CHAPTER SIX

Kensi fled as if the enemy were hot on her heels, which in a way they were, for the demons in her head were at least as threatening as the Mexicans right now. Tears burned down her cheeks but they only served to remind her of the forlorn look in Deeks' eyes that she could no longer bear to see, and she felt like she was being suffocated by the guilt she felt, such overwhelming guilt, for Callen, for Deeks. It was eating away at her, and oh, that look Deeks had given her when she had finally met his eyes after accusing him of being the reason they hadn't all managed to escape. She hadn't meant it, had she? Surely she hadn't meant it. She ran with such raw misery it scared her, and she used the fear to fuel herself on, wanting nothing more than to turn the clock back a day, a week… Back to before her fight with Deeks, back to a time when they had been happy together, a time she feared was now lost to them forever.

Eventually, the nagging ache in her ankle became a sharper pain and she was forced to slow to a stilting jog and finally a walk. Her guilt-driven flight had taken her at a pace far surpassing what they had managed as a threesome to achieve and she realised she was halfway back to the standing stones where they had all spent the previous night. She sank to the ground, panting, trying to clear her head. Running away – she couldn't possibly give it any other label – had been rash, stupid. What had she been thinking, leaving the others and fleeing back here on her own in such a foolhardy manner? Running away from Deeks, from her partner. That wasn't the behaviour of a cool, well-trained agent. She had allowed her emotions to over-rule her, and now she needed to calm down and work out a plan. She could scout the area, find out if Callen was still being held there. She might be able to get the lie of the land, see how the enemy had regrouped themselves, collect vital intel for a rescue mission. She was the only one of the three fit enough to do that. She refused to allow herself to think of Deeks and only hoped that Sam had been able to restrain him from running headlong after her. They would be okay. They would reach Los Mochis, get help. She'd be ready for it. They'd get help to rescue Callen, and then they'd all be able to go home.

NCIS:LA

Callen held his breath as one of the doors to his room was unlocked, letting out a partial sigh of relief when he saw it was only two armed guards, unaccompanied by either General Vasquez or worse, Spencer Williams. He hadn't quite worked out his story for the inevitable interrogation by the latter yet.

The two muscular men crossed to his chair. One of them held him firmly by the shoulders, and the other took a plastic bottle from a pocket in his coat. The bottle contained a greyish-looking thick liquid and Callen watched with some trepidation as the man unscrewed the cap and moved to hold it to his lips.

"Drink!" he commanded in Spanish, and warily Callen took a careful sip. It turned out to be some sort of mushroom soup, cold and not particularly appetising, but it was all Callen had eaten in over 24 hours and he drank it fast, afraid it would be snatched away. The Mexican held it while he finished, angling it up so that he could drink to the end of the bottle, and screwing the lid back on and returning it to his pocket when he was done.

"Gracias," Callen said politely, throwing his captors off guard.

"You will be untied for the night," the man with the bottle said to him, drawing a knife from another pocket with which he proceeded to cut the ties round Callen's wrists, freeing his arms from the arms of the chair, though he was still restrained by ropes securing his ankles to the chair legs and another around his chest, pinning his upper arms to his body. "Hands together!" the Mexican barked, and resignedly Callen did as he was ordered. A new piece of rope was used to bind his wrists tightly together in front of him, and despite the pain it caused in his swollen left arm Callen made no fuss, thinking he could use this information on his routine if he allowed the Mexicans to drop their guard towards him. Once his hands were secured, the man cut the remaining ropes so that he would be free to get up from the chair and move around the room. "Stay sitting til we leave!" the man ordered, and again Callen meekly obeyed. In all truth he was so stiff from being bound in one position for so long, he wanted to leave the indignity of his first awkward movements until he was alone, and that proved wise when, after the door was securely locked and bolted, he clambered to his feet and fully realised the toll his earlier beating had taken on him.

Moving unsteadily to the bathroom to relieve himself, he fumbled to lift his shirt to see the already purple bruising covering most of his torso, and he sighed, knowing he was in for an uncomfortable night but hoping it was all worthwhile if the Mexicans were abandoning their search to focus on him and allowing his team time to escape. He hadn't expected this night of peace, but considered it likely that the delay in questioning him further was to allow time for Spencer Williams to return. He wondered where Williams had been that day, tossing up the possibilities in his mind. It was most likely the man had left to put together his people to search for his abducted son, but surely as soon as he had word that Callen had been captured, he would return. Callen inwardly shuddered at the thought, but knew it had been the right thing to do for him to allow himself to be taken, not only to protect his team, but to draw heat away from Mosley getting Derrick to safety. With any luck, both parties would now be safe, and that only left him to figure out how to get himself out of this mess and return home.

NCIS:LA

"Hetty?" Nell approached cautiously. Ever since the three of them had witnessed the SUV's shocking demise the day before, had heard the panicked shouts of the four agents as they saw the rocket being launched at them before the final devastating explosion when everything had gone blank, Hetty had been mute and withdrawn. She had left Ops without a word, moving mechanically down the stairs to her office where she had remained ever since, silently staring into space. Neither Nell nor Eric had been able to persuade her to go home, or even to move to the couch in the bullpen where she could rest. Nell was on the verge of calling for help, though who or what sort of help, she was not entirely sure. Instead, she and Eric had camped out in Ops, keeping a watchful eye on Hetty and determined not to leave a single stone unturned until they could be sure what had befallen their team in Mexico. They had received one phone call from Mosley little more than an hour after they had lost contact with Callen and the team. She had demanded an update from Hetty, and it had fallen to Nell to explain that Hetty was unavailable and the four agents were unreachable and presumably still in Mexico, if indeed they were even still alive. Mosley's response had been unrepeatable, and they had not been able to make contact with her again.

