Chapter 7

"I can't...I can't do this again..." she argued, but he shook his head.

"I won't leave you. Get down."

She obeyed, and Callen ducked behind one of the tarps hiding their torture chamber from the rest of the room with the knife still in his hand. The leader and one of the other men - the camera man, Nell realized - burst into the room, arguing with each other, flinging shouts and curses in their native language back and forth. When they noticed Callen missing, they turned to Nell and began to shout at her instead. Camera man balled up his fist and was about to hit her when the tarps billowed and Callen burst forth from behind him. Using the element of surprise paired with the man's obscured vision, Callen was able to quickly draw the knife across the man's throat, severing the man's jugular. He fell to the floor gasping, bleeding out almost immediately.

Ringleader saw this and rushed at Callen, knocking them both to the floor. Weak and dehydrated, Callen's motions were jerky, his reaction time slowed considerably, and for a terrifying moment it seemed that the Russian would win the fight. He punched Callen hard in the jaw twice, then once in the ribs.

Out of air and on the brink of passing out, Callen's hold on the knife loosened, and the man grabbed it instead. As Nell looked on helplessly, he sliced a gash across Callen's arm, which he'd put up to protect his face. As blood poured down his forearm, Callen finally kicked the other man off, and he landed on his back a few feet away. Callen scrambled to his feet and grabbed the first weapon his eyes rested upon - the hated broomstick. Dropping down onto the man hard enough to knock the wind out of him, Callen held the stick against his throat, pressing on his windpipe.

"I told you I'd kill you," Callen ground out, his eyes hard.

As the man gasped and choked, gunfire could be heard echoing throughout the building. Nell breathed a sigh of relief when she heard a voice shout, "NCIS! Put down your weapons!"

Callen looked down. The man's lips were turning blue, his eyes growing glassy, and the team leader tipped his head as a dark smirk formed on his face. Leaning harder on the broomstick, he patiently watched the man's chest stop moving, then tossed it aside and stumbled over to Nell.

"Callen," she said, reaching toward his face, but he ducked out of the way. Retrieving the carpet knife, he cut through her ties and picked her up, ignoring her protests as if he were deaf. Carrying her toward the exit, his leg burning with the effort, his mind was overwhelmed with the images he'd been subjected to inside the building, so much so that when he finally burst through the doors into the bright sunlight the stress finally overcame him and he instantly went into shock, forgetting everything except the past four days and what they'd been forced to endure.

He had to get her as far away from the warehouse as possible, no matter what. He couldn't let her get hurt any more.

He had to keep her safe.

After only a few dozen steps, his legs refused to cooperate anymore, and he collapsed to his knees. Still clutching Nell close, he watched as three people burst through the crowd at the edge of the parking lot - strange, he thought, that there were now so many gathered around a warehouse that hadn't been used in close to fifteen years - and ran toward him. He recognized them, but at the moment that was all he knew...

When Nell returned a while later, her hair still wet and clinging to her neck like strings of seaweed, she found Callen sleeping fitfully in the middle of her bed, his limbs twitching as he suffered through whatever terrible dream was currently plaguing him. She frowned deeply as sympathy filled her, and before she could think she moved forward and laid her hand on his shoulder.

She had only just opened her mouth to call his name when he bolted upright and grabbed her by the wrists. His fingers dug into her skin so that she cried out, and the sound brought him instantly to full consciousness.

Horrified that he had caused her pain, Callen released her. "Nell, I'm...I'm so sorry," he babbled as he struggled to free himself from the sheets that had become tangled around his legs and stand up.

She sat down deliberately on top of the sheets, trapping him there, and laid her hands on his shoulders. "Stop," she said.

"But..."

She shook her head, sending droplets of shampoo-scented water scattering across his face.

"I should know better by now than to try and wake you that way," she explained. "I know you would never hurt me on purpose."

He dropped his gaze to the covers. "Nell..."

"Anyway," she went on, "there's absolutely no food in this place, so what do you say we get something to eat?"

"I don't know..."

Nell rolled her eyes. "We can't just hide out here forever."

"Sure we can."

"No, we can't. We have jobs, and friends who miss us."

"We're not cleared for work," he reminded her. "Besides, I like it here."

