A major G whump chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. I enjoyed writing it. Same comes to the rescue.

Title: Rogue Agents

Rating: M

Slash Warning: G/Sam

Story Details and Full Disclaimer on prologue page: 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.

Reviews appreciated and welcomed.

Delaminated Glass

Chapter 1

The Mercedes twisted in a figure eight in midair three times and flipped back over front once before coming to rest on all four wheels. With his quick reflexes honed through many years as an undercover agent, G covered his head and face with both arms. The car's forward momentum launched him through the windshield. He landed on the hood face down. G shrieked.

During the first several minutes after the accident, he attempted to perform several physical assessments on his own injuries. Instead, he slipped in and out of consciousness. In one of his more lucid moments, G was aware of two hands palpating his body from head to toe to determine the extent of his injuries. He yelped once and flinched, pulling away from the pain which rippled through his body as if they were aftershocks from an earthquake. Two strong arms lifted him off the hood of the Mercedes. G moaned when the person set him down in the reclined front seat of a car. He stifled a whimper and grimaced every time the car turned a corner or made a sudden move to the left or right. "Stop doing that." He mumbled in his semiconscious state. "Hurts." When the car stopped, the same two strong arms lifted him off the seat and into the person's arms. The baby fresh scent of the person was familiar. It taxed his body and brain too much to remember the person's name.

Minutes later, the person laid him face down on a soft surface with blankets and sheets and a pillow.

G slipped in and out of consciousness. In one of his more awake states, he noticed cool air surrounding his body before sliding back into a semi-conscious state. In another clearheaded moment, he realized the reason for the cool air. Damn it, I'm naked. He shivered and tugged at the blankets on the bed, trying to cover his naked, prone body. He shuddered hard, grasping the blankets again and yanking on them without success. Soft, strong hands caressed and stroked and prodded every inch of his nude body. G moaned and writhed and panted from the different sensations flooding him. His mind settled on one problem. "Freezing." He shivered hard.

"I'll take care of that in a minute."

He raised and turned his head to scan the room. Nothing looked familiar. The voice was familiar. G remembered back to the baby fresh scent. He moaned and grasped the blankets again. This time, he shuddered as ripples of nausea coupled with sharp tinges of pain washed over him. "Sam."

"Yeah." He stepped into G's view for a few moments carrying a red, fishing tackle box in his left hand and laying it on the opposite side of the bed.

"Where…" It took too much strength to talk. G laid his head on the pillow.

"My house," he said. "Be right back."

In the distance, G recognized water pouring into a vessel. At least he hoped it was not a deluge of rain inside Sam's house. He raised his head again and groaned when it pounded. After lying flat again, he sighed and waited for his partner's return.

"Okay, it's ready." Sam lifted G into his arms and brought him into his spacious, black and white tiled bathroom off the master bedroom. He positioned his partner in an oversized soaking tub.

When the warm water hit the abrasions and wounds on his body, G recoiled into himself. "What the hell are you doing to me?" That single string of words wiped out any gain of strength from his rest on the bed. G collapsed against the tub's side and panted.

"I'll warn you now, this is gonna hurt like hell." Sam poured an astringent into the warm water near his partner's back.

G's eyes flew open. He shot forward trying to escape the new substance's agony. "Crap!"

"I think that brought you to a fully alert state." Sam eased his partner back against the tub's side. "Let the stuff work, man, it will aid in healing." He poured another capful into the water.

He shot forward again. "What the hell are you trying to do to me, man?"

"Help you after you did something really stupid."

Here it comes. I know I deserve this after chasing a suspect on my own.

"It's witch hazel."

"I hate that stuff."

"Whatever, man." Sam poured a third capful into the water.

"Crap!" G jerked away from the solution as it came in contact with his injured and lacerated body. "You do that again—"

"And you'll chase me down and lose control of your vehicle?"

"Just stop," he said, breathless from the stinging pain.

"Slide down in the water and float on your back."

G shot him a look. "I'm not crazy."

"Want me to make you do it?"

"You wouldn't."

"Wait and find out." Sam removed his long sleeve, chocolate brown t-shirt and started to unbuckle the belt on his jeans.

"Okay, you made your point." He slid into the water and stifled a scream, sucking on his lower lip. "How long?"

"Until I say." He smirked watching his partner hold back a scream. "Why don't you let it go, man, no one here but us big boys?" G gritted his teeth and stared at the black tiled ceiling above his head. "Don't want to give me the satisfaction?" Sam opened the bottle of witch hazel and filled another capful emptying it into the tub.

