December 10, 2012

Kensi wakes on a grey snowy day, cuddled warm and tight against Jack. There's frost on the window and snow is falling lightly outside Christmas in Montana. Again.

Much to her surprise, she doesn't hate it. Jack's family is warm and openly loving. They've accepted her from the first day and she feels like this place could be a much colder home. She even likes the snow. Kind of.

"Morning," Jack's voice growls from behind her.

"It's snowing," she replies, laughing as he scratches his stubble against the sensitive skin of her neck.

"Its it really?" He sounds like a child and it makes her grin. He leans up on an elbow and Kensi groans as the chill slips beneath the covers. He tugs her closer when he collapses back down again. "Kensi, it's snowing."

She smiles, because she can't help it. He's so excited.

"Let's go for a walk."

"What?" Kensi asks incredulously. "Jack, it's snowing. I'm a California girl. There is no way I'm going out while it's snowing."

"Have you ever been for a walk in the snow?" he asks her, shifting her thigh over his.

She snuggles in tight. "Of course not," she retorts. "It's too cold for a California girl."

"Kens," Jack almost whines. "You've got the warmest winter coat. We'll pile on layers, take hot chocolate in a thermos-"

She groans and buries her head in his shoulder. "No."

Yet two hours and a healthy brunch later, Kensi's wrapped in almost a million layers – Jack's words, not hers – and he's dragged her out into the snow.

"This is ridiculous," she says as she grips his hand. He helps her over a snow bank.

"It is not," he replies. It's been a constant argument since they took their first steps away from his parents' cozy ranch house. "Montana looks gorgeous covered in snow."

Kensi rolls her eyes, but her inside's warm. Jack's been in the military for a while now, been on short tours and his way of seeing the beauty and the good things continues to surprise her. It's also exactly what she needs. After everything she's been through, his continued optimism helps her stay out of dark places.

At the top of the bank, he tugs her close, pressing his mouth to hers briefly. "Trust me," he murmurs against her lips.

She sighs and he grins, because he knows he has her. He grips her hand and continues to pull her down the other side.

"Where are we even going?" she asks.

"There's a hill just a little ways from here and there's a farmhouse at the bottom. When it snows like this, it looks like a painting."

She's never had an appreciation for art, but he has that boyish excitement on his face that she has the hardest time saying 'no' to. So she continues to let him tug her along. She tries to ignore the cold seeping into her bones. She really, really tries. But twenty minutes of snow hiking later and she gets impatient.

"How much further?"

Jack grins back at her. "Up here."

She grips his hand as she climbs the last little bit and as she looks down the other side, even her breath catches. "Jack."

"I know," he whispers, as if the peace of the picture would be shattered if he spoke louder. He steps up behind her, wrapping his arms about her waist, moving his chin to rest on her shoulder. The scene in front of them is idyllic. Snow falls softly into a natural, if shallow ravine. The house is small, a traditional farmhouse as opposed to the giant ranch Jack calls home. Smoke floats from the chimney as lights shine brightly in the windows.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes," she breathes out. She loves it, it's like a dream out of her childhood – though she's still not entirely sold on the snow. She finds her eyes tearing up, feels her emotions breaking. This will never be hers. She's got Jack, for as long as he'll have her, but there's so much baggage in her life, attached to so much of her…

"The Capshaws have lived there for sixty years," he says softly. "They raised five kids and like fifteen grandkids there."

"Wow."

She feels him swallow, his arms tightening around her. "I want that."

Kensi stays silent. She doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to do with that. She's not meant to raise kids or grandkids. God, she'd make a terrible mother, and with Jack in the military, having to go on tours, leaving her alone for months at a time, she really doesn't believe that's in the cards for her. Or them, as long as they're together.

"Kens?"

"Hmm?"

"I want that. With you."

"Jack," she begins, turning in his arms, but Jack's tugging off one of his thick mitts. In his palm is a ring. "Oh my God."

"I know you don't think we can do this," he says, "I know permanence is hard for you to believe in, but I think you're wrong. We've been doing this for three years, Kens. You and me. Us. And it works."

His hand must be freezing but he takes hers anyway, tugging her mitten off. Kensi's not entirely sure she's breathing anymore.

"I love you," he says. "And I don't care about what happened with your parents. I don't think you're broken. I think you're perfect." He slides the ring onto her finger. "So let's do it. Let's go for sixty years. Marry me."

Her heart is in her throat as she looks down at the small, simple diamond. "Jack."

"Say yes, Kens. Just say yes."

She can't deny that she yearns for it. It's a dream starting her in the face. So she look back at him, nerves painted all over her face. She's so worried, so nervous, but even her calloused, scarred heart can't deny that he's looking at her like nothing matters more than her and her answer.

