1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This will be a multi-chapter, 'what-if' story that explores a different ending to Season 4, Episode 20, 'Purity'. Anyone who has read my past stories already knows this will be a Callen and Sam-centric story with the rest of the team playing supportive roles. As always, I love reviews, the good and the constructive that allow me to continue to grow as a writer. Reviews really make my day! I hope this story helps get you through the summer rerun season. I know I am constantly scouring the boards for new material to read. Standard disclaimer: I don't own anything; just playing with the characters and will put them neatly on the shelf when I am finished._

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Callen stood in the dank, semi-darkness of the maintenance tunnel, weapon drawn and aimed at the suspect. Sweat tickled down his back adding to his overall misery. Callen's voice rang out with a mixture of authority, warning and the slightest hint of pleading. "Is that what you want? You're smart. You're a good guy. And you're gonna make this world a better place, but not like this. Do the right thing Alex."

Sitting on the water pipes chewing on his lower lip, Alex Fryman glanced fretfully at the man speaking to him, considering the words before returning his focus to the task at hand. He flung his sweaty blond hair out of his eyes as he reached out and wrapped his trembling fingers around the lever that would release the cyanide into the city water system.

A skill that Special Agent in Charge G Callen's job required was the ability to make split second decisions and right now the timer was at zero and he had to make the call. Unbidden, a quote ran thru his mind; 'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few' or in this case the 'one' or maybe it was really the 'two'.

He had to make a choice and he did so sliding his finger onto the trigger of his gun committing to the act. Callen wasn't sure if he felt a tremor in his right hand as he pressed the firing mechanism but instinctively he knew the trajectories of the two bullets he shot in rapid sequence were going kill Alex, whether he meant them to or not.

The projectiles ripped thru flesh and the confused, young blond boy, made a victim by his idealistic father, slumped to the floor. An ever widening bloodstain grew on the front of the boy's shirt. The only consolation was the valve stayed shut and LA's water supply remained safe. The mental collateral damage of tonight's actions would be all on Callen's shoulders, but no other physical lives would be lost tonight.

Holstering his gun, Callen rapidly made his way over the maze of water pipes to where the boy lay on the cement. He made a futile attempt to staunch the death wounds even though he knew it was a useless gesture. A final small shudder ran thru Alex's body as his eyes glassed over and death embraced him. Callen felt a small part of his own soul die along with the boy.

Back in the beginning section of the tunnels, Agent Sam Hanna had administered the hydroxocobalamin, via a large syringe, to Alex's self-poisoned father before he resumed his search, deeper in the tunnels, for his partner. Gun drawn and moving quickly, the sound of two shots halted his progress for only a millisecond as he scanned the damp tunnels for danger. Starting forward again, the muscular man finally came upon his partner kneeling on the wet cement floor cradling the body of the dead boy in his arms. The front of Callen's tactical vest and the boy's shirt were bloodstained and from Sam's position in the gloom, he couldn't determine whose body was leaking the red liquid but logically it could only be one person. With trepidation in his voice Sam asked, "You Ok G?"

The man in question raised his bowed head at Sam's question. Even if the blood didn't belong to his partner, the look of guilt, regret and sorrow on Callen's face concerned Sam as much as a bullet wound would have; he'd never seen his partner appear so vulnerable.

Callen gave a slight nod of his head to Sam before he refocused his attention on the dead boy in his arms. When Callen showed no signs of moving, the tall man carefully made his way over the tangle of pipes to where the agent knelt on the ground. Sam was pretty sure he knew the answer to his next question and he hated to ask, but he had no choice. "Is he dead?"

Callen gave another nearly imperceptible nod without taking his eyes off the boy.

Sam swallowed hard as he looked away, giving his partner a few more minutes to get in control of his emotions. Standing there in twilight darkness, Sam tamped down his own disappointment in the way this had played out; had it not been for the father's warped ideals, Callen wouldn't have been forced to make a no win call and the boy would still be alive. Off in the distance, Sam heard the sound of approaching footsteps and he refocused on the task at hand. Callen didn't react at all to the sounds that indicated they were about to be joined by others, so Sam reached out and gently touched his partner's shoulder. "Come on G. It's over."

But it wasn't over for the grieving agent who kept seeing the last few minutes of his and Alex's confrontation flash through his mind in an endless, soul ripping loop. Callen kept trying to determine if his decision had really been to kill Alex or if his hand had shook as a result of his earlier cyanide poisoning and he had accidentally killed the boy.

Part of his mind argued that simply wounding the boy would have kept him from pulling the lever and releasing the deadly poison into the water supply. There was no need for Callen to have killed Alex; this young boy's needless death rested squarely on Callen's shoulders. Callen's mind tried to convince him if he hadn't been in the field in an incapacitated manner, the boy would have lived. If Callen had stayed behind in Ops, his mind argued, like everyone had told him, then someone else with a steady hand, not one shaking from cyanide poisoning, would have taken the shot and wounded not killed the boy.

Sam could see some sort of mental battle was going on within Callen and he hated to push the distraught man but he also didn't want whoever was coming down the tunnels to witness his partner's meltdown. "It's time to go G," Sam verbally prodded trying to get Callen to snap out of it.

Without warning, Callen lurched unsteadily to his feet and concerned he would fall, Sam reached out a hand to stabilize him. Even though the grief-stricken man was trembling, he brusquely fended off Sam's assistance. Struggling to keep his own equilibrium, Callen reached down with reverence, picked up the body of the broken boy and cradled him gently against his own chest. By the time Callen fully regained his footing, his breathing was ragged and he was hard pressed trying to remain upright while holding onto Alex.

"Let me," Sam said calmly reaching for the boy but Callen abruptly angled his anguished body away so Sam couldn't touch Alex.

"No," Callen spat tersely over his shoulder, speaking for the first time since Sam had arrived. With a Herculean effort, Callen secured his hold on Alex, then slowly made is way over the pipes and started shuffling back towards the entrance of the city's underground maintenance tunnels.

Along the route back, as he carried his precious bundle, Callen came upon Deeks and Kensi but gruffly brushed past them as if they didn't exist.

"Is he...," Detective Marty Deeks started to ask the senior agent as he passed them but Sam quickly cut him off.

"Yeah" Sam answered as he too walked by his junior team mates trailing his intensely focused partner.

While on the way back to the surface where the underground tunnels met the mean streets of LA, Callen stumbled twice to his knees with his burden but the rest of his team, under Sam's wise insistence, held back, offering no assistance and allowing the determined senior agent to struggle on his own each time to continue his lonesome trek with his precious cargo.

"How is he even doing that," Agent Kensi Blythe wondered aloud with disbelief. "Less than four hours ago Callen was barely able to move. You were carrying him, Sam."

"Misplaced guilt," Sam muttered darkly which earned him an odd look by his co-workers.

The above ground scene was filled with emergency vehicles and personnel. An ambulance, the one carrying the poisoned father, had already left by the time the agents reached the surface. However, a second red and white striped vehicle stood idling, waiting for any additional casualties.

The blinding flood lights that lit the area dazed Callen as he emerged from the semi-dark tunnel; he halted under their bright aurora with the bloody boy cradled to his chest. An EMT rushed over to retrieve Alex but he was greeted by stubborn resistance from Callen who clutched the boy tighter and growled at the medical worker to leave him alone. Sam materialized out of the tunnel, saw what was transpiring and waved off the EMT. "I'll handle this. There is nothing you can do." Reluctantly, the EMT slowly backed off and waited.

Kensi and Deeks emerged from the tunnels and stood on the fringes of the scene, watching Sam trying to convince their team leader to release his burden.

Sam moved next to his partner and murmured in a soothing voice. "You did it G. You got him here. Now it's time to put him down."

Callen continued to stand like a statue, blank blue eyes staring at the dead boy in his arms. His shirt and tactical vest were covered in the boy's blood making it a gruesome image; the tactical vest would require a major overhaul to make it wearable again.

Sam shifted his position, moving to stand directly in front of his partner. He reached out and lightly touched Callen's shoulder. "It's over."

With a body that radiated defeat, Callen lifted his vacant eyes in an acknowledgement of Sam's words but still made no move to release the boy.

Sam slowly reached forth both his muscular arms and placed his hands on Alex. "G, he is dead. You have to let him go."

Something Sam said must have finally got thru to the distressed agent because Callen dropped his gaze to the dead boy's face, then ignoring Sam's outstretched arms, crouched and gently lay his burden on the cold, black asphalt. His face and voice were raw with emotion when he spoke. "I killed him, Sam. " Callen reached over and carefully closed Alex's eyes.

Sam maneuvered his body to shield Callen from the onlookers as he dropped his empty arms back to his side. "You saved thousands of lives."

Callen raised his pain-filled eyes to meet Sam's. "I...killed...him," and with that the agent rose, turned his back on the dead boy and stumbled away from the scene into the surrounding darkness.

Sam motioned for the EMT to come over as he hurried after his despondent partner. Kensi made a move to follow her colleagues, but Deeks laid a gentle restraining hand on her arm. "It's a partner thing. If Sam can't reach him..."

Kensi halted and hesitantly finished his sentence, "...who can?"


	2. Chapter 2

Despondent, Callen blindly fumbled his way down the dimly-lit street away from the death scene. To the casual observer, he might appear to be a man who had one to many libations and was attempting to walk home. Tripping over his own feet, Callen careened off buildings, light poles and the parked cars that seemed to keep jumping in his path. Sam followed a few paces behind him, prepared to assist if it meant keeping his partner from obtaining an injury.

Eventually, Callen came across a small, red brick planter with a cream colored flat top and he collapsed on it. Tightly lacing his hands behind his skull and clamping his forearms against the side of his face, he bowed his head until it hung between his knees.

Unobtrusively, Sam took up residence on the same planter leaving a three foot gap between him and his distraught partner. Sam could see the smaller man's shoulders quaking and hear his partner's muffled sobs. Sam didn't say a word; there was nothing he could say at this moment in time that would help. What Sam hoped was that his mere presence could bring a small measure of comfort to Callen, letting him know he was not alone in this cruel world.

Even though he was loathing his loss of self-control, Callen couldn't halt his flood of tears. After a time, his sorrow turned to self-hatred as he beat himself up for being in the field for this mission. His mind reminded him that everyone had said he was not fit to run this operation but the all-mighty, all-knowing' stupid-ass idiot that was he, had ignored their warnings which had resulted in the needless death of a 14 year-old boy by his hand; a boy he had set out to save.

When Callen had learned from Dominic Fryman that he planned to use his son Alex, to carry out his scheme to poison LA's water supply, Callen had irrationally been afraid that the boy would die if he wasn't personally there to prevent it. Hubris and stupidity on his part; it was ironic that he made it into a self-filling prophesy.

Unable and unwillingly to control his pent up anger and frustration, Callen leapt to his feet, spun and slammed his first into the brick wall of the building behind him. He landed two punishing, knuckle abrading blows before Sam gently but insistently restrained him.

His partner was vibrating with strong emotions as Sam held him, keeping him from continuing to cause self-injury. After a few intense seconds, Callen shook free of Sam's grasp and turned his back on his partner as he cradled his throbbing, marred fist against his heaving chest. His anger leeched out of him and his body slumped forward in a dejected manner. Sensing the change, Sam reached out a tentative hand and placed it on the smaller man's left shoulder. Callen partially turned, scanning Sam's face before dropping his eyes towards the sidewalk. In that instance, when their eyes had met, Sam saw the abused child that Callen had been reflected in his eyes; the one with no hope, the one that no one wanted, the one who was beaten and abused and felt his life was worth nothing. Sam uttered seven words to his ravaged partner, from the very depths of his soul and with the greatest conviction he could muster. "I will always be here for you." Sam prayed his sincere, heart-felt words had a chance of reaching the darkened soul of the broken man who stood before him.

Trying to invade Callen's personal space as little as possible, Sam moved his hand from Callen's shoulder to his bicep and did his best to steer his partner back to where the Challenger was parked a few blocks away. Callen moved down the sidewalk like a sleepwalker and Sam guided him around obstacles with a firm, but gentle hand. At one point Callen tripped over some unforeseen object causing Sam to quickly reach out with both hands and steady the shaking man. Whether it was a residual effect of the cyanide poisoning, stress or pure exhaustion, the shorter man suddenly crumbled in his partner's arms, lapsing into unconscious.

Scooping him up in his powerful arms, Sam carried the senior agent to the car where he carefully placed his partner in the passenger seat before buckling the seatbelt. Callen's head lolled against the head rest as the seatbelt held his upper body place. Sam hurried around the front of car and slid behind the wheel as he extracted his phone from his pocket. Before he could dial, his phone chirped and Callen opened one bleary eye to glare at Sam. "No hospital!" he admonished before his eye drifted shut again.

Scanning the phone's display, Sam saw the word "Hetty" and he pressed the green answer button as he raised the unit to his ear farthest from Callen. "Yeah, Hetty."

The 'little spy that could', had been monitoring the mission via all the technology at her disposal in the Ops Center. She also knew her agents like the back of her hand which enabled her to place her well-timed call. "Mr. Hanna. How is Mr. Callen?"

He was fairly sure she didn't have magical powers so Sam was sticking with the theory that she had his car bugged. It made the perfect timing of her call more digestible. "He's passed out. I know he probably needs medical care but you know G and hospitals. Trying to keep him in one often exasperates his injuries."

Without hesitation Hetty instructed, "Bring him to my house."

While furtively glancing over at his seemingly unconscious partner, Sam said in an intense whisper, "He's not going to like that either."

"Are you afraid for your partner or of your partner, Sam," Hetty inquired pointedly.

"Neither. Or maybe both. It's just... he is... well G," Sam concluded as if that explained it all, which in a way it did.

Hetty gave him no choice and in a tone that would not allow for disobedience she said, "None-the-less, bring him."

Sam heard the command and knew he had lost this battle to the pint-sized ninja. However, out of loyalty to his partner he tried one more time. "Are you sure? Maybe I should take him to my house. G is really not a good houseguest. Trust me. I have firsthand experience with his quirks."

"I think I can handle him, Mr. Hanna. After all, I once had the members of KISS as houseguests. You want to speak about quirks..."

Sam cut her off; he really didn't want to hear the end of that particular tale. "Alright Hetty. But if he breaks your china or takes apart your toaster, don't blame me. I warned you." Shaking his head he disconnected the call; he knew somehow he was going to regret this situation.

His partner's voice weakly drifted across the car. "I would rather you run me over with the car."

"Not happening. At least not today," but Sam's retort fell on deaf ears as Callen drifted off again.

His partner did not stir at all during the journey to Hetty's house. Even when Sam shut off the engine and gave his friend the lightest of shakes with his right hand while protecting his face, just in case, with his left, Callen remained unresponsive. Sighing, Sam reached over and unbuckled Callen's seatbelt before he got out of the car and walked around the hood to the passenger side of the car. Opening the door, he gathered up the smaller man in his arms once again and carried him up the few steps to Hetty's front door which she promptly opened.

"Upstairs, down the hall, last door on the right."

Sam grunted doing as instructed. He was so gonna make sure Callen knew exactly how he got from the car to the upstairs bed when he was recovered; the man was gonna owe him for years.

As he entered the guest bedroom, a small smile escaped Sam's lips when he saw his ever prepared boss had anticipated Callen's less than stellar physical state and had laid a temporary sheet over the clean bed linens, along with a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. After gently laying his partner on the bed, Sam scanned for Hetty who was hovering near the doorway to the room. "Do you want me to change his clothes? He's covered in Alex's blood."

"I think that would be good idea. I'm sure he'd rather have you do it than me, though if you are uncomfortable with the procedure..." She blinked up at him innocently thru her glasses.

Sam shook his head. "Nope. I'm good. Won't be the first time I have had to do this."

Hetty's dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh really?"

"Yeah. Remember when he rolled the Mercedes a few years ago?"

Hetty snorted in a very unladylike manner. "How could I forget! That was an expensive miscalculation; one he was lucky to walk away from."

"He rolled the car on what, Friday right? He was so banged up and bruised from that stunt, he could barely move the next day. But Callen being Callen, tried to solve everything on his own. So Saturday afternoon, I get this phone call from him asking me to drop by his house. He refuses to give me a reason why and he doesn't make it sound urgent so I finished up what I was doing around the house before heading out. I get there, let myself in and find him in his bedroom, literally trapped in his shirt because he couldn't move his shoulders and arms enough to get it over his head. Apparently he had been stuck like this for some time, though he wouldn't say how long. Based on the shallow nicks on his torso, I think tried to cut the shirt off somewhere along the line, though to this day he denies it, saying the scratches were a result of the accident. Anyway, I had to help him undress. At least this time he is not awake so I don't have to listen to his rhetoric."

Hetty smiled imagining the scene Sam had painted; it was consistent with Agent Callen's preferred method of dealing with his problems. "I'll wait in the hallway. Call if you need any assistance."

Sam unbuckled Callen's blood covered tactical vest and placed it on the floor. Next he tackled the shirt and pants, always keeping a watchful eye and a ready hand to defend himself should his partner abruptly wake; Callen was known to have inflicted some painful damage when caught unaware. Luckily, the change over to the pajamas went without a hitch and soon Sam had his partner tucked between the clean covers. Sam wrapped up Callen's blood soaked clothes in the drop cloth that had covered the bed and carried the disgusting parcel into the hallway.

"Want me to burn these?" he asked Hetty raising the bundle.

"Though I'm sure Mr. Callen would not agree it is my expert opinion his clothes are not worth the trouble to save. You may place them in the garbage can outside the house on your way home."

With concerned eyes, Sam looked back over his shoulder at the man lying on the bed. "I'm not going anywhere," Sam said adamantly. "I need to keep an eye on him. I can't explain it, but he's not himself."

"You are indeed going home and getting some rest Mr. Hanna. I am perfectly capable of looking after him. His altered state, as you perceive it, is very likely a lingering effect of the cyanide. It can cause paranoia and messes with the brain chemistry. However, it is usually temporary." She saw and understood Sam's hesitation, but remained firm. "Take that as an order Sam. Go home. I promise I will call if there is the slightest change in his condition."

Grumbling under his breath, Sam made his way downstairs and out the front door. As he went around the garage, he shoved the soiled items in the trashcan before heading home as ordered by his domineering boss.

Hetty shut the front door silently and headed back upstairs to her own bedroom. After she changed into her night attire and covered it with a robe, she headed back to where Callen was resting to keep her vigil.


	3. Chapter 3

Callen woke from one terrifying, unnamed nightmare only to enter into another upon opening his eyes. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as he quickly scanned the room, realizing he was in a strange bedroom, lying in a real bed. Maybe it was a side-effect from the cyanide poisoning; maybe a cobweb from the nightmare that was still echoing in his mind; most likely it was a by-product of his upbringing. Whatever the underlying cause, he bolted from the bed in a panic.

Standing in the middle of the unfamiliar room, he breathed heavily while he racked his brain to figure out what was going on. Scanning the room again for clues, his eyes came to rest on the older woman, dressed in a purple silk bathrobe and pink bunny slippers, sitting quietly in a cream-colored, wing-back chair that was nestled in the corner of the bedroom. Upon seeing her, his anxiety level dropped as swiftly as it had risen and his mind settled. His apprehensive blue eyes were drawn to her concerned blue ones until overcome by embarrassment; he turned his back on her and walked over to the window to lean heavily on the sill. He hated to be caught by anyone in a moment of weakness.

Silence reigned with the only sound in the room being the particularly noisy ticking of the clock which sat on the cherry-wood nightstand next to the bed. Hetty made note of the annoying sound emanating from the clock and decided she would replace it; how had her guests, that had slept in this room, been able to stand its infernal racket? She was getting ready to speak, thereby breaking the silent stalemate, when he beat her to it. The bedraggled blond spoke with a slow, defeatist cadence.

"Hate beds and I have been forced to endure more than my fair share of them." Sighing heavily, he ran a trembling hand over his weary, stubble-covered face and around to the back of his neck. Somewhat reluctantly, he turned, changing his stance to lean against the sill facing her, though he was still not quite able to meet her eyes yet.

"Did you know in order to foster a child you have to be able to provide them their own bed? Nothing else, not even a room, just a bed." He finally raised his eyes and stared at her with a hint of defiance, as if daring her to disagree with his comment.

Hetty didn't challenge him realizing it was really a rhetoric statement and not necessarily even true; but in the mind of the abused boy who had been thru thirty-seven foster homes, it probably seemed like a fact.

Callen glanced up at the ceiling, the tip of his tongue flicking between his lip, a nervous habit he occasionally displayed, before he dropped his gaze to the floor. "That's how I knew it was a foster home because I woke up in a bed. Not on the floor, not on a couch, not on a bedroll but in a real bed." Taking a shaky breath he concluded, "I hated it."

Drawing another uneven breath, it him took a few minutes before he was ready to continue. "I'd wake up in the morning, in a bed, and try to remember if this was a good placement or bad. Sometimes, there were clues like waking up covered in bruises; it wasn't too hard to figure out how that stay was going. Other times, it was not quite as obvious; mental games were harder to detect. In the end, I guess it really didn't matter cause the only objective was to survive each day, until you got yanked out of that place. Then it started all over again, in a strange bed."

Biting the inside of his lower lip, he rotated to face the window again. "The physically abusive houses were easier to deal with," he said philosophically. "Time healed those wounds. But the mentally abusive houses, where the foster parents pretended to like you, they were tougher to detect and harder to get over. Those wounds left scars on your inner soul. But eventually, in either case, it all came crashing down around you, usually right after you decided to hope maybe this was the one, the holy grail, the place where you could be happy." Callen smiled sadly. "Didn't take long in the system to learn that there were no happy ending; that is if you wanted to survive. Those truths, and the wounds, they never healed and you either had to learn to cope with them or..."

Callen drew another deep breath. "Do you know the suicide rate amongst foster children?" he asked though he didn't give her a chance to reply. "High. Probably higher than the stats show cause they are skewed. Some of the deaths ruled a suicide," he sadly shook his head. "Not. Made to look like one." Callen's voice caught as he tried to continue and it took him a few tries. "Some foster parents figured out the loop hole. Have a kid commit suicide while in your care and you'll get another kid after a small investigation. Have a kid taken away from you because you abuse them, a lot harder to get that next meal ticket. So the really sick abusers get good at hiding their tracks. One way is by faking the 'suicide' thereby assuring they'd get another child to abuse."

Pausing again, he dropped his head lower between his shoulders. "Lost a few... acquaintances... that way." Hetty heard the defeatism in his voice. "Lost a few who truly did commit suicide by their own choice; they couldn't stand another day in the system." Turning around, raising his head and looking her straight in the eye he answered the question she wanted to, but wouldn't ask. "I get what they did and why they did it. Some of us... maybe we were just too stupid, too stubborn or too afraid to take that route."

"Or maybe brave enough to stick to the harder path," she gently suggested. "So that's why you hate sleeping in a bed," she stated bringing the conversation full circle.

Callen shifted his eyes to the aforementioned item. "Yep. Sleeping in a real bed takes me to a bad place."

"Even in your own home?" she asked curiously, referring to the house she contrived to have him purchase.

His answer showed how heavily the past clung on his soul. "I have no home. A place to live, maybe. But not a home."

"Home is where the heart is," she replied sounding part sage and part Hallmark card.

Callen looked over at her then chuckled. "Guess that means the couch at work."

"And the couch at Sam's house and the couch here, if you'll have it."

His blue eyes glistened. "Thanks," he replied sincerely. To break the heavily emotional vibe, he glanced down at her pink bunny slippers to deflect. "Bunny slippers?"

"A gift. From a dearly departed friend who had a great sense of humor. This is like his memorial," she said wiggling her feet. Hetty cleared her throat. "I'm going to go downstairs and fix us some breakfast. The bathroom is that way," she pointed to a closed door. "There are fresh towels, shaving kit and clean clothes. I suggest you avail yourself to them."

Cocking his head, he realized was wearing a pair of pajamas which begged the question who put them on him; though his memory was spotty he was pretty sure had not worn plaid pj bottoms on the mission. He spotted his tactical vest sitting nearby on the floor but there was no sign of the rest of his clothes. He decided he didn't want to go there so instead he went on the offensive. Smirking, he asked, "Are you saying I stink, Hetty?"

"I would have chosen a different word than 'stink' even if it is technically accurate but yes, you do. Even your partner was a bit hesitant to carry you into the house in his arms. He wanted to drag you by your feet but I quickly put a stop to that nonsense."

"Wait!" Callen exclaimed, his expression going from mischievous to apprehensive. "Sam carried me in here? In his arms?"

"Cradled you as gently as if you were his own babe," she sweetly confirmed.

Callen started shaking his head in denial. "Oh no. You mean he slung me over his shoulder like a fireman does right?"

Hetty paused, holding a finger to her lips, then shook her head. "No cradled is the word. In his arms."

Callen started pacing the floor. "This is not good. I'm never going to live this down with the big guy."

With a slight grin, Hetty rose and headed out the door.

"He's gonna count this as a save. I think I am behind on saves. Hetty, you know everything. Have I saved Sam's life or he has he saved my life more times?" he turned to ask her as she disappeared out the door.

"Take a shower, Mr. Callen," was her only reply.

Distracted, Callen wandered into the bathroom muttering. "Carrying one into a safe place doesn't really count as a save does it? A save needs to involve some element of danger for both parties. What sort of danger was Sam in carrying me into Hetty house?" Pausing for a moment, he answered his own question. "It's Hetty's house. That is danger in of itself. Damn I may have to give him this one."

Catching a glance of himself in the mirror, he swore again this time in Russian. "I look like crap." Glancing down he spotted the earlier mentioned towels, shaving kit and clothes neatly waiting for him.

The towels were white and fluffy and the shaving kit contained generic products which was fine by him as he really had very few brand preferences. Walking over to the stack of clothes piled on the side of the tub, he took a quick peek at the collar of the t-shirt confirming it was his size; Ok, not totally creepy he tried to convince himself. T-shirts typically came in four sizes and maybe it was not so farfetched Hetty had a men's medium t-shirt lying around...in blue. Unable to stop himself, he reached for the jeans and checked the waistband; his size and length. Now that was starting to cross over the line to the dark side. Curiosity killed the cat he told himself, but he did it anyway, digging under the jeans to find the underwear. Exact size and style he wore. "Ok Hetty," he said out loud. "That is creepy." He quickly got into the shower shuddering, which had nothing to do with the water temperature.

In the shower, he discovered he had a slight skin rash and he half-wished creepy Hetty had kept a pair of nice soft sweatpants around for him instead of the jeans. After he dried off and got dressed, he walked downstairs slowly, still feeling a bit dizzy and nauseous; like the rash and mental confusion, they were side effects of the cyanide poisoning.

Walking into Hetty's cheerful, sunny kitchen, he gratefully slid into one of the wooden chairs surrounding her white wooden table. Hoping for a cup of coffee to ease his headache, he was disappointed when a glass of orange juice and a cup of tea appeared, followed by a plate of toast. After delivering the items, Hetty took a seat across from him with her own cup of tea.

"Do you know that tea," she started conversationally as she watched him eye the tea with mild disdain, "actually has more caffeine than coffee? But because of the molecular structure and the way the caffeine is bonded, the human body can't readily get at it."

Raising an eyebrow at her he stated, "I was hoping for coffee."

"Tea is better for you and that orange juice is fresh squeezed! Drink up."

He took a small sip of the juice and it did feel good sliding down his parched throat until it hit his rebellious stomach.

"Oh," Hetty said in a concerned voice, as his face revealed his internal struggle. "Perhaps, we should start out with some ginger-ale." Rising, she poured a glassful, from the bottle in her fridge, then set it on the table in front of him. Callen took a cautious sip and it did help settle things.

"My bad," she said removing the offending glass of OJ. "We can't be right all the time," she mused regaining her seat.

"Funny," Callen mumbled, "I always thought you were."

Choosing to ignore him, Hetty took a sip of her own tea. "Clothes Ok?"

Callen placed the glass of soda on the table and eyed her suspiciously. "Yeah, they fit...perfectly."

"It was good that your partner remembered you had stashed a go-bag in the trunk of the Challenger," she said innocently throwing Callen a curve ball.

Between the headache and the rest of his ailments, he struggled to process what she said. Had he kept a bag in Sam's car? It made sense and it did logically explain why the clothes were what he would normally wear. The only troubling thing was he didn't recall putting a bag in Sam's car...ever.

"You know that temporary memory problems are a side effect of cyanide poisoning along with nausea, dizziness, dry throat, mild rash, pain and swelling at the injection site and a feeling of restlessness."

Callen found himself unconsciously rubbing his left arm where he had injected the needle. He also was feeling restless but he wasn't sure if it was a side-effect of his poisoning or just being around Hetty. Was she deliberately unnerving him? Keeping him off his game? Was he being paranoid? His headache flared again and he cradled his throbbing head in his hands. "Got any aspirin," he asked plaintively.

"Think you can keep it down?" she inquired rising from her chair.

Wincing as he took his hands away from his head, he replied, "I'd like to give it a try."

Hetty procured the bottle, shook out two white tablets, and handed them to Callen, who tossed them in his mouth and downed them with a few sips of ginger ale. Hetty stood there watching him, unsettling him even more.

"Hetty, if you're standing there waiting to see if I am going to vomit on your pristine tile floor, I promise you, I won't." He crossed his fingers over his heart.

"Perhaps you should go lay down on the couch in the den," she mildly suggested.

Callen got to his feet a bit unsteadily. "I like that idea." Together the two moved through the artifact filled house to the back den. There was no doubt in Callen's mind if he started to fall, his diminutive ninja boss would somehow catch him. Luckily, he didn't have to test his theory as he made it safely to the couch and wearily sank on it.

Hetty handed him the TV remote and left him to his own devices while she went back to tidy up the kitchen.

As she suspected, when she came back fifteen minutes later, he was stretched out, fast asleep. She draped a throw over him, as she had done several times in the past, and left him to sleep while she went about her Saturday morning routine.


	4. Chapter 4

Callen felt the presence in the den even before he opened his eyes; Sam, entrenched in a burgundy leather arm-chair, was staring intently at him with his concerned, chocolate-brown eyes. "Your staring woke me," Callen accused his partner.

"I was trying to see if you were breathing or if you needed me to save you...again," Sam explained with the expression of an alter boy.

Callen chose not to rise to bait. Instead, he struggled to a sitting position. He ws grateful to discover his dizziness and nausea had mostly subsided and the headache was at a manageable level. "What are you doing here?" he asked rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

Sam dangled the hook again. "Making sure you were alright and didn't need carrying anywhere."

"Nope. Perfectly capable of walking on my own, thank you," Callen replied sidestepping the trap again.

"Well that's good to hear. You're putting on weight, getting harder to lift," Sam quipped with a slight shoulder twitch.

The blond sighed, staring wearily at his partner and best friend. "You really want me to say it, don't you."

Sam's dimple made its presence known. "My mother always told me when someone gives you a gift it is polite to thank them."

"Thank you big guy," Callen said sincerely then quickly moved on; emotional scenes made him uncomfortable. "By the way, when did I put a go bag in your car?"

Sam looked at him, puzzled by the question. "You nev..."

But before Sam could finish his sentence, Hetty burst into the room like a mini-tasmanian devil. "Ah good. You are awake, Mr. Callen. I made us lunch. It's such a nice day, I set it up on the patio. This way gentlemen," she instructed turning and flowing from the room.

Sam rose from his chair and discretely watched to see if his partner needed assistance, but Callen got to his feet under his own steam.

"I think she is afraid I'm going to vomit in her house, so she is making us eat outside where she can use a hose," Callen muttered to Sam.

"I heard that, Mr. Callen," her voice drifted back to the two errant agents.

The shorter agent rolled his eyes and headed towards the patio with Sam trailing behind, snickering. "She gonna use the hose on you or the patio?"

"Both," came the swift reply from Hetty who never missed a thing.

On the glass table, on the brick patio, was a selection of light fare. Callen sunk into one of the floral cushioned chairs, realizing he was very thirsty. Gratefully, he drank deeply on the ginger ale Hetty had thoughtfully placed in front of him. Meanwhile, Sam piled his plate high with food and after tasting it, complimented Hetty on her culinary prowess.

Hetty gave him one of her knowing smiles along with a non-consequential hand-flutter. I've learned from many over the years to include Julia." She merrily chuckled. "Didn't we make a team in the kitchen!"

Sam was sure his boss, who seemed to personally know every celebrity that ever lived, was speaking of Julia Childs and he too chortled over the image of the six-foot woman chef and the not even five-foot woman spy cooking together. He couldn't help wondering if Hetty's weapons skills, especially with knives, translated well to the chopping of vegetables.

Callen did his best to eat enough to keep his two mothers off his back without causing his slightly rebellious stomach to revolt. They consumed the meal at a leisurely rate and Callen was surprised how tired he was by the end of the meal. This cyanide poisoning was really kicking his butt.

"Sam, would you help me cart the dishes back into the kitchen please." Callen grabbed his plate and rose to assist, but Hetty shook head at him. "No offense, Mr. Callen, but I'm quite fond of these plates and I don't feel comfortable trusting them to you in your current state." She reached out and calmly removed her bone china plate from his hand. "Sam and I can handle this. Why don't you go stretch out on the chaise lounge and work on successfully digesting your meal."

Like a petulant little boy he huffed, "I'm not going to barf Hetty."

"Hmm, that remains to be seen doesn't it," she said placing the dishes on a tray and handing it to Sam to carry into the house.

Callen huffed but decided to do as she suggested when another wave of tiredness crashed over him. By the time Sam and Hetty had cleared the table, he was sound asleep in the lounge chair.

Back inside the kitchen, Hetty cheerfully handed Sam a clean dish towel. "I'll wash, you dry."

"There's no dishwasher in this fancy kitchen of yours?" he teased his apron adorned boss.

"Of course there is, but one doesn't put good china in the dishwasher," she chided him.

"I didn't know one used good china outside," Sam countered, giving the dish towel a little twirl.

Hetty ran hot water into her dish-pan and added lavender-scented dish detergent. "Just because one is dining alfresco, doesn't mean one must resort to vulgar paper plates and plastic utensils."

Grinning impishly, Sam said, "I'll bet you have one of those wicker picnic baskets filled with china plates and crystal wine glasses."

"Doesn't everyone?" she replied seriously as she cleaned the first plate and handed it to him.

Sam, like his partner earlier, chose not to rise to the bait and instead confidently took the flowered china luncheon plate and carefully dried it before placing it on the granite counter. Sam was a well-portioned, muscular man and not the least bit clumsy. The scary agent who could knock-out multiple bad guys at once, handled Hetty's fine china with confidence and aplomb.

They worked in silence for a few minutes before Sam spoke again. "I can't believe G fell asleep so fast. He was out like a light before we even finished bringing the food inside. That cyanide is really kicking his butt. Maybe I should take him to the hospital, whether he wants to go or not."

"Well," Hetty drawled as she soaped up a crystal glass. "Callen's tiredness probably isn't totally attributable to the cyanide. I suspect this nap is a result of the tranquilizer I crushed into his ginger ale."

A wide grin leisurely spread across Sam's amused face. "You didn't!"

Hetty nonchalantly shrugged. "He needs to rest. He's not good at doing that left to his own devices."

Sam had to admit she'd hit the nail on the head with that observation. "Somehow I don't think drugging him into submission is going to go over well in his book."

Blinking innocently at Sam as she handed him the clean glass to dry, she stated emphatically, "He isn't going to know now is he, Mr. Hanna."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You're the boss."

Hetty inclined her head slightly to acknowledge his acquiescence. When they completed cleaning and drying the last dish, Sam neatly folded the towel and laid it on the counter.

"He is going to sleep for a while," she mused looking out the window at the clear blue sky as she stripped off her yellow rubber gloves and hung them to dry. "Perhaps it would be best if you moved him out of the sun and back to the couch in the den."

"He's gonna love that," Sam groused heading towards the patio where his slumbering partner snored gently in the sun. Hetty followed close behind.

"You don't have to tell him you carried him, again. You could say, oh I don't know, he was sleepwalking," Hetty suggested.

Sam snorted as he opened the screen door to the patio. "Yeah, like he is gonna believe that. Besides, miss an opportunity to hassle G, no way."

Ah the games men played, Hetty thought; really just grown-up versions of playground antics. "Well, he'll have to put up with it because we can't leave him in the sun, he'll turn into a lobster!"

As they walked across the patio to collect Callen, Sam thought about how his partner would react to sunburn. Being a blond, blue-eyed child, and knowing how well his partner took advice, he'd bet G must have gotten sunburn at least once during his childhood. Sam made a mental note to bring it up during their next stake out. Sam bet it would be a good story if he could get Callen to tell him; his partner could be a clam at times.

For all his blustering, Sam gently carried his partner into the house and carefully placed him on the couch in the den before covering him with the throw.

Hetty watched from the doorway at the way Sam cared for G and decided maybe this partnership was the best thing she ever did for Callen. She had tried hard to find him a family as he grew up and she decided maybe she finally had with Sam.

"You've done your duty Sam. Go home now," she instructed her gentle giant.

Sam gave her a hurt look and she immediately regretted her choice of words.

"He's not 'my duty', Hetty," he replied with a slightly indignant tone. "He's my partner, my best friend and my brother."

Hetty bowed her head as she genuinely apologized. "Of course. Poor choice of words on my part." Hetty raised her blue eyes to meet his warm brown ones. "You are his anchor, his rock, even if he doesn't know it or admit it."

Sam gave a tolerant smile as he gazed down on the form of his sleeping partner. "He knows," Sam replied with utter confidence. "He is the best partner and friend a man could have and at the same time the worse."

Hetty cocked her head at Sam's statement. "Why is that?"

"Callen doesn't demand or expect anyone to give a damn about him. In his mind, he is an nonentity. But behind those carefully built barriers that guard his heart, is a soul that would sell itself to the devil for those privileged-few that have been allowed to scale that wall."

Sam turned away, walked out of the room and headed for the front hall. When he got there he opened the door, stepped out on the front porch and gazed at the well manicured lawn before turning to engage his boss in conversation gain. "You and I have made it over that wall Hetty and it is a terrible burden at times," he said clearly troubled as he looked down at the diminutive woman with the presence of a mammoth.

She stepped out the door to join him on the veranda. "I do understand, and it is a great burden, one that you carry more than I."

"There was Romania," he reminded her.

She sighed with regret. "Yes there was."

Sam stared hard at her. "He gave it all up for you Hetty. That is an awesome hold that you have over him. A huge responsiblity."

"No greater than the one you have," she pointed out.

Sam pursed his lips then nodded slightly in concurrence. "It can be scary, especially in the field."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you implying it makes Callen reckless?"

"Only with his own life, which I know, if it came down to it, he'd forfeit for me." Sam closed his eyes and winced slightly. "That is a heavy responsibility."

"One you accept out of love, not duty, and that is what makes you the best thing that ever happened to Callen."

"Yeah, well maybe. But not if it gets him killed."

"If there is one thing I have learned about Mr. Callen, is everything he does is calculated, even if it may not seem so on the surface. Whatever might happen in the future, be assured your partner will know exactly what he is doing, while he is doing it."

"And that is supposed to be comforting?" Sam retorted.

