There's been a rather long gap since I posted the last update to this story, due to life suddenly taking a nose-dive that knocked me for six. So many thanks to everyone who PM'd me to check that I was okay.
Kensi and I deserve to be as happy as Callen and Nell are, don't we?
For the first time I realise just how very much love hurts, how love can tear you apart, from the inside out. All we want is a baby – that's not so much to ask –just an everyday miracle. Oh yes, love hurts alright. Love hurts so much it feels like my head is going to explode right now
Callen and Nell are going to have a baby.
The words keep reverberating around in my head, in this torturous of rhythm and I'm almost certain the forced smile I've got plastered onto my face has all the genuine warmth of an alligator. For years I schooled myself not to let my emotions show, to use humour as a shield, but Kensi changed all that and now I'm struggling. When it was just me, it was easier to push it all to one side and pretend that it didn't matter, but this isn't just about me – it's about us, and our hopes and our dreams. And somehow that makes it all so very much worse.
"Ms Blye? Mr Deeks? If I might have a word?" Hetty is standing on the balcony, beckoning to us, and right now she looks awful like a lifebelt thrown to a drowning man. We both bolt up the stairs, like a pair of puppies who've been cooped up in the house all day and are desperate for a pee. Instead of Ops, Hetty points towards the Armoury. Now, colour me stupid, but somehow (judging by the look on her face at any rate) I don't think we're about to be shot at dawn, which is good. I don't think I could cope with any more bad news today.
Hetty shuts the door behind us, locks it and then leans back against it, presumably taking this triple series of measures so that nobody is going to barge in on us. Meanwhile, Kensi and I kind of retreat to the far end of the room, in kind of a protective gesture. Let's just take a moment and consider this situation, shall we? We're locked into a room that is stuffed full of weapons and ammunition with Hetty – aka the woman who uses a flick knife as a letter opener. And you wonder why I'm feeling just a tiny bit vulnerable? Of course, being Hetty (and therefore utterly unpredictable) she then proceeds to take the wind completely out of my sails.
"I find myself in a rather delicate position."
Under normal circumstances, this is the point at which I would make some humorous remark, but I can't summon up the energy today. The pause hangs heavily in the air, like a thunderstorm that is brewing and about to burst. Oh no, that already happened, didn't it? It went and rained all over our parade. I think this is the first time that I've ever seen Hetty visibly discomfited, because Kensi and I are just standing there, looking at her and not saying a single word, which means she has to leap into the breach.
"I really would be most grateful for your assistance."
"Sure." Kensi actually manages to sound relatively upbeat. The girl is good, I've got to give her that. If she can do this, so can I.
"You going to make us an offer we can't refuse?" I plaster an insincere smile on my face.
"I thought I already did, Mr Deeks. In a bar, remember? You were drinking coffee, if I recall correctly."
Oh yes, I remember. It's not something I'm exactly going to forget, is it? I was sitting there, thinking about Kensi, and how my life was going nowhere. I was at the point where I was seriously contemplating telling LAPD exactly where they could do with their job, then jumping in my car and seeing where I landed up. Mexico was a strong contender, if I remember correctly. Good beer and great surfing is a kind of irresistible combination when you're down in the depths. And then Hetty walked in and in that instant my whole life changed. Damn the woman and her perfect recall. She could probably tell me exactly which pair of boxers I was (or wasn't) wearing that day too.
"The day Deeks isn't drinking coffee is the day I know he's got a problem." I take back everything I've just said about Kensi being good, because now she's just blown it - big time. In the interests of making a baby, I've been trying to cut down of caffeine and substituting soy chai lattes during the day. Yup, that is exactly how desperate I am, summed up in three words: soy chai latte. Don't even think about trying one, because it really isn't worth it. Trust me. And of course Hetty will have noticed the change in my beverage of choice. Of course she will. Because Hetty notices everything. Kensi realises her mistake just a fraction of a second too late, and looks as if she wants the floor to open up and swallow her.
"Sometimes change is good," I offer lamely.
Hetty doesn't say a word. Not one single word and that's when I realise she knows exactly what is going on. I should have realised we couldn't hide anything from Hetty, because the woman quite literally knows everything. And when I put those puzzle piece together, I drop my gaze downwards to stare very hard at the floor, because I don't want to see her look of pity in her eyes. I'd give anything to be able to look at her directly and say they everything is cool, only it isn't- and I can't. There's another of those hideous silences that seem to stretch out into infinity, and way beyond that, like time itself is fracturing and we are caught up in the middle of the implosion, just watching impotently as chaos spirals in a vertiginous paroxysm of destruction. Eventually, just when the silence has stretched so far, one of us has to break. Amazingly enough, this time it's Hetty who talks first.
