To Hurt The One You Love
Chapter Seven : Buttercup
Kensi's P.O.V
Buttercup.
It's such an innocent word. And confusing. When someone says buttercup, you might think of a flower; a song; a color.
When someone says buttercup, I think of those bright walls in the nursery; those walls I'd faced while watching my life fall to pieces. When someone says buttercup...I think of all that my baby will never experience; just like the nursery she'll never see.
In fact, when you think of it, buttercup is just another endearment my little daughter will never hear.
When I wake up, the first thing I feel is the heat of someone's gaze. The second thing is the hand on my stomach.
I'm about to jump up and attack - it's this instinct that's just engraved in me; something that requires no thought at all - when my brain starts functioning and tells me an attack would be a bad idea. Beside me, the man I now recognize as Callen chuckles.
"Good morning to you too, Kenz."
I turn around to face him, my thoughts fuzzy and unorganized. "Morning," I say shortly, buying myself some time to clear up my brain and yesterday's events. My anger, dissapointment...waiting for him to come home...finally letting him know that I'm not going anywhere, despite the Russians...the baby...
Oh, I think to myself as it all comes back. We're alright. Everything's alright. I smile at this thought, though I quickly replace it with a frown. "I'm still pissed." I inform him, getting up. He jumps up and trails after me to the bathroom.
"Why?" I suppress a smile at his clueless tone.
"Damn it, Callen," I spin around to face him. "You almost destroyed our entire marriage because you thought I can't protect myself when I've been telling you for years now that I bloody well can!" I'm not really pissed, but I'm trying to make sure he won't ever do this again.
"Kensi," He says slowly, tired. "I'm sorry I had to do what I did, but if I had to, I would find a different way to do it, though I would still try to drive you away. These people are dangerous. You know what they did. And now that you're pregnant again-"
"-Nothing will happen. Because I know this time." I say confidently, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"You can't be sure." He retorts.
"Yes, I can." I say softly, taking his hand. I'm still mad, but I know now that Callen's just trying to protect me, and if things were the other way around, I know I would do the same, even if it meant hurting him. Because sometimes, to protect the one you love means doing anything...anything. "I know about this now," I remind him. "And so does the team. We'll sort all this out."
He sighs. "Do you really think it's that easy?"
"No," I roll my eyes. "But I'm not leaving either way. Face it, G- you're stuck with me." I tease, grinning. He groans dramatically.
"God no, this is going to be painful." He jokes. I smack him lightly on his arm before pushing him out of the bathroom.
"Out." I tell him. "It's the weekend, and I'm taking a nice, long bath." I slam the door in his face before crouching down in front of the toilet bowl, trying to be as quiet as possible as nausea hits me once again, making me dizzy.
Midway, I get up and turn on the water to fill up the tub, knowing that the sound will cover up my groans. After a while, I slowly stand up and rinse out my mouth, picking up my toothbrush. My thoughts wander as I go through the mechanical motions of washing up.
Now that I know everything, things will be different. But definitely not safer. Russian mobsters? Who gets themselves involved with Russian mobsters, for crying out loud? I laugh silently as I replace the brush. Callen really has a way of keeping our lives interesting.
The sound of water splashing to the floor alerts me to the overflowing tub. I hurry to turn off the water- I really don't want to deal with an indoor-flood right now. I strip off and aim my clothes in the general direction of the laundry hamper, gingerly lowering myself into the tub, trying not to dislocate too much water. I sigh as I sink into the warm water, letting my thoughts roam freely. Just knowing that I can do this without fearing any sort of distressing thoughts calms me down significantly.
Sunlight filters in and casts light shadows on the tiled-floor, hitting on the used pregnancy tests I'd thrown in the trash late Thursday.
I smile as I close my eyes, reflecting on my somewhat-crazy and yet semi-normal life.
My smile grows wider as I realize that I wouldn't have it any other way.
I slam the door behind me, tears clouding my vision as I stomp upstairs with only one destination in my mind: the nursery.