G sucked on his lower lip. "How much more of this torture?"

"At least three more minutes and then starts round two."

"What?" G sat up. "I'm not subjecting myself to one more—"

"You will if you don't want to see the inside of a hospital and hear Hetty's wrath about the Mercedes." G laid back in the water. "Surprisingly, the Mercedes isn't a total loss. It needs new windows all around. Were you wearing your seatbelt?" G shot him a look. "Didn't think so, man. I found you sprawled out on the hood face down. No doubt traffic cams captured the entire sequence of events as your vehicle lost control on the flooded and oily asphalt."

"Great, just wonderful and Hetty?"

"Oh yeah, she called here while you laid on the bed stark ass naked," Sam said. "I deflected her questions telling her I had no idea where you were."

"Thanks, Sam."

"Thanks? Is that all you have to say?"

"Okay, just berate me already."

"Wait for it and I'll give it to you sooner or later."

"What?"

Sam poured two more capfuls of witch hazel into the water.

G winced and pulled away from the wicked, stinging liquid. "Damn it, that hurts!"

"What was it this time, G, couldn't wait until I got there?" Sam asked, grabbing several beach towels and one bath towel from the linen closet in the bathroom. "Afraid the suspect would get away? When you called me I was less than three minutes away from your stakeout."

"I thought he was moving."

"Moving to the moon where our tracking devices won't work?"

"Very funny."

"Not funny." He sighed. "You're catapulted through the windshield as if shot out of a gigantic slingshot and sprawled out on the hood of your Mercedes. You needed to follow a suspect which we have tracked in every possible way? What the hell is wrong with this picture?"

"Sorry."

"Sorry? Damn it, G, Hetty's gonna rip you a new one for sure on this ops," Sam said. "You think she'll take 'sorry' for an answer? No, she'll demand a detailed explanation for your stupidity."

"Would you stop, for once, would you stop?"

"Why?"

"I've got a pounding headache."

"Concussion."

"Great."

"Okay, Mr. Sprawled Out on the Hood, time for round two—debridement." Sam helped G out of the tub and toweled him off. At the same time, they turned their heads and stared into the bright red, tinged water in the white, porcelain bathtub. Sam wrapped an arm around G's shoulders and guided him into the bedroom. He placed one wine toned, beach towel on the bed. "On the bed face down on the towel."

"Why?"

"Don't fight it, G, do as I say." Sam helped him onto the king-sized bed. G sucked on his lower lip, close to biting it. "Let it go, man, no one else is here." He covered his partner's buttocks with a bath towel. Sam tucked another towel under G's legs. "Time for round two."

"What now?"

"Drink the liquid in the glass on the nightstand."

"What is it?" He asked.

"I'm not gonna tell you until it's all gone." Sam watched his partner swallow the last drop.

"Tasted like rum and coke."

"It was."

"I thought you weren't supposed to give alcohol to someone with a concussion."

"You're not, but I needed to give you a painkiller and something to relax you," he said. "That was before I knew you had a concussion." Sam settled on the opposite side of the bed and opened the king-sized, red, fishing tackle box that was about the size of a small ice chest.

G raised his head and watched his partner remove a shallow stainless steel pan, tweezers, alcohol pads, betadine solution, packaged syringes with separate needles, gloves, and a huge pile of sterile 4 X 4 pads from the fishing tackle box and lay them on a clear, plastic sheet. "What are you gonna do with that stuff?"

"Remove the glass embedded in your back and legs."

"No way in hell!"

"Then I'll take you to the hospital."

"No way in hell!"

"You can't have it both ways, man, one or the other."

"Is it gonna hurt?"

"Yeah, that's why I gave you the rum and coke."

"How much rum was in that drink?" G asked. "My head is swimming." He found it difficult to string his words together.

"Three shots."

His eyes widened. "Three!"

"Yeah, and I can tell it's starting to work because you're slurring your speech," Sam said. "If you want I can give you a painkiller."

"What kind of painkiller?"

"Don't get all techno on me."

"You know I hate needles," G said.

"What do you think this is a hospital where they give you injections?"

"Okay, that was stupid of me, of course you wouldn't have a shot." He laid his head back down on the pillow.

"As a matter of fact, I do have a shot." Sam smirked.

G raised his head. "What?" His jaw dropped. "You just said—"

"I never said I didn't have a shot."

