A/N - Thanks so much for the response to the story, the favouriting, reviews and alerts, and to everyone who has answered the question about presents. Still open for suggestions if anyone thinks of anything else.
Just to explain the formatting for the next few chapters. In most cases anything in Italics (aside from the authors note!) is the past and is written as if it were the past. I hope this makes sense.
Let me know if it doesn't and I'll change it for the next chapters. This seemed the best after trying out multiple ways to write these scenes.
Disclaimer in Chapter 1
.
Chapter 2 - Ghost of Christmas Past
.
"Mr Callen."
Hetty's voice filtered into the darkness of his sleep.
Callen groaned. Surely Hetty hadn't decided to track him down before dawn and stalk him until he arrived at her home.
"Mr Callen," she repeated firmly. Apparently she had.
Callen opened his eyes and, if he hadn't already been lying down, he probably would have fallen over at the sight of Hetty hovering a couple of feet above the ground, dressed in white, complete with feather wings flapping behind her. He glanced at her head to be sure, in case he had missed the halo that he felt would have completed the ensemble.
"Hetty? What ... What are you doing here?" Callen rubbed a hand over his face as he tried to wake up. He'd almost asked 'What are you?', but felt he should refrain, just in case. Offending Hetty in the middle of the night was surely against some unwritten rule.
"Visiting," Hetty replied.
"In what capacity?" Callen asked as he sat up, blinking rapidly, hoping that the vision of... well, not of loveliness but vision all the same, would disappear.
"Why, the Ghost of Christmas Past. Kensi did tell you I would be here, didn't she?" Hetty asked.
Kensi's last comment before she'd left his car came back to him. "Night Scrooge. Say hi to the Ghosts for me." He'd thought she was joking.
"Apparently I'm supposed to say hi to you from her."
Hetty merely nodded and waited expectantly.
"What do you want, Hetty? I was trying to sleep."
Trying being the operative word. He'd been tossing and turning and falling asleep only to dream something he didn't want to dream about. Though, to be honest, he wasn't entirely sure if this wasn't one of them.
"Yes Mr Callen, and we all know how well you do that," Hetty replied with a roll of her eyes. "Shall we go?"
"And how I am supposed to follow you? Got some pixie dust in one of your pockets?"
He seriously couldn't be dreaming about A Christmas Carol. Tinkerbell, he'd be okay with, though he'd certainly never be admitting that to Sam. Honestly, he hadn't watched the latest movies. The last time he'd seen Tinkerbell was when she was flitting around with Peter Pan and he was nine; him, not Peter Pan.
"No pixie dust required, Mr Callen. I just need to you to get dressed."
Callen sighed quietly in defeat. He'd play along for now because if Hetty the Ghost - No, Fairy. He was hanging onto the Tinkerbell hope - was as determined as Hetty the Boss, he knew he didn't stand a chance of getting away from her now she was here with him.
Callen was about to throw back the covers but stopped, looked up at her, cocked an eyebrow and asked, "Any chance of some privacy?"
Hetty looked at him with that stern glare that even dressed as she was, still had its usual force behind it. "You do know Mr Callen, that in all my years, you don't have anything I haven't seen before." Though she did turn around - flutter or something equally odd as she spoke.
"Hetty," Callen protested. His boss' experience with men was something he really didn't want to think about.
Callen got dressed in record time.
"Take my hand," Hetty ordered as she flew slowly toward him, a feather or two falling to the floor, and held out her hand.
"Aren't you allergic to feathers?" Callen asked, remembering Hetty's request from a long time ago with a small shudder.
"Procrastinating, Mr Callen?"
"No. Curious. Want to be prepared in case you have some allergic reaction."
"Synthetic. They are fake. Remarkably real looking though and have all the same aerodynamic properties. Now, shall we go?"
"You gonna tell me where you're taking me?" Callen asked as he finally reached for her hand, half expecting it to feel delicate and breakable. However, it still felt like Hetty's normal, firm and confident grip.
"Where else, Mr Callen? Your past."
"Do we have to?" Callen's stomach knotted at some of the Christmas experiences in his past and wondered how he could get out of this. If only he could wake up, because he was sure this was a dream. After all, Hetty couldn't really fly. Could she?
"Yes, Mr Callen," Hetty confirmed. "It is why I am here."
White fluffy clouds drifted around him, blocking out his room. When they cleared he saw a different scene in front of him. He vaguely thought it might be one of the orphanages he'd stayed in, but he wasn't sure which and he didn't remember a Christmas there.
