Endure and Prevail
Chapter 7

Sam was in desperate need of a punching bag.

If Ivan Abramov was to walk through the door now, Sam doubted he would be able to stop himself from beating the man into a bloody pulp. They probably wouldn't even need to hide a body once Sam was done with him.

Seeing what that man had done to his partner over the months of captivity had left Sam speechless. He had seen G through many an injury, even through some that had been inflicted in captivity, but the level of what he had seen today surpassed his worst nightmares.

How G had even been able to stand, let alone escape and make his way through three countries on his own, was beyond Sam's imagination. It shouldn't be physically possible. Then again, that was G Callen to you. If his stubborn partner set his mind to something, there was not much that could stop him. Still… Sam glanced over to the couch where his partner lay.

Taking care of his wounds had taken far longer than Sam had anticipated, more than an hour of cleaning and soothing wounds, wrapping bandages and generally taking care of the wounds on display. And that had only been those wounds that were visible to the eye. Sam didn't doubt for one second that there had been forms of torture during the last months that wouldn't have left visible wounds or scars. And that didn't even touch the psychological side of things. Sam knew his partner, knew he was resilient and trained both, but everyone had a breaking point and Sam had always feared what would happen if G ever reached his.

His partner was dead to the world right now, his breathing even, his body still. Sam had watched his partner's coherency fade, had seen his mind succumb to exhaustion and his awareness dulling. It was a testament to how much trust G had in them, that he allowed himself to let go this much while they were still tending his wounds. He hoped G would remain asleep for several hours. His partner rarely slept, but right now, he desperately needed the rest. His body needed time to heal. Sam wondered if they should extend their stay in this rental property for another day, wondered if they could risk it. He guessed they would check in with Hetty and the wonder twins in the morning.

Sam glanced up when the door opened, his hand automatically going to the gun at his back, only relaxing when Michelle slipped inside. She had checked the perimeter, making sure there was nothing outside to send their alarm bells ringing. While they had taken precautions and were reasonably sure that Abramov wouldn't find them here, no one would risk being sloppy. No one would risk Callen. When she gave him a reassuring nod, he relaxed further and followed her into the small kitchenette. They could still watch G on the couch but wouldn't disturb him with a quiet conversation.

He leaned against the counter while Michelle took out two glasses and filled them with juice. He would prefer something stronger but accepted one of the offered glasses and took several sips. "I hate what that man did to him," Sam murmured, his eyes once more straying over to where his partner lay, "on top of all of the injuries, the asshole actually branded him, Chelle," he hissed quietly, a new wave of fury crashing through him upon remembering the brand on G's chest. It was located high on the pectoral muscle, the skin raised in a scar, the lines of the brand well defined in a specific pattern. He hadn't investigated that further, had seen his partner's reaction when he had first come to see it. His eyes had been drawn to it a few times while he was patching G up, but he hadn't allowed himself to linger on it, sure that his partner wouldn't approve. G was an intensely private man and what Sam had seen in his eyes when he had first noticed the brand was a mixture of revulsion, shame and pain.

Michelle stepped up next to him, her hand coming to rest on his arm. "I know, Sam," she gave back quietly and though her voice was mostly even, he still heard the emotion she tried to keep under control. His wife was as furious as he was, as furious as any of the team would be. It was an impotent fury though. As long as Ivan Abramov didn't cross their paths, they wouldn't be able to do much about it. The only thing they could do was keeping an eye on G and doing their best to help him heal. If anyone could bounce back from this, it probably would be Callen.

Xxxxxxx

Sam had given them a brief update on things when he woke them for their guard shift. Both Deeks and Kensi had been able to see the volatile anger in the senior agent when he gave them a very short version of Callen's injuries.

Their team leader was set up on the couch, dead to the world. A bed probably would have been more comfortable, but Sam had told them Callen had been completely out of it by the time they had patched him up and therefore they had merely laid him down on the couch instead of getting him into one of the remaining bedrooms. On the plus side, with him being in the living room, he was under constant guard instead of being alone in a bedroom. For some reason, he thought that appealed to all of them, keeping an eye on the man that had gone missing so many months before, reassuring themselves that he was with them again.

