"Just stop it," Sam cut him off. "You did what you could." He turned to the cabin. He was worried about Connor too, but there was nothing either of them could do, and he suspected Callen wasn't in the mood to be comforted. The best they could do right now was to try to get back to shore without being detected by the wrong people, and find a way of securely getting back in touch with Ops to let the team know they had survived.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Quietly sitting on the floor of the boat's cabin, Callen rested his head back tiredly against the wall. To the side of him, glancing down worriedly whenever he thought Callen wasn't paying any attention, Sam took charge of driving the boat to the Long Beach Marina. He'd been surprised when Callen suggested the location, for the smaller marina at San Pedro, or even Redondo just down the coast, would both have been much closer, but he figured Callen was seeking the safer anonymity of the bigger place. It meant they had to negotiate crossing the busy commercial Port of Long Beach, and every minute they spent on the water Sam feared the boat they had 'borrowed' would be reported stolen and they'd have the coastguard on their case, radioing in the details for anyone minded enough to hear. However, their luck held out. The journey took nearly two hours, and as they finally approached the big marina, Sam nudged Callen gently with his foot. "Wake up, G."
"Wasn't sleeping," Callen muttered. Sam rolled his eyes. It was pretty obvious Callen still wasn't in the best shape, and his battered body had been clamouring for rest for days. Sam couldn't decide if he preferred that Callen had spent most of the boat ride dozing and at least attempting to get some of that rest, or whether it would have been better if he had been awake and grousing about feeling seasick the entire time. On the whole, he'd have welcomed a more alert Callen, grousing and all, but he remained grateful they were both relatively okay, and at least this time Callen wasn't having to face fleeing from danger alone.
Callen stiffly stretched, and Sam offered a hand down to help him up. "Thanks." He paused, looking at his watch but shaking his wrist in frustration when he saw it was no longer working after his latest soaking. "It's getting dark… What's the time?"
"Thought you weren't sleeping," Sam grinned. "7pm. We're lucky we made it before losing the light completely." He paused. "Least we didn't run out of fuel."
They chugged slowly down the marina in the evening dusk, looking for an empty bay.
"There," Callen said, pointing.
"A bit big, but it'll do." Sam expertly swung the cruiser into a bay designed for much bigger yachts, and without wasting time the two of them swiftly moored up and moved carefully out of sight of the security cameras to the high wire mesh fence separating the marina from the outside world. Spotting a damaged bit of fence, Sam took the wire clippers he had pocketed from the boat's toolkit for the purpose and made the opening bigger for them both to duck through.
"That's some forward-thinking there, partner," Callen mocked.
"Planning ahead… That's what we do," Sam smirked in return. "We need to get hold of a phone… And some dry clothes," he added, noticing Callen starting to shiver. "Are you cold?" he asked worriedly. There was a strong sea breeze, but not a particularly cold one. Nonetheless it seemed to be cutting right through his partner.
"Little bit," Callen admitted, hugging his left arm around his ribs which were hurting in response to his shivers. He was still so desperately tired. He could feel his body shutting down, fatigue causing him to succumb to the cold. "This way," he said when Sam attempted to turn north.
"You got some place in mind?" Sam asked in surprise.
"Little rental… down near Seal Beach on 5th. Belongs to one of my aliases," he added, answering the question before Sam even managed to voice it.
With a grin, Sam realised that nothing about Callen should surprise him anymore. "Well then, do lead on," he commanded in amusement. At least they wouldn't have to walk too far, and could soon get in out of the breeze and hopefully find some food and a way to contact Ops.
In the dim light of a table lamp, Hetty sat quietly on the couch in the bullpen. She couldn't explain quite why she had chosen to sit there, only that it had somehow seemed wrong to take up residence behind her old desk – Callen's desk – when she felt far from in charge of anything that was going on. She didn't even know why she was still there.
Her head bowed in contemplation, she remembered the last time she had seen Callen on that couch. It had always been his couch. More than just a place to rest his head when he couldn't find alternative accommodations, she knew it signified something far deeper. The couch represented safety, and unequivocally, somewhere he belonged. The couch, more than anywhere he had ever lived, the couch here in the very centre of the old mission building she herself had chosen, was home.
