Chapter 6

Nell sat on the couch in her darkened apartment, a square pillow clutched against her chest. It had been three days since her release from the hospital and it was raining hard outside, the rain sheeting down her windows and filling the air with the wet earthy smell only a summer thunderstorm could bring. She listened to the loud rumbles that quickly followed each bolt of lightning, her heart pounding hard against her bruised ribcage. Another flash lit up the apartment like daylight, and Nell immediately dashed across the room for her phone. She hit a speed dial and listened to it ringing, her eyes screwed shut in silent prayer until a groggy voice answered.

"Callen."

"Callen," she squeaked, hating that her voice sounded so small. "I'm sorry..."

"Are you okay?" She could hear rustling, like he was trying to get out of bed.

"The storm..." she took a breath but it didn't seem to help. "I didn't know what to do."

"I'll be right there."

There was a click, and she knew he had ended the call. Still, she stared at the screen for a few moments until the backlight shut off, then climbed back up onto the couch and waited.

Had she really just done that? It was just a storm, after all. She'd seen dozens of them growing up, most of them much worse than the current downpour. She was just being silly, freaking out and calling Callen. He needed whatever sleep he could get these days, and there she went disturbing him over a thunderstorm. Maybe she should call him back, tell him that she felt better. It was a lie, of course; she was shaking like a leaf, but she felt terrible for making him go out in said storm just to comfort her.

By the time she had worked up the nerve to call him back, headlights had bounced across her ceiling and shut off, and a few moments later someone was pounding on her door.

Nell jumped up and unlocked the door and Callen rushed inside, bringing a gust of rain-cooled air with him. He was already soaking wet from the short trip between his car and her door, rain dripping down his face from his close-cropped hair. He shut the door behind him as a rumble of thunder shook the house, then switched on a lamp beside the couch.

Gazing down at her in concern, he asked, "You okay? You sounded so afraid, I thought..."

Nell nodded. "I'm fine. I don't know why, but when the storm started it really scared me. I guess I just panicked and called you."

He took a hesitant step forward and held her arms in his hands, frowning. "You're shaking."

"Yeah. Still kinda scared, I guess."

Looking down, he realized he was leaving a puddle on her floor, so he met her gaze and asked, "You okay for a minute? My bag's in the car."

"Sure," she said, forcing a smile. "I'll make us some tea."

After a final visual sweep of her person to make sure she was okay, Callen darted outside to the car, while Nell distracted herself by warming some water on the stove. She set out two mugs and hung tea bags inside them, wishing that she had some of Hetty's more exotic teas instead of the store-bought kind, but she knew Callen enough that as long as there was plenty of sugar and lemon he would drink whatever was put in front of him, especially this late at night.

He was back in under a minute, once more well soaked, and Nell couldn't keep a grin from flitting across her lips.

"What?" He asked.

"Nothing," she said quickly. "You just look, um..."

"Like a drowned rat?"

She put a hand to her mouth to hide her smile and shook her head, but it was no use. "I'm sorry," she said around a giggle.

He just shrugged and hoisted his bag back up on his shoulder. "I'm gonna go change. Bathroom?"

"Down the hall to the right," she directed, pointing to the dark corridor that led to the rest of the apartment. "The tea will be done soon."

She watched his back disappear into the shadows, then turned back to the stove, her eyes staring blankly at the kettle.

What are you doing, Nell? she asked herself. Playing Susie Homemaker is really not your style, and Callen most likely sees right through it. Is this some kind of lame attempt at normalcy, some reach toward healing after what happened? What are you hoping comes out of this? Callen doesn't see you that way, and even if he did he would never act on it because you work together.

She shook her head, pushing those thoughts away. He was her friend, nothing more, and that was fine with her. It wasn't, really, but she wasn't ready to admit that to anyone, much less herself.

The kettle finally whistled, and Nell grabbed a potholder and lifted it off the burner. She carefully filled the pair of mugs with hot water, and was just setting the kettle back down when the power suddenly went out. Complete darkness surrounded her, and she immediately panicked. Bumping into the table, she squealed as one of the mugs fell to the floor with a crash, and she jumped back to keep from getting scalded. As she did so, she nearly tripped over the waste bin and only remained on her feet by clutching onto the countertop. Knowing she was near the threshold to the relative safety of the living room, she held her hands out in front of her and slowly edged forward. She counted the steps in her head. Two more, and she'd be in the living room. She took one more, and then her hands came into contact with something large and firm, and she screeched in fear. She turned to run, but a strong hand clamped around her wrist as a voice said, "Nell, it's just me."

