Sam looks at Eric. "I'm assuming the shooter was dressed as a police officer and not actually LAPD."
"Motorcycle was reported stolen yesterday."
Callen watches as Michael Barnes' final moments play out across the screen. Barnes battles with the faux-officer, pushes a blonde aside, and -
"He was protecting the woman."
Hetty nods. "So the question is: who is she and what's in the envelope."
Renko stage-whispers to Kensi, "That's two questions."
Callen listens to Nell's debriefing on Jillian Leigh, his eyes still focused on the screen. Identifying her is great, but they still don't know anything about the shooter.
"No facial rec on this guy?" he asks, once Nell and Eric have wrapped up.
Nell shakes her head. "No hits."
He nods, still frowning at the screen. "Play it again, Eric."
They're on the third viewing when Kensi says, "Freeze it."
He does, pausing the image as the shooter braces himself, anticipating another blow from Barnes.
"There," Kensi says, pointing to the screen. "He may have left a print on the barricade."
Nell nods. "I'll contact LAPD and see if they can -"
"No," Callen says, pushing off from the table, "that's probably not necessary. I think Kensi knows someone over there."
"The print on the concrete barrier belongs to a man named Assan Rafiq. He's a known Somali Al Qaeda member and on the FBI's wanted list," Deeks says over the line. "I just sent you the file."
Kensi watches her inbox, shifting the phone to her other ear as she waits for the email to arrive.
"I had fun last night," Deeks says.
She smiles and clicks on the message. "Me too."
Renko leans into her space and says into the phone, "Me three!"
She shoves him just hard enough to move his butt off the edge of her desk and dislodge him from his perch.
"Sorry," Kensi says to Deeks, making shooing motions at her partner until he retreats to his own space.
Deeks laughs. "No, that's cool. Maybe he can come along next time."
She scans the file, frowning at the picture. "Next time?"
"Friday?"
She smiles. "Friday is good."
"You don't actually have to bring Renko."
She clicks into the home directory and finds the file from this morning's briefing, selecting the surveillance footage and bringing it up onto her screen. "Oh, well, in that case, maybe I'll have to pass."
"And here I was planning on taking you to a burger place that serves milkshakes in frosted tins."
"I'm back in." She freezes the image and drags it beside the photo from the file Deeks sent.
"I thought so."
"You think you know me."
"Not as well as I'd like to."
She shivers a little at the words, at what they suggest. She thinks about last night when he dropped her off at her apartment - the way his lips felt against hers, his fingers warm against her waist - the chill left behind when he'd stepped away. She clears her throat and refocuses on the images on her screen. "This photo of Rafiq, that's not -"
"The guy who killed Barnes? No, doesn't look like it."
Renko's phone drops loudly into its cradle and he crosses back over to Kensi, returning to his previous resting place atop her desk.
"That was Callen," he says, shifting his weight as she tugs a file out from under him. "They found the doctor at the clinic with a bullet in his chest."
She looks again between the two images of the same man. "So we've got a dead plastic surgeon and a shooter who doesn't look like his mug shot."
"Would you like me to solve this mystery with my expertly-honed detective skills?"
Her eyes meet Renko's. "Nope, we've got it."
"So," Renko says, eyes flicking between the figures spread out around him as he adjusts his bowtie and tugs at his cuffs. "Night out?"
Callen and Sam look to be considering it, but Kensi shakes her head. "I'm going to get changed and go home to a bubble bath and a tub of Rocky Road."
He doesn't believe that for a second and waves a dismissive finger at her. "You're going to make the most of that up-do and go see that detective of yours."
Sam and Callen's eyebrows raise. In unison.
"I don't have a detective," she insists, still not convincing him, "and I am going home."
"Why don't you bring him out with us?" Renko suggests, gesturing to the guys. "He might clean up real nice."
As if on cue, Sam and Callen's eyebrows race up toward their foreheads in seemingly mocking disbelief. It's definitely disbelief and he's pretty sure about the mocking.
"Hey, anything's possible," he offers.
"Sure, if you find the right groomer," Sam says.
"It worked for Callen. I still remember that getup he was wearing the first time I met him."
"Goodnight, guys." Kensi shakes her head and heads toward wardrobe, calling over her shoulder as she goes. "Don't let Hetty see you leaving the building in her suits!"
"And where might you be going?" Hetty asks from behind him, making Renko practically jump out of the suit he had been half-hoping would convince the bouncer at Greystone that his lack of celebrity was not grounds for an automatic rejection.
