Leftover Love
Chapter Eight : Home
Kensi's P.O.V
It's been a week, and the director has come and gone, taking with him the initial high we'd experienced after successfully bringing in a high-profile criminal.
We've all completed our work; no need to prolong this case. Nate and Eric left a while ago; Sam's already gathering his things.
"You guys not done yet?" He asks absent-mindedly, searching for something. I watch as he rummages through the mass of folders on his desk, triumphantly holding up his cell; I purposely keep my eyes from wandering to the agent next to me.
"I'll be gone soon." I tell Sam, pointing out the pile of forms. "Hetty wants me to go through most of this."
"Lucky you," Sam smirks, heading out. "'Night, Kensi, G. See you guys next week." With a nod in Callen's direction, he's gone.
Abruptly, I realize that this is the first time we've been alone together since that day in the hospital. It isn't as if I've been avoiding him…or maybe I have. Callen's been back for all of two days now, because after all, he's been through much worse, and really, this is nothing; Hetty's just keeping him chained to the desk until the next week.
I sneak a glance at the time; it's almost past midnight. Hetty's still somewhere upstairs; beside me, Callen is signing off on some papers.
"It's getting late," I speak up, the first conversation I've initiated this week. I turn to face him as he looks up from his work.
"Yeah, didn't realize that," He furrows his brows, as if he hadn't noticed the hours passing by. "You should probably get back, Kenz." He suggests.
"Look who's speaking," I roll my eyes. "We all know the only reason you're out of the hospital is because Hetty got you out. And only after she made you promise to stay out of the field. You need more rest than I do, G."
"You know that's not going to happen, Kensi."
Yes, I know; all too well, in fact. Callen doesn't sleep well – but then again, none of us do. But I remember, with great clarity, how I'd wake up in the middle of the night to find him staring at the ceiling, or in the kitchen, or sometimes, when he got really desperate, watching TV. I remember how I'd get up and pad around, barefoot, looking for him, unsure of what I would find.
Sometimes, he'd wave it off with impressive casualty, claiming that a car speeding by had startled him, and he then found himself unable to sleep. Sometimes, I'd just stand next to him and we'd both stay in silence until the sun came up, because there were no words for what was going on in his mind, or mine. And then there were the times he'd sit me down and tell me about an old friend, or a foster home which stood out from that long list of his.
And then, there were the times that I'd just leave him alone, because he needed space and so did I.
"Still, Hetty wouldn't be happy to know that you spent the night here again. You'd think you're attached to that couch or something." I say lightly, jokingly; changing the subject.
"Not the couch; just some good memories," He smirks; I work hard to keep the blood from flooding to my cheeks, forming a visible blush. He chuckles.
"Go home, Kenz; get some sleep. All of this will be gone by next week."
He means the case, but somehow, I know that other things will be gone, too. This easy conversation, this closeness; would we go back to being normal once we'd closed this case?
The thought scares me; I don't want to go back to us being normal. I want him to always be here for me, knowing, without my speaking up, that I needed comforting. I want to know that I can talk to him, anytime, and not just during working hours. I want us to go back to how we used to be; before this case, before the last few months; before everything fell apart.
I want to go back home.
I fight to keep my sudden want out of my voice. "I'm going; you should finish up soon, G. Just go home." And take me with you.
"I'll try." No promises are made; he'll probably be here until Hetty kicks him out. I pack up my things and purposely leave all work-related items behind; for once, I'm going to enjoy this weekend alone, with no paperwork or expense forms.
"Good night, G." I walk closer to him, run my hand over his good shoulder; he moves his own hand up to grip mine.
"'Night, Kenz." When he lets go, I walk away and force myself not to look back. Walking out, I get into the car and absent-mindedly slot the key into the ignition; start up the car. I let my subconscious drive me home, my mind mulling over other thoughts.
When I come to a stop at the red light, I spot, out of the blue, the U-turn that leads back to the office. It's a sudden decision; I don't want to go back to my old place, where I'll be alone and mope around for the weekend, coming back to work on Monday. I don't want to repeat the pattern of work-work-work.
I want to go to work knowing that at the end of the day, I'll have a place and a person to go back to; to go back with. I want to spend my weekends doing things, not just chores that I force myself to do. I want everything to go back to the way it was, back when I didn't have to keep my mind preoccupied just because certain thoughts were forbidden.
The light turns green and a few cars in front of me start moving; they take the road that would bring them back. I take the turn; I know now where I'm going.
I want to go home.
Four days after the first time she walked out, Kensi swallows her pride and goes home.
It comes out of nowhere, this urge to just drop everything and go back. They don't have much to do at work, and she hasn't been feeling well anyway, so she gets up and childishly announces, to no one in particular, because she's still not talking to him, that she's calling it a day.
