Author's Note: Honestly, I'm still working on all of my ongoing Nell/Callen fics (when I have the freaking time!)… I'm sorry the wait is always so long.

(OT: How about 'Kill House'?! That's what I'm talking about. Nell is such an awesome, fascinating character. They need to give her more non-Eric scenes and story arcs.)

The following morning…

Sam rapped on the door again, feeling a niggling unease taking root in that tense spot between his shoulder blades.

"Nell?" He called as he knocked one last time. It wasn't that large of a building. Therefore, the young analyst's apartment could not be that large. She should've made it to the door by now. Unless she was in a heavy sleep, which he couldn't blame the poor, exhausted thing for. However, the man who had been on protective detail through the night was another story. That man was the definition of a 'light sleeper.'

Sam pulled out his cell phone and tried G. Callen's number first. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Voicemail picked up. He tried Nell's cell. No answer.

Okay. Now he was nervous. He slid the phone back into his pocket, exchanging it for a set of lock picks as he checked the hall. Coast was clear. It took him under 30 seconds to unlock the door. He turned the doorknob, pushing gently. No dead bolt. He'd have to talk to Nell about her security measures. But that could wait. He put his ear to the crack in the door, listening acutely for any sign of life, friendly or hostile. Silence. Withdrawing the SIG nestled at the small of his back, Sam entered the apartment in full 'federal agent' mode.

Nell's place was just above 'studio' in design, with a large, open-plan living space. The kitchen was separated from the living room by a sizeable island counter, which appeared to serve as her dining table and office. The place was empty and there was no sign of disturbance to the neatly stacked paperwork and nearly compulsively organized possessions of its inhabitant. That left only the French doors, and what logically must be the young woman's bedroom beyond them.

He silently made his way across the tidy living space. Taking a quick look through the old, warped glass, Sam didn't see anyone, so he slowly eased the door open and entered the room. He lowered his weapon upon realizing there was no threat present, just something that sent his eyebrows on a journey up his forehead and a curious smile quirking his lips.

G. Callen was sleeping, really sleeping. And in a bed, too. The chronic insomniac was laying on his stomach. And on top of Nell Jones. He wondered at how she could be equally unconscious as G looked to be with a man who was easily one and a half times her weight pinning her, grinding her into the mattress. But asleep she was, and apparently peacefully so. Sam hadn't noticed her at first, her petite body obscured by his partner's larger one, but for a naked, slender leg hooked over G's waist, white as cream against the dark denim of his jean-clad backside. And there, the shock of messy auburn hair, the sharp angle of her cheekbone, her face turned into the sleeping man's neck as his face was buried in her hair. A patch of pale skin denoted the young woman's wrist, her hand disappearing under the hem of G's worn t-shirt, doubtlessly lying against his warm, bare flesh. He could see that G's arms disappeared beneath Nell, holding her. His hands must have gone dead numb in that position. Actually, Sam could not think of a more awkward, uncomfortable position in which to sleep. For either of the entangled pair. Yet they seemed to be content.

Maybe not content but... safe.

The thought turned his amused curiosity into a bitter pang. G was most definitely protecting the young woman, acting as a physical shield between her and the rest of the world. Sam could see it all now. Nightmares. Bad ones. Nell had obviously not been sleeping well since... just since... But she had seemed to be recovering. No more yawning or dark rings around her eyes, a haunted look in those big hazel depths. And then this all happened, a new threat from an unknown old enemy. And the nightmares came back. And G was here, probably on the sofa, or pacing about the small apartment in his sleepless state, heard Nell struggling in her sleep, came to help her, comfort her any way he could. She hadn't wanted to be alone, and so he'd stayed with her, held her, promised not to let go of her. The man would not let go of her...

Suddenly, it was that awful morning once again.

Sam Hanna had received a phone call an hour before the alarm was set to go off. It was the kind he always feared. Funny that, while at work, he was always terrified of receiving a phone call from home, that something (god-forbid!) happened to his wife or daughter. And when at home... something had happened to his partner, the man who was like a brother to him. He had, of course, rushed to the hospital. Coincidentally, he'd been the closest one, living the furthest outside of the 'center' of Los Angeles. It was a smaller facility, the town and outlying areas it served well outside of what everyone thought of when they heard 'California'. And Sam got there first. Lucky he got there first. Because he was G's partner, and it was his duty to have the man's back. And that even meant protecting him against fellow agents, friends. Deeks and Kensi, they didn't need to see him like that. Not ever. Not if Sam had anything to do about it. But he had gotten there first, so there was at least that.