"I find that I have been somewhat remiss in the supervisory aspect of my duties: namely ensuring that both of you are operating at the required physical levels."
Please do not tell me that today of all days Hetty is going to send us for a physical exam? Over the past few months both of us have been subject to enough undignified prodding and poking to last a lifetime. Stripping down to my shorts and being told to cough really would be the icing on top of the cake.
"So I must ask you both to drive over to Pendleton and complete the standard assault course without further ado. And then the tactical weapons course tomorrow." She composes her face into a suitably sheepish expression.
"Today?"
"Immediately, I'm afraid. And this will require you to stay there for at least two night. You'll be away until Wednesday."
Well, that's going to be a hardship, isn't it? Hetty has somehow managed to come up with a reprieve that not only gets us away from here, but gives us a breathing space. There is the small matter of the assault course, which is rumoured to be hideously challenging, but I couldn't care less if they have now added alligators just to up the ante a fraction further. For the first time since Callen broke the news, I actually feel slightly more positive. By the time we get back, it will be old news. And as for Kensi – well, she's positively wreathed in smiles, but then Pendleton is practically her second home. Under normal circumstances, I have to admit that that Marine base wouldn't normally be on my top ten list of places to go to, being rather too full of square jawed recruits with those disconcerting buzz cuts for comfort (and that's only the women), but it does have two distinct advantages. In the first place, it's not LA, which is a major plus point right now. And then there is the small, almost inconsequential matter of the surfing. Pendleton has great surfing. Now, the beach there is normally restricted to Marines, but if I know Hetty, she can probably manage to swing something. In fact, knowing Hetty, she probably already has. There is nothing like getting pounded by a breaker to help you put things back into perspective. I'll make sure to remember to pack my wetsuit. I'm not so sure if I'll be able to sneak my surfboard out without Kensi noticing, added to which there is the additional complication that the surf-racks and Porsches don't really mix. Oh well, I'm sure I'll think of something. If the worst comes to the worst, I'm sure there's probably a half-decent surf shop somewhere around the base. You can never really have too many boards, after all.
I'm still processing all this information while Kensi goes up to Hetty. "Thank you. For everything."
"For being amiss in my administration duties? I hardly think that is a matter for gratitude." She almost manages to sound brusque. Almost, but not quite. That's Hetty for you: never willingly displaying any emotion; preferring instead to demonstrate her affection through her actions.
Kensi isn't about to let this one go. "Still… You know."
Hetty does something that almost takes my breath away: she reaches out and lays her hand on Kensi's forearm. I've never seen her initiate human contact before. "I do know. And I understand. I understand completely." Just for a second, her face softens and instead there is a look that we both know only too well is revealed: one of raw anguish. I've learnt to recognise the signs during our various visits to clinics: you sit for a long time in waiting rooms and sometimes the other patients talk. So I am certain, beyond all possible doubt that Hetty knows, alright. She knows all about it, because she has been there herself.
Two hours later, and we're on the freeway, cruising along and trying to make some sense of things.
"Callen and Nell? When did that happen?"
Kensi gives an enigmatic shrug. "I'm guessing at least three months ago."
"I didn't have a clue. Did you?" After all, she and Nell can be pretty tight.
"I might have thought something was going on. I mean, Callen has been kind of withdrawn lately. But I always thought Nell and Eric would be the ones to get it together."
Is it really mean of me to be pleased that Kensi didn't have a clue either? I'm just glad I wasn't the only clueless member of the team when it came to missing what was right underneath our noses. And, for what it's worth, I always thought it would be Nell and Eric too. Only I was wrong, wasn't I? "All those longing looks across Ops, you mean? The way they used to share a keyboard, like they were Siamese twins or something? "
That was the killer for me, because Eric feels about his computer equipment the way we feel about our guns - it's incredibly personal. As for me, I always thought there was too much of an age gap between Nell and Callen for it to even be a possibility, which shows you how much I know. Suddenly what I'd seen as a kind of uncle/niece relationship turns out to be something completely different. Which neatly sums up why men leave all the analysis of relationships to women: namely because we are essentially clueless until we're personally involved, at which point we usually become completely clueless and just do what we are told. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but you get my drift. We all know who the stronger sex are – in just about everything, except power-lifting. There's a reason why men don't give birth, you know. Only I would if I could. It's funny how your mind always comes right back to the one thing you are trying not to think about, isn't it? Still, I've got the definite impression that this little bombshell has affected Eric every bit as much as it has knocked us for six, only for entirely different reasons, of course.