"Callen," she breathed, having forgotten that he was there. "The power went out and I broke a mug in the kitchen..."

The hand holding her wrist pulled her forward, propelling her into his arms, and she wrapped her own slender limbs around his torso. She breathed in his scent, warm and woodsy with just the faintest note of bitter motor oil, and she imagined him tinkering with a car engine the way he did with toasters, his head buried under the hood and his bare forearms smeared with grease. Her face grew hot, and she closed her eyes as she chastened her runaway thoughts.

"You have candles somewhere?" He asked then, and she nodded against his soft t-shirt.

"In the table beside the couch."

She moved to pull away from him, but he slid his hands down her arms and squeezed them just once as he said, "I'll get them. Stay put."

Just like that, his body melted away from her, and she heard him rustling around in the dark, stifling a curse as his knee collided with a piece of furniture. She heard the telltale squeak of the table's single drawer, and after a few moments Callen's hand was bumping around her arm, searching for her hand. She grasped his palm, lacing her fingers through his, and let him lead her to her bedroom. He again found the bed frame with his leg, and after the sharp curse he hadn't been able to stop tumbled from his mouth he gently sat her on the mattress and began to light the candles one at a time, setting them in strategic spots around the room. When the room was filled with the dim flicker of candlelight, he walked back over to her and asked, "Better?"

Nell shook her head yes. "Thanks."

He tried a grin, but it fell short of his eyes. "You should get some sleep," he told her.

"I don't think I can. Every time I close my eyes I have terrible dreams and then I wake up in a panic..."

He stopped her by softly speaking her name, and when he had her full attention he pulled down the comforter and swung her legs underneath it, then went around to the other side of the bed and slipped in beside her. Turning onto his side, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, her back against his chest. At first she kept her spine rigid, unsure of what to do, and he must have been able to feel it because his voice softly said, "Trust me."

As the moments passed she began to relax, curving naturally into the shape of his body. She closed her eyes, listening to his even breathing, feeling his limbs grow slack as weariness began to edge its way onto him. She had just started to let herself drop off when lightning once more crackled through the sky, and the resulting thunder was so loud the windows rattled. Nell jerked in Callen's arms and he reflexively tightened them around her.

"You're okay," he murmured in her ear, his warm breath stirring her hair. "I've got you."

She stilled, rigid once more, and then a sob shook her petite frame. It was soon followed by many more, and Callen turned her over to face him, his blue eyes bright in the candle glow.

"What is it?" He asked.

She tried to speak but the tears were coming so fast that they clogged her throat and all she could do was bury her face against his shoulder, shaking now not with fear but completely heartbreaking sobs. Callen stroked her hair, at a loss on what to do. He was never good at this sort of thing; dealing with emotion usually made him clam up and find something to hit until he felt better.

He hated that Nell was crying. It felt like his fault, but as he had no idea how to fix it he was stuck in the most torturous state of limbo possible, and the only way out that he could see was to run. But he couldn't run. She needed him. He'd already failed her once. He would die before he did it again.

Finally, she lifted her tear-stained face to look at him. Her eyes red and puffy, she managed to say, "I know you blame yourself, Callen. But it wasn't your fault."

So, this was it, he thought. They were going to talk about what happened in the warehouse. He considered refusing, but her hazel eyes looked so raw with pain staring up at him that before he could stop himself he said, "It was, Nell."

"How can you say that?" She asked. "I remember you asking them time after time to let me go. You didn't want them to hurt me."

"I should've lied. Given them something to look for. But I didn't. I kept my mouth shut."

She drew her brows together in a frown. "There was nothing to tell them. You know as well as I do that the only thing they were after was revenge. The tape was just another way to hurt us. None of that was your fault."

"Nell, you don't remember..." he began, but she shook her head and sat up, one leg folded under her.

"Listen to me," she told him, one eyebrow perfectly arched. "It was hard, lying there and being beaten and..." she sucked in a breath, then went on. "But the hardest part was knowing that you were forced to watch, helpless to do anything to stop it."

