The shower helped some. Not as much as the food, but at least he wouldn't be facing his mom looking like a filthy bum. A small voice that sounded remarkably like his dad, whispered that he'd been a worthless piece of filth from the day he was born. Ignoring that voice had gotten increasingly hard in the last couple weeks.
Deeks stepped out of the shower, the soft rug on the floor squishing between his toes. This wasn't the first time he'd cleaned up or stayed overnight at the Blye's by any means.
His first summer, Kensi somehow convinced both their parents to let him spend a week over, and he'd slept in the guest room. He'd been too scared of getting kicked out to dare sneak into Kensi's room or her come to his, so they'd settled on sitting on the roof or front porch instead. Looking back Donald Blye likely heard their late-night chatter and clandestine trips to the kitchen for snacks, yet he'd never said a word.
Even though the room was steamy from his recent shower, Deeks shivered, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He quickly changed into a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt Mr. Blye had given him. Both were too loose, but not by much. They must have been left over from college or something, which was a weird thought.
He rubbed his borrowed towel over his hair, combing his fingers through the tangled curls until they were reasonably snarl free. It wasn't great, but again, better than how he'd looked before.
Even though there wasn't much left to do, he took his time cleaning up after himself. He made sure the shower was completely rinsed down, wiped up any spare water droplets off the floor, and tossed his used towel in the hamper.
That took approximately five minutes, and he still didn't feel remotely prepared to see his mom. If she'd been upset enough to get Kensi involved, she was probably in hysterics at this point, and he didn't have the energy to calm her down as well as convince her he was actually fine. He was so damned tired.
Not that he had much choice in it seemed. Between Kensi and Mr. Blye, they were taking control of his life while he stood helplessly by. A part of him felt comforted by that thought; it would be nice to not care for once, to have someone else take on all of the burden. Then he could crawl into bed and sleep indefinitely.
A sudden knock on the door startled him enough he jerked back into the counter, knocking over a bottle of hairspray.
"Deeks?" Kensi called through the door, an edge of concern i her voice,
"I'm fine," he answered back.
"Ok. Your mom's here."
"Crap." Deeks tilted his head back and suck a slow breath through his teeth to hold off the fierce wave of panic that rushed through him. With a final look in the mirror, he opened the door, and found Kensi standing directly on the other side. She jerked back in apparent surprise, her expression vaguely guilty.
"I just wanted to—I heard something fall," she explained, hands waving aimlessly through the air. Her eyes drifted over him, and he wondered if she could tell he was barely holding it together. "You've just got a little piece of—" she reached up, fingers light on his skin as she brushed at his hair. "That's better. Are you ready?"
"No," he admitted. "Not even a little bit."
"It'll be ok," she assured him. When he didn't move, she held out her hand, waiting until he took it. Her grip was firm and comforting, and he felt, if not calmer then at least stronger. He raised their clasped hands between them, and impulsively pressed his lips to her knuckles. Kensi's eyes widened with surprise again, but she didn't say a word, merely tugging lightly at his hand. He followed her down the hallways and to the stairs.
Roberta's voice was audible from the top landing, the cadence of her words unmistakable. He let Kensi start to lead him down the steps, stopping when they were about halfway down and his mom and Donald Blye came into view
She stood just inside the room, dressed in a thick sweater that didn't fit with the current weather, purse hitched over one shoulder with her right hand grasping the short handles in a stranglehold. She shifted from one foot to the other, so clearly uncomfortable and nervous, it was almost painful to watch.
"I tried calling him when I was at work, but he didn't answer, but that's not unusual. You know, I figured that he was at work or with Kensi. They spend so much time together, I never have to worry when he's with your daughter," Roberta rambled, and Deeks closed his eyes, willing her to stop talking. "When I got home, that's when I really started worrying. He always comes home and I could tell he hadn't. I thought maybe he was mad at me again–you know how it is with teenagers–but we've barely talked in weeks."
He could only imagine what Mr. Blye thought of their screwed-up lives. Well, he'd probably already suspected, but now his mom was confirming their sordid problems. He glanced at Kensi out of the corner of his eyes, and she was studying the carpet like the tan fibers held some fascinating mystery.
"Mom," he spoke up before she could unintentionally reveal anything else. Her head snapped up, mouth opening slightly as relief crossed her face.
"Marty," she breathed out. Kensi pushed him gently, and he stumbled down the last several steps. He stopped again when he was a few feet away, suddenly uncertain again.
"We'll give you two a few minutes," Mr. Blye said tactfully.
"That's not necessary," Deeks said at the same time Roberta added,
"We don't want to trouble you anymore."
"Talk to your son, Roberta." Though it he said it gently, it was clear Donald wasn't making a suggestion. "C'mon, Kensi."
Kensi looked like she might object for a moment, but after a few moments, she followed after her dad. Looking over her shoulder, a question in her eyes. He nodded in answer; he'd be fine.
Then it was just the two of them. His mom stared back at him with a combination of worry, uncertainty, and relief. Deeks opened his mouth, though to say what he wasn't sure. Before he could say a word, Roberta crossed the small gulf between them, and pulled him into her arms, hands gripping tightly at his back.
"I'm so glad you're ok," she whispered.