It had been by consensual agreement that Callen would go undercover alone for the first few days. He would make himself known to the homeless community on the first night, behaving in a manner that would result in him spending the night in a police cell. The second night he would attempt to find refuge at the Sanctuary Outreach Centre. Nell and Eric had created a detailed back stop for his alias - Rob Gladstone - from social services files, sealed juvenile records, to criminal records, and of course his military history, complete with heavily redacted reports. Hetty had already advised Callen to mentally prepare for the mission and to immerse himself in his wayward past, wallowing in the 'what would have been', had he never met Hetty. She did offer him some premission counselling with Nate Getz, which Callen had not surprisingly refused. Neither he or Nate had divulged to Hetty the details of their encounter when Nate 'kidnapped' him. Nate's toying with Callen's trust, his life long quest for his identity and the subsequent water boarding, left him more than a little reluctant to reveal his innermost thoughts.

Callen occasionally frequented the streets at night, donning old clothes and wandering to areas where the homeless gather. His favourite haunts were the shelter in East Hollywood which incidentally was only a five minute walk from Little Armenia where he and Deeks had met Lizzie, Tyler's mother. He always preferred the back alleyways of Venice, which also housed various low key bars, less than salubrious cafes, hostels and a soup kitchen. Both locations held rather an oddly fond spot in his memory. The first few times he ran away he had gravitated towards Hollywood, as many other children did. The area was poor and decidedly unsafe. At night the streets were full of male, female and child prostitutes. Pimps approached teenagers who were new to the area and worked with drug pushers to draw them in to a lifestyle from which they would struggle to escape. Callen had become street smart at a young age and managed to avoid becoming ensnared with the promise of a roof over his head, free meals and easy money. Through talking with others of a similar age, he quickly realised that young runaways also gathered in Venice and once there, he felt safer and it became the place to which he had always run. The area itself was very liberal and the policing much less stringent than neighbouring Santa Monica. Callen would even have gone so far to say that Venice welcomed the homeless to its coastal community. It had only been since he relocated to Los Angeles to join NCIS, that Callen had started to return to these spots and particularly noticed the changes in the past few years. He witnessed an increase in homeless youths camping out on the boardwalk, sleeping on cardboard during the daytime and in tents and other makeshift shelters at night. There was also a visible increase in the number of people sleeping on the neighbouring streets, in doorways and in cars. The atmosphere itself had not changed much and he still felt safe wandering around at any time of the day and night, and as any alias. When returning as a fellow homeless citizen, Callen had always remained anonymous, never revealing his name or giving away any personal information and that made it easier for him to return this time.

He had been kitted out by Hetty earlier that day after placing his cell, wallet, watch and NCIS ID safely in his locker. The only items of worth he now possessed were his earwig, button cam and a drivers licence in the name of Rob Gladstone with a long outdated address. Callen also had a tracking device which he was contemplating whether to ditch along with the earwig - just temporarily to make sure he had privacy at the start of his op. He realised his team had to track him and he made a promise to himself to collect them before he made his way to the Sanctuary Outreach Shelter. For him, this was where his undercover mission really started. A few spare clothes and a couple of random but worthless possessions were stuffed in to a battered rucksack and Callen decided he would stock up on cheap suitable food once he was on his way.

As planned, he left the mission in the Challenger with Sam driving and they headed just north of Venice towards Ocean Park. From there Callen would walk back to Venice along the boardwalk.

'I'm still not happy about this G.' Sam shook his head in worry. 'You're gonna be out there for days before Deeks joins you.'

'I'll be fine and it's only two days. I know what I'm doing and where I'm going. You know I'm the only one who can do this?'

Callen rested his elbow on the window frame and stared at the LA traffic. He could sense the increasing frustration his words and actions were having on his partner.

'That's not what I meant and you know it. And Deeks could do this, he already looks the part and has that God damn awful coat. You should have someone in overwatch, just in case.'

'Sam I've done this before, being homeless.'

'Yeah, by choice. But when was the last time you literally had nowhere to stay?'

Callen turned his head towards Sam and their eyes met. Sam could see the reluctance in his partners eyes but he just had to have this conversation. He had to try and make Callen see that he was not alone, even though everyone had agreed that for the first stages of the mission, this was the only way to go.

