AN: I would like to thank JayKayKay & cjanff for following and adding this story to their favorites :) I would also like to thank Gina Callen, jonesdeere88, maanou and Originals101 for following. And a special thank-you to Originals101 for your wonderful review :)
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Callen sat bored, feet up on his desk, watching the clock on the far side of the room tick the minutes away. It had been a relatively uneventful day. The case involving the murder of a young female petty officer had come to an end. Her CO, U.S. Navy commander Alan McClellan, was now making his way to CSP, to await his trial date. Callen shuddered as he pictured the black and grey exterior of the California State Prison. There was something about the contrast of the dull exterior and bright orange interior camouflaging such dark souls that put him on edge. Quite a poetic state of affairs, he thought as he continued to stare bored at the clock. 17:58; two minutes to go.
"Are you feeling comfortable, Mister Callen?"
Matter did it not that he had been working there for longer than he cared to remember, Callen had still not managed to develop the ability to detect the presence of their fearless leader. His feet fell effortlessly to the ground, inertia spinning his chair around to see Hetty stood there, mild amusement glistening over her aged eyes. "I did not mean to startle you, Mister Callen"
"You didn't" he answered, a little too quickly.
The amusement from Hettys' eyes filtered down upon her facial features. She looked at least twenty years younger when she smiled. It wasn't often these days that genuine happiness reigned upon any of their features. This job was hard and it seemed to only get harder as the years ticked on. He wondered only how he would be able to deal with the constant heartache and emotional drainage that came with the territory when he was in the business as long as she had been – that was if he managed to last that long.
Hetties lips parted as if to continue their conversation, but was interrupted by the sound of Granger calling her name from the upper platform. Both pairs of eyes looked up to see the Assistant Directors pale face beckon her, before his frame moved towards to the ops area. Callen glanced over to the clock and saw as it turned to 18:00. It looked like he had lost his chance to leave the building on time, but the worried look on Grangers face and the absence of Hetty's previous amusement was a cause for concern.
This can't be good.
Skipping the steps two at a time, Callen followed Hetties' small frame up the stairs and into the Ops area.
"What is it?" Hetty asked as soon as she entered the room. Granger turned, his eyes set straight upon Callen as he entered moments later. Hetty ignored the Assistants Directors hesitation and asked once more what had happened, a more forceful slant on her tone. Granger nodded and picked up the small device on the centre table, clicking the button that operated the interactive board. Director Vance's image came immediately upon the screen.
If Hetty felt any surprise at this moment, she did not show it. Callen, on the other hand could not contain himself, setting himself directly in front of the monitor, hands placed nervously in his pockets. It was 9 pm in DC, not a normal time for the Director of NCIS to still be at his work place, not unless there was a good reason for it – which, under the circumstances, made Callen believe that there was.
"Good Evening Hetty. Callen." His acknowledgement was curt. There was something bothering him.
"Good evening Director Vance. To what do we owe this honor at such a late point in the day?" Hetty crossed over and stood directly in the middle of himself and Granger, looking suspiciously at the man's face on the screen.
"We have a situation"
Those four words alone made the silence in the room all that more deafening and awkward. Not once had those words been spoken without having to finally attend someone's funeral. Callen felt his lungs constrict as he mentally ticked off the whereabouts and relative safety of his team. He could not emotionally afford to lose anyone else.
"And what situation would that be?" The curiosity and suspicion in her voice was clear now. Callen couldn't help but glance over to the man on his right and notice that his eyes were anywhere but on the directors. Whatever this situation was – it was bad.
"Primrose has been compromised"
Yet another four words. Had Callen been able to see Hetty's face, he would have seen her eyes widen. Had he been registering her heart rate, he would have seen it spike. But he couldn't see these things. He didn't know what this meant, and the fear of the unknown situation brought back all the memories of the past few years that had him lost for words. Childishly, he wrapped his arms around his torso, annoyed once more that he had not been in the loop. What was this Primrose? Compromised? What did that even mean?
"Where is - ?"
"She is safe" Granger answered Hetty's question before the director had a chance.
She?
Hetty turned to the Assistant Director and scoffed at him. "Safe? You'll have to give me more than that!" It was a rare occasion that Callen had seen Hetty angry, but he was sure that that was the very emotion that was presented on her face.
