Chapter 5! Rolling along quite nicely…

I appreciate all the reviews…and that everyone got the joke about Robin and Chris O'Donnell – I thought it would be kind of funny

Hope you enjoy this next installment.

-Lady Winter

Getting Callen out of the car had been trying for both NCIS agents.

Sam had been overwhelmed by guilt and frustration because there had been no easy way to perform the task.

Callen had been stubborn and cranky – insisting that he could at least get himself up onto the ledge of the window after Sam had cleared it of the remaining glass that was stuck in the door. Sam had argued with G over the wisdom and logistics of just how he was going to do that with a broken arm and a bullet in his legs, but Callen had blithely dismissed him.

After a long struggle, full of hard breathing and grunts of pain, Callen had managed to get himself up onto the window's edge, using only his left arm, left leg to push with, and sheer force of will.

Sam's stomach twisted as he listened to G try to catch his breath, the sound of air seeming to rattle out of Callen's chest. His partner sat on the window ledge, forehead resting on the roof of the Challenger, right arm tucked into his side in a protective way, left arm thrown over the back of his head in a resting manner. For a long while, he didn't move.

"Callen?" Sam questioned quietly after he couldn't stand just the silence and the odd whistling sound that permeated the air whenever Callen took a breath in.

"Just need a minute," G replied, his voice raspy.

"You've already had a minute, G. Several. You should have let me help."

"Should have, could have, would have…" Callen muttered. "It's done now," he pointed out.

"Always the pragmatist I see," Sam said darkly. Sometimes he truly hated G's independent personality. He understood that Callen had a long, hard childhood – and knew that if G hadn't learned how to take care of himself, by himself, at a very early age, he would have been dead or worse. That was good – and G was good at taking care of himself most of the time. What he wasn't good at was letting others help him when there was no need to go it alone.

This was one of those moments – one of those times that…"I wish you would just let me help you," Sam said, verbalizing his thoughts. Instantly, he regretted them. He never knew how G was going to handle such an admonition. Sometimes, G got quiet and didn't respond – other times he joked it away – and on a few occasions, he got mad.

"I do let you help me, Sam," Callen said tiredly. "But some things you have to do yourself – and I'm not talking about pride, ok? Don't take this the wrong way, Big Guy, but everything on my body hurts right now – and the only one I want manhandling myself is…me."

Sam stood there for a moment, stunned. He hadn't thought about that. He was so concerned with getting G out of the car that he had failed to realize that simply using his big hands and firm grip to accomplish that might not be the most comfortable thing for Callen.

G was taking his time because he could. Yes, they weren't in the best of situations, but no one was shooting at them, the car wasn't about to explode, and if they'd been in immediate danger, Sam would have already told Callen that – so in reality, rushing wasn't necessary.

Except that they were both hurt and Callen had a bullet in his leg.

"Sorry G, I didn't really think of it that way."

"Like I said, no big deal. I just need a minute," his partner replied in the tired, raspy voice that didn't sound right.

Sam fought the urge to pace as Callen mentally prepared himself for Sam getting him the rest of the way out of the car.

"Ok, Batman – let's do this," G finally said, sounding more confident than he looked.

"I promise I'll be gentle," Sam said in his most seductive voice.

G turned his head, smirking. "You have issues my friend."

Sam grinned at G, glad he'd been able to lighten the mood a little. "Just try to relax – I'll make it as smooth as possible."

Callen nodded, giving his permission.

Sam moved as efficiently and as carefully as possible, and he pulled G from the car, diligently following any instructions Callen gave him. Finally, he had G free of the car, and he was grateful for every moment that he worked out because he could at least physically able lift his smaller partner with his strength, even though his chests burned with each movement.

Relieved that he'd at least gotten Callen out of the car, he very gently carried G to a spot of rough grass under a tree and eased him down. G's face was white as a sheet and he was clutching his broken right arm with his left hand.

"Thanks," he rasped out, then squeezed his eyes shut tightly, obviously trying to block out the pain.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but I should really find something to splint your arm with – and I need to check on your leg again."

Callen groaned. "Are you trying to torture me? Are you channeling Hetty right now?" he demanded in a weak voice.

"Don't act so surprised that I want you to get out of this in one piece, G," Sam told him with a rueful smile. "I'll be right back, I'm going to check the car for anything else that might be useful."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Callen asked tiredly, but he never opened his eyes.

"That's a promise," Sam said, conviction in his voice as if with those words he could communicate that he was dedicated to getting Callen out of there alive and in as close to one piece as possible – it said more – that he wasn't going to let his partner down and that he wasn't going to abandon G for an instant.

The former SEAL didn't know why he expected those three words to carry so much meaning, but when G cracked one eye and looked at him in the light provided by the flashlight, Sam could have sworn that G had simply read his mind.

"Ok."

It was as close to an acknowledgement of his trust in Sam as he was going to get – but it was more than enough.