I walk past the bedroom and head straight for the brightly painted door to match its buttercup walls. Walking in, I feel my rage settle down and I slowly shut the door behind me, unwilling to break the peaceful silence which envelopes this room.
The wide French windows allow sunlight to enter the room, illuminating the room in a light, golden haze. I sink down to the floor, my back against the door; I'm not going to step any further into the room, not with all these emotions I'm facing right now.
I close my eyes and draw my knees against my chest, trying to stop the tears. I draw in a deep breath, remembering the technique I'd used at someone's funeral. Strangely, proper breathing actually stops your tears. I focus on the steady inhale, exhale pattern I've created, trying to block out those images from my mind.
My eyes shoot open as the giggles of the beach crowd ring out. "It's not working." I mutter, frustrated. Standing up, I start pacing, too enamored in my anger to realize that my shoes are leaving prints on the light carpet.
Why?
Why me, why now, why, why, why?
These questions repeat themselves in my mind over and over again until I'm ready to repeatedly slam my head against the buttercup walls. Instead, as a young child's wails reach my ears, I once again sink down and sigh heavily, inviting tears to stream down my face.
Okay, I tell my mind. Show me what you've got. Show me how long a list you can give me, a list of people loved and lost, a list of all those times I should've cried and yet didn't. Then let me cry it all out now and leave me alone.
And so my brain does exactly that. It shows me everyone, not just my father and Dom, but other distant relatives, friends, acquaintances, colleagues…the list goes on and on until finally, I start to hiccup.
"Hic," I sob, and then take a moment to appreciate the absurdity of this situation. I'm a grown woman, crying so hard that I'm actually hiccupping.
Really, it's not every day you find one of us. We're like unicorns- a dying breed.
This last thought adds to the general craziness of this moment and even as my mind is warning me not to, even as that small voice inside me is going, well, damn, she's finally lost it, I can't help myself.
I look up at the buttercup walls, decorated with vibrant alphabets all over; the boxes of unopened and un-assembled furniture; the contradictory state this bright room is in right now: clean, buttercup walls and dirty carpet, complete with dusty boxes of furniture. It's kind of empty, just like me.
And I laugh.
While Callen's out to grab us some food – in all of this emotional chaos I'd forgotten to go grocery-shopping – I mentally brace myself and slowly step into the nursery.
The last time I'd been in here, I'd had a mental breakdown the likes of which haven't been seen again (Thank God for that!). I'd cried and laughed and scrubbed at the dirty furniture; cursed at the instructions to building a crib which seemed to come in every language but English; counted out all the brightly painted-on alphabets thanks to Abby.
Yeah, I'd definitely been crazy back then.
Maybe it was all the painkillers.
Of course, Callen had walked in a few days later to find me asleep on the carpeted-floor, the crib and everything else fully set-up. And so, we just chose to ignore what had happened to have driven me to that point, because the alternative of discussing it and then leaving had proved too intimidating to me. And he'd felt bad about driving his wife to the brink of insanity.
Now, though, I know the reason behind his actions; I know why he'd kissed Rebecca Bryans on purpose, with no apparent threat; I know why he'd led me to believe that he was going to sleep with Sarah Michele.
Damn it, our lives are playing out like some soap-opera written by a lunatic caffeine-high college student.*
I sigh, crossing the room to open up the windows and sit down on the rocking-chair. I gently rest my arms on my stomach, and looking out at the ocean, I start to talk, absent-mindedly, to my baby, breathing in the fresh air that's driving out the stiffling heat of the room.
"Hey baby." I say softly, then laugh, because it sounds like the opening lines some guy might use at a bar. "Maybe we should call you something else." I muse, still entranced by the clear sky in front of me. "I'll just call you Buttercup for now." I tell the baby, thinking of the bright color.
"It's a nice word, isn't it? The way it rolls off your tongue, even though there's no R." I'm rambling now, but the words are coming so easily to me I can't help but say them out loud.
"You know, your sister would have had this room, Buttercup. With all these buttercup walls, of course." I'm making absolutely no sense right now. "And she would have slept in the white crib."
