"Baby names."
"What?"
"Let's say you finally cave and decide you want to make the awesomest kid in the world with me- what would you name it?"
"I'm not having your kid, Deeks."
"So you say."
"Therefore, since I will not be giving birth to a- your- child ever, the answer would be nonexistent because a nonexistent child can't have a name."
"What are you doing, writing an analytical essay or talking about your future baby?"
"Deeks."
He ignores the dangerous one word warning, raising his eyes to meet hers innocently. "Yes, My Sweet?"
She literally cringes at the nickname. "Drop it with the kid thing. I said I would think about it."
"I was thinking Marty the Second for a boy and Ferny for a girl."
"I think I just vomited a little."
"Classy. Hey! Maybe you're already pregnant!"
"Ha. Ha ha. Yeah, no."
"Shucks."
Maybe she got a little carried away.
"What did you do, buy half of Wal-Mart?" Deeks whispers incredulously over a sleeping Grace's head as he flips on the living room light of their safe house. It's small with an open room plan, cozy but airy. The location is secluded at the end of a long stretch of shoreline that they'd had to drive an hour off the road to get to. And with a nice view of the ocean, windows open to allow sea breeze into the room, three small bedrooms at the end of the structure, it was perfect. Well, to Deeks, anyways.
She ignores him because she knows that yeah, she did go a bit overboard. The clothes had been way too cute, the unlimited budget far too tempting. Not to mention the junk food isle. Deeks could've swore he saw three cartons of ice cream and four boxes of fruit chews.
"Did you get any real food? We're supposed to take care of them, not give them type two diabetes."
"Shut it, Deeks. So help me, if you and your big mouth wake them up..."
"Okay, okay."
She signals for him to take Gracie down the hall to her room and that she'll grab JT, and he snorts. "What's up with those fancy hand signal things? We're baby sitting, not raiding a warehouse."
"Deeks," she warns, but it's too late. JT's already fussing and Gracie is half awake, wide blue eyes scanning the room, confusion clear on her face. Maybe it's the fact that she doesn't know where she is, or maybe it's because the person holding her isn't her daddy, but something prompts her to start crying as well.
Deeks mouths, "I got her," and Kensi nods, already unbuckling the baby from his car seat.
Five minutes with a crying baby feels like an eternity. She gives him a bottle, checks his diaper, paces the room with him, whispers nonsense and baby talk into his ear, tries seemingly everything, and still he cries.
"C'mon, buddy..." she tries almost desperately, patting his back every now and then. "Shh... it's okay. Shh..."
Finally, miraculously, his wails fade into soft cries, his soft cries to hiccups, and finally his hiccups even out into the shallow breathing that accompanies sleep. Terrified of waking him up again Kensi continues to pace the length of the living room long after JT's sleeping, eventually venturing down the relatively wide hallway and peering into what she guessed was Gracie's room.
The room, as extravagant as the rest of the house, had a large bay window that revealed a stretch of calm pacific ocean, sea grass blowing as the breeze tussled it. A moonless night sky was speckled with more stars than Kensi had ever seen in any part of California.
Though the room itself was certainly eye-catching with the gigantic window as its vocal point, the site of her partner sitting on a bed wearing a princess crown that Gracie had brought with her and reading a book to a drowsy looking three year old was what seized her attention.
"I wouldn't be a good mom."
"And why is that?"
"Kids don't like me. I've never even changed a diaper before. Or held a baby."
"You can leave the parenting to me. All you have to do is carry it in your stomach for nine months."
She rolls her eyes. "You wanted a reason, there. I gave you one. Now can you please let it go?"
"Kensi," he says seriously, laying a hand on each side of her hips. "There is not one doubt in my mind that you would make an excellent mom."
Sighing, she looks away from him, and he catches her chin between his fingers. "Fern."
"Shaggy."
"We'd figure it out. Together."
"What if I told you I just don't want a kid?"
"Then I'd know you were lying. I mean, how can you not want a Deeks Junior running around?"
She smiles slightly from her position on the counter top, playing with the hem of the shirt she's wearing which just so happens to be Deeks's old LAPD top, the black letters on it long-since faded to a dark gray. When she doesn't say anything for a while, he says, "Kensi..."
"I still don't know."
"Surprise, surprise."
"Patience is a virtue."
"Too much of my patience and your biological clock slash bomb will go off slash explode."
"So the clock's turned into a ticking bomb?"
"Yep."