He moved back to the Challenger and peered back inside, shining the light around until he located G's duffle again and he carefully leaned in to retrieve it, noting with unease the dried blood on the side of the door. Forcing himself to focus, he looked around for something he could use to splint G's arm, but realized there wasn't much – a sling would have to do. What he did find was both of their coats and after a few minutes, he was able to retrieve them. It was getting colder – by no means freezing, but enough that they would be uncomfortable.

Sam didn't even want to think about what would happen if G went into shock – he was actually surprised that he hadn't already.

Lastly, he retrieved G's Sig and his own Berretta and found a bottle of Tylenol jammed in the back of the glove compartment.

Sam returned to Callen's side with his spoils from the car, and propped up the flashlight so he could see his partner in its narrow beam. Although he wasn't surprise, G hadn't moved and his eyes were still mostly closed, though he stared out lucidly at Sam from thin slits.

"I'm starving," he commented when Sam crouched next to him.

Of all things for G to say, that hadn't been what he was expecting. "Right. When was the last time we ate? Lunch?"

G blinked a little, and Sam took that to be an agreement.

"I'll get you one of the tootsie pops in a few minutes," Sam promised him.

"That's hardly the gourmet dinner of burgers and fries you promised me," Callen groused.

Sam chuckled. "You're the most fickle date I've ever had." He grew serious then after that. "You ready?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Sam just shook his head and rifled through Callen's duffle until he found what he was looking for – another t-shirt. When he pulled out his knife to slice it down the seam, G started to protest.

"Another one? Sam, I don't have all that many clothes…"

"Whose fault is that G? The only time I ever see you buy clothes is out of necessity in the middle of an op."

"I'm a busy man," G said innocently.

"When this is all over, I'm telling Hetty you need a new wardrobe."

Callen groaned. "Sam – that will cost me a small fortune. Do you know how much these jeans cost? Hetty's going to kill me because I ruined them."

"I'm sure she'll spare you once she finds out she gets to take you shopping," Sam said gleefully, and with one fluid motion, he slit the shirt down its side. It wasn't optimal, but it would work as a sling. He scooted closer to Callen and without asking, he moved.

In short order, he had found the break in G's arm, tucked it against his partner's chest, and then immobilized it to the best of his ability by forming a tight sling around G's neck.

Callen was silent the entire time, but Sam could see his jaw set in a tight line in the filtered light and could see the toll it was taking on his partner. When he finally finished, G sagged against the tree trunk behind him, and Sam realized he hadn't even noticed how rigid Callen had been holding his body.

"You ok?"

"Define ok," Callen replied, his voice tight.

"Don't give up on me now, G."

"No one said anything about giving up," his partner ground out. Sam nodded in approval.

In the next few minutes, he untied the t-shirt from around Callen's leg and found that the wound was still bleeding slowly. There wasn't much he could do, so he retrieved the towel he'd used earlier to protect his hands from the glass, and carefully re-wrapped the gunshot wound, being careful not to make it too tight – just enough to hopefully stem the bleeding.

As soon as he was finished, he lifted G's shirt without asking for permission and peered at his partner's chest where a diagonal bruise was vivid against the skin where the seatbelt had cut across. Sam imagined he had much the same bruise – but what worried him were some individual bruises along G's right side – potentially broken ribs which might have accounted for the raspy breathing he was hearing.

It was then that he realized that G hadn't even protested about being more thoroughly examined, and Sam's eyes darted up to his partner's face. He'd been so focused on what he was doing, he hadn't noticed how still Callen had become.

If it was possible, Callen was paler than before and his eyes looked glassy as they drooped toward closing.

"Oh no G – you said you weren't giving up. You need to stay awake. Remember that concussion we talked about?" Sam asked, dropping Callen's shirt and reaching up to grasp his left shoulder.

"Not giving up…" G murmured his voice sounding like he was trying to speak from under water. "Sam? Sorry…"

"Sorry?" Sam asked in confusion, concern turning to a ball of ice in his stomach. "What are you apologizing for? Just stay with me here G."

"Sorry…wasn't there…should have been… Sorry 'bout Mo," he muttered, and then his eyes slipped closed.

"G! Callen! Come on!" Sam said a little louder than he'd intended. He had a horrible flash back to when G had been gunned down. When he'd gotten to his downed partner, his eyes had been open – wide open. For a few seconds, he'd looked around, stunned and sad all at once, and Sam had begged G to stay with him while he'd called 911 – but then, Callen's eyes had slipped shut and it had been three weeks until Sam had seen them open again.

The time in between those two eye opening moments had been some of the most difficult of Sam's life. It was then that he'd realized just how important G Callen had become to him – how natural their partnership was – how good of friends they had become – how life simply wouldn't be the same if Callen was dead.

To Sam, sitting there in the dirt, it felt like that moment on the sidewalk all over again – only this time it was worse. This time he didn't have a cell phone and an ambulance wasn't on the way. One thing was for certain – G Callen apologizing was a very frightening, very worrying thing.