I had some free time, and decided to let these two run wild for a change. After everything I've done to them in Human Sacrifice, they deserve it. I was asked to do something funny when I got the chance, and since I don't usually do lighthearted stuff, I thought I'd try my hand at it. Obviously I don't own the characters. They're just fun to play with. I look forward to hearing what you all think, so review if you feel moved to do so! Reviews=Love. Enjoy!

It had been one of those cases. The ones she hates, the ones where she's expected to put on some ridiculously tight, obscenely short dress, and stiletto heels, obviously designed by an all male stilt-making company. How it's supposed to be possible to chase down a suspect in those things, she has no idea. But, she does, more often than not, and she isn't sure how that's possible, either.

Regardless, she gets the job done. She destroys the dress and the heels in the process, and is forced to face the wrath of Hetty back at the Mission, but she gets the job done.

Almost worse than dealing with her operations manager, was dealing with her perverted, annoying-ass partner. He'd been on her nerves the entire case, and today was the final straw. She doesn't know what the hell was wrong with him, why he'd been so overly obnoxious today, but he was, and she was ready to strangle him. He hadn't shut up the entire case, hadn't let her alone for a minute. He'd even stood outside the dressing room as she'd poured herself into that tiny white mini-dress and matching stilettos.

She knew white was a bad idea, right from the start. Between dirt and grime, the possibility of blood spatter, and the decent chance she'd end up in water somehow, she wanted nothing to do with the snowy-white garment. And she was right. She'd ended up being grabbed by the suspect, and thrown onto the filthy ground. She had punched him in the face twice to get him off of her, and blood dripped all over the front of her dress. And then there was the water.

The only merciful thing about the whole event was the fact that this time, she wasn't tossed into a chilly swimming pool, or forced to tackle a suspect into a freezing fountain. No, this time, she was knocked into a hot tub, which only added ammunition to Deeks' arsenal of smart-ass remarks. As she had stepped out of the hot water into the cold night air, wearing the thin, strapless sheath of clingy, now transparent fabric, he had gotten a private show he'll likely never forget. Or let her live down.

The look on his face as he'd realized he could see everything, had been one of shock, then appreciation, then lust. And the idiot couldn't stop staring. It had taken more self-control than she thought she had left, not to punch him in the eye and blind him. He had snapped out of it and handed her his jacket, halfheartedly apologizing for staring, but the damage was done. She wanted to kill him.

There are times she finds him cute. Lots of times, actually. There are even times she catches herself staring or thinking mildly inappropriate thoughts about him. She always stores them away, though, like so many other things she keeps locked up inside herself. Sure, he's cute. Sure, he's got a nice body. Sure, he's got those damned blue eyes that just unravel her. But he's her partner, and annoying as hell. Any warm, tingly feelings she might have for him, she shuts down immediately. And today, that wasn't hard to do.

He'd eaten the last donut, screwed up her coffee, and then spilled his on her desk. He'd gotten ink on her shirt, and then made comments about her taking it off so he could fix it. He'd driven, because she was too pissed to be trusted behind the wheel. He'd gone too slow, and had made her listen to that crap he listens to, and had never shut up. And that was all before noon. The rest of the day had gone no better; the climax coming this evening with her climbing out of that damned hot tub, wearing that damn see-through dress.

Now, she's at home, sipping a much-deserved beer, watching mindless reality TV. It's late, and she should be asleep, but she has to come down first, and let herself unwind. Deeks had invited her out with him for drinks, but she had had enough of him today, and knew that one more lurid comment or glance at her chest, and she'd knock him of his barstool. So, instead of inviting disaster, she'd come home. A pint of ice cream and three beers later, and she's beginning to feel the day recede. Mercifully, she's heard nothing from her partner since they left work. Part of her – a very small part – misses him. Just a little. He adds something to her existence, whether she wants to admit it or not. Humor, goofiness, spontaneity. Not really things she needs at twelve-thirty on a work night.

The phone chimes, indicating a text, and she knows it can only be one person. Damn. So close.

Got a crazy one. Please come rescue me. U owe me, remember?

