Psalm 59:1

Deliver me from my enemies, O God; protect me from those who rise up against me.

She hadn't slept the night Deeks almost died. After dropping him off at his apartment (he couldn't drive; his motorcycle had been confiscated) she'd stayed up, feeling the impact of her body against his as she'd shoved him out of the way, the breeze from the speeding truck causing her ponytail to sway. The ground below her had been hard, their bodies stirring up dust. She could still feel gritty specs of it in her hair even though she'd rinsed, washed, and repeated.

That's why when Granger asked to speak with her in private and offered her an off-the-grid job that would give her a bonus of nearly fifty grand and leave the door wide open for her to become assistant director after he retired, she declined. One, it was too dangerous, basically an over-glorified suicide mission. But more troubling than that, there was Deeks. Who would be there to shove him out of the way when cars sped at him, their speedometer rising from 0 to 60 in mere seconds? Who would talk him to sleep, make sure he was eating correctly, save him from himself?

So, yeah, she'd declined. And when Deeks pulled two stunts similar to the one he had when he'd nearly gotten himself ran over, she's glad she did because he'd be dead had she not been there to save him. The first incident after the car was a bullet heading directly for his chest. When she'd tackled him to the ground she'd felt a sting which she would discover later to be a graze on her forearm, deep enough to require stitches. It was nothing, really. Not that she could convince him otherwise.

"You should've-"

"What, let you take a bullet? It's just a scratch."

"It could've been a lot worse."

"Yeah, it could've. You could be dead right now."

The third occurrence, the one that made Kensi snap, had happened that night. Kensi and Deeks had been checking out a warehouse that was rigged to blow, the timer set for thirty seconds. She'd sprinted out like any sane person would do, her partner promising her that he was right behind her when she hesitated, sensing that he wasn't following. With the reassurance that he was only a foot away, she jumped out of the building right before it blew. But when she turned a three sixty and saw no Deeks, she panicked.

"Deeks!" she screamed, panic weighing heavily on her body. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her head spinning.

"Deeks!" she repeated, louder. God, no. Please, God. She didn't stop to think or weigh her options. Before she knew it, she was back in the burning building.

She let out a yelp of fear as a ceiling beam alight with fire came toppling down, knocking her shoulder. And then she was on fire. Her shirt was burning. Blisters stung as they rose on her probably fractured collar bone, and she ripped off her flaming button down, revealing a soot covered white tank top.

Thick smoke wrapped around her lungs, her eyes watered. She tried to scream his name, but the words wouldn't come out. She kept moving, trying to work around the inferno of flames. The burn on her more than likely broken clavicle ached, and all of the pain on top of not knowing if her partner was alive or not was pure agony.

Just before she was about to give up and succumb to unconsciousness, she saw a body through her swimming vision. A body wearing jeans and a sweater with the sleeves rolled up, a body with ash covered blonde hair.

The encouragement of seeing her partner, knowing that he would die if she stopped her pursuit, prompted her to stumble over to him. He wasn't awake, and she didn't have time to check for a pulse. He was propped up against a wall, a window directly above him.

She tried to tell herself that he'd probably been trying to escape, that he'd tripped and realized he wouldn't have enough time to exit out of the door, so he tried to escape from the window but couldn't make it. She refused to accept the fact that her partner was, in short, suicidal.

She found a brick lying near her and chucked it at the glass. She shielded his head with her body as the glass fell, shards of it embedding into her skin. Hoisting herself outside of the broken window, she winced as the jagged edges of unevenly broken glass dug into her arms. Ignoring the shooting pain in her collarbone, she grabbed Deeks under his arms, dragging him out of the building to safety. About five seconds later, the roof collapsed.

Adrenaline surged through her, but before she allowed herself to take a deep breath of the fresh air her body had been deprived of, she pressed her ear against her partner's chest, listening for a heartbeat. When she found one, she nearly cried in relief.

G, Sam, and the paramedics found her and Deeks passed out together, the side of her face pressed against his chest, smoke curling off of the seams of his jeans. Her body was sprawled across his torso, half of her abdomen on his, her legs jut out beside of her lopsided body. He'd regained consciousness the minute an oxygen mask was pressed against his face on the stretcher, and she had later in the ambulance. One sling, some Neosporin, and a few icepacks later, she was home, and so was he. Or, at least, she thought he was.

She adjusted the frozen pack of peas on her arm, trying to find a comfortable position that didn't aggravate the cuts on her back. Sighing in frustration when she couldn't find a suitable angle, she sat up, removing her sling and tossing it halfway across her living room. It was restricting, and she hated it. There were few things she disliked more than being confined by restrains. Fire was one of them.