'Plenty of times as a kid. And if I've been homeless through choice as an adult, then it was for good reasons.'

'Coz you're too stubborn to ask or accept help or you actually enjoy being awkward.'

Callen smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He wouldn't answer that question. Both he and Sam knew it was a bit of everything. What he wasn't going to do was admit that he would miss his home and the comforts of his bed.

'Are you gonna stay on comms?' Sam asked blunty.

'Of course,' Callen lied. He still hadn't decided if he would or not. He had returned to staring out the window. These conversations Sam insisted on were really not helping him mentally prepare for his undercover alias.

Sam sighed loudly and deliberately. He knew exactly what Callen was going to do and he had a sneaking suspicion about why. Ever since he had tracked Callen the previous year and witnessed him mingling with the low-lifes and down-and-outs, Sam believed his partner regularly moved amongst the LA underbelly. He may not have seen any outward recognition between Callen and those he had encountered that night, yet there had been an unspoken familiarity. He as convinced Callen was going to ditch his comms.

'Hetty won't be happy. At least promise me you'll be back on comms by the time you reach the Sanctuary centre?'

Callen remained silent, figuring it was the best option as there was a high probability that Hetty had bugged the Challenger. He sat still for a moment, waiting for Sam's cell to ring and for Hetty to chew his ear off, but nothing happened.

'Drop me at the end of the car park opposite Ocean View Park. You'd better make it look as though you're throwing me out of the car.'

'For what? At three in the afternoon?'

'Why do you think a black man would throw a rough looking white man out of an expensive muscle car, just north of Venice?'

Callen had said the words evenly and in a manner which challenged Sam and his partner visibly squirmed. It was not so much that Sam was unfamiliar with the seedier way of life, but rather did not like to admit how close it really was to their everyday lives. For a moment he hesitated and it crossed his mind as to why Callen had thought up this scenario and if he had witnessed or even had any close encounters like this as a kid. He quickly pushed the thoughts to one side, realising that even if he had enough courage to ask Callen, the man would never grace him with an answer.

'Ok,' Sam agreed and continued driving in silence for three more blocks, following Callen's instructions.

The car park was almost empty. Most of the cars were parked further north in Santa Monica, closer to the beach front hotels and the pier and being a Wednesday, the beaches were naturally quieter. The far end of the parking lot was closest to South Beach Park and just as they pulled up a family with two young children were piling bags brimmed with beach paraphernalia in to the trunk of their car. Sam looked at Callen and an unspoken signal moved between them. Sam slammed on the brakes and leapt out of the car, rushing round to Callen's side. In a single movement he whipped open the door, grabbed Callen by the collar and threw him to the ground. Sam reached inside the car and threw Callen's rucksack at him.

'You're a filthy, cheating bastard. A hundred bucks, like hell. Here's ten and I hope you choke on whatever crap you buy with it.'

Sam stormed off and jumped back in his car, leaving a handful of dollar bills fluttering down near Callen, who remained on the floor, listening to the screeching of tires as the Challenger sped away.

Callen lifted his head slowly and breathed out. He'd landed on his shoulder and could feel a bruise forming already. The family were ushering their children into the back of their car, both parents glancing in his direction and hoping not to make eye contact. He moved to a seated position and reached to his side, picking up the money which had settled on the asphalt.

'Are you Ok?' A male voice tentatively spoke and Callen turned around to see the father had approached him, but remained a safe distance away. His wife stood by the open passenger door, poised with a cell in her hand in case there was any trouble.

'Does it look like I'm Ok?' Callen responded, remaining where he sat. 'I've just been thrown out of car by the black version of the hulk, so no of course I'm not OK.'

'Can I call anyone for you? Maybe a doctor?'

Callen rubbed his arm and stared up at the man who took a few steps back, concerned at the anger which emanated from Callen.

'The only thing I need from a doctor, I can buy down Venice Beach.' Callen stripped back the anger and instead spoke in a low and steady voice.

