Disclaimer: Not mine.
Story notes: Post "Big Brother" one shot.

1. "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." ― John Hughes, "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"
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"So you were like Ferris Bueller in high school," Kensi challenged him as he handed her a beer.

The only light in the room was the television silently playing the end of the Clippers-Lakers game. With the Lakers bench scoring about three hundred points, this was not the way the basketball season was supposed to begin. But Kensi was here so he had that going for him. "Well, I was taller. My hair was lighter. So there were some differences but I cut class regularly, Ray and I used someone's car without permission and wrecked it so yeah, I was a taller, blonder, better looking Ferris Bueller."

"Used someone's car without permission is a very generous description of stealing a car."

"He left it running outside of a liquor store slash check cashing place. If we didn't take it, someone else would have. Besides, there's big difference between a 1961 Ferrari 250GT California and a 1986 IROC-Z."

"There is. There's also the fact that Matthew Broderick was very cute."

"Whereas I'm very handsome."

She just looked at him and sighed. "So you were super popular."

"I was very popular. The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, waistoids, dweebies, dickheads - they all adored me. They thought I was a righteous dude," he told her with a big smile.

Unfortunately, he wound up being on the wrong side of her small spit take. "You were able to do that off the top of your head."

"The movie is on cable every ten minutes," he grabbed a box of tissues and started blotting up the small beer spill. "It's on Netflix. You own the DVD and they had it as a New Year's Eve movie treat on the Van Buren. I can do the whole movie off the top of my head."

"And you're proud of that?"

"As I am of anything I've accomplished in life." He took a small pull on his beer as he tossed the tissues into his trash pail. Since his time spent in the tender mercies of Isaak Sidorov, he had been staying away from alcohol but a beer with his partner sounded like things normal people do. Besides, he still had five of the six bottles of the Hitachino Nest Nipponia beer she brought in early September and he wanted to finish them with her. "The fact that you recognized the line right away makes me think you could quote large swath of that movie."

"Ferris Bueller, you're my hero," she quoted before sticking her tongue out at him.

"You are many things, Kens, but you're not Cameron. I bet you looked like Sloane in high school, though. Fringe jacket, hot white boots with your acid wash jean shorts."

Kensi shuddered. "No, I did not have acid wash jean shorts."

"But I'm right on the hot white boots, aren't I?"

"Shut up."

Deeks smiled, nodding his head knowingly. "Listen, I don't know what kind of hell-like high school you attended but to 15-year old Marty Deeks, another 15-year old girl with," Deeks pointed then decided to wave his hand to indicate her breasts, "I mean, you'd have been..."

"The center of attention? Suddenly popular? No longer one of the boys? A tease if you didn't want to or a slut because nobody turns down the captain of the track team even though you did?" Kensi sighed. "And then my Dad was killed and because I wanted answers I was obviously too emotional or too unstable to deal with what everyone told me was an accident."

"Oh, Kensi, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she told him as the Kensi Blye 'I'm fine' facade fell into place. "I went to college, I have a good life. Just had a bad patch in high school. And the idea of standing in a classroom and having those monsters in disguise look at me was just too much. You told me once you would have been a teacher if you weren't a cop. Why didn't you volunteer?"

"I'm just a poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks. What could I offer the future hedge fund managers, future movie studio executives and future real spouses of Beverly Hills reality stars? Besides, I was still waiting for my testicles to migrate back from my lungs. You women really have no idea how much that truly hurts."

"Oh, we do. Besides, you recovered just fine." Kensi flashed him a smile.

"Yes, I was impressive running down Ethan Bloom among other feats of strength and endurance today," Deeks joked wiggling his eyebrows at her. "I am going to set up my treadmill desk here."

"Monty will no doubt have hours of fun while you veg on the couch."

"You think Hetty would let me move my couch to the bullpen? Maybe a recliner?" Deeks half-joked.

"I thought sitting was the silent killer."

"Bad things happen when you sit," Deeks mumbled before he finished off his beer. Changing the subject, he asked, "So tell me, was it fun being on the other side of the table from Agent Carter?"

"It was. And I didn't hit him that hard, he's just a whiner. If he just let me call you, I wouldn't have had to hit him at all. Carter really brought his problems on himself when you think about it. He was too afraid of Granger..."

"...And not nearly afraid enough of you. Good to know the FBI's oh-so-Special Agent Ambrose is still a tool."

"Why are we talking about these guys? Tell me more about being Ferris Bueller." Kensi sat up a little straighter.

"The movie 'Ferris Bueller' or the latest film-school theory on 'Ferris Bueller'?"

"You're going to ruin this movie for me, aren't you?"

"You ruined "Raiders" for me."

"No, "The Big Bang Theory" picked up on the inherent flaw in "Raiders of the Lost Ark" and you're just angry, as were Sheldon, Leonard, Raj and Howard, that their perfect little action movie isn't perfect."

"Ferris Bueller is Tyler Durden."

"Wait, Tyler Durden is in "'Fight Club". How is Ferris Bueller, Tyler Durden?"

"The movie isn't about Ferris, it is about Cameron. Cameron is the one sick and in bed when he gets a call from this mythical best friend. The friend is popular, all of his crazy plans are successful, he always says the right thing, always has the most clever quip. He's perfect but he's not real."

"OK."

"So Cameron lets "Ferris" steal his dad's Ferrari and wanders around Chicago. Look at all the things the movie let us think Cameron, Sloane and Ferris did in like eight hours in Chicago - a Cubs game, a fancy lunch, a parade and the art museum."

"You forgot the Observation Deck in John Hancock Building."

"Exactly. How do you get that all done in a day? You don't. Cameron was walking around Chicago passing the Hancock Building, Wrigley Field, the museum, the restaurant. And when he passed them, he was thinking of these things in his head, imaging he had an awesome and cool friend like Ferris."

