December 17, 2012
Meeting Jack's family might be the most terrifying thing Kensi's ever done.
She's pretty used to changing her spots. She'd been on the streets too long not to learn a thing or two about becoming whoever the person across from you wanted to be. Thing is though, nothing in the world, no amount of time on the streets, could have prepared her for the sheer overwhelming number that makes up just half of Jack's family.
She's never been good with parents. She's never been good with families. There are too many skeletons in her closet for her to truly be the open, accepting, warm person most families want to see. Jack had been insistent, though. They've been together a year, and she is absolutely and utterly gone over him. Almost pathetically. So when he'd told her a month ago they were going to Montana for Christmas, she'd said no. Immediately. Repeatedly. Insistently.
On December 20th, he'd packed her on a plane and they'd touched down in his home state a few hours later.
So, here she is, a California girl stupidly out of place in the super snowy landscape of Montana in winter, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people crowded into Jack's parents' place. The house is packed. And at the center of it all is the imposing reigning monarch of Jack's mother's side.
Jack's grandmother is intimidating. She's outspoken, opinionated, and old enough to get away with pretty much whatever she wants. She reigns with an iron fist. Kensi's watched every single aunt, uncle and cousin bow down to her superior power. They scramble to get her whatever she wants, automatically orient their attention towards her when she demands it. It's fascinating.
"Jack," she hears suddenly, her head swirling to find him. It's as automatic for her as breathing, finding him in the crowd. His head's come up, his attention shifting automatically from the in depth conversation with a girl he thinks is his niece to focus on the 84-year-old matriarch. "Bring the girl here."
Jack finds her gaze, sees her raised eyebrow. 'The girl'? It kind of rubs her the wrong way, actually. She has a name, she matters. And okay, it might be a bit of a sore spot. Jack knows, and he deposits a gentle kiss on her forehead as he tugs her up and into him. She takes comfort in the way his fingers weave with hers.
"She has a name, Nana," he scolds good-naturedly as they step closer. Two teenaged cousins scatter, thankful for the reprieve.
"Kensi," the matriarch says immediately. "Kensi Blye. I'm old, not deaf or stupid."
Jack just looks amused as he sits with her on the vacated loveseat. Nana's looking her over critically. Kensi doesn't like it.
"Bit thin, isn't she?"
Her mouth opens to argue, because what the actual hell? But Jack beats her to it.
"Quick metabolism. She eats, Nan. Trust me, she eats."
Now she's directing some of her irritation to Jack. She's completely off kilter and he knows it. And doesn't seem to be all that apologetic about it either.
"Not enough. She'll eat tonight."
Okay, really? Kensi grinds her teeth. She cannot stand people telling her what she's going to do, cannot stand people trying to control her. She just really can't. She's about to make that known when the woman bends down, a little awkwardly, into the carpet bag by her makeshift throne. She pulls from it a yellow ribbon. Kensi's heart clenches. She hates yellow ribbons. Her mother used to tie one to the tree in the front yard when her father was deployed. She did it too, Kensi remembers, after her mother left. She can remember waking to find it tied to her bedpost when her dad returned home. Until one day, he didn't.
Jack's grip has tightened on her hand, trying to ground her. He knows her dad was in the military, that he's gone now, maybe guessed something about the ribbon from her reaction. But that's all he knows and he definitely knows it's not something up for discussion. He's not stupid though, has to be able to feel the way her body's tensed, gets that there's something else going on here.
Nana holds the ribbon out to her. Now Kensi can feel Jack's body, taut as a bowstring beside her. "You will pick the tree."
"What?" It comes out high, squeaky. Like she's fragile, breaking. She clears her throat. "I'm sorry?"
"Our Christmas tree," Jack says, with a hefty dose of awe in his voice. He sounds so positively stunned that Kensi turns to look at him, to check, to try and figure out what's going on. "We tie that ribbon around the tree we pick for this place. Because this is where we have Christmas."
The sheer meaning of what is being offered to her hits her like a ton of bricks. She blinks unseeingly at the ribbon.
