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Title: Nowhere Man

Rating: M

Warning: Non-consensual sex, rape. G/OCs

Story Details and Full Disclaimer in Chapter 1: My stories are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. This is a work intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by CBS and the producers of NCIS:LA.

Nowhere Plans

Chapter 3

After he cleaned up the towels and grabbed the specimens for the lab, Sam left G's house. He stopped by LAPD's office and handed off the specimens to a forensic laboratory technician with the specific instructions to call and talk only to Sam Hanna. Sam drove to NCIS Headquarters, parked his car, and stayed in it, staring at the wall before him.

Twenty minutes passed before he climbed out of his vehicle and headed into the building. Before he entered the bullpen, Hetty's eyes caught his. He hesitated outside the bullpen and strode across the expanse connecting his supervisor's office with his desk.

"Mr. Hanna, I didn't expect you here this soon."

"It's complicated." He sighed. "G kicked me out of his house."

"He shouldn't be left alone."

"Yes." I know. He mumbled to himself.

"Kicked you out?"

"I crossed a boundary I—damn."

"Please sit."

"Can't." Sam stepped back from her desk.

"That's not a request, Mr. Hanna."

He slumped down in the chair, facing her desk. "I took samples for the lab." Sam hoped she would not make him say the meaning behind his words.

"I see."

"He figured it out and was not happy with my… intrusion."

"And asked you to leave."

Sam nodded. The less said the better about this touchy subject. "Samples are at the LAPD lab."

"You informed them about this being a NCIS matter."

"Yes."

"You are needed up in OPS."

Sam stood and sighed. "What about G?"

"I'll take care of this myself."

He climbed the stairs, taking two step at a time. Outside the OPS Center, he made an about face and headed back down the hallway toward the punching bag. Sam thought about taking his mixed feelings out on the bag. Instead, he sat on a bench down the hallway from it, leaned over and placed his forehead in the palms of his hands.

NCIS:LA NCIS:LA NCIS:LA

G knew the protocol. He took matters into his own hands, needing to know the tests results which he knew his partner had taken to the LAPD's forensic laboratory. After entering LAPD's forensic division and flashing his ID at the security desk's officer, G was lead down a hallway to the forensic laboratory. He settled down into a chair in the hallway and waited for the test results. Within five minutes, a forensic laboratory technician came out into the hallway and greeted him. G used his partner's name and signed for the test results. It was a lie he needed right now. He took the printed out results in hand and thanked the technician.

Afterward G slouched down in the sleek, black Jaguar's driver's seat, only then did he read the results to the tests. He pounded his fists on the steering wheel. I knew it. Damn him. G wanted to punch or shoot someone. He drove to the shooting range, needing to release the intense rage he felt toward his partner's violation and the three men who had assaulted him. Once outside the shooting range, G reread the results and stared at the paper. Disgusted with the entire situation, he crumpled the paper into a tight ball and yelled, throwing the balled up test results into the back of his car. He leaned over the steering wheel, placed his hands at the 12 o'clock position, and rested his forehead on them. Tears formed in his cerulean blue eyes. His battle against the onslaught of memories from five days in captivity waned again, bringing him closer to an emotional breakdown. Keep it together one more day. Those words had become a mantra to him for the last 144 hours.

G climbed out of the Jaguar and grabbed his gun from the trunk. He planned this outing the moment he woke up. It was mandatory to let off steam from the deep dread spiraling out of control and the growing rage within him. G grabbed several boxes of blanks and placed them in a small satchel and hoisted it over his left shoulder. A dull ache in his shoulder reverberated through his upper body for the second time that day. Maybe something was broken, but it did not matter to him right now. He pressed onward to the shooting range's entrance. After paying for a private booth on the upper deck, G trudged toward the stairs and took them slower than normal; the pain and soreness throughout his body had caught up with him, requiring him pause every five to six steps and lean on the staircase's railing to catch a breath. Maybe I need to stay in bed one more day. G reached the upper deck level and came face to face with his operations manager. "Hetty."

"You and I need to talk."

"Not happening."

"Yes, it is, Mr. Callen, or I'll slap your butt in the nearest hospital."

He sighed and shot her a look.