"You really are a pain, you know that?"

"I get that a lot."

"Yeah, well..." Getting up, she ripped the blankets off the bed and tugged on his arm. "Come on. Get cleaned up and let's go."

He hesitated another moment longer and so she pulled again and succeeded in toppling him over. He fell sideways onto the mattress and began to chuckle, and Nell laughed with him. "Okay," he finally relented. "Okay. Just stop throwing me around."

Nell laughed again. "Hurry up. My stomach's so empty I'm nauseous."

He slid off the bed, reflexively checking his cell phone as he stood up. Other than a text from Kensi that simply said "Don't be a hermit crab", there was nothing important there.

He was just about to head to the bathroom when he heard a low rumbling sound, and he stopped and listened, intrigued as to where it was coming from. Before he could ask, Nell giggled nervously and said, "See? It's roaring."

He just laughed and made his way out of her room and down the hall.

There was a knock at the door, and when Callen opened it he was surprised to see Owen Granger standing there on his front porch.

"Can I come in?" Granger asked in his usual gravel voice.

Callen stepped to the side and opened the door a little wider. "Sure."

The assistant director walked past Callen and entered the house, waiting in the hallway until Callen had closed the door and gestured for him to go into the living room.

"You want a drink? I've got beer..."

"No, thanks," Granger casually replied with a wave of his hand. "I just dropped by for a minute."

Callen nodded. He looked around at the room and then grimaced. "Don't mind the mess. I've been...preoccupied."

"I've seen worse."

Honestly, he had not even noticed the rumpled sheets on the couch and the take-out containers strewn across the coffee table until Callen had pointed them out. And anyway, his own place was a sight messier, his only excuse being that he was never home to clean up. After what he'd been through the week before, Callen had no need to explain anything to him.

"How are you?" Callen heard him ask.

It took a full minute for the team leader's brain to process his question, and then another few seconds to register the genuine concern in his tone.

"Uh," Callen finally began, "I'm...okay."

Granger simply nodded. "Right."

Callen couldn't tell if that was genuine or not, but he was betting on not.

"I mean, my leg's still a little sore and it hurts when I breathe too deep, but..."

"What about nightmares?" Granger asked. "Panic attacks?"

Callen shook his head.

The two men looked at each other, trying to read past each other's eyes. Normally, Callen would be perturbed and a little challenged by Granger's surprise visit, but somehow he failed to feel anything but curiosity. Whether that was by design or by accident was the real question.

"Been to the doctor lately?"

Callen shifted his weight to his uninjured leg and shook his head. "Got an appointment Friday." He frowned slightly. "What's this all about?"

Granger's face remained unchanged. "Just an asset assessment. The usual."

"You wanna know if I'm ready to come back."

"Maybe." Sinking down into a nearby chair, he changed the subject. "Have you spoken to Ms. Jones?"

He knew the answer already, but he wanted to see what the team leader would say. Nell had begged Callen to go home, at least for the day. Despite the fact that she enjoyed his company (which Granger thoroughly doubted), she said she needed space. Granger didn't blame her for that; Callen had been fairly her shadow for the better part of a week, refusing to leave her alone for more than a few minutes at a time. Granger wondered how in the hell she hadn't killed him already.

"She's not," Callen quickly replied.

Owen played dumb. "Not what?"

"Ready. She's..." He blew out a breath. "She's not ready."

"I didn't ask that."

"Didn't have to."

Now, Granger sighed. "Callen, I don't know what you think of me, but I would never push someone in your situation into resuming your duties unless I was sure you were one hundred percent."

"No?"

Granger suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the challenge in Callen's question and instead said, "No. You and Jones have been through a major ordeal. Hetty and I agree that neither of you should worry about coming back until every part of you has healed. That includes your psychological state as much as your physical. Actually, more so."

"So, you came here just to see how much progress I've made?"

"I came because I care," Granger told him. "And if you tell anyone else I said that, I'll deny it."

The younger man smiled. "I won't, as long as you do something for me."

"What's that?"

"Make the tape disappear."

"What tape?"

Callen did roll his eyes. "The recording. I know you watched it. You had to."

"I don't have to do anything," Granger said.

