
"My Dear?" she hears.
Kensi sits up slowly, blinks away the cobwebs, and then turns to see Hetty sitting in a chair across from the bed.
"Your place?" she asks.
"One of them," Hetty confirms.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I don't know what happened. I guess I just…" she's unable to say the words "passed out". They're too horrifying, too humiliating.
"It doesn't matter," Hetty replies with a kind smile. "All that does is that you're resting now. And you're going to continue to rest until it's time to help Mr. Deeks find his way home."
"He's still okay?"
"He is. And he's in very good hands. My – and might I add, Mr. Hanna's - concern at the immediate moment is you."
"It shouldn't be. I'm sorry I scared him. Where is he?"
"With Mr. Deeks now, helping stand guard. As for not being 'scared' about you, I'm afraid that's where you're mistaken."
"Hetty, I'm fine."
"That word – that lie - it comes too easy to you," Hetty replies, her tone almost sad. "To all of you."
Kensi doesn't argue the point, just shifts in the bed, noticing that she's in the same clothes that she was wearing previously – absent, of course, Sam's oversized leather jacket. She notices, however, that a suitcase of hers is sitting just a few feet away from her, resting on the carpeted floor.
"Did you dream?" Hetty asks her.
"No. No nightmares. Nothing. I just…" Then, with an angry shake of her head, she forces the words out. "I saw the note Kassel left, and like a fresh out of the academy rookie, I panicked and passed out. That's what happened." Suddenly, her eyes widening, she looks up at Hetty. "I'm going to lose my job aren't I?"
"I don't understand the question," Hetty tells her even though they both know that that's unlikely. Hetty always understands. It's her gift and her curse.
"The shrink…I told him I had the panic attacks under control. If he finds out what just happened, he'll pull back his recommendation. He'll insist on a reassignment to a non-field office. Hetty, I can't leave here. I can't…"
"You know, Ms. Blye, I am a big proponent of accurate records. I believe that in a perfect world, we should account for the truth of every situation. However, we don't operate in a perfect world, and there are times when well-meaning men who work in offices are ill-prepared to understand the stresses of our work."
"Hetty…"
"I'll make you a deal, Ms. Blye. When this is all over, and Mr. Deeks is back where he belongs, I will ensure that no record of your panic attack exists as long as you promise to talk to someone you trust about all that has happened."
"Someone?"
"Mr. Callen, Mr. Hanna, Mr. Deeks if he's able. Myself. All of us are available to you, and none of us will judge you. And if all you want to do is talk over beers, that's fine, too. You just need to allow yourself to begin to heal."
"I need you to know….I need all of you to know that I can do this job."
"Of that, we have no doubt. Our concern is you. You are family to all of us. We take care of our family. Do we have a deal, Ms. Blye?"
Slowly, Kensi nods.
"Good. Then close your eyes, and sleep."
"I…"
"I'll be turning off the lights now." And then, true to her word, the room darkens. Kensi hears a door shut, and knows that she's alone in the room.
The sleep comes soon after. Thankfully, for once, she's too exhausted to dream.
The paramedics show up less than ten minutes after the explosion at the stadium. There are LAPD there as well, swarming everywhere, demanding answers that even they seem to know they'll never get.
Both Kensi and Deeks try to decline any medical attention but Hetty is insistent which makes Callen and Sam downright annoying about making sure that the junior members of their team are at least checked over in a cursory manner.
Contusions and abrasions are all the damage is. Luckily. Every single one of them knows how very easily it could have been so much worse.
Kensi and Deeks especially. Neither Sam nor Callen had actually seen the lasers and felt the intensity of death breathing down their necks. Neither of them had been forced to watch as Kensi had played a macabre and deadly game of limbo.
How low can you go? Ridiculously low apparently.
It's all terribly absurd, really.
Deeks watches as the medic squeezes her arms, checking her bones for breaks. He sees her wince when he squeezes her right arm. The medic rolls up her sleeve to reveal a fist sized bruise on her forearm.
"Ouch," he says.
"Yeah, wait until they check your back."
"Back is fine," he replies. "I'm part cyborg." Then, with a tired sigh, he corrects himself. "Okay, not really. But all I need is a beer and I'll be good to go."
"Oh, God, that sounds wonderful," she mutters. "Maybe even a six pack of them."
"But only the top of the line stuff, right?"
"Honestly, I don't care. This day has sucked."
"Yes, it has. And I'm sorry for that."
"Deeks, you saved my life. Shut up."
He laughs. Looking up at the medic, who is watching them both with a bemused smile, he simply shrugs. "We done here?"