As she joins the traffic, she has every intention of going back to her apartment, which is where she's been staying these past few days. She'll call for take-out and watch something random on TV, or maybe read a book. Her days without Callen seem to be quite empty; she's already disappointed in herself for letting him take up that much of her life, because now that the possibility of him leaving or her walking out is real, she's starting to realize just how bad the fall-out might be.
She drives for the next few minutes, not having to pay much attention to the once-familiar route. At the junction, though, she takes the wrong turn and chooses, instead, to drive aimlessly, taking in the teenagers sneaking out, the college students having fun…normal people doing normal things.
She hasn't felt normal in the longest time, but then again, normal is overrated, or so she believes. It's the only way for her to get through her seriously abnormal days; she just isn't cut-out to be normal. And for years, she believed that. Until she went on a second date, and then a third, and then before long, went into a full-blown, grown-up relationship.
And for a while there, she was truly normal. She slept in and messed around; played hooky and called in sick. And even Hetty didn't mind, because they were just that happy.
And now…
And now she's back to square one, in her old place, doing the same old things…which is something she absolutely doesn't want to do. And so she turns around and heads home, the one place she really wants to be. Because she doesn't want to get take-out and watch random shows; she wants to joke around with Callen and laugh and go to bed knowing that tomorrow will be the same.
She parks her car where he is sure to see it; she makes her presence known. Before he comes back, she's started dinner, though he's the better cook, and her things are everywhere, something he won't be able to miss.
She heads straight for their room and unhesitatingly, pulls out an old shirt of his. She has just enough time to take a shower; he won't be back for the next half an hour. When she comes out, dripping wet, she walks around the place, leaving behind a trail. Eventually, she dries herself and pulls on his shirt, heading back into the kitchen to wait.
A million scenarios wait to greet her; maybe he'll ignore her, though not on purpose. Maybe he won't even notice that she's back; or that she was gone in the first place. Maybe he'll start with a snarky remark and she'll glare, and by the end of the night she'll be gone again.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
When it's almost 8, which is when he usually comes home on a slow day, she turns out the TV and sits herself down, sprawling comfortably across the couch. Her damp hair leaves a distinct mark and for once, she doesn't care.
She listens and waits for the sound of him pulling up, if only to have some sort of upper-hand. Finally, she hears the gravel crunch and settles in to wait, knowing that he's seen her car parked next to his spot.
The TV is on, and someone is blabbering about something, but she cannot for the life of her figure out the words that are blaring out. She keeps her eyes trained on the movements, to imply a certain amount of focus; the front door opens.
She fights the urge to sit up or go rigid; maintains her position. Her eyes flicker to the door of the living room for the briefest second, but she immediately goes back to the TV.
His footfalls are light; if she isn't used to them, she probably would have missed them. Slowly, he approaches the living room. When he leans against the door, she slowly, and naturally, moves her eyes to his, preparing herself for a number of emotions.
His hands are loosely crossed; there isn't the slightest bit of confrontation present in his stance. His lips are pulled up in a grin; his eyes are clear and bright.
When he speaks, everything falls into place, and for the rest of the night, Kensi can't figure out why she was so nervous in the first place.
"Honey, I'm home."
The sun is out; there's not a cloud in sight.
She sits, her shoulders slumped and all the fight drained from her, waiting for him to walk in through the front door.
It's been months now; the pattern hasn't let up. He comes and goes as he wishes, and there's absolutely nothing she can do, nothing she can say.
When he comes in, the sound of the door closing behind him is all that alerts her to his presence; she's been drawn away by her thoughts.
She can do this the easy way, or she can scream and demand and basically, wake the entire neighborhood up. But she's been screaming for months now; demanding answers every single night. And now, here she is, with nothing at all.
There's absolutely no reason for what he's doing to her.
So he has issues. Everyone does! But not everyone drops everything to go looking for people who might not even exist. She has tried to be patient and she has tried to be understanding, but no one ever said these were Kensi Blye's strongest virtues.
When he comes in and sits down next to her, her body involuntarily melts into his and she knows, at that exact moment, that she won't scream, and she won't demand, and she won't make a scene out of this because no, she is not a drama queen.
"You're leaving."
It's a statement, and there isn't even a bit of doubt in those words, because of course she's leaving; she won't stand for this kind of shit and that is one of the many reasons he loves her, and one of the many reasons it's all ending between them.
Because he has secrets and she doesn't like those, but he can't tell her because then she'll be in more danger than she already is, and if he doesn't tell her, she'll leave, which he doesn't want, but he can't tell her because then she'll be risking her life with his, no questions asked.
It's like a freaking riddle and he's just going round and round, in circles and squares and triangles because he can't find a solution. And he knows that if she knew the truth, she would most likely slap him. Because Kensi Blye can take care of herself, and that is a fact, so why the hell is he screwing things up?
