My name is Marty Deeks and it might be a beautiful day, but my life sucks, and that's a fact. Things can only get better, right?
Well, no – not really. Not at all, in fact. Things did not get better. In fact, they got a whole lot worse. But I'm getting ahead of myself again, because there I was, moving with all the grace and agility of a snail on crack cocaine, just praying I've got enough strength to make it across the room and into my bed. Does Kensi give me peace and quiet? Does she heck.
"Not so fast." I'd almost made it to my destination, when that imperious voice stops me dead in my tracks. I kind of let my weight hang off my crutches, which were planted firmly in the carpet.
"Where do you think you're going?"
You don't argue when Kensi uses that tone of voice. You might try, but essentially it's going to be futile. Anyway, right then I just didn't have the energy. I was barely managing to stay upright and my bad leg was kind of swinging helplessly in the air.
"Uh – bed?" I ventured. Oh, the times I've dreamt about me and Kensi here together in my bedroom. This is so not how I thought it would be. Life, eh? First it knocks you down, then it tramples all over you.
"You might just want to go to the bathroom first." She tries not to sound smug about this and to give her credit, she almost succeeds.
Kensi has a point. She has a very good point indeed. Once I'm in bed, I don't plan on getting up for at least 12 hours. And getting up and then getting going isn't as quick or easy as it sounds when you have one leg out of action and are dependent on crutches. So I manage to turn around and then shuffle off to the bathroom for what turns out to be a fairly lengthy pee. I'm kind of relieved to see that the catheter they insisted on putting in at the hospital hasn't done any lasting damage. At least I'm alone for once. My female guardians have been hovering rather too closely for comfort and I would not have put it past either of them to stand in the doorway just to make sure I'm managing. I reckon I may as well brush my teeth while I'm in here, and nearly collapse with shock when I see my reflection in the mirror. I look as if I've just crawled out of my grave. No wonder Kensi and Hetty are fussing around after me.
"You took your time." Kensi is almost tapping her foot with impatience when I finally emerge. Forgive me for being so slow, on account of the fact I'm injured – or hadn't you noticed?
"And you're still here," I counter. God, I am so tired I could just collapse. Can't she just leave me in peace?
She glares at me. "I don't know why I even bother. But just for your information, I wanted to make sure you were okay – like you hadn't got dizzy, or collapsed – or anything like that."
And she does look worried, I can see that. For the first time I can see how tense Kensi looks. I'm causing her a lot of trouble. But it's not as if I asked her to come to here, or to hover over me. "Sorry." I sound kind of ungracious, but right now I am so tired that I can hardly think.
"Sit down before you fall down."
That's a very good idea and it's getting no arguments from me. Sitting down is kind of an art form when you've got a leg brace that locks your knee into position, not to mention a pair of crutches to add into the equation, but I manage to lower myself gingerly down onto the bed. The next thing I know, Kensi is kneeling down beside me and taking my shoes and socks off and I just feel this surge of gratefulness. That is Kensi all over – one moment she's riding me, giving me a hard time and then the next she's doing something like this. And it's nothing, I know it means nothing, because I know she would do the same for Sam, or Callen, or even Hetty, but still… Seeing Kensi doing this makes me feel… confused.
Kensi confuses me and that's the truth. I never quite know where I am with her. I know where I would like to be with her, but somehow I don't think I'm ever going to get there. Kensi Blye is incredible, and that's a fact. She's tall and slim and has the most amazing body. Now, I know I can be shallow (Kensi has mentioned that I've got all the emotional depth and maturity of a goldfish pond), but I'm not just talking about the way Kensi looks – I'm talking about the things she can do with her body. That woman is seriously fit and flexible, plus she can more than hold her own in a fight. Her body is slim, but it's strong and powerful, but graceful at the same time. And her breasts are fantastic. She could get her own billboard. I wish she would. It would brighten up my morning commute, I can tell you. Mind you, it might also make me crash my car. And when she dresses up, Kensi could hold her own with any super-model. But I think I like her best when she's just wearing ordinary clothes. Not that anything looks ordinary when Kensi's wearing it. You should see how good Kensi looks in just a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She looks so good that she makes my mouth water, especially when that long, dark hair is just left to fall down her back. Kensi has a wicked smile that makes me wonder about what her lips must taste like, and as for her eyes – nobody has eyes like Kensi. They are dark and mysterious, and they are mismatched, so that they could be saying anything – or nothing. She's intriguing – that's probably the best way to describe Kensi. Intriguing and exciting. She excites me, that's for sure. But the main thing about Kensi, the most important thing, the thing I can never forget, is this: she is my partner. And there are rules about things like that. Sure, those rules are unwritten, but we all know about them, because they colour everything we do. You do not go there with your partner. No matter how much you might want to. Because you're going to risk ruining everything.
