The Secret Journal of Kensi Blye
An NCIS:Los Angeles Fanfiction
You just know it's going to be a bad day when it starts off with a dead Marine. If only I'd known that was going to be the least of my problems, I would have been singing and dancing. That was the day it all started, when a guy called Marty Deeks walked into my life and started to bug me. And he hasn't stopped since. That man can get underneath my skin like nobody else can, and I've been trying to make sense of it ever since. And so far, I've failed – completely and utterly. So I decided to go back and read my journal, right from the very first day I met him. If I know Deeks – and believe me, I know him – he's already tried to break through all the encryption codes. But he's dead in the water without Eric's help – and Eric knows I'd kill him if he ever tells anyone the key, so I reckon I'm safe.
I've been keeping a journal for years – not a diary, because that's what teenagers do – this journal is the considered reflection of a mature, stunning attractive, intelligent woman who can kick butt. To be honest, most of the early years were pretty dull (especially the last few months I spent with Jack. There's only so much you can say about a man who sits in silence for most of the time, after all). But everything changed when Deeks appeared. Life with Deeks is never dull – it's weird but it's not dull. Of course, he wasn't called Deeks when I first met him, back then he was going by the name of Jason Wyler. But I'm getting ahead of myself. The journal entries speak for themselves. You can see how utterly frustrating the man is and how he drives me to absolute distraction. And why I can't work out what on earth I'm going to do about him.
And it shouldn't be this hard. I'm Kensi Marie Blye, NCIS Special Agent and he's my partner. For better or for worse, we rely on each other. So why can't I work out what's going on?
Tuesday, June 4, 2010
Hand to Hand, Day One.
Today started with a dead Marine, only this one was really gross. He'd bled out, and not from a belly wound or normal anything like that. No, this one had bled from his eyes, ears, mouth and nose, like he was in some horror movie. And in this alley behind 420, the hottest club in LA right now.. I'll never feel quite the same about going there again, even if they do have the best DJ in town. Of course, Sam and Callen hadn't heard of it, but then they are over forty. Remind me never to take them there. They just don't get it sometimes.
At the time, I was relieved that they were going to get to paddle around in Daniel Zuna's blood, especially after Hetty casually mentioned that there might be a bio-hazard risk. Talk about wanting to give that assignment a body-swerve. Haemorrhagic fever has never been on my 'to do', funnily enough – mainly because it would then be a bucket list. Callen looked kind of queasy when she said that, kind of the way he looks if I've been driving. I don't get to drive much when I'm with him, which is strange, because I aced those courses on aggressive driving and tactical manoeuvring.
Anyway, with Sam and Callen going to the scene of the crime, that meant that I had to go to this gym where the victim used to train. It went by the subtle name of "The Blood and Guts Warriors", in a Guns 'N' Roses type of font. These two things will tell you pretty much everything you need to know about the place. Of course, there wasn't a single woman in the place except me and the whiff of testosterone just about knocked me over. Honestly, men are so predictable, they see even a moderately attractive woman in tight jeans and a skimpy top with her bra straps showing and you could sell them the Brooklyn Bridge. They see me dressed like that, and with my hair in those loose, bed-head waves and their tongues were just about hanging out. Which is why I love this job so much – the feeling of power it gives me, just watching them standing there practically panting. Men are such idiots. All they think about is sex.
So, there I was, being poor grieving Tracy (after Katherine Hepburn, in The Philadelphia Story, of course) and they were just lapping it all up. Well, almost all of them. Everyone except this one guy, Jason Wyler. He just stood there, chewing away on his gum and I could tell he wasn't buying my story about being Daniel's bereaved girlfriend for one instant. God, he was so rude and that pissed me off. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was the hottest guy there or that he wasn't falling over himself to be nice to me – it had absolutely nothing to do with that at all. He just pissed me off. One of the guys actually apologised to me afterwards. He said that Wyler was 'wound up tight'. I'd like to help him unwind, oh yes I would. I'd have him so relaxed he'd just be lying there like he was half-way to heaven. But I didn't get anything of much substance from any of them – other than a whole lot more attitude from Wyler. I could have slapped him – but I thought he'd probably like that, so I didn't give him the satisfaction. Who does that guy think he is? He's not that good looking. I mean, you walk down just about any street in LA and you're going to see at least a dozen guys with shaggy blond hair, big blue eyes, buff bodies and those tans that make them look as if they've been rolling around in molten honey. He's absolutely nothing special. I hardly even noticed him, if you want the truth. He'd look a whole lot better if he shaved though. Not that I noticed his stubble – it barely even registered.
