Summary: "Kensi." Sam's smile was lazy and lopsided, like it was a typical morning. Like he was sitting across the desks from her in the bullpen, not bleeding out in a glorified sewer. "Humor me."
Author's Notes: For all love, this one felt like it took forever. I get inspired by specific scenes. I write those scenes. And then I have to write all the stuff that goes around it, which felt like pulling teeth this time. I think that is why I don't write very many long fics!
I own very little and absolutely nothing related to NCIS:LA.
"To love at all is to be vulnerable."
―C.S. Lewis
The clang as Sam fell into a pile of pipes and cast-off metal was deafening in the enclosed space of the utility tunnel. Kensi fired off a shot, but the mercenaries ducked around a corner. Dammit. More running down tunnels.
"Sam? You okay?" Kensi froze. There were six inches of rebar sticking out of Sam's abdomen, blood already soaking his shirt. "Sam!" She ripped off her plaid shirt and dropped to her knees at his side. She carefully pressed it against the hole around the metal. Sam groaned, his fingers scrabbling at the floor that he lay on. "Breathe, Sam, just keep breathing," she ordered.
"Deeks! Callen!" Kensi called out, praying comms hadn't cut out at some point in these tunnels.
"Kens? What happened?" She nearly wept at the sound of her partner's voice in her ear.
"Sam's down, we need paramedics and evac." She hunched, trying to see how trapped Sam was, how big the steel piercing his back was. "He's pinned, they may need equipment, rebar or a hydraulic bolt cutter." She sat back up, taking in Sam's ashen face. "Eric!?"
"They're on their way," answered the tech. "But someone is going to need to meet them topside, I can't get a good read on your location."
"We're just off of the main junction."
"I'm on it," responded Deeks.
"Callen?" asked Kensi. There was no answer.
"G?" "Sam's voice was surprisingly steady, considering, as he called out for his partner.
"He took a lower tunnel," said Deeks. "He must be out of range."
"I'm sure he's fine," reassured Kensi.
"You gotta go. Find him."
"Shut up, I'm not going anywhere."
"Kensi..."
"I'm not doing anything, but staying here with you until someone comes to cut you out of the mess you made. So, stop asking." Sam was quiet, but his hand closed gently over hers.
"Have I ever told you...about how much I love my wife?" asked Sam after a few minutes.
"Stop. You stop right there, don't think for a second I don't see what you're doing. You are not going to tell me anything, because this is not deathbed confession time, okay? You will be fine, we are going to get out of here, and I won't let Deeks tease you for getting all emotional on me."
"Kensi." Sam's smile was lazy and lopsided, like it was a typical morning. Like he was sitting across the desks from her in the bullpen, not bleeding out in a glorified sewer. "Humor me." Kensi sighed and readjusted her grip on the shirt she had pressed to Sam's belly.
"No, Sam, you've never really told me much about Michelle."
"I know. I should have. She's smart and funny and beautiful. But the part I never would have survived without? How I could come home after I had finished hard ops, pretended to be someone I'm not, done things I never wanted to, made decisions that haunted me...and she understood. She'd been there, had to do the same sorts of things. She understands our life, the kinds of things we have to do sometimes..." Sam broke off, grimacing.
"Keep breathing, Sam," soothed Kensi. "I know it sucks, but stay with me." His big hands squeezed painfully around hers, sticky with blood. He shouldn't be bleeding this much, should he? "Stay with me."
It felt like hours, but it was probably only moments, Sam's breathing eased a bit and his grip no longer threatened to break the bones in her wrists.
"Michelle understands," Sam continued haltingly, like he'd never stopped. "There is something to be said...for being with another agent." Kensi stared at him, a little slack-jawed.
"Are you...are you trying to give me relationship advice?!" She shook her head. "I can't believe you. Look where we are! And you want to talk about my love life?"
"Seemed like a good a time as any. May not get another chance."
"Don't say that."
"I just mean, you can't avoid this conversation," responded Sam, a teasing smile ghosting over his face. "You're the one who refused to leave."
"Who's avoiding anything? I'm not, I do not avoid." Sam's laugh turned to a cough, and the big man tried to curl away from the pain. "Shhh, shhh, I'm sorry, no jokes, I swear," murmured Kensi.
"Jokes...are good," gasped Sam. "Laughing is good. Just...maybe not...right now..." He laid back, chest heaving. Kensi tried not to think about how labored his breath sounded, how tired he looked. How much blood was soaking her shirt? How much was she kneeling in? The rebar must have hit an artery, maybe his liver. The situation was getting critical, she knew that. Sam didn't have a lot of time.
"Where are they?" wondered Kensi out loud.
"You think...Deeks got them lost?"
"Entirely possible." Kensi looked down the tunnel. Every sound carried, playing tricks. She listened, water dripping, some distant engine rumbling, but no sign of her teammates.
"Tell G I'm sorry."