"She is still in L.A." Granger looked from the director to Hetty and adjusted his suit, nervously. "I can say no more, in present company" His eyes shifted slightly towards Callen.
"Oh come on, seriously?!" Callen's arms dropped from his torso and fell to his sides. "If anything is going on in our backyard I should kn- " He was cut short by the touch of Hetty's small hand on his arm.
"I believe that Mister Callen is the least of your worries" She barked, returning her eyes to Vance. Callen felt a small sense of pride that she had defended him, though it was not enough to mask the annoyance and distaste the assistant directors comment had fed him. It was becoming tiring having to deal with the constant need to prove himself to this man – Owen Granger, who had yet to accept his position in the team. It was still in the back of Callen's mind that Granger's original motives of even setting foot in their lives was to bring down their team in order to score points in Washington and enhance his own authority over NCIS. Shame they didn't take him away after the team proved to be valuable.
"Director?"
"Miss Lange, in light of the situation, Special agent Callen and his team may be brought up to speed on this" Callen could hear a small sigh of frustration coming from the man beside him. It was about time that someone made him realize that he is not the top of the food chain, despite his own thoughts. "However, I would prefer to engage in that conversation myself. In person"
Hetty shifted on the spot, before addressing the assistant director once more. "Tell me where she is and I will bring her here myself"
"That will not be necessary Miss Lange. Miss Wyatt is already on her way" The director answered, finally standing up in his office. "My flight is due to land at 06:00 hours. I will see you all tomorrow morning, and Miss Lange. Don't worry, she is alright"
The video feed cut to a black screen, showing the bitter reflection of the three bodies stood silently. The first to move was Granger, who said nothing as he moved defiantly in front of them and out of the OPS room, leaving Callen and Hetty alone, with only their thoughts to keep them company.
"Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day, Mister Callen" Hetty finally spoke after what seemed like an eternity. "I suggest you go home and rest" With what seemed to be reluctance, Hetty Lange moved away from her spot in front of the screen and made her way to the automatic doors.
"Hetty?"
She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at Callen, whose face was full of complete and utter confusion. She forced a small smiled upon her face. He was always such a curious agent – that was one of the reasons that she was lucky to have him on her team, but this time, his curiosity would just have to wait. She knew it would conflict with his innate impatience, but he was just going to have to trust her. "Until tomorrow Mister Callen, I am afraid I cannot answer any of your questions"
And with that Callen was left alone with his thoughts – berating himself slightly for waiting for the clock to turn 18:00. His uneventful day was turned upside down with concern, confusion and curiosity. Although he was sure that he wouldn't have slept at all this night had he managed to escape the office in time, he was almost certain that his night would be more restless with the knowledge he had now ascertained, albeit limited.
Miss Wyatt? Primrose? Grangers reservations? Director Vance's immediate departure to Los Angeles?
Whatever this was about, he was sure it was going to make for an interesting story tomorrow morning.
...
The paramedics danced around her with uneasy steps. There were more than twenty people – detectives, agents, paramedics and herself, just outside the scene that resembled the Bangkok bombing in August.
Upon the sixth time asking 'Are you sure you are OK?', Cassandra has lost her patience and snapped and the junior paramedic that was attending her head wound. A small part of her felt bad for snapping at the young man, but she was not in a position to play the poor victim that needed to go to hospital. She had suffered only minor wounds, as was expected after the low-level IED was thrown into her living room. She knew that the bomb was not meant to cause her great damage – it was simply a warning, a calling card per se, one that she knew very well.
The young paramedic stuttered over his words as he asked her whether she wanted anyone to be called. She tried to smile kindly at the young man as she shook her head, replying simply that she would be picked up shortly. The look of confusion on his face was quite apparent. She knew that he was wondering how she had been able to make a call in the time between them recovering her from underneath the sofa and attending her wounds in the back of the ambulance. She wasn't going to go into the specifics behind her knowledge, she just knew that when her phone connection had been cut with Vance, he would have made the call to get her out.
Where are you?
And as if her mind was being read, her 'knight in shining armor' appeared behind the young paramedic, alongside an older looking LAPD detective, looking outraged.
