Hey is it possible to get a chapter out for One wrong move?
A/N: Hey there! It just so happens I had this half written when you sent in your ask. Here you go. Thanks for asking!
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One Wrong Move, Part 7
Kensi walked back to to Deeks’ room—he’d been switched to one with a higher level of containment—with trepidation. Her last glimpse of him, he’d been covered in medical equipment, and unconscious. The doctor said Deeks was conscious now, but who knew what condition he was in otherwise.
Thankfully, when she walked in, it wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d anticipated. A nasal cannula partially obstructed his face and he had a new IV placed in the back of his other hand. Worry about further seizures and what would happen if the new medication didn’t work filled her.
Deeks was alive, she reminded herself, and that was something to be grateful for. Grabbing a mask from station set up outside the room, she pressed the entrance button, waiting until the door made a click and buzzing noise.
Deeks turned his head slowly in response to the door opening, the corner of his mouth lifting in a glimmer of a smile.
“Hey baby.”
“Hey.” He lifted his hand briefly, the movement slow and uncoordinated. His face was flushed, eyes heavy, and he looked completely exhausted. “This is not my week,” he muttered.
“I’m so sorry, Deeks.”
“Feels like the time my mom gave me a shot of bourbon and cold medicine,” he said slowly.
“They have you on the good stuff then.” Joking felt good. Normal. At least in their world.
“Mm. Supposed to relax me and bring my—” he waved his finger in the air near his head. “Bring my temp down.”
“Did they tell you what happened?”
“Doctor said some kind of seizure. Never had one of those before. Wouldn’t recommend,” he said with a tired sigh.
“Yeah. It was pretty scary, but they said it was probably the preventative medication. They’re going to try a different one instead,” she explained. She didn’t want to tell him too much and risk upsetting him. Then again, he didn’t seem capable of getting agitated at the moment with whatever medication he was on.
“Now I feel really special. Hope it works.”
“Me too.” Kensi wiped away a tear that threatened to spill down her cheek, and he gestured her closer with a lazy wave of his hand, movement hampered by the IV.
“Hey, c’mere.”
Taking his hand, she let him “pull” her close enough she could have climbed into bed with him. She settled on leaning on the arm rail, cradling his hand in both of hers, and focused on the familiar lines and crevices along the skin.
“It’s going be ok,” he whispered, sounding the most coherent he had since she walked in the room.
“I keep trying to tell myself that,” she said, unable to stop her breath from hitching, or another tear from slipping out. “It’s hard though.”
“It’s gotta be. I have my favorite Ladybird by my side and we’ve got so much more life together.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, the simple gesture reassuring. “I’m not leaving you yet, Kensi Blye.”
“You better not,” she whispered, lifting his hand to her cheek.