"Yes."

. . . . .

Callen's spent the better part of his day watching Kensi.

He doesn't watch her as a daily activity. For one thing, Kensi's a damn federal agent. She spots tails, people watching her, and while he's good, he's perfectly sure she'd meet his eyes at least once, realize he was watching and call him out on it. But she never once turns to meet his eyes over the course of their day. In fact, she'd faded in and out all day long.

That worried him, more than anything else. Kensi's not the type to fade in and out of her life. She's alert, focused, even on off days. She's been playing with something in her pocket. He's curious, of course, but Kensi's private and he knows better. At the same time, his level of worry is new, unique. It's been way too long since he worried like this. He's not even entirely sure he's ever worried like this. And it's been terribly difficult to keep all of that from exploding. Which in and of itself doesn't make sense to him.

None of this makes sense.

Regardless, when she disappears, Callen notices, almost immediately. And he worries. Eventually, Sam and Deeks get wrapped up in whatever they're arguing over now – he thinks maybe it has something to do with gifts and families, but it might be fish – and he slips away. When he finds himself in one of the hacienda's empty corridors, he pauses to think. He knows Kensi, knows her even better now, so he goes with his gut.

She's sitting on a windowsill, away from the hustle and bustle of OSP headquarters. She looks shockingly small and lonely against the broad open window and the sun setting beyond. It makes him pause, like the bloody romantic he most certainly is not. They all feel lonely sometimes. It's the curse of the work they do. This is more. There's sadness in her posture, in the bow of her head and the slump of her shoulders.

"Wanna talk about it?"

She doesn't turn, but he sees her chest rise and fall in a heavy sigh. "Ever think we're missing out on something beautiful, living in LA?"

"There's sun, sand, beach bodies. What's missing?" he asks, stepping closer. He can see the brief upturn of her lips before she shrugs.

"Snow."

"Snow? You miss cold, wet snow?"

He's only poking at her and the way her mouth twitches again, he knows she sees it that way.

"What's so good about snow?"

She holds up what he realizes is her calendar gift. He'd received cheeky instructions on how to create his own snowflake – at least it wasn't the fake snow Deeks had been complaining about all morning – but Kensi held two earrings.

"I don't even wear jewelry," she says softly.

"On duty."

It doesn't get him the eye roll he'd been aiming for. Instead, he gets a very shaky smile. She flicks one and they both watch it shine and shimmer in the early evening light. Despite the fact that he's absolutely chomping at the bit to push and ask about this weird mood she's in – and blatantly ignoring just how much he wants to push and ask when he's never done so before – he bites his tongue. She'll get there. She's shown him that. He just has to be patient.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Kensi drops a bomb on him. "Jack proposed in the snow."

He hadn't even realized Kensi'd had any exposure to real snow. He'd always just assumed she was a born, bred, raised California girl. So never in a million years would he have though she'd relate snow to such a serious milestone. Hell, he'd forgotten she'd been engaged.

"I hated the snow, hated the cold, but in two minutes, Jack made it all special. More."

Callen swallows. While he's infinitely glad he's finally gotten to the root of the melancholy, he now isn't sure what to do with her confession. He closes the final distance between them on instinct alone, stepping in until his chest rests against her shoulder. Her head tilts to look at him, her eyes tumultuous, like she expects him to be able to fix the melancholy. But he has no idea how.

His hand reaches out, fingers trailing down her arm until he can take her hand. Her fingers thread easily through his as a shiver drills down her spine. It's simple contact, but he can feel the layers in it, emotions rising to the surface. Then Kensi leans her head against his chest and his world shifts. It's intimate, terrifyingly so, and he feels head sweep through him, almost startling him away from her. Instead, he tests himself, holding his ground, taking on the role of support and company while she struggles with a bittersweet memory.

"Sorry we can't make a new snow memory," he finally says, his free hand moving to trace light random patterns against the back of her shoulder.

She offers him a smile, one that is more genuine but still tugs at his heart in ways it probably shouldn't. He finds himself promising, mentally and irrationally, to change that. To find some way to make it up to her. To find a new memory.

And next year, next year he'd fix this one too.


I battled really really hard with this one. I probably have twenty drafts lying around half started, half finished and half planned. It was driving me nuts because I knew what I wanted to do and I couldn't figure out how to do it. Finally, everyone started behaving, but even this draft was written in spurts and starts.

On that note, a serious thank you to those of you who aren't giving up on this or on me. I am working on it as best my muse is working with me. Which isn't often much, unfortunately. I appreciate the patience more than you know and more than I have words for. I just hope these chapters are worth it.