A spice rack?
Kensi types a reply as she makes her way up to ops. Maybe she sees a hidden talent in me.
Very, very hidden.
She laughs, which earns her a shake of the head from Renko. I am not that bad!
...
Don't elipses me! You ate it. It was edible.
One of those things is true, yes.
She hangs back in the hallway as the team passes through the sliding doors. See if I ever cook for you again.
Is that supposed to be a threat?
"Hey, Juliette," Renko says, sticking his head back into the hall. "Wherefore art thou?"
gtg
She clicks her phone off and pockets it, walking into ops with a sigh. "Wherefore means 'why.' You're asking why am I."
"Yeah, why are you texting when we've got a case?"
She elbows him in the side as she comes up to the table. "I hope you 'exit, pursued by a bear.'"
He makes a face. "Well, your trivia game remains strong, but your humor leaves a lot to be desired."
"You leave a lot to be desired."
He sighs. "Exactly."
"This man has no family and no friends," says the doctor. "The trauma he experienced while deployed has driven him into complete isolation. Frankly," he folds his hands at his waist and stand a little straighter, "forgetting what happened last night may be the best thing for him."
Callen sighs internally. Selective amnesia's great for Talbot, but doesn't help them solve this case any faster. It doesn't help them solve this case at all. They've got two dead bodies, a guy drenched in blood, a dozen horrified bystanders, and no idea what happened.
"Has Talbot been taking risperidone along with benzodiazepines?"
Kensi's question pulls Callen out of this thoughts. What and which?
"As a matter of fact, yes," says the doctor, clearly just as surprised as Callen.
He watches as she thinks about the answer for a moment, and he wonders what it is she's debating.
"I'll talk to him."
Callen nods, but isn't happy about it. There's something going on here and he doesn't like not having all the information. He can't effectively lead the team if he doesn't know the variables in play. But he trusts Kensi and trusts her judgment, so he gives her the benefit of the doubt.
"I didn't know you had an agent who was familiar with the pharmacological treatment of DSM-IV-TR," the doctor says after Kensi's made her way to interrogation.
"Neither did we," Callen answers, still staring at the hallway, trying to figure out what it is he's missing. That's not something she learned in training. Maybe her father? He drags his attention back into the room. "Thank you for your time, Doctor."
"No problem."
The doctor makes his way out of the boat shed and the team turns to the screen to watch as Kensi sits down at the table.
Whatever's going on, Callen has a feeling he's about to find out.
Deeks peels the plastic wrap back on a plate of Christmas cookies, surveying his options. He selects a gingerbread man with three silver buttons and a single remaining red hot for an eye, wrapping it in a napkin before making his way back to his desk with his freshly refilled coffee.
He drops down into his seat and tosses the cookie on the table. He takes a sip of his drink and watches the cursor blink in and out on his screen. Looking down, he notices the gingerbread man has a cracked left arm. His eyes dart over to the tape dispenser, considering for a moment whether anyone will notice him if he takes a minute to practice combat casualty care on a cookie. He's pretty sure this is the kind of stuff that's expected of highly trained super spies, right? On the other hand, he's probably not going to be doing much at all if command sends him for a psych eval.
He grabs the napkin and unwraps the cookie, picking off the silver balls and flicking them into his garbage can. Fuck it, he voices internally as the arm snaps off entirely between his teeth. It's super crunchy - probably because they've been in the break room for the better part of a week, but probably also because it's gingerbread and gingerbread cookies are just unpalatable by default. He tosses the remaining cookie into the garbage.
He lets out an audible sigh as his eyes drift over the assorted 8.5" x 11" bearers of boredom littering the surface of his desk. Another day, another round of mindless paperwork. If he'd wanted to spend his life at a desk debating whether or not the sentence needed a comma he'd have stayed at the public defender's office. This is getting ridiculous.
He glances at the clock on the bottom of his screen, debating whether or not he's been at his desk long enough to warrant another round at the range. Not even close.
He pulls out his cell and types a message. He's just hitting send when a nicely tailored pantsuit leans against his desk.
"Hey, Deeks."
He looks up at Detective Parker and tosses his phone onto his desk. "Please tell me you're here to ask me for help on an assignment. Someone's been murdered and you just can't handle the workload, right?"
She shakes her head.
"A really fast guy has escaped and you need someone to run him down? You know how speedy I am."
Another shake.
"You're here to take some of this paperwork?"
She eyes the files stacked on his desk. "That looks about the same size it did yesterday."
"Optical illusion."
"Uh huh. You bringing that girlfriend of yours to the Christmas party tonight?"
He sighs and leans back in his chair. "I am not."
"Because she doesn't exist?"
"Because I have other plans." And because he has zero interest in introducing Kensi to the assholes he works with. Present company excluded, of course.
"Soup kitchen?" she guesses.
"Minestrone doesn't ladle itself."
She smiles and shakes her head. "You sure about this girl of yours, Deeks? Because I'm considering kicking Mike to the curb and will need a surrogate father for my children."
"If I believed that for a second I might take you up on it. You know Josie would be on board."
"Only because she'd think you'd take her surfing twice a day and serve ice cream for every meal."
"Well, I would." His desk phone rings and he snatches it up. "Deeks."
"The Lieutenant wants to see you."
"He can't just look at the photo of me he keeps in his wallet?"
"I'll do you a favor and not tell him you said that."
"Spoilsport." He drops the phone back into the receiver and looks back up at Parker. "The bossman beckons."
"Hey, maybe he has a case for you."
Hallelujah. "It's a Christmas miracle."
