CHAPTER THIRTY
Whilst Callen slept, Sam took on a more thorough inspection of the apartment. It was modest rather than flash and the coordinating furniture throughout the rooms led Sam to suspect that Callen rented it fully furnished. Signs of Callen's occupation were limited to some bottles of beer in the fridge and the clothes he had already discovered in the closet. Below the box of burn phones there was a small and basic safe, but just as in Callen's actual home, his possessions throughout the place were few.
The kitchen was almost bare and it was in the tiny bathroom that Sam yielded the most fruits, for in one of the cabinets he discovered a well-stocked first aid kit – almost certainly the hand of Hetty judging by the extensive contents.
For the time being, Sam knew they were on their own and so he carefully took each item out of the kit, itemising them as he went. The volume and variety of contents caused Sam to ponder whether Callen used this apartment as a retreat when he was injured, or if the bag was left over from a mission where he had expected to deal with getting hurt. It was an occupational hazard after all – as much as Sam hated it, and historically Callen tended to put himself in danger more often to protect the rest of the team. Just as he had done again this time with Janvier, Sam thought to himself resignedly.
With the contents of the kit spread around him, he took a deep sigh. His medically-phobic partner was not going to like him at all, but there were items in the kit he could use immediately to improve Callen's condition – and he feared Callen deteriorating any further especially while help was out of reach. Picking up the things he needed, Sam headed back to the bedroom.
The little bedside lamp was still on, and Sam could see Callen still shivering, but sleeping soundly. He was relieved, for what he would need to do would be far easier with Callen unconscious. Working quickly, he opened up the foil blanket and laid it loosely over his partner to help warm him. Lifting the edge of the blanket, he cut open the jeans over the site of Callen's thigh wound to check how seriously it was bleeding. It was still seeping, but not enough to concern Sam about large amounts of blood loss, so he left it for now, turning his attention to what he knew his partner would hate most, but also needed desperately to stave off the medical shock – an IV with fluids. It took him a while to find a usable vein in Callen's left arm, and his first attempt to get the needle in caused Callen to stir and whimper. Sam froze, hoping now wasn't the moment he would regain consciousness. As soon as he settled, Sam tried again and this time with relief he got the needle into the back of his partner's hand. Quickly and efficiently, he set up the cannula and a saline drip. It was rudimentary field first aid, but would hopefully help begin to tackle some of Callen's dehydration and low blood pressure, and get him back to a functioning state. Sam used an offcut of bandage to tie the saline bag high up on the curtain pole and adjusted the rate of flow to the maximum he felt Callen's body could take, watching satisfactorily as it slowly dripped into his partner.
There were supplies in the kit to suture a wound, but Sam found himself shying away from such close physical contact without Callen's consent. He felt saddened once again by the reminder of the rift between them – in years gone by, he would have sewn up the wound on Callen's leg without question, and the two of them would have dealt with the personal intrusion afterwards with their customary light-hearted banter. With a sigh, he did the next best thing, and applied a firm pressure bandage over the whole lot, jeans and all, and once he'd finished that he felt again for Callen's pulse. It was still weak, but growing more regular, and his breathing had also eased to become deeper and more restful. Satisfied that he had staved off Callen's body going into shock for now, Sam cleared up and turned his attentions to himself.
The only thing in the apartment to fit him was the hoody, and Sam gratefully stripped off his own damp vest, shirt, and jacket to put it on. One dry layer was better than three wet ones. He hung his clothes over the edge of the bath to dry, boiled some water on the stove top to drink hot, wishing he'd managed to get some warm liquid into Callen too, rummaged through the bare cupboards to find some food he could make up for them later, and by then the burn phone had enough charge on the battery to make a call.
When he got through to Ops, the reaction to his call was predictably explosive. Sam held the phone several inches from his ear as a chorus of relieved cries greeted him.
"I'm sorry it's so late," Sam apologised, glancing at his watch. Unlike Callen's, his had survived the unexpected dunking, and the numbers registered as 10.20pm. Between the lengthy boat journey and the painfully slow walk, it had taken them a long time to reach the refuge of Callen's apartment. "You all need to go home," he admonished lightly.
"We were waiting to hear… anything." The strain in Kensi's voice was clear even across the wires. "How's Callen?"
"Asleep," Sam said succinctly, knowing that wouldn't reassure them much. "He's gonna need to see Dr Laura again."
"Is he okay?" Kensi asked with concern.
