Author's Note: Cross-posted on AO3

Xxxxxxx

Nowhere Fast

Chapter 3

By now, he couldn't specify any part of his body anymore that didn't hurt. Still, the fact that he was alive was more than he had expected at this point.

After he had given up his access codes - and therefore unwittingly played into the men's plans - he had expected to be executed. Despite his best effort, the men got what they wanted from him and therefore he wasn't useful to them anymore… he'd thought.

What he'd gotten instead was some more one-on-one time with Ossam in the confines of the room on the expensive yacht. The man was after more information and while Callen was unbalanced by what had happened before, he wasn't inclined to share anything else.

Sadly, Ossam wasn't inclined to give up either.

After losing consciousness for the umpteenth time, Callen had woken what had to be hours later in a different room, one that wasn't on the yacht anymore. The ground wasn't moving - well, at least not in the fashion of a boat bobbing on waves but rather just in a concussion-kind of way.

Despite being in a different room, other aspects remained the same - being interrogated by Ossam and his men and being beaten into submission and punished for refusing to answer their questions for example.

Callen knew some of his ribs were broken. Until now, they hadn't damaged his lungs, but with the repeated beatings, he wasn't sure how long that would remain true. He also knew that he wouldn't survive a punctured lung in these conditions and with these men present. They weren't much of the caring type.

Callen wasn't sure how many days had passed since they had been taken from the gala or even how much time had passed since he had been put into this new room. He was only sure that it was too long and that his chances weren't exactly looking up the longer he stayed.

He swallowed the low moan that threatened to slip out when he rotated his wrist again, the rough rope chafing at his skin. He had been at it for a while despite the pain it caused. He felt a new tickle of blood and intensified his motions. With some luck, he would manage to slicken the rope enough to be able to slide his hand free. If not, he would only add to the loss of blood he had already suffered, but that was a risk worth taking in his book.

The wound in his thigh was throbbing, but at least it hadn't reopened since he had been brought into this room.

The blood seeping down the back of his hand intensified over time. He kept shifting his hand, rotating and rotating his wrist even though it hurt the deeper the rope cut into his flesh. Callen bit his lips and kept going, knowing that he couldn't have the bleeding stop now. He needed the ropes saturated and slick.

It took forever and he distantly wondered if he was sawing away sinews as well as the surface skin and underlying tissue, but as long as he could still feel and move his fingers, he guessed that the wound wasn't deep enough to do damage to nerves and important tissue. Plus… staying alive was more important than a maimed hand. Every few moments, the rope squelched, and Callen hardened his consciousness against the knowledge that it was his own blood making the sound. He kept moving his hand, trying to saturate the rope and weaken the fibers at the same time, testing his bonds every now and then.

When his hand finally slipped free, it happened so suddenly that it took him a moment to understand what had happened.

Panting through the pain, he glanced at his hand - and the mangled remains of his wrist. He growled low in his throat and then turned his attention to his other arm, the fingers of his recently freed hand clumsily trying to work on the ropes that still held him bound. His coordination was off, but eventually, he managed to release the knot. Callen gave himself a brief moment to rest and gather his bearings. The bindings on his legs were next, though bending down and straightening back up nearly made him topple headfirst onto the floor.

Spots danced merrily in front of his eyes while he leaned back in the chair, waiting for the wave of dizziness to pass.

Cradling his right arm in his lap, Callen allowed his head to hang down low for a moment. His focus was fading and that most definitely wasn't good. Blood loss, pain and exhaustion were working against him. He needed to get himself moving or he would wake up to find himself back to square one - again.

Blowing out a breath, steeling himself, he pushed up from the chair, his vision immediately blurring as a new wave of dizziness swept over him.

It took a lot of strength and even more suborn determination to remain upright and make it over to the table on the left side of the room. His fingers trembled when they curled around the hilt of one of the bloody knifes laid out there.

The feeling of a weapon instantly made him more confident, and Callen sighed in something close to relief. The breath rattled in his chest while his fractured ribs grated against each other.

He reached for a second knife and carefully slid it into his back pocket.

He really needed to get out of here. Slowly moving over to the door, he wondered just how many guards he would be facing and how he was supposed to overpower them in his current state. He knew he was in bad shape and feared wouldn't be able to take down a newborn right now, let alone several trained guards. That didn't mean he wouldn't try though. Callen leaned against the doorframe and closed his eyes, listening for sounds of movement outside. He could hear a muted conversation but no movement.

Callen knew - from repeated entries of his tormentors - that the door didn't squeak on the hinges. He carefully eased it open, hoping he wasn't in direct view of the men outside. If he was, he would be in trouble since they would be able to react to his presence before he could orient himself and try to get a handle on the situation.

Sneaking a glance through the small gap, he smiled darkly when there was a short and narrow corridor that opened into a wider room but left no direct line of sight to any of the men in the building. Another closed door was located half-way down the corridor, but the voices came from the open space at the end of the corridor. The voices were louder now the door to his previous prison was open, but they were still faint enough to be a small distance away inside of that other room. Callen quietly eased out of the room where he had been held captive, taking care to keep his steps silent and his movements slow and even - the slow movement was also for his own sake. Tripping over his own feet and face-planting would not be conducive with his plans.

