Deeks didn't hear from Kensi again for the rest of the day. He considered texting her, but didn't want to push and didn't know what he'd say anyway.
Sorry I kissed you. It must be the head injury.
Yeah, it seemed better to give her some space and follow her lead.
It had been a good kiss, brief as it was. Something felt familiar, even natural about it, even though he'd immediately sensed he and Kensi didn't have a romantic relationship. Either way, she clearly regretted the kiss given how quickly she'd run out there.
Deeks sighed, glancing at the time; it was around seven. He'd dozed on and off for a couple hours, too restless to fall into a deep sleep. Staying in the this exact sounded pretty fantastic. He didn't feel like moving and his headache had returned, not that it ever went away completely.
An image of Kensi's worries expression floated through his mind and spurred him to get up and shuffle to the kitchen. Someone had apparently restocked the fridge, since he found a note on the counter informing him there were buckets of soup, frozen meals, fruit, and a variety of snacks. Since nothing sounded particularly good, he settled on heating a small bowl of chicken and rice soup. He ate is slowly, leaving a few spoonsful behind when the thought of finishing it made his stomach roll uncomfortably.
Normally, he always felt better in a clean environment, but for once he didn't have the will to pull out the extra bit of energy required to clean and rinse his few dishes. Deeks left the bowl and spoon in the sink, once again moving with all the agility and speed of your typical 95-year-old.
With a little searching, he found the bathroom and then bedroom. Two surfboards leaned against the wall closest to the bedroom door and he ran his hands over the surface, appreciating the familiar texture. There were also two dressers, a side table next to the queen-sized bed, and a painting of the ocean above that.
He went to the shorter of the two dressers solely because it was closer and pulled out drawers until he found one full of neatly folded shirts. He grabbed a plain gray one, and started to pull off his current one when a collection of pictures on top of the dresser caught his eye.
He dropped the shirt, picking up the first picture frame, which had a photo of him and his mom. He remembered taking it outside his dorm his first year of college.
The sight of it produced mixed feelings; his relationship with his mom had been extremely rocky the last few years. Between them never discussing his dad or the surrounding trauma and Roberta's inability to accept his choices, they hadn't spoken much since he graduated. As proud as she was of his achievements, she greatly disapproved of his decision to work with drug lords and crazed killers—her words—and didn't keep that opinion to herself.
Apparently something had changed in the last seven years, since he'd packed up most of his childhood belongings when he moved the first time. The realization left him conflicted, as so many things did right now. If they'd actually discussed his dad's abuse and everything that came with it, he had no memory of it and if not, that would still be hanging over their heads.
Curious, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, using the passcode Kensi had provided and went to his contacts, scrolling through until he found one labeled, "Mama". He smiled a little at that, navigating to his texts and opening the accompanying one for Roberta.
After scrolling a few screens-worth, he found a random conversation from a few weeks ago.
"Martin, I'm making lasagna on Saturday. Come on over, assuming you don't get shot before then."
He huffed a laugh, hearing the words in her voice. It looked like that hadn't changed either and for once, he was glad. Exiting the thread, he saw Kensi's name at the very top, apparently with the last message he'd sent before being knocked out. He was very tempted to open it, but stopped himself as his thumb hovered over the screen. Somehow, it felt like cheating.
Instead, he moved on to the next picture frame, which was slightly smaller than the first and held a more current photo. Him, Kensi, Nell, and a blond man he didn't recognize crouched together, their grins open and affectionate. It made him smile a little in response.
The final picture was of just him and Kensi. He sat at a desk, Kensi leaning against his back her chin just above his head. He looked slightly off-camera, his smile soft and fond while was clearly mid-laugh, the corners of her eyes crinkled. It made his wonder when they'd both felt comfortable enough be this at ease, let alone in front of whomever took the picture.
Based on her earlier response, he guessed Kensi didn't know about it. Or at least that he kept a copy in his bedroom. Giving it a final look, Deeks set the picture down in the exact spot he'd found it.
He had the odd sense of invading someone else's privacy. Which was an absurd thought since these were his pictures in his room.
A sudden wave of vertigo hit him, and he closed his tightly, hand fumbling for the edge of the dresser as he tried not to throw up or fall over. An eternity later, the ground stopped swaying under him and he thought he could move without being sick. His headache was back in full force.
Giving up on the shirt, he stumbled over to his bed, easing onto it with a grown. His stomach gave a feeble protest at the sudden change in direction and his mouth was dry and sour like after a bad bout of a stomach bug.
This sucked. All of it. The concussion. The not knowing. Finding out things about himself piecemeal and trying to fit it all together. Whatever he had with Kensi.
Rolling onto his side, he pulled a pillow over his head, hoping for oblivion.
