"Nice of you to finally show up." His voice is much weaker than he expected - grittier, more tired. He coughs and then cringes. "The delivery was much more suave in my head."

"Hey, you." Kensi smiles. It's a big, joyful smile that lights up her entire face. "I'll pretend I didn't hear the prepubescent crack for now, but I will mock you for it later when you're all healed."

"Deal."

He takes a moment to scan his surroundings: standard hospital room, two vases full of flowers by the window, a small television silently playing an episode of some dancing show. Kensi's sitting in a chair pulled up to his bedside. Her jacket's tossed on the remaining chair by the wall, she's still in the black shirt she was wearing when he last saw her, and her hair's fallen almost completely out of her braid - the tangled, dark strands tucked hastily behind her ears. Her skin is pale, her eyes are red, and her makeup is streaked down her face, tracking the path of what must have been tears. She's absolutely gorgeous.

"You look like crap."

"I -" she shakes her head. "You look like death warmed-over. I look tired."

He shrugs. It hurts. He makes a mental note not to do that again. "I'm just saying. Take a shower or something, jeez."

"Oh, no." She puts her hands up defensively. "That smell you're smelling would be you."

"Is the nurse not being thorough with her sponge baths? Does she need another set of hands?" He glances toward the door. "If Nurse Debbie is on duty tonight, I'm sure she'll be more than willing to assist."

"I'm sure she will."

"She was so gentle last time. And she'll probably be interested in seeing how my bullet wounds have healed."

"Debbie's not on duty tonight, sorry."

"Bummer."

Kensi rolls her eyes. "Yeah, life's full of heartache."

"One tragedy after another," he agrees. "How are you?"

"How am I?"

"Yeah."

She shakes her head again, like she's wondering why she puts up with him. "I'm okay, Deeks. How are you?"

"I feel a little bit like shit."

"We should call the doctor," she insists, reaching for the call button. "They'll want to know you're awake."

"No, no. Just," he waves her off, "just give me a minute first."

She nods and withdraws her hand. "Okay."

"How is everyone else?"

"They're good."

"Good. Sam?"

"He's all right. Better than you, anyway."

"Do I want to know what's wrong with me?"

She scoffs. "Where do I start?"

"Uh huh. I mean physically."

"Well, for starters, your nose-to-nostril ratio is totally off."

He tries his best to scowl. "I'm glad you haven't lost your sense of humor."

She smiles back, but it's no longer lighting her eyes. "A few broken ribs, a concussion. You can thank Siderov for taking care of those pesky wisdom teeth for you."

"Now my dentist can finally shut up about it."

"There's a silver lining after all."

"And here I thought the silver lining was not being dead."

"There's that." She looks down at her hands, folded in her lap. Her voice is softer when she continues, "I'm sorry I wasn't there - that I didn't have your back."

He reaches for her hand, but she's too far away. He sighs and pats the blanket. "Put your hand up here."

She looks up, eyes widened slightly. "What?"

"I want to reassure you and that involves me holding your hand, but I can't hold it when it's on your lap."

She looks more than a little appalled. "You are going to reassure me?"

"Yes."

"You realize how ridiculous that is."

Maybe, yeah, but it feels normal - it feels them and he wants that, needs that more than anything. He doesn't know how to say that, though, so instead he doesn't say anything.

Kensi watches him, face morphing from naked concern to something else before settling on the expression she uses when he's being an idiot - the one with slightly-squinted eyes. He almost sighs in relief.

"You can't do it without the hand-holding?"

"No, I can't. I have a whole mood thing I'm going for."

"Whatever mood you intended was ruined when you had to ask me to let you hold my hand. I shudder to think of sixth grade Deeks."

"You're giving me way too much credit. Footsie during recess while she and I were both stuck inside at our desks was about as far as I got. Now seventh grade, that's a different story."

She gives him the I'm about to give you a dead arm look, but her eyes are still amused.

He pats the blanket again and raises his eyebrows at her. "Seriously? You're not going to put your hand up here?"

