The Sting of Betrayal
She's pissed.
Actually, she's beyond pissed. She's angry. More, she's hurt. It doesn't matter how many times Callen, Sam, even Hetty tell her the decision was out of her hands – and out of Sam's or Callen's too – she's still beyond angry.
Deeks is her partner.
Sam and Callen are her team.
She'd known something was off.
Callen hunts her down, in that back corner where they first started all of this mess. She's not naïve enough to think that her own feelings aren't playing a role in this. It's the first time she's really had to confront them head on and it sucks. But he doesn't enter the room completely. He stands in the doorway, leaving it open, as she leans against the opposite wall, willing herself not to cry. Kensi Blye doesn't cry. Not over a case,.
But this, she knows in her heart of hearts, is more.
"Is this some passive-aggressive way of getting back at me?"
Even as the words come out of her mouth she knows they're wrong. There's nothing passive-aggressive about G Callen. At least, nothing passive.
He stands stoic, but she knows by now that a comment like that is going to sting. She's not going to lie and say that's not what she wants.
"Because if not, Callen, I'm out of reasons."
She's not and he knows it. Not by a long shot. She's trying to pretend that this isn't about trust, that this isn't about the team, that there isn't a fracture somewhere that she can't find. She's trying to pretend that this thing between them doesn't, won't, can't get between them and the job. They're nothing without NCIS, they both know it. They'd both be long lost wandering souls and neither of them is ready for that. Neither of them will face that.
But right now, she's not sure what to think.
"It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?" she shoots back. "What kind of thought process goes into deciding to keep me in the dark?"
"It wasn't my decision."
"Bullshit," she spits out. He could have talked Hetty out of it. He can talk Hetty out of anything if he really wants to. Hell, how many times has she almost left? Even handed in her damn resignation letter, and Callen had seen to it that she still occupied that plush and lavishly decorated office.
"Kens-"
She flinches.
He pulls back, but not fast enough to hide the sliver of shock that slides on and off his face. She's never recoiled on him.
"This isn't about us."
He jumps straight to the point, and it kind of starts her enough that she feels her heart drop to her stomach. She'd figured it would just… end.
"If we're going to do this, really do this, do this like…." He shakes his head, but she knows. They both know. "Then it can't be about us."
Doesn't interfere with the job.
"It was always about Deeks," he goes on, and though he starts walking towards her, she doesn't step back. She can't, but she doesn't make a move to stop him either. "It was about making sure there was no way LAPD would think he was undercover. It had to be real."
"You made him shoot a man."
Callen lets pain flood him this time. "I know," he whispers.
"Do you have any idea what that does to him?" Tears are making her throat raw and Kensi hates herself for it. Hates herself even more for the vulnerability and the odd tenderness it brings out in him. Callen is so rarely tender that it still throws her off. She still doesn't like it.
"The same thing it does to the rest of us."
It rips them apart.
"And then… Callen, Hetty fired him." She doesn't have to elaborate. Callen'll catch on. Even Deeks has a place at NCIS, and his place is with them.
He snaps. "Do you think I didn't think of that?" he asks, voice hard and sharp. "Do you think I didn't try and find alternatives, that I didn't ask Hetty if there were any other options?"
Still, she holds her ground. She's not green and she's not afraid of him.
"If there was something else we could have done, Kensi, we would have done it. But we couldn't come up with a way to make it work and make it believable."
"I wouldn't have told him."
"You would. He'd know something was wrong and he'd needle. You hate when he needles."
The fact that he knows that, that he notices how much Deeks' poking irritates her is kind of sweet. But it's kind of annoying too because there is a part of her, a rational part, that knows he's right. Right now though, most of her is just hurt.
"Don't make this about us," he tells her, voice soft.
Don't break what we've built.
"It was always about the op."
"It will always be about the op."
But instead of reassuring her, it makes her sigh. "We're idiots."
The four words that come out of his throat next shock her.
"I don't think so."
Later, she'll reflect on how easy it's become for him to take her hand, how natural it is for her to weave her fingers through his when it's just the two of them. She does like the feeling of his palm in hers, and he's far from forgiven, but she's suddenly and raptly listening. Or, well, watching, because they don't say anything. Instead, it's there, in his face, how not wrong it is that they're doing this, that they're together.
"It's not right either."
He cocks his head to the side. He'll give her that. "Doesn't make us idiots."
Not for wanting the kind of connection they have. Not for building on it. But Kensi's so set in the idea that he's going to leave, that they always leave, that they almost made Deeks leave. It's too raw.
"Callen," she whispers.
It's a shock to both of them when he reacts by wrapping his arms around her. She wonders if it was all there for him, if her face told him how much it hurt to think that she'd have to let Deeks go.
That she'd be losing another partner.
"Come on," he says after a few minutes of just standing there. They're not usually all that affectionate, neither by nature truly are, but she'd needed that. And from the relaxed aura of his body, he had too. "I can't be here anymore."
