So, this was somewhat of a freewrite type of a deal. The backstory is vague, but I wrote it under the assumptiont that something went wrong in the Ashley Thomson undercover operation (sorry if I spelled the alias's name wrong. If it bothers any of you enough, feel free to let me know how to spell it and I will fix it). Despite the backstory-vagueness, this is meant to be a oneshot. I just like the idea of Callen and Hunter ending up together (no, there is no romance in this story, though you are free to interpret this fanfic however you want [obviously ;)]) and the main purpose of this story was to get them in a heart-tapping situation and see the results. There's a little OOCness on Hunter's part, but that was done on purpose - to see a little more of an emotional, human side to her, especially under, what appears to be, rather painful circumstances. Again, if the OOCness bothers you, or if you don't think I did it accurately, please let me know. I welcome critcism and the chance at improvement. I do not want to make this into a multi-chapter story though.
This story is named after the song "Grey Lynn Park" by the Veils, and is not named after the actual New Zealand park, "Grey Lynn Park" (though that's probably what the song is about. lol ;)).
Disclaimer: I do not own anything of NCIS: Los Angeles, nor do I own anything of the Veils and their songs.
He was more than worried to find her sitting on a park bench in the middle of the night, alone. Callen supposed it was just his nature as a law enforcer to feel protective, even if he didn't particularly like the person. And, despite the fact that he had already made peace with Hetty, he still wasn't very fond of Lauren Hunter.
The streetlamp that stood to her left was old. Even while standing at a distance, Callen could still make out the dust and scratches that coated the streetlamp's face. Its orange light glowed weakly, emitting enough brightness for sight, but not enough to profile details. It casted the right shadows on Hunter's face, hiding most of the bruises. There was one bruise—one that faced the light—that was unafraid of being noticed. It circled around her eye as if trying to swallow it whole. If Hunter remembered it was there, she didn't act like it. She just stared forward, blank as ever.
"You know, it gets kind of dangerous here this time of night," Callen said when he approached her.
For a tense moment, it was silent.
"Is that a threat, Agent Callen?"
"A warning," Callen corrected, curiosity and concern increasing.
He tilted his head at her, observing her as he waited for an invitation to sit down. She didn't give him one. She didn't even flinch under his gaze. So, after a few awkward moments, Callen gave up on courtesy and sat next to her anyway. When he turned to look at Hunter, he felt rather satisfied—and, admittedly, smug—to find that she was finally looking back at him.
"Why are you here, Callen?"
Callen let out a breath, gathering up the right words to explain it to her.
"Hetty—"
"Hetty," Hunter repeated, amusement in her tone.
"What? Do you know?"
"I know enough," she said vaguely, retrieving the gaze she held on him and putting it somewhere else, "I know that the only thing we have in common is Hetty Lang."
"We have more—"
"The only significant thing."
"Ah," Callen said, understanding, yet not. When Hunter didn't explain any further, Callen said, "She's worried about you."
Hunter gave a genuine smile, however small and however brief.
"Tell her I'm fine."
"I'd love to," he said, straightening his back and leaning against the bench. He placed his arms on the top of the bench's back, noticing Hunter cringe at the movement, "and I have been telling her for weeks, but, see, I haven't actually seen you, so Hetty wouldn't take my word for it. Now that I have seen you…you're not fine."
"You don't know me well enough to make any accurate judgment on me," Hunter said, her tone impassive and intuitive.
"No, I guess not."
They were silent again. The light near them flickered as the wind pushed against the streetlamp, and both he and Hunter glanced up at it, but it did not give out. With the wind continuing to blow, Hunter's hair whipped like a flame behind her, whipping Callen's arm in the process. Callen was surprised and even more curious when Hunter, very timidly, brought her hands to her hair and held it down against her shoulder. Callen stared at her the entire the time the wind blew, and continued to do so even when it diminished significantly. Releasing her hair, Hunter glanced over at him, defensiveness and fatigue accenting the overall despair that glazed her eyes.
"Callen," she said, her tone stronger than she appeared, "I'm fine. Please. I just want to be alone."
