A/N: This is a very chatty chapter, but also very angsty.

Thanks for all the lovely reviews again and for sticking with me!

Kensi leaves the locker room after helping Deeks rewrap his ribs to give him time to put himself together. This is going to be hard enough for him without her witnessing his most vulnerable moments. She knows this, but it's talking all her self-control to stay at her desk and not go back in to check on him.

Thankfully, he comes out relatively quickly, dressed in a fresh blue t-shirt—long-sleeve, she notes—and hair damp and free of gel. His expression is a little too blank for her liking, but it's understandable after…everything.

They drive to her apartment separately, Kensi constantly checking her rearview mirror, as though Deeks might disappear if she doesn't keep a close enough watch.

Deeks parks across the street, silently meeting her at the door, and then following her through. There are a few piles of clothes, dishes, and other objects that definitely shouldn't be lying around, which Deeks had gleefully commented on the couple other times he'd stopped by for drinks or to pick her up for work. Tonight though, he doesn't say a word. She almost wishes he would.

She leads him out to the tiny patio in the back, gesturing to the two lawn chairs.

"Make yourself comfortable, I'll be back."

Deeks just nods, still unusually silent and complacent.

Kensi knows throwing alcohol at Deeks' situation is not ideal, but she has a feeling they'll need the liquid courage to get through this. With that in mind, she loads up a plastic bucket, throwing in a couple waters and some chips for good measure.

When she opens the back door again, Deeks has settled on the top step, his elbows propped on his knees, shoulders bent low, head lifted in the direction of the rows of bushes decorating the fenced in yard.

Moving around to face him, she sees his gaze is unfocused, slightly glazed.

"Here," she says softly, offering a beer, and only then does he move with a deep inhale, his head jerking upwards.

She's never seen him so rattled before. Even when he was on edge or facing a traumatic situation, he possessed the ability to keep most of his reactions to a minimum. To see him now, so unguarded and unable to hide his emotions is unnerving. She supposes she could be grateful he trusts her this much, and hasn't shut her out completely.

"Thanks." He twists off the cap and takes a healthy swallow, releasing a long, shuddery breath afterwards. "Well, this is awkward," he finally says, breaking some of the tension.

"Take your time," Kensi tells him, going to lean against the beam so she's facing his profile. "We have no place to be." His raised brow says otherwise, but she just stares back, firm on that point. If he doesn't feel safe going back home, her couch is fairly comfortable and comes with the perks of zero violent girlfriends.

"It's ridiculous, right?" Apparently it's a rhetorical question, because he doesn't give her time to respond or question what he's referencing. "I mean, I'm trained to help people in situations like this. I'm supposed to know all the signs. I do know them, yet…" he trails off and shakes his head, loosely cupping his hands around his beer.

"Deeks, you know that's not how it works," Kensi tells him. She's horrified that he's blaming himself this way, but it's in character. Despite his outwardly positive personality, he's always the hardest on himself. When he doesn't acknowledge her comment at all, she grabs his arm and shakes it.

He jerks, not much. Enough though, that Kensi's angry, sick, and heartbroken for him all over again. It also makes her realize just how low his defenses are right now and she releases him, carefully pressing her hand to her thigh.

"You know, my dad hit my mom when I was little," he says distantly and Kensi stills. "Never hit me. Threatened to sometimes, but for whatever reason, it was only my mom. Well, until the last time. He got worked up about something, started getting at me about cleaning my room and homework, and grabbed my arm. He shook me so hard, he ended up breaking it in two places. I guess that was finally the last straw for my mom cause she got us out of there that night."

He loosely circles his wrist with his free hand, perhaps in remembered pain.

"How did it start with Sylvia?" she prompts, figuring that if they skirt the topic too much longer, he might shut down again.

"It's hard to pinpoint a day, or week. At first it was little things. Things you just overlook, you know. Getting after me when I was gone late, even though she knew I had a night shift. Accusing me of cheating if I talked with another woman. I didn't even notice it happening. After a while, we only went places she wanted or with her friends, and she started criticizing anything I enjoyed. And, I just went along with it, because I thought if I could make her happy, that things would get better eventually."

"But it didn't."

He shakes his head, that devastating look back in his eyes.

"Over time, I stopped seeing my friends for one reason or another. I used to go surfing with a buddy from college about once a week, but then she said she didn't like how he looked at her. He's one of the sweetest guys I know, yet I stopped meeting with him anyway." He expels a gust of air, absentmindedly tipping the bottle to his mouth. "I missed a good friend's wedding because Sylvia said she was too stressed to go and if I cared about her, I wouldn't go either."

Kensi grimaces at the blatant manipulation, a few choice words to describe Sylvia on the tip of her tongue. She'd known exactly how to guilt him into achieving what she wanted. It's a good thing the woman isn't in front of her now, because Kensi's not sure she could control the impulse to sucker punch her.

