☉ & 🔫
She’s basically in his lap on the driver’s seat. He thinks about how funny it would be to end up in custody twice in one day, once for murder accusations, once for reckless driving. He’s sure all his buddies would be happy to see him again, Whiting would be overjoyed. The image of Whiting in his brain is a major turn off though, so he doesn’t even humor that thought anymore. He just hopes he can keep the wheels in between the lines as she drops sloppy kisses all over him, his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his jaw…
She smells like hospital again. He hates it. But there’s something else, that hint of gunsmoke clinging to her shirt, what remains of her familiar perfume, the one that smells like a sunny day. She’s coming back to him, the Kensi that they both know and miss. Setbacks, like being kidnapped and betrayed by a friend, and barely escaping murder charges, and depression, and incomplete spinal injuries, they’re nothing for them. Because in the end, they’re here, together, living, breathing, kissing, almost wrecking…
He swerves the car back into the road. His heart’s racing, not from the driving hazard, from her laugh. It’s so beautiful. And seeing her smile, it drives him crazy. He turns into their driveway, and he’s pretty sure he’s destroyed his transmission when he jerks his car into park and grabs her, pulling her completely onto his lap. The stitches on her forehead kinda remind him of a sexy Frankenstein, and he tells her so. She throws her head back and laughs, saying, “I should probably be offended by that.”
“No no no no,” he chides, grinning as he kisses her and grabs her ass, feeling her gasp against his lips when he kisses her. "Emphasis on sexy.“ His fingers caress under the hem of her shirt, low on her back, and she shivers. He kisses her forehead and opens the door for her, saying, “Come on, monster.”
The day seemed to stretch on for years, and as they approach the end of it, he remembers feeling younger 24 hours ago. Kensi rests her head against his shoulder as he unlocks the door. She presses her body against his and he backs up a step so that she’s against the front door. He turns around in her arms, looking down at her, wondering how he got so lucky. Her eyes are bright with love and want. It about drives him insane, the way she looks at him.
He kisses her lips, softly, slowly, and he can almost feel her melting into him. She brings her arm around his neck, kissing him harder, and he scoops her up, making sure she’s not pressed against the door knob.They’ve only had sex twice since the helicopter crash, once the first night she spent out of the hospital. But she was tired and insecure about her injuries and even though he joked about it being good dexterity practice, her mind was somewhere else. The last time was new years, when their midnight kiss turned into a frenzied pile of drunkenness that he barely can recall. Other than that, his Kensi always seems absent, like her soul’s slipping, wandering away.
But she’s back, he can tell. The taste of being back in the field, even if it resulted in a taser to the stomach and slaps to the face and zipties, has pulled her back to him.
Field Kensi is his Kensi, so different, willing, wild. He’s missed her. He’s missed that hint of gunpowder.
They almost make it to the couch. But not quite. He holds onto her waist and she puts most of her body weight on the knee that’s still a little numb. Hearing the noises she makes after so long put him on the edge almost immediately, but he tries to find some source of stamina, even though it’s nearly impossible with her. When he finally lets go, she’s looking back at him, her dark eyes smoldering, her mouth painted into an O shape. He pulls her with him, sitting back as she shudders, holding her tighter than he thinks he ever has before. Going from having sex almost every day to barely averaging once a month left him famished. He realizes that he hasn’t been whole without her.
She speaks exactly what he was thinking, “I didn’t realize how much I missed that.”
“We’re really good, aren’t we?” he asks, and she snorts. "Seriously, we’d be millionaires if you’d just let me–“
“We’re not making a sex tape.”
“But Ray J ain’t got nothing on me.”
“True.”
“So–”
“No. Sorry.” She’s laughing, and it’s beautiful, watching her. She sighs and rests her head back, using his chest like a recliner.