But she's still young, as much as anyone hates to admit it. She doesn't have half the enemies he does; she hasn't put herself in constant danger just yet. But he has, because what she's doing now – he's been there, done that and barely survived.
There's a reason he chose to work here; to not exist.
"Yeah."
It's so simple; he wants to laugh – would've laughed if not for the crazy circumstances. She's leaving, and he knows, and that's the end of it.
But he's not laughing, because he wants to cry; this can't be the end of it, yet it is and that's that. He's still obsessing over his lost family, and she's reached her limit, and really, neither of them are who they used to be.
This obsession…it's taking over his life and her life and he wants to stop, he wants to give up. But then there's a rumor, or a tiny bit of information, and maybe, just maybe his family is out there and he's willing to risk everything for that chance because G Callen is just that stupid.
And she won't stand for it; won't stand for their entire lives being uprooted periodically just because of the smallest hint of a whisper; this isn't what she signed up for, but she doesn't care – she would have gone through the whole thing if he'd only let her.
"So…I guess I'm going now."
No, don't; stay, please, I'll tell you everything, I'll take you along, I'll solve this.
These are the words he can't say, and yet…and yet he almost can't hold them in. He opens his mouth; but really, what is there to say?
"Where will you go?"
He knows where she'll go; it's the most obvious thing in the world. She'll go back to her apartment, and her old life, and he's supposed to do the same. Except he can't.
"Back." She shrugs.
Yes, back; backwards. Forget all that they've achieved, all that they've done; in the end, they're both just going to be a shell of their former selves, unable to go back, yet doomed to remember.
"Oh."
Truly, that is all he can say; she's going back and he's going away, again. Only this time, she won't wait for him.
They get up; he holds out a hand for her, pulls her up. Together, they walk to the front door, where he stops; this is it, this is where he stops and she goes on, and he doesn't go after her.
He holds her tight when she reaches for an embrace; he doesn't tell her that he's sorry, and he loves her, because this is a clean break.
"You'll come back, won't you?"
She knows he's leaving, too. And just because she's walking out, that doesn't mean that she won't worry, won't care, won't stay up at night wondering where he is and whether he's alright.
"I will."
It's a simple nod, but a promise in its own. He'll be back, and maybe someday, she will, too. Stepping away, she forces a smile before walking away. He stands there, rooted to the ground, unable to go after her because really, what good would it be? She'd come back and he'd leave her, and next month she would walk out again.
He watches as she pulls open the door and gets ready to get in, to leave. He wants to say something, but there are no words for this. And so she speaks up, covering for him when he falls short, just as she always will.
"Someday, G, this will end." He can't promise her that, but she has all the faith in the world in him, and that is enough, for now.
"And then, you'll take me home."
Callen's P.O.V
Minutes after Kensi leaves, I decide to call it day.
My shoulder is killing me, not that I'll ever let Hetty know, and this whole running-on-zero-sleep isn't the best idea. I've signed off on everything that I need to; the rest, Hetty will just have to deal with on her own.
I'm not looking forward to going back to the big, empty house, but tomorrow's the weekend and Hetty won't be pleased to find me here. Reluctantly, with slow movements, I gather my things. As I'm about to turn off the lights, I feel someone entering the room. Not just someone; Kensi.
"Couldn't sleep?"
The grin I'm wearing quickly turns into a frown; she's been crying. She left this place all of 15 minutes ago and I don't recall her looking this down; I haven't seen her like this since I left the hospital. I take a few more steps and move in closer to her; hold out my hands and support her.
"Hey, hey," Two breakdowns in just as many weeks? This is not Kensi; this is not what Kensi used to be. I knew, even months ago, that it would have been naïve for me to think that we would ever go back to being…well, not normal, but what we used to be. I would never drop everything to disappear again; she would never go on random dates. But somehow, I'd managed to fool myself into believing that those were the extents of our damages; I'd managed to ignore anything worse.
She's not crying; that much I can tell. She's alarmingly still, actually; I have to check to make sure that she's not asleep. "Kenz, what happened?" I start softly, hoping not to startle her. It's silent for a long while; I'm about to speak up.
"Nothing." It's not a dismissal; it's an answer. "Nothing happened." She repeats these two words over and over, and I'm not exactly sure what she's trying to say and who she's trying to comfort; nothing bad happened, or nothing happened even after this whole case; don't worry, nothing happened to me, or nothing happened to you, I just need to wrap my mind around this.
Either way, I drag her over to the couch and sit her down, sitting in silence, waiting for her to elaborate. She's working on her breathing; in and out, in and out. It occurs to me that she might have been through a panic attack, and my heart clenches in alarm at the thought of her, experiencing a meltdown, while on the road. Don't we put ourselves in enough danger while on the job?
"I'm tired," She sighs, and these are her first words apart from the constant repeated murmurs. I let her rest her head on my shoulders and hold her tight, comforting her.