She could still feel the heat of the flames on her back, probably because her collarbone (which turned out to be, as she suspected, fractured but not in need of surgical repair) had a second-degree burn on it. She'd came home and took a cold shower before putting on the shortest shorts she owned and a tank-top that didn't have holes burned through it. The fan was on and the AC was cranked up to sixty five degrees.

A knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts about the day's events, and when she saw her partner through her peephole she debated on answering or not. "Nobody's home," she deadpanned, raising her voice so that he could hear through her door.

"C'mon, Kens. Open up. Please?"

Reluctantly, she unlocked the deadbolt first before the actual doorknob, sighing as she opened it. "What do you want?"

"To drink these beers with my partner," he said, holding up a six pack. In his other hand was a bag, presumably burgers or Chinese food. But, for once in her life, she wasn't hungry. Or maybe she just didn't have an appetite. Either way, food was the furthest thing from her mind.

Stepping aside to allow him access into her living room, she grumbled, "Only because you brought beer."

"Noted. And they're uh, cold."

He understood, she understood. Right now, cold was good. Beyond good.

She slipped one out of the pack before he'd even sat down, taking it while he still held the case in his hand. She 'ah'ed, sipping the cool beverage and feeling it slide down her throat which had been a little irritated ever since the fire. She felt like she could cough at any given moment, like she could hack up ashes.

"Where's your sling?" he asked, taking out a burger and handing it to her. She accepted it but didn't so much as unwrap it, and in turn he didn't touch his.

"Not needed."

He chuckled a little, shaking his head in disbelief. "You need your sling, unless you want to hurt yourself even more."

"I didn't hurt myself. A beam fell on me while I was trying to save your sorry ass."

"I'm sorry, Kens, I-"

"What?" she interrupted, huffing angrily as she pressed the bottle against a new found burn on her left wrist. It had gone unnoticed in the grand scheme of things, but now that her most prominent burn was treated and her clavicle was relatively dulled by pain pills, she was starting to notice all of the little scratches and sears. "I want to hear this. What were you thinking?"

She knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that he was about to hit the ground, and he didn't want to. He wanted to continue falling through the air, skydiving. Crashing and burning wasn't on his agenda.

"You sure as hell weren't thinking about yourself. Or me. What, did you think I'd just sit there and watch you burn? I'm your partner. I saved you from that car, that bullet... did you honestly think for one minute I wouldn't go in after you?"

He opens his mouth like he's about to say something, stopping before he does. "Or did you just hope?" she asked quietly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Kensi..."

"I know what you're doing, and I need you to stop, Deeks." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She feared that if she raised it like she wanted to it would crack. "You can't just..."

"That wasn't reckless behavior, Kens. I got lost, I heard the bomb go off, I passed out. Simple as that."

"Really? Then how do you explain the car and the bullet, huh?"

"I thought the car would stop, and I didn't think the bullet would hit me. Which it didn't," he answered simply.

"Yeah, it hit me," she all but growled, raising her hand to scratch absently at where the stitches had been on her arm out of habit.

"I didn't ask you to get yourself hurt because of me, Kensi." His voice was measured, his jaw clenched.

"What if I was trying to kill myself? Would you just stand there and watch?"

"I'm not trying to-"

"Deeks. Just shut up. Stop. I know that you need adrenaline. I know. You can't do... this."

"I don't have PTSD, Kensi. Yeah, I was tortured. Yeah, it sucked. I'm not Jack."

The words were like a slap to the face, and that was when she felt the sting of dampness in her eyes. Her hands clenched into fists. "You're acting enough like him."

Why was it that every time she found somebody she cared about, they tried to get away from her? Jack, now Deeks... hell, her own mother hadn't come looking for her after she ran away, didn't make a conceited effort to get her off the streets after her father died.

"You have to stop getting hurt, okay? You have to stop it with the fire and the cars and the bullets," he said softly, noticing the tears in her eyes. He even tried to reach a hand out for her good shoulder, but she shrugged it away.

"I'd die before I let anything happen to you." The words were out before she could think about what she'd just said, and she immediately regretted them. Deeks and her... they were more than partners. More than best friends. But she wasn't about to let herself get any closer than she already was, especially when all he seemed to want to do was pull stupid, borderline suicidal moves.