That was malicious, Kensi, he thinks. Just plain malicious. "We thought we'd go to -"
"Wardrobe," Callen finishes for him, ushering them in the direction Kensi had disappeared. "We thought we'd go straight to wardrobe."
Kensi does, in fact, go home and take a bubble bath. It's been a long and eventful day, so she dumps in extra bubbles and even lights a few candles. It's a very romantic setting for her, made even better by the carton of Rocky Road that had escorted her in from the kitchen. She was planning on using a bowl but when she saw how much was in the bottom she figured it was easier just to dig straight in. There is a 100% chance she's going to eat it all anyway and dropping a carton on the floor while mostly submerged in the tub is going to create much less mess than dropping a bowl. Win, win.
After a very peaceful and sugary ten minutes, she scrapes the bottom of the container with her spoon. When she's sure she's gotten every last drop of nearly-melted ice cream she tosses the container and the spoon onto the bath mat and reaches for her cell.
She checks her email, decides that no, she doesn't need a 20% discount code for Victoria's Secret and types out a text.
I saved the city at work today.
She sets her phone to shuffle and puts it on the side of the tub, sinking down until her shoulders are submerged and closing her eyes.
Three songs later, her music fades out as a text pings. She smiles, pausing the music as she flicks up Deeks' reply.
Oh yeah? I got a butt cramp.
She snorts. So we were equally productive.
That sounds about right.
She's about to respond when the bubble pops up, telling her he's working on another retort.
So what did I almost die of today, aside from boredom?
Sarin gas.
Oh, that old thing?
The bubble pops up again, then disappears for a second before coming back, like he wrote something and then deleted it before starting again. The response that comes is not nearly as elaborate as she expected considering the time it took to construct.
I'm glad it all worked out.
You're glad you're not dead.
Very, thank you. And thank the guys, too. Give Sam a big hug for me.
:P
No, no don't give him tongue. He and I aren't to that level quite yet.
She cringes. Wow, I did not need that mental picture.
She hits the release with her foot and the water starts down the drain. She drops her phone onto the bath mat beside the remains of her dessert and steps out of the tub, yanking her towel off the rack. She's in the middle of drying when the phone pings with another text, so she finishes in a hurry, snatching it up as she pads into her bedroom, not quite dry but close enough.
She reads the display as she digs her pajamas out of her dresser.
And with that, I should call it a night. Sleep well, Princess.
She sighs and drops down onto her bed.
Night.
"It could have been worse," she says, totally unhelpfully, dunking her spoon into her shake.
"Sure, yeah, okay. That makes it better." Not better at all. Still pretty damn embarrassing, even if he did come out of it with all his limbs.
"Sure you don't want to order a raw steak or something?" she asks, mouth full of triple chocolate chunk milkshake. She's trying not to laugh. He's sure of it.
"No, no," he presses the cold tin against his swollen cheekbone. "This is great."
"Now, wait, remind me -"
"Because it's been all of thirty seconds -"
"Was she sixty-seven or -"
"She was sixty-eight. She was a fierce and crazily agile sixty-eight." And, like, scary strong too. With a mouth like a sailor and bones that cut like glass.
"Right, agile."
Okay, he's definitely going to have to wipe that smirk off her face. He sets the tin onto the table and pulls out his wallet, tossing a couple bills down to pay for their meals.
"Come on," he says, sliding out of the booth.
She looks down at her milkshake then back up at him. "But I'm not done!"
"Doesn't matter. The gauntlet has been thrown. We've got to go."
"What gauntlet?" She's still clinging to the tin. "Go where?"
"To prove to you how badass I am."
She laughs. A huge, honking, terrifying laugh. He's enthralled. It's horrible and adorable all at once.
When she gets a hold of herself she asks, "And how are you going to do that? We going to hit up a retirement home so you can challenge another sexagenarian to a duel?"
"Very funny. No, I'm challenging you to a duel."
"But I didn't bring my rapier."
He's not sure if she's joking. "You have a -" He shakes his head. "Never mind. You have your sidearm?"
"On a date?"
He raises his eyebrow.
"Okay, yes," she admits, "but only because I'm wearing jeans."
God damn, he finds that sexy. "Are you accepting my challenge?"
"Is your challenge for me to shoot you? Because I'm pretty sure I'm up for it, but I'm going to need just one more minute to think of any possible negative moral implications."
"Ha. Ha." He gestures toward the door. "Firing range?"
She releases her tin of milkshake and grins. "Bring it on."
"That was so not a clear victory."
Kensi slips her key into the lock. "Yes, it was."
