Author's Note: Just because I love you all so much… Have some more. (But then you might have to wait a bit for the next chapter.)
PART ONE: CALLEN
Chapter Three: Bears…
"What does a bird watcher need with this?"
"Bears," Nell said matter-of-factly.
"Bears?" Sloan was no longer buying her cover story in the least, if he ever had. "Never heard of pepper spray?"
Nell shrugged. Well, it would've been a shrug, had she not been pinned to the arm chair.
"Secure her in my office for now," Sloan ordered, indicating the one private room in the abandoned hangar, which had been claimed by the anarchists' leader without protest. Placing hands as large as the young woman's head beneath her armpits, Little John lifted Nell out of the chair as if she were as insubstantial as a doll. Callen felt his molars grind into one another as he caught the giant's hands squeezing the petite intelligence analyst's breasts, before she was deftly hoisted onto his shoulder. He couldn't allow the brute to be alone with Nell. Not even for a moment. So Callen stepped in front of the man who had at least a hundred pounds (of primarily muscle) on him.
The big man gave him a glare, half angry at being interrupted, half eager for a confrontation. Callen stood his ground. Gave him the 'I can and will kill you' stare, even knowing that such a man as Little John will only be egged on by aggressive behavior.
"What do you want?" the brute asked. "You can have your turn with her later."
An extra flare of rage ran through Callen, but he fought the urge to do anything rash that would get both him and Nell Jones killed.
And then the huge man placed one of his paws on Callen's arm in order to push him aside and carry Nell off to do god-only-knew-what with the young woman. Callen refused to budge, instead grabbing the large hand by the thumb and twisting the digit around and back towards a forearm that was the size of one of the young woman's thighs. Little John raised his other hand to strike Callen, who was quickly determining how to keep his hold on the brute while dodging the blow that would doubtless be like being hit in the side of the head with a sledge hammer.
And then Sloan stepped in, saying in a voice barely raised above his normal dulcet tone, "That's enough."
Callen and his opponent glared fiercely at one another, but Little John lowered his free hand and Callen released the hold he had on the other.
"What's the problem?"
"He can't seem to wait his turn," Little John said, shooting another glare at Callen. Sloan turned to the man accused of impatience, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Really?" Sloan said.
"No," Callen replied, forcing himself to cool off slightly, acquiring a temperament more suitable to a general disgust than a specific fear for a certain woman's safety. "I just don't like to see women being forced in that way."
Little John only gave him a puzzled look, along the lines of 'Are you serious?' Sloan appeared amused by their bomb-maker's protest.
"Looks like we have a gentleman here," Sloan announced to the rapt audience. And rapt they were. For several weeks they'd been holed up in the middle of the goddamn wilderness, and this was like going to the movies.
"My mama raised me right, is all," Callen said. Moving to stand alongside him, Sloan draped an arm over Callen's shoulder in a pretty convincing imitation of camaraderie. Only Callen knew it was just a way for him to impose himself into the situation, to maintain direct eye contact with the aggressive giant of a man.
"You see, Jack, our Little John here never had a mother," Sloan stared directly at the undeniably physically stronger man. Little John was the one to look away. "And that can cause a man all sorts of problems."
And then Sloan turned his sharp gaze directly onto Callen.
"But why should you care?" The creepily calm anarchist asked.
"I'm just saying that whether or not we have to dispose of the young lady, it's not going to do any good to abuse her like that." Callen said calmly, thinking quickly of motives such a man as he was pretending to be would have for keeping these sick bastards' hands off from Nell. He wasn't sure he could prevent her from coming to harm entirely, but... he could damn well try. "You see, I had a cousin who was raped. She never said another word for the rest of her life."
Sloan was studying him intently, but Callen's instinct had taken over and he didn't even flinch inside his own head, left no room for self doubt as he told his tale.
"Granted, it was a short rest of her life," Callen said. "She ate a bullet three weeks later."
"And you still think of her fondly?" Little John asked, sarcasm heavy on his tongue. Obviously the giant was irate over having his plans for the evening delayed, if not cancelled entirely. God, Callen hoped this would put an end to the big man's disgusting desire to play with the young woman. "What's the goddamn point of your warm little family tale?!"
"The point," Callen said. "Is that there are ways to break a woman so that she's useless. And there are ways to break a woman so that she's still useful to us."
Little John gave him a puzzled look, Sloan a knowing one. The anarchist leader (a concept Callen never had quite wrapped his mind around... shouldn't anarchists by nature be opposed to social organization on any level?) nodded his head, then spoke to the bear of a man.
"Our good friend Jack is saying that if we let you have your little fun with the bird girl, she's liable not to be in a state to tell us a damn thing. And there are a few questions I think we'd all like answered, such as who precisely she is, who she works for, and what they know about us."
Obediah Sloan turned to Callen, a fox-like smile twisting his average features.
"Would you be so kind to have a little conversation with our guest?" Sloan asked.
Got him. The man thought he'd trapped Callen -well, Jack- into something he didn't want to do, to get their prisoner to confess, possibly with the employment of violence, because failure was not something Sloan would tolerate. Sucker. Now Callen had an excuse to get close to Nell, if not be entirely alone with her, to find out what was going on, to make a plan to get her safely out of there.
"Sure," Callen said. "Give me about an hour alone with her. I'll get her to talk."
"You have 30 minutes," Sloan said, always needing to assert his control. "And then Little John gets his turn."
Well, shit.
A/N: How much do you love and/or hate me now, beloved readers?
