Fic > NCIS: LA > Fault Lines
Title: Fault Lines
Rating: G
Word Count: 1647
Summary: He's gone from persona non grata to her only person of interest.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations contained herein do not belong to me. This story is meant solely as entertainment. No infringement is intended.
References: post-"Wanted."
Straight punch; cross over your dominant hand to deliver the blow. Power shot. It’ll buckle their knees.
She’s already buried a partner. She’s heard the lone bugle, felt the fabric of a folded flag and the weight of all things lost. She’s glanced over at an empty desk staring accusingly back; absorbed the realization that all the king’s men have no interest in putting her back together again. She’s heard the clock, the death knell; learned that it wasn’t keeping time but instead counting the minutes wasted. She’s been taught the lesson that as life gets shorter, the stakes get higher; that you have to ante up even with a losing hand.
She’s nearly lost him once before, and when she wakes up from her nightmares, she can hospital antiseptic on her tongue. She remembers holding his watch and badge, the uncertainty as to whether or not he’d ever see them again rolling nausea through her .
His recovery , that second chance, should have been her impetus to redraw the lines she wished to stay between - lines that wrapped around both of them instead of ostensibly keeping her safe between the boundaries . And although they’re the ones who run fully into the breach while everyone else is running out, she’d blinked and followed.
She’s in that place again; caught in the crosshairs with nowhere to run. But it’s different this time. Amplified because of the ground they’d gained since his shooting; tiny, small steps whose cadence, she now admits, match those of the little mutant assassins that have been on her mind as of late. The concept of losing him feels like a knockout punch now, a right-left-right combo to her soul and heart whose ownership had been changed somewhere between an MMA gym and an operations center.
She’d thought she’d known how much she could care for another person when she was with Jack, but this is no comparison. The word “partner” truly is the best descriptor for her and Deeks; it is all things, encompassing in its totality. There is no “off the job” for them; there are just the hours when their guns are at their hips and when they’re in a lockbox that fastens almost as tightly as her heart once had.
He is her phantom limb; the answer to the question she didn’t know how to ask.
Time is not on their side, even if they’re at each other’s.
Bolo punch; pull the arm back as though you’re going to land a heavy hook. Feint. Distract. Upper cut. They’ll never see it coming.
She anticipates everything; it’s what she’s trained to do. But he came into her blind spot, danced around the funeral pyre of her expectations as they burned. And even after three years, he still does it - like in the library, where she’d turned and bumped into the unforeseen architect of her life standing there.
And what a maze he’s built, with so many twists and turns and potentially no exits, but it’s not the unknown that unsettles her. Instead, it’s the fact that she’s unsure she even wants to find the way out.
They vibrate at different megahertz, frequencies only they seem to hear. At the beginning, the discordant noise deafened, but almost inexplicably, they’ve come to be in tune with one another, and he’s gone from persona non grata to her only person of interest. She has been broken like a promise so many times over that she’s fragmented into tiny, jarring pieces.
He’d taken those pieces, that puzzle, and started to put her back together again. She had gone from protesting his interest and intentions to relying on him in her darkest hours. He reminds her she is human; reminds her they speak for the dead but must also honor them by living. The mischievous glint in his eye is her beacon home. In the push and pull, they may all fall down, but she’s starting to get used to the fact that he’ll be there to help pick her up and dust her off.
He is not Dom. He is not her father. He is so much more; elemental and for all seasons, and his having been there so steadfastly for so long puts certainty beneath her feet. And yet she’s never been able to tell him that; could never find the words to tell him how glad he is that he broke his own protocol and partnered with a woman again -- that the reason why she nips at him being a lawyer so sharply is because it’s a reminder he’s not NCIS, that this is not guaranteed, and that the quicksand possibilities advance on her with no time to take a breath.
She’d finally told him she can’t lose him, that he’s the only one she trusts, but that’s just the surface. There are still fault lines running beneath them, cracks through which they can still fall, and though she’s always thought words were weapons, that verbosity meant vulnerability, it’s her responsibility to shore them into steadiness.
It’s time for action.
Dempsey roll and Gazelle punch; intermix bobbing and weaving figure eights. Eventually, everything will be seamless.
She leaves the chain on the punching bag squeaking in exhaustion and showers after her workout, the hot water relaxing her muscles and the remains of the day. She nods hello at a member of the evening support staff and heads for her car, stopping when she notices Deeks’ desk lamp is on. She scans the bullpen quickly and then hears a rustle to her left. He emerges a moment later from the little tech corner adjacent to their desks, head down and punching something into his phone, oblivious to her presence.
Before she can say anything, her phone goes off in her back pocket. Deeks jumps back, hand flying automatically for his weapon at the unexpected sound. He looks up quickly, relief slumping his . “Jesus, Kens, way to give me a heart attack.”
She chuckles. “Hey, you called me.”
He shrugs playfully, a smile touching his lips. “Semantics. What are you still doing here?”
“Just wanted to get a workout in before I headed home. You?”
He holds up his phone. “Can’t find my charger, so I figured I’d check to see if Eric had any extras lying around.”
