She too was on a mission this night and she decided it was time to rock the boat a bit. She addressed the boy bluntly. "It could be worse you know. You could be an orphan. At least you have a mother." She casually sat back to gauge his reaction to that comment. She had to admit, she was impressed. He gave little away even though she knew her comment had rattled him and hit home.

"Yeah, right," he said perhaps a bit too cheerfully. "Got my Mom." He shoveled the last mouthful of pie in his mouth and rose from the table. "Well I gotta run. Mom really doesn't like me on the streets too late at night. Kind of dangerous, this neighborhood."

"Indeed," the woman said rising and moving towards him. "Is there, perhaps, anything I can do for you? Not to brag but I do know some people. I can get you …"

The boy nearly stumbled over his chair trying to move away from the table. Though he tried his best to marshal his features, she, being an experienced operator, knew where to look, his eyes, and in them she could see the panic raising.

'The ability to disguise that will come with time and experience,' she thought to herself. If her gut feeling was correct and it usually was, he would one day an outstanding operative for whatever agency he joined. However, that was years away, if it actually ever came to fruition. In the here and now, she knew she had just pushed him too hard and he was going to run. He wasn't ready to come in yet, off the streets, and he wasn't ready to accept outside help.

"No, I really have to go," he reemphasized moving away from her.

He turned his back and started towards the door when he heard her softly say, "I understand, Mr. Callen. Time. And Merry Christmas."

His body involuntarily shuddered hearing her words and he nearly turned around to stare at her. How had she known his name?He fought the urge to turn around and continued heading for the exit in what he hoped was a quick but casual departure. He felt like there was a target on his back and he found himself trembling all over.

When he got to the exit he was forced to wait in line to shake hands with the Priest. The shivering would not abate and the Priest noted it as they shook hands. "Zip up your coat my son. You seem to be cold," he said holding the boy's hand in a firm handshake.

"Good idea, sir," the teen answered trying to extract his hand.

The Priest looked over the boy's left shoulder at the woman across the room who gave a small nod. The Priest released the boy's hand without further ado, wishing him a Blessed Holiday.

The boy mumbled thanks and escaped into the frosty air. Once outside the door and smelling the air of freedom, the boy allowed himself a quick look back into the Church's basement, to the location where he had last seen the lady. There was no one there.

He resolutely turned his back on the Church and walked away shaking his head. Maybe it was some sort of hallucination brought on by the blows to the head he had received two nights ago at his foster home. Muttering to himself the boy disappeared into the night to seek a place to sleep.

The woman popped up behind the priest, startling him. "Hetty, you do move in a most sneaky and unladylike manner. " The woman gave him an innocent "who me" grin and chuckled. The two watched silently as the teenager disappear into the night.

"I pushed him too hard. He's not ready yet, John. Bring him in now and we may lose it all. Oh but he is going to be good one day. The story he laid on me, amazingly crafted for a boy his age. The sincerity. The poise. The confidence. "

"You mean he is a good liar," the Priest remarked.

"Aren't we all? Now if he only stays alive long enough to realize that potential, what a legend we will have."