No progress on the case in this chapter, just Callen and Sam... #love

Apologies, I noticed a small error in one of the earlier chapters, so I re-uploaded it (without deleting it this time - see, learning ;-) ...!) I've taken the opportunity to satisfy my OCD and re-upload all of the earlier chapters with the same formatting between the paragraphs! I hope this hasn't buggered it up...

CHAPTER NINE

The afternoon passed peacefully. Kensi and Deeks went back to Ops to work on other cases, and Sam sat quietly with Callen, alternating between watching his partner and updating his latest case report on his laptop. Callen, much to Sam's pleasure and relief, slept for a solid three hours once they'd got him back onto his bed, out like a light almost straight away and for once sleeping soundly with no evidence of nightmares. They had wanted to disturb him as little as possible when he returned so exhausted, and so the nurse had simply placed the oxygen mask over his face, leaving him fully clothed on top of the bed. Sam watched as his shallow breaths filled the mask with condensation, his breathing regular in sleep, and with less of a wheeze in his throat and chest than earlier when he had over-exerted himself with talking.

Sam sighed, staring into space. Callen's doctor had done his rounds in the early afternoon, not long after they had returned from lunch. He hadn't wanted to wake Callen, knowing how little the agent had managed to truly rest since waking earlier than they had anticipated from the sedation and refusing any further drugs ever since, and so he and Sam had had a hushed conversation in the doorway. Although Callen was clearly starting to feel stronger physically, his blood oxygen levels were still concerningly low, a fact Sam had immediately relayed to Hetty. Both of them knew they were walking a tightrope with keeping Callen in the hospital much longer, and the doctor remained vague with any firm prognosis, simply assuring them it was early days and not to worry, everything was progressing in the right direction.

"What time… is it?" Callen's quiet voice made Sam jump. He turned his head to see Callen looking at him, pulling the mask off his face so he could speak clearly.

"Leave that alone," Sam reprimanded him, standing up and crossing to the bed to look down at his partner, placing the mask back gently but firmly. "How are you feeling?"

Callen shrugged, not wanting to admit to the still pounding headache or the wicked tightness in his chest that Sam was surely aware of anyway. He turned away from his partner's worried eyes to fumble for the bed controls, a small grunt of frustration escaping when he couldn't reach them. He felt vulnerable lying down like that, and Sam understood and silently pressed the right buttons to raise the head of the bed.

"You could have just asked," he said lightly.

"Don't push it… Sam…" Callen's voice was muffled under the mask, but Sam could hear the irritation in it. He stood carefully inspecting his partner, who had shut his eyes again. Sam knew any further probing into Callen's health would just elicit the stock answer 'I'm fine', and it was clear he was not fine, so Sam tried a different tack.

"Have you taken anything for pain yet?" he asked, gently. Callen wearily opened his eyes and gave the slightest shake of his head. The movement set his stomach rolling and he gagged, clenching the sheets in both hands as he tried desperately not to throw up in front of Sam.

"That's… why," he eventually admitted once he had things back under control, and Sam nodded understandingly. Callen had always struggled with the nauseating effects of pain relief, and that was without the side effects of the gas too.

"Can I… have a drink?"

Sam turned to pour a glass of water from the bedside jug. "Here," he said, holding it while Callen pulled the mask down and reached to take it, sipping gratefully. "Better?"

"Not as good… as a… cold beer," Callen grumbled, and Sam chuckled. "How long did I… sleep?"

"Almost dinner time," Sam said, and Callen made a face, not relishing the prospect of another hospital meal. "Relax," Sam laughed. "I'm sure if it's really bad, we can sneak you in something decent. Get Deeks undercover as an orderly." Callen smirked. "Put that mask back on, I've got to go and find your doctor. He missed assessing you properly earlier today." Callen grimaced but obeyed, resting his head back on his pillows and letting his mind wander anywhere but inside those hospital walls.

The silence was oppressive, and the darkness. There was enough light to see, just about. Callen inched forward, scanning with desperate eyes and ears for any sign of the boy and his captors. The rows and rows of racking seemed to go on forever, multiplying the more he looked at them. His breathing sounded loud in the silence, giving him away. He tried blinking, his eyelids heavy as he tried to clear the darkness, but it only seemed to get blacker.

Then, out of the blackness, he saw it. A crumpled heap on the floor. Not moving. He ran to it, disregarding his own safety. Crouching down next to the boy, he flipped him over, and immediately bowed his head in grief, seeing the ashen face of the child with two large spreading bloodstains over his heart.

"G!" Sam burst back into the room, seeing the violent twitching that signified Callen was in the throes of a nightmare. "Callen! Wake up, buddy, wake up!" He reached out and gently shook Callen by the shoulder. Callen instantly came to, grabbing Sam forcefully by the wrist with his left hand, and swinging his right arm back for a punch. "Oh no you don't," Sam chided him, ready for it, and gently parrying the oncoming blow. Callen looked up at Sam and shook his head with confusion, almost as if he was trying to shake his thoughts clear. He carefully removed his fingers from the tight grasp he had around Sam's wrist, hissing as he realised he had pulled on the stitches in his arm, and pulled the oxygen mask down to speak.