Which is why it kind of takes me by surprise when the next thing I know is that Kensi is swinging my legs up onto the bed and then starting to undo the Velcro straps on my leg-brace. This is getting awful personal, awful fast.
"Kensi?" Please stop this. You're killing me here.
"Deeks?" She slides the brace gently away. Who knew Kensi could be so tender and thoughtful?
"What are you doing?" I know I'm going to be powerless to resist. And I also know that I'm not going to be able to do anything (and I mean anything) even if I want to. Which I do. It's just that for once my body is definitely not going to obey me. This must be the worst timing ever. Here I am, lying prone on my bed, with a gorgeous woman bending over me – and what I really want is just to be left alone to sleep. There is no justice in the world: none at all. Just kill me now, because if my sex drive is gone, what point is there in living?
"What does it look like I'm doing?" She smiles sweetly. "Get real, Deeks. I'm helping you get ready for bed. Okay? Don't make anything weird out of this."
She's got a point. I don't really want to sleep in my jeans. But, dear God in heaven, this is embarrassing. Actually, it's mortifying. I don't have to make anything weird out of this, for the simple reason that it is weird.
"I can manage the rest." I'm pretty sure I'm blushing, like some stupid teenager. This could be a really great fantasy, it could even be the opening scenes of an adult movie, but the reality is that I'm so tired, I'm in pain and generally I feel like crap and for once I can look at my partner, look right down the front of her v-neck t-shirt and feel absolutely nothing except for the fact that right now I've got virtually no dignity left.
"I know you can." She flashes me a smile, but somehow she manages to look kind of sad at the same time and then she walks into the bathroom, leaving me to struggle out of my jeans and shirt. 'Tactful' and 'Kensi' are not normally two words I would put together in the same sentence, but that just shows you what I know. I'm seeing a whole new side of my partner today and it's kind of confusing. By the time she comes out again, I've managed to put the brace back on and get safely under the covers.
"You look like shit, Deeks," my partner says lovingly and then sits down on the bed.
"Thanks. I love you too."
Kensi leans forward, so that her face is in extreme close-up. "Listen up, Deeks – and listen good. You gave me one hell of a fright and nobody does that to me, understand? Nobody. Especially not you. So don't do it again. Ever." Wow, she's fierce. What did I do that's pissed her off so much?
"Got it." I've not got much of a choice in the matter, it seems. Why does this have to be happening now?
"And just look at you – you're so weak that just getting undressed and into bed has taken it out of you."
That was true. Kensi had a good point, given that I was shaking and I was pretty sure I was sweating too. Mulcho attractive, no?
"So for once in your life, just swallow that stubborn pride and let me look after you. Alright? Because I've earned the right to be worried about you."
God, I love strong women who lay down the law. And Kensi is something else when she's being fierce. Under other circumstances, this could be a really hot moment. If this was a chick-flick, it's at this point that Kensi would fall forward sobbing onto my bare chest, confess her undying love and then I would stroke her hair gently before she raises her head, our eyes meet and we kiss. Usually as an old song starts to play in the background. And then we'd make wild, passionate love – in soft focus and done very tastefully. Not that I ever watch that sort of movie, of course. Not out of choice, anyway. It's just that so many women think they are ideal date-night fodder. However, this is real life and not a movie. I am not on a date and Kensi is not about to kiss me. Most definitely of all, we are not going to make love. I know that, so I just give her a weak smile and kind of huddle down under the covers.
"Okay."
Kensi gives me the strangest look. "Okay? Now I know you're really sick. The day you just agree with me without debating the matter is the day we should get you measured for your coffin."
It's probably not the right time to tell her I kind of fancy cryogenic suspension. Or maybe sky-burial, like the Tibetans. She'd just think that was weird. And anyway, it's not really practical in LA, given the lack of vultures.