He had gotten there first, so he'd been the one to squeeze the details out of the doctor and then threaten him into never telling another soul of the 'classified' information. Bullet wound to the upperarm on Agent Callen, through and through, under twenty stitches to close. A few minor contusions. scratches on his arms. Nell Jones, bullet wound, graze, also to the upper arm, six stitches to close. Multiple contusions and abrasions to the face, neck, shoulders, arms, chest and abdomen, legs... Lingering water aspiration, possible bacterial infection in her lungs. Evidence of sexual assault, severe vaginal tearing requiring sutures. Blood loss.

But even the details, clinically gruesome as they were, hadn't prepared him for what he had found in that hospital room. When the doctor had offered to take Sam to Miss Jones' room, he had asked to see G first. He'd like to say it was because he wanted a more thorough knowledge of events before he spoke to Nell, to know how careful he had to be with the young woman who'd obviously suffered something horrible. But the truth was, he was closer to G, needed to see that his partner was okay before anything else.

The doctor had cleared his throat, visibly unhappy. He'd said, 'Mr. Callen is in Miss Jones room. He checked himself out of our care and then stationed himself there and has refused to budge. We tried to explain to him that visiting hours were over, that he would only be in the way and hinder Miss Jones' care. To which he replied that he would not be a hindrance and still refused to leave as instructed.'

The story hadn't been going anywhere good, Sam had been able to tell, yet it cheered him a little to hear of his friend's stubbornness persisting through whatever horrible shit had happened.

'And so," the doctor had continued, 'we were forced to call security to have him removed.'

Bad choice.

'He broke two of Stanley's fingers!'

Lucky, it was only fingers, and just two, Sam had thought.

"I'm sure he'll be pressing charges." The doctor had seemed to be on a roll once the complaints had started pouring forth, and Sam had been in no mood to hear them. Not when his friends were hurting.

"No. He won't be pressing charges," he had said with finality. The doctor fumed silently until he stopped in front of door, thankfully not in the Intensive Care Unit. Sam hadn't been sure when the doctor had cited 'blood loss' as one of her injuries.

"Miss Jones will likely still be unconscious. She was administered a good dose of pain killers and a sedative. Mr. Callen might also still be groggy from the sedatives. If I thought it'd be of any use, I'd ask you try to convince him to let a doctor check his vitals again. That man is far too stubborn for his own good."

Sam had glared at the doctor. The stubborn part had been quite right. But something hadn't made sense. Why would G have needed a sedative for being shot in the arm? A pain killer maybe, but that man was insanely collected even whilst sporting bullet wounds.

"What did you give him?" Sam had asked as if he were accusing the now anxious looking young doctor of shooting the agent himself.

"The paramedics had to sedate him in order to treat Miss Jones," the doctor had said defensively. "The man would not let go of her."

Before entering the small hospital room, Sam Hanna had swallowed hard, a futile attempt to rid himself of the lump that had begun to form there. The lights had been turned down low, which had done nothing to hide the horror he found within that room. Nell Jones had been lying in a hospital bed, looking as small and frail as an ill-treated child. Her skin had been paler than normal, almost white, which only caused the extensive bruising to stand out more starkly on her cheek, her neck and arms. Sam had been grateful for the hospital gown and blankets covering the rest of the young woman, obscuring the other damage from sight. Out of sight, but not out of mind. Her upper arm had sported a bandage where the bullet must have had grazed her, splitting the flesh open. Wire leads had trailed from under the thin cotton gown leading to machines monitoring her vitals. Lingering water aspiration, possible bacterial infection. That IV bag had likely been meant to stave off infection, pumping antibiotics into the port that had looked too large for the delicate hand it'd been inserted into.

Yes. Nell Jones was a petite woman. Intelligent and a little bit of a nerd. But vivacious and tough. Sam Hanna had seen that trait in her the first time they'd met. He'd certainly never thought he'd ever see her like he had seen her that day, still. Motionless. No bright eyes flashing with inspiration. No hands animatedly explaining some technical trick. No lively facial expressions lighting up the room. It had broken his heart more than just a little.

And if the sight of Nell so battered and frail had half-broken his heart, the sight of his partner had broken it entirely.

