A/N: And we come to the chapter with the single scene that inspired this entire fic. Once again, thanks so much for your support and investment in this story.

The moment Kensi gets home, she runs to the bathroom and scrubs her face with cold water. She'd barely made it through the day without blurting out her suspicions a dozen times. With the number of times Deeks caught her staring at him, he's probably questioning her sanity at this point.

Even though she saw the bruise, and all the other evidence of violence with her own eyes, she almost doesn't believe it. Marty Deeks is the last person she'd ever expect to a victim of—she winces even associating with him. The man who goes out of his way to cheer people up, fights for the downtrodden, and is one of the strongest and bravest people she knows, cannot be in an abusive relationship.

She sits on her slightly worn couch instead of sleeping, analyzing every moment she's ever spent with Sylvia. It's not a lot; most of their interactions have been fleeting, a few at a large social event where it was too loud and busy to talk much, but she'd always thought Sylvia friendly enough. Though maybe that's just the impression Deeks gave.

Over the last several months, he'd claimed Sylvia was too busy for the team outings, the yearly gala, Hanna's barbecue, but now she has to wonder if that was true. Because when Sylvia didn't come, neither did he. Then there was the fight

None of it though, is conclusive proof. Even the injuries she's seen weren't hard evidence if Deeks claimed they were from a series of unlikely accidents.

Sighing, she rubs her hands up over her cheeks, pressing firmly on her aching temples.

God, it's all a mess and she doesn't know how to fix it, short of blurting it out. And that's assuming Deeks actually wants her help. Based on his reticence so far, he isn't going to tell her voluntarily.

She wishes she could ask someone for advice, someone who's dealt with domestic violence victims on a more intimate level. Deeks has always taken the lead and been more comfortable in that role, which seems horrifically ironic now.

For a moment, she almost calls her friend Nate, a social worker and therapist, but she can't justify breaking Deeks' trust in that way. He'd never forgive her if he found out.

By the time morning breaks, Kensi isn't any more certain about what she should do than last night. Mechanically, she goes through her morning routine, showering, applying a touch of makeup, throwing on jeans and a t-shirt. She forces down a piece of toast, that tastes dry and flavorless thanks to her churning stomach.

When she arrives at the station an hour later, Deeks is already holding court in the middle of the detectives' bullpen. It looks like he brought a box of pastries, several detectives gathered around him in conversation. His head tips back in laughter and the sound rings through the room. Just like he's done a hundred mornings before.

She watches him from a distance, looking for signs of distress. He looks perfectly at ease, and she's amazed at how well he's fooled everyone. How well he fooled her. No one would ever suspect what he was going through.

If she were to walk over there now and express her concerns, Nell would probably think it a poorly made joke.

Normally Kensi retrieves Deeks, but today she hesitates, too nervous, still uncertain what she'll say. A part of her thinks he'll take one look at her and read the truth in her eyes. He's so much better at teasing the truth out of her, than she is him.

Instead, she goes to change into her uniform, and thankfully, Deeks is waiting for her when she comes back out, his legs crossed at the ankle, shoulder casually propped against the wall, and a plate with a pastry in hand.

"Morning Kensalina," he says, offering the Danish with a flourish. "I saved you one before the detectives descended."

"Thanks," she murmurs, taking the Danish and nibbling at the edge even though she still feels vaguely queasy. "You have a good night?"

"Met up with a friend I haven't seen in a couple years, so yeah, I'd say so." They walk a few feet, and she realizes he's watching her as carefully as she'd observed him earlier. "How about you? You were, uh, kind of out of it yesterday. Are you feeling better?"

Kensi takes a measured breath before she responds. "Yeah, I think it was just skipping lunch and then the little girl choking that threw me off."

"That was kind of rough," Deeks agrees. "I'm just glad that we were able to help her."

"What about you? Did you and Sylvia work things out?" Kensi asks, hoping she sounds casual and not like she's heading into an interrogation. Deeks stiffens ever so slightly. It would be imperceptible if she wasn't watching his reaction carefully.

"Uh, yeah, it's a work in progress," he replies vaguely and with his eyes suddenly directed at his watch, and it's only now that she hears the deep bitterness underneath. "You know how relationships are."

"We could talk about it." She leaves it as a suggestion, like always, but internally she's begging him to accept.

Instead, he just shrugs, eyes still cast downward, so unlike the forthright man she's used to.

"Thanks, but you don't want to hear about my drama."

He says it jokingly, but there's an undercurrent to his tone that's shouting "closed for discussion", and she knows if she pushes any harder, she'll risk alienating him.

"Ok." She rests her hand on his shoulder, facing him with a gravity that she doesn't think she's ever used. "But if that ever changes, I am here Deeks. No matter what." Something flickers in Deeks' eyes and for a second, she thinks he knows, but then it's gone again, and he gives her that Deeks smile she's learning hides multitudes.

"And the same goes if you want to discuss any of those Match guys," he offers, far less sincerely.

She goes to punch him, like she's done a hundred other times, fist nearly connecting with his bicep before she stops herself and hastily pulls back, running her hand through her hair instead.

How many times has she hit him before and he hadn't even flinched? It makes her ill to think about. Hiding her shaking hand in her pants pocket, she nods to the clock above them on the wall.

"We better get to roll call," she says, letting Deeks go ahead of her so he doesn't see her tremble.

On the surface, little changes; Kensi and Deeks banter, they bring each other coffee and snacks, they run patrols. Beneath that thought, everything has changed because Kensi knows. She doesn't mention the fight again or make any reference to Deeks sharing personal information, but she's always watching.

