Author's Note: Updates (obviously) are no longer happening daily at this point. Sorry. Life is busy. And I may have gotten distracted by writing random portions of other (yes, also Nell & Callen) fics that unfortunately are not sequentially relevant to any of my current stories (aka, they are bits that belong several chapters ahead).
But, at any rate… enjoy…? Although we aren't quite to the actiony-action bit yet.
WARNING: COARSE LANGUAGE
PART ONE: CALLEN
Chapter Seven: Ultimatums...
"Kristi," Callen said, putting on his interrogation face. "Are you listening to me?"
Nell Jones had begun sobbing again, and it was so convincing he wondered whether he hadn't actually hurt her worse than he'd thought in striking across the face. For well he knew how badly it smarted being smacked like that.
"I can't understand you," he said. This was just an act. He kept telling himself that it was all pretend as he watched the tears stream down the young woman's pale cheeks. "Speak up. Are you listening very closely to what I'm telling you?"
"Y-yes." She sucked in a ragged breath between sobs.
"Good. Because I want to be absolutely clear." He was speaking loudly and firmly, with the excuse of having to get through to his hysterical prisoner, but for the real purpose of ensuring those outside the door heard his every word, and hopefully bought the act. God, he hoped they bought it. Really, it was only Sloan whom Callen needed to sell it to, but it wouldn't be easy. He hadn't wanted to get Nell's hopes up (or his own) but if he could pull it off, they'd be able to walk out of the hangar together, and Sloan would probably even have Little John open the fucking door for them with a smile.
"I'm going to leave you alone now," he said aloud with a conviction and authority that he hoped Sloan would not wish to undermine by over-ruling 'Jack's' decision. Because it would make them appear divided and weak to the woman they wished to intimidate into confessing.
"And when I come back in five minutes, it will be your last chance. Do you hear me? Your very last chance to tell me the truth." He softened the hard edge in his voice. "Don't you think your life is worth a little honesty, Kristi?"
He waited expectantly. 'Kristi' had stopped blubbering but was still looking down at her lap, defeated and unresponsive. Nearly forgetting that he was simply playing a part, Callen strode over to the petite red-head, grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. Nell Jones' big hazel eyes, red-rimmed and shimmering with tears, startled him, as if he'd expected to find a different face on his victim. He released her, shook off the surrealism of the moment, of being consumed by an alias only to be jerked sharply from it.
"Well?" he asked, composed once again. "Do you think your life is worth a little honesty?"
"But I am being honest." The words were small and meek.
"I'm not going through this with you again," he snapped. "You're lying. You know you're lying. We know you're lying. And when I return in five minutes, you're going to tell me the truth. Or you're life is going to become very unpleasant, in ways worse than the ones we discussed. Do you understand?"
The only sound that came from her lips was a desperate sob.
He turned away from where she sat 'tied' to the chair and opened the door.
"I'm telling the truth!" She half-screamed, half-sobbed at his back, her voice cracking painfully. "I'm nobody. Just let me go. Please! Please!"
He calmly shut the door on her pleas, after letting the crowd just outside get a good look at the hysterical mess of a young woman. Even the group of psychopathic, callous and cruel bastards wore surprised expressions on their hardened faces. Yup. Nell Jones had missed her fucking calling.
Sloan however, had as placid and unreadable look on his face as ever.
"Very nice work, Jack," Obediah Sloan said. "But did you glean anything of actual use while tormenting the poor girl?"
Callen shrugged nonchalantly, but let the tiniest bit of unease show through his facade.
"She's insisting that she's exactly who she said she is."
"Do you believe her?"
Callen bit his lip, trying to look a bit uncertain but without overdoing it. "I'm honestly not sure. She seemed terrified by the...um... threats I made, pleaded with me not to..." He grimaced in disgust "...hit her again. If she's lying, she's impossibly good."
Sloan nodded slowly, giving no outward sign as to whether he thought Nell to be the innocent stray bird-watcher, or a conniving federal agent. Or for that matter, whether or not he was buying Callen's whole 'hesitant thug' routine.