The last thirty odd hours or so were still set on a loop in his brain, replaying continuously. Getting Sam's phone call for the supposed 'picnic', only for Michelle to inform them about Callen making contact with them when she arrived at their place. Heading over to Hetty's to set up shop and wait around for Callen to call again. Those hours had been tense, Sam's nerves shortening by the minute. The senior agent had been close to stomping off and heading over to Kaliningrad where Callen had told him he would head first. Deeks idly wondered how much longer they would have been able to keep Sam from it if Callen hadn't called when he did.

Hearing their team leader's voice once he had finally called had shaken a lot of things loose in him. With ten months having passed and no more leads to check, not even a scrap of understanding where Callen had ended up, all of their spirits had been low. The longer they went without contact, the higher the possibility that they would never hear from him again. In his more depressed and cynical moments, Deeks had wondered if Callen was even alive anymore or if he had been killed, his body buried in some shallow grave, never to be found. To find out that he was alive and had managed to get out of his prison, that he was now reaching out for their help: that had felt beyond stunning.

Sitting through a commercial flight with a high stung Sam who snapped at anything that moved, had been an experience he would gladly pass upon for future reference. Deeks smirked to himself, remembering how Michelle's furious gaze had landed on Sam after one particularly stinging comment, the mountain of a man suddenly stilling and backing down. Yeah, Michelle had been able to keep Sam somewhat grounded and Deeks had been profoundly glad for her presence.

Returning inside after checking the grounds outside, Deeks left the jacket by the door and silently slipped into the living room, his eyes instinctively moving over to the still form of Callen. He gave Kensi a small smile when she stretched in one of the easy chairs that had been positioned with direct lines of sight to the door while still allowing her to watch over Callen. He wandered over to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "That particular stretch means you're getting stiff. Outside's secure, but go ahead and make another round, princess," he suggested.

"Probably a good idea," Kensi muttered and stood up. "Keep an eye on him?" She tilted her head towards Callen. "He was becoming restless a few minutes ago."

"Of course," Deeks acknowledged. He watched Kensi leave the room and moved over to the window to lean against the wall next to it. He allowed his mind to drift back to its prior contemplation while his senses still remained sharp.

The drive to where they were supposed to meet with Callen had been somewhat anticlimactic, only interrupted by some stops for gas, food and a bunch of medical supplies they suspected they might need.

The hours of transit had somehow come to a sudden stop when they had eventually met up with Callen at a parking lot in the woods. He remembered sharing a glance with Kensi when Callen flinched away from Sam after struggling to stay on his feet, remembered thinking that this wouldn't be easy just because they had found him now. Callen had seemed smaller somehow, his lean frame curled inwards. Where his posture had always projected self-confidence and power, it now radiated utter exhaustion and pain. The clothes hung on him, hiding injuries but suggesting a considerable loss of weight.

Deeks moved his attention away from the window, over to where Callen lay when he heard the man shift. He watched as Callen became restless, moving under the blanket, curling up further before falling still again.

According to Sam and Michelle, Callen had fallen asleep around 2 o'clock. It was now going onto five thirty in the morning. He knew that Callen didn't use to sleep much, but after meeting up with him last night, after Sam's brief description of his injuries, Deeks couldn't help but hope that the other man got some more hours of rest before he woke - or before nightmares crowded his sub-consciousness.

Watching another cycle of restless movement, Deeks sighed softly to himself, doubting it would take much longer before Callen woke.

True to his internal musings, Callen's eyes snapped open after two more episodes of restlessness. Deeks stood still, not wanting to startle Callen when it was obvious that he was still caught in the fading grips of whatever nightmare or memory had taken hold of him. Only when Callen's eyes roamed around the dimly lit room and landed on Deeks, did he speak. "You alright?"

Callen replied with a shaky nod, taking several deliberately slow breaths.

Yeah, Deeks remembered his own struggles with flashbacks of torture after Sidorov. It could take a few moments before reality established itself. "Anything I can get you? Something to drink? Painkillers?" he asked softly, moving over to the couch where Callen was still stretched out, sitting down on the couch table in front of it.

