This is a story that takes place after the episode "No More Secrets." I always wished the writers had spent more time filling in the blanks of what we already knew about Callen, but since they didn't, I decided to embellish Callen's personal story a little. It's one of the best things about fan fiction: being able to write the scenes you never saw in a show but wished you had. Thanks to Shane Brennan and CBS for letting those of us who like to write fan fiction continue to write stories with their characters. The story is mine, but the NCIS:LA characters belong to their creators. As always, love to get feedback and comments from readers.

The Gift

Chapter 1

"G, if you need anything, call me."

"Thanks, but I won't need anything," Callen replied as he shook his partner's hand.

Sam laid his other hand on Callen's shoulder, "Well, if you do, call me. And don't worry about the Clipper game tomorrow night."

Callen pulled his hand away, cocked his head, and squinted, his partner's face backlit by the brilliant morning sun hanging halfway between the horizon and the zenith position in the sky. "Are you giving my ticket away?"

"No, G, but I get it if you don't wanna go so soon after . . . "

Callen interrupted him, "I'm good, Sam."

Sam studied his partner in silence before he answered. "Okay, but if you need anything before then . . ."

"call," Callen said, finishing his partner's sentence. He looked at Sam and cocked his head to one side as he pressed his lips together in a tight smile. "I won't, but thanks,"

Sam gave Callen a quick smile and nod of his head and then turned and walked away. Callen watched him leave and then looked down at Hetty who'd walked up quietly during his conversation with Sam and now stood beside him.

She kept her eyes looking forward for a moment and Callen waited. When she turned and looked up him, her voice was quiet but firm. "Mr. Callen, I don't expect to see you tomorrow."

"I'm fine, Hetty."

She studied him carefully for so long that he finally took a step back and returned her stare with his own.

"Hmmm. That may be, Mr. Callen, but if you should come to work tomorrow, you will be sent home promptly, so it would be a waste of your time and mine," she paused, "and you know I hate it when people waste my time." She continued to study him until he finally blinked and looked away, his eyes focusing blankly ahead. "Do I make myself clear, Mr. Callen?"

He answered without looking at her, "You've made yourself clear, Hetty."

"Good," she replied. When she spoke next, her voice was softer, kinder. "I have something for you, Mr. Callen," and without another word, she turned away and headed across the grass, walking with care as she made her way to her Jaguar. Callen watched her for a few seconds and then fell in line behind her. When Hetty reached her car, she walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and picked up a medium-size cardboard box from the floor in front of the seat. Callen stopped beside the driver's door and waited. His expression was puzzled when he saw the box. Hetty closed the passenger door, walked around behind her car, and when she reached Callen, she held out the box for him to take.

"That's for me?"

"It is."

Callen took the box from Hetty with care and looked at it with curiosity. There was nothing written on the box, but it was sealed with tape. He raised his eyebrows as his glanced at the tiny, unassuming operations manager standing in front of him and asked, "What's in it?"

"I don't know, Mr. Callen."

"So, it's not from you?"

"That's correct. It's not."

Callen glanced at the box and then stared at Hetty. "Then why are you giving it to me?"

"Because your father asked me to."

Now Callen focused on the box more closely, with more intense curiosity. "Nikita?"

Hetty nodded slowly, and Callen held the box up, trying to determine its weight, and shook it several times carefully. He could tell without opening it that the box held several items of differing weights. Hetty moved toward the driver's door and Callen took a step back to let her open it. She slid into her seat and looked up at her special agent. "Remember, Mr. Callen," she reminded him as the Jaguar's engine purred into life, "if you show up tomorrow, you will be sent home immediately—and I will be most displeased."

"I got it, Hetty."

Hetty's expression as she looked at Callen contained a hint of pride. "It was a fitting service, Mr. Callen. Simple, but one that your father would've have appreciated, I'm sure." Callen said nothing, and Hetty continued, "If you decide you want to take more than a day off, Mr. Callen, be sure to let me know."

"I'll see you Tuesday, Hetty, and not before. I promise."

Hetty nodded, satisfied that she wouldn't see Mr. Callen tomorrow and drove away. Callen watched until the Jaguar drove through the cemetery gates and disappeared into L.A. traffic. Then his attention focused on the box in his hands, and he headed back to his car and home to see what Nikita had wanted him to have.