"Did you find anything in her belongings?" Callen asked, walking over to the workbench where her pack and its contents were spread out. He picked up the tablet computer, tried to turn it on, knowing that Nell had installed an extra hidden switch in her field tablets (just in case) and that it wouldn't respond to compression of the power button alone.
"Dead," Sloan said flatly. The man always sounded like he were somewhere else, as if he spent the majority of his time existing on a separate plane from the rest of them, yet he was always hyper-aware of his environment and everyone contained therein. Probably one of those genius-level sociopaths. "Must not have anticipated a long hike."
Sloan indicated the radio tagging equipment and tracking device, the equally 'dead' cell phone, the hair brush, and the noticeable lack of food or emergency supplies. (Which wasn't at all like Nell. He wondered if she had stashed her real kit out in the woods... Like he himself had placed a little emergency pack when he'd been able to sneak off for a moment.) There was a spiral bound notebook with hand-written series of numbers and short descriptions, a pretty convincing rendition of scientific field notes, incomprehensible jargon to the uninitiated to the specific area of study. And lying beside the notebook... a fancy pen.
"I'll make her talk. Well, scream, at least."
Little John. Fucking psychotic, sadistic, asshole. Over Callen's fucking dead body would the man lay a hand on Nell Jones. Focus. He couldn't afford to lose it now. They were so close. He felt like Sloan was just on the edge to forming the precise conclusion Callen wanted him to make, was (hopefully) subtly leading him towards.
"No." Sloan said. "She's not a threat." He stared reproachfully at Little John. "She's just becoming a distraction."
"What about the gun?" Little John asked. Apparently, it was the encore presentation of the night, for the others had gathered around the three men once more ensconced in a heated debate of entertaining proportions.
"Lots of chicks carry pistols nowadays," Jackson Wiles, also known as 'old timer', volunteered from the spectators' circle. "The world's just not a safe place no more."
Every man in the room turned incredulous gazes at the man who'd stood up for 'Kristi Brewely' and her justification to carry a firearm.
"What?" the grey-haired, wizened, flannel-clad geezer asked, with an oblivious expression. Apparently, Jackson was not aware of the irony in someone bent on causing anarchy and destruction lamenting the violent state of the world.
Sloan seemed to opt not to educate the hopeless cause, only blinking off the stupefying statement that had just been made before he issued his final orders. And they would be final. No further dissention would be tolerated.
"Jack said he'd give the girl some time to think it over, with some proper motivation to tell the truth, to judge by her..." He paused and they could hear Nell keening through the thin corrugated metal walls, vacillating between begging and desperate, incoherent sobbing. "...persistent wailing. And then we'll see what she has to say. But I'm liable to believe she is just a girl who's wandered off into the dangerous part of the woods, and unfortunately, is too nosy for her own good."
Oh, Sloan was definitely biting. Callen just needed to sink the hook and reel him in. And leave him flopping on the shore while he and Nell booked it for the woods. If it worked, then he wouldn't need to use the C4 charges Nell had rigged before being caught, except maybe to give their escape a little extra cover.
So while the others were busy paying attention to Sloan or staring at the door that held the hysterical young woman, Callen slipped the fancy pen into a voluminous pocket of his jacket that also held a few paperclips, bits of wire, and chewing gum. Everything MacGyver could ever want…
A/N: Next time… explosions? Maybe…? You'll have to stay tuned to find out.
Completely Random Note: Whatever they're trying with RFS' hair in early season 5 just needs to stop. What was wrong with that super cute longer pixie cut she used to sport? Or let her wear it long and loose. Or what I'd like to see is a nice, short, messy, spiky pixie cut on her. I think that would be very adorable (without making her look childish, if that's what they're trying to avoid with this awkward hair). As you can tell, I've ignored the reality of Nell Jones' long hair and substituted my own here. Because she's SO cute and deserves pretty hair. Right?
