A/N: Thanks again for your lovely thoughts and comments. There's a bit more drama to come before this story wraps up. And of course, a bit more of Kensi taking care of Deeks.
Thanks for reading!
It's somewhere around 5 when Deeks wakes up, feeling fidgety and vaguely uncomfortable. He drifts in and out of sleep for a while before the pain meds wear off completely leaving his entire face and head aching. It takes a few seconds to place where he is, and then another several before he remembers why it feels like he's been run over by a herd of elephants. The memory of Sylvia confronting him, attacking him, has Deeks scrambling to sit up even though it makes his chest and stomach burn with the effort.
Standing up, he stumbles to the bathroom, making sure the door is firmly shut behind him because it's still barely light out and he doesn't want to wake Kensi up.
His reflection is pretty horrific; the nurse had down her best to clean him up last night, but there's still a crust of blood around his mouth, nose and hairline, making him look like something out of a slasher film. Then there's the bruises and cuts. Deeks averts his eyes, not able to look at the evidence anymore.
Bracing his arms on the edge of the sink, he fills the basin with warm water and a little soap, watching the water turn opaque and then foamy. When it's halfway full, he cups the water to his face, lightly rubbing despite the pain. He repeats the process for several minutes until the water turns a dull red and a quick glance in the mirror confirms all but a few traces of blood are gone.
Honestly, it doesn't look that much better. For the next few weeks at least, he's going to get stares and questions wherever he goes. His hands shake a little at the thought, and suddenly he has the desperate need to get out of his stained and dirty clothes. To get rid of every sign he can as quickly as possible.
He strips off his shirt and jeans without looking, tossing them both straight in the small garbage can next to the sink, and turns on the shower. He vaguely remembers the nurse last night warning him to avoid getting his stitches wet or using hot water, but right now none of that matters.
The warmth eases some of the discomfort in his side, and even if it doesn't do anything for his face or head, he feels slightly more human. Physically, he's exhausted, but Deeks knows if he stops moving, he'll have too much time to think. Too much time to think about the last 24 hours. So he does what he's always done in hard times; he pushes down the pain, the memories threatening to overwhelm him, fueling any energy into activity inst4ead.
Dressing in a clean long sleeve shirt and sweats, he cleans up the bathroom until it's spotless. Then he straightens up the couch before moving on to the kitchen.
Kensi wakes reluctantly. She'd had a hard time falling asleep, her thoughts naturally consumed by worry for Deeks—every time she heard the smallest sound, she'd worried something was wrong—and constantly replaying the moment when Sylvia attacked him. Finally, she'd drifted off, but the couple hours of sleep weren't nearly enough and now she feels vaguely sick and achy, reminding her of the few times she pulled all-nighters in college.
She makes a trip to the bathroom to scrub the sleep out of her eyes and the film of beer from her teeth. When she's done, she's awake enough to notice the discarded clothes in the garbage along with a few bloodied pieces of paper towel. If she's not mistaken, the vanity is significantly cleaner than the night before.
Shaking her head at Deeks inability to just be still, Kensi wanders to the kitchen, following the unmistakable scent of French toast and coffee. Of course he's standing over the stove, pans set up on the burners, mixing bowls neatly lined up on the counter. He keeps one arm tucked against his injured side, working one-handed, and something about that has her stepping farther into the room, breaking the momentary peacefulness.
"Deeks, what are you doing in here. You should be resting, not making a four-course breakfast," she objects. He must have known she was there, because he doesn't react with more than a shrug.
"It's no problem," he insists keeping his head lowered as he briefly turns in her direction. There's enough of a shadow she can't make out more than his chin and bottom lip. "It's the least I could do." He somehow manages to keep his face hidden through the entire process of dipping and laying a new piece of toast in the pan.
"You do not have to make up or repay me for anything." He doesn't respond to that, so she crosses the last few steps to the table, and leans against it, watching Deeks work.
While the French toast cooks, he moves over to the coffee maker. He takes his time pouring a cup from the carafe, mixing in the perfect amount of cream, and then offering it to her. Kensi catches at his arm before he can move out of reach, hanging onto his wrist with a light grip.
"Hey," she says, keeping her tone gentle, and hoping it comes through. "Let me see." Deeks doesn't resist when she takes his chin between her thumb and forefinger, carefully lifting his face.
She has to fight to hide her instinctive reaction to wince. Even with his face scrubbed clean, he looks rough. Bruises have fully bloomed and beneath the nearly black discoloration, his skin is visibly swollen and raised. She sees his eyes shutter under her scrutiny.
It hurts to see him so closed off, and even more when he tells her in a slightly hoarse, hollow tone,
"Guess I won't be making officer of the month this time around. The whole look isn't great for photoshoots, huh?"
"Deeks…"
"Then again, neither does having your girlfriend beat the crap out of you."
"I think I see someone who is incredibly brave, and has endured way more than he should ever had to," Kensi tells him, gently cupping his cheek. Deeks' bottom lip trembles slightly, losing some of his composure in the face of her compassion. He looks away, eyes focusing on anything other than her.
"The food's gonna burn," he says a bit desperately, turning back to the stove.
"No, sit down. I got it." Kensi can't handle watching him struggle through the basic movements, sore and in pain. He opens his mouth, likely about to argue, so she holds up a stilling hand. "I know it won't be up to your high standards, but contrary to popular belief, I can handle flipping a few pieces of eggy bread." She gives him the barest hint of a shove towards the table, and to her great surprise, he actually sits.
Perhaps she did oversell her cooking abilities just a little bit, but she manages to make a few more pieces of toast without burning anything and even slices up some strawberries to go with it, and serves them each a piece.
Remembering his request from last night, she starts talking about random office gossip she heard last shift, hoping it will put him at ease. Or at the very least, keep awkward silence at bay. So, in between bites of syrup-soaked French toast, she tells him about the rookie officer who's probably dating her T.O. and a dozen other inconsequential stories.
She makes her way through two plates while Deeks is still working at his first slice of toast, which he's cut into minute pieces. Even then, she notices him struggling through each bite, the simple act of chewing difficult in his current state.
"Can I make you something else?" she asks finally, gesturing to his plate. He might hate it, but she can't stand to see him in pain, or the thought of him going hungry.
"A new mouth. Or in the absence of that, something that requires zero chewing?" he offers, pushing his plate away with an exasperated sigh.
"I think there's some yogurt in the fridge." She goes to check, having to dig around to find a cup that's still in date. While she's grabbing a spoon, Deeks' cell rings, the jingle loud in small kitchen.
"Hey, this is Deeks," he answers, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees him turn slightly away so his back is facing her. "Yeah, I did." A pause. "How long ago?"
Kensi hears the shift in his tone; from casual to strained, and she walks over, setting the yogurt to the side while Deeks finishes up the call.
"Ok, yeah, no. Don't do that. I'll be in later. Thanks for the head up, brother. Bye."
He hangs up, tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip with a distant look in his eyes.
"Deeks, who was that?" she asks.
"Um, that was Carl Parkinson from LAPD. He wanted to let me know Sylvia just posted bail. She got out an hour ago."