Author's Note: Caution! This chapter contains violence and mentions of torture. And though it's not as dark as some of my other stories... consider yourself warned.

Xxxxxxx

Chapter 1 - Mind Games with a Fellow Spook

Prompts filled:
Prompt 15: Mind Games

He looked pretty much like every other CIA spook he's worked with during his career: inconspicuous and unassuming. Not very threatening - right up until they stab you in the back.

Actually, there's usually two different sets of spooks: the ones mentioned above, that can slip under anyone's radar because they are just so bland and uninteresting that they blend in pretty much everywhere without anyone being aware of them. These are the people that can waltz right through a room of hundreds of people without being noticed by a single one of them.

On the other hand, there are the spooks that get noticed, that are paid to get noticed… usually being honeytraps. Beautiful, sophisticated, sparkling vibrantly and having a room full of people salivating for their attention.

There's also a few that fall somewhat in between, or those that can flick a switch between the two, adapting depending on the situation.

What they all have in common is the backstabbing though. He should know. He'd been one of them once. Though he'd done the backstabbing with the enemy, not his fellow countrymen, agents, spooks, whatever. Then again, he'd been a double agent once or twice.

Callen's focus sharpened on the man in front of him, watching him watching him. His awareness widened to the other people in the room, but his gaze stayed sharp on the CIA Officer. Or was that ex-CIA-officer now considering where they were and what their current positions were?

There was a cold and calculating weight in those dark green eyes. Callen knew he an experienced officer in front of him.

Though years separated them, Callen wasn't lacking in the experience department either.

The two sides continued watching each other, weighting each other, quietly wondering who would come up lacking, both determined to see the other side fail.

"You've been here before, haven't you?"

Callen didn't move, kept his expression blank. "So have you," he gave back in the same disinterested tone the other man had used.

"Not on your side, no." Derision and smugness seeped into the other man's voice, "doesn't say much for your abilities."

Callen barely refrained from rolling his eyes at the dig. "Or for your honor to the oath you've sworn."

The other man didn't hold back the eye roll like he had done. "There's honor, and then there's money."

"Don't forget power," he quipped. Because usually, it was one of those two: money or power. Sometimes there were other factors, like ego - proving you could do something - sometimes coercion - one bad decision leading to another before that was taken advantage of - or a multitude of other things. But usually, money and/or power were the main motivators for treason.

The other man shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, but you can't buy luxury with power."

Distaste was pooling in his mouth. How often had he seen this scenario unfold? Someone - who likely once had good intentions - being brought down by their own greed.

On top of the distaste, blood was pooling between his lips, courtesy of a tooth digging into his cheek when it had been met by a first earlier. He spat it on the floor, aiming for the spook's shoes, smirking when some of it connected. Some red splatter now adorned the stylish brown leather.

He took the resulting fist to the face with good grace. Not that he could do much else, tied up as he was.

"So, I expect you have some questions for me?" Callen asked, deciding to hurry things along. "Secrets to find out, codes to sell?"

The spook crossed his arms in front of his chest. "My, aren't you a smug one?"

Callen allowed the smirk to grow on his lips. "No, but as you already deducted, this is not my first rodeo. It always kinda follows the same script… some beatings, some questions, more beatings before eventually, I'll walk out of here while you walk to the nearest CIA black site… oh, wait, you probably won't walk. At least not voluntarily."

Another eyeroll, followed by another punch. His left eye was throbbing and… yeah, that was blood tickling down his cheek, dripping onto his jeans. He liked those jeans. And what was worse… they were Hetty's jeans. And it was the second pair this month that got blood on it. Hopefully, she wouldn't take it out of his paycheck. He would definitely have to remember to put a note on it about the blood, so that it could be cleaned right.

"You got nothing on me."

Callen leaned back, his eyes shifting to the spook, away from the bloody jeans. "Keep telling yourself that."

"Ok, whatever helps you sleep at night." The tone was casual, a hand waved dismissively, flippantly. "Then let's move on to the questions you mentioned. I think we'll be more sophisticated than the previously mentioned beatings though."

Callen arched an eyebrow, pointedly glancing at the man's knuckles. He would have pointed at his own face if he'd had a hand free to do it; alas, he didn't.

"Please, that wasn't a beating. That's just the small talk before we really get started."

"As if I hadn't heard that before," Callen griped, "how about we get on with it?"

The spook nodded casually. "Project Taurus."

"Sounds ominous," Callen mused before shrugging. "Haven't heard of it."

The spooks expression widened into a smile, all sharp teeth and little amusement. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"More beatings?" Callen sniped back with his own grin.

"How about waterboarding?" The spook gave back.

"Boring, but if you want…" Callen grunted, disinterested.

"Taking some fingernails?"

"Bit of a cliché if you ask me."

"Jumper cables?"

"Have you ever done this before? Really? You seem so… untrained, boring." He asked, infusing incredulity into his voice.

A flash of fury raced through the other man's eyes and Callen grinned triumphantly. Sure, mind games were part of a spooks everyday bread and butter, but still, getting a rise out of your counterpart was always worth a moment of triumph.

"You won't say that when I'm through with you." There was an edge, a dangerous vibe of menace in the voice.

Still, Callen decided to push and prod. "Cliché again. This evil overloard business isn't really your thing, is it?"

This time, it was a flurry of activity, a barely vocalized shriek of anger before the blunt end of a pipe connected with his shoulder.

Callen's howl of pain got swallowed by the sounds of a door being breached, shouts of 'Federal Agents' and the sharp retort of several guns.

Red bloomed on the spook's chest, the raised pipe clattering noisily to the cement floor, the man's expression morphing into surprised shock.

Callen tilted his head to the side, exhaling through the pain to get it under control before focusing back on the other man. "See? I told you: I'll walk out of here." He frowned, his eyes following the man's descent as he sunk to his knees. "Not sure you'll even make it to the black site I promised. You don't look too good."

Their staring match was broken by a body inserting themselves between them. Sam's worried gaze tracked over his bound figure.

"I'm fine," Callen muttered, leaning to the side to spit out some more blood, working hard to bite back the sharp pain coming from his shoulder.

"Sure you are," Sam gave back, his tone mild, indulgent. "How about we let the medics decide just how fine you are?"

"No need," Callen gave back, his right arm dangling by his side now that someone had freed it, "just a few cuts and bruises."

"And a broken shoulder," Sam added.

Broken collarbone maybe. The yelp that escaped when his left arm was freed and repositioned converted that 'maybe' into a 'quite probably'.

Still, nothing that wouldn't heal.

Callen slowly stood from his chair and - with Sam watchfully moving by his side - walked out of the room.

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Note End: so, this one kind of ran away from me. I literally didn't know where I was going with it, but it was still kind of fun. A bit crack-y and probably not up to my usual standard (seems like I haven't found my grove again, yet), but I guess it's a start.