He hesitated briefly at the closed door that was half-way down the corridor but eased past it.

It was a risk not to secure that room first, one that he would never take if he were in better shape or if he had a gun, but right now he couldn't help it. He needed to go for the most obvious threats first and he couldn't give his position away prematurely.

Callen made his way further down the corridor towards the other room, listening intently as the men conversed in Arabic. He could make out the voices of two to Ossam's enforcers. He gave himself several more moments, trying to make certain that there wasn't another person in that room beside those two men and also trying to ascertain their positions in the room. He pegged them some eight feet away on the left side from the doorway.

Eventually, he couldn't wait any longer, his legs trembling and his body too exhausted to remain still and upright. He clung to consciousness and determination before he quietly slipped into the room, adrenaline surging and helping to stabilize him. He took a second to focus on the men, confirming their position before he threw the first knife.

The man facing him fell with a gurgling sound. A shocked moment later, the other turned around, his hand reaching for his weapon. Callen was already fumbling for the knife he had stored in his pants pocket. The other man cried out in alarm and drew his weapon the same time that Callen got the knife free. Without waiting to aim, hoping to be able to throw accurately enough, he let the knife fly, stumbling to the side as a bullet thudded into the wall next to him, splintering the wood of the doorframe. He cried out when several splinters embedded themselves in his cheek.

At the same time, Callen heard a body hitting the ground and no more movement, so he carefully glanced around the corner, ducking back while processing the image. Both guards were down. Shifting away from the door, Callen cautiously moved into the room, approaching the men slowly. Seeing the open stares, he sighed in relief. Those two wouldn't be any trouble anymore.

His relief was short-lived though when he heard a creak behind him. Swiveling round, he swore when he came face to face with a third guard. Not giving the other man a second to get over his surprise at the scene, Callen pushed up and charged, rushing the man. He didn't have much of a choice. He had no more knives and no immediate access to another weapon. He knew his chances of winning - let alone surviving - that encounter were slim, but he didn't let himself dwell on it. Their bodies collided with teeth-clattering force and Callen grunted in pain when the shockwaves of the collision went through his body, making spots dance in his vision for a brief moment.

The first hit to his abdomen nearly took him out, the pain harsh and unforgiving. Knowing he was fighting for his life and very aware that he wouldn't get a second chance, Callen forced the pain and the exhaustion away. His body went into adrenaline overdrive, his heart racing as his focus sharpened.

He threw himself into the fight, blocking punches and throwing his own. It was vicious and violent, neither man holding their punches and Callen knew he was losing ground with every passing second. The longer the fight took, the less likely he was going to win. When his opponent took half a step back and seemed slightly unbalanced, he abruptly lashed out a leg. The move was intuitive, more muscle memory than conscious thought. Hours and hours of close combat training made the move so ingrained that his body just followed the subconscious instruction his brain sent out. The impact made him cry out at the pain it caused, but it served its purpose of toppling his opponent who overbalanced and crashed down on the ground.

Callen immediately followed him down, pinning him to the floor and not holding back the punches he rained down on the man's head. He only stopped when the man was limp beneath him. Sitting astride the man's body, he slowly came back to himself, his breathing coming in rapid, painful pants. He was dizzy and shaking from the adrenaline coursing through his body.

The guard beneath him was limp, his face smeared with blood, nearly unrecognizable.

Trembling, he reached for the man's neck, knowing before he made contact that he wouldn't find a pulse. He had of course killed before, even killed with his bare hands, but it was never pleasant. A fight like this was deeply personal and intimate. The fact that it had been a matter of his survival or the guard's meant it was just cause, but the effect of it would still eventually bear down on him.

Callen shook his head. He couldn't dwell on that yet. Later, once he made it back home safely, he could regroup and come to terms with this, but for the moment he needed to concentrate on getting to safety.

He rolled off the man and crawled to one of the fallen guns. He was rather certain that there wasn't anyone around anymore - the shot that had been fired would have brought anyone running and the fight hadn't been exactly quiet either - but he would favor having a weapon if he encountered anyone else who meant him harm.

Callen quickly checked the weapon and ejected the bullet that had been chambered. He didn't want the gun to jam if the bullet had been dislodged inside of the chamber. The gun in his hand was a relief even though he knew he wasn't safe yet.

He pushed up, groaning and reaching out for the nearest object to steady himself when the world wobbled beneath his feet. Wishing the floor would stop undulating, he took as deep a breath as he dared and drove himself on. It took all his dwindling strength to stumble over to the front door.

Clinging to the wood, Callen opened the door and peered outside.

He froze.

Callen stared at the vast landscape of a desert stretching out in front of him. Stumbling out of the hut, he hobbled to the right side and around the building, his eyes scanning the surroundings, scanning for any marker of civilization… and finding none.