Mistletoe

He meets her by fluke.

His co-worker's getting married – he uses coworker, but Eric's very much more technical support – in a couple of weeks and has demanded that everyone present their faces at Nell's annual Christmas party. Callen figures out why the minute he steps through the door.

Nell's family is enormous. They're considerate though. They're all wearing ugly Christmas sweaters and antlers on heads. They're hard to miss.

So is she.

Honestly, he's not sure how he missed her. She's standing against a back wall, nursing what looks like cider in a pretty cup. Everything's pretty. Nell's doing, Callen's sure. He likes Nell, he really does, he just doesn't understand how the hell she manages to keep up with Eric's innate clumsiness. The man is a computer whiz, even shut down the internet on a couple of occasions for a case, but in the real world, he leaves a lot to be desired.

Usually, he doesn't do the approaching. He's not an unattractive man and he knows that too many years in a dangerous job gives off those bad boys vibes women are supposed to love. He's content enough with what he's got, really – a bunch of one-nighters that rarely, if ever, turn into multiple nighters – but this one intrigues him.

She looks worn out.

"You look like you could use something stronger."

He almost berates himself the minute the words come out of his mouth. Really Callen? Really?

Her eyes flutter open though, mismatched and deep, but exhausted. She offers him a tiny smile. "I wish. This Christmas is hurting my eyes."

He merely arches an eyebrow.

"Driving," she offers. "I love Nell, dearly, but God, I hate this party."

"Not a fan of Christmas?" he inquires, settling against the wall beside her. It's only now that he's so close he notices the tense, weary set of her shoulders, the anxieties that she's carrying behind her eyes.

"I like the holiday well enough," she says with a shrug. "It's all this… over the top stuff that gets me. But, it's Nell right? You suffer through these kind of things for the people you love."

"You sound like Eric."

She chuckles, and Callen decides he likes that look much more than the so-tired one she'd been wearing seconds prior. "You're one of his then?"

Callen nods, drawn. He's never drawn. He's a damn federal agent. But there's something in her, a mystery to be solved, and he doesn't quite know how he wants to go about it. He's pretty sure he can figure her out, but she's being shockingly unforthcoming. He doesn't even know her name. In his experience, women give that out rather freely in the presence of attractive men. "And you're one of hers."

"Maid of honour," she confesses. "I kind of wish she'd picked one of her million cousins so I wouldn't have to be here, but I also wouldn't envy that choice."

"Co-worker friends?"

She shakes her head. "Older than that. And before she gets to tell you the story, I moved here first. She followed me." There's a smile in the corner of her mouth that tells him this is a long-standing argument, like she and Nell have this discussion constantly.

"Oh ho ho ho!"

He's watching her, rather than the obnoxiously drunk man that seems to have noticed them. Damn, and he was hoping to stay inconspicuous for just a little longer.

"Look who's under mistletoe!"

Sure enough, when Callen looks up, there's a spring of the damn stuff. He's been pretty good at avoiding it all night, had scoped them all out early since Eric had warned them that Nell had gone all out with the stuff this year. When he brings his eyes back down to her, she's looking at the man, long-suffering in her gaze.

"Uncle Max, you're drunk."

"No!" he protests immediately and Callen smiles. "I'm enjoying the season. Now, you know how this works Kensi. You have to kiss the man!"

"There's no berries on it," Kensi – now he knows her name, and he has to admit, he likes it – argues back, one hand even coming up to perch on her hip. From the looks of it, this is a normal thing. "How is he supposed to take a berry afterwards?"

'Uncle Max' looks incredibly confused, but he's drawn the attention of the crowd. Callen can feel it because it makes his skin prickle. He does not like being the center of attention. Ever. From the look that he sees pass over her face in the corner of his eye, she doesn't either. In fact, he even hears her swear under her breath. He bites his cheek against a smile. When she turns to face him, she looks resigned.

"Sorry. Don't think you put 'kiss a random girl' on your list tonight."

He shrugs. "I can suffer through it."

It makes her mouth twitch and his stomach leap. What is it about this one? He's never had the stomach-leaping problem before. But then she's leaning in and, yup, that's her mouth against his. For such a short kiss – barely the press of her lips – it rocks him and he has to force his mind back into gear when she's pulled back. The room fills with cheers and wolf-whistles and she blushes before shoving her drink into his hand and taking off.

Callen doesn't chase her, not with the way she took off. He's smarter than that. Instead, he lifts her glass to his lips. It is cider, he discovers. And he thinks maybe he can taste where her mouth had been.

Maybe this wedding won't be the event from hell he was expecting.