He strokes the damp, curling pieces of hair from her forehead. "Have I ever told you that you’re gorgeous?“
He loves being the cause of the blush that starts to color her cheeks, and he kisses her jaw. "A few times,” she answers, grinning. "You’re pretty gorgeous yourself.“
He gives it his best valley girl impersonation and draws out, “Thaaaanks.” She elbows him, but it doesn’t hurt. "We might be gorgeous, but we nasty. We need a shower.“
"You’re right. But I don’t want to move.“
He grabs her tight, holding her like a groom holds his bride, and she squeals as she laughs. He grunts as he picks her up, ignoring how tired his body is. They shower together and she messes with his hair as she runs conditioner threw it, attempting to give him a mohawk. Things feel normal again. Her heart’s where it used to be and her service weapon is waiting on her nightstand to be picked up in the morning. She tries to ignore the dull aching of her head, and the marks from the zip ties. She’d almost rubbed her wrists raw trying to escape. But she made it. She escaped. She proved that she was capable of saving her ass and other people’s. Deeks was okay, because he got to shoot Sullivan in the end. The sting of betrayal hurts, but Deeks is like morphine to her, and she can forget.
She’s seriously tired. The doctors had given her pain medication before she could think about denying it, and she tries to ignore the drowsiness. She wants to be awake with Deeks for awhile. Also, she thinks she’s hungrier than she is tired, and realizes she hasn’t ate since breakfast, which was about 9 in the morning. It was almost midnight. She’s pretty sure Deeks hasn’t had much either. "Baby?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m starving.”
He grins, a little sheepish as he admits, “Same.” He brushes her jaw with his thumb, saying, “You know, I was gonna pick food up on the way home. But something was distracting me.”
She rolls her eyes. He turns off the shower and wraps her in a towel before starting to dry himself off. "I guess I’ll go find us some food. That is, if you think you can live without me for a few minutes.“
"I think I’ll manage.” She grins, but the slight waver of her expression doesn’t go unnoticed by him when she says, “Lock the doors.”
He nods, serious for only a second. "Monty will protect you.“ He calls for the greying mutt and pats for him to come up on the bed, where she’s found a spot, her feet curled around one of their soft throws. He double locks the doors when he leaves and makes sure the sensor light is working. His Beretta is tucked into the small of his back. Paranoid, maybe. But a healthy dose of paranoia never hurt anyone. Except for the people that don’t listen when told ‘No sudden movements.’
He starts his car and shrugs behind the steering wheel, not quite sure where to go for food. He settles for a 24 hour Mediterranean place that’s close to the house and has killer falafels. Only in LA is there a never-closing falafel shack. He gets a dozen falafels for them to share and a big kielbasa salad, pretty positive that Kensi will end up with most of the food. Or worse, she’ll use all the tahini and eat the good parts of the salad. He grins at the thought, knowing that it doesn’t matter what type of food it is, as long as he’s eating with her. Plus, he can give her hell about it in front of the guys at work. Not like it’ll do any good though.
He makes up his mind in the car ride home as he thinks about watching her stumble out of the place they were holding her earlier that day, zipties still on her wrist, blood trickling down her jaw and forehead, limping like he’d seen her do too many times before, in the desert, cult headquarters, away from car accidents, fights, hospitals, that he’s proposing tomorrow. He doesn’t know how or where or why, exactly, all he knows is that he loves her. He loves her, and she deserves everything in the world. Including the truth.
He unlocks the door and locks it behind him, and takeout bag still in hand, starts sweeping the place for bugs. She comes down to see what’s taking him so long to get upstairs, wearing only one of his worn LAPD t-shirts, and he swears he almost proposes right there, in the middle of the living room. He needs it to be official like he needs air in his lungs. But he forces away the urge for the moment, not acknowledging the question on her lips. "What…?”
“I gotta tell you something,” he eventually says, after he’s checked everything. He sets the bag of food on the coffee table for her. Even though he’s starving, food isn’t at the forefront of his mind. He guesses it isn’t on hers either, because she walks right past the bag to him, placing her palm against his chest.
