One more chapter after this one to reach the conclusion. I hope you have been enjoying the journey. It was supposed to be a short, light story on buying sneakers but it took off running (pun intended) on a totally different path. As always, love reviews both good (because it is always cool to make someone happy in life, if only for a few minutes) and constructive (because we are never too old to learn).
-NCIS-LA-
The Challenger pulled up to the curb outside the taped off crime scene at the apartment complex by the marina. A rookie LAPD officer let them through after thoroughly verifying their credentials. Callen took a deep breath and mentally steeled himself before entering the apartment.
"You Ok?" Sam asked with concern noting his companion's demeanor.
"No," Callen said truthfully as he crossed the threshold. The body of Joel Amello lay on the floor of the living room staring blankly at the ceiling. A pool of blood surrounded the victim's head, the result of a single point-blank gunshot.
Sam approached the LAPD detective, who was crouched over the body. "What do you have?"
"Single gunshot to the forehead, close range. But it didn't happen here. He was shot as he opened the front door and then dragged back into the living room. Poor guy. Never had a chance."
Callen hung back, listening while staring at the corpse; his face was blank but his eyes burned with hatred.
"Anything else you can tell us detective?" Sam questioned.
Slowly standing up, he said, "Yeah, there was a note left at the scene by the killer."
"How do you know it was left by the killer?" Sam asked raising his eyebrows in puzzlement.
"Sick bastard wrote it in the victim's blood," replied the cop distastefully. The detective gestured to a nearby table where the note was already sealed in a clear evidence bag. It was easy to read, even thru the bag. It simply said, 'The pawn G'. "We're speculating the murder got interrupted since the last word on the note is not finished," the plainclothes officer surmised.
Callen blanched before turning and hurrying from the apartment, shoving his way past Kensi and Deeks as they entered the scene.
"Callen?" Kensi asked, concern in her voice, as she reached out to touch his shoulder as he passed by her. The agent brushed her off, continuing out the door. Kensi looked questioningly at Sam who, she noted, was also looking rather pale.
"Take over here and don't say anything about the note," Sam said brusquely following after his departed partner.
Kensi and Deeks regarded each other, bewildered. Observing that Sam had been looking at something on the evidence table, the duo walked over to the table and spotted the note. Kensi picked it up and muttered "Oh my God." Deeks peered over her shoulder then let out a low whistle.
The detective saw their reactions and said, "Sick huh. Victim's own blood we think. Like I was telling your partner, we think he got interrupted before he could finish the note. Not sure what word he was going to write that began with a G."
Kensi schooled to her face to show no emotion as she gently laid the note in the clear bag back on the table. Deeks turned to face the detective and said, "Yeah, I'm sure that is what it was, the murder was interrupted." The two made arrangements for everything to be sent to NCIS and the LAPD was happy to oblige. When the police were out of earshot Kensi hissed at Deeks, "You know what this means! The killer knew Callen, not one of his aliases."
-NCIS-LA-
Sam found Callen, arms crossed, leaning against the black Challenger, his face was a mask of anger, except for his eyes which showed the true horror the man was feeling at somehow being linked to this man's brutal death. "Let's go," he said tersely climbing into the car.
Sam slid behind the wheel and said "Where too?"
Callen's mask wavered, anger being replaced with despondency. "I killed him Sam."
"You didn't pull the trigger G."
Callen gave a harsh laugh as he looked out the window at the crime scene. "Technicality."
"Any ideas who might have done this?" Sam asked softly.
Callen closed his eyes wearily, leaning his head against the back of the seat. "No clue," he whispered wretchedly. "I promised him he would be safe and now he's dead." Callen waged an internal war to get his feelings under control and his barriers rebuilt. Sam didn't know what else to day so the two sat quietly in the car. "Back to the office Sam," Callen finally said his voice now as hard as a rock. "I need to find who did this."
-NCIS-LA-
Kensi and Deeks had nothing new to report when they returned from Joel's apartment. No prints, fibers or any hard evidence other than the note. Callen, walls fully rebuilt, demeanor as cold as ice, had listened to the news in stony silence before heading off towards the gun range. Wisely, the team gave him his space.