"I'd like to check your back."
"No need, my man. It's fine. And she's fine. We're fine."
"We're fine," Kensi echoes.
"All right. But only because you're fine," the medic agrees with a smirk.
The two partners exchange a look. Neither one of them is fine – either mentally or physically. This has been an extremely trying day, one where they'd both been seconds and inches from death. Neither one of them wants to spend another minute thinking about that. Both of them know that they'll see lasers and explosions in their dreams tonight.
"Hey," Callen says, coming up from behind them. "Are you two –"
At the same time, completely in-sync, they reply, "We're fine."
And then they both laugh.
It's certainly better than crying.
The next two days fly by for her, mostly because she sleeps through them. Every now and again, she wakes up long enough to use the bathroom. During those brief intervals, Hetty tries to get her to eat a little bit of soup. She typically manages a few bites – just enough to somewhat satisfy the insistent office manager– and then she almost immediately falls back into a dreamless rest.
When she wakes up almost fifty hours after having first been brought to Hetty's house, it's Callen she sees sitting in the chair next to the bed, reading the sports section of the Los Angeles Times.
"You know I always think you look like an old man when you do that," she comments. "All you're missing is the bi-focals low on your nose."
"Good morning to you, too," he says, putting the newspaper down. He folds it up neatly, and sets it at his feet. "How'd you sleep?"
"Well, I guess. You guys shouldn't have let me sleep this long."
"You needed it."
"I suppose. Callen, why are you here?" she asks. "Where's Hetty?"
"In the other room, on the phone with Director Vance. She's updating him. And I'm here because I wanted to make sure you're okay."
"And Deeks? Are you here to –"
"No. He's going to be fine, Kens. He's completely clean. All signs are good."
She exhales breath she didn't even know she was holding. "Thank God."
"Course, he's a bit of a jackass, being this Jimmy Reese guy and all. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'll be glad when we have old goofy Marty Deeks back. I think even Sam will be."
"Sam likes Deeks more than he lets on," Kensi tells him with a smile.
"Yeah, he does," Callen agrees. "I think when this is all over, we should make sure the two of them get to bond out in the field more."
"No offense, but when this is all over, I'm not sure I'm letting Deeks out of my sight," she replies, hating her own words, but recognizing them as the truth.
"You're going to have to," Callen tells her as he helps her stand up from the bed. Her legs feel almost boneless, and for a moment, she thinks she's about to fall, but his arm around her waist keeps her up long enough for her to gather her strength enough to support her own weight.
"Why?" she asks, dread filling her tone.
"Because partnerships don't work if you're too afraid of losing each other. Both of you have to trust that you can't not only protect each other, but yourselves. If you can't, then we'll have to maybe shake things up a little."
"I know," she says softly. Then, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Am I still capable of doing this job?"
"Only you can answer that question," he tells her. "But for what it's worth, I have no doubt of it. We just need to get through this."
"You make it sound so simple."
"Nothing in our lives is."
She chuckles. Then, "So what now?" she asks.
"Now, it's time to get back into kickass take no prisoners Kensi mode. Deeks needs her. He needs you."
The first thing she's aware of when she comes to is that she's not lying in her own comfortable bed, her warm Winter comforter wrapped around her. Which, of course, makes the second thing she realizes fairly understandable; she's freezing cold. A moment later, she becomes aware of a third thing – a far more surprising thing. This one involves her lying in the rather strong arms of…
"Deeks," she whispers.
"Hey, Princess," he says with a sleepy smile. They're lying on her couch, her head against his chest, his arm slung lightly over her. Dimly, she recalls coming back here the previous night, after spending the time with him at the homeless shelter. She has a vague memory of him asking to stay so that he could keep an eye on her after the hit she'd taken to the head from Talbot.
"You didn't have to stay the whole night," she tells him, sitting up. She almost immediately winces as the pressure from the concussion she'd suffered overwhelms her. She puts a hand to her forehead, gently probing the hideously raised bruise she finds there. It seems to have gotten worse overnight.
"Does it hurt?" he asks.
"No, it feels great," she replies dryly.
"You look great, too," he tells her. "Like a boxer who went ten rounds."
"And lost," she mutters.
"Kensi Blye never loses, right?" he quips.
He gets the response he was looking for, a smirk and a grin from her.
"Right. So," he asks. "Christmas Eve dinner is ice cream and beer – which we kind of indulged in." He points towards the empty bowls of ice cream on the table in front of them. "What's Christmas morning breakfast?"
