CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sam was waiting for him up on the balcony outside the ops centre. Not quite pacing: though Callen could imagine it was a tough exercise of self-control for Sam to remain standing there looking nonchalant.
"Where've you been?"
"Here and there," Callen answered evasively. He scratched his neck under the sling. He didn't relish outlining his plan to the rest of the team. He knew they'd have reservations, and he wasn't sure he had the energy to convince them it was the best, the only, play. "Are we going in or…?"
"Hetty doesn't think you should be taking an active role in this," Sam addressed his partner squarely.
"Is that Sam Hanna code for you having doubts about my state of health?" Callen responded with a flash in his eyes.
"I always have doubts about your state of health, G. All that junk food, you don't sleep properly… You don't take care of yourself." Sam grinned placatingly. It was a familiar argument between the two of them, and on hearing the friendly words Callen calmed down. He knew the pain he was in was putting him on a short fuse. Taking it out on Sam wasn't fair. Given the circumstances, it was hardly surprising Hetty, Sam, any of them, were concerned about him. He'd have felt the same if the roles were reversed. It seemed they each had their own personal enemy, that one individual who got to them more than most. For Hetty it had been Matthias Draeger, for Sam, Tahir Khaled. For him…
Better able to compartmentalise than most, nonetheless Callen was definitely rattled by Janvier's return. He knew it, and he didn't like it. He gave Sam a ghost of his trademark smirk as they moved towards the sliding doors, and Sam touched a hand to his shoulder understandingly.
"Finally!" Eric greeted them. "We were beginning to think you'd never get here… err, I mean…" He trailed off as Callen did his best to hide his limp when he entered the room. Eric blushed, and turned his head back to his tablet, furiously tapping and swiping in a way that everyone knew was just a cover for his embarrassment.
"What Eric *meant* to say," Nell said with an indulgent smile, "Is that we've caught a break."
"Yeah?" Callen raised his eyebrows whilst simultaneously making a flapping 'go away' movement with his hand towards Deeks who was attempting to slide a chair into the centre of the room for Callen to sit on. Leaning back instead of standing alert in front of the big screen as he usually did, he allowed the big table to take some of the strain.
Eric's earlier embarrassment was forgotten. "A big break," he said smugly. "I've uncovered the details of the Incognito auction!" He looked around at his audience. It was indeed a big break, and he read various emotions from admiration to relief on his colleague's faces.
"Do I want to know how?" Sam asked dryly.
"Err… Well, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," Eric grinned, thoroughly enjoying the moment.
"Oh, Eric!" Nell exclaimed with exasperation. Turning to the others she said, "It's probably best if you offer some congratulatory words right about now. It might encourage him to get to the point."
"Eric Beale, the IT genius, the god of all things hacking, the wonder of…" Deeks began with a grin.
Blushing again, Eric spoke hastily. "Alright, alright… Let's just say the how isn't important…" He swiped a few images from his tablet up onto the big screen. "Using some… covert… channels, and a teeny tiny bit of hacking into some systems that probably wouldn't appreciate an outsider poking around in them, I found this. We believe it's all genuine." On the screen were some passport images, and a transcript of a telephone conversation from the NSA between two unfamiliar Russian names.
"These two men were flagged through passport security at LAX this morning," Nell said. "Aleksandr Ivanov and Feliks Bebnev. Ivanov is believed to be ex Russian special forces. The NSA clearly have Bebnev on their watchlist but we have no information on him. In light of this, it's likely Ivanov is his bodyguard. We've been running all foreign arrivals through LA airports but wouldn't have thought anything of these two if Bebnev's name hadn't also come up in the NSA transcript, or Eric's, erm, information gathering, from other sources."
"The NSA transcript between Bebnev and a Russian female living here in LA appears pretty innocent at first glance," Eric continued. "But this third line is key." He highlighted the sentence.
" 'The goods are going to market on Thursday.'…" Sam read aloud.
"How do we know this is relevant to our case?" Kensi enquired.
"Because there is no market in the LA area, or surrounding, on this, or any, Thursday!" Eric said triumphantly.
"Good work, Eric," Sam said with a smile. He looked around at the team. They all, himself most definitely included, were showing varying degrees of fatigue. Nell was quiet. Eric was bounding on an obvious caffeine high, a crash imminent. Kensi, Deeks and Connor looked tired, no doubt feeling the same draining fatigue he himself felt from the emotional rollercoaster the long day had presented them with. Callen was still leaning heavily on the big table, exhaustion showing clearly in the droop of his head and his weary stance. Sam met Callen's eyes, and the team leader nodded imperceptibly. "And now, we all go home." There were muttered protests from around the room, but Sam held up his hand to silence them. "I mean it guys. We're all running on fumes. It's been a long day, and there's nothing now we can do this evening that can't wait until tomorrow. Go home, eat, get some sleep. Tomorrow morning, we'll work up a plan."