"She always had the time for her friends though when they wanted had engagement parties, weddings, or even just random spa nights," Deeks continues with a touch of bitterness.

"One day I looked up and I barely interacted with anyone outside of work, hadn't spoken to my mom in months—which let me tell you, is not an easy feat. It sounds pathetic, but after a while…it just wears you down. Eventually I didn't do anything that Sylvia didn't agree to first." His eyes, usually teeming with so much life, are bleak, and beyond sad.

"She isolated you."

"Yeah, and I didn't even notice until it was too late."

"That's not pathetic, it's manipulative and calculating." And evil, she adds silently. She's not sure if Deeks is quite ready for how badly she views Sylvia given how set he seems on taking responsibility for her abuse.

Deeks just shrugs, twisting his empty bottle between his palms. She doesn't offer him a second just yet, not intent on getting him drunk.

"Is she the reason you stopped surfing altogether?" Their first few months as partners, Deeks had come in from days off, gushing about perfect swells, even showing videos of him and his friends catching waves in the bright sunlight and blue water. At the time, she'd found it a little odd, but not concerning when those stories stopped, Deeks citing their hectic schedules.

"Pretty much. Even after I started surfing alone, she convinced me my boards were a waste of space and it took up too much our limited time. I could see the second part, you know, since we both are so busy. Made sense to do something we both liked instead."

"Please tell me you didn't sell all your boards," Kensi says, angered by the thought that something which brought him so much joy might have been taken away.

"Nah, I put 'em in storage," Deeks responds with the ghost of a smile at the small show of rebellion.

"Good."

He actually chuckles, though it's faint, at the fervor in her voice. His nostrils flare as he shifts suddenly, a hand bracing his side, and Kensi's reminded of the catalyst for this whole conversation.

"When did it turn physical?"

"A while back. It got worse a few months ago."

"It wasn't always like that though, right?" Kensi guesses, hopes. "She didn't hurt you from the beginning."

"No, I think it started to change after we moved in together. Everything did, little by little. It started out small with a slap or a punch I thought was just playful and didn't really think about. Then the punches got harder, and more frequent, and she started throwing dishes, cups, whatever was easy to grab. And over the smallest damn thing." He licks his bottom lip, eyes lowered to his hands. "The two days I called in sick a couple months ago, it was because I had a such a bad black eye, I knew I couldn't go in without getting questions. You'd have never let it go." He gives her a weak smile. "It's what makes you such a good partner."

"I remember," Kensi says. "That's when I first started getting concerned." Deeks frowns and she elaborates. "Everybody falls or runs into something once in a while, but you're way too athletic to suddenly become that clumsy." She takes a drink of quickly warming beer and presses her lips together in regret. "I just wish I'd pushed you harder back then."

"I would have doubled down," Deeks tells her, instantly absolving her. "No matter how ridiculous it sounded."

"What happened this last time?" She nods to his torso, arm braces against his side from upper rib cage to abdomen.

"Remember that oak coffee table in the den?" Deeks asks seemingly out of nowhere.

"I think so," she answers slowly, confused by the non-sequitur. "The one your Marine friend made you?"

"Yeah, I don't have it anymore," he says blithely and it takes Kensi another beat to understand him and then she stares at him, shocked at the dark joke.

"Oh my god, she threw you into a table?!" It's a miracle his ribs are only bruised and he doesn't have internal injuries.

"To be fair, I don't think she intended for me to hit the table. We were arguing and she pushed me. Probably harder than she meant to."

"Don't you dare defend her," Kensi snaps. She instantly regrets her loss of temper when he looks away.

Humor is his way of deflecting, she reminds herself, his armor. "I'm sorry." Deeks just shrugs. She sits on the other side of the step, a foot or so separating them.

"What were you guys fighting about? Not that it matters, I suppose."

Deeks lips purse then twist in a half grimace, fingers peeling mindlessly at the beer label. "Um, we were fighting about a lot of things. Me not coming home when she expected, going out, kids." He pauses, eyes darting towards her and then away. "You."

"Me?" She can't contain her surprise at being a topic of conversation between Deeks and Sylvia, let alone an element of a fight.

"Yeah, she, uh, she's jealous about how much time we spend together. Finds our relationship threatening and feels I prioritize it over her, and us," he replies, his cadence making her think he's quoting Sylvia directly.

"That's insane!" Kensi bursts out. "We're—we're partners and friends. It's never been more than that."

"I know that and I've told her that a million times but she insisted that something must be going on between us no matter what I've done or said to prove otherwise." Some frustration leaks into Deeks' voice, and it gives her hope.

He hesitates, flicking a glance at Kensi, an almost guilty look in his eyes. Then as if he needs to get it out before he stops himself, he says in a rush. "She demanded that I request a different partner or transfer to a different station."

"Deeks," Kensi breathes, not knowing what to do with that piece of information. He'd told her Sylvia was jealous, but she hadn't anticipated to this degree.

