"What's happened?" Kensi was tense with anxiety, certain that the telephone call had been to announce some dreadful news.
"You remember Tad? We went out to dinner with him last month when he was here on business?" Marty spoke in a monotone.
Kensi nodded: Tad was one of Marty's oldest friends, such an old friend that, like Nico, he was one of the few people who still referred to him as Mikey. The three had virtually grown up together, and the two boys had even gone on to the same law school. The only difference was that Tad had decided to keep practising law and was currently working in a New York firm. "He's still coming tomorrow, isn't he?" she asked, although something told her that missing the wedding was the least of Tad's problems.
"No, he's not." Marty felt as if someone had punched him in his gut. "He was shot this morning, in a drive-by shooting, on his way to the airport to fly out here. There didn't seem to be any reason – I guess he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." He held out his hand to her. "Tad died two hours ago." It seemed like the end of an era, another part of his childhood consigned to the ashes of memory, just like his mother Maryanne, and his brother, Chris. Too many people he cared about had died.
Nico was weeping openly now and Kensi could see how stunned they both were, shaken to the core by the news. And despite working in a profession where death was part of the daily agenda, it still had the power to shock her, especially when it was the death of a young man, another innocent to be added to the long list of those who had gone before. And the worst thing was that she knew the list would only continue to grow. It felt as if a pall had been thrown over the bright day. First McGee was injured, possibly blinded for life, and now this. Kensi crossed her fingers and hoped there would not be a third tragedy.
"I'm always slightly uneasy about these rehearsal dinners," Nate confessed, adjusting his tie in the mirror and wondering why his hair would never lie flat. "So many things can go wrong and everyone's nerves are on edge."
"Why do you think we went out of state for our wedding?" Eric asked. "The last thing I wanted was for George to have to sit at a rehearsal dinner and listen to my work mates roast me, while I sat there with a false grin on my face and pretended it was all great fun." That was one of the reasons, but the main one had been the slight matter that he hadn't actually come out to anybody at work,
"And there's enough skeletons rattling around in both of their closets already." In fact, Nate thought that it was a good thing Deeks had that huge mansion to house the number of closets required to accommodate all the skeletons from his past, not to mention Kensi's. "They don't exactly need certain parts of the past brought up, do they?" Somethings were best forgotten about after all.
Eric was already mentally rewriting parts of his own tribute, which no longer seemed quite so funny in retrospect. "Good point." He looked at Nate. "How many times have you made this speech today? It must have taken you some time to get around everyone."
"Busted." Nate held up his hands meekly. He clearly wasn't as good at subterfuge as he'd thought. "We'll make an agent out of you yet, Eric."
"No thanks. Been there, done that, got a busted jaw and several broken teeth in the process." Eric knew he would never forget that day on Clark Mountain, and the way he'd been left swinging from a rope over an open void, knowing that the only thing that stood between himself and certain death was a few strands of high tensile nylon. "Hetty put you up to this, didn't she?" There were times when Hetty's protective instincts were as fierce as any mother tiger protecting her young, and this was clearly one of them.
"You might think that – I couldn't possibly say." Nate patted down his hair again and then watched as it sprang back into place almost immediately. "And can we expect any other video tributes?" They'd already spent a considerable amount of time already filming their own particular contribution to the evening's entertainment.
Eric smirked as he handed across a tub of hair product. "Try this. And that would be telling, wouldn't it?" Two could play at being sneaky, couldn't they? "All I can divulge at this moment is that there might – or might not be – some pictures." He'd made damned sure the shots of Deeks wearing those tight, black underpants were prominently featured, in addition to liaising with both Caroline and Allison to make sure suitably incriminating photographs from childhood were included.
Nate took a generous scoop of styling goo and began to run it through his hair. "And will this theoretical tribute be available to buy afterwards?"
"Twenty dollars should secure you a copy." Eric took a look at Nate's hair, which was now standing firmly on end, like a disgruntled hedgehog and handed a comb across. "You're really not into grooming, are you?"
Coming from a man who teamed plaid shirts with board shorts, Nate thought this was slightly disingenuous, but decided that for the sake of peace and harmony he would hold his tongue. For the time being.
"I think that's everything." Kensi looked at the pile of luggage in the corner of the bedroom: overnight bag, vanity case, case containing her going away outfit, plus all the cases packed for the honeymoon.
"It's about half your wardrobe" Marty said incredulously. His own contribution consisted of one medium-sized bag, that was totally obscured by the volume of Kensi's paraphenalia.
She looked at him in astonishment. "No it's not. It's all new. You can't go away on honeymoon with old clothes."
"Really?" How come nobody had told me that? Or maybe arre were different rules for brides and grooms? It was probably just fine for the groom to take along a couple of pairs of old jeans and some t-shirts. At least, he hoped it was.
"You are kidding me, right? You have packed some smart clothes – haven't you?" For all those romantic dinners we'll be having. And so the photos look good.
"Of course I have," he lied smoothly. There would be time to repack tomorrow morning. They weren't getting married until three o'clock after all.
"And you are getting your hair cut tomorrow morning?" There was a note of tension in her voice.
Marty pulled out his cell phone. "You want to ring the barber and check?" he offered. Thank God the wedding's tomorrow, because I don't think I can take much more of this.
"You needn't look at me like that – all innocent and aggrieved. I know you, Marty."
"And yet you're still marrying me." He flashed her a charming grin, one that normally had a devastating effect on 99% of the female population.
"There's still time to change my mind. Nothing's set in stone until I say 'I do'." The stern expression on Kensi's face faded away to be replaced by a radiant smile.
I knew she wouldn't be able to resist that look. Better not push it though. These things can get old quickly and I never know when I'll need it next.
"This time tomorrow we'll be married – can you believe it?"