Hetty shook her head sadly. "There is not a lot of comfort in our line of work."

Sam gazed over her shoulder back into the house. "Yeah, well I'll be back in the morning to check G," he informed her.

"Of course you will," she said compassionately.

With a curt nod, Sam bound off the porch, got into the Challenger and drove home. He burst through his front door and found Michelle in the kitchen. He walked up and gave her a monstrous hug while raining kisses on her radiant face.

"What was that for," she inquired staring into his warm eyes.

"I love you," he returned whole-heartedly.

"And I love you too, Babe. But what is wrong?" Her wifely intuition sensed something was troubling her soul-mate. "Everything Ok with Callen?"

"I don't think he can be Ok. Callen is, well Callen," Sam said with a little laugh. "Let's go upstairs and I'll make a few things Ok; more than Ok."

Michelle swatted him playfully on the chest. "Don't flatter yourself there big boy," she chided him as she followed him to the bedroom.

Meanwhile, Hetty went back into her own kitchen, prepared a gourmet sandwich, put it on a china plate, covered it with Saran wrap and placed it in the fridge with some more ginger ale. Instinctively, she knew Callen wasn't going to stick around once he woke from his drug-induced slumber. The least she could do is leave him food to fuel his journey; she knew nothing would stop him. She had to trust he could find his way on his own, as he always had in the past. As Sam so correctly stated, being on Callen's short list was both a blessing and a burden.

_AN: The action will be picking up over the course of the next few chapters as Callen returns to work and faces his team and the consequences of his actions. A heart-felt thank you for all the kind reviews and PMs catching my mistakes so I can correct them. Please keep them coming._


	5. Chapter 5

When Callen woke up on Hetty's couch this time, it didn't take him long to remember where he was and why he was here. Grunting, he sat up and scanned the room, fully expecting to see his boss, in her fuzzy pink bunny slippers, sitting nearby or to find Sam perched somewhere watching him like a hawk. When he discovered that the den was empty and he was truly alone, he was almost disappointed.

Nature called, so he leveraged his achy body off the sofa and headed towards the powder room. Spotting the clock on the wall as he shuffled by, he discovered it was 0200; that might explain his solitary state.

When he was done using the facilities, he made sure the seat was down and the toilet lid was properly closed. He had once been at the receiving end of a rather embarrassing lecture from Hetty, that she had delivered in the bullpen, in front of his colleagues, about the proper placement of a toilet seat and the accompanying lid. As a single guy living alone, he wasn't that particular about the matter but his boss had made sure he understood the error of his ways.

During a party at Hetty's house, he'd been the last person to use the powder room and he hadn't left the toilet in the proper configuration; at least according to the Hetty lecture. The next day, in the aforementioned bullpen, she informed him that unaware of his faux pas, she went to use the toilet, in the dark, and fell tuchus first into the bowl. In no uncertain terms, she made him understand that her feet had come completely off the tile floor and her behind had been thoroughly soaked.

Callen could still remember the expression on each person's face when she finished her tale of woe. Nell and Kensi had looked horrified. Deeks and Eric had giggled like school boys. Sam, who had a wife and daughter and knew something about lid etiquette, had tried to keep a straight face, though Callen hadn't thought he'd been particularly successful. As for Hetty, there was no other way to describe her countenance other than pissed.

Of course, it hadn't helped his case that he'd been unable to keep his infernal smirk from appearing, which had ticked her off even more. He tried to shift some of the blame back on her. How did she know he was the last person to use the toilet? Why didn't she turn on the light? He'd flushed so the water was clean, what was the big deal? At one point, he had the distinct impression she was going to drag him into the men's room and dip a certain part of him, face first, in the toilet but luckily she had restrained herself. Instead, she got revenge in another fashion. Callen was pretty sure she had deliberately spent the next two weeks making his life pure hell, though she had been very clever about it. Bottom line was he had learned his lesson and he was very careful to put the lid and seat down, even in his own house, in case she stopped by unannounced.

Leaving the bathroom, he stiffly walked into the kitchen and found it empty, though he did spot a single piece of cream parchment paper laying on the brown-flecked granite island. Reading the short note written in a beautifully flowing cursive, he couldn't stop from smiling.

'_There is a sandwich and ginger ale in the refrigerator. Please use a glass. Rest assured all my appliances are in perfect working order so if you need a distraction, feel free to peruse the library.'_

Tenderly, he placed the note back on the counter before making his way over to the fridge. Opening the stainless steel door, he found the aforementioned sandwich and bottle of soda. Ever the elegant woman, the sandwich rested upon a flowered china plate. His stomach growled so he grabbed the dish and bottle, shut the door, walked over to the counter by the sink and placed the items on the stone surface.

Unwrapping his repast, he picked up half the sandwich and took a measured bite. To call it a plain ham and cheese sandwich would have been an insult to the quality of ingredients and skilfulness of the chef; one thing was for sure, it was delicious.

Unscrewing the lid on the ginger ale, he took a swig before remembering what the note said about using a glass. Looking furtively over his shoulder, he expected the all-knowing, ghostly voice of his Ops manager to drift through the kitchen and lecture him; he was surprised when the room remained silent. However, he decided, as he took another drink from the bottle, it really didn't matter because somehow she'd figure out he hadn't follow the rules, she always did, and he'd still get chastised, if somewhat delayed.

Looking out the window, he noted it was a very dark night with little moonlight to illuminate the slumbering world. Taking another bite of the sandwich, he chewed slowly then swallowed as his mind started reviewing the events of the past few days. As he was going thru his reverie, he noted his right hand, which was holding the sandwich, starting to tremble and he hastily dropped his food on the counter. Reaching over, he tried to use his left hand to stop his shaking right one but it didn't help; his betraying limb still shook.

The tremors didn't last long, but even after they ceased, Callen's heart remained racing, fueled by his thoughts. His mind spun back to the final minutes in the tunnels when he was talking to Alex, trying to convince the boy to stand-down. Had it really been his intention to kill the boy? Or had he only meant to wound him so he couldn't pull the lever and release the poison?

Callen knew he was a good marksman and in theory could have simply wounded the boy, though that course of action wouldn't had been without risks; but he hadn't. He had killed Alex. For whatever reason, memory loss brought on by the cyanide poisoning or his mind refusing to remember an awful truth, he wasn't sure if he had meant to kill Alex or if his hand had shook and he'd murdered the teen by mistake.

The sandwich that had tasted wonderful a few minutes ago turned sour in his stomach as he broke out in a cold sweat. Arms braced against the counter, head bowed, he desperately tried to recall those last few seconds before he pulled the trigger; snippets incoherently flashed thru his tortured mind but he couldn't get them to form a solid picture.

Callen had another flashback to the young Marine in the boat shed, trying to pour a glass of water; the Marine's hand had shaken uncontrollably with cyanide-induced tremors and watching him had invoked pity. A side effect of the poisoning, the Marine had explained, that would probably go away, in time.

Is that what had happened to Callen? Had a tremor changed a disabling shot to a kill shot? Was he doomed to shake uncontrollably when he didn't expect it? Would he become an object to be pitied by the rest of his team? Again his stomach did a slow roll and he quickly pushed away from the counter and the remains of his sandwich; he didn't want to vomit on Hetty's floor.

A feeling of overwhelming restless came over him and he hurried from the kitchen, experiencing the urgent need to escape this house. Flicking on the overhead light in the den, it didn't take him long to locate his shoes and socks by the side of the couch, wallet and phone on the coffee table, and gun in the side table drawer.

Yanking on his socks before shoving his feet into his boots, he rapidly stood, stuffed his wallet and phone in his pockets, secured his gun in his back holster and headed out of the den and down the hall. A few minutes later, he had exited the house via the front door and was hurrying down the driveway. Behind his retreating back, a curtain twitched in an upper story window but Callen didn't notice. Intent on getting away as rapidly as possible, he found himself almost at a run by the time he reached the end of the long winding driveway.

Pausing where the driveway intercepted the street, he quickly reviewed his options for a means of transportation at this time of night. While he had the skills to hot-wire a car, he was pretty sure Hetty's classy neighbors would not appreciate it, not to mention it was technically called stealing. He didn't even consider taking one of Hetty's vehicles. Her house was not on any major public transportation route so that ruled out buses and trains leaving only one option. Pulling his phone out of his jean's pocket, he dialed a local taxi company as he walked down the tree-covered sidewalk away from Hetty's house. He made arrangements with the cab company to be picked up about a half mile down the road and providing his credit card number sealed the transaction.

When he reached the given street corner, he only had to wait ten minutes before a yellow cab pulled up. He slid in the back and hesitated for a moment when the man asked for an address. Hurriedly weighing his options, he finally decided on the boat shed, though he gave the driver the name of the Naos Yacht sales office slightly up the road from the shed. Being a savoy cab driver he didn't question why anyone would want to go there at this time of night.

After the cabbie dropped him off at his destination, Callen walked down the lamp-lit, deserted streets to the boat shed. Letting himself inside, he confirmed it was empty before making his way to the small bedroom on the second floor where he had been known to camp out in the past.

His little night venture had left him exhausted and he gratefully sank down on the narrow bed. Flopping over on his right side, for once he felt sleep overcome him. He prayed that his nightmares would leave him alone. Right now, living was enough of a nightmare.


	6. Chapter 6

Sunday morning Sam showed up at Hetty's house with two coffees, one tea and a waxed, white paper bag containing a selection of freshly baked muffins. Ringing the bell, he shifted his weight from foot to foot waiting for his boss to answer her door. He began to wonder what was taking so long because he knew perfectly well that her security system had alerted her the minute he'd driven his Challenger up her sensor-lined driveway. Just about the time he started to contemplate how mad she would get if he broke down her door, it slowly swung open and his not-even-five-foot boss stood there wearing a teal sweatsuit. In her small, yet strong hand was what appeared to be an antique broad-sword.

"Callen been misbehaving again?" Sam asked as a lazy smile played across his face.

"As if this bread knife would deter him," she huffed giving the sword a little shake before turning her back on Sam and heading into the house. Sam trailed along behind as she made her way out to the patio. Indicating he should take a seat, she carefully placed her sword on the glass table between them before sitting.

Sam examined the sword with his eyes. "Heavy?"

Hetty nodded. "It does tend to build ones arm muscles."

After placing the tea in front of her, Sam set one coffee by the empty chair and removed the lid from the second coffee and took a grateful sip as he sat down. The white bag of muffins he placed in the middle of the patio table next to the sword.

"If you want the blueberry muffin you'd better grab it before G gets here. He doesn't share well. You might have to resort to using that sword."

After taking a cautious sip of her tea, she carefully set the container on the table. Sam saw a flicker of disappointment cross her face.

"Not as good as self-brewed I know," he apologized.

"It's fine Mr. Hanna," she assured him with a small smile.

"Where's Callen?" Sam asked glancing around. "Don't tell me he is still sleeping or did you drug him again."

Another small look of sadness appeared on Hetty's face before she schooled it back to normal. "I am afraid Mr. Callen chose to leave last night."

"What? Did you catch him taking apart your toaster?" Sam uneasily joked. Instinctively, he already knew he didn't like where this conversation was going.

"My toaster is fine, but I am not so sure about our Mr. Callen. He departed about 2:00 in the morning, in a rather agitated state. I didn't try to detain him. I felt it would only make matters worse."

"So you let him leave," Sam said quietly, his tone slightly accusatory.

Sadly shaking her head she confirmed. "It seemed for the best."

"Do you know where he went?" Hetty gave Sam 'the look' and he hurriedly added, "Of course you do. Where?"

Hetty picked up the cardboard container of tea and took another sip. "He took a cab to the boat-shed."

"And you know this how?" Sam questioned, but after another look from Hetty, he backed down. "Never mind, forget I asked. Why did he leave?"

Hetty folded her hands in her lap. "Why indeed. Because he is Callen is probably the best answer though not very satisfying."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat before taking another sip of coffee as if he were gathering courage. "Has he talked to you yet, about what happened? The shooting?"

"No. But I like you, believe this particular death is weighing heavily on his conscience," she replied understanding exactly what was worrying her agent. She knew Sam appeared tough on the outside but the inner man was very caring, especially when it came to his friends and family.

Sam agreed one hundred percent with her psychoanalysis of his wayward partner. Sitting back in his chair, Sam folded his arms across his athletic chest. "G felt a connection to the boy. To have to make the call to execute him..." Sam exhaled noisily. "It's gotta mess with your mind."

Hetty leaned forward slightly in her chair staring directly at Sam. "That boy was about to kill thousands of innocent people. Was there any other decision Callen could have made? Do you think wounding the boy, rather than killing him was an option?"

Sam shook his head, uncrossed his arms and shrugged. "I don't know. I wasn't there. None of us were." In frustration, Sam ran his hand over the side of his face. "Callen had to make the call on his own. Do you think there will be an investigation?"

Now it was Hetty's turn to sigh. "You know every case is reviewed, Sam," answering but not answering.

"But because this was a child..."

"It will probably get extra scrutiny, yes," the Ops Manager who had been around the block more than once confirmed.

Sam slapped an angry hand against the table. "Callen doesn't need that... doesn't deserve that."

Hetty agreed with Sam and his frustration, but she needed to keep calm in the face of Sam's misplaced anger. "Be that as it may, it is not your call or mine. The only thing we can do is be there, if he needs us."

Sam nodded but did not look very happy. He knew his partner wasn't big into sharing and rarely asked for help, until it was too late.


	7. Chapter 7

Callen's wish for a peaceful night was not granted so when he woke at 8:00 a.m. Sunday morning in the boat shed, he felt like he'd been run over by a Mack truck. He noticed his right hand, which had been cradled under the pillow, began to shake and Callen swiftly clamped his left hand over it trying to stop the tremors; it didn't help. The quivering lasted less than a minute before it subsided as quickly as it had appeared. Callen glowered at his betraying hand but it remind uncommunicative.

Leveraging himself off the narrow bed, he wandered downstairs to the kitchenette where he grabbed a bottle of water from the beat-up fridge and downed a fistful of aspirin from the bottle stored in the nearby scarred cabinet. He ran a weary hand over his face then held it out for inspection. Solid as a rock. No signs of tremors. Spinning, he threw a wicked punch at the innocent wooden support pole with his right fist then held it out for inspection again. It hurt like hell and he'd broken open the scars from the previous evening but the hand remained steady. These tremors were going to drive him crazy with their unpredictability.

Frustrated and desperately needing to clear his head, Callen decided to jog back to the main building where he had left his car the other day. He went back upstairs where he had some spare clothes stashed and changed into shorts, t-shirt and sneakers. Back downstairs, he stretched a few minutes before heading out into the California sunshine to start in his run.

When he arrived at Ops, he found it mostly deserted; only the skeleton crew that ran the center on the weekends was present. He nodded to a few folks on his way to the coffee machine, where he brewed a quick cup. While he was waiting for it to finish, he examined his hands to see if they were going to start twitching but they remained unwavering. His mind kept nagging him that if he could figure out what triggered the tremors, he could deal with them.

Picking up his cup of coffee, he sipped it as he moved across to the bullpen to his desk. Carefully setting down the mug, he flipped open his screen and logged into his laptop. Time for some research; this was one topic he couldn't ask Nell to research for him.

For the next thirty minutes, he searched the internet for every piece of available data on cyanide poisoning. Each website he visited said his symptoms were very consistent with what one should expect, given the amount he ingested. All the sites also stated follow-up blood tests were highly recommend; he quickly nixed that advice. The discussions said the poisoning could lead to long-term neurological diseases; he filed that away in the disturbing folder in his mind. All the so-called experts said tremors were not uncommon and often would go away without any special treatment; nice but not informative from a timeline perspective.

The more he read, the more aggravated Callen grew because he could not find the answer to the one question he was desperate to know; how to predict and control the tremors. If he couldn't figure that out how to manage them, how could he trust himself in the field? He would be putting his team at risk every time he stepped out that door if he could not be depended upon to shot accurately. A tremor at the wrong moment could be the difference in the number of people that started a mission and the number that returned safely; Alex, perhaps, being a case in point.

Slamming his laptop shut in exasperation, Callen sprang out of his chair and headed for the firing range. If no one could provide the answers he needed, he would have to figure them out for himself. He had to do everything else in life on his own, why had he expected this to be any different?

* * *

After Sam left Hetty's house Sunday, he headed for the boat shed to see if he could find Callen. Sam knew from past experience that G, in his lone wolf mode, always led to some sort of trouble; trouble that would somehow suck Sam, and the rest of the team into its vortex. For once, Sam was determined to get in front of the situation before it spiraled out of control if, that is, he could locate his AWOL partner.

He parked the black Challenger in front of the deceptively innocent looking boat shed which, he muse, was an analogy for Callen; normal looking on the outside, incredibly complex on the inside.

Getting out of the car, he entered the building. It didn't take him long to ascertain Callen had been there but had departed. Sam decided to drive up to the main building and search for his errant partner.

Sam parked in his usual spot outside the front doors. Once inside, he could see signs that Callen had passed though the bullpen such as the unfinished coffee on his desk, but after a thorough search of the entire building, Sam concluded Callen had departed from this locale too. Sam's patience with his Houdini partner was stretching thin.

For the umpteenth time, he tried calling G's phone but it still went directly to voice mail. Swearing, he left another message for Callen to call him before hanging up. Why the damn man couldn't pick up the phone was a mystery to him.

Sam's mothering sense started warring with his common sense in a debate on whether to drive to Callen's house and find out if he was there and safe. He knew Callen would hate that he was checking up on him, but Sam would hate himself if he didn't and something was seriously wrong.

Deciding on a compromise, he drove past Callen's house to see if his car was in the driveway. When Sam spotted it was, he turned around and headed home. It would seem his partner had at least made it home safely. Still pissed, Sam decided he would give G some space today but if he didn't show up Monday morning at work, on time, Sam was going to go ballistic all over is lone wolf partner's ass.


	8. Chapter 8

On Monday morning, Sam got to work extra early and sat at his desk staring down the tile hallway waiting for Callen's arrival. The big man didn't even try to hide his irritation or the fact he was watching and waiting, from anyone. When Kensi, then Deeks strolled into the bullpen and tried to start their normal morning chat, Sam quickly shut them down and they took the hint and left him alone to brood.

Five minutes before their work day was officially supposed to start, Callen casually ambled into the bullpen with a coffee and a white Styrofoam container. Instantly, he knew Sam was annoyed at him but it didn't faze Callen because he was still pissed at Sam. Callen knew damn well his partner had followed him around on Sunday like a mother hen. His only saving grace was Sam hadn't gotten out of his car and knocked on Callen's door; had he, Callen feared it would have been an ugly scene.

Why couldn't the big guy simply leave him alone once and a while? Sam just didn't get it; alone wasn't a bad thing to Callen, it was a normal thing. He understood that Sam thought of him as family and the feeling was mutal, but still, Callen needed his space. Besides, Callen darkly thought, if he was going to have to leave this team because of the stupid tremors, than he needed to start distancing himself now from them. Callen's face, for a fleeting moment, expressed the sadness that the thought of leaving his team was making him feel. Sam, who'd been staring at his partner, caught the emotion and wondered what was going on in Callen's head; he didn't usually let his feelings show.

Pissed at himself for having a weak moment, Callen shoved his thoughts behind his mental walls. For the next ten minutes, Callen went out of his way to blatantly ignore his partner. He sat at his desk, slurping his coffee, munching away at his fat-laden breakfast and ignoring the glares, throat clears and other non-verbal ways Sam tried to get him to acknowledge his presence.

"Cut it kind of close this morning," Sam finally declared aloud while continuing to glare at his partner across their desk space.

Swallowing, Callen deliberately checked the time on his computer. "Made it on time."

Sam's frown grew deeper. "It was close. Maybe if you hadn't stopped for that heart-attack in an environmentally unsound container, you would have had a bigger cushion."

Callen took another big bite of his sandwich, chewed thoroughly then swallowed. "Don't need a cushion. Just need to be on time. And I was," he replied with his infuriating smirk. The blond agent picked up the food box and examined it critically. "I kind of like this 'unsound' box. It has certain modernistic yet retro appeal."

Bursting out of his seat like a striking cobra, Sam quickly closed the distance between them, grabbed the half-eaten sandwich and container from Callen and tossed them in the trash.

"What the hell!" Callen yelped at his partner.

Sam stood fuming in front of Callen's chair, tense arms angrily crossed across his broad chest. "You don't care!"

Confusion flickered on Callen's face. "Because I bought a less than healthy breakfast served in a foam container?"

Sam gave the garbage can a swift kick, sending it spinning across the bullpen floor. "It's not about the damn breakfast!"

Aggravated, Callen slowly rose from his chair to stand toe to toe with his irate partner. Narrowing his eyes, his voice dropped into his low and dangerous mode, the one he used when he was really pissed. "Then suppose you tell me what this is about Sam. Hetty's the mind reader, not me."

The atmosphere surrounding the two men was highly charged. Everyone in the nearby vicinity, to include Kensi and Deeks, melted away into the background, giving the two angry men as much privacy as the open space allowed. This showdown felt like it could result in collateral damage.

Sam's face remained hard as he berated his partner. "You may not care about anyone else but others care about you," he said cryptically.

Callen let his full frustration with his partner show in his tone and face. "Damn it Sam. Just tell me what bug is up your ass!"

"Firing range. Now!" Sam demanded as he turned on his heels and angrily strode away.

"What are you going to shot me? For my breakfast choice?" Callen shouted sarcastically after his departing partner. When he realized Sam wasn't kidding, he got an odd look on his face and stomped after him, giving his own kick to the garage can holding the offensive breakfast. The can skidded across the floor coming to rest on its side against one of the archway supports.

When Sam reached the range, he went inside and turned to face his partner who belligerently strode into the room, slamming the door behind him. "You know you aren't wearing your piece," Callen caustically pointed out.

Sam took two giant steps towards Callen, who actually retreated a few paces in the face of his affronting partner. Since he never had cause to fear Sam in the past, Callen hadn't been careful to leave a clear escape path behind him, as he normally would have done in any other circumstance. So he quickly found his back against the wall as Sam drew closer. The taller man reached out and grabbed a fistful of Callen's shirt.

Shocked and confused, Callen made no attempt to break free, as he would with anyone else. The primeval part of his brain screamed at him to defend himself while the rationale part, which knew he could always trust Sam, kept his fists in check. The two men stood toe to toe for a few heavily tense seconds, both breathing raggedly with perplexed blue eyes staring into angry brown ones.

As Sam scowled at his partner's confused face, his reason slowly returned. Sam realized Callen truly had no clue what this was about, but it spoke volumes that his normally wary, paranoid partner trusted him enough to stand here passively, submitting to Sam's actions. Letting go of Callen's shirt, he drew his partner into a sincere, brief hug, before roughly pushing him away. Sam turned his back on the smaller man and walked a few feet away across the range.

Without thinking, Callen straightened his shirt as he stared at his retreating partner's broad back. "Still lost here." His voice was a bit rough when he spoke and Sam knew he'd upset his partner.

Sam slowly rotated until he faced his friend. "I'm sorry G," he said sincerely.

Callen tilted his head to the side and studied his partner. "As much as I love to hear you tell me you're sorry, it is even better when I know why, just so I can bust your chops later."

A small smile flitted across Sam face before he turned serious again. "I was upset you didn't return my calls yesterday, that I couldn't find you, that you pushed me out."

"You drove by my house. You saw my car."

"You knew," Sam stated flatly.

Callen gave him a 'get real' eye roll. "Of course. The muffler on the Challenger is a dead giveaway."

"So you knew I was there and you knew I called three times, yet you couldn't call me back," Sam accused.

Finally, Callen got it and he ducked his blond head, embarrassed. Why did he have such a hard time with the concept that people worried about him? To be fair he knew exactly why, but he had thought he was getting better at trying to be a considerate friend. "I'm sorry Sam," he contritely whispered.

"You were poisoned with enough cyanide to kill an elephant, went out into the field half-dead, passed out numerous times in the last 72 hours, had to be carried around like a baby, disappeared in the middle of the night and you wonder why I was worried!"

Callen took a deep breath, and then exhaled while catching his partner's eyes. "It's who I am Sam. I try to fight it, but in the end..." he shrugged, "it's where I go. It's my comfort zone. I don't mean to hurt you Sam." Callen's voice broke a bit. "Our partnership, I hate it for what it does to you... what I do to you. I wish I could change but..." Callen's voice trailed off and he abruptly left the room, the door shutting quietly behind him.

"I don't want you to change," Sam said softly after the door closed. "I just want you to accept that you don't have to always go it alone," Sam finished to the empty air.

Twenty minutes later found Kensi, Deeks and Callen sitting at their desks in the bullpen. Sam walked in and Callen glanced up from his work. "We good?"

"We're good," Sam replied taking his seat.

The corner of Callen's mouth twitched. "Ya know you owe me a breakfast. To replace the one you trashed earlier."

"In your dreams. I saved you from a heart attack. In fact I am going to count that as a plus one on the 'how many times I saved your skinny ass' tally."

As Callen and Sam bantered back and forth, Kensi and Deeks glanced over at each other but remained silent. Whatever had transpired between the men, after they left the bullpen, seemed to have temporarily, at least, had cleared the air and the junior team members were happy to see that the senior agents were back to normal.


	9. Chapter 9

A few days later, the team headed into the field in full tactical gear, on a mission to shut down an operation fencing stolen Navy weapons. The big, black SUV driven by Sam, pulled up in front of a tan, metal warehouse where their intel said the stolen items were being stored. Everything looked quiet from the outside, though there were two cars parked in the lot adjoining the building.

Kensi and Deeks hopped out of the back seat once the SUV came to a halt. Callen, riding shotgun, paused for a moment in contemplation before he too got out of the car. Sam noticed the uncharacteristic, but brief, hesitation displayed by his partner. When the four agents met alongside of the car for a quick review of the tactical plan, Sam gave Callen a quizzical glance which his partner saw, but ignored.

Callen turned his full attention on Kensi, telling her she was in charge of this operation. Kensi's face registered her momentary confusion, which she swiftly covered up with what she hoped was a confident façade. Deeks and Sam were also a bit surprised, though neither said a word since Callen was their team-lead and it was technically his decision.

"I'm seeing what appears to be three heat signatures towards the back of the structure," Nell reported over the team's comm link.

"Roger that," Kensi acknowledged since Callen was letting her take lead. "Anything else we should know about?"

"That's all we have. The warehouse doesn't have a camera system we can get access to, so you're on your own," Eric interjected from back in the Ops Center.

Kensi motioned the team forward and using hand-signals, gave them their roles and positions. Stepping into his place by the entrance to the warehouse, Sam waited for Kensi's signal to proceed. Her fingers did a silent countdown in the air and on one, the muscular man stepped forward and using his powerful legs, kicked open the door. Kensi stepped thru the entry way into the dim interior, gun securely in her hand, sweeping each direction in a methodical manner. Deeks entered next, advancing past his partner doing his own controlled sweeps. Sam and Callen came third and fourth and once they were all inside the building, Kensi motioned for Sam and Callen to search the east-side of the building while she and Deeks headed to the west-side.

The area the team had entered was a single level though it had a very high roof. The space was filled with multiple rows of shelving running from floor to ceiling, filled with brown cardboard boxes; it appeared to be some sort of distribution center. In the rear of the warehouse there was a partial second story housing offices, which meant the agents had to worry about being attacked from above; high ground was always a tactical advantage. The entry to the second story was not discernible from the team's current position and since Eric didn't have schematics or eyes in the building they continued on blind. The team separated and quickly but cautiously moved through their respective areas of the cavernous building.

Callen and Sam came across the staircase that went to the second story in their section of the warehouse and Callen motioned for Sam to take point. Stealthily, the two agents crept up the open metal staircase into the catwalk that ran along the outer edge of what appeared to be four rooms. As they carefully crept along the metal walk-way, the third door down suddenly opened and two men carrying assault rifles entered the corridor where Callen and Sam were located.

"Federal agents. Drop your weapons," Sam shouted which resulted in the armed men raising their guns and taking aim at the two approaching agents. Sam's bullets quickly dispatched the two men; Callen's gun remained silent.

While Sam kept his gun trained on the two downed men, Callen went over and cleared the weapons before checking their necks for a pulse. A curt negative nod to Sam indicated they were both dead. Warily, the two agents continued to search the remaining three offices, finding one more suspect crouched fearfully behind a desk. When he saw them, he immediately surrendered without a fight and stood quietly while Callen cuffed him. After Callen and Sam determined there were no more suspects on the second floor, they took their one living prisoner down to the main floor.

When they got back on the main warehouse floor, the two agents heard the all clear signal from the other half of their team and they added their own status. The rest of the operation went smoothly with no further casualties. The stolen weapons were located, the dead were hauled off by the coroner and the live taken away for further questioning.

"Do you think it was odd that Callen let you take lead on this op?" Deeks asked his partner as the two of them walked back towards the SUV preparing to head home.

Kensi stopped abruptly in her tracks and swung around to face her shaggy partner. "What are you saying Deeks? That I'm not skilled enough to lead a mission?"

Deeks stammered a bit under the furious barge from his partner. "Of course not Kensi. I..."

But Kensi cut him off. "Are you jealous? Callen chose me and not you?"

"Of course not. Hey, I'm just the lowly LAPD liaisons officer. You are the full-fledge NCIS officer with all the specialized training." Deeks winced, knowing the minute he finished his sentence that it was going to be misinterpreted by his partner.

Kensi's dark brown eyebrows shot sky-high and her mismatched eyes gleamed with anger. "Are you mocking me, Deeks?" Her voice was soft and dangerous and Deeks caught himself wanting to step further away from her in case she decided to do something to him.

Deeks held up his hands in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. "Kens. I never mock you," but the laser glare from his partner made him revise his statement. "I mean, yes, I do mock you on occasion, but not this time. I swear." Deeks held up his littlest finger in the 'pinky-swear' pose. Kensi seemed somewhat pacified so Deeks pressed his luck. "It's just that our squared-away, crew cut team lead is a bit of a control freak and likes to lead missions himself."

"That's because he leads by example. A 'do as I do' guy. And his crew cut is a lot more presentable than that shaggy mop you call hair," she pointed out.

Deeks gave his blond mane a small shake. "Come on Kensalina. You love my sexy, tousled, bed-head style."

Kensi did like his hair but she would never give him the satisfaction of ever saying so out loud. Instead she went back to the original conversation. "I'll admit Callen usually doesn't give up control on an operation, but how else are we going to learn if he doesn't trust us once and awhile."

"So you're saying this was like a training exercise," Deeks clarified.

Kensi smiled brightly. "Exactly."

Deeks always knew when his partner was lying and he gave her a skeptical look. "You don't really believe that Kensi."

Her smile faded as she glanced over at where Callen and Sam stood talking to some other officers. "I don't... Look Callen has had a rough couple of weeks. Maybe he just needs a bit more time to get back on his feet. When is the last time you had to deliberately shoot a child," she asked shifting her gaze back to Deeks.

Deeks gave a little shudder. "Never and I hope I never will."

"That makes two of us. So if Callen is acting a little off, I'm willing to go with it," she stated emphatically, as if she was trying not only to convince Deeks, but also herself. They both glanced back at Callen and Sam and by mutual, nonverbal agreement, let the subject drop.

When the team got back to Ops, they headed to the weapons room to clean and store their gear. Kensi and Deeks finished quickly and seemed anxious to leave. They said goodnight and almost fled the room at a run.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam watched Callen and though he took longer than the two junior members, he still did an efficient and thorough job. As the lead agent went to leave the room, Sam stopped him asking if Callen's gun had malfunctioned during the raid. Callen gave his partner an odd look but shook his head no before he too left.

Sam went back to silently servicing his own weapon but one thought kept nagging at him. Why had his partner gone thru the entire raid without firing a single shot?


	10. Chapter 10

The next few days at the office were what passed as 'routine' days for the NCIS team; preparing paperwork and following up on leads, but no new cases crossed their desks. As they went about their daily activities, Sam felt Callen's behavior continued to be slightly off kilter. The big guy couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong, though he did note that his partner was more aloof than normal and that he kept disappearing during the day for indeterminate amounts of time. Neither of these behaviors were atypical for Callen but still something about his partner was making Sam uneasy. In fact, Sam felt the vibe of the whole team was off; they were subconsciously being effected by their team-lead's negative chi. Sam kept trying to corner his wayward partner, to have a heart-to-heart, one-on-one chat, but Callen kept playing the role of the slippery eel and slithering away.

Sam walked through the shooting range looking for his errant partner, who had once again disappeared from his desk in the middle of the day. While Sam did not find the actual man, he did find evidence that Callen had been there; a number of used targets littered the room, many which displayed peculiar shooting patterns. Some of the silhouette-targets showed a motif of holes that indicated they were laid down by a precision marksman while others were total disasters with bullet holes scattered randomly about the paper. The patterns from target to target were so erratic, Sam found it hard to believe the papers were all shot by a single person, yet his instincts screamed they were all the work of Callen's hand. What in the world was going on with his secretive partner to cause him to be so dysfunctional?

A couple of times when the concerned agent had gone searching for his lone-wolf partner, Sam had found Callen in the gym, exercising on various pieces of equipment, to the point of physical exhaustion. The first day Sam had caught G hanging on the punching bag from sheer fatigue, barely able to stand on his own two feet. His hands, while wrapped, showed a faint blush of red, indicating that the wrappings weren't enough protection from the punishing blows that were rained upon the bag.

A day later, Sam found Callen on the stationary bicycle so drenched in sweat, it looked as if he'd been caught in a monsoon. The concentration level on Callen's face had been incredibly intense, as if he was racing the devil in the last 100 meters of the Tour de France. Callen had practically fallen off the bike, barely able to stagger into the locker room, when he was done.

However, the final straw was when Sam walked into the gym and saw his partner uncontrollably topple from the top of the rock wall. Callen had hit the ground so hard, it knocked the wind out of him and left the blond agent lying dazed on the protective matting. When Sam hurried over and asked Callen if he was alright, the partially stunned agent had clumsily brushed him off with platitudes and excuses of sweaty hands and loose rocks. Sam knew that wasn't the truth but since there were a number of other people in the gym, Sam hadn't pursued the issue; he decided to wait until they had more privacy to get the truth out of his partner.

Friday night, Sam unexpectedly returned to the office because he'd forgotten the bottle of wine he'd purchased earlier and planned to serve at dinner that night. He hurried back into the bullpen fully expecting it to be empty and was surprised to find G sitting at his desk. Earlier in the day, Sam had specifically sought out Callen and invited him to dinner, but Callen had declined saying he had plans that couldn't be changed. When Callen had disappeared later in the day, Sam figured his partner had taken off the for the night. The fact that Callen hadn't said goodbye was somewhat the norm for the way his partner had acted recently, so Sam hadn't given it a second thought. Therefore, he was now surprised to find his partner, who supposedly had important plans for the evening, still at work doing the oddest thing; building a house out of playing cards on his desk. The first layer was complete and Callen was working on a second level.

When Callen realized Sam was in the room, he quickly knocked over his creation, reassembled the deck into a neat pile, wrapped a rubber band around it, threw the deck on Deeks desk and walked away without a word of explanation. Sam was left standing in the bullpen alone, once again confused by Callen's actions. However, he was already late getting home for dinner with out-of-town relatives so he let the odd behavior go unchallenged. Michelle's wrath verses Callen's odd behavior was a no brainer; Michelle scared him more. Sam vowed he'd seek out Callen on the weekend.

Over the weekend, Sam invited Callen to breakfast, lunch, and dinner respectively, but the agent had politely declined each invitation. Sam even made an unannounced visit to Callen's house Sunday afternoon only to find his partner absent. On Monday and Tuesday, Sam graciously offered to pick up Callen in the morning but each day the man had an excuse why they couldn't car pool. While the reasons were seemingly valid, to Sam it confirmed his partner was going to great lengths trying to avoid him in a one-on-one scenario. If Sam had learned one thing from his years as G's partner, he knew that when the man went into avoidance mode, something bad soon followed.

Tuesday night, after Sam once again drove his wife to distraction with his silent brooding, Michelle had basically thrown him out of the house and told him to go pay a visit to his wayward partner and straighten out whatever was going on between them. The unspoken subtext was don't come home until you work it out. She was ready to kill both of them; Callen for being so damned secretive and Sam for being driven to distraction by his partner's antics. While Michelle loved them both, enough was enough. So at 0530 Wednesday morning, Sam found himself standing on Callen's front porch, knocking on the door.

Sam knew as a highly trained and paranoid agent, Callen knew who was standing outside his front door. Therefore, it was no surprise when Callen casually opened the door, turned his back on Sam and went back into his house. "Good morning to you too, Sunshine," Sam called after his silent, retreating partner as he shut the door.

Callen knew there was no sense in standing in the entry hallway talking to his partner and trying to persuade him to go away; Sam wouldn't and Callen didn't feel like wasting the energy. Instead, he wandered into his sparsely furnished living room and flopped in his favorite chair like he hadn't a care in the world. Sam trailed behind him scanning the room as he entered and quickly spotted the deck of cards on the room's one and only table.

Plopping down on the couch that Hetty had 'bought' for Callen by raiding his bank account, Sam called his partner out on the deck of cards. "Since when did you become such a card aficionado?" he inquired gesturing to the deck.

Callen stretched and yawned lazily. "Solitaire. Helps pass the time when I can't sleep and there aren't toasters."

"Huh. Well you better Google the rules cause the other day, when I caught you at your desk, it seemed more like you were building a house out of the cards not playing solitaire," Sam said in an accusatory tone.

Callen's eyes narrowed, annoyed at his partner's detailed observance of his behavior. "What do you want Sam? It's kind of early for a social call. What if I was sleeping in?"

Sam snorted in a derogatory manner. "You have to sleep first before you can sleep late."

"Michelle finally get wise and kick you out?" Callen stretched again, relieving a more few kinks.

"Yeah, over you. You're disturbing my marriage," Sam griped.

Callen ignored the jibe. "Look, I was about to go for a jog so can we speed this conversation up. How about you get to the point."

Now it was Sam's turn to stonewall his partner. His face suddenly brightened. "A run? Great idea. I'll join you. Let me get my stuff out of the car."

"I don't recall inviting you," Callen protested, hoping to get Sam to change his mind. He didn't want company.

Sam ignored his partner's death glare as he rose from the sofa and headed for his car to get his gym clothes. "Get over it," he flung back over his shoulder as he disappeared out the front door.

After Sam had left the room, Callen scrubbed his face with his two hands in frustration. Knowing he had no chance persuading Sam not to go running with him, the smaller agent rose from his chair and headed upstairs to change. When he came back down, Sam was suited up in shorts and a matching tight, black, sleeveless shirt. Callen was wearing his usual sale-rack shorts and was carrying a cotton tee in his hand; blue of course.

Sam frowned at his partner's attire. "Nice fashion statement."

"Coming from the man who wears Henley's night and day. What's a matter, they don't make a sleeveless version for jogging?" Callen shot back.

"That from the man who thinks 'formal' means black jeans. By the way, do you own anything else but blue shirts?"

Callen cocked an eyebrow at Sam. "Blue shirts match blue jeans, therefore I never have to worry."