"Damn it."

Sam removed a vial from the fishing tackle box laying them on the plastic sheet. "If you want a strong painkiller this is it."

"No thanks."

"Okay, time to get that glass out of your back." Sam moved closer to G's side, donned a pair of gloves, grabbed the tweezers, and the betadine solution. "Ready?"

"On three?"

"What part of the sequence?"

"What?" G asked.

"On one or two or three?"

"Just like on an ops, on three."

"Okay, one, two—" He grabbed a sliver of glass with his tweezers and pulled it out, tossing it into the pan.

G flinched and pulled away from Sam. "Crap! Damn you, you said on three."

"I lied." Sam snickered.

"You may think this is funny—"

"It's the only way to get all this glass out of you," he said. "I don't think it's funny." He ripped open a sterile pad, poured the betadine solution on it, and swabbed the wound.

G winced. "Crap!" And he thought the witch hazel solution stung bad.

"Sorry, man, I need to clean the wound afterward," Sam said. "You don't want an infection."

"You touch me again with that crap and I'll—" A needle pierced one of his right butt cheek. G shrieked and shuddered. "What the hell was that for? You know I hate needles!"

"I injected the painkiller into your smart-ass."

"Bastard!"

"That I am," Sam chuckled. "Maybe the painkiller will help the procedure go faster."

"What the hell was that stuff?"

"Dilaudid."

"What if I'm sensitive to it?" G asked. "And you gave me alcohol? Alcohol and drugs don't mix well—"

"Quit your belly aching and be thankful," Sam said.

"Is this punishment for acting on my own?"

"Nope." He grabbed the tweezers again. "Ready?"

"Hell no!"

"On three."

"Wait, what part of three?"

"I'm not telling you because you'll tighten your body and I need it relaxed," Sam said. "One, two, three, four—"

G screamed and jerked away from Sam. "Damn you, that's wasn't anywhere near three!"

"Yep." Sam sniggered.

"You're evil."

"No, trying to make this easier on you." He tossed the glass shard into the pan. "Part two." He prepared another sterile pad and swiped it across the wound.

G yelled and writhed. "You gave me no warning."

"Yep, best way," Sam said. "That painkiller ought to be working soon. Afterward, I can finish off this without you screaming and writhing all over the bed. Although, the deep breathing caused by the screams is probably good for you."

"I'll kill you, man." He stumbled over his words.

"Fat chance, G, your speech is sounding as if you are drunk and drugged." With the tweezers, he pulled several more shards of glass out of his partner's back, tossed them in the pan, and cleansed the wounds. "Yeah, now I can get more work done and faster."

"Wake me up when my head stops spinning." G closed his eyes.

"That's it, Mr. Sprawled Out on the Hood, stop resisting the painkiller and go to sleep." Sam snickered.

"Now, I'm Mr. Sprawled Out on the Bed Feeling Drunk and Drugged." He cracked a wry smile. The painkiller and alcohol relaxed G's exhausted and injured body.

# # #

Sam allowed G to sleep until he awakened on his own. During that time, he contacted Kensi and Deeks filling them in on the case. Of course, Hetty required an update on G's whereabouts. As much as he wanted to hide his partner's location, Sam could no longer do that. His partner's moans and groans alerted him that he had awakened and was probably in excruciating pain.

"Sam!"

"Coming, man, give me a minute." He strode into the master bedroom and up to the bedside. "What's up?"

"Was that supposed to be funny?"

"Come on, G, what do you need?"

"More rum."

"No more rum, it's Dilaudid or nothing." Sam sat on the opposite side of the bed and drew up a dose of the painkiller. "This time I'll give you a full dose."

"How long did I sleep?"

"At least six hours." He set the syringe aside. "Time for part three."

"Part three?"

Sam grabbed a mirror and held it at an angle. "Take a look at your thighs."

G gasped. "What the?" His jaw dropped. "Wasn't the windshield laminated glass?" Large particles of glass were embedded in his thighs.

"Supposed to be, but laminated glass wouldn't fracture into sharp shards." Sam sighed. "I wondered the same thing. Got Kensi and Deeks looking into it."

"What did they find?"

"They haven't checked back in with me," he said. "They won't until they have all the information about the windshield and the rear window."

"Okay, what aren't you telling me?"

"All the windows in your car were shattered." Sam placed the mirror on the plastic sheet. "This was unusual for laminated glass. Ready for the shot?"