"What?“ she asks again, softly. He looks down into her eyes, gets lost, and then finds himself. He sits down on the couch, pulling her down with him.
"What happened that night, with Boyle. My partner.” He watches her reaction, feeling nervous, his heart fluttering in his chest. "I think you should know.“
"You don’t have to tell me.”
"I know. I want to.“ He swallows, feels the truth he’s hidden for years at the back of his throat, forcing its way up. "I have to tell somebody.”
She nods, like she understands. Also, like she’s seeing him for the first time. Like she’s about to put all of his pieces together, and see the end result. "I have questions,” she admits, cocking her head slightly.
“And you deserve the answers.” The weight he’s been carrying around is already subsiding. "I’m tired of hiding.“
She asks who Tiffany is to him, and why he did it. I had to protect her. She was just some lost kid, just a girl. I had to protect her. She asks how. I had every detail planned. None of it was an accident. I knew what he was going to do, and I couldn’t let him. She asks when he knew what he had to do. When she came to me, begging me to help her, saying he’d never stop, not until she was in a ditch somewhere. She asks what it felt like, killing him. Like losing a part of yourself.
When it’s done, she thinks she understands. How chaotic his gestalt is, the obscurity of his past, the means he will go to trying to protect the people that can’t protect themselves. That last part is what makes him a terrible cop and the best cop there ever was. A cop that will commit terrible acts in the effort to save a life. A cop that will give everything he’s ever had. His reputation, his dignity, his humanity. She touches his face, and he looks so vulnerable to her. Just as vulnerable as he did asleep on his cat pillow years ago. "It’s okay.” She closes her eyes, pressing her forehead against his. "It’s okay.“
He buries his face into her collarbone. He thinks about when he thought he knew her, riding dirt bikes in the desert, pulling her through lasers when the Russians got a hold of her, walking in on her wearing only a towel at their cover house, kissing her on the motorcycle. "I love you so much.”
“I love you too.“ It kinda scares her, knowing how much she loves him, knowing she could never stop loving him. Not for anything in the world. "It’s over.”
“Yeah,” he says with a nod, and tries to shake off the day, the years of carrying that weight, the past and all of its darkness.
"Let’s just eat and go to bed. I’m ready for today to be over with.“
"Me too, baby.” He hopes that tomorrow will be the start of a new, happier chapter in his life, and that his pocket won’t carry the weight of the box anymore. The thought of the ring on her finger makes him smile. He’s sure all the rest will just fall into place.
Noooooooooooooooooo
"Will you please wake up?"
Densi "I want you. Naked. In my bed. Now.”
Densi - "What were you thinking?"
Sunshine
“What were you thinking?” He sinks to his knees, gripping her shoulders and hoisting her against his chest. He’s never been angrier in his entire life. The only thing that comes close is when Hetty sent him the picture of her with a big gash in her throat. “You were gonna… you were gonna die,” she explains, her words interrupted by her shallow breathing.
And now you are. He presses against her chest wound, hard. The barrel of that gun had been aimed at him. The bullet embedded somewhere inside of her was meant for him.
He thinks he’s going to be sick. The sound of the gun firing echoes in his skull, reverberating in time with his pounding heart, and he feels a hot tear trail down his cheek. There’s a lot of blood. It’s slipping from between his fingers, saturating her shirt, pooling in his lap. "God, Kensi…“
The diamond in her engagement ring looks more like a ruby with all of the blood in the crevices, shining against the golden band, the light from the setting sun reflected off of the metal. It’s the most beautiful damn sunset he’s ever seen. Pastel blue covered by a sheet of billowing lilac clouds. He hopes that the sun continues to hang in the sky for just a little while longer, because he doesn’t want to lose the sunshine. His sunshine.
“Deeks,” she gasps, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t–”
“I’m sorry,” she intervenes, ignoring him. This feels a hell of a lot like a goodbye. It’s breaking him apart. "I love you.”
