"I love what you've done with the place," Monroe mocked as the pair entered the house that was Callen's home.
"I've always packed light," Callen replied in good humor as he closed the door behind her.
"That you have," she confirmed, sitting down on his only chair. While a stranger would have missed it, the undercover agent noticed her muscles tense for a moment before relaxing. The smile on her face didn't miss a beat, so no one would have any way of knowing that a silent terror had rippled up her spin for that fraction of a minute.
"You still remember it don't you?" he addressed seriously. She nodded, the smile not leaving, only the glimmer in her eyes confirming that she knew what he was speaking of.
"Don't you?"
"Every day."
~:~
"So what's the story with this place? The fosters drunks?" Callen asked as he looked across his bed to the thoughtful brunette.
"No, they're much worse than that. Let's just say being here will make every home they ever beat you at, look like a walk in the park," she replied, looking out the window that overlooked the darkening street.
"How so?"
She turned her head to look at him, her secretive smile not as advanced or as perfected as it would be when she grew older, but it still had that ability to make one's blood run cold. For a moment, Callen thought she wasn't going to answer him, but then she turned around and looked him dead in the eye. She pulled at the bottom of her tank top, her smile turning to a frown as she slowly pulled it up. Callen's eyes widened considerably as each inch of skin was revealed. Her abdomen was covered in bruises in various stages of healing and large, probably deep, cuts running their way up from the base of her stomach to the top of her bra covered breasts. The image was horrifying at best and unthinkable at worst. She waited for a moment, letting him carefully observe every scar, old and new, before turning around to show him her back. Long smooth white lines stood out against the continuing purple and fading yellow. They were whip marks, he knew that from watching enough TV, but he'd never seen them in person before. She gave him another moment to look before she turned to face them again. "They try and keep in the area of a tank top so no one gets suspicious, but sometimes they miss... and sometimes they're just especially cruel."
She said the words so monotone, so matter of fact, speaking volumes. She was telling him there was no escaping them, that he just needed to accept these cards he'd been dealt. He swallowed hard as he watched her skin disappear once again beneath the shirt.
"They're going to mark us up tonight. They always do the first night, and Todd and Joan are angry tonight." She gave him a sad smile.
"How long have you been here?" he asked her, noticing for the first time the scar on her neck and behind her ear, looked like a burn mark.
"Almost a year," she told him.
"A year?" he asked in amazement.
"A year," she confirmed. Her eyes drifted to the clock and he was stunned to realize it was already 6 o'clock. Her dark eyes narrowed and all the emotion (what little there was) drained away to leave only a stoic image in it's wake. "Time for dinner."
He didn't say anything, only following her as she left the room. She said nothing as she lead him down the stairs to the main floor then down a second set to the basement. Todd and Joan stood at the bottom of those, both smiling with unsettling glee. The minute Monroe's foot hit the floor, she was whisked away by Joan to a chair that sat in the center of the room.
"Come on boy," Todd called, frustration clear on the edge of his voice. Callen wanted to run, leave and never come back but he knew it wasn't that simple. If it was so simple he knows Monroe would have done so already. He flinched slightly when Todd's strong hand grasps his shoulder and encouraged him down the last few steps.
Callen remained frozen at the bottom as his foster father fastened his hands over Callen's shoulders, keeping him in place as Joan took care in tying each of Monroe's feet to the feet of the chair. When the woman was done with that she went on to Monroe's arms, tying them to the sides of the chair with ease. She stepped back to admire her handy-work.
"You are such a pretty girl," Joan said with a grin as she reached forward and tried to brush a loose piece of hair out of Monroe's eyes. The seventeen year old turned her head from the woman, refusing to look anywhere but the floor. Joan retracted her hand, an almost genuine look of hurt on her face.
"Don't worry Joan, she won't be pretty for long," Todd soothed his wife gently as he pushed Callen towards the other chair. Callen barely had time to react before the man had pushed him into the chair started tying him.
~:~
"Do you ever check on them?" Callen asked, wondering if the smile was frozen on her face. She didn't seem fazed by the question, but her eyes narrowed just a hair.
"You know the answer to that," she replied sweetly, her voice dark and syrupy.
~:~
"They had a baby," Monroe said in disbelief as she turned to look at Callen. The CIA agent looked up from his desk to see his partner staring in shock at the computer screen. It took a lot to shock his partner and even more to get her to show such an emotion on her face.
"Who?" he asked, always a man of few words.
"Todd and Joan." The names hung in the air like a death sentence, heavy, thick, and lasting.
"What?" he asked, not believing her words more out of fear than out of the belief that she was misinformed. He rose from his desk and went to peer over her shoulder at her computer screen where a birth certificate was displayed.
Layla Corrine Macallister
"We have to get her out of there, get her away from them," Monroe told him, her eyes wide and fearful; he'd never seen her so unglued. He nodded to her, but what could they do? As children they hadn't turned them in and now they had no proof.
"We will," he promised.
They never did.
~:~
"How are they?" he asked, though they both knew he was speaking more about Layla then he was about their tormentors.
"She's dead."
