1984

Callen was running from the cops, there was no way he was getting caught and going to jail for stealing food. It hadn't been much, just a packet of chips and a bottle of water. He'd absconded from his new placement an hour after being placed there and hadn't eaten for three days.

The huge bruise on his eye, which his new foster parent had given him fifteen minutes after he had arrived, was throbbing and he was tired. 'Possible concussion' he had thought as he gingerly pressed his fingers to his eye socket.

He hated this, he hated being in the system and no one giving a damn about him. He hated having people who were supposed to give him a safe place to sleep using him as a paycheck and he especially hated his new foster parents, as they had beaten him because their son had broken a glass and blamed it on him. He hadn't even stepped foot in the kitchen and the mother had seen the glass break, but still backed up her son, smirking as the father had beaten him.

He took his bounty and shoved it in his bag as he hid down an alleyway, watching as the officer who had been chasing him on foot stopped to ask a kid if he had seen the runaway. The young Italian boy shook his head and pointed the officer in the opposite direction that Callen had run in.

Watching as the officer ran in that direction the kid turned and sauntered down towards the spot where Callen was hiding.

"You ok kid?" He asked his thick New York accent making Callen look at him in surprise.

"Thanks…" Callen leaned his hands on his knees as he got his breath back. "You're not from around here?" He asked.

The kid smiled, "Nope."

Callen looked at the posh suit the kid was wearing, "You on vacation?"

"Something like that, looking for kids." The boy said.

Callen stepped back warily, "Who are you?"

The boy smiled, "'Names Marco Marsino, I'm from Long Island."

"What are you looking for kids for?" Callen as he stepped back again realizing that he was backed up in the alley and there was no way out.

Marco smiled, "Not what you've been used to. I come from a group who cares about kids."

Callen laughed, "No one cares about kids like me."

"Look at me." Marco snapped, "I'm wearing a brand new suit, I am sleeping in a hotel room and I know where I am sleeping tonight. I am an orphan; So, What about you?"

Callen looked ashamed for a moment, "I'm fine, I can take care of myself."

"You can but you shouldn't. America throws children away. Especially immigrant children."

"I'm not an immigrant." Callen snapped.

"No?" Marco looked surprised, "You think they'd treat you like this if you weren't?"

Callen shrugged, "I don't know."

"Come with me." Marco said, smiling kindly at him, "I'll have someone fix that ankle."

Callen looked down in surprise, he had known that his face hurt, but he hadn't even registered that his ankle was swollen where he had twisted it running.

"It's fine." Callen lied.

Marco put his hand on Callen's shoulder and smiled as the younger boy flinched.

"Callen, I can see it's twisted, maybe even fractured. Let me help."

"What you gonna get out of it?" Callen asked cagily.

Marco shook his head, looking totally innocent, "Nothing, nothing at all."

Callen scoffed and then winced as pain shot through him. "Nothing is free." He replied, but allowed this kid to help him anyway.

He took him to a house in Reseda and Callen looked cagily at the building, "I thought you said you were from New Jersey?"

Marco spotting the slip patted his shoulder, "I said I was from New York, which I am. But Father has friends here and it's nearer than the hotel."

As they walked up the path a small familiar blond haired boy ran out. Callen recognized him as a kid that had gone missing from a group home a few months ago.

"Danny?"

The boy smiled, "G!" He ran up and hugged him, "Father found you too? You're gonna like it here!"

Callen looked at Daniel carefully, there were no marks on him, he looked well fed and happy… Like… Like a five year old should.

"This a foster home?" Callen asked, starting to shake as the lack of adrenaline, hunger and pain began to overwhelm him.

"No." Said an older man who opened the door. "Social services are not welcome here."

Callen pulled back as if to go, "You, child, are welcome here, Please come in and join us." The man turned to the young boy. "Daniel Budd, if you don't get in here, your food will get cold."

Daniel turned and grabbed Callen's pant leg, "Can G stay too?" He asked.

"G?" The man asked.

"Callen." Callen corrected him.

The man crouched down to talk to Daniel, "You know the rules, everyone is their own person, to stay or not to stay is totally up to your friend here." He stood up and looked at Callen, "But you do look like you could use a good meal and medical attention, please… let me help."

Callen swayed as he tried to pull away, but the pain overtook him and he fell into the man's arms.

