Okay, so I wracked my brain long and hard on this one, trying to think of one person who would NOT kiss Callen. It's a sad ending, but I think it fits his personality - he puts up a good mask of jokes and smiles, but when he's alone his past haunts him - and only this person can comfort him during those times.

To make up for the emotional whumpage, I'll start posting my newest fic. Deal? And now...


...The One Time He Didn't (Get Kissed)

Only in his dreams can he remember her, his blond-haired mother with eyes the same ocean blue as his own. He can see her pretty face peering down at him in his crib, see her smile as she walks with him to the park. Only when he sleeps can he feel her hand around his, hear her sparkling laughter echo through their home in Romania. He can feel her lips brush his cheek, and when he wakes with a gasp the ghostly feeling fades away, his heart heavy in its emptiness. In the dark he lays still, listening, hoping to feel her there with him, but all is silent.

He is alone.

The lonliness bearing down on him weighs a ton, bricks holding his body to the floor and crushing his chest. Tears fall like rain down his cheeks but he cannot wipe them away – he has neither the strength nor the will. They clog his throat until he is forced to either sit up or be drowned, and though he wishes for the latter he finds himself struggling to his elbows and then further upward. He blinks to clear his vision but remains seated on his bedroll, his hands clenched into fists.

He is angry now, rage at being left abandoned in the world burning inside him. Picking up a book laying nearby, he hurls it across the room with a shout, his chest heaving as the book hits a lamp and knocks it to the ground, shattering it. He feels no better, but he has run out of things to throw, so he lets his hands rest in his lap and once more listens to the dark.

There is a sound, a soft footstep in the hallway. A shadow slants across the doorway and into his room, and then she is there. Not his mother, never her, but close.

She comes near to him, silent as she rests her hand comfortingly on his head, and he feels his breath hitch in his chest. She is not one for shows of affection, and especially not kisses, but the touch of her hand comforts him more than her lips on his forehead ever could. Her presence soon calms him, and his eyes begin to feel gritty with sleep. She gently guides him onto his back and lays his light blanket over him, her wrinkled hands smoothing it down before running over his close-cropped hair. He begins to speak but she hushes him, a sad smile on her face.

"Sleep," she tells him, the light of the moon reflecting off her glasses, and he nods obediently, not caring that she is treating him like a child.

It is when she is walking away that he finally does speak.

"I miss my mom."

Henrietta Lange stops and again gives the same sad smile as before. Regarding the orphaned boy-turned-man before her, she softly replies, "So do I, Callen. Very much."