"Nell and I talked a lot about all you guys," Kensi confesses.
I knew it. All these girly evenings they spent together were basically an excuse to gossip about us guys. I wonder what they said about me?
"And she used to talk a lot about Eric and how he never noticed her. As a woman, I mean. He saw her skills, but not a whole lot else."
Whereas I noticed everything about Kensi the moment I met her. You'd have to be blind not to. Which reminds me…
"You want me to give you a ten minute start on the assault course?" I offer generously
"Why – so I can go get a cup of coffee for you after I've finished, and you are still slogging your way around?" As ever, Kensi puts me right back into my cage, and then locks the door.
"Of course not. Though that would be good. No, it's so I've got something to aim for – the thought that when I finally catch up with you, I can ogle your ass. I've got to have some incentive to complete the course, haven't I? And seeing your rear-view ahead of me is one powerful inducement to keep going." You really think I haven't thought about all this in great detail? While it was great of Hetty to conjure up some idea to get us out of LA, and she had to come up with something on the spur of the moment, the idea of a Marine assault course is not exactly filling me with joy.
"You say the nicest things, you know that, Deeks?" The laughter is back in her voice again. "But if you think I'm going to let some sweaty, stinky man, covered in mud even touch me, far less in front of a platoon of Marines, you can think again. I've got my reputation to think of."
This clearly is not the time to point out that she's going to be every bit as smelly and filthy as me by the end of the course, is it? "You could think of it like a mud pack."
"I could – but I'm not going to."
And this definitely isn't the time to tell Kensi that I've been just remembered reading about this spa near Napa where they do this great couples package, with mud baths, followed by massages. I think I'll leave that as a surprise for her.
Three hours later and I'm standing wheezing pathetically, soaked to the skin and wondering why this seemed like such a great idea. Okay, the assault course is basically like a great big obstacle race, the kind you did way back at junior school. And I seem to recall that scrambling under nets and over hurdles was kind of fun back then. This was so far removed from fun it might as well have been on the far side of the moon. You see, these military assault courses are basically designed to break you down into tiny little pieces, so that the Marine Corps can put you back together, this time in the way they want. And that, in a nutshell, is one of the reasons I gave all branches of the military a body swerve when it came to career choices: because I don't want to conform – I want to be me, with all my faults. The other reasons were (in no particular order) the pay, the insistence on conformity and the ridiculous haircuts. Now, given that I am currently working for NCIS and have just floundered my way around a Marine assault course, that may seem rather ironic. However, in my defence, I would just like to point out that my hair is still about six inches longer than military regulation length. A fact that did not escape the grunt working in the supply store, who offered me a hair band, along with the set of fatigues and boots she handed across the counter. And without even the hint of a smile. That's another thing about military types – I reckon they have their sense of humour surgically removed, along swith just about every other element of their personality during their indoctrination, sorry – basic training. So I've got a slight problem with authority figures and being made to conform? Get over it.
And getting over it was exactly what I managed do, in terms of that course. Never again though. Once was more than enough. Would you believe that there are civilian versions of these courses? It's mind-blowing to think that some people will actually pay good money to voluntarily putting themselves through this hell. It will come as no surprise when I tell you that Kensi looks particularly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, almost as if she'd love to repeat the whole experience.
"Having fun?" I do make an effort, but I can't quite manage to keep that sarcastic note out of my voice.
"This all takes me back." She gestures expansively and I can't help noticing the nostalgic look on her face – underneath the mud. How come she manages to look so hot, even in fatigues? "Pendleton – the Corps – there's a whole lot of memories here."
"Please tell me you never dreamt about getting married in the Marine Memorial Chapel?" Because that is the stuff nightmares are made of for me.
"Maybe. When I was a little girl. And then later on, with Jack – well, that was the sort of thing he liked. You know – dress uniforms, cutting the cake with a sword."
In other words, all the things that are so far removed from my comfort zone as to be the equivalent of the Falkland Islands - right in the middle of nowhere. I just hope we're not going to take sides and have a bloody battle, like Britain and Argentina did.
"But that was a long time ago. And I also wanted to be a pony and went through a whole year of calling myself Kevin."
Now, I'm going to let that last bit pass without comment, because the whole gender-bending thing has never really been my bag. "Really? You wanted to be a pony? You didn't just want a pony?"
