Shorter, and fluffier . . . but I couldn't resist.

***

For once, no one did get killed or kidnapped in time to delay the party, and the only activity in OSP was festive.

A lot of the festivity centered around the enormous punchbowl that Eric was keeping full of what he claimed was Abby Sciuto's Happy-Holiday-Guaranteed-Wassail recipe. It was dark green--and fluoresced ruby red under the lights of the Christmas palm--but no one seemed to mind, at least by the second glass.

Dom was wearing a bow on his head and dancing with the young woman from IT who had stuck it there. Nate was helping his not-so-secret coroner crush distribute Secret Santa presents. And Hetty was attempting to teach Eric to waltz, with some surprising, wassail-fueled success.

Kensi was dancing with Callen--who, after his traditional show of reluctance, seemed to be having a pretty good time--and trying not to look for Sam, who had disappeared somewhere soon after she'd arrived. He hadn't even suggested they drive in together, which didn't bode well for the rest of the night.

So much for Christmas wishes.

Callen swung her out and back in an expert maneuver, sending her skirts swirling to near emergency heights, then settled into a more sedate foxtrot. "Why the long face, Kens?" he said, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "I haven't stepped on your toes or anything, have I?"

She smiled. "It's nothing," she said. "Christmas blues."

"I know what that's like," he said. "But no one wearing that particular dress should be blue. You want me to talk to him?"

"Thanks, but it's not his fault," said Kensi.

"Really?" said Callen, frowning. "That doesn't sound like Sam."

"No, it sounds more like something you'd say." She grinned at him.

He grinned back. "That's better. Can't have my dance partner looking sad--my reputation will suffer."

"Better your reputation than all those unsuspecting women."

"Ho, ho, ho."

Nate tapped Kensi on the shoulder. "This one's for you, Kens." He handed her a small gift with one hand, and held a piece of mistletoe over her head with the other. He kissed her cheek and whispered, "Merry Christmas." Then he did the same thing to Callen, ducking away just in time.

Callen snorted. "What's in Abby's punch, anyway?"

Kensi laughed and lifted the lid. Inside was a small velvet box. She took it out and glanced at Callen.

"Don't look at me," said Callen, taking the outer wrappings. "I gave you the riot baton."

"Don't just admire it, Miss Blye," said Hetty, appearing with her usual sudden magic. Her eyes sparkled. "Open it."

Any jewelry from Hetty would be something special--maybe even those earrings Kensi hadn't wanted to return to wardrobe last month. She smiled at the operations manager, snapped the box open--and almost dropped it.

Not earrings.

Nothing like earrings.

She stared at Hetty, who hitched a thumb behind her. A few couples moved, revealing Sam standing by the staircase.

He was wearing a tuxedo.

Her mouth went dry.

Callen slid an arm around her and squeezed her upper arm. "Breathe, Kens."

She tried, she really did, but all she could do was watch Sam moving toward her, mouth serious, eyes dancing.

From miles away, she heard Hetty say, "Eric," and the sound system shut off in mid-carol. By the time Sam reached her, the last partier had been elbowed and shushed into excited silence.

Sam took the box out of her shaking hands, and removed the contents, his gaze never leaving hers. "Kenzi?"

She watched, stunned, as he sank down on one knee and held out the ring.

"In front of all these people, will you marry me?"

***

Reviews might help me get the ending done in time for Christmas . . . I'm just sayin' . . .