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Callen drove straight home. When he'd arrived for the service an hour earlier, he'd planned to pick up some food on his way home, but the only thing on his mind now was the box sitting on the seat beside him. He made his way up the stairs and held the box in one hand while he unlocked and opened the door. Somehow the box made his apartment seem more empty than usual when he entered. He set the box down on the counter while he changed his clothes. Callen's actions were automatic as he hung up his suit and shirt and then stepped into jeans and slipped on a casual shirt. He buttoned it as he walked back to the counter, his eyes focused on the box. He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone—least of all Hetty—but he was relieved Hetty had told him to take tomorrow off. He took a beer out of the refrigerator, opened it, took a swig, set it on the table, and then walked back to the counter. He studied the box as he took a knife out of the drawer, picked the box up, and carried both to the table. He set them down and took a seat. Callen lifted the bottle to his lips, took another swig and then made a clean cut down the middle of the tape with a single pass of the knife. He put the knife down and stared at the box. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Callen: Nikita had sworn there would be no more secrets between them. Being open and honest were two qualities that didn't come easy to Nikita. Most of his life, Nikita had survived by telling lies, so telling the truth was unnatural to him. It was just that Nikita seemed able to be more open with Alex and even Darius than he was with Callen, and Callen didn't understand that. Callen took another, longer swig and continued to stare at the box. Maybe, thought Callen, he should just set the box aside and look at its contents later. After all, the box wasn't going anywhere. Whatever was in the box might lead to more questions than answers, and Callen didn't want any more questions, not today. He stood up, picked up his beer, and walked to the window. The sun was above the buildings now and the number of cars on the rood allowed traffic to flow smoothly, as smoothly as L.A. traffic ever flowed. Callen finished his beer and walked back to the table. He sat down, put the bottle on the table, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then lifted the outside flaps of the box top and looked inside.

The first thing Callen noticed was the cassette tape. The cassette label in the plastic case had lines for listing its contents, but they were blank. There was nothing written anywhere on the label or the tape itself. Callen thought back to Nikita's room at the hospital. There had been a small cassette player on the table beside his bed. Callen had noticed some classical music tapes, but maybe Alex had brought him a blank tape. It could be that Nikita had wanted to tell Callen something. There were a lot of days when Callen went to visit him that Nikita was too tired to talk. Maybe, because Nikita's strength was ebbing, he found it easier to record whatever it was he wanted to say in small segments at different hours of the day. In his condition, he was seldom able to talk for very long, and Callen wasn't at his bedside 24 hours.

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Callen pulled out the plastic storage bin containing miscellaneous electronic gadgets and wires in his closet and rummaged through it until he found the old Walkman he'd had since he was 15. He lifted it out and dusted it off. The headphones for it were neatly wound and secured with a rubber band that was so brittle it broke as soon as Callen lifted it to pull the headphones out from under. For a minute, his mind flashed back to when he'd bought the Walkman. He'd gotten a job at a store stocking shelves, but his foster parents took most of his money, so Callen rented a P.O. box at a copy store. Then he quit the stocking job and went to work at a car wash. He lived with that family for about five weeks, and he spent most afternoons washing cars. His foster family didn't miss him, and he earned tips as well as a wage. It wasn't much, but he made enough money to buy the Walkman, some tapes, and a few other things he wanted, like books. Whatever he bought he kept hidden, so his foster parents wouldn't know he had money. But of all the things he bought, the Walkman was his favorite. He'd bought it to block out the yelling. He'd stay in his room after dinner, put on his headphones, pop in a rock tape, and do his homework, read, or study another classic chess game undisturbed. The Walkman was with him even after his foster homes. Callen had it when he lived on the street, in the shelter, in the army, and even took it on several assignments. It helped him escape some of the chaos around him, and now with a few batteries, he'd hear what Nikita recorded for him. He took the Walkman back to the table, grabbed the empty beer bottle, and then walked over to the refrigerator. He set his empty beer bottle on the counter and took another bottle from the refrigerator along with two AA batteries from a small container and went back to the table. He unscrewed the bottle cap and put the batteries in the Walkman. He pushed the button to open the tape compartment, and Callen slipped in the cassette. He took a swig of beer and then plugged in the headphones and put them on. He pushed play. As soon as Callen heard the first few words on the tape, he hit the stop button and stared at the Walkman. He licked his lips and then drew his breath in and held it for a moment. When he finally exhaled, he reached out slowly, pushed the rewind button and then pushed the play button again. The message was simple, but it was the woman's voice that gripped Callen.

