CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Callen paced agitatedly up and down the small hallway, much to Sam's annoyance and concern.

"G!" he exclaimed eventually, and got up to physically block his partner when Callen still didn't stop. "Remember what Dr Laura said? You need to rest!"

"I think what she actually said was that I needed to sleep," Callen retorted crossly. "And it's 8am. Time to be awake. Where the bloody hell is Deeks?"

Dr Laura had just finished re-stitching and bandaging his leg and left, although not before shooting him up with several injections to deal with the infection, and Callen was attempting to dissipate some of the tension left over from her visit. She had re-cast his arm and once again secured his hand high on his chest in an immobilising sling. Sam had feared he was going to have to hold Callen at gun point when Dr Laura had noted with concern some grating movement in the scaphoid fracture of his wrist and insisted the base of his thumb needed fixing in the cast as well.

"Oh, no, no…" Callen began to refuse.

"I shouldn't have let you talk me out of it last time," she said worriedly. She started to explain the long-term complications of that particular break if left untreated, but Callen didn't hear. With the rising feeling of claustrophobia greying his vision, he sprung up, the half-finished bandaging ripping from Dr Laura's hands as he moved in two violent strides to the window. Sam was at his side in an instant.

"G," he rumbled in a low voice. "What are you doing?"

Callen glanced back at the trail of bandage between himself and the doctor with a mixture of panic and shame. "I…" he shuddered. He simply didn't know how to put into words that he couldn't deal with this. That the feeling of his dominant hand being trapped caused him more fear than any hostile scenario he had yet encountered – and it was fear he couldn't rationalise and therefore left him ashamed of his inability to hide it.

"What? You can't *hand*-le it?" Sam jibed. Anger briefly crossed Callen's face, but Sam was okay with that. Anger was known territory, better than fear. He didn't know how to deal with a fearful Callen, and it worried him too. "Too soon for jokes? Get a grip!" Now that he had Callen's full attention, his tone softened. "You can't use your hand anyway… What does it matter if half of it's bandaged, or it all?"

"No," Callen swallowed. "You're right." With an attempt at black humour, he added, "Maybe it'll make a good club to knock you out next time you try to stick a needle in me."

"Don't pass out on me again then," Sam muttered under his breath as Callen turned back to Dr Laura.

"Do your thing," Callen said quietly by way of apology, taking his seat next to her once more. She moved cautiously to re-start the padded under-layer, afraid of triggering another outburst as she moved up his wrist to his fingers, but apart from a convulsing shudder when she applied the first turn to encase his hand in the material he remained absolutely still. Speaking only once to explain she was using a lighter fibreglass cast over waterproof padding this time, she worked as quickly as possible while Sam hovered nearby.

Looking Callen up and down once she had finished her bandaging, she asked, "When did you last sleep?" In her opinion, her patient looked even more exhausted than when she had first met him in the boatshed, weary lines of pain and fatigue drawn on his face and dark shadows around his eyes.

"Got a few hours last night," Callen replied, and Sam chortled.

"Only because you were passed out!" Callen sent Sam a warning glare. He didn't want Sam's administration of the IV to become common knowledge.

"And before that?" The doctor pressed.

"Not much," Callen admitted grudgingly.

"Any particular reason?"

Callen gave an exasperated sigh. "What do you think?"

"I think that if you don't get some proper sleep soon you can add exhaustion and collapse to the list of damage," she responded seriously, fastening his arm gently into a padded sling across his chest. "I dare say it's too much to hope that you'll use this as I instructed last time, but keep it in there til the cast has completely dried at least." She packed up her things into the large bag, leaving behind some painkillers and a further course of strong antibiotics for Callen to continue to take to fight the onset of infection from the wet cast on his open wounds. Sam saw her out, apologising quietly for Callen's short fuse when they were safely out of his earshot. "Get him to a hospital," was all Dr Laura offered in response.

Sam tapped out two of the painkillers onto the counter. "Deeks will be here soon. In the meantime, stop pacing, sit down and take these."

"I don't need to sit down. And I don't need any damn painkillers either!"

"Yeah? Wanna explain to me why you're limping again then?"

Partially defeated, Callen crossed over to the couch to sit down.

