Title: Ghosts of Christmases Past
By: Jessica
Characters/Pairing: Kensi-centric, Kensi/Deeks eventually
Rating: T
Summary: Maybe it's time to lay some of those ghosts to rest. Three Christmases Kensi spends alone, plus one where she has no choice in the matter…and one where she does. Eventual KD.

/1/

She makes her escape without even the slightest of sounds. With expert dexterity, Kensi pushes the screen from her bedroom window knowing just how to replace it later, and then her slender frame slips through the open window with no difficulty at all. She stumbles a bit as she hits the ground below, takes a bit of a graze to the arm from a rather unfortunately placed bush, but other than that, she's out in less than two minutes flat.

And not two minutes too soon.

It's been building for days (though really, it's been much longer than that, if she admits it), the desperate need to simply get out. What had once been her favorite time of the year has become nothing but suffocating, leaving her feeling the opposite of everything that surrounds her. There's too much cheer in the air, too much Christmas spirit, too many smiles and too much laughter and too many songs telling her to be merry and jolly.

She doesn't give a damn what the music tells her to do; she's not having a holly jolly Christmas this year (or perhaps ever again) and it's most certainly no longer the best time of the year.

The loneliest time of year is a far more accurate description.

Because Kensi Marie Blye is sixteen, far from everything she's ever known to be home, and above all else, undeniably and inescapably alone.

Logically, it's an absurd feeling given the magnitude of the family she's found herself a part of – her aunt and uncle (who she'd only met once or twice before finding herself pretty much dropped on their doorstep earlier this year), couple of cousins, and a rather frightening amount of very extended family. As Christmas has drawn closer, it seems that enough of that extended family has crowded into her aunt's small house so that it feels almost like…well, Kensi's not entirely sure what it feels like, but it's not home.

No. Home at Christmas will always be quiet and simple, Kensi and her dad, Miracle on 34th Street. Home was the small tree that she and her dad always decorated together, not the towering, over-decorated behemoth in her aunt's den. Home was simple - nothing out of the ordinary for Christmas dinner, maybe a single batch of cookies; not her aunt's elaborate dinner that takes days to prepare, the mountains and mountains of cookies and other sweets constantly coming out of the oven, the never-fading scent of cinnamon in the air.

It's too much for her. Too much sudden change to a holiday she'd always had a very easygoing view of; too much of a shock to her system, too fast. It's just enough to crack the façade she'd put up within a month of her father's death, the façade she'd built up in order to prove that she wasn't some lost and broken orphan now, that she was just fine, that she certainly never needed the counseling her aunt had tried to force her into during her first month with her new family.

Through the horrendously long month of December, that crack in her armor had only grown more and more with each passing day. She'd tried to patch it up herself, but in the end, it clearly hadn't been enough. Today, December 24th, that armor had finally shattered into a million tiny pieces of all the emotions she's fought back, leaving her just as broken and as vulnerable as she'd felt just after she'd found out.

And Kensi berates herself for not expecting it because really, it's the culmination of everything that's happened in the greater part of the past year. Losing her dad, never getting any answers, being plucked out of what had truly been the only home she'd ever known and being placed with family who were really more strangers than anything else, people she has nothing in common with, nothing at all. It's certainly made the holiday season stressful, but she's managed to deal with it until now by locking herself in her room and throwing on a pair of headphones, blocking out all of the holiday cheer with decidedly angry music until she feels ready to emerge once more, which sometimes isn't until the next afternoon.

But today, perhaps the one day when she's needed that distraction the most, it simply wasn't an option. Emotionally strained, physically exhausted, and stuck in the den to help entertain extended family before Christmas Eve dinner was to be served, it had only taken a single question to break her; one question from the youngest of her three cousins, three year old Caleb with the messy blonde hair who had taken an immediate liking to her all those months ago.

He'd climbed somewhat clumsily into her lap, his tiny hands clutching the well-loved light blue blanket he's never without, and Kensi had welcomed the little boy, because he's the one member of this somewhat crazy family situation she's found herself in that she's found she can put up with. He'd been babbling about…at this point, Kensi doesn't even remember what because it was what came next that had triggered her badly sealed-up emotions.

He'd squirmed in her lap, locking his innocent eyes with her perpetually unhappy ones as he asked such a simple, childlike question, partially muffled by the blanket held so close to his mouth. "What do you want Santa to bring you, Kiki?"