Yes, she's sure she'll never be allowed to forget. She hadn't wanted to make a scene that night, and knock the guy out, but he just wouldn't take the hint. She had texted Deeks, and he'd come to save her, pretending to be her boyfriend. She hadn't let him do more than wrap a rather possessive arm around her, although she knew he'd be more than happy to kiss her to drive the point home to the guy. Part of her really wanted him to. The logical part won out, though, and had shut him down after a hug.

She taps out a quick response, aggravated at being disturbed. After today, I should let u fend 4 urself.

Within minutes, comes his response. Not my fault u weren't wearing a bra. Now, come save me.

Not helping ur case any. Try begging.

Picture me on my knees. Please. Please. Please. I'll buy you a beer. And coffee tomorrow.

She smiles, and types back, And donuts. And lunch.

Done. Get here soon!

This is truly the last thing she wants to do right now. Another beer and a soft pillow, maybe, but not this. Resigning herself to the fact that she can't get out of it, she gets up and gets dressed, throws on what little makeup she can bare to put on, and heads out. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she has to admit she looks pretty good. Then, a smile comes to her face as an idea takes hold. This might not be so bad after all.

He's sitting at the bar, lost in thought. Today had been one of those days. The case had sucked, and the only one able to really do anything to catch the guy was Kensi, because, well, she's hot, and men respond to her. In all sorts of ways. She can get almost any information out of any man, with just the set of her mouth, or the quirk of a perfectly arched eyebrow. And if that doesn't work, flashing a little cleavage, or part of a thigh gets the job done nearly every time.

He knows she hates that part of the job. Falling back on her sexuality to distract or trap a suspect is her least favorite method. She'd far rather beat them into submission, or shoot at them. But with her body and her looks, violence isn't always necessary. It usually ends up that way anyhow, but being ridiculously sexy works wonders. And today, she was off the charts sexy. That outfit Hetty chose for the mission was indescribable. White isn't really a color he's ever associated with sexiness or seduction. After today, his mind's been changed.

He knows he drove her mad all day. He consumed far too much caffeine, had far too much sugar, and had skipped his morning surf to be in early. All that combined, equaled way too much pent-up nervous energy. He really did try, but he couldn't seem to shut up. And he saw exactly what it was doing to his partner. Still, he just couldn't stop annoying her. Between the paper wads lobbed onto her desk (he was aiming for her cleavage), and the incessant chattering, he knew she wanted to choke him.

But even with the spilled coffee, the nonstop talk, and the one goal he made with the fifteenth paper wad, nothing topped the end of the day. And he doubts anything ever will, unless she ends up stark naked somehow, during a future case. Not likely, but a man can hope. Seeing her step out of that dressing room was like seeing a miracle happen. She was beautiful before, but this was like nothing he's ever seen. With her dark hair and eyes, the stark white of the dress was such a contrast, it was almost lurid. Pair with that, the fact that the dress barely covered anything at all, and it was damn near pornographic. The heels just took it all over the top, knocking it out of the park completely.

He'd stared like an idiot frat boy, finally tearing his gaze away when she hit him, making threats of serious bodily harm. Even then, he couldn't keep his eyes off of her, and neither could their suspect. He'd been drawn like a magnet to the tall, sexy brunette, eyeing her in a way that made Deeks' skin crawl and his blood pressure rise. She'd looked far more breakable than she was in that getup, and she proved how tough she was under all that glam when she broke the guys nose and probably shattered a few of his teeth.

It hadn't stopped him, though, and he'd thrown her off him, attempting to flee. When she'd caught him again, he'd turned on her and tried to fling her into the hotel hot tub. She had spun him around, taking him in with her, his head hitting the concrete edge and knocking him out. Game over.

And then she'd climbed out.

He was pretty sure a human heart isn't meant to take that kind of stimulation. The sight of her, soaking wet, skin flushed from the hot water, and every part of her visible through the clingy transparent dress, was better than any fantasy he's ever had, bar none. Not one thing he's ever seen could possibly compare to his gorgeous partner practically naked in front of him. She was visual Viagra; an instant stimulant, the most potent and dangerous aphrodisiac he could imagine. And she was glaring at him like a crazed serial killer.