"So you know what happened," Callen went on as if he hadn't heard him. He sat down on the couch and stared at the TV screen, though it was turned off. "You know what...what I did."

Owen watched the anguish on the younger man's face. He recognized that guilt all too well, having looked at it in the mirror almost every day for thirty years.

Sitting forward, he caught Callen's gaze and held it. "The longer you hold onto it, the worse it's gonna get. Anything that happened in there, it's on the men who held you. They're the ones at fault."

"See, everyone keeps saying that, but..."

"But, nothing. I know you love to torture yourself thinking of all the things you should have done differently, but in this case you had no control. And that's what's bothering you - that you had no way to change what was going on."

"I should've got her out of there right away. Five days..." he looked up and Granger could not mistake the sadness in his eyes.

"You did what you could."

"I didn't do anything!" Callen shouted.

Granger's gaze turned hard. "You stayed strong," he argued back. "You made sure she knew you were there, and you made sure those bastards knew you weren't playing their sick games. That, Callen, is more than enough."

He let that sink in, and then stood up and smoothed the wrinkles out of his pants. "The sooner you understand that and believe it, the better. For all of us."

Callen moved to stand, but Granger held up a hand and said, "I'll let myself out. Give my best to Ms. Jones."

The younger man sat in the same spot until his cell phone rang. He snatched it up from the coffee table, where it was hidden beneath a pile of napkins. He answered it without even reading the caller ID. "Callen."

"Waves look good today," Deeks cheerfully said. "Wanna catch a few?"

Callen glanced around his disheveled living room, then out the window. The sun was shining, the sky empty of clouds. He could stay inside, staring at the same bare walls he'd been looking at for more than a week, but the longer he stood there the less appealing that sounded. At the same time, though, going outside seemed like a bad idea...

"I'll meet you in twenty," he told Deeks.

He could hear the grin in the detective's voice as he replied, "Sweet."

The screen went from black to snow, and then a blurry image slowly faded in. It was Callen, shackled to the wall, his head hanging down as he was either asleep or unconscious. A hand reached in from the right and slapped him and he jerked awake, his head hitting the cinder blocks hard enough that it was a wonder he wasn't knocked out again. A voice asked in Russian where the weapons were, and he shook his head and replied - also in Russian - that he had no idea.

"What weapons?" Callen asked in English, genuinely confused.

The same hand that had hit him now grabbed the back of his neck, made him look at something on the floor in front of him.

"See the girl?" The Russian voice asked, though now in English as well. "Tell us, or she gets hurt."

"No. Don't." Callen licked his lips and looked at the man. "I don't know what weapons you're looking for, but please don't hurt her."

"You do know. And you will say, if you want her safe."

The camera angle shifted slightly then, and Nell could be seen about ten feet from Callen, bound and left on the floor.

"Callen?" She asked, eyes full of fear. "What weapons?"

"I dunno," he told her. "But I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"

She nodded.

"Hey," he called to the man holding the camera, and it swung up again to focus on his face. "Let her go. She has nothing to do with this."

The cameraman just laughed, and Callen's jaw clenched.

"Last chance," the man to his right said.

Callen shook his head. "I don't know about any weapons."

The man clucked his tongue and then knelt down in front of Nell. He grabbed her bangs and yanked back, and she yelped as he slapped her face hard, bringing tears to her eyes as her cheek turned bright red. Callen tried to leap forward to stop him but as the shackles kept him in place he began shouting, so loud it hurt his throat.

"Leave her alone! Nell, I'm so sorry. Stop! Please!"

Laughter erupted from the man filming, and then amid this and Callen's shouts, the scene faded out to black once more.

Sterling blew out a breath as Hetty pressed the button that turned off the computer screen.

"That's rough," he said.

Hetty nodded. "That is only a small part of what went on in that place," she told him. "I hope you'll understand that I cannot show you the rest..."

"No worries," he assured her. "I wouldn't want you showing anyone else if it were me."

"Thank you, Mr. Sterling. I thought it important that you understand some of what Ms. Blye's team is going through right now."

"What do you need from me?" He asked.