"Nope." Kensi shakes her head emphatically, and some mud splatters hit me on the face. "Sorry about that. No, I really did want to be a pony. I'd spend hours out in back yard, trotting around and neighing, and building these little jumps – poles balanced on paint can, you know?"
Well no actually – I don't. Not exactly, but I can relate. You see, I just spent years dreaming about becoming a super hero, escaping into a fantasy word where no-one and nothing could touch me, where right always vanquished wrong in the end. Maybe everything does always work out for a reason after all? Right down to that chance encounter in the gym, which in turn lead to Hetty strong-arming me into agreeing to work for NCIS, and leading directly to Kensi and I standing right here, right now. Truth, justice and the American way of life… I guess that's what it all boils down to in the end.
"So that's you keep wearing you hair in that cute ponytail then?" And maybe she's got this thing about whips too? That could be interesting.
"Very funny. You're just jealous, admit it."
Now, there have been periods when my hair was right down to my shoulders, as she very well knows, having seen the photographic evidence. Don't ask me why, all I can say is that it seemed like a good idea at the time. I can't begin to think what Callen and Sam would say if they ever saw those photos. They'd probably hold me down and forcibly shave my head, or something like that. But let's be honest, they're probably just jealous. And, if you really want the truth, I bet Sam spends a whole lot more time keeping that shiny head of his completely hair-free than I do with my hair, which really just does its own thing. With considerable aplomb, or so I've been told.
"Yeah, right. Surfer boy." Kensi look down at herself in dismay. "God, I am absolutely filthy. And soaked through."
"Right through?" Now there is an interesting thought. Maybe I could help her out there? A long, hot shower sounds pretty amazing right now.
Knowing me rather too well, Kensi grimaces at me and waggles her finger. "Down boy. Pendleton. Single-sex washing facilities, remember?"
And that is yet another reason why a life in the military was not for me. It kind of hampers my natural inclinations, if you get my drift.
"Yeah – but there's that great big bathroom back at the hotel. With Egyptian cotton towels and complimentary bath products. Which it would be a shame to waste."
Hetty, may she live for ever, not only booked us into off-base accommodation, but into what can only be described as a luxurious hotel. She was heard murmuring about how difficult it was to get value for money at such short notice, but she didn't fool me for one second.
"I like the way you think, Deeks."
I just like everything about Kensi. I think she's pretty damn near perfect, but then I'm we move off, I notice she's limping, favouring her right leg and trying not to wince. "You okay, Kens?"
"I think I've pulled my hamstring," she admits reluctantly. "It feels a bit tight."
"You know what you need – a long, hot bath and then a massage. Purely for medical reasons, of course."
"Don't tell me-you packed a white coat, along with that wetsuit of yours?"
I should have known I couldn't get anything past her. "You'll feel a lot better after that," I assure her.
"I'm sure I will. And how will you feel?" Kensi actually lets me take hold of her arm and even leans on me a little, which is how I know how much that leg is hurting her.
"Oh, I'll feel fine. Just fine." I assure her, because we both know how that little scenario is going to play out, don't we? Well, it would be a hell of shame not to make full use of all those facilities Hetty's so generously provided us with, wouldn't it?
My boots squelch with every step I take; I've got in places I'd really rather not think about and just about every muscle in my body is protesting, but despite all the crap this day has thrown at us, we're both managing to come out on top. Things can only get better, right?
You might think so. In which case you would be wrong. We're nearly at the showers when this hearty Marine-type in civilian dress does a double-take.
"Kensi? Kensi Blye? It is you, underneath all that mud, isn't it?"
"Jack?" Is it my imagination, or does she sound just a little too happy to see the man who walked out on her?
I want to keep on walking, to drag Kensi away by brute force if I have to. Heck, if I thought it would do any good, I'd throw her over my shoulder and run so fast you wouldn't see me for dust. Only I don't. Of course I don't. What would be the point in that?
It's official: this is the crappiest day ever. No contest, today is definitely the all-time winner, beating that time I shot my Dad into a cocked hat. Funny, he looked kind of like Jack- or maybe my memory is playing tricks with me. Whatever. I don't actually care, because in my book they were both bastards who never deserved to be loved in the first place. It's just that I know only too well how you can't just switch your feelings off, that no matter how much you can tell yourself that you are better off without them, there's always a piece of your heart that pines and wonders 'what if'. Well, it looks like I'm going to find out the answer to that question.