Author's Notes: Tag to "Purity", Episode 4x20. I can't just leave it like that.

I own very little and absolutely nothing related to NCIS:LA.

"The only antidote to mental suffering is physical pain." -Karl Marx

"Mr. Callen, I certainly hope you are heading to a hospital to get looked over."

"I don't think so, Hetty. I'm good."

"Mr. Callen." G stopped trying to fasten the closure on his bag and raised his eyes to his diminutive boss.

"I'm serious, there is nothing else they can do for me. The side effects of the cyanide will fade, I'll be fine." Hetty pursed her lips in displeasure.

"Then what is your plan?"

"Plan? Home. Bed," said Callen. "May not sound like much to you, but I think it's a great plan."

"And how are you getting home?" There was no way to miss the challenge.

"Driving is the wrong answer?"

"You driving certainly is." G looked around the bullpen and stilled when he saw Sam's jacket at his chair.

"Sam's still here?" asked G, softly.

"Indeed." There was something sad in Hetty's voice. G searched her face.

"The bag?"

"Of course. Without gloves."

"Shit. How long?" Henrietta Lange looked at Callen with meaning.

"Quite long enough."

NCISLANCISLANCISLANCISLANCISLANCISLANCISLANCISLANC ISLA

"Hey big guy," said G lightly, "you finished pounding that bag into submission yet?" Sam didn't answer, but G hadn't really expected one. He sighed as deeply as he could and leaned against the wall. His lungs ached, his hands still shook and he was exhausted. He could have got a cab or had another agent drive him home.

But he couldn't bring himself to leave while his partner was pulverizing his fists against that damn bag again. After Dom and then Mo, G had thought about taking it down, but then who knows what replacement punishment Sam would find for himself. It was either throwing countless punches at the heavy bag or running until he couldn't run anymore and then calling G, and Callen was in no shape to go get him tonight.

So this was what they had.

G knew that if he pressed, played the injured card, Sam would quit and take him home. But then he'd be back at it, either again tonight or again tomorrow or both. And possibly the next day and the next.

Callen didn't do much emoting. It just wasn't his way. And most days, Sam could be okay with that. But today had been bad, too close. And G knew that Sam cared too deeply for them to act like nothing had happened. There were bloody marks that his friend's fists were leaving all over the punching bag and G knew it was time to step in.

Callen slowly walked toward the bag, taking care not to get in the way or surprise Sam.

"Sam." Hanna never stopped his rhythm, never looked away from the red smeared duct tape, never acknowledged G. "Sam. Stop." Callen knew he was taking a risk, but he trusted the big fella not to hurt him. He reached out and grabbed Sam's arm. Sam pulled away smoothly, but finally looked at G.

"Come on, Sam," said Callen, his hands out, non-threatening. "Enough." Sam stood hunched, breathing hard. He looked haunted. And G couldn't bear it. "I'm okay."

"Sure," Hanna nearly whispered.

"Hey," said G, moving in closer. "none of this was your fault, you know that."

"Doesn't matter," muttered Sam. "You..." He broke off, shaking his head roughly.

"I," continued Callen, "am fine. Stop punishing yourself. You did exactly what I trust you to do, every single day. You came and you found me and got me out of there." G put his hands on Sam's arms, feeling the exhausted muscles twitch and shake. "You always find me. I'm fine. We're fine." Sam let out a breath, like he hadn't exhaled in hours and closed his eyes. He was still stooped, but now he just looked tired instead of crushed. G took advantage of the easy reach and gently slapped Sam's cheek. When the dark eyes opened, Callen had a smirk in place. "Can we go home now?" Sam smiled, ever so slightly.

"Yeah, G. Let's go home."