AN: Based on Sneak Peek 3 for the upcoming episode. That moment... It was almost like the 5x01 bullpen scene all over again, huh? Anywho, let me know what you think.

Blessings,

bookdiva

"Hi! Sir? With the… bubble wrap? Sir? I see you're very busy, I's just wondering if you've… seen my buddy," Deeks, as Arty, said, holding up the photoshopped picture to the unresponsive man.

"That's him, on the left," Deeks continued. "We served together in Afghanistan, and he said he was gonna be living down here."

Still there was no response.

"No? Okay," he said, turning away again. "You…" Deeks trailed off in frustration. It was hard enough having to say Afghanistan, without the picture in his hands that only reminded him of another, more horrific photo from that God-forsaken place.

"Kensalina, I'm striking out here," he said, willing those unwanted thoughts away. "Nobody remembers Goodsell, or they're too, uh, disturbed or too high to remember anything."

"Hey, he left his wallet on the table, and I tried the address, but he doesn't live there anymore," Kensi was saying to a passerby. "Do you know him?" There was a mumbled response. "No? Okay. Thank you."

As she was talking, Deeks's tongue was running across his teeth. The plastic device had been harder than usual to put into his mouth for the op. While he was mostly over the Siderov ordeal—or at least, that was the story he was going to go with—putting the foreign object into his mouth had been difficult.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore, and he pulled it out . He cleared his throat to keep any sign of emotion at bay.

"Any luck down there, Kens?" he asked as he placed the mouth piece in Arty's shirt pocket.

"That would be a negative," she said. Deeks leaned up against the railing, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and allowing his gaze to settle on her for a moment. The sight of her always seemed to calm him, at least slightly.

"And I'm on my third cup of coffee," she continued wryly. "I'm not sure how much my bladder can take anymore."

"I could kill for a cup of coffee right now," Deeks said, trying his damnedest to insert a little levity into their situation. "You wanna switch me?"

"And put on that jacket?" she teased back, turning away from him deliberately. "No thank you. I wouldn't let Arty touch me."

Deeks smiled slightly at her teasing tone.

"Well I'll have you know that you're not really Arty's type, anyway," he replied smartly, holding back a genuine grin when he thought of the time he'd said something similar.

"Besides, you're not my type," he'd said after rambling about picking her up.

"I am too your type."

"I'm sorry," Deeks had said, his eyes widening slightly, "can I get confirmation that we just heard that?"

"I heard it," Sam had confirmed from the car.

"I heard it too," G agreed.

"Wow, are we recording this? Because I would love to use that as my ring tone."

"I used to be," Kensi said, her wistful tone pulling him out of the memory.

"What?" Deeks asked immediately. "What do you mean?"

"You know I lived on the street down here after my dad died?" Kensi continued.

"Um, no," Deeks went to run his hand through his hair, only to run into the stocking hat on his head. "No, I-I didn't, uh…. No, I didn't know that."

He actually did, in fact, know that. Hetty had told him when they'd met Astrid. But Kensi had never told him that—much like he'd never actually told Kensi anything about his childhood with his dad—so officially, he didn't know.

"You're lying to me," she said, completely breaking protocol and turning toward him. Even from across the courtyard and over the fountain, her gaze pierced straight into him. "I know Hetty told you."

Busted.

"Hetty? No, c'mon, Hetty didn't tell me anything," he denied. "Actually, she specifically said that she didn't tell me anything."

He hoped for a laugh—he'd even settle for a smile—but she just turned her body completely toward him. Their eyes met across the distance, and he hadn't felt closer to her in a long time.

"You can fool everyone else, Deeks," she said, holding his gaze, "but you can't fool me."

He looked down at the photo in his hands, breaking their eye contact briefly before looking back up at her. She was still standing there; still looking up at him.

"Are we—are we still talking about the—"

"No." That one word was like a blow to the chest. It sucked all the air out of his lungs.

"Okay…" he breathed, suddenly leaning a little harder on the railing.

"Okay?" she repeated, her head tilting to the side.

He nodded. "Later?" He touched the ear with his com unit discretely, and she nodded.

"Promise?" she demanded.

He smiled. "Promise."