Author's Note: And finally, we have reached the end. I hope it satisfies. Yes, it's unabashedly Kensi/Deeks in a romantic way, but I really think they've earned it. That said, please be forewarned that the following contains adult sexual themes - though not graphic ones.

A couple of quick notes (1) As I'm sure you'll notice when you get to the end of this epilogue, everything has not been resolved and tied up with a nice neat little bow. I am planning a follow-up piece - not exactly a sequel so much as a new story that picks up on some of the hanging emotional threads as well as where K/D end this tale. That one will be a bit off from starting, though. Probably not until November. I'm gonna enjoy the start of the new season and maybe have some fun with a couple one-shots first. (2) I'm planning to eventually do a full re-edit of this piece. Don't know when exactly, but soon.

In the meanwhile, if you're looking for some good K/D reads, while there are many great stories on the site, might I recommend a few tremendous authors that you might have inadvertently overlooked:

Fictionista48 and her beyond phenomenal Human Sacrifice

Jessica237 and well, just about everything she writes. All exceptional pieces.

Annaliesegrace and her library of fantastic K/D fics

And the Queen of short, but awesomely sweet - krazykitkat

You can't go wrong with any of them.

My final thought - I thank you deeply and sincerely for all of the kind words - they mean the world to me. I'd love to hear what you think of the story as a whole now that it's concluded. Again, thanks.

-S.

He's lying on the floor of the windowless bedroom that he's being held prisoner in, sweating from every pore, bleeding from what feels like a thousand wounds. Everything burns, everything aches. He thinks that if his heart were to stop beating right now, he'd surely welcome death.

"You hurt, don't you?" Kassel says to him. It sounds like a question, but isn't actually one. Of course, he hurts. He hurts terribly. Horribly.

"Please," Deeks whispers, his dull blue eyes staring up at the ceiling above.

"Yes, please," Kassel chuckles. Then, bending down and leaning in, he asks, his voice as cold as ice. "Tell me, what would you give me to make everything hurt less? To make everything better? What would you do for me to give you peace?"

Her back hits the wall next to her front door inside of her apartment with a hard thud, but neither one of them pays the sound (or the mild bruising that she's likely to have when this is all over) any attention.

All he cares about right now is that he's being allowed to touch her, and all she gives a damn about at this moment in time is that he's kissing her like there might not be a tomorrow.

Which considering all they've been through...

His hands roam freely up and down her slim body, caressing her curves that are hidden inside of the soft flannel of her red and black checkered sleep pants. One hand slips under the hem of her thin cotton ribbed tank top and settles against her skin, his thumb gently rubbing out small circles.

"Deeks…" she whispers, her voice just barely audible. She feels like she's on fire, burning up with a thousand feelings and a million emotions. One of her hands settles against the wall behind her, her fingers clawed as she tries to find something to hold onto, something to keep her up as the strength ebbs from her legs.

Abruptly, he pulls back and away from her, and gives her a questioning look. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, a slight tremor to his voice. Like maybe he's not supposed to be doing this. Like maybe he's not allowed to be doing it.

She tries to respond, but words fail her, and her answer is more of a grunted whimper of protest. Behind her, her hand finally settles on the wall, her palm splayed flat.

"Is that a yes or a no?" he asks, smiling slightly. Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and after a tentative pause that seems to last forever, he pushes a dark tendril of hair away from her face, his fingers ghosting across her cheek just long enough to rub his knuckles against her suddenly noticeably warm skin.

The sensible part of her is telling her that she has absolutely got to stop this. The rest of her is asking why. After all they've been through – seven months in hell and four months in purgatory – this feels a bit like heaven.

No, that's not right (not exactly anyway). What this feels like to both of them (though neither could probably explain it as such) is some kind of forgiveness.

Forgiveness of each other for events that neither holds the other responsible for (at least not anymore). And forgiveness of themselves for situations that they both believe they could have prevented (and always will).

But, of course, because it's them, even the way they forgive each other (and themselves) can't be done in the way most people do it. Most people would forgive each other – and receive forgiveness – with simple words. Or maybe a handshake or a hug. What they're doing right now against the wall clearly goes well beyond that, and they're both completely aware of it.

"Kensi," Deeks prompts, his voice now a matching whisper. "Just tell me what you want. I'll stop if that's what you want." There's desperation in his tone, and maybe some fear as well.

He's terrified that she'll come to her senses and stop this from happening.

He's terrified that she won't.

"No, don't…please…please don't stop," she whispers, leaning up to kiss him as hard as she can. She tries to put all of the raw emotion that she's currently feeling into it. He only hesitates for the briefest of seconds before he answers the kiss in kind, touching her face with his hands as he presses his lips to hers.

"Are you two all right?" Callen asks as he and Sam come racing down the road, both of them still clutching their weapons. Callen has bright red blood streaking down his face from a cut across his jawbone, but otherwise looks fine. Sam, who seems like he's about to take out the bushes if they happen to be stupid enough to look at him the wrong way, is covered in dirt and grime, but appears to be uninjured.

When neither Kensi nor Deeks replies, Renko steps forward. "Physically, I think they're both fine, though Detective Deeks looks like he could stand a trip to the hospital to have the back of his head checked out. And actually, G, so do you."

"They both got rung pretty hard," Sam agrees, taking a step towards Callen. He leans in as if to press his finger to the bloodied gash.

"It's a scrape," Callen replies with a glare.

"Uh huh. We clearly have a different idea of what the word scrape means."

"Clearly," Callen agrees, moving away from Sam. Noticing that the two junior members of his team still haven't spoken up, he steps beside Kensi, and touches her forearm. "You good?"

She completely (and without any conscious thought) overreacts to his touch, her spine snapping her into a posture so tight and straight that the Queen of England herself would be jealous.

"Kensi?" Sam says, worry peppering his tone, and darkening his eyes.

"I..." is about all she can manage.

"We're fine," Deeks answers finally, for both of them. "We're just…dealing with everything still." His fingers trail up to the back of his skull. He winces as he touches a round lump there, a gift from Kassel's now very dead son.

That brings Kensi back to her senses. "Sam's right; you need to be checked out." Then, finally noticing the cut on Callen's jaw, she frowns. "You, too."

"See?" Sam says, smiling a bit now that he knows that Deeks and Kensi appear to be more or less okay – at least physically (Deeks' may have a head injury, but it's likely little more than a minor concussion at worst).

Certainly, mentally speaking, these two still have a thousand hurdles in front of them, but with Kassel finally dead (really dead by the look of his bullet destroyed corpse), the giant metaphorical Berlin Wall preventing their recoveries has been brought down.

Hopefully that means that they now have the ability to heal without fear.

"Fine," Deeks sighs. "I'll go get checked out."

"Good," Callen replies. "Renko, what about…"

"The ambulance? It'll be here in a minute or so," Renko notes. Then, gesturing up the hill. "What happened up there? And how did Kassel get down here?"

