Chapter 25

Mexican Rose ~ 'Hell is empty and all the devils are here'

Of course it was Hetty's work. She had been thinking ahead, as always.

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Veteran Avenue || Los Angeles

Whenever he needed, Callen used one of the best cars to blend in the Los Angeles traffic - a black Toyota Prius. It was now parked in the side street near the house he owned. As ever when he had suspicions about being followed and wanting to go unseen, he used a very uncommon entry – through Elise's garden to his and using his backdoor only.
Callen had quickly turned off the alarm and lead her inside to his bathroom on the first floor.

"You need to get warm, so take a shower. I'll see if I can get you something to wear," he told her.

Callen then jogged down the stairs of his home, nearly forgetting his own injuries, curious as he was about what was in the bag.
How come it did not surprise him to see the petite operation manager had anticipated on Callen's way of living. There were fresh fruits, dairy products, pastries, juice - healthy things that were hardly ever found in his fridge and kitchen.

There was another bag in the larger one. Things his house really never hosted – women's clothing. Underwear, a pair of jeans and a dark green hoody, sports clothes and more typical things a woman might need. Callen took it all upstairs, took a grey t-shirt from his own collection and knocked on the door.
He did not hear the shower running and Leah did not respond, so he knocked again. "Leah?"

Right. This was an awkward thing. He breathed in deeply and opened the door carefully.

He had seen her tough, stubborn, arrogant, strong, independent.
But never vulnerable, like now.
She sat on the bathroom floor, hugging her knees, scared like a caved wild animal and her eyes sad and red from the tears she had shed. And she sat, still wearing the wet clothes.

"Hey." Callen squatted next to her, not exactly knowing what to say.

She wiped her eyes several times and bit her lower lip. "I should go now before they'll find me." In a small voice she added "It's not safe in here you know."

"What? Of course you're not leaving. You're safe in here and you need your medicines and rest." He got up, turned on the taps and said "There's clean clothes in here," he said. "Warm up. We'll talk later."

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In the end, later became somewhere the next day.

Usually, Callen would stay downstairs in his nearly unfurnished room which he was well aware his team members made fun of. He never felt the need to change it, however. He lived alone and did not need that much – a cozy chair, a game of chess and lots of books for the days he spent at home.
Upstairs was something else. Different from what one might expect, the two bedrooms were rooms he decorated. He used the childhood bedroom from the time he spent with the Rostoff's as a study and it was where he kept his toolbox and his bedroll as well.

The larger bedroom was the only place in which he allowed himself any luxury. A king-sized bed, fresh Egyptian cotton bed linen, bedside tables, on one side cluttered with books. And a comfi chair as well in here.

One from which he had been sitting for some time now, watching Leah.

After the shower he had found Leah fast asleep on his king-sized bed, wearing his grey shirt, her red hair still wet and wildly spread on the ocean blue duvet cover.
Somewhere near midnight some feverish dreams set in and he wondered if he needed to wake her to get some Tylenol. On the other hand, Callen was aware that sleep would heal her as well.

So far he had spent sleeping on beds and sofa's that did not belong to him. Spent several nights in safe houses with one of his team members, keeping suspects in or innocent people safe. Spent hours next to a bed when somebody dear was hospitalized. Worse, spent weeks in hospital beds. Spent nights in beds with women. Spent nights in the open air. In police cells or in wards, with many strangers.
But for Callen it was a new experience to bring somebody he hardly knew into his home. His place. His private world.

Sure, Sam had been around, waiting for him to go to work or have a beer after work. He even had Deeks and Kensi invited in, once. Downstairs. Never in here. His home. His bedroom. His bed.

He sighed deeply. Yes, he could have called in for a safe house, however… It was okay. It felt okay.

He carefully got up, did what he had to do in the bathroom and suddenly doubted. Bed or bedroll?

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Leah woke up from a restless dream and heard Callen mumbling things in a language she did not understand.

