Warping

by Keesha

A tag to 'Fighting Shadows'.

Author's Note: This is a tag to 'Fighting Shadows' or at least it was supposed to be a tag, which in my mind is a few paragraphs. However, this started to morph and next thing I knew it was starting to need chapters! So not what I intended. Since I am working on another longer story, I really didn't want this to become overwhelming, so I did a mid-course correction. You can see exactly where I decided it was getting out of hand and pulled the plug. However, I left it open to maybe go back some day and insert some chapters, or someone else can if it catches their fancy.

As always, not my toys, just giving them a little demo before restoring them to the shelf.

Love, love, love reviews, comments and constructive criticism. I do go back and try to fix glaring issues when they are pointed out to me. My beta, unfortunately, is me, myself and I and we suck sometimes.

Enjoy!

Callen watched the two men lead Shah away in handcuffs, the paper with the pictures of the two boys, Jonathan and Omar, tucked in the pocket of his shirt. After the door shut firmly behind them, Callen let his shoulders slump, as he dejectedly shuffled over to the nearby wicker chair and heavily dropped into it. Leaning his head back against the brownish cushions, he closed his eyes and allowed himself the luxury of a groan. He was incredibly glad this case was finally over, having hated every minute of it.

Letting go of the tension in his limbs, his mind began to wander, reviewing the events of the day. Though it would have been wrong, he would have loved to open the hatch in the floor and hold Shah's head underwater for an indeterminate amount of time. It infuriated him that anyone treated kids like Shah did; using them, warping their minds, and ruining their lives. The tension he had been trying to release rapidly returned and letting his anger boil over, he slammed his right fist, hard, into his jean-clad thigh.

At that precise moment, Sam walked into the boat house, just in time to see Callen's temper flare-up and self-abuse. Silently, he walked over and took the chair opposite his clearly distressed partner. Though Callen didn't open his eyes, Sam had no doubt, he had registered his presence. Knowing his partner's preferred communication style, which was not to talk, Sam elected to quietly wait him out. Patience was a virtue Sam had, when he needed to, so he sat there, without making a sound for more than five minutes, simply benignly staring at Callen.

Finally, Callen broke. "I don't suppose saying, I don't want to talk, would do any good," he remarked without opening his eyes.

With the slightest of grins, Sam replied, "You don't need to talk. After seven plus years as your partner, I have actually learned a few things about you."

"Hmmm-mmm," Callen hummed, tinging it with doubt.

"Yep," Sam continued settling a bit more deeply into the chair. "You're sitting over there wallowing in your deep, dark, past. Hating yourself for doing it, yet helpless to stop it." The minor flinch in Callen's jaw told Sam all he needed to know; he was dead on target.

Raising his hand to his face, Sam rubbed his thumb across his lips, as he worked his way through the puzzle that was G Callen. Sam recognized the mood his partner was in and thought back to the other times he'd seen Callen in this frame of mind. A piece of the puzzle slipped into place.

"It was those two boys. The ones Shah brainwashed into trying to take out the FBI building. You're angry. Outraged. You wish you could have permanently rid the world of Shah. Jail isn't really enough punishment for what he did, even though you forced yourself to accept it."

At that, Callen's eyes partially opened, and though they were hooded, Sam knew his comments were spot on. He hated doing this to his best friend, but he knew if he didn't, Callen would continue to brood and push everyone away while he stuffed his emotions back behind his impenetrable brick wall. Callen called it compartmentalizing to maintain sanity. Sam had a different viewpoint. He called it avoidance, leading to insanity.

"So the fact you wanted to remove this guy from the face of the Earth tells me it was personal. What he did resonated with you."

Sam stopped for a moment to gauge Callen's reaction. Callen eyes were fully open now and though his breathing was steady, it was too even and Sam knew that Callen was forcibly keeping it measured; a sure sign he was troubled. Sam went on and connected the last dot.

"This means, what Shah did to the boys, gaining their trust before filling their heads with all the wrong things, happened to you, during your childhood. You let yourself trust someone and for that, got slammed, big time. It hurt. A lot. And while you recovered from it, there is definitely a scar which this case rubbed raw."

Sam watched as anger, resentment, and hurt rotated thru Callen's cerulean blue eyes. As gently as he could, Sam said, "I would never judge you, G. It might help to talk about it."

