Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS: Los Angeles or the characters. I'm just borrowing them. I make no money from this.

Author's Note: I was originally unsure about how easily Callen discussed his past here because he's always seemed like such a private person. But then I remembered the times he's brought up personal things to help with a case, like that whole thing with his foster brother being killed. Or in Purity how he connected with that kid and then showed up to play ball with him after he went into foster care. So I figure he would open up to his daughter in an effort to put her at ease.

Callen stood in the doorway, watching as Callie spread the quilt out on the floor. "Are you sure about this? I can still get us a motel room for the night."

She just looked at him and rolled her eyes. "You have a perfectly good house right here, what do you need a motel room for?"

"So you don't end up sleeping on the floor," he told her.

"It doesn't seem like it's hurt you any," she replied.

He sighed. "At least take my bedroll."

She shook her head. "I'm not taking your bed or whatever you want to call it. I'm fine, I promise." She flopped down onto the quilt and stared up at him.

"If you're sure-"

"Yes!"

"I'm just down the hall if you need anything," he told her, hesitant to walk away but not knowing why.

"I know."

"Well, goodnight then."

"Goodnight." She rolled her eyes again as he finally walked away but a large part of her was very pleased with the attention. Silently she counted backwards and as she reached one he poked his head back in the doorway. "I'm fine, I promise. If I need anything I'll come and find you."

He knew he was overreacting. "Sorry," he told her sheepishly. He didn't know why he was acting this way, it's not like she was going to disappear if he let her out of his sight.

"It's just because you care. But I'll be fine and you're right down the hall, as you've said several times. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." He walked away again, this time partially closing the door.

She waited a few minutes but this time he didn't return. With a sigh she completely laid down on the quilt, already missing his presence. Truly alone for the first time that day, her thoughts were preoccupied with the loss of her mother. With tears prickling her eyes she pulled part of the quilt over her. She fingered the material gently and inhaled her mother's scent that was ingrained in to it. Wrapping it around her tightly, she could almost imagine it was her mother's arms holding her, keeping her safe. She closed her eyes and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

In the meanwhile, Callen had retreated to his chair with a bottle of beer. He took a sip, listening carefully but heard nothing. He reached down for one of the books on the floor but found he couldn't focus on the words and ended up tossing it back onto the pile. He sighed, wondering yet again what he was doing. He didn't know how to be a father, he was going to screw this up, he just knew it.

He didn't know how long he sat there, lost in his thoughts. Eventually he shook his head to clear it and stood. He left the now empty beer bottle in the kitchen and started to make his way to his room. But he paused in the doorway to Callie's new room, glancing through the partially open door at the figure lying on the floor. Unable to help himself, he entered, crouching down to stare at her face. There was just enough light coming through the door from the hallway for him to make out the tear tracks on her face and he sighed.

Gently, tenderly, he stroked her cheek. "I wish I knew how to make this better, make it hurt less," he whispered. She didn't respond, didn't even stir, and he stood. With one last glance at her he left, heading to his own room. Changing and lying down on his bedroll, the image of her tear-streaked face repeated over and over in his mind. He didn't know how long he lay there but eventually he drifted off to sleep as well.

He jerked awake an unknown amount of time later, his muscles tense. He listened carefully and heard it again. Someone was moving around in the house. Automatically reaching for his gun, he stealthily made his way through the house, searching for the intruder. Another noise drew him to the kitchen and he came around the corner, weapon instantly trained on the person there.

Callie jumped in surprise as he appeared in the doorway. Her eyes widened and the glass of water slipped out of her hand as she saw the gun pointed at her. It fell to the ground and shattered.

The noise shook Callen out of his shock and he quickly lowered the weapon, taking in the fear on her face. "Shit, Callie I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you. Are you okay?"

"I'm f-fine," she stuttered out, dropping her gaze to the floor. Her eyes landed on the broken glass. "I'm sorry! I'll clean it up!" She dropped down, reaching for the shards of glass.

"Stop! You'll cut yourself!" He quickly went around the other side of the counter, grabbing her and pulling her away from the broken glass. He lifted her up to sit on the counter and checked her hands then her bare feet and legs for cuts. Luckily it appeared the glass had missed her. "I'll take care of it. Why didn't you come get me when you woke up?"

She shrugged. "I just wanted a glass of water." She wouldn't meet his gaze.