"I know," I say, and yes, I do know. I know that she hasn't slept since that weekend; I know that even her brain is tired; that even her heart is overworked. I know that she doesn't want to stay up again, and I know that both of us need to sleep. I know that she doesn't want to go back to the empty apartment just as I don't want to go home alone and face the eerie silence.
It's quiet; I wait for her weight to go slack, for her to drift off. This isn't an ideal position to sleep, but I don't really mind; as long as Kensi sleeps, I'll gratefully take the backache this will cause me in the morning. We speak occasionally, not really keeping up a conversation; we talk mostly about random things until she asks me something.
"G, when did you stop?"
She doesn't need to clarify her question; when did you stop leaving? When did I stop disappearing, and why only after she left?
"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "One day I just woke up and I realized that maybe there's nothing to find, and if I'd realized this earlier, maybe I wouldn't have lost so much."
"And you thought that if you went on anyway, you'd lose even more." Her words are simply, thoughtful; but they sum up the inner debate I had experienced in the weeks after her departure. I hadn't lost her for good, back then, and I knew that, but Kensi wouldn't wait for me forever – someday, she'd give up. And that, frankly, scared me shitless. So I stopped; gave up on my missing family to focus on my present family.
"Yeah, I guess." She doesn't reply to this, and so I assume that we're going to drift into silence again until the next random conversation starts. But minutes later, she speaks up.
"Why didn't you come for me?"
Why didn't you bring me home? It's getting easier to translate her words; to pick up on the slightest bit of insecurity that has managed to seep into her tone, despite her efforts to conceal her emotion.
"Would you have come back?" I deflect her question with one of my own; actually, that's my answer. I hadn't known, back then, if she would have come home; I wasn't ready to face the possibility of her never coming back. She laughs; it sounds forced.
"Of course I would have, you dumbass."
I straighten up, look her in the eye. I can take the easy way out here; comment on her particular choice of insult. But I can't keep avoiding this anymore; I need to know, once and for all, if Kensi will come home. "And now?"
And what if I ask you now? I can see the small light of understanding dawn in her sleepy eyes as she translates my words much like I did hers. There's no doubt or hesitation in them; she comes to a decision immediately. I brace myself for rejection.
She frees herself from my grip and I know; I just know that this is it; Kensi will not be coming home, she will not be coming back to me. I instinctively reach out for her, but she's out of my reach, standing over my desk. I know which frame has drawn her attention; it's one of us, in front of the house, beer cans all over. We weren't the only ones there; it was a team thing, and even Hetty had come. But the way we were caught up in each other…no one else seemed to be around. Eric had sneakily pulled out his camera and zoomed in, culminating in Kensi running after him down the beach, eventually getting hold of his camera.
I stand up, unsure of what I do next. All this time, I'd specifically kept myself from thinking of this as a possibility; she would come home one day, and that was the only outcome I was ready to deal with. Now, I'm not sure what to do, what to say; where to go. Definitely not home, knowing she won't come back.
As I stand there, hovering and unsure, she picks up my bad, slings it over her shoulder. I'm puzzled by her actions, but simply brush it off as a helpful gesture; she must've picked up on my small winces throughout the day.
"Come on," She says simply, leading me out to our cars. I'm about to rummage through my pockets for my keys when she hold them up, dangling them in my face. Experience tells me that she must've gotten them before untangling herself from me on the couch. She dumps my things on the passenger seat and comes to stand next to me.
This is it; this is where she says goodnight and I say goodnight, and we don't speak of what has been decided here. This is where she drives off and I drive off, and next week we just go back to pretending; pretending that everything is as it was four years ago, or maybe even five.
When she walks over to her car and holds open the door, I wait; wait for her to start this charade. When she opens her mouth to speak, I go rigid and prepare myself.
And when she jumps into her car just seconds after speaking, I grin to myself.
"Race you home!"
There, there! It's up!
I'm so sorry about the delay, guys. It's just like me to land myself in the hospital the day I'm supposed to post the final chapter. Fingers crossed I'll have the epilogue up soon!
So…this is it. I hope you guys like how this ended up, because this is just the natural conclusion to me. I had something different in mind, but then I started writing and I knew, this is where I was heading for – that final sentence.
I just didn't feel as if Kensi would make a big production or a huge scene or anything the likes out of going home; but maybe I'm wrong.
Either way, it's been a great ride, but Fluff the Plot Bunny's telling me not to get all teary-eyed just yet since we still have an epilogue to go, so all I'm gonna say is…
Review! PM me! E-mail! Tweet me! Or hit up my homepage and go through my recent conversation with imaginary rabbits! Ouch! (Fluff doesn't like being called imaginary.) Oh, and if you're a Vampire Diaries person, Baby Sister has a new chapter up! (Well, it's been up for days now, actually.)
E Salvatore,
May 2011.