Hetty looked up at Nell with unseeing eyes, but it was more of a response than either of them had gotten so far, and so Nell pressed on.

"We've managed to get satellite images from just after the time we lost contact… We think you should come and look," Nell said pleadingly. Hetty stared at her for a long time, and Nell found it unsettling, but she maintained eye contact, and held a hand out to help Hetty to her feet. The Ops manager had aged decades in the last three days, ever since the plane bound for Mexico had taken off, taking her four agents with it, and Nell hoped that what they were about to show her would not destroy her further if it turned out to be false hope. But it was a shred of hope, and she and Eric had clung to it like a lifebelt, not yet ready to accept the alternative.

They climbed the stairs slowly, Nell fearing for Hetty's frailty, but by the top of the stairs the old woman had composed herself and she walked through the doors with her usual poise, looking immediately to the big screen where Eric had displayed the satellite images ready.

"It's less than five minutes after the explosion," Eric explained. "I managed to switch to show heat signatures. You can see the wreck of the SUV," he pointed to a bright mass that dominated the screen. Neither of them missed the slight increase in tension in the small woman stood between them.

"But here," Nell quickly continued. "Two figures up here," she pointed. "And another not far behind."

"Just three?" Hetty finally spoke, her voice quiet and hoarse.

"There's a single figure over here," Eric said, pointing. "Taking a different direction from the crash site than the others. But it doesn't seem likely to be a hostile. They all seem grouped here still," he pointed to a mass of heat signatures a few hundred yards below the crash site. "It wouldn't make sense for one of them to move up round here alone. But one of our team, fleeing from the crash…"

"Disorientated maybe," Nell continued. "It's possible, we really do think it's possible Hetty, that all four of them survived."

NCIS:LA

Sam and Deeks moved silently as the day turned to dusk. Sam had barely been able to restrain the overwrought detective when Kensi ran off, having to clamp a hand firmly to his mouth to stifle his anguished cries in his partner's wake. But Kensi had run, deaf and blind to the desolation she left behind, and it had taken every ounce of field training Sam had to maintain his focus and insist that he and Deeks moved onwards, bound for Los Mochis and hopefully for help. It was only because Sam was now struggling to walk without leaning on Deeks that the younger man had stayed with him, his loyalties clearly torn between Sam and his partner, but neither of them were in a fit state to catch up to Kensi and deep down they both knew it. They had travelled in oppressive silence, with Deeks refusing to meet Sam's eyes or speak to him, so that when he did finally talk it took them both by surprise.

"Sam!" he breathed, barely able to contain the rising vestige of hope he felt at the sight before him. Sam turned, wondering what had caught the detective's eye. "Look. The horses!" Sam squinted in the direction Deeks pointed, struggling in the fading light to see the two shapes, until one of them moved. The hazy outlines of the two horses were slowly moving away from them, meandering calmly as if for all the while they were free on a deserted plain, searching for stray blades of grass hidden under the bushes. Their tack clinked softly as they moved.

"Can you ride?" Sam asked. "Can we catch them?"

"What were their names again?" Deeks asked.

"God knows, what the hell has that got to do with anything?" Sam demanded as the two of them started to move quicker towards the two beasts, trying to hide any sense of urgency that might cause the horses to spook and run off.

"Here, horses, horses," Deeks crooned, clucking his tongue.

"For God's sake, Deeks, they're not dogs!" Sam exclaimed. Deeks shrugged.

"It might work," he said nonchalantly, continuing to cluck and talk inanely to the animals as they got closer. Sam rolled his eyes and limped along behind.

Deeks kept his surprise well-hidden when one of the horses stopped and turned, raising it's head and focusing pricked ears on him curiously.

"Don't scare it away," Sam muttered, but the horses seemed pleased to see humans again, and when the first one started walking boldly towards Deeks' outstretched hand, the second also turned and followed.

"Just call me the Horse Whisperer," Deeks grinned, taking a firm hold of the reins and rubbing the big neck tentatively. The horse whickered at him softly. Sam reached out to take the reins of the second one.

"We might as well trust that they know where they're headed," he said. The horses were moving in roughly the direction Sam had thought would take them to Los Mochis, and he knew enough of horses to feel confident in their homing instincts. It surprised him a little that they hadn't fled the area long ago, but he decided not to question a gift from the Gods, instead clumsily heaving himself into the saddle he had occupied little more than a day ago in his and Callen's frantic gallop from the compound. He watched as Deeks struggled to do the same, not as comfortable around horses as Sam and Callen, and finding the scramble into the saddle awkward with his broken ribs. Eventually he was on board, picking up the reins and nudging his mount to follow Sam, allowing the horses to pick their own footing in the evening light, heading at last more positively towards salvation.