Callen's eyes filled with tears and he ducked his head to hide them from her. Nell put her hands on either side of his face and made him look at her, a sad smile on her freckled face.

"It kills me to know how much that hurt you," she told him. "You take your role as team leader so seriously. You live to protect others, so to be chained up and prevented from intervening was..." she searched for just the right word, "...devastating to everything that you are."

"I should've fought harder," he said barely above a whisper, his voice still raw from having shouted himself hoarse in the warehouse. "I'm so sorry."

She shook her head. Taking his hands, she ran her fingers over his bruised wrists, down his thumbs that were covered in gashes from trying to free himself from the handcuffs. "You did fight. And that was what gave me the will to fight as well. I'm alive because of you, Callen."

The tears finally spilled over, large droplets that rolled down his cheekbones and all the way to his jaw. He did not cry aloud - years of forcing himself to stifle any sound lest it anger an abusive foster parent had taken that ability from him - but Nell could feel his heartbreak all the same. This time it was she who comforted him, she who let him rest his forehead on her shoulder as great drops of pain and fear dripped onto her skin, her slender fingers running through his short hair and down his back. Her other hand was around his waist and she squeezed him once, trying to impart to him all the comfort and care she carried within her. She knew he wouldn't say any more; it was too hard for him to discuss failure - either real or imagined - and so she contented herself with the knowledge that at least he had come this far, that he was letting her touch him, and vice versa.

Physically and emotionally exhausted, Callen sat up, scrubbing his hand over his face, and Nell put her palm flat against his chest, trying to make him lie down. He clasped her hand in his and scooted downward to rest his head on the pillow, bringing her along with him. Once more he settled her in the crook of his left arm, his right one draped across her stomach where her shirt had ridden up to expose her skin. Nell held her breath as his fingers skimmed the barely-healed scars there, letting it out again when he merely curled them around her hip. He sighed softly against her neck and she closed her eyes, feeling completely safe with him there. The rain had lessened considerably, no longer a wild downpour but now a light shower.

Together, they fell asleep, blissfully ignorant of everything else around them but the soft lullaby tapping on the roof outside.

His head pounded, the pain keeping him from opening his eyes lest the light make his brain explode. He could smell blood, the bitter tang so close it made him gag, but he couldn't tell if it was his or not. Slowly moving each limb, he discovered that he was standing upright, against what felt like a concrete wall. His hands were suspended above his head and were therefore numb, and his legs ached with having to hold the majority of his weight for...hours? Days? How long had he been unconscious?

Though it hurt to do so, he wracked his brain for an idea of how he'd gotten here. He remembered the bar, then leaving with Nell...

Wait! He thought. Where's Nell?

Taking a chance, Callen opened his eyes and looked around the room. Panic set in when he didn't see her right away, and he turned his head so fast his vision swam, threatening to go black again. He stared at one place until the dizziness passed and then looked down, and there she was.

She lay on the floor with her arms bound in front of her, her body resting on some kind of plastic sheeting, and it looked like she was developing a nasty bruise on her cheek. That made him angry, but right then his need to be sure she was alive was a more pressing matter. He tried to move closer to her but his shackles prevented that, so the best he could do was call her name. It took a few tries, but soon she stirred and looked up at him. When she saw him chained to the wall she grew anxious and struggled to sit up, the plastic underneath her rustling loudly.

"Callen? Where are we?" She asked.

He shook his head slowly, so his brains wouldn't slosh around. "Don't know. You okay?"

"I think I'm hungover," she moaned.

"Besides that."

"My face hurts." She reached up and touched her cheek, feeling the bruise there, and sucked in a breath. "What happened?"

Callen looked around the room, noting the cement block walls and concrete floor, as well as the thick plastic tarps surrounding them like curtains in a hospital room. "Whoever took us must've hit you," he told her. "Can you stand up?"

It took some effort, but finally she got to her feet and stared around. "What do they want from us?" She wondered alo"ud.

"Don't know that, either." His head hurt again, but as his hands were bound above him he couldn't touch it.

Nell could see it, though, and she gave a little whimper and said, "Your head's bleeding. Or it was. I can't tell."

That was right. He recalled being hit from behind at Nell's apartment.

"Nell," he said then, and she jumped at the sudden noise.