Kensi doesn't know if it was the untouched innocence in Caleb's eyes and in his words (she'd once possessed an innocence like that) or more likely, the realization that the one thing she wants the very most for Christmas is the one thing that no one can bring her.

She just wants her dad back.

She wants to go home.

She can't be here any longer.

And that's why she's sneaking out her bedroom window forty-five minutes before Christmas dinner's to be served, with nothing but a small, simple leather bag draped over her shoulder that contains nothing but her most prized, most bittersweet possession.

The overpowering need to escape had taken over her mind; she hadn't grabbed anything else. And even if she had, it doesn't really matter because Kensi doesn't really have anywhere else to go. Doesn't have anybody to turn to tonight, this night of required merriment that's utterly suffocating her. She'd needed air, needed space, needed simply to be anywhere but there.

And so she runs. Her feet hit the ground with an angry cadence, one whose force only seems to increase the farther she runs. First pavement, then gravel, then grass, and it's not until she's covered in sweat and gasping for air that her feet fall upon the sand, the ocean mere steps away. She's literally run to the edge tonight…and tonight, of all nights, she finds herself wishing she wouldn't stop.

The beach is almost empty – a rare sight any time of the year, but one that Kensi's incredibly grateful for. It's still early; the winter sun is just beginning to set over the ocean, painting the cold sky in a wash of pinks and oranges – warm colors, Kensi thinks. No warmth in them for her, though, none at all, not when she's been trapped in nothing but a cold, overcast grey for the past several months of her life. Bitterly she scowls, thinking back on relatives and family friends (well, friends of her "new" family, anyway) telling her to put a smile on her face, looking at her in disapproval when she failed to do just that. In the beginning, she'd at least tried. She'd played the part of the happy, well-adjusted teenager for the duration of their painfully long two-week summer vacation. She'd forced laughter and smiles for little Caleb's third birthday just a few weeks after that. And she'd feigned excitement the night before her first day at her new high school, pretending to go through all the motions of picking out the perfect outfit when she really hadn't planned on wearing anything different than what she normally wore. And now, the days leading up to Christmas…normally, she's good at pretending, but right now, Kensi feels like she's just one smile away from breaking.

She watches them, the perfect, unbroken family celebrating the season of joy; there's no way she could possibly be more removed from that. There's always going to be that wall there, because at the end of the day, the truth remains the same: they're a family, and Kensi's not a part of it.

Doesn't want to be part of it either.

Sometimes, she's not strong enough to keep that from showing – after all, she's gotten the typical sullen teenager speech more than a couple of times.

She only wishes her sullenness was typical.

And really, the implication that she should have left her grief, her heartache, her memories at the door months ago gets her heart pounding angrily once more. They don't know what it feels like; they don't know her. They'll never know her. They're not her family.

With trembling hands, Kensi lifts the flap of her bag and slowly pulls out the box she'd hidden within. It's a simple case, quite unassuming, but her breath always catches at the sight of it, knowing what it contains. The gold of the medal and the crisp red and white of the ribbon stand out in deep contrast to the dark background of the case as she pops the lid open, and for the briefest of moments, a genuine smile of pride tugs at the corner of her lips. Just slightly, and not for more than a second either, but it's still the most genuine smile she's worn in months.

She remembers with striking clarity the day her father had trusted her nine year old hands with this, just before heading overseas. The note inside had comforted her immensely then; she hadn't known when he would come home, but the simple words on that single, folded sheet of paper had granted her the certainty she'd needed. Never once had she questioned the truth behind his promise – she'd believed it until the very day that he was picking her up and spinning her in his arms again.

The night he'd come home, just a few days before Christmas, she'd tried to give the medal back to him. But he'd simply smiled, pride apparent in his eyes as he met his daughter's gaze. He'd praised her for keeping it safe, taking such great care of it. "I think," he'd said, gently lifting her into his lap, "that it would be a shame to take it out of such good hands, don't you?"

And it had been in her safe possession ever since.

Closing her eyes, Kensi thinks about the night several years later that changed everything, a night not unlike any other that had begun with a mere request to go to the movies with some friends. After the initial no, she'd tried every tactic to get her father to change his mind – pleading, bargaining, promising to be home well before midnight, promising to go straight there and come straight home. His answer had steadfastly remained the same, though.