"Lot of chopsticks in your kitchen," Sam commented changing the subject as he stretched his hamstrings against the wall.

Callen shrugged nonchalantly as he pulled the blue t-shirt over his head. "Ran out of forks."

Sam switched from his legs to his upper body, stretching and rotating his torso and arms. "You even own a fork?"

Callen started his own stretching routine. "Sure. Plastic. I think it came along with some takeout."

"Uh-huh. What about all the broken chopsticks?" Sam jerked his head towards the kitchen bringing the conversation back on point.

Callen shot an irritated look at his partner. "You going thru my trash now?"

Sam stopped stretching for a moment to look at Callen. "Didn't have too. Your kitchen counter is littered with broken ones. There is a barely touched container of shrimp with broccoli, which by the way you should trash if you don't want food poisoning, sitting on your counter surrounded by a sea of broken chopsticks. Looks like you had a temper tantrum in there."

Sam was right though Callen made sure his face did not display that fact. He had tried to eat his Chinese takeout with chopsticks when his right hand had started trembling. Angered and disturbed, Callen had persevered even though his shaking fingers kept snapping the eating utensils. Finally, after he ran out of chopsticks and his fingers were injected with embedded splinters, he had given up leaving the mess behind on the kitchen counter. But he certainly wasn't admitting any of that to Sam. "Cheap chopsticks" was all he offered his suspicious partner.

Sam knew Callen was withholding information a.k.a lying. Callen stared at Sam with his slightly sardonic smirk and Sam stared back with his 'don't bullshit me' face. Both men knew which party was lying, but Callen had no intentions of confessing.

They ran the stare-down contest for a few minutes before Sam finally decided Callen wasn't going to relent so he'd let him have this round. Winning a war wasn't about a single victory; it is all about the prep, laying the ground work and the skirmishes leading up to that final decisive battle. Sam backed down at this point not in defeat, but in a strategic regrouping effort. He had put his partner on notice, shown Callen his behavior was marked. Callen was on his radar, being tracked and eventually would be brought down by Sam.

Patience is a virtue and Sam exercised it now breaking eye contact. "Ready to run? How far? I'm thinking five."

Callen's eyes momentarily registered his surprise that Sam had backed down though he knew this was only a temporary retreat by his partner. However, he took the win and brusquely brushed past his co-worker heading for his front door. "Five? That's all? What's the matter? Didn't get a goodnight sleep?"

After the duo had started running and settled into a mutually agreeable pace, Sam let his mind wander into a watchful, yet Zen, place. The shorter man had taken point for a while before falling back to jog at Sam's side. Sam let his partner set the course and pace though he swore Callen was seeking out every hill in the area. Intellectually, Sam knew what went up, must come down but he swore that Callen was mapping a route that somehow only jogged up the hills. Not one to let himself be shown up in the area of physical fitness, Sam dug in and kept pace with his partner.

When they were in a narrow locale of the trail that ran along the ocean that required the men to jog one behind the other, Sam had an opportunity to study his partner's form. Sam noted that Callen was heavily sweating and his shirt was saturated. Sam was fairly good at estimating distance and he thought they were around the four mile mark in their jog. At this point he fully expected his partner should be sweating, but this seemed a bit excessive. Switching his gaze to Callen's stride, he decided it was off. Having run enough with his partner, Sam knew what Callen looked like when he was relaxed, in stride, running easy. That was not what he was observing now. Callen's gait was choppy, not fluent, and the man was straining to keep up the pace.

Knowing his stubborn partner would never admit he needed a rest break, Sam initiated one when they came to a scenic area that overlooked the ocean. Sam slowed his pace to a walk and Callen, who always instinctively knew where his partner was located, slowed too. Both men walked side-by-side to keep their muscles from tightening up, while they looked out over the calm blue sea. "Not like the sunrises back East," Sam noted. "Sometimes, I'd head over to Coney Island just to watch the sun rise."

"But West coast beats East coast on sunsets," Callen countered philosophically.

Sam shrugged indifferently. "You might be surprised."

By this point Sam's breathing had recovered. Callen's had not and he was still trying to suck in a lot of air but in a stealthy fashion which didn't go unnoticed by Sam.

"So it's been, what, about 10 days since you drank the Kool-Aid?" Sam asked conversationally.

"About that," Callen acknowledged with a slight sideways glance.

Again, Sam noted the eye shift and knew it for what it was, a sign of avoidance. "Any residual side-effects?"

Sam knew he'd touched a nerve when Callen suddenly went full-out on the defensive. "Do you see any?" the the team-lead snapped in a sarcastic tone.

"Matter-of-fact I do," Sam replied calmly. "Either all those doughnuts and bacon are finally catching up with you or your body has not quite recovered because you shouldn't be this winded. I may get on your case about exercise and eating, but I know you are in way better shape than it seems at the moment."

Sam could actually see a little air go out of Callen's sails. "You're right. That stuff really wiped me." It was the first half-truth Callen had admitted to his partner in a very long time.

"Uh-huh. Maybe if you would take it easy for a while instead of punishing your body. Hell, maybe if you'd stayed in Ops to run that mission instead of pushing yourself to get back out there, you'd be in better shape now. I know you think you are physically invincible but you are not my friend. One day all this shit is going to catch up with you."

"Not today," Callen said bitterly as he took off at a run again. Sam quickly caught up with him and jogged slightly to the left of Callen's six. It took no detective skills to figure out Callen was pissed and Sam silently contemplated on that during the rest of their journey.

He knew it had something to do with what he'd said while they had walked. Callen was always touchy about comments on the way he took care of himself, telling Sam to stop mothering him. But this was a pretty extreme reaction by his partner to an oft-discussed topic. Maybe his comment about staying in Ops to run the mission had been over the line; it made it seem like Sam was questioning Callen's abilities.

The man in front of him was running like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Sam couldn't help wondering if this was going to end in some sort of accident where he'd have carry Callen home and then explain to Hetty what had happened to her senior agent; neither thought made Sam very happy.

The big guy was relieved when they finally arrived back at Callen's house in one piece. He had to admit even he was tired from the grueling pace Callen had set which meant his partner must be exhausted. They walked into the house and Callen made for the fridge where he grabbed two bottles of water, left one on the counter for Sam and took the other one upstairs.

Sam heard the bathroom door shut and then silence reigned. Picking up the bottle and unscrewing the lid, he took a few sips as he wandered to the base of the stairs. "Wanna ride to work?" he yelled up the stairs.

"Nope," came the curt reply followed by the sound of the shower.

Sam knew that tone of voice; Callen wasn't changing his mind about a ride. Seeing no sense in hanging around, Sam decided to head into the office to shower and change. When Callen was in this mood it was best to back off and give him his space. If Sam pushed too hard without knowing the root cause of Callen's behavior, he could force his partner over the edge into a pure lone-wolf mode which always led to a long-term disaster. Backing off for the moment was the smart tactical move.

"See ya back at the ranch," he yelled up the stairs expecting no answer and getting none, before he turned away to head out to the Challenger. This hadn't been a very illuminating visit.


	11. Chapter 11

Hetty peered up through her glasses as Sam blew thru Ops on his way to the locker room; his whole body radiated major irritation. She waited a beat to see if her Senior Agent in Charge would be putting in an appearance next but the hallway remained empty.

Making a steeple her fingers, she pondered the situation. Obviously the two partners must not have car-pooled this morning, unless Sam had finally made good on his threats and killed Callen on the way to work. Hetty considered then ruled that scenario out; she didn't think Sam really had it in him. But she was sure somehow, Callen had already managed to irritate his partner this morning; the behavior that Sam exhibited in his short journey past her desk screamed it.

If Callen and Sam could read each other well, Hetty could read them both better. She wouldn't interfere, yet, but would keep a watchful eye on the situation to make sure whatever was going on didn't get out of hand to the point where it jeopardized the safety, health and well-being of any member of her team.

About an hour later her Senior Agent in Charge meandered into the bullpen. Hetty debated about calling him out on his tardiness, but her instincts told her to let it slide. Sam glanced up from his laptop at Callen as the blond slid into his chair and even from where Hetty sat, she could feel the odd vibe between the two agents. However, she decided to give it a little time to see if the two of them worked it out. She lowered her head and went back to her mountains of paperwork.

By lunch time, Hetty thought things had settled because Callen and Sam were doing their usual banter over the lunch run. Later that day, when the entire team was called to the field to aid the DEA in a bust, she had no concerns about how they would perform. However, as she monitored the activity from Ops with the tech team, she changed her mind slightly. Overall the team performed well, though something was slightly askew and she couldn't quite put her finger on it. When the Op was over and she returned to her desk, Hetty decide she needed to spend a little more quality time with her two top agents to observe, personally, what was going on between them.


	12. Chapter 12

When the team got back to Ops, Kensi, Deeks and Sam headed for their desks to start on their paperwork before it was time to head out for the night; Callen, as was becoming the norm lately, disappeared into the bowels of the building. Sam noted his disappearance but put it out of his mind and started on his work.

About an hour later, Deeks snapped his laptop shut and announced he was hungry. Kensi quickly echoed the same sentiment. A quick look at the time in the corner of his computer screen showed Sam it was early evening. The two junior members asked if he wanted to grab a bite to eat but he declined.

"Think Callen wants to come?" Kensi questioned Sam. Looking around she asked, "by the way, where is he?"

Sam knew Callen had been gone since they returned from the mission; they had been partnered long enough that he instinctively sensed when his partner was nearby. Callen was not the fan of bureaucracy and the associated paperwork and had a habit of avoiding it whenever possible or doing it in the wee hours of the morning when he couldn't sleep.

Sam gave a noncommittal shrug. "Probably ducking the paperwork like usual. Go on without him."

Kensi shutdown her computer and gathered her bag. "Won't he be annoyed we didn't look for him to see if he wants to come along?"

Sam snorted as he looked up from his screen. "Get real. This is Callen we're talking about. He'll be more annoyed if you do look for him."

Deeks rose like a jungle cat from his chair. "Man's got a point Kens. Let's go. I'm starved."

Sam returned to his paperwork as Kensi shrugged then the two partner's left the building arguing the whole time about where to go.

Now that it had been brought to the fore-front of his attention, it didn't take long for Callen's absence to start gnawing at Sam's conscious. He tried to ignore his unease by refocusing and concentrating on the paperwork he was filling out on the warehouse breach a few days ago. He was up to the section of the report where he had to describe, in detail, why he deployed his weapon. Leaning back in his chair, Sam replayed the scene at the warehouse and the more he thought about it, the more certain aspects of the operation seemed 'off' to him.

First was the breaching of the door. Usually Sam, who possessed the most brute force strength on the team, did the heavy lifting, i.e. knocking in the door. After that, Callen would typically take point with Kensi and Deeks guarding the rear. It was the modus operandi of the team and served them well. Occasionally they mixed it up, like at the warehouse when Callen had Kensi take point; Sam rationalized that this was a good thing for the team to be flexible in their roles. So even though the warehouse breech was not their normal MO, it was nothing totally out of the ordinary, not as a singular event.

Sam turned his thoughts to the stairwell. Callen had been in the lead as they approached the stairs but had waved Sam past him to ascend. Again, not totally unusual but slightly outside the norm for how Callen preferred to operate. Callen preferred to be on point.

Callen had the habit of placing himself in danger first. Not necessarily recklessly, though sometimes Sam thought his partner did step over that line. Callen went first because that was his leadership style; Callen didn't ask the team to do what he wouldn't. That day however, in Sam's opinion, Callen had taken a background role, which again was not the way he normally operated.

The final peculiarity was when the gunmen stepped out of the office forcing the confrontation. Rubbing his thumb across the corner of his lower lip, Sam ran the shooting in his mind a few times coming to the same conclusion each time; Callen hadn't fired a single shot. His partner had been behind him, to his right, with clear a line of sight to the shooters; he could have taken the shots.

The more Sam thought about the warehouse mission from a few days ago and the one they had completed today with the DEA, the more Callen's behavior bothered him and he decided to seek out his partner and have a little chat, to assure there was nothing wrong.

Grabbing his CAC card out of his computer, he headed out of the bullpen on a search mission for Callen; mostly likely locales were the gym or the firing range. Sam decided to check the gym first but came up empty so he moved on to the firing range.

The range was empty but once again, there was evidence his partner had been shooting; the table in the rear of the area held four silhouettes bearing numerous bullet holes. Like he did the last time, Sam scrutinized the targets. The first one he examined showed one large hole obliterating the 'X', meaning all the bullets shot at the target had hit dead center. The second sheet of paper had holes in each one of the '7, 8, 9' markings in all four directions; another display of accuracy. The third sheet was more curious with a significant number of holes outside the any of the concentric rings. The last sheet wasn't even whole anymore because someone had ripped it into pieces. Placing the used target sheets back on the table, Sam moved from the firing range to the weapons room where he found his partner cleaning his SIG at one of the benches.

Callen heard his partner come into the room but he didn't acknowledge his presence, hoping against odds the man would go away.

"Interesting shooting patterns," Sam stated as he walked into the room. Callen didn't glance up from his work. "Were you shooting blindfolded at some point because you accuracy sucked." Sam saw a curious flinch in Callen's shoulders when he said 'accuracy'.

"Do you want something, Sam?"

"Kensi and Deeks went to get something to eat," Sam announced as he perched on the edge of the bench next to where his partner was working on his pistol.

Callen picked up a brush and pushed it into the barrel to clean the chamber. "Not hungry."

Sam folded his arms across his chest. "Good. They didn't invite you."

Finishing with the brush, Callen picked up a cleaning patch and wiped powder residue from the various surfaces of the components. A few minutes went by and Callen stuck with his 'ignore Sam and he'll go away' strategy while his partner employed the 'wait him out and he'll crack' tactic.

Callen snapped the last part back in the SIG, checked out the action then placed it on the bench. Annoyed, he looked over at Sam. "Why are you here?"

"Days over. I know you're not going to even think about tackling your reports until 0200. Michelle's out of town with the kids. Thought you might want to grab a beer and burger." Sam waited calmly for his partner's reply fully expecting Callen to blow him off.

"Still not hungry." Callen's stomach let out an audible rumble even as his lips stated he was not hungry. Grinning a bit sheepishly, he changed his tune. "Alright, maybe a bit hungry."

Pushing off the bench, Sam clapped his partner on the shoulder. "I know this new vegan place. Beer, burgers, everything healthy and natural."

Callen let his partner drag him out of the room. "Isn't all beer vegan? I don't recall chunks of meat in my last Budweiser."

Sam enlightened him as they walked through the mostly deserted building. "How little you know. That foam on the top you like to slurp off? Made using animal products."

"What part of a cow foams? Wait wouldn't that be like mad cow disease?" Callen quipped as they walked down the corridor together.

Grinning, Sam declared, "I don't know and I don't want to know. Point is not all beer is vegan."

They tried to nonchalantly walk past their Ops manager's open-office without being engaged but it didn't work. Glancing up at her sneaky operators she queried, "Going out to dinner?"

Just to be perverse, Callen answered no.

Hetty rose from her chair and walked over to the top of the few stairs that lead down to the main floor. This almost put her on eye level with the men. "I see. Might I inquire than where you are going?"

Callen had gotten himself into this mess by lying to Hetty and Sam was of no mind to help him get out of it. So he took a small step backwards and watched his partner, who was putting on masterful show.

Adopting a posture of pure casualness by relaxing his shoulder, sticking his thumbs in his jean pockets and plastering a half-smirk on his face, Callen stared directly at his boss as he spun his tale.

"We're going to go catch a movie. Sam's family is out of town, so he's a free man." Callen knew the art of telling a good lie was to have some truth in it.

Hetty played the game right back, folding her arms across her chest and allowing her skepticism to show on her face and color her tone. "Movie. No dinner?"

Giving a little shrug, Callen scrunched up his face a bit as he typically did when considering a new idea. "Suppose that's not a bad idea, after the movie."

Hetty kept her face neutral. "What movie are you going to see?"

In for a penny, in for a pound, so Callen went on with his deception. He had no clue what was playing so he improvised. "Something at the Arclight on Ventura. I like the 21+ screenings where I can get a beer and don't have to worry about rug-rats kicking my seat."

"Ah yes, the Arclight. They have reserve seating you know. You can do it right from your phone or computer. The 21+ screenings do tend to sell out." She turned, headed back to her desk and logged into her computer. "I'm sure the government won't mind us using a little bandwidth to book some tickets."

An uncomfortable look crossed Sam's face as he took a step forward and hissed in Callen's ear. "She said us. I think she meant 'her' in that us."

Hetty glanced up. "Gentleman, you can't see the movie selections from way over there. Come," she beckoned with her wizened hand.

Shoving Callen ahead of him Sam hissed again. "You had to do it. Bait the lion."

"Lioness," Callen corrected earning himself a harder shove from his partner.

Walking up the stairs and circling behind Hetty's desk to look over her shoulder at the computer screen, Callen quickly scanned the selections. "Olympus Has Fallen," he stated emphatically. He vaguely recalled reading something that said it was an action thriller about the White House being seized.

Before the words were out of his mouth, his diminutive ninja boss was shaking her head. "Oh no, Mr. Callen. The object of going to a movie is to escape the realities of the day. That movie is too much like your normal day."

Callen felt another light swat on his back from his increasing annoyed partner.

"Oh, how about Kon Tiki?" Seeing the look of confusion on her agent's faces, she elaborated. "Thor Heyerdal's 4300 mile journey across the Pacific Ocean on a balsam raft! Goody, this showing is in Norwegian!" Hetty glanced up at them thru her glasses like a wise old owl. "How is your fluency in Norwegian?" Then she made a fluttering dismissal motion with her hands. "Doesn't matter, it has subtitles in English."

Callen was not going to sit in a movie theater for two hours watching some guy float around on raft. "Sorry Hetty. I have a rule. I don't read a movie."

Glancing up at her employee she asked, "Do you find that limiting?"

"Not really," he answered honestly.

The next few minutes was spent in the suggestion and rejection of more movies. Finally Sam said, "Maybe this is a bad idea."

Hetty turned, craning her neck to look up at the tall man with an expression of hurt on her face. "Do you not want me to come, Mr. Hanna? I thought that is why you stopped by my office."

Sam was so guilted-out by her tone and expression, he felt like kneeling as he apologized. "That's not it Hetty. I meant going to the movies was a bad idea since obviously nothing good is playing."

Hetty closed her laptop with a decisive click. "I think you're right." Standing and moving past her stunned agents, she gathered her coat and pocketbook. "We'll go to dinner instead, unless you'd like to go bowling first? I have to warn you, I bowl a mean game."

Callen and Sam looked at each other in horror, over her head. Callen wondered if she used a regular ball or a kid's one but for once he kept his thoughts to himself.

"Not fond of bowling Hetty," Callen stated. "Wearing strange shoes, not for me."

After slipping on her jacket, she looked up at her agent. "You have a lot of conditions for your leisure activities. No wonder you never relax, Mr. Callen."

"He likes to take apart toasters for his Zen moments," Sam stated which earned him an evil glare from his partner.

Clutching her oversized bag in both hands, Hetty asked, "Now where shall we go? I heard there is a new vegan burger and beer place on Vine that has outstanding Buffalo wings."

Hetty turned and marched toward the door with the two men trailing behind. Sam took the opportunity to swat his partner one more time for getting them into this mess.

"How do you make buffalo wings without meat?" Callen couldn't resist asking.

"Surely you don't think they are actually made from buffaloes? Besides, buffaloes don't have wings. Buffalo refers to the sauce. In this case they use cauliflower for the wing-meat."

Callen's face blanched; veggies were not his thing.

"I suppose calling them wings is not technically correct but buffalo cauliflower just doesn't have the same ring." Hetty smiled nostalgically. "Paulie use to make an excellent buffalo sauce even if he is more known for his tomato."

Sam mouthed 'Newman?' at his partner.

"Of course Newman, Mr. Hanna. He was an excellent chef. Shall I drive? Which one of you wants to squeeze in the back?" she asked exiting the building.

Callen paused at the door glancing up at his partner. "Her Jag doesn't have a back seat. Does she mean the trunk?"

"You know this is entirely your fault because for some unexplainable reason you couldn't just tell her the truth!"

Callen gave his friend a puzzled look. "What did you want me to do, hurt her feelings?"

"First, you didn't have to stop and second you didn't have to lie about what we were doing," Sam huffed.

Callen considered that for a second. "So you wanted me to fib and sneak out?"

"Yes!" Sam said exasperated by his partner's antics.

Callen smiled smugly. "But that's a contradiction Sam; because you said me lying is what caused this mess."

The only thing that probably saved Callen from being decked by his fed-up partner was Hetty voice calling "Are you gentlemen coming?"

Callen turned and hurried out the door calling 'shotgun' over his shoulder.

Sam followed behind stewing because he wouldn't get a chance to privately quiz his partner on his uncharacteristic behavior over the last few days. What a night this was turning out to be.


	13. Chapter 13

Deeks was already at his desk the next morning working on his laptop when Kensi strolled into the bullpen. Glancing around, she observed that Sam and Callen hadn't arrived yet. "Was there a blue moon last night?"

"Why did you have a second date?" Deeks replied as he raised his head grinning.

"Ha, ha. Very funny. No. It's just we beat the Hardy Boys to work." Her watch said nearly 10:00 am. "After Hetty's recent lecture on arriving to work on time, I am surprised they are late, well at least Sam."

Stretching as he rose from his chair, Deeks walked around the front of his desk and peered over at their boss's office. "Well it would seem the head of the household is in absentee mode too."

Kensi shrugged and started digging through the papers on her desk.

"The Hardy Boys huh." Deeks sat on the edge of Sam's desk across from Kensi watching her excavate. "Last time I called them that you gave me a blank stare."

"Maybe I did some research," she replied casually picking up then discarding a used post-note.

"What like read one of their books?" His blue eyes narrowed as he studied his partner's body language. "You did read one of their books!"

"Maybe," she remained noncommittal moving her search pattern to the desk's drawer.

Deeks wasn't giving up this one. "So you walked into a book store, went to the kids section and bought a Hardy Boys novel."

Kensi held up a used ink cartridge then tossed it in the trash. "I didn't say I bought a book."

Never being one to know when to stop, Deeks kept digging. "So you went to the library. Even if you actually had a library card, which I highly doubt, the chance of you finding it would be astronomical."

Kensi stood up and placed her hands on her slim hips. "I don't lose things."

"Ah-huh," Deeks scoffed as he theatrically rolled his eyes.

Giving her ponytail a pert fling, Kensi strode across the room to the coffee area with Deeks trailing like a puppy behind her. "You didn't read one of their books did you? You watched the TV show, from the late seventies."

Deeks detected the slightest twitch of Kensi shoulder blades and it confirmed he'd hit the nail on the head. "You watched the series on what Netflix, Hulu?"

Taking her mug in hand, she brushed past Deeks, returning to her desk.

"How many did you watch?" he demanded, following her back to the empty bullpen.

"A few," she confessed plopping residedly in her chair.

Deeks went back to leaning against Sam's desk. "There were 43 episodes made."

"Why do you even know something like that?" she questioned him, amazed at his arcane knowledge-base.

Shaking his blonde head he said, "Doesn't matter. How many of the 43 did you watch?"

Kensi was spared from answering by the arrival of the aforementioned two missing team mates. Callen, wearing sunglasses, slunk over to his chair and eased into it in a manner that screamed one thing...hangover. He didn't even take off his shades after he sat down. His partner was not moving much better and in fact appeared to be limping.

Deeks, never one to miss an opportunity, switched from harassing Kensi and moved to what he perceived were two, new, easy targets. "Rough night boys?" he insinuated with a smug grin. "Spent some quality time with the porcelain goddess?"

With a grunt, Sam slid into his hair, grimacing when his backside touched down on the hard, wooden seat. "Shut up Deeks."

Deeks wasn't about to cease and desist yet. Given their current state, he was confident he could out run Callen and Sam if they came after him; unless they pulled their guns on him, then he might be in trouble. However, this was such a golden opportunity he couldn't let the thought of being shot by his own team-mates deter him. "You guys have a case last night and forget to invite us to the party? Cause from the looks of it, you could have used our assistance."

Callen's head was now resting on his forearms on his desk top; the sunglasses still in place. "Shut up Deeks or I'll shoot you after Sam shoots you."

Sam frowned a bit as he tried to remember something; then he shook his head slowly. "You can't G because Hetty confiscated our weapons... because of you."

"It was your fault," came the muffled accusation from the desk top.

"Hell no!" Disbelief showed on Sam's face at his partner's faulty memory. "If you hadn't lied about the movie this never would have happened."

"No way." Callen sat up to defend his reputation, but he did it a little too quickly judging by the expression that crossed his face.

"Oh no," Sam moaned. "Get him a bucket before he throws up in here too."

Callen closed his eyes and grit his teeth, forcing the wave of nausea down. When he reopened his eyes, he glared at Kensi who had taken Sam's advice and used her foot to slide her trashcan closer to Callen's desk. Before he could frame his rebuttal, Hetty glided into the bullpen.

"Mr. Hanna. Mr. Callen. So nice of you to join us." She was bright and chipper unlike her senior agents who remained slumped over their desks.

"How the hell does she do it?" Sam asked his partner who shrugged then winced at the pain it caused.

Facing Callen she inquired, "Did you put ice on that like I recommended?"

Knowing the jig was up, Callen removed his sunglasses; he was sporting a nice shiner around his left eye with an accompanying cut beneath it.

Hetty made a tsking noise. "That doesn't look good. Perhaps you need to have it medically evaluated."

"Of course it doesn't look good. What do you expect when you get hit in the face by a fist connected to a very large Marine," Callen sulked.

"A smart man would have ducked," Sam interjected but Callen over rode him.

"I tried! But I slipped." Turning to face his boss, he added. "And no, it doesn't need medical attention. No hospital, no urgent care facility and no you Hetty."

Hetty raised her hands in a peacekeeping gesture. "You're a grown man, Mr. Callen."

"Not based on his actions last night," Sam groused leaning back carefully in his chair.

Before Callen could retort, Hetty fixed her gaze on Sam. "And how is your gluteus maximus, Mr. Hanna?"

Sam winced a little before replying. "It was my hip and it is sore thank you very much."

"Ah-huh." Hetty's tone clearly indicated she didn't believe him. "Are you two fit for duty or should you be submitting SF-71s for sick leave?"

Callen stood, crossed his hands over his chest and did everything in his power not to telegraph the pain he was feeling. "I'm fine Hetty, though I'm not sure about the big guy over there," he gestured with his chin.

"That coming from one-eyed bandit. And may I remind you, I'm not the one that got thrown thru a window," Sam pointed out.

Callen hastily corrected his partner. "It wasn't a window. It was a partition. And it was all part of my plan."

Sam snorted at his partner's comment. "What plan? If that was a plan, it ranks at the top of your stupid plans list. Worse than when you wanted to play Butch and Sundance."

Hetty rotated her gaze back on Callen. "Oh, the glass wall. Maybe I should check your back for shards of glass." She moved in his direction and he took a quick step backwards nearly tripping over his chair. He swore as he stumbled, then regained his balance.

"There is nothing wrong with my back," he addressed Hetty. "And," he added to Sam, "I had a plan and it would have worked except for the fact that Hetty took my gun."

"You were going to use it! I had to confiscate it!" Hetty admonished her voice raising an octave.

"It was justifiable. It was cheating," Callen pouted, peeved by the memory.

Sam frowned at his partner. "It was a machine G. It doesn't cheat."

"Oh yeah? Eric," Callen addressed the tech who, along with Nell had been drawn out of the Ops Center by the commotion and was hanging over the rail listening. "Can a machine be programmed to cheat?"

"Sure," he replied brightly and was about to explain how but Callen cut him off.

"See Sam. It is possible," he said triumphantly. "And that machine was cheating."

Sam shook his head woefully. "You were too drunk to see straight. Operator error not machine deception."

Callen actually backed down a bit because his partner was right, he had allowed himself to become sloshed. It was all part of his ongoing investigation into what triggered the tremors. After last night he was pretty sure he could write excessive alcohol off his list. He didn't remember any unusual twitching though he had a feeling there may have been a few things he didn't recall about last night and maybe that was a good thing. "Well at least I didn't try to drive home drunk."

Sam quickly countered. "You had no car. I drove. And be happy I did or Hetty would have stuffed you in her trunk."

Callen went right back at his partner. "You weren't real nice to Hetty when she politely asked you for your keys. Friends don't let friends drink and drive."

"Friends shouldn't ever let friends go to a bar with Hetty that has any type of mechanical device," Sam muttered.

"There wasn't a bull?" Kensi asked with trepidation.

Sam shook his head. "Worse. Martinis and a skee-ball machine.

"Skee-ball?" questioned Kensi.

"Originally called Box-ball, it was invented in 1909 in the city of brotherly love. The first machine was 36 feet long but it was shortened to 14 feet because only people such as Sam were able to play on the longer alleys. The first skee-ball tournament was in Atlantic City in 1932. Today there are teams in many major cities such as NYC."

As Eric came up for air, Nell butted in. "Wait, were you guys at the One-Eyed Gypsy on 1st street? Did you try the voodoo-doll martini Hetty?"

Hetty theatrically smacked her lips. "Indeed I did. Quite delicious."

"Wow. And Sam and Callen got plastered?" Nell pushed on unmercifully.

"I am afraid they did," Hetty replied solemnly.

"It was that dealer's choice, One-eyed Hooch drinks. There was something strange in them," Sam grumbled uncharitably.

"I told you to stick to the straight stuff, but no, you wanted to get one of the foo-foo drinks," Callen accused Sam.

Sam shrugged. "I admit it was an error in judgment. But I did tell you to stop eating those sweet potatoes tots."

Callen gave him an incredulous look. "Love the tots. And sweet potatoes are a veggie. Thought you'd be happy."

Sam, who had the patience of a saint when it came to his partners antics, tried once again to explain good eating habits to his wayward partner. "They're fried G. And you ate like 50 of them. No wonder you threw up in the taxi."

"It was the Cajun ketchup and ranch sauce. By the way Hetty, can I claim the cost for having the cab cleaned on an expense report?"

"Absolutely not!" the Ops manager replied emphatically.

"And G is banned from City Cabs." Sam grinned and Callen gave him his patented death glare.

"Tom Martin is banned," Callen clarified. "Besides, I told him to pull over."

Sam looked at his partner as if he were nuts, something he hadn't quite ruled out. "He was in the middle of a bridge! And that was just the icing on the cake. I'm sure he had already made his mind up to boot you out of the cab 5 minutes after we left the bar."

"Do you have any pictures from the photo-booth?" Nell asked from above.

There were three simultaneous answers. 'Yes', 'No' and 'What happened to them' from Sam, Callen and Hetty respectively.

Eric whispered to Nell. "Some of those new booths store the picture digitally. If we can hack into the system..."

"Callen burned them. In the cab," Sam tattled. "Another reason he is banned."

"We might be banned from City Cabs..."

"You, not me G," Sam quickly inserted.

"... but Hetty was the one that got us banned from the bar. I think the direct quote from the manager included 'not even if hell freezes over'."

Hetty cleared her throat looking decidedly uncomfortable. "I am sure you all have overdue paperwork to complete, ladies and gentlemen. I suggest you get to it right away or I might decide you need to retake your annual 8 hours ethics training." With a sharp turn that would have made any drill sergeant proud, Hetty marched from the bullpen. The agents drifted back to their chairs as Eric and Nell scooted back into the Ops Center on a private hacking mission of their own to find the photos.

Leaning back in his chair, Callen let out an unintended yelp when his skin touched the wood. "Ah Sam. Could I see you in the locker room a minute?"

As Sam rose he muttered, "You did get glass in your back."

Callen glared at his partner. "Quiet! If she hears..."

"Oh Mr. Callen," Hetty's voice rang out but it was too late. Callen and Sam had already fled for the locker room as if they were being chased by a Bengal tiger.

"Wow. We've got to get the details of last night," Deeks commented to his partner.

Kensi opened her laptop and started to work. "Not that you ever listen to me, but I'd leave it alone if I were you."

"Can't." Deeks sat there scheming on how to extract the details.

In the locker room, Callen had removed his shirt so Sam could examine his back. Sam let out a low whistle. "Yep. There are a couple of piece lodged in there," Sam confirmed as a probed a few of the deeper lacerations.

Callen flinched away from him. "Owww. Geeeez. Stop it. That hurts! Leave them alone!"

Sam stopped his poking for a moment. "Gonna hurt more if you don't let me take them out and they get infected."

"After last night, are you in any condition to be digging around in my back?" Callen asked his voice breaking as Sam started probing the wounds again.

Sam straightened up, crossed his arms across his chest and looked at his partner via his reflection in the mirror. "It is me, the ER or Hetty. Your choice."

"That's no choice," Callen claimed bitterly.

Sam grinned. "I know. Karma's a bitch."

"What did I do to you?" Callen whined.

Sam held up his fingers. "Chronologically or in order of importance?"

"How about in the last 24 hours," Callen negotiated.

"Fine. First you lied to Hetty which resulted in us having to take her to that bar." Callen nodded his head in agreement on that point. "Second, there was the ordering of those damn one-eyed hooch drinks..."

"Ut-ah," Callen interrupted. "That was your idea. I was happy with beers and shots but then you said we should try something new."

Sam paused a moment in contemplation. "I'll retract that one but it was really Hetty's fault. She was the one that called us unadventurous. Us of all people," he remarked with indignation.

Callen nodded his head in agreement. "We're very adventurous."

"Damn straight," Sam concurred. "But let's get back on subject. Two, you picked a fight with an inanimate object..."

"That skee-ball machine was rigged."

Sam ignored him and held up three fingers. "Three, you picked a fight with an animate object, actually several animate objects."

"The guy threatened me," Callen pointed out.

"You kept throwing your balls in his lane!"

Callen chuckled as he raised his eyebrows "I was a bit sloshed at that point."

A fourth finger joined Sam's other three. "Fourth, you hit on his girlfriend..."

"You might be married Sam but you have to admit she was hot," Callen countered. "And you dared me."

"As I have said before, I'm married not dead." Then Sam grinned and his dimple showed. "And yes she was hot. But that's not the point. She was HIS girlfriend. And I didn't dare you."

Callen leaned on the sink and studied his black-eye in the mirror. "That's not how I remember it."

Sam looked at him over his shoulder. "You were too drunk at that point to remember anything!"

Callen smirked, cocking his head to one side. "I simply offered her a change of venue."

Sam laughed at his partner in amazement. "Ninety-nine percent of your life, you live like a monk, and then the one time you decide to hit on a woman, with really poor pickup lines I might add, she belongs to guy who makes me look like Hetty!"

Callen didn't argue the point because Sam was right. Instead, he went the snarky remark route. "Maybe the only time I can hit on women is when I'm drunk, like that guy on the Big Bang Theory."

Sam shook his head. "He couldn't talk to women period. And he got over it."

Quizzically, Callen glanced in the mirror at his partner. "You watch that show?"

"I think it is odder that you watch it."

"I heard Eric and Nell talking about it," Callen confessed. "Then I caught a few episodes on the laptop."

Sam laughed again. "At work? Hetty's gonna kill you. How did you load the app on your computer? They took away our admin rights."

Callen sheepishly ducked his head, studying the white enamel sink.

"You tricked Eric into giving you the admin password didn't you?" Sam poked his partner in the shoulder. "Not cool. Just like deliberately hitting me in the ass with that skee-ball."

"Owww. That hurt." He flinched away from Sam. "And the ball slipped."

Sam gave his partner 'a get real' look. "It was my turn. I was standing in front of the machine ready to release my ball when I am hit in the ass by your wooden ball. What were you even doing with a ball? It wasn't your turn."

Callen gave a little shrug as he turned away from the mirror. "It was from the lane next-door..."

"No wonder that guy hated you. You kept throwing your balls down his lane, you steal his balls and then his girlfriend."

"...and you were taking too long and it slipped out of my hand," Callen concluded ignoring Sam's interrupting triad.

"Huh. Well it slipped out of your hand at a very high velocity. You should see the bruise it left." Sam glanced meaningfully at his butt.

Callen walked over to the bench and held his hands up in a warding off gesture. "Pass. And my hands were slippery from the sauce from the tots."

Sam put his hands on his hips. "Why can't you just admit you threw it at me because you were losing and you were pissed?"

Callen opened his mouth to protest then abruptly closed it. "Your right Sam. But at least I aimed for something soft..."

"Are you saying my ass is flabby?" Sam gave the aforementioned item a solid slap. "I have buns of steel. And at least I have an ass. Ever seen your ass in the back of a pair of jeans?"

"Apparently you have been studying it," Callen smirked.

"Yea, when I'm dragging it to safety," Sam retorted. "Flat. No definition. No wonder you can't get a date."

Annoyed, Callen reiterated an often used phrase. "How many times to I have to tell you you're not my mother."

"Fine. You don't want my help, I'll go get Hetty." Sam turned and headed for the door.

Callen was up off the bench in a millisecond. "Whoa. I meant I don't need your help with dating. But I do in getting this damn glass out of my back. Please."

Sam stopped and turned back to face his partner. "Well since you asked so nicely. Let me sneak out and grab the medical kit."

"Thanks Sam," Callen gratefully called after his retreating partner. "And by the way you are right. You do have a nice ass."

Sam left the locker room to get the medical kit only to find Hetty standing nearby. "Going somewhere, Mr. Hanna?"

An evil grin spread across Sam's face; payback was a... "As a matter of fact, I was going to get the medical kit. Seems he," Sam jerked his thumb towards the locker room, "has gotten some glass embedded in his back from last night's escapades. It needs to come out. However, I don't think my hands are steady enough to remove it...I mean after all that alcohol. It would be irresponsible of me to try to do it. Maybe you should do it Hetty. He won't go to the ER," Sam said mournfully.

"Very wise of you. I'll go get my bag." She walked away and Sam stayed by the door to make sure his Houdini partner didn't escape.

When Hetty returned, she smiled up at Sam as she walked by. "And you're right Sam. Pay backs a bitch," she concluded as she walked into the locker room. "Are you decent, Mr. Callen? I have the medical kit."

Even though the door swung shut Sam could still hear his partner cursing him. Chuckling, he headed back to the bullpen.


	14. Chapter 14

Sam was besieged the moment he got back to his desk by Deeks. "You have to tell us what happened Sam. Pretty, pretty please," he begged. "I'll get you coffee for a month."

Sam sat down at his desk, opened the laptop but and didn't say a word.

Rubbing a hand over his chin, Deeks up the ante. "Ok, not enough. Ah how about I have the Challenger washed and waxed once a month for a year."

Sam paused a second as if to consider that offer. "Are you going to take her to a professional or do it yourself?"

Deeks desperately tried to read Sam's face to determine the correct answer. "I will wash..." Sam frowned. "...take it to a professional," Deeks finished with a lame smile.

"Her, not it. I don't want you marring HER finish with your improper technique," Sam gruffly explained.

"Ya do know it's just a car, Sam." As the muscular agent started to menacingly rise from his seat, Deeks quickly added. "Just saying."

