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.”
“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?”
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.
