Hetty has a rule about kilts. It's more of a guideline on the proper use of work-appropriate undergarments, but it's still a rule nonetheless.
There's a certain level of awkwardness involved in sitting down with one's full-grown employee and explaining why he can't stand at the top of the stairs wearing a garment that does nothing to hide his wobbly-bits from the unfortunate soul unlucky enough to be standing below. It's an experience she's already endured with Eric. A quick glance towards the bullpen suggests it's an experience she may soon get to revisit.
She pours another cup of tea and sits back, one eyebrow raised as she watches.
Kensi is the embodiment of exasperation. Her shoulders are slumped, her hands alternating between resting on her hips and rubbing at her forehead. She drops her keys on her desk, rolls her eyes, and slumps in her chair.
Deeks, on the other hand, is wearing that crooked, bright-eyed smile that hints he's been having way too much fun. He's also wearing a kilt.
It's cheaply made, the material being of the bargain brand found at any big named craft store, all bright greens and straight lines making for an eyesore of a tartan. He's even wearing a sporran that looks more like a dead rabbit than it probably should, the poor thing bouncing about with each exaggerated step he takes.
"I'm requesting a new partner," Kensi announces all of a sudden, leaning forward and placing her hands on her desk as though she had just made the decision. When Deeks opens his mouth to speak, she quickly raises her arm, eyes narrowing as she points a threatening finger at him. "And if you're about to use that stupid Scottish accent, I will shoot you."
Deeks blinks, his smile falling a bit as he moves to stand in front of Kensi's desk. "First of all, it's called a brogue, and don't you think you're being a little harsh?"
"It's a lot less harsh than they would have been," Kensi points out, making Hetty wonder who they are.
"I think they were entertained," Deeks counters, adjusting his belt and smoothing the pleats in the kilt before tucking his black t-shirt back in place.
Kensi presses her lips together and shakes her head. "No. They were insulted."
Deeks leans against Sam's desk, feet crossing at the ankles as he crosses his arms. "I distinctly remember hearing cheers."
"Yeah," Kensi admits, smiling, "As you were being led off the stage."
Deeks tilts his head, the corners of his mouth turning down as he reluctantly bobs his head in agreement. "True…" he draws out, "But I'm pretty sure I heard some of them singing along."
Kensi grunts in frustration. Elbows on the desk, she begins massaging her temples. "Why would you sing a Bieber song at a Scottish Festival?"
Oh. That's who they were.
"Give me a break, Kens." Deeks throws his arms in the air, his tone making it clear this isn't the first time she's asked. "My brain froze. They put me on the spot. They asked me to entertain, and all I could think of was Bieber and Destiny's Child, and I'm sorry, but I don't think 18th century Scotland was ready for this jelly."
Hetty stops herself from snorting into her tea.
There's a quick flash followed by the tell-tale digital ka-chick of a phone's camera snapping a photo before Callen and Sam make themselves known.
It's the wide, disbelieving smiles on their faces, the way Deeks licks his lips and tilts his head towards the ceiling in a silent gesture that screams 'here we go again' that tells Hetty there's a very high probability that this is the last time she'll see that kilt, meaning she won't have to sit down and explain the physics behind vantage points and bare asses.
Which is good, because Hetty has a rule about kilts.
For some reason while folding laundry, by brain spewed out the phrase "I don't think 18th century Scotland was ready for this jelly." I blame the Outlander series I've been reading. It's been bouncing around in my head for a while and I finally sat down and decided to think of a way to use it. Then I remembered Eric wore a Kilt and Nell mentioned a rule, and well...was there really anyone other than Deeks who could have said it?
I'm thinking that I MIGHT (maybe, not sure) turn this into a series of little drabbles depicting Hetty's thoughts on her team's antics. Maybe. But on the very real possibility that this is a one-shot-
The End.