Deeks's tongue darted out to dampen his bottom lip and he swallowed. She looked away. "You promised me that... You promised me you wouldn't... Please, Deeks. Just... see a therapist or-"

"I don't need one. I don't have PTSD anymore. I passed my psych eval, I got field work clearance-"

"Dammit, Deeks," she interrupted, the words tumbling out of her mouth quickly and ungracefully, but she couldn't stop even if she wanted to. "Can't you how important you are to me? Don't you understand that if you ever died, I'd... I'd..." Kensi cut herself off with a deep breath as her words started to catch up with her heart, beyond the point of caring if she revealed something potentially relationship altering. "Deeks, I-"

He interrupted her with his lips landing on hers, and his hand twisted into her hair. The kiss was electric, and it deepened quickly, rapidly becoming more passionate. Years of tension poured out, words left unsaid, hidden meanings and heated touches mixing into one thrilling release of emotion that took the form of an embrace. His taste was addicting, his lips soft but firm on hers. Kensi struggled as she tried to decide to break the kiss so that she could fill her lungs with air that was becoming more of a necessity with each passing second, and finally her need for oxygen became unavoidable and she pulled away from him, just a fraction. Their noses were still nearly touching, and his breath fanned against her lips, mingling with hers.

"Deeks," she breathed, raising the hand that wasn't on the side of her fractured clavicle to his stubble. His eyes were a color she'd never seen before, dark cobalt and alive with desire.

"Kens..." His hand found her thigh, squeezing it slightly. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and her heart hammered. His hand trailed up her body, but instead of doing something that could lead to things she could never take back, his fingers found hers. He was sitting next to her on the couch, their legs touching, foreheads pressed together, hands intertwined. After a moment he replaced the spot where the top of his head had been touching hers only to kiss her forehead, no doubt inhaling her sent. She still smelled like smoke and hospital, but that was okay because he did too.

After he broke the handhold, he snaked an arm around her waist with his head resting on top of hers, and she allowed herself to lean against him. Right now she didn't care about the ramifications that their most recent kiss could create; all she cared about was snuggling against his heart, very similar to the way she'd done earlier that day on a field next to a building ablaze. "Kensi, I'm sorry that I hurt you in all of this. I never wanted... I never intended..."

"It's okay, Deeks." She laid her palm flat over his heart, staring at the side of her fingers from her position on Deeks's chest. "It's okay. I'm okay. I just want you to be."

"I will be," he assured her, tightening his grip around her. "Soon."

"Promise?"

He pecked her lips when she craned her neck to look up at him as she awaited his answer. "Swear."

_

A day after that night on the couch together, she stopped returning his calls. All she could think about was the fire, the car, the bullet, him...

Even though it was 12 pm on a Saturday and she had Monday and Tuesday off because of her collarbone anyway, she called Granger. She asked him if the position was still open. When he said yes but that she'd have to leave immediately, she jumped at the offer, glad that she wouldn't have to look at his text message with content that kept becoming increasingly disheartened popping up as notifications on her phone.

After sprawling out his address and shoving a quickly written note into the envelope, she loaded her weapons and stuffed the letter into her mailbox, praying one last time that he wouldn't do anything stupid while she was gone.

_

He hadn't heard from her since Friday, and Monday at work Hetty informed him that she was on a classified mission with assistant director Granger.

Just like that.

No warning, nothing. A make-out session and then...

Gone.

But it had been so much more than simply a 'make-out sesh' to him. She knew he loved her. She knew. He'd said as much in so many words, between "How's that for communication?" and his revelation that she was what had gotten him through the toughest situation of his life. And after last Friday, he knew that she had feelings for him. She'd told him that she couldn't live without him. It was the same for him, vice versa of course, but the same.

After the kiss, they'd turned on a movie, ate some of their food, laughed. It was like old times, and it took him back to years before sitting on the same couch watching Top Model, except this time they'd just poured their hearts out to each other and her cold beer was pressed to her clavicle, not her jaw. Later that night, much later, she'd fallen asleep against him. He wanted to follow suit, but unfortunately Monty was probably freaking out, so instead he'd sent her a text that he'd had to go and check on Monty, knowing she would understand when she saw it the next morning.

If he knew that she'd be gone on a mission that was well above her pay grade within hours after his departure, he wouldn't have left.

He wondered if it was out of her hands, hoped that it was a mandatory assignment and she unwillingly had to go if she wanted to keep her job. Contact with him before the mission was prohibited, and that was why she hadn't called, right? She didn't just leave... right?

His heart was heavy that Monday, and when he finally trudged home heartsick and discontented, he checked the mail before going inside. When he saw something that wasn't a bill in the stack of envelopes, his pulse quickened. After realizing the letter was from Kensi he didn't even wait to go inside; by the light of the streetlamps and the glow of his apartment's inhabitants' lamps and flickering TV screens shining through the windows, he tore open the envelope and read the letter, his hands shaking with nerves as he read what she had sent him.

