Hi everyone! Surprise update on a Saturday! There will be no time what-so-ever to update tomorrow, so here you are. Valentine's Day has arrived... Enjoy. :-) And Caro, thanks for the help. ;-)
"Hey, you."
"Hey, you." Deja threw her purse in a corner and smiled. "You were right, you know? That couch is perfect."
Callen grinned as he wrapped his arms around her. It was two days after Valentine's Day and they were celebrating tonight. Indulge was always packed with a special Valentine's menu, so there was no way he could take her out that night. Now they were here, in his house, for a small celebration.
"I still do like it." He kissed her with all the time in the world. "I was thinking that we're missing some sort of rug, though."
"Just a rug?" she winked. "How about a coffee table? Or a dresser?"
He rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll add all of it to the list." Then he tugged on her hand, and took her to the dining room. "Can you at least give your approval to the dining room?"
She'd forgotten that the dining table had arrived, along with the chairs. He'd set the table with silverware and glasses she hadn't seen before. "Oh, it's gorgeous!" She took in the setting. "Linen napkins?"
Callen shrugged. "I know you like those better than paper ones. I bought them from an old lady at the vintage market at Victory. She used to own a fabric shop. They're all hand embroidered."
Deja smiled at him, tracing the pattern with a finger. "They're gorgeous."
"Don't worry, we have eight. I remember someone telling me even numbers are important in table linens."
Before she had time to respond, he was off to the kitchen. Come to think of it, it smelled divine. "What are you making? It smells heavenly."
Callen looked up from stirring in the pot. "Wait and see." He'd been preparing this for at least a week, even going so far as having Deeks sampling it. He didn't necessarily want to impress her, just wanted her to know he'd made an effort to make their first Valentine's Day a special one. When she wanted to approach the stove, he stopped her. "You are not supposed to be in here. My kitchen, at least for tonight. After that, yours as well." He softly guided her back to the dining room and pulled out a chair. "Go enjoy our new table. You want some wine?"
She admired the new glasses he had purchased. "Yes, please. Are these new as well?"
Filling her glass with wine, he nodded. "What can I say? Plastic didn't seem to do it for an occasion like this one. Besides, I think the pattern goes with the ones you have."
"Mine are antique."
He nodded, walking back to the kitchen. "Yeah, these as well."
Her eyes widened for a moment. "Seriously? Why? You could've just gotten Ikea ones."
Laughing, he shook his head. "And then get vintage ones when you decide to move in? I clearly recall someone saying that silverware, glasses and china are supposed to be old, because of the stories and the generations before us. The only exceptions being children and picnics."
Deja watched him with a grin on her face. He was rummaging around in the newly stocked kitchen, stirring in pots and pans she'd advised him to purchase. They'd have double when and if she moved in, but she could always leave hers at Indulge. "True as that might be, you didn't have to go all out for just Valentine's Day."
Putting bread and olive oil on the table, he then went back to the kitchen. "Oh, well, if I was going to invest in things for the house, I might as well go all out. Only thing is that we need something to store them in."
"Where did you keep them until now then?"
"Upstairs, wrapped in the same paper they came in. I've only just washed them, extremely carefully, I might add, this afternoon, before setting the table." He came back with two plates with steaming food and put one in front of her. "Milady, may I present, dinner."
He took the seat opposite of her. Deja looked at her plate, impressed. "We haven't covered ratatouille yet."
"We haven't," he acknowledged. "YouTube has, Julia Child has, the library has… I've been practicing for a while."
Taking a bite, Deja closed her eyes. "It's perfect." His flavors were well-balanced, a party on her tongue. "You made this yesterday at least. Now way you made it today and it tastes like this."
"Yesterday." He swallowed a bite. "Do you like it?"
She nodded enthusiastically. "It's wonderful. Just to think that you went through all this… You couldn't properly cook an egg when I first started to teach you. And now look a this, Grisha: proper ratatouille."
He almost started to blush. "Okay, don't go overboard with the compliments yet. There's still dessert."
After dessert, which consisted of ice cream that he readily confessed to be bought from an Italian store downtown, they were stirring in their tea. Deja beamed up at him. "You've done great, babe. Thank you for a wonderful home made dinner, almost completely made by you."
Callen swallowed a sip of his tea, told her to stay put, then went to get something from the living room. When he came back, he took the seat next to her, instead of the one he'd just vacated. "I want to show you something."
Deja looked at him expectantly. She'd learned that when he wanted to show her something, it would be significant to him, like his house. So she patiently waited.
Callen stared down at the tea box in his hands. It was all he knew about his past; every tidbit of information he'd gathered in the last couple of years. Showing this to her was a big deal. But he'd promised himself that he was going to move forward, and the only person he felt comfortable enough doing that with, was her. Clearing his throat, he handed her the box. "It's not so much a traditional Valentine's Day gift as jewelry, but I hope that you appreciate it nonetheless."
Deja was sure she would before she even lifted the lid. In it, she found the first personal items in his house. She put her cup down on the saucer, and looked at him. "May I?"