And Kensi's determination only grew. She's only a few months older now, though she likes to think she's a lot wiser – it all seems so silly to her now. So silly, how determined she'd been to make it to that particular movie on that particular night. So silly, how a simple, two letter word could make her feel as if the world were ending (oh, how little she'd known about that then). But it had, and Kensi had decided she wasn't taking no for an answer.

Ten minutes after her father had left for some bar to meet up with some of his buddies, she skillfully slipped out her bedroom window (much the same way she had tonight) and, at the end of the street, she met not the friends she'd told her father she wanted to go to the movies with, but the boy who had actually asked her. The boy who awakened butterflies in her belly; the boy who melted her with just a smile. The boy that teenage Kensi would have given anything for him to notice her…and then when he did, it put her on cloud nine.

Her father was a different story, though – his disapproval was no secret. Whether because he wasn't the same perfect student or perfectly-behaved teenager Kensi was (most of the time, anyway) or because he was just the very first boy to catch Kensi's eye, she'll never know. All she knows is that somehow, getting out of the house to see Titanic with this particular boy had been the absolute most important thing on her mind that night and she was going to do it, consequences be damned.

Because, after all, when you're fifteen, you don't just say no to the boy that makes your heart flutter like that. It'd been teenage infatuation at its strongest, enough to turn daddy's little girl into a rebel. Well, for one night, anyway.

One night, though, was all it took.

She'd disobeyed, and the fates had chosen to forever leave her unable to disobey him again.

She doesn't think she'll ever see it as anything other than punishment. What if she'd accepted his decision and stayed home that night? What if she hadn't used the skills that he had taught her to sneak out of her bedroom that night? What if - instead of arguing that if he was going out, then she should be able to as well – she'd convinced him to stay home that night too? What if, instead of stomping to her room and slamming the door in teenage fury, she'd attempted to make it one of the many father-daughter nights they often shared?

Those questions keep her awake late into the night as she tosses and turns in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar house surrounded by unfamiliar family. It's been months now – over half a year, in fact – but no matter how many nights she's there, it's never going to be home to her. Home is but a shattered concept now, nothing left but ghosts of years that ended far too soon, nothing but memories that dance just outside of her grasp, taunting her.

And haunting her.

Her stomach lurches as she remembers the last words she'd ever spoken to him, words filled with anger and frustration that she'd lobbed down the stairs at him; words she'd never truly meant, words she wishes every single night that she could take back.

She can't, though, and the guilt weighs heavily upon her teenage shoulders, the burden far too much for her tiny frame to carry. But carry it she does, because that is what she does. That's what Kensi Blye does.

After all, he'd always taught her to be strong.

Even when it feels as if she's being systematically ripped apart at the seams.

With deft yet trembling fingers, she gently unfolds the note she's unfolded and refolded perhaps a million times by now. The words are just as sharp and as clear as they were the first time she read them, almost as if they'd been penned yesterday – of course, Kensi knows better, but it doesn't stop her from wishing exactly that as the words settle once more over her.

Keep an eye on this, baby girl. I'll be back for it someday.

But this time, he won't. He won't be back for it, ever, and Kensi's vision blurs with the tears she's fighting to hold back, the tears she's so damned tired of crying. It's a lie forever immortalized on paper, because as much as she hopes, as much as she prays to a God she's not quite sure she believes in anymore, as much as she wishes on stars and dandelions and clocks that show 11:11, she knows none of it changes anything.

He's gone.

And he's not coming back. Not today, nor someday either – that's a promise that will never be fulfilled.

"Always keep your promises, baby girl," he'd told her once. "If it's worth giving your word for in the first place, then it's worth following through. No matter how long it takes. Never go back on your word."

Logically, she knows she can't hold him to a promise he'd originally made to her over five years ago. But there's no logic in heartache, no logic in grief, no logic in the agony she's lived through every single day since the news reached her ears. Suddenly, on this Christmas Eve that finds her alone on the beach instead of assimilating into the happy family she wants no part of, it's a broken promise that shakes her to the core as she stares down at his words: no matter what they say, he's never coming home.

For a moment, Kensi's seized by fury; she's seized by a frighteningly strong desire to hurl that medal as far as she can into the ocean. She'd promised she'd take care of it, but he'd promised that he would come home. Why should she hold onto her end of the deal?