"Great."
He presses a finger to his lips, signaling that she should stay quiet. After pulling the covers up to Gracie's chin one last time he places the book he'd been reading in a voice barely above a whisper on her nightstand, turning off the lights and closing the door.
"How did you do that?" Kensi asks, awed.
"Probably close to the same way you did that," he answers quietly in return, pointing at the sleeping infant in her arms.
He follows her as she finds another bedroom, and after JT is sleeping soundly in his crib she yawns. "It's four AM and I'm tired. Reason number twelve we shouldn't have kids. Work and a newborn crying at two in the morning? No thank you."
"Reason number twelve? What, is there a list now?"
"Actually, yes."
"Well, I only need one reason for my list: we're both extremely sexy. We need to procreate. It's a must. It would be a disservice to mankind if we kept all of these amazing genetics to ourselves."
"And if our kid turned out hideous?"
"A, it wouldn't. B, if by some off chance it did turn out ugly, we could sell it on the black market and try again."
She shoves past him, all but collapsing on the bed. "You're threatening to put our unborn child up for sell if it isn't beautiful. Is that really father material?"
"Oh, come on. We both know I was kidding and that I would love it even if it didn't inherit our hotness genes."
"Let me sleep, will you?"
"Fine, fine."
After he's settled in bed next to her she's quiet for a second before she suddenly rolls over and very obviously inhales his scent.
"Did you just sniff-"
"You smell like baby powder."
"Ow."
"Sorry, babe. Next time don't get punched."
"If I recall correctly I was saving your sorry ass. You should be thanking me."
"I guess you're right. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He dabs at her busted lip with a cotton ball coated in hydrogen peroxide one last time before kissing her cheek. "You couldn't let the father of your future children get himself shot though, now could you?"
"Maybe I should've."
"Hey now."
She scoots off of the bathroom counter, still applying pressure to her lip with a cold rag. Deeks had about made her go to the doctor to get stitches, but Kensi had somehow managed to talk him out of it. "Ever since you brought up kids, every conversation we have ends up here."
"Here?"
"With you insisting that one day I'm going to carry your children."
"It's something we need to talk about."
"Not every single day."
"Humor me?"
"Isn't that what I've been doing for the past three months?" She's obviously frustrated, her tone little more than a growl.
"Meow."
"Deeks."
He shrugs, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kensi. I guess it's just the lawyer in me."
"What, if you want something you incessantly babble until you get it with shit arguments?"
"No. When I see something worth fighting for, I fight for it."
"You want the truth?"
"What, why you supposedly don't want a kid? Yeah."
"Look at us. Already. All we can talk about is a kid that hasn't even been born yet. If I did have a baby-"
"-You're afraid that our relationship is going to start to revolve around our kid?"
It seems stupid even to her, but she's seen great marriages (much like theirs) turn sour with a new addition. Why she doesn't know. Nor does she care to find out. She'll love him until the day she dies, and the idea of something between them changing seems unfathomable, but in the end she knows that starting a family would definitely alter a few things between them. And the idea of even a minuscule modification to their relationship scares her shitless.
She doesn't reply, doesn't even make eye contact.
"Kensi, I love you. You know I do, and I think you know I always will. If you were to agree to have a baby with me then the only thing it would make me do is love you even more, if that's possible."
Even though his words are assuring, she's still uncertain.
"You've got to be kidding me," she groans, clasping the pillow tightly around her ears. "We haven't even been asleep for two hours."
"If you get him tonight, I'll get him tomorrow."
"What happened to 'I'll do the parenting, all you have to do is get pregnant'?"
He sighs, yawning before forcing himself out of bed, groaning as he did so. "For our future baby," he declares before walking out of the room. She's nearly asleep again when she hears feet too small to belong to Deeks patter down the hallway and her door creak open.
"Kensi," she hears a little voice cry, and when she pries her eyelids apart she sees a three year old with tear filled eyes standing in front of her.
"Wusthuhmattah?" she slurs before sitting up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "What's the matter, sweetie?" she repeats again, this time more clearly. Now she's hyper-aware of the fact that there's a sobbing toddler in front of her and she has no idea how to deal with the situation.
"Bad dream," Gracie forces out, lip quivering. While Kensi racks her brains for words of comfort she can provide to the little girl, said girl climbs into Kensi and Deeks's king sized bed and proceeds to wrap herself underneath the covers, curling up next to Kensi. The special agent immediately stiffens, unsure of what to do next. But all of her uncertainty melts away when the little girl whimpers, "I want my daddy."