As afternoon passed into night, Sam decided to check up on his partner and force him to go home and get some rest. A search revealed the man, slumped against the wall in the gym, breathing erratically, shirt soaked with sweat and his hands crossed over his stomach. As Sam walked by the punching bag, he discovered there were red stains on it. Sighing deeply, he realized how his partner had been coping. "Hold out your hands," he firmly ordered his partner. Without lifting his head G did as he was told and Sam saw the agent's knuckles were raw and streaked with blood. He wordlessly walked over to the nearby first-aid locker, took out an ice pack and activated it, before moving back to his partner. Sliding onto the floor next to him, Sam handed over the ice pack. "You need to ice them." Callen ignored him. "They're gonna swell, hurt like hell in the morning if you don't ice them down," Sam lectured.
"They already hurt like hell," Callen muttered raising his head to look at this friend.
Sam's stomach lurched at the emptiness in his friend's eyes; he couldn't allow Callen to do this to himself, it was time for tough love. "Did it help? Mutilating yourself?" Sam asked sharply. Callen flinched at his partner's harsh tone. "Doing something like this G, it's just another way of going lone wolf."
"You do it," Callen angrily accused his partner.
"Yes, I take out my frustrations by punching the bag but I properly wrap my hands first and use gloves. Not this," he replied grabbing one of Callen's bloody hands and holding it up for inspection. "This is stupid." Sam slapped an ice pack on Callen's knuckles. "Ten minutes on, ten minutes off. Now get up. I'm driving you home." Callen started to open his mouth and protest but Sam cut him off. "No argument."
Grimacing from the agony racking his body, Callen sluggishly made his way to his feet wavering a bit when he finally made it vertical. Sam supportively reached over and steadied him and Callen did not pull way, accepting the help as a way of apology. After a few seconds, Callen gave a small nod to indicate he had it under control then Sam let go, bent, picked up the abandoned ice pack and handed it back to his partner. "Ten on, ten off," he neutrally repeated.
Luckily, they encountered no one as they slowly made their way out of the building to Sam's car where Callen instantly collapsed into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt.
"See," Sam said with forced brightness. "You are trainable." Callen simply shut his eyes, ignoring his partners attempt at humor.
Sam tried and failed several times on the way home to engage Callen in a dialogue, but his partner remained stubbornly silent. Even an offer to buy him dinner was answered only by a negative nod.
Pulling up in front of Callen's bungalow he turned off the car, then looked at his partner and asked, "Are you gonna be alright?"
"Not sure," Callen replied honestly. "But no, I don't want you to come in."
"You sure?" Sam answered lightly even though he was hurt that his partner was shutting him out again. They had made great strides in their partnership and Callen trusted him more than anyone in his life, accept maybe Hetty. Sam knew Callen would always have his back and would in no uncertain terms die for him if the situation called for it. However, even after all they had been though as partners, some really good and really bad times, Callen still was unable to freely accept help. Callen had been forced to take care of himself his entire life and because of that, had built strong, secure walls to keep people at arm's length. Over the years, as their partnership grew and strengthened, Sam had been able to breech Callen's barriers, but not always, and now was one of those times.
Callen softened a bit. "I get you want to help, but I need to be alone. To process this."
Not allowing his disappointment to color his voice, Sam said, "I get it. But do me a favor. Lay off the beer, take some aspirin, keep icing those hands, eat the Chinese food I left last night and try to get some rest. You need to eat, put something in your stomach before you crack that first beer, which…" Sam held up a hand, "I know you are going to drink even if I asked you not too."
Callen looked at him neutrally neither confirming nor denying that Sam was accurate in his prediction. Climbing out of the car he honestly said, "Thanks," then headed up the walk, unlocked the door, entered, then firmly shut it.
Sam sighed in frustration as his partner once again locked him out and went into lone wolf mood. Glancing up the street he noticed a car he had not seen earlier when they had pulled up in front of the house. It was very distinctive and seeing it made Sam smile. Seems his partner would not be going so lone wolf on him after all; the Calvary had arrived. Sam chuckled as he drove off thinking his partner should have taken him up on his offer to come in; plan B was probably going to be a lot tougher.
-NCIS-LA-
Once in the house, Callen threw his keys and the ice pack on the kitchen counter while making a beeline for the fridge. Opening the door, he winced as the cold air hit his abraded skin as he reached for a cold beer. Suddenly, a second chill ran up his spine that had nothing to do with the refrigerator. Purposefully turning around, he drew his weapon and peered cautiously about the kitchen. Gun extended, he silently glided across the floor and headed towards the living room. There, on his new couch, he found what had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.