Author's Note: Ever wonder what happened to Callen when he was undercover all those months, while Nell suffered her lonely pregnancy? (Because we never got any definitive answers in Synthesis, the prequel fic for this one.)
The man tossed and turned in his sleep and then woke with a start, breathing hard. But it wasn't his sudden jarring bolt into wakefulness that had called Nell Jones from her own sleep. She'd been awake for some time, debating with herself whether she should rouse G Callen from his fitful dreams, or just wait to see if they'd calm and let him get some rest. She worried about him, how he hadn't been sleeping well, even in terms of the habitual insomniac. He'd told her on numerous occasions how grateful he was for her, if only for the gift she gave him of several solid hours of sleep a night... not to mention the thousand other things he loved about her. But she certainly hadn't been giving him that. In fact, she feared -no, she knew- that it was her fault the nightmares had returned, her choice to go back to the OSP full time, instead of working on various projects from home that dredged up an anxiety in him.
They'd disappeared almost entirely in the last few months, after he'd finally turned to her instead of running away. Sometimes, quite literally he ran away, got up and went out without a word, but taking the cell phone lying on the nightstand in case she needed to reach him. But she'd never called, and never would have unless it 'd been an absolute emergency. Because she refused to force him into a conversation that she thought might help but in reality might only push him away. The man she loved was a loner. And she'd accepted that. He was learning slowly that the sort of thoughts and feelings he'd kept solely to himself all of his life (for the simple fact that he'd had no one or maybe he was just built that way, it did not matter) could be shared with her. The woman who loved him unconditionally, who had given birth to his child, who slept in his arms at night, and whom he kissed awake in the morning. All she had been able to do was ensure he knew she was there, if he wanted her.
And eventually, he did want her, the comfort she could give him. And she gave. Anything he needed, she would give to him, to ease his pain, to calm his distress, to drive the nightmares away. At first, he'd needed her body, the release it could give him. And then he'd only needed to embrace her, kiss her, know she was there. Finally, she'd only needed to lay a hand upon him as he tossed about in bed, and he'd still, calming visibly in his sleep. And for the past three months she hadn't had to comfort him at all. The nightmares had gone... until last week. Last week, they'd come back with a vengeance. And she hadn't known how to deal with them this time. He'd taken to running away once more. But that couldn't go on forever.
"Another nightmare?" she asked, her eyes adjusting to the dark of their bedroom as she focused on his supine form, his breathing heavy but steadily calming as he recovered from the shock of waking.
"Yes."
"What can I do for you?" she asked, not disguising the desperateness in her voice. She wanted him to turn to her for comfort, rather than seek the solitude he often required. Her poor lone wolf, who had inadvertently found himself the alpha of his own small pack, and himself torn between his nature and his heart. Please, G. Need me. Just me.
She didn't care whether he needed to cuddle with her or fuck her quick and hard and painfully. Either would make her happy, if only because it would mean he needed her this time.
"Listen," he said in a quiet even tone. "I just need you to listen."
And then G Callen turned to her, draping an arm over her middle and snuggling up to her side. He lay his head on one of her milk-swollen breasts, and she had to admit they probably did make quite nice pillows, deciding not to protest the uncomfortable compression of the tender tissues. It was the wee hours of the morning and her breasts were beginning to feel engorged in anticipation of Amelia's morning feeding. Not to mention the little fiend had begun to cut her teeth and it was a learning process for both mother and daughter to prevent sharp little bites on sensitive flesh, and Nell's left nipple was quite sore... But, god, here she was thinking about baby issues again. Motherhood was sneaky that way. When it wasn't outright demanding her full attention, it was sneaking around, taking up all of the thoughts in the back of her mind. And right now, the man she loved needed her undivided attention, to excise the demons that had been tormenting him.
"I told you there were other women," he said quietly. "When I was undercover with the Juarez Brothers."
"Yes." Nell stroked his head. The close-cropped hair still surprised her with its softness. She'd already decided to keep her interference to a minimum, to only respond when he'd needed encouragement to continue. Because he obviously needed to get what darkness was haunting him out of his soul.
Nell wasn't entirely sure she wanted to hear about the women. She didn't hold it against him. How could she? Not only had he been undercover, but he hadn't been hers then. But he was hers now. And she wasn't sure she wanted to think about his hands on other women, their hands on him. Perhaps, it wouldn't have bothered her so much had she not given birth to his child, had developed some sort of instinctual proprietary protectiveness of the man. Ugh. It always came back to the baby, didn't it? Motherhood had undeniably changed her. And Amelia was worth it. G Callen was worth it, too.