The last time she had seen him sitting on it, she had felt sick with worry at the sight of her most cherished agent so weary and injured. So much between them always passed unspoken, like how he had apologised for the blood stains on her vast collection of spare clothes – which through regrettable necessity she always held more of in Callen's size than any other. The apology hadn't been about the jeans, just as his words of gratitude for the loan of her beach house hadn't been about the house. He had been thanking her for being there to catch him, and her light response assured him plainly that she always would be.
She hated to see him injured, but at least he had been there. Now… Now, she could hardly bear to articulate the thoughts even silently in her own mind. Now, after extensive and multiple searches of both land and sea, he and Sam were presumed dead. The only thing missing was their bodies, but as Marco Laurent had thus far only been partially dredged up in pieces following the huge explosion, she knew that didn't necessarily mean anything.
Without proof, the others didn't want to believe it, and were up in Ops even as the day darkened into evening, refusing to go home until news of their teammates surfaced. Whatever that news might be, none of them would rest until they had closure. Hetty knew she should be up there with them, directing the ship through this latest storm, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to move.
"Hetty?"
The tentative voice speaking her name caused Hetty to look up. Nell stood hesitantly in the shadows.
"I've brought you some tea."
Nell's approach lacked any of its usual confidence, and so Hetty didn't have to ask if there was any of the news they'd been waiting for. Steeling herself for further bad news, she nonetheless welcomed Nell into the rest area with a small smile.
"Thank you my dear… It's getting late. Time to call it a day?"
The affronted look on Nell's face in response to the suggestion was genuine, and it served to give Hetty a little reassurance. None of her team would leave while the lives of two of them were in question.
"I do have an update of sorts," Nell offered cautiously after Hetty had sipped some of her tea. Neither of them missed the slight tremble of cup against saucer as Hetty placed the unfinished beverage down on the table beside her. "There's still no evidence of…" Nell trailed off, not actually saying the words 'a body'. "If they got away, it's possible they simply haven't been able to make contact yet." She knew that didn't offer much more comfort, for unless they were both severely injured they all knew Callen and Sam would attempt to make contact with Ops as soon as possible, and as each hour ticked by there was a deepening sense of foreboding amongst them all that they had still heard nothing. 'No news was good news' only stretched so far.
"What is the update then, Nell?" Hetty braced herself for whatever Nell had to say.
"Well, it might be a good thing that they haven't made contact… If they're staying under the radar." Hetty raised an eyebrow. "Remember Eric initially thought Janvier was auctioning more than just Incognito?" Nell barely paused as Hetty nodded affirmation. "It seems that was the case. The FBI just alerted us of the results of their interrogation of Aleksandr Ivanov - he was the bodyguard of Feliks Bebnev, who was killed in the shoot-out… Anyway, Ivanov confirmed the rumours Eric suspected of Janvier auctioning 'human intelligence', and that intelligence was Callen." The worry on Nell's face was unmistakable. "Janvier wanted to auction him off too That was actually why Bebnev was here. For Callen, not the tech."
Hetty was silent for a long time. It seemed Callen was still very much at risk.
"Well then," she eventually said. "Let's hope that Mr Callen – if he is still alive – has done what he does best, and has become a ghost until he feels it is safe to make contact."
Callen's rental apartment, which turned out to be half the ground floor of a modest two-storey building originally a house that had later been sub-divided into three small residences, each with their own entrance, was just over two miles from the marina. Hoping they didn't draw too much attention in their still-damp clothes, and glad for the concealment offered by the darkening evening, Sam struggled to hide his concern as his partner's shivers grew increasingly more noticeable throughout the walk. Callen's limp was getting steadily worse too, and Sam wished there was something he could do to help, but Callen had shrugged off Sam's offered arm of support with his usual stubborn independence. Win now, pay later – it was becoming a mantra.
In spite of himself, Callen was unable to hide the relief in his voice when they came to the door. The roundabout route he'd taken to avoid any cameras had cost them an additional hour of walking that he could have badly done without. "Here," he said. The security light highlighted his weary features, making his eyes look startlingly bright in his pale face. He began to rummage in an inner pocket.
