A/N; It has been a really long time since I have updated this, I am greatful to everyone for leaving their reviews or following this story. Sorrry for the delay. And a huge Thank you to Angelprincess for her gentle proding and all her hard work Beta-ing.


Home where there's nothing but sweet surrender
To the memories from afar
Home to the place
Where the truth lies waiting
We remember who we are

( "I Want To come- Home" Paul McCartney)

G had been in the comfortable, well maintained but well used, Rostov family home for half an hour now. He had met Katia and Ivan. They had not been the first genuinely nice couple he had ever stayed with, but at fourteen those open trusting faces became more cloaked – and more elusive. People seemed to wonder what it was about you that made you so unlovable that you were still in the system. And no matter how congenial they were with you; they were always on their guard. And by fourteen, Callen had learned enough of the game to be on his guard also. Besides, there wasn't a day he didn't wake up wondering too. Oh he no longer cried himself to sleep at night – he knew he had to tread carefully, bide his time till he made it to eighteen… or died trying. That had been an in joke at the last place he was at, and it kind of stuck. So he kept moving, cause moving targets are harder to hit. That was practically the story of his life! It held true for emotional ties too. You never got too invested with any of these passing people, it only hurt more when the good times ended. In fact G almost preferred the darker places to those that had that alarming 'homey' quality. Almost.

The Rostov's were new at this. He could tell. They were too honest with him, for a start. Katia … or Kat as she preferred to be called…. Practically glowed as she welcomed him with open arms and a warm embrace. He felt himself stiffen defensively and the Social worker may have coughed politely, indicating a slight breech in etiquette. Kat turned a little pink, but the warmth from her blue eyes never wavered. He listened to her tell him how happy she was to meet him, and how happy he'd be with them, how he didn't have to worry about formalities and he should just go ahead and tell them if they were messing up too badly, cause they were new at this. Another cough from the Social worker brought a small annoyed furrow to her pretty forehead and a laugh from Ivan.

Ivan Rostov was tall and reserved in comparison to his wife. He shook G's hand and introduced himself with a slightly lilted accent, which told G, unlike Kat, this man had not been born in America. He mentioned their four year old daughter Alena, and his hope that G was a fast runner, or he'd be the one stuck at all the tea parties. G smiled politely at the joke, still scanning for the telltale signs that he may be leaving this house sooner rather than later. Finding none, he decided to ride this one out for a while, and gave the Social worker the look.

Upon receiving the Green light, and it being Friday evening; Harry Stapleton left his last case in the care of the rookies and hightailed it out of there. G blew out a know it all chuckle as he watched the dust settle in his Social Worker's tracks. Now the fun began. It was time to see who these two really were, although Callen was intrigued as to why the young couple would pick a Foster child from his end of the age scale, when they had one of their own … and judging from the bulge in Kat's sundress, another on the way.

"You wonder why we wanted you?" Ivan asked quietly, pretending not to notice the way the teenager was taking stock of his surroundings.

G watched the dark haired man closely as he answered. "Maybe I am. Would you tell me if I asked?"

Ivan finally looked up meeting the boy's eyes squarely. "I thought I was unable to have children…. Then Alena came."

Callen watched as the tall man put a protective arm round his wife. "And now another… how'd you say? Miracle? This is how long it takes the authorities here to trust an honest man with a different accent."

"So I arrived too late?" Callen supplied matter of factly, only marginally ticked that these two hadn't spoken up earlier in the process and saved him what would probably now be a weekend stay at an overcrowded boys shelter.

"Oh Ivan – don't tease him." Katia admonished with a playful elbow, whilst moving into G's personal space again and guiding him with a protective arm toward the kitchen table.

"He means well, his comic timing is off. Ivan has only just been approved Fostering status, but it has been a long term wish of his to care for those growing up the same way he did." Kat continued, indicating a chair as she went into the fridge.

G heard Mr. Rostov laughingly call out that he was going to pick up Alena.

"So what's in this for you – you have your… hands full, you don't need … I am not one of your Miracles."

Katia Rostov pulled her head out of the fridge and closed the door slowly. G realized that he had spoken out of turn; she had done nothing to earn his sarcasm. He watched her guiltily as she pulled out the nearest chair to him and sat down gracefully looking at him the whole time.

"You misunderstand us. We did not want just any child to Foster. The young ones – the babies, everyone wants them, but those who are a little older, like Ivan when he lost his parents, those are the ones he wants to help."

Callen swallowed, trying to push something down. It felt a little like hope, and it was damn dangerous in this game. He was sure they meant well, but what the hell did they know …. They were nine years too late. Kat seemed to notice the emotion that threatened to leak out. Without warning G found himself cradled in the warmest embrace he had encountered in years. And he fought to break away.

"Let go!" his defiance came out sounding like defeat. "Don't … leave me…"

And his objections stopped at his lips because he found he was clinging to her. To his utter shock, not only did he allow this oddly familiar stranger into his personal space but he hurt at the thought of letting her go. She reminded him of….

G shook himself out of the threatening daydream he was about to slip into. The only fragment of his Mother he remembered. Katia Rostov smelled like violets, just like his mother. He pushed himself away from the table, from Kat, from that smell- from his past. Her voice followed him to the sink, where he drew a glass of water with shaking hands. He lost himself in concentrating on the clear liquid winding itself into the tall glass. The same glass that smashed in the sink as he jumped when she touched is shoulder.

"I'm so sorry G. Whatever I said that hurt you, I never meant to." Kat pleaded.

He shook his head deliberately, taken by surprise by the force of his most cherished and least welcomed memory.

"I will, replace the glass." He said hollowly unable to raise his eyes or stem the tears.

"Please G; just look at me, please?"

There was a note in her voice that he could not ignore and as he raised his devastated blue eyes to her. He prepared himself for that speech that began; "Maybe this is not the best fit" or "Perhaps you need a better suited placement?" But it never came.

Katia never took her hand away from its resting spot on his shoulder. She smiled warmly at him.

"I really hated that glassware set." She stated simply.

G blinked away the last stray telltale tears more than a little surprised at her response.

"What do you say we start over? Hi, my name is Kat, I hope you will think of our house as yours, we are very glad you came." She held her hand out to him.

He glanced at her steady slim hand, held out between them like an olive branch. But in truth she had done nothing wrong. The fault was his, the weakness had been his. Her only crime had been to remind him of a fragile, hazy memory that was frayed at the edges and dimly lit in his minds eye. The smell of violets hung all around him and danced in her curly blonde hair. His arms were locked round her in a crushing show of five year old strength; because he was being a stickle brick, and was stuck to his Mother.

"Uh-oh. I'm stuck Mom. I can't ever let you go." He heard his own childish voice carry to him with a giggle.

The reply had been lost somewhere along the way- he never tried too hard to recover it, it stung too much already. Still.

He found himself taking her hand and shaking it. "Hi, my name is G. And yes, thank you I might just stick around."


End; "Stickle- bricks" are a pre-school building toy... for those of you that haven't had the pleasure (or excuse! ) of playing with them yet.

Thanks for reading! Abi.