“I know you do, Kensi.” Her eyes keep slipping shut, and she can’t keep up her head, which is supported by his chest. He presses his palm against the wound, hard, jostling her just enough to make her eyes flutter open one last time. He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want this to be the last time he says it. But he has to. He chokes out, “I love you too, Kens. I love you.”
He wants another chance to tell her she’s his moon and stars and sun and warm breeze and reason for living. If she makes it, he’s going to tell her so many times she gets tired of hearing it. "Stay with me, baby. Please stay with me.“ But Kensi closes her eyes.
7x10 -- 7x14, Tiptoes
Always.
A scream in the night wakes her up, and she grabs for her gun. Her heart races as she reaches next to her, feeling the solid presence of her boyfriend underneath her palm when she stretches with her other arm to turn on the lamp sitting next to her, with her nightstand underneath it. She assesses the situation once the light is on, and even though she's groggy from being roused out of sleep so abruptly, the boost caused by the epinephrine heightens her sense of alertness. She's able to calm down enough to realize that the sound came from beside of her, and more specifically, from her boyfriend.
He tosses next to her, and when he whimpers, it breaks her heart. "Marty. Marty, honey..." She shakes him, and then reminds herself to rouse him gently, remembering what used to happen when she woke Jack up too suddenly. People always stared at her when they were out together and she wasn't completely able to cover up the split lip, or darkened eye, or forgot to wear long sleeves and revealed finger-shaped bruises by accident. She hated those looks, mixed with sympathy and disgust, directed at her and him, respectively. They didn't understand. Most people never do.
"Deeks," she tries again, rubbing his arm. Her heart's still hammering in her chest. She's never seen him like this.
He groans as he wakes up, throwing his arm over his forehead, squinting against the light from the lamp. His breath is still coming in shallow bursts, and so is hers, as she tries to calm down and figure out what’s going on. "What's... what's wrong?" she asks, tucking her knees underneath her as she sits up between the sheets.
"Nightmare," he admits in a quiet, trembling voice.
She frowns. He's never been like this before. Or at least, not in front of her. They've been living together for a few weeks now, but nothing's really felt like it's changed, considering how much she stayed with him before the move was official. They still eat Mexican once a week and crack up over a game of cards or a movie, their own form of Tetri-tos night, something she hadn't even realized how much she missed until Deeks gave it back to her. She still leaves trails of crumbs wherever she goes, and he caught her shoving her junk underneath the bed the other day, much to her dismay. They still cuddle after long days, hard cases, and when they come a little to close to a bullet. So nothing's really changed.
But this, this is new. She runs her hand through her hair, tucking a few curls behind her ear and out of her face so she can see him without brown waves obstructing her view. He's shaking. "Sidorov?" she asks directly, leaving no leeway for him to evade the nightmare by saying he doesn't want to talk about it. He used the same tactic on her when he would stay on her couch before they were a couple, and as much as she hated discussing what haunted her, it helped, not being alone with her memories.
"No. The cleric."
It takes her a second. "You mean--"
"Yeah. The blind guy I tortured."
Deeks+Kensi - "it looks good on you"
Tag to ‘Come Back’
A majority of her clothes are already at his place, so most of the boxes they employed Callen and Sam to help load and unload consist of bedding, books, movies, and her sentimental junk he has no idea where they’re going to put. A borderline creepy baby doll she informed him was named Pete, jelly bracelets, the shell from the first bullet she fired, a tiny stuffed tiger he got her from the dollar store as a joke, stuff like that. Most people cherish treasure chests and old cards. Not Kensi. (He really shouldn’t be surprised.)
She’s upstairs taking a shower, probably trying to wash away some of the tension from the day. Jack had been an unexpected surprise. And not really a welcome one. Deeks hopes he stays away for good this time.
