Falling Through the Cracks

Chapter 4

"- in and out of consciousness."

Again, he clawed his way back to awareness, feeling a shift in the air around him. His view had changed: a canopy of trees high above and a cloudy sky instead of moss covered ground and dead leafs directly in front of his face. The rest was the same… he was still in pain, still unable to make himself move for fear of pain. Something else was different though… more people.

Callen blinked slowly when the ground on the left side of him vibrated, a dull thud as a pair of knees sank down by his side. Moments later, the face of a person appeared in his range of vision.

"Hello, can you hear me?"

He took in the man's face, half obscured by some sort of helmet.

"Can you hear me?"

"Yea," he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut when just the rumble of his voice made pain tumble through his chest.

Again, there were fingers questing for his pulse. "- your name?"

Focus. He prodded his mind to start focusing, to stop slipping away, but it hurt. Everything hurt. Callen blinked his one functional eye open again and the other man gave him a small smile when he focused on him again.

"-re you are."

If he had the capacity for it, he would probably feel downright stupid for being unable to do much more than lie there and cling to consciousness. Reaching deep inside of himself, he searched for the last vestiges of strength to become more alert. Name. He had been asked for a name.

"Cal-" he murmured, breaking off and again cringing when the pain in his chest increased.

"Alright Cal," the man seemed to take his aborted murmur for face value, "I know you're in pain. We'll be putting an IV and painkillers into you in a second. Just hang on."

That sounded like heaven. He hated needles, but nothing could be as bad as this.

"How bad?" A second voice on his right side, out of his vision as his right eye still didn't want to open.

"Barely conscious. Pulse is thready and weak. We need to get fluids into him soon. I'm preparing an IV."

He felt the presence of the other man on his right side lean closer.

"Name's Cal," the first man added, rummaging through a bag that had appeared out of nowhere.

"Alright Cal," the second voice sounded right above him and he blinked to focus on the man. "We're here to help you and get you out of here. I'll check you over more thoroughly, while Sam over there starts you on an IV."

Sam? Sam was here?

He started trying to look around, look for the man who had always had his back, who was more than a co-worker, more than a friend.

Before he could find him though, the man's voice sounded again, calling his attention back. "Can you tell me where you're hurt?"

"All ov-" he whispered, unable to complete the sentence when the air in his lungs didn't last that long.

"Any trouble breathing?"

"Yea-" he croaked an affirmative, "hurts."

Moments later, his shirt was cut open. Cool air hit his chest, making him shiver, making the pain intensify… if that was even possible. Where was Sam?

"I got little movement of the left side of his chest."

Something touched his chest for moments before moving on to another place. "Reduced breath sounds on the left side. He's got a pneu. Get him on oxygen as soon as you've put that IV in." The hands were back on his chest, fingers questing for breaks and quickly finding them, making him squeeze his eyes shut and a whine escape. "I can feel multiple fractures."

A prick on his left hand was followed by a "done" and moments later a "can one of you hold that up, please?"

A third person appeared in his peripheral vision, but he couldn't concentrate on them when an oxygen mask was put over his mouth and strapped to his face.

"Cal," the voice of one of the EMTs called and he glanced over, "you've got a pneumothorax which means…"

He gave a slow nod, letting the rest of the words wash over him. He remembered the feeling, now that he focused on it. The way his lung wouldn't - couldn't - expand to take in enough oxygen.

There was a sharp prick, a cut, an incision before suddenly his lung expanded again. It didn't hurt as such and he was more focused on drawing breath, finally able to get more air.

"There, that's better," one of the men said while the other settled above his head, glancing down at him. He met the man's gaze, unable to focus on his features or take in anything other than that he was male and looked calm and confident. The man took hold of his head and held it steady. "We'll put a brace on you now, Cal, to make sure to keep your neck protected."

Too exhausted to try for a reply, he allowed his eye to close.

"No sleeping yet," the man above him admonished and he blinked his eye back open, "that's better. How's the pain, Cal?"

The first hint of relief had started creeping up on him, spreading throughout his body and slowly blanketing the worst of the agony. "Better," he murmured just as a brace was slid beneath his neck.

"Good," the man above him gave him and encouraging smile.

