Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS: Los Angeles or the characters. I'm just borrowing them. I make no money from this.
Author Note: This is my first NCIS:LA fic. It takes place after the season 4 opener Endgame but before Recruit. After seeing Callen is with kids I couldn't help but wonder how he would react to finding out that he had one. Then there was the whole thing with Granger and how he dislikes Callen for some unknown reason. And from there this fic was born.
I've taken a bit of liberty with Callen's background as I couldn't find a timeline of when he worked for the various federal agencies. We know that he's worked for at least the CIA, FBI and DEA prior to joining NCIS. He was working for the DEA 10 years prior to season 1. He'd been with NCIS at least 4 years prior to season 1, partnered with Sam for 2 ½ of those years.
I'm not sure how much of this background I'm creating will be necessary for this fic but I figure it's better to have it sorted out before hand. Figure he joined each agency while searching for answers to his past. So since I'm assuming the CIA wasn't his first job, he started at the FBI and then was brought to the attention of the CIA before joining them. After the whole mess with Tracy he left the CIA, eventually joining the DEA and from there moves on to NCIS. Now for the purpose of this fic I'm inserting another agency into his past. After the CIA but before the DEA what if he worked for the ATF? After all, it's never been confirmed that he only worked for 3 agencies prior to NCIS. So for the purpose of this fic he worked for the ATF around 15 years prior to the start of season 4, leaving that agency for reasons that will become clear later in the fic.
Now that the background is out of the way let's start the fic. Please let me know what you think.
The streets were dark and empty as the black van sped down through them. The area was a rundown, seemingly abandoned part of the city. So there was no one around to witness as the rear doors flew open, a small figure leaping from the moving vehicle and hitting the pavement hard, rolling from the momentum. As the figure came to a stop, it pushed itself unsteadily to it's feet as the van screeched to a stop.
The figure turned to glance back at the van briefly as the sounds of a struggle within the vehicle could be heard. But as two men jumped from the back, guns clearly visible in their hands, the small figure began to run.
Passing a lone street light, the figure is briefly illuminated. Shoulder length hair trailed behind the face of a young girl, her vivid blue eyes wide with fear, her hands tightly bound in front of her. A muffled cry escaped her as the two men began to fire their weapons. Dodging around a corner, she continued to run, eyes searching for some refuge.
The men cursed as they turn the corner and find no sign of their quarry. They carefully started down the side street, guns pointed toward the shadows as they keep searching. The van returned, now quiet and another man called out to them. "Well?"
"She can't have gone far," one of the first two men responded as they both stop.
"Doesn't matter, we've got what we came for," the newcomer stated as he motioned them back to the van. "She'll turn up eventually. 'Sides, she's just a kid. What's she gonna do? Go crying to mommy?" The three men shared a laugh at that, as the other two climb into the van and it began to drive away.
Watching from the shadows of a drainage ditch, blue eyes prickle with tears. The girl's hand clutched a small locket hanging around her neck as she waited several long minutes to make sure they had really gone. Her head and shoulders slumped momentarily. Then, drawing in a deep breath, she raised her head, a strong look of resolve settling on her face. She turned to the pipe and found a jagged edge and used it to saw through the duct tape binding her arms together. She winced but didn't cry out as the sharp edge cut into her skin as well as her bindings. Once free, she dragged her sore and filthy body out of the ditch. Her eyes warily searched the area. Not finding anything of use, she began to walk.
She briefly thought of trying one of the nearby buildings for help but shook the thought away. They were all rundown, the likelihood of anyone being inside of them, especially someone who could help, was nonexistent. Besides, there was only one person she would, no, could trust to help her now. She had to stop several times to rest, her head spinning and her body aching and bruised.
But finally, just as the sky was just beginning to lighten in the pre-dawn, she found what she was looking for. With shaking hands, she reached for payphone, silently praying it was in working order. She nearly collapsed in relief as she heard the dial tone. Inserting a couple of coins, she dialed the number with shaking fingers.
"No," she whimpered in despair as the call went unanswered. She tried again, getting the same message. Every number she knew for him, she tried, always getting the same electronic message.
"This is Granger, leave a message."
She couldn't reach him. What was she supposed to do now? She rested her head against the phone booth. The one man she could trust and she couldn't reach him. Her eyes widened as she recalled something. Feeling numb, she tried one last number, praying that someone would answer. He had made her memorize this number, told her that if she ever was in trouble and couldn't contact him to call it. Hopefully whoever answered would be able to help. She nearly burst into tears as the phone was answered.
"Lange."