Callen focused on a spot, beyond Sam's left shoulder, and his eyes grew cloudy in remembrance. "It was a long time ago. Before I learned..." The room grew silent again, with only the slightest swish of the water under the boathouse coloring the mood.

"Learned what?" Sam prodded trying to keep Callen talking.

Focusing back on Sam, Callen's voice grew hard. "Learned not to be so damn gullible; that everyone has a motive."

"Learned to wall yourself off. Not to trust. Keep everyone and everything at an arm's length," Sam quickly countered not buying into Callen's bull.

Callen inconsequentially shrugged, before shutting his eyes again. "You say it like it is a bad thing."

Sam wasn't going to let Callen off that easy. "Cut the bullshit. You may have most of the world convinced you like being a lone wolf, but there are a few of us, who know that isn't always how you feel, deep inside. And you know what G? That probably scares you more than anything you have ever faced in your entire life."

Sam leaned forward in the chair ever so slightly, as if trying to bridge the gap between him and his torn-up partner. "Trust me."

Slowly opening his eyes, the exhausted man swallowed hard, as he examined every inch of Sam's face, searching for something. Unconsciously, he sucked in one side of his lower lip and chewed it.

The internal war that Callen was fighting with himself was perceptible to Sam, though most people would have been unable to spot any outwardly visible clues. But Sam wasn't just anybody, especially when it came to his partner. Finally, Sam saw it. It was only a small gesture, maybe just a sound, or a mere feeling, but he knew Callen had reached the decision to try to bare his soul and tell his tale.

To give his partner a few minutes to organize and compose himself after such a monumental decision, Sam rose and walked over to the mini-kitchen area in the boathouse. A beer or better yet, some of Hetty's prize scotch was what really was required for this tale, but alas, this was Federal property and alcohol was technically not permitted within its' four walls. Yes, Hetty kept a private stash at the Mission, but somehow that was tolerated; it was Hetty's and Hetty was, well, Hetty.

Sam settled for pouring Callen a cup of coffee, bringing the mug over to where Callen sat and handing it off before retiring to his chair.

After accepting the mug with a small nod of appreciation, he took a sip of the warm liquid before cradling the cup between his two hands, as if to gather strength from it. His voice, when he finally began to speak, was low and strained.

"It was the summer. I was 10. New placement. Older couple that had two foster kids already." Placing the cup on the nearby table, Callen closed his eyes as he let his mind slip totally into the past.

...

He was hungry, again. Ensuring that there was adequate food wasn't a real concern for his foster parents. To be truthful, nothing was really much of a concern to them, other than the stipend they received each month for fostering children. They bought food, the minimal amount that would feed the four kids staying in their home and it was first come, first served. The tougher and meaner you were, the more likely you got served.

The other three kids in the house were older and bigger than Callen, much bigger. He quickly became resigned to the fact he wasn't going get much food at home.

Most days he was lucky to get a few scraps. The box of cereal at breakfast would be empty by the time it got to him. Lunch, was at school and since he was a foster child, he got a free lunch. However, he usually didn't try to claim it for two reasons. The first time he tried, there was a mix up and by the time it was resolved, every kid in the lunchroom knew he was the 'poor orphan' who couldn't afford to buy lunch. Callen had slunk out of the room, to the laughing and taunts of his fellow students. When he did get desperate to try again, being driven to distraction by the constant empty gnawing sensation in his stomach, his 'foster-brothers' had accosted him and took away his food, just as they did at home. After that, when Callen did show up at school, which was infrequent, he avoided the cafeteria.

At ten, he hadn't yet honed the skills that would later in life allow him to survive and thrive on the streets. He resorted to rudimentary ways to try to get enough nourishment to subsist. An old standby was to steal ketchup packages from the local McD, mix them with water and make 'tomato' soup. Packs of sugar became dessert. Gradually, he got the hang of stealing food from convenience stores, though he had to be careful not to hit any particular one very often. After a while, the owners became wise to his ways.

One evening, he was quickly exiting a store after having completed his 'shopping'; when he reached the sidewalk, two strong hands grabbed him. The cockiness in his eyes was replaced by fear when he saw who the hands belonged to; the police.