Sam sat back down, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to try to beat some sense in to Deeks. "Not enough. The pleasure I'll get watching you pathetically stew, trying to put together the pieces of what happened last night is way better. And I know you won't get any info out of Callen or Hetty." Sam tapped on his keyboard and brought up a file. "Especially not after what they did."

Deeks whined like a kid whose favorite toy was taken away. "Owww come on. That is so not fair!"

"Deeks. Stop begging. It is degrading," Kensi advised joining in the conversation.

Deeks slid over to Kensi's desk lowering his voice. "You are dying to know as much as me. Help me out. What will it take to get him to spill the beans?"

Kensi leaned back in her chair and studied Sam, who ignored her and kept typing on the keyboard. "Ok. You offered coffee and car so far. Add lunch, paperwork for a month and finding whatever his daughter wants for Christmas this year and that should seal the deal," she smugly advised.

"Geez Kensi! Whose side are you on _partner_," he asked stressing the last word. "That is a lot. Can the story be worth it?"

Kensi raised her eyebrows suggestively and shrugged. "Remember the cowboy bar, tequila, mechanical bull and Hetty? You never got them to tell you that story did you?" She lowered her voice. "I'm guessing this one is even better."

Deeks rolled his eyes and walked back over to Sam's desk. "Ok. Car professionally washed once a month for a year. Coffee, lunch and paperwork for one month. And find your kid's Christmas present this year, but you're pay for it."

"Are you saying you don't want to buy my baby-girl a present?" Sam asked in a mock-serious tone.

Deeks narrowed his eyes. "Ah no. I mean yes."

Sam stared at Deeks until he started to sweat then gave him his famous mega-watt smile. "Deal."

Grabbing a nearby chair, Deeks quickly ponied-up to the side of Sam's desk. "Do tell!"

"Here? Now?" Sam shook his head no. "Not appropriate. Besides we need some hair of the dog to tell this tale. Friday night. After work. Calypso bar and grill. You're paying. For everyone."

At that moment Callen limped back into the bullpen, disheveled and carrying an ice pack. Gingerly, he lowered himself into his desk chair letting out an audible sigh.

"What happened to you Callen?" Kensi quizzed. "You look worse now, than when you arrived this morning."

The blond man didn't answer. Instead, he placed the ice pack over his cheek and eye, propped up his head on his desk with his free hand and stared into space.

"I can tell you what happened Kensi," Sam said rising from his desk and walking around to lean against the front of Deeks' desk. He folded his arms across his broad chest and stared down at his suffering partner. "He dissed Hetty. Pissed her off. Brought the trouble on, just like he did last night."

Callen slumped down further in his chair looking miserable and shifting his gaze to stare at a piece of paper on his desk.

"Wise-ass remarks. Refusal to do what she asked. What else did you do to tick her off G in the locker room?" Sam pointedly asked.

"I may have questioned her heritage," he mumbled without raising his eyes.

Sam dug harder. "Nah. That's already covered under wise-ass remarks. What else?"

Callen rubbed his thumb across his first and second finger like he did he was trying to think of a way out of a situation. "When she walked in the locker room, she may have noticed the blood on the Armani jacket hanging in there."

"And..." Sam prompted watching G continue to rub his fingers together indicating he was not done yet.

"And I may have bleed on the pant suit she was wearing," he concluded wearily.

Kensi gasped and the men looked horrified.

"Hetty's mustard colored pant suit and the Armani jacket from wardrobe!" Kensi repeated. "And you're still standing?"

Giving a sideways glance at Kensi he responded. "Barely."

Kensi face switched from incredulous to puzzlement. "Why was the Armani jacket in the locker room?"

"It's been in there for about a week," Deeks helpfully supplied.

Callen went to lean back in his chair, and then thought better of it. "I recently, ah, found it and noticed it was wrinkled. I was hoping the steam from the showers would help smooth it out. Read that tip online," he added after Kensi gave him an odd look.

"But there was no blood on that jacket when I left," Sam probed knowing his partner had not presented them with the whole tale yet.

Kensi ignored Sam for the moment and moved on to part two of Callen's transgressions. "How did you get blood on Hetty's clothes?"

"I swear," Callen said lowering the ice pack. "She used a dull plastic spoon to dig the glass out of my back. Without any lidocaine."

Sam laughed out loud. "I'll bet when she told you the lidocaine was administered via needle you told her no."

Callen frowned at his partner. "They make a cream, Sam. I researched it. She refuses to buy it and always has to use a needle just to torture me."

"The blood. On Hetty. How did it get there?" Kensi reminded Callen, trying to steer him back on target.

"I'd say he was trying to escape and she tackled him," Sam guessed and the frown on his partner face told him he wasn't too far wrong.

Tightening his jaw, Callen stared up at the ceiling. "She started digging around in the first cut with that damn dull spoon. It hurt. I tried to get up and leave but she stopped me by grabbing the back of my jeans. The floor was slippery and I lost my balance."

"And fell backwards on Hetty," Sam concluded.

"Yep. After that she made me lay face down, sat on my butt and then did her butchery. She threatened to handcuff me," he said sounding shocked at the mere thought even though it wasn't the first time she'd used that threat on him and probably wouldn't be the last.

"Again," Sam chimed in and Callen gave him a dirty look. "Turnabout is fair play G."

Deeks thought about the conversation for a minute. "You said that Hetty saw the blood on the Armani suit jacket as she entered the room. But Sam said there was no blood on it when he left. Something doesn't add up."

"Good detective work there Deeks," Sam complemented him though the look Callen gave Deeks was anything but complementary.

Sam cajoled his partner into speaking. "If you don't tell us we'll just ask Hetty."

Sighing, Callen fiddled with the ice pack on his desk. "After you left I decided to patch myself up."

Sam gave him a puzzled look. "How did you plan to reach the glass in your back?"

"Face," Callen corrected. "Clean off the cut on my face. I knew you kept a bottle of that stuff in your locker."

Sam thought for a moment then looked quizzically at the man. "The hydrogen peroxide?"

"If anyone cares, they don't recommend using that anymore to clean wounds," Deeks interjected.

"Shut up," Kensi told her partner.

Sam picked up the conversational thread. "Yeah. I use it on my cuts. But it stings ya know."

"I do now," Callen answered sarcastically. "I took the bottle from your locker and put some on this cut," he said removing the ice pack and indicating the one under his eye. "It started to fizz and sting and I grabbed the first thing I could reach to wipe it off."

"The Armani suit jacket from wardrobe," Deeks said with a touch of awe in his voice.

"Technically just the sleeve, but..." Callen's voice drifted off.

The three agents stared at Callen in stunned silence. At that moment, Hetty walked by on the way to her office and saw her injured agent playing with the ice pack his the desk. "That is supposed to be on your face, Mr. Callen," she reminded him. "Ten on, ten off." Callen dutifully raised it to the proper place. "See, you can teach stubborn dogs new tricks," she said to no one in particular as she climbed the few stairs to her desk.

When she was out of sight, Callen lowered the pack and glanced over at Sam. "So what did you get out of Deeks if you to tell him the story of last night?"

Deeks looked stunned and Kensi whispered, "It's a partner thing," in his ear.

Pushing off Deeks' desk, Sam returned to his own chair. "Nothing for you. Well, except for a burger and a beer."

"Where?" Callen asked suspiciously.

Sam smiled. "Relax. Calypso. Nothing dangerous there."

Kensi went back to her typing as Deeks drifted back to his desk; but his face showed he was still muddling over something. After sitting, he stared over at Callen.

"What Deeks?" Callen asked figuring he mind-as-well get it over with or Deeks would hem and haw around all night.

"Why are you limping? You weren't when you came in today."

Kensi looked over at Callen with interest, waiting to hear his answer; it was a good observation.

A huge knowing grin spread across Sam's face bringing out his dimple.

Callen saw the expression on Sam's face. "Why don't you tell them Sam since you obviously know what goes on behind closed doors," Callen requested crossing his arms across his chest.

Sam continued with his ear-to-ear smile. "I don't have to be able to see behind the closed doors because I know you to well G. Hetty gave you a shot in your derrière. What this time?"

"Tetanus," the agent muttered grudgingly.

Deeks cocked his head at Sam. "Isn't that normally given in the arm?"

"There is nothing normal about G Callen," Sam concluded bring the conversation to an end. All the agents put their heads down and went back to work except Callen, who had lowered the ice pack again.

"Ten on, ten off," the strident voice of the Ops manager drifted thru the bullpen. "Don't make me come in there, Mr. Callen."

Callen sighed and placed it back on his face and remembered the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald. 'Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat.'


	15. Chapter 15

_Authors's Note: A huge thank you to the reviews. You all are awesome. We are a little over a third of the way through this tale. My goal is to get a chapter up every day. If you haven't weighed in yet, I would love to know what you think. It is a lot of fun to read all your reviews each day. A little more humor coming up, a little more action, and of course more drama. Hope you stick around to the end._

* * *

Friday morning, an hour after Sam arrived, Callen strolled in heading for the bullpen. Hetty, still at her desk glanced up, then called him over. "Mr. Callen, a word."

Walking up the three steps to her office, he moved to the front of her desk and stood there with his arms crossed across his chest. Hetty was good at reading her senior agent and for whatever reason he was spoiling for an opportunity to engage in a verbal sparring match. That was not good, considering what she was about to tell him. However, there was no sugar coating this so she told him straight out.

"All cases leading to fatalities which are directly caused by an agent are reviewed and some cases are recommended for further investigation. Your shooting of Alex Fryman has been reviewed and it has been deemed that an investigation is in order."

Callen stood silently staring at his petite boss. While his expression remained an indifferent neutral, his eyes darkened, giving away the storm clouds within.

"The investigating body will be in the boathouse at 1400 Monday. You and the rest team are to report there for individual questioning."

Saying nothing, Callen shifted his weight slightly but otherwise remained still waiting for her to continue. He'd been thru these types of speeches before, though not during his stint in NCIS. He knew what came next and he waited for Hetty to deliver the words.

"This investigation is simply to ensure the facts of the case are documented factually. It is not an indication that the agency thinks you or your team did anything wrong, Mr. Callen."

Callen kept tight control of his emotions and remained silent. He knew, as well as she did, this had nothing to do with facts and was really a witch hunt in search of a scapegoat on which to lay the blame. Callen had been through these 'interviews' before because of his slightly aggressive and somewhat unorthodox operating style. He had mostly 'won' these battles though it had been a hollow victory in some cases because he antagonized his higher ups so much that it had led to transfers; in the case of the FBI, being indefinitely loaned to the CIA. He probably would have been fired if he wasn't such a good operative, but even a good operative could hung out to dry if they were too much of a pain to handle. Since firing someone generated a lot of paperwork, it was often easier to pawn someone off on another agency.

This time was a bit different for two reasons. First, he was part of a team, something that had never been an issue in the past since he typically worked alone. He was going to make damn sure that this persecution did not reach past him to affect any of his team mates.

The second reason was straight forward; Callen believed they might be right. He might have screwed up. Never in the past had he questioned any of his actions which had led to an investigation. He one hundred percent stood behind his actions, but that wasn't the case this time.

Keeping his voice neutral he asked, "Have you told the team yet?"

She shook her head. "I wanted to speak to you first."

"I'll tell them," he stated flatly. "Anything else?"

Hetty looked at him quietly for a moment, than shook her head. "No, Mr. Callen. That was all."

With a curt nod, he bounded down the stairs, over to the bullpen, where Sam, Kensi and Deeks were at their desks. "Upstairs. Ops Center. Now," he barked. Turning away, he took the stairs two at a time, leaving them to trail behind.

"Do we have a case?" Deeks asked as he rose from his chair. "Cause I missed Eric's signal."

Sam watched his partner pound up the stairs and knew whatever had him riled couldn't be good. Standing, he followed Kensi and Deeks up to the Ops Center where Eric and Nell were already huddled on one side of the large electronic table that dominated the center of the room.

When they were all assembled, Callen ended up on one side of the table and the rest of the team on the other side. Sam suspected this happened because Callen was radiating such a negative vibe, no one wanted to be in the same room with him, let alone near him. Callen stood alone on his side with his arms folded in a hostile manner over his chest. His voice was harsh though not loud; rather it was low and dangerous. "There will be a further investigation into the Fryman case."

Eric was confused. "I thought we got them all. We are reopening the file?"

"No. We are being investigated. For our conduct and actions during the operation that led to the death of Alex Fryman. Really, this should have nothing to do with you guys since I am the one that made the decision and put the bullet in Alex which killed him," Callen said crassly. "But to be through, the investigators will want to interview everyone, possibly to include Eric and Nell."

Eric looked decidedly nervous and Nell took a step closer to his side. Callen uncrossed his arms and placed his hands palms down on the table. He leaned slightly forward and pinned each one of them with his no nonsense glare as he spoke. "I have been thru these investigations before. Tell the truth. Don't lie. Don't sugar coat it. You guys did nothing wrong."

Kensi started to protest but Callen harshly cut her off. "Let me remind you of the facts. It was my idea to infiltrate Designing a New America. It was my decision to go back to the warehouse alone with DeVries. It was my decision to drink the cyanide. It was my decision to go back into the field, against everyone's advice. It was my decision to take point in the tunnels and my decision and mine alone to kill Alex. Don't be misplaced heroes on this. Monday. 1400. Boathouse." With that, he pushed decisively off the table and strode out of the room.

For a few moments you could have heard a pin drop in the Ops Center. All eyes turned to Sam who knew they were waiting for him to say something profound as the ranking member of the team in the room. "This is a routine thing. You all know every case is reviewed and some investigated."

"Is this the first investigation for this team?" Deeks asked causing Sam to glare at him. "I mean I'm just asking because I haven't seen any..."

At that point Kensi cut him off. "Shut up Deeks. Sam what do we do?" she asked turning her big, brown, concerned eyes on Sam. Everyone in the room held their breath waiting for his reply.

Sam steadily looked at each one of them. "Exactly what Callen said. Tell the truth."

"Callen's recitation of the facts didn't leave much room for 'one for all and all for one'. It more sounded like the captain going down with the ship," Deeks noted.

Sam secretly agreed with Deeks' assessment. If Callen presented the facts to the investigating committee in the same manner he had here, Sam was afraid his partner would get more than just a reprimand; he might be brought up on charges. But he wasn't about to tell the rest of the team his fears. "Just tell the truth. Exactly like it happened." With that he left the room and another awkward silence fell over the Ops Center.

Nell broke the silent tension this time suggesting to Eric they should pull the video and audio logs from the Fryman mission in case they investigators wanted to review them which was a very likely scenario if they were to do their job properly. The two techs scurried off to their respective computers and busily started banging on the keyboards leaving Kensi and Deeks standing alone in the middle of the room.

"Come on Kens," Deeks said heading towards the door. He paused at the top of the stairs which lead down towards the bullpen. "I have been thru these things before at the LAPD. Internal affairs comes sniffing around, blusters a bit then goes away. Your boss gives you a minor tongue lashing, you look contrite and it all blows over."

Kensi headed down the stairs. "Yeah, but this is Callen. He doesn't do contrite well. Besides, you heard what he said up there. He practically admitted guilt!"

She stopped and turned towards her partner, her face showing her concern. "How are we supposed to help him?"

Deeks heaved huge sigh. "You heard Sam. Tell the truth."

Placing her hands on her hips, she scoffed. "Yeah. The truth. The truth is we did tell Callen not to go into the field. The truth is we were not there when he shot and killed Alex. The truth is we know nothing that is of any use in defending Callen!"

Deeks knew Kensi was right. Them telling the truth, what little of it they knew, would be more of a nail in Callen's coffin than a get out of jail card. He had nothing positive to say so he just shrugged. "Callen is Callen. He'll be fine." But neither he nor Kensi had the least bit of faith in statement.


	16. Chapter 16

Sam hadn't seen or heard anything from his partner over the entire weekend. After Callen told them about the upcoming investigation Friday morning, he had dropped completely off the radar, not reappearing until Monday morning when he coolly walked into the bullpen.

"You have a busy weekend?" Sam sarcastically asked. "Cause it seems you couldn't be bothered to return any of my phone calls."

Callen gave a non-committal shrug as he snapped opened a newspaper and buried his head behind it.

Sam was pissed at his partner's behavior and he planned to make sure Callen understood he was angry. "Maybe you lost your phone."

"Nope," came the voice form behind the paper wall.

Sam rose from his chair in a slow and controlled manner, moving towards the other side of the bullpen. "Wanna tell me why you have spent the last two weeks avoiding me?"

From behind the defensive wall of the paper came another "Nope."

It really was no surprise to Callen when the newspaper was ripped from his hands by his partner, crushed into a ball and flung across the bullpen. He knew he was baiting Sam and he kept it up by mildly looking up at this partner. "I wasn't done with that yet."

If this had been a cartoon, steam would have been coming out of Sam's ears. He opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and angrily marched away.

Over his shoulder, Callen heard the voice of his ninja boss who had snuck him. "Do you think that was wise, Mr. Callen. Baiting the tiger like that. He is only concerned about you."

Callen rose from his chair and turned to face his boss. "I wish everyone would be less concerned about me. I'm fine!" With that, he too angrily walked off but in the opposite direction from Sam.

After the dust had settled, Kensi and Deeks entered the building and were surprised to find Callen's and Sam's desks empty. Deeks looked over at Kensi. "Do you suppose they went out drinking again with Hetty? They still owe me the story from last time, since Friday night got cancelled."

Hetty reappeared in the bullpen. "Ms. Blye Mr. Deeks. A word of advice. Tread lightly around your senior team mates today."

"Why?" Deeks had to ask but Hetty only shook her head and glided back to her office.

About an hour later first Sam, and then Callen, reappeared at their desks. Sam was clearly annoyed; displeasure radiated off his body. Everything he did was quick, sharp, and to the point. Economy of words and motion.

Callen, though physically in the bullpen with the team, really was there. He had imaginary walls built around him that were so strong and solid that they were almost real. Nothing was getting in or out of the castle he'd constructed around himself. He said nothing and heard nothing; a solitary man in the center of a crowd.

The two junior agents were astute enough to realize that something was wrong with the Sam and Callen's partnership. Deeks and then Kensi tried to hold individual and then team conversations but ended up getting no replies from Callen and singular grunts from Sam. After a short while, they decided to take Hetty's advice and keep their heads down.

Later that morning, Hetty saw Sam head upstairs alone and she rose to follow. She called after him as he walked down the hallway. "Mr. Hanna. A word."

Sam stopped, turned and faced his beckoning Boss. Hetty stopped by a bench with its back to the wrought iron railing surrounding the second floor and sat. She looked expectantly at Sam, who with a sigh, joined her on the bench. The two were so physically dissimilar, they appeared like a bad cartoon written for the New Yorker. But there was nothing comical about what Hetty wanted to discuss with her gentle giant.

"Don't let him get under your skin, Sam." There was no mistake who the 'he' was, to whom she was referring.

"He's pushing me away Hetty, and I can't stop him from doing it," Sam said, all his frustration coming out in his words.

In an uncharacteristic gesture, Hetty reached over and took Sam's large hand in her small wizened one. "Callen is not pushing you away Sam, not on purpose. He is trying to survive his guilt over killing Alex Fryman in the only way he knows how, and for Callen, that mean distancing himself from everything and everyone," she counciled.

Sam bowed his clean-shaven head and stared at the floor. "He's my brother. I want to help him."

Hetty smiled gently. "And he knows that Sam. Trust me he knows."

Raising his head, Sam sighed. "I get it Hetty. I do. But it's damn hard and frustrating."

Hetty gave Sam's hand a little pat before she released it. "If it helps, I believe Mr. Callen's behavior is still being skewed by the dregs of cyanide in his system."

"Then why are you letting him stay in the field Hetty!" Sam demanded.

Hetty glanced over at the distraught man. "That is a complex answer. A part of me is gravely concerned I am putting the entire team in jeopardy by leaving him operational. However, I also believe if I pull Callen from the field, it may damage him in a way from which I fear he won't be able to recover." She stood and moved up the hallway to lean on the rail a few feet away. Her gaze swept the bullpen below, coming to rest on Callen, who for once, didn't seem to know he was being studied.

Sam got up and joined her. "For what it is worth, I think you are right to let him work and I know if Deeks and Kensi were here, they'd agree too."

Hetty raised her fist to lips and rubbed her the side of her forefinger over her lips in a worried manner.

Now it was Sam's turn to reach out and lay a gentle hand on her heavily burdened shoulder. "We'll get through this. We'll have his back. Always."

Hetty gave a curt nod, then smiled up at Sam. He smiled back as he let his hand drop to his side.

A quick glance at her watch told her the witching hour was near. "It's time," she said solemnly before she quietly walked away.

* * *

It wasn't the first time the boathouse had been used to investigate one of their own but it didn't matter; it always felt wrong, when the place used to question the bad guys, was used to persecute the good guys.

The four NCIS agents and two techs were asked to wait in the lounge area of the shed before being taken one by one into the interrogation room. When the investigators were done, the subject was immediately removed from the premises until the lounge area became 'and then there was none'. The object was to ensure the testimonies of each witness were not tainted by the other members of the team; that no information was passed between the incumbent and incoming.

Nell and Eric were questioned in the number one and two slots while the rest sat separated and in silence in the lounge area. On the rattan couch, Kensi was fidgeting and biting at her thumb, as was her bad habit when she was nervous. The witnesses were not supposed to speak to each other while they waited to be called and while one would have thought this would be a huge problem for Deeks, it was actually Kensi who struggled the most with the restriction. She opened her mouth a number of times only to quickly slam her lips shut before the words could come out.

Deeks sat at the wooden table, elbows on the surface, head propped up by his hands under his chin, and eyes constantly roaming the interior of the shed. "Ya know this place could really use an overall. I mean I know it's place were the _baddies _are supposed to be taken to get the truth out of them, but does the place have to be so, I don't know, boat sheddy? Just because we are in a boat shed, does it have to scream boat shed? Couldn't it be something else inside? That would really throw the bad guys off their game if they came into a boat shed, expecting to see a boat shed, but once they got inside they discovered it was a bar, or a pool hall, or a disco with one of those mirrored balls. Boy, I bet that would disorient them."

The man who was part of the investigating team, whose job was to watch over the witnesses, stood ramrod straight by the door. He gave a warning glance in Deeks direction which the blond surfer deliberately ignored.

"Just saying. And the boats along the wall I mean how blasé. Are they even real? Have they ever been used?" Deeks rose from his chair to go examine the hulls.

"Please remain seated," the guard requested in a tone that was as dry as the Sierra. His eyes bore into Deeks as if his stare alone could control the wandering agent.

Playing the game, Deeks meekly slid back into his chair before turning his mouth to a new item. "And that couch. So old lady Florida. Rattan? Really? Not in the least bit intimidating. Leather, that's what needs to be here. A big, old, scary, leather couch, the kind that sticks to you in the hot weather and is freezing cold in the winter. Though considering this is LA it probably doesn't really get cold enough to be totally miserable. Not like when you are in Maine, in the middle of the winter, and you come out of the gym still wearing your shorts because someone knocked your pants on the floor of the locker room and they got all wet cause the fat guy, who just got out of the hot tub, dripped all over the floor." Deeks shook his unruly blond mop and shuddered. "Nasty. Towels are never big enough in those cases. Anyway, so you are forced to go outside in your shorts and sit on those cold leather seats...man that gives a whole new meaning to the words 'blue balls'. And speaking of that, do you know there is a town in Pennsylvania called Blue Ball? I mean can you imagine living there and having to provide that name to a total stranger? I mean..."

The stoic guard at the door glared harder. "No talking," he demanded.

Deeks came up for a quick gulp of air before launching forth again. "Oh yeah. No talking. I forgot. My bad. But to be clear is it no talking to each other? Like I can't say to Kensilena that if she doesn't stop biting her thumb, she is going to make it bleed; then we are all going to have to listen to her go on and on about how it hurts in that whiney voice of hers which can really grate on your nerves so much that you want to shoot her? Like that no talking? Or do you mean no talking to you because you wouldn't want us distracting you from your super important job of guarding the door so we don't escape. Ya do know we are the good guys right? Don't let scary Sam over there fool you. He is the most upstanding guy I know. But I'll tell you a secret, underneath that tough as nails exterior, he is all teddy bear. All warm and squishy inside. Like a chocolate chip cookie straight from the oven. Ever have one of those? My mom made them occasionally when I was young and Dad hadn't beaten on her so much she couldn't move. Ah those were the days. A warm, squishy chocolate chip cookie and a cold glass of milk."

Deeks paused for a beat, glancing sideways at the stoic guard to see how annoyed the man was getting; he let a small grin cross his face at his results. The warden was on the edge of losing it, so Deeks renewed his efforts.

"Actually, chocolate chip cookies and milk is a good analogy for Sam and Callen's partnership. We have already covered how Sam and chocolate chip cookies are alike so let's move on to the milk component. The obvious similarity is milk is white, Callen is white but it goes so far beyond that point. Milk is at its best when it is icy cold and that describes our boy Callen. When he gives you his cold stare..." Deeks shuddered. "Let's just say you don't want to be on the receiving end of it because what comes next...oh hey, there it is now," Deeks addressed the guard. "You know, I'd be concerned if I were you. But I digress. The next thing that Callen has in common with milk is he, like milk, can upset people. Like when lactose intolerant people drink milk and feel nauseated? Callen can have the same effect on people, though they don't have to be lactose intolerant for him to make them feel nauseated. Next..."

Sam, who was sitting in one of the rattan chairs perpendicular to the couch, knew Deeks was trying to release his tension with his excessive babbling, as well as annoy the guard, but it was starting to grate on Sam's nerves. So without malice he said, "Shut up Deeks or I am going to take the guard's gun and shoot you. Then they will really have something to investigate instead of this bogus witch hunt."

"Damn straight," Deeks concurred bumping his fist in the air. "This is a witch hunt. And speaking of witch hunts do you know how to tell if someone is a witch? You make them read or recite a passage from the bible. If they can't, well let's just say get your marshmallows ready for the bonfire. Really sucked back in those days if you couldn't read or had a bad memory, or a speech impediment. 'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures.' Buzz. I'm sorry. We were going for the King James translation and the word is 'maketh' not 'makes'. So sorry. Light the fire boys."

"Deeks. Shut up. That is so wrong." Kensi hissed at her partner.

Deeks shook his head in indignation. "Wrong? Wrong! No way. Ut-ah. I went to Williamsburg and participated in a witch trial. Ok, a mock witch trial, but in a real historic courtroom at night with candles and all. I was one of the judges and we were instructed on how to determine if someone was a witch and that is a bona fide way to determine if someone is a witch. Wanna hear the other ways of ascertaining if someone is a witch?"

A group "NO" echoed thru the room followed a reminder from the guard who was getting agitated, that they were not to talk to each other. Silence reigned over the room for a few moments and the only sound was the gentle lapping of the waves under the wooden planks that made up the floor. Deeks started drumming lightly on the table with his forefingers, eventually progressing to add his thumb, then the rest of his fingers, then slamming his palm on the scarred wooden table every now and then for extra percussion.

"That's it," Sam said as his own nervousness got the best of him and he started to rise from his chair. Deeks also rose as did Kensi; the only person that remained seated and detached from the whole scene was Callen. Sam glanced over and saw his partner hadn't moved and this worried Sam; it was if Callen had given up before they even started.

The guard took a few steps towards the standing group demanding that they sit down and be quiet, a command which was ignored by all. Suddenly, the door from the interrogation room violently swung open and Assistant Director Owen Granger strode in the room scowling. "Enough!" he barked. "Everyone sit down and shut up!"

The team quickly complied all but Callen who had never gotten up; he stared off into the distance ignoring everything.

Granger pinned each one of them with a frigid stare as he spoke. "Let me make this very clear for you. I expect you to sit quietly until you are called for your interview at which point you will rise silently, go in that room there," he pointed down the hallway, "and truthfully answer all questions put forth to you. There will be no supposing or stonewalling or any type of shenanigans or so help me there will be severe consequences. A 14-year-old boy died, perhaps needlessly, and we will determine what transpired in those maintenance tunnels."

Sam's stormy, dark brown, eyes met Granger's. "Sounds like you've already made up your mind."

Granger was about to reply when Callen raised his head and let his eyes wander to each member of his team, putting them on notice before moving to the next. "Assistant Director Granger is doing his job, as will all of you, by telling the truth. He is right. A boy, who hadn't even had a chance to live life yet, died." Callen's eyes finally came to rest on Granger's as he spoke his final sentence. "Responsibility for his death must be determined and dealt with." Dropping his eyes, Callen lowered his head again to stare at his hands and retreat back into his castle.

The rest of the team shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Kensi went back to worrying her thumb. Sam slumped in his chair, scared that his partner, for whatever reasons, was letting himself be led like the lamb to slaughter.

"Assistant Director Granger?" Deeks asked raising his hand.

Sighing Granger replied. "I've told you before you don't have to raise your hand."

"I need to clarify this whole no talking thing. Does it mean I can't talk to Kensi or Sam or Callen? Or does it mean I can't talk to overblown self-important guard? Can I talk to you, not that I think we'd have a lot to talk about, though you never know. How about myself? Can I talk to myself out loud?"

Granger moved across the room until he was standing on the opposite side of the table from where Deeks sat. He slowly leaned forward and placed both hands flat on the table top and glared directly at the detective. "It means if I hear another one word out of you, even a squeak or a cough or a sneeze, I'm going to send you back to the LAPD and insist you are put on foot patrol, in the worse section of LA, for the rest of your career. I'm I making myself clear, Detective Deeks?" Deeks mutely nodded his head. "Good," Granger said pushing off the table and turning to face the rest of the team. "Ms. Blye. You're next."

Kensi rose and followed Granger into the interrogation room. As she passed her team leader, she desperately tried to get him to make eye contact with her. She wanted some reassurance from his blue eyes but he ignored her and stubbornly kept his gaze focused on his hands. Instead, she shifted her mismatched eyes to Sam's warm, brown eyes which slowly blinked along with a slow nod of his head to reassure her. Gathering her courage, she stood straighter, squared her shoulders and marched after the departing Assistant Director. Granger held the door open for her and when they both had entered, closed it resoundingly behind them.

"Please take a seat," he instructed waving her towards the empty seat on the 'bad guys' side of the table. The last time she sat on this side, she was being accused of murder, but that worked out well and she hoped this would too.

Granger took a seat across from her and opened a beige manila folder. He glanced at the two people sitting on his side of the table. The first was a dark-haired man with a buzz cut, meticulously dressed, with the air of a high-ranking ex-military officer. The other occupant was a brown-haired woman with streaks of grey in her locks which were pulled back in a severe bun on the back of her head. She too was dressed like a wall-street stockbroker and she peered expectantly at Kensi over her half-glasses.

Granger introduced the investigating team. "Agent Blye this is Special Investigator Charles Matel and Special Investigator Marion Simon."

Both investigators dutifully flipped open their badges for Kensi to verify which she did before turning her gaze back on Granger.

"You will answer all questions asked of you in a truthful and accurate manner without speculation or guesses. If you don't know or you did not directly witness an event you will answer as such. If we, for some reason, want your speculative thoughts we will specifically ask for them. Everything you say is being recorded for the official record and if Agent Callen is brought up on charges, the official transcript of these proceeding will be made available, through formal channels, to all parties involved in the legal action. Do you understand what I have said and do you have any questions before we proceed?"

Kensi returned a flat 'no' which Granger acknowledged with a curt nod.

Granger led her thru the background of the mission before the investigating team started individually asking their own questions. Finally, the woman asked the question Kensi had feared most. Her slightest of hesitations in providing her answer had Assistant Director Granger reminding her she was under oath.

"Let me repeated the question Agent Blye. Is it true you suggested that Agent Callen direct the mission from Ops?" The woman observed Kensi over the top of her mouse-brown, half-glasses.

This time Kensi didn't hesitate. "Yes. I made that suggestion. But it was only a suggestion."

The woman made a note in the file she was keeping a bit too eagerly for Kensi's taste. The man, who sat ramrod straight in his chair, was staring so intensely at her, that Kensi wondered if she had some sort of wardrobe malfunction going on. Granger was leaning back slightly in his chair, arms folded across his chest giving her his usual, partially bland, partially disagreeable stare.

"And what lead you to recommend Agent Callen not go into the field?" the woman persisted.

She paused, for a few moments, to figure out how to best formulate her reply and that earned her another reminder from Granger about truth. Finally, she settled for, "He seemed a bit off."

The ex-military man leaned forward, apparently finding her response exceptionally interesting. "Please be specific. Off is too vague a word."

"I was instructed not to speculate," she shot back, annoyance registering in her tone.

A small smile crept across Matel's face, seeming to indicate he liked trying to rattle her with his questioning. "I am not asking you to speculate, Agent Blye. I am asking you to clearly state, for this hearing, what facts lead you to the conclusion that Agent Callen was 'off' as you put it and was not fit for the field."

Her face betrayed her anger at being railroaded. "I didn't say Callen wasn't fit for the field."

The woman glanced down at her notes then back up at Kensi. "You already said, and I quote, 'Yes. I made that suggestion'."

"It was a suggestion!" she retorted her voice rising in outrage.

The smug smile remained fixed on Matel's lips. "And I am asking you, Agent, how you came to decide that your _suggestion _was warranted. Did you observe something that led you to believe you needed to make your suggestion?"

If Kensi could have a do-over, she wished she would not have made that suggestion to Callen in the weapons room, that he stay behind, while they were preparing to go to the field and stop Fryman. It hadn't worked then and now it was putting another nail in Callen's coffin.

"We're waiting for an answer, Agent Blye," Granger neutrally reminded her.

With a sigh, Kensi started relating the story of how they had found Callen at the warehouse having been poison with cyanide and how he had used the hydroxyl-C to save his life.

"And what was the state of Agent Callen when you found him?" Matel probed further, his sardonic smile still in place.

Kensi wished she could reach over the table and wipe that smile off the cocky man's face. "I didn't find him. Sam did. I didn't see Callen until he came out of the warehouse."

Matel dug deeper. "And how was that?"

"How was what?" she asked which earned her another glare from Granger.

If anything, Martel's smile got bigger. "What state was Agent Callen in, when you saw him coming out of the warehouse?"

Her face told the story of how distressing she was finding this line of questioning, as she provided the asked for details. "Sam was carrying Callen over his shoulder."

"I see. So you are saying Agent Callen was unable to walk when he left the warehouse." Martel settled back in his chair, satisfied he was making his point.

"Investigator Matel," she said sincerely. "That would be speculation on my part. I am assuming Callen couldn't walk but to be perfectly honest Sam has carried Callen on several occasions that I can recall," when he was injured, Kensi added but only in her mind. Martel frowned slightly at her comments; clearly he wasn't please with her impertinence.

Granger took over the questioning. "So Sam carried Callen out of the warehouse," he restated. "Then what?"

Kensi shifted her focus from Martel to Granger. "We drove back to Ops. In separate cars. Deeks and I in one, Sam and Callen in the Challenger; Sam was driving in case you are wondering." Granger gave her the slightest of smiles. "When we got back to Ops, Hetty insisted Callen rest."

The woman who had been taking copious notes, looked up over her glasses again. "I thought you said Agent Callen had just been poisoned? With..." she flipped through the official case file to find the facts, "at least a tablespoon of cyanide mixed in water. So you are telling me your team took Agent Callen back to Ops instead of the hospital for proper treatment and follow-up care?"

Kensi shifted uncomfortable in her chair before answering. She wasn't about to try to explain Callen's intense dislike of hospitals to these people. "Yes. Callen had already used the antidote and was recovering. Hetty examined him when he got back to Ops."

Inspector Simon turned to Granger. "Is Agent Lange a medical doctor? I was lead to believe she was the Operations Manager."

"Henrietta is many things," Granger answered drily. "But officially, as far as I know, she is not a licensed doctor. Though, knowing Hetty, she probably knows as much as they do."

The woman humphed and made another note on her pad.

Investigator Matel picked up the line of questioning. "So Agent Callen is _carried_ from the site of the poisoning to the car, and then _carried_, from the car to a couch in the Ops center."

"I didn't say that!" Kensi interrupted triumphantly. "Callen was not carried from the car into Ops. He walked."

Granger gave her the 'do you really want to go there' sigh. "Agent Callen walked into the building, by himself, with no assistance."

"I didn't say that," Kensi back-peddled a bit.

"Please describe, in detail, how Agent Callen got from the car into the building," the woman asked, pen poised.

Since these proceedings were being taped, Kensi didn't know why the woman kept scribbling notes as if her life depended on it. "When we got to Ops, Callen insisted on walking into the building on his own."

"And how did that work out?" Granger asked lazily.

Kensi grimaced and looked at a point on the wall over the investigator's shoulders; almost as if she was apologizing to Callen who was sitting on the other side of the wall. "Callen got out of the car, took two steps and collapsed on the ground. Sam went to pick him up, Callen protested. Callen, with Sam's help, got back on his feet and with Sam supporting him, walked into Ops."

"In your opinion, how much support was Agent Hanna providing to Agent Callen in helping him walk." Again the woman looked at Kensi over top of her cheaters, pen waiting.

Kensi sighed in defeat. "A lot. If Sam had let go of Callen he would have fallen."

Granger wrapped up the conversation. "So your basically saying when Agent Callen arrived at Ops he still was unable to function normally."

"In other words," Matel added. "Agent Hanna should have carried Agent Callen into the building and it was only Agent Callen's lack of good judgment that prevented that from happening."

Granger broke in shutting Matel's line of questioning down. "I think we have a clear understanding of Agent Callen's physical condition when he arrived at the Ops Center. What happened next Agent Blye?"

Kensi explained how Hetty had made Callen rest on the couch until it was time to prep for the mission.

"And while you were prepping for the mission, that was when you _suggested_ Agent Callen should remain behind," Matel clarified knowing the answer before he asked.

"Yes," she grudgingly replied.

Again he leaned forward in his chair. "Was there any other evidence that prompted you to make that suggestion that Agent Callen wasn't fit for duty, besides the fact a few hours ago he couldn't walk?"

If Kensi had her way she would have given Matel such groin kick that he would sing soprano for the rest of his life. However, she knew she had to answer truthfully. "Callen was having difficulties loading his weapon's cartridge."

Granger cocked his head slightly. "Trouble how?"

"He was loading the bullets into his cartridge when he unexpectedly dropped everything on the bench top," she quietly explained.

"Unexpectedly? In your opinion, how did Agent Callen react to his dropping of his ammo," the clinical woman inquired.

A slight frown creased Kensi's face. "Callen appeared anxious, upset and angry."

The investigating team asked her a few more questions before drawing the session to a close. The final question was posed by the Assistant Director. "In your opinion, Agent Blye, should Agent Callen have been in the field?"

Kensi paused for a few seconds as she formulated her answer. "If it were anyone but Callen, I'd say no. But this is Callen we're talking about here."

With a long suffering look, Granger said, "May I remind you that Agent Callen is not superman. He may not like anyone to think so, but he is subject to the same human flaws and has to obey the same laws of gravity as the rest of us mere mortals. So I ask you again, putting Callen's cape aside, should he have been in the field?"

Kensi's face said it all but she knew she had to speak her answer aloud for the official record, "Probably not," she whispered.

