Author's note: Thanks to all who have read this, and all who have reviewed – you inspire me to keep going!

XXXXXX

Nell returned to consciousness slowly, and (if the pain in her head was any indication) reluctantly. She inhaled deeply, forcing her breathing to remain calm and even.

With her eyes shut, she couldn't see her surroundings, but she was aware of a sudden, overwhelming sense of wrongness.

That wasn't unusual, she reminded herself, biting down on panic and terror. Typical mornings were sometimes mystifying. The very process of emerging from an unconscious dream state back into reality was, by its nature, confusing, and something she had dwelled upon many times in her life.

She simply needed to remember last night, and then she'd learn where she was, and she'd know what had happened, and…

Nothing came.

Nothing.

A sinking feeling grew within her, because she knew, she knew, without even opening her eyes…

That she had no idea where she was.

She proved herself right when she opened them anyways, and was greeted with blank white walls which enclosed a small room absent of any furniture aside from the twin bed she laid upon and a lamp in the corner so dim it might as well have been off. The eerie darkness of her surroundings meant she could just barely make out the room, and lack of furniture within it.

She racked her brain, trying desperately to recall her last memory. Her mind was utterly blank, though. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate; it was more like there was a jumbled mass of memories swirling in her mind, and she simply couldn't remember the order in which any of them had occurred.

She remembered being shot at some point, and she remembered fighting with Hetty, and she remembered Callen being there (always), and – oh God, what was the order? What happened last?

Because if she could remember what happened last, that would most likely tell her where she was, and what had happened to her.

Try as she might, she couldn't properly organize anything that was currently in her head.

In resignation, she did the most logical thing – she vowed to think about it later.

A quick and thorough search of the room revealed nothing that could help her, either to learn of her whereabouts or to devise a means of escape. There was a small bathroom off the room she was in, but it had no windows, and was completely devoid of anything she could use as a weapon. The other exit from the room was locked. She gathered enough courage to bang on the door a few times and call for someone to answer her, but all she got in return was silence. Either there was no one listening, or those outside didn't care to respond.

She told herself she wasn't giving up; she was only taking a break to rest. But as she laid on the bed, staring upwards at the blank white ceiling in growing worry, it did little to comfort her.

XXXXXX

It had been two days since she'd gone missing – two days of living at headquarters and harassing Eric non-stop, and yelling (actually yelling) at Hetty that even though he wasn't supposed to be there, the only way she'd remove him was in handcuffs. Hetty hadn't bothered to respond to that, not verbally, at least. But the whiteness of her face, the tiredness and worry that he saw in her, was enough to tell him he needn't have bothered with his threats.

He knew Hetty wasn't immune, but he couldn't remember the last time she'd shown actual fear. The fact that she did now terrified him even more.

"They wouldn't have taken her if they didn't feel they had something to gain by doing so," Sam offered, yet again, and Callen could only presume it was his way of working out the problem. "We just have to figure out what they could gain."

No one pointed out that there was another reason she might have been taken – to eliminate her and whatever information she had that her capturers didn't want revealed. In which case they were no longer working a missing persons case, but a homicide.

None of them would entertain the possibility, not now, maybe not ever.

"They would contact us, right?" Kensi asked, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself, unable to fight her own anxious worry. "Why haven't they made contact yet?"

It was a good question, and one which none of them had been able to answer.

Callen stared intently at the main screen which had pictures of their suspects in the shooting of Nell two weeks earlier. Derek Smith's wife Anna, his mistress Catherine, and several of Smith's business associates. Callen had questioned them all personally, and though his team had circumstantial evidence in abundance, no one could find a direct link to tie any of them to the shooting. He was thisclose to kidnapping one of them and torturing them into telling him where Nell was. The only problem with that was he honestly had no idea if they had anything to do with her disappearance.

"What are we missing?" He asked, and if his voice had a raw, desperate edge to it, no one called him on it (even if it would have been in his best interest to be ordered to go home and get some rest).

Deeks ignored them, as he had been for hours, and continued to flip through file after file. There had to be something they were missing, and damned if he'd let Nell die because someone had overlooked an inconspicuous fact in a file.

"Her cell signal was last active here," Eric repeated information they had known since the day before, pulling up a map on screen which indicated an area 10 miles north of her apartment. "I mapped the address of everyone connected to our case and found nothing in the remote vicinity. But I'll try including associates of everyone next – maybe we'll get lucky."