His bravado to remain silent only lasted a few minutes before he told the cop his name, where he lived and that he was a foster kid. As usual, there was the confusion over his first name, or lack of one. Eventually, the police officer marched Callen to the back of the cruiser and unceremoniously shoved him in the rear seat.

His heart pounded as he sat forlornly in the caged back seat, as the cop climbed in the front and got in touch with his headquarters. After a bit, the cop started the engine and drove off. Callen bit on his lower lip, trying to be brave but it was hard. He had been in trouble before but never had he been arrested. Scene from TV shows, flashed thru his mind; things that happened in prison. If he thought it was bad getting beat up in foster homes, he couldn't imagine what was going to happen to him in jail.

A few tears slid, unbidden, down his cheeks and he hurriedly mopped them up with his sleeve. The cop glanced, in his mirror, at Callen, and then quickly refocused on the road.

"Why did you steal from that store, son?" the cop demanded.

Callen was so rattled by what was going on that for once he didn't concoct a lie but blurted out the truth. "I was hungry."

The cop's eyebrows raised a notch. "And why is that?"

His eyes shifted out the window at the buildings passing by. With a sigh, he answered, "I sometimes get a little shorted when it comes to food in my foster houses." Callen heaved another sigh. "It sucks being the smallest."

Jim, the cop, felt sympathy for the boy, having grown up in foster care and knowing how tough it was for some kids. He had been fortunate to be placed with a good family. His foster Dad was a cop, a man he admired, and had encouraged him into making serving the law his career choice. However, Jim also remembered a few of the less than stellar foster homes he had stayed at before finally being placed for good. He got the distinct feeling the boy in the back seat of his car had seen more bad homes than good.

Maybe, he could steer this kid on a better path with some scare tactics. Jim decided not to tell the frightened boy that the shop-keeper wasn't going to press charges. Instead, he was going to drive him to the station and stick him in a cell overnight, albeit a safe one, until the state came and claimed him. Jim hoped the experience would frighten the kid enough that he would think twice before ever crossing the law again.

Pulling into an empty slot at the station, he shut down the engine, got out and opened the back door. He took one look at the boy and matter-of-factly said, "Don't even think of trying to run."

Callen, who had been entertaining that exact thought, blushed, before lowering his head and sedately climbing out of the cruiser. The cop grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and marched him into the large, brick, building. Taking him to the processing area, he shoved him into a hard, orange, molded plastic chair and instructed him not to move while he walked over to one of the nearby desks.

The man sitting there glanced up, over at the boy, then back at the officer. "What's up, Jim?"

"Caught the kid shoplifting. Owner is not pressing charges. He is a ward of the state. I contacted his case worker who said she'd be by as soon as possible, which you and I know means in the morning."

"Got that right, Jim," Pete, the guy behind the desk agreed. "So what can I do for you?" he asked, even though he had a pretty good idea what Jim was going to request.

Jim looked back over at the boy who was scowling while studying the floor with great interest. "Is it lite around here tonight?"

Pete nodded. "Yep. Been slow all shift."

"Good," Jim said focusing his attention back on Pete. "Book him then. The whole nine yards then toss him in a cell."

Smiling, he knew exactly what Jim wanted. "Ya want me to frighten him a bit."

Jim looked back over at the Callen, who was now scanning the room and trying hard not to appear scared. The boy was small and young appearing for his age and knowing exactly how the foster system operated, Jim bet this kid was usually at the wrong end of the pointy stick.

"Yeah, shake him up but not too much. My gut says this kid has a lot on his plate just trying to survive day to day." Turning back towards Pete, he clapped him on the shoulder. "And make sure he gets in a good cell. I don't want him being hurt or roughed up. Call me when the case worker comes in. I'd like to talk to her before we release this kid."

"You got it, Jim."

With that, Jim gave Pete a quick nod before heading over to where Callen sat on the chair. Callen watched the officer approach with combination of distrust and fear. Stopping in front of the boy, Jim stood straight and tall and used his authoritative voice. "Officer Simon will be booking you. Don't give him any trouble."

Callen's eyes slid around Jim to look over at the other Officer who gave him a deep scowl. A little shudder ran thru the ten-year-olds slight frame as he struggled to maintain his brave face. "How long will I have to stay here?" Callen asked, though to his mortification, his voice broke at the end.

"That," Officer Jim replied, "Is up to the judge who you won't see until Monday."