"I don't need a babysitter, Deeks," Callen snapped, his voice lacking strength and bite though, instead suffused with pain and exhaustion.

"Yeah, no," Deeks hedged, rebuked. He stood once more, turning away to move back to the window. Instead of leaving though, he stopped and turned back again, facing the other man. "How about a friend then?" he asked quietly, making sure to keep his posture relaxed, his facial features even.

Callen's eyes came back to him and he could see the internal struggle. Being able to see this in Callen was unusual. The man was normally very adept at hiding thoughts and emotions, but for the moment, his walls were down and Deeks could easily see the wounded and frightened individual.

Eventually, Callen answered his suggestion with a small and slow nod. Deeks gave him a smile in return before he moved over to the easy chair that Kensi had vacated when she left for her patrol. Settling himself, Deeks started doing what he did best: talk. He covered random subjects, ranging from Monty, to some cases they had been working on to catching some waves with Eric a week or so prior.

Callen listened and Deeks could see him soaking up the knowledge of what his family had been up to, the words having the desired effect of grounding him and calming him. Eventually, Callen's breathing evened out and his eyes slipped closed once more, sleep taking the injured man. Deeks kept talking, his eyes and focus on Callen but his senses still alert to any possible security breech.

Eventually, he noticed Kensi slip back into the room, gave her a small smile without pausing in his recollection of the barbecue they had had at the Hanna's home a while back, Monty playing endlessly with Kamran before tiring himself out and falling asleep in the middle of the yard with Kamran curled around him.

Xxxxxxx

Sam woke after only three hours of sleep. He buried his face in his wife's neck, taking a deep breath before uncurling himself from around her. He knew he didn't exactly have to get up - Kensi and Deeks were well capable of keeping all of them safe - but he felt the need to check up on G and reassure himself that his partner was indeed back with them.

Slipping out of bed, he went to the bathroom first before quietly making his way towards the living room, following Deeks' voice as he was talking about being out on the water, chasing the waves. Sneaking into the room, he quickly took in the scene. Callen was asleep on the couch, Deeks seated in the easy chair opposite it and Kensi stood by the window, her attention split between the outside and what was happening in the room.

Deeks glanced up at him but didn't interrupt his tale. When Sam opened his mouth to question what was going on, Kensi shook her head and put a finger to her lips, urging him to remain silent. She pushed away from the wall and headed over to the kitchenette, beckoning Sam to follow her.

"Seems like Deeks' voice is keeping him grounded. He's sleeping peacefully," Kensi murmured.

"Leave it to Deeks to help with his inane chatter," Sam smirked, but internally he was grateful that his partner was getting some rest.

Kensi chuckled softly before shaking her head. "Everything is quiet outside. I've just made another round. Since you're up, I could head out and get us something for breakfast."

Sam nodded. They would need some food. "Also add some more medical supplies and if you can find a shop, maybe some clothes for G that won't hang on his frame."

"Not sure about the clothes. This area is pretty rural. I don't think they have a mall somewhere open at this time of the day. The medical supplies should work though. What do we need?"

Sam gave her a brief list of supplies and only some minutes later, Kensi left. Sam busied himself in the kitchen, starting a new pot of coffee. Pouring a mug, he grinned when he saw Deeks' hungrily eyeing the brew he held. Sam fished out a second mug and filled it with coffee before bringing it over to Deeks, who took it gratefully.

He never would have guessed to stumble upon a scene like this, to hear Kensi say that Callen slept while Deeks was talking away. Then again, he wouldn't have expected to lose Callen to an abduction for ten months before finding him a lot worse for wear both physically and mentally.

Sighing and shaking his head, Sam took out the phone and dialed Hetty's number; it was time to check in and see where they stood.

Xxxxxxx

Awareness crept in slowly, his senses returning gradually, instead of the wide awake state he usually came to. For Callen, the transition from sleep to wakefulness had always been instant. One moment he was fast asleep, the next he was wide awake. For once, he came to gradually, becoming aware of the gentle murmur of voices close by. A small smile came to his features when he recognized the voices, his team mates, his family. Additionally, he could distinguish sounds of cutlery clicking.