"Hell no!" G started to turn over onto his back.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

He continued to roll over and stopped short. G shrieked, pain searing through his back and legs. "Damn it!"

"I told you not to move." Sam grabbed his partner's ankles and held them together with one hand while lifting off the blankets and injecting G's left butt cheek with the medication filled syringe.

"Bastard! I'll kill you, man!" He yelled and pounded the pillow with his clenched fists. "You know I hate needles."

"Yeah, and there's no other way to do this." He prepared another syringe with a long, thin needle and laid it on the plastic sheet.

G's eyes widened. "You're not gonna stick that into me too."

"Unless you want to feel the world's worst pain, yes."

"Where?"

"Into the skin around the biggest shard of glass, which is embedded sideways under your skin."

"You can't be serious."

"Yep, first I'll let the painkiller dope you up some more before I begin your torture."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Torture?"

"I'm not gonna lie to you, G, you'll feel me remove this shard no matter how much you're doped up." G watched Sam pick up the syringe. "Ready?"

"Wait, no counting?"

"With as many stabs as I'm gonna give you, counting would be ludicrous."

"Come on man, humor me."

"One—" He jabbed the needle into his partner's skin injecting a small amount of lidocaine.

He flinched. "Damn it, you didn't even get to two!"

"Two—" He jabbed it again just under the skin.

G grabbed the blankets in his clenched fists. "How many—"

"Three—" After four more jabs into the skin surrounding the sizable glass shard, he capped the needle and set the syringe on the plastic sheet. "All finished."

"Better be because one more time and I would've kicked you." He relaxed his fists as the Dilaudid took the edge off the pain.

"Now comes the fun."

"You said torture, man, not fun." He watched Sam pick up another syringe. "What the hell are you doing with that?"

"Testing your skin for numbness." He stabbed the first area he had injected with the lidocaine. "Feel that?"

"No." G raised his head and glanced over his shoulder. "You're sticking that needle into my skin?"

"Yeah, the lidocaine has worked."

"Okay, the truth Sam, where did you rip off this stuff?"

"I had an injury and I know how to inject myself."

"Must've been a serious injury." G laid his head down on the pillow.

"It was." Sam tested the area he last injected. G didn't even flinch. "Ready for part three?"

"Wait, what is this gonna feel like?"

"A lot of pressure," he said. "As if I'm ripping the muscles out of your thigh."

G's eyes widened. "What?" He glanced over his shoulder again.

"What can I say, it won't be pleasant." Sam picked up a pair of pliers.

"Pliers?" His jaw dropped.

"The only tool which can grip that glass shard and prevent it from shattering in your leg."

"Is it sterile?"

"Yeah, what do you think I'm trying to do to you?" He smirked. Sam applied the pliers's teeth to the sharp, glass shard and yanked it sideways. G clenched the blankets in his fists and gritted his teeth. "Okay, man?" G shook his head. "I'll ease off for a few seconds and give you a breather." He waited a few moments and then applied pressure to the keen shard again and yanked it.

"You gotta stop, man, I can't…" G said breathless. "I'm close to passing out."

"Then pass out, man, don't worry about it."

"You're saying I'm a wuss?"

"Come on, G, I'm ripping a huge glass shard out of your thigh," he said. "You're not a wuss." He wrenched on the glass shard again.

"Crap!"

"That's it, yell all you want." Sam yanked on it again. "A couple of more inches."

His jaw dropped again. "Inches?"

"Yeah, about two inches." He tugged on it and it came more than halfway out. "Almost out, man, hold on." Sam pulled one more time and the shard was free. He tossed it in the metal pan.

G turned his head and glanced into the pan. His eyes widened. "That's almost the size of your fist!"

"You did good, man, only two more."

"What? No way you're injecting that crap into my leg again—"

"Cold turkey it is." Sam rubbed the pliers with a betadine solution soaked sterile pad.

"Will it hurt?"

"You're damned right." He applied the pliers to the glass shard. "Ready?"

"Wait. No," he said. "Numb it."

"You sure?"

"Don't make me ask again, Sam, do it already."

He grabbed the syringe off the plastic sheet, removed the cap to expose the needle, and proceeded to inject the area surrounding the two remaining smaller shards of glass. After waiting two minutes, he tested the areas as before making sure they were numb. He pulled out the two glass shards in about half the time as the first huge one. "Finished with your thighs." He soaked down several sterile pads and swiped them over the wounds. "A lot of blood."