"Kassel's kid tried to shoot Deeks, G shot him first, and then everyone started shooting," Sam replies, his eyes back on the cut on Callen's face.

"Kassel used the distraction and the smoke to try to make a run for it," Kensi adds. "Deeks and I followed after him. And well you saw the rest."

"Right."

Deeks turns to Callen. "What about Alejandro?" He shivers slightly when he says Alejandro's name. It's no surprise really; the thug had been his chief torturer.

"Also dead," Callen assures him. He looks down at Kassel's bloodied body on the ground. "Looks like at least ten shots. Maybe more?"

"Maybe less," Deeks offers, his voice flat. Then, almost robotically, he adds, "He looked like he was about to shoot Kensi. I shot him first."

"Yes, you did," Sam agrees, with a slight frown. No one is going to cry for Kassel or waste any time worrying about due process in regards to him, but Sam is none too thrilled with the idea of his two teammates adding more trauma to the already overwhelming amount that each of them is currently carrying around with them.

"I saw it," Renko puts in. "Kassel was definitely about to shoot her. They both reacted in kind. It was a good shoot." His eyes drift past Kensi's, and he offers her a small smile. The kind meant to say, "I got your backs."

After everything that she and Deeks have been through, she appreciates the gesture more than he could ever know.

Callen nods. "Then that's that." He points down the road. "And just in time; looks like the ambulance is here."

Deeks finally has the sense enough to close the front door of her apartment (using his foot to slam it shut). Not that anyone is likely to venture by at this late hour, but if they did right about now, they'd be getting one hell of a show.

Without pulling his mouth away from hers, his hands slide back up and under her ribbed tank-top, his palms settling against her tensed up abs. He feels muscles pulsing beneath his fingers, constricting as he trails them over her smooth skin.

He can't help but chuckle a bit when he feels her back arch sharply as she reacts to his touch. Removing his mouth from hers (and receiving a grunted protest in response) he presses it instead against her ear, and whispers, "Maybe we should slow this down a bit? You know, order some pizza and talk."

He's just playing with her now, and they both know it.

Normally, she might even play along some, fire back a few barbs of her own.

In a more sane moment, she might even take a second to realize that this Deeks is a lot like the Deeks from before the Kassel mission – the one who'd been unable to be serious for even a moment. The frustrating and infuriating one.

Were his hands not continuing to draw slow circles on her skin, she might allow for a smile of relief at getting to see the Deeks of old (even if only for a few moments – as everyone keeps telling them both, recovery takes time. No one gets better in a few days, weeks or months).

Right now, though, she wants to hurt him.

Not really, of course (though, the idea of punching him somewhere does flash momentarily through the back of her mind), but if he doesn't return his mouth to hers, she thinks that maybe she's going to completely lose her mind.

And then she'll be the one slamming him against walls.

Which, actually, maybe isn't that bad of an idea. Not if he's going to play around anyway. Maybe, it's just best to take control right now, she thinks to herself.

"Pepperoni, maybe some olives," he suggests as one of his hands slips down and plays with the drawstring on her sleep pants. "Mushrooms. Anchovies."

"Shut up, Deeks," she tells him.

"There's my Kensi," he chuckles. "Wouldn't be right if you didn't tell me to shut up at least once tonight." His blue eyes seem to dance in a way that they haven't in a very long time.

"Uh huh. Well since you like hearing me say that so much, I'll say it again; shut up, Deeks."

"But then what will I do with my mouth?" he asks with a rather infuriating grin.

It's utterly cheesy, and she just can't let it pass no matter how much she'd like to in order to get back to their prior activities. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

She rolls her eyes. "Men." And then with that, she reaches up, puts a hand on each of his shoulders, and does exactly what she'd been thinking about doing; she pushes him (well, really she more slams him) against the wall. "Just shut up, and let me handle things, okay?"

It's about five days after the shoot-out at the cabin, and a rather fierce rainstorm is pounding the San Fernando Valley, flooding the broken streets and turning the already obnoxious Los Angeles highway system into an utter nightmare.

Right now, though, NCIS Special Agent Kensi Blye isn't terribly concerned with the highways. At this moment, she's wondering what the hell she was thinking when she had agreed to this.

This, being of course, accompanying Deeks to Christopher Kassel's funeral.

They're standing together, under an umbrella that he's holding, watching from a discreet distance as a young man in an expensive suit – one of Kassel's other sons (a kid who lives in New York and trades on Wall Street) offers a quick eulogy for a father that had apparently "always supported his dreams". Another one of his kids promises to miss Kassel forever.

Nothing is said about the fact that Kassel was a cold-blooded sadistic monster.

"You okay?" Deeks asks her when he sees her shiver.

"Yeah, just cold," she replies. She's wearing a leather jacket that is plenty warm, but still, her skin feels suddenly very clammy.

"Almost over," he tells her, frowning slightly. It's strange to him that he seems far less affected by this than she is. It's bizarre to him that if he's truthful with himself, he's not really feeling much of anything right now.

Neither anger nor relief.

Nothing.

"Yeah," she replies even though there was really no need to say anything at all. Perhaps it's the awkwardness of the moment that makes her choose to fill the air with sound. Perhaps it's the discomfort of it all.

She knows why they're here; what they both need to see. They know for a fact that Kassel is dead (Deeks has even gone page by page on the initial autopsy report, viewing the pictures for an almost disturbingly long amount of time), but until they see his mahogany casket get lowered into the dirt, it still won't be real.

It's at that moment that the small and unspectacular ceremony (certainly not what a man as arrogant and grandiose at Kassel would have ever wanted or expected) ends. Slowly, almost awkwardly, the family walks away from the casket, towards large expensive limos parked on the street.

Deeks and Kensi remain.

Waiting. Watching. Just barely breathing.

Both shivering now.

They wait until the limos peel away from the street and then they both walk – side by side – over to the casket.

Standing over it, Deeks has his first flash of emotion.

The only word for it is rage.

For the briefest of moments, Deeks has the impulse to kick the casket. Do it some kind of harm. It seems ridiculously wrong that this monster be headed off into the afterlife in an obscenely expensive coffin paid for by drugs used to destroy innocent lives.

Maybe Kensi sees the glint of madness in his eyes. Maybe she just knows what he's thinking. Either way, she reacts by reaching out and taking his hand. She presses her fingers against his, just about forces him to take her hand in return. He looks up at her, and she offers a small smile.

He returns it, then turns to the cemetery employee that has come over to them. They'd spoken to him a few hours earlier. He knows what they want – what they need. "Now?" he asks, his voice a bit rough from thirty years of cigarettes.

"Now," Deeks says. He feels Kensi squeeze his hand. He responds in kind. He knows they both wish the same thing; that they didn't need the other to be there, practically holding each other up.

For these two, both completely independent spirits who have always managed to survive on their own, it's a bit frightening for them to realize just how much they need each other right now.

That neither of them dares to pull away from the contact even knowing what it means says everything.

"You got it," the worker says as he steps away from them.

Minutes later, and in complete silence, the two partners watch as Kassel's casket is lowered into the ground.