When she was escorted from the room, Callen seemed to pay attention for the first time since they had all been brought to the boatshed. As she walked by him, he quickly scanned her eyes then looked away; he had learned all he needed to know. Kensi desperately tried to maintain eye contact with her team leader but when he looked away, she shifted her gaze to Sam then Deeks. Like Callen, they both could see whatever went on in there wasn't good.

Kensi was quickly hustled out of the room and Granger stepped into the hallway. "Detective Deeks. You're up next."

The last thing Sam heard as the door shut behind Deeks was him asking if he would be allowed to speak now or if the interview would be conducted in sign language. It made Sam smile, just a little.


	17. Chapter 17

Granger pointed to the chair on the empty side of the table. Deeks looked at it then at the vacant chair on the side of the table between the straight-laced woman and the military man. Gesturing at the other chair on the 'good guys' side of the table, Deeks said, "I think I would rather sit there."

Assistant Director Granger walked over to Deeks getting right in the shaggy blonde's face. "This isn't a joke Detective," he growled. "The outcome of this investigation could have serious consequences on the careers of all of the parties involved. If you think your status as LAPD liaison officer gives you any immunity, I'd advise you to think again. If anything, getting rid of you would be incredibly easy. I expect you to treat these proceedings and these investigators with the highest degree of decorum. Do I make myself clear Detective Deeks?"

One thing Deeks could never be accused of was being stupid and as much as he liked to joke around, especially to ease a tense situation, he did know there was a time and place for everything; now was not the time or place for flippancy. His voice was calm and cool when he replied. "I understand." He walked over to the empty chair on the suspect's side of the wooden table, sat and dispassionately looked at the people across from him. As Granger took his seat, the investigators went thru the process of displaying their credentials.

When they were done Granger provided the same opening speech given to Kensi. "Do you understand what I have said and do you have any questions before we proceed?"

"No sir," Deeks answered and Granger's eyes narrowed a bit as he wondered if the 'Sir' was a subtle insult. However, he chose to ignore it and move on.

Deeks was asked similar questions to Kensi. At one point the ex-military man asked Deeks about Agent Callen's fitness for duty. "Am I correct in my understanding that you questioned Agent Callen's ability to lead this mission?"

Like Kensi before him, Deeks hesitated a moment and the woman quickly rifled thru her papers. "I believe your direct quote was 'Because a couple of hours ago you could barely move', to which Agent Callen replied 'You wanna arm wrestle' to which you replied 'Fair enough'.

"Wow," Deeks exclaimed first staring at the woman and then over at Granger. "She's good. Like she was in the room with us."

Granger gave him a warning glare. "Answer Investigator Matel's question Deeks. Did you question Callen's fitness to be in the field?"

Taking a deep breath then exhaling Deeks answered yes.

While pen-lady scribed something in her copious notes, Granger leaned back in his chair crossing his arms and Martel leaned forward a bit too eagerly for Deeks taste. "Why did you back down Detective Deeks? Why didn't you continue to press your point? Or take it to the next person up the chain? Does Agent Callen intimidate you?" he asked with an almost maniacal gleam in his eyes.

Deeks couldn't stop himself from laughing. "Everyone is intimidated by Callen except maybe Hetty. If Callen doesn't intimidate you, then there is something seriously wrong with you. He is like superman. He may act like Clark Kent but trust me, it is an act. Underneath, man of steel."

When Deeks finished speaking, Investigators Martel and Simon looked at each other, then over at Assistant Director Granger who rolled his eyes and sighed. "Agent Callen's team has a misplaced case of hero-worship."

Deeks couldn't help himself. "Callen is awesome." His whole body radiated the vibe like Callen was the ultimate surfer dude, worthy of everyone's devoted worship.

"Detective Deeks," Granger scowled and Deeks quickly schooled his features back to seriousness.

Inspector Martel put forth his next question. "Who shot Mr. Fryman in the tunnels, Detective Deeks."

"I'm sorry. I can't answer that question," Deeks firmly replied.

"And why is that?" Granger drolly asked.

The slightest smile graced the blond's face. "Because the Inspector wasn't precise enough. There were two Fryman's involved in this case. Senior and Junior. Isn't that why we are having this inquisition?"

"Let me clarify. Who shot Dom Fryman?" Granger demanded.

Though his face went neutral, his blue eyes were still dancing a bit. "While I must state, for the record, I'm surprised Inspector Simon doesn't have that fact in her copious notes, I will certainly shed light on the subject." Deeks settled into his chair a bit more deeply as he continued. "It was a dark and stormy night. Callen, NCIS Senior Agent in Charge G. Callen to be precise, NCIS Agent Kensi Blye and myself, Detective Martin Deeks, liaison officer from the LAPD and Marty to my friends, entered the LA city's maintenance tunnels. NCIS Senior Agent Sam Hanna, he is the super scary one, waited topside covering the exit. Callen, you don't mind if I use shorten titles do you? Otherwise we will be here all day. Callen took point. We made our way through the dark, dank tunnels. Suddenly, shots rang out. Bang, bang, bang then Callen swiftly returned fire. The shooter fell from the black overhead piping to the cold, grey cement floor below. Thud. More shots rang out and a second shooter stepped out. Yours truly quickly brought him down. Callen, Kensi and I closed ranks and moved forward again, Callen still on point, Kensi bringing up the rear and me sandwiched between like the crème fulling in an Oreo, which by yet way the Wonder Twins sneak into Ops behind Hetty's back."

Deeks glanced over at Inspector Simon. "No need to put that in your notes."

Inspector Simon's looked startled for a moment and her held her pen aloft.

Deeks grinned at her as he continued. "More shots rang out and Callen called out 'Federal Agent. Drop your weapon'. Fryman, Senior to be precise, seemed surprised to hear Callen's voice considering he had thought he'd killed Callen earlier in the day."

Deeks jerked his head at Inspector Simon. "I do hope your report has that detail, that Dominic Fryman forced Callen to ingest cyanide earlier in the day. Anyway, as Callen tried to reason with the poisoner, Fryman collapsed onto the cement. We moved as one to investigate and it became apparent he had taken his own poison. Callen told us to get him to Sam, who had the antidote, and then Callen moved down the tunnel. Alone."

Granger's face matched his tone and neither was amused. "You didn't answer the question."

Deeks smiled. "That's because it was a trick question, right?"

Granger appeared puzzled. "I don't understand."

"Dominic Fryman wasn't shot. He poisoned himself," Deeks answered succinctly.

After flipping through her notes, the woman looked up and peered over her glasses at the men in the room. "Detective Deeks is right."

"My mistake," Granger said his face registering a twinge of annoyance. "Let me ask you this then, Detective Deeks. Who shot Alex Fryman and I am not mistaken this time. He was shot and killed," Granger finished his tone cold as ice.

Deeks stared Granger right in the eyes. "I don't know."

"You don't know? And why is that Detective?" Granger leaned slightly forward as he asked his question.

"Because I wasn't there. I was with Kensi further back in the tunnels with Fryman Senior. Callen was alone with Alex Fryman. I can assume Callen shot Alex, but you did tell me not to make any suppositions," Deeks reminded the investigating committee, sweeping them with his serious eyes.

"So let me get this straight. You let Agent Callen, a man's whose fitness for the field you had questioned only hours ago, go after Alex alone. You let a compromised man be the only thing between the survival and death of thousands of innocent people in LA." Granger and Deeks locked eyes in a battle of wills, neither backing down. After a few tense moments, Granger said, "You don't have to answer that question, Detective Deeks. Afterall, you're not on trial." What Granger didn't say, but certainly implied was the word 'yet'.

The investigating team asked Deeks a few more questions before drawing the session to a close. The final question was the same one asked of Kensi, once again posed by the Assistant Director. "In your opinion, Detective Deeks, should Agent Callen have been in the field?"

A slight grimace crossed Deeks' face as he answered the question, but he did so truthfully. "Probably not."

When Deeks was escorted from the boat shed, Callen didn't even bother to glance up this time. As Deeks walked by, Sam rose and the two men exchanged pointed glances; Sam knew as with Kensi, Deeks felt he did not help Callen's case.

Sam shifted his gaze to Assistant Director Granger who was leaning against the wall just outside the interrogation area. "You're next Sam," he said quietly.

For the first time since they entered the boat shed, Callen spoke, raising his head and looking directly at Sam. "Tell the truth Sam. No holding back. You owe me that."

"I owe you and them the truth. And that is what they will get," Sam replied earnestly.

Granger's eyes narrowed, not quite sure what to make of the agent's remarks. "Inside Sam. Now."

With a final look at his partner, who had already turned away, Sam brushed past Granger, entering the interrogation room confidently and swiftly taking his seat. "Let's go," he demanded.


	18. Chapter 18

After Sam sat at the wooden table that had been witness to many investigations, he made strong eye contact with each of the investigating committee members in the room. He instantly realized that the man was ex-military, had some sort of chip on his shoulder, clearly didn't like Sam even though he knew nothing about the SEAL, and would happily convict Callen. The two entered into a he-man, stare-down contest which Sam eventually won, making the Inspector look away, though Martel tried to act like it was nothing. However, the line in the sand had been clearly drawn by Sam.

Next Sam turned his attention to the prim and proper woman in the room, taking the opposite tack with her by flashing his mega-watt smile, dimpled smile, portraying himself as a kind, benevolent, gentle, giant.

Granger watched Sam's psychological games and a bit of a smile played across his face. When Sam finally turned his gaze on him, Granger simply said, "Don't bother," and another line was drawn in the sand but this time by Granger.

The interview started out like the previous ones with badge showing and speech making and then it took a slightly different direction, led by Granger. "Based on the testimony of your co-workers, it has already been determined that Agent Callen's decision to go into the field was questionable at best. Would you agree with that statement Agent Hanna?"

"Callen is Callen," Sam neutrally replied.

"Yeah, we have already established that, along with the fact he might also be Superman in disguise." Sam smiled a little at Granger's comment. "You and Callen have been partners for at least 4 years so I'm not going to ask you if you two are close, because I know you are." Granger glanced over at the woman with the pen. "That t is for the record, Investigator Simon." Simon dutifully made a notation on her pad. Focusing back on the Agent, Granger continued. "Sam, you probably know Callen as much as anyone can know the man; well except maybe Hetty, but she is a whole other story."

Sam gave a little shrug that indicated concurrence. "I like to think I know my partner."

"I personally know that Callen is stubborn, subordinate and sometimes unorthodox in his methods," Granger stated, his voice holding no malice; it was simply factual.

"Fair enough," Sam readily agreed.

Granger took a deep breath as he leaned slightly forward. "But I also know he gets the job done, doesn't put his team at risk any more than necessary and for all his infuriating traits, is a damn good agent."

"That is probably the nicest thing you have ever said about G. He won't believe it when I tell him."

A small smile flitted across Granger's lips at Sam's comment.

Pen lady interrupted, catching Sam's attention for a moment. "For the record Agent Hanna, could you clear up for me what G stands for? I can't seem to find it anywhere in his file."

Opening his hands like a magician pulling off a successful illusion, Sam said, "Doesn't stand for anything. G is G."

The woman, who clearly liked precise facts and figures, was not pleased with his answer. Sam suspected she would scour every file on Callen she could get her hands on trying to find out about that mysterious G. He silently wished her good luck; since he was 4, Callen himself had not been able to answer that question and it certainly hadn't been for lack of trying.

Granger took back control of the interview. "Since we have established you and Agent Callen are close and that you know him well, suppose you tell us why he went into the field, knowing he was incapacitated."

Sam stared at Granger trying to figure out the trick in the question. "You want my opinion," he tentatively asked.

Granger sighed. "Yes Agent Hanna. That's exactly what I want; your opinion on why a highly trained, highly seasoned agent decided to go into the field when he was not fit for duty."

Sam felt this was his one chance to save his partner from at best being served with a departmental reprimand and at worse a murder charge. Sam realized that if Callen was brought up on murder charges, convicted and sentenced to jail, it was a death sentence for his partner. First, Callen had put too many people behind bars and that would eventually catch up with him in prison; of this Sam had no doubt.

Second, Callen wouldn't survive being cooped up in a jail; that too would kill him if he hadn't already been shot trying to escape before they locked him up.

Finally, there was always the real possibility Callen would simply disappear before they could bring him to trial. He could do it; he wasn't called the ghost for nothing. He was an urban legend based in reality. Sam had to make these people understand what Callen did and why he did it.

Sam sat up straighter in his chair looking every inch a SEAL. "Every time we go out those doors on a mission, it is with the understanding we will be forced to make hard and often unpalatable decisions. We do this because we love our country and her people and want to keep them safe. We know when we walk out, we may never walk back in, but that is the risk and we accept it."

"Motherhood and apple pie, Sam," Granger said sarcastically.

"For you and I, yeah. But I'm not so sure for them." His gaze swept Simon and Martel. "To explain why Callen did, what he did, you have to know what it is like to be in the field. This isn't a cop show on TV where everything is neatly wrapped up in 45 minutes."

Granger leaned forward and slammed his hand on the table. "Why did Callen go into the field knowing full well he wasn't up to it?"

Sam also leaned forward and without hesitation shot back, "Because he was scared!"

That caught Granger by surprise and he sat back a bit in his chair. "I find that a little hard to believe, Agent Hanna."

"Why?" Sam demand. "Every time I go into the field, I am scared. The day you are not is the day you die. To survive out there, you need to have a healthy respect for the danger you are in, but tamp it down so it doesn't overwhelm you," Sam cocked his eyebrow, "or you will die."

Granger pursed his lips thinking for a moment. "Ok, so let's say I buy into your rationale that Agent Callen was afraid. You think he would have been scared enough to realize him, being in the field, increased the risk of death."

A small smile played across Sam's lips. "It depends on who you think was at risk of dying and why."

Martel and Simon stayed out of this Ping-Pong match, instead intensely observing the volleying back and forth between the two NCIS agents.

"Care to enlighten?" Granger requested.

"Alex Fryman. Callen went into the field, not operating at full capacity because he was afraid that if he didn't, Alex would die."

"But he did die," Granger pointed out. "Callen shot him."

"Yes he did. But he did it knowing that he and he alone, made that call, that tough decision. He decided Alex had to die for the greater good. He wouldn't have been able to make that call if he'd stayed behind in Ops. "

"Why should he care so much about this boy? To risk himself and the team by being in the field?" Granger insisted.

Sam counted on his fingers. "First of all there was never any risk to the rest of the team by Callen being in the field. We are all seasoned agents, able to take care of ourselves. Second, Callen was in no worse shape than other times when he was injured in the field and had to stay in the game because, at that moment in time, there was no escape. I have seen him with bullets embedded in his flesh, broken bones, tortured, beaten almost to death, drugged and he still manages to somehow rally that bacon laden-body and function until the job is done. This time was no different."

Now came the tricky part. Sam had to explain why Callen cared so much about this boy. Sam knew Assistant Director Granger understood Callen's upbringing but he wasn't sure how much was in the files to which the others had been given access. Sam stewed it over in his mind and finally decided whether Callen liked it or not, some of it had to be said if he didn't want this investigation to end poorly.

"Callen knew that it was a high probability that Dominic Fryman, the father, would either go to jail or be a casualty of this mission. Callen was in the foster system since he was 4-years-old, he knew how tough it could be to be an orphan, all alone, with no one. Callen went into the field to do his best to ensure that Alex's father lived. To Callen, Alex, having a father, even if behind bars, was better than being totally alone."

Granger contemplated what Sam said for moment. "You are saying that Callen went into the field to try to stop Fryman senior from being killed."

Sam nodded in concurrence. "Callen could have easily shot Dominic Fryman the second he spotted him in the tunnel. There was probable cause; Fryman had opened fire on Callen, Deeks, and Kensi when they entered the tunnels, not to mention the fact he had already tried to kill Callen earlier in the day by making him drink cyanide. It is a testament to Callen's high-moral-standards that he didn't put a bullet between that man's eyes. Things happen on these types of mission; bullets fly, people die. And..." Sam's angry eyes swept everyone in the room, "... if that had happened I bet you there wouldn't have been panel convened to investigate Dominic Fryman's death."

Simon and Martel uneasily looked around the room; basically confirming what Sam had said was true.

Granger however stayed on point. "So Callen goes into the field to stop Dominic Fryman from being killed, which he does and then he shoots and kills Alex Fryman. Tell me why this isn't wrong."

"Oh you stated it correctly Assistant Director Granger. Callen shot and killed Alex. But I wasn't there and neither were you. We are second guessing what a highly trained, highly skilled operative did in a situation, when we weren't there. How is that fair?"

Granger looked rationally at Sam. "He didn't have to employ a kill shot. He could have wounded the boy."

"And if a wounded Alex had managed to pull the switch, you risk 800,000 people dying, a country in panic, an opportunity for our enemies to make further in-roads. Chaos. A dead boy, as tragic as it is, seemed the better choice to Callen." Sam shook his head sadly and his voice caught with emotion as he looked straight into Granger's eyes. "I'm damn glad it wasn't me who had to make that decision. How about you? Would you like to trade places with Callen on this one Granger? What decision would you have made? And after you made that decision, could you live with yourself? What if you let Alex live and he managed to pull that switch. Could you have lived with that death toll?" A sad smile crossed Sam's full lips. "Callen had to make that decision and now has to live with it for the rest of his life. He doesn't deserve this," Sam gestured with his hands.

Granger stood up his face impassive. "We are done here. Please send Agent Callen in."

Sam realized he was being given a gift, however minute, by the Assistant Director, by being allowed to escort Callen to this room. He gave a slight tilt of his head to acknowledge the gesture. Sam opened the door and walked over to where his partner sat hunched in the chair. "They are ready for you G."

Callen raised his eyes to look at Sam, who held out a hand to help him out of the chair. Callen accepted the offer and Sam pulled him out of the chair and into an embrace. "We need you G. We'll figure this out. Just please, give us, give me, a chance. Don't committed career suicide in there."

Callen pulled back, rattled by Sam's strong emotions as well as the veiled suicide statement. Had it only been a week or so ago when he and Hetty had conversed on this same topic? She had suggested that those that took the harder path were the truly brave. Now Callen had to choose his way.

Granger stuck his head out the door. "Today, Agent Callen."

Sam clamped a hand on Callen's shoulder, pinned him with his eyes and with every ounce of his soul tried to show Callen how much he cared. Callen looked bewildered before he shook free of Sam's grasp and headed for the interrogation room leaving Sam unsure what was about to happen.


	19. Chapter 19

Callen walked into the interrogation room projecting an air of authoritative indifference. He let his eyes to sweep everyone in the place before silently taking his seat on the far side of the table. Crossing his tanned arms across his blue-clad chest, he shifted his disinterested gaze to the Assistant Director.

The interview started like all the previous ones with the displaying of the badges which Callen studiously ignored. Next came the recitation of the opening statement by Granger. Callen appeared to ignore the speech, though when asked if he understood the agent responded with a monotone 'yes'.

After the preliminary remarks were concluded, Investigator Simon asked the first question and waited, pen poised, for Callen's reply. However, the room remained silent as Callen sat there ignoring her and staring at the Assistant Director. Clearing her throat, she repeated inquiry; Callen still remained silent. Not knowing how to proceed, Investigator Simon placed her pen on her pad and looked at Granger in supplication.

"Agent Callen, please answer the question," Granger requested in his gravelly voice.

Continuing to stare at the Assistant Director, Callen remained mute.

"You do understand the seriousness of this investigation. This body has the authority to recommend everything from a reprimand to criminal charges," Granger reminded the Senior Agent in Charge.

For the first time since he entered the room, Callen spoke. "I understand."

Granger gave a little nod. "Then please answer Inspector Simon's question."

Callen slowly shook his head. "No."

The ex-military man, who disliked what he deemed as maverick operators such as Callen, entered the conversation. "Agent Callen, are you doubting our jurisdiction to conduct these proceedings? Because I assure you the NCIS has granted as us full authority to get to the bottom of this matter." Callen's eyes had shifted to watch the man make his speech and the agent's defiant stare further vexed Investigator Martel. "You do realize, Agent Callen that one of our recommendations could be that you are charged with murder."

Callen's face remained perfectly neutral though his tone held the slightest edge of condescension. "I got that when Assistant Director Granger stated it a minute ago."

The ex-military man's jaw line gave away that he was extremely aggravated with Callen's behavior. In a contentious tone he said, "I suggest you answer the questions we are asking you Agent."

With the slightest cock of his head Callen simply answered, "No."

People like Callen, who didn't know their place in the order and ranking of the world, aggravated Inspector Martel. If he could have his way, he'd reach across the table, smash the man into the wall and then throw the book at the defiant agent. In his mind, rogue agents, such as Callen, were as dangerous to the public as the terrorists. They to be dealt with severely to protect America's citizens; if you didn't, innocent 14-year-old boys died. "Are you refusing to answer our questions Agent Callen?" he growled.

Callen disregarded him, shifting his focus to Granger and though he looked at the Assistant Director, it was clear he was addressing his question to the woman sitting to the right of Granger. "Inspector Simon. Isn't there a place on the form where you can check the interviewee refreshed to answer questions?"

Though she knew the forms like the back of her hand, the woman still glanced down to check again before she answered. "Yes."

Still keeping his focus on Granger, Callen stated, "Then check that box. I have nothing to say."

"You do realize that could be taken as an admission of guilt," Inspector Martel said with the slightest hint of glee in his voice. "We can charge you with murder."

Callen gave a small apathetic shrug. "Do what you have to."

The agent's actions irritated Martel so much he slammed his folder shut, stood, glowered at Callen and announced "We're done here."

"Sit down. I'll say when we are done," Granger told the man in a tone which was mild, yet left no room for disobedience.

Sulkily, the man returned to his seat. "This is a waste of time."

Granger watched Callen for a few minutes in silence. Callen sat in the chair cool, calm and collected as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Why are you doing this Agent Callen?" he asked in a non-confrontational manner.

Granger, who was a good read of people and who, over the last few years because they'd worked together on occasion, had gotten better at reading Callen, saw the minute shift in Callen's attitude which led him to believe the agent was being sincere. "You want me to tell you what happened down there in those tunnels? Whether I was justified in taking Alex Fryman's life?"

"Yes we do, Agent Callen," Granger confirmed, nodding.

Callen smiled grimly. "I can't."

"Can't or won't because you know you are guilty of killing an innocent 14-year-old boy?" Inspector Martel inserted nastily.

Granger turned to the man on his left. "That is enough, Inspector Martel!"

Granger refocused on Callen who had remained passive during the exchange. "Why?"

Callen dropped his defiant, bad boy act and ran a weary hand over his face. "I can't tell you because I don't know myself. I made a decision, in the field, under adverse conditions, with the lives of many on-the-line. When you are in that situation, that moment in time, you make a split-second call and whether it was right or wrong," Callen spread his hands, "I'm not even sure that concept comes into play."

The woman in the chair leaned forward a bit in her chair. "Are you saying it is always Ok to kill someone, in a field situation?"

Callen shook his head sadly, his blue eyes filled with past regrets. "It is never right to kill someone. But it is a necessary evil of the business we are in. Whenever I pull the trigger, for that millisecond in time, it is the right thing to do, or I wouldn't pull the trigger. But if you ask me later, did I make the right decision, well that is not for me to judge."

The woman leaned back in her chair, chewed on the end of her pen and pondered the agent's statement.

Callen did a sweep of the people in the room again. Inspector Martel had made up his mind to hang Callen before he'd even stepped in the room and his decision hadn't changed. The woman was still wrestling with everything and hadn't formulated her position. His final stop was on the Assistant Director. Callen found him the most interesting because he would swear the man was on his side; something that he rarely felt in the past when dealing with Granger.

Tired and worn out, Callen made one last time attempt to explain. "If after every time I have shoot someone, I came back here and analyzed what I did, why I did it and if it was right, I'd have put a bullet in my brain years ago. No one could live with that level of guilt. What we are taught, as agents, is to make the best decision, based on the facts at that instance in time, react and move on. It is the only way to survive in this job where you have to lie, cheat, steal, hurt and kill people for the protection of our nation. It's not something I ever have, or ever will, take lightly."

For once, the woman with the pen had nothing to write and she laid the instrument on the table.

"Are we done here?" Callen inquired of the Assistant Director.

Granger studied the weary man before him. "Yes. A decision will be rendered by this panel and you will be notified of the outcome. Until that time, you may resume your normal duties."

Callen gave a curt nod, rose from his chair and left the room without a backward glance. As he suspected, Sam was waiting for him in the main area of the shed. Callen brushed past him, heading for the door that led to the outside. When he was almost there he heard Sam ask, "How did it go?"

Callen paused, turned and looked back at his friend. "I did what you asked. I told the truth," and with that he turned and left.


	20. Chapter 20

_Author's Note: After the last three chapters, we need to regroup, set the stage and take a quick humor break before we dive back in. _

* * *

After the investigating team left, no one spoke about what happened in the boatshed. Deeks only tried once, but he was quickly shut down by the rest of his team. Even Sam didn't try to privately talk to Callen about what he told the Inspectors; Sam knew it would do no good.

The team was informed that the panel would not make their decision for a few days, so life went on for the agents as a new case hit their radar. Since Callen was fully operational, at least for the moment, the team proceeded as they normally would with a pre-brief by Eric and Nell in the Ops Center. After that, a plan was put in place and its implementation begun.

Callen appeared to be operating normally, even though a possible career-ending, life-altering decision hung over his head. Sam and Hetty still had their doubts, believing Callen was withholding something from them. However, the rest of the team was willing to dismiss their leader's previously odd behavior and move forward. They took it as a good sign the senior agent seemed more relaxed; maybe it meant his time with the investigators went well.

Hetty stood in the wardrobe area impatiently waiting for her agents to don the outfits she had hand-picked for their mission. "Sometime today gentleman," the part-time seamstress admonished. "Clubbing occurs at night, not in the morning which, at the rate you two are going, will shortly be upon us."

Deeks emerged from behind the partition first and he was already working his outfit.

Kensi, who was standing in the wings observing was impressed. "You look smokin' Deeks," she grudgingly admitted to her partner.

In his form fitting, acid-washed, skinny jeans and blue silk shirt, Deeks sauntered over to where Kensi stood and gave her a haughty glare. "Sorry darling," he drawled. "But ya know I bat for the other team. I'm much more interested in what Sam thinks of my attire." Deeks struck a pose and glanced over at Sam for the big guy's reaction.

"I think there is a spot on your left shoe," Sam observed causing Deeks break his preen and bend over to examine his footwear.

"There's nothing there," Deeks complained straightening up.

"I know," Sam smugly replied.

"Then why did you..."

Sam gave a full-court grin. "I was curious to see if those jeans would rip if you had to exert yourself at all during this Op. Wouldn't want you to get picked up by LAPD for indecent exposure. We have a reputation to maintain."

Deeks didn't look amused. "Ha, ha very funny."

Hetty broke up their good-natured ribbing session. "Is there any chance Mr. Callen will be joining us sometime this century? How long does it take to put on a pair of jeans and a shirt?"

Deeks ran his hand thru his stylishly-messy, right from the shower, blond hair. "About that. I think Callen was having some difficulty with the concept of the skinny jean."

Hetty was exasperated. "I don't understand!" she said, her voice raising. "There is no concept. They are simply a pair of form fitting pants."

Appearing decidedly uncomfortable, Deeks replied, "Ah yeah. And that's wherein the problem lies. I think Callen had a problem with the, ah fit."

Blinking up at Deeks, she questioned, "Are you implying I gave him the incorrect size? I have put dozens of pairs of pants on that man. I know his proper size."

Deeks made a face that could only be described as an embarrassed smirk. "There is something so wrong with that statement."

The curtain opened and Callen quickly walked out, moving past everyone, as he towards the door. "Alright let's go."

"Wait!" she who must be obeyed ordered.

Reluctantly Callen stopped in his tracks, turning to face her.

"Those are not the jeans I gave you to put on," she scolded as if he was a child going to Sunday school in ripped pants.

Callen cocked his jaw, which he did when he was angry and annoyed and stared at her. "The others didn't fit."

"Oh I beg to differ, Mr. Callen. They were the correct size. Now go put them on!" She practically stomped her little foot with insistence.

"I'm telling you they didn't fit!" he asserted again.

"Were you able to button the waist?" she inquired.

Callen grudgingly nodded.

"And raise the zipper?" she asked with a little hand flourish. "And the length, just shy of brushing the ground?"

Wincing, he was forced to nod again in concurrence.

A satisfied smile lit her face. "Then they fit. Go put them on."

"But they're tight," he muttered under his breath.

"Where exactly were they tight," she quizzed her recalcitrant agent.

"Everywhere!" he practically shouted.

Hetty sadly shook her head at her wardrobe challenged agent. "But my dear boy, they are skinny jeans. They are supposed to be tight everywhere. Now go put them on!"

Shifting his weight, it was painfully obvious Callen planned to disobey. "They ripped, when I put them on," he lied.

"That's easily remedied." She walked over to her wardrobe rack and pushed a few pieces aside before grabbing a hanger, holding it aloft. "Here you go. A spare pair. Please don't rip these putting them on, hmmm?"

Callen took the hanger like it was rigged with dynamite. "And if I do?" he had to ask.

"I will simply have to come in there and sew them up...while you are wearing them. Dare me, Mr. Callen?" she said suddenly making a needle and thread appear out of thin air.

Making a hasty retreat into the dressing room, Callen emerged a short time later in said skinny jeans. They were classic black and Hetty had paired them with a teal silk shirt that set off his eyes perfectly.

Hetty clapped her small hands in glee. "As Ms. Blye said, you look smokin, Mr. Callen," causing the agent to do something he only did ten times in his adult life, blush.

Sam walked over and clamped a manly hand on Callen's shoulders. "I'm impressed. I didn't think you had it in you to pull this outfit off." He gave his partner an appraising look that swept from head to toe and Callen's blush deepened.

Kensi walked over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Don't let them get to you Callen. You're better than that. Work it," she whispered encouragingly in his ear. As she stepped back, Nell came hurrying around the corner holding two button cameras.

"Here are the button cams," she said looking up and spotting Deeks first who was still preening. "You're so damn hot, Deeks. You're going to slam all the other guys." Reaching up, she attached the cam to his shirt. Deeks was grinning from ear to ear, licking it up.

Holding up the second one, her eyes sought out Callen and the cam nearly slipped from grasp when she spotted him. Her mouth hung open a little as she tried to speak several times unsuccessfully. Kensi nudged Callen in the side and hissed. "Work it."

Callen prided himself on being able to play any role, any time and he wasn't going to let a pair of stupidly tight jeans throw him off his game. Pushing his embarrassment aside, he jumped into his role heart and soul. Cool, calm and collected, he sauntered across the floor until he was standing less than a hand-span away from Nell. "You have something for me," he asked her in a tone which was seductively smooth and velvety.

Mutely, she attached the cam and then quickly stepped back. Finally finding her tongue she raised her eyebrows saying, "You look ah, great."

Looking every inch a spoiled, smug brat, he stood and took a measured look over his shoulder. "I don't know. Do these jeans do my ass justice?" he wondered aloud. Walking past the women, since for this particular op he was not out to impress the ladies, he stopped in front of Sam. "You usually seem to have a comment. What do you think?" he inquired turning to give Sam a 3/4 quarters view.

"I think your ass better not need saving during this Op because I might not do it." Sam grumbled at his partner's antics.

Giving Sam a single shoulder shrug he moved over to stand next to Deeks, casually draping his arm around Deeks' waist. "Ready?"

Deeks stood there gaping like a dying fish and Callen broke character and stepped back. "This cover isn't going to work Hetty," he complained.

Deeks quickly regained control. "No, no. I've got it. I was just momentarily blinded by your sheer sexiness. Won't happen again."

Callen wasn't sure if he had just been complimented or insulted. Dropping back into his authoritative team lead mode, he started issuing directions and soon the team was on its way to their respective vehicles. As Callen walked by Hetty, he bent over and whispered, "This isn't over yet."

Hetty blinked up at him with her owl eyes and said, "Be careful. And don't bleed, rip or otherwise damage my clothes." As Callen strode out of the room she let a small smile slip across her lips. Even she had to have fun once in a while.


	21. Chapter 21

The big, black, SUV was parked across the street from the club called Ponds; inside the two occupants sat, studiously watching the door. There was a fairly steady flow of people entering, some in groups, some singles, but not the couple for whom they were waiting. Though it was night, the club's signage gave off enough ambient light to id the entrants; however both residents of the SUV felt they could have picked out their respective partners in the dark; it was a partner's thing.

"I don't like this Sam," Kensi fretted chewing at the corner of her thumb. "Them in there. Us out here." If something goes wrong..."

Sam had to agree with her; this was not how he liked to operate. However, in this case it had to be this way; he and Kensi couldn't blend in easily past those doors. Sam hated undercover operations when he was separated from his team mates because if something went wrong, someone usually got hurt.

Finally, Callen and Deeks strolled into view from the direction of the parking garage where they had left Callen's black Mercedes. As much as Sam hated to admit it, he was impressed at how well Deeks was meshing with Callen on this assignment. Deeks and Callen had worked together as part of the four person team, but the two blondes never had to work this close; posing as a couple.

"Damn their good," Kensi grudgingly admitted echoing Sam's unspoken thoughts.

The two men weren't being overtly obvious such as holding hands, yet their body language suggested 'couple' and the occasional seemingly unconscious touch, gesture, head tilt, and glance clinched the deal.

"I always knew Callen was good at becoming anyone; I'm not even sure I know the real Callen, but who knew Deeks had it in him," Kensi marveled.

Sam gave a small smile "Hetty. She always knows."

Kensi nodded in agreement. "She does, doesn't she?" The brunette went back to worrying her thumb. "Still I don't like this Op. In order for this to work, Callen has to let himself be captured and Deeks has to ensure he doesn't get himself killed."

Callen's voice came in over their ear wigs. "We're about to enter the club."

"Roger that. We have eyes on you," Kensi acknowledged.

"Where are your eyes Fern? Exactly what are they focused on because you know I'm spoken for." Deeks ran his hand down Callen's back in an intimate gesture that appeared to end in a light butt squeeze.

"Did he just do what I think he did? Callen will get even for that," Sam predicted.

"See what I have to deal with? At least for once it wasn't me." Sam and Kensi exchanged uncomfortable glances. "Yeah that sounded weird."

"Hey Callen," she said thru the comm link. "If he gets to fresh, I find a heel to the toe of his boot or a good old groin kick is a great attitude adjuster."

"Appreciate the advice," Callen thanked her sincerely with a slight smirk as Deeks groaned.

NCIS had gotten involved in this case when Lt Frank Springer, stationed in San Diego, had disappeared while on vacation in LA with his lover Tony. In talking to his friends and family, the team had discovered that he was gay. His trail had led them to this nightclub which was frequented by the said community called Ponds.

At first it was suspected that a gang operating out of this club preyed on naval personal who had access to classified data and had a weakness that could be exploited; don't ask, don't tell. Even though the act had been repealed, allowing gays, lesbians and bisexuals to openly serve in the armed forces, many long time career men and woman preferred to keep their orientation private. The people running this club used that against them to extort money and secrets.

Some more digging and inter-agency cooperation had put together a grimmer scenario. More than just naval personnel had been targeted; also wealthy business or anyone that had some sort of value, for which a third person was willing to pay; the common vector was their sexual orientation. When all the separate inter-agency data was correlated it showed a suspicious pattern of 'high value' people entering this night club and never coming out, at least not via the front door.

The team came up with a theory that at some point while in the club, the victim was isolated and taken hostage. Where the hostages were taken, what was done to them and if they were ever released was speculation on the team's part. They thought some of the hostages might have been let go, but for whatever reasons, they weren't stepping forth to seek out the authorities.

There was no way to be sure how many of the employees at the club were involved in this racket besides the owners. Common sense said some based on the success rate to date. Trying to infiltrate the staff was too risky, so, Granger dictated that Callen and Deeks go undercover as the target, posing as a gay couple of 'value'. Sam and Kensi voiced their disapproval as did Hetty. However, the Assistant Director trump card was played and no one's opinions mattered; the Navy wanted to know if they have been compromised by Lt Springer's abduction. Apparently, whatever Lt Springer had access to was worth the potential life of two men, namely Callen and Deeks, to the powers that be. The plan had been made, back-stopped and executed but not without misgivings.

Sam had become familiar with Callen's and Deeks' backstory which was impressively detailed considering the amount of time Nell and Eric had to create it. It made Sam feel better to understand every aspect of an undercover operation; SEALs were always prepared. While he waited outside the club in the car, he reviewed the details in his mind.

Callen's cover was Lieutenant Commander Thomas W Martin who was currently stationed at Naval Weapons Station China Lake managing classified R&amp;D projects. LCDR Martin was career-Navy with an impressive service record that was almost cut short due to injuries received during a mission. While his injuries didn't end his career, they did get him transferred to a state-side desk job at China Lake. His country was now using his knowledge of naval tactics to advance the technology that was put in the field. He was a well-respected, tough but fair, single, never-married, and no kids. He was also gay and he preferred it stayed a secret.

Deeks' cover was Gary Ulrich, civilian computer programmer also stationed at China Lake; also gay; also choosing to remain under the radar. Even though there were differences between the men, civilian verses uniform, younger verses older, reserved verses out going, they had hit it off first as friends and later as lovers. While they worked at the same base, they didn't work on the same projects so it was easy to keep their relationship discreet; something both man craved for their own personal reasons. CDR Martin felt it would affect his career no matter what the Navy said and Gary had been harassed on the East coast and had moved west for a clean start.

When the two went out together, it was never anywhere near where they lived or worked. In a few years, after Tom retired, the couple, assuming they were still together, planned to relocate and start a new and openly gay life together. Going to this club was a break in how they normally operated; but it was Gary's birthday and he wanted to do something special so with some misgivings, Tom had agreed they could drive the 150 miles to LA where they would celebrate. This bar, Ponds, had been recommended by an online group that Gary frequented.

Coming back to the present, Sam checked his watch. The two men had entered the club twenty minutes ago. "I hate waiting. No telling how long it will take for them to be targeted, if it even happens."

Callen went all business the moment they entered the club, snugging Deeks up close as they made their way to the bar. Finding two empty stools, the guys perched on them and ordered beers and shots. Callen handed over his credit card to pay for the drinks and the bartender turned his back on the agents as he ran it thru the reader before returning it.

In a back room of the club, the name and number came up on screen. "He's here," the man called out as he examined the data. A few more clicks had LCDR Martin's driver license displayed on the screen. A second man walked over and confirmed the data.

"Which one?"

The man behind the laptop got up and tapped one of the clubs security monitors. "This one. The older, short-haired blond."

The second man watched the screen for a few minutes. "Are we sure the Intel is good?"

"Yes. Very sure. LCDR Martin is heading up a research project that would be of great interest to some of our clients."

"And the man with him?"

"Gary Ulrich. Computer programmer. They have been lovers for about five years."

The second man ran his hand over his beard. "Is he of any value?"

"Not really."

"Fine. There is always room in the desert for one more body. Alert the team. Wait for the opportunity, then let's take our LCDR for a little ride."