"Waffles and beer," she says as she pushes herself up.
"Ah, beer, of course," he chuckles. He hears the door to the bathroom close. After about five minutes, it opens again, and she returns to him, settling herself on the couch next to him. "Kind of a running theme with you."
"Beer is good with everything," she tells him.
"You do realize that AA meetings are filled with people who believe that, right?"
She rolls her eyes.
He heads into her kitchen, and starts looking through her refrigerator, searching for the ingredients to make waffles with. "So, was it with Jack?"
"Was what with Jack?"
"Was he the one you thought you were pregnant with?"
"I've never been pregnant."
"But you thought were."
"It doesn't matter. He's gone, and there's no baby, and I wouldn't have made a good mother anyway. Can we drop it now, please?"
"Sure."
"Great." Then, frowning slightly. "Deeks, why are you still here? You could have left before I woke up." She's looking at him intensely now, as if trying to read his thoughts.
"Why would I do that?" he asks. "Why would I just leave?"
"I'm still trying to figure out why you needed to stay."
"I thought we had this conversation last night," he reminds her.
"Deeks?" she urges. She's looking directly into his eyes now.
He looks away for a moment, studies the chaos of her bungalow, and then finally turns back to face her. When he does, his expression is serious and thoughtful. Quietly, he says, "I couldn't lose you. That's it. That's all of it."
She almost tells him that she feels the same way – that after everything they've gone through in the last couple weeks, she can't imagine not having him at her back, and her side.
God, how they've come a long way.
She almost tells him these things. After spending a night on his chest, and wrapped in his arms, it wouldn't have been such a strange confession to make.
She doesn't say these things, though. She simply doesn't know how to.
The safe house they take Deeks to is actually a little two bedroom house fairly close to Hetty's Hollywood Hills home. It's nestled into a grove of high trees that provide it with security and absolute seclusion. The locks have been updated, and the windows sealed to keep it as safe as possible.
Still, when Kensi arrives with Callen and Hetty, she's not at all surprised to find Matt Bernhart outside, his shoulder holster prominent. He nods at them.
"Everything good, Detective?" Hetty asks.
"Yep. Deeks is inside with Sam and Nate. Being a bit difficult, I might add."
"Well that's a good sign," Kensi quips, though she's honestly not sure that it's a sign of anything. She's gratified, though, when her comment is meant with chuckles from all of the others.
"Stay on guard," Callen tells him. "We know Kassel is looking for him. And Kensi. You see anyone that looks suspicious, you take them down."
"Got it."
Callen nods at him, and then leads the trio into the house. There isn't a lot of furniture inside, but that's somewhat intentional. They don't know who Deeks really is right now, but giving him anything he can use as a weapon? Bad idea.
"Hey, guys," Nate greets.
"How is he?" Hetty asks.
"Confused, scared and angry. Understandable considering. How are you, Kens?"
"Better," she tells him. "So what now?"
"For now, we're just going to talk to him, try to trigger a few memories."
"Is that what Sam's doing?" Callen asks.
"Kind of. I don't think Sam is built for this part. Deeks – Jimmy – is being fairly obstinate. He's called Sam a few choice names. His patience is running thin."
"You think mine is any better?" Kensi asks.
"No, I know it's not. But I also know that you have more of a connection with Deeks than anyone else does. And more memories that mean something to both of you." He says this last bit pointedly. She chooses just as pointedly to ignore him. He continues on, "You need to be with him every moment that he's awake from now on. He needs you to be his constant. Right now, he's afraid because he knows something isn't right. Without the drugs to glue the Jimmy Reese persona together, the gaps and cracks are showing up more and more with every moment. We need him to reach out for you. You need to be there to pull him up."
"You're sure this will work?"
"You're the best weapon we've got, Ms. Blye."
"Right. Okay, explain one thing to me. I can help remind him of my relationship with him, but he hasn't told me a whole hell of a lot about his past. I know his father was kind of a creep -"
"I'm afraid you don't know the half of it, Ms. Blye," Hetty says solemnly.
"I kind of assumed that. But that's my point. Don't we need to remind him of every part of his past? Even the bad stuff?"
"Yes," Nate agrees. "We do. Which is why Hetty and I went to see his mother. She still lives here in town. Apparently Deeks stops in to see her every couple of weeks. She filled us in on quite a bit of what he went through. She refused to come see him, but she did give us this." He holds up a moleskin journal.
"A diary?" Kensi asks.
"More like letters she wrote to him. From the time he was about three until he moved out at sixteen. There's a few in here after that. They're pretty graphic and pretty intense. They also do a pretty good job of walking someone through his childhood."