When it's done, Kensi turns to him. "You ready to get the hell out of this rain?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"I needed to be here, too," she tells him, though that's only partially true. She never would have come up with this idea on her own. She'd been perfectly content to assume the book closed on Kassel. Just the same, when he'd asked her to accompany him, she'd understood his need to see Kassel lowered into the cold hard ground – just another dead body in a cemetery of thousands.

"I know," he answers. Then, without any warning whatsoever, he reaches out and touches her face, his fingers lightly grazing her cheek. Surprised, she inhales sharply at the contact. Before she can say or ask anything, he adds, "Still, thank you just the same."

She has no words for that. For a moment longer, none are needed. They just stare at each other, water dripping down their faces.

It's the cemetery worker who finally brings them back to their senses. "You two need anything?" He's watching them with curiosity, but he also seems uncomfortable, like their intensity unsettles him.

Well it should, Kensi thinks to herself. It sure as hell unsettles her.

"No," Deeks answers. Then he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a wad of cash and hands it over. "We're good."

"Great," the guy says, and then hustles away. From a safe distance, he watches as the two partners leave the cemetery.

He notices that there appears to be a small distance between them now.

Small, but yeah, certainly noticeable for sure.

His hands are rough against her bare skin, a dramatic difference from the last time he touched her like this. She's pretty sure that she can feels long raised lines on his palms – scars that didn't used to be there. She doesn't have long to dwell on these new marks before he's once again pressing his lips against her.

Before she can get terribly used to the kissing again, though, he pulls away and instead lowers his face down to nuzzle against her neck, smiling a bit when he hears her inhale sharply, her breath coming out in the form of a hissing sound.

She feels the scratch of his beard against her suddenly sensitive flesh, and for a moment, she loses all touch with reality.

For a moment, she might as well be flying. Or drowning. Or both.

She moans and digs her nails into his back. His only reaction is a small hitch, a tiny tightening of his muscles. She hears him say something, but he might as well be speaking another language. Her brain refuses to decipher what she hears.

It doesn't matter anyway.

All that matters is him and this.

Unable to do much else – including think or speak, she closes her eyes and allows his touch to overwhelm her senses.

It does.

Completely.

It's about two weeks after Kassel's death when Hetty stands next to him on the porch of her house. "Mr. Deeks," she says softly, following his eyes towards the setting sun. The sky is smeared with oranges and reds and yellows.

"Hetty," he answers, not even bothering to look at her.

"Are you all right?"

He shrugs. Then, because he's mildly curious, he asks, "Why?"

"You left last night."

He turns to look at her, and for a moment, she thinks that maybe he's going to try to lie to her. Maybe it's her look, though, that stops him. The one that simply says to him, "I know where you were. I know what you tried to do. I know."

He sighs.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Did you…"

"Did I inject myself with heroin last night, Hetty? Is that what you're asking?" he replies with a snort of disgust. He shakes his head.

"Mr. Deeks?"

"No, Hetty, I didn't. But not because I didn't want to. But you already know that don't you. After all, you're having me followed every time I leave the house."

"I'm not," she tells him, just a hint of indignation in her tone. "I didn't ask Mr. Callen to follow you."

"Really. So he chose to do that on his own?"

"He did."

"Why? They can't stand me. They never could."

"Rubbish, Mr. Deeks, and you know it. Every man – and woman – on this team considers you family. Mr. Callen followed you because he was concerned for you. And rightfully so. Clearly."

"Clearly," Deeks repeats bitterly. Then, "What do you want from me, Hetty?"

"I want you to realize that you have friends here. We all care about you. Me, Mr. Hanna, Mr. Callen and Mr. Beal. And most certainly, Ms. Blye."

He shakes his head as if to deny her words.

"Have you spoken to her since she moved to her new apartment?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"What's there to say?"

"I would think a lot."

"Shouldn't she be starting the conversation?"

"Why? Because you blame her for what happened?"

He looks away, back towards the sky. It's weird how quickly things had gotten uncomfortable and awkward between he and Kensi after the funeral. It was like the closeness that had come from the need for vengeance had dissipated only to be replaced by the cold separation of guilt and anger.

When she'd left Hetty's house a week earlier, he'd been pretty sure that he'd seen smoke in her wake. She'd been out the door as quickly as she could, eager to get away from the suffocating emotion that had been overwhelming them ever since they're returned from the cemetery.

"You do," Hetty says simply. "And it's understandable."

"Is it? I don't want to blame her," he replies quietly. "And I didn't…but every time I wake up, and I feel…I…it feels like someone…" he stops and runs his hands through his hair.

"It feels like someone should be to blame for all of this," Hetty finishes for him.

All he can do is nod. He's horrified by his own thoughts.

He also recognizes them as ones that his father used to have.

And that, too, horrifies him.

His father had been horribly hurt in a car accident, and yet he'd spent the rest of his life blaming everyone, but the person responsible (who had been killed in the accident) for his pain.

His wife, once so beloved, had become little more than a punching bag to him. She'd gone from being his light to being a reminder of what he'd had before the accident. What once had been sweet had turned horribly bitter.

It seems to Marty Deeks that history is trying to repeat itself.

"We believed you dead," Hetty tells him.

"I wasn't," he says softly.

"And you're not now," she tells him. "But if you continue on this path, if you keep going out looking for drugs, then eventually, there will come a time when no one will be around to stop you." She pauses for effect, then adds, "You worked narcotics, Mr. Deeks, you know the odds. You know how it always ends."

"Yeah. One day I'll shoot up and the next thing I know, I'll be waking up in hell."

She frowns. "You're a good man, Mr. Deeks."

"Am I? Those women Kassel and Alejandro brought in, I keep telling myself that they were paid prostitutes, but what if they weren't? What if they were victims just like me – or Kensi. What if they were forced to pretend to that they were prostitutes? How do I know that I didn't…"

He can't finish the sentence. His hand goes back into his hair and stays there. He's shaking now, the weight of all of his guilt and horror collapsing down upon him, overwhelming him. Hetty thinks that she sees a tear trace its way down his cheek. He makes no motion to brush it away.

"You were forced to do what you did," she tells him. "Every act you committed was done under duress."

"What about the ones I did just so that they would give me more heroin? What about those acts? How do I justify those ones?"

"Duress need not be at the point of a sword, Mr. Deeks. They'd conditioned you to expect a beating anytime you disobeyed and a reward of heroin for good behavior. The heroin made the pain less."

"I sound like a dog."

"You never treated your dog like that."

"No, I just nearly killed him when he tried to stop me from me murdering Kensi. That's much better, you're right."

She gives him a hard look, one that tells him that she won't be pushed off by his bitter sarcasm. Deep down, he feels a flash of relief at this. It's nice to know that there's at least one person in the world who won't give up on him.

"You have got to stop blaming yourself for what happened, Mr. Deeks. And you've got to stop blaming her as well. Believe me, she's doing enough of that for both of you."