She sighs, but complies, dropping her hand dramatically on top of the blanket.

"Thank you," he says. He waits for a moment, watching the wheels spin in her head before she finally breaks.

"Really? You're not going to hold it now? After all that production?"

"You're right," he says with a sigh. "The moment's gone."

She lifts the hand and swats him. "Ass."

He grins, victorious, before dropping his hand on top of hers.

"Kensi, you have nothing to apologize for. You were doing your job. You were protecting Michelle."

"No, not that. I know that." She shakes her head. "I mean, yes, I hate it. I hate that I wasn't there. I hate that you went in alone - but I understand that was my assignment and I was doing what had to be done."

"Then what are you sorry for?"

"For after," she says, looking anywhere but at his eyes. "When you were - when they had you."

"You were searching for me." He doesn't know that for a fact - he doesn't know anything, actually, except that the team that rescued him wasn't his own. But he's still confident that wherever she was, she was trying to get to him.

"Yeah, I was. But I didn't find you."

He shrugs. Shit, ow, he wasn't going to do that again. Damn. "But I was found."

"Not by me."

"I'll admit when I heard all those gunshots and the door smashed open I was hoping to see my favorite ninja assassin, but I definitely don't hold it against you for not being there."

Again, he watches her struggle with her emotions. She's clearly distressed - angry and sad and more than a little worried. Her eyes keep sweeping across his face and cataloguing his injuries, but she's trying not to let it show, trying to be strong.

He pretends not to see it.

She blinks back the sorrow that's creeping in and sighs a fake, dramatic sigh. "I guess I owe him a date now."

"Who? Sabatino?"

"His special task force was responsible for saving your lives and recovering the nukes. He ought to get the girl, don't you think? It's the least I can do."

"You'd do that for me? I'm so honored."

"And the greater Los Angeles area," she says. "Anyway, it won't be so bad. He's actually rather charming."

"No, no. He's not charming. I am charming. He is -"

"Dashing?"

He frowns at her. "No."

She shrugs. "Agree to disagree."

He grunts.

She brings her other hand up on the bed, smoothing the wrinkles from his blanket with her fingers. Hair falls from behind her ears and brushes her cheekbone. He thinks about reaching up and tucking it back, thinks that maybe it would be worth the pain it would surely trigger, but she gets to it before he has a chance to make his move.

"Monty's fine, by the way," she says after a few moments of silence.

"Is he at your place?"

"No, I figured he needed a little more company than I'd be able to provide. I haven't actually been home in almost two days."

He nods. He feels like he should tell her to go home, but it's really nice to have her here. Plus, he tells himself, she's too damn stubborn to listen to him anyway.

So, if Monty's not at her place - "Uh oh, is he with Nell?"

"Yeah," she looks a little chagrined, "sorry. Hetty sent Nell and Eric home to sleep, so I thought she was the best option. Callen's over with Sam a few doors down."

He groans. "You know I'm going to get all kinds of hell from him when I try and take him back. He'll mope for days!"

"He'll probably be so glad to see you he won't even care that you're heartlessly ripping him away from the love of his life."

He wrinkles his nose. He's still pissed about that. "A pitbull? Really? You'd think Monty would have better taste."

"First of all, Imogen is adorable and way out of his league. Second of all, at least it's not a poodle."

"Small favors."

She squeezes his fingers with her thumb. "Let poor Monty be happy for a few days while you recover. Let him be distracted from missing you terribly."

"It's his job to miss me terribly."

"I thought his job was to keep the streets safe from crime."

"Nah, that's a hobby."

The door opens and a nurse comes in - late fifties, greying hair. Definitely not Wendy. Kensi's hand pulls out of his grasp.

"Mr. Deeks!" the nurse says, smiling. "You're awake!"

He gives her his best grin, and adds a little extra to make up for the fact that he probably looks like hell.

"Your partner here was supposed to call me and let me know," she says as she steps up beside Kensi, her words scolding, but not her tone.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I was just about to call." Kensi ducks her head and pushes out of the seat. "Also, I was, um," she meets his gaze for a moment, as if asking for approval, "just about to head out."

