Here comes the second story of our Fan Fiction Contest

Scars by Anthrdumblond

“Wait you actually have a bomb shelter?!” Reagan looked at Sam incredulously.
Deeks laughed, “Yeah, I said the same thing!”
After a scathing glance at Deeks Sam turned to Reagan, “Yes I do.”
She laughed, “Don’t you think that’s a little paranoid? I mean a bomb shelter!? You aren’t one of those ‘doomsday preppers’ are you?”
Sam gave her a look that had both her and Deeks falling over each other, like puppies, with laughter. Kensi looked indulgently over at the two of them like a mother watching her exuberant children.
Sam’s glance flicked to Callen sitting quietly watching the events, “We are seriously running a daycare.”
G just smiled shaking his head, “Maybe we should initiate nap time.”
“I’m in!” Eric came bouncing down the stairs from the ops center with Nell following in his wake.
G laughed, “Hetty didn’t give you a chair for the first two months you worked here because she was afraid you were going to fall asleep.”
Eric shrugged and managed to look both apologetic and perfectly fine with it all at the same time. Nell smirked behind him and continued on to Hetty’s office. G returned to the paperwork he was trying to finish and some semblance of order settled over the bullpen. Reagan settled in on the couch again and let her eyes drift to the face that haunted her waking dreams. She hadn’t wanted to fall into him the way she had, had tried to fight it every step of the way but somewhere between here and there it had happened. She had become ensnared in the web called G. Callen. Catching a sigh that tried to escape her full lips she risked a glance at the rest of the team. They were all busy with their paperwork so she took the blessed seconds of freedom to memorize his face all over again.
It was his eyes that had entangled her, those deep set bedroom eyes that somehow managed to bore into you and delve your deepest secrets. He had intense eyes, the color of the summer sky after a cleansing rain. His nose was straight, and his mouth, usually kept in a thin line of contemplation was… blinking she mentally shook herself and looked away. This was not the place to even think about the things his mouth did to her. Moving on, she thought drawing herself away from that train of thought.
Closing her eyes she brought an image of him to the forefront of her mind and she studied it intently. Lucky for her she had perfect recall of anything she had seen or heard. Smiling, she finally had a reason to be thankful for her hyperthymensia. And then she saw it. Normally his scruff was covering it but as she was studying him intently (even if it were in her mind) she glanced upon a white scar slashed across his chin. Where did that come from? Why had she never noticed it before? It was obviously old judging by how faded it was and how well it was blended in with the skin around it.
“Hey Sleeping Beauty, you still with us?” Deeks’ voice had her eyes flying open and a startled look appearing on her face.
The rest of the team chuckled, giving her digs about sleeping on the job.
“I was just…”
‘’Daydreaming?” Kensi cut her off with a smirk.
“No!” she said too quickly, which elicited a laugh from the rest.
“I was just… thinking,” she tried again.
“Mmm, hmm, sure you were,” Kensi laughed.
“I think Sam would consider that meditating,” Deeks couldn’t help getting in a jibe.
“I think I’d get those time cards done if I were you Deeks or Hetty’s not gonna pay you for another 4 weeks,” Sam came back at him without even looking up from his paper work.
“Sometimes I feel like I’ve time warped back to high school,” she chuckled, shaking her head
Looking around she realized G was missing from the bull pen. Frowning she craned her neck to see where he had gone, “Where’s G?”
“Had to take a call with Director Vance up in ops,” Kensi pointed absently with her pen to the stairs.
“Oh,” Reagan almost pouted as she glanced at the stairs and then realized her luck.
“Hey Sam, do you know where G got that scar on his chin?” she tried to make the question sound random, but 5 pairs of eyes turned to her and most were accompanied by smiles. Reagan rolled her eyes and smiled at them.
“Yeah, why?” Sam nodded finally lifting his dark eyes from his work to Reagan.
