December 12, 2012

Skating, she thinks, is a little bit like undercover work. It's an odd thought for a woman who claims she's an LA girl through and through, but the few times she's strapped blades to her feet and stepped onto the ice, she's felt free. She can be who she wants to be. The only difference is, there's rarely a gun-wielding terrorist on the ice.

She goes through the day on a weird cloud. She knows the skates aren't a calendar gift, and she knows that they have nothing to do with the gift she pulled from behind the little door. It's what makes the mystery all the more intriguing. And simultaneously frustrating. Even Sam doesn't seem to know what's going on.

She has her suspicions, of course. Callen's been conspicuously absent all day when she's had more than thirty seconds to herself. She knows it's not Sam and Deeks cannot keep a secret when it comes to her. They're definitely not from Eric or Nell, either. Her keen agent skills are telling here there's only one option, but said option won't let himself be caught.

It's creeping on evening when he finally shows his face in the bullpen.

"Ready?"

She looks up from a half finished incident report and he's standing in front of her desk. Over his shoulder is an old, battered pair of skates. There are so many things on the tip of her tongue. She wants to scold him. She wants to harass him. She wants to ask him, 'what the hell'? Instead of any of that, she feels a thrill through her chest and smiles. Her pen hits the folder. She'll have to come in early to finish it for Hetty, but her motivation for sticking around is now standing in front of her.

She reaches beneath her desk for the skates he'd left earlier. She smiles. She can feel the shy nature of the twist of her lips. He lets her walk out first, then surprises her when they're out of camera sight by slipping his hand in hers. It's only a second, enough for a quick squeeze, but it's enough. Her head is spinning with scenarios, concerns, everything.

"Just get in the car, Kens."

Inside, Nell steps back into Ops with a tiny, secretive smile playing about her lips. She'd known something was different. Now she's witness to the proof.

"Did you catch him?"

Information. She'd gone out there to give Callen information. But instead of feeling guilty for putting a case off – it's not that sensitive – she pushes down a gleeful grin. "Nope."

Eric raises an eyebrow. "He hasn't been back for hours."

Nell shrugs. "Maybe he found something better to do."

Like skating.


They stop at a food truck for dinner. Kensi thinks she should be pissed, but it's Callen, and it's her, and it feels like a date. The food truck makes it them, takes some of the pressure off.

"Have you skated before?"

Kensi nods around a bite of chili. "Jack. And my dad."

He nods as if he should have known, and Kensi's surprised to find that there's no pang there. She feels her mouth twitch up, if only because thinking of Jack has always brought an echo of pain. She can remember skating with Jack for the first time, laughing at him as she skated and skated and skated.

"I learned in Michigan. Dad was stationed there for a winter just before he was assigned to the black ops unit. You?"

"Foster home," he says and for a moment she doesn't think he'll elaborate. "Longest one. They were Russian, used to being able to skate, but frustrated with… everything. We'd go every week."

She smiles. She loves it when he speaks fondly of his foster experiences. It's rare, and she intellectually understands that, but she can't help that it makes her warm when he talks of good experiences.

They're silent for a few moments before she asks, "Why skating?"

"Sorry?"

She shrugs, moving the chili around in its cardboard case. "We're in LA. Skating's not really something you do, unless your skates have wheels." She glances up at him for a split second, then down again. She's nervous. The calming effect of the food truck is wearing off. "Why ice skating."

"It's a winter sport." He says after a moment and she knows he's studying her. She can't help it. It's still weird and surreal to her that they're even doing these kinds of things together, that he's sharing so much of his past and huge chunks of his present. She can't help but question it.

"So is snowboarding."

"Not a good idea."

There's a story there, and she feels her lips twitch despite the fact that it is a very serious conversation. All she wants to do is understand. It's important that she understand. But she's not sure how to ask. "Skating though?"

He arches an eyebrow. "Got another idea?"

"Nope," she says, immediately backpedaling. It sounds as if she should just be grateful. And she is, she really is, but she doesn't know how to work this into the little box Callen inhabits in her head.

"Come on," he says, taking her half finished dinner and tossing it in a nearby bin. His goes to, then he turns to her, holding out hand. "We'll miss public skate."

She takes it, feeling a shiver at the contact and the way he doesn't let go until they get to the car. He squeezes her hand again as they separate. They're in LA, so she's not surprised when he pulls into the parking lot of an arena. There are plenty of people, families, couples, even friends just there, goofing around. It feels warm, despite the necessary chill, and she can't stop the genuine smile from stretching across her face.

It's been doing that a lot when it comes to the things she and Callen are doing together.

They put their skates on side-by-side, sitting in arena seats. Despite the fact that she's been skating a million times, it takes her a few steps to get used to the height and into the habit of balancing on a thin blade. She feels better when Callen wobbles a little, too.

Still, it only takes them a lap or two to get into the rhythm. The push and glide, cutting across corners, weaving in and out of people. It's surprisingly easy to keep pace with one another and right about the third lap, when they've been jostling shoulders for a couple of minutes, Callen takes her hand again. This time, he holds on and Kensi feels a lump form in her throat. This is new. This is different. This is entirely not what she's used to.

And it's the straw that breaks the proverbial camel's back.

"What are we doing?" she blurts out, unable to take it anymore. She's going to drive herself nuts if she can't stop thinking about it. Even so, she has no idea what she's looking for here. There are so many answers he could give that aren't good.

There's a moment, then he shrugs. "Going forward."

They're words she hadn't realized she'd needed to hear. Going forward. The pressure in her chest releases and she feels like she can breathe again. They're not 'doing' anything. They're just existing, taking advantage of the spirit of the season.

Her eyes clear and her hand tightens in his.

The undercurrent strengthens as they glide around the rink until the officials kick them off. Then it's back to the hacienda and her car. It's a content and quiet silence that fills the drive back and she smiles at him as he pulls to a stop.

"Thanks," she says quietly, then impulsively leans over to kiss his cheek.

As she walks away she pretends she totally missed the shock on Callen's face.


I'm going to try and make myself write every morning now. Get up, get coffee, sit at computer and write. Or notebook. It seems to have worked this morning.

Anyone want to take bets on how long this'll take? My brother told me a couple of weeks ago I should just label this the 2014 Christmas story, the way it's going. I was both amused and disappointed. Mostly because it's getting pretty close to true.

Anyone want Christmas in July?