"Hetty, where are we?" Callen asked.
Hetty tilted her head curiously at him. "The very first orphanage you were in. Do you not remember this Christmas?"
"No. I don't."
"This was one of the good ones."
"Good?" Callen replied sarcastically. "The orphanages never had anything for Christmas, Hetty. There were too many of us. It was barely different to any other day."
"Look and see just how different it was."
Callen turned and watched as a five year old Callen sat on his bed, holding a small, tattered - perhaps well loved would be a more appropriate description - teddy bear.
.
A woman came over and sat down with him, a little present wrapped and held tenderly in her hand.
"G," she said softly. "I know it's not much, but I thought you might like this." She held the present out to him. He looked up into her kind eyes and she smiled at him. Tentatively, he reached out and took the present with one hand, his other still holding tight to his teddy.
.
"I remember that bear. I had him until I was ten. He fell apart one day and the home I was in threw him out. I cried that night, when everyone else was asleep," Callen admitted softly to Hetty.
.
Callen opened the present, helped by the woman. It was a small jumper for his teddy.
He looked up at her and smiled but he didn't say anything.
She reached out and gently stroked his cheek.
"I really wish you would say something, G. I'd love to know what your voice sounds like." She helped him put the jumper on his teddy before she stood up.
"Merry Christmas, G," she said tenderly, before she turned to leave.
"Merry Christmas," came a little voice before she had taken two steps.
The woman turned and looked at him.
"Thank you," she said. "That is the best Christmas present I could ask for."
She turned and left.
.
Callen saw the tears in her eyes. He turned back to look at his younger self, who was looking between his teddy and the woman as she walked away. He saw the confusion mixed with the happiness in his younger eyes.
"You know she made that jumper especially for you. She didn't have a lot of time but she wanted you to have something."
"I don't even remember her name," Callen said sadly. He did remember her though. She'd taken the time, she'd cared about him. He knew from his records that he didn't speak for the first three months of his time at that first orphanage. She'd cared enough about him to want to hear him, and he had responded to her.
"It's a pity that not everyone was like her," he added. Callen knew that, whilst most did care in their own way, not every social worker, orphanage worker or foster parent was as caring as she had been. She was in the minority, at least from his experience. What a difference it would be if they were all like her.
"She was special," Hetty added.
"Yes, she was," Callen agreed, his eyes still on his younger self who was now curled up on his bed, cuddling the teddy bear close to his chest with both arms.
"Do you know her name, Hetty?" Callen asked, turning to her.
Hetty nodded. "Megan."
The clouds descended again. This time when they cleared it was nine years later and they were at the Rostoff's.
Callen watched as his pyjama clad fourteen year old self walked silently down the hall, a smile on his face. Callen and Hetty followed as he crept up behind a small blonde girl who was sitting under the tree quietly examining the presents.
"Alina," Callen whispered softly as he remembered this Christmas.
.
At a tap on her shoulder, Alina jumped with a little squeal.
"You peeking?" Callen asked.
Alina shook her head quickly in denial, bringing a small chuckle from him.
"Want some help?" he asked in a whisper. Alina's eyes lit up, bringing another soft laugh. Callen sat down beside her and looked over the presents.
"Which one?" he asked.
Alina pointed to one wrapped in bright red sparkly paper. Callen reached for it and gently shook it.
"Doesn't make a noise. You sure you want to peek at this?"
"Ho, Ho, Ho," came a loud booming voice from behind all of them. Callen and Alina jumped and turned around quickly, guilty looks on both their faces.
.
Callen had jumped as well, though Hetty had remained as unruffled as ever. Callen smiled as he remembered that moment. His foster parents, though Russian, had embraced the Christmas season whole heartedly and had made it such a fun time for them. Both he and Alina had thought they were going to be in trouble but they weren't. The parents had laughed at their reactions and come to join them under the tree, and, even though it was only four am, Christmas started and they opened the presents there and then.
Alina's sparkly red present had been a soft, cuddly baby doll.