He whipped his head to look at her. Her hands were clasped a little too tight, but her smile remained mesmerizing and her eyes betrayed none of the emotion he knew she felt. She'd become an even better secret keeper since their days together back at the CIA. Her tells were gone, every one of them with the exception of those hands. It reminded him a conversation he had with the Director of the CIA a lifetime ago.
~:~
"You're lucky to be working with her," Director Shields said as he looked out his window into the bullpen, where Monroe was leaning against a desk, talking to another agent.
"I am," Callen replied, a small smile creeping onto his face as he watched her shake her dyed blonde head.
"You know she almost wasn't recruited, your Unit Chief didn't think she had what it takes, to many tells," the Director said, his eyes never once leaving the younger of the duo, "But I knew she'd be one of our best. Do you know why?"
"Why?" Callen asked the man that had taken both himself and Monroe under his wing when they first joined the CIA. The man had become a surrogate father to the both of them
"It's that smile. When it's directed at you, you're blinded to everything else. It makes you dizzy and alive. She could be leading you to the lions and you'd never know it, till she slides her pocket knife across your neck." He smiled, as if her skill was on the same parent-pride scale as a child being accepted to Harvard. "She's young, she appears innocent and trustworthy, and she melts your heart. She's getting better with that mask she wears and when she reaches her full potential she'll be the best."
"Yes Sir," Callen agreed.
"We'll lose her one day."
"What is that Sir?" Callen asked, though a part of him felt he knew.
"She'll break."
Callen's agreement was silent.
~:~
"How'd she die?" he asked, what else could he ask.
"They did to her what they did to us. She was fourteen years old and the official cause of death is a heart attack. Fourteen!" her voice shook slightly, her stupid smile finally gone. She rose from the chair, unbuttoning her top and throwing it to the side before starting on her skirt. "We should have reported them, stripped our clothes away if we had to and showed them the marks that'll never go away."
"Monroe…" he trailed off. She was right, they should have.
~:~
Callen watched with wide eyes as he stared at Monroe. She was coughing and spluttering as she tried to catch her breath from the blow to the gut. The side of her face was showing the first signs of bruises and blood trailed down her chin from the corner of her mouth.
"Not so pretty now," Joan taunted.
Monroe looked at her through half lidded eyes but the glare was clear. All was silent for a moment before Joan let out a squeal of outrage. At first Callen didn't know what had happened, but then Joan turned enough for him to notice the blood splattered on Joan's skirt. Monroe had spit blood at her.
"You'll pay for that one," Todd warned with an evil smile, his eyes never leaving Monroe's even as he addressed his wife, "Joan, start up the fire."
Callen's eyes grew wide, knowing nothing good could come from a fire. He wasn't badly injured yet, nothing he'd never experienced before. He would have a black eye he knew, and his arms would hurt in the morning, but Monroe was taking the brunt of the attacks. He shifted his eyes to watch as Joan started the fire, who waited till it was good and started before removing a knife from a box to the side.
"No," he protested, speaking for the first time. He whipped his head around to look at Monroe, whose dark eyes were staring intently at the fire.
"Please," Monroe cried out, tears in her eyes as she looked at their tormentors. "I'm sorry. Please Joan, no more."
"You've gotten used to this Sadie honey," Joan taunted cheerfully before turning her eyes to Callen. She smiled happily at him, as if she weren't placing the metal of the blade into the flames.
"What? No!" Monroe screamed, her eyes growing wide as she started to trash around in her chair.
"What's wrong sweetheart? Not so tough now are you?" their foster mom said with a sadistic smile as she retracted the orange blade from the fire.
"No, Joan, please!" Monroe screamed as the tall woman advanced towards her new foster brother. "Please Joan, don't do this! Joan!"
Callen watched with wide eyes as the psychotic woman laid the burning metal against Callen's upper jean clad thigh. He didn't feel the pain right away, just a heat burning though the material of his jeans. It took a moment for the blade to melt away the denom and meet his skin. It was like someone dropped an open flame on his bare skin, spreading out to all the surrounding skin. He tried not to scream as the pain shot through him like a bullet. He tried to focus on Monroe, screaming from her chair which he should have noticed was nailed down to the floor.
"Stop! Joan, please! Do it to me! Joan!" Monroe screamed.
~:~
"You're thinking of the first time we had sex, aren't you?" she asked, the only woman in the world that could stand in front of you completely naked and make you feel like the vulnerable one.
"Sort of," he replied, flickering his eyes from scar to scar. She looked beautiful, even with all her demons mapped out on her body. They were the story of her life, of the horrors they shared and the few they didn't.
"Sort of?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
"I was thinking of the events that led up to our first time."
She frowned, "I'm sorry I couldn't stop her."
Callen didn't deny her apology like he's done every time she shoulders the blame that solely rests on their sociopathic foster parents. Instead he steps towards her, reaching out to cup her face. He brings their lips together in electric passion. They shed his clothes on the way to his room. They fall lightly to his carpet where they have sex for hours. Callen kisses each one of her scars and she does the same in return. It's like their first night over again, the night of the first night they were tortured together.
A/n So this is the sequel to Grenade and takes place right after it. I've decided to make one more installment for these two. It'll be a kind of grand finale. Hope you like it and please drop me a review. In the next one it won't focus so much on the flashbacks like this one.