Deeks-

I'm sorry I had to leave on such short notice. I'm sorry for not calling you after you left Friday. I'm sorry for getting mad at you. I'm sorry for everything. What you had to go through, leaving you in that place, not trying hard enough to contact you over the summer, being a horrible communicator.
I think you know how I feel about you more than I do. I hope you do, anyway. Granger offered me a mission three weeks ago, but with you scaring the hell out of me I refused it. Now, after everything, I think I need it.
I need to know that you can function without me. I need to know that I can function without you. Please, please, please don't do anything stupid while I'm gone.
When I get back, we're going to talk. And maybe make out some more. I just need time to think. I hope you can understand that.
Don't worry about me. Stay safe. I'll miss you.

-Kensi

By the time he'd finally stumbled into his living room, he'd read the note thirteen times. He spent the next hour analyzing it, and then collapsed onto the couch, feeling like he'd just been hit by the car Kensi had saved him from weeks prior. It took him until about midnight to realize that he should have expected it.

This was Kensi. Kensi, whose fiancé had left her because of the very condition he'd been diagnosed with. Kensi, the steadfast, stubborn as a bull, badass who'd lost her father, her partner before him, and probably had a body count even more impressive than that stashed away somewhere behind her walls. Of course she needed time to digest everything. Sort out her feelings. And under the main idea of the letter (that being the fact that she was leaving), there was an undeniable undercurrent of hope hidden beneath her hastily scribbled words written in her messier than usual handwriting. She'd accepted the fact that they had feelings that went well beyond a partnership for each other. She just needed to process that revelation.

He could be okay with that. He'd miss her and it would hurt like hell without her around, but he would cope. For her. That night he even decided he'd see a therapist. Surprise her when she got back. He would be fine.

But the next day when Hetty informed him that the mission was off-the-grid and they couldn't have any contact with Kensi or Granger, something felt off. He started to think. To worry.

By the end of the first week without her, he was a nervous wreck.

He talked about it with his new therapist, a man about his age who was a good listener and a former marine. Nate was back on assignment, and the man, Dr. Wilson, was almost as highly recommended as Nate was. Mr. Wilson had managed to calm him down, but it was only when Deeks had returned to his apartment that he realized the therapist hadn't once assured him that Kensi would be okay. How could he?

Dr. Wilson had no way of knowing. Nobody at NCIS had anyway of knowing. Hell, if Kensi did die it could take months to hear about it, much less get her body shipped back.

In honor of Kensi and in spite of the helplessness he felt, he stopped being an idiot. His motorcycle was long gone, and he took extra precaution in the field. He expected her to be doing the same, wherever she was.

He had nightmares nearly every night, always varied, always resulting in Kensi's death. He woke up crying once, and he hadn't cried in... well, he couldn't even remember the last time he cried. The next day, a Wednesday that Hetty had granted off after a job well done, he did something that he hadn't since he was fourteen.

He prayed.

Honest to God, in a chapel and everything, prayed. He drove to an old church that was empty but had an open alter, sat down on a pew, and spoke out loud to a God he had long since lost faith in.

"Jesus... uh, God... It's been awhile. Hi, it's me. Well, you can probably see it's me, me being Deeks, Marty Deeks, if you remember... Anyways, Kensi? My partner? She's in Afghanistan, but I guess you already know that, and I'd really appreciate it if you keep her safe. I'll read my Bible, pray, whatever... just..."

He sighed. Talking to God used to be easier. Back before he'd become a cop and seen the true horrors of Los Angeles, he could get on his knees when he needed to and pray. He hadn't did it since he was a kid, but he remembered that it hadn't been nearly as difficult.

Taking a deep breath, he tried once again, choosing his words as carefully as he could. "Listen, God, I'm sorry for everything I've did, the person I've become, the people I've hurt. I'm not supposed to bargain, and I'm not supposed to doubt You. But everything I've become, everything You've made me, You did it for a reason, and God, I think You know I couldn't make it without her. I love her, and I love You for giving her to me, and stuff's been really tough lately for us, and I know what I've did to deserve it but I don't understand what Kensi's did and now I'm rambling, but long story short please keep her safe. Please don't hurt her or punish her for my sins and bring her back to me, and forgive me, Father. I know it's a lot to ask, but could You send me a sign that she's okay? I'm going crazy down here, God. In Jesus' name I pray, amen."

That had been the end of it. He'd went home, stared at a blank television screen, and thought a lot about the sign he'd asked God for.

The next day, he got it.

Hetty told him that Granger had made contact with them through a burn phone, telling her that they should be back within two months if things went as planned, and if they went better than expected they could return in as soon as a month.

And his first response to that was to go into the bathroom, lock himself in a stall, and get down on his knees to thank God.