"I am too old to go trekking through that abominable snow," Nana says, looking every inch a royal. It only takes a look to snap Jack's mouth closed. Kensi's not really surprised. From the way Jack talks about his grandmother – a widow that lives alone – the woman is all but invincible. And here they are, they all are, faced with her mortality, her increasing age. Kensi's getting the sense that the ribbon has always been Nana's responsibility.
"It is time, I think," Nana goes on, running the ribbon through her fingers for a moment, "to pass on the torch, so to speak."
Kensi just kind of looks at that yellow ribbon, at the staggering acceptance that comes with it.
Then Nana leans forward. "I do not presume to know what has young eyes like your so haunted, what caused so many scars on your heart. But it is obvious to me that my grandson is in love with you. You make him happy, and while I love all of my grandchildren equally-" She shrugs with a terrifyingly mischievous grin. "Jack has mentioned you do not have much family. So take the ribbon, Kensi. Now you do."
Kensi swallows as Nana reaches out, wrapping the ribbon in Kensi's loose fingers. Then she offers a smile that is full of emotion, so very full.
"Welcome to mine."
He's got her entirely off kilter. One hundred percent off kilter and it's terrifying. It's worse than terrifying. She liked it better when she was the one in control, when she was the one that had decided they would take it slow, one step at a time.
Not like this.
This was confusing.
And to top it off, she's never really been this bloody girly.
She hasn't really slept. She's been working off the assumption that it's excitement, and living in fervent denial that hunting for a Christmas tree could, under any situation, be considered a first date. And yet, she's dressed a little bit nicer than she would, even for the office. 'Good' pair of jeans, a 'nicer' t-shirt and her unscuffed pair of boots. Even dug up one of her less worn leather jackets to combat California's version of winter temperatures.
Something's shifted. Again, like the ground is totally unsteady beneath her already off-balance feet. Which, it is Callen, after all. There's an element of expectation that comes with his natural unpredictability. But – well, it had felt pretty intense yesterday, the change.
Granted, she also hasn't been tree hunting in years. Her dad made a big deal of it, yeah. Packed her up, didn't matter where they were stationed. They looked hours some years, her dad dragging it out just to spend as much time with her as he could. Jack, when they were in California, always said it was blasphemous to hunt for a tree without snow. Beyond the first year she'd picked out a tree for his parents' place, she hasn't looked for a Christmas tree since her father was killed.
So. It's – been a while.
Callen doesn't pick her up at the door. It levels her, just a bit, makes it all feel a little less like a date. It takes some of the weird pressure off her shoulders. Right up until she climbs in his Impala and he hands over a paper cup of perfectly doctored coffee.
"Morning," he greets, like they do this every day.
Now it's different again. Because they don't do this every day. They don't even do it some of the days. If she needs a ride into work, Deeks picks her up. Partners. And Callen certainly doesn't bring her coffee. She didn't even know he knew how she likes hers. The butterflies and worries are back, the 'what ifs' racing through her head. And he's not exhibiting a single tick, any twitch of movement that would lead her to believe he's feeling even half the nerves she is.
"Morning," she can't help but murmur back. Her voice is soft, warm, filled with an emotion she absolutely refuses to name with the sheer army of butterflies rumbling through her stomach.
It does something to Callen too. She sees his fingers tap an uneven rhythm against the steering wheel before he reaches over and grips her chin. Then his mouth is on hers and she releases a completely undignified squeak. Her body goes cold, then hot; she can feel the centre console digging into her side, the pressure of his fingers against her cheek, the hot stroke of his tongue against her lips. They're both breathing harshly when they part, and Kensi licks her lips, surprised when the taste of him lingers. Her eyes flutter open like a damn romance novel and she blinks away the haze. "Hi."
"Hi," he answers, a smirk spreading across his face.
It's the smirk that settles the butterflies this time, the one that reminds her that despite everything between them, he's still just Callen. She laughs a little and shoves at his shoulder before curling her fingers back around her paper mug.
"Shut up," she mutters, but there's definitely more affection than heat in the words. "Let's get a tree."
. . . . .
They don't actually drive that far. She's kind of surprised because she'd been anticipating a real tree farm. They have a few in the greater Los Angeles area – they're close to the mountains, after all, they do have appropriate coniferous trees – but this is 'within' the city limits. It's not really a farm so much as a lot of pre-cut trees.