"Just take them, G," Sam said beseechingly. "They'll take the edge off, so you can focus. They're not strong ones."

"Alright," Callen relented crossly. "But if I'm sick in the car, you've only got yourself to blame."

Deeks met them in his own red truck a block down from Callen's apartment. Kensi was with him.

"We went to see Connor," she explained.

"How is he?" Sam enquired, voicing the question he could see Callen was desperate to ask but was afraid to hear the answer to. Kensi shrugged.

"Okay, I guess. He's still in ICU. We didn't get to talk with him really: he was still a bit groggy."

"They said the surgery went as well as could be expected," Deeks expanded, swinging the car out into the traffic with a lurch that made Callen's stomach roll. He glared at Sam, blaming his partner's insistence that he take some painkillers for his queasiness now, though he had to grudgingly admit, if only to himself, that the reduction in pain was probably worth the trade-off.

"I don't even know what we do now," Kensi sighed, somewhat rhetorically. There was a tremor in her voice as she spoke. Deeks put his hand soothingly over on her knee. "The boatshed's gone, we've got no leads…"

"Well, with any luck Janvier will be tailing this bright red monstrosity from outer space, and we'll apprehend him when he makes a move on us," Callen muttered grumpily.

"What's wrong with my wheels?" Deeks retorted.

"It's not exactly inconspicuous, is it?" Sam agreed with his partner.

"Says the person who drives a Challenger!"

The conversation prompted Sam to suddenly think of the Challenger. "What happened to my car?" he asked. All the drama of swimming through the ocean to escape, stealing a boat, and then getting Callen patched up again had meant he hadn't spared a thought for his car until now. In the front seats, Kensi and Deeks shared a look of despair.

"Welllll…" Deeks stalled.

"You'd parked it very close to the boat shed," Kensi added apologetically.

"I know that," Sam responded with exaggerated patience, casting a glance over at Callen. "Is she driveable?"

"Err," Deeks risked a quick look at Sam in the rearview mirror. "Not without a LOT of work," he grimaced.

"Damn!" Sam swore resignedly, understanding the news that Deeks hadn't dared to put into words.

Kensi and Deeks shared another look. Normally Callen would have interjected with a smart remark by this point, but he couldn't help but feel a little guilty about the Challenger's demise and so he continued to pretend he hadn't heard the conversation, looking out of the window as he held his left arm around his stomach in an attempt to ease his travel sickness.

They travelled in sombre silence for a while. Even with the painkillers taking the edge off, Callen was hurting more than he cared to admit but a combination of tiredness and the soporific effects of the road noise eventually caught up with him in spite of the aches and pains, and Sam smiled with satisfaction to see him dozing off.

"How's he doing?" Kensi whispered once it was clear Callen was sleeping soundly.

"His arm's pretty messed up. Last thing he needed was another dunking…" Sam didn't feel comfortable sharing any more, knowing Callen had opened up to him in confidence. Callen's trust in him was fragile at the moment, a state of affairs that saddened Sam greatly, and made him extra-mindful not to abuse it even in situations where it might be in Callen's best interests. He knew Kensi and Deeks, Hetty, the whole team, had their concerns about Callen both physically and emotionally, and wanted to help, but just as before when Hetty and Vance had tried to quiz him, it wasn't his place to tell. Keeping his voice low, he continued with an answer of sorts. "Best thing we can do, is to find Janvier and end this. Then we can get him," he jerked his head towards his sleeping partner, "To go to a hospital."

They pulled up outside Ops in Sam's usual space. As if she was waiting for them – which on reflection she probably had been – Hetty stepped out of the big wooden doors to meet them before Deeks had even killed the engine.

"Gentlemen," she greeted them. She moved round the huge truck to open Callen's door for him, a gesture which didn't go unnoticed by any of them, least of all Callen.

"I can open a damn door, Hetty," he grumbled, clambering out and slamming it shut behind him with more force than necessary to make his point.

"And lady," Hetty continued, talking over his complaints as she encompassed Kensi in her greeting.

