We pretty much stay holed up in my apartment for the whole weekend, only going out to walk Monty. Kensi figures that's safe, because even if we are spotted together, then she can legitimately claim she was walking my dog. So now we've got a furry chaperone. Or a canine beard. Whatever. Monty is impervious to his new role, and just trots along happily in between us. I've kind of got the idea that he thinks of Kensi as his new mommy. Which is another reason we should just come clean: we owe it to Monty. Hmm – I'm not sure Kensi will buy that one, but it might just be worth a shot, if things get really desperate. I'll hold that idea in reserve.
So, there we are, strolling along the street and Kensi is making sure there's at least a foot between us, Monty is wagging his tail and I'm trying not to limp too hard and wondering if I can manage to sneak out tomorrow and go for a jog, because if I don't start to get back into an exercise routine soon there's going to be hell to pa. That's when I get this glimpse of our reflections in a shop window. And guess what? We look good together. Even Monty looks good. We actually look like a couple, just like all the couples around us, just ambling along in the sunshine with our dog and enjoying the day. So why don't I feel good? You don't want me to answer that, do you?
That's when I spot it: a discretely tantalizing window display: just a chair with a camisole draped over the back and a stocking lying artfully on the floor. Very subtle. So is the name of the shop: Intimate Pleasures. Want to hazard a guess about what it sells?
"That's new. How about we take a look?" I deliberately try to sound as light as possible. No pressure then: absolutely none at all.
Kensi flushes. "I thought we agreed?" Now, that's not exactly how I remember things, but I'm not going to go into that. No, I'm just going to be logical and hope she succumbs to temptation. Okay, the logic bit will probably slide over her, so my money's on the temptation. It's certainly working for me, because that underwear looks mighty fine.
"We're right here, right now." I can see she's tempted – and so am I. That camisole is whisper-sheer shell-pink silk and it's trimmed with ecru lace. It's subtle and elegant and it would look incredible on Kensi. She knows it and I know it.
"What about Monty?"
"What about him? He's a boy and besides, pale pink isn't his colour. He's more of a burgundy or maybe a dark green sort of guy." Kensi just shoots me a look. "I'll tie him up. He'll be fine."
It's not like Monty needs a whole lot in the way of stimulation, after all. He'll probably fall asleep after about five minutes. As I'm talking, I'm tying Monty's lead and he looks at me, yawns and then lies down, with his head on his paws, which is pretty incredible. Normally when I ask Monty to do something, he does the opposite. I've never worked out if he's contrary, hard of hearing or just plain dumb. Maybe he's all three?
"I suppose we could… I mean, there's not a whole lot of people about." She looks back at the window display and I can see she's tempted – really tempted.
"Nobody's ever going to know." At least I hope not.
"You could wait outside," she suggests.
No, I could not. I most definitely could not. But Kensi is weakening, in fact I'd say she's almost there. As long as I play it cool, I reckon we're almost into the home straight. Then again, maybe I need to pull out my ultimate weapon. Normally I'd say this is a bit too early in the game to show my hand, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
"Aw, come on, Kensi." I wait a beat (and that's important. You can't rush these things) "Please?" And as I say that, I tilt my head to the side, just ever so slightly, and lower it at the same time and then kind of give her a sideways glance from under my eyelashes, doing my best to look as appealing as possible. It usually works. You wouldn't believe the success-rate I have with that look. Or the hours I've spent practicing it either.
Do you know - it's like when you're watching some guy chopping down a huge tree: there comes a point where he's done all he can, and he steps back and just waits for a couple of seconds. For a moment there is nothing a t all, and then the tree starts to move, very slowly at first, but gathering pace until it crashes to the ground. It's exactly like that. First, Kensi wavers: I can see the uncertainty in her face. Next it's replaced by a smile and then finally she grabs hold of my hand and drags me into the shop. Anybody watching would think I was the reluctant one, not her.
Sadly, Kensi declines to come out of the changing room to let me see what the assortment of garments she allowed me to pick look like.
"What would be the fun in that?" she asks, sticking her head round the side of the curtain. "Haven't you ever heard of delayed gratification?"