He shakes his head. "I don't…that's not what I want."

"You're not sure what you want."

"No," he admits.

"Let me help you then."

"How?"

"Just ask."

He tilts his head. "I don't…"

"Yes, you do, Mr. Deeks. You know that the first step in getting help is asking for it. I can't help you – she can't help you – unless you're ready to be helped."

"I don't want to be this," he says. "I don't want to be him."

"I know."

He looks at her, and this time, she's certain she sees tears. "Help me," he whispers. "Please."

It occurs to him distantly that he'd begged Kassel please many a time. Those pleas had been used against him in horrific ways. He can only pray that this show of weakness won't be quite as damning.

She nods slowly. "Marty," she says. "I will do everything in my power to get you through this. We all will. And that's the first step for you."

"What?"

"Ms. Blye."

"I…I don't understand."

" I think you do. I think you know that you two are assuredly stronger together than you are apart. And you both need to heal. You might think that it makes sense to do this apart, to focus on yourselves first, and perhaps, for anyone else, it would. But you two both went through this. Kassel hurt her – maybe not quite as badly – but just the same. He took something from her that she has no clue how to get back. She won't even admit it was taken."

"You want me to help her?"

"When you're ready, I think you're the only one who can just as I think she's the only one who can really help you heal. The rest of us can be there, and we will be – every step of the way – but you two need each other."

He says nothing for a long moment, and then, quietly, " You really I think can make her admit what he did to her?"

"Not yet. She's far from ready to face that loss of control yet. To be honest, Mr. Deeks, she may never be ready. But she is ready to heal as much as she is capable of. What she can't deal with, she'll box up. Like she's boxed up the pain she still feels over her father."

"So she's saying she's better at dealing with all of this than I am."

"In her own way, I suppose. Ms. Blye deals with her pain by making herself tougher and throwing herself into the job. It may not always be the healthiest way, but it usually works. Your coping mechanism is humor, but that's not going to help you through this one because there's nothing funny about what you've gone through. You can't make people laugh through it."

"No," he confesses. "And I'm not sure I even want to try."

"Which means that you're going to have to deal with at least some of the feelings you have before you're going to be able to return to yourself."

"What does that have to do with her?"

"Whether you admit it or not, many of your feelings are about Ms. Blye. You may have anger over her not coming for you, but you also have guilt over what you believe you let happen to her."

"I…"

She holds up her hand. "It doesn't matter. All that does is that you two take this on together."

"I'm not sure we're going to be partners again," he says.

She lifts an eyebrow. "You're not sure you're coming back to NCIS?"

"You really think anyone would clear me on a psych eval?" Then he laughs. "Well, maybe the guy who cleared Kensi. She obviously paid him off."

Hetty chuckles. "Ms. Blye can be quick persuasive, yes, but I assure you, Doctor Crosby wasn't in any way snowed by her. He released her to active duty because he believed that she was ready to contribute again."

"And what if I'm not? Ever able to contribute again. I'm not…I don't want to be anyone else, but me. And that's the job, right? That's what I've always been good at. I'm the one they always send in to do deep cover because I'm good at it. If I'm not that anymore, if I can't do the job…then no, I'm probably not coming back."

"Time changes everything," Hetty tells him. "And we can worry about all of that at a later time. For now, you are on medical leave with the LAPD. I'm not filling your position as an NCIS liaison, and because I created the position, there's no pressure to provide a replacement as of now. Which means…"

"I can take all the time I need, right?"

"Right."

"Okay. Fine. So what do I do? Do I go to see her?"

"No. I'm going to have her come here. And take you to your first meeting."

It takes him a moment, but then he gets it. "NA?"

"Narcotics Anonymous," she confirms.

"Never thought it'd be me."

"There's no shame in it."

"I know. I just…I did everything I could not to be like him."

"And you're not like him, Mr. Deeks. Your father was in pain, and did nothing to stop it. He lashed out and hurt everyone around him. He lost everyone. You have the power and ability to not allow that to be what happens to you."

"Okay, okay, I get it. I'll go."

She smiles at him. "Good. Now come inside. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes." With that, she heads back into her house.

He stays a moment longer, watching the sun as it disappears. Once it's gone, he turns and follows after her.

It's not until he's pushing her deeper into her apartment that he notices that she still hasn't gotten herself a couch. There's a recliner in the corner and two more soft chairs off to the side, but nothing resembling even so much as a love seat.

He almost asks her about it, but then remembers where Kassel had done what he' done to her.

Some wounds, he knows, never really heal. Some become scars that can always be seen if you just look hard enough.

That, he knows from experience.

"Deeks," she mutters, and that's when he realizes that he's stopped kissing her. His arms are still around her, and one of his hands is rested against the skin of her back, but otherwise, he appears to be staring off into space.

"Sorry," he says, and then tells a quick little lie. "I just realized I don't know which way it is to your new bedroom."

"You knew the way to my old bedroom?" she asks.

He laughs and then answers her with a maddening grin. "Maybe."

"That's kind of creepy."

"Says the woman who has her hand on my ass. Not that I'm objecting, mind you."

She shakes her head. "You really are an idiot sometimes."

"Sometimes." A flicker of doubt crosses his face. Not for the first time, he wonders if what's happening between them is real or just the byproduct of all the guilt and pain that they've been put through.

Would they – as Kensi and Deeks - be this close to making love to each other if not for what Kassel had done to them?

No, probably not.

But, he reasons, what's done is done. The question is, is there something to build on now? Should they be going forward or is this a recipe for certain disaster?

"And sometimes you're a hell of a guy, Deeks," she says, pulling him out of his thoughts. She's standing next to him again, her hands flat against his cotton-covered chest. He's wearing just a thin white tee so he can feel the warmth of her palms through the fabric. She's practically burning hot right now.

He wants to ask her if she's sure – sure about him, sure about this – but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he reaches out and cups her cheek. He feels her slide her hand over his, and then turn them both towards her mouth. A second later, he inhales sharply when he feels her lips press against his palm.

When she moves her mouth away, she whispers, "My bedroom is the first room on the left."

It's almost ten at night when she pulls her silver Cadillac SRX up to the old Catholic church in North Hollywood. She gets out of the car first, but doesn't move past the open door of it. Instead, she looks up at the night sky, taking in the soft velvet blanket of stars above.

She pretends not to notice that he's still sitting in the passenger seat, not moving.

She'd been surprised when he'd called a few hours earlier. After not having spoken to him for almost a week, she hadn't been expecting him to be the one to reach out. She'd figured that she'd have to be the one to go to him. And that made sense, of course, because she sees herself as the one owing him.

She should have looked for him more. She never should have given up.

She closes her eyes against the thoughts. What's done is done, she tells herself. He's home now and that's all that matters. That and getting him help. Callen had told her what he'd stopped. That, unfortunately, hadn't surprised her. Drug addicts rarely want to be an addict, but that doesn't stop them from being unable to handle the impulses. Add in a whole lot of trauma, and you have a rather violent perfect storm for relapse on your hands.

