This one was written after the promo for 4x24 was released, so - it's a little off. But the motorcycle guess was right on! :P

Kensi watches as Michelle leans up, pressing her lips to Sidorov's. It seems to reassure him, but for Kensi, it has a completely different effect.

"You think she's going to sleep with him now?"

She hears the words coming out of her mouth but they feel foreign and awkward and angry and she was good - she knows she was good. Why can't she just leave it alone?

Beside her, Deeks frowns and lowers his binoculars. "What? Why would she do that?"

"Isn't that what everyone does? You want to convince someone of your allegiance so you screw them, right?" She pushes off the ground where she's crouched and spins on her heels, as if some part of her brain thinks that if she can get far enough away, he won't be able to hear her.

"Kensi," he calls after her, but she doesn't turn around.

"I mean, that's what you did, so that's SOP, yeah?" God, why can't she stop talking?

"Kens -"

"I wonder how Sam will take it," she says, dropping angrily onto her bike and reaching for her helmet. She looks up at him as he crosses to her. "Think he'll understand?"

"First of all, stop." He puts his hand on the helmet before she can lift it to her head. "She's not going to sleep with him."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not going to get that far."

"Right, right," her mouth continues, in complete defiance of the commands coming from her brain. "'Cause it's only stolen nukes right? I mean, if it was a handful of jewels, that'd require much more drastic measures."

"I did what I had to do, Kensi, and you know that."

"I know that you did it, and I assume that you enjoyed it. I mean, she's your type right? Perky, flirty, just a little bit crazy."

He shakes his head. "No, that's not - well," he looks at her, an oddly sentimental glimmer in his eyes, "the crazy part is right."

She bites down on her tongue to keep from responding, the anger fading away quickly, the mood shifting like the gentle gusts of wind that whip around them.

"I do have a type, Kens," he says, stepping closer, his legs brushing against her thigh. "But it's very, very specific.

"Brown hair, mismatched eyes," he continues, his hands coming up to cup her face and tilt her eyes up to meet his, "unhealthy addiction to junk food and techno music. Absolutely terrible sense of humor."

Deeks leans forward, slowly, as if pulling against some imaginary force.

"Okay, guys. Target's on the move."

Callen's voice echoes in her ears and Deeks stills for a moment, eyes flicking to her lips. Her heart thunders in her chest as he slowly pulls away.

"We're headed out," he answers, eyes still on Kensi's, fingers still warm against her skin.

She tries to say something, but she can't remember how to make a sound.

"You're it for me, Kens," he says, reaching for her helmet and pressing it into her hands. "And when this is all over, I'm going to prove it to you."

Callen's voice resumes barking orders in her ears and Deeks turns away, leaving Kensi to secure her helmet and try to calm her racing pulse.