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Foster Father Bash

Chapter 8

G slipped out of bed, keeping quiet and got ready for work. The only two things on his mind, a chance to speak with Hetty alone about possibly prosecuting his foster father and the continuing nightmares about the man. The nightmares had worsened since his partner talked about legal issues. And here he was deep in thought about pressing forward with a possible lawsuit against that man. Maybe this was too much. That man had threatened him numerous times to never speak a word to anyone about what happened. When Sam entered the bathroom, he startled.

"Sorry, sweetheart, you're up early." After surrounding G's waist with both arms, he drew him back into his body. "You doing okay this morning?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You're on edge."

G sighed. "Just thinking about what you said."

"No pressure." Sam kissed the top of G's head.

"I need to get going." He slipped out from under his partner's arms and entered the bedroom. He dressed in a new pair of freshly washed jeans and a blue-grey, long sleeve T-shirt.

Sam stood with his left forearm resting on the doorjamb watching G get dressed. "We going in together?"

"If you want."

"Okay, 'Mr. Coy and Secretive' want to tell me what's going on?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"Not only are you on edge this morning, but you're avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you." G sat on the bed and put on his work boots.

"Then come over here and prove it."

He stood and strode over to Sam and wrapped his arms around his waist, gazing into his eyes. "I'm preoccupied about the lawsuit and the need to talk to Hetty."

"I'll buy that." He cupped G's face and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

"You start that and we'll never get to work on time." G laughed.

Sam laughed and turned back toward the sink to finish getting ready for work.

G entered the kitchen and fixed himself a light meal, hoping he wouldn't be scheduled for an ops and needing a heavier breakfast. After downing his protein shake and eating toast with blueberry jam, he grabbed his leather jacket and sat in the living room waiting for his partner.

Sam entered the kitchen and fixed his regular heavy-on-the-protein, meal; a four to six egg white omelette. He sat at the dining room table and ate. "Hey, come on over here."

"Again?" G came over to his side.

Sam wrapped an arm around his partner's waist and drew him into his side while he finished his omelette. "I missed you earlier this morning."

"Sorry."

"You're definitely preoccupied."

"What if this guy comes after me?"

"Where's he gonna find you?"

"NCIS."

"How?"

"Don't know."

"You need to remember you're no longer the young boy who was beaten and raped by that man."

"At times, it feels as if I am still back there in that house living with him." G sighed. "His voice echoes in my head, telling me how I'm his and he can do as he pleases with me." He shuddered, memories of this man's abuse surfaced once again. He wrenched free from Sam's hold and sat on the sofa once more, watching his partner take his plate to the sink.

"You taking a protein bar with you this morning?"

"Not hungry."

"You need to eat more than a shake."

"I don't need a mother, Sam, I need a lover and a partner."

"You need a mother, G." Sam drew his partner into his arms and hugged him. "I'll bring two protein bars for you."

"Thanks Mom," he said, smirking and glancing at Sam sideways.

"Starting with the banter already and we haven't left the house." They exited the house together and climbed into the Challenger. "You want to drive?"

"You serious?"

"Yeah, I think you need to drive the Challenger more often."

"More often?" G laughed. "I've driven it once and you didn't like how I handled it."

"Because you used it as an extension of your sexuality."

His jaw dropped. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Exactly what I said, you drove as if you needed a good lay."

"Maybe I should walk to work."

"No, switch places, right now and drive."

G exited the car and came around to the driver's side. Before he could get into the car, Sam grabbed him from behind and nibbled on his ear lobe. "Here? Now?"

"Anywhere." He released him and strode around to the passenger side of the car and sat on the seat. G sat in the driver's seat and sighed. "This time, take it easy with the merchandise." G turned the key and revved the engine. "Already asking for it."

"I'm not the one nibbling on someone's ear lobe." G shot his partner a look.

"You liked it, so stop complaining and start enjoying it." Sam placed his hand on his partner's thigh, stroking and squeezing it.

"Look who's cruising now." G drove down the street, heading toward NCIS Headquarters. "Don't blame me if we're late. It's difficult to concentrate on driving with a hand traveling up and down my thigh."