She waits almost five minutes before finally peering into the SRX, and softly saying, "Are you ready to do this?"

"No," he admits, his fingers drumming anxiously against the denim of his jeans.

"It's okay. It'll be okay," she tells him, and not necessarily because she believes that, but because she knows that that's what he needs to hear right now.

"I don't want to be this, Kensi," he tells her. He rubs his hands together, then brings one of his palms up to his bearded face, and scratches absently at it.

"I know," she replies. "But there's nothing we can do about that. All we can do is make sure he doesn't control anymore of your life."

"He's dead," Deeks reminds her with a humorless chuckle. And then just because he needs to hear the words again, he repeats, "He's dead."

She doesn't answer. She knows he's stalling. She understands why, and before they'd left Hetty's house to come here, she'd promised herself that no matter what, she wouldn't push. He needs to do this on his own time, she tells herself.

He has to face his demons on his own.

She tells herself that he won't be alone; she'll be there every step of the way. Still, this is his recovery not hers. Which means that he has to take control of it.

"How about we go get us a late night breakfast over at Denny's instead," he suggests with what he hopes is a light tone. "I love their bacon."

"Their bacon tastes like rubber," she answers, looking back up at the stars. Her eyes scan the constellations. Distantly, she remembers sitting with Deeks in front of the apartment that they had shared as Jimmy and Kara. She'd been slightly inebriated that evening, and they'd both been enjoying the quiet success of a first contact with Christopher Kassel. A man who they'd believed to be a simple drug kingpin who needed to be brought down.

They'd had no idea then that it would be Kassel who would bring them down first.

"Right," he murmurs. He slowly gets out of the car, shutting the door behind him. "You know," he says, "If I walk into that church, and say those words, there's no going back, right? It means everything is real."

"Everything is already real, Deeks. We can't just pretend like it never happened."

"Aren't you? Pretending, I mean?"

She turns to look at him, her face an emotionless mask. "I'm not pretending about anything. He didn't hurt me nearly as bad as he hurt you. I'm fine."

"Right. Fine." For a moment, it looks like he's going to let it go, but then, if he did that, well then he wouldn't be Deeks (and she supposes it's good that at least some of him is still around right now – even if it rather irritates her). "So what Kassel did to you at the apartment, you're totally over that, right?"

"I'm over it," she agrees, her voice tight and annoyed.

"You really are an amazing woman," he tells her, his blue eyes challenging her. "You can take down multiple bad guys without blinking, get nailed by a moving car, and oh, your best trick yet, you can get over a sexual assault without help."

"Deeks," she warns.

"Am I pushing too hard?" he asks. "Am I saying something that you don't want to hear? Is that it, Kensi?"

"No," she retorts. "What you're doing is stalling for time. Now pull yourself together and get your ass inside that church."

The two partners exchange icy glares, both of them daring the other to continue the argument. It's strange to feel this gulf between them. It's not like it was when they first started working together. That distance – that distrust – was borne of lack of knowledge and understanding about the other. This one comes from perhaps knowing what the other is going through all too well.

This distance is the kind that can only come from having shared the same hell.

"Fine," he says, striding away from the car, towards the church. He's both relieved and disappointed when he realizes that she's following him. Relieved because her being there ensures he'll actually walk into the Narcotics Anonymous meeting being held in the church. Disappointed because right now, being in that meeting is just about the last place on earth that he wants to be.

She stays close to him, trailing just a few feet behind. When he enters the small room where a crowd of maybe fifty people – mostly cops - are gathered, she's right behind him. They take seats in the back.

For most of the meeting, they just listen.

She doesn't tell him when it's time for him to talk. She doesn't need to; he knows. He's been in these meetings before, though always as moral support for someone else. It guts him that now he's the one he needs the support.

And yet he does.

As angry and frustrated as he is with his partner, he's glad she's here.

He gets up in front of the group, and pools all of his courage together. He tries not to think about how stupidly clichéd this whole scene is. He tries not to feel the rage that forms every time he thinks about how none of this was his choice.

He never wanted to use heroin. He never chose to.

He knows that dwelling on that now will do him no good, but perhaps he's not yet ready to be mature and sensible about this. He's not quite at the pragmatic stage yet – not like she appears to be.

Of course, Kensi Blye lives in the pragmatic stage. She's good at rationalizing and compartmentalizing. She's fantastic at sweeping emotions and feelings under the rug, and calling her injuries and traumas all just part of the job.

He envies her that.

And yet even in his state, Deeks knows that her way won't save her forever. One day, eventually, she's going to crack under the weight of her nightmares.

One day, she's going to lose complete control, and then all hell will break loose.

He wants to be there when that happens.

He wants to be as far away as is humanly possible.

He meets her eyes, and once again, she's challenging him. She's daring him to take the step forward that she's not able to take.

He inhales, exhales, and then, in a cracking voice says, "Hi, everyone. My…uh…my name is Marty. And, um, I'm a drug addict."

They're laying on her queen sized bed now, both of them still dressed. She's slightly beneath him, her arms wrapped his torso, pulling him towards her. He's trying to be careful not to push his weight on to her, but she's making it difficult.

It's like she wants there to be no distance between them at all.

"Kensi," he whispers, his face buried against her neck. He can smell her deodorant and the light perfume she's wearing. It's subtle and unassuming.

"Mm," she replies as she trails her nails across his back. Then, her voice husky with emotion, she says, "Take your shirt off."

He leans up and does as told, stripping away his tee. He drops it to the floor, and then looks down at her. He's straddling her now, gazing down at her as she lies against an overstuffed pillow, her dark hair fanned out.

"Kensi," he says again, uncertainty in his voice now. He knows that he looks much differently than he had the last time they'd done this. Then, he'd been muscular and tanned, his body unscarred and unmarked.

Now, even four months after Kassel's death, he's still not quite back to his old self yet. He knows how he looks. He knows that right now, he's absolutely nothing special at all. Too thin, too pale, lacking muscle and covered in scars. Perhaps the best word of all would be ugly. Yeah, that fits, he thinks.

She doesn't answer with words. Instead, she smiles up at him, almost lazily, and then one of her hands drifts up and touches his bare skin.

"What?" he says, because she's making him feel a bit uncomfortable. It's a strange feeling for him. Before all of this had happened, one of the very few things that he'd been absolutely sure about had been his ability in the bedroom.

Nowadays, there's very little he's sure about.

Except that he's exactly where he wants to be. Right here. Right now.

With her.

"You are beautiful," she whispers, and he feels his breath catch in his chest. He looks down at her with amazement and bewilderment. Before he can respond – and he's not terribly sure that he could or would have – she leans up, wraps a hand around the back of his neck, pulls him back down to her and kisses him.

A moment later, she's turned him over, and this time, she's straddling him, still kissing him, her hands now flat against his chest.

Suddenly feeling bold – and a bit lightheaded - he slides his hands under the back of her tank. He starts to yank it upwards, over her head. In response, she sits up, grabs the shirt and finishes the job for him.