" 'E gonna be ok?" Daniel's voice cut through the gloom, as Callen slowly drifted back to consciousness.

"He'll be fine, he's just tired, hungry and he's got a sprained ankle." The man said.

"Can you fix him?" Danny asked. "G saved me from bullies, he's nice."

"I'm sure he is." The man's voice sounded kind, "I'll help as much as he'll let me. Then he can decide to join us or leave."

"I hope he joins, it's nice here." Danny said.

"Join what?" Callen asked as he opened his eyes. He noticed his ankle was strapped up and elevated with an ice pack balancing on it held there gently by the older man's hand.

"We are a group called The Calling, we are taking children rejected by society and raising them to be productive. To help one day fix America, to make it great again." The man said. He reached over and handed Callen a bowl.

"It's soup." He said as Callen sniffed it cautiously.

"It has shapes in!" Daniel said as he sat next to him eating his bowl of soup.

Callen couldn't help but smile at the enthusiastic child.

"So if this isn't a foster home what is it?"

"The Calling owns homes all over America. We are not regulated by social services, I am the father of this home. Each home has a father and a mother. We will not harm the charges in our care, we educate, clothe and feed you."

"You educate?" Callen asked worriedly.

"Yes, we homeschool. We don't fill you with the propaganda you are taught in school. We just want to give the children America forgets about a second chance, will you stay?" He asked.

Callen sipped his soup, thinking about it. None of his warning bells had gone off, nothing about this man screamed danger, in fact all he felt was warmth and safety a feeling he was unused to but he liked.

"Yes. I'll stay… For a while."

Father smiled, "That's good to hear, Callen? Is that your given name?"

Callen shook his head, "My surname is Callen, I don't know my first name, I'm just called, G."

Father sighed, "Another attempt to control youth. I will just call you Callen if I may?"

Callen blinked, surprise showing on his face.

"Have I upset you?" The man asked.

Callen shook his head, "It's just… No one has ever asked me before, I am just told what I am to be called."

"If you do not like it…?"

"No…. No, not at all, thank you… Father?"

The older man smiled, "Da… Yes."

"You are Russian?" Callen asked surprised.

The man nodded, "Alexei Minshev, I am called Father and if you would like that I will allow you to call me it as well if you wish."

Callen smiled and lay back as exhaustion overwhelmed him.

He stayed there for six months, off Social services radar, learning about The Calling and what they stood for.

For a long time he was happy, they taught him, gave him stability for the first time in his life and Alexei, Father, taught him Russian; A language that when he heard it made him feel safe and loved poking a box that in his mind was still closed. Marco had gone back to New York with 'His' Father and for a while he had kept in touch via letter, but Marco had stopped writing to him.

Daniel had been adopted into a rich family, in preparation for his role in the future, the parents had changed their name to his as Daniel had not wanted to change his surname.

Callen had been sad to see him go, but a number of other children had moved into the home that Father and his wife, Nadia, (Mother) had built here. The only house rule, they had, was that if anyone left the house they were not to break the law.

One Rule… And Callen broke it.

He'd finished his lessons for the day and it had been a hot summer. Callen decided to head to the beach telling Mother on his way out that he was going.

She nodded with a smile as he left.

He sauntered along the boardwalk watching the people who were on vacation and others who were enjoying the weather.

He looked at the edge of the boardwalk as he saw something red sticking out from just underneath and he leaned down to get a better look. Lifting it up he saw it was a wallet.

"HEY!" An angry voice came from behind him. "Put that down thief!"

"I… I didn't, I…" Callen argued and he dropped the wallet as if burned.

From there things escalated, before he knew what was happening Callen had been arrested, he'd called Mother to tell her and she used the standard response, "I have no idea who you are talking about."

Angry and rejected Callen fought back with everyone, the police, the guards, his lawyer, and even bad mouthed the judge who sent him to Juvenile Hall.

He did three weeks in the detention center until he'd had enough, he broke out, stole a car and ran.

This was how he met one, Henrietta Lange.

At first he thought she was a member of The Calling, but she wasn't. She took him in, but she sent him to school rather than teaching him the things he had been learning.

Even now, having known her for all those years, Callen had never discussed where he had been the six months before he had been arrested.

So, when Agent Tony DiNozzo asked how much the team actually knew about Callen, even Hetty had to wonder, how much had he actually kept hidden from her.