"Careful, I'll make you pull over into my special spot where I'll accost your body and mind."

"Accost? Is that like ravishing my body?"

"Close but more aggressive and bold," Sam said. "And by the way, my hand is not traveling up and down your leg, only up." Sam cupped and squeezed G's cock for emphasis.

"You definitely missed me this morning," G said. He smiled while he imagined what Sam would do to him just blocks from NCIS Headquarters. The day had begun on a solemn note, but would soon prove to be more than an ordinary morning. G pressed the accelerator pedal closer to the floor, rushing toward Sam's rendezvous point. He needed a good ravishing before walking into headquarters.

# # #

Thirty minutes later, G slowed down near Sam's infamous hot spot, hoping he'd say something. When his partner didn't, G sped up, entered the driveway to headquarters and pulled up to the door. He turned off the engine, but before he removed the keys, Sam released both of their seat belts and dragged G across the center console and out of the car.

"What the hell was—"

Sam forced G face first against the side of the car. "Who's in control of this relationship?" He kneed his partner's legs apart.

G gasped upon hearing his partner's extra sexy, deep voice. "Damn, you." His tone came out breathless.

"Later, man, I'll ravish your body wherever I damned will please." He obscenely rubbed his crotch against his partner's buttocks. G shuddered hearing Sam's licentious promise, his body tingled from head to groin anticipating what his partner would do later. "You washed these jeans last night so they would be extra tight on your ass." Sam backed away and fondled G's buttocks. G gasped again. "If you're trying to entice me to accost your body, it's working." Sam whispered in his lowest tone. He grabbed his briefcase off the hood and strode toward NCIS's entrance.

G stared across the roof of the car, watching his partner disappear into headquarters. After he grabbed his knapsack from the back seat of the Challenger, he headed toward the entrance doors of NCIS Headquarters. Once inside, Sam grabbed him from behind and pulled him off into a side hallway. He cupped G's face and planted a sloppy kiss on his mouth. "See you later, sweetheart." Sam turned and left. G stared after his partner again and then strode toward the bullpen. He settled down in his chair, keeping his crotch hidden with his leather jacket. He eyed Sam across the room, but his partner didn't even glance his way. Then he knew why—Hetty—she was standing right behind him.

"Mr. Callen, a word with you in the archive room."

He followed Hetty, stood before her, crossing his arms.

"How is your relationship with Sam?"

"It's fine."

"But something is bothering you."

G spun on his heels and left the room.

"Where are you going?" Sam said, standing in the hallway outside the archive room.

G hurried by Sam. "I need space." He strode toward the gym. Instead, G ended up in the firing range without a weapon. He leaned against a wall and slid down it, drawing his knees up to his chest and circling them with his arms.

Sam entered the firing range and sat on the floor next to G, pulling him onto his lap.

"Don't do this here, damn it, I don't want—" G pushed Sam's hands away from his chest.

"Hush, sweetheart, let me hold you, and that's all I'm doing, nothing else."

He rubbed his chest and whimpered. "Why did she do that? I don't understand why she did that."

"Did what, G?"

"She had to ask me what's bothering me."

"She knows something is going on with you, she always knows." G buried his face in Sam's chest. Sam stroked and caressed his back.

"I'm not going back in there." He sighed. "And I'm not sure I want you here with me, just go, Sam, go."

"Not happening."

"Don't you dare pull something on me."

"Such as?"

"Anything, you hear me."

"Yeah, what do you need from me?"

"Nothing except space." G climbed off of Sam's lap and resumed his position, drawing his knees up to his chest and encircling them with his arms.

"You want me to leave?"

