Oh my goodness… the plot bunnies and I would like to thank everyone for the amazing welcome back here to fanfiction. It was so lovely to get all your reviews, alerts and pms. I'm overwhelmed – so thank you all, once again.
Have you ever played buzz-word bingo? No? Really? How on earth do you manage to get through those self-development courses every employer seems to make their hapless staff attend? You don't actually listen to all that "blue sky thinking" stuff the management gurus go on about, do you? Take my advice, make up cards for every one attending and fill in the squares with the buzz words of the moment. You know, things like "continual improvement", "blue sky thinking" and "core values." Maybe you might want to consider pushing the boat out a bit and add in "paradigm shift", "portfolio of portable skills" or even "lifelong learning". And then you can sit back and watch as all your colleagues listen avidly to the speaker, each one intent on getting the first straight line, four corners, full house or whatever. Now, that really is pushing the envelope. I guarantee that meetings will never be the same again.
If all else fails, cultivate an interested expression and simply let your mind drift off. Just make sure you don't fall asleep. Management types tend to take it quite personally if doze off, even if you have a perfectly good reason, such as having been up all night on a stakeout. Now, I've nothing against learning, as long as it's relevant. So NCIS has a mission statement and core values? Whoopee. So do I, only in my case they amount to the same thing – always shoot first, and try not to get killed. That's worked pretty well for me so far, so I don't really think I need some kid fresh out of business school telling me how I can become a more valued employee by remembering that there is no "I" in "Team". I had that one down pat by the time I was six years old. The really depressing thing is that those management gurus probably get paid at twice as much as I do. Clearly, there's good money in all that blue-sky thinking working. Looks like I made the wrong career choice. Again.
Like I said, it's not that I'm against learning: quite the contrary. You don't get a law degree without a heck of a lot of hard graft. You do get a huge amount of debt though. No, it's just that I've sat through far too many of so-called development courses and come away with nothing more than a sore butt from the hard chairs, a free pen and handful of business cards at the end of it. So forgive me for being sceptical. It's just that in my experience the most valuable lessons you learn are the ones that come from real life. Take this week for example: I discovered exactly why a honeymoon is an essential part of every wedding. After the bride and groom, it's possibly the most important part of the whole affair. And no, it's not because of the promise of unbridled sex. Oh no. Not at all. You couldn't be farther from the truth if you tried.
The real reason you need a honeymoon is because you are so damned exhausted by the whole process of organising a wedding, so beaten down by every convoluted, ridiculous detail involved in getting married that you need a holiday at the end of it. And during the preparations there are many times when what you really need is to lie down in a darkened room, all by yourself, well away from everything and just try to forget about it all. It helps if you have heavy-duty drugs too. If all else fails, you have my permission to bury your head in the pillows and pretend the world doesn't exist.
I, of course, have none of the above – no solitude, no peace and definitely no drugs, other than the Tylenol in the bathroom cabinet and Monty's conditioning tablets. You'd better believe me - there isn't enough Tylenol in the world to make this better, so I'm seriously contemplating the dog's pills. If all else fails I should end up with a nice shiny coat. However, what I do have is the original immoveable object, only multiplied threefold. No matter how hard I try, there is no way I'm going to win. Essentially, I'm a dead man walking.
Cynical? Me? Okay, let me paint you this picture: I am, sitting in my living room with Kensi, her mom and Hetty. Got that? Here I am, trapped in a room with three women intent on arranging a wedding. My wedding. Three strong-willed women with very definite ideas, let me add. You might call them bloody-minded, but I couldn't possibly comment. Mainly because at least two of the three can seriously incapacitate a grown man with just their pinky fingers. And Kensi's mom looks like she'd be kind of handy too, given that she's pretty fit. Not that I think of her in that way. Of course I don't. Not if I can help it, because that would be all sorts of wrong, wouldn't it? And besides, Kensi would kill me. And she'd probably take great pleasure in killing me very slowly. Mind you, given the way all three of them are looking at me right now, there's a fair chance I might not be long for this world anyway.
Don't get me wrong – I like women. Of course I do. I just don't like being outnumbered by them– and in my own home too, which makes it worse. Monty took one look at the triumvirate and sensibly snuck out to the garden with his tail between his legs. I know exactly how he feels. If I had any sense, I'd have followed him and saved myself a whole lot of grief. You know it's a bad day when your dog shows more sense than you do.
