The Ghost of Thanksgiving

Three : Hope By Home

Miraculously, the roads are still empty. People are probably stuffed and stuck at home. Still, Kensi pushes her luck with the speed and resists the urge to run all three red lights she hits on the way home. Here's hoping Callen's still there…

Sure, she could call him to make sure, but it'd kinda kill her steam. "Hey, you still at my place? Okay, stay put, I've got an emotional declaration to make. I'll be there in five."

It just doesn't work.

Though as she rounds the last corner on the way home, she wonders if she should've driven out to Callen's sparsely-furnished house instead. Why would he have stuck around her home all day after she'd kept him up all night and then gotten into a screaming match with him before accusing him of something horrible then leaving?

Okay, in all fairness, he'd kept her up all night too and he'd started the real fight and he had done a 360 on her and she had left for both their sakes.

They'd both screwed up.

Now she can only hope they can get a second chance.

She returns to an empty home, haunted by wisps of ghosts.

There are pictures of her dad, memories of Jack and traces of Callen, traces everywhere. Remnants of their take-out meal sit on the kitchen counter. Newspapers, ones she doesn't read, are on the coffee table. When she desperately bursts into her bedroom, his shirt that she'd worn remains in the laundry hamper.

Callen is everywhere in her life now. At some point, he'd slowly started leaving an imprint of himself in every part of her life. And she doesn't want it gone; can't get rid of it and wouldn't choose to.

In her home, the one that is almost hers and Callen's, she finds proof. Proof that they can spend evenings together without driving each other crazy. Proof that they can wake up together and go about their routine. Proof and hope that maybe, just maybe, this might work out between them.

She's out of her door and back in the driver's seat as fast as possible, flooring the engine as she races to hit the main road. She knows where she's going now – it wouldn't have mattered even if she had gone to Callen's; the house would've been as empty as hers.

There's only one place Callen would go to right now.

She turns into the darkened hacienda, searching for signs of life. She knows he's here, and she's got a pretty good idea of where exactly she'll find him, but an illuminated window wouldn't hurt.

She hops out of the car and into the building, calling out for him even as she heads for his couch. "Callen? Callen, I know you're here!"

She stops at the foot of the couch. There's a pillow and a messed up blanket, but no Callen. "Damn it," she curses under her breath, her hands coming up to frame her face. Now what?

"Disappointed?"

The voice is familiar even if it's empty and flat, lacking its usual dry cockiness. Her hands drop to her sides as she turns around, an unspoken please be him, please be him, please be him chant going through her mind.

It is. It's him.

She blows out a heavy, relieved exhale. His eyes look dull but his infuriating smirk is in place, and he carries a cup of tea in his hands. Of course.

Callen turns slightly to set the cup down onto the desk next to him – hers, she realizes – and leans against it casually, waiting for her to break the silence.

So she does, albeit awkwardly.

"Hi."

His lips twitch, presumably fighting a smile of amusement. She winces; it does sound lame.

"Hi yourself." He retorts, arms crossed. They lapse into silence again as she works to organize her thoughts. She wrings her hands and hears her own breathing. Her heart is beating so, so fast.

"I'm sorry." She blurts. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." To her horror, a choked sob escapes her. One hand flies up to her mouth to muffle the sound. He moves to close the distance between them and holds his hands out to her but she raises a hand of her own to hold him off. She has to say this.

"What I said was horrible, and wrong, and biased. I let my past influence what I thought of you, and I thought some terrible things. I'm just… I'm sorry. I know I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

He's crosses over to her in three quick strides and wraps her in his arms.

"Kenz," He sighs, holding her close as she attempts to calm herself down, to control her emotions. That's her job, that's her talent. So why can't she control these emotions?

Because it's different this time.

"It's different." She shares with him, tentatively wrapping her arms around him in return. "You and me, we're different. And sometimes different can be scary. And I'm sorry I let that scare me."

"Kensi," He sighs again, pulling back to smooth back wild hair. "Please stop. It wasn't just your fault. I know it must've seemed crazy that I could've gone from… me to this, and just as we got that case. But you have to know it wasn't just the case. I'm not gonna lie: a very small part of this is because of the case. But what I feel for you, I didn't just develop overnight." He pauses, lightens the mood with a familiar lazy grin.

"I didn't just go to you for no reason that first night, you know. You were driving me crazy." Taking a cue from him, she sits down on a desk and challenges him.

"In a good way or a bad way?"

He laughs shortly, shaking his head. "Both. Definitely both." They share a smile before Kensi's eyes start flitting about the empty bullpen. Silence falls upon them.

"So what do we do now?" She finally finds the courage to question their next move. He has feelings for her and she has feelings for him and given some time, they'll probably love each other. Maybe they already do. But they're grown-ups now and they've – or at least, she's – learned the hard way that love doesn't overcome all.

He settles down on his couch and waves her over. She hesitates for a moment before sitting down next to him. "We'll work it out, Kensi. We'll make this work." He tells her, and she resists the childish urge to hold out a pinkie and ask him to promise her that they will.

She can't make him pinkie promise because pinkie promises are made to be broken once you leave behind a certain stage of childhood. She can't make him swear because words mean nothing to them, not with what they do day in, day out. She can't ask him for any guarantee, any assurance.

All she can do is trust him now the way she trusts he'll never hurt her.

So she leans into him and lets him wrap an arm around his waist the way he never has, basking in the normalcy of it all. It feels quaint and domestic and couple-y, things she hasn't felt in so long.

"Okay." She says on an exhale. He stills for a moment before pulling her closer.

"Okay."

Later that night, they stare at the same creaky ceiling fan, her on her back and him propped up on one arm, studying her in a way they've never allowed each other to.

"So," He speaks up, apparently finally having seen enough for him to settle down next to her. "What made you come back?" She smiles.

"Who." She corrects. He chuckles.

"Should've seen that coming."

"Yeah, Hetty has her ways." She agrees, thinking of the old woman all alone in her home, all that wisdom and experience constantly on her mind. This time, when Callen suggests a festive house-call, she finds herself eager to agree.

"Maybe we should bring her some fruitcake for Christmas."

~ HAPPY THANKSGIVING! ~

Well, that's that for this year's Gobble Day, pilgrims!

Okay, I need to stop with that joke. It wasn't even funny on Family Guy. What is wrong with me? If you have any ideas, don't hesitate to share. Or, you know, thoughts on this story. There's this little review button and I have missed my CaKe readers so very much.

It's been wonderful to write these two again and here's hoping the CaKe bunnies are here to stay. I'm going to let them loose and maybe hop around a bit to come up with some Christmas ideas. You never know what those rabbits can come up with…

If you're braving the Black Friday madness, stay safe!

E Salvatore,

November 2012.