Nikita, I hoped you would be back by now, but you're not. We talked about what might happen before you left this last time, and it's happened. It's gotten too dangerous for me and for the children now, so we're leaving. We'll be leaving soon. I've contacted someone who can help us.

Callen turned the tape off and his eyes focused on nothing. He was listening to his mother's voice. He pushed play.

As soon as we get settled, I'll contact you. I don't know how soon that'll be because you know how slow bureaucracy can be, but at least I'll feel safer once we're in the U.S. When we're settled, I hope you'll join us. I know it'll take time to make the necessary arrangements, but I'm sure the Company will help, and can find you someway to continue with your work. Amy and Grisha miss you so so much. They can't wait to see you again.

Callen stopped the tape. He knew the "someone" Clara had contacted was Hetty, so his mother must've recorded this message shortly before her death. When he started it again, he heard a young girl's voice.

Hi, Poppa! I miss you! Momma and I made a cake for your birthday, but since you weren't here, we ate it all. Baby brother ate most of it. For a little boy, he eats a lot! And after eating most of the cake, he wanted ice cream. Momma says I can't bring Beatrix with us because rabbits are afraid of airplanes, so I'm going to give her to Sofia. Beatrix likes her almost as much as she likes me. Momma says I can get a new rabbit when we get to our new home. If it's a girl, I'm going to name her Beatrix. If it's a boy, I'm going to name him Ringo.

Callen stopped the tape again. His smile was wistful. For a moment, he was back in the house in Romania. He could see the big kitchen with the rough, wooden table in the middle where they ate and his mother kneaded the dough for the round loaves she baked. She would slice it while it was still warm and spread a layer of soft butter on it before giving some to him and Amy. She probably sat at that table when she recorded this. His mother's voice was clear and soft and lyrical, a voice that would quiet the fears of any child. Amy's voice was the voice of childhood, a childhood that ended tragically and too soon for her. He started the tape and Amy continued, describing her latest adventures for a few more minutes, interrupted occasionally by Clara. And then he heard her say, "I love you" and the sound of her footsteps as she walked away, followed by a door closing behind her. There was a brief pause before Callen heard his mother say,

Grisha, come say hello to Poppa. Tell him what you've been doing.

Callen leaned in closer and licked his lips, his elbows on the table, fingers interlocked and his chin resting on his thumbs as he listened to his voice from a lifetime ago.

Hi, Poppa. Amy and I were playing and I fell and hurt my wrist. It was bleeding. Amy cried but I didn't. Momma said I was brave, but it didn't hurt that bad and it's better now and I have a scar like yours. It's not as big as yours, but maybe my next scar will be as big as yours.

(Clara interrupted) You may not get another scar, Grisha.

I'll get another scar, Momma. I know I will.

Well, if you do, Grisha, I hope it won't hurt.

It won't hurt. I'm strong like Poppa. Poppa never cries because he's strong. I miss you.

Callen stopped the tape. He'd been right and wrong back then—he'd been "strong" like Nikita all of his life and he'd gotten many more scars, but each one of them had hurt like hell. He started the tape again.

All right, Grisha, go get your sister. It's time to come in for lunch, and tell her to leave Beatrix outside.

Callen heard his footsteps across the floor, the door closing behind him, and his own voice faint in the background calling Amy. He smiled. He and Amy had been very close. He heard his mother turn off the tape machine. When she spoke again, it was hours later, but maybe that same day.

Nikita, I'm sorry we're leaving without seeing you. This is our last night in this house. I'm meeting my contact tomorrow, and she's going to move us to a safe house. We'll leave from there. You know how much we all miss you. I'll get in touch with you through Tolstoy as soon as I can. Come join us. Mi-e dor de tine.

