December 5, 2012

He's had insomnia as long as he can remember. It's just a fact of his biology. Some families have cared enough to talk to a doctor, but most just tell him to stay in his room. He always tests, just once, to see what the reaction is.

He's been in this house two weeks now. Not long, but certainly not the shortest. He hasn't been sleeping well, really, but he hasn't had a really bad night. Except this one. This one is bad.

He rolls over with a heavy sigh, punching at his pillow and only vaguely hoping he doesn't wake his foster brother. But nothing seems to work and ten minutes later, he's throwing the covers off and heading out of his room.

He likes this house, he'd decided last week. The people were nice, his foster parents were pretty great, and none of the other kids were mean or evil, to him or each other. He finds himself wondering absently how long he'll be around this time, as he heads down the hall. The staircase is at the end, past all the bedrooms, including his foster parents. He'd heard one of them come up to bed, but he's not too worried. Either way, he knows it's always better to haunt places no one will hear you.

Still, he's slightly shocked to hear the murmur of the television when he hits the bottom of the steps. He darts into the kitchen. The clock says it's very late, too late for even adults to be up when they have to work the next day. But he's curious so he tiptoes to the living room. There's snow falling on the screen – he remembers it, kind of, but he's been in LA a long time and the climate just really isn't snow friendly – and he stands, transfixed, not even really aware of the story going on around it.

"Hey, buddy. What are you doing up?"

The soft voice of his foster father startles him and he finds himself darting back behind the doorframe. His voice isn't mean or menacing, by any extent of the imagination, but he's not really willing to risk it.

"Can't sleep?"

He waits for the feet around the doorframe, waits for the scolding and the rules. When they don't come, he pokes his head around again. His foster father is merely watching. There's no anger in the man's face, no irritation with the fact that one of the kids is up way past their bedtime. He wonders if maybe there's understanding in the man's face.

"I can't either," his foster father says. "I have good nights and bad nights. Want to watch with me?"

He's baffled. Surprised, confused, all sorts of different emotions. He can't understand what's going on. No one has ever invited him to stay before. Most send him off to bed with a glass of water. One let him wander the main floor while everyone slept above. There was one that put a lock on his door when he snuck out the second time. Nothing like this. So he's tentative as he steps fully into the living room, but his foster father's back to watching the television again. He takes a chance, because it's not like he's never been in trouble before.

There's nothing.

They sit there, side by side, as they watch the characters on screen. He's more entranced by the light than anything else – he's tired, it's his body that won't listen – and he's not really following the storyline, but he doesn't care. He feels special, sitting there, watching the movie when he's supposed to be up in bed.

Eventually, he does fall asleep, and he wakes up the next morning in his own bed. He's never scolded, never punished, but his foster father takes him aside the next afternoon and talks to him about insomnia. He doesn't understand a lot of it – he's young – but he gets that it's not his fault. He even finds it kind of cool that some people just need less sleep than others, so their bodies just don't listen to the usual idea of 'bedtime'. He understands that he just as to roll with it.

He's moved two weeks later.


Callen doesn't consider himself Scrooge. He's very familiar with Christmas – though he can't really say he's ever celebrated – and he doesn't get annoyed with the constant barrage of the season. He kind of takes it in stride, like Easter and Thanksgiving. Sam invites him over for dinner and he exchanges gifts like the rest of them, but really, Christmas isn't his thing.

So what the hell had made him agree to celebrate with Kensi?

Well, celebrate might be a strong word. He hasn't agreed to anything more than taking part in the advent calendar from Hetty. He has to admit, so far, it's been a fun. He'd enjoyed the thrill of hiding money in someone else's pockets and Kensi makes a mean cup of hot chocolate. They're only five days in, but he can't say he's regretting his decision to partake in the advent calendar. And there's Kensi.

He doesn't play favourites, but if he did, he's pretty sure Kensi would be it. He loves Sam like a brother, but there's something about Kensi that's always drawn him in. He's not entirely sure what it is since it's not like he has a hero complex and she's no damsel in distress. She carries a gun. She's kicked his ass a few times and he admires her all the more for it. He'd been utterly floored when she asked about the advent calendar, then inexplicably thrilled. He's yet to be disappointed.

But he's not an idiot. Kensi's offer is uncharacteristic and definitely part of the draw of his own agreement. He's learned, time and time again, he doesn't have a monopoly on mysterious enigma. There's a lot of Kensi and still some of Sam he doesn't know, pieces of themselves they keeps hidden. So yeah, he likes the idea of celebrating Christmas well enough, but he has to admit – if only to himself – a huge part of the desire to do this advent calendar with her stems from the fact that this is a piece of her he doesn't know.

Plus, she seems to be able to figure out what each of the day's little gifts are with much more ease than he does.

Today, for example. The USB stick had been driving him insane. It didn't seem like a normal gift, didn't seem like there was really anything to do. The things were for storing information. What kind of information about the holidays could be written on a USB drive. Then Kensi had solved it for him. With a few quick movements, she'd snatched the device from his hand and plugged it into her computer.