Callen sighed, running his hand over his head. "I'm sorry Callie. I heard a noise and I reacted. I'm not used to having anyone else in the house."

"I shouldn't have wandered out."

"What? No, this is your house now too. You are free to go anywhere in it. I just have to get used to having someone else moving around." He gently lifted her head to face him. "Are we okay?"

She gave him a slight smile. "Yeah."

"Good. Wait here." He grabbed the broom and dustpan out of a closet and quickly cleaned up the mess. "I think I got it all."

"Sorry," she said again.

"Not your fault." He studied her. "What are you doing up? Bad dream?"

She nodded.

"Want to talk about it?"

She shook her head.

"Okay. Is there anything you do want to talk about? Or do you want to try to go back to sleep?"

Callie quickly cast her mind about for something inconsequential they could talk about. "Why does Sam call you G? What's it stand for?"

"It's my name," Callen said after a moment. At her frown he elaborated, "I was really young when I went into foster care, too young to even remember my own name other than that it started with a G. And apparently my paperwork was lost."

Her eyes widened. She hadn't meant to bring up what was obviously a sore subject, she'd thought it was an innocent question. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, you didn't know."

She bit her lip. "What about your family? Wasn't there anyone who could have told you?"

He sighed and lifted her down. Draping his arm over her shoulders he led her to the living room. Releasing her, he reached for the box on the mantle. "This box, it contains everything I've been able to find out about my past, where I came from."

Her eyes widened, it was so small. Everything he knew about his past fit into it? She watched as he started to open it and she shifted uneasily. "You don't have to-"

He gave her a small smile. "You deserve to know who I am, just like I'm trying to learn about you." He pulled out a photo of a dark haired woman.

Callie studied it. "She's pretty." She thought she could see a slight family resemblance.

"She was my mother, Clara. She worked for the CIA, was working on an operation in Romania when they lost contact. She turned back up several years later with me and my sister Amy, needing to be extracted. You see, her father had been an operative working in Romania and he had killed some members of a powerful crime family, setting off a blood feud. They killed him and vowed to end his line. When my mother went back there, they eventually killed her too."

She watched his face as he spoke. "You saw it happen, didn't you?"

He nodded.

She wrapped her arms around him, he did understand what she was going through. "How old were you?"

"Five."

Her eyes widened, she was having trouble dealing with her mother's death at 14 how had he handled witnessing it at 5?

"For the longest time I repressed the memory. It was only when I came face to face with the ones responsible that I remembered."

"They're still around?" Fear filled her. Would they come back to finish the job?

"Most of them are dead now, we had a run in a year ago."

"But-"

"Don't worry about it, I'll keep you safe." He drew her to his side and sunk to the floor, pulling her down to sit beside him as he gently held the box in his lap.

She frowned, it wasn't just her that she was worried about.

Returning the picture to the box he next pulled out a small book. "This contains the address of every foster home and orphanage I ever stayed in."

Callie stared as he flipped through the pages, seeing the many different addresses. She knew what he had said but to see it with her own eyes...

"It also lists the places my sister stayed." He pointed to a few entries near the back. There were far fewer entries than there were for him.

"You weren't kept together?"

"I'm not even sure how we ended up in America, but once we did we were split up. Amy, there was an accident and she died." He shook his head. "I didn't even remember that I had a sister until I came face to face with someone who had known her in one of the orphanages."

"I'm sorry." She was saying that a lot tonight, wasn't there anything else she could say?

"I'm not trying to make you sad," Callen told her, seeing the upset look come across her face. "I just thought you might want to know more about me, and my past."

"I do, I just, I don't want to make you relive the bad memories."

He smiled at her, if a little sadly. "There were good memories too." He pulled out the other picture from the box and showed it to her.

She studied it. There were two people in the picture, a teenage boy who was obviously a much younger version of her father, and a little girl who he was holding. Something about the picture bothered her, and she looked closer. Her eyes widened as she realized that it was taken in this very room. "Is that-?"

"Alina," he confirmed.

"You looked happy."

"I was." He pulled her a little closer. "So while there were a lot of bad memories, I also have good ones."

Callie handed the picture back to him and bit her lip. "Wait here," she told him before climbing to her feet and darting out of the room.

Callen stared after her in confusion before returning the picture to the box and placing it back on the mantle. He turned as Callie returned carrying the quilt and a small shoebox. She sat down and draped the quilt around her shoulders. "Cold?" he asked her, frowning. She wasn't getting sick, was she?