"Why here?" he asked, "Why at a park in the middle of the night? Don't you have an apartment?"
"It's none of your concern."
"It's all of my concern."
Her eyes were so sad. She stared at him with piercing curiosity and, no doubt, a great deal of intelligence, but there was tragedy within her. It showed like an angry scar.
"Why?" she asked him, "For Hetty? I promise I will speak with her in the morning—"
"It is morning," he said, checking his watch just to be sure, "one fifty-one, to be exact."
Hunter seemed surprised at that. She even went as far as to take out her phone and check the time for herself.
"You're not fine," Callen said, his tone soft with sympathy.
Hunter stared at her phone for a long moment before, slowly, pocketing it. She looked over at Callen, eyes wide with suppressed hurt. Callen actually felt his heart twist at the sight.
"I didn't want to be in my apartment," she confessed to him, staring down at her feet as if ashamed. Sensing it was the right thing to do, Callen lifted his arms off the bench's back and placed them in front of himself. If she appreciated the extra space, he couldn't tell, "At times like these…I would very much like to go home."
"I don't understand."
"My apartment feels like a hotel room," Hunter clarified. She turned to him, truly curious as she asked, "Haven't you ever gone back 'home,' only to discover it was just a few walls and windows?"
"Well, I'd be worried if it wasn't."
"I'm serious."
Callen wasn't comfortable with the shift of attention. He figured she did that on purpose; exchanged their roles as therapist and patient to avoid answering any more of his questions. And maybe also to make him feel a little guilty about pushing her so much. If he couldn't open up to her about his issues, why should she to him?
"Yes, I have," he said, giving her a little compromise, "I've found that, on those kinds of days, staying with a friend usually helps."
"Are you suggesting I stay with Hetty?'
"I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
Callen hesitated. It was unnerving how well she could read him.
"I'd prefer it if you stayed with Hetty," he said, reluctance in his posture and tone, "but I'm sure you have a lot of friends you can count on for this kind of thing."
Hunter actually snorted at him. Startled at her crudeness, he gaped at her.
"You're lying."
"I'm not—" she smirked at him, her eyes seeing what no one else seemed to, "I'm not lying about staying at a friend's house."
"No, I know you're not," she said, suddenly returning back to her serious façade, "but I prefer solitude at times like this."
"So do I, but—"
"So you understand that I can take care of myself? That I just want to be alone for a little while?"
"I'm not leaving until I know you're going to be okay."
"I'm going to be okay."
"Oh, I'm convinced now."
Hunter smiled at him. Then, much to his surprise and confusion, she laughed. It was soft, breathy, aware that their surroundings were much too quiet for the high volume of laughter. Regardless of its conservativeness, it contained such joy and relief that it made Callen laugh in empathy. He felt foreign to the situation, having never even seen this side of Hunter before, but there was a great deal of comfort in it. Funny, he hadn't come here to feel any comfort.
It could have been an hour later for all he knew, but he figured it must have only been a few minutes when Hunter started to settle down. Bursts of chuckles erupted every few seconds as she tried to fight them back. Tears were in her eyes and Callen, feeling rather cheerful after his own fit of laughter, wasn't sure if they were tears of joy or sadness; probably both.
"Didn't realize I was such a comedian," Callen said, pleased when the comment widened her smile.
"Nor did I," she said. Somewhat stabled now, Hunter turned and looked at him. Her eyes were still sad, but something akin to contentedness sparkled in them, "You're not going to leave me alone, are you?"
"Am I that easy to read?"
Hunter smiled.
"No. I'm just that perceptive."
Callen smirked at the sarcasm, once again surprised. When he came to think of it, he really didn't know much about Lauren Hunter. It hadn't been for a lack of trying. For too long a time, he was certain she was the brick wall between him and his desired answers. Callen dug for all the information he could get on her, coming up scarce and, at the time, very agitated.
"To Hetty's then?" she asked him, her face contorted with resignation while her tone sounded a little relieved.
Callen stood, offering his hand to her. She took it, but not before shaking her at him as if his kindness was the strangest thing to her.