Callen remembered that he had received a lot of clothes that Christmas. Whilst most kids would have been disappointed at that, he wasn't. He hadn't arrived with much and his foster mother had wanted to make sure he had everything he needed. Callen remembered how her eyes had sparkled as she had given him present after present. She'd wrapped everything individually. Callen had wondered if she might have been trying to make up for a lack of presents in his past, because he had actually opened up to them and told them a little about his life so far. He had toys under the tree as well, but the thing that had stuck with him the most had been the clothes. No one had ever done that for him before. He'd been supplied with the essentials but no one had given him more than that. He'd felt the overwhelming emotion of being a part of a family who had wanted to provide for him. Provide more than just a temporary shelter and food whilst someone paid them to do it. He'd never known why they had pulled him out of that home, but he'd never forgotten them, though he hadn't sought them out. Something in him - a feeling of not being worthy perhaps- had stopped him. Something he now regretted not doing. He hadn't been lucky enough to find another family like that before he'd left the system at eighteen.
Callen smiled at the scene in front of him, wanting to go and sit down and join them; to relive that happy time. Hetty touched his arm.
"It is time to go from here."
"Thank you, Hetty. This was definitely a good Christmas."
Hetty smiled and inclined her head in a small nod of agreement. Somehow Callen had already gotten used to the angel look on her. Definitely more angel than fairy or ghost. She didn't seem so odd anymore. Maybe it was the size thing.
Callen didn't know what to expect when the clouds came over again. Hetty seemed to know where to go for the happy Christmas times and there was a very small part of him that was looking forward to what she came up with next.
When the clouds parted though, he sucked in a painful breath at the sight in front of him. Yes, this Christmas had been happy. Probably one of the happiest, but the memory of it was overshadowed by something dark and painful.
"Hetty, not this one," Callen begged.
"Yes, this one, Mr Callen," she replied firmly.
Callen watched the scene; some fifteen or so people of varying ages from the very young to older grandparents, the Christmas carols playing with at least half of the occupants of the living room singing merrily along, mostly out of tune.
.
Callen was smiling and his eyes were twinkling with laughter as he placed some presents under the tree.
He watched as a young girl, about four, ran close by and tripped on the rug. He reached out and caught her before she fell headlong into the presents. She smiled up at him and giggled. "Thanks, Uncle G."
("Becca," Callen whispered softly, his heart twisting painfully as he wondered what she would be like now.)
Callen placed Becca safely back on her feet and waited until she had taken off again before he looked around. When he couldn't find who he was looking for, he stood up and left the room going to the kitchen.
(They followed, floating through the walls, which Callen found decidedly unsettling.)
"What are you doing hiding in here?" Callen asked a black haired woman, who jumped and turned quickly, a guilty look on her face and a piece of Christmas cake in her hand.
(Callen's heart ached in his chest, a desperation to reach out and touch her filling him. Faith. His Faith.)
"Umm, nothing," Faith denied, even though the look on her face showed that she knew he wouldn't believe her.
"Christmas Cake before lunch. Tsk Tsk Tsk. You know that your father would be disappointed if he found out." There was definite laughter in Callen's voice.
.
Despite the overshadowing pain, Callen found himself smiling at the memory.
She'd done that every year. Faith had a weakness for Christmas cake and it had become a running competition in her family to make some kind of decorated cake that Faith would have trouble sneaking a piece of without them knowing. Each year the decorated cake had gotten more elaborate and each year Faith had risen to the challenge, finding inventive ways to get her piece of cake, yet leave no trace. At least not one that would be found until the cake was cut.
.
Callen stepped toward Faith slowly.
Faith smiled wickedly at him.
(He remembered that smile.)
"So, we won't tell him," she said in a conspiratorial whisper.
(That voice too.)
"And what do I get for keeping your secret?" he asked as his arms slipped around her. She stood on her toes and whispered in his ear.
(They couldn't hear it but Callen remembered and smiled.)
"I was getting that anyway," Callen replied in a husky voice right before he kissed her rather passionately. They pulled apart when a loud wolf whistle came from the door.
"All right. Hands off my sister. You can do that when you take her home tonight. Right now, it's time for presents. And we need the Elf!"
(Max. Faith's brother. Someone he'd considered a friend as well as family.)
Faith pulled back, took his hand and grinned. "Come on Santa. Come help me."
.
Callen watched as from somewhere, and he'd never worked out where she'd had it hidden, she popped a Santa hat on his head and led the way out to the tree that had more presents under it than when they'd left just minutes before. Everyone had gathered around, the little kids at the front, the older adults seated comfortably on the chairs and couch with just enough room at the front near the tree for the Elf and Santa.
"Hetty, please." He knew what was coming. The delighted squeals as the little ones opened the presents, the kisses and hugs that went all around. It was a happy Christmas, a family Christmas that he was very much a part of.