The man turned on his heels and quickly marched back to his car, almost driving off before the doors were closed. Callen had heard the sound of the doors locking and congratulated himself on a job well done, whilst at the same time disliking the character he had become. He stood up with his bag and noticed a few of Sam's dollars had drifted towards another car. Without thinking, Callen walked over and picked up the money. He now had the grand total of ten bucks. Not much to go on, but not impossible he thought. He trundled towards the boardwalk and started his way south to Venice. There was no point rushing as the days and nights on the street were long enough. He was aware he looked scruffy clothing wise. His hair and stubble was a little longer than he usually kept it for work, so he was still presentable. It would take weeks for his hair to grow and look unkempt so he would have to take advantage of his current look. It meant he could persuade people to think he was respectable and just didn't take care of himself too well. He also still had a menacing air about him that he could utilise, particularly in order to get noticed for the wrong reasons later that night.

There were no shelters in Venice which was one of the reasons why the homeless were visible, making camps and sleeping on the boardwalks. Callen knew of several half way houses and abandoned properties where people congregated if they did not want to sleep outside. A half way house was usually only by invitation, such as when a parole hearing ordered an individual to stay there. He had no tent, no beach umbrella that could be used as a shelter. He did not even have any cardboard to lie on. He had no need to worry about a bed for the night for a number of hours yet and instead when he strolled into Venice, he sat outside a coffee shop and paid for a drink. Callen's idea was to remain visible and appear respectable, certainly for the short term. It meant he was free to browse the nearby shops without the extra scrutiny that was frequently applied to the homeless. And without that scrutiny, he could steal small items such as biscuits and drink which would see him through the next few days. It was an extreme weight loss diet Callen wryly thought, knowing he could afford to lose a few pounds. Besides which it was always fun to test out the shoplifting and pick pocketing skills he had first learnt as a child.

A few hours later, a bus load of tourists arrived and flooded the area where Callen sat. From experience he realised he had about thirty minutes to take advantage of the swell of the crowd and a sudden energy overtook him. In a decisive move, he looked at his wrist to a watch he no longer wore and left his table, looking around him and shaking his head as though annoyed that his peaceful afternoon had been interrupted. He threaded his way through the tourists, his hand sliding in and out of pockets and bags as he brushed past his victims. A minute later he was clear and walking with a steady purpose to the public toilets. Once inside a cubicle he surveyed his winnings. Two cells, three wallets and a packet of chewing gum. The cells were the latest iPhones which Callen would have to ditch quickly. Most tourists would have the 'find my iPhone' function and that was a sure way for him to be arrested. The real prizes were the wallets and he chose to open the thickest one first. Callen pulled out the ID card belonging to one Frasier Bent who lived in Seattle. Sliding the card back, he went straight to the bill section and was not disappointed. Clearly Frasier Bent from Seattle had never heard of pick pockets and Callen counted five hundred dollars, all neatly parcelled in fifty dollar bills. There were also a handful of receipts from the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills. Callen smiled and thought that Mr Bent should be relieved he was only pretending to be a criminal. He now had his home address, the name of his hotel , all his credit cards and cash. Callen could have easily formulated a plan to rob this man blind if he were not a law abiding NCIS agent. He tucked two hundred dollars in to each sock and hid the rest in various pockets of his clothes and rucksack. He repeated the actions with the remaining wallets, but was only rewarded with about fifty bucks between the two. He wiped his prints off the wallets and threw them behind the toilet. He repeated the action with the iPhones and exited the cubicle.

The sun was slowly setting across ocean, causing vibrant reds, oranges and purples to scorch the sky. Evening tourists were now bringing the area to life and the street performers revelled in entertaining with magic tricks. Small groups of youths hovered outside the medicinal marijuana shops and the sickly sweet smell of smoke became stronger as night fell. Callen was now sitting on a bench with his back to the beach. He had his eye on a spot to the left of him. Several people had built shelters next to a palm tree and his plan was to move in on their territory, get arrested for affray or assault and spend the night in jail. Before he could put this in to action, he had to get his face seen at the soup kitchen, a few blocks away. He knew from experience there was always one or two people who tried to make conversation, usually do-gooders who wanted to help or to ease their own conscience. Less frequently, another homeless person would start talking. This time Callen would have to engage in conversation and give them a reason to remember him so when the police came asking, word of his existence would spread.