"Sorry," was all he uttered, his voice low.

"I leave you for five minutes, and you fall asleep," Sam teased, making light of it.

"Guess I… missed your… dazzling conversation…" Callen huffed, a little embarrassed. His embarrassment grew as he saw his doctor standing in the doorway, but he turned back to Sam. "Sam?" His partner raised his eyebrows at Callen's serious tone. "The boy? Is he..?" he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Dead?" Callen nodded. "No. He's still hanging in there. He's through the worst they think, with any luck, he'll make it. Why?"

"I thought…" Callen sighed. "Never… mind."

"Agent Callen," his doctor crossed over to the bed. "It's perfectly normal for some things to still be unclear while there are traces of the sedative we gave you the first two days in your system." Callen nodded, his head still feeling heavy and sluggish. "You were asleep when I came round before. I need to check you over, if that's okay?"

"I guess I… don't have… much choice…" Callen said reluctantly.

"No, you don't," Sam spoke firmly, before the doctor even had a chance to open his mouth. "Want me to go?" Callen shook his head.

"You might… as well stay… save me… repeating…" he gestured to the doctor. "What… he says." He grimaced, hating the constricting effect the gas was still having on his lungs.

"First things first," the doctor addressed him, sternly eyeing the oxygen mask Callen still had dropped round his neck so he could speak more clearly. "You'll be more comfortable if I swap this back over." He busied himself round the back of the bed, tidying the oxygen mask away and replacing it instead with the nasal cannula which he gently positioned back on Callen, standing back to watch as his patient's chest grew quieter. "Better?"

"I guess so," Callen admitted grudgingly. "When can I… get out of here?"

"See how you go tonight, and we'll reassess the continuation of your oxygen therapy in the morning," the doctor responded vaguely, shooting a glance at Sam that the big man, reading between the lines, interpreted as unlikely that his partner would be going anywhere tomorrow.

"I've had about enough… of this…" Callen muttered grumpily as they walked slowly down the hospital corridor, Sam pushing the wheelchair that harboured the temporary oxygen tank.

"Why don't you save your breath for walking, and quit moaning?" Sam scolded him, only half joking. He knew some of Callen's grumpiness was directed at him, since he had over-ridden Callen's 'I'm fine' answers to any of the doctor's questions, and advised the medic of his partner's continuing headache and occasional nausea. In the end, reluctantly beaten, Callen had tetchily done all he was bidden for his doctor to examine him, and had managed once again to negotiate a temporary release from his room. It wasn't much; they'd been strictly forbidden to leave hospital grounds as the short-term tanks only held enough oxygen for a couple of hours, and Callen was still technically on hourly obs, but it was a balmy LA evening and Sam knew Callen would fare better outside so, although it went against his better judgement after the state Callen had been in after his walk at lunchtime, Sam had backed his partner up. He just wished Callen no longer needed the constant supply of oxygen, for he could clearly see the borderline level of panic Callen was doing his best to keep locked below the surface because of it.

Slowing his pace for Callen to keep up, Sam smiled slightly to himself as he thought back over the conversation Callen and his doctor had had regarding the sling. Callen's doctor had tried to insist, telling him the muscle needed to rest in order to heal properly, and Callen, despite being on the face of it at a disadvantage in the negotiating stakes, had held firm, demonstrating to the doctor that his arm was working perfectly well, though how he had managed to hide any sign of pain as he moved and flexed it to back up his argument, Sam didn't know. His partner was one of a kind, that was for sure.

"You'd better spring… me from… here… tomorrow," Callen continued grumbling as he held a door for Sam to push the infernal wheelchair through.

"Maybe when you can string a sentence together without puffing like a steam train," Sam responded, immediately regretting making a point of it as Callen glared at him. "I'm sorry," Sam said, briefly raising his hands apologetically. "But the doctor had a fair point. They expected you to still be on the ventilator til tomorrow," Sam reminded him, concern once again lacing his voice despite his best efforts to hide it. "Give it time."

"You sound… like Hetty."

"Well those fumes were nasty," Sam said, sober for a moment. "Seriously, G, you're lucky to still be here."

"I know," Callen sighed. "I'm sorry. I will… try to be… a more patient… patient."

"That'll be a first," Sam muttered, and then more loudly, gesturing to a bench, suggested, "Sit here for a bit?" Callen shrugged but complied, and they both sat, companionably silent for a while. "How's your arm really?" Sam asked eventually.

"Good enough to… take on Deeks," Callen smirked. "Maybe Kensi. You… maybe tomorrow…"

"Oh yeah," Sam laughed. "When have you and I ever arm wrestled?"

"Always a… first time," Callen grinned, leaning back and closing his eyes, contentedly soaking in the evening sunshine on his face. "Sam," he paused, not moving, and Sam looked at him.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks..." Sam reached over and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You're welcome, buddy," he replied. "You're welcome."