She was relieved.
She told herself that it was a-okay to be relieved. Being happy, on the other hand, was completely unacceptable. But relief, relief was okay.
She was also confused, which was understandable.
As a string of questions floated through her mind she found herself flashing back to kindergarten and learning her question words: Who, What, When, Where, Why, How. The five Ws. And one H, if you wanted to be all technical about it. Politically correct.
Politics and left out Hows and kindergarten.
"What the hell?"
"I got better!"
"I can… I can see that."
Damn, he looked good. Like good good. Pre-Post Traumatic Stress Good. Cleanly shaved, eyes all twinkles, jaw as defined as ever, biceps rippling.
"Why are you… What? I need a… something."
He raised an eyebrow. "A 'something'?"
"I was going to say something alcoholic, but I wouldn't want you to take advantage of my raw emotional state and inebriation."
"I would never."
"Sure."
He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, blew in a big puff of air and expanded his cheeks so that he looked like an overgrown chipmunk. And, not to mention, totally adorable.
Dammit Kens. Stop that.
"You should probably leave," she advised, leaning against her doorframe. She wondered why she hadn't socked him in that beautiful jaw of his yet.
"Why? I'm better!" He was insistent and smiling, looking like he'd just won the lottery.
"Because I've been torn between punching you in the face and listening to your explanation for everything- which I know you have one, by the way- and I think I'm leaning more towards castration."
"Woah. Castration? You didn't even mention castration during your short tirade."
A tirade can't be short. It's a long rant. He'd just made a contradiction that she wouldn't call him out on because she was pissed and not in the Wikipedia mindset. "Don't change the subject. I'm mad at you."
Refraining from huffing she leant against the doorframe of her house, stuffing her hands into her sweatshirt. She'd wanted him to come back for so long, and now here he was. And she kind of wanted to kill him.
Then again, she kind of wanted to hear him out.
She wanted answers. And he had them.
"You better talk now. You have forty five seconds to explain yourself before I shoot you in the crotch with my dad's old sniper rifle."
"Kens, I'm such a bastard."
"Hell yes you are," she agreed with a small nod of her head.
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was bringing you down."
"Sure were."
"I will always love you," he sang, not said.
"That's nice."
"Have I mentioned you look good?"
"No and flattery will get you nowhere."
"And I'm sorry. I wanted to leave you so you didn't have to go through the process of my recovery with me. You deserved better than some sick old bastard who broke your heart. But I'm not sick anymore. I'm willing to do anything to get you back."
Kensi sighed. "You done?"
"Yep. What do you say?"
"Mommy!"
Man, she wished she could've snapped a picture of Jack's face.
"Hey Sweetie. This man is a meanie," she told her daughter as she swept her into her arms. Kensi pushed away some of her blond curls, attempting to see over the mess of unruly feathers.
"I braided Monty's hair."
"Really? Wow! I bet he looks fantastic."
"Fantastic!" she echoed, nodding.
Kensi felt strong arms come around her waist, and she smiled slightly. "Jack, meet my husband, Marty Deeks."