The Five Times Callen Got Kissed
(And the one time he didn't)
2.
His whole body felt as if it was on fire. His muscles too weak to function, he couldn't even lift his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. It hurt to move; even breathing was hard, reducing him to taking short gasps of air that did little to ease the burning in his lungs.
He discovered also, when he cracked his eyelids open and took in his surroundings, that even his eyes felt hot, and his tears stung so that he quickly gave up and shut them again. In that single glance and as sick as he was, he had been able to glean a good bit of information, and using his other senses he soon filled in the blanks.
He was in a tent, in a desert. From the language being spoken outside, he knew he was in Afghanistan, and the brightness of the tent's white walls told him it was daytime, probably around noon. Everything else was fuzzy – how he got here, who he was with, why he was in the country in the first place. Also puzzling was why his leg was throbbing and why he was so sick. He could remember nothing about that, and for an agent like him that was a little scary.
He heard the tent flap open, and a dozen different smells reached his nose. He tried to concentrate on separating them but his fevered brain refused, leaving them a jumbled mess that made him nauseous. Someone was in the room with him now. Though they were trying to stay as quiet as possible, he could feel their presence as sure as if they'd spoken, close to where he lay. He tried to move again, but the furthest he got was his hand flopping against the floor. Speaking was likewise out of the question, as if he could manage to open his mouth he was certain nothing would make it past his dry throat anyway.
The person sat down beside him. He could feel the pressure of their leg against his. Their hands pulled the stifling blanket down to his waist, exposing his bare chest; he wished the air hitting his skin was cool, but it was more like the draft from a broiler oven.
"Callen," the person said then, and all at once clarity ruled.
Kensi.
Kensi was there with him. They were here together, and while they slept that first night he'd been bitten by a camel spider. Not poisonous to humans, but painful and prone to infection, which is probably what happened to him, why he was burning with fever and lying on the floor of this tent.
He struggled to open his eyes, blinking against the stinging, and saw her face haloed above him. Unable to speak, he twitched his lips in a lopsided grin and managed a slight nod of his head.
"I brought you a few things to help," she said. Then, one by one, she listed out the contents of the bag she had dumped out in front of her. "Instant broth, a washcloth, clean water, antibiotics and some syringes...Oh! And, a most precious commodity out here – ice!"
Triumphantly, she held up a clear Ziploc bag full of slowly melting ice cubes, and Callen sighed in relief. Kensi wrapped the bag in the washcloth and set it on his bare chest, and he could have cried, it felt so blessedly cold. Her hand, also cold from contact with the ice, pressed against the side of his face, and he closed his eyes as her touch comforted him.
"Don't worry, Callen. I'm gonna get you better."
Then, her lips gently brushed against his forehead, and he let sleep overtake him once more.