It’s not that he doesn’t like Jack. (Then again, it’s not like he likes him, either.) A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, he gets that, but what type of man abandons their committed fiancée on Christmas? What type of man leaves an amazing woman behind for a foreign country and starts a new family without exhibiting any remorse, knowing that all the while she probably thinks he’s dead and blames herself?
Not much of a man, that’s what he is, Deeks has figured. Mostly, he thinks Jack’s selfish. It takes an egotistical man to do what Jack did to Kensi. He was only concerned with his own agenda and not that of the heartbroken woman he abandoned for another world. He was able to disregard Kensi like she was invalid, break her heart without apology. Deeks has seen the way he hurt her, the way she cried in that interrogation room years ago, the way she broke down that very night, with a quiet, “I’m sorry,” before she retreated to the shower.
A box toppling down from the stack he’s rifling through almost knocks him right in the head, breaking him out of his thoughts. On the side, the word “trash” written in red and scribbled out with a black marker stretches sideways, slanting slightly in what is unmistakably his girlfriend’s scrawl. He moves on from the box of junk he’s sifting through to start the process of digging into the one that nearly crashed into him, because he figures it almost concussing him was a sign, or something.
He picks it up off of the side it fell on, sitting it upright and peeling back the untaped cardboard folds. It’s light, and he discovers the reasoning behind the weight when he finishes opening it. It’s mostly styrofoam peanuts and wadded tissue paper, but there’s also a stack of opened envelopes, some torn down the middle, a small picture album, and a smaller velvet box. He knows what those types of boxes contain, he has one himself, sitting in the bottom drawer of his desk at work, where she never looks. He opens it even though he knows what’s inside, mostly because he’s curious to see if Jack picked out a ring similar to the one that he got her.
But the box is empty. He imagines Kensi going at the symbol of her engagement with a sledgehammer, or maybe tossing it into an acid bath. That makes him smile a little. He flips the palm-sized container closed again, letting it drop into the puddle of packaging peanuts. He goes for the album next, because he hasn’t seen any pictures during the moving process with the exception of a few old ones of her dad. We need to take more pictures, he thinks absently, and turns the cover page.
There’s only three pictures in the entire album. One of Kensi with her arms around Jack, probably for an engagement photoshoot. Another of him in uniform, kissing her at what looks to be an airport. But the last one takes his breath away.
It has a page of its own, and it’s a big picture of professional quality. Her smile is captured in high definition, as is the white gown she has on. The picture was snapped when she had her hand clasped over her eyes, awaiting the big reveal of looking in the mirror and seeing herself as a Mrs. for the first time. It’s a stunning picture of a beautiful bride that never was. "Woah,“ he finds himself murmuring aloud as he traces the lace on the trail of the dress, following the contours of the silken fabric up to her face, which is radiant and young-looking. So like his Kensi, so unlike his Kensi. This specific version of Kensi has only ever appeared in his dreams.
He doesn’t bother hiding the album when he hears feet padding down the stairs. She’s wearing his LAPD t-shirt and nothing else, from what he can tell. Maybe a thong. Either way, it’s a good look for her. "Hey, you okay?” she asks, unaware of what’s open in front of him yet. "I heard a crash.“
“No, yeah, um…” He looks down at the album in his lap, and she directs her attention to what he’s holding for the first time. "This box fell from the pile, so I started to go through it.“
She sits down next to him, looking at the picture resting in front of him. "I wanted to trash it.”
“No, I get it.” He doesn’t think she’s trying to hold onto her past by saving this stuff, or anything like that. These are the only traces he’s ever seen of Jack in Kensi’s belongings, and he can understand why she wouldn’t want to part with the picture he’s looking down at. "It looks good on you,“ he tells her. She knows what he’s referring to.
“Deeks.”
“Really, Kens. Maybe we can get you another one soon?”