Sure I have – I just don't subscribe to it on a personal level, that's all. The way I look at it, that's just another form of procrastination – and that's bad. Why wouldn't you want something you know is going to be good as soon as possible, after all? What's the sense in delaying something you know is going to be absolutely fabulous – unless you are a sadist? Or a misogynist. Or maybe both. Me, I'm a pretty straightforward guy - I just like my pleasures wherever and however I can get them. It's as simple as that. Why on earth would you want to put something off until tomorrow, when you could very well not be around to enjoy it? Maybe it's the couple of brushes with death I've had, or it might just be something to do with the fact I love sex and I'm highly sexed? Who knows – who actually cares? All I'm saying is that the man that doesn't want to see Kensi in sexy underwear probably needs to go get his eyes tested.
"If that's what you want, then you could go back to your own place tonight." There's nothing like a counter argument to put things into perspective.
Kensi is pretty sure I'm calling her bluff, but there's just a tiny kernel of doubt. I know tht, because she puts forward a feeler. "How about a photo?"
"That might work." Actually, it would work just fine. Because then I'd have it for posterity. I can just see me showing the grandkids: 'And that was Gammy Kay, back in the day. My, she was a fine looking woman.'
Whoa. Reverse back up there, Deeks. What the heck was that? You're fantasising about having grandchildren and still having the hots for Kensi when we're both in our seventies? It must be true – too much sex really does rot the brain. Just then my phone pings, and sure enough, there's a photo. And it's… Wow. It really is. And a whole lot more.
"That's the one." That's definitely the one. And that's a photo I'm going to treasure forever.
"That's what I thought," Kensi says smugly, and then whips the camera out of my hand and deletes the photo. She must have set an all-time record for speed dressing. Pity she doesn't know I'd already forwarded it on to my personal email account back home. She's not the only one who can be quick and sneaky.
By the time we get outside, with my wallet considerably lighter than when we went in, Monty is not only sound asleep, he's actually snoring.
"I told you he'd be fine."
Kensi looks up and down the street. "It wasn't Monty I was worried about."
"We're fine. We're just out for a walk, the kind of thing that partners do. Nothing unusual about that." If you ignore that rather large carrier bag, with Intimate Pleasures emblazoned on the side, and the tempting rustle of tissue paper. "And I'm kind of hungry. How about we get some lunch?"
I suppose that's kind of underhand, given that Kensi has been nagging me incessantly to eat more and put some weight back on, but right now I'm going to take every advantage I can get. Fifteen: Love, I rather think.
"We've got Monty with us," Kensi points out. That would be the second time she's used him as an excuse in under an hour. Still, that makes it Fifteen All, I suppose. I'd better up my game a bit.
"He won't mind. Look at him." Monty's virtually comatose, after all. Thirty: Fifteen.
"Dog's can't go into restaurants. It's against the law." Thirty All. Bugger, she's good at this game. But I'm better.
"He can wait here." The advantage in having a rather unprepossessing dog is that nobody is going to steal him. People might feel sorry for Monty, but they seldom want to take him home with them. Which makes it Forty: Thirty.
"That would be cruel." Oh, well played, Ms Blye! Forty All.
Kensi is a whole lot better at this than I thought she would be. Never underestimate your enemy. Or just how cunning a desperate woman can be. Okay, it's time for the infamous Deeks smash and lob. "There's a place just round the corner that serves the most incredible chocolate mousse." And she's wavering, she's definitely tempted. It's Advantage Deeks, and time for me to serve an ace, I think. "Plus, we can sit outside, so Monty can come too." And that's it. Game, set and match to Deeks.
"You planned this, didn't you?" Kensi says, as she studies the menu.
"I might have." Never give away the game plan, Deeks. You never know when you're going to have to use it again. Why reinvent the wheel, after all.
"You are awful." But she says it with such a wicked smile that she's fooling nobody.
"But you like me, right?"
"I guess I'm stuck with you." Kensi looks at the carrier bag and smiles knowingly. And that's when our eyes meet, just as I'm raising my glass of wine.
"Here's to us," I say, half-joking. Is there an 'us'? Or is this just a 'thing'? I guess I'll have to wait until she tells me.
"And to this afternoon."
Okay, she's won. Kensi has me flat on the ropes and pretty soon I'm sure she'll have me begging for mercy. All of a sudden I just want to get out of here and go home. "How about we ask for this to go?"