"It's a Wonderful Life," she'd said triumphantly as she'd turned the screen to face him. "Christmas classic. I've got How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The Dr. Seuss one."

Movies. Holiday films. They'd each received a different one and though Deeks had wanted to plan a day for all of them to watch each film, no one else seemed to have their heart set on it. Even Kensi had managed to come up with some sort of excuse as to why she couldn't come. The look she'd darted him after hadn't been insignificant. He wasn't innocent himself. In fact, he'd told a whopper. Yet, he really didn't feel guilty standing in front of Kensi's apartment door, the little USB key stuffed in his pocket.

She answered the door in pajamas. He couldn't blame her. His presence was a surprise. But he'd wanted to surprise her, to take her off-guard. Kensi generally answers whatever he asks, but he doesn't want to risk it tonight. He has questions, he's going to get some answers, and he's not above using dirty tactics to do it. Like Christmas movies.

He sees her movie on her television, an elaborate system of cords and Bluetooth equipment. It was a rather phenomenal set up and he was a little jealous. And glad he'd chosen to come by.

"I-" Her mouth closes, then she shakes her head, like she's frustrated with herself. When she's not on the job, she's ridiculously easy to read. Especially when he takes her off-guard. He finds it amusing and, though it's a word he doesn't usually associate with the woman in front of him, kind of adorable.

She offers him a rueful smile. "Beer?"

He nods, moving further into the room and kicking off his shoes at the door. He marvels, once again, at the clutter of her apartment. Not a lot of space, and yet she has things everywhere. It's a stark difference from his tight bed corners and Spartan living room. It feels more like a house a person should have, but with all the moving he does, with the nomadic lifestyle he tends to prefer, he's not the type to really accumulate stuff.

Then she returns with his beer and he focuses on the task at hand. "Why did you lie to Deeks?"

She looks over at him, a deer in the headlights. "What?"

"Today. You told him Christmas movies weren't your thing." It had been the worst lie he'd ever heard. While Sam celebrates 'the most', Kensi's not that far behind. She has good memories to fall back on, rather than none at all.

She looks down at her fingers, woven together in her lap. When she looks back up at him his heart squeezes traitorously in his chest. "Deeks talks," she says. "Through every movie, ever show, and Christmas movies-"

She doesn't finish the sentence, just lets it trail off, but he knows where she's going with it. To her, there's something special and sacred to Christmas movies. "But you're not kicking me out."

She hadn't even turned him away.

"No."

He waits. She's not on her game, he knows that, and he'd learned last night just how much he can get Kensi to ramble if he's quiet long enough. Really, there's a whole stream of questions he wants to ask. Why him? Why now? Why Christmas? He's pretty sure she's got an alternative goal too, something like the damn movies with their warmth and happy families. Happy Christmases.

If that's the case, he has some self-exploration to do. He's never been very resentful of the fact that he doesn't celebrate. He does the team thing, the party, decorating Ops. He gets excited about the right palm tree, about the way people act during the holiday season. He doesn't trim his own tree, put up decorations, listen to carols all month or even do what he and Kensi are quasi-doing now.

"The advent calendar."

She bites the inside of her cheek – when she'd first started at NCIS it had been her lip and her very worst tell – and asks, "What about it?"

She knows what he wants, knows what he's asking. She always does. He'd call it creepy, but he likes it a little too much. He knows that he can be intense and he's always glad when they're in the middle of a case and she knows what he needs from her. So he waits her out. He's more patient than she is.

And she breaks.

"We're not good with Christmas. Sam is, but he's got family. But Eric? Hetty? You and me? We have dark spots, or lonely spots, and Christmas kind of sucks."

She's hit that one on the head.

"Dad used to love it. Jack always made it special and I miss it." She shrugs again, but she can't fool him. There's nothing nonchalant about her words and she is definitely not shrugging off the sentiment behind them. This means something to her, the calendar, doing the calendar with him, all of it. He's known Kensi long enough to know when something matters to her.

And he gets it. He'd been right too – he loves that.

She rolls her eyes and he realizes, belatedly, that his smugness must show on his face. "You don't celebrate. I haven't celebrated in years. Sam has his family and Deeks- I'm not ready for that level of celebration."

"I'm a charity case."

She blinks for a moment before his sarcasm sinks in, but then she smiles and reaches out to smack him. He grins too. He has all of his answers and he's even managed to do it without making things awkward. Because he'll never tell her, but he's glad she picked him. He's glad Deeks is too over the top and Sam likes celebrating with his family so much. There's also an extra warmth in his chest, one he's really not looking at too closely for the moment. The same warmth that had flooded him last night when he'd stood in the doorway to her kitchen, each of them holding a warm mug.

Kensi rolls her eyes and leans back into her couch, her attention moving back to the screen. "Watch the movie, Callen. Maybe if I'm feeling really charitable, we'll watch yours next."

He doesn't tell her, but her assumption that he's staying warms his chest. If this is what it means to be Kensi's charity case, he's not sure he minds too much.