She knows that they’re too far into their relationship for her to get weird when he mentions things like marriage, but old habits die hard. The last experience she had with The Big M didn’t go too well. She shakes her head to clear away the thoughts regarding commitment that the old her used to despair over all the time. Here and now, she loves Deeks. And if she decides that marriage isn’t right for her, then she’s sure he’ll respect that. "Let’s see how this living together thing works out for us first.“ She smiles at him, a sad sort of smile, and closes the album, putting it back in the box to be sorted later.
She wraps her arms around his back, kissing the corner of his mouth, allowing herself to sway against his steady torso. His voice is tinged with humor and honest curiosity when he asks a moment later, “What did you do with the ring?”
“Taped it to a railroad track.”
He laughs. Of course she did. "Of course you did.“
She pats his shoulder, standing up and offering her hand. "Bed,” she says, and he intertwines her extended fingers with his as he rises to his feet.
“Sounds good, Princess.”
She stops leading him up the stairs halfway to their bedroom, turning around to face his chest. She’s standing on the step ahead of him, so when she wraps her arms around him, his head fits into the crook of her neck. "Thank you. For everything you did today.“
“I didn’t really do anything.”
“You were there. You’re here now.” She kisses his head, holding him tighter. "And that means the world to me, Deeks.“
Coming to a Head
"Don't make me take off my belt." The belt is the worst. The look in his dad's eyes is enough to make him want to piss his pants, but he stands his ground. If he runs, he's gonna catch him, and beat it out of him. If he tells a bad lie, he's not gonna be able to sit down for the next week. But the truth isn't an option.
His mom cowers in the corner, eyes shining. "Gordy," she says meekly. Marty wishes she would stay out of this.
"Shut up, Roberta."
In his nine miserable years living with his dad, he's figured out how to handle these kinds of things. He looks up at his dad, and doesn't let himself tremble. "I didn't break it."
"Don't lie to me, son."
"I'm not." He keeps his voice steady, and tries not to sound too defensive. That's always a dead give away. "After you fell asleep last night -- " (passed out) " -- there was a little earthquake. Mom tried to wake you up and everything. We didn't even realize the clock was broken until we came out and saw it in the kitchen."
One of Gordon's huge hands grabs the little boy's chin, forcing Marty to look up into the face of a monster. His dad's thumb pushes painfully against his chin. "You know what happens if you lie to your dad, don't you?"
It makes Marty's mouth burn just thinking about it. Being forced to gargle a few tablespoons of Texas Pete for a couple of minutes always makes him cry, and he's a pretty tough kid. But it's only happened a few times, when he was younger. Before he learned. He impresses himself with his lies, sometimes. And every time the taste of hot sauce touches his tongue, it makes his lies better the next time around. "Hot sauce."
"That's right." Marty glances at his mom again, and the guilt clinging against her is almost palpable. The clock had shattered against their fold out dinner table when she was trying to dust the top of the windowsill next to it. She tried to pick it up and hide the pieces, but Gordon had woken up and walked out of the bedroom before she could hide it. He assumed it was Marty's fault before either of them could say anything.
Pain shooting through his jaw forces his eyes back to his dad's. "Look at me. Are you telling the truth?"
He trusts himself. Lying's the best way out, and he's pretty damn good at it. His voice remains steady, earnest even, and his eyes hold his dad's. "Yes."
His head drops when his dad finally lets go of him. He doesn't allow himself a sigh of relief, but he grins a little when Gordon turns away. The more he has to lie, the better he gets. And the better he gets, the easier it becomes.
