a/n: I haven't updated this in forever.

Ooops.

I got sick and school got hard and you don't want my excuses. So a peace offering? If you follow me on Tumblr you've probably already seen this one. It's a few months old. It's sad and I wasn't going to put it on here but it's here now anyway. It is kinda 'close to home' to me, and I'm so sorry if you have ever gone through what Kensi and Deeks' daughter has to go through in this little ficlet. I'm so sorry.

Of the many things this job has taught me, this one shows up more often than the others. There are now all of the sudden little demons that hide in every good that comes our way. NCIS has given me a home, encompassed me in love, and supported me through some of the worst years of my life. But I don't think those bad time are over.

And it isn't her fault. Hannah is the perfect daughter in every single way. But since Kensi died, those hard days have been more prevalent.

Kensi. Her name haunts me. When Hannah talks about Mom, it haunts me. She's in the forefront of my mind pretty much every second of the day. Every time I have to help Hannah with a decision, I think of what Kensi would say, but its so hard. And I can never put it in the words she would have used.

It was four years ago that she was shot. Hannah was thirteen. She struggled, but she was strong. To strong and stubborn, just like her mother. Nate stuck around, but Hannah wanted little to do with him. To this day, the pair aren't as close as they once were. She doesn't

want him near her. It breaks my heart.

What breaks my heart even more, is this moment we're in. Today is her seventeenth birthday. She's pretending to be happy, trying to smile. But I can read my baby girl like a book, and its all fake. I could call her out on that, but I don't want to make this any harder on her than it already is. She swears school was just great and that she's fine.

"Can I have a hug?" I ask quietly.

She nods, and folds herself into my chest. I pressed my lips to the top of her head and held her tightly until finally, the truth revealed itself.

Hannah's body stiffened and tensed, and suddenly, inaudible sobs wreaked over her.

"Hold on baby girl," I whispered, pulling her in tighter and tighter. "I got you."

"She's not here Dad. For my seventeenth birthday now, but she's not going to be there at my graduation, or my wedding, or…" Her words became incoherent. The hole burning in my heart for the past four years just got much much bigger, as I hurt for my daughter.

I learned early on that there is nothing you can really say to make these things better. Actually most things make it much worse. Letting her get it all out, although rare for her, is most important. She is her mother in so many ways, and I'm reminded of the day so many years ago when she cried ever so quietly into my chest after her DOJ interrogation. Hannah is that on so many levels.

Hannah's words slowly quit, and her tears flowed with less violent shaking. I pushed her away enough so that I could see her face. My perfect, beautiful daughter. She saw the few tears streaming down my own face, and it made her tense again, but I placed my hand on her shoulder.

"Do you remember when your Mom would tell you about your Grandpa Blye?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"He left her a journal. She didn't share it with me until years after we were married, I think you were maybe two or three. But he told her that no matter where she was, he wanted to be there too, so they could be together. And you know what? If Mom had a choice, she'd be right here with us, too."

"But she's not, Dad. She's not here."

"But she is." I point down to my daughter's chest. "She's in you."

"That's too much responsibility."

"You can handle it."

"I don't think I can, Dad."

"You're doing it already," I said. "Your drive, purpose, beauty, you're keeping her alive."

"But I can't talk to her," she said softly.

"There are always faults in that logic. But I want you to always remember that you keep her alive. In everything you do."

"That doesn't make it better."

"I know it doesn't, or it doesn't seem like it. It will though."

"I miss her, Daddy." Another loose tear slid down my cheek. When your 17 year old daughter calls you Daddy, that means something.

"I miss her too, Hannah."

We sat down on the couch. She curled up into my side. She lay her head on my chest.

"Some seventeenth birthday," she sighed.

"I'm so sorry," I said, rubbing circles into her back. "You know what I remember? Your sixth birthday."

"My sixth birthday?"

"Oh yeah. You remember it?"

"Was that the year…?" she started, and I nodded. "No!" she laughed, throwing her head back, grinning ear to ear.

I smiled too. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and swipe through the pages of full apps to show her my home screen.

Its that picture. Hannah is sitting up on the counter in our kitchen. Kensi is sitting next to her. They're both holding cupcakes, and Monty is standing up on his hind legs trying to reach them. Kensi is smiling wide with her teeth showing and eyes almost closed, as she reaches out to keep Hannah from falling off of the counter because she's laughing so hard.

We both remember that moments after this picture was taken, Hannah's cupcake slipped out of her hand and landed right on Monty's face. He guzzled it right up, but in the spot where the purple icing hit his fur, it remained dyed the deep color for several days.

Hannah looked up from my phone screen into my eyes. "You help keep her alive too, Dad."

I sucked in a quick pulse of air. There's no way to explain how that warmed my heart.

"She deserves to live forever," I said, trying to soothe her, but also myself by running my fingers through her thick ponytail.

"Do you think there's anything she'd want to tell me? Seventeen is supposed to be a big deal or whatever."

I thought for a moment. There's got to be something, something I can tell her that is not from speculation. Something that is concrete fact that her mom wanted her to know.

"I know she loved you. She loved you so much. And I know how beautiful she thought you are. I know you were her world. And if she were here, she'd want you be happy, and live happy not because of her, but because…" I paused. How do I finish that sentence?

"Because of you? Because I still have you?"

I paused. She continues to blow my mind every single day.

"I wouldn't say that."

"But she would, Dad."

"She would want you to be happy because it's your seventeenth birthday. That's a big deal."

"She'd want me to treasure you too, Dad. And be happy with you."

"I thought you said you couldn't handle having your mother live in you?"

"Sometimes it's hard when I over think it, but I guess it usually comes naturally."

"We'll never quit missing her or loving her," I said. "Just remember that she loved you, she loved you so much."

"She loved you too, Dad. I think she still does."

With a smile we both wiped away the final tears for the day. Hard days still come. But Hannah, she makes them manageable. She's the reason I keep going.

"Come on, nuf of this. It is your birthday. There's a box of cupcakes in the kitchen. Let's watch a movie."

"Titanic for Mom?"

"It's your seventeenth birthday, no more crying."

"Top Model for Mom?"

I chuckled. "That's not a movie, but yeah, I think we can do that one."

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, baby girl."

Quietly, so quietly, I almost didn't hear it, I heard her whisper, "I love you too, Mommy."

I tried to forget that I heard her say it, but I couldn't. After two episodes of Top Model, I went to go grab some candles for the cupcakes and I whispered it to the ceiling for myself.

"I love you Kensi. I still miss you."