As the night wore on, Callen and Deeks did what was expected of a happy couple out on the town to celebrate a birthday. They moved from the bar to a table for two where they ordered a bottle of champagne and some upscale appetizers to munch on. They danced to a few upbeat songs as a way to move about and case the club, but by unspoken, mutual agreement, seemed to need a break when the slow songs were spun. Even though they were cleverly decreasing the volume in the champagne bottle without actually drinking it, Callen still made multiple trips to the men's room alone, figuring it would give them a good opportunity to snatch him.

After his latest trip, Callen slid into the table next to Deeks and held out his hand for inspection. "If I wash my hands one more time, I'm going to have to get a moisturizer."

Deeks gazed off into the distance, lost in a thought. "Kensi has a great moisturizer. It smells like fresh apples."

Callen cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "Are you cheating on me Gary?"

Knowing he was being chastised for dropping out of character, Deeks reached over and ran his hand down the side of Callen's face. "Never. She sits next to me at work. She lent some to me one day when my palm was dry."

Callen chose not to pursue that line of thought and instead looked over the crowd again. His right hand was under the table, resting on his thigh when he felt it start to tremble. He quickly shoved it in his pocket, no easy feat given the tightness of his jeans.

"I think it is time to cruise the floor once more." Callen stood as a new song was spun up by the DJ.

The dance area was super-crowded at this point and the agents found themselves separated. Callen immediately went on high alert because it seemed to him some of the dancers that had gotten between him and Deeks did so deliberately. He scanned over their heads trying to catch Deeks eye but he was unsuccessful.

Suddenly the club went dark and people screamed, pushed and shoved each other. In the confusion, Callen felt something stick him in the neck; whatever it was acted fast, knocking him unconscious. A man wearing night-vision goggles quickly hoisted him over his shoulder and carried him out a door into the back of the club.

A few seconds later, the soothing voice of the DJ floated thru the darkness asking people to stay calm, ensuring them the problem would be momentarily corrected and it was as the lights and music came back online.

Deeks frantically looked around for Callen but could spot him. Before he could get a word out over the comm link, a large man approached him from the side and clamped a firm hand on his bicep. "If you ever want to see your lover again, walk slowly and calmly with me."

Deeks put a terrified look on his face. "What's this about? Where's Tom? Where are you taking me?"

The intended information made it over the comm link to Sam who went into high alert. "It's happened. They snatched Callen. Eric, where is his location?"

"His button camera is down but his tracker still shows him at the club, Sam."

"Keep an eye on him while we go rescue Deeks," Sam instructed.

The large man escorted Deeks firmly across the club into the hallway that lead to the restrooms. At the end of the corridor was an emergency exit.

"You taking me outside cause I left my coat at the table," Deeks complained. "Also, I think I parked out front not in the back."

Kensi and Sam processed the latest Intel from Deeks and sprinted around the building to where the exit door was located. They were waiting in the shadows watching it open; Deeks and his captor stepped out into the dimly lit alley.

Parked outside the door was a sedan with a large capacity trunk and the man walked Deeks in that direction. He pushed a button on the remote in his hand and the trunk slowly opened.

"We're going for a little ride." Gesturing with the gun, the man indicated Deeks was to climb inside the trunk which was lined with plastic.

"Look I bruise real easily. Can't I ride shotgun. Please?" Deeks pleaded to the man holding the gun pointed at his head.

The man was not amused. "Get in. Don't make me shot you out here. It's much messier to clean up."

Sam crept up behind the thug and pressed the muzzle of his gun against the man's head. "Don't make me pull the trigger. It's messy to clean up," Sam growled.

The man lowered his gun and reaching around, Kensi secured the weapon. Once he was unarmed, Sam cuffed him and moved him quietly away from the club, handing him off to another tactical unit.

"Sam," Eric's voice came in over the comm link. "Their taking Callen away from the club. His GPS tracker is moving north on Vine."

Sam turned to the second tactical unit. "Secure him and get that car out of here. We have to make it look like he is off in the desert shooting Deeks. We need to stay undetected until we can locate the hostages. Kensi, Deeks, Callen's on the move."

The tact team went off to stealthily clean up while Deeks, Sam and Kensi hurried back to the SUV out front.

"Talk to me Eric," Sam commanded sliding behind the wheel and buckling up.

"Still on Vine. We don't have eyes on vehicles. Traffic cameras are down." There was a pause and then Eric swore something the techie rarely did. The team in the car knew this couldn't be good. "Ah Sam, Callen's signal is gone."

"What!" Kensi exclaimed.

"Get it back Eric," Sam demanded.

"Trying." Nell and Eric were working their keyboards frantically trying to get the GPS tracker back online.

Kensi looked over at Sam. "Do you think they found it? Took it off Callen?"

Sam kept staring intensely out the windshield, as if he could make Callen appear by his sheer willpower. "Possibility."

"Don't think so," Nell chimed in. "It seems there is a catastrophic hardware failure in the system, they are doing a hot switchover and should be coming online momentarily."

It was silent in the car except for Sam drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The moments crept by with no word from the tech team back in Ops. Finally, when Sam was about ready to scream, Eric's voice filled his ear wig. "Ok, system is up and running..."

"Great! Where is he Eric?" Sam interrupted.

Back in Ops Eric grimaced as he stared at his screen. "Ah, his tracker is not coming back online."

Sam slapped the steering wheel with his palm. "You're telling me we don't know where he is!"

Nell cut in. "While the system is operational, they are reporting that it is taking time for the trackers to be reacquired." Nell knew Sam would want the whole truth so she continued. "And there is a possibility Callen's tracker won't come back online, especially if he is inside or in a dead zone."

Hetty, whom heard all this made a decision. "Mr. Hanna, return back to Ops."

Sam shook his head. "No way. I'm staying out here looking for G. I'm not leaving him out here alone."

"Sam," she said gently but firmly, "you don't have a signal. You don't know what type of vehicle he is in. Simply driving around the streets randomly is not productive."

"Fine. I'll go back to that club and force them to tell me where they have taken him," he countered.

"You could. But you don't know who all the players are and one call from a player you aren't aware of could get Callen and all the hostages instantly killed. I know you want to take action Sam, but if it is not the right action you may be signing your partner's death warrant."

Sam exhaled noisily knowing Hetty was right. He hated it, but he knew she was right so he turned the car around and headed back to Ops.


	22. Chapter 22

Two things greeted Callen upon his return to consciousness; nausea and cold. The first was easily explained since any form of anesthesia, whether administered by a doctor or a crook, upset his stomach; he wished his body reacted better to what seemed to be a professional hazard in his line of work. The cold was also easily explained; he was lying in his thin silk shirt, on a cement floor, that was quite chilly.

Stifling a groan, he cautiously turned his head to take in his surroundings. The prominent feature that caught his eye was the bars and not the type that served alcohol but rather the type that served confinement. Rolling over onto his left side, he evaluated his physical condition and other than being sore he didn't think anything was majorly wrong.

Pushing the rest of the way up to a sitting position allowed him to view the rest of his new world. The area he was in was grey, semi-dark and subdivided into what could only be described as cages. Seeing no imminent threat, he rose to his feet, reaching out a hand to steady himself on the cement wall. Calling them what they really were, he estimated each jail cell was about 10 square feet with bars spaced 4 inches apart that ran from floor to ceiling. The opening to each cell was chained shut with a thick length of steel and a padlock that one could purchase at the local hardware store; cheap and mostly effective.

Scanning the rest of the room, he counted eight more cages, there of which were occupied. His fellow prisoners were sitting on their make-shift beds watching him with interest and he supposed this was considered entertainment for this particular resort.

The first occupied cell held an older man, greying at the temples, in a seriously rumpled navy business suit. Callen couldn't help thinking if he ever returned a suit to Hetty, in the condition of that gentleman's, she'd lecture him, dock his pay and maybe even consider shooting him; Hetty was very protective of her clothes. The man appeared defeated and tired, but otherwise in physically good condition.

The second person, also male, was dressed more casually in clothes that suggested he was probably partying when he was captured and most likely at the club. His short hair, trim physique, and the way he carried himself told Callen this was probably their missing naval Lieutenant. While the business man appeared to be uninjured, the lieutenant looked as if he had been beaten and Callen had a hunch why that was; someone had tried to extract information from the man.

The last person making up the quad was a young male, probably in his early twenties. His clothes suggested he came from a family with a good amount of disposal income. Like the business man, he appeared worn out but physically unscathed. While the officer continued to watch Callen, the other two quickly lost interest and went back to studying the floor of their cells.

Pushing off the wall he'd been using to steady himself, Callen took the four steps required to move from one side of the cell to the other and gave the door a shake. He had no expectations that it would open, but he did it for appearance sakes anyway as he scanned the entire room to ascertain if they were being watched or listened to via electronic devices. His search yielded nothing that he could detect.

The placement of the captives in the cells was such that no one was adjacent; four cells down one side of the room, four down the other, every other cell had a prisoner. Each cell had a portable chemical toilet, like those used on boats or campers; a thin mattress on the floor and a ragged blanket rounded out the decor of the cells.

Callen rattled the chain again taking a covert look at the padlock. He could easily pick that lock with the bobby pin in his pants pocket assuming three things: that the pin was still in his pocket, that he could get his hand in the pocket of these stupidly tight jeans and that he could do it without being spotted by any bad guys.

The nausea in his stomach reasserted itself and the blond man ducked his head and clenched his teeth to keep it at bay. Damn he hated being knocked out physically or chemically. When the feeling had passed, Callen looked over at the military man. "Any clue what is going on here?"

Before the Lieutenant could reply, light appeared as a door opened and two men walked into the prison. "Ah, Commander you are awake."

"Where the hell am I," Callen demanded belligerently.

"All in due time," the man said indicating to his partner to open the cell. "We are going to go have a little chat, Tom. We can do this the easy way or the hard way." The second man who was built like a bulldozer, opened the door to his cell. Callen had no Intel on his location or whether he would be offered an opportunity to escape, so he cooperated, leaving the cell and allowing himself to be escorted from the room.

They went through another obviously underground area and Callen discretely looked for exits; there appeared to be only one, a staircase that leads upwards. Callen started in that direction, but the bulldozer stopped him with a hand on his arm and steered him towards the only other door in the underground cavern.

"Don't want to disturb the neighbors," the first captor said gesturing for him to go inside the room. They walked thru that door into a brightly lit space. A chair sat in the middle of the space. There were chains near it that had one end embedded in the floor. There was also a long table with items that Callen certainly recognized but didn't want to think about as well as a video camera on a tripod. It was very clear that this was a serious interrogation room. Callen was forced into the chair but the manacles remained on the floor for the moment.

One additional person entered the chamber and a bead of cold sweat ran down Callen's back. Callen could tell by his attitude that this new man would be wielding the instruments on the table and was extremely confident in his abilities. He moved over to the table and stood waiting in readiness. The bulldozer shut the door and stood guard by it, while the man who had done all the talking to date positioned himself directly in front of Callen.

"Tom. I hope you don't mind that I call you Tom. This doesn't have to be an unpleasant experience. I just need you to answer some questions."

Callen squirmed a bit in the chair feigning uncomfortableness that wasn't totally a sham.

A smile played across the inquisitor's face. "Are you nervous Tom?"

The gentleman standing by the table picked up a knife with a long blade and tested the edge for sharpness.

"There is no need to be anxious. I think you will know all the answers to my questions. First, you work at China Lake correct?"

Callen gave a brief nod while fretfully eyeing the guy with the knife.

"See wasn't that easy? Let's move to the next question. Tonight, you were at the club with your _special_ _friend. _Gary, I think is his name. I believe you and Gary have a rather special relationship, perhaps one you haven't shared with your Navy brethren?"

Callen swallowed hard, awkwardly looking away.

The man leaned in closer. "How badly do you want to keep that a secret, Commander? Are you afraid your naval pals, if they found out about your special friend, they might not be so, shall we say tolerant?"

Playing the game full-tilt, Callen let his body radiate embarrassment and shame.

His captor straightened up. "Gary is attractive, I suppose, if that is what one is into. I'd hate to see anything happen to mar that handsome face."

Callen sprang from the chair to grapple with the man. "You hurt him and I'll kill you," he spat in the man's face.

Instantly, the guard at the door and the man from the table yanked Callen off the speaker and punched him a few times in the torso before slamming him back into the chair, attaching the chains to his wrists and legs.

Callen bent over, gasping, trying to catch his breath as the two men stepped back. A small trickle of blood ran down the corner of his bruised mouth.

"It didn't have to be this way, Tom," he wheezed. The man Callen had just tried to choke, made a small gesture and the man by the table picked up the knife he'd been testing earlier and moved back to where the agent sat hunched over. Jerking Callen's head back with his free hand, the man positioned the point of the knife under the agent's chin. One wrong move from Callen and the man could easily sever his jugular vein.

Forcing himself to sit perfectly still, Callen turned his fear-filled eyes on the man who'd been questioning him. "What do you want?" he said in a trembling voice.

The man remained silent as he watched his accomplice slowly run the knife down Callen's neck leaving a faint line of blood in its wake. He stopped when he reached the first button on Callen's teal silk shirt and removed the knife.

"As I said earlier, Tom. I want you to confirm a few facts."

Keeping a wary eye on the man, who had withdrawn the knife from his neck, Callen asked, "What do you want to know?"

The inquisitor smiled. "It has been brought to my attention that you work on a classified project, code name Hopper."

Shifting uncomfortably in the chair and causing the chains to rattle, Callen answered. "Yes."

"See that wasn't so hard, was it Tom? Neither is the next thing I am going to ask you to do."

"What," the agent asked cautiously.

"It's simple really. I want you to bring me the schematics and technical data sheets for Project Hopper. Provide them and you can relocate somewhere, perhaps Mexico and live happily-ever after with Gary."

"You want me to steal classified naval documents! Never!" Callen vehemently swore.

"Never is such a long time, Tom. Especially when you are living alone with the knowledge that your failure to cooperate killed your lover."

Callen burst forth out of the chair again stretching to the end of his chains in an attempt to get out at the speaker who wisely remained out of reach. The muscle and the man with the knife once again stepped in and slammed Callen back in the chair. While bulldozer held him in place, the man with the knife surgically stabbed it thru Callen's right shoulder, pinning him to the back of the wooden chair. Callen's head spun with the pain of the embedded knife and he immediately stopped struggling as any movement caused the knife blade to wreak further damage on his shoulder.

"Please don't struggle Tom. We don't want you to injure yourself to the point you cannot go to work and retrieve what we have requested. If you can't do what we need, then you and Gary are of little use to us." The speaker knew his associates at the club had already taken Gary to the desert and dealt with him but he didn't feel compelled to mention that tidbit to Tom.

"I'll do whatever you want. Don't hurt Gary," Callen pleaded. In the back of his mind he was a little concerned that something had gone wrong at the club. The plan had been for Deeks to avoid being captured but had something gone awry? He had to try to find out. "Can I see Gary? Please?" he begged.

"In due time, Tom. After you have delivered what has been requested."

Taking a gamble, Callen hardened his features. "No. I either see Gary first or you can forget me doing anything for you."

The speaker shook his head sadly and gave another little gesture to the knife wielder as he turned his back on Callen. The torturer reached out and twisted the knife slightly in Callen's shoulder causing the agent to involuntarily gasp as a fresh steam of blood soaked his once teal blue, silk shirt. To get the pain under control Callen focused on the fact he had broken Hetty's commandment about bleeding on her wardrobe.

Still with his back to Callen, the man said, "Tom I thought you'd be smarter. Your defiance is getting you nowhere."

Silence fell over the room that was only disturbed by the gasping breath of Callen. The inquisitor walked back over to where Callen sat. "Do we have an understanding now Tom?"

A few tears of pain, slid down the side of Callen's face as he slowly lifted it to meet the others man's eyes. "I'll do whatever you say. Just don't hurt Gary or me anymore."

The speaker reached out and patted Callen on his good shoulder. "See, I knew you were a reasonable man. Now here's how we proceed. You will be taken back to your temporary quarters that is back to my remodeled wine cellar. Two days hence, when your vacation was scheduled to end, my men will drive you back to China Lake. They will wait off base while you go in and retrieve the data. Since you have 24/7 access perhaps after hours would be less complicated. You will bring the data back to my associates who will verify it. If all is in order they will drive you to where Gary is being detained."

Callen gave a small nod to show he was following.

"If anyone should ask how you sustained your injuries you can tell them it was in a macho bar fight. How's that Tom?" the man said with an evil grin.

"Sure, whatever you say," Callen agreed in a defeatist tone.

"Good. Now I'll let you go get some rest. I am so glad when I purchased this mansion it had a nice wine cellar. It has been so handy." Laughing, he headed towards the door. Just before he left, he addressed Callen one more time. "My reach is long and far Tom. This was just a small sample of what I can do. Please keep that in mind if you get any stupid ideas about escaping."

With that he left the room, followed by the torturer. Bulldozer unchained Callen and he half-walked, was half-dragged across the basement into his cell in the ex-wine cellar. A shove sent him sprawling onto the floor of his cell where he laid motionless until he heard the cell door slam and the lock click in place. A few seconds later the door leading into the wine cellar closed. Callen, however, still remained motionless.


	23. Chapter 23

After Callen decided they were alone, he rolled onto his side without the shoulder wound and slowly maneuvered into a seated position where he stopped and caught his breath for a moment. Lt Springer watched with interest but the other two men didn't even glance in his direction.

"You are or were military," Springer guessed.

Callen raised an eyebrow in the Lieutenant's direction but neither confirmed or denied the supposition. Instead he worked his way into a standing position but had to make a quick grab for the metal bars to steady his balance as a bout of dizziness caught him unawares. When everything settled down he turned his attention to the lieutenant.

"What makes you think I'm military?" he questioned. "You military?"

Springer stood proudly, squaring his shoulders and moving over to the bars closest to Callen's cell. "Navy. You?"

"Same. Career." Springer nodded his head in understanding. Callen ran his hand down the bars examining them as he spoke. "How'd you get in here?"

Springer's posture got a little defensive. "I was kidnapped. And you?"

"Same. At a club."

The Lieutenant tilted his head sideways and studied Callen for a moment. "Ponds?"

Callen nodded in concurrence. The young man stared at him for a few minutes trying to get up the courage to ask the obvious question. Finally, he indirectly asked. "You said career Navy?"

"More than twenty years," Callen patriotically proclaimed.

Clearing his throat Springer started to ask, "Are you..." but Callen quickly cut him off before he could finish with the phrase, "Don't ask. Don't tell."

Nodding slowly Springer simply said. "Roger that," and a tentative, unspoken bond between the two naval officers started to form.

Callen paused a moment to unbutton the top three buttons on his ruined shirt and look at the wound on his right shoulder. The entry point was still weeping blood so he assumed the exit hole in his back was probably in the same condition. However, the rate of bleeding was not concerning and he still had fairly good movement in his shoulder so, he buttoned his shirt deciding it was not a major concern at the moment. As he was fastening the last button he suddenly felt very dizzy again and he staggered against the bars. It took a good minute before the feeling passed.

"You alright?" Springer asked his voice full of concern.

"I'm good," Callen responded quickly with his stock answer.

Springer stated the obvious. "Looks like you resisted."

A small smirk played across Callen's face. "Let's say they were not pleased with some of my responses."

"Mine either," Springer confirmed before frowning. "However, I don't know how much long I can resist. They said if I didn't cooperate they would hurt my friend."

Since he needed Springer in the right frame of mind if they were to successfully escape, Callen didn't enlighten Springer to the reality that it was already too late for his friend. That would have to wait.

The agent reached his good hand into his back pocket and desperately tried to remove the bobby pin he had stashed. The stupid skinny jeans were so tight he could barely get his fingers in his pocket. When he did pry the bobby pin loose, it sprang out with such force, he lost his grip on it and it flew thru the air; luckily it landed within his cell.

Picking it up off the floor, he moved over to the padlock securing his cell, held it with his left hand while using the bobby pin in his right to pick the mechanism. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the pain in his right shoulder as he struggled to pick the lock. Finally he felt the click, tugged on the shank and the lock separated. He unclipped the lock from the chain and opened his cell door.

With an eye on the entry door to the wine cellar prison, he walked over to Lt Springer's cell and unlocked it but didn't remove the lock. He quickly whispered his plan to the Lieutenant before moving back to his own cell where he shut the door and hung the lock back on the chain but didn't secure it.

Weary from the events of the day, Callen walked over to the mattress on the floor and eased his body down on it, sitting with his back against the wall. His injured shoulder protested and he shifted his position until it settled down. Another small bout of dizziness struck him and he fought through it like the last one. A monotonous silence settled over the wine cellar as Callen waited to put his plan into action.


	24. Chapter 24

Five long hours later, the door to the wine cellar prison finally opened, and the man Callen had mentally nicknamed 'Bulldozer' walked in carrying four brown paper sacks.

"Dinner," he called out as he started on the far side of the room tossing one bag in each cell coming to Callen's cell last.

Callen stood with his hands on the bars of his cell door and the moment the man was directly front of his door he reached thru the bars, tore off the lock and slammed the cell door into the guard's face. Caught unawares, Bulldozer stumbled backwards and Callen quickly maneuvered behind him and put a choke hold on the man's thick neck. The guard slammed Callen back against the bars of the other cells but Callen held on for dear life. Bulldozer tried to elbow Callen's shoulder wound but the smaller man clung like a tick, and tightened his choke hold. Slowly, the guard's movements grew sluggish and he finally slid to the ground unconscious.

Loosening his grip, Callen dropped to his hands and knees on the floor as he worked to quell a wave of nausea and dizziness that threatened to knock him out like the man on the floor. He must have momentarily blacked out because the next thing he knew, he felt Lt Springer's hand on his good arm trying to get him to stand. The Lt had taken the lock off his cell that Callen had opened earlier. Still dazed, Callen accepted the assistance and clumsily clambered to his feet.

As the dizziness passed, Callen quickly gathered his wits. Patting Bulldozer down, he found the man's gun, keys to the doors and cell phone. Checking the phone, Callen wasn't surprised to learn it was not getting a signal in this underground cavern.

"We're getting out of here," Callen softly intoned to Springer. "Stay behind me. No noise." As he shoved the cell phone in his pocket, his right hand began to tremble and he turned his body so the Lt wouldn't see his weakness. As in the past, it was quickly over and Callen pushed the incident to the back of his mind and got on with the rescue.

"What about them?" Springer asked waving at the other two prisoners.

Callen quickly glanced over at them than back at the door. "We'll send someone to help them, but first we have to get out of here."

Springer nodded and followed Callen who made his way over to the door that led to the main section of the basement. He listened before slowly turning the knob and walking thru, his gun on point. He swept the room, found it was empty, and motioned for Springer to join him.

The two men stealthily made their way across the basement to the staircase leading upwards. Motioning for Springer to stay two steps behind him, Callen cautiously ascended the stairs. At the top he paused and listened, before opening the door a crack. Not hearing anything suspicious, Callen stepped into the kitchen area giving it the once over. It was empty though, he did hear the sound of a TV in the distance.

He spotted a door that led to the outside and glancing out the door's small window, he ascertained it was getting dark; that would help with their escape. He motioned Springer to come into the room as he walked towards the outside door. The security panel next to it indicated the door was not armed which meant, in theory, he could safely open it.

Before turning the doorknob, he pulled the cell phone from his back pocket and rechecked it and found he had a strong signal. With steady hands, he texted 'trace me' to Eric in the Ops Center, then motioning to the Lieutenant to close up on him as he opened the kitchen door and they stepped onto a patio. Silently shutting the door behind them, Callen dialed Eric on the phone.

"Eric. Do you have our location yet?" he asked when the tech answered.

"Almost," Eric replied.

"Hurry. I'm working blind here," Callen stated as his eyes swept the property. They were sitting ducks standing there, so Callen gestured for Springer to follow him as he made his way around to what he assumed, was the front of the property, making sure to keep out of sight of the windows. Too late, he rounded a corner and spotted a security camera; if it was being monitored they were screwed. "Eric!"

"We have your location," Nell's calm voice came over the phone. "You are near Hillcrest Country Club. The house is on a cul-de-sac on South Roxbury. The property backs up to the golf course."

Callen glanced around in the gathering darkness. "Which way?"

"The course is to the west of the house." Nell studied the image in front of her a bit more. "There is a maintenance area with a number of structures in the middle of the course, northwest of your location. Might be a good way to head."

"Thanks Nell. Tell Sam to hurry." Motioning to Springer, Callen started off at a swift walk towards the golf course, anxious to get as much distance as possible between them and the bad guys. It didn't take long to get to the outer edge of the greens where Callen stopped, checking out the way ahead.

In the depending darkness, he could see they were near a hole and there was a large expanse of grass they'd have to cross before they would reach any sort of cover. Signaling to move forward, Callen took off at a cautious run, around the three pristine white sand traps that glowed in the darkness, across the green and over a thin strip of road to take shelter in a small stand of trees.

Callen was breathing hard by the time he reached the meager shelter offered by the trees. An unexpected wave of dizziness washed over him and he involuntarily dropped to his knees. Holding his left hand over his face, he fought hard to work past the spinning. When he got it at bay, he gratefully took the offer of Springer's hand to climb back to his feet.

"You Ok?" Springer's face showed he was worried.

Callen reflexively answered, "I'm good. We gotta keep moving." Studying the wide macadam trail that lead in a northerly direction, Callen decided that must lead to the maintenance area Nell had mentioned, though the deepening twilight made it impossible to see that far. Callen didn't see any immediate sign of pursuit, but it was really hard to tell for sure in the dark.

Tapping Springer on the shoulder he said, "Let's go."

Setting the pace to a slow jog, Callen started up the trail with Springer on his heels. When they came to a fork in the path, Callen instinctively headed up the left-hand side because it was slightly wider and more likely led to the maintenance area. As they rounded a curve in the road, a series of metal sheds came into view. The area around the large metal facilities was sporadically lit by a few fluorescent lights, giving the yard a mottled appearance. The men made their way up to the door of the nearest building and Callen tested the handle finding it unlocked. The shed had overhead skylights which let in a faint glimmer of light, enough that they could see the place was used for the storing and repairing of the golf carts used on the course.

Whether or not Callen felt this was a good place to hide was suddenly moot when headlights swung across the yard. Moving quickly inside and securing the door, Callen grabbed Springer by the arm, dragging him deeper into the shed. Counting four car doors slamming, Callen knew there were at least four adversaries they had to worry about.

Creeping across the dark shed was not easy and so it came as no surprise when Lt Springer accidentally bumped into a table of metal tools spilling them noisily to the floor. With that crash, any hope of the bad guys walking past this shed flew out the window. As the door to the shed burst open, Callen shoved Springer to the ground behind a golf cart. Moving a few feet to the right, the agent positioned himself carefully so he could see how many people came through the door. Inwardly groaning, he counted six shadows passing through the frame. Taking the pilfered phone from his pocket and shielding the screen he rapidly typed, "In maintenance shed. Trapped. Six bogeys."

A quick reply from Eric was not comforting. "Sam five out. Hide."

Tucking the phone back in his jean's pocket, Callen swore in his head. The last thing he felt like doing was playing a game of hide and seek in the dark with the stakes being his and the Lieutenant's lives. He felt something brush his feet and discovered the cart he was perched behind was covered in a tarp that hung all the way to the ground. Moving back to where he'd left Springer, he touched the man's arm and gently guided him over to the covered golf cart. Silently, he lifted the edge and pushed Springer enough that he got the message to crawl inside. After the naval officer was fully concealed, Callen crept away, moving back towards the exit door, while keeping cover behind the carts.

When the overhead lights suddenly flicked on, Callen discovered one of the gunmen was only three feet away from him. Reacting quickly, he charged the man, butting him in the stomach and knocking him to the ground. Luck was on Callen's side and the man's head struck one of the fenders on the golf cart and the gun he'd been holding flew out of his hand. Scrambling after the weapon, Callen grabbed it, shoved it in his belt and took shelter behind a new cart. Bullets from the other five guns flew his way as his desperately typed "kill lights" to Eric.

With more time, Eric could have done a much cleaner job, but Callen's text indicated speed not finesse was required so Eric quickly shut down the power to entire golf course and a good portion of the surrounding neighborhoods.

When the lights winked off, to include the outside lights, the shed was plunged into total darkness. Callen yanked the gun out of his belt as he strained to hear any noise that would indicate the location of the enemy. One, then two minutes dragged by as Callen kept his breathing swallow and quiet and the rest his senses on high alert. When he heard the sound of the Challenger pulling up outside, a wave of relief washed over him. The blond watched in the direction of where he thought the door was and he was rewarded with the sight of it flying open and three figures with lights on their weapons entered the shed.

"Federal agents. Drop your weapons," Sam's voice stridently called out and as usual it brought no results.

Wanting his team to know what they were getting into, Callen yelled, "Five armed. One down," but the last word wasn't necessary as five guns started firing in the direction of Callen's voice. But he had as anticipated that would happen and before the last word had left his mouth, he'd already hit the floor and was crawling away at a rapid pace. By getting his assailants to fire at him, Callen also gave his team another piece of information they needed, the location of the assailants.

The flashlight-enhanced assault rifles of Sam, Kensi and Deeks took aim and fired. Callen stopped crawling and quickly retrieved the phone again and texted Eric. Aloud, he yelled a warning to his team. "Lights!" and they were ready when the shed blazed forth in a glory. In the brightness, they could see that three gunmen now decorated the floor leaving three still at large.

Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he placed both hands on the gun he'd acquired just in case his right hand acted up and scanned for a target. The cat and mouse game went on for a while with heads from both sides popping up to take shots but no hits were scored. In between volleys of bullets, Sam kept moving closer to where he thought his partner was hunkered down. Finally he spotted Callen who, when he sensed someone on his six, spun around, dove right, and started to raise his gun. Before his gun was fully raised, Callen's right hand and arm began to violently shake and he stumbled, hit the ground on his bad shoulder and dropped the weapon. The bad guy who had been also been closing in on the Callen took aim to fire and only the quick shot from Sam, downing the man, saved Callen from adding another scar to his collection.

Sam moved protectively to his downed partner's side. "You alright," he hissed as he reached down with one hand, assisting him back to his feet. Callen replied affirmatively. After reaching back down to retrieve the dropped weapon, they both moved to better cover as more shots rang out.

Fortunately it didn't take long for Kensi and Deeks to subdue the last two bad guys and when all was said and done, four were dead and two were cuffed and kneeling on the floor.


	25. Chapter 25

A second tactical team arrived on the scene with emergency vehicles in tow and they began the mop up. After everything was secured, Sam took a good look at his partner noting the blood stained shirt. Callen noticed his partner's scrutiny and did a preemptive "I'm good," as he walked across the shed to where he had stashed Lt Springer. "It's safe to come out now Lieutenant," he said as he used his good arm to fling back the tarp.

A scared and confused man crawled out of the cart blinking like an owl in the brightness of the shed.

"This is Lieutenant Springer. He was being held captive," Callen said to his team who had gathered around the men.

Springer scanned each of their faces, finally coming to rest on Callen. "Why do I get the feeling you are not a naval officer?"

"NCIS. I'm Special Agent Callen. This is Special Agent Hanna, Blythe and Detective Deeks, LAPD," Callen introduced the members of his team.

"Thank you for rescuing me. All of you," the Lieutenant said gratefully. "I thought I'd never get out of there and see Tony again."

At the word Tony, Callen flinched ever so slightly and the rest of the team immediately realized Callen hadn't told Lt Springer the bad news. Callen cleared his throat. "Lieutenant, I'm sorry. But Tony's dead. They killed him right after they abducted you from the club."

Springer's face showed he was crushed by the news. "But you said..." he started to say.

"I'm sorry," Callen repeated.

As the magnitude of his new reality hit him, Springer started to sway. Deeks reached out a hand to steady the officer.

Sam gestured to his teammates. "Kensi, Deeks, take him out to the EMTs and get him checked out."

With compassion, the junior members of the team led the man away. When he was gone, Sam turned his attention back on his partner. "I thought you said you were good."

Giving Sam an unconcerned look, Callen casually answered, "I am."

Sam looked pointedly at his partner's shirt. "Then how do you explain the fact that your shirt is soaked in blood? Am I to assume it isn't yours?"

Callen shrugged and started to nonchalantly walk away. "You can assume what you want. But you know the old saying about assuming..." His ploy might have worked if a wave of dizziness hadn't taken that opportunity to strike and he stumbled drunkenly against one of the golf carts. A quick grab of a side support stopped him from going down.

"I don't have to assume. I know you are an ass. Where did you take a bullet?" Sam said moving swiftly to his ailing partner's side.

"Didn't," Callen said with his head hanging low as he tried to banish the dizziness.

"Ah-huh. So that's not your blood."

"Didn't say that either." Callen straightened a little as the spinning slowed down. "Apparently I was slouching in the chair when they were interrogating me so that guy over there," he gestured to one of the dead men on the floor, "put a knife thru my shoulder to hold me upright."

Sam grimaced at the offhanded way his partner made light of being tortured. "I hate when you do that."

"Do what?" Callen asked blandly.

Sam glared at Callen, who ignored him and pushed off the cart heading towards the door again. The adrenaline rush that had kept him functioning for the last few hours was rapidly burning off and Callen found himself hard pressed to walk straight. Silently, Sam moved up alongside of him and provided support which Callen miraculously accepted without a fight.

"Make light of your injuries. Joke about them. Act like you getting hurt or dying doesn't matter," Sam finally answered.

Callen stopped and stared at his partner. "It's how I survive it."

Sam was puzzled. "I don't understand."

Shifting his weight, Callen focused on a spot over Sam's left shoulder. "Growing up I got beaten by other kids, foster parents, teachers, and other authority figures. I was told over and over no one wanted me, that I was worthless. Hell one social worker told me my parents weren't dead, they had abandoned me because they didn't want me. No one wanted me. The only way I survived was indifference. Pretending I didn't care, it didn't matter. To acknowledge an injury was to show a sign of weakness, give them another foothold."

"It doesn't have to be like that anymore. You know there are people who care about you," Sam said placing his two hands on Callen's shoulders and forcing him to meet his eyes. "I'm one of them."

Callen lowered his eyes. "It's a hard demon to excise. There is always a part of me that can't trust; that waits for the bad."

"I will never betray your trust G Callen. Never," Sam said forcefully.

Callen's knees buckled a little and after Sam steadied him, he guided him over to one of the waiting EMTs. The blond meekly submitted to his blood pressure and temperature being taken. He didn't even complain when the EMT requested he unbutton his shirt to examine the gash.

When Sam saw his partner's wounded shoulder he scoffed. "That's what you call good?"

"I've had worse," Callen mildly replied and Sam couldn't argue with that statement.

It wasn't until the EMT told Callen he needed to go to the hospital to have the wound stitched that Callen's stubbornness reappeared.

"No," Callen emphatically stated shrugging his shirt back over his shoulder.

Sam sighed. "Come on G. Just once can't you cooperate?"

Callen stood and took a few steps away from the rig. "I know this needs to be taken care of but I am not going in that," he jerked his thumb towards the ambulance, "to the hospital."

"I see. Then what are your plans?" Sam asked narrowing his eyes.

"You are going to drive me to Camp Pendleton. The doctor there, he can take care of this scrape."

Sam snorted at the word scrape as he studied at his determined partner's face. He knew the look and when Callen sported it, only unconsciousness could change his mind. A little bell went off in Sam's head. If he was recollecting correctly, the only time he'd ever seen his friend ride in an ambulance was when he was unconscious. Every other time he had to go to the hospital he somehow managed to finagle someone to drive him there. Sam knew Callen had a deep seated fear and hatred for hospitals, though he still did not know why, but now he wondered if that extended to ambulances too. Another mystery in the puzzle that was Callen.

"Ok. I'll drive you. But I am putting a tarp down so you don't bleed on my nice leather seats," Sam said as the two men walked away from the ambulance.

Callen quirked an eyebrow. "You carry a tarp? Why?"

Sam shook his head in disbelief as he opened the trunk of the black car and took out a neatly folded blue, plastic tarp. "There are a lot of uses for a tarp."

"Name three," Callen said as he trailed behind Sam watching him open the door and place the blue plastic over the passenger seat.

"On a rainy day if you have to change a tire in the mud you can kneel on it and place things on it so they don't get dirty," he replied carefully tugging the edges of the plastic around the seat.

"It never rains in California. Haven't you heard the song? Give me another use," Callen goaded.

"You can wrap a dead body in it and store it in the trunk," Sam said pulling the tarp to cover the foot well.

"I might give you that one." He looked at Sam's handy work. "My feet aren't bleeding."

"Yeah, but it's in case you barf."

"I'm not going to. What is it with you and Hetty on that subject?"

Sam snorted. "You have a history."

Callen ignored the comment. "Give me a third reason for carrying a tarp in the trunk."

Sam straightened up and glared at his partner. "The third reason is to drive your blood-covered, pain in the ass partner to the hospital. Now shut up and get in before I use the tarp for reason two."

Callen got into the car and sat on the crinkly plastic. "It's noisy," he whined.

"No more than you," Sam shot back as he got in the car and drove off.

They drove in silence for a few miles. "Just checking, did you threaten to kill me back there, roll me up in your tarp and stash me in the trunk?" Callen asked.

Sam's reply was short and sweet. "Yes."

"Huh. That's murder," Callen pointed out.

Sam smiled confidently. "Any jury would let me off. If not, I'll bet Hetty could pull strings. Make it look like it was in the line of duty."

Callen gave his partner a sideways glance. "You're starting to scare me Sam. More than Michelle."

"Good. Remember that when we are in the hospital. The tarp will be waiting."

"Is that another veiled threat?" Callen inquired.

"Take it how you want," Sam grinned evilly.

Callen closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the head rest. As a testament to his exhaustion, he actually dozed off the rest of the way to Camp Pendleton.

* * *

_ Author's Note: Thanks __for hanging in this marathon. Once again our hero has cheated death, though now he is on the way to receive medical treatment; this outta be good. _


	26. Chapter 26

Luckily, Sam knew the guard stationed at Camp Pendleton's main gate so he didn't have to disturb the sleeping Callen to get him to show his CAC card. Sam drove around to the base until he came to the hospital. Parking the Challenger out front, he shut off the engine which roused Callen.

Tiredly, the injured agent leveraged himself off the crinkly plastic and followed Sam into the base's clinic. Though it was a marine base, the NCIS office had made arrangements for their agents to be discretely seen by doctors. It allowed their injured personnel to maintain more anonymity than in a public hospital.

Sam was happy to hear from the front desk that Dr. Marx was working tonight. He'd seen Callen a few times in the past and was well aware of the agent's dislike for anything medical. Dr. Marx had Callen's number and did not put up with the agent's hijinks. The two men were ushered into a private examination room and less than a minute later, the door opened and Dr. Marx joined them.

He took one look at Callen's blood stained shirt. "I'm guessing you are the patient, though knowing you, I don't know why that would surprise me. Hop on the table while I call up your records."

Callen obediently did as he was told having learned a long time ago that defying Dr. Marx never led to anything good.