It was at that moment that his brain function sort of returned, and he offered her his jacket. She'd snatched it away, covering herself as best she could. The drive back to OSP had been silent and awkward, with him stealing dangerous glances at her shivering in the passenger seat. She had warned him that one more look, and she'd blind him, and she hadn't sounded like she was kidding. Tiny thong panties and no bra. Who was she kidding? How could he not look?

So here he sits, reminiscing over the day's catastrophes. The case wrapped up successfully, but that was the only good news. She wouldn't even come out for a beer with him. He kind of feels bad for being such an ass all day, but he knows there's nothing he can do now, and by tomorrow, hopefully she'll be over it. If not, he'll ply her with sugar and caffeine, and beg for forgiveness.

He isn't in the mood for female company right now. Well, not just any female company. A specific female would be fine. Somehow, he knows that tonight, no one else will do, and he's been politely ignoring the blonde sitting next to him for the past half hour. Still, she won't move on, won't stop trying to engage him in mindless conversation. She'd be pretty, he thinks, if she'd tone down the makeup. And the hair. And the clothes. Her hair is a gaudy Lady Gaga platinum, a color nonexistent in nature. Her tiny red dress leaves little to the imagination, and he finds himself imagining it on Kensi, instead.

The girl's lips are a coated in a thick, glossy red lipstick, and he can't imagine kissing that. He'd never get it off his face. Or wherever else it might end up. He shudders inwardly at the thought. He finishes his fourth beer, followed by his fourth shot, and signals for another, when she places a hand over his arm.

"I'll get it."

"Oh, no, that's okay. I'm good. Thanks."

He's distant and tries to close himself off from her, but she's persistent and won't leave him alone. He wonders if he's as annoying to Kensi as this chick is to him. God, he hopes not. She excuses herself, and comes back ten minutes later, presumably from the ladies room, wearing – if it's possible - even more gloppy red lipstick. Whatever perfume she sprayed herself with is sweet and cloying, and makes him slightly nauseous.

She's rambling on about becoming an actress or model or something, touching his arm, batting her too-black eyelashes at him. She's becoming progressively more intoxicated, swaying slightly as she adjusts herself on the barstool. He isn't ready to go home yet, but God, she's about to drive him nuts. Why is it always the crazy ones? Why couldn't it be some normal woman sitting quietly beside him, minding her own business, keeping to herself? Why couldn't it be Kensi?

Because I pissed her off, acting like a hormonal teenager, that's why.

Blondie leans over, getting entirely too close. He could easily see down her dress, but it isn't even tempting. He makes a reference to being taken, about his girlfriend's taste in music, about how he hopes she winds up meeting him here. It doesn't slow down Blondie in the least. Great. One of those.

He pulls out his phone and sends Kensi a text. Of course she doesn't want to help him. He can't blame her, really, but he's getting desperate. Besides, a really cute brunette just showed up alone, and he wouldn't mind introducing himself. Not possible with Blondie Red Lips hanging all over him. He sends another text back, and yes, he begs. He agrees to his partner's every demand. Thank God. She'll be here soon. Then, he begins to imagine convincing this obnoxious girl that he belongs to Kensi. A hug? A warm, loving embrace? Maybe a kiss. That would do it for sure. Actually, that would do a lot of things. He imagines her in the white dress, water dripping off her skin.

He glances at the cute brunette, who seems to be covertly checking him out. He knows he has no shot with Kensi. None. Especially after today. But he's wound up, and can't shake the need for physical contact. For release. He wonders if he's capable of substituting one woman for another. It's a scummy thing to do, and not in his character. But, it's tempting, considering how drunk he's getting, how turned on he gets every time he thinks of that thin white dress, and what was under it, and how he has no chance whatsoever of having the woman he really wants.

Blondie is prattling on about God knows what, grabbing his bicep every so often, whether to balance herself or just to feel it, he has no idea. He doesn't care. He just wishes Kensi would get here. And then she does. She walks in wearing tight little jeans and an equally tight top, and God help him. It's white. Her hair is loose around her face, tumbling down around her shoulders. She has on just the right amount of makeup, and just the barest sheen on her lips. His heart nearly stops. His phone indicates a text, and he reads it, his heart rate increasing with the words.