"These were happy times, Mr Callen."
"Yeah, they were. But do you know what happened the next year?" Callen asked bitterly.
"Yes, Mr Callen. Do you?"
"Of course I do Hetty," Callen snapped. "I was alone." He turned away from the scene in front of him and took a deep breath as he fought back the pain in his chest. The clouds descended and he hoped to whatever God or Fairy Queen that was out there that Tink had run out of pixie dust. He should have known better. Hetty would never not have enough.
When the clouds lifted, he was in a cemetery. Reluctantly he turned, his eyes sliding past himself to the gravestone that read:
Faith Louise Everett
March 15, 1973
to
December 1, 2005
Forever the light of the lives you touched.
Forever in the hearts of those you loved.
"I miss you, Faith," Callen said, kneeling down and tracing his fingers over her name.
("I miss you, Faith," he whispered at the same time, only this time, he wasn't alone. Hetty heard him and placed a hand comfortingly on his arm.)
"Christmas isn't the same without you. It'll never be the same without you, my little Elf."
.
Callen felt his heart break again as he watched himself sit down on the grass and weep.
Elf had been a play on her initials. Write them backwards you got ELF. He'd had two Christmases with her. Two amazingly vibrant holiday seasons. 1st December to 25th December had been a whole lot of Christmas cheer. The carols, the tinsel, the tree, the decorations. The play on The Twelve Days of Christmas that she used to do, finding something to hide in their apartment for him to find. It rarely had anything to do with the song but there was always the right number of them. She started on the 1st and went through to the 12th. Usually number twelve was something that would continue through to Christmas.
This was supposed to have been their third Christmas together. He had plans. He was going surprise her and propose. He knew she thought he wasn't the marrying kind and she'd been okay with that. Because he'd promised her he would always be there for her and that, his word, had been all she needed. Because she had faith in him. He'd already asked her father, already made the plans not to be at her parents place on Christmas Eve like they usually did, to stay the night. He wanted it to just be the two of them that morning when he asked her. Except Christmas that year had never come. She'd woken up at 3.14 am on the 1st December (the time and date burned forever in him mind,) before any of the celebrations she'd planned had even started. She had a pain in her chest and was barely able to breathe. She was terrified and he didn't let her go as he called 911 and tried to calm her down. They thought it was a panic attack. Over what, they didn't know. But just as the paramedics pulled up outside, she'd completely collapsed, unconscious in his arms. Or so he'd thought until he'd felt for a pulse, only to find none. Both he and the paramedics had done what they could, but it was too late. She'd had a heart attack, not a panic attack. There had been nothing else he could've done. They had assured him of that. He'd done the right thing calling them when he did; there just hadn't been enough time. He'd wondered whether he should have taken her to the hospital, rather than wait, but they'd been there in less the five minutes. He never would have made it to the hospital in less time than that.
Going through the apartment he'd found all the Christmas things she'd hidden in her closet. Her theme that year had obviously been Christmas decorations, for all of them were tiny ornaments and were ready to hang on the tree, except for number twelve.
One Santa in a sleigh.
Two Christmas stockings, complete with their names on them.
Three silver bells.
Four glittery red balls.
Five Christmas puddings.
Six striped presents.
Seven silver stars.
Eight drums.
Nine reindeer, including one with a red nose.
Ten snowmen.
Eleven candy canes.
Twelve bunches of mistletoe, complete with plans on where around the apartment she was going to get him to help her hang them up.
They'd buried her on the tenth of December. He remembered the look of pain on her parents' faces; on the rest of the family's faces. So different from the happiness and sparkliness that usually flowed over them all at this time of year. He remembered their invitation to spend Christmas Day with them, but he couldn't face it and he had grieved on his own, gone to her grave and then left town. He'd never gone back. It wasn't that far but unless he had been given no choice for work, he'd never gone to San Diego again. He'd never called them either. His life with her had entwined so much with her family that just the thought was too much. The longer that time went on, the harder it had been to pick up the phone and eventually he had assured himself that they had forgotten him.
He'd found his way to L.A. A recent offer from Hetty to join OSP if he ever decided to leave the ordinary NCIS department being his saving grace, giving him a chance to be someone else more often than himself. Because being himself, the G Callen half of G and Faith was too hard.
"Please, Hetty, take me home." He'd had enough. If Hetty was trying to make him want to celebrate Christmas, this really wasn't the way to go.