A seagull flies past and I'm momentarily distracted. Then it leaves and I refocus on this one cloud which looks like a baby. "But she left us." I tell Buttercup.
I wait for the usual tears, but they don't come. And so I don't dwell on it because the truth is, I'm tired of crying. And wanting to cry. And thinking about crying.
Just crying in general. I'm tired of it.
"So," I say brightly. "You're getting the buttercup walls, and the white furniture, and all these bright alphabets Aunt Abby's painted for you."
"We should probably call her. Let her know you're here." I suggest, though I'm not particularly inclined to get up right now and track down my cell.
"Maybe later."
And so we sit there in silence, just watching the clouds pass and listening to the waves. A few more seagulls pass and I wonder for a moment if I've been here for too long, and maybe Callen should be back now. But then I realize it's just been a while, after glancing at my watch, and he did mention something about stopping by at Hetty's for a while, if only to let her know that we're alright and he's still alive.
I find it funny that Hetty would have supported any violence on my part, but then again, it does sounds like her, because it would have been well-deserved violence, so there.
I sigh as a few dark clouds roll in and I hear Callen pulling up to the driveway. I pat my stomach once more, slowly getting up. I close the windows and pause at the doorway, the knob in my hand.
"Bye, Buttercup." I sigh softly, closing the door behind me. And just like that, I'm back to being the usual Kensi Blye, the one who would never spend – I check my watch – an hour and a half talking to her baby…who can't even hear her.
I slowly walk down the stairs as I hear the front door close. "Honey, I'm home!" Callen calls in an exaggerated accent, imitating those old TV shows.
"And I'm hungry!" I call after him, wandering into the kitchen where I expect him to be. He greets me with the familiar sight of take-out and two bags of groceries, and I move to help him put aside the things. He's about to suggest that I sit down and do nothing when I shoot him a glare.
"Pregnant, not incapacitated." I remind him, words I haven't spoken in months. He catches my thoughts and grins.
We work in silence except for the odd comment we throw each other while I serve up the food and he puts away the things. Within a few minutes, we're sitting down to eat and I'm really glad, because I'm starving. I say this out loud and he laughs.
"I'm not surprised," He tells me through a mouthful of noodles. I wait for him to swallow before he talks again. "When was the last time you ate, Kenz? And a real meal, not chips." He hurriedly adds, shooting me a knowing look.
I stammer to buy some time, trying to cover up the fact that I can't even remember my last decent meal. "Umm…you see…actually…" I groan. "I give up! I haven't been eating these few days, obviously," I shoot him a glare. "And even before that there was the morning sickness and all, so…" I shrug. He sighs.
"Not again, Kenz. Please tell me you're not going to send me out on errands for random snacks because you're convinced you'll be able to keep this and that down." Well...there goes my plan.
I scowl. "Fine! I'll get my own stuff myself!" I huff, digging into my food.
"Yeah, whatever! As if you're going to make ten trips to the donut place a day." He bets and my eyes light up.
"Wanna bet?"
He grins. "You're on. A full week of getting your own food – donuts, cookies, treats – whenever you feel like it. I won't help at all." I'm about to agree when he speaks up.
"Seven days, Kenz. Think about it."
I glare at him. "I know very well how long a week is, Callen," I say, irritated. "And I'm capable of fending for myself. What do you think I did before you came along?"
He rolls his eyes, sighs dramatically and shoots me a questioning look, obviously puzzled. "God knows how you survived without me."
I stick my tongue out at him before eating up more food, trying to fill up my empty stomach. Finally, I gulp down some water and push aside my plate. "I'm full." I announce, standing up to take his empty plate too. He protests, trying to push my hand aside.
"You bought the food, I'll clean up." I reason with him. "Why don't you call Sam and tell him everything's alright?" I suggest, thinking of Sam's help in all this.
"Sam?" He repeats, obviously dumbfounded. I nod.
"He helped, a lot." I explain. "After I left, he demanded the truth from Hetty and then came by to check on me, telling me the whole story."
