Title: we'll meet beyond the shore
Disclaimer: NCIS: LA does not belong to me.
Summary: She shouldn't have let him talk her into this, that's all there is to it.
Author's Note: Ficathon...blah, blah, blah. If you guys have been reading these, you know the deal. My muse is all about the fluff with these two. Maybe one day I'll start writing angst and actually succeed. That day is not today. Thank you to all my lovely readers (hugs to the ones that review)! Title credit to 'Beyond the Sea'. Oh, this is obviously set in the future. Can be interpreted as friendship, the beginning of something more, whatever you wish.
She shouldn't have let him talk her into this, that's all there is to it.
But he's Deeks and, contrary to what Sam and Callen may believe, he usually ends up getting what he wants from her with very little effort. (She plays that tidbit close to the vest, always puts on a show of making him work for things; she has a reputation, after all.)
"Yo, Blye!" She pushes herself away from the pier at the sound of her name, spins to face him with a tired smile. "You ready for this?"
She nods, 'as ready as I'll ever be' mixing with a yawn.
"Late night, Princess?" he asks, throwing an arm around her shoulder as they walk toward the beach. If the nickname is an attempt to break through her fog, it works. Somwhat.
"I told you never...is that for me?" Her eyes light on the Starbucks cup in his hand and she can barely restrain her glee; all thoughts of giving him hell are abandoned with the promise of caffeine.
"Venti chai, extra whip." He passes the drink to her with a laugh. "Can't have you falling asleep on your board, makes things difficult."
After a particularly uncoordinated tumble into the surf, she gets stuck under her board and Deeks has to haul her to the surface.
"Maybe we should call it a day," he says when she stops gasping for air and (she assumes) her face has returned to its normal color. "Hetty will have me shot if I let you seriously injure yourself on a day off."
"Oh no. I'm going to stay upright on this damn thing for more than a second, even if it kills me." A quick glance at him, at the way his mouth is rapidly opening and closing like a dying goldfish, tells her he's weighing the pros and cons of Hetty's anger versus hers.
"I can withold things that Hetty can't. Keep that in mind."
"Oh. Playin' dirty now, are we?" He smirks, flicking water in her face.
Her shoulders lift in a half-shrug, an innocent smile playing at her lips. "Would I do that?"
She's pulling her bag over her head and sliding her sunglasses into place when she feels something soft hit her back. She turns, looks down to find his sweatshirt at her feet. Normally, she'd be affronted, say she doesn't need his clothes, has her own. But she stupidly forgot to grab a sweatshirt as she rushed out of her apartment this morning and it's cold. He shoots her a thumbs up, shoves a Nutty Bar in his mouth.
"You did good today, Gidget," he says after he swallows.
"Yeah, sure. Me and my one successful ride were awesome."
"Hey, at least I didn't have to rush you to the ER. That's something."
She shakes her head, gathers her hair into a messy bun, pulls the hood of the sweatshirt up. "Whatever you say."
As soon as their feet hit the gravel of the parking lot, she tells him she's starving.
It's not a lie, not at all. She is hungry. The fact that she'll get to spend a few more hours with Deeks doesn't factor into the equation at all.
(That is a lie.)