"OK, so Sloane, how does she work her way into this?"

"She's the girl in school he loves."

"So Helena Bonham Carter in "Fight Club" or something."

"Exactly. The only serious conversation in the whole movie, the only one that probably happened in real life was Sloane and Cameron talking about going to college and not being interested in anything." He paused dramatically. "Admit it, the theory has some legs."

"You're not ruining the movie for me."

"Just watch it next time thinking about "Fight Club"."

"OK, but if Ferris isn't real and just the figment of an unhappy high school student's imagination, how would you explain your high school experience?"

"Awesome. I had a great time. The secret to getting away with things in high school is to get good grades. You can be a chatty, charming smart-ass if you get good grades."

"Lemme guess, you were the chatty smart-ass of the cool clique."

"You forgot charming. And at Reseda, it was less cliques, more gangs."

"Oh."

"It was fine. Another secret to having a great high school experience is to be on good terms with a person or two in each group. Add in the ability to make people laugh and being able to talk your way out of anything and you win high school."

"You still think you can talk your way out of anything."

"Not quite anything but a lot of things. Making people laugh works too."

"For those who find you funny. Not that I find you funny or anything."

"No, you're the master joke-teller in this partnership."

"I'm funny!" she objected.

"I tell everyone who asks that Kensi Blye is comedy gold."

She glared at him. "You told me once you transferred schools..."

"Stealing a car, I'm sorry, using one without permission and then wrecking it will freak out one's mother."

"So you just went to that other school..."

"And fit right in."

"Impossible."

"Hardly."

"We moved around some when I was a kid. It was tough being the new person in school."

"Not for me. It was kinda easy, actually. I wound up at an uptight all-boys high school. A Jesuit high school, at that. They're like the Marines of Catholic education. My poor classmates were in desperate need of the full teenage Marty Deeks experience much like you were in need of the full adult Marty Deeks experience."

She lifted an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, right. My life has been so impacted by the Marty Deeks experience."

"Glad you're finally admitting it. And much like the force with young Luke Skywalker, the awesome was strong with the teenage Marty Deeks."

"Please don't tell me you have some theory on "Star Wars"."

"Only that Han shot first."

"Of course, he did." Kensi drank a little more of her beer. "So the Marty Deeks experience - God, why am I even saying that - that worked well with your fun deprived fellow students."

"I was in that school because I stole a car. Or borrowed it. Without permission."

"And your classmates knew that."

"Eventually and that added to the legend."

"Ha! What legend."

"The aforementioned teenage Marty Deeks experience. The guys learned really early that I could fight. I was up for most people's stupid plans for fun. I did fine." He didn't mention that once Christopher Bradshaw made it known that Marty Deeks was once Marty Brandel who shot his father to protect his mother - a microfiche of the LA Times article was courtesy of the school's library - he suddenly went from juvenile delinquent to scary class hoodlum. "I still can't believe bad-ass Kensi Blye wasn't queen bee by senior year. You had to be smart enough to figure out how to use your..." He started waving again at her breasts, "natural gifts to your best advantage."

"I was in a different high school by senior year. Unlike your fictional Aunt Barbara, I was living with my real Aunt Nancy. Things were better but still not great at Stockdale High. Go Mustangs!"

"Aunt Barbara was real. She's just been dead for a decade. Do you really think I'm going to tell Sam I read all those self-help magazine she got me addicted to?" Aunt Barbara at least pretended to give a damn after his father was sent away. Of course she didn't, he later learned. Aunt Barb did it because she really did hate his mother for 'ruining your father' but she put some effort into looking after Gordy's little boy. Aunt Barb was a lousy judge of her brother's character. "Oh, hey, wait, Go Mustangs? Were you a cheerleader? Forget the Sloane Peterson boots, I want to see a picture of you in your cheerleader uniform."

"Not a cheerleader."

"Dance team."

"No comment," she told him.

"I'm still going to need a picture. And if you don't show me one, just remember, I'm a detective. I detect. I found you once Charlene."

"I've never seen a picture of you in your school uniform."

"There's nothing to see. It was an all-boys Catholic school in Los Angeles. Lightweight navy blue blazer with a school insignia on breast pocket, white or light blue dress shirt, appropriate tie, black belt, dress shoes and either black, grey or tan dress pants."

"Appropriate tie?"

"No naked women, no sports logos, long enough to be a real tie and not landing above your belly button. No clip-ons. Appropriate ties."

"That sounds like you're quoting someone."

"Fr. Griffin, Dean of Discipline and issuer of J.U.G."

"Jug?"

"J.U.G. Judgment Under God. Your high school had detention, mine had Judgment Under God. As I said, the Marines of Catholic schools - they didn't mess around."

Kensi chuckled. "I still want photographic evidence of this."

"Right after you show me your Dancing Queen outfit."

She drained the last of her beer and put the bottle on the floor. "So what, I'll show you mine and you'll show me yours."

Pulling her to him, she wound up straddling him. "I very much enjoy when you show me yours," he told her as he lightly ran his right thumb over her left nipple. "And you give me a list of those mean girls and the captain of the track team. If they're in LA I'll have a boot on their car by lunch time tomorrow."

She wiggled her hips a little, earning a gasp from him. "Do you want to check again to see if Cindy did any permanent damage?"

"You're so good to me, Kensi," he told her as he started kissing up her jawline, humming "Danke Schoen" as he rolled her back onto the bed.

-30-

Author's note: Drabbles are not my thing. Why say things in three words when you can use fifteen? But this didn't work its way into anything longer (all conversation pieces rarely do) so a super-sized drabble it is. Hopefully it will also get me going in the right direction for NaNoWriMo.