She's grateful for it.
She's battling a lot of memories today, good and painful. Jack and her father and a yellow ribbon that's actually in the bag slung across her body. And she's picking out a Christmas tree with Callen. Excuse her if it's all a little overwhelming.
He actually takes control the minute they're out of the car, his fingers weaving easily with hers. It makes her jolt and she forces herself to relax. She's not really sure what this new normal is, snowflakes and baking cookies and holding hands while finding the perfect Christmas tree.
He wants to help her find a tree.
"Did you ever get to do this?" she asks tentatively, about half an hour into the hunt. She's being picky, particular. It's the first one she's picked out in years; she certainly doesn't want one that isn't right.
"No," Callen answers from the other side of the tree she's currently inspecting. So far, he's basically held up the tree in its bucket, spinning it so Kensi can see all sides. "It's chaos to take that many kids."
Kensi bites her lip a little, surprised at the way the answer slips so easily off his tongue. "After?"
He cranes his neck around the tree, watching her for a moment before raising an eyebrow. "Never had a reason. You know Sam and Michelle invite me for Christmas every year, right?"
The shyness is back, creeping up with the heated blush she can feel staining her cheeks. "So you've never picked a tree."
Callen leans the blue pine back against the long row of fence it calls home. "No."
The biting has turned into chewing now. She hasn't really been telling him why she's turned now every tree they've looked at. She hasn't been letting him in on the deep-rooted, well-practiced art to choosing a Christmas tree. She meets his eyes, a new determination washing through her. "Pick it."
He's genuinely shocked. She's taken him entirely by surprise. "Huh?"
"You pick the tree," she says, reaching out for his hand. It's the first contact she's initiated, as skittish as she is. He steps closer when their fingers intertwine, still looking stunned.
"Kens-"
She shakes her head. She gets that this is her thing, she does. She's the Christmas fanatic between them. But it's a shared thing. "New memories, right?" She huffs at him a little. "Every one should get to pick out there own tree. And this is one place I have way more expertise than you."
He still doesn't like it – and the amount of emotion she's seen spread across his usually closed-off face is an introspection for another time – but he looks resigned. She wonders if maybe he had a plan, if right now she's barreling right through it.
She doesn't really care.
Because she's felt off-kilter the whole time. He's been touching her, holding her hand. She's caught him looking at her out of the corner of his eye, watching her. She's felt his hand ghost against her back, whisper through her hair. It's affection, because there's nothing else it could be, and it's been putting her teeth on edge.
It's not that she doesn't want him. It's the exact opposite actually, and the millions of problems that come with it that she's totally just thinking of now. They're coworkers, for example. Their mortality rate is significantly higher due to the number of bombs and guns they tend to face, not to mention deadly chemicals and poisons. They work on the same team, which means so many different complications the next time they're in perilous situations. Then there's the specifics, like his wandering heart and her dire need to set down roots.
So she needs to feel in control again, like this is worth looking into. Like they can actually make something of it, because if there's a chance in hell to counteract all the bad, they need to build something good. Something really, really good. And there's a little flickering thought in her head. Maybe, perhaps, Christmas can help them do that.
So, she tugs him along, has him pick up trees and points out their flaws. Height, branch thickness, holes in this side or that side. Some of them are almost Charlie Brown trees, she thinks. And he listens. It's one of his big strengths, the listening. He pays attention, starts looking for the same.
Eventually, they find it. Well, Callen finds it, which doesn't surprise Kensi maybe as much as it should. It makes her pretty darn happy though, and she tries to tell herself that it's the successful discovery of the perfect Christmas tree and not her happiness that spreads a smile across his face.
Look at me! Virtually back to back updates and not only that, but two separate story updates in the same day! I feel kind of powerful at the moment. I've also probably just jinxed myself, so keep that in mind. I hope not. There's, what eight chapters?
(What I mean to say is that everyone should cross their fingers with me that the rest falls together kind of like this one did)
Errors are mine. Always. Because I'm human and all that.
Thanks for reading!
