Chapter 7

Sam paced the hallway outside G's intensive care unit [ICU], waiting for him to wake up. He was no longer able to sit and wait. Nine hours of surgery. First, it was waiting in the emergency department for news about his partner's condition. And then, the worst, waiting to see if G would pull through the surgery. He knew more than when he arrived 12 hours ago. The bullet did more than graze G's forehead. Kensi found proof of that at the scene, skin and bone fragments. His partner suffered a concussion with substantial blood loss, but without much brain swelling. A hemothorax which required a chest tube and surgery due to the severity of symptoms. Sam pushed the thoughts out of his mind. Too close again to losing his partner. A third bullet broke G's upper left arm. Wires everywhere to monitor all of his partner's vitals. If there was a tube, it came out of G's body. A chest tube. When his partner discovered the urinary catheter, he would have a conniption fit. He always did. Sam smirked. Two intravenous lines, one blood and one fluids and antibiotics. And one which G would go bonkers over, an endotracheal tube [ETT] down his throat and hooked up to an automatic ventilator. The last time he had one, his partner had to be heavily sedated.

He stopped pacing for a few minutes and stared out the window at the end of the hallway.

"Mr. Hanna, I think you need to get some rest."

"I'm not leaving my partner until he's conscious, and I know he's going to make it."

"I'll call you."

"No."

"That is an order, Mr. Hanna, not a suggestion," Hetty said. "You have been up for over twenty-four hours."

"I want to stay here." He crossed his arms. "I'm not leaving, I need to stay here."

"Fine, but you need to rest instead of pace the hallway." Hetty left the ICU.

Sam ambled back into G's ICU cubicle and settled down on the window seat. Every time he started to doze off, a sound in the room startled him and he awakened. He shot off the seat and checked his partner. Nothing. Four hours post op and G hadn't made a sound. Not a good sign. Sam sat again, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

He shot off the seat again, for sure this time he heard it. Sam leaned over his partner's bed, his ear close to his mouth. There it was again. G was trying to say his name. Sam grasped his partner's right hand. "I'm here, G." Of course, he couldn't speak because of the ETT.

Callen squeezed his partner's hand.

Tears formed in Sam's eyes. Good, his partner was going to make it. This was the turning point in G's recovery.

He pointed to the endotracheal tube in his mouth and pleaded with his eyes.

"As soon as you're breathing well enough on your own."

Callen released his partner's hand and grabbed the tube.

Sam pried his hand off it and pressed the nurse's call button. "No, G, not until the doctor orders it to be removed." He saw the panic in his partner's eyes. Sam knew this would happen. G hated endotracheal tubes and struggled with them until the doctors ended up sedating him. He suspected this would be another one of those rounds, endotracheal tube vs doctors, if the doctors decided to keep G intubated.

"Good, he's awakened," a nurse said.

"In this case, bad because he wants to remove the endotracheal tube himself," Sam said to her.

"I'll call the doctor and see if he wants to keep it in."

After she left, he released his partner's hand, hoping G would keep his hands away from his face.

Fifteen minutes later, a pulmonary technician entered the room and checked his patient's oxygenation level. "I have some good news for you, Mr. Callen, time to remove the endotracheal tube," he said. "I have a new technique." The technician suctioned his patient, slightly deflated the tube's cuff, and pulled out the ETT. "How was that?"

"Felt like when I do it myself," Callen said, surprised he could talk.

"The only difference is I deflated the cuff some before removing the ETT, otherwise it is the same as if you removed it yourself."

"Thank you."

The technician placed a nasal cannula on his patient and gave him oxygen. "This is still necessary due to your surgery and the injury to your chest."

"Injury? Sam?"

"I'll explain it to him," Sam said, watching the technician leave the room.

"What happened?"

"You don't remember anything?"

"I remember walking toward the house with the box under my arm and the next minute I was screaming."

"Ah, you do remember screaming?"

"Embarrassing, yes, it really hurt, Sam."

"I'll bet it did," he said. "Your upper left arm is broken."

"Bullet?"

"Bullet number three or four, not certain yet. A clean through." Sam sighed. "Kensi has all your bullets, four total."

"Four?" Callen sighed and winced.

"You need to do more of that deep breathing you just did."

"Why?"

"A chest tube."

"I got shot in my lung?"

"Yeah, G," he said, "a hemothorax."

"What?" Callen's jaw dropped.

"Serious stuff," Sam said. "Saved your sorry ass too with some unconventional treatment."

"How unconventional?"

"Plastic bag and petroleum jelly."

"I know of the emergency treatment," Callen said. "Learned it in the military."

"And a concussion without brain swelling," Sam said. "Kensi found evidence at your house that it was more than a graze."

"Yeah, I figured as much."

"When?"

"I almost passed out on the disappearing stairway."

"What?" Damn, he knew better not to believe G when he said he was just feeling like crap. It was usually much worse than his partner claimed it to be. G was an expert at subterfuge, hiding his pain, both emotional and physical, which resulted in another one of G's stellar performances in the art of deception. His ability to deceive others made his partner good at his job as an undercover ops agent. Sam wished G would keep the deception for the job only. Slim chance that would happen.

"Sorry, Sam, just as you said, I was being mysterious," Callen said. "Too mysterious for my own good. That's when a pounding headache and nausea began."

"Next time, I hope there isn't one, but if there is, I'm handcuffing you and throwing you in the back seat of my Challenger."

"I hope you gently toss me into the back seat," he said. "I'm fragile."

"Very fragile." Sam winked at him.

"Did you record me?"

"When did I have time?" Sam asked. "Between dodging bullets and dragging your sorry ass out of harm's way, I didn't get much time to think about recording your screams and moans and groans."

"Okay, I lost it," he said. "Probably was a good recording for Kens and Deeks to hear. So I guess you can rub it in." He sighed again and winced. "Damn that hurts." He pressed the pain pump button on the bed control. "Thanks for saving my sorry ass a second time." He snickered.

"You're welcome," he said. "Glad to see you taking care of that, G." Sam eyed the medicine going into his partner's veins.

"Yeah." He yawned. "The box?"

"At NCIS headquarters in my locker for now," he said. "Do you remember what you said when you opened the box?"

"Still can't remember, sorry."

"I think it was Serbian."

"Do you speak Serbian, Sam?"

"No, but it sounded familiar to what I heard when I was in Serbia once."

"When they buried you alive with your buddy?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I'll bring the box to the hospital and maybe looking at that picture again will jar your memory."

"Be careful," Callen said. "Somebody out there is willing to kill for it."

"Who was the gunman who shot me?"

"Serbian Military Agency," he said, "and try gunmen."

"What?"

"That was exactly my response, G," he said. "What's in that box?"

"Or better yet, what do people believe is in that box?" Callen asked. "Did Hetty see the box?" He eyed a spot over his partner's left shoulder and glanced back at Sam's face.

"Not yet," he said, "I think we need to keep this—" The sudden change on his partner's face and his nonverbal communication, told Sam that Hetty was standing close by or right behind him. He swallowed hard.