They weren't looking at each other. For now, being in the same room was a lot to bear. Making eye contact would only send the facade of indifference that she'd built upon seeing him in her doorway careening down. She was in no way ready for that and she highly doubted that he was either. Her eyes stayed focused on her fingertips, which were twisting and gliding over each other in a fidgety dance that they hadn't done for ages. Years as an agent had given her control that could usually keep her composed and focused. But for now, it soothed her.

Occasionally, she could feel his eyes glide over her, sometimes pausing to stare, but mostly snatching a quick glance before being averted elsewhere. Fine by her. He could look all that he liked, as long as he maintained the silence that had blanketed her living room for the past half hour. His voice may not be able to completely demolish her front, but she'd place a bet that it could at least put cracks in it. Cracks weren't any good. Cracks allowed power to leak out and emotions to break their way in.

She briefly weighed the odds of stealing a breath without choking on it. It seemed unlikely, but there wasn't really any other option. Passing out on the carpeted floor could seriously impede her ability to remain in control of the situation. Her lungs screamed and she finally gave in, sucking in as much oxygen as she could, hoping to conserve it. It came out sounding too much like a gasp for her liking, but she was far beyond caring about his opinion of her.

If she's honest with herself, she knows that that isn't true. She cares about what he thinks. She cares a lot. When she first joined NCIS, she'd spent a considerable amount of time lying awake, wondering if he would be proud of the person that she'd become. Now, the only thing she wants him notice about her is her strength. And her stoicism. And maybe a bit of the fact that she was getting along just fine without him. That would be satisfying. Although, she was hardly in any mood to be honest with herself.

A slight glance aimed out of the corner of her eye through the thick wall of her hair revealed that he was hunched over, head in hands. He seemed to be breathing very slowly, a habit of his that generally surfaced when she was trying his patience. Good. She hoped that this encounter was slamming into him like it was doing to her, knocking his breath out of his body and sending his world lurching off kilter. That was exactly what he deserved.

"Why are you here, Jack?"

Even his name felt rough, scraping itself out of her throat, leaving deep scratches in its path. It feels like she's swallowed sandpaper, but she carefully trains her face to keep him in the dark. He can't know how badly this is affecting her.

"I wanted to see you," he said simply, as if he were just telling that he was in the mood for ice cream. Like this was something that he did all the time.

I was in the neighborhood and I'd thought I'd stop by and derail your life...

Under any other circumstances she may have chuckled at herself. Now, her fingers tightened and her fidgeting became more of a grasp as she struggled to keep a hold on her composure. She wasn't sure that she had any kind of response for him. Not an appropriate one at least. Her mind was torn between throwing him out and begging him to stay with her. Her hands twitched in a strange need to strike him, to make him feel something similar what she had experienced when he left her all those years ago. But at the same time, it seemed like her lips were straining with the need to attach themselves to his mouth, to feel him against her again.

Jack seemed to realize that she wasn't going to react any time soon because she heard his voice prodding at her again, more unsure this time. He was rambling slightly, maybe hoping that something he said would poke at the right nerve to make her speak.

"I made a mistake, Kensi. And it took me a long time to realize it. But the minute that I did, I went looking for you, but you weren't at our old apartment. Why did you move Kensi? You loved our apartment."

Silence. He continued.

"Eventually, Alex told me where you were. He said that he's been checking on you for me. To be honest, I'm pretty sure he'd really rather not be my brother anymore. I think that he's even more pissed off than you are."

"Then you're underestimating just how pissed I am."

When she finally forced her voice to work again, it came out jagged. Icy, even. Her body trembled as the words tumbled out of her mouth, sending a chill down her spine and into her stomach. It seemed to have the same effect on Jack. He flinched.

"I'm sorry, Kensi."

"You should be," she informed him, slowly untangling her legs from their curled position. "Where are you staying?"

His hand scraped across the back of his neck and he glanced at her, sheepishly admitting that he hadn't thought far enough ahead to book a hotel.

Her eyes carefully studied his rumpled figure, scanning and looking for differences from the Jack that had crept out of their bed and her life. They were there. Subtle, but there. He'd never looked all that well rested, at least not after he was deployed. But now, the circles under his eyes seemed to have been molded into his already hollowed face. He hadn't lost any weight, as would be expected from a person in Jack's condition. On the contrary, he seemed to have built muscle in the years he'd been away. Which made sense, considering his penchant for physically exerting himself when stressed. Yet still, his body seemed deflated, weary even with the sizable muscles.

She sighed. It was much easier to detest someone who didn't look so damn vulnerable.

Jack jumped, startled by the sound of her muscles popping as she stood.

"You can have the couch," she explained, making her way to the closet to find an extra pillow. She tugged one down from the top shelf before whirling to face him. "And only the couch."

"Wouldn't expect anything more."

His slight grin disappeared under her abrupt stare, and he squirmed like a school child being scolded by a teacher.

"I have work in the morning," she said through her teeth, setting the pillow on the couch without making eye contact with the man. "I work for the government now."

She was already in the doorway of her bedroom, before she turned to face him, a sudden afterthought striking her.

"I carry a gun, now."

Jack nodded. "Point taken."

It was no surprise that her eyes never closed that night. She was hardly a deep sleeper, and having another presence in the home kept her on edge, ready to act at any moment. Jack wasn't loud by any means, but she could swear that she could feel him breathing. And beside all that, her mind was absolutely spinning. She half expected that if she stood up, she would be too dizzy to keep on her feet.

Crack.

Something was moving in the living room. She knew it was Jack, but that was little comfort. Especially when she was starting to feel like she didn't know him anymore.

The hinges squealed faintly as she pushed the door open, just a crack, so that she could see the man on the couch. His legs were tangled in the throw blanket that he'd taken from the armchair, and his face was crumpled in what appeared to be pain. Without another thought, Kensi was kneeling next to him, hands on his shoulders, attempting to shake him awake.

"Jack," she urged, become slightly panicked when he began to flail, "Jack, wake up."

He did.

And when he did, he grabbed her arms, eyes wide but not seeing anything. His grip tightened and she thrashed to escape his hands. Finally, she wrenched herself away falling back, head hitting the coffee table on the way down.

Silence.

The two stared at each other, Kensi on the floor and Jack on the couch, breathing heavily.

What the hell was that?