“I just realized it was there and thought you of all people might know,”
“Sure, Nicaragua, when he worked for the CIA, before he was recruited here. He was there on assignment and things started to go bad. They needed to get out in a hurry and while crawling through razor wire he gashed his chin on it. Twenty- four stitches inside and out,” Sam relayed the story he had been told by his partner when they had first started out together.
Reagan’s mouth thinned into a line and she sat contemplatively for a moment.
“Wait that’s not the story he told me!” Kensi said.
Everyone looked to Kensi and Sam’s brow wrinkled in a frown.
“What did he tell you?” Sam asked sitting back in his chair very interested in what his partner had told Kensi.
“He told me he got it when he was 10. He had been climbing a tree in his foster parent’s back yard and lost his grip. He fell and cut it on a branch as he went down. He also broke his wrist that day. Said he got 15 stitches.” Kensi sat back after telling her story.
“Nope you’ve both got it wrong.” Deeks lounged in his chair, crossing his right foot over his left knee.
“Yeah? And what did he tell you?” Sam was feeling a little annoyed at the moment.
“Said he got it learning how to skateboard at 12. Hit a rock and went ass over elbows and landed his chin on a rock and ended up with 18 stitches. Said his older foster brother called him Evel Knievel from then on,” Deeks relayed with a laugh.
Reagan glanced at Eric who was standing by the coffee machine listening to them; he had made a subtle head shake and was probably hoping no one had seen him, “What about you Eric? Any of this ring true to the story he told you?”
“Nooooo,” he drew out the word as he looked around at the others not sure whether this was a trick or not.
“What did he tell you?” Sam almost growled at the poor guy.
“Whoa, easy there killer, give the guy a break. It was G that told you all a different story, not Eric,” Reagan interjected to calm an irate Sam.
“He told me that he had gotten caught smoking with a foster brother and as they were trying to run they hopped a chain link fence that had been installed upside down so the barbed ends were sticking up. He slipped and sliced his chin on his way down. Twelve stitches.”
They were silent for a moment until Nell coughed and stepped forward from her hiding spot in the shadow of a column.
“Nell?” Reagan asked.
“I asked him about it not long ago and I got an entirely different story.”
“And that was?” Sam ground out.
“He said he got it riding a bike. Tried to do some ridiculous stunt standing on the bike seat and took a flying leap over the handle bars to land on his chin on the side walk. Fifteen stitches inside and out,” she said almost apologetically.
“Seriously! What’s the big deal about a damn scar on his damn chin?” Sam threw up his hands.
“But which story is the real one?” Kensi asked leaning her elbows on her desk and looking at each one of them.
Reagan saw Hetty walking back from the ops center to her desk, and she called out, “Hetty?!”
Changing course the diminutive woman entered the bull pen and took in all of her agents, “Yes Ms. Faraday?”
“We were wondering if you could settle something for us.”
“I will certainly try to aid you. What is it?”
“The scar on G’s chin, do you know how he received it?” Reagan asked.
Gesturing openly with her hands she began, “Of course, but why don’t you ask him?”
“Apparently everyone did. But each story is different from the last. We were just wondering if you could confirm one of them.”
“He was in Russia back in ’02, on assignment for the CIA. One of his last for them I believe. Things were getting shaky over there and then suddenly their cover was blown. They had been targeted and when a bomb exploded some of the flying debris cut him. If I remember correctly he got 20 stitches.”
She looked around at her team and saw that her story too did not match any of the ones they had been told by their team leader.
“By the way you all are looking at me I did not help shed any light on this mystery.”
They all shook their heads and Reagan sighed. What was he hiding? Why wouldn’t he tell anyone the same story about a little scar on his chin? What could possibly have happened to cause him to lie to… to whom? To everyone? Are any of the stories the true one? Looking up she spotted him turning the corner to head down the stairs.
“He’s coming,” she whispered loud enough for the team to hear her.
As G entered the bull pen Nell and Eric retreated back to the ops center and the rest of the team tried to look as though they had been extremely busy while he was gone. Looking around he noticed Hetty trying to make her way back to her office without being noticed.