Her head snapped back down, drawn by his soft voice. His eyes were drooping, his words coming slower and slower. She didn't want this. She didn't want to be the keeper of his messages. But if it kept Sam talking, kept him awake...
"What for?" asked Kensi, forcing a smile. "What could you possibly have to be sorry about, you're always going on about being the good partner."
"I couldn't find his father."
"I didn't know you were looking."
"Make a few inquiries...contacted some friend in Russia...not much...maybe if I had more time..."
"Hey," she scolded. "You have more time. Stop that."
"Tell him I'm sorry..." his voiced trailed off.
"Sam? Hey, Sam, open your eyes." Kensi reached up with one hand, slapping his face gently and then harder, her voice rising. "Agent Hanna, I will not tell him a thing, you hear me? I will not tell him anything if you do not open your eyes this instant and tell me why. Why are you sorry?"
Sam's dark eyes opened again, searching and unfocused, but they slowly settled on her.
"There you are," said Kensi, her voice softening. "You were telling me you're sorry for something." He smiled again, barely there and so sad.
"M'sorry...I didn't mean to leave him." Sam's eyes slid closed again, his hands sliding from hers.
"No." It came out a sob, a denial, a prayer. She couldn't lose another teammate. Not like this, not on her watch, like Dom. Not again. "Sam." She ran a hand over his head. "Don't do this!" She pressed her unsteady fingers to the cool skin at his neck, finding Sam's too fast pulse. Not dead, but dying. And she was powerless to help him. "SAM!" Her scream reverberated around her, twisting and changing, traveling down the tunnel.
"Kensi!"
She almost missed it, nearly lost in the echoes. It wasn't just in her ear, it was in the air.
"Deeks! Over here!" Kensi realized she sounded out of control, more panicked than she could ever remember. It wasn't just Sam slipping away, it was their team.
If they lost Sam, they'd lose Callen.
It was like instinct, something no one had ever said or even implied, but she knew it. Roots gone, he'd be in the wind.
She couldn't let that happen.
Finally, her partner's blonde head appeared around a corner.
"Deeks! I need help!"
"They're right behind me," said Deeks, running to her side. "Oh God, Sam."
"He's lost too much blood.
"Okay, okay, help is almost here, you did everything right," mollified Deeks, as the small space was suddenly filled with shouts and footsteps, paramedics moving her aside. The firefighters cut through the rebar like butter and the paramedics were securing Sam to a board, muttering about blood pressure and shock and IVs and all Kensi realized she was wringing her hands, tight and tacky with blood.
"Where's Callen?"
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Callen knew something was wrong. Either his earwig was on the fritz or he was simply too far underground to get a signal, but that wasn't it. Yes, he relied on the voices of his team to see all angles of a operation, to get real time information from Ops, and to have nothing but reverberating tunnels and dripping water was disconcerting.
It was more than the silence of a dead comm in his ear. He felt it like a stone in his gut. Something was wrong with his team. He knew it.
Screw this. There was no sign anyone had come down this far, and the lack of contact with the others was making him itchy.
He knew the second he got back into range, the quiet was replaced with medical jargon, tense voices, none of them familiar.
"Sam, Kensi, Deeks, somebody talk to me."
"Callen! We're on the street, meet us up here," answered Deeks.
"What's going on?" asked Callen, moving up the stairs to street-level, the strange voices still talking in low tones. "Who is that?"
"The earwig," murmured Kensi and suddenly the chatter cut off, just as Callen came out the door into the alley where they'd left their cars. Firetrucks, police cars, and an ambulance filled the space. When Kensi turned toward him, that feeling that something had gone terribly wrong, like a stone in his stomach, dropped to his feet.
She didn't look hurt, but was coated in blood. Her arms were bare and her hands, wrists, forearms...her tank top, the bottom half of her jeans were nearly black with it. He processed it all in seconds and then looked around, realizing who he wasn't seeing, whose low voice wasn't rumbling in his ear.
"Where's Sam?" As if to answer him, the ambulance roared out of the alley.
"There was a fight, in the tunnels," said Kensi, holding her stained hands out, as if she was trying to calm him down. Wasn't he already calm? "Sam was pushed into some rubble, he got stuck with some rebar. They had to cut him loose and they're on the way to the hospital."
"How bad?"
"We don't really know," interrupted Deeks, moving between him and Kensi.
"Kensi," continued Callen, "is this his?" gesturing at the blood. Why were they looking at him like a bomb about to go off? He wasn't even yelling. He felt cold. "How bad?"
"Really bad," answered Kensi, her voice barely a whisper. She looked afraid.
He turned and walked to the Challenger, pulled out his copy of the key.
"Eric, which hospital?"
"California Medical," was the immediate reply in his ear.
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When they found Callen at the hospital, Kensi just looked at her friend for a moment. He was chewing on this thumbnail, his jaw tight, lines surrounding his eyes were deep and drawn by pain.
