A/N: A little Deeks angst for you. Set early season 8.

Deeks hurried into the mission, a cup of cold, leftover coffee from last night clutched in one hand, his phone in the other as he forwarded some of Kensi's latest medical paperwork to the VA. If he thought about it too hard, the sheer cost of Kensi's treatment made him nauseous, so now he quickly reviewed the listed services and amounts and then sent them on.

This morning's visit had not gone particularly well; while the doctor's reassured them both that Kensi was making progress and actually improving more quickly than anticipated, she struggled with everything she still couldn't do.

It had all started out well enough with Deeks managing to sneak in early enough to surprise Kensi when she woke up. Their good morning kiss had quickly devolved into full-on making out, and for a few minutes, they tuned out everything but each other. Until a nursing assistant arrived to announce Kensi needed to change for her first therapy appointment of the day.

Kensi had insisted on dressing as much as she could on her own. Deeks could only standby, watching her get more and more frustrated between the lack of mobility in her left hand and minimal sensation in her right. It was somewhere around her twentieth attempt to pull on a sock on that she growled and swiped her arm across her nearby tray, breaking into angry tears.

At least she'd let him comfort her this time, but he'd gotten the text from Nell about an active case before Kensi fully settled down.

It sucked on so many levels.

Tossing his bag on his desk chair, he drank the rest of his stale coffee, and sat down, letting out an exhausted sigh. He just wanted to sleep, though he never could once he actually got in bed.

"Deeks, glad you're here," Callen said, jogging down the stairs with Sam at his side.

Deeks rubbed his palms over his eyes, blinking back the gritty feeling. "Morning to you too."

As they joined him in the bullpen, Sam squeezed Deeks' shoulder before taking his own seat.

"We need you to call LAPD and get them to send a couple units over to parole near our crime scene."

"Wait, what crime scene?" Deeks asked, holding up a hand. "You know LAPD isn't just going to lend us resources without details."

"Well, maybe if you weren't late, you'd know about our case," Callen pointed out. Normally, Deeks would have ignored the gentle ribbing. Today though, he didn't have the patience for it and snapped back.

"I was with Kensi. Honestly, you're lucky I'm here at all."

"I take it it was a rough morning," Sam guessed.

"Oh no, life on the rehabilitation unit is delightful for a 32-year-old woman recovering from significant spinal injuries."

"Ok," Callen said slowly.

Even with his hand currently covering his face, Deeks knew Callen was sharing one of those annoying looks that questioned his mental stability.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I'm running on approximately three hours of sleep and two-day old coffee, so I'm not exactly my usual cheerful self."

"We understand," Sam told him, speaking for both himself and Callen. "Why don't you take half an hour, get yourself together, and Nell will fill you in after that."

"What about LAPD?" The thought of lying down for a few minutes sounded blissful, but he couldn't exactly shirk his responsibilities.

"We'll figure it out."

"Thanks, man."

As Deeks slowly got up, Sam rested his hand on the back of Deeks' neck, his touch solid and comforting. It made him feel dangerously close to tears himself.

"It's going to be ok," Sam said, emphasizing the words with a squeeze. Deeks managed a faint quirk of his lips before shrugging out from under Sam's hand, and shuffling towards the hall.

He probably wouldn't end up sleeping at all, but the chance for a few minutes without any responsibility sounded wonderful.