“Are you sneaking away Hetty?” he asked catching her.
“I do not sneak Mr. Callen. I was merely…”
“Leaving in a stealthy manner?”
“Hmph,” she grunted and left with no other comment. Callen watched her go and then turned back to the rest of the team.
“What was that all about?”
The four of them looked at him and all shook their heads making random comments about not knowing what he was talking about. With a shrug and a glance at Reagan he settled back in his seat and began once again to work on the papers piled on his desk. By 5:30 Kensi and Deeks had already left, closely followed by Reagan, and G and Sam were just finishing up.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asked Sam as he slung his messenger bag over his shoulder.
“Dinner and then watching the game from the couch. You?”
“Reagan’s making dinner and then just relaxing for the night,” he answered as they headed for the door.
“How’s that going?”
“Us? We’re… we’re good. We’re just taking it slow. Trying to feel our way around this thing.”
“Right, you’re telling me that you’re not feeling your way around that gorgeous body?” Sam elbowed him in the arm.
G chuckled and had the grace to blush slightly, “How can I not when we sleep wrapped together like monkeys.”
“Yeah that was one picture I did not need in my head. So she’s still keeping you at arm’s length when it comes to that.”
“She’s responsive to a point and then shuts down. So I don’t push. Besides I’ve been sleeping like a baby since we started sleeping together. How can I complain when she gives me that?”
Sam shrugged, “Guess you can’t.”
“I’m just going slow, trying to build her trust.”
“Yeah, and what about you?”
“What about me?”
“When are you going to trust someone?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I trust you.”
“You trust me to have your back, but you don’t trust me with everything.”
G opened his mouth to argue but Sam cut him off, “All I’m saying is that you need to trust someone eventually. And I mean trust them with everything G.”
“What’s this about Sam?”
Sam shook his head, “Just sayin’.”
“You know, sometimes you can be worse than Hetty with your ambiguities.”
Sam just shrugged and followed G out of OSP for the night.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
After a delicious dinner Reagan sat sipping the last of her wine watching G wash the dishes. A soft smile played about her full lips while she took him in preforming such a domesticated task. Leaning her chin on her hand she sighed.
Hearing her, he turned his head while his hands continued to clean a glass, “See something you like?”
Rising with a smile, she swallowed the last dregs of her red wine and walked over to him. Wrapping her arms around his chest from behind, she brought her lips close to his ear, “You’ll make Sam a good wife one day,” she whispered.
He chuckled as she laid her lips just below his ear and smiled, “Here’s one more.”
“You nursed that last glass on purpose just so I could have one extra thing to wash.”
“No, but I do think you look rather sexy up to your elbows with bubbles,” she giggled as he flicked some at her.
“You want a cup of tea?” she moved to the stove, turning on the burner beneath the tea pot.
“I’ll get it, you go relax,” he offered drying his hands on a towel.
Reagan padded barefoot into the living room and flopped like a ragdoll on the couch. The question of the scar still hung in the back of her mind yet she was unsure whether she should ask him. Obviously it was a subject he would rather lie about it than discuss, and she wasn’t sure he would be any more honest with her.
G’s appearance with two steaming mugs sidetracked her train of thought. Putting the mugs down on her coffee table he snuggled in next to her putting her between his legs with her back against his chest. Gently he took his finger and hooked the silken length of her hair behind her ear so he could see her profile.
She closed her eyes as he traced patterns on the sensitive skin of her neck. Suddenly he stopped and passed his finger again over the same spot. It was an old scar that his finger touched and one she remembered getting very well.
“What happened here?” he whispered.
She was quietly contemplative as she thought about what to tell him. With her eyes closed she started the story.
“I was 17, on assignment in Iraq, the target I had to eliminate was hard to get to and when I did he wasn’t going quietly. I got in but he was paranoid and was expecting an attack. He slept with a knife and was prepared for an assassin. He attacked me and tried to slit my jugular. He got close enough before I could subdue him, left me with this lovely souvenir.”