She didn't have to hear about him being with other women, after all. At least not at first. Because, he'd resisted at first. He'd known the Juarez Brothers were partiers when he'd gone under. And had mentally prepared himself to do what was necessary to ingratiate his alias with the successful black market middlemen. His ultimate operational goal, as Nell had been aware, had been to take out the two brothers and the system they'd established. Homeland's new theory was that eliminating illegal weapons brokers such as the Juarezes would do a lot to further the global aspiration of peace. They figured that both suppliers in the trade (such as various thieves and low-lifes) and buyers (such as terrorists) were a paranoid bunch, so without a trustworthy, reasonable go-between, they would a.) turn on each other without a moment's notice and kill each other off (saving Homeland some work) or b.) not be able to connect with each other in the first place. The Juarez Brothers had been identified as an excellent test for this theory, and G Callen had been approached as the perfect candidate for the job of taking down the successful black market middlemen.
And successful they certainly were, which was more than likely due to the fact that they had incredibly good instincts about who to trust. Having proven his ability to supply goods with a free sample of H&K UMP40s, Callen had been invited to enjoy their hospitality for a time, a time which had turned out to be months. Months of living in their villa in El Salvador, of proving time and again he could provide merchandise, of attending every party they threw, of laughing at their jokes, of more than blending in, of standing out, of proving himself a good friend, of pretending to enjoy the things they did.
Luis, the younger brother was toying with a rapidly growing drug addiction. But Hector did not like hard drugs, so Callen at least hadn't had to figure out a way around doing lines of coke off hookers' bare breasts. Hector preferred alcohol. And Callen could not only hold his liquor pretty well, but also knew ways of appearing like he were consuming more than he was in actuality drinking. And so he lived with the brothers, attended black market arms deals with the brothers, and partied with the brothers several times a week (never on nights before business meetings were scheduled). He at least was given his own suite in the disgustingly tacky, opulent mansion, and the household was so hung over on a regular basis, he had the mornings to himself, to go for a run about the grounds or stay holed up in his room with a ridiculous science fiction novel that seemed to be his only escape (one that Nell had recommended to him what had seemed an eternity ago as they lay in her bed, sweat cooling on their skin and sleep creeping up on them but not yet tugging at their eyes).
At least, he'd had the room to himself until he'd finally felt he could no longer get around it and taken one of the prostitutes to bed. Hector Juarez had been staring at him curiously for the past few nights they'd had called up the local village band, ordered up several cases of tequila and a dozen prostitutes. It wasn't like the Juarez Brothers were into orgies or anything. He'd only ever seen Luis take three girls to his room for the night the once, and Hector only ever took one. But they liked having them around, sitting in their lap, fetching their drinks, lighting their cigarettes. And so Callen, too, picked a girl to sit on his lap while they played cards or just got really, really drunk. Generally, he simply had to wait until they'd gone to bed, passed out, or sneak out himself when they were too drunk to notice. But then, Hector had begun to notice. And so at the next party, he'd picked a nice-looking girl (at least Hector and Luis liked healthy-looking prostitutes that weren't visibly diseased, but to hell if Callen wasn't going to use a condom with one) and took her to bed.
He'd had to let himself get a little drunk that night, because he couldn't stop thinking about Nell. It was strange how much she'd begun to occupy his thoughts, how integral she'd become to his life in just the couple of weeks they'd been together, especially when it was only a sexual relationship. Gradually, he'd begun to realize it'd been more, that during those two weeks, he'd found himself often making mental notes, to share a joke he'd heard from Deeks with her, or tell her what Sam had said or done during that day. He'd always been looking forward to spending the night with her, and not just because of the fantastic sex or the solid five hours of sleep he'd get afterward, but because she might entertain him with another tale of growing up on the Canadian border, or share some obscure insight with him, or reveal a little quirk he hadn't known she possessed. It would have been the first woman since Nell, and he hadn't known how he'd handle it for how confused thinking of the young woman made him.
The alcohol had helped with that.
The next morning Callen discovered exactly why Hector had been studying him so intently when he was with the women at the parties. It had been a joke, a bet between the brothers. Hector had insisted that Callen (well Jason Lattimer, as they knew him) was abstaining from enjoying the women because one had broken his heart. He'd also argued with Luis that Callen had a type, probably similar to the mystery heart-breaker, and had set to figuring it out, narrowing it down little by little, feeling that he was close. And then the previous night, Callen had taken to bed the woman Hector had asked for specifically with his tastes in mind. Paolita. For the first time, Callen had really looked at the young woman as she vacated the messy sheets on his bed and put on her crumpled dress. She'd been petite with a fair complexion (something not all that easy to find in Salvadoran whorehouses) and big eyes. They'd stuck an auburn wig on her. The 'higher' class of hooker the brothers preferred almost always adorned wigs, and apparently Callen had inadvertently given away his preference for a realistic (rather than vibrant scarlet, which some of them did sport) pelirroja.