She was far too exhausted to wonder why she was in a bedroom, in a bed, with a man she hardly knew. But in a way, she felt alright with it and she soon fell asleep again.

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His phone softly buzzed and Callen reached for it with his left hand, quickly pressing the button to stop it.

Not now.

Text message from Hetty. 'Assuming you're safe. Suggest you have another day off to recover properly.'
He looked at the time, surprised to see he got a full 5 hours of sleep.

For a brief second he closed his eyes. Then he turned his face to the other side of his bed.

She had folded her left arm beneath the pillow and despite the fact her dark red hair was pillow styled right now, there was a certain serene look on her face. In her sleep she had partly removed the duvet, revealing parts of a perfectly shaped female body. Slim. Firm. Smooth. In his bed.

Definitely looking good.

Carefully he took the duvet and pulled it up again. Doing so, he brushed her shoulder and in one fluid movement she was from sound asleep to wide awake and she had his wrist in an iron grip, her green eyes now hard, nearly unpredictable, like a wild cat.

Without trying to snatch away from her surprisingly strong arms, Callen softly said "It's okay Leah, you're safe in here. I'm not going to hurt you."
He should have known, after all he had seen her fight, catlike too in fact, back in Mexico. And now, despite the physical unhealed wounds she still was a good fighter. Slowly she let go, breathed out and appeared more relaxed. Then she softly moaned.

"Leah – you're good?" he wanted to know.
Callen was fully aware of the fact that mentally Leah Ryker needed more time to heal than physically. If she had been a member of his team, he would suggest some sessions with Nate. Although… from what he had seen from her she might reject the thought. Just like he would do.

She slowly nodded, her eyes now softer. "I'm sorry. It's just—I thought you were—needed some time to adjust."

"You're safe in here Leah, remember that," he suggested as he got up.

She shrugged and swallowed. "For today. Eventually I'm not. It's—like they know. I told you. Maybe I'd better leave. Go…"

Life was far from fair. Los Zitas and La Eme destroyed so many things in this agent's life already and he felt she still had not realized the impact of it all.

After working undercover for months, the person that she once trusted killed the ones she loved. Then he simply handed her to the cartel leader who knew she was the one who'd betrayed him. Revenge came with abuse and torture. And when they'd thought she was save enough, they hunted her down from the hospital to the city of Angels.

Was she right? Would they find her in here as well?

G. Callen had lived in this house for the last three years and felt perfectly at ease in the neighborhood.

He needed to convince her as well that it was safe in here. That his team would keep her safe. And above all, he wanted her to feel safe.
"Leah, there's no use in discussing whether or not you're leaving. For now we need you to recover."

"Why?"

This wasn't going to be easy. Callen remembered how she had brushed off his help before. Weeks ago? Callen nearly lost count of the days. Eleven days ago.

In a way Callen admired the stubbornness, but looking at her right now it had nothing to do with being stubborn. What he read in her green eyes was the despair that should not be there and in fact he did not know what he was about to answer to that one-word question.

"They say you need your medication. I'll be checking on your wounds too."

The nurse in Tucson had told him that she had bruised ribs – like he had himself. Her clavicle was broken, and she should wear a brace. She wasn't, of course. Then there was the head wound, which had taken over 25 stitches. A nasty cut in the upper left arm – he had seen it. And the last obvious wound from the explosion at the other safe house. He had seen it, heck, he had touched it and took care of it.

Her darting green eyes had followed his movements and now she glanced at him. Then she repeated "Why?"

Callen stopped what he was doing. "Why what?"

She shrugged. "What's the use of recovery?" She'd kept staring in his nearly unreadable ocean blue eyes but looked away before he answered her question.

Gently, Callen put his fingers beneath her chin and made her look up to him. "Because I want you to help and fight them, Leah. Because I don't want them to win."

Hope you'll be so kind as to leave your reviews, thoughts, comments - whatever - this time as well! Thanks.