The brace was fastened before the men turned their attention back to the rest of him, carefully beginning to pat down his legs, finding more of the many points of agony and making him cry out weakly despite the pain medication running through him.

"Broken lower left leg."

The hands climbed back up, carefully settling on his hips. Just the slight pressure doused his body in fierce red hot pain and he gulped in a breath while a moan slipped out. He was distantly aware of more words being passed between the men above him even while white noise rushed in his ears. His hold on consciousness was slipping and he reached even deeper inside of himself, looking for that reservoir of strength that had always been there. It was difficult to reach though, difficult to make a grab for it and hold onto it. He clung to consciousness by his fingertips, unable to focus on what was going on around him anymore.

"You still with me, Cal?"

He heard the words and managed to roll his one functioning eye over to the man hovering over him.

"We'll be airlifting you out now."

He must have missed a lot, had been strapped to a board and was now deposited in some kind of cage that was lifted moments later and carried off. Just a little while later, they stopped and several girths were fastened on the cage. One of the EMTs also strapped himself in and then they were lifting off. Trying to focus above him, he could make out the silhouette of a helicopter hovering.

Thoroughly exhausted, he felt his grip on consciousness beginning to fade and gave into the nothingness despite the paramedic calling for his attention.

Xxxxxxx

Sam faltered briefly when he left the interrogation room and saw Deeks perched in a chair in front of the monitors. He looked like death warmed over. "You could scare your own shadow away looking like that, man," Sam admonished softly when he stepped into the room.

Deeks glanced up blearily. "Had to be here," he muttered.

Sam gave him a small smile, half gratitude, half worry.

"He gave anything up?" Deeks asked, tilting his head slightly to the monitor where Dean McAllister could be seen inside the interrogation room. In the lower half of the monitor, a smaller window showed the second interrogation room with Anthony Dorsten and Kensi.

Sam shook his head. "No, nothing." He put the file onto the table, holding back on most of his frustration.

"Maybe I should go in," Deeks suggested and Sam arched an eyebrow before shaking his head.

"You're by no means fit to go in there."

"I agree," Hetty's voice spoke up behind them, "you shouldn't even be here."

"Hetty-" Deeks whined only to be interrupted by their operations manager.

"I'm not about to throw you out but you will not be taking an active role interrogating the suspects. You may sit here and listen in - that's more than I should allow you considering you were shot and had surgery just last night - and maybe you'll pick up on something that we would otherwise miss," Hetty told him firmly and both Sam and Deeks recognized that was as far as Hetty was willing to compromise.

"Yes, Hetty," Deeks muttered, suitably chastened.

Sam gave him a small smile over Hetty's head before he focused back on their operations manager when she turned towards him.

"I don't think either of those men will give us anything useful - or anything at all," Hetty groused. She glanced back at Deeks, "who is the weakest link that might hold some information we could use?" she asked him and added something before he could draw breath, "some information concerning Mr. Callen's whereabouts. I don't care one iota about the drones right now."

Deeks considered that for a second or two. "Try Mick Fletcher. He's young, impressionable. Reminded me of a puppy trying to get anyone's attention."

"So just like you?" Sam smirked.

Deeks rolled his eyes but was part grateful for the well known jibes. The dynamic was off with Callen missing and in danger, so anything that tied them to their usual 'normal' was appreciated and helped settle some of the nerves. "He hung out with Steve a lot and Steve took him under his wing - he also liked to brag to Mick sometimes. Steve may have told Mick something about the trip when they got back."

Hetty glanced at Sam and gave him a firm nod. "Get him here and see what he can give us."

Xxxxxxx

Nothing.

The short version was: Mick could give them nothing.

The long version consisted of an extended interrogation between Kensi and Sam, trying to ask, to cajole, to con, to tag-team and to threaten.

There was nothing Mick had to offer them in terms of places and locations. The only thing he could give them was one sentence: 'Steve said they took care of a troublemaker on the way.'

All of them knew that this was related to Callen. All of them were sure that it wasn't good.

The fact that Callen hadn't called in suggested he was incapacitated and that didn't sit well with either of them.

They needed to find Callen, and fast, hoping they weren't already too late.

Note: Again... I'm no medical expert. So let's hope I got it mostly correct and let's forget about what I didn't get correctly ;)