"Thank you, and good morning," Kensi returned graciously, but her pointed good manners in the face of Callen's rudeness went unnoticed by him. Sam and Deeks rolled their eyes. Where one of them in the same position might have been reprimanded, it appeared Hetty still had infinite tolerance for Callen's moods.

"Let's go inside," she said, somewhat unnecessarily since they were all heading that way anyway. "You've had an early start, and yesterday was… stressful…" She paused. "I think a cup of tea all round while we have a tete-a-tete is in order."

"A what now?"

"French, Mr Deeks," Hetty smiled.

In a bid to score one over on Deeks, Sam politely enquired, "Isn't a tete-a-tete a private conversation?"

"Well, typically yes, it would be between just two persons," Hetty acknowledged. "But it rolls off the tongue rather better than se remettre au courant de, wouldn't you agree?" Defeated, Sam bestowed on her one of his charming smiles in response as they all seated themselves in the bullpen. With a barely noticeable pause, Callen sat at his old desk, now Connor's, so that only Hetty noticed his discomfort in taking their wounded colleague's seat. He felt her wizened old hand brush lightly on his shoulder and the fleeting smile he gave her in return forgave all his earlier insolence.

"Now first things first," she began. "Mr Callen and Mr Hanna, we are so very relieved that you are back with us. How are you both?" she asked gently. Along with the rest of the team, Hetty had not wanted to leave Ops the previous evening, hoping against hope for news from her two senior agents even while her gut twisted and had her preparing for the worst, for no one could have survived the blast they had all watched back over and over on the marina cctv for signs of Callen and Sam making it out. That their body parts hadn't been dredged from the ocean like Marco Laurent had been the only hope they all had to cling to, and as the hours dragged by it seemed a thinner and thinner chance. The relief to hear they had escaped via the trap door and the sea had been immeasurable, but Sam's update via Nell had been brief and gave very little over as to how the pair of them really were. And so, with the kind of anxiety only a mother would understand, Hetty had waited impatiently at Ops that morning for their return. She had noted the band-aid on Callen's hand, and knew what it signified, but neither he nor Sam seemed willing to divulge any details. Hetty knew she just had to be thankful that this time, escaping Janvier once again, Callen had had Sam with him.

Callen glanced involuntarily down at his newly casted arm still secured in the sling. He hated it just as much as before, but the cast would take several more hours to fully harden, and Sam was breathing down his neck making sure he followed Dr Laura's instructions to the letter. Even though the new cast was lighter as promised, the extra material encasing his thumb was taking some getting used to and he glowered at the sight of it.

Sensing the reason for his bad mood, Sam stepped in to answer for them both.

"All good… We were lucky," he said lightly.

"Very lucky," Deeks agreed in a whisper to Kensi.

Swallowing his real thoughts on the matter, Callen raised an approximation to a smile as he added, "We could do with a decent meal. Sam's cooking isn't up to much."

"Give me something TO cook with, and maybe it would have been better!" Sam grumbled.

"Fair point," Callen conceded. With a quick wave of her hand, Hetty organised for one of the support personnel to fetch them all some breakfast. Truth be told, Callen wasn't all that keen to eat, but baiting Sam had deflected the attention away from his hand, and as it turned out when the offered food arrived he fell on it as hungrily as the others.

"Ops," he commanded simply when they were all done. "Eric and Nell must have come up with something by now." Hetty and the other three agents traipsed obediently before him up the stairs.

Bringing up the rear, Callen mused to Sam, "Maybe we should have inserted Mosley at the auction after all…"

"There was no point," Sam disagreed. "It was an unnecessary risk to her safety – and Derrick's. We only needed her to determine the location, and we found that without her..."

"If we'd had someone IN there, on the ground…" Callen stubbornly pushed.

"WE were on the ground, G!"