She's putting that on the list of things she'd never expect to hear G Callen say. Every time she thinks she has him figured out…
He takes her out of the hacienda a back way she's never seen before, and she knows all of the nooks and crannies. She doesn't ask though. She's kind of intrigued, really. This is a true first and she doesn't want to ruin it by asking questions. If she can't help the thrill and they're being reckless, she figures she might as well jump all in. It's also a thrill, a huge thrill, because Callen spends more time at Ops than Hetty and the idea of him playing hooky…
Okay, it's hot.
It's odd because she wants to be mad – she is mad – but the fact that Callen is skipping out on work is something that is so out of character she can't help but follow. She's drawn to it. And yeah, maybe she's still looking for an apology.
She is, admittedly, a little surprised when he takes her to his house but then he's out of the car, around to the passenger's side and tugging her out of the vehicle by his hand. She goes with him because she's curious among the rest of it. She's surprised how tender he is when he gets her inside, backs her against the door.
"Callen?"
He kisses her. It's slow, it's tender and it takes her entirely by surprise. They've never been this gentle with each other. They've never been in this situation. Still, she wraps her arms around him, yields to him because in reality, it doesn't really matter how mad she is, the surprise of having him so gentle and just… Just being with him…
"It's not about us," he whispers as he separates from her, his hands sliding between her arms so he can cup her cheeks. "I wasn't even thinking about us."
It doesn't surprise her, can't surprise her. They've been so careful both with each other and with the team that there is a big part of her that knows what they're doing here, the gentle feeling of his lips feathering over her cheeks, will never cross. They can't let it cross. It's survival to keep it between them.
"The decision was about the job," he goes on, his breath against her ear. "The decision was about Deeks, about getting the guys, stopping the deal, saving the world."
She huffs out a laugh because Callen has no delusions of grandeur at all.
"You took the hit because you're Deeks' partner, not because you're Kensi." His mouth drops to her collarbone and she arches because his mouth and that delicate skin… "Not because you're Kensi."
His Kensi. She can hear it. Her skin bristles with goosebumps as his hands settle on her hips, tugging her shirt until he can get his thumbs on her skin. It's humming, really. There's energy crackling over her skin and she can feel it in his, but it's not the explosive heat they're used to. There's a quiet build to this. Sure, they've done slow, but nothing with this gentle, tender softness.
The emotion that's beneath this is so real. So incredibly real, and it makes her heart speed up, her breath come short in her lungs. He's not faring much better though. His eyes are that dark cobalt, the beautiful blue she loves and only sees in the seconds before he loses control. But it's there this time, for her.
"Say it, Kens."
She's not sure what he wants.
"This isn't about you. It's not about us. It's about the job." He pulls her shirt over her head as he says it, disposing of her bra without preamble. She figures out why a moment later when his mouth brushes gently against the top curve of her breast but doesn't go lower.
"Callen."
"Say it."
She moans instead, her head dropping back against the door.
"This was an op."
"This was an op," she repeats, eyes closed, and he rewards her by taking a nipple in his mouth. She moans, but he takes his time getting around to the pressure she really needs.
He doesn't know why he wants this, why he's not pushing her, why he's going so slow, so gentle. He knows the million things that have gone through her head since she figured out the white supremacist was one of theirs. He knows she's got abandonment issues, trust issues, and it had been his one big reluctance when he, Sam and Hetty had discussed it. But how the hell was he supposed to say that it wasn't good for Kensi without spilling everything? And that was assuming Hetty didn't know.
Hetty knew everything.
But Hetty wasn't who he was focusing, and he pushed the ops manager out of his head as he focused on Kensi beneath him. He'd been stupid to keep it from her. He should have told her the minute they were back in ops, but she's been too worried about Deeks. And yeah, okay, maybe there was a piece of him that was jealous that she'd been so shattered by the idea of losing Deeks, but he'd tried. Really he had because he understood that it was about losing another partner, about the Blye Curse she believed in.
But that damn curse was crap.
And maybe that was what this was about. Maybe this was about showing her that he cared. He'd made a decision as best he could with the given information, weighing the op, the mission, against her. Maybe he'd known they'd end up like this.
Analyzing it brings up questions he's not quite ready to think about, so he stubbornly shoves them aside. After all, he's got better things to do.
Speaking of.
She's grasped his ears, is tugging insistently even though he wants to move to her other breast. She lets out a grunt of irritation and he follows it with a sound of utter displeasure but lets her lift his head.
Her eyes are dark, black really. "It was never about us." She believes it. He can see it in her gaze. She can feel it in every muscle. "But it sucked."
Yeah, yeah it did. It sucked for all of them and really, he feels crappy for what he put his team through. He apologizes to her with a kiss, swiping his tongue into the depths of her mouth, taking his time to taste. She deals with his shirt until they're both half-naked against his door. Only then does he pull away, finding her gaze. His hands slide down to her ass and her hand reaches over to flip the lock just before he hoists her against him.