When her heart finally settled back into its rightful rhythm, she peered at him and asked, "Yeah?"

"What do you remember?"

She made a frustrated sound and flopped back down onto the floor. ""I was drunk, Callen."

He closed his eyes. "Right." He'd had to practically carry her home. "Still, maybe something made it through. A sound, a face..."

She stared at the ground for a few long moments. "No," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

They sat in silence, Callen trying desperately to make a plan of escape. So far, he had come up with Jack-squat. His wrists were secured in handcuffs, chained to a concrete wall, and he most likely had a concussion. Nell was only zip-tied around her hands, but there was no way for her to free either him or herself. He supposed he could tell her to make a break for it, but with no idea how many people had kidnapped them, there was no guarantee she could get far enough, fast enough.

Nell's voice brought him back to the present. Timidly, afraid to hear the answer, she asked, "Are they gonna kill us, Callen?"

"No," he replied confidently.

"How do you know?"

"Because if they wanted us dead, we'd be dead already. They want something from us."

"Like what?"

"No idea. Depends on who's behind this."

"But the team...they'll find us, right?"

Callen tipped his head up to look at the broken window above him. The sun was just beginning to peek above the sill; from the angle and height of the window he guessed that it was nearing 9 am. "They just got to work an hour ago. Even if they figure out we're missing right away, they'll still have to track down our last known location. My car's at your place, so they'll have to clear your apartment first. Canvass the neighborhood..."

"So we have hours at least..."

"And days at most," he finished with a sigh. He knew that would upset her, but he could never get the hang of lying to spare someone's feelings, especially during a crisis. Best to deal with the reality of a situation head on. That way, you knew exactly what to expect.

True to his expectation, Nell's shoulders slumped. "If we survive that long."

"Like I said, they're after something. They won't risk losing us before they get it."

Maybe a little hope wasn't a bad thing, he reasoned.

"Why us? Don't they know who you are?" She asked.

"Who we are, you mean."

Nell shook her head. "I'm an analyst. I don't have enemies." Then she realized how that sounded, and winced. "Sorry."

"It's okay." He leaned his head against the cool, slightly damp wall and tried to relax, hoping it would ease the pounding in his brain.

Thinking was hard at the moment, but he couldn't afford the luxury of sitting - or standing, as it were - around and waiting to see what happened. He needed to keep Nell involved and himself awake, especially if he did have a concussion.

"They waited for us inside your apartment," he worked out aloud. "So either they already knew who we were, or they found out soon after they knocked us both out. We're both in the same room, together. Both bound, but still..."

"An interrogation no-no, in most cases," she put in.

"Right. If they know our training, then they have to know that alone, we won't tell them anything. But if they threaten to hurt one of us it'll be much harder for the other to keep from giving up whatever intel they're after."

Her eyes grew wide as the implication of his statement reached her, and her face drained of color. "Torture?"

Looking her straight in the eye, he nodded. "Yes."

"Oh!" She squeaked, tears instantly welling up.

"Listen, Nell," he pleaded, "I'm gonna do everything I can to keep you safe. But if they threaten to hurt me, you have to stay strong. No matter what, you can't tell them anything."

"But I can't..."

He shook his head. "You have to. Our job is a matter of national security. You can't tell them anything, not even to save my life."

As if on cue, a door scraped open from someplace behind the tarps, and she worriedly glanced around the room, her breath coming in short bursts as her heart rate skyrocketed.

"Nell," she heard Callen say above the pounding in her ears, "please..."

Callen jerked awake. The first thing he felt was warmth, an almost stifling heat radiating from beside him and totally engulfing his left arm. He slowly turned his head in that direction and saw Nell lying there, her back facing him. She was sleeping so soundly he did not want to disturb her, but his fingers were going numb. Reluctantly, he slowly slid his arm out from under her and she shifted in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips. He smiled at how peaceful she looked, which after the past week was a welcome sight indeed. The bruises she'd sported on her face and arms were beginning to fade, her skin once more the palest ivory but so beautiful. He stared at the faint freckles on her nose, memorizing their constellations as if they were stars in the night sky. He ached to reach out and touch them, but he dared not. He didn't want to wake her, and besides, she wasn't his.

They were co-workers.

Friends.