She gave a half-smile. Straight to the point, this Sterling was. She had chosen this man well, all those years ago. He had a fabulous sense of humor and had great compassion, but God help you if you crossed him. "First, I want to give my condolences on the loss of your man. Mr. Burke was a great asset to this organization."

His nod was solemn. "He was. Thank you."

"Now, your report from the latest operation..."

"Is on your desk," he interjected, nodding toward the mahogany surface between them. A manila folder sat off to her left, tilted at just the slightest angle so that it was noticable without being in the way.

She nodded. "It is, indeed."

"But you've already read it," he guessed.

Now she smiled fully. She had almost forgotten his ability to be completely charming while still being a smartass. Not unlike Callen, she thought.

"Yes. It is very thorough, and vividly detailed."

"But?"

"The man you brought in, from inside the house. How did he get the bruises on his face?"

Sterling shrugged. "Must've tripped."

She did not reply, opting instead to simply stare at him to convey her displeasure. Sterling scratched his thumbnail across his jaw, but stubbornly stared back. Also very much like Callen. They were cut from the same cloth, those two.

"Mr. Sterling," she finally sighed. "It is not this agency's policy to go around beating suspects..."

Sterling pulled in a deep breath. "He almost killed Shaw. He would've killed me, too, if Kensi hadn't been there. In my opinion, he got off easy."

"That is not for us to decide," Hetty growled. "No matter how much we wish it to be. Our job is to get these people off the streets."

"These aren't people," Sterling argued. "They're animals. The things they've done are beyond anything a human could imagine."

"But they are, albeit horrible examples of them. However, they still have rights..."

"What about Nell's rights?" Sterling hissed, his hands curled around the edge of her desk. His anger was visible in his eyes, in his flushed cheeks, but he wisely kept his voice low. "What about Callen's?"

"So this is about retribution, then?"

"No. It's about justice. About what's fair."

Hetty shook her head. "Mr. Sterling, as I said before..."

"It's not our job. I heard you." He pushed away from the desk to stand up, his dark eyes glowering down at her from an almost impossible height. "I'm not going to apologize, Hetty. Transfer me, demote me - hell, fire me if you want, I don't care. I won't stop until every last one of these sick bastards is either dead or in jail."

She remained silent, and so he went on. "Twenty years ago, you hired a kid fresh out of high school because he had a gift not many others had. You remember that?"

Hetty nodded. "I do."

Sterling was a master at reading people. Not just the average ability of catching them in a lie, or reading their past in the lines of their hands. A modern-day Sherlock Holmes, he knew what they would say moments before they said it. He could tell if they were about to run, even with his eyes closed. He knew their background, how they'd grown up, and he could even "guess" their age down to the month. Some said he was psychic, but he vehemently denied that. When asked about his gifts, he would simply shrug and say, "Just need to listen." But to what or how to go about that, he kept a well-guarded secret.

"I had no idea back then all the things that would happen, the places I would go. And you took a big step of faith, bringing me in when all I wanted to do was burn the world down. I was so angry, so fed up with people and their lies and their fake smiles, but you came and showed me that there were still people who were genuine, who weren't afraid to be themselves for better or worse."

"You were - and still are - a very good man with an extremely large heart."

"But," he went on, "if you had told me back then that one day my job description would change to a glorified kitten wrangler, threatened by the very criminals we catch and too afraid of being sued to take them down as rough as necessary, I would've laughed in your face."

"You are not a kitten wrangler. All I am trying to tell you is that there is a fine line between injuries sustained during apprehension and brutality."

"And all I'm saying is that the line is even finer than you realize."

He turned to walk away, and Hetty stood up behind her desk. "Where are you going?"

Sterling turned back, an eyebrow arched. "To do my job. Unless you've decided to kick me out?"

It took a long moment, but she finally shook her head.

That damned grin broke out on his face again, and he said, "Well okay, then. You've got my number."

Once he was gone, Hetty blew out a breath and said, "I certainly do, Mr. Sterling."

Nell was coming back from the corner store, a bag of groceries hanging from her wrist and her keys in her hand, when she saw someone - a familiar someone - perched on the front steps of her apartment building. Smiling wryly, she lifted the hand with the keys in a wave, and her friend returned it.

"Hey, Sam," she greeted him. "Thought you'd be hanging with Callen today."