"I'll go to the hospital if that's what you want," G said.

"Now you're offering to go?"

"I feel like crap."

"Put your head down and let me take care of this, man." After swabbing down his partner's thighs with the betadine solution, Sam removed a suture kit and another syringe from the fishing tackle box. "I need you to lie as still as possible. I'm setting up a sterile field."

"Wait, you said you were finished." He stared at the new syringe.

"True and there's an issue with your left thigh."

"Issue?" G asked. "Is that your subtle hint you're about to do something even more painful to my thigh?"

"The not so subtle hint, man." After he filled the first syringe with lidocaine, he took another syringe, removed the needle, plunged the syringe into the betadine solution and drew up enough to fill it. "If you thought this stuff hurt before—"

"Damn it, what are you gonna do with that?"

He didn't stop to answer his partner. Instead, he injected the betadine solution into the cavity left by the fist-sized glass shard, flushing out any debris left behind.

G writhed and clenched the blanket, his lower lip and chin trembling. "Bastard!"

"That's only your opinion so I'll allow it."

"My opinion?" He panted. "That hurts like hell." He turned his head sideways trying to watch what his partner was doing to his leg. "What are you gonna do next?"

"Sew you up."

G's jaw slacked open. "What the hell? Do you even know what you're doing?"

"Yep." Sam blotted the wound with several sterile pads to wipe away the excess betadine solution. "Here goes the—"

"The what? What the hell are you gonna do to me?"

"I told you, sew you up." He injected his partner's thigh with the lidocaine. When the needle pierced his skin, G yelped and flinched. "Take it easy, man, almost finished."

"Yeah, finished with torturing me."

"For the record, I told you this would be torture." He capped the needle and tossed the syringe on the plastic sheet.

"Yeah, but—" G shrieked. "What the hell—stop, man, stop doing that…"

"Testing for numbness on your thigh," Sam said. "Not quite numb, but it will be soon." He removed his gloves and put on a new pair. Afterward he threaded a needle with suture.

"You're seriously doing this?" He asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"Yep, it's either this or you enter the hospital or a 24 hour clinic," he said. "The clinic will probably admit you to a hospital."

"Damn it, Sam, this isn't first hand knowledge for most people."

"Yep, I sewed up one of my teammate's arms in the field."

"As a Navy SEAL?"

"Yep."

When the suture needle pierced his thigh, he gasped and flinched. "With what?"

"Plant material."

"Plant?" G asked, breathless from the pressure the suture needle created when it pierced through his skin twice.

"Hemp or something similar." Sam stitched G's left thigh. "Whatever I could get my hands on where we were in the jungle."

"Is that going to leave an ugly scar?"

"You want it to, man?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means if you keep doubting my ability to stitch up your thigh, I'll accidentally on purpose skip a couple of stitches and—"

"Okay, don't murder my thigh," G said.

"Don't need to, man, you beat me to it." Sam chuckled and stitched G's thigh. "That's looking nice and smooth with small stitches."

"You mean torturous, small stitches."

"If you're feeling pain let me know."

G gritted his teeth. "Yeah, stop suturing now," he said, panting. "Damn it."

Sam grabbed the lidocaine filled syringe and injected more numbing solution into his partner's thigh.

"I don't know what hurts more the syringe or the suture needle," G said, wincing. "I hate needles!"

"Yeah, I get it, you hate anything which aids in healing your body." He grabbed the suture needle again and stitched his partner's thigh. "Feeling that?"

"Pressure only."

"Good, that's to be expected." Sam finished the last couple of stitches and tied off the last suture. Afterward he pulled a plastic sheet and towel out from under G's thighs. He replaced them with a new plastic sheet and towel. Next, he bandaged his partner's left thigh where the huge glass shard had been embedded in his leg, wrapping a stretchy gauze around the whole thigh. Last, he bandaged the right thigh covering both wounds at once. "You shouldn't need the hospital if you don't want to go there. I'll still need to work on your calves."

"Glass in there too?"

"Nope, abrasions, your back and thighs received the brunt of the injuries." Sam opened more sterile pads and soaked them down with the solution. Afterward he rubbed the pads into his partner's calves. "Now you look as if you've tanned yourself for days."

"In orange, Sam?" He asked, grimacing as the betadine solution seeped into the deeper cuts on his calves.

"Gives you a nice warm glow." The corners of his mouth turned upward. "And it will most likely be the most sun you'll see for the better side of seven days."

Thanks for reading my story.