"I just, uh." Kensi clears her throat, sweeping her bangs out of her eyes. "I just need to..."
Renko nods in understanding. "Take your time. I'll round up Talbot and we'll head to the car."
She gives him a weak smile and slips into the restroom, the door closing silently behind her as she crosses over to the sink. She snags a paper towel off the pile on the counter, soaking it in cold water before pressing it to her cheeks.
She wasn't ready for this, wasn't prepared to be flooded with these emotions when she's still so raw. It's only been six years. It's only been -
She swipes the paper towel under her eye, trying to tame the makeup that's smudged down her cheeks.
She never liked Christmas; not since her father died. Not since she looked over the shoulder of the Marine in his dress uniform - the one on her doorstep telling her her father wasn't coming home - and saw her neighbor's garish, plastic Santa blinking in and out, his pink cheeks and bright eyes full of mirth. He didn't understand her pain then and he didn't understand it any better now. The brightly colored piece of plastic crap didn't care that she was suffering. He couldn't turn off the charm for one goddamn second and respect the fact that her insides were being shredded and ripped apart.
It was actually considerate of Jack to leave her, to leave them, on Christmas. He didn't ruin another part of the year. He just added to the pain the holiday season brings, which, frankly, was pretty much at capacity before he even entered her life. She already hated the songs and the colors and the taste of eggnog and the smell of fresh nutmeg and the idea that the only way to be happy is to have someone to be happy with.
It could have been worse, she tells herself. He could have ruined Halloween. And candy.
She pulls her phone out of her pocket and looks at the screen, finding a text from Deeks. She flicks it up and enters her password so she can read the message.
Is it six yet?
She sniffles. I wish.
She waits a second for a reply, and when it doesn't come she slides her phone back into her pocket and looks at her reflection.
Maybe she's got another chance.
She stands up straighter and swallows the lump in her throat. Plastic Santa may not care about poor, lost souls, but Kensi does. She's got to pull herself together for Talbot. She is not going to let him down.
Renko watches as Kensi shrugs on her leather jacket and brushes her hair out of her eyes. She looks so beat down, so tired. He knows today was awful for her, what a whirlwind it's been. He's not sure what to do about it but he knows he can't just let her slip away without even trying.
He grabs his bag and closes his locker. "Going to make your flight?"
When she doesn't respond he tries again. "Kensi?"
She looks up then, like it's the first thing she's heard. "Hmm?"
"I asked if you were going to be able to make your flight."
She shakes her head and takes another swipe at her bangs. "No, I don't think so. I'll, uh, I'll have to go standby or something."
He's fairly sure he doesn't believe her. "Well, if you don't end up getting a flight, you're welcome to come with me to San Diego. My aunt is in the running for the world's worst cook, but she buys the pie, so at least that's edible. And my cousin Joe always spikes the eggnog. The rum doesn't make it taste any better, but at least by the end of the third mug you'll be tipsy enough that you won't give a shit about the fourth." He smiles, hoping it'll spread a little cheer.
It doesn't.
"Thank you, but I'm good. I think I'll just head home." She hooks her bag over her shoulder. "I'll grab a flight tomorrow."
He knows there's something she's not telling him, but also knows it's not his place to ask. Kensi's always had a wall around her that she doesn't want penetrated, and he respects that. Some people just like to keep to themselves. And though it's a far cry from the way he is, he tries to be understanding. He tries his best to stay out of her personal bubble.
"Okay," he nods, "have a merry Christmas."
She finally smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "You too."
When she gets home, she heads straight for the bedroom. She's got half an hour before Deeks shows up to take her to their mystery destination, and she wants to change, needs to change - like somehow a new shirt will make the rest of the day seem farther away.
She still feels like shit, like there's a chunk of her heart that's hanging by a thread - like her lungs are smaller but the smallness makes them exponentially more difficult to fill. But Deeks is coming. He'll be here and he'll see her and she's going to be herself, going to move past this mopey, sorry crap.
And maybe when he holds her she'll stop breaking apart.
She tugs at her closet door, kicking aside a pile of clothes to get it to open all the way. When she can finally see what's inside she frowns, tugging at the elastic band in her hair.
What's the dress code for "mystery" anyway?
She's pulling her phone out to text him when it pings.
Can't make it tonight. Op came up and I have to go under like five minutes ago. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I'll contact you if I can. Have a merry Christmas, Kens. I'll miss you.
She stares at his message, reading it four, five times before breaking down into full-blown tears.
Stupid, she tells herself, scrubbing furiously at her face. Stupid, crying Kensi. Like she didn't get enough of that out this morning? How many more times will she cry over being alone? How many more times will she set herself up to take this same fall before she realizes it's safer to stay on the ground?
She knows it's an operation; she knows he had no choice and that he wouldn't have wanted to go. She knows Deeks would be here if he could. But still, the echo of all her past heartbreak is there.
There's no tree in her apartment but she still smells pine, no cookies in the oven but she still tastes gingerbread, no snow on the ground but she still feels cold. It's Christmas and she's by herself and that's the way it has to be.
Her neighbors' lights twinkle outside her window and she's on the floor, alone, reminded once again that she shouldn't let anyone else in because no one, absolutely no one else will always be there.
Kensi isn't supposed to find someone she can depend on - isn't supposed to let anyone share the weight of her heart.
She's got to be content to carry the weight alone.
So she picks herself up off the floor and resolves to do just that.
Locked in his drawer at LAPD headquarters, Deeks' phone vibrates with a message.
Be safe.
It's silent for a moment and then it vibrates again.
Come back.