True, they had been through a terrible trauma together and as a result had drawn closer. But the emotions they had experienced during and after the warehouse were borne of survival and the need to feel less alone, and now that the danger had passed and they were back to "normal" life, any lingering feelings were irrelevant.

Besides, despite what Nell had said, despite what everyone else thought, her abuse was his fault. Especially that last day...

He felt her shift then and he froze in panic, wondering if he should pretend to be sleeping.

Too late.

She turned over and looked at his face, a soft smile on her lips.

"Hi," she said, a little shyly.

"Hey."

"Did you sleep at all?"

He nodded, his scruff catching a few strands of her hair. Her smile grew wider and she reached up and swiped the stray hairs back into place, her fingers brushing his jaw.

"Good," she said as she casually stretched her limbs like a cat. "I worried you'd stay up all night."

"Must be your calm presence," he said lightly.

"Hmm..." Her arms slackened then, her left one draping over his waist. "Maybe. Or maybe exhaustion finally won out."

As if on cue, he yawned, and Nell giggled. He lowered his eyebrows at her in mock-frustration. "Funny." Changing the subject, he asked, "You sleep okay?"

"Better than I have in a long time," she admitted. "I don't remember what I dreamed, either."

"Must not have been a nightmare, then."

She hummed again, and shifted so that her head was resting on his bicep. Closing her hazel eyes, she inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly, her lips curving up in a slow smile.

Callen watched her face from mere inches away. Her lashes rested against her cheeks, lush and long, her soft mouth held in that same grin, and if he tilted his head just a little he could brush his lips against it.

Reluctantly, he dragged his gaze toward the ceiling. He had to stop thinking like this.

"Callen?"

So much for looking away, he thought.

His blue eyes flicked down at her face. "Yeah?"

"Is it weird that I..." she paused as she struggled to find the right words, or the right way to ask the question on her mind. She sighed then, and looked down at his t-shirt. "Never mind. It is weird."

Her name fell off his lips like honey. "Nell."

His tone was so gentle, so soft, she found herself gazing back up at his face. His fingers grazed her cheek as he said, "Talk to me."

"I wished...Every time that man came in and...I wished it was someone else."

He shook his head. "It's not weird."

"I guess I thought if I imagined it wasn't him, it wouldn't hurt so much."

Callen got that guilty look again, and she instantly reached up and touched his cheek. "Callen, don't."

"I can't help it. I should never have let them hurt you."

"There was nothing you could do." She dropped her hand to his chest, where she picked at imaginary lint on his shirt. "Besides, the fact that you're here now, instead of hiding away where no one can reach you, is so amazing."

"I promised you'd never have to be alone again."

"But that's not realistic, Callen. What about when you go back to going on ops? And besides," she propped herself up on her elbow, "as much as I love your company, eventually you have to go home."

He shrugged. "Maybe I won't."

"Won't what?" She asked. "Leave?"

He chuckled at her frown. "No. Go on ops."

Her eyes grew wide. "You couldn't!"

"Granger's always threatening me with a desk job," he went on as if he hadn't heard her. "Maybe I'll take him up on it."

"But you love your job. You're team leader..."

"I can't do this much longer, Nell. I'm not in my 20's anymore. Everything hurts when I wake up..."

"We need you."

He shook his head. "You don't. I only get you into trouble."

Angrily, Nell sat up and glared at him. "That's not true. You were there when Brown tried to kill me at the boat house. You saved me."

"Sam saved you."

"You were there in the kill house."

"You got out of that one yourself," he argued as he also sat up.

She stared at him incredulously. "All I did was pull his magazine. If you hadn't shot him, he would've come after me." Placing her hand over his, she said, "Every one of us - the whole team, Hetty, everyone - we are all better because of you, and we cannot function as a team - as a family - without you."

As he took in her words, she ran a hand through her hair and then grimaced. "Ugh. I need a shower. Think about what I said, okay?"

He nodded sedately, and she watched him for a long moment before deciding that he was being honest.

"Okay," she said, still unsure but unwilling to stay dirty any longer. "Be back soon."

She grabbed a set of clothes from her dresser and left the room, and he forced himself not to wonder what she would look like wrapped in only a towel, her damp hair hanging down her shoulders, drops of water sliding down her bare skin...

Sighing heavily, he flopped back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

TBC...