And at that moment, it had hit him like a punch to the gut. Nell Jones. The hooker had been a surrogate for Nell Jones. A subconsciously selected one, yes. But fuck, he'd been compromised. Exposed. He'd given away part of his real self. It was a mistake he had not made in 20 years. But it hadn't been a disastrous one. He'd simply had to go with it, spin a sad story of lament, of pining for the woman he'd had to leave behind for his work, but had reassured his friends it hadn't been serious at any rate. And it hadn't been serious. Only... it had. Because, oh, how he had fucking missed Nell.
Nell thought about interrupting his story, about telling him it was okay. That he'd only done what he had to do, and who wouldn't have let such a small sign slip through when they'd been so confused, but everything had worked out in the end anyway. However, she knew that none of what he'd told her so far would've been enough to give the unflappable man nightmares of such epic proportions. And so she only stroked the back of his neck as a sign of her encouragement.
"I wanted to stop. I probably should have. It would've been easy enough to rationalize to Hector and Luis, that I was still heart sore from the woman I'd left behind." He sighed, his breath hot against her skin. "But I couldn't stop. Several nights a week, every time they had a party, I'd get drunk and fuck Paolita. God help me, I don't know why I didn't just stop."
He was quiet for a little while, to the point where she feared he might have changed his mind about explaining his nightmares, their source, to her. And then he apparently gathered his thoughts, and began telling the story she was certain he'd told no one before.
"That's a lie," he said. "I do know why I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. Because if I got drunk enough, I could almost believe that it was your smooth skin beneath my hands, rather than Paolita's scarred flesh. I could almost smell the subtle sweet scent of you, rather than the stench of stale booze she wore like a perfume. I could almost hear your voice and stare into your hazel eyes, and feel the almost painfully tight embrace of your body, instead of the loose hold of a whore's well-worn flesh. And if I closed my eyes and tried to believe hard enough, it was like I had never left your arms at all."
This time she couldn't help herself, felt the words squeezed out as a knot tightened in her throat.
"It's okay, G. I understand. It's okay."
His grip tightened on her, his tone sharper than the soft, detached sort of way he'd been telling the story, as if it had happened to someone else.
"It's not okay." He took a deep, slow breath. "There's more."
Nell swallowed back the anxiety in her throat, her physical reaction to her lover's emotional pain undeniable in the rapid beating of her heart and tight knot in her throat. His bare skin beneath her fingertips was a comfort as she ran them over his neck and shoulders. It took him a full minute before he began to speak again.
"One morning, I woke to find Paolita had overdosed on what was probably a tainted batch of heroin, lying in a pool of vomit and blood."
Oh, dear god. She'd suspected he'd been haunted by his time with the Juarez Brothers, but she'd thought it'd been because he'd been forced to kill a couple of men he'd befriended (well, 'pretended' to befriend, anyway). It hadn't occurred to her that it could be something of which she was a constant reminder, the loss of the woman who'd been a surrogate for his conflicted feelings about Nell herself.
"And for one terrifying moment, I thought it was you in bed with me, still and unbreathing. And fuck me, I was actually relieved when I realized the truth of my situation."
Nell felt the hot moisture of his tears wetting her soft cotton camisole, but she didn't know what to say, could only hold him in her arms. And he wasn't even finished reciting his terrors.
"The worst thing is that, in my nightmares, it is you," he said, his voice that strange artificial calm she knew he acquired when he was pushed beyond his capacity for emotion. "Your cold, lifeless body lying on top of me. And Amelia, dead inside of you, without ever having taken her first breath."
"Oh, G!" She kissed his head, forehead, temple, every part of his face she could reach, finally pulling him up to her and kissing him hard on the mouth. "You're not alone. I'm alive. Amelia's alive. We're here, with you. We're here and we love you. Please just love us while we're all here together. You can't control the future." She smiled at him, feeling her heart ache and glow at the same time. "You taught me that."
His hands framed her face, strong and warm, and trembling. He only said one more word to her, and if it was the last thing she heard on his lips, she would die happy, because it contained every thought and emotion the man had ever had, ever would have, about her.
"Nell."
And then he made love to her in the quiet -but not lonely- dark. Not lonely. Not in their home. Not in their bed. Not with their baby girl sleeping in a room just down the hall. Not with each other. Not lonely. Never lonely. Everything but lonely.
She came with a quiet gasp, he with a low groan. And they fell asleep in each other's arms in the dark that was everything but lonely.
A/N: So now we know what's haunting Callen, but we still don't know how they're going to deal with their issues and Nell returning to work.