"Miss Rachel Moretti?" she nodded at the detective, pushing herself up from the gurney and making her way out of the ambulance. "This gentleman here says he is a relation of yours." He glanced over at the tall, dark haired man by his side. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and laugh at the thought of actually being related to this man. But resist she did. It wasn't the time for fun and games. "He wants us to allow you to leave with him. Are you sure you're OK to leave?" His aged eyes were clouded with curiosity and frustration, with a slight glint of worry. It was understandable that the lead detective of an investigation was not going to be delighted at the thought of releasing a key witness to his case, especially in the current circumstances. She was sure that he was also concerned for her safety, although that was probably the least of his priorities.
"Miss Moretti?"
Cassandra had been unaware that she had lost herself in thought, snapped back to reality by the harsh tone of the detective.
"Yes, of course" She replied, a small smile forced upon her face. Reluctantly, the detective nodded towards her, eyeing up the figure that stood beside him. In one gentle move, her 'knight' was beside her, arm around her waist, helping her towards the extravagant Jaguar XKR S COUPE that was parked just meters away from the commotion. Hetty always knew how to set her agents up in style.
"Looks like I got here just in time. Detective Adams there was just about to rip you a new one for being so uncooperative" His amber eyes looked waringly down upon her, but she ignored his light banter. She was not in the mood for talking to anyone, let alone her 'knight' who would simply analyse her every word and make some big deal out of it. Registering her continued uncooperation, he simply helped her into the car and closed the passenger door lightly, before making his way onto the driver's side, belting up and driving inconspicuously away from the scene.
L.A. in the evening was beautiful. The sun was setting just over the horizon and the street lights began to dance around like fireflies in the twilight. It was oxymoronic to think that such a beautiful city harvested such evil souls. The bloodshed and terror that bubbled beneath L.A's surface was only heightened by the conspicuous activities of low-life criminals. Like bugs under rocks – you lift one rock and a million bugs come out to play.
The silence was soothing, but she knew it couldn't last forever, and instead of simply waiting and letting someone ruin the moment – she took the liberty of dashing her own dreams once more.
"It's Yemen all over again" She spoke, her eyes remaining fixated on an invisible point out of the passenger window. It caused a slight sense of amusement as she said these words. It wasn't just Yemen. It was DC, Oxford, St. Petersburg, Queensland, Tel Aviv... it was history simply repeating itself, like a broken record that never skips past one set of notes; a tune that she felt that she was being forced to dance to, a tune that she was growing tired of hearing in her nightmares.
"And like in Yemen, I am here Cassie" His words were surprisingly comforting. However, now, it was different than before. This wasn't just some rouge terrorist cell that they could swoop in and disband like the Warriors. They were up against a virus that had infected more than just the weak minds of some naïve followers. No. This was more than that. But tonight was not the time to put more salt on the wound. She simply looked over to the tall, dark man and smiled.
"I know Nate. I know."
It had been over a year since she had seen Nate Getz, and it was as if not one day had passed. It had been him that had brought her up to speed with her new role as a psychologist. She trusted herself around him even less now that she knew some of his secret psycho-tricks. Needless to say, he was one of the only people that she considered a friend. After their stint in the middle-east, and their follow up in Moscow he was the closest thing she had left to a partner, and the fact that he was still breathing after five years of knowing her was a feat that was not to be looked down upon.
"Where are we going?" She asked, finally.
"The boat house" He replied, hesitantly.
And he was right to. It had been a while since she had set foot in the L.A. Ops centre and it had never been one of her favourite places. However, the marina-side interrogation room wasn't all that bad – even though this time, she wasn't going to be there as a simple guest. She just hoped that Vance understood the difference between questioning and interrogation, because if that line were crossed, she was walking out of that place without a second thought. It wouldn't have been the first time.
And certainly not the last.
"I ran from the wolf but ran into a bear" she grumbled to herself.
"What's that?" He glanced over to her in confusion, to which she just shook her head. It was going to do her no good getting herself worked up about it now. She'd save her energy for the hours, days and weeks to come.
Welcome back to the fold. Idiot. She mused to herself, sulking silently as she glanced once more out of the passanger side window, awaiting the impending doom.