She shook her head. "Tradition. Whenever I couldn't sleep or Mom and I had an important talk, she would wrap this around us. I figured this qualifies as both." She hesitantly held one end of the quilt out to him.

He smiled at her as he sat back down, draping the offered material over his own shoulders and pulling her back to rest against his side. "What's that?" he asked as she fingered the box in her hands. He watched as she started to chew on her lip, obviously nervous. "You're going to make you lip bleed again," he told her.

She forced herself to stop biting her lip. "I figured since you shared your past with me I should do the same." She quickly shoved the box into his hands.

Callen took it and stared at it but didn't open it. Instead he turned to her, taking in how nervous she appeared. "You don't have to. As much as I want to know everything about you, I want you to be comfortable with me knowing." He started to hand the box back to her.

Callie stopped him. "No, I want you to open it. Please."

He couldn't ignore the pleading tone in her voice. Plus he was very interested in what the box could contain. He placed it in his lap and lifted the lid.

The first thing he saw was a piece of folded construction paper. He took it out and opened it, staring at it. At one point glitter had been glued to it but it appeared that most of it had fallen off with the passage of time, though some bits remained in a few places. Two stick figures were drawn under something that resembled a rainbow. Written in big, crooked letters was 'dAddY' followed by a heart and signed 'cAllE'. He turned his head to look at Callie who kept her eyes fixated on what he now knew was a card.

"Every Father's Day, the art teachers would have us make a card or some other project, something we could give to our fathers. But I didn't have anyone to give it to. So I made them, then I would bring them home and put them in this box. I couldn't bring myself to just throw them out, part of me always hoped that one day you would show up and I'd be able to give them to you then." Tears were welling in her eyes and she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze.

Callen closed his eyes, he remembered those types of projects and how he had hated them because he never had anyone to give them to. He hated that he had caused his daughter the same pain he had gone through. "I'm sorry," he told her as he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to rest against his chest. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you growing up. I should have been."

She shook her head. "It's not your fault, you didn't know."

"But I should have. And I promise you, I'm here for you now." He held her like that for another long moment before pulling back slightly. Keeping one arm around her, he used his free hand to carefully remove and examine each and every item in the box. He watched as her spelling and handwriting improved, as the pictures drawn became more elaborate and detailed. And he also noted the presence of discolored spots where tears had fallen and long since dried.

Carefully replacing them in their box, he set them aside and turned to his daughter, pulling her completely into his lap. "Thank you," he told her, holding her tight. "Thank you for making them, thank you for keeping them, and thank you for sharing them with me now. You have no idea how much it means to me." He placed a gentle kiss on the side of her head. "I love you," he told her, saying the words to another person for the first time that he could remember. "I love you Callie, моя дочь."

Callie sobbed against his chest at his words, her arms wrapping tightly around him as well, feeling as if her heart was going to burst. She'd longed to hear those words from him her entire life, even without knowing who he was. "I l-love you too," she sobbed out. "D-daddy. I love you Daddy."

Now it was Callen who felt as if his heart was going to burst. He'd never felt so happy, joyous, elated. No, none of those words were right. There wasn't a word to describe how he felt at the moment. So he simply held her, savoring the feeling of her in his arms, her words repeating over and over in his mind.

Eventually she fell asleep in his arms, worn out from the emotional roller coaster of their conversation. He continued to hold her, unwilling to release her. It was only the realization that she couldn't be very comfortable sitting like that that eventually caused him to move. Ensuring that the quilt was completely wrapped around her and that she was held securely in his arms, he stood. He started to head toward the bedrooms but paused. Glancing down at the shoebox on the floor, he carefully retrieved it while keeping a firm grip on Callie. He set it carefully, almost reverently on the mantle beside the box containing his past. Then he turned and strode from the room.

Callen paused only briefly in front of the door to Callie's room before shaking his head. He couldn't stand the thought of being separated from her, not yet. Besides, he didn't want to lay her down on the floor. Instead, he entered his own room, carefully settling her onto his bedroll. She stirred slightly as he put her down but settled when he brushed his lips against her forehead and sat down beside her. He sat there watching her with a smile as he gently ran his fingers through her hair. "I love you," he whispered again, settling in to keep watch over his daughter and chase away any nightmares that sought to disturb her sleep.