"I'm sure there is absolutely nothing to find out," said Deeks, "but I am going to go find that nothing out anyway." He ghosted a hand down her arm and then turned to the nurses' station. Kensi took a deep breath and walked over to Callen and sat next to him.
"Tell me what happened."
"We were attacked," stated Kensi without hesitation. Callen needed this, needed the picture, no matter how little she wanted to paint it. "Three men. Sam was thrown back, into a pile of scrap metal. I fired on them, but they rounded the corner. When I checked on Sam, he was...impaled on some rebar. Eric and Deeks got us help as soon as they could, but he lost a lot of blood." Kensi forced herself not to look at the blood still around her fingernails.
"Did LAPD pick up the suspects?"
"Yeah. Yeah, they caught up with them a few blocks away." They sat in silence.
"I was too far," said Callen, startling Kensi from her thoughts. "I was too far down. I didn't have any comm reception."
"We figured that was probably..."
"You know what I heard when I got close enough?" continued Callen, as if Kensi hadn't spoken. "Strangers. Voices I didn't recognize, talking about stuff I didn't understand. It didn't occur to me what it was until later. Sam's earwig. I was hearing the paramedics over his comm until Eric cut it. I could have heard my partner die over a damned radio."
"Callen..."
"I should have been there. I should have been with you. I didn't even know."
"Callen...I...," tried Kensi. She hadn't wanted this job, this responsibility. She wasn't sure this was the right time, but she couldn't wait to be rid of it. Sam's words for Callen were a physical weight, making it impossible for her to breathe. "Sam...he wanted me to tell you something."
"No."
"Please..."
"I said no!" yelled Callen, exploding up from the chair. He stood there, fists clenched, for a moment before he turned to look at her. His face was stone. "I do not want to hear it," he said very, very quietly. "Whatever it is Sam needs me to know, he will tell me himself."
Kensi blinked away threatening tears and swallowed hard, nodding. Callen walked away.
He didn't look back.
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"When will you contact Mrs. Hanna?"
Callen wasn't at all surprised by the voice behind him. He'd expected it eventually. He wasn't even surprised she found him on the roof.
"When I have something to tell her."
Hetty appeared at his elbow and looked out at the sun setting over the city.
"So no news, yet."
"You know there isn't."
"You should have been there." Callen flinched. "You should have know what would happen, you should have taken care of your partner as there is no way he could have possibly taken care of himself..."
"Stop."
"Yes, I believe it is time to stop laying blame where is does not belong." Callen finally looked down at his diminutive boss. Her voice softened. "You help no one by drowning yourself in regret, Mr. Callen."
"He has to...I need him to..." Callen broke off, words inadequate. "I need him."
"Give Mr. Hanna some credit, Mr. Callen. He is strong and stubborn. He has put up with you this long, has he not?"
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Callen watched Sam's fluttering eye lids. He was waking up again. Sam had woken up a couple of times in the last two days, but never for very long and never with much awareness. They'd taken him off the vent, and now it was just waiting. Surgery had gone fine, no permanent damage. The main enemy now was infection. Dirty metal plus abdominal wounds made quite the mess.
Sam's dark eyes opened and slowly focused on G. And it was finally his partner actually looking at him.
"Hey Sam."
"G." Sam took in the room, the machines, and probably his bedraggled appearance. "How long?"
"Two days."
"You look like hell." Callen looked at his partner and wanted to smile. Wanted to play along, to pretend that it was all okay now. Sam was awake, looking at him, warm, alive. Instead, he fought the urge to run. "Okay," murmured Sam, "give me the rundown."
"The rebar caught a couple of arteries. They're still worried about infection, your fever's a little high." Sam hummed his acknowledgment, turning it over.
"Everybody else okay?"
"Yes."
"You okay?"
"Sure. I wasn't even there. Didn't even know something was wrong until I got topside and you were already gone." He didn't mean to say all that. He didn't meant to sound so angry.
"G..."
"Michelle was here most of the last two days. I sent her home, but she'll be back tomorrow." Sam sighed.
"I held off as long as I could."
"I know, G," said Sam slowly, fighting sleep again. "It's alright. How long am I in for?"
"At least another four or five days. Abdominal trauma and infection aren't something they're gonna let you walk off." Sam huffed a soft laugh, eyes heavy.
"Go to sleep." Sam blinked a few times, but his brow furrowed.
"G? You okay?" He wasn't. Not by a long shot.
When nothing means anything, when each bed is temporary and every team is a one-time operation and all the countries are just basically airports, it's easy to lose and it's easy to leave.
Callen had never wanted permanence, but it had rooted him anyway. He'd never wanted attachment, and yet, he was tied. The desire to flee this thing that had the power to hurt him like this was strong. The fear of losing his friend was both the reason to leave and the reason why he couldn't.
He asked Callen if he was okay. Feverish, medicated and Sam asked if he was okay.
"Rest, big guy," said G, reaching out to squeeze Sam's hand. "I'm here, you're here. We'll both be fine."