This story will be uploaded slower than my other stories. I make no apologies for updating my story at a slower pace. Life happens and I cannot control it.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Title: Fractures

Rating: M

Story Premise: An earthquake creates a fracture in G's life, causing his life to unravel. Sam rides the aftershocks with his partner, trying to keep G's life from spiraling down into a deep despair.

Category: A science fiction/romance/hurt/comfort novel.

WARNINGS:

Slash: G/Sam

Darkfic: Story includes angst, violence, betrayal, hurt/comfort, mental, emotional, and physical trauma. Squick for childhood violence. Squick for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Whump: Major G Callen whump ahead.

DISCLAIMER: NCIS: Los Angeles and its characters are owned by CBS and the producers of it. I do not own anything, but if I did I would torture G Callen more and make him cry and suffer and have plenty of angst. I am grateful to CBS and the producers of NCIS: LA for their contribution to the world of entertainment.

My stories are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. This is a work intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by CBS and the producers of NCIS:LA. I gain no profit from the creation and publication of this story. I love to play in the sandbox with the characters and their lives. I especially love to torture G Callen. It is fun!

Reviews appreciated and welcomed.

Rope

Prologue

The tall, broad-shouldered man grabbed the blond haired boy's hand and brought him over to a secluded place in the marine supply store. "I told you never to call me by my real name in public," he said, chastising him.

The young boy cringed and his eyes drifted down to his well worn sneakers.

"Damn you, look me in the eye when I speak to you!" The man pushed the boy's chin upward from underneath. "What's my name, boy?"

He trembled. "Dad, sir, sorry," he said with a quaking timbre, his eyes wetting with tears.

"Better, much better, boy," he said. "Go purchase your rope."

"I did not do it." Tears threatened to spill over his long, blond eyelashes.

"Get the rope or get punished, now!" The man pointed to the back of the warehouse.

The boy turned toward his destination. The rope. He plodded down the long aisle, his head hung low and his shoulders slumped forward. Upon reaching the rope dispensing area of the store, he waited by the rope his Dad instructed him to buy. After a salesperson failed to show up, the young boy edged closer to a counter where a salesman was talking to another customer.

"Hey there son, what can I do for ya?"

"I need rope, sir," he said, pointing back toward the huge reels of rope and line.

"Polite lad, I'll be with you in a moment."

The boy turned back the way he came and positioned himself next to the rope reel his Dad had chosen.

A few minutes later, the salesman crossed the short distance between his checkout counter and the rope reels. "What can I do for ya, son?"

"I need this rope, sir, twice my height."

"Hm, twice your height?" The salesman grabbed the tape measure hanging next to the rope reels. "Now, why do ya need a rope this long, son?" He asked while measuring the young boy.

"Cause Dan—Dad said I do, sir," he said, faltering and stuttering on his Dad's real name. He blushed after his mistake and hoped the man he had to call his Dad was not nearby to overhear the blunder.

"It's a good idea to follow yer Dad's orders." The salesman rolled out the rope with a hand crank on the side of huge reel. Afterwards, he stretched the rope out on the floor and laid the tape measure next to it. He cut the rope to the desired length with a box-cutter.

When he saw the box cutter, the boy's eyes widened and he cringed. He squeezed his eyes shut as images flooded his mind with scary pictures of his Dad with a box-cutter. The boy wanted to run. He was frozen in place.

"Son, are you all right?" The salesman gently touched the boy's arm.

The young boy jerked backward. His eyes flashed open. He opened his mouth to scream. Nothing came out.

"I won't hurt ya, son," the salesman said, "here's yer rope." He handed the boy a crisp, white ticket too.

"Thank you, sir, sorry," the boy said, grasping the smooth, white, coiled rope with one hand and placing it over a shoulder and grabbed the ticket with the other hand.

"No problem," the salesman said, turning back toward his counter at the opposite end of the store.

The young boy hurried down the aisle knowing his Dad would be furious with his delay in getting the rope to him faster. Hurry, hurry, hurry. If you do not, get punished. His Dad was still in the spot where he had left him, hands on his hips. The boy stopped in front of him and dropped the rope into his hands.

The man flipped the boy around and grabbed the back of his neck. "March, young man, to the check out counter," he said, pinching and squeezing the skin on the back of his boy's neck. He clenched his teeth to control the rage boiling within him. "Not another word from your disgusting mouth, boy."

The young boy stood at the check out counter and trembled from head to foot. He watched his Dad pay for the rope and wondered what punishment the man would soon wield on him.

The man pushed the boy through the exit doors and toward their dirty, brown step van. "Get in!"

The blond haired boy jumped into the step van and plodded past the cab into the storage area. He turned to face his Dad.

"What the hell was that about?"

He trembled.

"You talked to someone."

"I had to ask him, I need the rope guy to help me, that's all I said."

"Liar!" The man threw the rope at the boy's feet. "I told you again and again never to speak to anyone."

"How can I get—"

The man flipped the boy around and grabbed his left forearm. "I'll teach you to never talk out of turn again." With a few swift movements, the man broke the largest bone in his boy's forearm. He released him.

The blond haired boy shrieked and fell to the wood covered floor, grabbing his forearm and writhing in pain.

Thanks for reading.