Callen sat silently for a few moments thinking about how all his mother's plans had gone awry because she'd trusted Hetty and the Company. He also knew Clara's death had haunted Hetty for years. But Hetty had been young herself when she was Clara's handler, lacking the experience and the connections she'd developed over the years since that fateful day in Romania. Once the word came from Langley to abort the mission, Hetty had no choice. (Hetty had explained to Callen that a KGB major and a former Soviet general in Ukraine had decided to defect, and everyone was mobilized to help.) Hetty had told Callen she tried to reach Clara as soon as she'd received word the mission was cancelled, but her effort had proved futile. He also knew that if Hetty had met his mother that morning, it's likely both would've been killed. The meeting had been compromised, and in less than six months Hetty had identified the leak and taken the steps necessary to plug it. That was the first, but certainly not the last, time Hetty took action that was unsanctioned. The man responsible for providing the Comescus with the details of the meeting disappeared and his body was never found. The official finding by the authorities was that he'd simply left the area which was, in practical terms, accurate.

Callen let the tape run for a few more minutes, but there was nothing more. He fast forwarded it a few times and listened, but the last message he'd heard by Clara was the last message recorded. When the tape came to the end, Callen took it out and played the other side, but it was blank. He pushed fast forward, and when the tape came to the end, he popped it out and studied it.

Nikita must've returned soon after Clara's death and found this cassette. It was likely he contacted Tolstoy then (Callen imagined "Tolstoy" was a local contact known by both Nikita and Clara). But Tolstoy wouldn't have received any message from Clara, and eventually Nikita discovered Clara's fate. Did he keep this tape all these years for himself or did he intend to give it to Callen and Amy in the future? Would Nikita have joined the three of them if they'd made it to safety? Did Nikita ever listen to this tape again, maybe when he was in the hospital during his final days? Did he blame himself for Clara's death? Callen couldn't ask him now, but even if he could, Nikita probably wouldn't have given him answers. Nikita had told Callen about Darius, but he rarely talked about his life with Clara. When Callen asked him questions, Nikita changed the subject and talked about something else, often asking Callen questions about his life in the U.S. and his work for the several agencies instead of answering questions about his own life. Callen couldn't tell if Nikita was really interested in his life or using it as a way to avoid talking about his own. Nikita never reminisced. He'd closed the door on his past—and everyone in it who had died—and nailed that door shut. He'd never shared anything about his own family with Callen. Callen didn't know who Nikita's parents were, if Nikita had any siblings or cousins, aunts or uncles. In fact, Callen didn't know Nikita's actual birth name, so there was no way of tracking any relatives who might be living in Russia or Romania or anywhere else in the world. Nikita had buried his past completely, and he wasn't going to let even his son unbury it.

Callen had researched the Callen side of his family a little. He knew that Clara's parents—his maternal grandparents, George and Irini—had both died before he was born. He knew a little about his grandfather, George Callen, the man Hetty had first told him about who was in the OSS. His act of tracking down and killing the head of the Comescu clan after World War II had started the blood feud between the families and resulted in his own death a few years later leaving his wife a widow. Callen had discovered that George was an only child, but he'd also discovered that George's mother—Grisha's great-grandmother—had had two sisters who'd had several children of their own. Callen had never spent time trying to find George's cousins or their children. He had tried to find out more about Clara's mother, Irini, the Roma woman George had married, but the Roma community kept few written records, and during the war and immediately after, many records had been destroyed to protect those who'd collaborated. And he didn't know Irini's maiden name, so that made searching for records next to impossible. Callen had an approximate timeline of her arrival in the U.S., but he'd found no record of her and Clara entering the country. It could've been that their move was facilitated by the OSS, and there was no record kept for their own safety. Callen knew he would probably never know anything about any extended family members still living. For all intents and purposes, he had no family by blood besides Alex and Jake. Callen put the cassette back in and pushed the play button. He listened to his mother's first message to Nikita and stopped the tape when Amy began speaking. He rewound the tape to the beginning, popped it out, and carefully put it back in its case. He set it aside and turned back to the box to see what else Nikita had left him.

xxxxxxx