"And don't think I won't do it."

G held up his hands. "Uncle."

"Good, let's go." Hetty lead the way to the private shooting booth her agent had rented.

"Wait a minute," he said, "how did you know—"

"I know the whereabouts of all my agents at all times."

"Except for the—"

"That was unfortunate and I'm deeply sorry, Mr. Callen," Hetty said. "Please sit and let's address some problems which have arisen as a consequence of the kidnapping." She motioned to the two chairs facing each other.

G figured she had arranged the chairs and waited for him to arrive at the shooting range. He eased his dog-tired and aching body into one of the chairs and sighed.

"I have the test results and I know you do too, although through unscrupulous means."

"My body, my results."

"Understood."

At least there was no argument from her and no defending his partner and his unpleasant means to obtain the specimens for those tests, at least so far.

"Mr. Callen, you and your partner need to kiss and make up, so to speak."

I thought she would bypass this mess.

"You both make a great team—"

"And you're gonna let him off the hook?"

"What hook, he's your partner, he did what he thought was best for you."

"Damn it!" G shot off his chair, too fast for his compromised condition, he swayed and regained his balance. "I didn't think you'd side with him."

"Would you've preferred a hospital staff member to obtain those specimens?"

"Yes, less—" He could not bring himself to say the word, instead, G slid the satchel off his shoulder and loaded his gun. Real bullets expressed more of what he felt, but blanks would have to do. "Excuse me, I need to shoot something."

"Mr. Callen."

G faced her once again.

"I need you both 100 percent for this ops."

"Kiss and make up, is that all?" He turned back to the shooting range. "And what about Sam, no apologies from him?"

"He attempted to apologize to you and you kicked him out of your house."

G sighed and stepped closer to the mat to ready himself and fire his weapon. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, so I kicked him out, big deal—he violated my trust." He fired a few shots. "And that's not all he did."

"And you two will work it out, Mr. Callen, and that is an order not a request." Hetty picked up her purse, drew it over her neck and shoulder. She stood and strode toward the shooting booth's entrance. At the doorway, Hetty faced her lead agent's direction. "I still need to know what happened and who these people are who kidnapped you."

"I'm not ready to talk about—"

"Get ready, Mr. Callen, the archive room 9 sharp tomorrow morning." She straightened her brick red suit jacket and flipped on her heels to leave.

"No, can't do it, won't do it."

"9 sharp." Hetty left.

Sam replaced his supervisor at the private shooting booth's doorway.

"You really know how to piss someone off," G said, keeping his focus on the targets before him. "I hope you brought something to do."

"Yes, my weapon and blanks." He loaded his gun with blanks and stepped along side his partner.

"You should be glad I don't have real bullets in this gun."

"Believe me, I am." Sam cracked his partner a wry smile and aimed his gun. He hesitated before firing off three rounds. "I'm—"

"Don't."

"I was going to be discreet."

"Okay."

"Sorry, G." He squeezed the hammer on his weapon, firing off more rounds. "If you need to talk—" Sam cut himself off.

Tears formed again in his cerulean blue eyes. He placed his empty weapon on a table and brought out another box of blanks. "Everyone wants me to talk and no one is listening." G finished loading his weapon and stared at it. "Hetty's hopeful I'll show up tomorrow morning and start telling her what happened. Slim chance."

"How about ale and a drunken talk session at your place?"

"Loosen my lips, is that it?"

"Yes, it works."

"Yes, it does." He stepped up to the mat, positioned his body, readied his weapon, and fired off all six blanks. "So does this." Each one hit the target dead center in the chest.

"Kill enough people?" Sam loaded his weapon again.

"Close." The left corner of his mouth turned upward.

NCIS:LA NCIS:LA NCIS:LA

G nursed his fourth ale. The alcohol relaxed him into a stupor and for the first time in six days he felt no pain. He set the bottle on the floor next to him and slouched against the wall.

"You really need to get a comfortable sofa or couch."

"What's the difference?"

"Length and style."

"Where did you learn about furniture?"

"My wife."

G held up his bottle to toast his partner. "To your wife," he said with slurred speech.

Sam grabbed the bottle from his partner's hand. "I think you've had more than enough."