"What would be the fun in that?" she asks sweetly and looks back down at the menu. "I'm kind of hungry. And you're definitely going to need three courses. I don't want you running out of stamina half-way through."
The wine goes down the wrong way and I start to choke.
"Did I say something wrong?" Kensi asks solicitously, as I make a grab for the water carafe. Monty just lays under the table, supremely unconcerned at the strange noises coming from my throat.
"Hell no." In fact I couldn't have said it better myself. There's nothing like a nice piece of salacious innuendo to get my pulse beating a little bit faster.
So it looks like delayed gratification is definitely on the menu. With a side-order of mild frustration and a garnish of pent-up desire. Excellent. I've created a monster here, because when it comes to game playing, Kensi is the mistress par excellence. Fantastic. I can see we're going to have a whole heap of fun. This is only lunchtime and we've still got the rest of the weekend. There's every chance I could have a relapse before Monday morning.
"Exactly how are we going to work this?"
It's Monday morning and we're getting ready for work. Already I've been out for a sneaky jog, taking Monty along with me, of course and trying to work out how we're going to manage to pull this off. And women think they're the only ones who can multi-task?
I get a blank look in response. "What is 'this', exactly Deeks?"
"Our 'thing'? Relationship. Whatever. The fact that when we're alone we can't keep our hands off each other."
"But we won't be alone, will we?"
And that's the problem, summed up in a nutshell. We've been cocooned in cosy isolation for the past few weeks, and for at least ten days of that time we've been naked for around 70% of the time. I point this out, but she doesn't buy it.
"No problem. We'll just behave like we always do." Kensi says airily, like this is no big deal.
"Uh huh. That easy, is it?"
"I'm a professional: you're a professional. We can do this." My look of uncertainty (or maybe even incredulity) must show, because Kensi smiles and kisses me on the lips. "Don't sweat it, Deeks. Just make like you're working undercover and you'll be fine."
That's actually good advice. Over the years I've run a good few undercover operations. Only this time things are different, because she's asking me to be the man I was before all this happened. And that man had been attracted to her from the day we met, only he was in denial about it all, and tried to cover up by flirting and teasing all the time. Now the flirting and the teasing have moved onto a different level and I'm almost certain I won't be able to hide that, no matter who I pretend to be. Add on to that the fact that I'm so damned happy and there's no way I can hide that. Plus I kind of want to share that with people. Don't ask me why – I just do.
"Okay." According to that magazine article, I'm supposed to be supportive, I remember. But I'm also meant to be honest. Why does life have to be so complicated? "I'll do my best." But I'm pretty sure everyone will take one look at me and guess. Put it this way, they won't have to look too closely. Kensi kind of has an effect on me.
"That's all I'm asking."
It strikes me that this is the sort of thing supportive mothers say to their offspring, only of course I wouldn't exactly know about that, both of my parents being somewhat less than stellar in the child-rearing and encouragement department. However, I'm not exactly looking for a surrogate mommy here, given I've managed quite nicely without one for years. And I definitely don't want to think of Kensi as my mommy, because that would just be plain weird. And very possibly perverted.
"So we just act as if nothing has happened, right?" I just want to make sure I've got this straight.
"Exactly. Well, nothing more than you getting shot and me staying over to help you. That's all," Kensi says brightly. "Not that you getting shot wasn't a big deal, of course. Because it was." Just to make sure I understand, she kisses me. And it's the sort of kiss that makes you forget everything else and one which threatens to make both of us very late indeed, right up to the point where she pulls her hips back from mine and gives me a rueful smile.
It occurs to me that you put one hot woman in an apartment with a highly-sexed man and there's one pretty inevitable outcome, only that's probably not the most helpful thing to say right now, so I just nod and smile and watch as she leaves to go work. We've decided that I should wait at least ten minutes, and then stop for coffee on the way in, just like I always do. Just so we don't arouse suspicions.
This is never going to work.
"Deeks! Good to have you back, man." Sam gets up from his desk and takes the tray of coffee out of my hands. "And no longer doing the Long John Silver impersonation, I see." This is about as near as you will ever get to a declaration of undying love from Sam Hanna, and I recognize that. I also recognize that the last thing Sam would want is for me to acknowledge it.
"Monty objected to the parrot. And so did Kensi, after it sat on her head and then pooped. I told her it was lucky, but she wouldn't listen."