"I have a feeling he didn't need to demand much." He says. I shot him a questioning look. "Hetty didn't really approve of my plan, but I'd told her not to say anything to you."
"Ah," I say slowly as I understand his words. "You didn't say anything about Sam."
"I didn't think I'd have to." He mutters.
"But aren't you glad?" I smile. He walks over to where I'm rinsing out the dishes and wraps his hands around my waist from behind. He nuzzles my neck as I try to squirm my way out.
"I'm really glad," He tells me, smiling brightly.
"Me too. So go call him!" I order, trying to focus on the dishes. He laughs shortly before letting go, wandering into the living room, probably looking for his phone. I catch bits of the conversation.
"Hey, Sam? Yeah, I'm alive." He chuckles. "Kensi's here. Yeah, we worked things out. I know, I'm- Hey, I'm not an idiot! I was trying to protect her. Come on, you know about this. You would have done the same…yeah, you get what I'm saying." He laughs. "Yeah, see you Monday. 'Kay. Bye."
I walk into the living room as he hangs up, slipping the phone into his pocket.
"So?"
"Everything's okay." He tells me, patting the seat next to him. I sink down and lean my head on his shoulder. "He's glad I'm alive, because after all that's happened he really doesn't want to deal with a new agent."
I laugh. "That's Sam for you. Always has his priorities straight."
"Yeah," He agrees. We're quiet for a while as I turn on the TV and flick through channels.
"Hey, you haven't told him, have you?" He asks suddenly.
"Nope, I haven't told anyone, actually. Abby's going to kill me for that." I roll my eyes.
"Yeah…but I think-"
"-Hetty knows." I say along with him. "Of course she does. Hetty knows everything."
He turns to face me. "We never did get that. I mean, Hetty's either not human or…"
"Not human." I finish helpfully. "There's really no other option." He shrugs.
Suddenly, his phone rings. We both look at each other and say the same thing.
"Hetty."
Sure enough, it is Hetty. What she says though, is beyond any guess we'd had. Callen answers the call and puts her on loudspeaker.
"Hey Hetty, everything okay?"
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Callen," She says seriously. "Come here immediately, and bring Ms. Blye with you."
"Okay, we're coming. But what's up?" Callen asks as we both get up.
"It seems that your Russian…friends," She says tentatively, though we know immediately that her use of the word 'friends' is really just a cover-up. "Have been spotted at the airport."
"Great," Callen says dryly. "They're here." He's about to hang up when Hetty leaves us with one last comment.
"That they are. And Mr. Callen?"
"Yeah?"
"Do not let her out of your sight."
With those eight words, Hetty hangs up. I stop in my movements to look at him for a while. "It's started." I say grimly.
"It's started." He nods.
Buttercup.
It can represent a flower, a color, a person…
It can represent this room of great pain and loss; this room my daughter will never see; this room I'd had my great break-down in.
It can represent an endearment; one that my daughter will never hear; will never use.
But right now, all I know is that it represents my unborn baby, the one I will protect at any cost.
Buttercup.
Well, there it is,
Buttercup. I find this chapter a little out-there (and short!...well, it's 3750 words...so...), but what do I know? You guys seem to like everything I don't (or maybe I'm just being too critical of my own work), so really, I'm just going with this.
Oh, and here's a little something: I'm on Twitter now. Yeah, tweet tweet. You can find me under the name ESalvatore3, because apparently there's already an E Salvatore and I just like the number 3. So yeah.
So, review. Or PM me. Only if you'd like to. It's your third-to-last-chance to review. Yep, after this we've only got one more chapter and an epilogue left. Then it's back to Baby Sister, which quite frankly, I've been ignoring.
One more thing: do you guys want any particular flashback in the next chapter? Because I'm a) running out of ideas and b) planning this fast-paced chapter I'm not sure I'll be able to fit a flashback into. So let me know!
P.S, * = That's me! The lunatic, caffeine-high college student! Yay!...wait, I really am nuts.
E Salvatore,
March 2011.