December 3, 2012
"What about you, honey?"
Kensi looks up, startled at being addressed. She's one of the youngest ones at the shelter this year, and she really hadn't anticipated anyone speaking to her. The table's all looking at her and while she's usually spooked by her fellow individuals on the street, there's one woman looking at her with compassion and sympathy. "What?"
"What's your favourite thing about Christmas?"
"I don't have one," she says, aware that bitterness is shining in her voice. She can't do anything about it, really. She is honestly angry. She's angry at her father, angry at his murderer, angry at her mother for leaving and for poisoning Kensi against finding her, the list is long.
"Now that's ridiculous," one of the other women pipes up. "Did you hear that Jerry? She doesn't have a favourite thing about Christmas."
There's a father across the table from her, trying to feed a kid. The shelter's provided some soup along with the beds to combat the relative chill of Los Angeles in December. "You're too young to be so jaded," he says quietly. "Even if this year is bad, maybe next year won't be."
She wants to ask him how he can say that when he's sitting in a shelter with his young child, but wisely bites her tongue. She is a baby compared to the rest – the kid excluded, of course – so really, what does she know. Right now, she knows the streets, the wandering, the survival instinct. She's never been so glad for the things her father taught her in her life. She's only been on the streets for a handful of months and she can feel the weight of it all pressing down on her. She sees the lights, the happy families, the presents in windows and she is jealous.
It's more complicated, of course, because it's not necessarily that she's jealous of what they have. Sure, she doesn't have a home or a Christmas tree, lights or decorations, but that's like the dressing. She doesn't have a family. She doesn't have a home in the emotional sense. All she has are the people around this table right now and she knows none of them. How can she even think about a holiday her father made so special when she's confronted by her own loneliness day in and day out?
Her father is dead.
She doesn't have a home.
She doesn't have friends.
She hates this time of year.
"Every Christmas Eve we used to go caroling in the neighbourhood," an old man says, a few seats over from Kensi. "Just door to door, collecting money for charity. My wife, bless her soul, couldn't sing worth a damn, not that she cared."
"I had a friend like that," someone else pipes up, "sounded like a dying cat."
The table roars with laughter. Kensi's mouth lifts in a small smile.
"When I was a little boy we had an advent wreath. Real one, where we lit the candles every Sunday and did the prayers and that. We all had busy lives, but we put aside an hour every Sunday for that."
The stories keep going. A woman in neon green tights used to watch a movie marathon, back when she had a TV. A man recounts the smiles on the faces of little children when he dressed as Santa. One of the staff members gets roped into the question. He used to play the piano while his family sang carols around him. All it all, it's very warm and fuzzy.
"Come on, honey. You have to have some story."
She forces herself to take a deep breath, to keep her cool despite the fact that she wants to just yell at them. 'My father's dead,' she wants to say, 'and Christmas died with him.'
She's not entirely sure what makes her bite back her nasty words. Maybe it's the season, maybe it's the lessons and morals she's had drilled into her. Either way, she can't bring herself to ruin someone else's Christmas spirit because hers is nonexistent.
"No," she says instead. "No stories here."
They leave her alone after that and Kensi watches them all laugh, despite the bleak nature of their situations. She doesn't understand it. Her world's falling apart and it doesn't seem like anyone else is in the same boat. She's in a shelter, for goodness sakes, and it doesn't seem to phase some of them.
Later that evening, the woman who prodded her about her Christmas traditions corners Kensi in the bathroom. "Can I give you some advice, sweetheart?"
Kensi almost rolls her eyes, but offers her tightest smile. Maybe this'll be faster than trying to make a break for it.
"You're too young to be here," she says. "Me, I've lost my family. My husband, my kids, and I dove into the bottle. Now I don't have anywhere, and that's okay with me. But you're young, too young. You should be out there exploring what the world has to offer. You should be lighting up at the prospect of the holiday season, rather than wondering if you can drown yourself in your soup."
The woman steps closer and Kensi finds herself speeding through attack plans as the woman's hand comes up. But the hand drops to her shoulder and the woman's eyes are clear and sincere.
"People make memories, honey. And whether we still have them or not, they're good memories, memories that deserve to be honoured. I may not have a house or a family or even a damn job, but those people out there, they're the best I've got. They're family. Because I wanted them to be family.
"I don't know why you're out here, don't know the circumstances around your homelessness, but you've got a broken look to you and it is too early for those eyes. So you pick yourself up and you dust yourself off and you find a family of your own, whether it's on the streets or somewhere else. You can pretend you don't need people all you want, but that's not true for any of us."
Then the woman offers her a small smile. "Merry Christmas."
Kensi's determined when she walks into the bullpen on Monday. She can't help it. In theory, she's already accomplished the task for the day, but she has something bigger in mind.
She's been thinking all night – insomnia isn't just for cases – about her afternoon with Callen. Since they all have their little triggers, Kensi's never really pitied Callen for his upbringing. Felt sympathy, sure, but she's also aware of how it feels to be abandoned and left alone. Unlike Callen, however, she's had people along the way to soften her edges.
Not that Callen needs softening, per se, she tells herself. It's more that she knows traditions are more fun when done with someone else. And if Callen really is game to do all of the little tasks Hetty's assigned them, then she wants to be there. She and Callen are relatively close, as close as either of them will allow a friend to be. Who better to make new memories with than a friend?