"I'm sorry… I wasn't suggesting anyone messed up." If anyone had messed up, it was himself, Callen thought morosely. How could he have let Janvier escape his clutches again? He was struck by a sudden memory of part of his interrogation with Janvier the first time they caught him, when Sam, Kensi and Deeks had almost been lost to the warehouse explosion. 'Sometimes you have to sacrifice a piece to win an advantage. You need to know your opponent's next move, before he does.' He had to hand it to Janvier – the man played a strategic game, and was using his knowledge of Callen and their operations to his advantage. Under his breath, Callen cursed. He should have known Janvier would target the boatshed. He had allowed himself to be distracted by the Incognito auction, no doubt exactly as Janvier had anticipated. Not for the first time, Callen considered if Incognito had been secondary, a bonus to Janvier's real mission, that of revenge against Callen and his team. Maybe Incognito really had simply financed a larger revenge scheme that was Janvier's real aim. They had all played right into his hands if that had been the case, and this time Connor had paid the price, and nearly Sam. How many more times would Janvier be within his reach, only to ultimately evade him and make another move in his murderous games?

"I should hope not," Sam chided, bringing him back to the present. The doors slid open, effectively ending their conversation.

With a look that instantly discouraged any greetings or small talk, Callen turned to Nell with his eyebrows raised, inviting an update.

"The chatter is still fairly strong regarding Janvier having an… asset… to auction off. Your name hasn't been mentioned specifically, but, well…" Nell looked apologetically a Callen as she spoke. He sucked in a breath, no doubt coming to the same conclusion as Sam the previous evening that it had been a good thing they had remained under the radar. It hadn't been a conscious decision for him at the time, more driven by his innate desire to drop off the grid in times of trouble, but it seemed his gut instincts were still doing their thing to keep him safe. "It would appear that Janvier is still talking like he has this… asset to sell, which means, which means…" She paused, then, "I'm sorry…" Nell apologised, struggling in the face of Callen's intensity to tell him to be careful as he was still very much a wanted man.

"Never mind that," Callen interrupted her. "What about Janvier's whereabouts?"

"We've tried everything to track him," Nell assured him earnestly. "We've used the surveillance footage from the car park camera of the boatshed to determine the angle of the, err, sniper shot that hit Connor…" Her voice drifted off doubtfully, but sensing Callen's irritated impatience she rallied. "That narrowed down the likely buildings the shot could have come from if it was a sniper, and they've all been searched… but… well, whoever it was…"

"It was a sniper shot, and it was Janvier," Callen stated firmly.

"Whoever it was," Nell bravely continued, "Had completely cleaned up. There's not a single trace of evidence that anyone was even on the roofs of the buildings, much less fired a sniper rifle from up there. We've had the best CSI's on it," she assured them all.

"What about the boatshed bomb?" Sam enquired.

"Nothing, err, nothing conclusive. I mean, it was a cell phone trigger like at the warehouse, but that's not uncommon. It's likely the bomb was sited on the opposite side of the building from the interrogation room…"

"Lucky…" Deeks muttered again.

"Err, very." Nell agreed. "But it means almost all of the components were lost in the water… Divers have recovered what they can but there's very little to compare to the bomb Janvier used in the warehouse. Not enough to say they definitely were made by the same person…"

Callen slammed his hand down hard on the table, making everyone jump.

"So we've got nothing! NOTHING!" His raised voice, as close to a shout as anyone had ever heard from him, cut through the room, leaving them all stunned by his sudden and uncharacteristic outburst. "Unacceptable!" Unable to contain his anger and frustration, he spun on his heel and stormed out of the sliding doors.

There were several moments of utter silence in his wake.

"I'll find him and talk to him," Sam eventually said heavily. "Just… keep working up leads." He looked around at the shell-shocked team. Hetty was sombre, not meeting his eyes. Deeks was fidgeting uncomfortably, Kensi and Nell looked worried, and under his palpable anxiety, Eric was still trying to hide the guilt he felt from getting the auction location wrong and leaving them flat-footed. "We're all doing our best… G knows that…" None of the others looked convinced. "I'll talk to him," Sam repeated as he left the room.

A/N: A longer chapter - again, there just wasn't a natural break in this one! Thank you for your continued support after such a long interlude. Your reviews keep me going! I think I've got maybe ten chapters to come now? It depends whether the penultimate couple divide themselves into two or three... editing is still taking place. Please do (gently) give me a nudge if you notice any continuity bloopers, as there's some chunks that have been written (and currently being edited) post brain-injury so whilst I am re-reading the whole lot to try and make sure I've got it right, it's a lot of words and my ability to read still isn't great... :/