Written for the Tumblr Hiatus Fic Challenge - unusual pairings. (This is not a slash fic. Set somewhere in between Ascension and Impact.)

As usual I don't own any of the characters. All I own are my thoughts.

You saw my pain washed out in the rain
Broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins
But you saw no fault, no cracks in my heart
And you knelt beside my hope torn apart
-Mumford and Sons

Strange things happen when people don't sleep.

Informercials, for example. Deeks knew more than he ever thought possible about blenders now. One could even blend an iPhone. To him, that wasn't much of a selling point. He ordered a military grade, bulletproof phone case instead.

He watched TV shows from the 60s, 70s, and 80s that gave him a new respect for the current age of CGI special effects.

He taught himself how to sword fight with an old poster tube and had epic battles in his living room. He fought giants and kings and evil Russian fuckers and cut Jaime Lannister's other hand off (more than once). It made him wonder what it was like to fight in the time of swords and bows and arrows. What would Sidorov have done to him then? Probably cut his junk off. A drill to the jaw didn't seem quite as bad after that.

He lost track of the days of the week and only knew how many days it had been since he'd had his teeth fixed because of his superior math skills. He had 26 missed calls. Kensi called once a day, Eric and Nell once a week, an unknown number that was probably a Navy therapist called twice, and his mother once. Almost three weeks he had gone with no real sleep now.

Sometimes there were knocks on the front door. He brought his sword with him to look through the peephole sometimes because it made him laugh to think about defending himself with his college roommate's shitty watercolor print of the Pacific Ocean during a rainstorm. Most of the time when he looked through the peephole he saw Kensi and it hurt his heart that he couldn't do the right thing and just let her in. Occasionally when he heard knocking there was no one there at all. That hurt even worse.

It was right after 1:00 in the morning (he knew that because the original Mission Impossible had just started) when he heard a rap rap rap a few feet from his head. A night of crime shows prompted him to grab his gun instead of his sword. With as strung out as he felt, he might be ready for a fight if that was his destiny tonight. He looked through the peephole, expecting to see an old nemesis or a tweeker or no one at all. Who he didn't expect to see was Sam.

Deeks ran a hand through his hair, then smelled it. In all of his awake time, he hadn't focused nearly enough energy on personal hygiene. Maybe tomorrow he should make a schedule. Walk Monty, avoid eye contact, fight a bear, then take a shower. Not necessarily in that order. And despite his desire to be left alone until he fought away all of his demons and body odors, he opened the door and saw his torture buddy face to face.

"Sam," he said, clearing his throat.

"Deeks," Sam responded, nodding his head and resting his hand on his hips. "Is this a bad time?"

All the time was a bad time. "No, um, come in." Deeks ushered the large man in with his gun and cringed. Sam had never been in his home before and the disaster inside was not going to leave a good first impression.

"That's not your usual weapon," Sam said, pointing to the gun and ignoring the mess.

Glancing at the gun in his hand, a Glock instead of a Smith & Wesson, Deeks smiled nervously. "Yeah no, the other one is uh. They'll probably not ever find that one."

Sam raised his eyebrows in realization. "Right. Backup?"

"Recently promoted." Deeks placed the gun under a pillow on the couch and sat down. It usually lived there, under his head as he pretended to sleep. The irony wasn't lost on him that he allowed a weapon with no safety to reside so close to his brain. Even in his current state of mental confusion, he missed his manual safety. The safety was safer and the play on words was making his head hurt. "What are you doing here, Sam?"

Sam sat on the opposite end of the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. "I was awake. I'm tired. Of being away from work, and being treated like I might break if anybody utters a negative word. There are visible cracks for everyone to see now. I'm not used to that. I hate it."

"But..." Deeks scratched his cheek. "Why are you here?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe because everybody else would tell me to go home because I need my rest. Or I just felt like I needed to see someone with the same cracks."

Normally Deeks would make a joke about butt cracks. Usually Sam would roll his eyes and have a snarky comment about maturity and taking things seriously. Deeks lacked jokes, but Sam rolled his eyes anyway. "I just lobbed a softball right at you, Deeks. Hit me."

"You want an ass crack joke?" Deeks asked incredulously.

"Yes!" Sam sighed. "I want to run a 10K. I need Michelle to pick fights with me. I want to make fun of your hair. I want you to be a dick to me just to get on my nerves. I want G to make me eat bacon and Kensi to say something stupid about you that is only funny because of the way she laughs afterwards. I'm sick of eggshells. I'm fine and nobody believes me. I'm fine."

Nothing about Sam seemed fine. His eyes were dull and his shirt was wrinkled. Even Deeks knew that he wanted to be asleep by 10:00 and up at 5:00. He didn't make middle of the night trips, he didn't ever eat bacon, and if he wanted to make fun of his hair then he should have just come out and done it.

"It's okay to not be fine, Sam." Deeks surprised himself by speaking the words the voices in his own head usually echoed and he always ignored. He couldn't admit it, but he waved a hand around his apartment full of trash and nicknacks of happy memories. He pointed to his long beard and greasy hair to show that he was anything but fucking fine.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. If Sam wanted everything to be normal again, there was nothing Deeks could do for him at the moment. He didn't simply see the Navy Seal that he had admired and been shunned by for years anymore. He saw a man through his own tear-stained eyes that could be beaten but not broken. Maybe that was what Sam saw in him now, too. Having Sam around should have reminded him of his trauma but the longer he was in his home, the more at ease he felt.

"So, what are we watching?" Sam asked, changing the subject. He ignored the mess around him and grabbed a pillow from the floor, adjusting it behind his neck.

"Um." A commercial was running but Deeks looked at his clock and remembered his middle of the night TV schedule. "Mission Impossible. The show from the 60s, not the movie. Peter Graves, Martin Landau."

"Oh yeah. I loved this show as a kid." Sam smiled and actually looked excited.

"Yeah, it's a classic. Definitely more your generation than mine," Deeks quipped, turning his attention to the television.

The remark about his age did not go unnoticed. Sam curled his lips. "So what are you, Generation Xtra Smelly?"

Deeks shook his head and laughed. "That's the best you got? Weak, man. Weak."

"I'm outta practice."

"Uh huh."

When Deeks opened his eyes, the sun was shining and his television was off. An afghan was thrown over his legs and he saw that his gun had been moved to the coffee table, under one of his magazines. There was no sign of Sam. Had he actually come to visit, or was his mind playing tricks on him again?

He squinted at his phone - no new missed calls throughout the night. Though it was only 7:00 a.m., it was the most sleep he'd gotten in weeks. Hopefully it would be enough to last him until the next time he was brave enough to open the door.