Callen absently nodded for him to do it (as if he hadn't started already). He numbly stared at the map of southern California, wondering if Nell were anywhere in that space, or if she'd been taken elsewhere. Was she even alive out there? He had to believe she was, but there was always the possibility…no, there wasn't his mind screamed. There was no possibility that she was gone. There was no world in which he'd accept that.

His increasingly dark thoughts were interrupted by Deeks' sharp inhale and the sound of a half dozen file folders landing on the floor. He spun around to meet his colleague's gaze.

"Catherine Pike," Deeks said, referring to Derek Smith's mistress. He jumped up from his seat and crossed to Eric's chair. "Eric, pull up everything you can find on Catherine's sister, Elizabeth Walsh."

Eric did a quick search and then froze. "She's married to James Walsh."

Callen narrowed his eyes. "And?"

"James Walsh was born in Pakistan to Irananian-American parents," he glanced over at Callen. "We didn't pick up on it because he's an American citizen. His parents chose an American name to fit in when they moved to the U.S. when James was two years old."

"Which means…" Kensi began.

"There's a good chance he was raised with his parents' beliefs," Deeks finished, scanning more government reports as Eric pulled them up on his computer. "His father Ebrahim was a sympathizer with ties to various terrorist groups."

"That's it," Callen breathed. "It has to be."

Sam stared at the driver's license of James Walsh they pulled up on screen. "So James' wife Elizabeth asks her sister to seduce an American NCIS agent to discover information pertaining to his classified government research of chemical nerve agents?"

"Or something like that," Deeks nodded. "Maybe their contact was completely innocent at first. We can't know for sure, but –"

"It doesn't matter how the contact happened, or when," Callen interrupted. "It's still the best tie we've got, so far. Eric, get every known address of James Walsh and every one of his relatives, friends, and associates."

Eric nodded, taking several interminable minutes to find the information. "I have three addresses – two belonging to co-workers, one to his second cousin, Aliana Walsh."

"Sam and I have Aliana's place, Deeks and Kensi, take one of the co-workers, and dispatch local police to the third location."

"ETA is 37 minutes," Eric called to him as he walked out the door.

And still, after more than 48 hours of uncertainty, Callen had no idea how 37 minutes could seem like an eternity.

XXXXXX

Nell had no idea how long she'd been in the room, but it had to be over a day. Maybe several days. She'd had no contact with anyone. Her fear of whoever might be on the other side of the door had long ago disappeared, and she'd tried several times to get the attention of someone – anyone – but no answer ever came in response to her banging on the door or yelling for help.

Part of her was beginning to entertain an idea more terrifying than thinking she'd been abducted in order to get information from her. What if she'd been taken simply to gain leverage over someone else? The 'someone else' being Callen (or, in a less remote possibility, someone else they worked with).

At first she disregarded the idea as unlikely, but as each hour passed, she had to think it was more plausible. And if no one was coming for her, she would die.

She had water thanks to the sink in the bathroom, but no food to speak of. She was hungry right now, though not yet starving. Sure, she'd said many times in her life she was 'starving', but she knew, now, she never had been. She'd used the term casually, like everyone else. But the actual point of starving wasn't far off, and she knew it would be extremely painful. She had no wish to experience it firsthand, but she might not have a choice.

She waited, and waited.

No one came, either captor or rescuer.

It occurred to her that she might have to get herself out of this situation; the only problem was that she had no idea how. She had scoured every inch of the room and come up empty-handed. The thing about captivity was that it provided plenty of time for thinking and planning. Nell had time in abundance. What she didn't have was any feasible way to get out of her current situation.

She still couldn't remember the events prior to her kidnapping, but in the ample amount of time she'd had to think, she had conjured a solid guess: she was fairly certain she must have been at her apartment, and she was almost certain she'd been alone.

She had decided that based on simple logic. If she were anywhere other than her apartment, her guard would have been up, but it was possible someone might have taken her from an alternate location. As to her other conclusion – that she was alone – of that she was fairly positive. If she'd been with Callen, she doubted anyone would have tried to take her, and if they had, he would have put up a fight. The same went if she had been with any other of her co-workers. She must have been caught off-guard, and who would approach the woman they wanted to abduct when she was with someone else?