"Oh, Gracie." Kensi runs a hand over the girl's hair, adjusting herself next to her on her side so that she could face her. "You know what? Me and Marty, we're going to take good care of you and your brother, okay? There's no reason to be afraid."
"I k-know that," she stutters, swiping at her tears. Out of the corner of her eye Kensi sees her partner standing in the doorway, watching the exchange with an expression she isn't familiar with. It's serious and tender and heartbroken and so many other things she can't begin to list, and it pulls at her heart. "I just want my daddy. When can I see my daddy?"
Kensi looks at Deeks, begging him for guidance. He nods once, eyes sad. She immediately understands what she has to try to explain to the little girl across from her, the same thing special agents had to explain to her when she was fifteen. "Your daddy had to go bye bye," Kensi says very slowly, rubbing Gracie's shoulder blade as she cuddles closer to Kensi's neck.
"Just for a little while?" Gracie asks hopefully, eyes shining as she cranes her neck to look at Kensi.
Kensi closes her eyes for a second before replying, trying to find the right words. "No, sweetie. He's going to be gone for a long time."
"But he's coming back?"
Kensi shakes her head no, trying not to choke on the ginormous lump in her throat as she watches Gracie release the fit of tears she's been holding back, burrowing herself against Kensi's shoulder. Kensi tries to calm her any way she knows how, rubbing her back, whispering unintelligible sentences into her ear. Eventually Grace falls asleep, leaving Kensi's shoulder damp and heart efficiently broken.
Kensi looks at her husband, not even trying to hide the tears that sting the back of her eyes. "Deeks," she whispers, not exactly sure what she's trying to convey, but luckily he understands even though she doesn't.
"I know, Kens. I'll take the couch."
Gracie's still hugging Kensi, but her other little arm is sprawled across the rest of the mattress, and neither Kensi nor Deeks dare to move it for fear of jostling her out of unconsciousness. A few minutes later, Kensi fell asleep, her breathing falling into the same rhythm as Grace's.
She still remembers the day her father died vividly.
The air had been dry, the sky starless. The helplessness she had felt was like a seventy pound lead weight sinking in her stomach, the grief automatic. There was no denial or acceptance. There was only the harshness of the reality of her situation. The knowledge that she was officially alone accompanied her tears, twisting the blade of the metaphorical knife in her gut that was her best friend's death.
She still remembers the first time she was able to breathe the same way she had prior to hearing about the crash, almost a year after his death. She'd been standing by the ocean, silent and, as usual, alone. But for some reason, she wasn't lonely. And it had been that realization that had opened her airways, allowing crisp air to revive her.
It's habit. This week, the first reunion of her father's death spent with Deeks as her husband, she's quiet. He notices, of course. She tries to hide it, but the sharp sting of her dad leaving her's always only a thought away, and at this time of the year it's particularly painful. So, in typical Deeks fashion, he pries until he gets her to open up. When she finally does, he pretends like he understands what she's going through and offers her whatever comfort he can, even accompanying her to the cemetery.
But the truth of the matter is, he's clueless when it comes to fathers.
Why he desires to be one with such a passion is a mystery that he has yet to decipher. Maybe it is the appeal of giving his child something he never had. Maybe it is the thrill he gets at the idea of doing something right that his father did wrong. Maybe it is about proving that there's yet another difference separating himself from his awful bastard of a father. Whatever it is, it comes down to one gospel truth that holds evident above all others- he wants a baby.
"So he's... dead?" Gracie asks cautiously over breakfast that morning which consisted of pancakes and bacon, both made by Deeks. The question was enough to make Deeks stop the flipping of a pancake in midair, and to make Kensi halt the process of burping JT.
Deeks looks at Kensi, Kensi looks at Deeks. The question hangs in the air, the sizzling of burning bits of batter filling the place where her little voice had been moments before. "...Yes," Kensi finally answers, waiting for Grace's reaction. Instead of saying anything or crying out in anger or denying it all, the toddler lowers her eyes to her plate.
"My daddy used to make me pancakes."
It was stated simply. Kensi wants to sigh in relief.
"My daddy used to make me pancakes, too," Kensi says. She hadn't inherited his cooking skills, unfortunately, but her father's food, breakfast in particular, was some of the best she remembers eating to date.