"There is one more stop first, Mr Callen," she said gently but firmly. "You didn't need to be alone. You weren't alone. You had a family."
"What was I supposed to do Hetty?" he snapped again. "Try and be happy around them? Try to make it all better? We'd lost her. It was a miserable time and I didn't want to celebrate some crazy consumer orientated holiday and put on a damn happy face to try and make everyone think everything was going to be okay."
He knew as he said the words that they weren't true. Christmas had never been consumer orientated with them. It was about family. It was always about family with them.
Hetty didn't seem fazed by his rant.
"That wasn't why they wanted you," she said simply as the clouds descended once again.
As they cleared, he was back in that room of the happy Christmas with Faith and her family. Only this time, there was no tree, no carols, no presents. No Faith. Just the rest of the family. Callen tried to turn away from the scene but the words that were being spoken pulled him back and he listened, getting closer as the stories went on. Stories about Faith. They were telling stories about her, including little Becca.
Tears pooled in his eyes as Hetty stood beside him and said quietly, "They couldn't do Christmas that year either. So instead, they decided to celebrate her. The presents they exchanged were their memories of her. Stories to make them smile."
And smile Callen did as he listened. The tears that had been locked away for so long, that he'd refused to let fall after that day at her grave, finally fell as he listened to Becca tell a story that included him. She was so little and he could hear the sadness and the tears as she had struggled to find the words she desperately wanted to say.
It wasn't the only story that he had been in. He'd been around for almost three years and Faith's family had included him as part of their own from the first time she had taken him home to meet them. Her older brother Max had given him the obligatory, "Hurt my little sister and I'll hurt you," speech that first time, but after he'd said that, he'd patted Callen on the back and followed it up with, "Welcome to the family." Apparently Faith didn't usually bring her boyfriends home so they assumed that he was here to stay. He had been. He would have, if only she had too.
Callen turned to Hetty, not sure how much more he could take. He saw Faith's mother get up, leave the room and head upstairs. Faith's father followed and so did Callen, Hetty taking his hand and pulling him along.
"You need to see this, Mr Callen."
Callen found himself in Faith's parents' bedroom, watching as Faith's mother, Martha, sobbed in her husband's arms.
.
"What did we do wrong, James? Did we not make him feel a part of us, a part of this? I thought we did," she cried softly.
"Darling, you know how much he loved Faith, how much he loved being in this family. Remember, he hadn't been a part of a family like this. It must be hard for him to deal with losing her." James held her and stroked her back.
(Callen remembered that used to calm Faith as well.)
"But that's what families are for. To help."
"And we will," James assured Martha, "whenever he comes back to us. But he hasn't experienced that, so he doesn't know he can depend on us and we can't push him to stay."
"I know but I miss him, James. I miss G. I miss my son."
"So do I, my love."
"Maybe I should try calling him again."
James looked at Martha, his eyes full of concern. "If you want, but don't count on him answering."
James kissed his wife softly and stood up. "I'll be downstairs with the others if you need me."
Martha nodded. After James closed the door, she picked up the phone and dialed a number. She hung up shortly after, the tears falling down her face.
.
Callen turned away. He couldn't watch the pain on her face anymore. He knew what Martha had heard. The standard message that the number she had called had been disconnected. He'd canceled the service the day before.
"Hetty please, can we go?" Callen asked desperately.
"They lost both of you that Christmas, Mr Callen. You were a part of that family, even though you never returned. They still missed you, still loved you and still felt you were a part of them."
The clouds descend, hopefully for a final time. When they retreated he was back in his bedroom, pain and relief mingling now that it was over.
Callen turned to say something to Hetty but she was fluttering her wings and was up near the roof.
"The Ghost of Christmas Present will be along soon, Mr Callen. I will see you tomorrow."
With that, the white angel Hetty, disappeared up through his roof.
Callen sat down on his bed and took a shaky breath. He didn't want this dream to continue, but somehow he couldn't find it in him to wake up. What Hetty had shown him had been a mixture of pleasure and pain. His time with Faith and her family was amazing, even with the pain that followed, and he wouldn't have missed it for anything. Hetty had reminded him of that.
Callen laid back on his bed, not bothering to get in properly and waited.
Ghost of Christmas Present. Hetty had said he or she would be here soon. A shudder ran through him about the one that was going to come after that. Maybe he'd try and wake up before then, but for now, he was curious.