"So, what are you wearing?" Kensi's mom asks as her opening gambit, in a friendly tone that doesn't fool me for an instant, mainly because her eyes are flashing danger signals. This is her little girl getting married, after all and all the protective instincts are well and truly to the fore. It's not helped by the fact that she still thinks of Kensi as a pre-teen, almost as preserved in amber, forever the same age as when the Blye family was still together. All those years they spent apart can never be recovered and the past and the aching pains of guilt they each feel seems to colour every word that passes between them.
"What am I wearing?"
It's like there is an echo in the room, which is strange because I'm really trying not to sound too stupid. Isn't it obvious what I'm wearing? Julia is sitting right in front of me after all. It's not like she's on the other end of a phone. Just to clarify, I'm wearing exactly what I wear most of the time, namely jeans and a t-shirt. This shirt is a little snugger than I would normally wear, but there's a good reason for that, seeing as how it's actually one of Kensi's shirts. And no, I haven't got into cross-dressing. You see, we were kind of busy when the doorbell rang, having got slightly distracted and completely forgotten we'd arranged for Hetty and Julia to come over so we could finalise the wedding plans. Actually, I'd deliberately forgotten. Or maybe I'd deliberately wiped it out of my memory? We were also both naked at the time, so I just grabbed the first thing that came to hand and pulled it on. It's a good thing it was just her shirt I picked up, because if I'd tried to squeeze into Kensi's jeans then the chances are that the most we'd have been doing on the honeymoon was playing scrabble.
"What are you wearing at the wedding, Mr Deeks?"
Is it my imagination, or is there a slightly edgy tone to Hetty's voice? And why is she looking at me in that way – as if she is a teacher and I am one of the less-able students? How was I supposed to know that was what Julia meant?
"Uh – a suit. Kind of. I guess." Well, that was an impressive defence, Deeks. Not. Silver-tongued eloquence well and truly to the fore.
And then it's like I'm fair game. It's open season right here in my living room and I am the target. The questions are flying around me like lead shot on a Scottish grouse moor or the 12th of August. They're coming so fast, I don't have a chance to open my mouth and come out with any retorts, but you can be sure I'm thinking plenty.
"What sort of suit?"
Uh – how about the normal sort – you know, complete with pants?
"You are wearing a tie, aren't you?"
Why – are you, Julia? Are you worried we'll look like twins?
"Bring it out here and let us look at it."
Et tu, Hetty? Or should that be "et three?" No matter. What I want to know is this: whatever happened to bosses defending their employees? Did I miss the memo rescinding that little tradition? Maybe I should start paying more attention at those courses? Or maybe not. I kind of like having all my brain cells in good working order.
Okay, Hetty wasn't asking a question, was she? Oh no, it was a command. And that's when I dig my heels in. Literally, actually. I really am digging my heels down into the rug, because otherwise I might just get up and walk out. Time to play them at their own game, I think.
"So, what are you wearing, Hetty?"
"A suit," she answers, in the tone of one who has always and moreover will always wear a suit. I'm almost certain Hetty has legs underneath the pants, it's just that nobody has ever seen them. Or should that be "nobody has ever seen them and lived to tell the tale"?
I'm just about to try and turn the tables, maybe glean a few more details from her, just to make sure we're not going to clash or anything like that, when Kensi's mom pre-empts me neatly. "I haven't quite decided on my outfit yet. But it will be tasteful. You don't need to worry about that." Really, that woman is sneaky. I can see exactly where Kensi gets it from. "
So, there I am, cut off neatly at the pass by the elder of the Blye women, which means there's nothing left to do but turn to Kensi and appeal to her better nature. Or rather, her competitive spirit. "Okay – here's the deal. I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours."
Only that didn't quite come out the way I meant it. Well it did – but I really didn't want to say that in front of Julia, did I? Mildly salacious innuendos are probably not the way to endear yourself to your future mother-in-law, after all. Surprisingly enough (and much to my relief), she just smiles at me. Kensi, on the other hand, blushes furiously. Now, that's interesting. I didn't know Kensi could blush. I thought she was beyond blushing. I must file that away for future reference, along with the fact that Julia is a good sport. It wouldn't surprise me if she was quite a girl, back in the day. Not that she isn't still quite a girl… Nope, I cannot think about Julia like that. Not ever. No matter how hot she looks. She is my fiancee's mother, after all. A thought strikes me: supposing Julia shares the same taste in men as her daughter? I am so doomed, because I've got this nasty feeling Julia could be a good deal of a cougar. Just shoot me now and put me out of my misery – please. I'm begging you.