She crosses her arms but the laugh in her voice belies any disapproval. “Did you just admit to stealing government property?”
He grins fully now. “If you wanted to break out the cuffs, you just had to ask.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile widens alongside his. He takes a few steps closer, and as he does, she sees he’s trying to read her, gauge her mood. She tilts her head in questioning and he asks softly, “You good?”
She nods, remembering the sting that had come to her eye in the boatshed as she’d contemplated what had become the most dystopian of possible futures. And in that moment, she hadn’t cared. There was no self-protection in place as she spoke; the walls she’d built so steadfastly over the years crumbling beneath the weight of her words.
And she hadn’t cared.
She’d heard him call after her, comparing her to sunshine and gunpowder, and she’d felt the shift. There was a time gunpowder was what defined her; this job and the ideals of justice she had been so rudely denied for so long. Now she wants to breathe in the sunshine, let it carry her in to wherever she’s supposed to be.
There is such gentleness on his face, concern in his eyes, and the magnitude of the safety she feels warms her. She is full on her own, but with him, she is so much more, and now he needs to know.
She takes a half-step towards him and brushes her right hand against his. He glances down at the contact, and then looks back at her when she intertwines their fingers. She takes a deep breath not unlike the one she’d had when he was “fired,” when she’d waited for him to speak then he’d stopped her.
In anticipation of this moment, this potential restart¸ and she closes her eyes to steady herself. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, all the things she wants to say tripping over each other in their haste to finally be spoken.
He lifts her chin with his index finger, forcing her gaze to him, and then slides his hand to cup her face, running his thumb over her cheekbone as though he’d done it a thousand times and expected to do it for a thousand more. “I know, Kens.”
It’s her turn to search his gaze, and for the first time she doesn’t see the ghosts that follow both of them. She sees a man who plays the class clown to distract them all from the horror they witness. She sees her complement; someone who fills in all her gaps. She sees the balm to her wounds, restored faith and promises to keep.
She sees a future, bright with that sunshine he loves, and closes the gap between them.
It feels like coming home.
It’s a short, gentle kiss, and though it burns with possibilities, it’s enough for now. She rests her forehead against his and closes her eyes again, breathing him in. His arm wraps gently around her waist and he rubs her back, fingers tracing truths back and forth.
They stand like that for a while and then shift in synchronicity, pull back at the same time. He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear before bringing their joined hands to his lips before unlinking their fingers. “You want to go grab some dinner?”
She nods and turns on her heel, heading toward the door. He matches her stride for stride, and that first step is a revelation.
fin
Rating: G
Word Count: 1647
Summary: He's gone from persona non grata to her only person of interest.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations contained herein do not belong to me. This story is meant solely as entertainment. No infringement is intended.
References: post-"Wanted."
Straight punch; cross over your dominant hand to deliver the blow. Power shot. It’ll buckle their knees.
She’s already buried a partner. She’s heard the lone bugle, felt the fabric of a folded flag and the weight of all things lost. She’s glanced over at an empty desk staring accusingly back; absorbed the realization that all the king’s men have no interest in putting her back together again. She’s heard the clock, the death knell; learned that it wasn’t keeping time but instead counting the minutes wasted. She’s been taught the lesson that as life gets shorter, the stakes get higher; that you have to ante up even with a losing hand.
She’s nearly lost him once before, and when she wakes up from her nightmares, she can hospital antiseptic on her tongue. She remembers holding his watch and badge, the uncertainty as to whether or not he’d ever see them again rolling nausea through her .
His recovery , that second chance, should have been her impetus to redraw the lines she wished to stay between - lines that wrapped around both of them instead of ostensibly keeping her safe between the boundaries . And although they’re the ones who run fully into the breach while everyone else is running out, she’d blinked and followed.
She’s in that place again; caught in the crosshairs with nowhere to run. But it’s different this time. Amplified because of the ground they’d gained since his shooting; tiny, small steps whose cadence, she now admits, match those of the little mutant assassins that have been on her mind as of late. The concept of losing him feels like a knockout punch now, a right-left-right combo to her soul and heart whose ownership had been changed somewhere between an MMA gym and an operations center.
She’d thought she’d known how much she could care for another person when she was with Jack, but this is no comparison. The word “partner” truly is the best descriptor for her and Deeks; it is all things, encompassing in its totality. There is no “off the job” for them; there are just the hours when their guns are at their hips and when they’re in a lockbox that fastens almost as tightly as her heart once had.
He is her phantom limb; the answer to the question she didn’t know how to ask.
Time is not on their side, even if they’re at each other’s.
Bolo punch; pull the arm back as though you’re going to land a heavy hook. Feint. Distract. Upper cut. They’ll never see it coming.
She anticipates everything; it’s what she’s trained to do. But he came into her blind spot, danced around the funeral pyre of her expectations as they burned. And even after three years, he still does it - like in the library, where she’d turned and bumped into the unforeseen architect of her life standing there.
