For holysmoakingqueens, who requested "ncisla, suits, coffee"

Jessica frowns at the wine rack. These are her options? Are they even options at all? Her eyes scan higher. Oh dear god, there's a box.

"Well," she says as she hears the kitchen door swing open behind her, "I know what you're getting for Christmas."

"Is it a full night's sleep? Because that's all I want."

She turns, startled. "I'm sorry, I assumed you were Michelle."

"I get that a lot," says the blond man. He's got a surfer drawl to match his surfer hair and eyes that probably are a very striking blue when they're not completely blood-shot. "I'm Marty."

"Jessica."

"If you're looking for the good stuff, it's probably under a floorboard. Sam has trust issues."

She raises her eyebrows.

"But I can vouch for the slightly-above-average quality of the beer in the fridge, if you're interested."

"Tempting."

"Or," he says, leaning forward to open a cupboard and pulling out a metal tin, "I can offer you a cup of coffee. Just one though, the other nine are mine."

"A little insomnia?"

Marty reaches for the machine and flips open the lid. "About ten pounds of it."

"Oh, god coffee," says another voice as its owner barrels through the swinging door. "Tell me you got coffee."

"In progress," Marty says, glancing over his shoulder. "Where's the potato?"

The woman, a skinny brunette with red eyes to rival Marty's, rests her hip against the counter next to him. "Sam has her. He's some sort of whisperer. I say we sneak out the side door and don't come back until tomorrow."

"But then we'd miss the turkey."

"I don't even care."

"Wow, motherhood has changed you."

Jessica chuckles lightly and the woman jumps.

"Sorry," she says, "tunnel vision. I thought I smelled caffeine." She extends her hand. "I'm Kensi."

Jessica takes it. "Jessica."

"Michelle's sister from New York."

"That's me."

"You're a lawyer, right?" asks Marty, pulling three mugs from the cupboard.

"I am."

"We should talk shop."

"You're an attorney as well?"

Kensi snorts.

"Not currently practicing," he admits, "but I passed the bar."

"Just tattoo that fact on your forehead, it'll save you a lot of time," Kensi says with an eye roll, reaching for the coffee pot and one of the mugs.

"Honeybear, don't be bitter just because I'm better at something than you are. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Please, I could pass the bar," she says as she pours.

"You could not!"

"If I studied."

"Yeah, well, I could speak Farsi if I studied." He takes the drink Kensi hands him. "That's changing the rules of the game."

"Cream or sugar, Jessica?" Kensi asks.

"No, thank you. I'm going to try one of the above-average beers."

"A fine choice," Marty says. "I selected them from the premium section of the mini mart on my way here."

"Deeks!" Sam calls from the living room. "Your kid needs a diaper!"

Marty and Kensi exchange a challenging glance.

"Your turn."

"Um, no. I changed it this morning."

"That was pee and you know pee doesn't count."

"It does when it's a lot of pee. I had to change the onesie too. That's basically poop."

Kensi lifts her fist and holds it in front of herself. "West coast rules?"

"Ah yes, something else I'm better at."

Jessica watches as two full-grown adults engage in a long, complicated battle of what appears to be a modified rock, paper, scissors.

California, she decides, is a very odd place.