Every evening a food truck parked up in the lot to the rear of the shops which fronted the boardwalk. It had been manned by the same group for at least the last seven years which was when Callen had started approaching it once every few months. He always made sure his demeanour was such that no one interacted with him and he only ever asked for the bare minimum of food. He may have had an unnamed alias to keep up but he did not want to take the food from the mouths of those who really needed it. True to his plan, the couple serving hot meals were the same as usual. Through his own investigations he knew they were Larry and Ed Price, married in Vegas ten years ago and they first met right here in Venice when they were down on their luck and in need of support. Callen approached the truck's counter and made eye contact with Larry, who greeted him warmly, as he did everyone.

'Good evening, friend. Not seen you around for a while, hope you're keeping well?'

Callen chewed on his bottom lip and looked away in to the distance, then dropped his head to the floor before glancing back to Larry.

'I...um...'

Callen forced his eyes to become glazed as he struggled for words and played on the naturally caring nature of the man in front of him. Larry nudged Ed and tilted his head towards Callen in concern. He was a familiar face to them in the sense he was not a regular patron but every so often would visit in a pattern that had been ongoing for years. There had also been long periods of absence and one time when the mystery man had resurfaced, he looked ill and had lost weight. Gaunt was the word Ed had used when they had decompressed after a particularly busy evening. About a year ago he turned up looking a complete mess; long scruffy hair, unkempt beard and a lost look in his eyes. But this was the first time their patron had attempted to answer any of their welcoming questions and the first time the man had literally looked to be at breaking point and wanted to talk. Ed nodded his head in an unspoken agreement that Larry should approach Callen directly. He grabbed a bowl of chilli and a hunk of bread and gently led Callen by the arm and together they sat on the curb.

'Y'know believe it or not, I've been where you are now. Maybe not for many years but me and Ed, we were both destitute for while. We met about two blocks from here and got chatting. Turns out we'd both been kicked out of our homes for coming out. We were lucky that something good came from our bad situations. We found each other and managed to give something back to people here. Life can get good again.'

'It's...er...everything is shot to shit.' Callen said slowly and in a quiet voice. Larry strained to hear him. 'Sometimes things are good, I get a bit of work, find a cheap bed and then they find me. They always find me and I have nothing for them. I gave them everything and now, now they want more.'

'Who are they? Do you owe money?' Larry had always wondered what this man did and where he disappeared to.

'The government. They've done this to me. They should've saved me from this - they did - and then they chew you up and spit you out. And I've ended right back where I started. Was there a bombing today, in LA?'

The question was asked at random and took Larry by surprise.

'Yeah, well a few days ago. A few smoke grenades got thrown at a Vet's medical centre and a Navy recruitment office - might've been army - can't recall. I think some realtors got hit too.'

'Good. They made me what I am and they want to get back inside my head.' Callen looked up at Larry, his blue eyes clear and lucid. 'They want to get back in my head, rummage around and then throw me away, just like they did after Iraq and Yemen. I can't let them do that. They have to understand, they have to change.'

'Who has to change?' Larry asked quietly.

'The government.' Callen whispered his response, then his voice began to rise as he continued. 'The government is responsible for you, for me, for everyone here. They say they'll take care of us and then they chuck us out with the rubbish. So we have to live amongst the trash. Families live on the streets coz they've lost they've jobs, can't pay the mortgage and their home is taken away. I've seen it happen. You get kicked out at eighteen and no one wants to know. Who claimed the bombing? It wasn't terrorists was it?'

Again the conversation had turned on a dime and a number of people had now started paying attention to Callen's slightly off beat rant.

'No one knows, unless the Feds are keeping it to themselves,' Larry replied. 'I get where you're coming from, I sure do.'

'No, Feds won't tell, they're just a branch of the government. I want to find these people and shake them by the hand. Someone needs to show these bastards that it's time we stopped sitting on our asses and told them they need to repair our country. And start caring, start caring about you about me and all these people...' Callen tailed off and glanced up. Realising he had an audience that were now entranced in his words, he pushed his untouched chilli to one side. Knocking the bowl over he stood and looked around him. His eyes widened in fright as he realised he had spoken words which many people agreed. 'Now's the time, I can feel it.'

Callen pushed through the small crowd and drifted down the side road, barely allowing himself time to reflect on whether he had put on a believable performance before he emerged on the boardwalk. It was already time for act two.