"Oh, okay," he says and he hates himself a lot for how pathetic that sounded.

The nurse fusses with the computer beside him and Kensi jabs her thumb at the door. "I should grab a shower and some food. Regroup."

He clears his throat. "Right, yeah."

She grabs her coat and clutches it to her chest. "I'll be back later," she promises.

He nods and forces a smile. "Later, partner."

He vaguely senses Siderov and Andros hovering over him. He's still conscious, but barely. They're talking back and forth and Siderov is gesturing angrily out toward where Sam is. Was? Deeks isn't sure how long he's been tied to the chair. And even if Sam is still out there, Deeks can hardly make out Siderov's form three feet away from him through his nearly swollen-shut eyes.

Andros is over by the metal table. Deeks can tell by the clanging of metal on metal as Andros either returns the tools he had been using or exchanges them for something new. Neither option sounds good. Coming back with no tools almost certainly means they've given up and it's time for a more permanent approach. Coming back with new tools means new pain in a new location.

He wants so badly to want option two, but he knows he'd be relieved with option one. There's only one thing keeping him from begging Siderov to end his life - Kensi. He knows she's out there. He knows she's looking for him. He knows she won't stop moving for a single second until he's either safe or dead. He'd still prefer safe, but he's slipping.

It's then that the wall beside him explodes inward and what little vision he has left is replaced by a sea of white.

"Hetty," he says, still blinking away the fog of sleep. "How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you for inquiring." She nods in his direction. "Might I ask how you are fairing?"

"I'm fantastic now that you're here."

She gives him a look that clearly says bullshit.

He opts for evasion. "They let you out of your office? Don't you have paperwork to submit after saving the world?"

"As you know very well by now, Mr. Deeks - no one lets me do anything." She leans forward slightly in the chair. "And, if you'll recall, our team isn't the one that did the saving."

"Ah, yeah." His gaze drifts to the windows behind her. "The Washington task force. Sorry about that."

"And why on Earth would you be sorry?"

He turns back to face her. "I'm sorry we had to be saved. I'm sorry there'd be nuclear warheads in the hands of terrorists if we hadn't had help."

She looks at him, disapproval written plainly on her face. "I don't believe that to be true at all. I think Agent Sabatino's task force merely beat Mr. Callen, Ms. Hanna and Miss Blye to the finish line. And had your team not made the progress it did, they would not have even had the opportunity to breach in the first place.

"But, even if it were true, there is no reason to feel guilt. It's not bad to require assistance - it's not bad to need help or to lean on others." She lifts her hands, palms up. "That's what we have teams for, after all. No one of us can succeed alone."

"I sense hidden subtext."

She tsks. "I resent the implication that I'm anything but forthright."

He gives her a look and she winks.

"We all need support, Mr. Deeks. That's how we make it through the day."

"I know, Hetty, and I appreciate yours."

She smiles and gently pats his arm.

"Am I interrupting?" a voice asks from the door.

"Not at all, Mr. Hanna," Hetty assures Sam, patting Deeks' arm once more before rising. "I was just about to make my exit."

Sam nods to Hetty as she slips out the door.

"How're you feeling?" Deeks asks as Sam eases into the chair. "A little wired?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Glad to see you still think you're funny."

"They'd have to beat me a lot harder than that to break my funny bone."

"We're making torture jokes now?"

"Too soon?"

"I'd give it at least another day."

"Roger that." Deeks looks at Sam's casual clothes with envy. "They let you out already?"

"A few hours ago."

"Lucky bastard."

Sam nods. "Yeah. How about you?"

"They want to watch me overnight, but I'm hoping to sweet-talk them out of it."

"If anyone can do it, you can." He's partially smiling, and there's a little humor in his voice, but mostly he's focused on his hands as he rubs them up and down his thighs, clearly building up to something.

Deeks figures it's best to get this show on the road. "So what's up? Everything okay?"

"Thanks to you," he says as he finally meets Deeks' gaze.