G. Callen had been sitting in the standard uncomfortable hospital waiting room chair shoved into the corner of the antiseptic room. And it had been odd. The man hadn't been reclining, slumped back into the piece of furniture. Nor had he been sitting pensively on the edge of the seat. It had not been a natural posture. Rather it had more resembled how a child would draw a picture of a man sitting. Straight and awkward. But however odd the way G's pose had been, the look in his eyes had been a thousand times more troubling. For as long as Sam Hanna had known G Callen, he'd never known the man to stare vacantly off into space. Even when there seemed to be no one at home, the man would reply as readily to any question put to him as if he were actively engaged in the conversation. This time, however, he had not responded to Sam's entering the room. And Sam had been able to tell that his partner had gone very far away.

"G?" Sam Hanna had spoken softly, not only as not to startle his friend or wake the battered young woman sleeping nearby, but because he had discovered his voice resistant to functioning. When he had called his name the second time, the catatonic agent's eyes had snapped to Sam's face, more pale and grey than he'd ever seen his friend's notable baby blues.

"Are you okay?" he had asked.

"No," G Callen had replied flatly. What could he have possibly said in response to that? Sam had simply nodded, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder and silently coaxing the man out of the chair.

"Why don't you come with me, back to the Mission. Get some rest."

The grey-blue eyes had shifted, locking onto the unconscious figure lying in the hospital bed.

"You don't want to leave her alone?" Sam had asked.

"No." The same flat reply.

"We won't leave Nell alone. Kensi and Deeks will..." Sam had trailed off as he felt the shoulder beneath his hand tense, saw G's fingers curl into a fist. He had decided it best to back off, and had stepped back from the disturbed agent.

"Hey, I get it," Sam had said. "If you want to be here when she wakes up, that's cool. Just tell me what you want to do, G. And we'll do it."

Finally, his partner had seemed to snap out of the oddly aggressive trance-like state, closing his eyes and shaking his head. When he had looked at Sam again, the man had begun to resemble G. Callen once more. Not wholly the friend Sam loved. But not a stranger, either.

"That..." G had said. "That wouldn't be good. She's not... I... I shouldn't be here when she wakes up."

Sam Hanna had seen his partner in many different states, and play act at numerous others, but he'd never before witnessed him so inarticulate. In general, G. Callen was a man of not a lot of words, but they always counted. He never squandered them or wasted them on incomplete thoughts. In fact, he had never seemed to have incomplete thoughts. But this version of the man had been fractured.

"Alright," Sam had said. "Kensi and Deeks should be here soon. We'll wait for them and then head home."

Callen had nodded his head in uncharacteristic deferment. The agent was generally the one giving out the orders, making judgments on courses of action. But he'd been in no condition apparently to even think straight.

"Give me a minute," he had said and Sam had headed for the door, feeling the knot in his throat tighten when as he had turned to close the door behind him he had seen G reach out to touch the sleeping Nell's arm but without completing the gesture and making contact. His hand had been shaking.

As soon as the door had closed, Sam had pulled out his cell phone and called Hetty.

/How are they?/ their boss had asked, a trace of severe concern in her voice that no one but those who knew her well would be able to detect.

"No life threatening injuries," he had said. "But pull whatever strings you have to in order to get Nate back here."

/That bad?/

"Worse."

So much worse than any of them could ever have imagined, Sam Hanna was certain. He'd never asked details of the traumatized pair of agents. And he never would. He wasn't even certain that, had his partner, his best friend, felt the need to unburden himself, he would have listen. He didn't want to know. It was enough that it had hurt them so badly. True, Sam hadn't known the man but for the past five years of his career, but the ex-seal would easily believe that it'd been the closest the agent had ever been to being broken. And Nell. God. Poor, Nell. They were fighters, both of them. Survivors. G from necessity, and Nell seemed naturally to possess the previously untested trait. And so Sam had watched the two of them as they fought their way back to some semblance of normality, never quite healing, and each on their own. Sam had thought perhaps it was because his nature (not to mention his training and instincts) to be a team player that he hoped the pair would turn to each other for support. Together they had survived that horrific ordeal. And together, he thought they'd have a better chance of continuing to do so. But neither of them had shown any sign of turning to the other for help. Rather, they seemed to be delicately avoiding each other, each afraid of dredging up the bad memories in the other. And neither ever fully healing because of it.

And now that the wounds had been reopened, they just hadn't been able to avoid it, had they? They'd finally turned to each other. And they seemed the better for it. It gave Sam Hanna hope that he one day might truly have his partner back. And that they one day might recover what was undeniably the spirit of their little team, in Nell Jones.