"You can't see my dress before the wedding." Kensi's voice breaks into my thoughts, which is just as well, given the direction they were heading in.
You know, some people think I talk too much, which is kind of strange, because what comes out of my mouth is nothing compared to what goes on inside my head. Only I can't stay quiet on this one.
It's a good question, isn't it? A very good question. Exactly who made up this rule? I bet it was a woman, don't you? Anyway, I don't really care what Kensi wears – just as long as she turns up and says "I do." That's all that really matters, right?
"Because." Kensi stares at me, begging me to challenge her. Come on, she really should know me better than that. Or is all this talk of weddings just turning her brain to mush? "Just because," she adds emphatically, just in case I hadn't got the message first time around.
Julia makes a noise like she's choking, or something and Hetty's mouth is making these really strange movements. I reckon that either she's about to be sick, or she's trying not to laugh at the fact that Kensi has been reduced to the retorts of the kindergarten.
"Because isn't a reason, Kensi. It's a conjunction." Yes, I know. I should have stopped after the first sentence, shouldn't I? Or, better yet, kept my big mouth shut. Only I couldn't resist the temptation. And it was a great line. You've got to give me that much.
Kensi's face is set. It's impossible to read what she is thinking. Clearly she's been spending too much time with Hetty. Either that or there's another NCIS course I've missed – Impassivity as a Lifestyle Choice. Or maybe it was Frying Your Enemy's Brain By Thought Alone. I wonder why I never get to go on the really interesting courses?
Okay, I can see that it is time for a quick appeal to her better nature. Yup, when all else fails there is nothing, absolutely nothing quite like grovelling, no matter how undignified that might be. I'm just glad Monty isn't here to witness my downfall.
"Don't you trust me, Kensi? I mean, this is our big day – the start of the rest of our lives together. I just want it all to be as perfect as you are."
Hideously corny, isn't it? In my defence, I think I heard those lines on a soap, probably when I was on sick leave, and filed it away for future reference. Only, the thing is – the moment the words are spoken, I realise that I actually mean them, so help me. I mean every single word. She's all that matter and if I have to wear some boring, sober suit, then so be it. If that makes her happy, then that's what I'll wear.
As she looks at me, I can see Kensi soften. And it might just be the way the light is striking the lenses of her glasses, but for a moment I could almost swear that there are tears in Hetty's eyes. Only that's ridiculous, isn't it? Because Hetty doesn't cry. Does she?
"You might almost be good enough to marry my daughter." Julia gives me a weak smile. "But for heaven's sake, just make a bit of an effort and look smart on the big day? Alright?"
"I'll make sure of that."
Hey, I'm not about to let the side down, am I? It's my wedding day too, after all. And that's something that often gets lost in the mix, I've found. The poor old groom is just supposes to turn up – almost like an optional extra. Weddings are all about the bride, after all. Of course they are. Who on earth is going to look at me when Kensi is there? If she looks one tenth as beautiful then as she looks right now, with those stars in her incredible eyes, then I'm not going to get a look in. And that's just fine. That's the way things are meant to be. Only a part of me still thinks that Callen had the right idea when he and Nell eloped to Vegas. No hassle over what he was wearing and a honeymoon in Sin City into the bargain. Utter bliss. If that's what you want. All of a sudden it strikes me that Kensi and I want to be with all our friends. It wouldn't be the same if we couldn't share the day with them. Plus Julia and Hetty, of course. No, you can keep Vegas – we're getting married up in Napa, with everyone we care about around us. We're going to make memories and share them, so that in years to come we can all talk about how great it was, and how beautiful Kensi was. I've learnt that once the people who share your memories are gone, then the memories start to disappear too. Not that there's a whole lot I actually want to remember about my childhood, but there were some good bits. Only I don't have anyone to share them with any more, so it's like there is this whole chuk of my life that is missing.
"Well, now that's settled, I think we can move on to the matter of music." Hetty takes a deep breath. "Julia had an interesting idea." I have to give Hetty credit – she barely flinched when she said that but she couldn't quite keep the ominous tone out of her voice.