And then the guilt, the grief for such a thought hits her like a punch to the stomach. Hits her so hard that she's literally nauseated, and then she's on her knees in the sand before she even realizes her legs were wobbling. And it's there that the cascade begins – it begins, and Kensi's powerless to stop it. Trembling gives way to full out shaking and the burn in her eyes becomes too much to bear. Still, she squeezes her eyes shut, fighting it so very hard, but it's the first few tears that spill onto her cheeks that break any of the resolve she has left.

Right there, on her knees in the middle of the nearly deserted beach, she crumbles into desperate, agonized sobs. They wrack her small frame with more power than she can even comprehend because after this long, it's not supposed to hurt this much. It's not. It's just not.

And yet it does – it hurts more than anything Kensi's ever felt before. Her stomach aches, her lungs burn, and her heart…her heart feels as if it's constantly being torn into tinier and tinier pieces. And so she cries.

She cries until she's got nothing left to cry. Cries until the tears run dry, until the force behind each heavy sob fades to nothing more than exhaustion, leaving her utterly devoid of energy there on the beach. She numbs as the sky darkens to match her mood, as the undeniable chill in the night air begins to bite at her bare skin. Kensi makes no move to cover her arms, though, whether out of exhaustion or failure to care, she's not sure.

She's not sure how long she stays there, hidden in the darkness and her own despair. At some point, just before the night swallows her completely, she finds herself reaching into her pocket and retrieving one more of her dad's possessions, his watch. One day it will stop, Kensi knows, but for now it continues to tick, keeping perfect time, and that offers a comfort that Kensi can't quite comprehend. The band is much too big for her slender wrist; she's tried to fasten it as tightly as possible countless times, but still the timepiece merely slips off over her hand. Doesn't stop her from always keeping it nearby, though, just as close as she keeps his medal.

Looking down at it in the almost nonexistent light, Kensi somehow manages to see the hands well enough to catch the time. It's later than she'd thought now, and she frowns, thinking back to the family from which she'd tried to escape. They'll be looking for her, she knows. The knock on her locked bedroom door will go unanswered; the call of her name unheard. She wonders briefly if they'll persist; she hopes they don't. There's no appeal to her in sharing Christmas Eve with family she barely even knows, family she's pretty sure only took her in because that's what family does. She doesn't belong with them; it doesn't feel like home and day by day she's increasingly certain that once she has a college acceptance in her pocket, she's not going to look back.

She wishes she had that choice right now, because the thought of squeezing herself into a spot at the crowded table and sharing in the inherent cheer of Christmas dinner makes her heart clench painfully, because she knows the one person she wishes she could be spending Christmas with…she'll never share a Christmas with him again. The thought of opening gifts and having to paste a bright smile on her face leaves her feeling more than just a tiny bit ill. The thought of having to cheerfully help put together any number of Caleb's inevitable 'some assembly required' toys leaves her thinking of nothing but the many projects she and her dad had shared over the years – some simple, some more complicated, some that remain to this day unfinished. Some that will forever remain unfinished.

Her heart clenches again, but Kensi somehow fights off the fresh wave of tears that threatens to fall. Staying strong, after all, was one of the most important lessons he'd taught her.

And that's exactly what she'll do because she's not going to let him down again.

Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, Kensi reverently slips the watch back into her pocket and turns her attention again to the open case resting on the sand in front of her; it had fallen from her grasp as the tears had taken hold. Reaching out for it, Kensi gently traces her thumb over the face of her dad's medal, brushing away stray tears and renegade grains of sand. Only when she's sure that it's back in pristine condition does she carefully tuck his note back into the case with it. And then, she slowly closes the lid again, the small click echoing in her ears much louder than the crashing waves of the sea.

Then, Kensi shakily pulls herself to her feet again, slipping the case back into her bag and dusting the sand off of herself. No matter how much she wants to disappear tonight, she knows she has to go back. She has to.

She knows he'd expect that of her.

She knows he'd want her to stay strong.

Knows he'd want her to fight through the pain; knows he'd want her to endure.

Silently, she promises him that. Rubbing the last of her tears away, Kensi turns her back to the ocean and slowly begins to make her way back, ignoring every fiber of her being that protests her every step. Blyes don't run away.

And so she'll fight through this Christmas with a heavy heart. She'll force the smiles and fake the laughter; she'll pretend the gifts she opens are gifts she's wanted all year when really, there's only one thing she wants and that's the one thing she can never have again.

Even though she'll spend the evening surrounded by relatives, there'll be no denying that she doesn't belong with them. In the end, her family is gone.

This Christmas, she feels nothing more than utterly alone.

to be continued