"I wouldn't do it," Deeks assures her quickly and his voice shakes and cracks. "Maybe it's selfish, but I couldn't do it. That's why she's been so angry recently and why I ended up with a bruised sternum and ribs."

"Well, then I guess that makes me equally as selfish," she says, reaching for his hand, now upturned on his thigh. "Because I'm glad you did. I can't imagine not having you in my life, Marty Deeks."

He squeezes her back, fingers tight, and he doesn't have to say anything. They sit there in silence for a few minutes. Deeks sniffs, she wipes a couple tears away before they escape.

Taking a grounding breath, she reminds herself that the conversation isn't over. It isn't enough for Deeks to open up to her; she intends to make sure Sylvia never has another opportunity to hurt him again.

"Did you document any of the injuries?" she asks, not having high hopes. If Deeks hadn't wanted to tell anyone, he wasn't likely to be taking pictures.

"The last few," he says to her surprise. When she says as much, he shrugs. "I figured I might need proof at some point. Though I don't know how much good it will do."

"No, evidence is always good."

He smiles weakly. "It's not my first rodeo." She isn't sure if he's referencing his dad or the many domestic cases they've handled. Carding his hand through his hair, he tilts his head back. "In the interest of full disclosure, I should probably show you this."

Kensi shifts to face him as he lifts his right arm, methodically rolling back the sleeve in neat, even layers until he reveals a thin, reddened line running the length of his forearm at an angle. She runs her index finger along it without thinking. It's slightly raised with smooth edges, making her think the original wound was made with something very sharp.

"About four weeks ago, Sylvia asked me about—she started talking about having kids and I said I didn't think we were ready for that. I held my ground for once—probably not the best decision given we were in the kitchen and she was chopping onions. She got mad, lashed out, this happened," he says, voice even and emotionless now, like he's relating the details of a case.

Kensi shakes her head, lightly gripping Deeks' arm. "And I never even knew," she whispers hoarsely. Even though the wound is now healed, and relatively minor, the potential danger terrifies her. It could have been so much worse.

"I guess I've gotten pretty good at concealing the truth." There's condemnation in his voice, self-loathing, and she almost grabs his arm again before she recalls his earlier reaction. She's so used to their easy contact with each other, it's difficult to be more cautious now.

"Deeks, while I wish you'd told me before, you have to know that I don't blame you for any of this. I don't blame you for Sylvia's behavior or for not sharing it with me. We're good."

He smiles gratefully, slumping against the step with a heavy sign. She can see he's fading fast and knows they need to wrap up before he crashes.

"I guess the next question is, are you ready to leave her?"

"Yes," Deeks says immediately and adamantly. "I do want to leave, but it's complicated. Our lives are so intertwined now that it's not just a question of picking up and leaving. Besides that, she'll throw the mother of all fits if I tell her I'm moving out."

"So don't tell her," Kensi says simply. "We'll go in on a day she's off work and pack everything up. What else do you share besides the condo?"

"All the utilities, one shared credit card, though there's a limit on what either of us can spend per month."

"That's not ideal, but not the worst. Do you have shared bank accounts?"

"No, thank god," Deeks answers.

"We'll get you a lawyer to help figure the rest out. The important thing is to—"

"Put me in a position where she can't influence or control me anymore," he interrupts, reciting what they've counseled victims dozens of times before. "Yeah, I know."

"It's going to be ok," Kensi assures him, squeezing his shoulder encouragingly. She can only imagine how exhausting and terrifying it is, preparing to flip his life upside down.

"Do you want anyone from the station to know? I realize you don't want this spread around, but it will get out eventually," Kensi reminds him. "And you know all of them would help you in a heartbeat."

He mulls her question over for a few moments, chin resting on his folded hands. "Sam Hanna and Jones."

"Ok, I'll let them now. How much do you want to tell them?"

"I'll talk to them," Deeks responds firmly, straightening again. "If they're going to get involved in my mess, then they deserve to hear the truth from me. Or at least a part of it. Will you come with me when I do?" He sounds so vulnerable, she doesn't even think before answering.

"Absolutely. I'll be there every step of the way if you want me," she promises.

"Thanks." Tilting his head back, he sets the empty beer bottle to the side, and peers at Kensi through the slits of his eyes. "Any chance I can get another beer?"

"Sure. But I think I should probably make us some food too."

"Oh, I better come with you," he says, pushing himself to standing with a drawn-out groan. "The last time you cooked, you nearly set the microwave on fire."

"That is so not–that was not my fault," Kensi splutters. Deeks chuckles, tired, but genuine. It's a good sound, even if the laughter's at her expense. As he follows her back through the patio door, she thinks everything might just be ok.

A/N: I hope the shift to humor at the end wasn't too abrupt. I felt like it would be in character for Deeks to want to lighten the mood, for both his and Kensi's sake.