He has no problem carrying her to the bed, laying her out on the mattress. There's something about having her there that warms his insides in ways he'd thought impossible. But unbeknownst to her, she's teaching him a lot about what he can feel, about what he can let himself feel. They don't voice it, any of it, but he knows it. He's pretty sure of it anyway, and for now, that's as much as either of them can handle.
The point is, caring is a tame word for what burns through him when it comes to Kensi.
The point is, she's no better off.
They're both in deep.
So he distracts his thoughts with her skin, crawling with her as she scoots up the bed. Her hair fans against his utilitarian white sheets and he lifts his hand to stroke his finger gently down her cheek. She lets him, watching, waiting. She wants to know what he's going to do next.
He trails the finger down her body, smiling at the way her muscles quiver beneath his fingers. He swipes them along the edge of her jeans, along the expanse of skin just there. Her eyes flutter closed and he loves it, watches it, watches her body shudder when he slips it just beneath. He takes his time with her button and zipper, listening to her breath speed up, shocked and awed when he shouldn't be that she's even here.
She works with him when he slides her jeans and underwear down her legs, trying not to be embarrassed when he pulls off her boots and socks too. He takes the time to deal with his own shoes and socks before he trails his fingertips up her legs. He's using the lightest touch and it's driving her wild. The slow build, the gentle touch, the emotions beneath them both are creating both the most pleasant warmth and arousing sensation. He's taking his time with her, cataloging every arch of her back, every quiver and twitch as he inches closer to his goal.
Her.
He takes his time tracing around the delicate skin where her legs meet her hips. Teasing her. She could stop him, they both know it, but she doesn't. Instead, her hands clench in his sheets, letting him to what he wants.
Letting him show her.
Neither of them are 'words' people. They speak in actions, looks. How many ops would have gone sour if they'd had to talk? They've perfected this, the looks, the emotions, conveying so much – too much – in just a look.
Then he's touching her, stroking, rubbing and her thoughts scatter into the number of different languages she can say 'oh my God' in. They're a litany in her head as he brings his mouth into play and she wants to tell him to speed the hell up but she doesn't. He has something he wants to tell her and today, this is how he's doing it. Not that she's putting up that much of an argument.
Her climax is a slow wave that crashes over her, taking her under, drowning her in sensation. He draws it out, applies his mouth so she's over again in moments before his mouth trails up her stomach and over her breasts to reach her mouth. She sighs into the kiss, into him, bringing her hands up to the back of his head. She holds him there, wraps herself around him completely, absorbs him, until she realizes he's still wearing pants.
It takes seconds to rectify the problem and he lets her flip them over to return the favour. She explores instead of teases, wondering, learning cataloging the same way he did moments before. She takes her time sliding him into her mouth, taste, texture, all of it burning into her memory like she's never let it before. She feels freer in a lot of ways, like this is something she can learn. It's the first time she's put any faith in the strength of emotion in a long time and it makes it easier to pay attention, to watch, to listen.
And it's a dark thrill to know she can bring G Callen to his knees.
She lets him slide from her mouth when he's hard as granite and makes sure every inch of her body brushes against his as she slides up. Then she's straddling him, her hand wrapping around him to guide him in. He meets little resistance, helping her find a slow rhythm that works for both of them. They watch each other now, having the ability for the first time, a clarity of mind despite being pushed to that precipice. There's nothing violent or hot about this.
But it's all the better when she suddenly, surprisingly, tumbles over the edge. She's under him when the waves fade and he's kissing her as he speeds up, needing the extra friction. She pulls his head down, breathes into his ear, presses her mouth to his throat and feels him stiffen.
They don't gravitate to different sides of the bed when they've recovered, even though they will in their sleep. Instead, they wrap around each other.
After a moment, she looks up. "On the job, it's not about us. Ops come first."
They'd talked about it. He shrugs.
"No, G."
His first name, or first letter any way, has his eyes catching hers.
"I said it for you."
He kisses her, because he can't avoid it right now. Against his lips, he says those words. "On the job, ops come first."
And in the morning, there's a classy glass vase on her desk. Yesterday he chose to show her with touch, today he does it with flowers and she brings the simple, plain, gorgeous white rose to her nose, she finds herself surprisingly content with how deep they are.
At least they're there together.
This feels off. Like I didn't manage to get to the emotions I wanted to. I found it hard, actually, because words like 'reverence' don't belong in the relationship I'm trying to build. So any of the words that could usually convey the kind of gentle tenderness I wanted here don't apply and it becomes very hard when the core words aren't options.
That, and now I have to figure out a way to actually get them past this point and into a real relationship. Or, as real as it gets. Because they can't talk about it, it goes against their natures in this universe, but I want them to get to a place where they can say it and mean it, not just elude to it and know. And I'm not sure how to get there.
Thank you guys so much for the support and reviews. As much as some of these are just things that need to be written, the fact that I'm posting them makes it about you too. This is no fun without readers to share it with.