"We had to take the ocean exit," Sam explained. "His cast got a soaking."
"I'll ring her," Deeks promised. "Text me the address, she'll come asap."
"Thanks, Deeks." Sam was grateful for the lack of fuss. He didn't relish the thought of convincing his partner to succumb to medical attention again but figured he was more likely to tolerate the kindly but no-nonsense Dr Laura than anyone new.
"Just glad you guys are okay. Again."
"Yeah. Any news on Connor?" Sam hesitated to ask, but it would be the first thing Callen would want to know when he found out Sam had been in touch with Ops.
"We heard from the hospital an hour ago," Eric answered. "He came through emergency surgery okay, and they're prepping him to move to the Pendleton Naval Hospital where he can be guarded properly until he recovers. The hospital has described him as 'critical but stable'. His parents are on their way down, and Kensi's hoping to visit with him as soon as he wakes up, see how he's doing."
"Well, that's something at least," Sam said with relief. He knew the loss of another teammate would have been hard for them all to bear, and they didn't need the distraction of grief while they still had to focus on finding and apprehending Janvier. The others began to ask questions of him in turn, demanding to know what had happened, where they were, how they had got there and when they were coming back.
"Look guys, enough," Sam halted them. "It's late, go home. Just give me a quick sit-rep now, please. One of you can come pick us up in the morning." In the background, Sam heard Nell say she'd go let Hetty know he and Callen were safe, and Deeks was persuading Kensi now was a good time to go home and rest. "Eric?"
"Yeah. Okay. The boatshed is totalled. The fire's out, but nothing is salvageable. It's cordoned off, with a guard, waiting for a secure clean-up crew to remove anything that could link back to us. The crime scene guys found Laurent's body, well, bits of it… he's in the morgue."
"Pity," Sam groused, but the news wasn't surprising given the magnitude of the explosion. "No answers from him then."
"No," Eric agreed despondently. "Err, can Callen hear you?" Stood in the bedroom doorway, Sam looked over at his still unconscious partner. Just in case, he quietly pulled the door to, and moved to the kitchen.
"Not anymore."
"Still no leads at all on Janvier… I messed up big time…" Sam could easily detect the guilt in Eric's voice.
"Stop blaming yourself. Without you, we might never have made it to the correct site until after it had all happened. What about Incognito? Is the drive legit?"
"Yes. It's been confirmed. The files were still on there, so no one has attempted to open or copy them. DARPA have been informed, and because they now know exactly what files are on the drive, they can narrow down the potential employees who would have had access at that time. So they're proceeding with a further investigation into all relevant staff." Eric paused. "Vance has been breathing down our necks, wanting to know what the hell happened today."
"Not unexpected. Look, Eric, I need to go check on G again. Is that everything?"
"For now." Eric paused uncomfortably. He wasn't sure whether to pass on the bad news about Janvier's intended auction for Callen. In the end he decided he ought to warn them. "Sam…"
"Spit it out, Eric."
"It's just… Well, be careful. I have no idea where Janvier is, and he still plans to auction Callen off to the highest bidder… He's looking for him… Be careful."
Sam sucked in a breath, and thanked the fates – or rather his partner's sixth sense – that they had taken the precaution of staying under the radar. "We weren't followed, and even I didn't know Callen had this place." He did his best to reassure the worried tech. "We'll lie low here til morning, okay?"
"Okay…" Eric sighed, and even in that small sound, Sam could almost palpably feel how worried and strained he was. It made two of them, though Sam hoped he was doing a better job of hiding it than Eric.
"Ring me on this number if you need us."
Sitting with his elbows on his knees in the dark, his hands clasped round a mug of hot water, Sam wearily considered the events of the day. Incognito was secure, that was one good thing. And hopefully Connor would make a full recovery. But to know Janvier had got so close to them, had got not only inside the boatshed undetected but somehow also wired a bomb there to take them all out, that was – he could almost hear Hetty say the words – troubling, to say the least.
He couldn't even bring himself to think of the idea that the sadistic sonofabitch still wanted his hands on Callen. They simply couldn't allow that to happen, they just couldn't. Seldom did Sam feel helpless in his job; they were good at what they did, and the successes racked far higher than the failures. But he felt like they were fighting an invisible enemy in a race against time to protect someone he loved, just as he had faced four years ago when he had failed to save Michelle. Sure, this enemy had a name, but he was forever out of reach, teasing them, playing with them, threatening their very survival.