Slowest to come down the stairs, Callen and Sam were the last in the building. Everyone had heeded Sam's instructions and gone home, even Hetty. Eric left the facial rec programme running up in Ops, ready to alert them all instantly should Janvier surface, but none of them really expected him to be seen again before the auction. Sam continued to wait patiently while Callen put a call in to the safe house where Alex and Jake were staying. He'd sent them under the guise of wanting to treat them to a holiday, but now he knew about the extent of Janvier's reach and how he'd been able to get to Joelle using her husband and son, Callen wanted to speak to Alex in person and warn her to take every precaution. Alex's response to the potential threat was predictably angry and the conversation didn't go well. Callen sank back down tiredly onto the couch in the deserted bullpen while Sam gathered his things.
"You can come home with me, G," he offered, zipping his bag shut.
Callen shook his head, not moving from the couch. "I'm good here."
"G… You need some food, a proper bed…"
Callen closed his eyes and swallowed uncomfortably. When he spoke again, his voice was an octave lower and rough.
"I… I've kind of had my fill of boats and the sea…" He felt Sam's strong hand drop onto his shoulder and give it a firm squeeze. In all their years as partners, Callen could count on one hand the number of times Sam offered physical gestures of comfort, knowing how Callen typically shied away from such overt displays of emotion. It spoke volumes about the level of concern he had harboured for Callen over the past few days, and despite Sam's earlier confession and apology regarding the distance he'd put between them since Michelle died, Callen didn't quite know how to take it.
"How about you stop at Kensi's…?" Sam's voice trailed off.
"Sam… I'm fine. Really." Callen opened his eyes and glanced up at the big man. It was a fleeting glance, almost embarrassed, but there was enough of the usual self-confidence in his eyes to reassure his partner. With a final squeeze of Callen's shoulder, Sam backed down. He didn't want to let his partner out of his sight, much less leave him alone, the very first night he was back: but he knew it was Callen's preference, and in any case there weren't many places more secure than their own Ops building. If Callen wanted to be alone, it was arguably the safest place for him.
"You call me if you need anything," he said, and Callen nodded. "I mean it, G. Anything. Any time." He spoke with emphasis, but deep down knowing that he wouldn't get a call. Callen was too stubborn, too independent. Still, Sam couldn't help himself. "Keep that leg up. Keep your sling on. And I'll bring you breakfast in the morning, okay?"
Callen smirked in response to the familiar mothering, understanding it, and glad they were back on firmer ground.
"Yes, Mom," he answered cheekily, as he pointedly raised his injured leg up onto the box again. With a final searching look, Sam nodded, and shrugged his bag onto his shoulder ready to leave.
"See you in the morning, G."
Turning the phone over and over in his hand, Callen was no closer to making a decision than he had been an hour ago. Useless thoughts chased unprofitably around in circles in his brain, and really all he wanted to do was sleep, but sleep was a luxury often denied to him and tonight was no exception.
He'd been given a reprieve with Eric managing to find a location on the Incognito auction without the need for him to make himself vulnerable in order to draw Janvier out. He should have been relieved, but instead he felt a headache-inducing combination of exhausted yet restless, and he tossed the phone frustratedly onto the couch as he stiffly got up to fix himself a hot drink. The building was cold overnight. He should have remembered to ask Nell to adjust the settings on the cranky old heating system before she left. He sipped the tea before it had even started to cool and savoured the feel of the scalding liquid sliding down his throat, willing it to warm him from the inside out.
No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept straying back to one thing.
Anna.
He wanted to call her. Wanted to hear her voice again. He wanted also to know if she had known about Joelle's mission. If she had been involved in it even. The two of them had worked together on black ops in the past. He knew Anna didn't like working for the CIA, but she'd also taken a hand in dangerous ops in the past driven by some misguided need to try to protect him.
He didn't even know if she was still in town. If she had stayed with Arkady, or… If she had been busy with other things.
If Anna had known of the CIA's plans and Joelle's part in the Janvier mission, surely she would have tried to warn him somehow? If she felt anything for him at all… He clung to the belief that she hadn't known, that she hadn't been involved in any way.
If he called her, he'd find out. He'd hear it in her voice.
On balance, he decided not to call her. Better to cling to the belief she hadn't known, and couldn't have warned him of anything that had transpired.
Returning to the couch, he laid down and closed his eyes. Allowing his mind to drift, he shut out the worst thoughts, trying to convince himself that he was still resting even if he didn't actually sleep, while he waited out the slow hours for the others to arrive back for work.
A/N: Thank you again for your continued reviews, I love to read them! Sorry I haven't had a chance to respond to those I can message yet but I'm very grateful to read your thoughts!
I feel like the story has changed pace a little for the moment - Callen needs time to recover a little, and we need time to indulge in a little hurt/comfort and the wonderful relationships he has with both Sam and Hetty.
You'll notice the mention of Anna in this chapter - I edited her in whilst S12 was airing. When I started writing this story, she was still a fugitive/on the run after helping the team in Cuba, and then obviously in S12 we learned that she had been living with Callen throughout Covid. After the S12 episode "The Noble Maidens" it's not quite clear whether she and Callen were back on track or not - he told her he'd 'see her at home' - but then went to sit by Joelle's bedside. So I've left their relationship fairly open for now (that's not to say things won't change - I'm still editing this story as we go after a fairly major plot twist/re-write that happened when I lost my files that took me on an extra journey..! I'm not entirely sure I like it so there may be a heavy edit to merge the original idea and the new one together... we'll see!)