At the start of every shift, she discreetly looks for signs of injury, monitors Deeks' mood, his behavior. It feels slightly wrong and invasive, yet she can't think of a better way to protect him and she sure as hell isn't going to pretend that everything's alright.

She's watching him now out of the corner of her eye as they review each other's case reports at the end of the day. After five weeks, it's second nature to check, but it's no less mentally taxing. If Deeks notices, he doesn't say anything. It makes her wonder if they're both playing an elaborate game, feigning ignorance to maintain their status quo.

Deeks shifts restlessly in his chair, long legs crossing and uncrossing, jaw tight while he silently reads through the second to last report. He's been quiet all day, even a touch irritable. Mild nudging had gotten Kensi nowhere a terse "fine".

Shaking her head slightly, Kensi sets a report down, reaching for the next. Deeks inhales sharply, and her fingers stutter over the smooth paper, eyes instantly swiveling to him. He has a hand pressed over his left side and eyes focused downward in a wide unseeing gaze that Kensi recognizes as pained.

"Deeks?" she prompts after several moments. He jerks, hand falling to his side. In an instant, any signs of pain disappear and he merely looks tired.

"Uh, yeah, everything looks good," he says hoarsely, shuffling the reports together in a pile and handing them to Kensi. He signs off on his own, quickly turning them in, and clearing up his desk.

Kensi goes more slowly, having a couple extra forms to complete, and distracted by watching Deeks. Usually he waits for her, but tonight he seems intent on leaving as fast as possible.

"I'm going to go, uh, change." He gestures vaguely to the locker rooms before making a hasty retreat.

It takes Kensi two times longer than usual to fill out a simple expense sheet between checking the time and watching for Deeks to come back. Finally after ten minutes, Deeks is still gone and her stomach is crawling with the sense that something is terribly wrong.

Pushing back from the table, she secure her files, looking around the nearly empty room, and then heading for the locker rooms too. She bypasses the women's side, and pushes open the men's door, hoping that she's not about to walk in on a bunch of colleagues in varying states of undress. At first, she doesn't see Deeks, and her stomach sinks, a sudden image of him lying prone on the floor filling her head.

She passes the rows of lockers, head swiveling from side to side until she spots Deeks at the end of the final row and she exhales slowly. Her relief is short lived though. Deeks is bent with one hand braced against a locker, the opposite arm wrapped around his torso while he sucks in short, uneven breaths, shoulders visibly rising with each inhale.

Her eyes shift from him to the roll of bandages and cold packs set on the bench behind him.

"Deeks, what happened?" she asks softly, and he spin around, a sharp whimper escaping at the sudden movement. "Here, let me see." She ignores the sounds of protests he makes. It's against regulations for her to be in the men's locker room and is a reportable offense, but right now she doesn't give a damn. She crowds Deeks back again the lockers, cornering him.

"Kensi, what are you doing?" he asks, voice higher pitched than normal, and she can hear his obvious distress, but ignores it. "If you wanted to get your hands on me—"

It's so like him to try to joke his way out of this, but Kensi's quicker than his verbal defenses, or the hands trying to brush her off, and she flips his shirt up, stomach tightening at the mottled skin reaching from just below his left pec to the top of his hip, lighter bruising on his stomach. She can only imagine the internal damage.

"Oh my god," she breathes in shock.

"One of my surfing buddies asked me to help him move some furniture. Strained myself," Deeks explains quickly, mechanically. Almost like he's been practicing it.

"Did your friend also punch you in the chest, cut your cheek, and give you a black eye?"

He inhales sharply, eyes suddenly glossing over, and he turns his head, shoulders pulling in. Like he's trying to make himself smaller.

"Oh Deeks," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He's stiff for a moment, then caves completely, dropping against her, one hand rising on her back to hold her against him, his chin tucking into her neck. Kensi holds him, not caring what it might look like to anyone who might wander in.

For as loud as he can be, Deeks is silent when he cries. The only signs are the occasional rising of his shoulders, and the wetness she feels on her neck. It's heartbreaking. She just holds him tighter, careful of staying away from the bruising.

After a few minutes, he draws back, still keeping his face hidden from her as he wipes at his eyes. Kensi gives him the illusion of privacy. She's already barreled through enough of his walls, he deserves that at least. When he seems slightly more composed, she brushes his hand with her fingertips.

"How long?"

He doesn't pretend to be confused by her questions. Shrugging, just a quick spasm of his shoulders, he shakes his head, sniffing once. "I don't know. Maybe a year. Kind of hard to tell."

She isn't sure if he's lying or not, but the absolute confirmation kills her.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He just gives her a look and she winces, suitably chastised.

"Sorry."

"This isn't the place for this," he says, hoarser than usual, but already sounding more like himself than a few minutes ago. It scares her that he's so good at patching himself together like this.

"Ok, then come to my place. You can tell her you had to stay late to finish logging some evidence or filing reports. I don't care, just make something up."

"She won't like that," Deeks tell hers dully.

Kensi's anger flares at the implication of his statement, suddenly filled with loathing. "To hell with what Sylvia likes. You can go wherever you want and if she says anything, she can deal with me."

Deeks shakes his head, laughing in a way that sounds completely exhausted. He shrugs, sinking onto the bench with a sigh. "Ok," he relents.

"Good. Now let's get your ribs wrapped again," she says, grabbing the bandages.