Many thanks to my dear friend phillydi, who gave me a certain line that I just had to include in this installment!
Now, it has been suggested that the revered Mr Shane Brennan KCMG (God Calls Me God) would rather enjoy this piece of madness. I couldn't possibly comment... But I am avaiable to fly out to the set at a moment's notice.
"You're amazing, Kensi," Callen said dutifully. Heck, there was no sense in being needlessly reckless. Fair enough, Shane had said that a major story-arc would revolve around Callen and his parentage, but there was no guarantee that it wouldn't end in a nasty (and painful) death. His nasty death. Callen had a bad feeling about this, not least because it would draw viewers in in their droves. There was no sense in being reckless and needlessly antagonising The Creator – who giveth and could most easily take away again. He nudged Sam. "Come on."
Sam knew his place. He had a back-story that was full of glory, and Shane had allowed him to drop a few tantalising hints as to his private life that eager viewers seized on with delight, but surely there was a lot more to be said about him? Clearly, it was in Sam's best interest to make sure that he stayed around for as long as possible in order for events to play out and the full details of his life be allowed to emerge. There had to be at least two episodes worth of story lines in there, he reckoned. But that meant he had to stay alive. And staying alive was dependant on Shane.
"You are so worth it, Kensi," he opined, in a dead-pan monotone. Hey, they could redub him afterwards. Just to make his position perfectly clear, Sam added a knowing wink, complete with regulation twinkle, in the full and certain knowledge this would hack Callen off big time. Because, when it came right down to it, Callen thought he was Shane's favourite - the blue-eyed boy. Well, Deeks had blue eyes too. Really big blue eyes, that were certainly much sparklier than Callen's, especially if they happened to be looking at Kensi. Plus, Deeks could do that whole "soulful puppy" look. So what if they had a slight tendency to cross over at inopportune times, because they were really good eyes, especially when they filmed in Ops. You could almost hear the female viewers sighing in unison as their ovaries spontaneously exploded with joy.
"Thank you, boys." Kensi nudged Deeks. "Go on then, put my black eye onto your little list."
"I'm not putting 'black eye' down. That makes it sound like you've been in a fight." He drummed his fingers lightly on the table and Nell gave a small moan. "What did I do now?"
"Nothing," she whimpered. "It's just… your hands."
"What about them?" Deeks extended his fingers out in front of him and stared hard. "There's two of them. They're the same size. No bits missing or bent. They're just hands."
"Uh uh." Nell shook her hand. "I love your hands. They're really sexy. Long, sensitive fingers. They make me imagine them doing all sorts of things. You should put them down too."
"You cannot have 'hot hands'. No way." Sam shook his head for added emphasis, or the benefit of viewers with less than stellar hearing who might otherwise have missed this crucial point.
"Well, you can't, Sam. That's true. Your hands are a bit like a bunch of sausages. But Deeks does. And when he puts on the black latex gloves…" Nell gulped convulsively. "Excuse me. I think I'll just go lie down in a darkened room for a bit." She staggered off-screen, fanning herself vigorously.
Kensi stifled a chortle. And then looked at Deeks, who was blushing deeply. "You're embarrassed. Admit it. And don't even bother trying to denying, because you're bright red."
"So I have an ivory, Nordic complexion? Sue me. It's okay for you, with your olive tones. You can get away with these things."
"I can sympathise," Callen said, being possessed of a Celtic fairness that had an unfortunate habit of going red in the sun. This was undoubtedly the reason that the Celts had failed to colonise anywhere except the colder, less sunny climes of the world, because the bright light had them all scuttling for cover and reaching for the sunscreen. Life had improved immensely for the Celts since the invention of factor 50 sunscreen. Until then, it had been almost impossible to wage war when your whole skin felt as if it was on fire and one size too small into the bargain, hence the Celtic strongholds in the cold, wet, miserable parts of the world like Scotland and Ireland.
They all turned to look at Sam, who held up his hands in protest. "Don't even think about going there. I'm from Brooklyn, remember?" Quite why Shane had insisted on this when he was actually from Queens was beyond him.
"How about I put down 'unusual eyes'? Would that work?" Deeks was desperate to get off the subject of his hands.
"Seems fair enough. And don't forget to add 'hot hands' in your column."
"That makes it sound like they're on fire or something."
"I bet Nell would feel your hands were on fire if they were on her," Callen said slyly. "Not to mention all those ladies out there." He gave a nod towards the camera. If Moonlighting could break the 'fourth wall', then there was no reason he couldn't follow in their illustrious footsteps. Just look what had happened to Bruce Willis after that show – the guy had gone stratospheric. Of course, things hadn't worked out quite so well for Cybill Shepherd, but then you couldn't have everything. And Callen didn't want all that much – mainly he wanted a name. A proper name. Because it was getting rather ridiculous now.
The premise of the 'man with no name' was well established in cinema, giving a character an air of mystery and intrigue. Callen had always thought this contrasted rather well with his own wholesome looks. But to suggest that he actually had no name at all was clearly ludicrous. How the heck would he have been able to get a driving license, far less a passport without a name? Callen knew about bureaucracy, and how insistent they were on being able to identify yourself beyond all doubt, and just trotting up there with only a surname was not going to cut the mustard. Of course, Shane was Australian, and being contemptuous of authority was somewhat of a national characteristic. Mind you, it did mean that he was literally a 'G Man', which was actually rather cool, even if it was highly unlikely that this had ever occurred to Shane. The best Callen could hope for was that his real name was something unoffensive and was not about to be revealed as something really lame like Gervaise, or Gaston or, God help him, even Gilbert. But one never knew what was going on in Shane's mind, mainly because he rarely deigned to speak to mere mortals. And should you ever be lucky enough to be ushered into The Presence, then a lackey would command you not to look at Shane directly and to only speak when spoken to.
"Oy! Callen. Mr Monochrome. We're talking to you."
Callen was jerked out of his reverie. "What did you call me?"
"Mr Monochrome. Mr 'I love navy blue'. You're not going to deny that, are you?"
Sam was really hitting below the belt now. It had long been a bone of contention with Callen that his wardrobe consisted in the main of various neutral tones, specialising in dark blue, black and grey. While Sam got to wear that amazing bright red shirt that instantly drew the viewers' eyes to him. "At least I don't sneak my clothes home and then boil wash them so they're obscenely tight," he parried. "Vanity, thy name is Sam."
"If you've got it, flaunt it," Sam smirked happily. "And I've got it. In spades. And bucketfuls. You want to deny that I've got the biggest muscles?"
Kensi allowed herself a small smile. "It depends which muscles you're talking about." Her eyes darted towards Deeks, who pretended to be very busy editing his spreadsheet and fooled absolutely nobody.
Breaking the fourth wall refers to when fictional characters reveal they are conscious of the fact they are fictional and adress the audience directly. Moonlighting made a speciality of doing this, and this story is doing its best to demolish that wall completely!