"You didn't get as many points as I did," he defends, leaning against the wall beside her door. "Nineteen is lower than twenty-six."
She raises an eyebrow.
He throws up a hand. "A groin shot isn't incapacitating to an old lady!"
"Oh, is that who I was pretend shooting?"
He gives her a look as she opens the door.
"I must have missed that."
He drops his head back and sighs. "You really are very frightening."
"Frighteningly amazing?"
"Frighteningly terrifying."
"That doesn't sound like a compliment."
"Doesn't it?"
She scowls and he smiles.
They're silent for a minute, the keys heavy in her hand. She had a good time tonight. Despite the fact that she did actually dominate, she was really impressed with his marksmanship. He's a great shot, better than she expected and certainly better than most. She hasn't seen him in the field much, but she can put together the pieces and see that he really is a damn good cop. LAPD is lucky to have him.
And more than that, he's good company. Great company, actually. She doesn't remember the last time she smiled so much - laughed so much. She feels lighter, more relaxed. She thinks she could get used to this.
"Want to come in?"
"Want to promise me you won't take any groin shots?"
Her eyebrows raise slightly, and a smirk spreads across her face. "Are we still talking about the shooting range?"
"What else would we be talking about?"
She punches his shoulder.
"Okay, okay. I surrender. Take me in, Agent Blye."
She pauses a few seconds, pretending to mull over whether she should take him with her.
"Uh oh. Too much discussion about my groin?"
"Do you ever stop talking?"
"Rarely, but there are a couple of activities I can think of that might keep my mouth closed."
She gives him an exaggerated eye roll, but she's pretty sure he knows she's actually enjoying herself. Her hand works the door handle and she pushes it open. The second she crosses the threshold her heart starts beating faster, like it just now realized what's about to happen.
She crosses the living room, her feet taking her straight to the kitchen. "Coffee?" she asks.
"No, thanks."
"Tea?"
"I'm good."
She opens the freezer and starts digging through it. Damn it. She's out of ice cream. How can she be out of ice cream? She grabs a box of popsicles from the very back and looks inside. One left. She takes it out, tossing the box to the back of the freezer and closing it before offering the treat to Deeks.
He shakes his head. "You know we already had milkshakes, right?"
She removes the wrapper. "I didn't get to finish mine."
"Ah."
She frowns at the popsicle; grape and covered in freezer burn. No wonder it was still in the box. She crosses to the sink and runs it under the tap water to wash off the ice and goo. When it's passable and about half it's original size, she pops it in her mouth and turns back to Deeks.
He's still in the doorway of the kitchen, looking amused.
"What?" she asks, the popsicle muffling the word.
He steps toward her. "I think I changed my mind."
She swallows. Hard. "About the popsicle?"
He nods, resting his hip against the counter beside her.
She pulls it out of her mouth with a pop and holds it out for him. "Only one left, sorry."
He takes it. "I'll make do."
And then his tongue is out and his lips are wet and she realizes she made a critical error using this particular thing as a distraction from the knot of anticipation forming in her chest.
He slowly pulls it past his lips, a soft sucking sound escaping as he does. He hands it back.
She takes it, her fingers brushing his on the wooden stick and she damn near shivers. God, this is so ridiculous.
She jams the popsicle back in her mouth and sucks hard, trying to think of something, anything besides the energy crackling between them.
She takes the popsicle out of her mouth and reads the joke printed on the bottom half of the stick. She clears her throat. "What can you steal and not get in trouble?"
She looks up and he reaches out, brushing his thumb against her bottom lip.
"Purple," he says, eyes never leaving her mouth.
His hand falls and she runs her teeth across her lip to fill the void.
Her voice cracks. "You can steal purple?"
"Your mouth is purple."
"So's yours."
And then he's pressed up against her, his lips on hers. She drops the popsicle in the sink behind her and it lands with a thunk as she brings her hand up to tangle in his hair. His tongue slips into her mouth and she's pretty sure she's changing her mind about artificial grape as a flavor.
His hand is sliding up the back of her shirt, fingertips skidding across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He mumbles against her lips, "Second base."
She pulls back, her hand against his chest. She blinks him back into focus. "Wait, what?"
"What can you steal and not get in trouble," he says, fingers still dancing along her spine. "Second base."
"Oh." The joke. Thank god.
He's grinning. "You looked worried there for a second."
"I was not worried!" she scoffs.
She was totally worried. Really, really, worried.
"There's no need," he says, flicking open the clasp of her bra and leaning back in. She feels the heat of his next words against her lips. "I plan on making this night a home run."