"Where is your daddy?" she asks, her innocent clear blue eyes rising to meet Kensi's mismatched ones.
"He's with your daddy." The stove's off, and Deeks's hand's on her shoulder. "But that's okay because know I have De- I mean Marty- to make me pancakes."
Deeks's hand gives her shoulder a slight squeeze.
The raid had gone wrong, and as she applies pressure to his thigh she thinks that every bad damn thing has to happen in a warehouse. "Keep pressure on this," she instructs, her voice thick with worry as she presses one of his hands underneath hers. His other lands on top of the hand that's on top of his, her free hand cupping the exit wound of the bullet. He gives her fingers a small squeeze.
"It's okay. It's just a through and through."
"Yeah, but I bet it still hurts like a mother."
"Some sedatives are sounding pretty good right about now," he admits through gritted teeth, hand once again tightening over hers.
She swallows past the lump in her throat, trying to look at the bright side. "Well, it has an exit wound and missed the bone. That's good. And the ambulance is going to be here any minute."
"No big deal." He tries to smirk, but it turns out as more of a grimace.
After being released from the hospital and returned to their house, Deeks sits with his hands behind his head, leg propped up on the coffee table. He's watching some reality show about a medium, or at least trying to. Kensi can't seem to relax. She keeps moving, getting up to grab something for him or herself, pacing the room, asking him if he needs another pain pill or miscellaneous items ranging from socks to pillows to ice packs to food. Finally, exasperated but more so curious and amused, he mutes the television.
"You okay? You're going to sleep? Do you need a pillow or something? Do you have a headache? I think there's something in the medicine cabinet like Advil or Tylenol or-"
"Kensi, I'm fine," he insists, chuckling. "You, on the other hand..."
"What?" she asks with a slight scowl from her position in the middle of the living room, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm good."
"Really?"
"Really. Why wouldn't I be? You're the one with a bullet hole in your thigh."
"Exactly. And if our roles were reverse I'd be doing the same thing. You don't have to worry about me, Kensi. It's not that big a deal."
"I'm your wife," she reminds him with a small chuckle. "Of course I have to worry about you. It's my job."
He knows her. He can read what she's feeling. And her concern for him's prominent, but there's something else there. "Kens..."
She sighs, knowing that he was bound to figure her out eventually. Slowly she walks over to where he's sitting, perching herself next to him. He takes her hand, and she studies their conjoined fingers for a few second. "It's just... All this baby talk lately-"
"Baby talk?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, smirking.
In a very dramatically 'babified' dialect, she confirms, "Baby talk," but it sounds more like "Beebee tawk," and they both share a small laugh before she rolls her eyes. "Anyways, as I was saying before you interrupted me-"
"Sorry about that, babe."
"I was saying that-"
"I'm really, really sorry."
"What I'm trying to say is-"
"Interrupting is so rude. I'm so sorry."
She jabs him in the side with her elbow, and he laughs. She did too, but she tries to hide it. In the end it comes out as a weird half-snort that makes them both laugh even harder before she asks, "Are you going to behave or not?"
"Will you take me out for ice cream if I do?" Kensi glares at him pointedly, and he grins lopsidedly, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "Talk, Kensi. I'll be good. Pinky swear."
"You and your damn bullet just made me think... So, we do have a baby, yeah? What happens when we both get blown up? That's not fair to the child in question." She tries to keep her tone light, but the depth behind her words has been weighing her down for some time, ever since before he proposed. Before they were dating. Maybe as far back as Javier.
"Said child, our child, is not going to be parentless, Kensi. We make good partners."
"The best."
"The best," he agrees, kissing her temple. "We have each other's backs. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, and I trust you to ensure the same for me."
"What if it's beyond our power? What if we don't even know the place is rigged, or we walk into a raid expecting it to be something as mundane as picking up a suspect for questioning? What if that bullet had hit you in the chest instead of the leg?" Talking about both of their deaths as if it's written in stone that they'll both die young sets her into a state of unease, but considering Deeks is so intent on having a baby it's something they need to discuss, something she's put thought into from the moment she decided she wanted to be a field agent.
Losing her dad almost broke her. The last thing she wants to do is put another kid through that kind of torture. And, even worse than both of them dying, what if he dies? How could she help a child through the loss of its father when she's suffering with losing her other half?
She subconsciously snuggles closer to Deeks at the thought, and in turn he wraps his arm tighter around her. Her head's resting against his shoulders, feet folded under her bottom, toes jutting out at a slight angle. It's a nice position for such a tense subject, and the comfort helps her continue the conversation.
