"His car is here," Sam reported back to Ops, "but no sign of Callen," he noted as he tried the door handle; it was locked. "Eric, open the car," and a second later Sam heard a familiar click as the locks were released. Opening the door, he looked around inside and immediately noted Callen's wallet, phone and weapon were lying on the floor on the passenger side. "I don't like this," Sam said to no one in particular.
"What did you find Sam?" Kensi asked her voice indicating her anxiety. She and Deeks had snuck back into Ops to see what was going on.
"I found…," but he didn't finish as a voice cut him off.
"Sam. What are you doing?" Callen questioned as he limped across the parking lot. Sam slowly examined his partner with a critical eye. "What the hell happened to you?" he demanded.
Callen walked over, leaned casually against the car, and studied his partner. "Me. What are you doing?" he asked deflecting Sam's question. "Breaking into my car? Not cool man. If you wanted to drive it you only had to ask," he said sincerely.
"Stop deflecting and answer the question."
Callen glanced up at his taller partner looking puzzled. "Losing your powers of observation Sam? Isn't it obvious? Shorts. T-shirt. Sweat. Running shoes…" Callen paused before making a buzzing noise. "Sorry, the answer we were looking for is jogging. No prize for you."
"I'm gonna give you a prize," Sam snapped.
"Sam! Is everything alright?" came the worried voice of Kensi over the phone.
"Yeah. Callen's here now. He was just out for a jog. Or so he claims," he answered his voice registering his disbelief in his partner's story.
"Did you notice the new sneakers Sam?" Callen said looking down. "Be sure to tell Hetty I wore them."
"Ah-huh," Sam replied to Callen then addressed Kensi. "Everything is cool here. Out."
Sam put his phone in his pocket, then crossed his arms and had a stare down with his partner. "Ok, it is just you and me now. Spill it."
"What?" Callen said inflicting incredulity into his voice.
"You were out jogging."
"I was out jogging," Callen echoed in confirmation.
"And…," Sam prompted.
"It was a nice day."
"And," Sam prompted again.
"I jogged. But you know, I do have a complaint. These stupid shoes you made me buy…"
"Hetty," Sam interjected.
"…Hetty made me buy kept coming untied!" Callen finished with a flourish.
Sam sighed, wondering how long his partner was going to try to run him in circles before telling the truth, or at least G's version of the truth. Sam decided to try to hurry this along. It was hot in the sun and even though his partner was vainly trying to hide it, Sam could see he was in pain. "You left your wallet, phone and gun in the car, unsecured, on the floor," Sam pointed out accusingly.
Callen had the decency to look sheepish. "I laid them on the seat and must have forgotten them," he explained rather lamely.
"Ah-huh. How did they end up on the floor?" his partner questioned.
"Earthquake?" Callen quickly replied knowing it sounded as stupid to Sam as it did to him.
"Not standard operating procedure."
"Well I am not an SOP kind of guy," Callen retorted. Sam decided to wait him out knowing, he was one of the few people who could intimidate Callen into telling the truth…sometimes.
Callen made a big production number out of sighing, which hurt his ribs so much he nearly passed out. "Alright. You got me big guy. I was getting ready to jog. I set my stuff on the seat while I pulled on my t-shirt. Scars. Not a pretty sight."
"Yeah, I've seen them," Sam said drolly.
"Out of nowhere, this drop dead gorgeous blonde goes jogging by. I mean she was hot. So I hurried up to, ah, jog behind her. Thought maybe I would ask her out." Callen shrugged his shoulders. "Forgot to grab my stuff. My bad."
"I have never known you to put that much effort into chasing a skirt."
"What!" Callen said indignantly. "I'm not dead… or married like you."
"No. And you have not gone out in a date in, what, the last 16 months? And suddenly you have this overwhelming urge to date a jogger who just happens to pass by you?"
Callen cocked his head and grinned at his partner. "She was hot."
"Ok, maybe that explains the stuff on the floor of your car," Sam said in a tone that clearly said it did not. "Then how do you explain the fact you look like you went 9 rounds with Muhammad Ali and lost."
Callen was ready for this one. "I fell," he said succinctly. "These stupid laces, on these dumb sneakers, that you and Hetty made me buy, tripped me."
"And you fell, face first, into whose fist?" Sam queried clearly not buying Callen's fairy tale.
"A rock." Callen quickly replied.
"A rock, split your lip, cut your cheek and gave you a black-eye?" Sam questioned as he did a roll call of Callen's visible injuries.
