As first light hit the entrance of their bolt hole, Sam woke up. The fire had burned low so Sam stoked it a little to keep it going until after breakfast. Callen was still sleeping quietly which pleased Sam; the injured man would need all the strength he could muster to get thru the next few days.

After making a trip outside, Sam returned and forged in the backpack he was starting to think of as a cousin to Mary Poppins's valise; it seemed like whatever was required was within its canvas seams. He found an MRE and set it cooking, knowing it took about 12 minutes for it to complete. Meanwhile, he put water in camp mug and set it by the fire to heat. When it was hot, he added the contents of a dry soup package, gave it a stir and set it back down to keep warm. That was the easy part. Trying to get his partner to ingest it would be a lot harder. He knew when Callen was under the influence of morphine he felt queasy most of the time and had to be forced to eat. In the hospital, they could drip nutrients in a tube attached to his arm; out here that was not an option. Sam was going to have to get that soup down his partner's throat.

When his MRE was done, Sam sat down to eat it. He knew it was going to be gross but he also knew he needed the calorie dense food to keep going. As he ate, Callen began to stir and Sam had an uncharitable thought that the floor show was about to begin, kind of like dinner and a movie except it was breakfast and an ornery partner.

As Callen's eyes cracked open, he saw it was nearly light out. He was stiff and sore, but surprised to find his pain was tamped back to a dull roar. He was still mulling over that concept as he attempted to sit up. After that was successfully accomplished he went for broke and decided to stand. The moment he got vertical his head and his stomach caught up with the movement and began to rebel. Sam watched as Callen stumbled out of the cave to dry heave the empty contents of his stomach outside. After a few minutes it grew quiet again so Sam dug out a water bottle and set it on the ground by his side before he went back to eating. After a few other familiar noises outside, Callen shuffled back into the cave and Sam simply held out a bottle of water which Callen grabbed in passing. Twisting off the cap, Callen rinsed out his mouth before swallowing a few mouthfuls. He leveraged his body to the ground and glared at Sam who studiously ignored him.

"You did it, didn't you," Callen accused Sam, his face displaying his annoyance.

Sam merely grunted an affirmative sound.

"Even though you know what it does to me," Callen pointed out.

Sam shrugged. "I gave you the Maxolon too. There's soup by the fire. Drink it."

Callen gave him an incredulous stare. "I just got done throwing up and you want me to eat?"

Sam glanced up from his meal. "You dry heaved proving my point that there is nothing in your stomach and you need to eat. We have long march ahead of us."

"I'll barf," Callen said like a petulant child.

Sam shook his head. "No you won't. I told you, I gave you the Maxolon, in your ass if you are wondering."

"Gee thanks," Callen said sarcastically. "Couldn't find my arm in the dark?"

Sam took a few more mouthfuls of food. "Saving that site for later. Figured it would be easier to give you a shot in the arm when we are on the move than elsewhere."

Callen shook his head no. "Ut-ah. There will be no more shots, anywhere."

Sam sighed, placed down his half-finished meal, leaned over, plucked the cup of soup from the edge of the fire and set it within Callen's reach before resuming his meal. "There will be another shot, actually two, in a few hours. Drink that soup before it gets cold. Please don't make me force you. I'm trying to eat in peace."

Callen watched his partner, who went back to eating his MRE before he picked up the cup and took a few cautious sips; at least Sam hadn't tried to make him ingest solid food. The soup seemed to be staying where it belonged so Callen drank some more, surprised when he realized he had drained the cup.

"See was that so hard?" Sam asked.

Callen grinned a little. "I'll let you know when I stand up."

Sam handed him back his half-finished water bottle and Callen drank that too. "What's the plan?"

Sam set his empty meal container aside. "Judging from what I saw on the helicopter's GPS before we bailed, I'd put our reckoning at 80 miles south of the sea. I'll check the DAGR before we go," he said referring to the military-style GPS device he carried in his pack. He glanced down at his watch. "We'll walk south for two hours and then try to call home."

Callen ran a hand over his stubbly face. "They can't come inland to get us. We have to make it to the sea."

"Yep. You up to it?" Sam asked. "Because I'm not in the mood to carry you."

Callen sighed. "You are so sympathetic."

"Uh-huh. Undo your shirt. Let me see the wound." Reluctantly, Callen did as told and they both peered at the burned flesh. "Looks like it is working," Sam said examining the bullet holes.

"I hope so," Callen said fervently. "Once, make that twice, was enough."

Sam nodded his head. "I hear you. For both of us."

Callen caught Sam's eye. "Thanks Sam. That couldn't have been easy for you."

Sam sighed. "Not as hard as it was on you. But that's what friends are for," he replied. Sam got up, went over to the backpack and returned with a syringe. "Time for another antibiotic shot," he declared uncapping the needle. Sam swore his partner turned paler under his grime.

"How about no," Callen replied reaching for his shirt.

Sam moved the shirt out of Callen's reach. "How about this isn't a debate." Moving closer to Callen's side he ripped open the disinfectant pad. Pretending to glance at his partner's back he said conversationally, "Do you know there is actual green pus oozing out of your back."

"What?" Callen said whipping his head around trying unsuccessfully to see his own back. In that moment of distraction, Sam swabbed his bicep and administered the shot.

