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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.
A Deep Wound
Chapter 8
G crawled on his hands and knees out of the interrogation room and scanned the meeting area below him. No partner. Luck was on his side at least for now. While keeping his gun readied at his side, he descended the stairs and hurried past the main interrogation room toward the back exit. G opened the door and stepped out onto the deck around the boat house. He froze. Sam stood in the parking lot drinking something hot probably coffee. G inched toward the exit plank keeping as quiet as possible. The last thing he needed right now were more questions. Now on the asphalt parking lot, he rushed to hide behind the dumpster he had thrown his trash and jacket into earlier.
"Come to talk to me?" Sam asked keeping his back to his partner.
G startled. "Can't." He lowered his voice.
"Let's go for a drive." He climbed into the driver's seat and waited.
From behind the dumpster, he straightened and stared at the Challenger less than ten feet from him.
Sam leaned his head out the window. "I promise I won't bite." G walked over to the Challenger and settled onto the passenger seat and closed the door. Sam revved the engine and drove back the way he came. "Do you want a shower at my place? I take it you haven't been home."
"Yes to both."
"Hungry?"
"Affirmative."
"That's my partner, a man of so few words."
"Can't."
"It's okay," Sam said, "I called Hetty and told her a situation came up. I mentioned nothing about you."
G stared at the passing cars. "Thanks."
"Bacon and eggs?"
"Fine." He settled his gun on the floorboard.
Sam sighed.
"Sorry."
"I understand," he said, "something happened. It's written all over your face and your clothes."
Wetness welled up in his eyes. He faced the passenger window and stared at the passing freeway signs mindless of where his partner was driving. Even though a feeling of safety crept over him for the first time in days, G felt edgy. He readied himself for the slightest movement of anything or anyone toward him, readied himself to grab Serghei's .375 magnum off the floorboard, and readied himself to jump out of the moving car. That last thought shocked G and yet he felt the urgent need to protect himself at all costs. "Can't."
"Not asking you to."
"Thanks."
"Clothes?"
"Shit!" G grabbed the door handle and started to pull up on it.
"Stop, I'm asking if you want me to stop to get you some clothes?" Sam studied his partner's face and body.
"No!" He released the door handle and clenched his fists at his sides. "Sorry. Damn. Can't stand how I feel inside."
"We'll figure out something at the house." Sam pulled off the freeway and drove toward his home. After turning down his street, he pulled into and parked in his driveway and shut down the engine. "I'm sorry too."
"About what?"
"That you are suffering." Sam climbed out of the Challenger and strode toward the front door. G followed his partner staying at least five feet behind him and carrying the weapon in his right hand. Sam opened the front door. "No loaded weapons allowed in my house."
G backed up several feet and started to turn.
"I'll make an exception this once."
G flipped on his heels and followed his partner into the house.
"I won't show you where everything is because you already know," Sam said. "While you are cleaning up I'll make you breakfast."
"Thanks." G plodded down the long hallway to the guest bathroom. At the hall linen closet, he grabbed several huge bath towels and a wash cloth and afterward entered the bathroom. He closed and locked the door and rested against it attempting to gather the strength to look at himself in the full length mirror behind him. G walked over to a shelf and placed his towels and wash cloth on it. After sucking in a huge breath, he flipped on his heels and faced the mirror. "Oh shit!" His jaw dropped open. He stepped closer to it. G raised his hand to his face and touched a spot on his chin. Blood. Pieces of bloodied flesh. "Shit." G collapsed to his knees before the full length mirror. Caked on dried blood. He trailed his finger upward keeping it light against his dried-blood and flesh-speckled covered face.
The memory of bludgeoning Serghei flooded his mind, again. He squeezed his eyes shut, rolled onto his side, rocked himself, and howled as if he were a wounded animal caught in a trap and abandoned in an isolated forest.
Thanks for reading.