“How did he get that close?” he asked.
Reagan just shook her head not ready to share that information. She brought her two fingers up to her neck and touched the scar gingerly, as if it were still going to hurt. G leaned in and placed a soft kiss on it, breathing in her scent. She sighed and settled back against him. They sat quietly for a while enjoying the peaceful companionship they found in one another.
After giving the mugs enough time to cool, Reagan sat up slowly and reached for her tea.
“So what was going on today when I was on the conference call with Vance?” G opened his eyes and watched.
“We were talking about you,” she answered placing her cup back down.
“Me?”
“Mmm, hmm,” she laid back down on him this time on her side so she could see he face, “You.”
“Should I be worried?”
She chuckled, “No, I was asking them a question about you.”
“Question,” he reiterated.
“Yes, a question.”
“Why didn’t you just ask me?”
Reagan shrugged, “You weren’t around when it came to mind and besides I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”
“And now?”
“I think it’s a much bigger deal than any one of us imagined.”
G looked at her curiously, “Why would you say that?”
“Because you gave everyone a different answer.”
He looked at her and knew exactly what she had asked the team, and he also now understood what Sam had meant this evening when they were leaving OSP. He studied her face and tried to imagine telling someone the truth, telling her the truth. It was such a personal thing, something he refused to think about for a long time, much less talk about. But perhaps it was time to tell someone, and the only he could imagine telling the truth too was sitting in his arms.
“Ask me.”
“What?”
“Ask me your question.”
Reagan sat up and looked at him squarely in the eyes. She studied him wondering just what he was thinking. As she opened her mouth she found herself hesitant to ask. What could have been so horrible for him to lie about it to everyone he trusted, and why was he now willing to tell her? Would this be another lie or did he trust her that considerably.
“Reagan?” he sat up forcing her to move away from him.
“I um… where… where did you get the scar on your chin G?” she asked in a whisper, her fingers itching to caress it, to take the pain she saw cross his face away.
It took him a few moments to begin, but when he finally did it was like lancing an infected wound. Everything came tumbling out in each wretched detail.
“I was 15. I was living in one of the many foster homes I had been placed in over the years. There were four of us, four foster children, living there, but I was the oldest. Our foster father was a drunk. He would come home from work almost every night, sit in front of the television and start drinking, and when he got drunk enough he started swinging.”
He paused as Reagan sucked in a breath.
“It didn’t matter who was in the way or if they had done anything that day to deserve the punishment, he just took out all of his anger and frustration on us and his wife.”
Shocked to hear his reasoning, she hoped her face didn’t betray her thoughts. What could a child possibly do that would warrant a beating by a drunk adult? Reagan ached to reach out to him. To hold the teenager he had been, and tell him that it would be okay. But she kept her hands fisted in her lap knowing that he would only see the comfort as pity right then.
“That night he had drunk more than usual and my little foster sister Emily had gotten up to use the bathroom. He started yelling at her about being out of her room when she was supposed to be in bed. She was a frightened little thing, maybe 40 pounds soaking wet at 7 years old, and he took a swing at her.”
He paused, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the memory, “Knocked her into the wall and she crumpled to the floor. He was in a rage, between the drinking and just being a nasty SOB to begin with, and he was going to go after her again. I stepped in between them and caught his fist with my chin. I was only 15 and he had about 100 pounds on me but I was not going to let him hurt that little girl. I was so angry I had no idea he had split my chin open, I just went back at him.
“I’m sure his drunken state helped, but I took a swing at him and connected with his jaw sending him stumbling backwards. He was standing at the top of the stairs. He lost his balance and took a fall down the stairs landing in a heap at the base. I didn’t care. I was praying that I had killed him as I picked up Emily and walked her down the stairs, over his inert body and out the front door. I walked the two miles to the police station carrying her all the way.
“They took us to the hospital and an x-ray found that Emily had some brain swelling due to the head trauma. She was in a coma. I got 22 stitches 10 inside and 12 outside, and as you said “A lovely souvenir”. Needless to say they removed the four of us from the house immediately and put us in protective services until another home could be found.”
