A Jimmy Buffett Christmas

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A Jimmy Buffett Christmas
by templemarker

Notes: Written for bluflamingo in Yuletide 2009. I wrote this episode weeks before the whole mechanical bull thing, and man, did I feel prescient. TV-psychic-skills aside, no spoilers, but this story takes place post-“Brimstone” (110). Thanks to my awesome betas, who were most likely Minim Calibre and Tiriel. Originally posted here.


“All right, boys, we’re going out on the town,” Kensi said, with that take-no-prisoners stare she got sometimes when she had to run after a perp or there was only one cheese danish left in the pastry box.

Dom looked up from the LA Times. “It’s December 23rd. We’re on a skeleton crew with no pending cases. Don’t you just want to go home?”

Kensi grabbed the top of his paper and tugged it down. “No, Dominic, I do not want to go home and duck my mother’s calls and avoid explaining why I do not want to spend Christmas at Camp Pendleton this year. I want to go out to the margarita bar Eric can never shut up about and share a pitcher of tequila-laced slushee with my boys. That is what I want to do on Christmas Eve-Eve.”

Dom checked the clock–fifteen to five–and looked back at Kensi’s face, which hadn’t changed in its determination. “Fine,” he said. “But only one drink.”

Kensi’s smile was something altogether different than any other look she had, transforming her face from lovely to beautiful. Not that Dom noticed or anything. She turned and shouted towards the balcony, “ERIC! Get your skinny white ass down here! We’re getting our drink on!” and Dom recoiled from the force.

Eric ducked over the balcony, wearing a bright orange Hawaiian shirt with elves (also wearing Hawaiian shirts) scurrying red and green packages all over his chest. Dom’s eyes hurt just looking at them. “Tia Maria’s?” he asked excitedly, toes curling in his Birkenstocks. Dom resisted the urge to cover his eyes with his hand. This wasn’t promising.

Kensi grinned. “Two for one pitchers and a round of shots on me,” she said.

Dom groaned as Eric said, “Yes! Let me set these updates to run off the server and we’ll hit it like that time back in March when the Spring Break girls–”

“–oh god, not again,” Nate said, coming into the common area. “Last time we went to Tia Maria’s I ended up with a bra stuffed down my pants, and I wasn’t even drinking. Or dancing. Or hitting on anyone.”

“Exactly,” Kensi said, like Nate had just made an excellent point for the “pro” column. “C’mon, Pepito, it’s time for you to brave the wonderful world of tequila once more.”

“Don’t make me,” Nate said, pleadingly. “I don’t know if I can do it again. And I hate it when you call me Pepito.”

“What kind of bacchanalian debauchery are we talking about here?” Dom said, at once terrified and fascinated.

Nate leaned down, and in a half-whisper he said, “Bull riding.”

“Wait–who’s going to go take on Maria?” Sam asked as he came into the room, clapping Nate hard enough on the back to make him take a step forward.

“Are you going to make Dom do it? He’s the new guy, he should have to do it. It’s like a rite of passage,” G said, rifling through the paper Dom had set on the table.

“I’m not riding a bull,” Dom warned. “Wait, is that why it’s called Tia Maria’s? I thought it was just a déclassé reference to the liqueur.”

Sam snorted. “Tia Maria is the baddest electronic bull in South Central. She will knock your ass from here to Reseda.” He cocked his head and grinned. “That’s where the tequila comes in handy.”

“Ooh, tequila,” G said, looking up. “I could go for some tequila. Could you go for some tequila, Sam?”

“I–” Sam started, but Kensi cut him off.

“Junior agents only,” she said, poking a finger at Sam’s arm. “None of you senior people. We need to introduce Dom to the way of Tia Maria, and that can’t be accomplished if you two come along and are all official and responsible for our well-being.”

“Aw,” G said, looking put out. “Fine. We’ll go to the Cabinet. They just got in Pasion Azteca, which is the most expensive tequila in the world, and I’m buying some for me and Sam. So there.”

“It’s Jose Cuervo for me and the boys,” Kensi said, unperturbed. “Go be all fancy senior field agent somewhere else. I have a bull to make Dom ride.”

“That sounds so wrong,” Dom said.

“I have 2-1 odds going that Sam’s going to move on G tonight,” Eric said, popping up from behind Nate.

Kensi snorted. “No bet.”

“No bet,” said Nate, stepping smoothly to the side to let the hideous glory of Eric’s shirt be seen by all.

“Is that what your betting pool is about?” Dom asked. “Odds on Sam and G to step up their bromance?”

“It stopped being a good bet last summer, when the security feed caught G macking on Hanna in the back alley,” Kensi said. “But the twerp over here won’t admit it wasn’t doctored.”

“There was pixelation on the exterior frame base,” Eric protested. “It could have been falsely generated!”

“You can’t generate that much tongue,” Nate said with a vaguely shocky look about him. “Anyway, Eric just doesn’t want to pay up.”

“No bet,” Dom said, as a preventative measure.

“Tequila!” Kensi said, grabbing Dom and Nate and hauling them out the door.

“You are crazy strong for a girl,” Eric said admiringly.

“I work out,” Kensi said. “Besides, Nate knows I can pin him to the floor in three moves or less. Want to test me out, Dom?”

“Tequila?” Dom said weakly. “I’m an analyst first, agent second.”

“That’s the spirit,” Nate said, shrugging into his jacket. “You’re going to need a lot of tequila to take on Tia Maria.”

“I am not riding any damn bull,” Dom said.

“That’s what they all say,” Eric said.

“I thought we were done with hazing,” Dom complained.

“We’re never done with hazing,” Kensi said with a smile. “But we only keep doing it if we like you.”

“You like me, you really like me,” Dom grumbled, but he smiled a little bit too.

Nate grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “We do.”

“Tequila!” Eric shouted, shoving them out the door and towards the bar.

“Bull riding for everyone!” Kensi said.

“And a hangover too,” Dom chimed in, praying he wouldn’t get shoved onto a mechanical bovine tonight.

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