Kensi had been by Deeks' side every night since he'd brought her home from the desert. He never even asked her if she wanted him to stay at her place, and she never objected to his presence in her home. The first couple of nights they shared a bed were completely innocent. After getting reacquainted and to the point where they felt comfortable with each other again, the invisible barriers separating them started to break down.

"Your hand is on my boob," Kensi muttered with one eye open.

"Is that a problem?" He asked sincerely.

Kensi shut her eye again, thinking. "No."

"Cool."

It was nice sleeping together, even if he assumed the next night when they crawled in bed that he had an automatic resting place for his hands. Kensi rolled her eyes but didn't object. Deeks awoke to a surprise the next morning.

"Um. Kens. Your hand is on my dick."

"Your hands are on my boobs."

"Fair enough. Snooze me?"

He went to work; she stayed home recovering even though all she wanted to do was go back to work herself. There was nothing for her to do at home but think; she sure as hell wasn't going to clean, and when she tried to go for a run she felt like her ribs had razorblades attached to them. So she just watched TV. There was nothing on but reruns of cop dramas. "This sucks."

She greeted him at the door when got off of work. "I'm better, no I take that back, I'm great. I can go back to work tomorrow."

Deeks cocked his head and gently touched her cheek. "You look like shit. Try again in a few days."

After they went to bed the next night his hands migrated further south. "Deeks."

"Are you asking me to stop?"

"No," she whimpered, reaching back to return the favor.

When his alarm went off the next morning, she jumped out of bed and turned on the shower. Climbing back into bed, she snuggled up to Deeks. He smiled at the return of her warmth next to him. "You're still not going to work, Kens."

"Fuck you, Deeks."

"Really?" He sat up, stretching his arms in the air.

Kensi glared at him. "No." She pulled the covers up to her chin. "Why can't I go to work today? Still look like shit?"

When Deeks got out of bed, Kensi checked him out in just his boxers even though she's mad at him. He noticed and wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Not my rules. But if it means anything, I still don't think you're as good as you say you are."

"I'm good," she grumbled as he slipped his boxers off and stepped into the shower. Throwing the covers angrily off of her body, she winced at the razorblades in her ribs again. "Shit."

She spent the day watching cop dramas again, wishing she could be the one shooting bad guys and lusting after her partner. Even though the stupid shows weren't realistic at all, Kensi couldn't help but enjoy them. She was even starting to root for the partnership that was destined to fail but blossomed into a beautiful friendship. Until a major plot twist split them up, of course. "This sucks," she said again.

That night in bed Kensi initiated the contact, slipping her hands into his boxers. "What do I have to do to prove to you that I'm good?"

Covering her hand with his own to stop her, Deeks looked at her seriously. "Kiss me."

"What?"

He traced the outline of a faded bruise that was mostly hidden by her hairline. "You had the fucking shit beat out of you. If you're really good, then kiss me. Hard. Kiss me like it's been months since we've seen each other. Kiss me like we've been getting each other off every night but it's just not enough."

Kensi swallowed deeply and crawled on top of him, pulling his face up by his hair. Even though his teeth hurt her lips and his scruff hurt her skin, it was a good kind of pain, the kind of pain that let her know that she was alive.

They woke up and drove separately to work the next morning, acting as if the last week had never even happened. And when she told everybody that she was good, that she was really good, she actually meant it.