Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: NCIS: Los Angeles
Challenge/Prompt: 1_million_words Bingo: NCIS: Bullpen
Word Count: 973
Date Written: 2 October 2018
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
“Who’s been at my desk?!” Kensi demanded as she stopped in her tracks in horror, staring at her desk whose surface she could actually see.
“Not us,” Sam told her as Callen shook his head.
“Don’t hate it,” Deeks said, walking slowly up to her, his hands held up, palms first, “yet.”
“I already hate it!” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What the Hell did you do?!” she demanded, seething.
“Remember that conversation we had?” he asked her. “When you finally admitted you didn’t even know what color your desk is?”
“What does that matter?!”
He reached out and took her hands in his. “Just give it a chance,” he said, tugging on her hands. She looked like she’d hit him if he released either of her hands, so he kept holding to her as he walked her over to her desk.
“You better not have thrown anything away!”
“I did throw something away. Two things,” he admitted, reaching out and touching a new wastebasket with his foot.
She followed his gaze down into the basket and looked suddenly uncomfortable at the two empty, plastic containers that were in it. “Well, I guess that’s okay,” she admitted.
He grinned. “And this is too,” he vowed, releasing her hands. He pointed at her in warning. “Don’t hit me.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she retorted, but her lips had lifted into a half-grin.
He acted like he was ducking but then pointed at the stacks of papers on her desk. “These,” he said, touching the one nearest to the middle, “are your open cases. These,” he continued, indicating the ones on the right, “are the cases where you just have to finish the paperwork. And these,” he touched the third stack, “are the ones that are finished and are ready to be turned in.” Finally he lifted a small, framed photo that was sitting in the corner gazing right at her chair. “And I found this in your bottom drawer.”
Kensi snatched the picture of her father and herself as a little girl out of her partner’s hands. “That’s private!”
“I know,” he spoke quietly, “but I thought you might prefer it where you can see him every day instead of hiding in a desk drawer.” Behind them, Sam and Callen slipped quietly away. “He’d be proud of you, you know.”
She looked up at him with actual tears brimming in her eyes. “You think so?”
He wrapped his arms around her, hugged her, and kissed the top of her head. “I know so,” he whispered.
She let him hold her for just a moment, then suddenly grabbed his hand and twisted his arm around his back. “HEY! I did all that to help you!”
“Don’t ever touch my things again,” she warned him, almost growling in his ear, “without my permission or I’ll break your arm!”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said quickly so she’d release him. When she did, he backed away against his own desk and stared across at her while flexing his arm and rubbing his shoulder.
She put the picture down where he’d had it and slowly surveyed her desk again. She rifled through papers, checking for things, and pulled each of her drawers open one at a time, surveying their contents as well before finally shutting them. “I guess everything’s here.” She shot him another glare. “It better be.”
“It is!” he said, holding up his hands and grimacing at the pain that flared through his arm. “I promise!”
“And I guess it does look better,” she said, sighing and tossing herself down into her chair. She immediately noticed that it didn’t squeak and shot him a questioning glance.
“Yeah,” he admitted with a grin, “I fixed that too.”
Kensi eyes moved again to the framed photograph. She stared at her father’s image. It wasn’t like the guys didn’t know about her dad now, she thought. Deeks had meant well, and her desk did look better. She might actually now be able to find the files for which she was looking when she needed them. And the picture looked great in the simple, black frame Deeks had bought for it. Slowly she raised her eyes above the frame and looked at her partner again. “Thank you,” she mumbled very quietly.
“What was that?” he called.
She rolled her eyes. “Thank you,” she said again, louder this time.
He beamed but shook his arm again. “Next time,” he said, still rubbing his shoulder, “say it with flowers.”
She rolled her eyes. “You big baby!”
“I’ll be your baby,” he shot back.
She stopped, her mouth open to retort but no sound coming out. Slowly she shut her mouth and glared at him wordlessly.
“Too much?” he asked with a grin.
“Way too much,” she snapped, but Deeks noticed she was still smiling. He noticed, too, several times throughout the day when she easily found a file or pen she needed and looked over at his desk in thought of how he’d fixed everything for her. He caught the little glimpses, too, that she threw him when she’d found herself gazing at her father. Every time, he smiled to himself and refrained from telling her that he knew she was watching him.
Fixing her desk was totally worth it, he thought, even if his arm would hurt for a couple of days. He just wished he could fix her life as easily. Maybe she’d let him one day, he thought by the end of their shift. Maybe she’d finally cave one day and let him in, and when she did, he’d show her that her father wasn’t the only good guy. He was too, and he could fix anything she gave him an opportunity to do for her. He could make her smile, and he did several times that day and the next.