Future-fics are not usually my thing, but this one caught me and wanted to be written.

Disclaimer: Owning a house is a higher priority for me than owning NCIS:LA. I don't own a house yet, so clearly NCIS belongs to people with far more money than I have.

(Update for minor grammar/punctuation corrections. No real change/update to the story)

"I have a present for you."

It pops out of her mouth out of the blue as he arrives home one Saturday morning from surfing with Eric. The front door is flung open as he approaches it, and she appears in front of him as if by magic. And here he thought Nell was the one taking secret ninja lessons from Hetty.

"Hi? Okay? How was your morning? The surf was great, by the way. Eric says hi. He says Nell wants to know if we want to go for dinner with them tomorrow, I told him we said yes."

Both her eyebrows go up, and the tilt of her head says really? He's not sure what this gift is that is making her ignore normal social conventions such as greetings, but apparently it's got her in a tizzy. But then, they've never been particularly conventional - or particularly normal, for that matter. If his wife has a present for him for no apparent reason, then he's not going to argue with her.

"Hi." It's sarcastic and pointed. "My morning was… interesting. Glad you had a good surf. I have a present for you."

What comes out from behind her back is a box a little smaller than a sheet of paper and about two inches deep, and he is reminded that there is a reason that he wraps most of the gifts in their house.

When the paper comes off, he thinks she must have re-used an old box to put his gift in; it's a cigar box, and he doesn't smoke.

But then it's his turn to tilt his head at her quizzically as he discovers that the cigar box is actually filled with individually wrapped cigars.

"Thanks? Kens? I don't get it. Do you want me to take up smoking or something?"

The smile that appears on her face reminds him of the Mona Lisa—it's got a secret behind it, something he hasn't figured out yet, and she doesn't say anything for a minute. She just leads him to the couch and then sits down beside him, sideways so she can look at him as she starts to speak.

"My dad always had this one cigar on his desk in his office. He never smoked it, never did anything with it, it just sat there. So, one day I asked him why he had it if he wasn't going to smoke it? He told me that it's a tradition for men, when they have something to celebrate, to give each other a cigar. He told me that one was the last one from a box that he bought nine years earlier, a few weeks before I was born. On the day I was born, he gave the rest of the box to his friends and family, like an announcement, like an invitation to celebrate with him. He kept the last one, and he told me he kept it on his desk to remind him that no matter how dark the world got, that because of me there was always a reason to celebrate."

Over the years she has started sharing tidbits about her father more and more often, but he still sits up and takes notice when she does. Each time it's like he's earned another little piece of her, like she trusts him with a little bit more, and he's storing up the pieces and guarding them with his life, using them as little guideposts as he strives to be the man that she deserves and storing them as a training manual for the future; he wants to be a father like her father was, not like his own. So, he's got two banks in his memory: one holds all that his father was and all that he has sworn not to be; the other holds all the little things that he has learned vicariously from her stories about her father that he wants to replicate.

This one gives him pause, and he feels like he identifies with Donald Blye a little bit.

"He was right. We see all the messes. Every day, we see how dark this world is, just like he did. But he was right—as long as you're here, there's always something to celebrate." So sue him, he's feeling sappy. He gets this way every time she decides to share another piece of her childhood with him. Heck, he gets that way every time that he remembers that Kensi Blye married him.

Kensi watches his eyes get faraway and can't help but kiss him softly at his words. This man somehow has the power to turn stone-cold Kensi into mush. He loves her like she's not broken, like she's the best thing that's ever happened to him when, really, he's the best thing that's ever happened to her. He's the reason she's not broken anymore.

She watches him carefully and realizes that he hasn't caught on to the little message behind the box of cigars and her story. She can tell that he's forgotten the cigars; they're lying unnoticed on the floor by his feet, so she picks them up and puts them on his lap.

"Deeks," she says, pinching him on the side to get his attention back, "earth to Deeks."

"Ow! Must you always resort to violence, woman? I like your other methods of getting my attention much better," he says, raising one eyebrow at her suggestively.

She laughs freely, and wonders, not for the first time, at how easily it comes now, with him.

"These," she indicates the box lying in his lap now, "are so that you have something to share with our friends, so that they can celebrate with us."

She watches, amused, as his forehead wrinkles in incomprehension as he stares at the box. It's as though she can see his mind working behind his confused blue eyes as he mentally runs through her story again.

"Kens? What exactly are we celebrating?" The little light that has appears in his eyes tells her that he's figured it out, but he's looking for confirmation that he's got it right.

Her smile is wide and playful as she pulls the white stick out of her back pocket and holds it in front of her, one hand holding each end so he can see the little blue plus sign on the screen.

"You tell me," she says through her grin as his wide eyes focus on her hands.

And then the cigar box is forgotten again as he tackles her to the couch and his smiling lips find hers.

My older brother is a US Marine and the daddy to two precious baby girls; he's a rough-and-tumble man with a lot of sharp edges and a heart made of marshmallow when it comes to his girls. He doesn't smoke, but the day his first daughter was born, he bought a box of cigars and gave one to each of his friends—an invitation to celebrate with him and to thank them for their part in his life. He's not usually big on traditions, but something about this one was significant for him. For some reason this popped up out of that memory the other day, and it felt like something that Kensi's dad might do.