"You carrying a lock pick set?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Always," Callen answered, surprised by the question. "You don't carry one, just in case?"
"Kicking 'em down is more my style," Sam responded with a grin. Thinking about it, he couldn't actually remember the last time he had picked a lock. It was a task he usually left to Callen or Kensi, and he realised he'd never known either of them to come up short when lockpicks were needed. He wondered what else Callen had tucked away on his person 'just in case'.
"Hammer," Callen nodded, then with a gesture towards himself, "Feather." He smirked. "Better for the expense account this way." He knelt down and began to fumble his way through the locking mechanism. Sam leant against the wall over him. "Not helping there, big guy," Callen grumbled. "At least move out of the light, will you?"
"Thought this needed your feather-light feel, not sight," Sam teased. "You ought to leave yourself a spare key somewhere, save yourself the trouble in an emergency."
"Yeah, did that once. Bunch of teenagers broke in. Not a lot for them to do round here. I haven't risked it since." Finally feeling the lock turn, Callen nudged the door open a crack. He hated being unarmed. His SIG was no doubt languishing at the bottom of the ocean somewhere under what had once been the trapdoor of the boatshed, dislodged from his waistband when he plunged at speed into the water. He should have taken a knife or tool of some sort from the cruiser – any weapon would be better than none. He stood up, intending to give Sam a 'go ahead' nod to enter before him knowing it would be his partner's preference to take point, but a rush of dizziness hit him, and he swayed alarmingly. "Don't make a thing of it…" Callen's words began to slur, causing Sam to reach an arm out to him in concern. "But I'm not… feelin'… s'good…"
"Dammit!" Sam swore under his breath as Callen's knees began to buckle. "I got you, buddy. I got you." He wrapped his arm carefully around Callen's torso, mindful of his ribs, and took the full weight of his partner when he felt Callen slump unconscious against him. Lifting him bodily up, Sam moved the two of them quickly through the door, casting a glance over his shoulder to check for any nosy neighbours before he kicked it closed behind them. He found himself in the hallway of a small and modern apartment, and pushing the first door that he saw open, he was relieved to discover a bedroom.
"Got more furniture here than in your actual house," Sam muttered as he carried Callen across the room and laid him down gently on a small double bed. A rapid scan of the room and the built-in closet determined it safe, and Sam left hurriedly to check the rest of the apartment. He was taking no chances. The bathroom and tidy open-plan kitchen/lounge didn't take long to clear, and he returned to find Callen gently stirring though still unconscious. Relieved at this returning sign of life, Sam knelt next to him and felt for a pulse. It was there, thready and weak, but fairly regular. Sighing, Sam gave Callen a cursory check over for injuries from the blast, but coming to the saturated cast on his partner's arm, he knew what he really needed was Deeks' doctor friend again.
He wanted to stay and watch over Callen, but help wasn't going to magically materialise and what would help them more than anything right now was a phone. He could only imagine how fraught the rest of the team would be back at Ops not knowing what had happened to them, and he also hoped Kensi, Deeks, and anyone else outside the boatshed hadn't been hurt in the big explosion.
With another sigh, Sam rose and noticed his partner still shivering despite them now being inside. He opened the closet to look for a blanket or something he could cover Callen with until he could get him out of his damp clothes, and what he found turned out to be even better. In a box at the bottom of the closet were a number of unopened burn phones. With a noise approaching a low whistle, Sam opened one. Naturally it had no battery life and Sam began to hunt around for a socket to plug it into to charge. With the curtains drawn and very little light outside now the sun had set, it was almost totally dark in the apartment, but Sam didn't want to draw attention by turning on any electric lights. He had no idea what Callen's use of the place and his cover was.
His fumbling caused Callen to come back to partial consciousness, and Sam quickly crossed back to the bed.
"G?"
"Not sleepin'," Callen mumbled, swatting away Sam's hand reaching for his forehead to feel his temperature.
"Sure you're not," Sam muttered under his breath. "G, if I turn a light on will your neighbours come running? I can't see a damn thing!"