Blinking his eyes open, briefly shying away from the light in the room, Callen moved, only to freeze when each of his injuries clamored for his attention. He sucked in a breath, only to moan softly when his ribs protested. He didn't remember much of the last few hours, remembered meeting up with the team and coming to some house. He vaguely remembered being checked over by Sam and Michelle and he thought Deeks had been talking to him at some point as well, but the memories were incredibly hazy and distorted.

Noting that the conversation had quieted down, Callen opened his eyes again, finding all eyes on him. Somewhat self-conscious, he sighed and carefully reached up to rub a hand over his face before contemplating how to best get up without face-planting to the floor. Maybe he could just roll of the couch and go from there?

Sam, obviously aware of his dilemma, stood up with an eye-roll and came over to the couch. "Legs or upper body?" he asked simply. Yeah, they had done this once or twice before, usually when Callen was really bad off. That should probably tell him something about his current state.

Contemplating the question, he eventually decided, "upper body."

Sam nodded and carefully moved a hand under his neck. "On three."

Upon the count, Sam levered him upwards while Callen shifted his lower body and legs accordingly, ending up sitting on the couch. He was glad to find the rest of the team had returned to their meal, returned to conversing quietly instead of watching his indignity of needing help to make it into a sitting position.

"Got it from here, thanks," Callen muttered, giving himself another moment before pushing upwards. He swayed for a second before finding his equilibrium. Obviously he passed muster because Sam withdrew and returned to the kitchenette. Callen hobbled into the other direction, dimly remembering where the bathroom was located. If he stabilized himself on the wall every now and then, nobody noticed… or commented on it.

Once he returned, another chair had been set up at the table and he gratefully fell into it, reaching for the glass of juice that had been poured and practically gulping the contents down. He did feel somewhat awake, but at the same time still pretty much out of it. Having his team mates, his family around him felt good, but the change was pretty jarring.

Picking up the mug of tea that obviously belonged to his set of cutlery, he curled his fingers around it.

"You better not pour that down your throat the same way you did with the juice," Deeks intoned with a smirk.

Callen arched an eyebrow at the other man, finding his lips pulling into a small smirk but he refrained from replying. Instead, he felt the warmth of the mug soaking into his palms, spreading upwards through his arms. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself a few moments to just be, allowing for the company and the gentle conversation to wash over him and anchor him to this new reality.

He used the time to take stock of his physical state; he was still woozy from exhaustion and pain. His shoulder felt remarkably alright, if a bit stiff. His knee was throbbing, nothing new there. His ribs were hurting with each and every movement, also nothing new. His back was stinging slightly and moving seemed to pull on some of the scabs every now and then, but it wasn't debilitating pain anymore. Taken together, he still felt pretty horrible, but a touch more alive than yesterday.

Taking a slow sip of the tea, he put the mug down, his fingers instantly itching for the warmth it had provided, reminding him of the hoody he'd been provided with yesterday. He hadn't felt warm in a long time, still didn't feel warm now but at least he wasn't freezing anymore. Shaking off those thoughts, Callen surveyed the food that had been set up. He needed fluids and something of sustenance. The burger he had tried to eat half way through Poland had been too much for his stomach and had made a reappearance. His ribs had loved that… not. Figuring he would go with some fruit and a slice of toast, he noticed Sam's eyebrows arch upwards upon his choices. "Not a word, Sam," he warned without looking up.

Sam barked a short laugh, a sound Callen hadn't heard in long months, a sound that washed warmly over him. "Wasn't about to comment," his partner denied.

"You so were," Callen argued back. The banter came easily, reassuring him that while his body was broken and some parts of his mind might have deep cracks as well, some things still stayed the same. "So, when are we leaving?"

There was a brief pause, making suspicion start to claw at Callen. He glanced up and allowed his eyes to wander around the table, finally landing on Sam and arching an eyebrow of his own.

"Not today. We'll continue either tomorrow or even only the day after," Sam said evenly, holding his gaze.

His eyes narrowed, "I can go on, Sam," Callen said firmly, "I'm alright."

Sam scoffed lightly, "you're far from being alright, but that's beside the point."