Sadly, for all of her reasoning, none of it did anything towards giving her information as to why she was taken, or who had done it.

There was one thing, though…there was no point in abducting someone without a motive.

No one had demanded anything of her.

Which meant they had demanded it of someone else, instead.

XXXXXX

Callen slammed the front door excessively hard to try and vent his frustration – the house was empty. No sign anyone had been there in months. Kensi and Deeks had found a family living at the home they'd visited, and no signs anyone had ever been held there against their will. Worse, local police told Sam the third location wasn't being used to hold someone hostage, either.

It left them at square one, and that was a place Callen despised.

He knew Sam was about to suggest they go home and get some rest, and he was formulating excuses for why he couldn't do that, when his phone rang. It was a blocked number, and he hit the button to answer, intuition telling him to remain silent.

The other person didn't wait for a greeting. "How are you, Agent Callen?" The voice held no malice, only mere curiosity.

Callen froze and glanced over at Sam, who met him with an inquisitive look.

"Who is this?" Callen demanded harshly.

"It doesn't matter who I am," the other person (a man, that was all Callen could tell through what seemed to be a voice distorter) replied smoothly. "I understand you've had a trying couple of days."

Callen shut his eyes, afraid he might say something that could ruin this. He knew, without any proof, that this was the only link he had to Nell after over two days. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The man laughed, the chuckle sounding all the more ominous due to the software he was using to disguise his voice. "Sure you don't."

Time to quit playing games, then. "Where is she?"

A slight pause on the other end, and then, "I knew you were smart, Agent Callen. Surely smart enough to know that information is something you'll have to earn."

A million thoughts ran through his mind. The only one he managed to say (slowly, as if he were afraid of the answer) was, "Is she alive?"

"You think I'd kill her when she still served a purpose for me?"

To hear her talked about so casually, as if her life was nothing more than a means to an end, caused both despair and a cold fury to well up inside him. He ignored the despair and focused on the fury, grasping it as hard as he could, determined to use it to keep her alive. "What do you want?"

Another strangely distorted laugh. "What I want? Agent Callen, the list of things I want is so long that no one could ever fulfill it. But, thankfully for you, there is something you can give me. I want you to meet me, and bring all the information you have regarding your murder investigation into Derek Smith."

Callen paused, mulling that over. "Why?"

"Call it a personal inquiry into the case, Agent. Tomorrow, meet me at –"

"Not until I know she's alive," Callen broke in, unable to hide his emotions, sure his voice completely gave him away. Then again, whoever had taken Nell knew she was the best way to get to him, so he supposed it didn't matter by now if he hid his feelings for her or not.

"After our meeting, Agent Cal –"

No, unacceptable, unacceptable. Callen's rage actually prevented him from hearing the end of the other man's sentence. He was blinded, he knew it, but he couldn't accept such an arrangement. She could be dead already, and – and – no.

He would give this man nothing without proof.

Several heartbeats passed in silence. "Agent Callen?" The man asked, the slightest hint of… (confusion? worry? self-doubt?) creeping into the words. Whatever the man felt, the slight sign of weakness was more than enough to convince Callen to follow through with his rash plan.

"No deal," Callen managed to get out, before ending the connection.

He stared at his phone for nearly a minute, wondering if it would ring again. Each second that passed, Callen felt his heart fall further and further, until it could get no lower.

Had he miscalculated? Had he acted too impulsively? What if the other man took this as a personal insult, and went to Nell (if she were still alive) and took it out on her? What if he could never fix this?

He might have…

Oh God. He glanced up, meeting Sam's worried gaze. Callen laughed, the sound unexpected, brittle and self-deprecating. His partner didn't need to speak.

"I think I…I might have just…"

Sam's eyes widened, and Callen didn't see concern or worry in them, he saw fear, and it was only then that he realized how terrible he must have looked.

"Sam, I…" Callen looked at his phone again, registering that another minute had passed without it ringing.

He might have been wrong.

Completely wrong.

If so, he would be paying for that mistake for the rest of his life.

"I might have just killed her."

XXXXXX

Nell had become accustomed to the complete silence around her, which meant she jumped a figurative mile when the door to her room opened.

"There's been a change of plans," the man in the doorway told her, motioning for her to follow him.