G stood, left the firing range, and plodded into the armory, moving to the most distant corner of the expansive room. He lifted the door to one of the unlocked cabinets and removed a weapon. It had been years since he even thought of touching one of these weapons, let alone use one. Deep inside, G felt an overwhelming need to cut away at the despicable part of himself which had helped his foster father murder that boy, that part of his psyche caused much of the turmoil in the foster homes G had lived in after that man turned his back on him. Countless times he had lashed out at those who tried to help him and other times he had vandalized his own belongings, what little he had taken with him from foster home to foster home. The truth was just as that foster father had said to him again and again, 'No one will want you after what you've done.' That man was right, each foster home unloaded him onto another foster home or institution, until G got old enough that he found a way to bury the truth and make believe nothing ever happened with that first foster family, even though G knew it was the sickest family of the thirty-seven homes. After the truth was buried, G had peace and was welcomed into a home where he stayed the longest, three months. He remembered back to the first time he slashed through a pair of jeans from the first foster home: he ripped the knife through the fabric as if it were a red hot, metal poker skewering a marshmallow. He destroyed the pants with that sharp knife within minutes.

G grabbed the knife in both hands ready to lunge at that vile man who stood before him. "Bastard!" He remembered the heinous crimes that man made him commit in order to survive and live another day without succumbing to the same tragedy as those little boys.

"G, easy, put the knife down."

He stared at the knife's blade—a sharp, serrated hunting knife— now this could do some damage. G switched to holding the knife with his right hand and grabbing the hem of his T-shirt with his left hand. He flipped the blade over, resting the sharp edge against the fabric and flashed back to the one and only time he had drawn his own blood. G watched the red goo ooze over his white T-shirt, that overwhelming need to cut deep had dissipated as the blood stained his shirt red and he gained emotional relief through the release of endorphins in his body. G was in the second foster home when he cut on himself. Just five and half years old and he knew how a knife felt against his skin. Now he knew what those boys must have felt when the knife sliced through their skin.

"G give me the knife."

He stared at Sam and then at the knife and back at Sam. "I need to, have to, must find relief."

"It is a temporary solution."

"No!" G stepped back several feet and flattened his body against a wall. "Stay away from me, bastard!"

"G you need to look at me, really look at me." He moved closer to him.

"I know who you are."

"Who am I?"

"Leave me alone, I need to do this, just a short, quick cut and it will all go away."

"It doesn't make it go away."

"You're wrong, you don't know what you're talking about." G sliced the knife upward, cutting his blue-grey, long sleeve T-shirt straight up the middle to his chest. Afterward he flipped the knife over, resting the sharp blade against his skin.

"Give me that knife." Sam stepped closer.

"Don't, please don't stop me, I need to do this just this one time." G drew the blade against his skin in a swift upward motion.

Before G sliced through his skin, Sam wrestled his partner face first down on the floor and subdued him in a scissors lock, wrenching the knife from G's hand and hurling it across the room.

G thrashed and twisted his body trying to free himself. "Bastard!"

"Easy, man, settle down."

"I'll kill you!"

"Hardly."

He whimpered.

"That's it, let it go."

"You don't understand."

"Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me."

"Can't talk about it."

"The nightmare?"

"And the memories."

"We stay right here until you tell me why you would cut on yourself." Sam rolled onto his side, pulled G with him, and wrapped his arms around G's chest, while loosening the scissors lock on his legs. G shook and shivered, tears flooding his eyes. "Easy, man, easy."

"I buried this a long time ago, and I'm never gonna talk about it."

"Never is a long time to lie on the armory floor with me holding you like this."

"You can't be serious?"

"I am."

He whimpered and sniffled back the tears.

"I'm listening."

"And I am not telling you."

"We've got all day."

G sighed. "Great, take me home, I'll talk there."

"With Hetty in the archive room or with Nate in his office are your other choices besides here on the armory floor."

"This sucks," G said. "I made a vow with myself to never talk about this to anyone. I buried it deep within me. I altered my reality so that it didn't include what that bastard did to me. I pretended that part of my life never happened and that's the only way I learned how to live with those horrors deep within me."

"You told me he murdered a kid and you saw it."

"Lies of omission, Sam, I left out a vital part, lies of omission," he said, pressing his palm over his lips to hold back the words then releasing his hand. "I recruited the boys and I… damn it." He swiped his tongue across his lower lip. "I participated in that boy's death. I killed him Sam. I stabbed him with the knife, I'm the murderer not that… man. I plunged the knife into his heart, it was me, I did it."

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