December 11, 2012

"It's a new day, Baby Girl."

She's thirteen and cool, so of course her father's soft voice in her ear, reminding her she has a present to open does nothing. The feeling coursing through her is irritation, not anticipation. She groans and whines, "Dad."

It doesn't matter. Donald Blye pulls his daughter from her warm sheets and to the back door of the tiny house they share. On it, hangs the same advent calendar she's had since she was a child, all bright colours and massive numbers. It's more appropriate for a four-year-old than a fourteen year old, but her father, as he's done every year, has filled it up with little gifts.

"Come on, Kens. December."

"Dad, I'm fourteen!" she whines like the teenager she is. "This is for kids."

"And you're my kid. So you get the calendar."

Kensi huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. It has nothing to do with the way her fingers are twitching, she tells herself. She's ticked off because her dad's woken her too early for a cool fourteen-year-old. The irritation – not anticipation, that's ridiculous for a cool fourteen-year-old – is chewing at her stomach. "I just want to sleep."

She's wide awake, but her dad doesn't need to know that.

"You can go back to sleep right after you open today's present," he promises.

She rolls her eyes, but reaches into the little pouch marked with a bold, red two. She knows what it is before she opens it. "Crème Egg," she says, weighing the little thing in her palm.

She's always gotten one of the Cadbury ornaments in the calendar, from as far back as she can remember. They're so much a part of her December tradition that she moves to their little kitchen table to take the untidy wrapping off. She removes the tinfoil wrapping next, revealing the chocolate underneath.

Her father slips a plate under the egg and sets two glasses on the table. "Go ahead, Baby Girl."

Now, she grins, dropping the egg to the plate with enough velocity to make it crack. The insides leak out over the plate as her father returns with milk. He reaches out, dips a finger into the sugary middle, and sucks it into his mouth. Kensi grins, as she watches him. She follows suit, well used to this routine. Then they're laughing and giggling, the chocolate outside set aside while they battle over who gets the most of the inside.

"Not a bad reason to get up with your old dad, huh?"

And Kensi smiles because really, she's never too cool to eat chocolate with her dad at Christmas. She leans over, placing a sugary kiss on his cheeks. "I guess not."

He wraps his arm around her, using the other hand to hold out half of the chocolate shell. She takes it and bites into it with relish, glad her dad doesn't think she's too cool for advent calendars.

. . . . .

He knows exactly who knocks on his door long after he's returned home. She, on the other hand, had been caught up on a surveillance thing and hadn't even been in the office when he'd gotten off shift. And he'd wanted it that way. Yet, at the same time he'd most definitely expected this. Curiosity is a weakness of hers.

Sure enough, Kensi's on the other side of his front door, holding a bright object in her palm.

"What is this?"

"An egg," he responds. "Looks chocolate."

She rolls her eyes. "Callen."

"Kensi."

"You left a chocolate egg on my desk."

He raises an eyebrow and asks, "Why me?"

She glares because it's a carefully crafted response that doesn't give anything away. But he can tell she's sure it was him. She's sure he's the reason she's currently holding a Crème Egg. Eventually though, she looks away, a split second of vulnerability that freaks him out. He swallows thickly because he recognizes that this means something. He hadn't meant it like that –

Okay, that's a lie. It meant something. It was supposed to mean something, the same way the candy cane, the gingerbread, the hot chocolate, even the Christmas movies meant something. The same way their whole agreement means something. The egg had been a very deliberate choice. A terrifyingly deliberate choice. A choice where he knew exactly what he was doing and exactly why he was doing it.

"Because I told you about it," she finally says. "You're the only one who knows about the egg. About me and my dad."

He steps back, letting her in. She pauses, which surprises him, but then follows him inside. When she's standing in the middle of what should be his living room – he still really hasn't invested in furniture – she weaves her fingers together. It's a nervous gesture and for this first time, it makes him nervous in response.

Had he overstepped?

"We need a plate," she blurts.

"A plate."

She swallows visibly, like this is more of a struggle than even he can see. "And a table, but."

She glances around and he gets the point. It only takes him a moment and she's sitting cross-legged on the floor. In her palm, she holds the egg. He watches her for a moment, his gaze fixed on her as she focuses on the egg. She catches him staring when she looks up and offers him a shaky smile.

"You don't have to do this," he says, before he can think about it. She looks so uncomfortable and so shaken and he feels like he's forcing her into something. That hadn't been the intention of his gift. At all.

She doesn't reply. Instead, she goes about what seems to be a routine. She unwraps the egg carefully, taking all the foil in one go. She holds the ends between her thumb and forefinger and drops the egg. It lands on the plate with a splat, the inside oozing out between the chocolate shell. She puts aside the shell and focuses on the sugar-filled insides.

They eat in silence, mostly because he's not really the talky type, and even if he was, he wouldn't know what to say. This is another day on a growing list of Significant Moment days and, much like all the others, he's not entirely sure what this means. What he does know is that he wanted to do something nice for Kensi because of everything she's been doing for him. And he knows that the need to do something good, to change a memory for her is, in part, about the guilt from not being able to fix a different memory.

She offers him a half of the chocolate shell and he bites into it, despite not being the biggest chocolate fan himself. They've cleared that up by the next time one of them speaks.

"It hurts less," she says, startling him so bad his head whips up. She doesn't meet his eyes. Hers stay focused on the last vestiges of egg as she goes on, "Sharing this with you."

Callen can't breathe. After his wish to make snow an easier memory, to soften one that centers around Donald Blye's time with his daughter rocks him. He hadn't done anything. She didn't have to share with him. In fact, he hadn't expected her to. And now she'd just dropped a hell of a bombshell on him.

"Why?" he blurts, shocked and confused.

Kensi just shrugs.


There are pieces of this I don't like, and pieces of this I love. This is the way of the writer.

Who else is crossing their fingers that the next chapter doesn't take epically long?