"Weekends," Callen said faintly. "I work in… the city. In the week. Here… weekends." His drowsy voice, slurring on all the words as if he were drunk, didn't sound right, but Sam was grateful his partner appeared to be lucid. It hadn't seemed likely that Callen would have suffered a head injury in their watery escape, but with his partner you never could tell. Sam felt for a pulse again, and didn't like how it had deteriorated from only five minutes before.
"Well, if anyone asks, you're taking a long weekend," he said, reaching out for the switch on the table lamp next to the bed. Callen sluggishly moved his arm over his eyes when the light from the small lamp flooded the room. "Sorry. How are you feeling?"
Adjusting to the light, Callen blinked owlishly a few times before glancing up at Sam with a vacant expression, as if he wasn't sure of the question or how to answer. "Just… tired," he admitted in the end.
"We need to get you out of those wet clothes," Sam instructed. He needed to make the most of this moment of consciousness, felt certain Callen wasn't going to remain awake for long. His body was going into shock, and anyone else would be out for the count, but Callen's innate lack of trust, his need to be in control, was over-riding his body's need for oblivion.
"Ops… we gotta ring Ops," Callen said suddenly, jerking to sit up and hissing as he did so.
"That's what I'm doing, genius," Sam waved the phone up at him. "Clothes. Off. Now." He moved over to the closet again. "I'll get you some dry things."
"There's a couple… big hoodies at the back," Callen told him, but he had laid back down and made no attempt to get up and change. He could barely keep his eyes open. His brain was swimming with thick fog, the occasional clear thought penetrating like a sunbeam through storm clouds. "Might fit you."
The closet had very little in it. On hangers, a couple of suits that were presumably the dress of Callen's city cover. Two pairs of jeans, a handful of shirts, and Callen was right about the hoodies, one navy, one grey. Sam pulled them out triumphantly and dumped the resulting pile of clothes on the end of the bed. Callen had drifted into semi-consciousness again and somewhat apologetically Sam nudged him awake.
"Come on, G," he said pleadingly. "Get some dry clothes on and I'll leave you alone for a bit." Sam began to pull off Callen's shoes and wet socks, and it was testament to the exhausted state of his partner that Callen made no complaint when he went to unbutton his jeans too. Gently, Sam tugged the wet clothes off, cursing to see yet more blood oozing from the wound on his thigh. "G… you're gonna need a whole new wardrobe at this rate," he muttered. "What's this now, the third pair of jeans you've bled all over?"
"Fourth," Callen mumbled, and Sam was glad again to see some coherent thought. Offering an arm, he helped Callen sit up, grasping hold of him firmly when it was clear dizziness once again hit as he became upright. Sam worked quickly to undress his friend, wincing as he noticed the large area of bruising across Callen's lower ribs and stomach.
"How have you…" Sam murmured with disbelief, looking at the bruising. He couldn't begin to imagine how Callen had been able to stand to lie on his front to use the sniper rifle earlier that day. He was distracted from further comment by Callen's left hand moving woozily to grasp his injured ribs as his shivering once again caused his teeth to chatter. "Here," he said, helping him slip his plastered arm into a button-down shirt and then the zip-up hoody. It was a size or two too large, which only served to make his partner look more shrunken and frail than before. Gently, Sam helped him lie back down, popping a pillow under his legs to help his circulation. "Go to sleep, buddy," he whispered. For the moment, getting Callen warm and dry was the most Sam could do for him.
A/N: I can only profusely apologise... I haven't been well (I'm still not very well...) I have been juggling so much, I completely forgot about this 'little' story, or even that fanfiction existed, and even when I remembered, it was so low on my priority list I just couldn't tackle it. But recently I've had some messages - and I am SO TOUCHED there are so many of you still caring about what happens with this after so long... so once again - I apologise.
I've got about a chapter to finish writing, some awkward action scenes to pull together the conclusion of the action with the overall ending (already written) - not a lot still to write, but enough to keep me busy if I want to do it justice. And I do want to do it justice - this story has already been nearly three years in the making, and I don't want to rush those important scenes now so... I hope you'll continue to bear with me. It *is* finished (bar those awkward scenes..!) and I will get all the remaining chapters edited and posted just as soon as I can. Thank you once again for supporting me in this biggest writing challenge I have ever undertaken x