His eyes sweep over her – now naked to the waist. He drinks her in like a thirsty man staring at water after several days in the desert. He's seen her before – this will be their third time together – and yet she's never looked more beautiful to him than she does at this moment.

He leans up to kiss her, but before his lips can meet hers, she puts her fingers in the way. He feels his heart drop.

"Deeks," she says. "We need to be sure."

He blinks, and then, because as of late, the old him has been surfacing more and more, he says, "Don't you think we should have figured that out before we were both shirtless?"

She laughs. "Yes. But here we are."

"With you on top of me."

She smirks. "That seems appropriate at least."

"Uh huh." He reaches up and pushes hair out of her face. He's trying not to stare at her chest, though it's difficult for sure. She's a stunning woman – every part of her. And right now, she's sitting on him, testing him for sure. "Okay," he says. "Then I suppose the question is, are you sure?"

"Are you?" she asks. "You know what this means. This isn't happening because we're freaked out, right? This is happening because…"

"It's happening because we want it to," he tells her. "I want it to." He meets her eyes, hoping to see the same feelings he has for her reflected back in her dark mismatched orbs. "Do...do you?"

"Yeah," she nods. "I do. But, if we do this…can we still be partners?"

He shrugs beneath her. "I don't know. I still don't know if I'm coming back. I'm not sure they'll ever clear me."

"They will."

"Everything is different now. I'm not sure I can do the job anymore."

"Then you don't come back and this thing between us is actually easier," she replies, tracing a finger over his lips. "As easy as we can ever be, I mean."

"And if I do come back?" he asks because somehow, the idea of not working beside her burns at him. If he had to, he could settle for just seeing her every night, but he knows deep down that he wants more than that.

"We can be professional. We can make it work."

"You really think Hetty would let us pair up again?"

"You really think just because Sam and Callen are straight that they aren't as hopelessly compromised as we are when it comes to each other?" Kensi replies.

"Point taken."

"Good."

"So was that it? Was that the talk? Are we both sure now?"

"I am if you are," she replies, her fingers trailing down to the buckle of his belt. She starts undoing it, pulling the leather straps loose.

He laughs. "Apparently so."

She lifts an eyebrow. "Well don't let me talk you into something you're not interested in," she says dryly.

"Interested in? Are you kidding me?"

"Right. You're still a man." And then she leans down and kisses him again.

There are no further words after that.

The Narcotics Anonymous certainly meetings help, but they're not enough. They give him an outlet for the maddening urges, but not for the pain. For that, he's been sent to see Kensi's shrink, Doctor Crosby.

It's a Tuesday about six weeks after Kassel's death when Kensi drives him to the office. She walks him into the lobby, makes the introductions, and then she tries to get the hell out of Dodge.

Dr. Crosby has a totally different idea in mind.

"Why don't you stay?" he suggests to her.

"That's okay," she dismisses. "This is for you and Deeks."

"I don't think Mr. Deeks would mind."

"No, not at all," Deeks replies, mostly because he's not terribly keen on being left alone with the shrink. It's been hard enough opening up to the strangers at the NA meeting, but he's managed because at least there, he's been able to leave most of the details fairly vague. There, it's been about the urges and not necessarily the feelings.

This, he knows, will be quite different.

"Great. Then why don't you two come into my office?"

"I really have things to do," Kensi tries again, but everyone knows she's lying.

"Ten minutes," Dr. Crosby says. "Then you'll be on your way." This time, he's the one clearly lying.

She sighs. "Fine."

She follows Deeks in and sits on the couch next to him.

"Great. So, I was hoping since I have you both here that we could talk about the two of you and what you've both been through. Together, I mean."

Crosby doesn't miss the fact that both of patients seem to stiffen up.

"How do you mean?" Deeks asks warily.

"Undercover is rough when it's just yourself," Crosby answers. "Add in a partner who you're trying to protect and it can very quickly become hellish. As it did for the both of you."

Neither partner says a word.

"Right. So let's get right to it then." He opens a file up. "Marty, do you blame Kensi for what happened to you?"

Deeks blinks, clearly thrown by the directness of the question. He's even more unnerved by the fact that he can feel Kensi's dark eyes on him.

"No," he finally says.

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes. I said yes."

"Okay. Fine. Kensi, do you blame Marty for what happened?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"What the hell is this?" she demands, her patience snapping like a dry twig.

"I'm just trying to gauge you two. I want to see how much you're willing to lie to yourselves in order to protect each other."

At the same time, the two partners rise, as if to leave.

"We're done here," Deeks says.

Crosby laughs. "Really? Well now that's interesting isn't it?"

"What's that?" Kensi asks.

"Neither one of you two is all that certain is about anything right now, but you're both sure that you don't want to be here, and you don't want the other one to know that deep down, you both do blame each other."

"You're full of shit," Deeks growls, anger causing his nostrils to flare. It's a complete over-reaction, and all Kensi needs to see to know that Crosby is right.

"You do," she says softly. "You do blame me."

He turns to her, and shakes his head. "No."

"It's okay," she replies, her voice breaking. "I blame myself. I shouldn't…I never should have stopped looking for you. I thought you were dead, and that gave me some degree of peace. But I…it wasn't about me. We should have found you."

"Kensi…"

"It's okay," she says again. "You can tell me the truth. I can handle it."

"It's the only way you'll both heal," Crosby inserts, his voice almost absurdly calm. He takes a slight step backwards, ensuring that he's out of their sight lines.

"I was angry," he admits finally. "But I never…"

"You did. You do."

He closes his eyes. "Kensi, come on, don't do this."

"Deeks."

"Fine," he says. "I blamed you. Is that what you want to hear?" he opens his eyes and looks at her, sees how desperately she's fighting for control. It's one thing to believe the worst, but quite another to hear all of your worst fears be confirmed.

"No," she admits. "But I needed to hear it and you needed to say it."

"Why? What does it matter? Does knowing that make any difference now? It's over. He's dead. And any feelings I had were because I was…because I was scared. They weren't rational. They weren't…"

"I'm sorry," she says simply. It's far from the first time she's said it to him, but never before has it felt so stripped down and bare. She looks up at him with tears running down her cheeks. Her arms are wrapped around herself, like she's holding herself together, trying to keep herself from completely falling apart.

Any anger he has at her suddenly falls away.

"This isn't your fault," he says. "And it's not mine. We both had moments where we screwed up, but…I'm not…I'm glad things turned out the way they did."

"What?"

"I'm glad it was me they took and not you."

"Why? Because I couldn't have handled it?"

He laughs, and it's an incredible sound even if there is a hint of bitterness in it. It's been so long since she's heard it. "That wasn't a challenge," he chides.

She looks at him, and then, in spite of everything, she chuckles. He does the same, and for a few second, they share a moment of tenderness that feels familiar and comfortable. Effortless and painless.

When it ends, they both just stare at each other, not sure what else to say.

Finally, Dr. Crosby reinserts himself. "That was a good start," he says softly.