"Several rocks. Also," Callen added as if providing full disclosure, "I think I may have cracked a few ribs, bruised my leg and have a slight concussion."
"I see. So let me see if I have this time line straight. You get here early in the morning; say 6:00 a.m. knowing your sleeping habits. You drive here shirtless and/or decide to change your t-shirt once you get here which causes you to forget your gun and phone on the seat."
"The jogger," Callen reminded him. "The incredibly hot jogger made me forget."
"Right, the incredibly hotter jogger you decide to follow like some sort of pervert."
Callen gave Sam a wounded look but Sam ignored him and continued. "While you are out chasing this hot chick, your shoe laces came untied, you trip and fall on several rocks.
"Actually," Callen interposed, "I tripped several times. These stupid laces will not stay tied," he said gesturing to his sneakers, which were untied.
"So every time you tripped you managed to hit your face on a rock." Sam snorted. "Maybe you need to work on your falling technique in the gym."
"Maybe," Callen said non-committedly.
"That, if we live in a fantasy world, explains your face. What about the rest of your injuries?"
"Happened when I rolled off the cliff. Onto a small ledge," he supplied helpfully.
"I see. And you spent the last," Sam glanced at his watch, "last four hours limping back to your car."
"After I woke up."
"Oh, you passed out?" Sam asked in a tone Callen didn't like; one that sounded like a trip to the emergency room was in his future.
"Well, maybe I passed out for a few minutes; then again maybe not. But you have the rest right."
Sam looked sincerely at his partner. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"I'm telling you Sam. I…," but Sam cut him off with a look which made Callen drop his act. "I can't tell you Sam. I promised."
Sam grunted in annoyance.
"Trust me on this one. Please," Callen pleaded frankly, all his barriers dropped so Sam could see this was really important to him.
Sam sighed. "Is this gonna come back to haunt me? This is not another lone wolf thing?"
"No ghosts. Just a simple misunderstanding," Callen said candidly.
"How badly hurt are you? For real?"
Callen let his control go and allowed the pain to wash across his face. "Not doing so good. But not…," he cut off his partner, "hospital requiring bad. Just home, rest, aspirin and a case of beer."
"Can you drive?"
"Let's say I would prefer not to."
"Can you get your sorry ass off that car and into mine?"
"Maybe."
"Well do it. It's hot out here," Sam groused.
Callen attempted to push off the car and walk the 500 feet to the Challenger, but his body wasn't cooperating. His head started spinning like a top, his leg gave out on him again and he slid ungracefully to the pavement. "Little help here?" he requested of his partner.
"I don't know. Are you going to barf?" Sam questioned as he stood over his fallen partner.
"Do I ever barf, as you so elegantly put it?"
Sam snorted. "Every time you get a concussion. Don't think I haven't noticed. For me, it a sure sign. Last time you threw up so much I thought we were going to have to reinsert your lungs."
"Ha, ha. Very funny. Help me up. Please," Callen implored. Sam complied, gently helping his injured partner up and over to the passenger side of the Challenger. After leveraging him into the seat, he shut the door. "No barfing!" he reminded his worse for the wear buddy.
Walking back over to Callen's car, he collected Callen's SIG, wallet and phone before popping the hood. Reaching underneath he pulled loose a few wires. Dialing Ops he requested that Eric send a tow truck to pick up the car. "It won't start. I'm giving Callen a ride home. He, ah, had a little jogging accident. He's OK just a little scraped up."
The ever lovely, if not strident, voice of Hetty Lange inquired, "Should Mr. Callen be visiting a hospital or at least an urgent care facility?"
"No Hetty. Nothing some ice and aspirin won't solve," he lied knowing his partner would barely even submit to that much medical attention.
"I see. Would you like to elaborate on how he injured himself?
'Not on my life,' Sam thought but replied aloud, "Later. I really think I should get him home ASAP and get some ice on…", 'Everywhere' he added internally.
"Well if you think that is best, Mr. Hanna. Far be it for me to hold you up."
"Thanks Hetty. I'll have G call you as soon as possible." 'And let him try to bullshit you,' he silently added.
"Very well. Drive safely."
"I will. Bye," Sam replied slamming the hood shut as he hung up.
Getting back in the car, he glanced over at his partner who seemed to be fading fast. "That was Hetty. She'd like you to call and explain when you are up to it." Sam swore his partner got even paler, if that was possible.