"But ttttoday is Thursday?" Callen stuttered. "I will be in jail until Monday?"

"Yep. Longer if for some reason the judge can't fit you in. Maybe you better think that over next time you decided to rip off some store," Jim gruffly replied.

Like a deflated balloon, Callen seemed to fold in on himself, shrinking in the chair.

At that moment, Officer Simon showed up. "Come with me."

Callen slid off the chair and stood miserably in front of the two Officers, who exchanged knowing glances over his bowed head. The guilt, fear and submission being shown by this boy was a good sign. He might be one that a little 'scaring straight, produces results. Maybe, it would stop this kid from venturing down a path that lead to a life of crime.

Officer Simon pointed to the chair next to his desk. "Go sit there," he instructed and Callen slunk over and sat as directed.

"Thanks again, Pete. Don't know why, but my gut says he is one of the good ones." After a final glance at Callen, who was sitting, miserably, in the chair next Pete's desk, Jim gave a nod to Pete and left.

It felt like an eternity to Callen. He felt like he was asked to provide his entire life history to the Officer processing him to include, as usual, a lengthy conversation on his first name. Then there were photographs, finger printing, and the pat down for contraband before he was placed in a cell in the bottom of the building.

As the Officer lead him down the aisle between the rows of cells, there were taunts, jeers, and laud suggestions and Callen wanted to curl into a little ball and die. Finally, the Officer stopped in front of an empty cell and gestured for Callen to enter. Like he was dragging a hundred pound weight, Callen reluctantly crept into the cage and the Officer shut the iron-barred door behind him with a resounding clang. Turning back to face the door, Callen watched the guard walk back up the aisle. His knees began to shake and it was all he could do to make it over to the bench along one wall and sink onto it. He drew his knees to his chest, compressing his body into a compact ball and sat motionless; alone and scared.

Jack walked by his boss's office and heard his co-worker complaining bitterly to their superior, Silvia.

"That kid is nothing but trouble. I have had to move him three times since you assigned him to me, less than a year ago! My caseload is too heavy as it is to have to deal with him. Assign him to someone else!"

Jack tuned an interested ear to the conversation. He had uses for troubled kids.

"And now he goes and gets himself arrested! I simply can't deal with that boy anymore."

Jack stuck his head around the corner of the door. "Couldn't help hearing your conversation. Maybe I can be of assistance."

Julie, the one that had been complaining, said, "You want to help? Take Callen off my hands."

Walking all the way into the room, Jack addressed their boss. "I could, if Silvia agrees. I just placed two of my cases in homes. And, not to brag, but I have been fairly successful in my previous position in dealing with troubled boys."

Silvia looked from Jack to Julie. She didn't know much about Jack, as he had only joined their team a few months ago. He had come with good references, and true to his words, he had taken on two of their more challenging cases and seemed to turn them around.

"I need to meet this child, of course, but he might be good to place with the Vales. You recall that couple, Silvia. Where Ralph and Jimmy are being fostered? The Vales are very good in handling children with behavioral issues. And if I recall correctly, they can accommodate up to four children in their home." Jack gave the two women and easy smile. "I'd be happy to give it a go."

"Fine by me," Julie replied, more than happy to dump this G. Callen in Jack's lap. She shoved a case folder at him. "He's at the Clementine Police Department. Have fun." With that she turned and walked out of the office.

Jack took the rather thick folder and rifled quickly thru the pages reading about Callen.

"I appreciate you stepping up and doing this, Jack," Silvia, his boss, stated.

Closing the folder and tucking it under his arm, Jack gave his boss another one of his charming smiles. "Always glad to help out, especially with kids that seem to have, ah, a little problem fitting in."

Rising from her desk, Silvia gave a little snort. "Callen, doesn't have a little trouble fitting in, he just doesn't. When he came to us from Jackson, I didn't believe his file which showed the longest placement he has ever had is six months. But after he got here, under our care, I came to learn that it was true. Every single word of his file. The kid doesn't even have a first name, just a letter!"

Jack made a sympathetic sound. "Sounds like he has trouble fitting in."

Silvia shook her head in disagreement. "He doesn't even try and in fact I think he goes out of his way not to adjust."

"Well, let's see if I, and the Vales, can get Mr. Callen straightened out." Jack turned and left the office.