The doctor read over Callen's history to refresh his memory. "Interesting. It says a few weeks back you were poisoned with cyanide, quite a large quantity. How is it you are still here?" he questioned, spinning around in his chair to face the men.

"He stuck himself with a giant needle of hydroxocobalamin," Sam answered for his partner.

The doctor pursed his lips. "I'm impressed Agent Callen, especially knowing your affinity for needles. I'm assuming you have had the customary follow up blood work." He stopped and shook his head. "Whom am I kidding," he said as he rose, opened the door and stuck his head out. "Nurse Kinder. I need blood drawn." He shut the door and went back to the computer. "You remember Nurse Kinder don't you Agent Callen?" he casually tossed over his shoulder as he went back to reading Callen's file.

Callen certainly did remember Nurse Kinder and it made him shudder. She was built like a Sherman tank; she made Sam look petite. He was pretty sure she was a weight-lifter in her former life before she became a nurse. In Callen's short list of 'women that scared him', she was tied with Sam's wife Michelle for second place, right behind his ninja boss, Hetty. He had only tried his antics once on her and it had ended badly, really badly.

When no-nonsense Nurse Kinder came into the room, a determined woman on a mission with her tubes, needles and rubber gloves, Callen actually shrank back a little in fear. Sam started to snicker seeing his partner so cowed by this tough nurse, until she turned her fierce blue eyes on him and he immediately sobered up, wiping the smile off his face. "Sorry," he muttered, a bit intimidated by her piercing glare. She gave Sam a curt nod, satisfied she had him cowed. She turned back to her patient and swiftly and competently drew three vials of blood. Callen sat their like a choir boy. A piece of gauze secured by a stretchy, sticky cloth bandage, just below the elbow, and she was gone. Sam heard Callen sigh in relief when the door closed.

"Rush that please. Toxic screen too," the doctor requested as Nurse Kinder left the room. "So efficient. I wish I had ten more just like her."

Callen secretly thought they broke the mold after making Nurse Kinder or more likely she broke the mold, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Wanna take that shirt off for me, Agent Callen," the doctor requested and Callen complied, dropping it on the nearby chair. The doctor looked again at the ruined, blood-stained, once teal, silk shirt. "One of Hetty's?"

Callen sadly shook his head affirmatively.

"Not good," the Doc said as he took his stethoscope from around his neck. "Is that all your blood?" he asked as he placed the disc end against Callen's chest.

Callen nodded again.

"Deep breaths. So you can't blame it on someone else. Tough break. I wouldn't want to be there when you have to explain that to Hetty." Changing the subject he moved on. "Suppose you tell me how you got the knife wound."

Callen relayed the entire story, his voice breaking at times as the doctor prodded his wound. Finally, Dr. Marx stopped, took a step back and folded his arms over his chest. His voice held a twinge of admiration when he spoke again. "I have to say whoever delivered that stab did an excellent job. It is clean, missed all the bones, muscles and other important vessels. A really professional job."

"Gee thanks Doc. I'd thank him but he is in no condition to listen," Callen said a bit sarcastically.

The Doctor chuckled. "I apologize. I suppose that did not come out right. What I probably should have said is it is a very clean and with a few stitches is going to heal nicely. Keep your arm in a sling for a few days, to allow it to heal, and you will be as good as new. Not even going to need PT."

"Great," Callen said less than enthusiastically.

"While we're waiting for the blood work to come back, I'll send Nurse Kinder back in here to stitch you up." Panic flared in Callen's eyes and the doctor laughed. "Joking. I'll do it. Sit tight while I get a kit." He walked out of the room leaving Sam and Callen alone.

"Isn't this fun," Sam goaded. "I don't know about you, but I am highly entertained. I really like that Nurse Kinder."

"Shut up," Callen muttered as the Doctor came back with a suture kit.

"After I disinfect the area, I am going to numb it with lidocaine. Don't worry Agent Callen. It is the kind you rub on. No needles."

Callen shot a triumphant look at Sam. "See. I told you they make a cream. Hetty is too mean to buy it. She gets the needles just to torture me."

Dr. Marx glanced up from the wound he was disinfecting. "Had some experience with lidocaine?"

Sam snorted. "Hetty orders it in bulk for him. Along with ice packs and aspirin."

The doctor laughed again as he went about his work. A little while later the wound was stitched and dressed. Throwing his rubber gloves away, he said, "Chill out here until the blood work results come back. It should be within the hour.

After the doctor left the room, Callen let his head sink back on the raised bed and closed his eyes. Stress and exhaustion overcame him and Sam watched as his partner drifted off to sleep. Sam quietly left the room for a moment to place a call back to Ops and bring Hetty up to date. When he was done he eased back into the room to watch over his friend.

As promised, less than an hour later, Dr. Marx was back with the blood work results. Always the agent, Callen immediately woke when the door to the room opened.

"Interesting results," Dr. Marx said without a preamble. "There are still traces of cyanide in your system. Have you been noticing any unusual symptoms?"

Callen replied 'no' way too quickly and Sam's six-sense about his partner sent out a warning signal and he made a mental note.

"No headaches? Dizziness? Nausea? Restlessness?" the doctor probed further.

"How would that be any different than normal," Sam quipped earning him a dirty look from Callen.

The doctor went back to reading the results. "I am willing to bet you have been having bouts of dizziness, haven't you Agent Callen?"

When Callen didn't reply, the doctor tapped on the report. "The drug that they used to knock you out in the club is still in your system. It and the cyanide are interacting and I would bet my extensive degrees that you are having problems at least with dizziness if not more."

Sighing, Callen admitted guilt. "Yes. You're right. I did get dizzy a couple of times during the mission but," he hastily added, "it passed quickly."

"Don't worry Agent Callen. It won't sideline you for long. The drugs are breaking down. However exertion will bring on the dizziness, so take it easy over the weekend, keep that arm in a sling and you will be fit for duty on Monday."

A feeling of relief washed over Callen.

The doctor tried one more time. "Are you sure there are no other residual effects of the cyanide poisoning? For example, it's not uncommon for people to experience trembling in their extremities for a few months after the poisoning. You did ingest a very large dose."

Sam watched his partner's face closely as he answered the Doctor and immediately knew Callen was lying; it wasn't easy to tell but Sam was hundred percent sure he was correct. His partner was experiencing tremors like that marine and was hiding it.

Callen held out his two hands and other than wincing as he pulled the wound on his shoulder, his hands remained rock solid. He dropped them back to his side. "We done here?"

The Doctor sighed. "Yes. You are officially released unlike last time when you snuck out."

"And you ratted me out to Hetty," Callen reminded him. "It wasn't a pretty picture when she found me."

"I like that woman," the doctor said with a grin. "Ok, discharge instructions; rest, sling, and extra strength Tylenol for the pain unless you'd like me to write you a prescription for something stronger?"

"Nope," Callen said sliding off the table as he reached for his grungy shirt.

Sam yanked it away before he could touch it. "You aren't putting that filthy thing back on."

"What do you expect me to do? Walk into Ops naked?" Callen demanded.

"Kensi going into Ops without a shirt might raise an eyebrow or two." Sam paused a beat. "More likely, she'd cause a few heart attacks, starting with Deeks. You, not so much. It would be a prettier site if you spent a little less timing lifting strips of bacon and a little more time lifting weights to define your abs." He reached out a gently slapped Callen's bare stomach. "Oh, and you're not going back to Ops. What part of rest didn't you get?"

Dr. Marx solved the clothing problem. "There are shirts around here. I'll have Nurse Kinder grab one for you." He took a plastic bag off a nearby counter and handed it to Sam. "Put Hetty's ex-shirt in this, so you can at least return the evidence. I assume that is preferable to telling her you lost it." He addressed the last comment to Callen.

"Been there done that. Boss lady doesn't take kindly to lost items," Callen said mournfully.

Dr. Marx chuckled as he left the room. "I do love that woman." A few minutes later Nurse Kinder returned with a dark blue t-shirt and a sling for Callen's arm. Callen cringed when she entered the room, and he snatched the items from her hand outstretched hand, like a feral dog taking a piece of meat from a stranger.

Nurse Kinder turned her blue eyes on Callen. "Do you need help getting the shirt on?" she asked in a gravelly voice.

Callen shrank further away as he said, "No thank you," in his best well-behaved voice. "My partner will help me. He's dressed me before. He's takes good care of me," he added for good measure.

The nurse raised an eyebrow and studied Sam, before grinning slightly and leaving the room.

Callen saw the slight smirk on her face as she departed. "Did she misunderstand me, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. "Guess you won't have to worry about her giving you her phone number now."

Callen scowled unhappily at the closed door.

"Look, your favorite color," Sam teased as he assisted Callen in easing the shirt over his injured shoulder. He handed Callen the sling and glared at him until he put it on and secured his arm.

The two agents walked out into the night to where the car was parked. Callen opened the passenger's door with his good arm and glared down at the tarp. "I'm not bleeding. Can't you take this thing out?"

"No way," Sam said sliding behind the wheel of the Challenger. "I heard the doctor say vomiting was a residual side effect of cyanide poisoning. I'm not taking any chances. Get in."

Grumbling, Callen plopped down and the blue plastic crinkled merrily as he squirmed to buckle his seat belt and find a comfortable position. They drove off the base and Sam turned onto the freeway.

"This isn't the way back to Ops," Callen pointed out. "My car is there."

"So."

"So, where are we going?"

"Back to your place..." Callen's frown grew as Sam continued to talk. "...where you are going to pack a bag."

Warily, Callen asked, "We going on a road trip?"

"Yep. To my house for the whole weekend. Just you, me and Michelle."

Callen rolled his eyes. "I've seen that movie. It didn't end well for the hero. Where's your daughter?"

"At her cousins for two weeks."

Callen shook his head. "I don't want to intrude on yours and Michelle's alone time."

"I insist." Sam reached forward and pressed Michelle's speed dial button on the Challenger's display and the car dialed her number. This was a trick Sam had successfully employed before with his partner.

"What are you doing?" Callen asked with trepidation.

"Calling the number two lady on your 'scary women's' list," Sam responded smugly.

Callen bit his lip, then like he did in the past, quickly reached out and pressed cancel. "Isn't there room for negotiations? How about I call you once a day."

"Ha. You won't call. Besides, I won't be able to yell at you when you take your arm out of that sling if you aren't under house arrest!"

Callen looked down and sure enough, he had taken his arm out of the sling. Worse part was he didn't even remember doing it. Suddenly another feeling overcame him and he shouted to Sam, "Pull over!"

"Why? You wanna walk home?"

"Now," Callen warned.

A sideway glance at his partner had Sam heading for the shoulder and braking the car. Callen flung the door open and decorated the freeway with the contents of his stomach. When he was done, he shakily climbed back in the car.

"You know I'm never gonna take the tarp out of the car now. You good?" Sam asked with a touch of irony.

"That was the doctor's fault... and yours," Callen said with his eyes tightly shut.

As Sam pulled back into the flow of traffic, he couldn't resist. "How is that the doctor's fault? Or mine? We didn't stick our fingers down your throat."

"Didn't have to. Power of suggestion. You both kept insisting that I should feel that way and it worked," Callen pleated plaintively.

"Funny. That's not quite the way I remember it. I recall Dr. Marx asking you if you had any symptoms and you vehemently denying everything."

Callen circled back to his original argument. "Power of suggestion."

Sam chuckled. "You are a highly trained operative and you are telling me that a mere doctor was able to plant a suggestion in your head that made you vomit?"

With pouty lips Callen responded, "I'm sick. In a weakened state."

Sam tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "Now there's something we can agree on. You are sick."

Callen gave up. There was no way he was going to win this battle so he closed his eyes and suffered in silence.


	27. Chapter 27

Sam was by no means a stupid man so when they pulled into his driveway, he had already warned Michelle that they were having a house guest. Like Sam, Michelle didn't do surprises well so when they were at Callen's house, Sam had called her and told her they would arrive within the hour; right after Callen stopped bitching and moaning.

For a man with few possessions, Sam thought Callen was taking an extraordinary amount of time to throw pajamas, underwear and his shaving kit in a duffel bag. Sam took it for what it was, another stall tactic, so he plopped down on Callen's couch to wait out his partner's latest tantrum. He was reading his emails on his phone when the recalcitrant man finally dragged his body back down the stairs. Without even looking up Sam said, "Put your arm back in the sling."

The blond paused, swore under his breath and marched back upstairs. When he returned he stated, "I took a shower. Had to take it off."

Sam put away his phone and got off the couch. "And now you have to put it back on and keep it on. You ready? Wait don't answer that because otherwise we'll be here for another 30 minutes listening to you come up with more excuses. Go get in the car. If you forgot anything, tough. Besides, you have been over to the house enough that I know Michelle has a drawer of 'extra' things for you." Sam pulled his car keys from his black jeans pocket and headed for the car.

"I have my own drawer in your house?" Callen trailed behind, securing his front door. "That's sounds serious. I am not sure I am ready for that level of commitment." Opening the Challenger's door, he spotted the plastic tarp still in place. "I was hoping you had taken this off while I was in the shower."

"Not happening G. Get in," Sam ordered and with a sigh Callen did as instructed.

* * *

Michelle heard the guys come through the front door from where she was in the kitchen prepping a snack. Even though it was 2:00 am, she knew they wouldn't say no to a little nosh. She had already made up 'Callen's room' a.k.a a blanket on the couch in the den.

One might wonder if she ever resented the strong bond her husband had with his partner and if asked she could honestly say no. Callen was part of the family and Michelle loved him in the same way she would a brother. She also knew that the strong bond between Sam and Callen had kept them both alive in the field many times when they should have died. However, their connection went well beyond saving each other's butts; Callen and Sam in an odd way completed each other. They were as alike as they were polar opposites and somehow that made each one stronger. Yes, she had been looking forward to some alone time with Sam, but she was realistic enough to know if he was worried about his partner, their alone time would be strained. There would be other chances for the two of them to be alone. Right now she sensed Callen needed them, his pseudo-family.

She greeted him warmly with a careful hug when he appeared in her tastefully decorated kitchen. One look at him and she knew her husband had been right in bringing him here. This was more than Sam being overly protective; there was an off vibe in the man she had just embraced.

Waving the two to the table, she brought over a plate of sandwiches and set it before them. Walking back into the fridge she hesitated for a moment over the beverage choices. "You on any meds Callen? For you injuries?"

"Of course not. He refused," Sam answered before Callen could even open his mouth.

A small smile crept across her face as she reached in and selected two bottles of beer. By the time she walked them over to the table her face was neutral again. "I know this won't keep you awake G," she said removing the cap and handing the bottle to him. Callen gave her a grateful glance as he took a swig.

She went back and rummaged in a high cabinet over the fridge and produced a bag of Cheetos; Callen's face lit up like a kid's at Christmas when she brought them to the table. "Best...Wife...Ever!" he joked twisting an oft used phrase of their daughter, Jasmine. Since his left hand was already occupied with a beer bottle, without even thinking he slipped his arm out of the sling and reached into the bag with his right hand

"Damn it G. Do I have to staple your arm in that thing?" Sam gestured to the now empty sling hanging around Callen's neck while his errant partner licked Cheetos' cheese dust off the fingers on his right-hand.

Callen reached back into the bag again. "Maybe we could do it like Hetty's ice pack. Twenty on, twenty off."

Sam gave a long-suffering look at his wife that said 'see what I have to put up with'. Sighing he addressed Callen. "You're gonna need an ice pack if you don't put that arm back in that sling now."

Doing as requested, Callen was forced to put his beer down between Cheetos bites, since he only had one hand to use.

Michelle placed her hands on the Sam's strong shoulders and gave him a gentle massage, to relax and remind him to go easy on his partner. When she had made her point, she gave him a quick peck on the top of his clean shaven head. "See you upstairs." Sam turned his head and laid a gentle kiss on her hand. With a tender smile for her man, she turned and headed out of the kitchen. In the doorway she stopped, turned and addressed Callen. "Blankets on the couch. And Callen, don't take my toaster apart."

"Yes ma'am," he answered seriously around a mouthful of sandwich.

Michelle nodded at him and resumed her journey upstairs.

About an hour later, she heard Sam quietly enter their bedroom; though in their profession, there really was no concept of quiet since their lives often depend on knowing what was happening, even in silence.

"He settled in?" Michelle inquired.

Sam went over to the bed and climbed in beside his wife. "As much as Callen ever settles."

Sam nuzzled his wife and the subject of Callen was forgotten for a while.

* * *

Sleep eluded him as usual and after a few hours of staring at the ceiling, he silently rose off the couch and pulled on a pair of sweat pants. The sling lay ignored in the chair in the den as Callen wandered to the kitchen. He eyed the toaster for a brief moment but he wasn't a stupid man, so he left it intact. Instead, he wandered to the side door that led out to the backyard, silently opened it, stepped on to the deck and surveyed the yard in the early morning light.

The yard was a perfect representation of the facets that made up Sam. His tough side was shown in the no nonsense garage where his muscle car, the 'new Charlene' was in the process of being restored. Sharing the space with Charlene was an impressive home gym that Sam used religiously. Everything in the garage had a place and was in its proper place.

The flower beds, fruit trees and the meticulously attended to grass in the backyard spoke to Sam's nurturing side. One might assume the colorful flower beds were Michelle's doing but they were one of Sam's pet projects. The lush lawn was Sam's pride and joy; heaven help the dandelion that tried to take up residence.

Callen turned his attention to the swing set, making his way over to the structure and running his hand over one of the smooth wooden beams. He had no worries about getting a splinter. He and Sam had sanded the wood until it was as smooth as silk; no boo-boos for Sam's little girl.

In the gathering light of dawn, Callen took a seat on one of the swings and gently rocked back and forth fondly remembering the weekend he and Sam had spent putting this set together. This was the third side to his partner's triad; the devoted family man. Jasmine had been so excited when she had come home from a weekend visit to her Grandmothers and found the swing set in her backyard. Callen had been privileged to be allowed to share in that family moment and he had secretly enjoyed the hugs of gratitude from the youngest Hanna. Having a loving family was precious and a wisp of longing for one of his own overtook Callen, though he quickly drove it from his mind, focusing instead on the gentle fragrance being admitted from Sam's fruit trees.

Resting his head in his hands, supported by his elbows on his knees, he thought over the last few weeks. Reviewing each event in his mind and analyzing it from all angles, only led him to doubt his fitness to be in the field. Straightening up, he studied his hands which were perfectly normal at the moment but who knew when they would act up again. Dr. Marx had said there was still cyanide in his system. Maybe that was what was triggering the tremors; when it cleared his system perhaps the betraying shaking would cease too. He had to cling to that hope because the alternative, being pulled from the field forever, was too scary.

His mind pondered the investigating panel next. He had no clue how that was going to turn out. Granger's presence on the panel didn't give him a warm and fuzzy feeling. He knew the man tolerated him at best; or at least it seemed that way to Callen. The outcome of that investigation could make his trembling hands a moot point; being put in jail would take him out of the field as effectively as shaking hands.

Callen's thoughts turned dark. Jail. He couldn't go there. Callen came to the same conclusion as Sam. He couldn't go to prison, if he did, it was a death sentence.

Rising angrily from the swing, he paced over to the child-sized punching bag hanging from the support arm of the swing set and gave it a few swift whacks with his right hand, using the pain it caused in his shoulder to drive the demons from his mind. After five rapid punches, he ceased and stood there hunched over, the shadow of a dejected man.

Frowning in the bedroom window, Michelle watched the scene below unfold. "He's really hurting this time, isn't he?" she said into darkness of the bedroom. The early dawn light hadn't crept into the house yet.

Sam propped himself up on one elbow to study the figure standing by the window. Man, he loved his wife.

Turning away from the window, Michelle walked over and crawled back into bed. "Do you know why?"

"No damn clue," Sam replied as he gathered her in his arms.

"When did it start?" she inquired.

Sam flipped on his back and studied the ceiling, contemplating the question. "After the Fryman case," he finally answered. "I know it wasn't easy on him, having to kill that 14-year-old boy."

Michelle rolled to face her husband. "Any word on the investigation?"

Snorting Sam said, "Let's call it what it really is, a witch hunt. Callen made a tough call in the field. Hell, I wouldn't have wanted to have to make that decision and now they want to second guess him. It is not right!"

Michelle laid a soothing hand on her husband's chest. "It's part of the job. You know it. I know it. And he knows it."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," he mumbled. "If they question everything we do in the field they are going to make us start questioning our actions and that will lead to someone getting hurt or killed."

"You are preaching to the choir, Sam. But you aren't going to change the fact that sometimes there will be investigations, right or wrong. Is that what you think this is all about? G is worried about the outcome of the investigating panel?"

"Partially, but that is not the whole story." A hint of frustration crept into Sam's voice. "If he would just tell me what is going on in that mind of his I wouldn't be lying here, in bed, with my beautiful wife, discussing my partner's peculiarities."

Michelle swatted Sam's chest in a light, teasing manner before turning serious again. Until Sam figured this out, it would eat at him and that was no good for her man's health and well-being. "So you said it started after with the Fryman case. Could it be something to do with the cyanide poisoning? Some sort of residual effect that is bothering Callen?"

Sam turned that idea over in his mind, examining it from all angles. The quick denial that Callen had provided Dr. Marx when he had been questioned about residual symptoms floated back into Sam's mind. Callen had answered that question way too rapidly like he was apt to do when lying about his health. The only times Sam witnessed that tell was when Callen was fibbing about his medical condition; usually to get out of having to be treated.

Sam frowned a little as he thought about the way Callen had held out his hands to prove to the doctor they weren't shaking. Dr. Marx had said that tremors could be a temporary side effect of the cyanide but Callen had brushed that information off as inconsequential. Couple that with the nagging suspicion that Sam had felt for the last two weeks, that Callen's behavior in the field was slightly off and a theory emerged.

Michelle watched her husband's face. She could tell he was working through something in his mind and had reached a conclusion; now he would need to gather proof. "Want to share?"

Reaching over he kissed her on the lips. "Not yet. Just keep an eye on him," he jerked his head towards the window, "for any odd behavior." Michelle quirked a well groomed eyebrow at him causing him to laugh. "I mean any unusually odd behavior given Callen is..."

"Callen," she finished his sentence with her own chuckle.

Spooning, the couple drifted back off to sleep. It had been a late night and the sun hadn't even fully peeked over the horizon; plenty of time to figure out Callen later, if such a thing was even possible.

Callen left the swing set and wandered into the garage and lay down on Sam's weight bench. In a way, it was comfortable because it didn't put pressure on his injured shoulder. Growing up the way he did and because of being an agent, he had taught his body to rest in the oddest of positions so it was no surprise when he finally managed to drift off into an uneasy sleep.


	28. Chapter 28

Late Saturday morning, after Sam had showered and shaved, he went looking for Callen. He wasn't in any of the usual places he hung out in the house so Sam went out to the last place Michelle had seen his missing partner, the swing set. It was empty as was the yard. Sam was beginning to think the man had gone Houdini on him when he noticed the side door to the garage was ajar. Walking over, he cautiously pushed it open and was relieved to see the only thing amiss in the garage was his partner snoozing on his weight bench. Sam drew closer but still stayed an arm's length away, knowing his partner might wake up swinging. "Please tell me you're not out here lifting weights. That is so not the definition of resting your shoulder."

Callen didn't open his eyes. "I was planning to but you didn't own heavy enough weights to make it challenging."

Sam grinned and was actually a bit relived. The quick witty response led Sam to believe Callen had heard him as he entered the garage which spoke well for his general well-being. "Where's the sling?"

Callen paused a beat then answered. "The dog ate it."

Sam scowled. "We don't have a dog."

"Huh," Callen replied casually. "Must have been the neighbor's dog. Michelle up?" he asked shifting the conversation.

"She's in the kitchen whipping up some eggs. And for the record, none of my neighbors have dogs."

"Must have been a stray. Why aren't you in there helping her," Callen queried as he opened his eyes and used Sam's out-stretched hand to leverage off the bench.

"Because I'm out here, looking for you and bullshitting about an imaginary dog," he responded as they headed back towards the house.

Callen grinned at his non-plused partner.

Sam shook his head. "Ya know I thought you went AWOL on me. Silly me, I expected to find you sleeping on the couch inside the house."

Callen couldn't stop himself from smirking. "Wrong. I did consider leaving but I knew you would kill me if I took the Challenger, Michelle would kill me if I took the BMW and you both would kill me if I hot-wired a neighbor's car, not to mention what Hetty would do to me if she ever found out."

"You mean when she found out. Hetty doesn't miss a trick," Sam pointed out.

"I stand corrected," Callen conceded. "When Hetty found out. So I gave up. Too much trouble."

Sam smiled. "That is one of the smartest conclusions you have reached in a long time. I'm impressed."

Callen stopped and cocked his head at his partner. "Impressed enough to make me waffles for breakfast?"

"I said Michelle is making eggs and tofu bacon. You want waffles you go tell her," Sam suggested.

Starting back towards the house again, Callen said, "I might just do that. Eggs are good, but waffles are better. What is tofu bacon?"

Sam opened the back door to the kitchen. "Michelle, Callen has a question for you."

"What's that honey," she asked Callen turning away from the stove with a spatula in her hand and taking a few steps away from the noisy exhaust fan.

"Ah, would you like me to make coffee?" he back peddled.

"Thanks G, but it's already done. Sit. You're supposed to be taking it easy." She turned back to the stove to attend to her eggs.

"Chicken," Sam whispered in his partner ear.

"Maybe. Still rather have waffles," he sulked.

"You say something Callen," Michelle's voice drifted across from the stove.

"She's got hearing like Hetty," Sam added for his partners benefit and a look of discomfort crossed Callen's face. His eyes pleaded with his partner to get him out of this situation. Sam grinned and nudged his friend towards the table. "Callen was just wondering about tofu bacon. He's never had it," Sam said walking over to the toaster and plucking the four golden brown pieces from the slots and plopping them on a plate. He brought it over to the table and set it down in front of Callen who had seated himself in his customary spot. Sam disappeared for a minute then returned with the sling and held it out to Callen. Ungraciously, Callen slipped it over his head and inserted his right arm in it.

Michelle joined them with a platter of scrambled eggs with peppers and mushrooms and the aforementioned tofu bacon. "You'll like it. It is good for you," she lectured sliding into her own seat.

Even if Callen hated the bacon, he wouldn't tell Michelle. After all, he was a trained agent who could fake anything not to mention he had survived in the wilderness on grubs, bugs and other disgusting things. How bad could a piece of tofu bacon be? To show he was a good sport, he took three strips when he was offered the platter. He took a bite from one piece and plastered a huge smile on his face. "You are so right, Michelle. Really good."

* * *

_Author's Note: Short one. Natural break point. Next chapter is extra long._


	29. Chapter 29

Callen offered to help with the dishes but that apparently violated the 'resting rule' and he was shooed out of the kitchen with a warning from Sam to keep his arm in the sling. Wandering back to the den, he plopped down on the brown leather couch, took off the sling and flung in the chair. He stared at his hands for a few minutes to see if there were any traitorous quivers; they remained steady.

Lying back, he flopped his left hand over his face, cradled his right against his chest and he let his mind wander back to breakfast. Callen had been afraid if his hands had started to tremble at the table, Sam and Michelle would have noticed. But Sam had inadvertently solved that problem for Callen, by his stubborn insistence that Callen's right arm remain in the infernal sling thereby forcing him to eat with left.

Last night, when they had sandwiches, it wasn't an issue; eating a sandwich is an imprecise, one-handed action at best and Callen had no problem doing that with his left hand. This morning's breakfast was a whole other affair and Callen discovered something new about himself; he could shoot with his left but not use it for the manipulation of eating utensils. It had been a disaster. He had chased his scrambled eggs around his plate with the fork, in his left hand, trying to get them on the tines. When he finally succeeded after what seemed like an eternity, then went to raise the eggs to his mouth, his fork tilted and the eggs fell off landing partially on his plate but mostly on the table.

The bacon and toast had been no issue; like the sandwich from the night before, they were one-handed operations that did not take as much precision as operating silverware. But those damn eggs. He kept trying to sneak his right hand into use and Sam kept yelling at him. Finally, Michelle had enough of her two bickering children and had reached over and took Callen's plate of eggs away from him.

She took a fresh piece of toast and with a clean fork shoveled his eggs on top of the toast. She followed that by three strips of bacon then added a top layer of toast making a de facto sandwich. Slicing it into two equal halves with her knife, she had pushed the plate back across the table telling him to eat.

Callen chuckled as he lay on the couch. He always suspected out of all of them, Michelle was the smartest. He wasn't intending to but his eyes grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep.

When Sam was done helping Michelle clean up in the kitchen, he went to check on his friend. When he saw Callen was asleep on the couch, he very quietly left the room but not before noting the sling was off again. Damn man.

It was a nice day out and Sam decided the Hanna family vehicles needed washing. But Sam wouldn't let those automatic machines touch his babies, so he dragged out the hose, a natural sponge, a chamois and a bucket of lukewarm soapy water to the driveway and proceeded to hand-wash and dry the outside of each car.

He was doing the final rinse on Michelle's car when the water sputtered and then stopped. "What the hell?" he turned and saw his sleep-tousled partner standing with the hose kinked in his left hand.

"Why'd you do that?" Sam demanded, clearly not amused.

Callen flashed his trademark mischievous half-grin at his partner. "No reason."

Sam, who was holding the sprayer on the hose and not paying attention to where the end was pointing, got an unpleasant face full of water when his impish buddy let the kink go, reestablishing full water flow.

Callen stood there laughing at Sam's soggy state. "And I was bored. I'm amused now."

Sam aimed the hose in Callen's direction and was about to pull the trigger when his wife stepped out on their front porch. "Samuel, I know you are not going to do what I think you are going to do," she scolded.

"But baby, he started it," Sam replied like a petulant child. The look on Michelle's face brooked no further discussion and reluctantly Sam lowered the hose.

"And G, you keep your hands or hand as it may be off that hose!" the den mother scolded him too.

Looking contrite, he softly answered, "Yes ma'am."

Turning on her heels, she marched back into the house. Callen wandered over to stand by Sam. By way of amends, he offered to help Sam wax the cars.

"Did you get hit on the head while you were captured?"

After thinking for a moment, Callen shook his head. "I was drugged, punched in the face and stabbed but no, I didn't hit my head. Why?"

"You must have and forgot or you are insane. If my wife comes out here and sees you helping me wax these cars," he said waving a hand in the direction of the Challenger and BMW, "well let's put it this way. Think of the most severe mission you lived thru. Michelle's wrath will be ten times worse."

Callen sighed, but he knew Sam spoke the truth. "What am I supposed to do then? Sit around and watch you work?"

Sam went back to drying off the car. "Usually doesn't bother you."

Moving back to the porch, the smaller man plopped down on the stairs and observed Sam. "You missed a spot," he pointed out with his right arm which once again had crept out of its holder.

"Shut up. Wait, did you just point with your right hand. The one that is supposed to NOT be moving."

"No," Callen lied shoving it back in the sling.

"Ah-huh. Just wait until we change the dressing later. If it has bled and stuck to the gauze I'm going to rip it off so hard you are going to see stars, my friend." Sam grabbed the can of wax and the rag and started on the Challenger's hood. "Rip," he repeated making a convincing ripping sound with his voice.

"Dr. Marx didn't say anything about changing the bandage," Callen practically whined.

"It was implied," Sam answered not missing a beat with his wax-on, wax-off routine.

Callen sat quietly for a moment. "I'll pass."

Sam rubbed a fresh coat of wax on the area he was working. "Sorry, there is no passing in this game. Either I change it or Michelle." He paused a beat. "Unless of course you want me to call Hetty. I am sure she'll be happy to come over with her black bag."

Callen stared hard at his partner, trying to figure out if he was joking. Maybe not since Sam had sent the diminutive demon into the locker room, to take the glass out of his back, after he said he would do it.

"Or maybe Nurse Kinder makes house calls," Sam went on. "If not, I'd be happy to drive you to Camp Pendleton when I am finished here. We'll call first. Make sure she is on duty."

Deciding retreat was a good idea, Callen rose. "Maybe I'll go inside. Help Michelle."

Sam stopped, turning to face his partner. "Good idea. You do that." Sam loved that he had his partner so off balance. Callen walked back into the house and Sam returned happily to his task, whistling cheerfully.

Michelle saw Callen wander back into the house rather dejectedly. "I think I have just the thing for you to do G. Go out on the deck, sit down. I'll be right back."

As Michelle disappeared upstairs, Callen did as he was told. He chose a wicker chair in the shade that was sporting a tropical leaf pattern on the cushions. Lowering into it, he crossed his left leg over his right knee and waited. Soon Michelle returned lugging a substantial sized canvas tote bag in one hand and a fist full of tootsie pops in the other. She dropped the books at his feet then carefully tucked the pops in his t-shirt pocket. "That should keep you busy for a while."

With great curiosity, Callen reached into the canvas bag and drew out a book. "Harry Potter?"

"Yes. One of Jasmine's Aunties got her the whole series but she is too young for it yet. So you read it first. I think you will like it. Harry is a bit of an orphan like you."

Since Callen counted Michelle as a close friend, he didn't object to the reference to his past. "Thanks. I'll give it a try." He unwrapped an orange flavored tootsie pop, stuck it in his mouth and cracked open volume one. Michelle went back into the house and when she checked on her patient thirty minutes later, he was so fully engrossed he didn't even look up when she stepped out onto the deck. However, just before she turned to leave, he did speak, but never raised his eyes from the page he was reading. "How is it you have tootsie pops in your house?"

Michelle smiled warmly. "I always try to keep my family's favorite snacks in the house. You're my family, so I have tootsie pops."

That caused Callen to look up from the page and give Michelle a genuine warm smile, something she didn't see him do very often. Sure he smirked, half-smiled and grinned but rarely did he offer the world a smile that lit up his face and reached his eyes.

"Don't eat too many and spoil your appetite for dinner," she admonished. "I'm going to get Sam to grill hamburgers and corn on the cob. You should be able to eat them one-handed." With that, she went back in the kitchen and Callen dropped his head to continue reading but not before thinking how lucky he was to have people like Sam and Michelle in his life. He didn't know what family was really like, but he hoped this was it because it made him feel really good inside.

When Sam finished the cars, cleaned up and went inside he found Michelle in the kitchen making potato salad. "Aren't you a domestic goddess today," he joked.

Wagging the potato peeler at Sam she responded, "This domestic goddess is going on strike soon. The rest of the dinner prep is in your court, babe. Ground meat is in the fridge so you can make your special burgers. The corn is in a bag by the door. It needs shucking but do it on the back porch. I don't want silk all over the kitchen."

"I'll go grab a quick shower and get right on it."

"Didn't you get wet enough today from your partner's antics?" she teased.

"Don't remind me." Sam glanced around the kitchen. "By the way, where is our recalcitrant child? It's been way to quiet. Did you handcuff him and duct tape his mouth?"

Walking over to her brawny husband, she gave him a kiss on the mouth and a swat on the behind. "He's on the deck. Reading quietly. Something he has been doing for the last two hours."

Sam smiled down at his wife. "I'm impressed. What is he reading that is keeping him that occupied?"

She wagged the potato peeler at him again. "Harry Potter and don't you dare tease him about it Samuel Adams Hanna," she scolded.

He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Heaven forbid. If you've tamed the wild beast far be it for me to go poke him with a stick. Going upstairs to take a shower, on my own, minding my own business, unless of course you'd like to join me," he leered which earned him another swat before Michelle moved back to finish prepping her potato salad.

After his shower, Sam went back downstairs to the kitchen and found it empty. Poking his head outside, he spotted his wife siting on the deck with his partner. Both of them were absorbed in what they were reading. "I'm gonna make dinner now," Sam announced.

"Good. Don't forget. Shuck the corn out here," Michelle said without glancing up.

"Ah-huh."

"I'd offer to help Sam, but I think corn husking involves the use of both hands," Callen said giving the sling, which for once had his arm in it, a little shake.

"Great, now you remember not to use your arm, when I could really use the help," Sam griped.

Still without lifting his head, Callen addressed his next question to Michelle. "Michelle, do you think it would be Ok if I helped Sam shuck the corn? I'd have to use both hands."

"Don't be silly G. Of course not. Where were you standing when God was handing out common sense," she replied.

Sam muttered under his breath as he returned to the kitchen. "He missed getting common sense because he probably had already done something stupid and irritated God so much he was barred from the line."

Underneath it all, Sam really didn't mind making dinner. He had always believed in an equal opportunity household. He and Michelle shared chores and child rearing as equitably as their jobs allowed.

After he made up the patties with his secret ingredients, he took the corn out on the deck to remove the husks. After a few minutes, Callen looked up from his book at the ears Sam had cleaned and declared they still had too much silk on them. Picking up an ear to throw at his annoying partner, Sam was stopped by a warning look from his wife. He grudgingly went back to his task, vowing to get even with his smug partner later.

Callen managed to drag his head out of the Harry Potter book long enough to eat dinner. He complimented Michelle on her excellent potato salad, pointedly picked a piece of silk off the ear of corn he was eating and placed it on the table and accused Sam of hiding veggies in his burger. Even though Callen was right, Sam had ground up some veggies and used them with the meat to make a healthier burger, he would never give Callen the satisfaction, so he denied it. That earned him the infamous Callen raised eyebrows and an 'I'm just saying' statement which Sam utterly ignored. After dinner Callen grabbed his book again and headed for the den to continue reading.

"Where you go there sport?" Sam asked his voice smug.

Callen stopped and faced Sam warily. He recognized the overtones in Sam's question; this was not going to be something good. "To the den. To quietly read, keeping my arm in the sling at all times."

Sam stood there rubbing his hands together as if in anticipation of something. "Not so fast. First a quick trip to the bathroom."

"Thanks, but I'm good," Callen replied in a light tone.

Sam shook his head slowly. "No you're not," he replied melodically.

Callen cocked his head to the left and gave Sam a puzzled look. "No. Really I am. I'm a grown man. I know when I have to pee and trust me, I don't."

"I have serious doubts you should be considered a grown man," he replied quickly. "It's time to change that bandage. Supplies are in the bathroom."

Callen took a rapid step back, getting ready to retreat when he bumped into Michelle. "Don't make me get my weapon," she purred in his ear and Callen involuntarily shivered.

"Two against one is hardly fair," he complained taking a few steps away from Michelle though he still remained trapped between them.

"In the bathroom. Now!" Sam barked and Callen, having no choice, grudgingly went down the hallway, flipped on the light and stepped inside the bathroom. "Now what?"

"Now," Sam said joining him and placing the required medical supplies on the counter, "you can actually take that arm out of the sling and remove your shirt."

Michelle had followed the guys and was standing guard outside the door, peering in at them. "Does she have to watch," Callen hissed at his partner.

"You got something to hide? You know she has seen you naked," Sam said casually with wink behind Callen's back at his wife.

Turning away so Callen wouldn't see her laughing, Michelle walked off saying, "looks like this is under control. Have fun boys."

Sam shifted his eyes to Callen's face and for the second time in a month he saw the telltale signs of a blush creeping up his partner's neck. 'Touché,' he thought quietly.

Removing the sling and his shirt, Callen plunked down on the closed toilet lid. "When did Michelle see me...ah," embarrassed, he struggled to finish the sentence.

