The awkward silence rose again as Roberta drove them home. It didn't help that she kept glancing over at him every few seconds without every saying anything, like he might make a sudden move to jump out to the car. Actually, that didn't sound like the most terrible idea at the moment.
Inside, he quietly wished he could forget the entire night. He hadn't intended to cause a scene like that, but after sitting there, listening to Mr. Blye map out the best way to save him and Roberta from poverty, the guilt and shame bubbling inside him had overflowed, and he lashed out again. Just a few minutes into the drive, the guilt returned in full force with a hefty dose of regret.
Mr. Blye was just trying to help and Deeks rewarded him by telling in his face. He couldn't imagine what he and Kensi thought of him now. The screwed-up kid who ran away, ate their food and slept in their bed, and then took his anger out of them.
"Marty. Martin, we're home."
He jerked, inhaling sharply as his mom's hand settled on his shoulder, and looked around him. It was fully dark outside; somehow he'd zoned out for the last several minutes. He got out of the car, stumbling over his feet a little. Thankfully he didn't fall and managed to make it across the uneven concrete, Roberta trailing behind him.
When they walked into the kitchen, everything was in perfect order and looked scrubbed clean. Deeks imagined Roberta frantically cleaning in a futile attempt to calm herself. Another pang of guilt hit him.
"You want me to fix you something to eat?" she asked, unusually soft.
"I just ate, twice, mom. Don't worry about me, I'm fine. You've got work in the morning, and need to sleep."
"Screw work."
Deeks turned at the emphatic statement, surprised by the steely look in her eyes. "You're more important than any job. Somehow I forgot that for a while, but I'm not gonna make that same mistake twice."
"You already missed a day. I'm not going to be the reason you lose more hours," he insisted. Roberta ignored him, moving into the tiny front room where she started fluffing the pillows on their battered couch.
"Would you quit talking about work. Honey, you just lay down and relax. You've done enough, ok?" she said, gently pushing him until he sat on the couch. He rolled his eyes when she started manhandling his legs onto the other side.
"Mom, what are you doing?"
"Hush. You're exhausted. Let me take care of you for once."
He stopped resisting, letting her tug his shoes off, throw an afghan over his body, and generally fuss over him. It did feel kind of nice, and he couldn't deny that he'd been running on fumes. Even the threadbare cushions under him felt amazing at the moment. His eyelids started to droop, but he forced them back open. He needed to say something while they were still talking and before they ended up arguing again.
"I'm sorry, mom," he murmured, folding her hand in his. "For scaring you, and yelling at you and—"
"Ah, we're not going to talk about any of that anymore," she interrupted firmly. "At least not tonight." She started carding her fingers through his hair. "All you need to know is that I love you, more anything in this world."
"The last time you did this, I was twelve and had the flu."
"Oh, that sucked," Roberta remembered. "You could barely get out of bed for a week." She leaned over, kissing his forehead. "I love you, kiddo."
"Love you, mama."
Deeks woke up face down in a cushion, confused why his bed smelled like air freshener. It took a little longer than it should have for him to remember that he was on the couch and why he was there in the first place.
He yawned, jaw cracking, and rolled onto his back. For the first time in weeks, he actually felt rested. Rolling off the couch, and attempted to run his fingers through his tangled hair. When it just made the nots worse, he gave up.
"Mom!" he called out in a voice so hoarse it sounded like he'd been screaming all night.
Wandering into the kitchen, he found it empty, but couldn't miss the sheet of paper in the center of the table, pinned down by a can of beans. He picked it up, reading while he grabbed and drank a glass of water.
"Sweetie, I have a meeting with my boss. Sorry I couldn't be here when you woke up, but I should be back in a couple hours. There's breakfast in the oven, and don't you even think about not eating it.
Love, your mama.
P.S. I called Mr. Chowdry to tell him you wouldn't be in today. He said to take care.
Of course she did. Oddly enough, he wasn't mad about it. Maybe he'd used up all his anger last night. Or a solid night's sleep made all the difference. Either way, he felt almost relieved that he didn't have the responsibility of work right now; Mr. Chowdry was probably actually delighted since he'd told Deeks more than once that he needed to have some fun. Kids weren't supposed to be so busy, in his words.
Setting the paper to the side, Deeks searched out breakfast, which turned out to be pancakes, eggs, and sausage. For once, he didn't question the cost. It was food, he was hungry, and not eating it wouldn't fix anything.
After breakfast, he straightened up the kitchen. It was after 11, but Deeks didn't expect his mom anytime soon. Even though her boss wasn't a terrible guy, he still considered his business a higher priority than a middle-aged employee with personal problems.
He was a little surprised that Kensi hadn't tried calling yet. Of course, he hadn't left under the best circumstances, and that was after she chased all over the city looking for him. The pancakes he'd just finished suddenly felt like nails in his stomach.
Kensi was his best friend, he reminded himself. She'd seen him at his very worst and hadn't judged him for it. She'd taken care of him, worried about him. He wasn't going to lose her after this.
Batting down the rising anxiety, he decided a shower might help. At the very least, he'd feel less gross.