"Oh. Really?" I'm almost certain I don't want to hear this.
Julia is wreathed in smiles. "Can you sing, Marty?"
Of course I can sing. Why would anyone ever think I can't sing? Only, just as I'm opening my mouth to refute this, Kensi speaks up, loud and clear.
"Aw, Mom! Please? I asked you not to say anything." It's kind of weird to hear her voice, instead of my own but at the same time I can't help smiling, because Kensi just sounds so cute – kind of like a little kid. I've never seen this side of her before.
"Not say anything about what?" Yes, that is hopelessly ungrammatical, but even I can't be perfect all of the time.
"You don't need to know, because you can't sing and it's so not happening." If looks could kill, Kensi's eyes would ignite Julia into a small, smoking heap. It would probably ruin the sofa though, which is probably why she holds back from any actual physical harm. Not to mention Kensi's precious sofa pillows.
Wait a minute. Just rewind that for me. "What do you mean, 'I can't sing', Kensi? I can sing." Of course I can sing.
"Okay – so you can sing. But the point is that you're not going to sing at the wedding, because you can't manage to sing in tune."
I'm going to pretend she never said that, mainly because it's not true. Of course I can sing. Can't I? Let's look at the facts: I was lead singer in my group. Lead singer. Actually, I was the only singer. Of course, the guys amped up their guitars pretty much to the max, and my mike wasn't that powerful, but that is totally not the point. It's not like they planned it that way, or anything like that. And in any case, who appointed Kensi as singing monitor? Her criticising my singing is a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black, if you really must know. Not that I'm going to say that – not if I want to keep living and breathing and with all my limbs in good working order, that is.
"I don't want to sing at the wedding." Why on earth would Julia think I would want to do something like that? Who in their right mind would want to do something like that?
Kensi leans over and kisses me. "Thank the Lord."
"Why would I want to sing at the wedding?" I just can't help myself – I've got to know.
"Mom had this idea that we could record a track together for our first dance."
"Oh. Right." There's not a whole lot more I can say to that. Well, actually there is, only none of it is printable.
"Have you seen Moulin Rouge?" Julia asks, clearly hoping that her plan (whatever it is) might still stand a chance of coming to fruition.
"Uh huh." In situations like this, I've found it's usually best to say as little as possible, for fear of committing myself. Of course, I usually ignore my own good advice. Today is no exception. "But I can't see Kensi getting down and dirty to Children of the Revolution in a long white dress."
"Julian thought you and Kensi might sing a duet," Hetty says, making it perfectly clear she had nothing to do with this hair-brained scheme.
"Really?" Some people might say I overuse this word, but it covers a multitude of circumstances, I've found. It's short, it's to the point and you can convey a whole host of meanings, just by varying the intonation. I chose deep disbelief this time around. With a slight underlay of dismay.
"The love duet - Come What May." Julia sways slightly as she says this, like the music is playing in her mind. "It's a beautiful song. And I will love you, till the end of time." Her voice isn't bad. It's just not particularly good. It's kind of warbly, if you really must know.
Kensi shakes her head. "It's great, and I know it's your favourite song, Mom - but we're still not singing it – because Deeks can't sing."
It's funny how nobody is commenting on Kensi's singing voice, isn't it? No, for some reason this is "Pick on Deeks Day". Still, seeing as how she's no keener on the idea of a duet than I am, I decide just to let that matter slide. It seems safest that way. Slightly embarrassing, sure, but that's a small price to pay, given the circumstances. I'm conscious that I've got out of making a public exhibition of myself by the skin of my teeth. Looking back, I wonder if this was all just a ploy, softening me up, so that I'd agree to pretty much anything else that they suggested. Not that I'm suggesting they were lulling me into a false sense of security, or being devious and manipulative, or anything like that. Of course I'm not.
"Is that it?" And can you tell you desperate I am to get out of here?
"Why no, Mr Deeks. We've barely started. There's the small matter of the music, you see."
Foiled again. We could be here for hours. Days even.
"How do you feel about harps?" Julia asks. I'm going to be charitable and say that she is probably feeling bad about the way me and my voice have been held up for ridicule.
"As long as I'm not the one playing the harp and wearing a pair of wings, then I feel fine about them," I assure her. "Why do you ask?"
"I thought you might like to consider beginning the ceremony with some harp music. It would sound rather lovely in the courtyard setting, don't you agree?"