"Story of your life, Deeks." Callen gets up to join us and makes a grab for the box of donuts. "Anyway, Kensi knows how lucky she is already."
"She does?" By my calculations, Kensi has only been here for about twenty minutes. Surely she can't have cracked quite so quickly? I know Callen and Sam are good, but are they that good?
"You saved her life. Not that she seems particularly grateful about it."
"That's not fair. And it's not true."
10. Defend.
If someone or something is out to harm your soul mate, be sure to step up to their defense. It could be verbal slander, physical threats or even just work politics, but if it is in your power to do something to stand up for your lover, then do so.
"Isn't it?" Callen looks at me quizzically.
"Kensi's been there for me, every step of the way." I can actually feel myself getting angry and struggle to push it down, play things cool, like the old Deeks would do. "Come on: she's my partner. We look out for each other – without thinking. That's just what partners do. And I know Kensi would do the same thing for me in a second – without thinking."
"So you're cool with all this? And you guys can continue to work together?" For some reason Callen is really pushing this.
If in doubt, take the fight into the enemy's camp, distracting as much attention as possible while you do so. So I go on the counter-attack.
"You're jealous, aren't you? Because I've got a hot partner, and you've just got Sam? This is what this is all about, isn't it? Well, I ain't swapping. Because there's no way Sam's going to look half as good in a little black dress as Kensi. Even supposing they can get one big enough to fit him. You're just jealous because we get all the cool undercover jobs, like posing as a hot young couple. But that could work for you and Sam. Only you'd have to be a hot, older, same-sex couple."
"I told you he didn't have PTSD," Kensi says, coming around the corner. "Only they wouldn't believe me, Deeks." She gives me a wry smile. "Let's just say that running me down is Callen's way of showing how much he cares about you."
"Oh, I'm feeling the love," I assure her, and try not to smirk when she blushes. And then I think 'what the heck?' Because that's the sort of thing I would say anyway.
"I just wish Deeks would put some more care and effort into his hair," Sam mumbles, kind of embarrassed that their secret is out in the open.
"You know I didn't mean any of that, Kensi," Callen says reassuringly and then clocks the expression on her face. The one that says Kensi is mentally envisaging disemboweling him. "Don't you?"
Before she can reply, Hetty wades into the fray. See what I mean about her timing? It's just a little too good to be true. She definitely has the place bugged. Or maybe she has us bugged? Do I actually know she didn't get those doctors to shove a listening device into my leg when they were operating? Or they might have made me swallow one when I was unconscious. Anything is possible where Hetty is concerned.
"Welcome back, Mr Deeks. We've missed you. All of us." I'm not entirely sure, but I think Callen and Sam might be blushing. Of course, they might just be remembering bursting in on me when I was in the bath and are still struggling with their feelings of inadequacy. "Did you drive yourself in to work this morning?"
She's testing me, that's what she's doing. Hetty suspects something is going on between me Kensi and she wants to find out if we rode in together. I'm tempted to say that I let Monty pull me in on my skateboard, but I bite back the words. Sarcasm and wit are useless weapons against Hetty, because she just ignores them. She would have got on really well with Mrs Johnson. They could be sisters, or maybe even twins, separated at birth. If it wasn't for the fact Mrs J was a Brunhilda of a woman: you could almost see the horned helmet.
"Sure I did."
"In that case, I'm afraid that I am going to have to ask for your car keys." She holds out her hand and fixes me with her beady glare, which has always kind of reminded me of a snake hypnotizing its prey. Of course, I'm powerless to resist. God, the woman is good!
"The doctor never said anything about not driving," I mumble, and instantly cringe, realizing that I sound like a little kid when I say that.
"Shall I translate that into plain English?" Hetty offers. "The doctor never said anything about the merits of driving or not driving after a significant head injury because you never asked, did you?"
"Not exactly."
"Not at all, Mr Deeks. You deliberately stayed silent."
This is like being back at school all over again. Hetty could give Mrs Johnson a run for her money. But at least she doesn't call me Martin. And why isn't Kensi rushing to my defense? Isn't all this supportive stuff supposed to work both ways? Mind you, now I come to think about it, the article didn't say a single thing about the woman's part in this whole relationship thing. It was probably proceeding from the assumption that the woman is always right anyway. I really do have to learn to read things more carefully before I jump in with both feet.