"Hey," Callen barked, his head rapidly swinging back towards Sam who reached over and flung Callen's shirt at him. Grumbling, Callen picked it up and eased his way into the garment.

As Callen was finishing up securing his shirt, Sam tossed a bottle of suntan lotion at his feet. "Put it on," Sam commanded.

"You put it on," Callen shot back rather stupidly. The residual effects of the morphine were muddling his wits. "On you, not on me," he tried to recover and then realized that sounded even stupider than his first comment.

"Hetty's orders," Sam said ignoring his partner's off-the-wall comments and gesturing to the bottle.

Sure enough, written on the bottle in black permanent marker were the words 'For Callen' in her unmistakable script. More cursing by Callen in Russian followed and Sam threatened to tattle Hetty.

"Your Russian is not that good, especially for the slang," Callen accused.

"Been around you enough years, I've gotten pretty good at the curse words," Sam replied.

Grumbling, Callen applied the lotion to his face and neck before tossing the bottle back to Sam in a very unsportsmanlike manner.

"You missed a spot, but I won't tell Hetty," was all Sam said as he picked up the backpack and they headed out of the cave into the morning sunshine.

Once outside, Sam pulled out the DAGR, acquired the satellites and got their position. When he confirmed where they were, he switched to using a compass to save the battery. Technology was great, but old fashion reckoning also worked.

Sam set out due south and Callen trailed along behind. Once they cleared the rocky area, the terrain got flatter and easier to navigate, though the temperature climbed as the morning wore on. Sam could tell when the morphine shot he gave his partner was wearing off. His gait grew more uneven and as much as he tried to hide it, Sam could detect the pain on Callen's face especially in the lines around his eyes.

After they had been on the move for two hours, Sam stopped in the shade of an outcropping of rocks. Callen gladly dropped to the ground to rest. Sam took off the backpack and dug out an antiseptic pad and two syringes. "Roll up your sleeve G," he demanded.

Callen eyed the needles with undisguised hatred. "No."

Sam squatted on the ground in front of him holding up the needles. "You are not going to make it without theses."

Callen wanted to hate Sam for what he was saying, but he couldn't because he knew the man was right. The pain level was about to drive him mad; he wouldn't last another 2 miles let alone the distance they needed to travel. His tongue darted out of his mouth and swiped his upper lip. "Sam that junk makes me sick."

"Which is why I'm also going to give you an anti-nausea shot too," Sam explained patiently.

Stalling wasn't going to make it any easier, so with a sigh, Callen rolled up his sleeve on his good arm. Sam swiped the area and Callen looked away as Sam stuck one, then the other needle in his arm. When he was done, Sam rolled down Callen's sleeve; he still refused to look at him.

"It's done," Sam said quietly as if Callen couldn't tell.

"Struggling with the word 'thanks' here," Callen said honestly as the first wave of queasiness washed over him.

"Give it a few minutes to work. In thirty minutes you'll be feeling no pain," Sam predicted.

Callen closed his eyes and tried to remain very still. "If I don't barf up a lung first."

Leaving Callen to rest, Sam disposed of the medical waste then pulled out the satphone praying it worked. Sam gave a huge sigh of relief when he heard Eric's voice. "It's Sam, Eric."

"Oh my god Sam we were so worried. Is Callen with you?" Eric asked even as he was motioning for Nell to get Hetty as he switched Sam to speaker.

"Yes he is," Sam's voice rang out in the Ops Center.

Hetty must have sprinted up the stairs because when Eric turned around she was there. "Sam," she said cheerfully. "It is good to hear your voice. Where are you?"

"Hopefully Eric is tracing this call and can tell me. I think we are about 60 miles from the sea," Sam surmised.

Nell's voice rang out. "Closer to 80 but what are a few miles among friends."

Sam glanced over at Callen worried; that was a lot of miles to cover in his deteriorating condition.

Once again Hetty read his mind. "How is Callen, Sam?"

Sam continued to stare at his partner who was sitting extremely still waiting for the Maxolon to kick in. "Wanna talk to Hetty?" Sam asked offering up the satphone which got him a glare from the clearly not amused man. "Ah Hetty, he can't come to the phone right now."

"Do I want to know why?" she asked drily.

"Everything is under control," Sam answered evasively which earned him a half-hearted 'thumbs up' from his partner before he closed his eyes again.

"Very well. You know best," I hope, she added under her breath.

"I'll call you again tomorrow at this time. Check our progress and we can discuss extradition," Sam stated.

"The ship and SEAL team is on standby. Ready to deploy on my signal," Hetty assured him.

"Wow, what is that costing you," Sam remarked with a low whistle.

"Don't ask. Be safe. Until tomorrow," Hetty concluded.

"Roger that. Out," Sam replied before switching off the unit. He glanced over at Callen, walked to the backpack, stowed the phone, grabbed another bottle of water and brought it over to Callen. "Wheels up in fifteen. Drink this," he instructed shoving the bottle at Callen, who grasped it and then dropped it in his lap.

"If I open my eyes will I see a plane or at least a jeep?" Callen inquired.

"Nope. In this case the wheels are your feet," Sam said a little too cheerfully for Callen's taste.

"Great," Callen said, opening his eyes anyway. "Another day in paradise."