"Not really, no." Marty pulled her into an embrace, burying his face in her hair. "I still can't believe you said 'yes' in the first place."
"You caught me at a weak moment." Kensi turned her face to kiss him. "You caught me and you stopped me from falling. It was always you, right from the first moment we met. That's when I knew."
"Really? You could have let me in on the secret."
"What – and miss out on all the fun of the chase? All the to-ing and fro-ing, all the flirting?"
"That was flirting?" His hands had slipped down to cup her ass. "Maybe I should give you a few lessons sometime?"
"How about you wait till the honeymoon, when we've got no other distractions?" Kensi suddenly realised that time was passing and they had a wedding rehearsal to get through before meeting everyone at the restaurant for dinner. And once they'd got through the ritual humiliation that was bound to ensue, then tomorrow was the day – tomorrow they were finally getting married.
"That's a date." Marty let himself be pulled out of the house.
The wedding rehearsal actually went smoothly, mainly because it was just themselves; father John, who had this all down to a well-honed perfection; plus Jack, Regina, Allison and Gibbs – all of whom could be relied upon to behave like responsible adults. Caroline and Joe were there too, seated in the front pew, and watching with pride.
"He's taken long enough," Joe muttered. "I thought he was never going to get married."
Caroline prodded her elbow into his ribs. "He was just waiting for the right girl. And we're still young enough to dance tomorrow – so enough with the complaining." She thought back to the day she'd first met the young man who was now kneeling in front of the alter, listening intently as the priest explained the finer details of the ceremony. Where had all the years gone? It scarcely seemed possible that it had been thirty years since she'd held the tiny baby, looked into his wide, blue eyes and known that she had fallen hopelessly in love with him. She'd vowed to look after him that day, and she'd kept her promise. Only from tomorrow that responsibility would be Kensi's and Caroline felt a pang of regret. It was as if a door was shutting and the past was getting left behind. She couldn't have felt more emotional if it had been her felsh and blood son kneeling there, rather than the child of her heart.
"He'll still need you," Joe whispered, and his hand sought hers. "Nothing's going to change." If things had worked out differently, perhaps it might have been our own son and his bride… But we got lucky – we got the next best thing.
"I hope so." Caroline blinked back the tears.
Joe squeezed her fingers encouragingly. "I know so." He just hoped that the bad luck that seemed to stalk the personal lives of the Brandel family would miss this particular member out. Marty had gone through more his thirty years than most people would manage to pack into two lifetimes, and he deserved to be happy. "Come on, wipe your eyes and put a smile on your face. Just think of all those photos you looked out and how surprised Marty's going to be when he sees them." Maybe surprised wasn't quite the right word, now he came to think about it. Shocked was probably more like it. Perhaps even horrified.
Callen stood up and tapped a spoon against his wine glass. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are now proud to present the moment you've all been waiting for. With a little help from our friends, we bring you: Densi, The Musical. Because mere words wouldn't possibly do justice." He sat down again, with a vast smirk as he clocked the shocked looked on both their faces. For possibly the first time in his life, Callen was profoundly grateful that there was no photographic record of the vast majority of his childhood
Kensi's jaw dropped as the lights went down and a large screen descended from the ceiling. "Did you know about this?" she hissed.
"Definitely not," Marty answered, with total sincerity as the familiar strains of 'My Guy' started, accompanied by a studio portrait of himself as a baby – lying on a fur rug and wearing nothing but a broad and gummy smile. Projected considerably larger than life-size onto a twenty foot wide screen. The room erupted into gales of laughter. "Did you?" he asked in a horrified undertone. Thank you very much. I have to work with these people, you know.
"No. If I had, I would have arranged for a more up-to-date version." Kensi found a besotted smile creeping across her face as more photographs of Marty as a baby and then toddler appeared, with the familiar shaggy hair becoming more evident in each shot. It was also noticeable that he appeared to have a distinct aversion to clothes, and a correspondingly charming lack of coyness about presenting himself to the camera just as God had made him.
"We should count ourselves lucky Deeks has finally learned to keep his clothes on and only goes commando these days," Sam commented loudly.
"Speak for yourself," an elderly female voice heckled back and Allison Blye nearly fell off her chair.
"Mother!" she remonstrated, but to no avail.
"I might be old, but I'm not dead yet, Allison. Our Kensi's got good taste and she clearly gets it from me. And don't put on that prissy face with me, missy. I'm not the one whose baby was born six months after she got married, am I?" Satisfied that she had indeed had the last word on that particular subject, Mrs Cunningham sat back to enjoy the rest of the show, leaving her daughter and grand-daughter with matching red faces.
"We tried our best," Jack said apologetically. "The worst was the summer when he was obsessed with Batman and ran around wearing the cape and mask all the time." He paused for dramatic effect. "Just the cape and the mask." He grinned across at his son, who looked as if he wanted to dive underneath the table.
The next photograph that flashed onto the screen silenced the room. It was a simple shot, of a young Marty, who looked to be about four years, walking hand in hand with a small woman, her hair cut in a distinct bob. She was clearly saying something, and the child was listening intently, his small face turned up to hers.
"Would that he paid so much attention to me now," Hetty said mournfully.
"Maybe if you still held my hand, I would?" Marty suggested. He grinned as the next shot came up. "Or let me sit on your knee like I'm doing there?"
Even Hetty had to admit when she was beaten. It didn't happen very often, but when it did, she gave in with considerable grace.
Kensi sank down as low as possible in her own seat, dreading what was coming up next. She cast a despairing look at her mother, but Allison was carefully avoiding eye contact, which was not exactly reassuring.
The plot bunnies have agreed to call a truce for the duration of the wedding, so have no fear!
of course, Kensi isn't about to be let off the hook quite so easily...