They both turn to look at him, wearing matching expressions of disbelief.

"Really," he insists. "It was."

"All right, Doc. Fine. So where do we go from here?" Deeks asks.

"That's up to the two of you. But understand this, what the two of you have been through is enough to tear anyone apart. That you both are fighting to keep that from happening is amazing. Hold onto that. If path leads you two to separate places, then so be it. But if leads you back to your old partnership, then let it. Don't fight the healing process. Don't fight the anger, the fear, any of it. Let the emotions be what they are."

"I don't want to be like this," Deeks admits. "I don't like what just happened here."

"I know. But believe me, it was a good thing. Now if you'd both like, we're done for the day. If either of you would like to stay, that's fine as well."

Both Deeks and Kensi share a look, and then both turn and head for the door.

"That's what I thought," Crosby cracks. "All right, but make sure you stop by the front desk and make your next appointment."

"Together?" Kensi asks.

"Call it partner's therapy. What just happened here was just the tip of the iceberg. But if you'd prefer to do your therapy separately, that's fine, too. Your choice."

They exchange another look, and then Deeks says, "We'll see you back here next week, Doc."

"Together?" he asks.

"Yeah," Kensi confirms, her voice weary. "Together."

The first time for them had been on the bathroom floor of the apartment that they'd been sharing as Kara Barstow and Jimmy Reese. It had been terrifying for him. While he'd certainly enjoyed being so close to her, and getting to touch her in ways that he'd previously only imagined, the knowledge of what had happened to her just hours earlier had remained omnipresent in the back of his mind. The entire time he'd been with her, he'd felt like he'd been trying to clean Kassel off of her – he'd felt like he'd been trying to help her forget what had been done to her.

Their second time had been in the bed just a few hours later, and that had seemed to be about making a connection – showing each other that the act in the bathroom had been about more than just frantic touches and desperate kisses. It'd been about them being there for each other in the worst of moments.

This time is about them – just them.

It's been almost eleven months since the day they were given the deep cover op. Almost eleven months since they became other people and started along a path that would end up bringing them both so much pain.

Eleven months ago, neither one of them could have ever seen everything turning out like this. If you'd told them back then that they would end up far more than just work partners, far more than just friends, they both would have laughed.

Life has a funny way of making rather absurd and unusual things happen.

She's sleeping in his arms, her body still slicked with sweat. She's stunningly beautiful even though he can tell that she's still not quite back to looking like she had before everything had happened. Like himself, she's a bit underweight, still struggling to sleep and eat.

She's no less amazing for it, as far as he's concerned.

He thinks back to the days they'd spent as an engaged couple. He thinks back to the kisses they'd shared, to the make-out session at the beach house.

And then he remembers her holding him after he'd refused to sell drugs to their next-door neighbor. Of all of the moments between them that had come before what had occurred in the bathroom, that had been the most sensual one of all.

Mostly because it had just been her – Kensi – holding him – Deeks.

It had been them. Just them.

Perhaps that had been the moment when deep down, he'd known that everything had changed for them. That had been the moment when they'd both known that they were too deep.

He tells himself that it doesn't matter anymore. They're both home and safe now. And somehow or another, she's lying in his arms.

It's boggles his mind. This kind of thing doesn't happen to him.

He's pretty sure he doesn't deserve it. He's also pretty sure that he's done caring about what he does and doesn't deserve. She's chosen to be here with him, in his arms, trusting him to hold her as she sleeps.

Whatever else that means, it means something to him.

And whatever else is to come, he knows that he won't let go of that something without a fight.

He won't let go of her without one, either.

The apartment that Hetty finds for him is about three miles from the Mission, less than a half-mile from the beach. How she swung it – and his almost ridiculously low rent – he'll never know. He also really doesn't care.

What he knows is that if he leaves his second story window open (and he always does) he can small the salty sea air as it drifts into his apartment.

Its proximity to the Mission is a whole other thing, though.

Since the conclusion of the Kassel case, he hasn't stepped foot in the OSP headquarters. He knows that Kensi is fully back to work now, acting as part of a three-man team with Sam and Callen. He knows that he has an open invitation to return whenever he's ready. He knows that his spot is being held for him.

For now, at least.

Eventually, he's sure that the brass will want Kensi to have an actual partner again. And he's fairly certain that Hetty has already delayed the inevitable long enough – just as she'd done for Kensi previously.

Strangely, though, none of that really bothers him.

The idea of returning to works makes him almost want to throw up. He's not ready. He's not sure he ever will be again.

He envies Kensi her ability to jump back on the horse so quickly, but he also recognizes her actions for what they are – survival techniques. Simply put, she has no idea what else to do but go back to work. It's how she's chosen to deal with what happened to her – and him. It's how she pretends to push on.

They've been going together to Crosby's sessions once a week. He's been going back for an individual hour every Thursday. He knows that Kensi is there on her own every Wednesday. He'd wager that his sessions are more productive simply because Kensi doesn't know how to not be strong.

That and she's far from ready to actually admit and deal with what Kassel had done to her. Like Hetty, he's not sure Kensi ever will be ready. And he's not sure how he feels about that. On one hand, maybe it's a good thing to just move past it. Kassel is dead, he can't hurt her anymore. On the other hand, pretending the attack had never occurred simply can't be healthy in the long run.

Right?

He's just not sure.

In any case, the sessions have been helping. The joint ones with Kensi always deal with them and rebuilding their trust and friendship. As the weeks have gone by, they've gotten lighter and the old banter seems to be returning in force. He's pretty sure that Crosby is starting to look forward to the sessions ending simply so he can get away from their constant ragging of each other.

For Deeks, though, the sessions always end up filling him with hope. He figures if they can find a way back to who they were as partners and friends, then finding his way back to who he was as a man shouldn't be too much harder.

That's what the private sessions are about – him. In those, Crosby urges him to talk about the things he can't talk to anyone else about – the torture and abuse that he went through at Kassel and Alejandro's hands. It's better that these happen without her. Lord knows that it's hard enough speaking to Crosby about these things, but if he had to actually look into her eyes while talking about what they done to him, well he's pretty sure that would break him completely.

As it is, he always has hideous nightmares after the private sessions.

He never tells anyone about them. Not even her. Though he's fairly certain that she's still dealing with nightmares of her own.

Still, slowly but surely, he feels like he's beginning to recognize the face in the mirror again. The man he sees is tired and weary, but every now and again, he sees a familiar smile. Maybe even an impish grin.

And he's starting to recognize the body as well. Whenever he can, he takes Monty out for a walk or a run (thankfully, the pup has completely forgiven him). It's taking time to put the muscle back on, but slowly but surely, it's happening.

All fantastic progress. All steps forward.

One Friday afternoon close to four months after Kassel's death, he's feeling good enough to take another step forward, this time on the advice of Dr. Crosby.

Still not quite risking getting behind a wheel just yet (his hands shake at strange times, especially when he gets nervous or startled – which is pretty much an every day occurrence in Los Angeles traffic) he first considers taking a network of buses, but then settles on asking Kensi to take him.