Kensi agrees. Kensi has this look on her face like all her dreams are coming true. "Oh yes!"
Fair enough. If that's what she want's then who am I to argue? I'm told that most girls dream about their wedding day for years, and of course guys don't do anything like that. Well, sometimes we might think about the girl and what she might be wearing underneath that long, virginal dress, but believe me, we don't exactly go into the finer details of what colour the seat covers should be (and who knew you got covers for chairs? With bows on them? That cost an absolute fortune, I might add and have no further purpose once the wedding is done. Unless you are either Liz Taylor or a polygamist and can re-use them a couple of dozen times to get your money's worth) thinking about the wedding lingerie in loving detail is and entirely different matter, and perfectly normal for a red-blooded male.
"So that's settled. I think I know a harpist who will oblige." Well, of course she does. Who would expect anything else from Hetty? Knowing her, she probably has about ten of the creatures just ready and waiting in the wings. "So, that just leaves the small matter of the first dance. Have you chosen the song yet?"
"We've already got that covered."
"And it's staying top-secret, so don't even bother to ask, okay Mom? Hetty? No questions – at all. We want to surprise you both."
Amazingly, Hetty just nods her head meekly, and folds both her hands neatly in her lap.
"Can you dance, Marty?" Julia gives me a quizzical look. I've got a feeling Hetty has been talking out of class.
"I can dance," I say with a breezy assurance that I don't feel. It's okay for Kensi . First of all, there's the fact that she can actually dance. And then there is the fact that she's going to be wearing a long white dress, so nobody will actually be able to see what her feet are doing. Whereas I – well, I'm going to make a complete fool of myself, aren't I, if I try anything more than shuffling round the dance floor. I'll count the first dance a success if I don't break any of Kensi's toes.
"You might want to give him a few hints," Hetty advises Kensi. "And make sure he practices. We don't want him treading on your feet like last time."
Yes, it's definitely Pick on Deeks day. Maybe next time they could warn me in advance and I'll just order myself a hairshirt?
"Maybe I could help? You see, I used to be a dance teacher." There is a yearning note in Julia's voice, and I realise that she probably taught Kensi to dance in the first place, and that dancing was something they used to do together. And, more than that, it strikes me that perhaps dancing can bring mother and daughter back together once again, with the music providing a bridge across the endless dance of time and the chasm of all the empty years that still lie yearning between them. It's worth a try. And let's be honest – I need all the help I can get.
"I'd appreciate that, Julia. It's really kind of you." Well, what else could I say? And the added bonus is that this way Julia and Kensi get to spend a bit more time together and maybe they might even be able to try and bridge that gulf a little? They love each other, I know that – but they just can't seem to get away from the past. There is so much that lies between them and gets in the way of their love. And yet – the bond is there.
"Me too, Mom." Kensi slips her hand into mine and squeezes tightly. "We're really going to get married, aren't we?"
"Definitely. You don't want to talk about the flowers?" Come on, give me some credit. You know I'm not interested in the flowers and I know I'm not interested in the flowers, but I'm trying here, I really am.
"Not unless you really want to. I've got my flowers picked and we thought we'd use the same theme for all the table decorations and swags, if that's okay with you?"
"Of course it is." Swags? What are swags when they're at home and why are we having them at our wedding? "I just thought…" And my voice tails off, because this is kind of embarrassing. Not, actually it is all sorts of embarrassing.
"Yes?" Hetty is leaning forward expectantly, and her voice is calm and encouraging. And Kensi edges her thigh against mine, so I reckon it's safe. This is my family, after all – or it will be. If I can't trust them, then who can I trust?
"I saw this thing once… in a magazine. I mean, it was a photo. In a magazine. Of a wedding." The power of coherent speech seems to have deserted me. Deep breath, Deeks. You can do this. They three women in my life sit there, waiting and looking at me expectantly. "And they had these trees, you see. Little trees, kind of cut into cone shapes and with loads of those little white lights on them. And I just thought that was kind of great."
I feel like a complete idiot. I definitely sound like one, don't I? Trees cut into fancy shapes? Fairy lights? If Callen or Sam ever hear of this, I am dead meat. I definitely need to learn to keep my big mouth shut. Maybe I should get my jaws wired together or something?
