A/N: Hi everyone, sorry for the slight hiatus. Real life has been quite busy between work finishing up for the year, social activities, and so forth. I appreciate all your thoughtful responses to the last chapter.

Notification for the site continue to be absent, so if you are following any of my stories or series, you will have to go directly to the story rather than waiting for an email. I've been checking my messages as well so I can respond to your reviews as best I can.

Kensi's eyes burned with tears as she stalked down the cracked sidewalk, past unkempt yards and worn houses. The fact that she was crying just made her all the angrier. It had always been that way, but usually these days Deeks was the one to comfort her through those tears.

She hadn't asked much from Deeks, only honesty because she cared about him, and he'd thrown it in her face. Did he even know how many nights she'd spent worrying about him, how hard she'd worked to make sure he ate enough and didn't work himself to death?

No, he went out and got into more trouble with Ray. She'd thought she was doing Deeks a favor, and he just found her annoying and intrusive.

God, she'd made such a fool of herself.

She should have walked out the minute Deeks pretended everything he was fine. She hated him seeing her in such a moment of weakness when she was infuriated with him.

Kensi rubbed the damp trails away with her knuckles, inhaling and exhaling several times until she was certain she wouldn't cry anymore. If Deeks wanted space, then she would give it to him.

Chest heaving, Deeks slammed his fist into the closed door, the wood making a cracking sound on impact. He pulled back, shaking out his aching fingers. His anger and frustration was still there, but the pain felt strangely good.

He couldn't believe how quickly everything had spiraled. In the past few weeks, he'd tried so hard to keep it together, and in a moment his emotions had boiled over, right onto an unsuspecting and undeserving Kensi. The last thing he'd ever wanted to do was hurt Kensi, and he'd done just that.

The image of her with tears in her eyes, looking so confused and hurt kept running through his mind. He should have told her the truth. Or figured out some way to reassure her. Instead, he'd yelled at her, then shut her out. Of course she'd run out; it was amazing she hadn't left him a long time ago. She definitely had better, more reliable, less screwed up friends.

His chest squeezed painfully tight with the thought that he might have truly pushed Kensi out for the final time. She had little reason to forgive him at this point, if she'd even give him a chance to apologize. In one moment, he'd messed up the one good thing left in his life.

He was so damn tired. Tired of fighting a past he hadn't chosen. Fighting to exist most days. Fighting to be the friend Kensi deserved. And here was failing at every single one.

The ringing of the phone interrupted his internal ranting, and he yanked the receiver off the base.

"Yeah, this is Marty Deeks," he responded, listening as Mr. Chowdry's slightly panicked voice filled his ear, explaining that he had a family emergency. "No, it's fine. You need to go take care of your kid, I can cover the store. I'll be there in half a hour," he promised, and replaced the receiver just as roughly.

Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes, breathing shallowly through his nose. For once, he didn't want to the distraction of work. He wanted to yank the phone cord out of the wall, bury his head under his pillow, and sleep until everything seemed less difficult.

The anger was back, just humming under his skin. It felt like if he didn't do something about it now, he'd explode with it. Maybe he should have told Mr. Chowdry he couldn't take the shift, but it felt like he owed his boss.

He reached to grab his work apron and opened the cabinet next to the fridge to grab something to eat on the way. As he pushed aside a box of crackers to get to a box of off-brand pop tarts, his hand brushed glass. He hesitated for just a second before pulling the bottle of sherry forward. It had been there for years, probably purchased shortly after they moved, and his mom only ever used it for cooking.

Taking it out completely, Deeks stared down at the reddish-brown bottle, tilting it so the liquid sloshed around inside. It was about two-thirds of the way full. He'd never had a drink before. With his dad's alcoholism, his mom had drilled the risks of drinking into him. Not that he really needed the lectures. He'd seen the evidence in action for himself. Felt it.

He thought of all of this, heard his mom's voice in his mind, his dad's too. Before he could dwell on it any longer, he unscrewed the cap, bringing the mouth of the bottle to his lips, and tipped it back, pouring out a mouthful.

It tasted stronger than he expected, and Deeks swallowed it quickly, coughing a little as it burned his throat. He didn't know if it was supposed to taste that bad or was just old, but he couldn't call it a pleasant experience. It did have the desired effect of dulling some of his overwhelming feelings.

He took another smaller swallow, the taste just as harsh as the first time. Replacing the cap, he glanced at the bottle, hoping it didn't look noticeably lower, and pushed it back behind the boxes of food. He didn't feel hungry anymore.

Running to the bathroom, he rinsed his mouth out. He caught his reflection in the mirror as he dried off his lower face; his eyes looked shiny and bloodshot, a little sick. It made his stomach swirl more than the liquor.

He turned away from the mirror, trying to wash away any signs of the alcohol—Mr. Chowdry would almost certainly recognize the scent. When he was done, he pulled on his shoes and apron, ignoring the dull acidic heat burning through his body and the ache in his heart.

A/N: Sorry for the short chapter!

Hopefully I captured the quick and often irrational actions of a teenager in moments of high emtion.