Get ready. You're gonna love this.

"Hey, baby. I'm so glad you made it," he says, smiling widely, reaching for his partner.

She moves within arm's reach, and gives him the faintest smile. In it, he recognizes…oh, no.

Her voice is loud, rising above the music and conversation surrounding them. "Herpes, Tim? Really?" She shoves him so hard he topples backwards off his barstool, crashing to the floor, covered in beer.

Everyone around them falls silent, before laughter begins. Blondie and the cute brunette both look shocked, then disgusted as they get up and leave.

Kensi watches the women walk out, then looks down at Deeks, a self-appreciating smile on her face. "My work is done here. Have a nice night, Tim." She turns on her heel and strides out without a backward glance.

He watches her leave, stunned into silence. His ass hurts from the fall, and he's soaked in beer. There's a cut on his hand from the broken beer bottle, and he's pretty sure he'll catch Ebola or actual herpes or something from the filth on the floor. Worse than all that, though, is the fact that he's in his favorite bar, lying on the floor in a puddle of beer with everyone in the place fully believing he has an STD. Fantastic.

His cell buzzes with a new text.

Next time, keep your eyes in your head. Payback's a bitch.

He gets up and returns the text. That was really mean. I'd never do that to you.

For a while, there's no answer. He grabs his keys and gets up, ready to get the hell out of here and never show his face again. Then the phone buzzes.

You're right. I'm outside if you want a ride. I owe you. I'm sorry.

For a moment, he thinks it's a joke. It's not like her to admit when she's wrong, or when she goes too far. He grabs a napkin and wraps it around his hand. If he bleeds all over her leather interior, she'll kill him. He walks out and sees her leaning against the SRX, her feet crossed, her hands in her back pockets. A small, apologetic smile plays across her lips.

"That wasn't funny."

She tries not to laugh. "Actually, it was."

"Yeah. Hilarious," he deadpans.

She notices the bloody napkin. "Oh, crap. Did you do that when you fell?"

"You mean when you knocked me down? Yeah."

She reaches for his hand, concern etched on her face. "Is it bad? I'm so sorry, Deeks. I never meant to actually hurt you."

He shrugs. "It's fine. My pride hurts worse. I can never go back in there again. Thanks. That was my favorite watering hole."

"Sorry. Really. I can share mine, if you want."

"Can I tell everyone there you have Gonorrhea?"

She smiles. "Only if you want me to kill you."

He feels the alcohol intensify now that he's standing up and breathing fresh air. He hopes he can keep his mouth shut and his hands to himself. "Might as well. My social life is dead now, anyway."

"You deserved it. Pig."

He looks at her, then at his feet, which seem incredibly far away. "Look, Kensi. About today…I'm really sorry. I was…I don't know. You're beautiful. You know you are, it's no secret. You know you're hot, that's why you always end up dressed like a…"

She holds up a hand. "Watch yourself, Deeks."

"Provocatively. You always end up dressed provocatively. There's a reason for that, Kens. Men respond. I responded. I can't help it if you're beautiful."

A flush of pink colors her cheeks. She clears her throat. "You're really drunk."

And getting drunker by the minute. "Hopefully, not too drunk to remember this, then." He gathers sudden courage, likely brought on by the alcohol, and leans forward, capturing her mouth with his. Part of him expects her to shove him away or hit him. But she doesn't. She opens her mouth and kisses him back, with surprising passion. When she pulls away several minutes later, he's light headed, and thinks his heart might explode.

She smiles. "You're not going to remember that."

He smiles back. "Maybe not, but you will."

He lets her shove him into her car and buckle him in. As she leans over him, he can see down her shirt, but thinks better of it. He's grateful for the gift he's been given, and forces himself not to screw it up. One moment at a time, Deeks. Just leave it alone.

She drives him to his apartment and helps him to the door, where he decides to stop and let go of her, instead of pulling her inside. He steps in and smiles. "Thanks for the ride, partner."

"Sorry about the herpes."

They both look at each other and burst into laughter, before growing quiet.

She leans in and kisses him softly on the lips, smiling. "Have sweet dreams."

Watching her leave, he has no doubt that he will.