Because the time has come – there's someone he needs to see, someone he has to speak to in order to help his healing along.

His mother.

It's been a long while since he's seen her. He knows that she has at least some idea of what he's gone through – enough to have surrendered over the journal that had helped bring him back to his senses. Back to himself.

Now, it's time to actually see her.

And forgive her.

She's still living in the house that he'd grown up in. Kensi offers to stay in the car, but he asks her to join him. Still, out of respect, she hangs back, standing just a step behind him as he knocks on the door of the old apartment.

When his mother opens it, she's surprised.

"Marty," she whispers.

"Hi, Mom."

For a moment, neither moves, and then suddenly, Jillian Deeks – once Brandel – throws herself into her sons' arms. He holds her tight.

What follows is sweet and painful, tearful and emotional. There are apologies and promises. Mostly, there's healing between mother and son.

Kensi just watches, envious because Deeks is getting something with his mother that she will never get with her father, grateful because there's nothing more she wants than for him to be allowed the peace that he so desperately needs.

When she brings him back to his apartment that night, they share a bottle of red wine, and talk about childhood memories – only the positive ones, of course.

It's as she's leaving that everything changes for them.

Again.

She's standing in the entry hall, pulling on her jacket when he says, "You know I don't know what I'd do without you."

She laughs. "Nor does anyone else."

"I'm serious," he replies.

"I know. I just…wish you weren't."

"Why?"

"Because I like when you're pissing me off by being…well, you."

"You like me being…well me?"

"I do."

"I'm still me," he says.

"Good," she answers. And then without warning, she leans up and kisses him soundly on the mouth. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. Instead, he simply pulls her to him, and kisses her back.

It lasts until both of them are forced to come up for air. And then she stammers, "I should go. I…I should go."

"Okay," he replies. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"You know. 'The sun will come out tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar.'"

She laughs. "Oh, Deeks." And with that, she turns and leaves.

Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, he realizes that she'd never given him an answer, and in a moment of absolute insanity (and certainty), he decides that he's going to go to her apartment and get it from her in person.

He calls for a taxi and tells the man that he needn't wait around.

Deeks doesn't know it, but she's still awake. She's quite good at pretending to be asleep. It's a skill she'd picked up during the later part of her relationship with Jack – after he'd returned from Afghanistan. In those days, he'd had a bad habit of coming to bed late, sometimes drunk and sometimes just shaking under the weight of nightmares that wouldn't let him go even in his waking hours.

She'd always waited until he'd finally fallen into a troubled slumber, and then she'd opened her eyes, pressed her body behind his, and pulled him close.

She'd tried to will him into a painless dreamless sleep, tried to let him know how much she loved him, and how much she would give to get him better.

It seldom worked, and yet she'd never given up until the day he'd left her.

Now, lying in her bed, her arms wrapped around her partners' chest, she's thinking about both men.

Six years ago she'd woken up on Christmas morning in an empty bed.

Ten months ago, she'd woken up once again in an empty bed. Later, she'd found out that Deeks had gone after Sanchez.

Those two events have defined her life to date.

She means to ensure that she doesn't wake up alone again.

And so, long after Deeks is asleep, she's still awake. Listening to his heartbeat, feeling its cadence.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Rhythmic. Calm. Steady.

Peaceful.

At some point or another, regardless of her intentions of staying awake like a small child awaiting Christmas morning, that same heartbeat lulls her to sleep.

And for the first time in months, the both of them sleep soundly.

She opens the door already wearing her sleep clothes, and for some reason or another, she doesn't seem terribly surprised to see him there.

"Deeks," she says simply.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?" he responds, smirking slightly. His eyes slide over her, taking in the uber-comfortable get-up she's in. It's not sexy or sophisticated – it's simple and down-to-earth.

It's Kensi.

"You're here because you're wondering why I kissed you."

"No. I know why you kissed me," he responds. "I'd kiss me, too, if I were you."

She laughs. "Really? You would?"

"I am adorable."

"Uh huh. Deeks, why are you here?"

"We should talk."

"Aren't we?"

"Maybe inside?"

"Deeks…"

"Some things never change do they?"

"I'm not a talker," she admits.

"Okay," he nods. "Then I guess I'll settle for this." And without further delay, he reaches out, kisses her soundly and pushes her into her apartment.

It's just after five in the morning when she opens her eyes. After a brief moment of panic when she realizes that she'd fallen asleep, she calms considerably when she sees that he's still lying next to her. The only difference is that somehow or another, he's now resting against her instead of her against him.

Blinking, she has to look at the clock a couple of times to confirm its read-out because if it's right, it means that for the first time since this nightmare had begun, she'd actually managed more than three hours of consecutive sleep.

The clock isn't lying – a fact she confirms with the use of her watch and his.

"What are you doing?" he asks as she lifts his arm up. He's groggy, but tracking her completely with her bright blue eyes.

"Confirming the time," she answers.

"You have to be at work?" She hears the hint of disappointment in his tone.

"No," she says, reaching out to touch his face. Her fingers trace over his stubble, lightly combing it with her tips. "It's Saturday."

"Then what's bothering you?"

"Nothing."

"Kensi…"

She laughs.

"What?"

"It's just…it's stupid. It's just…I slept well last night." she finally tells him. "For the first time in a long time, I slept well. That's all. That's it. And yeah, I know how corny and lame that sounds."

"You've always been corny," he tells her with a smile. "And kind of lame." But then, growing slightly serious, he admits quietly, "I did, too. I guess then the question is, do you have any regrets?"

She thinks about that for a moment and then replies, "Depends on what kind. I'll always have regrets for what you went through," – she holds up her hand to stop him when he starts to protest – "But if you're asking me if I have regrets about last night, then no. None. You?"

He shakes his head. "So does this mean we get to stay in bed all day?" He rolls over and straddles her, leaning down to kiss her neck as he speaks.

"No," she laughs, allowing a brief kiss on the neck, and then pushing him off of her. "It means you get your ass up and make me breakfast."

"Pushy woman you are."

"What? You thought that would change?"

"That would have been stupid of me."

"Very. Go make breakfast." Then, as if remembering, she adds, "After you surf."

He tilts his head questioningly.

"No matter how much we want it you and I aren't ever going to be exactly who we were before everything happened, but that doesn't mean we have to be completely different either," she tells him. "You and me, Deeks, we need to get back to who we were and that means that we need to get back to our rhythms. Which means you surf and…"

"You sleep and wait for breakfast to be made?"

"Exactly. Now go."

Reluctantly, he slides away from her, and out of her bed. He's halfway up when he stops and turns back. Quietly, he asks again, "No regrets?"

"None," she replies, offering him a dazzlingly beautiful smile. And then to pound the point home, she brings him back down to her, and placing a soft hand on the side of his face, she kisses him. Gently. Passionately. Sweetly.

This, he realizes as he lets her pull him back down, is the true meaning of peace.

-Fin.