"Please."
The first item she had in her hand was a small tin soldier. Without asking, he explained. "This one's difficult. I got a similar one the day my mother was shot, to distract me. I remember building a sandcastle and putting a same tin soldier on the top." His voice caught, and Deja squeezed his hand. "I lost the original, but I found this one on Amy's grave a few years back. It's a reminder of some sort."
"Of what?"
"Of what I lost when I wasn't paying attention."
Deja swallowed hard. "You don't blame yourself for your mother's death, right? You were five. Of course you were going to be distracted by someone handing you a toy."
"Not anymore. I've realized that there was nothing I could've done. Help was on the way, but it came too late." He took the soldier out of her hand and set it aside. "Help made sure Amy and I ended up here."
Sensing that for the moment, that was all he was going to say, Deja reached for the next item in the box. It was a picture of a much younger Grisha with a little girl. "Who's this?"
"That is Alina. She was my foster sister for a little while."
"You look happy, here."
"I was. Life was uncomplicated for a small amount of time."
Tracing the picture, she smiled. "You still in contact with her?"
Callen shook his head. "Not anymore. She died a few years ago."
Her eyes went wide. Something was starting to make sense. "I'm sorry."
For a moment, he stared at the picture. "It's okay." He looked around. "This is that house. Hetty sort of made me buy it because it was the one place I'd felt safe, I guess. I'd been happy here."
"And you'll be again," she whispered.
Scooting closer, he threw his arm at the back of her chair. "I'm pretty much counting on that."
Smiling, she rested her head against his for a moment, before reaching for the next item. "Who is this?"
"My mother."
The gorgeous woman was smiling up at them from the picture. She was young, had her whole life before her. "She's beautiful."
He agreed with a silent nod of his head. Deja knew better than to ask, and reached for the next item. They went through the box, with the few pictures of his childhood that he had, the filmstrip, which, as he explained, contained footage of him with his father and Amy and the coin his father had used to smuggle people out of Russia.
The last thing Deja pulled out of the box, was a key. She turned to him, the question written on her face.
"Remember those few days I was away for something at work, a few weeks back?" At her nod, he continued. "That case got to me. Sometimes we come across something that involves foster kids, and, much as I hate it, those cases get to me. We hadn't spoken to each other for three days or so, and god, I missed you. Case wrapped up, I come home at two thirty in the morning, and the only thing I want is to get some sleep. Well, at least I want my mind to stop running around in circles and calm down." He reached for her hand and threaded their fingers together. "It wouldn't happen. Tea didn't help, exhausting myself with exercise, or cleaning out my gun wouldn't help. Nothing I did helped. And then I realized something. The only thing I wanted was you. The only thing I wanted was your presence because you calm me down."
Deja stared at him, her brow furrowed. "Why didn't you call?"
"Not at three in the morning. I know how much you need your sleep, and you had the early shift that day. No way I was going to wake you up."
"Grisha…" she protested.
He squeezed her hand and shook his head. "Look, I know we're not ready for moving in yet and everything. But can I give you the key, so that I can call you after a long day at work, and that you can just be here when I get back? For some reason sleep comes way easier when you're there."
They hadn't slept together all that often in the passed three months. There was the occasional sleepover, but so far, most of the time, they slept in their own beds. The one thing he'd noticed, though, was that he slept better when she was there to snuggle up to. He'd be more relaxed, instead of his mind working overtime and not letting him sleep more than the odd few hours.
Deja pressed her lips to his. "Of course." She hesitated for a moment. "You do get to call me, all right? Is that something we can agree on? You get to call me, day or night, just because you want to hear my voice. God knows you're my first call whenever something happens. It's what you do when you love someone."
She hadn't let him return the sentiment yet. Every time they said goodbye, she'd say that she loved him, but she wouldn't hear it in return yet. Callen knew that if he said it, he'd mean it. And although he was pretty sure that this was going in that direction, he'd lost too many important people in his life to think easy about 'I love you's'.
"Even when you know you're going to wake them up?"
"What if it was the other way around? What if something happened that rattled me and I'd leave it until the next morning to tell you? What would you say then?"
Realization dawned on him. "I'd probably be mad at you for not calling me right away."
"Exactly. So next time something like that happens, and you're going home alone, call me. Text me. I'll give you a key to the apartment as well, okay? Then we can always find each other, even if it's the middle of the night."
His heart warmed with gratitude. He was on his way to loving this woman. Better thing was, that he was actually letting it happen. No more stonewalling. She saw right through him anyway. Deja kissed him again. "I love you," she whispered. "And thank you for sharing your family and your house with me. I know that wasn't easy for you."
Sometimes he wondered that she made things easier for him. The opening up, the wanting more of what they had together, the letting go of insecurities. "You make it easier for me, just by being you," he told her. "So I should be thanking you."
Smiling, she snuggled into him. "Mmm… You're welcome."
He gathered her close. He might not be ready to say it yet, but he deep down he knew. Maybe he could show her without actually saying words just yet.