Save the Day
Kensi and Deeks engage in some much needed unwinding after their run-in with the Church of the Unlocked Mind. (ff.net)
“Kensi ends up getting drugged and wakes up in lingerie... which is under here (the bathrobe) now.” (x)
7x07 Promo
“Are you wearing my shirt?” Densi
She misses her partner. She feels bad for Callen and Sam and everyone else who’s subjected to her awful attitude on a daily basis, but she can’t pretend like she’s happy. They would all see right through her, anyway. It’s better when he’s in town, but lately, he’s been gone more often than not, leaving her to serve as a designated house sitter while he’s off doing whatever LAPD has him doing now. The day went terribly. She reflects as she eats straight out of the ice cream carton (Deeks hates when she does it, but he’ll never know) that nothing bad had really happened. She’s just been in a pissy mood since she had to cancel reservations she made for her and Deeks, before he got sent away. Sam and Callen seemed to sense her hostility, so they didn’t approach her for most of the day, which was probably a smart decision on their part. But after a day with minimal interaction, and nearing a week without seeing her boyfriend’s face, she feels alone, lonelier than she’s been in a long time. She stands on the threshold where the bathroom and the bedroom meet, her hair damp from a shower, glaring at the bed as she faces the fact that he’s not going to be climbing into it with her. He’s kept pretty busy, but he still texts her when he can, telling her she looks sexy even though he hasn’t seen her in days, making sure that she doesn’t live off of poptarts when he isn’t around to cook for her. She texts him, Sweet dreams. Ily, dork.She sleeps with her phone by her head, so that if he replies, she’ll know. She ends up drifting off, but she wakes up to a hand running down her side and a shift of her mattress, and she instinctively reaches for the gun on the nightstand. She momentarily panics when someone grabs her wrist in midair, but she exhales when she hears his voice. "I’m excited to see you, too. Please don’t shoot me.““Deeks,” she says, grinning. He pulls her into his arms, kissing her head. She pushes out a breath that contains the last of her anxiety. "Um, knock next time.“ “You were sleeping.” She gives him a look and he relents. "Sorry.““You didn’t tell me when you were coming back,” she accuses, frowning at him.
“I didn’t know for sure…” He trails off, staring down at her. “What?” she asks, like she always does, when he looks at her like he’s looking at her now.“Are you wearing my shirt?”
“…Maybe.” She rubs the worn hem between her fingers. "It’s comfy.““Comfy. Right.”She tells him the truth that they both already know. "And I miss you, when you’re gone.“ He tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, toying with the still damp waves. "I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”She presses her forehead against his chest so that he can’t see the tears sparkling in her eyes. "Me, too.“ He wants to make it better for her, for them, but this time, he can’t. He says a little prayer that their luck changes, and snuggles around his old LAPD t-shirt.
did it for the $
It's crazy to him how easily she can entice men. When he tells her he's going to miss her, she assures him that it won't take long. Falling in love with her, after all, is an easy thing to do. He knows that better than anybody. He tries not to miss her when the third day of her mission rolls around and his house seems too quiet. He tries even harder not to think about what she's doing to reel in the target. He knows it's just a cover, but when he lies in bed missing the way she starfishes across him, it gets to him, thinking about her next to another man, alone with a stranger, maybe missing him like he misses her. When he finally sees her again, he doesn't insult her by telling her that he was worried. She can take care of herself, and she did, and now she's back, smiling and gorgeous, with the scent of a foreign perfume clinging to her three thousand dollar dress. The fragrance is a long, lavish step from sunshine and gunpowder. When they're alone while Callen and Sam interrogate the sleazeball in the next room, he pulls her into his arms. She grins against him, but for the first time since her return, her smile falters when she says, "I missed you." "The thousand dollar Chardonnay and luxurious palace didn't keep you occupied?" "Don't be stupid." He expects a punch, but instead she presses her wine stained lips to his cheek. He rubs against the print she leaves, and when he finally gets her into his bed again, he kisses the remainder of the lipstick off of her. She's all bare-skin and dark tresses of curls next to him. The man that she shared a bed with for the past week gave her more gifts than he had provided her with over the course of their six year partnership and ten month relationship. He thinks about the bigger houses they'd looked at, in nicer neighborhoods with bay windows and heated bathroom floors, houses he just hadn't been able to swing, houses that had made her eyes light up. She's way out of his league, and even though she tells him that she loves him and supports him the way that she does, his insecurities have never left him. He used to think he was the shit, when he was young and pulled off an LAPD uniform better than any of his coworkers and had different girls hanging against him every night. He only ever accepted flings, knowing that if he got to know any of the girls he bought drinks for, they wouldn't want him. He's never been good enough for anybody. He keeps expecting Kensi to say "Gotcha," and tell him that nothing was real, kind of like she told that douchebag billionaire. And so he feels the need to shower her with gifts, because she deserves somebody who treats her like a queen, and he’s terrified of losing her. She tells him over breakfast that materialism doesn't matter to her, but as somebody who knows how easy it is to lie, he can't bring himself to fully trust her. It's part of the reason he's doing what he's doing. The money. He'll take her to Cancun and buy a mansion on the ocean and give her everything he hasn't been able to, tokens of his worth, and of his love. The case of the day wraps up and the burgers sate them into a lazy, bloated pile when they fall into bed. Kensi still hasn't caught up on all of her rest from the mission, and after nearly a twenty-four hour work day, she almost immediately falls asleep. He strokes her hair as he listens to her evened-out breathing, and then moves to rub the expanse of skin on her back. He smiles, thinks about his payoff and their future plot of land in Cancun, and tells her, "Soon."
