Author's Note: Okay, so I'm playing fast and loose with both NCIS: Los Angeles canon and DC Comics (specifically comics, with a little bit of the Joel Schumacher movies) canon here, but I'm helped along by the fact that ages are rarely referenced in the comics and that DC has rebooted or ret-conned its characters so many times I've lost count. I'm claiming artistic license to pick and choose the bits of both canons that work for this story, and it is very definitely AU to all source material from both canons.
As always, all rights in this work are hereby given to the respective copyright owners.
AU. Callen receives a letter that takes him back to his first home and a life he left behind.
Hetty Lange had always loved a good mystery. From the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew through the pulps her parents left lying around through Agatha Christie, her earliest years had been spent reading mysteries and, later, spy stories. Over the years, she'd become adept at solving them well before the last chapter.
Which made the envelope on her desk all the more maddening.
Covered in the primary-colored logo of an overnight courier, the envelope was addressed simply to "G. Callen" in plain block lettering and, most disturbingly, bore the address of this facility - the one buried so deeply in layers of shell corporations and absentee owners that no one should be able to access it.
As if that weren't enough, the sender's address was a mail drop in Gotham City. Hetty knew Callen's history as well as her own, and Gotham City didn't figure into it anywhere or anytime.
She supposed there was only one way she'd solve this mystery. With a silent sigh, she rose to her feet, envelope in hand, and headed toward the bullpen where Callen sat with the other members of his team, all of them engrossed in paperwork.
Expense reports were the bane of G Callen's life. Not even taking a handful of slugs to the chest had been enough to get him out of doing expense reports, and today there was even less of an excuse for not doing them.
It had been, surprisingly, almost a week without a major case, and G had already gone through a stack of cold case files a foot tall, so this morning he'd brewed an extra strong mug of tea, sighed deeply, and dug out receipts and forms. Thankfully, this time none of them were more than three months old, so maybe he wouldn't be subjected to one of Hetty's lectures on timeliness.
"Mr. Callen."
Or maybe not. Still, if they had a case, then he had an excuse for not finishing them, and he looked up. "Hetty?"
The diminutive woman was scowling, which was never a good sign. She also held a courier envelope.
"Perhaps you can explain something for me," she said, and if they hadn't already drawn the attention of Sam, Kensi, and Deeks, her too-courteous tone certainly had.
G ignored Sam and Kensi's curious looks as well as Deeks' you're in trouble now expression. "If I can."
"Perhaps you can explain to me how this envelope," she held it aloft, "came to arrive at this office."
G blinked. "At a guess, someone addressed it here."
"Someone addressed it here," Hetty agreed. "More specifically, they addressed it here to you."
A knot of tension balled in G's gut, but he didn't have enough information to offer more than, "Huh."
"How did they know where to send it, Mr. Callen?"
"Could be an enemy out for revenge," Sam suggested. "Probably should scan it for any nasty surprises."
"It has been scanned, Mr. Hanna. Quite thoroughly. But that still doesn't explain how the sender knew this address."
"Who is the sender?" G asked.
Hetty made a show of squinting at the shipping label, though G suspected she already had Eric Beale searching for information on the sender. "One P. Worth, in Gotham City."
The knot in G's stomach dropped even further, even as instinct pushed him to his feet. "I need some personal time."
"An explanation, please?" He'd seen Hetty's implacable expression before, but this time he wouldn't give in to it.
"Family emergency," was all he said.
"How can you know that without seeing what's in the envelope?" Deeks asked, followed by Kensi's more tentative, "I thought you don't have any family."
"Not that I've kept in touch with," G told Kensi, then met Deeks' gaze. "And there's nothing in it. The envelope itself is the message."
He turned to Hetty, who was still frowning at him. "You know I've got the time on the books."
Hetty returned his gaze and for a long moment they assessed each other like two gunfighters in an old Western movie. Finally, Hetty nodded.
"How long?"
"A week. Two at the most." G nodded to her, almost a bow. "Thanks."
"You will, I trust, tell me the story when you return?"
"No promises." G pulled his phone from his pocket and pulled up a search program even as he started toward the exit.
Hetty's voice sounded behind him. "What are you waiting for, Mr. Hanna? A gilt-edged invitation?"
G turned back just as Sam caught up with him, opening his mouth to protest.
Sam's expression stopped his voice in his throat. "We're partners, G. I've got your back, whatever this is."
G started to object anyway, just on principle, but this time Hetty's voice stopped him. "Mr. Hanna goes with you, or you don't go."
"Hetty -"
"Let me rephrase. You provide an explanation, or Mr. Hanna goes with you. Those are your options, Mr. Callen." And there was the immovable object that Hetty Lange could become at need.
G shook his head. He could win this fight, but it would take more time than he might have. "Fine. Hope your go-bag's ready, Sam."
"Always."
Sam wasn't surprised when G directed him to the airport - given the sender's return address, he suspected a trip to Gotham City was in their immediate future. He was surprised when G told him to go to the private charter terminal, but something in his partner's expression told him to save any questions for later.
Sam hoped G appreciated that he waited not only until they were in the air, but until after the flight attendant - and who knew private charters came with a cabin attendant? - brought them beverages and left them alone before he asked his first question.
"You have family in Gotham City?" Sam hoped he kept the question casual enough that G would answer it.
"I did, once," G answered, his gaze still focused somewhere out the window, his expression more serious than Sam remembered seeing it in a very long time. Then G barked a humorless laugh. "Twice, maybe, depending on your perspective."
Sam turned those words over in his head, trying to tease out their deeper meaning - because with G, there was almost always a deeper meaning. Fortunately, this time G's own words gave him an approach.
"You said this trip is a family emergency," Sam pointed out. "Hard to have an emergency if you don't have family."
For a long time, Sam thought G wasn't going to answer. When he did, he still didn't look at Sam. "He kicked me out. We'd had troubles before - misunderstandings, the usual. But it was all over when he kicked me out."
"Why'd he kick you out?" Sam asked, wondering who he was and what G could possibly have done to be kicked out of a family. Then again, given the vagaries of foster-families, maybe he hadn't really done anything.
"I wasn't good enough." Finally, G turned to meet Sam's gaze, and Sam had to call on years of training and undercover work to hide his flinch at the bleakness of his partner's expression.
"Then he's a damn fool."
G shook his head. "He was right. I wasn't good enough. If I'd been good enough, I wouldn't have gotten shot."
This time Sam couldn't hide his reaction. "You got shot?"
"That was the first time," G mused. "It doesn't get easier with practice."
Sam counted to ten, then twenty. Then he repeated the count in Spanish, Arabic, Hebrew, and Farsi before he could keep his voice level when he asked, "How old were you?"
"Eighteen."
Sam bit back a curse. "You know all your answers just raise more questions."
G grinned, and even if it was only a hint of his usual smirk, Sam decided he'd take it. G had been too quiet, too serious, since that damned envelope had arrived. "Sorry. I'm just used to keeping secrets, and this one's a doozy."
"You don't have to tell me," Sam assured him. "I'm just trying to figure out how to have your back."
"Pretty sure you'll figure it out," G said. "Just - don't tell anyone else."
Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. "Not even Hetty?"
"I'll tell her what she needs to know." G settled back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Sam didn't believe for one second that G was actually going to sleep, but he let his partner drop the subject.
For now.