"Come on, I wanted to finish that one."

"After we talk."

"You drive a hard wagon."

Sam glanced at him sideways.

"They came out all wrong." G slid down the wall until he was lying on his right side.

"They?"

"You know what I meant, Sam, come on, 'that' okay."

"Just as long as you know what you meant to say." Sam winked at his partner.

G wiped his eyes with the fore finger and thumb of both hands. "I lost it and maybe I'll never find it again." He flattened himself chest first against the hardwood floor, keeping his eyes averted from Sam's.

"Lost it?"

"Yes."

"Your swagger?"

"Yes."

"You never were arrogant, G."

"Damn it, you know what I mean." He rested his chin on his arms, staring at the blank wall before him. "Some pictures on my blank walls ought to be nice too. I cracked during an interrogation."

"What caused you to crack?"

"Torture." Again, he could not bring himself to say that word.

"Specifics."

"Not yet."

"Hetty expects you to share tomorrow morning."

"Not happening."

"And what was her answer to that?"

"She promised to slap my butt in the nearest hospital."

"Maybe you should go."

"What?" G rolled to his side.

"Get yourself checked out at the hospital."

He closed his eyes. "Not happening."

Sam sighed.

"I know the sound of disgusted when I hear it."

"You probably have something that needs attending—"

"Don't push your luck!" G opened his eyes and sat up, sliding over to the wall. He balanced his tired, achy, and now drunk body using the wall to stand and steady himself before exiting the living room.

"Must've been something I said." Sam chuckled. He stood and brought their ale bottles over to the sink. With an odd noise coming from near the front door, he flipped on his heels, drew his weapon, and edged toward the foyer. Sam turned the corner to find his operations manager standing by the door. "Hetty." He lowered his weapon and holstered it. "I thought you wanted to speak with G in the morning."

"Had been my plan until something arose."

Sam cocked his head.

"Where's Mr. Callen?"

"Right here, Hetty." G lumbered into the living room.

"We've got a serious problem, rather, you have one, Mr. Callen."

"What?"

"Interpol contacted me regarding a case they're following."

G staggered backward several feet and stopped.

"You know about this Interpol case?"

"Possibly."

"I think you know more than you are letting on," Hetty said, sitting down in her agent's only living room chair.

G swallowed hard, followed her, and stood beside the fireplace resting his right forearm on the fireplace mantel.

"Interpol wants you next."

"What?" He straightened and sighed.

"What's going on, G?"

"I suggest you talk to me before they arrive to question and arrest you."

"I," he said, "…I'm not ready to disclose this case to NCIS, our team, or Interpol."

"So you do know about the case."

"Yes."

"Not good, G, you need to talk to us."

"Not happening."

"That must be your new favorite line," Sam said. "It's about the third time I've heard it today."

G shot his partner a look.

"Mr. Callen, please talk to us about their case."

"I know, do it or get arrested by Interpol."

"Yes, and I know you don't want that to happen."

"I may not want that but…." He sighed. "It is inevitable because I can't talk about this."

"You just talked in a circle," Sam said, eyeing his partner.

"And your point?"

"Has this anything to do with the items I found in your glove compartment?"

G sighed. "Since when did you go snooping in there?"

"Long story, I know about it."

"Mr. Hanna, what have you withheld from me?"

"I planned to tell you at some point after I spoke with G about it."

"And?" Hetty glanced at Sam first and then G.

G sighed again. "I can't talk about this—"

"Is that the only line you can say besides it's not happening?" Sam asked.

"Let's take this from a different stance," Hetty said. "Is this connected to any current case?"

"No," he said. "I need to go sleep off this hangover."

"What?" Sam shot his partner a look.

"Mr. Callen, you are coming with me to the boat house."

"Not happening."

"Are we going with that again?" Sam asked. "Come on, G, you need to listen to Hetty."

"I'm listening and I'm drunk and I'm going to sleep this off."

Hetty stood, stepped to within inches of her lead agent, and lowered her voice. "Not happening, Mr. Callen, understood?" G swallowed hard hearing his own words parroted back to him. "Mr. Hanna, please bring him to the boat house."

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