He waited til she stepped up onto the porch and took the bag of food from her before answering. "He's out with Deeks."

She shot him a skeptical look. "Really?"

He lifted his eyebrows, telling her that he'd had much the same reaction when he found out. "Yep."

"Hmm," was all she said as they walked into the building and down the hallway, then up a flight of stairs to her floor.

"It's good for him," he went on, and she nodded in agreement. "He's always been a hermit, but after last week..."

"Did you know he's thinking of going to desk duty?" Nell asked.

Sam screeched to a halt just outside her door and turned to face her. His dark eyes bored into hers as he asked, "He said that? Actually said those words?"

Nell nodded. "He said Granger's always threatened him with it, but maybe it was time. Said he was getting too old for going on ops."

"I'll give him old..." Sam muttered.

Nell opened her door and they stepped inside. Sam set the groceries on the kitchen counter, then braced his hands against the sink as his thoughts raced around his head.

"I know that this has been really hard - on both of you - but I want you to know that we're all here. We miss you."

She smiled softly at him. "I miss you, too. It has been hard, but I think being forced to 'recover' away from work is actually making things worse."

"Processing takes time..."

"I know," she interrupted. "But no one seems to get that being kept locked up almost totally alone was rough, and now we're basically being punished with the same thing. I want to be at work, where my friends are. I don't want to feel lonely again."

Sam looked at her and then asked, "Is that why you let Callen stay here so long? Just so you wouldn't be alone?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

He shrugged. "No reason."

"I mean, Kensi and Deeks offered to let us stay with them, but I just...it didn't feel right."

"Because they're a couple. And you'd be the odd one out."

"They asked Callen, too."

"But you knew he'd say no. Because he's not one to impose."

"So then why'd he stay here?"

His dark eyes peered into hers. "Why did he?"

"To protect me," she guessed as she busied herself putting away the groceries. "He felt like he failed at the warehouse, so he tried to make up for it."

"Did he?"

She looked at him, confused. "Did he what?"

"Fail?"

She shook her head. "No. It wasn't his fault. He couldn't..."

"He couldn't protect you," Sam reasoned. "So logically speaking, he failed."

"Well, but it wasn't his fault."

"Not what I asked."

"But that's not fair!" Nell cried. "It's not like he just gave up and stood there. They shot him! He was chained up like a dog and they shot him. What was he supposed to do?"

"He couldn't do anything," Sam agreed.

"Then why...?"

"I'm just trying to make you understand how deep this goes. In his mind, it doesn't matter that he was physically unable to protect you. All that does matter is that he failed to do his job."

"So, what? He's gonna keep trying to make up for that for the rest of his life?"

"Either that, or he'll start pulling away when he realizes that's impractical."

Nell's heart squeezed at that. She was getting used to the glimpses of Callen's more open side. They were few and far between, but she didn't think she could stand it if she never saw them again.

"Well, thanks for that depressing news," she told him. "Next will you tell me a puppy died?"

Sam came around the counter and took the can of beans out of her hand that she'd been about to put in the cupboard. He held both of her hands in his and stared straight into her eyes. "I didn't come here to upset you, Nell. I'm sorry."

She wanted to shout at him, to ask him why he came there, but instead her eyes filled with tears and she stared up at the ceiling to stop them from falling.

"I just wanted to warn you, that's all. Callen's not an easy guy to figure out. He can be close to opening up and spilling all his secrets, and then the next moment he's shut down and ready to run. That's not easy on me, and I've been his partner for years. I don't want you to think it's your fault if he does it to you."

He was right, and she knew it. Callen kept everything buried, locked and bricked up away from the world. "I know," she finally said. "It's okay."

"Be careful."

"I will."

He nodded and released her hands. "Good. I'd love to hang out a while, but I've gotta get back to work."

He headed for the door, but before he could open it Nell called, "Sam?"

"Yeah?" He asked as he turned back.

"Could you talk to Hetty? Get her to let me come back?"

His eyes rolled heavenward, but before he could reply she added, "Please?"

He could not say no to those pleading hazel eyes, so he said, "I'll see what I can do."

Nell nodded. "Okay. Thanks."

TBC...