And what a maze he’s built, with so many twists and turns and potentially no exits, but it’s not the unknown that unsettles her. Instead, it’s the fact that she’s unsure she even wants to find the way out.
They vibrate at different megahertz, frequencies only they seem to hear. At the beginning, the discordant noise deafened, but almost inexplicably, they’ve come to be in tune with one another, and he’s gone from persona non grata to her only person of interest. She has been broken like a promise so many times over that she’s fragmented into tiny, jarring pieces.
He’d taken those pieces, that puzzle, and started to put her back together again. She had gone from protesting his interest and intentions to relying on him in her darkest hours. He reminds her she is human; reminds her they speak for the dead but must also honor them by living. The mischievous glint in his eye is her beacon home. In the push and pull, they may all fall down, but she’s starting to get used to the fact that he’ll be there to help pick her up and dust her off.
He is not Dom. He is not her father. He is so much more; elemental and for all seasons, and his having been there so steadfastly for so long puts certainty beneath her feet. And yet she’s never been able to tell him that; could never find the words to tell him how glad he is that he broke his own protocol and partnered with a woman again -- that the reason why she nips at him being a lawyer so sharply is because it’s a reminder he’s not NCIS, that this is not guaranteed, and that the quicksand possibilities advance on her with no time to take a breath.
She’d finally told him she can’t lose him, that he’s the only one she trusts, but that’s just the surface. There are still fault lines running beneath them, cracks through which they can still fall, and though she’s always thought words were weapons, that verbosity meant vulnerability, it’s her responsibility to shore them into steadiness.
It’s time for action.
Dempsey roll and Gazelle punch; intermix bobbing and weaving figure eights. Eventually, everything will be seamless.
She leaves the chain on the punching bag squeaking in exhaustion and showers after her workout, the hot water relaxing her muscles and the remains of the day. She nods hello at a member of the evening support staff and heads for her car, stopping when she notices Deeks’ desk lamp is on. She scans the bullpen quickly and then hears a rustle to her left. He emerges a moment later from the little tech corner adjacent to their desks, head down and punching something into his phone, oblivious to her presence.
Before she can say anything, her phone goes off in her back pocket. Deeks jumps back, hand flying automatically for his weapon at the unexpected sound. He looks up quickly, relief slumping his . “Jesus, Kens, way to give me a heart attack.”
She chuckles. “Hey, you called me.”
He shrugs playfully, a smile touching his lips. “Semantics. What are you still doing here?”
“Just wanted to get a workout in before I headed home. You?”
He holds up his phone. “Can’t find my charger, so I figured I’d check to see if Eric had any extras lying around.”
She crosses her arms but the laugh in her voice belies any disapproval. “Did you just admit to stealing government property?”
He grins fully now. “If you wanted to break out the cuffs, you just had to ask.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile widens alongside his. He takes a few steps closer, and as he does, she sees he’s trying to read her, gauge her mood. She tilts her head in questioning and he asks softly, “You good?”
She nods, remembering the sting that had come to her eye in the boatshed as she’d contemplated what had become the most dystopian of possible futures. And in that moment, she hadn’t cared. There was no self-protection in place as she spoke; the walls she’d built so steadfastly over the years crumbling beneath the weight of her words.
And she hadn’t cared.
She’d heard him call after her, comparing her to sunshine and gunpowder, and she’d felt the shift. There was a time gunpowder was what defined her; this job and the ideals of justice she had been so rudely denied for so long. Now she wants to breathe in the sunshine, let it carry her in to wherever she’s supposed to be.
There is such gentleness on his face, concern in his eyes, and the magnitude of the safety she feels warms her. She is full on her own, but with him, she is so much more, and now he needs to know.
She takes a half-step towards him and brushes her right hand against his. He glances down at the contact, and then looks back at her when she intertwines their fingers. She takes a deep breath not unlike the one she’d had when he was “fired,” when she’d waited for him to speak then he’d stopped her.
In anticipation of this moment, this potential restart¸ and she closes her eyes to steady herself. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, all the things she wants to say tripping over each other in their haste to finally be spoken.
He lifts her chin with his index finger, forcing her gaze to him, and then slides his hand to cup her face, running his thumb over her cheekbone as though he’d done it a thousand times and expected to do it for a thousand more. “I know, Kens.”
It’s her turn to search his gaze, and for the first time she doesn’t see the ghosts that follow both of them. She sees a man who plays the class clown to distract them all from the horror they witness. She sees her complement; someone who fills in all her gaps. She sees the balm to her wounds, restored faith and promises to keep.
She sees a future, bright with that sunshine he loves, and closes the gap between them.
It feels like coming home.
It’s a short, gentle kiss, and though it burns with possibilities, it’s enough for now. She rests her forehead against his and closes her eyes again, breathing him in. His arm wraps gently around her waist and he rubs her back, fingers tracing truths back and forth.
They stand like that for a while and then shift in synchronicity, pull back at the same time. He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear before bringing their joined hands to his lips before unlinking their fingers. “You want to go grab some dinner?”
She nods and turns on her heel, heading toward the door. He matches her stride for stride, and that first step is a revelation.
fin