Which is why it was really annoying that Sam and Callen seemed to think I had this 'thing' for him. We were looking through the photos of the various members of the Warriors, plus Wyler, who's a sort of wannabe Warrior (oh, and he could be anything he wanted to be with me) and they tried to make out that I was staring at his photo. Well, I was, but only because I'd never actually seen a driving license photo that didn't make you look like you were intellectually challenged. It was probably the best photo in the history of driving licenses, with him staring at the camera and looking all mean and moody, but kind of cute at the same time. The guy clearly has an attitude problem.
I tried to tell them that there was something about Wyler that was setting off a warning bell, but would they listen? Of course not. They're men, after all, and men have to reduce everything down to the level of sex. So Callen went on about his 'baby blues' (and actually, Wyler's eyes are more like the blue of the ocean in early morning) while Sam made these disparaging remarks about his 'fluffy hair'. He was clearly jealous, as Wyler had great hair, while Sam is follicly challenged (aka bald as a coot). Sometimes I wish there was another woman on the team. I knew it was a mistake to drink tequila with Callen and Sam last week and I'm pretty sure I shouldn't have confessed that I've always had this thing for surfer dudes. (Did I mention that Wyler looks like he surfs? And if he doesn't, then he should go out and learn. The thought of him in a wetsuit makes my toes curl up.)
Well, you would have thought that things couldn't get much worse. They did, of course: they got a whole lot worse. Callen and I went over to Zuna's place, and who should walk in but Jason Wyler. Go figure. I was beginning to get the sense that Jason Wyler was going to play a big part in this case and that suited me just fine. If he tried to escape, I'd get him in an arm lock and the force him down to the ground and sit on his butt, just for good measure. Wyler has the best butt and he looked quite different in clothes – street clothes, I mean. Because it's not that I've been fantasising about him in that wetsuit. Or even out of that wetsuit. Anyway, like I said, he looked different – sort of leaner, if that makes sense. He has the longest legs and I wonder how he gets jeans that are long enough. Not that I'm complaining, because his jeans fitted just fine. Believe me on that one. They fitted like a dream. I'll be dreaming of him in those jeans tonight.
Wyler is sharp – I've got to give him that. Sharp and hot. He didn't buy my story for a second, although he did look mildly interested when I mentioned I'd been sending my dear, dead boyfriend, Daniel Zuna, naked photos of myself. As if! Zuna was so not my type. But then I saw the gun Wyler had tucked into the back of his jeans, and I knew he was trouble. Trouble with a capital 'T'. So I switched to my back-up story – which was drugs. Basically, nine times out of ten it's going to be drugs or guns, so it was a pretty safe bet. And Wyler doesn't look like a gun dealer, even if he as packing a Beretta. I know this because when we were talking, I took the opportunity to stare long and hard into his eyes. You can tell a lot about a man from his eyes and I can you tell you this: Jason Wyler has nice eyes. They've got these crease lines around them, like he smiles a lot – only he wasn't smiling. He was just looking at me, like he could see right through me. I was trying my best, trying to flirt my way out of it, but before anything could happen, good old Callen came to the rescue. So now I'll never know. Because when a woman looks like a man like that, he's supposed to kiss her. So why didn't Wyler kiss me? Maybe he's gay?
Stop Press. Jason Wyler isn't Jason Wyler. Jason Wyler doesn't exist – except for that driving license there's no trace of him. I knew that photograph was too good to be true. Nobody looks that good in those photos. I mentioned that I thought he was still a prime suspect and of course Sam and Callen had to pick up on that. Sam cracked this lame joke about me being 'stuck' on Wyler and Callen had to go one better. There are days when I really wish there was another woman on the team, for a little solidarity. I don't count Hetty because there is no way that even Callen would tell Hetty that she was 'stuck, smitten – whatever' on this random guy that she hardly even noticed. And the only reason I was looking so carefully at that fake driving license was because it gave his height as 5' 11" and I would swear he's at least 6' 2". Which means I could wear really high heels and he'd still be taller than me.
So that piece of news means that we're down to one option: we've got to get close to the 'Warriors' and Sam's going to try to fight his way into the team. More precisely, he's got to fight Wyler and I can't wait. I'm going to be ringside tonight and I'm really going to enjoy seeing Sam pound him into the ground. That should knock that cocky smile off his face. I just hope Sam doesn't hurt him too much, because he's kind of cute. If you like that sort of thing.
Stay tuned for more excerts from Kensi's journal, on a case-by-case basis.