So with today's task tucked neatly in her pocket, Kensi greets her teammates, gathered around the bullpen screen.
"See?" Deeks is saying as he hits pause. The screen freezes on two Santas. "Seriously. Over one kettle. It was all over the news this morning."
"Only you would find fighting Santas amusing," Sam shoots back, but there's a smile playing about his mouth that says he's pretty entertained by it too.
Callen's face, as usual, is indifferent, that little smirk that is so characteristic of him playing about his mouth. He's just watching, she realizes as she slides into her seat. He offers her a nod. She inclines her head.
"Everybody who walks by," Callen answers her unasked question. "I've seen the clip seven times."
"And isn't it still hilarious? Kens, you need to-"
"That's disgusting."
All heads turn to Nell. She's wearing an elf's hat and a formidable frown. "It's Christmas."
"And even Santa loses his temper," Deeks replies. "It was all over the news."
"It's disgusting." Then Nell composes herself, hugging the files in her arms closer to her chest. "You're wanted in Ops."
They troop up the stairs, Deeks and Sam first, still discussing the Santa fight. Kensi hangs back a bit. If they're about to delve into a case, she wants to take advantage of the three seconds in front of her. "Hey," she says.
"What's up?"
She pulls the slip of paper from her pocket. "December third."
"Share a tradition," he nods. "Do you think yesterday counts?"
She starts to take offense, to back off, but then one of his eyebrows wings up and she rolls her eyes. "I had an idea. It depends on how serious you are about the advent calendar."
He shrugs, but there's something else. She can see it because she's looking for it. She's long ago learned to read between the lines with him. "I liked yesterday."
She ignores the weird warmth that flares in her chest. "Me too," she finds herself saying. "I haven't done that in years."
Callen cocks his head to the side as they climb the stairs slowly. He's listening, waiting for her to tell him what she's thinking.
"Let's do it together." The air whooshes out of her when the words are out of her mouth. She's not sure she really realized how nervous she was to even ask, let alone wait for the answer. "The advent calendar."
The spark lights in his eyes again, the same one that had been there yesterday, the one that makes her stomach take up Olympic-level gymnastics. The latter is an irritating reaction. "The advent calendar."
She's not sure if it's a 'yes' or a 'no', but she doesn't get the chance to ask. Deeks pokes his head out of the Ops room.
"Jeeze, Kens, I know you like to take your time, but this is ridiculous."
Kensi glares.
. . . . .
She doesn't get an answer from Callen that day, not that she really expected to. They're busy running down leads, talking to families, loved ones, coworkers. The best she does is pass him in the hall, lunch half way in her mouth as she rushes to Nell and Eric to pass on some info.
She falls onto her couch well after two, and her eyes slam shut. She's got the beginning of what may be a headache at the bottom of her skull and she's tired. She can run on adrenaline and she's good at it, but even the formidable Kensi Blye hits the end of her rope. So when her phone rings, she groans.
She clicks it on without checking the ID. "Blye."
There's silence for a moment and she opens her mouth to say hello before the person speaks. "I remember one tradition."
"Callen?"
"I was young. It was one of the good ones. They had a tree and lights and they got something for each kid. Even the foster ones. I think there were eight of us."
Busy house, she thinks, but doesn't dare speak. She knows how rare it is for Callen to speak of his foster homes.
"But the thing I remember most is that they took us all to find it. Piled eight kids into two of the oldest cars ever. They let us loose on the place. It was the first time I'd ever looked for a Christmas tree. None of the other homes had celebrated. They even had all of the decorations spread out in the living room. We each hung some on the tree, but what I remember most, is my foster mom taking me aside later, knowing I'd never really celebrated Christmas. She pulled me from my bed and made me lie on my back, looking up through the branches of the tree."
His voice is matter of fact, straight to the point. So Callen. There's no emotion in what he's saying, no flowery language, but she can feel it. There's a squeezing in the vicinity of her chest. She's surprised to feel liquid sliding down her face despite the massive grin on her face.
"Sometimes, I still dream about it."
Kensi bites her lip to keep the embarrassing sound welling in her throat from escaping. But she knows she can't comment. She can't say anything. It's such a rare honour to hear a story like that and she knows the role she has to play now. It's time to change the subject.
"My dad gave me a Cadbury Crème Egg every year. Never on the same day, always wrapped in green tissue paper. I'd unwrap it, and we'd crack it open, eat all the insides, then we'd split the chocolate. It's not a big deal, but it was big to us."
Callen's quiet on the other end, and she knows part of that is a vulnerability she had never, ever expected from him. "Let's do the advent calendar, Kens."
He hangs up without a goodbye. She hadn't expected one. It doesn't matter anyway, because she's grinning, giddiness swelling up in her.
She couldn't wait for tomorrow.
I am so drugged. And fuzzy. Which is why this one took me the better part of three days to complete. And I'm not happy with it.
Typos and awkward sentences are mine. I hope Callen's not OOC this time. He's a pain to write, and I've said that a million times.
Thank you so much for all the reviews! They make me inordinately happy. I'm just sorry I haven't been as on the ball as I usually am getting these up. This is December 3rd. I'm, like, five days behind. It sucks.
Hope you enjoyed!