Sam lifted his head when he heard a sound coming from the bedroom, and the shadow of Callen, framed by the dim light spilling out from the bedside lamp into the hallway beyond, shortly appeared leaning on the door frame.
"Hey," Callen greeted him. He still sounded tired, but his voice had lost the exhausted slurring, much to Sam's relief. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"
"Couldn't sleep." He meant it in both senses of the word. His mind was still too full, buzzing with adrenaline from their close brush with death and watery escape, worried for both Callen and Connor, and angered that Janvier was playing them – and winning. He also couldn't bring himself to try to sleep when Callen lay unconscious down the hall: the safety of them both was in his hands while Callen was incapacitated.
Awake now, Callen looked around in the dim light cast through the windows by the streetlamp over the road. Lights in all the neighbouring homes were out, their occupants sleeping the night away, and he understood why Sam hadn't wanted to be the only house in the neighbourhood with signs of life. "How long was I out?"
"A few hours," Sam informed him, looking amused at the flash of horror that crossed Callen's face. "Just gone one now. I rang Ops at half ten. Connor's doing okay," he said quickly, before Callen even had a chance to ask. "Came through surgery. Still critical." Callen nodded, grateful for the information.
"Hell of a day. Was the IV really necessary?"
Sam yawned and nodded, not elaborating. "You're awake… You okay?"
"Nature called," Callen said evasively, shuffling to the bathroom.
When he returned, Sam had relented and turned the under-cabinet lights on, casting a dim glow over the open-plan space. He re-set the kettle on the stove, and they waited in silence while it boiled. Sam noted that Callen had managed to stick a band-aid over his hand where he had pulled the needle out, but he refrained from commenting on it. He knew Callen was embarrassed, so the less said about the emergency treatment he'd had to undertake, the better.
"Your house-keeping is as good as ever. Couldn't find any coffee or teabags," Sam said, placing another mug on the counter. "So plain hot water it is." Callen made a face, but he was still cold so he wrapped his left hand gratefully round the hot mug when Sam handed it to him. His injured right hung uselessly down by his side, and Sam gestured to it. "May I?"
Grudgingly, Callen lifted his arm so Sam could take a look. The cast was still damp, the plaster flaking away under the coloured bandage on top and the padding and dressings underneath sodden and misshapen. It was heavy, itchy, and he'd have been lying if he said it wasn't painful. The pain showed in his face when Sam gently examined the state of it. "You know you're not supposed to get this wet, don't you?" Sam reprimanded, only half-joking.
"I'll remember that next time I jump into the sea to escape a bomb," Callen retorted with weary sarcasm.
"It needs to come off. Like, now."
Callen eyed Sam suspiciously. "You volunteering for that now, too?"
"It's been several hours, G. And you've got open wounds under that fancy lining. The risk of infection is high," Sam patiently explained. "In fact, you're probably already fighting one, judging by the fact you're still shivering… I doubt Janvier sterilised his weapon, and the marina water certainly wasn't clean… It could even be the start of sepsis that caused you to pass out!"
"How did we miss him today, Sam?" Callen asked the only question on his mind. "How did he get into the boatshed without us knowing?"
"I don't know," Sam sighed. He'd been over and over the same questions himself. What Janvier had managed to do should have been impossible. "I do know this needs to come off. Dr Laura is working a night shift, she can't get here til 6am. So you've got two options: we either do a DIY job here ourselves, or we toddle off down to the naval hospital at Pendleton and get it seen to properly."
"You want to 'borrow' a car now?" Callen tried to joke, but Sam wasn't amused. "I'm not going to the hospital," Callen stated firmly. "Not til we've got Janvier." He couldn't risk it. He knew Pendleton would be secure, but it wasn't only the need to stay hidden from Janvier that stopped him. No, Callen knew the damage to his hand was bad, and he couldn't risk medical personnel insisting on prolonged treatment, or worse anaesthesia and surgery, until he knew his nemesis was safely caught. He, and by extension all those around him, were vulnerable for as long as Janvier was out there targeting them. He wouldn't rest until he could guarantee they'd all be safe.
"Then I need a sharp knife," Sam replied, equally as firmly.
With a reluctant sigh, Callen set the warm mug he was still holding down on the side and moved to open a lower door in the far corner of the kitchen with his foot. "Toolkit in there," he said. "Knock yourself out."
A/N: Merry Christmas!