"I got out of Russia and here by myself. I can keep going," he growled, anger suddenly suffusing him, unsettled that they would make a fuss over this. He grabbed onto the anger, an emotion he hadn't felt in a long time, a contrast to the feelings of insecurity and fear and pain that had been constant companions for months.

"I know that, G, but…" Sam started again, only to be interrupted by an indistinguishable growl of annoyance from Callen.

With all his focus on Sam, he didn't notice Kensi reach over, her hand landing on his forearm. Her words were drowned out by Callen's reaction to the unexpected touch. He flung himself backwards and away from the hold on his arm, overbalancing his chair. He would have tumbled backwards, if Sam and Deeks who were seated on either side of him hadn't both reacted quickly and reached out, managing to grip the back of his chair and stabilize it.

"Whoa, there," Deeks said, breathing a sigh of relief when all four legs of Callen's chair were back on the ground, "can we please discuss this without you crashing backwards, cracking your head open and bleeding all over these lovely kitchen tiles?"

Callen felt himself shaking, both in reaction to Kensi's touch and the fright of nearly overbalancing and falling backwards. On top of that, there was the embarrassment of having no control over himself and his reactions right now. He stood and stepped away from the table.

"G," Sam called, his voice dropping to a soothing tone.

"I'll be right back," Callen muttered, turning and fleeing the room with as much dignity as possible considering his uneven gait and what had just transpired.

Xxxxxxx

Callen's abrupt departure left a vacuum in the room. Kensi's eyes were still on where he had disappeared down the hall. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect to…" she muttered, fading off.

Sam shook his head. "Not your fault," he sighed. "I've provoked a reaction like that twice so far." Both at the parking lot and then again when he had been checking Callen over later that night.

"Should we check on him?" Deeks wondered, but this time, it was Michelle who shook her head.

"Give him a few minutes to calm down. Callen hates being vulnerable, hates being seen as weak. He'll need a little while to sort himself out," she told them. "Let's continue eating. The less we make of this, the easier it will be for him to sit back down with us."

Xxxxxxx

It took him several minutes to calm down. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Callen put his head down, his fingers linking behind his head while he forced himself to simply breathe and wait for the adrenaline to leave his system.

Damn it, he felt unhinged. He needed to get himself back under control and his reactions curbed.

Once the shaking stopped, he stood back up and then hobbled over to the sink, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. There were some fading bruises, but what drew his attention most was the way his eyes seemed to be sunken into his skull, dull and empty. He felt empty, void of any strength. He thought he could go on with the team towards Ramstein, knew he wanted to get there to feel safer, but maybe he really wasn't fit to continue on.

A day or two of rest at this place couldn't do any harm if Abramov didn't know where they were, right? Maybe he would be able to relax his guard and find a way to settle himself. The transition from being captive, to relying only on himself during the first day of escape to being taken care of by people he trusted implicitly with his safety just didn't work for him yet. He trusted them, but obviously any unexpected touch could make his fragile hold on reality snap.

Last night, he hadn't been in any position to make decisions anymore and he had allowed them to take over. What was different now? The few hours of rest he had gotten really didn't make a dent in healing him. He did feel more clearheaded, but maybe he needed to trust their opinion if they doubted he should continue on.

He knew that he was resilient, had learned early to take care of himself and was prone to doing things on his own, going "lone wolf" on anyone. Usually he had reasons though - shielding those close to him from the fallout or making sure no one got caught in the crossfire. He may be considered a loose cannon by some, but he had always prided himself on knowing his limits. He would never, ever endanger a team mate or fellow agent by entering a mission he couldn't physically handle. Even injured, he knew how far he could push his body and he had always trusted that instinct. Even after being poisoned with cyanide, he had been sure in his capabilities, had felt his condition improving by the minute.

The last months of captivity had driven him far past any line of endurance and he was still functioning in that basic survival mode. It hadn't been an option to give up or to rest or to acknowledge the pain that ran so deep it had permanently settled in his bones.

After escaping from the mansion, he had acknowledged that he needed help, had instinctively known that seeing this through by himself would be beyond his capabilities. He had reached out to his team, knowing he could trust them. Why was he disputing that trust now? Was he really able to adequately assess his status or would he endanger his team by stating he could go on when maybe he was beyond his endurance? If they saw what he couldn't see because he had lost his objectivity, because he had lived in a world of pain for too long to understand he had nothing more to give, he could bring them all down if he couldn't function.