There is complete and utter silence. You can almost hear the tumbleweed blow across the lonesome prairie. Why doesn't the ground just open up now and swallow me whole? And then there is a collective sigh, as all three women exhale in unison. If I didn't know better, I'd think they had planned and rehearsed this.
"I can't believe you said that."
No, neither can I, Kensi. You'd think by now I would have learned when to shut up, wouldn't you?
Only (and I can't quite believe this) she is totally sincere. More than that, she's incredibly moved. So much so that her voice is actually trembling. "I mean – that is just the most gorgeous thing I've ever heard. Don't you think so, Mom."
"Oh yes. I think it sounds perfect. Just perfect." Julia leans over and pats me on the knee. "Bless you, Marty. You're a dear, thoughtful boy."
Note to self: it appears that getting in touch with your feminine side is not a sign of weakness. And it goes down a treat with the real women in your life. I must remember that one. It's probably best not to overuse the technique though. Once is probably enough. Once is more than enough.
"There's just one last thing." Kensi is gripping onto my hand for grim death and I can actually feeling the bones starting to rub against one another in a highly disconcerting fashion. "I've got a favour to ask you, Mom. A really big favour."
"Anything. You know that, darling. You can ask me anything at any time. " There is this wistful timbre to Julia's voice that brings back these echoes of a violin – an overwhelming undertone of sadness amidst the sweetness. You just know she would do anything for her daughter – the sad thing is that I'm not sure if Kensi realises that – or if she knows how much she is loved.
"It's just that… well, you see the thing is, I've been thinking. Well, we've both been thinking actually. Me and Marty. About the wedding, I mean."
We have? That's news to me. Yes, it's official: Kensi is gabbling. But that's okay, because I think I know what she's going to say. It's something she needs to do. Even better than that, it is something that Kensi wants to do, and wants it with all her heart, even if it is incredibly difficult to put into words, far less say them out loud. For so long, Kensi hid her feelings from everyone, kind of like a survival technique and it's a hard habit to break. I want to help her out, but I know that I can't. It's up to Kensi: she has to do it all by herself. All I can do is sit beside her, will her on and try not to wince as the pressure from her fingers increases so that I can almost hear the bones in my hand being pulverised into dust.
Kensi hitches in a deep breath and I can feel her body grow tense. Come on, sweetheart, you can do this.
"Would you walk me down the aisle, Mom? Please? Because I love you and I want you to be beside me. All the way. "
There is a long and very awkward silence, and Julia looks as if she can't believe what has just happened. And then she sits up very straight and takes hold of Kensi's hand. "Oh Kensi. My darling girl. You've made me so very, very happy." And as I watch her eyes fill up with tears, but that's okay, because they are tears of joy. And it's even better when Kensi starts to cry too, because she's crying in her mom's arms, which is something that hasn't happened for nearly 20 years. Oh, and because Julia is stroking her hair and whispering in her ear. It's taken a long time, but finally mother and daughter are reunited.
And me? Well, I've just got the best wedding present ever. I've also got my hand back and it appears to be in working order, even if it is red and swollen.
I reckon Kensi and Julia probably need some time alone together, so Hetty and I beat a hasty withdrawal to the garden, leaving Kensi and Julia alone to conquer the memories and start to build a future together.
"Families. They can be such a blessing. And such a blessed nuisance too. Wouldn't you agree, Mr Deeks?"
"How about you ask me that in ten years time, Hetty?"
Because right now, I want to live in the moment. It's a beautiful day: the sun is shining and for once Monty hasn't dug a hole the size of a pumpkin right in the middle of the lawn. No, he's just lying there, dozing in the sunshine. And I'm going to marry the most amazing girl in the whole world and build a whole new family with her. So I don't want to think about anything except how damned lucky I am. Heck, I'm so happy I might even sing, just for the sheer joy of everything. Only Monty always starts acting in this strange way when I sing. He sort of cringes and then puts his paws over his head. I've no idea why. And it seems a pity to disturb him, so for once I really do hold my tongue and just sit down with Hetty and think about how lucky I am.
Life is sweet. Life is pretty damned near perfect, if you really want to know. Now, all I have to do before the wedding is learn how to dance so that a) I don't make a complete fool of myself and b) rip Kensi's dress to shreds, then I reckon we've pretty much got it made. Everything else can take care of itself. But one thing is non-negotiable: I'm not shaving. No way. Even I have my limits.