A/N: Another version of how Deeks might have shared his background. Set sometimes in season 3.


"This was a terrible idea," Deeks groaned, whipping his head to the side to shake off the excess water dripping off the bill of his hat.

For the last day and a half, they'd been chasing two escaped convicts through the woods. They'd worked straight through the first night, but given that they were all exhausted, hungry, and now pretty thoroughly soaked thanks to a downpour in the last hour, they made the unanimous decision to set up camp

While Kensi and Callen gathered some wood for a fire, Sam and Deeks had agreed to set up the tent. What should have taken no more 30 minutes tops in Deeks' opinion, was taking significantly longer since Sam kept stopping him to make critiques.

"I'm pretty sure I can manage to pound a stake into the mud without your help." He paused as Sam came over to examine his work again.

"It's at too much of an angle. C'mon Deeks, didn't your dad teach you this stuff?" Sam spit out in frustration. Deeks stopped working at the stake altogether for a moment, letting the question settle over him before he started whacking at the piece of metal again.

He knew it was an off-hand remark—unless one of the three people on the team who knew about his dad had let the secret out. At any other time, he would have let it slide, but tonight he didn't have the mental capacity to overlook the random slights.

"Actually, no he didn't. Because my dad spent a good part of the first eleven years of my life drinking whatever he could get his hands on and beating on me and my mom. Then he went to prison. Now he's dead," Deeks said, surprising himself by how steady his voice remained.

He could feel Sam's large presence behind him, but he didn't say anything, so Deeks picked up another stake, hooking it into a loop a half foot away. There was only the sound of the rain and hammer on stake for a couple minutes.

"Is that true?"

"That my dad is dead? Yeah. Don't know why I'd lie about it," Deeks answered. He was probably being a little too sarcastic and honest, but he was tired, cold, and done with Sam's perfectionist attitude.

"No, the other parts," Sam clarified. "Was your dad…abusive?" There was a strange halting quality to the words, and after a moment, Deeks realized it was uncertain. Sam Hanna felt uncomfortable.

He tipped his head back, far enough to see Sam from where he stood over him. The rain immediately splattered his face, but he didn't look away.

"The man hated me more that you do," Deeks said lightly.

"I don't hate you," Sam retorted immediately. Deeks didn't argue the point.

"As long as I remember, my dad was an angry guy. He was angry when he got drunk, when work didn't go well, when mom just happened to be too close, when my hair was too long—yeah, he wasn't a fan either." Deeks chuckled bitterly. "Didn't take a lot to make him angry. Pretty he preferred punching to camping and teaching me survival skills."

"I'm sorry. Did you see him before he died?"

"Nope," Deeks said easily. "You might say we didn't end on very good terms. "He was pretty sure that Sam Hanna's momentary benevolence wouldn't extend to finding out he shot good old Gordon. "I only found out he died recently, so never had the opportunity to find out if prison made him see the light."

"Damn shame," Sam muttered. Deeks didn't know if he was referring to Gordon's untimely death or the entire situation. It was probably best not to ask.

Crouching next to him, Sam examined the stakes again and nodded. "That's good enough."

Deeks almost laughed. He guessed that was the best he'd be getting tonight.

They finished the rest of their work in silence. He wondered if they'd reached a turning point, or if his personal sob story had just earned him a brief reprieve.