CHAPTER TWO

Arlo Turk's words echoed over and over in his head. "It sucks to be us." And it pretty much did right now. Though since he'd honestly thought back in the shed, with Sam, that both of them were dying, actually everything was pretty good if you looked at it that way, and he was trying to be positive, he really was. But he was bored. Already. Frustrated and bored. And fed up of the restrictive brace he had to wear day and night for the next few weeks while his spine healed. At least they'd let him come home. He didn't think he could stand it if he'd had to stay in the Balboa hospital while the rest of his team went back to LA without him. It was bad enough they were all due to return to work next week, and he was signed off for another month at least. It wouldn't be more than a month, he told himself firmly. His spine would heal, and it wouldn't take him any time at all to regain enough fitness to pass the mandatory field agent physical assessment. He'd be back with his team soon.

He wondered how Hetty was doing. When he'd woken in the naval hospital, she'd been there. He was drowsy and confused from the pain, blood loss and anaesthetic following his surgery, and when he first saw her he thought it was a dream. Reality was fire and desert and not being able to breathe. Reality was the dark shed, and Sam, and death summoning them both. He hadn't wanted to die. He hadn't wanted to leave Sam there, alone.

But Hetty's hand on his had been real. Her voice had been real. The bed, the machines, the glossy state of the art hospital. Being alive was real. He hadn't felt very alive at the time, but over the following days as his pain medication was reduced he'd gradually become more aware, had sorted the facts into the gritty present. Punctured lung. Internal bleeding. A fractured spine. He still couldn't remember the exact moment the details of his injuries had been broken to him. Nor could he remember anyone confirming the sad news that Hidoko had indeed died at the hands of the General and his men as they'd reluctantly suspected. He knew he'd been told, but whether he'd been too pumped full of drugs, or his mind had just shut down to the unwanted details, both pieces of information had settled into his brain as fact without him really being aware of how and when.

Lying on his bed, because as much as he hated to admit it, it was more comfortable than anything else for his back, his thoughts wondered again to Hetty. She had been by his side a fair bit for the two weeks he'd been in the hospital, but since he'd been discharged and returned to LA, he hadn't seen her. He gathered Sam hadn't either, and though Eric and Nell had been reluctant to divulge much of anything at all to him, citing his need for peace and to concentrate on his rehab, it appeared they too had no knowledge of the whereabouts of their leader. He hoped she wasn't getting into trouble as a result of their off the books mission. He knew she'd been against the whole idea, though she'd come through with Turk and Keane and goodness knows what other favours she had called in to get them all out of the country so quickly. There would be repercussions from Washington, he was sure, but he had faith in Hetty's contacts and abilities to extricate herself from any political backlash eventually. She could look after herself, he knew, but ever since they had rescued her from Vietnam he had felt more apprehensive than usual whenever she went off the grid.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Sam, come to help him shower and change. He wasn't allowed to do that on his own yet, because of the damn brace.

"In here," he called out, log-rolling onto his side as he'd been instructed to protect his spine before levering himself up. The nagging ache of his broken bone had increased to a sharper pain, reminding him that his painkillers were due, so he moved slowly out to the kitchen to get himself a drink and his tablets.

Sam was putting some takeaway food away in his fridge.

"Mexican," he said, turning to Callen and winking. Callen rolled his eyes. "It's good to see you on your feet again, man," Sam continued.

"Right back at you," Callen responded, looking Sam up and down. They hadn't seen each other since Sam had been discharged a week before him. He was still moving with the slightest of limps, though Callen was fairly confident anyone who didn't know him as well as he did would be unlikely to notice.

"Damn, it's good to see you full stop," Sam said in a sudden moment of unexpressed emotion.

"Don't get all soft on me," Callen said warningly. But he stood still while Sam crossed the room to clap a hand on his shoulder and pull him into a hug which he bore with good grace. He knew the events in Mexico had weighed hard on his partner, and his long spell in the ICU hadn't helped. Especially as he'd been out of it a lot of the time, and not exactly providing Sam with the reassurance that he was fine. Truth be told, he was a little emotional still himself, overcome with the relief that they had all gotten out of there in moreorless one piece. Except Hidoko, of course. He guessed Sam and the others knew, although they hadn't had a chance to speak much about it yet.

"I'm sorry about Hidoko," he said tentatively. "I know you guys got on well."

"We all got on well with her," Sam said sombrely. "She'll be missed."

"Mosely's got a lot to answer for," Callen muttered, anger briefly darkening his features as he thought again about the long weeks of rehab still ahead for him before he could re-join his team in the field.

"We all chose to go," Sam said with acceptance. "Even Hidoko."

"I guess so…." Callen worried again about Hetty. Maybe they could have planned the mission better, or he could have tried harder to keep his whole team from being involved and under fire now from the powers that be in Washington. Of course, if Sam hadn't have come, maybe he himself wouldn't still be here…. He realised his hand was absentmindedly rubbing the cut on his chest and he dropped it quickly hoping Sam hadn't noticed.

"I brought some beers," Sam said, and Callen felt his partner's eyes searchingly on him as he leant against the worktop concentrating on breathing calmly through a stab of pain. "Why don't we sit down and talk?"

"Standing's more comfortable," Callen admitted.

"You can't stand all day, surely?" Sam asked incredulously. Callen sighed.

"Lie down, mostly."

"Come on then," Sam said in a tone that brooked no argument as he picked up two beers and ushered Callen back in the direction of his bedroom. Callen eased himself down onto the bed with relief, holding his hand out for the beer.

"Thanks."

"Here's to us," Sam said, raising his bottle to clink against Callen's. "To survival."

"To luck," Callen added.

"Long may Lady Luck hold out for us both."

"I'll drink to that," Callen said, smiling as they both drank deeply.

A/N Thanks 'Guest' for your review - I can't reply personally, but re the alcohol, yep, he probably shouldn't be drinking - but when has Callen ever followed the rules ;-) I figured the first time he and Sam were back home with each other after all they'd been through, they'd have a beer or two together :-)