"Do you want me to quit?"
"You'd give up your job to become Mr. Mom?"
"If that's what it takes."
She shakes her head against his shoulder. "No way. I wouldn't make you do that." She knows how important NCIS is to him, having found some place that he belongs after many years of rejection. The team is his family. Feeling dread because he has to go to work in the mornings isn't something he's accustomed to because he loves his place of employment so much, and she knows that. Even though he seems perfectly content to give up his work to be a full-time father at the time being, she'd never forgive herself for not figuring out a different way to work around the dangers of being a field agent if she let him quit.
"Then what are we going to do?"
"That's what I asked you."
"Well, in my expert opinion, I'd say I get you pregnant, and then we'd figure it out."
"Yeah, no."
He chuckles, nudging her slightly. "I knew you were going to say that."
With that, she unmutes the television, the question of how they could work and ensure that they return home to their child everyday remaining unanswered.
"This is like wal-mart!" Gracie exclaims as she parades through the pantry of the house, wearing a tutu with a sparkly, full skirt and zebra print leggings. She'd picked out her own clothes that morning after Kensi granted her permission, and she of course had chosen the most ostentatious outfit she could throw together. "I have the fruit chews?"
"Sure," Kensi agrees easily, grabbing the box on the shelf above her head. Gracie's currently clamoring over the boxes of food that were yet to be unpacked, climbing them as if they're a rock wall. "Careful," Kensi reminds her gently, and Gracie squeals in response.
"I'm spiderman," she announces importantly, and Kensi grins. She's adorable. Really. The whole morning she'd been absolutely no trouble, making only one thing clear to Kensi: children are cute. Insanely cute.
Deeks is off putting JT into bed for a post-lunch snack, which had been baby formula for him and a peanut butter and jelly for Grace. JT's babified giggle made Kensi say "Aww," twice in the span of the morning, which is two more times than she's ever made that sound beforehand in her life. And, as expected, Deeks is taking a ton of enjoyment from watching her Baby Strike fail miserably, because they both know that she's about to revert from her No Children campaign if the siblings do one more thing that makes her heart feel like it's melting.
"I have cookie?"
"Cookies or fruitchews."
"Both."
It's a very Kensi-esque response, and it makes the special agent smile. "One or the other."
"Why?"
"Because I said so." Did you just drop the 'because I said so' bomb on him?
Gracie nods, as if Kensi's response put everything into perspective. "Okay. Cookie later?"
"Maybe."
Kensi dangles the fruit chews out towards Gracie, and the little girl hops off of the boxes in two fluid motions, racing through the pantry and snatching the plastic bag full of sugary snacks out of her hand, giggling as she races through the house. The day before the girl had been exhausted and scared, but now Kensi's seeing the energetic side of the three year old, the side that never seems to tire.
She knows that this is probably the calm before the storm. That sooner or later, the toddler's going to come to the realization that daddy was really never coming back.
The agent hears a scream of laughter coming from the direction Gracie had darted moments before, and she hustles to see what the commotion's all about. She leans against a doorpost, arms crossed over her chest as she watches Deeks spin Grace around, tossing her into the air before putting her down and allowing her to continue her journey through the house. He watches her run with away with a smile before gravitating towards Kensi, placing his hands on her side.
"Having fun yet?" he asks, pecking her lips.
"Mhmm, almost," she replies, craning her head for another kiss. He complies, and when she hears footsteps skipping over hardwood back into the dining room where they're currently kissing she pulls away quickly, trying to play off the blatant PDA casually.
But, alas, she hears the expected "Eww!" and even though it's just a three year old, she still feels her cheeks tinge red. "Mart-t-ty! Stop kissing Kens and play dress up!"
"Right, dress up." He grins at Kensi before following Grace out of the room, leaving her standing on the threshold wondering why the scene that had just played out before her felt so... normal. Right. The domesticity of it all is comforting, and she can't deny the fact that she could definitely get used to something similar in the near future.
Not that she's planning on telling her husband anytime soon, of course.
A/n Sorry for such the long wait. I didn't even think I would continue it for a little while there, but I decided to finish this chapter and see how it goes. If you guys have any ideas, anything ya'll want to see, please review or PM me! The support from the last chapter was overwhelming. Special thanks to littlemartys aka Anna for the proof read!
XOXO-
Cierra