Author Note: I couldn't remember if I had posted this in this forum or not, but it turns out I never did. Unless someone can prove me wrong that is. Anyway, this is my NCIS LA drabble/ficlet thread. It will focus most specifically on Agent Kensi Blye and Detective Marty Deeks. The have partnership fraught with flirting, friendship, the occasional firefight. For those who know, the elements of their partnership are similar to Castle and Beckett, and though there are some character similarities, Castle and Beckett and Kensi and Deeks are not the same. That said, read on and enjoy. Wonder Woman It was amazing how fast a bloodied patient, in a hospital gown, could make his way to the exit when waving a gun and yelling incoherent nonsense along the way. As he pushed open the door, he saw her-them. She was a magnificent blur of kicks, fists, and elbows. It was in the moment that she stood alone, buffered solely by ferocity of her training, that he recognized two things. First, Vakar had her in his sites. Deeks raised his weapon, with considerable effort, and fired. Slumping against the outer wall of the hospital, he sighed in relief. Kensi was safe. His second realization was that calling her Wonder Woman was one of the truest statements he'd ever made. Restless It had been a day and night of fitful, sedative induced dreaming for Deeks. He dreams of a Latino standing over him and repeatedly pulling the trigger. No matter that the reality was only two shots. In his dream, the man continued pulling the trigger long after the bullets were gone. The Asian storekeeper was replaced by Sam Hanna shaking his head while he watched Deeks die. He didn't scream awake, nor was he soaked with post traumatic sweat. He woke with a deep breath and a long sigh of resignation. His semi conscious heroics in the hospital courtyard were over. There was no fan fare, no ticker tape parade, no congratulations. There was a wounded man "chained" to his hospital bed. And, there was Kensi. She sat next to his bed as she had after his shooting and watched. He always wondered what visitors did when they held vigil over unconscious patients. He imagined they prayed; even those who have never professed a belief in God. However, he wasn't in a coma or near death. He was sleeping; recovering; trying to make the best of being incapacitated. What was her motivation for watching him? He didn't exactly not like it, but it was weird none the less. "You're making me nervous," he croaked. "Stop staring." "I was just trying to determine if it's the job or the salty, sunny SoCal climate that's put so many lines on your face." "Ha?ha," he groaned. "I've been shot. It ages a guy."