Sam Hanna holstered his weapon, and then reached out to shake G's leg, all the while attempting to combat the amused smile taking over his face. The agent snapped awake, recovered his weapon from the nightstand, rolled onto his back and had it pointed at Sam's face in one fluid movement. Sam threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Whoa, G," he said. "It's just me."

The rudely awakened agent visibly relaxed upon finding the intruder into his sleep to be his partner, lowering his weapon and taking a deep breath. His heartbeat must have gone from zero-to-sixty (or forty to a hundred, as it were) in under a second. When the anxiety of being taken by surprise had passed, G gave Sam a confused look.

"You snuck up on me." The man seemed highly perturbed by the fact. And Sam couldn't blame him. The aberration was worth noting. G Callen was the lightest of light sleepers. And no one could sneak up on the agent.

"Neither of you checked in this morning," Sam said. Nell was beginning to stir, her exhausted brain a few seconds behind her bedfellow. "I came over to check that everything was okay."

"Why didn't you call?" G asked.

"I did."

G's vibrant blue eyes widened.

"I also knocked."

A frown tugged at the corner of G's mouth. He said, "That's strange..."

Nell opened her eyes. The poor young woman started at finding the unexpected company in her bedroom. Sam could guess that upon first awakening, her brain all muddled by sleep, finding Callen in bed with her would have been shocking enough. To also find the man's partner looming nearby... Her expression quickly changed to one of deep thought as her memory booted up and synced with the reality her senses were showing her.

"You missed your wake-up call," Sam said when he felt she'd reached that gap in constructing the history that led to this moment in time. She nodded, looked at the older agent still reclining on the bed beside her, and then down to realize she was only wearing a pair of boy short panties and a camisole. She hopped up out of bed, squeaked out a plea to be pardoned, and bolted for the bathroom.

Callen got up, checking, holstering and then nestling his weapon at the small of his back.

"Has Eric traced that email yet?" G asked.

"He's still trying, but it doesn't seem like he's going to be able to get any results," Sam said. "I think he hasn't given up only because he's afraid of what you'll do to him."

"Or because of her," G said, looking towards the now shut bathroom door. Sam frowned. Eric seemed almost more out of sorts than the pair who had actually suffered the trauma, not knowing how to behave towards Nell, and in the beginning obviously blaming Callen for not keeping her safe. And the young man's turmoil at seeing his partner suffer was just another layer of guilt G had taken upon himself.

"We'll get this bastard, G. No one's going to hurt Nell ever again."

Perhaps the wrong thing to say, for his friend's face darkened considerably. What an idiot. Sam should've known how deep the guilt lay in his partner, that whatever had happened, whatever the facts, G couldn't get past the idea that he had hurt Nell. Sam opened his mouth to apologize, to say something encouraging, but Nell reemerged from the bathroom, wearing pajama bottoms and a robe over the scanty sleepwear that had embarrassed her.

She had her usual bright smile, one Sam had always thought genuine, but as of late had begun to wonder if she weren't far more adept at camouflaging her feelings than she appeared.

"How long do you need to get ready?" G asked her.

"45 minutes?" she said as if it was an offer that could be negotiated. "But you don't have to wait on me. You can go ahead with Sam."

This seemed to set G Callen off.

"You're not staying here alone," he said, his tone an extremely controlled growl. Sam had heard that voice before. G was filled with rage, but he was truly fighting it down. Sam knew he didn't want to snap at Nell, or Sam or any one close to him. But the man was almost untenably filled with the anger, against those who had hurt Nell, hurt him, and primarily against himself. Sam was about to butt in and take control of the conversation, placate both the vulnerable young woman and the surly older agent with a 'we're concerned about your safety, Nell.' But she herself beat him to the punch of calming the irate senior agent.

She placed a hand on his forearm. He looked down at her. Sam watched in strange fascination as they held a silent conversation. It was odd if only for the reason that he hadn't seen them have a real, verbal conversation since before he found them in that hospital room. All exchanges between the pair had been brief and strictly business until this morning. Or, for all he knew, things had changed last night. Sam hoped for the better. After a couple seconds, Nell turned to the bemused ex-seal and said, "We'll catch up with you at the Mission."

Sam looked to his friend, who nodded. Oh-kay.

"I'll see you in a few, then."

Sam left the apartment not knowing what to make of the change in his two team mates. Had they finally begun to heal? Could they survive the next few days and any wounds it might reopen?

A/N: I had originally considered working in a chapter from the perspective of each team member, but I'm by far inspired by/completely taken with Callen and Nell, so not sure if that's going to work out. But as always, Sam seems to need to have his say.