Trust

Chapter 9

A nightmare plagued G again. He had hoped the nightmares were over, but this one in particular continued to gnaw at him. He rolled over in bed to face the wall for the fifth time, drawing his knees up to his chest, he whimpered and rocked himself. It was of no use. Normally, the rocking action settled him, but not this time. No longer staying in the infirmary, G now lived on the third level in a private room. Hetty refused to let him stay at his house until Pure was eliminated and that meant G would have to face Charles Waite. He dreaded the day that Charles and him would stand face to face. G climbed out of bed, put on slippers and grabbed his bathrobe. He trudged to the kitchen to fix a mug of tea. At the kitchen table, he nursed his mug of tea while reading yesterday's Daily News.

"Up early," Sam said, coming into the kitchen.

G startled hard, spilling his tea on the newspaper. "Warn me next time."

Sam came behind his partner and massaged his shoulders. "You are tense."

"If you must know, nightmares, okay."

"Thought so." Sam fixed a mug of tea for himself and sat across from G. "Different ones?"

"No, the same one occurs again and again."

"Let's play a game."

"Game?" G glanced at Sam sideways. "What kind of game did you have in mind?"

"I share something about Bosnia and you share something about Bolivia."

"That's not a game, that's a nightmare." G lay the newspaper down on the table, staring at the headline and sipping his tea. "Trust," he said, without lifting his eyes from the newspaper.

"You had to come out slugging, huh?" Sam sighed.

"It's the theme of my nightmare."

"Ah, then it makes sense that you would start with it," he said, "tell me more."

"Not much to say."

"What about our partnership?"

G slammed his mug down on the table, tea splashing on the newspaper. He rushed out of the kitchen and into his room, closing and locking his bedroom door.

Sam tried the doorknob. "Damn," he said. "Okay, G, come on, man, open this door." He removed his lock picking set and inserted it into the door. "I'm taking out my lock pick set." Before he could pick the lock, the door opened. "Sorry."

"Is that all you have to say?" G was dressed in his grey sweats and running shoes.

"Wait a minute, G, I'll run with you."

"I'm not running, I'm leaving," he said, sliding past his partner.

Sam grabbed G's left forearm and flipped his partner around to face him. "You can't leave here."

"Watch me."

"All because I—"

"No, because I can't take this any more."

"Take what?"

"Everything," he said, "now release my arm." Sam let go and watched his partner walk toward the elevator.

# # #

G passed the elevator and took the stairs, two at a time. He needed the exercise and it gave him time to think of what he'd say to whomever he met on his way out of the building. After reaching the first level, G strode toward the exit doors. Before he reached for the handle Hetty came through the doors. Damn it. This is the last person I want to speak with right now.

"Mr. Callen, you must be feeling better, follow me please."

"Hetty!"

"Now."

"I'm leaving—"

"You walk out those doors and you're suspended, indefinitely, understood?"

G spun on his heels and followed her into the archive room where he found Hetty making a pot of tea and readying two tea cups and saucers.

"I just had—"

"Sit, Mr. Callen, we need to talk."

He sighed. "Hetty, I just had some tea and I don't want any more right now and besides—"

"Sit."

Damn. He sat on the leather couch, slouching down and averting his eyes to the bookshelf across from him.

Hetty handed him a tea cup on a saucer and sat in a chair close to him, resting her saucer on her lap. "Trust is earned," she said, "and Sam has earned that right to receive your trust in him." She took several sips of tea and set the saucer and cup on an end table. "Charles Waite earned that right through Machiavellian means."

"Right now I can't trust anyone." Tears formed in his eyes.

"I see," she said, "in that situation, it's best that you stay under the protective umbrella of The Barn and NCIS."

Without drinking the tea, he set his saucer and tea cup on the end table and stood. "No."

"Mr. Callen, that is not a suggestion, but an order."

"Suspend me if you want, I can no longer stay here knowing what I'm remembering and dreaming about and stay… sane."

"Perhaps if you spoke to Nate—"

"No!" He stormed out of the archive room and hurried toward the exit doors. Sam. Damn it. His partner blocked his exit from the building. "I swear if you do this I'll…"

"You'll what, G?" he asked. "Plow me down."

"Very funny." It was in one way; he imagined knocking his partner down to the Mexican tile floor and pummeling him again and again until he cried 'uncle.' But, he knew Sam would never give up or in to his demands to be the physical top dog in the partnership, nor did G want his partner to become the physical underdog, because he relied on and needed Sam's physical prowess when it came to taking down an enemy. Yet, there was much more to their partnership than Sam's physical abilities. It was a substance like glue, keeping them connected and relying on one another, and acknowledging that substance's existence caused G to shudder within knowing how easy it could be destroyed.

"I guess you two need to hash this out," Hetty said, coming along side Callen.

"There's nothing to hash out," G said, "I'm done with this partnership crap."

"The partnership, you so crassly refer to as crap, is the foundation of your elite team."

"What?" He glanced at her sideways.

"Without his relationship to you here and in the field, your team is history," Hetty said. "Is that what you want?"

"Huh?"

"You need Mr. Hanna more than you care to admit to him or me or yourself."

"I have admitted it to myself and that is the crux of my problem."

"Ah, now we are getting somewhere," she said, "I think an intervention with Nate is necessary."

"I can't talk about this to you or Nate or Sam."

"Can't talk about trust?"

"Can't talk about needing someone and needing to rely on someone and needing—" With the memory of Charles's betrayal bursting through the words in his mind, G spun on his heels and rushed toward the stairs to the third floor.

"Go Mr. Hanna, go and shelter your partner from the memories of Charles Waite tormenting him." Hetty's brow furrowed as she watched the battle for her senior agent's sanity play out before her, knowing that if Callen failed to trust again her elite team's future was in jeopardy.