I’m here. With you.
[...]
This is all I’ve ever wanted.
Heart to Heart
The night went well, considering. Kensi and his mom hit it off, and after dinner pictures of a blonde little boy covered in bubbles surfaced from creased albums. Kensi seemed to get a kick out of those more than anything.
His mother insisted that it was too late for her to go home, even though she had no intention of staying over at the beginning of their meal. Kensi and Deeks put away the leftovers and wash the dishes before thanking his mom for dinner and heading upstairs to their bedroom. He watches her peel off her t-shirt after they've cleaned up, her quiet demeanor not going unnoticed by him. She changes into shorts and a tank top before crawling next to him, but not quite touching. The two inch gap between their bodies feels like an ocean.
"Kensi?" he drawls, running his thumb over her shoulder. She sits up a little more against the pillows, crossing her legs under the sheet. "You okay?"
"Yes," she says, carefully. She stares down at the comforter in her lap. "Your mom's an angel."
He knows that she's avoiding what's really bothering her, so he presses more. "What's up?"
She raises her eyes to meet his, and he sees hurt in her eyes that he can't stand to think he put there. "Just... don't lie to me, Marty.” After three hours spent with his mother referring to him as Martin, calling him Deeks would seem out of place. “I want you to trust me enough to be honest."
"I trust you with everything, Kens."
"Everything but the truth."
things you said after you kissed me Densi
"I'm getting you out of here." She returns her lips to his mouth as her hands press against his cheeks, to punctuate her words. "Promise."He believes her. Unlike him, she doesn't lie. "I know."When the warden told him he had a visitor, he knew who it was. The guards had smirked at him when they shoved him into the room with Kensi, thinking he was about to be interrogated by a federal agent, not reunited with his girlfriend of almost a year. Before Deeks had been able to speak, he was backed up against the door, and her hand had curled into his orange jumpsuit, and her familiar taste was on his tongue.
He grabs her hips, thumbing the side of her shirt. "What interrogation tactics do you have in store for me, agent lady?"Her palms flatten over his chest as she slides her hands up to his shoulders. "None, but if you want to start telling the truth, now would be a good time."LAPD claims to have surmounted enough evidence to arrest him for the murder of his former partner. He doesn't know if Kensi thinks he killed him or not. "What are you talking about? I've never lied before in my entire life." She doesn't smile at the sarcasm in his words, and neither does he. They meet each other's gaze with tight lips and grim expressions. She sighs, and her warm breath fans over his face. "I'm getting you out of here," she tells him again. Then her voice drops an octave, and she rests her forehead against his neck. "Either way."He doesn't think he's ever loved her as much as he does in that moment. "I hope you mean it."When her eyes meet his, he sees nothing but all of the honesty his lack. "I do."