"Good luck," Silvia called after him. "You'll need it," she muttered under her breath as she sat back down behind her desk.

Once out of ear shot of his co-workers, Jack pulled out his phone. "Gary got another kid for you. I think he will be perfect...Ah-huh...Definitely. I'll bring him by first thing in the morning. Same split as always."

Callen stopped and went quiet, eyes still tightly shut. Sam sat patiently, fully expecting G to continue his tale. Finally, Callen opened his eyes, and then rubbed a weary hand across his face. "I'm sorry," he said with genuine regret. "I can't go there."

Sam stared at his partner for a few moments, and then gave a small nod of acceptance. "Maybe someday you'll be ready to tell me. I'm sure there are lots of long stake-outs in our future," he added with a slight grin. "Heck, I'll even give you a choice, tell me what happened when you are ten or listen to alternative jazz."

Callen groaned, before saying, "Maybe I'll ask Hetty for a new partner."

"Nah. Kensi's driving makes you car sick and Deeks non-stop prattle will drive you to shoot him, which Hetty wouldn't approve of."

Callen smirked but didn't deny Sam analysis.

Sam could still see the tension in Callen's frame and knew, even though he was refusing to talk, inside he was still brooding over the case. It wasn't healthy and Sam wanted to try to break Callen out of his mood. If Callen didn't want to talk to Sam fine, but he wasn't leaving him alone.

Taking his cell phone out of his pocket, Sam dialed his house. "Hey Babe, Callen and I are on our way home for dinner. Do you need us to pick anything up?"

Callen started shaking his head vigorously no at Sam.

"Oh wait a second, Michelle. Callen wants to talk to you." Sam held out the phone to his partner who was mouthing obscenities at him. "It's Michelle. She has a question about dinner."

Callen unenthusiastically took the phone, as if it were covered in cooties. "Hi Michelle." He listened quietly for a minute, while unconsciously pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "No. I like your casseroles... Ah-huh... Well I'm sure Sam was mistaken about what I said. I was barely conscious and probably on some serious medications." He rolled his eyes, then glared at Sam mouthing, 'I'm gonna kill you'.

Sam put on his best choir-boy face and sat there.

"Sure, Michelle. Ok, I gotta go... No... We don't have... Hi Kam... Yes, I am. Can we what? Oh no, I don't..." Callen closed his eyes for a moment before opening them to stare at the ceiling. "An A. Wow. You're right. That is special. Sure, after dinner I'll take you out for ice cream to celebrate. Yes. I promise. Ok, I gotta go now. Yep. Shortly."

Pressing the off button, with a little more force than necessary, he tossed the phone back to Sam. "Your daughter got an A on her science project." With a little grimace he added, "We're taking her out for ice cream after dinner to celebrate."

Fighting to keep a straight face, Sam replied, "It sounded to me like you were taking her out, Uncle Callen."

"Ya know it's bad to reward kids for good grades. It goes to their heads," Callen informed his partner as if he knew what he was talking about.

"I'll take a chance this time," Sam countered as he rose from his chair. He held out a hand to Callen. "Come on. Don't want to be late for dinner."

Callen accepted the offer and Sam hauled him to his feet. "You sure about that?" Callen asked. "Michelle has made a casserole. And it's not Sunday."

They started walking towards the door together.

"And you told Michelle I don't like her casseroles?" Callen demanded of Sam.

Sam shrugged. "Must have slipped out."

The look and the hmmmm Callen have him said he clearly wasn't buying that story.

"But G. You can make it up to her by having two helpings tonight," Sam helpfully suggested.

Callen was quick with his comeback. "Then I won't have room for ice cream with Kam." They walked out into the evening and got in Sam's car.

They continued the playful banter all the way to the house. Dinner went well and the happy Hanna household did lift Callen's mood. By the time they returned from getting ice cream, as a family, Sam was satisfied to see Callen had let the demons of his past go, if only for a few hours.

After Kam was tucked into bed, Callen gave his thanks to his hostess, got a warm hug and kiss then Sam drove him home. As he got out of the car, he turned and leaned back in the open window. "Thanks Sam. And someday, I will tell you the story." With that, Callen turned and went into his house.

Satisfied, Sam drove home, feeling he had made progress today into the secret life of G Callen.

THE END