Deeks waves him off. "I know it was good, but it was just mouth-to-mouth, no need to get emotional about it."

"I'm serious, Deeks. I want to thank you for not giving up Michelle."

He bristles a little. "Of course I wouldn't give up Michelle."

"I know that," he assures him. "I know that, I do. I just wanted to tell you that it meant a lot to me."

Deeks nods. "You're welcome."

There's an awkward silence and Deeks bites back all the jokes that try to pry themselves free. It's not that he has to be funny, it's just that he doesn't know what else to be in this moment - doesn't know what else to be with Sam anymore. He feels like his options are either angry or indifferent and he hates being angry - hates himself when he's angry; hates what he becomes.

"You're a good man, Deeks. And a good cop. And I'm," he shakes his head, "I'm really, truly sorry about what I said earlier."

He feels like this is the part where he says no problem but the words don't come. His jaw feels more swollen now than ever before.

"I was an ass," Sam continues. "I have been for a while. You're different, Deeks. Different isn't something that sets well with me."

"I've gathered as much."

"That doesn't mean it's bad - or that it's less. I realize that now, and I should have figured it out a long time ago."

"I proved myself to you a hundred times."

Sam lifts his shoulders, like he's asking for something - for forgiveness. "I can't take back what I said, I can't take back how I've treated you, but I can promise youI won't make those mistakes again."

"I appreciate that."

"I can't promise not to make fun of you ever again, though," he says, a grin tugging at his lips. "You're an easy target."

Deeks laughs even though it isn't funny; he laughs because Sam's trying. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Sam stands with a relieved sigh. "Anything I can get for you?"

"Nah. I shouldn't be here too much longer. Nurse Becky has really taken a shine to me."

He barks a laugh. "All right, man. Take care. I'll see you when you get back to the office."

He nods. "See you then."

Kensi walks into his room, a duffle bag clutched in her hand.

"I can't believe you did it," she says as she tosses the bag on the foot of his bed.

He pushes himself up and it hurts like hell. "I told you I was charming."

"Don't forget stupid." She nods to the bag. "I brought your clothes. You need help getting into them?"

He wiggles his eyebrows. "Desperately."

She makes a disgusted noise.

He laughs, throwing back the blanket and maneuvering himself out of bed. "I should be okay, but I'll holler if I need anything."

She looks worried, but holds out his bag anyway.

He grabs it and heads into the en suite bathroom, tossing it on the floor and looking at himself in the mirror. Both eyes are varying degrees of swollen, he's got a mess of bloodied flesh on each cheekbone, and a gash on the bridge of his nose. He looks a little bit like Frankenstein's monster - only slightly less green. He's about to bend over and reach into his bag when the bathroom door swings open, Kensi standing determinedly on the other side.

"I've decided to not let you be an idiot."

"Okay," he says warily, not entirely sure what that means. He steps back as she crosses to the bag, zipping it open and riffling through the contents.

"You've got broken ribs." She pulls out his shirt and tosses it over her shoulder. "There is absolutely no reason you should be bending over or raising your arms."

She reaches around his neck for the ties of his hospital gown.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he says, taking a step back. "I appreciate the assist, I really do, but can I at least put on my underwear first?"

Kensi turns beet red and drops her hands. "Oh, yeah, right, of course."

"Thanks."

She digs in the bag again, retrieving a pair of boxers and handing them over, all while averting her gaze. "Here," she says quickly, before turning around and holding her hand over her eyes.

He manages to wrangle both legs through his boxers and work them up past his thighs, but she's right. There's no way he can get into the rest of his clothes without making himself cry.

"Okay, I'm set."

She turns around and reaches for the ties again. Her fingers brush the skin of his neck and he thinks about basketball statistics and Granger in his pajamas. The detail with which Callen described them gives him a pretty vivid picture: black, satin, shiny.

She unties the set of strings on his back and slips the gown off his shoulders, the fabric settling at his feet. Kensi slides his button-up over one arm and then pulls it around and onto the other.