A couple hours later, he'd showered, dressed, and had pulled out his surfboard. It had been a while since he'd worked on it, so he took his time, letting the repetitive motion soothe was about three-fourths of the way done, when someone knocking on the door broke through.
His first thought was it probably was someone following up on a past-due bill. It wouldn't be the first time. A tiny part of him wondered it was Kensi, but he brushed that away before he could get too hopeful.
Deeks opened the door, an excuse on the tip of his tongue, never expecting that Mr. Blye would be on the other side instead.
"Mr. Blye. Hi." He discreetly looked past him to see if Kensi had stayed behind in the car, but the passenger see was empty. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Hi Marty," Mr. Blye greeted him. "Your mom mentioned she'd be out for a while today and asked if I'd check in on you."
"That really wasn't necessary," Deeks said, realizing that Don had probably sacrificed his lunch hour for this visit.
"I don't mind. Can I come in for a few minutes?"
"Uh, yeah sure." He gestured him inside, and Don took a seat at the kitchen table. Deeks couldn't help thinking that he looked even more out of place in this kitchen Kensi, sitting at their worn and ricket table in his uniform. "Can I get you some water or I could make some coffee." Deeks offered.
"Coffee sounds nice."
Deeks had the feeling that Don accepted a drink more for his sake, than actual thirst, but he was grateful for the distraction. He set up a fresh pot, carefully measuring out a few cups' worth of grounds, which only took a couple minutes. As the carafe of water began to heat, he turned around to face Mr. Blye, who sat quietly and patiently. Inhaling shallowly, he dragged a hand through his hair.
"Mr. Blye, I know you came her because my mom asked you too, but, um, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for what I said last night. It was disrespectful, especially after everything you've done for me and my mom. Everything you've offered to do."
"You're forgiven. I kind of cornered you last night, and that wasn't very fair to you or your mom. So I'm sorry for that."
"You were just trying to help." Deeks shrugged.
"Still, you've been through a lot."
"Probably for the best if we don't get into that," he muttered, looking down, because he couldn't handle the pity he was almost certain he'd find in Donald Blye's eyes.
"What brought on this turn around in attitude?"
"Did you want me to keep being pissed at you?" Deeks asked, immediately wincing. "Sorry."
"I'll allow it."
Deeks glanced up then, surprised when he found compassion and a hint of humor in Don's eyes.
"I don't know. I guess I had enough time to realize I wasn't really angry at you, but the situation."
"So you're not angry anymore?"
"Not at the moment," Deeks told him. He huffed a laugh. "Don't hold me to that, cause it might change."
"I appreciate the warning," Don joked. "So, does this mean you've accepted my offer?"
"It doesn't really matter if mom already has."
"Yes, it does," Don disagreed. "This involves your life. As much as I might want you to agree, you deserve to make your own decisions. I'm not going to force you."
Deeks looked away, throat suddenly tight with the unexpected compassion and understanding. So few people had ever cared what he thought and wanted. It was a revelation that someone besides Kensi and his mom might allow him that consideration.
"That means a lot," he murmured, still unable to make eye contact. He scuffed the toe of his shoe on the floor. "Yeah, I'm ok with it. And I, uh, I really appreciate it. I know that you're giving us a huge opportunity and risking a lot."
"It's not a risk from where I'm sitting." Don paused, leaning forward a little. Even if it were, I'd still make the same offer."
Deeks didn't know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet, trying to process it all. Donald Blye's selflessness went against everything he'd experienced for most of his life.
"Do you mind if I make a suggestion?" Don asked after a minute.
"Sure."
"Now, I want you to consider what I say without jumping down my throat, ok?" He paused again, and Deeks braced himself, figuring that it must be bad if it came with a disclaimer. He nodded in agreement eventually, and Don continued. "Have you considered seeing a therapist?"
"You mean like a psychologist?"
"Yes, or a counselor. Someone who can guide you through these changes and your past. Then might find a better way to help you deal with some of those emotions. Your mom, Kensi, and I all want to, but there's only so much we can do. We're not trained for this."
"I don't know," Deeks said. "It's hard to trust people, you know. The couple times I did when I was younger, it didn't turn out so well."
"That's fair. If you do want to, just let me know."
"Yeah, ok."
Wrapping his knuckles on the table top, Don nodded in apparent satisfaction. "Good. Now, I better get going before my boss chews me out."
He got up from the table, pausing to squeeze Deeks' shoulder. He was almost out the door, when Deeks licked his bottom lip, and asked,
"Mr. Blye, is Kensi—is she ok?"
"Well, right now she's a little annoyed at me," Don answered, pausing in the doorway. When Deeks frowned, he added. "Because I told her to give you some space. She wanted to rush over here first thing. I bet if you dropped by the house, you'd find her listening to some very loud music and describing my lack of understanding in minute detail."
"Thank you," Deeks said gratefully. For everything, he added silently.
A/N: If the first scenes seems vaguely familiar, I did take inspiration from episode 14x17, "Survival of the Fittest", when Roberta takes care of Deeks at the end of the episode.