"I'm too tired to argue, Kensi." Bad move. That sounded pathetic and weak. That's a rule, you know – never let them see you are weaker than they are. Or is that when you're surrounded by wolves or bears or something like that?
"Tell me something I don't know." She stands up. "How about I get you some pain pills and then you can sleep some?"
Now that sounds like nirvana. Not the group, the state of blissful ecstasy. Obviously. Although Nirvana (as in the group) are pretty cool. Again: obviously. It's just that Kensi confuses me. And that goes way beyond the normal state of perplexity that females automatically engender in men, in that we are pretty much clueless when it comes to even beginning to understand how their minds work. No, you see with Kensi it's more that I always have this sense that something might be about to happen – only it never does. There are days when I think she's positively inviting me to make a move and then there are days when she is almost pushing me away. And then there are days like today, when she's sitting on my bed and I just want her to go away and leave me to die peacefully. Is it any wonder that I'm confused?
"Sleep sounds good. I don't think I need any pills right now." Right now I'm so tired that I can hardly keep my eyes open.
"Deeks!" Her voice is so loud that my eyes fly open. "Didn't I just tell you to stop being so stubborn? Take the damn tablets."
The bed moves as she gets up and I know that resistance is futile. She's really pissed with me now, and Kensi pissed is not something you want to see, far less argue with. Besides which, I'm at a distinct disadvantage here, given I'm wearing only my boxers. It's hard to keep any degree of dignity when your partner's had to help you undress, especially when you've idly mulled over the intriguing possibility (under completely different circumstances, given that mutual disrobing was normally what I considered) a hundred times or more. Just because Kensi is my partner doesn't mean to say I can't think about other possibilities, does it? I'm a man after all, not some plaster cast reproduction of a saint.
"Ms Blye says you are to take these." Hetty is standing at the side of the bed and she's holding out three tablets and a glass of water. "I wouldn't argue with her, if I were you."
I wouldn't argue with Hetty either. I tried a couple of times, but I think I got away with it. Just. There's no sense in pushing my luck though.
"Thanks." Clearly, it is two against one, so I just swallow the damn pills.
"You did give us all somewhat of a fright, you know." Hetty gives me the strangest look.
"I gave myself a fright." Why does everyone keep going on as if I got myself shot on purpose, just to annoy them or cause maximum disruption to their lives? I'm the one who got injured, remember? It was not a choice – it just happened. Given the choice, I'd really rather not get shot, if it's all the same. Anyway, getting injured is kind of an occupational hazard and you would think they'd be used to it by now. I just don't understand why everyone is making such a fuss.
Hetty just continues as if I've not spoken. I've noticed there's a lot of people who do this when I speak – particularly Sam. That's pretty rude, not to mention the fact they are missing the pearls of wit and wisdom I often utter. Still, it's their loss. "We were all rather concerned."
Don't you love that? A brilliant example of what I like to call 'Hetty-isms'. Hetty would never admit to being concerned – just 'rather' concerned, almost as if I'd inconvenienced everyone.
"I'll try not to get shot again, okay?"
"We were worried about you, Mr Deeks." Hetty clasps her hands together. "We want to help. Please allow us that one small latitude."
Clearly the pills are starting to kick in, because I've no idea what she is talking about, so I just lean back against the pillows and look confused. Sometimes this is the only option left open to you, especially when you are dealing with women.
Hetty takes pity on me. "Let us care about you, Mr Deeks. Let us look after you, because that is what we need to do."
There's something wrong about that last sentence. Isn't it me who needs to be looked after, rather than making it sound like I'm doing them a favour? And 'care' is such an ambiguous word – it doesn't really say anything. Does Kensi care about me? And if she does, what does that mean? Is it because I'm her partner, or is there something else? Does Kensi care because she has to or because she wants to? But this is too confusing and my head is starting to swim, so it's easier not to say anything but rather to just let Hetty rearrange the pillows as I slide carefully down the bed and pull the covers up over my shoulder.
"Goodnight, my dear." I hear a door closing and then the world fades to black.
Why does life have to be so complicated all the time? And why does getting shot have to hurt quite so much? And what kind of pain pills are these, because they are fabulous? I must ask for them next time I get injured.
Let's put the fact that Deeks is being so dim because he's in pain, shall we?