He holds out the journal to Kensi. She's reluctant to take it, but finally does. She keeps it tightly closed in her hands, suddenly terrified to find out the secrets held tightly within its aged pages. "Okay," she says softly. "Let's do this."
"You're sure your ready?" Callen asks.
She smiles sadly at him. "Was I ready then?"
He's taken aback by her question, but in typical fashion, recovers quickly. "Yes, you were. I was wrong, and you were ready."
She smiles gratefully, and then says, "Then I'm ready now, too."
This time, she's the one in the showers. And this time, he's the one ignoring the sign on the door and coming in. "Kensi?" he calls out, hoping that she's the one currently using the one active stall in the room. If she's not, whoever is in there is going to tear him a new one.
Chances are, his partner might do that anyway.
"Deeks?" she says from behind him. He jumps nearly a foot in the air in response, hand over his heart.
"God," he spits out. "What are you doing sneaking around?"
"I wasn't sneaking around," she says with a wry smile. "I was about to get in the shower." She holds up a change of clothes.
"You started your water early? When they're on timers? Why?"
"I take a five minute shower."
"That's…just plain wrong."
She simply smiles. To him, though, it looks like an odd sort of grimace. "Why are you looking for me?"
"I just…I had a question."
"So ask it so I can shower and get upstairs. They're waiting for us."
"As usual but…where were you? I mean, back in Venice. You were right behind me when we left the market, and then you just disappeared until after I shot the guy we were chasing."
"Looked like you had it well in hand."
"Kensi."
"I hate when you say my name like that."
"Funny because sometimes you say my name like it's a four letter word."
"Might as well be," she chuckles..
"Uh huh. So?"
"I got distracted."
"By?"
"A car. It kind of…ran into me."
"A car ran into you?" he repeats, disbelief in his tone. "Are you kidding me?"
"No." She lifts up the hem of her black shirt, exposing brightly bruised skin that is covered in scraped and deep lacerations. "Looks worse than it is."
"Right. Of course it does. Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"
"Because you're right, I should have been there. I should have had your back."
"You kind of had a good reason for not being there. I would have understood. I understand now."
"And if he'd shot you?"
"Well then I guess I'd be hooking up with a few really pretty angels right about now."
"Don't even joke about that," she admonishes, her voice cracking slightly.
"I'm sorry."
"You should be. What you said a few weeks ago, it goes both ways."
"A few weeks ago?"
"After Talbot."
"Oh."
It doesn't take him long to realize that she's talking him telling her that he can't lose her. He also knows that this is the closest she's likely to come to exactly saying the words to him. At least for now.
"Right," she nods sharply, and then turns and heads out of the shower room.
"Hey," he calls out. "What about your shower?"
"Timer just went off," she calls back. "Now come on, move it."
He trots a few steps and catches up with her, then reaches out and grabs her arm to stop her from moving. "Hey, you are okay, right?"
"Good enough," she assures him. "Once we're done here, I'm bubble bath and red wine city for the rest of the night."
"And you're sure you shouldn't see a doctor?"
"Nothing's broken. Just bruised. And I've bruised much worse than this."
"That doesn't actually make me feel better," he admits.
"I know," she says. "Now you think we can walk into that room and pretend like we're not the two members of this team who keep getting their asses kicked?"
"You know they wish they were us."
"Course they do." She starts up the stairs, him just a foot or so behind her. Then suddenly, she stops. "Hooking up with pretty angels? Really?"
"Really," he nods.
She snorts, shakes her head and continues up the stairs. A few minutes later, as they both lean against the table in Ops, they're pretty much side-by-side.
Neither one of them would have it any other way.
Kensi enters the bedroom alone, the journal held tightly in her hand. Her eyes immediately track to Deeks, who is sitting on the floor, leaning against the far wall. Sam is pacing back and forth.
"I got this, Sam," she says softly.
"I'll be right outside."
"I know. We'll be fine."
She waits until he's gone, and then - after putting the journal on the bed - she kneels down next to Deeks, reaches out, takes his hand and squeezes it. "Deeks," she says softly.
He looks up at her. "No, my name is…"
"Marty Deeks. Your name is Marty Deeks." She lifts her hands up and touches both sides of his heavily bearded cheeks with her soft palms. "And I promise you, if it kills me, I'm going to help you remember who you are."
"Why?" he demands.
"Because I miss the man you are. He's my partner. He's my friend. He's a damn good man. And I want him back."
TBC...