He stopped speaking and watched Reagan for her reactions. The memories bombarding him were tearing him apart inside but it also felt cathartic to share it with someone else.
“Did you kill him?” she whispered.
G shook his head, looking away, “No, although he did break his back in the fall. It was the least the bastard deserved.”
“What about Emily?” she asked softly.
G smiled a sad smile, “She eventually came out of the coma, but I had already been placed with another family. Somehow she managed to find me years later and she sent me a letter.”
He stopped and Reagan was unsure whether to ask any more questions or to simply let it go, and then he began to speak again.
“She was placed with a family in San Diego once she was cleared to leave the hospital. A doctor and his wife. They adopted her a year later. She thanked me for getting her out of that house and giving her another chance at life. She put in a picture of her parents and herself on her graduation from college. She looked so happy.”
Reagan knew words were superfluous, so she pulled him into her arms, and held on to him. He let her wrap her arms around him savoring the physical connection that had been so absent in his childhood. His physical scar may have healed long ago but tonight he was finally on his way to healing the emotional scars that he had hidden for so long.
Finally in control of his emotions he sat back and looked at her, “And you are the only person besides Emily who knows that story.”
“I don’t know what to say,” looking away from him Reagan hooked a strand of hair that had fallen into her face back behind her ear.
Her childhood until 15 had been idyllic with a mother and father who adored her. To hear of the horrors that he had to face as a child made her heart break for him. How had he managed to come through it and become the honorable man he was when he had that as a role model? How had he survived and gotten out when everything was stacked against him. But she knew just as he did that adversity was a double edged sword. One person may walk away from it having fought and escaped and another may succumb to it drowning in its viscous hold.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he touched her cheek bringing her eyes back to his.
“Thank you.”
He frowned, “For what?”
“For trusting me enough to tell me the truth.”
He smiled at her, “Someday we’ll both be there. But for now let’s just go to bed.”
Leaving the half-drunk mugs on the table Reagan wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest, as he led her into the bedroom. Sliding into bed Reagan wrapped herself in his arms and looked up at him from where her head was usually tucked under his chin. She laid the barest of kisses on his chin.
“I don’t know how, through all of that, you became who you are today G, but I do know that in spite of it all you are an honorable man. A very honorable man.”
He smiled and kissed her forehead before closing his eyes. It had felt good to unburden himself finally and he was glad it had been Reagan he had told the true story to.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
The next morning found G sitting in his chair, sipping a cup of coffee, and quietly contemplating the turn his life had taken since he had met Reagan. He wasn’t one to open up to anyone and yet she had managed to change that in the short time they had known each other.
“So Rae,” Deeks walked into the bullpen trailing sand in his wake, “Did you confirm which of our stories is the real one?”
Reagan stole a quick glance at G before she looked up at Deeks, “Yes,” she said simply.
Sam and Kensi who had been following Deeks in looked up at her with the same expectation she saw in Deeks’ eyes. Again she glanced over at G only to find him completely absorbed in whatever he was reading.
Looking up at the 3 pairs of expectant eyes she smiled, “None of them.”
At that comment G finally looked up sitting back in his chair and studying her seriously.
“But you know the real story right?” Deeks pressed again.
“That I do,” she was having fun with this.
“And?” Deeks asked.
With a smile Reagan looked down at the paperwork in front of her and began to write, “Zip lining in Costa Rica. Caught his chin on a branch in the canopy. Sixteen stitches.”
They three of them groaned knowing is was just another story, and dispersed to their respective places. Reagan stole a final glance at G only to find him once again with his head in the papers on his desk. And just before she looked away she saw a small smile lifting his cheek.
As Reagan looked around at each of them she realized that they each were dealing with demons, and understood for the first time that life leaves its mark on you. Each of them carried the scars of its passing, either physically or emotionally, for better or worse. It was how they viewed those scars and with what dignity they carried them that determined what their lives would be like.

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