He disappeared from the door, and she assumed she was supposed to follow. She wanted to ask a dozen questions; instead, she inched forward, slowly following him, marveling at the fact that she was apparently in a normal house. She passed through a hallway, a living room, and entered a kitchen, where the man was making coffee. Before, if she'd had to guess, she would have said she was in some underground prison.

"Please, sit," he said, motioning to barstools set at a kitchen counter.

But really, more than her abduction, more than the strange appearance of this man, her mind was registering the fact that she was in a kitchen.

And she was extremely hungry.

So hungry that she dared to ignore him and open the fridge. Condiments, and more condiments, and was that deli meat? She looked at the man suspiciously, but his back was to her, and she grabbed it before moving to sit where he had indicated.

"My apologies," he said, turning to face her. "You must be hungry." He took a loaf of bread from a drawer and handed it to her. "By all means, have a sandwich."

If she'd had any stray thoughts about trying to harm him, or running for escape, they were abruptly ended when she spotted two men hovering at the edge of the room – clearly hired security.

Since she had no desire to get shot (again), she did as he suggested and made herself a sandwich.

Silence had served her well so far, and she decided to keep it up.

He mustn't have been expecting her to simply eat and watch him, because he regarded her with faint surprise as he sipped his coffee, sliding a mug toward her.

"If you cooperate, we can get you out of here in no time," he said calmly.

She knew he was lying, knew that he wanted to kill her as soon as possible. She discerned, from the tension in his shoulders and tight lines around his mouth, that he had wanted to kill her long before now, but kept her alive out of necessity. She wanted to grab the cup of coffee he'd given her and throw it back in his face; she would have, too, if she hadn't been convinced his security would make her suffer severely for such an action.

That was why she didn't respond to him.

He smiled at her, and she saw that he was trying to appear pleasant, charming, even. "I need you to make a call for me."

Again, she wouldn't speak. She resorted to staring at her food as she ate, refusing to acknowledge him in any way.

He slid a piece of paper into her field of vision, and she blinked, her eyes automatically widening when she recognized the number as Callen's. She didn't look up, but she could hear the smirk in the man's voice as he continued talking.

"I thought that might get your attention. I want you to call your…friend." He said the word suggestively, obviously believing she and Callen were more than that. "Assure him that you are fine and have been treated well, and that your continued safety is contingent upon his actions. Since we don't want to give any unnecessary information away, you'll find I've already written out what you are to say. Flip it over."

She turned the paper, skimming the two paragraphs written out for her to read to Callen. It basically said she was alright, and would stay that way, if he followed all demands.

"I know about the little tricks you agents have to signal each other. Deviate from that script by one word and you will regret it, instantly." The man's voice had dropped into a near hiss. He motioned to one of his security men who raised a gun, and Nell took that to mean that if she messed up even one word, she would be shot.

She read over the paragraphs again, more carefully this time, and realized what she was being ordered to do. The last paragraph included a location and time for a meeting. She would be drawing Callen into a trap. Even if he suspected it was a trap, there would be no way out of it, because he would come anyways just to ensure that she was alright. She knew him, and apparently so did her abductor; Callen wouldn't hand this job off to anyone else, not when she was involved.

He would die.

In fact, there was a high likelihood (she wagered somewhere in the vicinity of 99.99%) that both of them would die.

The man slid a cell phone toward her and gestured for her to make the call, his security guard walking over to stand next to her, prepared to keep her words in line no matter the cost.

"Call him."

Nell ran through a dozen scenarios in her head in the span of several seconds. Reading the script as ordered; trying to slip in a panic word or phrase to alert Callen without her abductor noticing; trying to outright warn Callen despite the consequences she would face; making a dash to escape the room altogether. Nothing she came up with saved her life.

She was as good as dead no matter which option she chose.

It was with a burst of peaceful clarity that she accepted her fate, and made up her mind.

"Call him!" The man repeated sharply, pressing send on the phone, having already punched in Callen's number.

Nell grabbed it and quickly hit the button to end the call, willing herself to drown out the despair and regret she felt at not allowing herself to speak to Callen one last time.

"No," she said, squarely meeting her abductor's eyes for the first time. "I won't."

His eyes clouded over and he made a sharp motion to the security guard behind her.

Even before her vision went black, Nell knew what she had done, and she prayed that someday Callen would forgive her for killing herself.

XXXXXX