NCIS: The Triangle Chapter 6

Kensi never ran. She was earth and fire, grounded and fighting all the time. So the image of Kensi as a flighty sparrow of a woman was disconcerting to everyone in the bullpen. Sure, they'd heard shouting, but Kensi usually shouted, about everything from sweet potatoes to injustice. Then she would stand her ground. Not bail.

"What was that about?" Eric asked, always asking dopey questions with childlike concern. His answer came not from anyone in the bullpen, but the giant that opened the training room door, hobbling a little and holding his face. He got all the way to the group before someone spoke up.

"What did you do?" Sam gave Callen a face, like he shouldn't have said anything.

"I forgot to call," Nate replied wryly, wincing at his injuries.

"When?" Nell asked.

"Two years ago."

"What happened two years ago?" Andy asked, and they turned to face him, as if everyone had forgotten he was there and hadn't been around last time. It felt like Nate should be the one to answer, but he was saved by Hetty. As he often was.

"Mr. Getz," she called across the cavernous room, and Nate scampered to get over to her desk.

"What happened two years ago?" Andy asked again.

"Well, Kensi and Nate were..." Sam paused as he tried to figure out a delicate way to describe it.

"-a thing" Eric cut in.

"Thanks, Eric."

"What?"

"No one really knew about it," Sam tempered, "Or at least, we all pretended we didn't know. It wasn't official, but we all could tell."

"So what? He got reassigned and didn't tell anyone?"

Callen smirked. "You should be careful. You're getting dangerously Eric-Beal-ish in your dumb questions."

"Callen."

"Fine, fine. He didn't so much leave as take off into the night without so much as a phone number on a cocktail napkin."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously, Detective Cupcake," Callen replied. "He left all of us, but he left Kensi the most. Which reminds me, there's something I need to do."

With that ominous statement, Callen turned and left the bullpen, heading up the stairs in the same direction Hetty had beckoned Nate moments ago. Sam was the first to speak.

"That's not good."

"That's an understatement," Eric replied.

"Hey Nate."

Nate turned sharply over his shoulder. He had just left a frankly unsettling conversation with Hetty, though most people could count their settling conversations with her on one hand. Because of this he was not in the mood to be surprised. But no one had told Callen that.

"Whoa. Callen. Didn't see you there," Nate replied, trying to shrug off his jumpiness.

"That's the point. We should talk," Callen began, putting his arm up and over Nate's shoulders and guiding him down the hallway. For a short- no, never short, Callen would kill him if he called him short- decently average but shorter-than-Nate-guy, the ease with which Callen threw his arm over Nate's shoulder was a bit unnerving. Nate had seen him do this time and again with marks in the past, so it did nothing to ease his suspicions.

"What exactly about? I'm leaving by the end of today."

"See, I think of Kensi as a sister. A little sister. A little sister who can kick my ass, as it were."

"Sure, but I—"

"No, no. Let me finish. I think of Kensi as a little sister. Sam and I both do. You, obviously don't, or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I mean, I suppose—"

"Nate, let me speak plainly." Callen stopped their progress down the hallway to face him. Despite his lack of height, he was dangerous with that look in his eye.

"Please dear god, speak plainly, Callen. I don't know what you're talking about."

"The dumb act is a little tired, Nate. See, we all had to deal with Kensi when you left. Not exactly deal, because she's like family, but we did deal, since Kensi's not exactly a muffin of joy when she's in a mood. But we made it work. She was broken when you left. You didn't even leave a damn note? What made you think that would work out in your favor?"

"I-" Callen stopped him with a glare.

"Not yet. Soon, but not yet. We finally put her back together, and Deeks saunters in with his beautiful hair and his puppy eyes and she started to sort herself out. She was practically normal and then your dumb face arrives in our Ops Center. And now you want her back? Is that what you want?"

There was a long silence.

"Oh, I'm sorry, were you done with the lecture? Am I permitted to speak?"

"Don't be a smartass, Nate."

"Then don't do the vintage big brother routine, G," Nate shot back. "What did you say? 'It's tired.' Kensi can fight for herself-" he motioned to his face, where a savage black-eye was developing, "-obviously, and she doesn't need you trying to protect her honor or whatever."

"Of course not. Kensi kicked your ass for herself, on her own terms. But just because she's gotten her vengeance doesn't mean we have exacted our own."

"What, are you going to fight me? Right now? In this hallway?" Nate shouted, causing some of the people down the way to turn.

Callen didn't answer right away. He rubbed his scruff and took a deep breath.

"No. I'm not going to fight you. Don't be a moron, Nate. But I'm asking you to not be an idiot. You coming back here after forever expecting her to be waiting by the door like some World War Two housewife was a little unreasonable, don't you think? That notwithstanding, expecting her to be waiting at all once you basically shredded her is incredibly unreasonable."

"I was never expecting her to be waiting," Nate blustered.

"Every single action you have taken since you arrived would suggest otherwise. But she moved on. She is happy. Or, at least, she was before you waltzed into Ops. Now you're going to fix it."

"I don't even know how—"

"Fix it, Nate. Fix it now."

With that, Callen poked the psychologist in the chest, hard, and continued down the hallway, calling for Sam to find out where his SWAT gear was possibly hidden.

Deeks insisted that he take Kensi to breakfast. After she stopped crying her eyes out on the beach, he tied his board to his frankly-too-fancy car and changed out of the clingy wetsuit into a t-shirt and cargo shorts. Kensi liked him better this way. Not that she didn't enjoy the way the wetsuit hugged his muscles, but in his cargos and a tee, he looked softer. Cozier. More like the Marty she loved.

They walked down the street to a little diner. When you're on the boardwalk already, you can't spit without hitting a good place for dive food, but that was just the way Kensi liked it. Mr. Granola-man Deeks always teased her about her proclivity for greasy food, but would steal her hash browns given the slightest opportunity. She figured he should just get the damn skillet instead of wimping out with the chia bowl.

Over a farmer's breakfast, an egg-white omelet (she couldn't convince him otherwise, he wants to keep his beach body for the honeymoon), and a whole mess of hashbrowns, they hashed it out. Pardon the pun. Kensi started at the beginning, hesitant at first, but once the floodgates were open it poured out.

She told him everything. Everything he could handle, anyway. He would tap the table, mouth full of her farmer's breakfast when he'd heard enough, and she would continue. Telling the tales of days but not kisses, trajectories but not intimacy. He could tell from her voice; he didn't need to hear the gruesome details.

When the plates were empty and she stopped speaking, he paid the check and it was his turn. He spoke of sunny days busting bad guys and walking into the Ops Center to she her shining face. He mentioned that time she was a pack rat, or rather still is, and when she kept three moving boxes full of childhood crap in the bullpen. Each time was something wonderful and more. It completely eclipsed her cloudy mood, and soon she could only think of lazy afternoons and sparkling Sundays.

They walked out of the diner hand in hand.

(A/N): I'm gonna finish this if it kills me. Soon it will be. I've got one more in me.