Apart from the case it had been a good day.
Sam and Callen were planning on getting together at Sam's house with Michelle and Kamran to celebrate ten years of being partners. Callen had been surprised when Sam had reminded him of the date and had made a big show about having to whole team around to celebrate.
Even Hetty was smiling at the fact that Callen and Sam were celebrating this milestone. They had hoped to get through the day without a case, but Eric's call changed that.
It was a routine case, a marine found dead, but all signs pointed to his killer being part of a gang that were regularly seen in Reseda. Callen had been here a few times growing up, and knew the area pretty well.
As soon as they had pulled up, Sam's gut was churning.
"Something's off G." He said as he got out of the car and checked his weapon.
"Come on Sam, it's Reseda; you hate this area," Callen sighed as he followed suit. "The guy is probably passed out drunk inside anyway."
"You should trust my gut." Sam groused as he moved towards the house.
"Yeah yeah," Callen rolled his eyes. "It's been ten years partner, you still don't trust my experience."
"Seriously G," Sam groaned. "You'd never be here if it weren't for me."
Callen laughed, they walked up to the door and Sam knocked.
He tried the door handle, "Federal Agents!" Sam called.
Callen watched as Sam entered the building in front of him, his weapon drawn.
The room was practically bare. "He has less stuff than you do." Sam smirked as he walked inside.
They had gone barely four steps inside when Callen noticed the wires.
"Bomb!" He yelled, pushing Sam in front of him to the door as the building around them exploded.
Callen opened his eyes, his head was killing him. "Sam…?" He groaned.
"Shut up kid." A voice growled from behind him.
Callen moved to get up, but a boot pushed him back to the ground.
"Stay down kid," the voice said again "You need to learn that being mouthy in here isn't good for ya."
"Where…?" Callen started, and stopped as he realized his voice was a good octave higher than he remembered; he looked at his hands. His knuckles were bruised and sore, but they were also small.
"What the fuck?" He cursed and got a kick to the ribs for his trouble.
"We already told you to watch your mouth, kid."
Callen coughed and swallowed the blood that threatened to spill.
He breathed a bit easier as the boot left his back and the sound of a jail cell door closed behind him.
"Where am I?" He asked again.
"Juvie kid, did you hit your head again?" The younger of the two guards asked with a modicum of concern.
Callen stood up and walked to the small sink with a polished metal mirror in the corner, he was fifteen!
He cupped his hand and poured some water over his face. The man whose face was so clear was fading rapidly.
A few names were in his head, slipping. Sam… Hetty… Callen could not remember the others, but these two were important to him, but he could not work out why!
Three weeks passed, and Callen could still not remember the faces to the names, but every night he would recite the names just to remember them. For Callen, names were important, because after all he did not have one.
The other boys in the detention center would laugh at his lack of a name. Some bullied him, because he had no family to visit or write to, and when the lessons were held, it was usually so the boys could write to their families. Callen was the only child there who had no-one to write to; he would spend his hour writing the names of Hetty and Sam repeatedly.
The therapist was concerned; did Callen know who his family was? He asked the boy about the names over and over again, but Callen would get more and more angry, because he could not tell the therapist what he wanted to know.
Eventually, Callen had had enough. Again, the boys went to visit families, and Callen managed to get under the wire and steal a station wagon.
Something in his gut told him this was the right thing to do, that this would be where his life would change.
Callen jumped as sirens and lights flashed behind him. This was not supposed to happen; he was going to escape and live his life, free.
Callen looked back in a panic as the police car came closer.
Hitting the gas, the car sped up and jumped the curb, smashing into a streetlight.
Scrambling out of the car, Callen headed towards the street as he was chased and tackled by a police officer.
Callen looked up, praying for something to happen, for someone to save him… but as usual there was no one. No adult was there to save him, and tell him he had potential. No one to make the world a better place for him. He fell face first to the ground, defeat emanating from every pore.
"Why did ya do it kid? You only had a week left, you'd have been out and been able to make something of your life." One of the cops said as they cuffed him.
"You tried to kill us, ramming us with the car is assault with a deadly weapon, so you're gonna be tried as an adult." The other said with barely disguised glee, as he all but threw the child into the back of the patrol car.
"Your parents are gonna be so proud of you. Did you think of them before you did this kid?" The first officer said.
Callen looked away, they were not going to see him cry. "I don't got any."
"Someone, somewhere must be worried about you?" The officer said.
Callen shook his head, refusing to look at the officers as they cleaned up the scene and drove him away.
Barely ten minutes later a silver Porsche pulled up; a small woman got out and looked around.
"Bugger!" She exclaimed, but she was too late. An accident on the freeway had held her up and now, her boy was lost in the system... Again.
She headed back to the car, determined to find out this time what had happened to him.
Callen could not believe it. It had barely been two hours, but apparently the Californian justice system was working on overdrive, and he was already standing before a circuit judge. He sat, his head bowed as his pro-bono lawyer tried to plead his case.
The judge in question was annoyed; he had been visiting the detention center when his car had gone missing. He had pulled some strings, and managed to be on the bench as the case was tried. He had loved that car; he had met and courted his late wife in it, and now it was a wreck. Due solely to the actions of the sullen teenager sat in front of him.
There was no remorse in this young man's face; he just looked defeated. He knew he would make an example out of this young man, and would make sure that people knew, that trying to deliberately run down officers of the law would not go unpunished.
"G. Callen." The judge's deep baritone rumbled around the room.
Callen looked up, his eyes angry as he looked at the judge.
"Do you have anything to say before I pass sentence?" He asked.
Callen shrugged, "Would it matter?"
"Don't you care about who you hurt? The judge asked "You nearly killed two police officers who were chasing you, and countless civilians who you might have hit."
Callen shrugged again; they did not care about him, and he did not care either.
It was a lie; he was hurting, but one thing was true, he was a waste of space and not one person on this planet gave a damn about him.
The judge shook his head.
"Five years." He said as he hit his gavel on the block. "Take him down."
It was the last case of the day. The recorder was tired, and did not write down where he was taken. After all, she surmised the kid had no family, and it was her last day. She just wanted to get home.
So with nothing in the system to say where he was going. Callen was shuttled off.
Hetty put down her phone, feeling frustrated She sat back at her desk, annoyed; she had missed him yet again, and now no one knew where he was. This did not seem right. Hetty put feelers out, called in every favor that she could, but it would be a good few years before Callen would show up on her radar again. Once more, she had failed his mother.
Hetty poured herself a scotch, and sadly tried to dial another number, but again nothing.