"I figured you didn't want to twist yourself into an undershirt," she says as she fastens the buttons, top to bottom.

"Probably right."

She finishes the final set of buttons and lets her fingers drift back up toward the collar. She pauses, looking up at him. She's standing so close he can smell her, can practically taste her, and he starts to feel light-headed.

"Leave the... uh... top one undone?" She asks, fumbling for words.

"No, button 'er up." He's grinning again. "And then rustle around in that thar bag of yours and get me a bolo tie while you're at it."

She hits him in the arm and his knees go wobbly. He wonders if she hit him ten times harder than normal or if he's just that wiped out from the last 24 hours.

"Oh, crap, I'm so sorry," she says, her eyes displaying genuine concern.

"Not a problem," he says through gritted teeth. As the pain subsides in his arm he realizes gritting his teeth was a really dumb move. He moves his tongue around his mouth and winces. He's really not looking forward to the next couple days.

She lets go, her fingers trailing down his sleeve. He can't tell if she's maintaining contact out of concern that he might fall over if she lets go of him or if there's something more. She clears her throat as she pulls out his jeans and it brings him out of his thoughts and back to the present.

The pain seems to fade away as she slides the denim over his hips, tugging at the waist to bring the front together.

She looks up, eyes twinkling with a mischief that wasn't there before. "You able to button them on your own?"

"Probably, but I'm guessing we'd both have more fun if you did it."

She pretends to think about it, before letting go and grabbing his shoes and socks. "Okay, Cinderella. Let's get you home."

"I can't believe you stocked my fridge," he says, retrieving his water pitcher and closing the door. "You really didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to."

"You wanted to go shopping? I don't believe that for a second."

"Well, no, I didn't want to do the shopping part, but I wanted to help you." She steps up behind him and reaches into the cupboard, retrieving a glass for him. "And I didn't want you to have to do it yourself."

He takes the glass and fills it. "Thank you."

She nods, taking the pitcher and returning it to the fridge. "You're welcome."

He tosses a handful of pills into his mouth and drains the glass. They stand there for a moment, silence and something else between them.

She clears her throat and looks at the clock. "I should go - let you get to bed."

He tries to think of a way to ask her to stay, but they all sound needy and he's too proud, or too stupid, to voice them.

"Call me if you need anything?" she says, not moving from the counter she's leaned against. "Any time. I'll check in on you tomorrow, but if you need something tonight, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks, Kens. I'm sure I'll be okay."

"I know, I just - I'm worried about you."

He shakes his head. "Don't be."

"Right, okay." She nods and pushes off the counter, turning toward the kitchen door - and then, suddenly, she's turned back around, closing the gap between them, hands clutching his shirt and pulling him close to press his lips to hers.

It's gentle, tender, and not nearly enough, but his mouth is sore, his ribs are throbbing and it's possible it wasn't just her scent that was making him light-headed earlier, so he pulls away.

"We're really shitty at communication," she says as they part.

"Yeah, but we're pretty good at kissing. That's good to know."

She runs her thumb along his bottom lip. "Did I hurt you?"

"You could never hurt me, Kens. But we should probably hold off on the making out. As loath as I am to say it."

She presses a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth and drops her hand back down to his chest. "We've got plenty of time."

"We do?" he asks, and he couldn't contain the grin if he tried.

She nods, grinning back. "Yeah, we do."

"Okay."

"Okay."

She looks down at her hands as she fiddles with one of his shirt buttons. "I should probably help get you out of these clothes."

"Probably," he agrees.

"And I doubt you can put those Eggos in the toaster all by yourself in the morning."

He laughs. Of course she'd buy him Eggos. There are probably Pop Tarts in his cupboard too. "It sounds difficult. I'd appreciate some help."

"Plus, you're going to be lonely with Monty gone."

Something flutters in his chest. "I'm not used to sleeping by myself."

"Maybe I should just stay," she suggests, her words hesitant and her eyes searching.

He braves the pain, leaning in for one more kiss.

"You should definitely stay."