Resting was an option now. He could allow himself to lower his guard because there were other people to keep him safe. They wouldn't let him down. They would have his back and they wouldn't expect anything in return. It was why he had called them in, was it not?

Sighing, Callen ran some water in his cupped hands, washing his face. The cold water somehow settled him further. Wiping his hands and face, he left the bathroom to return to the kitchenette. Sitting down in the chair he had vacated several minutes ago, he sighed softly before looking over to Sam. "If you don't think I can keep going, I'll back down and trust your judgment," he told his partner slowly, hating the words but having decided to put his trust in these people. And that included entrusting them with decisions he now wasn't sure he should take for himself.

Sam's gaze softened at his words, "you're an idiot, G," he said gently, "I know that you would be able to keep going. I don't think it would be wise, but I know very well that you could hold on. That's not why we'll stay here though."

Callen frowned and was about to say something when Sam held up his hand. "No, let me finish this time. I talked to Hetty earlier. Since you're not on your own anymore now, she pulled the stops and went somewhat official with this whole thing while still making sure to stay away from any NCIS systems. Among other things, she enlisted some help from the CIA. It appears they already had Abramov on their watch list for something or another and they could provide the wonder twins with some Intel that helped them hack Abramov's phone. They've been listening in on him during the night. He's pulling in reinforcements to Ramstein."

Callen narrowed his eyes. So the canny bastard obviously figured out his game plan, figured out that the embassies were just decoys. "All the more reason to go now so we get there before he does," Callen stated mildly, reaching for the food left on his plate, starting to eat once more.

Kensi slowly shook her head. "Too late. Abramov and his original crew of six arrived there last night, a few hours after we came here."

Taking a sip of his coffee before putting it back down, Deeks ruffled a hand through his hair and scowled. "He must be really desperate to get you back to dare hanging around the Air Force base on the off chance to grab you."

Callen shook his head. "Not desperate. Possessive. He considers me a possession and for his possession to run away from him would have enraged him beyond belief," he said softly. "The repercussions for my last escape attempts were…," he trailed off, his focus turning inwards, his sight blurring as memories tried to crowd him. He distantly heard the clack when he put the fork down, felt his hands start to shake again. It was his partner's voice that dragged him back to reality just moments later.

"G."

Callen's eyes snapped up towards Sam, his vision rapidly clearing. Shaking his head more forcefully to dispel the images, he picked up the fork again. Control. He really needed to control himself. Still, it only added credibility to his earlier musings on whether or not he was really able to keep going. Taking a slow, deep breath, he refocused on the conversation. "There are not many roads into Ramstein. He actually stands a chance to intercept us. Can they remove him from the area?" he asked.

"Not as long as he's on German ground. No jurisdiction there. The German authorities might, but timing would be critical to be able to slip past," Michelle argued, shutting that avenue down.

"So, we're gonna lie low and wait for his interest to fade?" Deeks suggested.

Callen shook his head. "He's not going to just give up. As long as he knows I'm not completely out of his reach, he won't back down." In the back of his mind, a small voice added a cynical and yet realistic 'probably not even then' to his sentence. Abramov wouldn't give up on him. His fixation on him was too strong, and now that he had escaped, it would be a matter of driving the point home and teaching his possession a lesson. He wasn't yet sure what that meant for his future. Taking the coward's way out, Callen decided not to dwell on that particular topic right now.

"Hetty is working on it," Sam replied simply, a small smirk on his lips, "I believe she said something about some Admirals still owing her favors."

Callen barked a short laugh, mindful of his ribs, yet not quite successful in not jostling them. His hand went to his ribcage, but the mirth didn't leave him right away, "poor Admirals."

The comment lightened the mood around the table, chuckles and soft laughs filling the room, stories about Hetty's interferences and her moving chess pieces or shifting the whole board being shared, allowing Callen to relax a little bit more, to trust that the nightmare was over and he was back with the people he trusted most.

Xxxxxxx