"In your birthday suit? Behave while I change your bandage and I'll tell you as a bed time story. Not," he said as he leaned forward to examine the current dressing, "that you actually sleep." He frowned and made a disgusted noise. "Look, the bandage has blood on it. You must have ripped it open again. I told you to leave your arm in the damn sling, but no, you never listen." He glanced over Callen's injured shoulder at the exit wound. That bandage was still white. "Least the back one is dry."

Callen sat quietly with a sulky look on his face.

"Ever hear the expression this is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you?" Before Callen could even register what Sam said, Sam reached out a swift hand and pulled off the front bandage. Callen let out a scream, as he leapt to his feet.

Before his partner could react any further, Sam quickly reached around and yanked the back one off too.

Backing up as much as the little space allowed, Callen bought distance between himself and his tormentor. Since Sam was blocking the door, G almost considered climbing in the tub, as it would allow him to put another foot between him and the bandage ripper. Unbidden moisture welled up in his partner's eyes, as his movement further irritated the wound and Sam almost felt sorry for G. "Sit down," Sam said indicating that Callen should resume his seat on the throne. "I need to clean it."

Reluctantly, Callen edged back over to the toilet and sat, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. "I have hair there ya know." He looked down the wounded area. "Well I use to have hair there before you viciously ripped it all out."

"A smooth chest is sexy. I just saved you a bundle in waxing fees. This is gonna sting." He held up a pad with disinfectant on it.

"Do we have too," Callen asked pitifully and for the first time Sam sincerely felt bad for his partner.

"Yeah buddy. We do." He gently swapped the area, as Callen bit his lower lip and stared at the rose-covered shower curtain. By the time Sam was done redressing the wounds, Callen was looking decidedly pale. "You Ok?"

Callen tried to rise and was hit by a wave of dizziness. If Sam hadn't reached out to grab him he would have slammed face-first into the bathtub. "Lean on me," Sam demanded and the two men slowly made their way to the couch in the den where Sam eased Callen down on the cushions.

"Why?" Callen wondered aloud as the spinning subsided.

Taking a guess at what Callen was asking, Sam replied, "Exertion. Remember what Dr. Marx said about the residual effects of the cyanide?"

Callen wrinkled his face in disbelief. "I was sitting on a toilet Sam, not running a marathon."

Sam tilted his head and softly smiled. "True, but you have to admit when I pulled those bandages off, especially the one in the front that was really stuck, you had an adrenaline rush. Hence the onset of dizziness."

Callen leaned back on the couch resting his head on the cushions. Sam was happy to see the color was slowly returning to his friend's face.

They sat in silence for a while before Callen spoke. "If you are waiting for a thank you, it may take a while. Maybe I'll consider it after my shoulder stops throbbing."

"You welcome. Goodnight. Your book is over there," Sam pointed to a small side table. "The toaster and all appliances are still off limits. Understand?"

Callen wearily nodded his head.

"Good," Sam said rising. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

"There better not be bed bugs or I'm going to take a star away from your rating," Callen called out to his retreating partner.

When Sam entered his bedroom, Michelle glanced up from the book that she was reading propped up in bed. "How'd it go? Was that Callen screaming I heard?"

"Yeah, I may have ripped some hair off his chest. Accidentally of course," he said as he strolled into the on-suite to brush his teeth.

When he came out, he crawled into his side of the bed.

Michelle flipped a page in her book saying, "You know Callen will get even someday."

Sam sighed deeply. "Yep. He will."

Michelle could tell by the small smile on her husband's lips he thought it was worth it. 'Men,' she thought disgustedly. 'They never grow up.'

Meanwhile downstairs in the den, Callen remembered Sam had promised to tell him when Michelle saw him naked. He thought about going upstairs and demanding to be told the story as promised, but then quickly nixed the idea. Instead, he grabbed the Harry Potter book and allowed his mind to get immersed in the story again.


	30. Chapter 30

Sunday morning Sam strolled into the den in dress attire. "Morning G. I would ask if you slept well but we both know that would be a waste of breath."

"Good morning to you too sunshine." Callen glanced up from the page he was reading and noted Sam's appearance. "Hot date?"

"Yeah. With my beautiful wife." He adjusted his tie slightly and brushed imaginary lint from his lapel.

Slowly nodding his head Callen agreed with Sam. "Michelle is a beautiful woman. I can't imagine why she ever chose you."

Sam puffed out his chest. "Swagger. Do I have to explain it to you again?"

"Nope," Callen replied before going back to reading. "Game knows game."

Sam walked over to the couch, plucked the book for Callen's unsuspecting hands, marked the page and then firmly snapped it close. "Go shower and change. You're coming with us."

Callen looked vaguely amused. "Where? To church? I think I'm too far gone for that."

"If you stepped into a church on a Sunday morning it probably means the four horsemen of the apocalypse are riding down the PCH." Sam replied drolly. "Brunch. Michelle wants us to go out for Sunday brunch."

Callen immediately started protesting. "Is she nuts? You know the issues I have eating left handed because of this sling." He looked down and of course his arm was not in it; in fact he wasn't even wearing the sling at all. Abashed, he searched around for the missing item.

"Looking for this?" Sam held up the missing sling. "You left it in the bathroom."

Callen snatched it from his partner's hand but made no attempt to put it on. "I'm not going to be a third wheel. I'll embarrass you trying to eat left handed."

"You are an embarrassment to me every day," Sam reminded him then he got back to the point. "So you don't want to go out to brunch with my beautiful wife?"

"It's not that I don't want to go but I have been told to rest. Doctor's orders. I'll stay here, wear my sling," he picked it up and put it on, "and quietly read."

Sam made a disappointed face. "Well, if you're sure."

Callen waved him off "Positive. Go. Have fun. Bring me a doggie bag."

Sam sighed theatrically, started to leave the room then stopped. "I feel bad leaving you alone. I'll tell Michelle we'll go some other time, when you are better."

"Don't you dare!" Callen said a little more forcibly then he meant too.

Sam shrugged slowly. "Well if you feel that strongly, we'll go without you. Rest while we are gone. Got it?"

"Got it," Callen said, innocently crossing his heart.

"There's stuff in the fridge. Help yourself if you get hungry."

"Roger that," Callen replied burying his nose back in his book.

Sam turned and left the room this time, heading back upstairs where his wife was finishing dressing. He flipped her two thumbs up as he entered the bedroom and gathered her in his arms. "Just you and me baby," he whispered in her ear. "He took the bait, hook, line and sinker."

"You don't feel bad leaving him here alone, Sam?" she purred in his ear.

"Nope. This way both parties are happy. He gets to rest and read in peace and we get some quality alone time. Win-win."

When Michelle was finished dressing, they both headed back downstairs. Sam stuck his head in the den. "Last chance." Callen didn't even look up from the book, as he waved them off. A slight smile played on his lips as he heard the front door close. "And a player knows a player," he said to himself.

Sam and Michelle arrived at the restaurant, letting the valet park the car. As they approached the maître de, the well attired man stepped forward and greeted them by name. "Mr. and Mrs. Fisher. Right this way. We have a beautiful table for two reserved for you by the water. Spectacular view.

Looking confused Sam said, "I'm sorry. You must be mistaken. I didn't call for a reservation."

"No sir. Mr. Martin made your reservation." The man pulled out a phone and pulled up a picture. "See he sent us your picture." He turned the phone so Sam and Michelle could see the screen. Sure enough, it was a picture of them taken this morning as they were walking out to the car at their house.

"Damn he's good," Sam said under his breath.

"Right this way please" and maitre de ushered them to a table with a gorgeous view. Sam seemed perfectly fine with the proceedings but Michelle seemed nervous.

After they were seated, a waiter appeared at their table with bottle of champagne. He showed the label to Sam who was impressed with the vintage. "Good year," he remarked, impressed.

"Yes," the waiter agreed pleasantly as he popped the cork. "Mr. Martin was very specific on what he wanted delivered. He said you knew your vintages, that you are a sommelier." The waiter poured some in a crystal flute and handed it to Sam to taste.

Michelle reached over and placed her hand on his arm before he could lift the glass to his lips. "Are you sure you should dear?"

Sam grinned at her. "Nothing to worry about," he said as he took a sip. "Excellent."

The waiter smiled congenially and topped off his glass then filled one for Michelle. "I'll give you a few minutes to peruse the menu."

After he left them alone, Michelle laid into Sam. "What is going on? How did that man know our aliases if you hadn't made a reservation? And the champagne, if you didn't order it who did and how do you know it isn't poisoned or something. And that picture Sam, do, you realize it was taken outside our house, this morning before we came here? An oh..." she suddenly stopped her dissertation. If this had been a cartoon scene, a light bulb would have gone off over her head. "Callen."

"A.k.a Mr. Martin. One of his aliases," Sam confirmed.

While Michelle was muddling over how Callen had pulled this all off in such a short amount of time, a man walked over to the table with a lovely bouquet of roses. "For you, Madam."

Michelle accepted the bundle and took an appreciative sniff. "Lovely, thank you."

They had a wonderful leisurely meal that was topped off by a chocolate soufflé that Mr. Martin had pre-ordered for them. The last surprise was they received no check. Mr. Martin had taken care of that too.

As they walked out of the restaurant, the valet brought their car around. After they were safely inside and away from prying ears, Michelle sighed contently. "That was wonderful Sam. Your boy didn't miss a trick. How did he know which restaurant we would go to?"

Sam gave credit where credit was due. "He's good." He started the Challenger and headed out of the parking lot towards the highway to return home.

Michele was curious. "So he knew all along you were playing him?"

Sam thought about the question then gave a slight nod. "Probably. But I know him too. This was both a thank you and an apology. When we get home, he is going to be long gone."

"Gone? What do you mean gone?" Michele wasn't quite sure what her husband was implying.

"Gone as in left the house with no plans to return. He has reached his tolerance for togetherness," Sam replied with a tight smile. "It's nothing personal. It's just, well, Callen."

Michelle found out Sam had predicted his partner's behavior correctly. When they got home, the house was deserted except for a hand printed note on the kitchen table. "_Thanks for the hospitality. Hope brunch was good. Took last three books of series. Will return when done. See you at work tomorrow. P.S. You are out of milk and tootsie pops._

Michelle walked over to where she stored the bag of sweets and it was gone. "He found them," she said flatly showing Sam the empty cabinet.

The surprise on her face made him laugh. "What did you expect? It's his job."

Michelle laughed too when she realized how naively she was thinking. "I guess it would be part of his job description." Turning serious she asked, "Are you going to call him Sam? Make sure he is Ok?"

Without hesitation, Sam shook his head no. "He needs his space but," he added as he walked over and kissed his wife, "Monday morning I'm going to be so in his face he'll wish he did go to brunch."

The Hanna's got the rest of their day to themselves and Callen sat in his lone chair at home, sucking on the remainder of Michelle's bag of tootsie pops and reading.


	31. Chapter 31

The minute Callen walked into the bullpen Monday morning, Sam stood up and accosted him. "With me. Now."

Callen casually continued to his desk, holding his bag aloft. "Can I put my bag down? Grab a cup of coffee?"

"Bag yes, coffee no. Do that on your own time." Sam rose from behind his desk, crossed his arms over his expansive chest and stared at Callen impatiently.

Callen took his sweet time lowering his bag on the floor by his desk, making it into a Broadway production. "Is this about me not wearing the sling? Because the doctor said I would be fine on Monday and I interpret that as meaning no sling."

"That's exactly what we're gonna find out." With that Sam walked away fully expecting Callen to follow him.

Callen could see whatever this was about, it was serious to Sam, so with a sigh, he ambled after him. "Where are we going?"

"Range. You got your piece?"

"Always," Callen replied with a touch of surprise. Odd question from the man that knew Callen rarely left his house unarmed.

Sam opened the door to the range and motioned Callen to precede him. Once inside, Sam went over to the wall rack and took down two yellow ear protection headsets, handing one to Callen. He pointed down range where the white and black target sheets hung. "Shoot the target."

Callen took the headset and placed it around his neck for a moment. "And we're doing this why?"

Sam ignored the question. "Four head shots, four heart shoots," he instructed before putting on his headset and standing there, arms crossed again, staring down range.

Callen shrugged, donned his headset and a pair of safety glasses and drew his weapon. Holding it in his right hand, left supporting, he made the requested shots. Strategically in the field, it was better to place bullets with a slight offset for a higher chance of success and maximum damage. However, Callen chose to show off his prowess and put the four bullets in each location in a singular spot giving the impression he only fired two shots not eight. Dropping the headset back around his neck he turned to face Sam. "Happy?"

Sam appeared nonplussed by his partner's cocky display of marksmanship. "Same shots, left hand."

Callen gave him a 'really' glance but Sam wasn't letting up, so he decided to mostly cooperate. "That would require eight more bullets, I only have seven left. Where do you want me to subtract?"

"Three head, four heart," Sam replied, without missing a beat. Sam was a man on a mission and he wasn't going to be derailed by his partner's antics.

"I draw the line if I have to fire blindfolded next, unless it is at you," Callen added sarcastically. Placing the ear protection back on, Callen shifted his grip on the gun and made the requested shoots though he didn't try the single hole trick again; left-handed he was good, but not that good. When he completed the task, he slid off his headset and turned to look at Sam.

Taking off his own headset, Sam hung it back on its peg. "Reload time."

Callen added his headset to the wall, tossed the glasses on the table and followed Sam into armory. Choosing a bench, he flipped out the empty cartridge and started reloading it. "Wanna give me a hint what this is really about, Sam?"

"Testing your fitness for the field," came Sam's terse reply. He noticed his partner flinched ever so slightly.

Callen's mind flashed back to a few a weeks ago when he had been doing this very same task and he had dropped the bullets on the bench; the event that had caused the team to doubt his fitness for the Fryman mission. Shaken up, Callen stopped what he was doing, laid the cartridge on the bench, placed both hands on the wooden top, lowered his head between his shoulders and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "This isn't funny, Sam," he said not lifting his eyes from staring at the bench top.

Sam knew he was rattling his partner, he knew this was causing Callen to relive a painful memory, but is was necessary in Sam's book. "It's not supposed to be. If I am going to be in the field with you, if the team's lives in the field depend on you, then I am going to make damn sure you are fit."

Working really hard to keep his voice neutral, Callen inclined his head and his blue eyes stared directly into Sam's brown ones. "What makes you think I'm not?"

Raising his hands in exasperation, Sam replied, "Do you want me to dredge up the past or shall we stay with the most recent events? You were stabbed in the shoulder four days ago, not to mention the dizziness left over from the cyanide. I need to know your shoulder and balance are no longer compromised. That you can be trusted in the field." Sam felt bad throwing 'trust' at his partner, knowing it was his Achilles heel, but Sam wanted Callen to know how serious this was to him.

Inwardly, Callen let out a sigh of relief. Sam was questioning his fitness for the field and rightly so, but for the wrong malady and Callen wasn't about to correct him. "Fine," he simply replied as he went back to loading the clip. When he was done he snapped it in the gun with a click. "Did I pass teach?"

"Part one. Gym now." Sam left the room, again fully expecting Callen to follow.

Sam and Callen hit the locker room and changed into their gym apparel. Back on the fitness floor, Sam pointed to the rock climbing wall. "Top," he demanded.

Callen eyed the wall and then Sam. "By myself?"

"Do you want me to get Hetty?"

"Solo climbing is good," Callen replied walking over to the wall.

Sam held up his watch. "I am timing. You have three minutes. Go!"

"Damn-it," Callen swore as he ran for the wall and started making his way up. It wasn't neat, it wasn't pretty and he slipped a few times, but made it to the top within Sam's time limit. His feet had barely hit the mat after climbing back down, when Sam announced, "Two minute rest break then go again."

Callen wiped his face with the bottom of his t-shirt. "You have to be kidding."

"90 seconds," Sam counted down.

Callen protested. "This is ridiculous."

"I'd wipe your sweaty palms off if I were you," Sam advised. "60 seconds."

Seeing that Sam was dead serious, Callen wiped his palms on his shorts and took a couple of deep breaths.

"20 seconds."

Callen took up position again at the base of the wall so when Sam yelled 'go', he started immediately climbing. He was within three feet of the top when he felt it happen; his right hand quivered and he lost his grip on the rock. Unable to re-establish his hold, he slipped and plunged to the thick, blue, mat below. He landed on his back with a loud grunt as the air was driven from his lungs.

Sam hurried over and stared at Callen on the mat. "You Ok?"

Between breaths, Callen answered, "I was rushing. My hand was sweaty. slipped. I was near the top. It counts."

Sam appeared to be pondering something as he stared down at his sweaty partner. "Stand up. Take off your shirt."

"What?" Callen asked, and though he was confused, he rose to his feet.

"Now!" Sam demanded in a no nonsense voice and though Callen huffed, he yanked his shirt off over his head. Sam took a few steps forward and studied the front knife wound. Then he walked around and looked at the back. Neither one had broken open in the vigorous exercise and Sam was satisfied. Callen's fall was most likely due to sweat and rushing, not a physical issue.

"Can I put my shirt back on, please?" Callen pleaded. "I feel...exposed."

"Yeah, yeah put it on."

"Are we done now?" Callen asked as his head popped out the top of his shirt.

"One more test. Dr. Marx said the dizziness you were experiencing could be triggered by exertion. So we need to exert you."

Callen eyed his partner warily. "That wasn't exertion enough?" he asked glancing over at the rock wall.

Sam shook his head no. "Run. Five miles. Pretend you are chasing a bad guy."

"I have never chased anyone five miles in my entire career. I'd shoot them first."

"Pretend they are chasing you then," Sam countered.

"I think I'd rather stop and take my chances," Callen retorted.

"Shut up and stretch," Sam commanded, as he slowly flexed his hamstrings.

Callen grumbled. "I already stretched falling off the wall."

The two men went outside and Sam took lead, setting the pace and the course. Callen fell in alongside of him and soon they were jogging in sync. They went up, down and around and eventually ended up back at Ops after completing a five mile circuit. Callen was sweating freely but he was no more winded than Sam expected.

"I pass coach?"

"Did you experience any dizziness when you were running?"

Callen shook his head no. "None then, none now. You satisfied?"

Sam finally smiled. "I'm good."

"Great," Callen replied as they headed back into the locker room to shower and change. "Let's just hope if we have to chase any suspects today, we can do it the car. I'm beat already." He opened his locker and took a clean towel out. "Better yet, we'll let Kensi and Deeks go after them."

Sam chuckled. He was somewhat satisfied at the moment, though his 'Callen-BS-radar' still wasn't totally clear of blips.

* * *

Later that morning, when they were back at their desks attacking their paperwork, Hetty called out. "Mr. Hanna. A word, please."

Deeks looked up and smirked. "Being called into the principal's office. Not good Sam."

"I heard that, Mr. Deeks," the all-knowing voice scolded him from a-far.

"Of course you did," Deeks mumbled, dropping his head and going back to his expense report.

Sam got up and walked over to Hetty's desk. Two china tea cups and a steaming pot stood ready. "Tea, Mr. Hanna? It is a special blend of green tea. Perfect to boost energy levels after an invigorating morning run." She handed him a tea cup which he carefully took and sat down with, in the chair, on the opposite side of her desk.

Hetty took her own seat then blew over the top of her beverage before taking a dainty sip. "So how is our Mr. Callen? He spent the weekend with you and Michelle?"

Sam sipped his tea before replying. "Mostly. He bailed out Sunday."

"I see." Hetty's voice indicated she was not the least bit surprised by the shorten visit. "Did you enjoy brunch? Not often you get to go out with Michelle alone."

'Was there anything this woman didn't know?' Sam pondered silently. Aloud, he said, "It was perfect."

Hetty took another tiny sip of her tea. "Maybe deep down inside of Mr. Callen, beats the heart of a romantic."

Sam gave a little shrug. "From what I have seen of him, it must be pretty deep down."

Hetty smiled a little. "And how is he? Are you satisfied? Is he fit for the field?"

Sam took a moment to formulate his reply. "I see no sign of any dizziness and his shoulder doesn't seem to bother him at all."

Hetty wasn't going to let her agent skate by with that reply. "But you didn't answer my question, Mr. Hanna. Is Agent Callen fit for duty in your opinion?"

Sam carefully placed the tea cup back on her desk and studied his boss for a minute.

Hetty blinked at him. "Your hesitation leads me to believe that this is not an easy question for you to truthfully answer."

Sam tried to take a side step. "Have you heard anything about the investigation? Have they returned a decision?"

Hetty answered his question with a question. "Are you worried about what conclusion they will reach?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Of course I am."

Hetty brought them back on point. "And would this somehow trace back to my original question that you have yet to answer. Is Mr. Callen fit for duty?"

Standing, Sam gave her an earnest look and indirectly answered her question. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Knowing it was the best she was going to get from Sam at this point, Hetty let it go. She was satisfied Sam had received her message. "See that you do. I sense there is a deeper current running here. Make sure Callen doesn't get caught up in a rip tide."

"Got it." Sam turned and left Hetty's office.

She took another sip of her tea before tackling her own paperwork. She sensed an impending storm approaching.


	32. Chapter 32

Later Monday afternoon, Sam and Callen headed out to a downtown office building trying to track down a lead on an older case. The ride was accomplished in total silence with all attempts at conversation by Sam, blatantly ignored by Callen. An offer for lunch from his partner's favorite street vendor was also politely but coldly declined. Figuring his partner was still annoyed at the morning fitness test, Sam gave up and left Callen alone to brood.

When they arrived at the building and went inside to interview the witness, Callen remained professional but distance, letting Sam take the lead. After they left the office and entered the elevator, silence reigned and Sam resided himself to the fact that the ride back was going to be as silent as the one here.

* * *

The thin, average height, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman stood on the subway platform wearing enough explosives to decimate the entire rush hour crowd. In her trembling arms, she clutched a child who appeared to be about 18 months old. The child was calmly sucking her thumb and watching the crowd. How a woman wearing a bomb vest, carrying a child, made it all the way down to the platform was a mystery, but one thing was for sure, it had happened, it was real, and it could not end well.

Callen and Sam were walking out the double glass doors of the office building when the alert came into Ops and Eric, realizing the duo were close, routed it to their phones, high priority. When Callen heard his phone buzz, his pulse quickened as he registered it was not the ordinary ring, but the one that indicated a high alert. A quick glance at the screen had him and Sam sprinting to the scene where they were the first responders to arrive other than the onsite transit police. Being better trained to handle this type of situation, the agents identified themselves and moved downward towards the platform to assess the situation.

Someone on the platform had seen the explosives and panic had ensued. The crowd was desperately trying to exit the station by escaping up the stairways, but the sheer number of people was overwhelming the egress. People were using both the up and down staircases to fight their way to safety. Callen and Sam fought to get down to the platform area, pushing and shoving through the frightened crowd.

The two got a break when they were able to partially slide down a slanted ledge between the staircases. It wasn't the most pleasant slide, since the builders of the station wanted to stop people from doing exactly what they were doing and had placed raised bumps on the downward slope. However, it did allow them to get around a lot of the crowd and quickly reach the bottom.

By now the immediate area around the woman wearing the bomb vest had cleared and they could evaluate the situation. The woman had her eyes closed and appeared to be speaking to herself. The agents could see both of her hands since they were holding the child, so they were fairly confident she was not holding a dead man switch; that made their job one step easier.

"You don't want to do this. Put the child down and raise your hands where I can see them," Callen said authoritatively. The woman ignored him and continued to speak in a foreign language. "Put the child down and raise your hands," Callen repeated to no avail. The child started fidgeting in the woman's arms, but the woman ignored the child and continued with her chant. Both Sam and Callen had the bomber dead in their sites but neither pulled the trigger.

The woman's words suddenly registered with Sam. "It's a prayer. About death and forgiveness. When she is done she's gonna to detonate the bomb," he yelled to his partner who still didn't take any action.

The child's squirming increased and she started to cry at the noise and confusion surrounding her. The woman held the child tighter and continued on, eyes closed, reverently chanting.

It was a tricky shot with no room for error; any miscalculation and the innocent child would get killed too. Sam thought his partner would take the shot but when he didn't, Sam took action and squeezed off two shots. They found their target and the woman crumbled to the ground, her arms opening on death on freeing the child who lay wailing on the cold, grey cement.

While Callen kept his gun trained on the woman, Sam walked over to the downed bomber checking for a pulse. Looking up at Callen, he shook his head no. Sam did a quick examination of the bomb and determined it was inactive. Callen holstered his gun, and then dialed Eric to confirm the bomb squad was on its way.

Soon the area was crawling with law enforcement and Sam dealt with them while Callen stood expressionless on the sidelines, staring at the dead woman. One of the transit police had taken custody of the child who was still wailing and Callen's hooded eyes tracked the child as she was carried away. When Sam was done, he walked towards Callen who wordlessly turned away and headed back above ground. In silence, they made their way back to the Challenger.

Getting in the car, Callen angled his body slightly away from Sam to stare out the window. The maneuver did not go unnoticed by Sam, as he started the car and pulled out into the traffic. "You got something to say?" Sam asked his closed off partner. Callen gave him a sideways glance but didn't speak.

This incident brought to a head, all the suspicions and concerns Sam had been keeping a lid on for the past few weeks. Frustrated, Sam made the decision to take action; he didn't know what was going on with his mysterious acting partner but whatever it was, it was affecting the job. This was too important to let Callen off the hook or wait for him to decide to talk on his own. Sam felt he had to force the issue and needed a safe place to do so; this could get very ugly. Altering the Challenger's course, he headed to the boathouse instead of Ops where they could have some privacy from prying eyes. He was going to find out what was going on with his partner before it got one of them killed.

As they drew closer to the boat shed, Sam knew Callen had to have realized they weren't heading back to Ops but the bull-headed man didn't ask why and remained stubbornly silent. Pulling up in front of the building, Sam parked the car then turned to face his partner. "Inside," he commanded in a tone that allowed for no disobedience.

"Why?" came the one word staccato reply.

"Because I said so. Get out of the damn car or..."

Callen rounded on his partner and gave him gave a look that showed in no uncertain terms he was deadly serious. "Don't threaten me."

The two men stared at each other in a testosterone filled, alpha-male showdown, neither budging an inch.

As the time ticked by Sam realized this was getting them nowhere and they had move forward. "You wanna sit here all night playing chicken or go inside and tell me what is going on in the screwed up head of yours?"

Looking away Callen said, "Nothing is going on," which only confirmed to Sam that something was going on.

Giving a derisive snort, Sam was brutally honest. "Oh yeah? You almost got hundreds of people killed today..."

"I wasn't the person with the bomb strapped to my chest."

"And even though you had a clear shot, you didn't take it. Was it because of the child? If you don't think that is an indication that you have an issue..."

Callen flinched as Sam's comment hit too close to home. Getting out of the car, Sam closed the door and waited. Without once looking at his partner, Callen opened the door, slid out of the vehicle and resignedly went into the building.

Once they were both inside, Sam went over and disconnected all the electronic visual and audio devices.

"You know Eric is going to discover the shed has had gone dark and send someone to check it out," Callen pointed out.

"Then you'd better speak quickly and don't bullshit around like you always do," Sam retorted.

Still keeping his back to Sam, Callen walked across the cross the room putting the scarred wooden table between him and Sam. "There's nothing to say."

Boiling with anger Sam spat, "The hell there isn't. You had the shot. You didn't take it."

Callen's voice was strained. "I didn't..."

Cutting him off, Sam slammed his hands flat down on the table. "Don't bullshit me. You did and it is not just today. It has been for weeks. You haven't taken the lead on anything that requires shooting your weapon. You have let everyone else on the team take point, or take the shot. I have worked with you for 5 years and I know how you operate. You always put yourself in danger first. And when it comes to marksmanship, as much as I hate to admit it, you're the best on the team. I have seen you take shots that never should have succeeded and been dead on target. And today, if anyone should have taken that shot it should have been you. But you didn't."

"You made it."

"That's not the point. Why are you putting the team's lives and the mission at risk?"

Callen's tension showed in every muscle in his body. "I couldn't," he whispered.

"Why!" Sam shot back. "Why!"

Callen hands clenched tight at his side; his body was like a tightly coiled spring. Yet he remained silent.

"I can deal with your idiosyncrasies because until a few hours ago, I trusted you would always have my back." The tension in the room rose to an unbearable level. "But after today? If that bomb went off, I would have died too, yet you were willing to stand there and let that happen," Sam accused, his voice betraying his anger and sorrow.

Callen's shoulders hunched and his head dropped. For a second, Sam thought his partner was finally going to speak, but as the tense minutes passed, Sam knew he was wrong and he lost it. Flinging the table that separated them aside as if it were made of cardboard, Sam strode across the space, grabbed Callen by the shoulders and spun him around until they were face to face. "Why?!"

Callen's breath grew ragged, his eyes locked on Sam's. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he was actually trembling in Sam's grip. Still, Sam didn't ease off and demanded again. "Why?!"

"I was afraid," Callen shouted as his mask broke and Sam saw the naked soul of G Callen; it broke his heart to see his best friend so scared and vulnerable.

Sam let out a guttural, sympathetic grunt and pulled Callen into a full body embrace, wrapping his strong arms protectively about his partner and holding him to his chest. Like metal that snaps when it gets too cold, Callen's body remained so rigid Sam was afraid it would shatter. Then a miracle happened; Callen relaxed. The taller man could feel the tension melting away as his partner finally let his barriers go and fully accepted the comfort, caring and sympathy Sam was freely offering. There was nothing sexual in their embrace; it was simply one human comforting another; nothing extraordinary for most people, but for Callen, off the charts. Even when he was in the hospital recovering from his horrific shooting, Callen had maintained his barriers; not allowing the people who were trying to help him pass, to include Sam. Callen couldn't help it, it was who he was, what life had caused him to become; but today, he let Sam over the wall.

Sam didn't patronize the moment: he didn't stroke Callen on the head like he was a little boy; he didn't tell the shattered man everything was going to be alright; he didn't mother Callen; he simply hugged him.

When Sam started to feel some of the tension reasserting itself, as Callen's barriers rebuilt, he knew the moment was over. Sam loosened his hold, stepped back and studied his friend's face. He could see Callen was internally struggling, trying to process these new sensations and even when his mask slid back into place, a bit of openness remained in his blue eyes.

Callen sluggishly moved to the couch and collapsed on it. Running a distressed hand through his hair, he dropped his head forward and stared at the ground. Sam quietly walked over to the wicker chair, caddy-corner to the couch, sat and waited.

"You know Hetty is gonna make you pay for that table," Callen weakly joked.

"And since you caused me to break it, you're gonna pay for half."

Callen ran his hand through his hair again before leaning back on the coach, head resting on the back, eyes staring off in the distance.

"Was I wrong, killing Alex?"

Sam carefully considered his words. "I can't say G. You were there, on the ground, I wasn't."

Callen frowned then his face turned contemplative. "The thing is I'm not sure I meant to kill him."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Everyone knew. Hell Deeks even called me out on it and I blew him off."

Sam shook his head. "You're losing me."

"Kensi, Hetty, Deeks, you, you all said I wasn't fit, should stay behind and direct from Ops."

Sam started to put the pieces together as Callen continued. "I shot the father, then Alex, his son. An unarmed child and I killed him."

"A 14-year-old boy who was about to kill 800,000 people. You had no choice G."

"Why not? Why didn't I have a choice?" Callen rhetorically asked. "Like you said, I'm an excellent shot. Why didn't I simply wound him?"

"And what if he was still able to pull the lever, wounded," Sam countered.

"You said it yourself Sam, DPW was ready to turn off the water supply at a moment's notice. I didn't have to kill him," Callen concluded shifting his eyes to his partner's face.

"I don't get this G. Why are you second guessing yourself now?"

"Because I couldn't shoot that woman today." Callen looked away, slowly shaking his head. "You're right. I haven't had the team's back or yours."

Sam looked contrite. "I was frustrated when I said that; rattled by what could have happened. Angry because you wouldn't talk to me. I always have and always will trust you with my life."

"Maybe you shouldn't," Callen said earnestly as he looked at Sam.

"Why the hell would you say that?"

Slowly, Callen raised his right hand. It was trembling. "Because I'm not fit to be in the field."


	33. Chapter 33

Any further conversation was halted by the simultaneous ringing of their phones. Callen ignored his phone but Sam answered.

"Everything is Ok Eric. Yes, Callen and I are in the boat shed. We'll check to see why the electronics are down." As Sam was talking, he walked over and reactivated all the equipment. "Oh it's on now? Good. Nope, no idea what happened. Have to go now Eric," he said pushing the off button even though the tech was still talking.

Eric hesitantly glanced over at Nell and Hetty. "Ah, everything is fine. Now."

"I see," Hetty acknowledged skeptically.

"Is there something else I can do for you Hetty?" It was clear the surfer was feeling uncomfortable with his boss hovering in his sanctuary.

"Is there something else you should be doing for me?" She blinked at him and waited in an expectant manner.

"No?" Eric said hesitantly. "I mean there is stuff I need to do but not for you, though I guess everything I do is technically for you since you are the operations manager. So yes I have stuff to do but no I don't have any outstanding requests to do something specifically for you."

Hetty took pity on him after glancing over at Nell, who looked distinctively embarrassed for her partner's ramblings. "Thank you Mr. Beale. I'll return to my office then."

"Yes do that," Eric said a bit more stridently then he meant to as he started in again. "Not that, of course, you aren't welcome to stay here if you want. After all you are the Ops manager and this is the Ops center and it is logical for the Ops manager to be in the Ops center. What I meant was if you wanted to leave that was good by me, not that you need my permission. I mean you are the Ops manager."

"Yes, I think we have established that. Carry on, Mr. Beale," and with wave of her hand she was out the door.

Eric crumbled in his chair. "Was that as bad as I think."

Nell gave him a pitying shrug. "Afraid so."

Eric swung his chair around to face Nell. "You know Sam and Callen, for whatever reason, shut down the systems in the boat shed. It was no accident."

"Yep. I know that. You know that. And Hetty knows that," Nell confirmed.

"I wonder why?" Eric pondered.

Nell shook her head. "Don't know. But I suspect Hetty will soon find out."

* * *

The two men sat side by side on the sand, facing the ocean.

"How long has this been going on?" Sam asked his partner who was staring gloomily at his hands.

"Since the poisoning."

Sam glanced at the waves crashing on the shore; it suited his somber mood. "And this is why you are not sure if you really meant to kill Alex. You are afraid you were trying to wound him, your hand trembled and you ended up killing him."

Callen nodded miserably. "I just don't know."

"And this is why you have been letting everyone else on the team take point, make the tough shots," Sam concluded refocusing on his partner who, for once, was letting his emotions show.

"I was afraid, if my hand shook..." Callen stopped, unable to continue.

Sam stared at the ocean again. "Why didn't you pull yourself from the field? Or at least tell me. You could have trusted me. I would have had your back."

Callen hung his head low. "I should have. It's just," he swallowed hard, "I thought it would go away."

"But it hasn't," Sam stated flatly.

Callen ran a hand over his frustrated face. "Every time I think it is gone..." He sighed heavily.

Sam pushed for details. "How often do your hands shake?"

Callen shook his head slowly. "Unpredictable. Some days not at all. I thought it was gone. It hasn't happened all weekend..."

"Then today," Sam interrupted.

"Then today," Callen echoed forlornly.

Sam rested his forearms on his bent knees. "Is that why you didn't take the shot today at the woman, because your hand was shaking?"

Callen's hands were resting on his legs, toying with the edge of his jeans as he shook his head no. "My hands were rock solid."

Sam was puzzled with the unexpected response. "Then why?"

Callen stopped fiddling with his hem and picked up a handful of sand and watched it slowly dribble to the ground. "I was afraid," he said softly his voice breaking. "What if my hand shook? What if I missed? What if I hit the child, again? I if I ki..." He couldn't go on.

Sam was taken back, upset for the devastation his partner was feeling. "We'll get thru this G." He reached over and laid a protective hand on his partner's shoulder. "Together."

Callen shook Sam's hand off. "How?" he demanded. "I can't be in the field, if I can't trust myself to shoot."

"The shaking isn't permanent; remember what the Marine told us."

"It may go away. Then again it may not. I did the research," Callen informed him.

Sam was very positive with his next statement. "It will go away. You just need time. Dr. Marx said there was still some cyanide in your system. You got to give it time to break down. Patience, G."

Callen gave Sam a tight smile. "I'm trying."

"Well you were trying lone wolf. Now you have me. We will get thru this together," he repeated again with emphasis. "Come on," he said rising up out of the sand and offering a hand to his partner. "Let's head back to Ops, lie about what happened in the boat shed and then grab some dinner. Michelle went to pick up Jasmine at her Grandmother's and is spending the night. So just you and me."

Callen took the offered hand and stood, brushing the sand from his jeans. As they trudged up the beach Callen asked, "Speaking of Michelle, the other night you mentioned something..."

Sam knew exactly where Callen was going but he pretended not to and gave his partner a puzzled glance. "I mention a lot of things. Care to be more specific?"

Like it was no big deal, Callen said, "You mentioned Michelle had seen me undressed."

"Oh," Sam said with a sly grin. "You mean naked. Yeah."

"Wanna tell how?"

"Nope," Sam said getting into the Challenger.

Climbing in the passenger, Callen exclaimed, "What do you mean, no!"

"No as in I am not telling you now. Maybe sometime, but not now." Sam drove them back to Ops as Callen stewed in silence.

When they got there, Callen got out of the car and addressed Sam across the Challenger's roof. "So when you say naked, are we talking briefs? Or..."

"Full frontal," Sam returned walking thru the wooden double doors. Callen followed behind, mulling the conversation over in his mind. As they walked by Hetty's office, she called out to them. "Nice of you gentlemen to decide to join us.

The agents stopped, as she rose from behind her desk to stand at the top of her stairs. "We were following up on a lead," Sam supplied.

"I see. Did you have anything to do with the Ops center losing connectivity to the boat shed, as you were following up on your lead?"

"No. I mean we knew it happened but not why," Sam quickly replied looking earnest."We done here? Cause I have paperwork to do."

"Far be it for me to keep you from your paperwork, Mr. Hanna. Mr. Callen, you are very quiet today. Am I keeping you from your paperwork too?"

"I always have paperwork," Callen said making an open handed gesture.

"Well then, off you go." She turned to walk away, then stopped. "I would appreciate if you boys would brush the sand off your pants before you come into my building next time. It is bad enough Eric and Deeks don't. I don't need you adding to the problem. I'll be able to build a sandcastle in here soon."

Guilty, the agents looked down and indeed, there was a small scattering of sand. "Sorry Hetty," they said simultaneously as they scurried away to their desks.

Hetty smiled having made her point and put her agents on notice. It might take a little time but she would find out what those two were hiding.


	34. Chapter 34

_Author's Note: I apologize for the length of this chapter. I messed up when I was segmenting the story and to make changes now would mess up the chapter numbers. So enjoy this jumbo sized chapter cause one of the upcoming ones is super short. BTW we are nearing the end of our journey._

* * *

Wednesday morning found all the agents casually hanging out in the bullpen with their morning cups of coffee, catching up on the previous night's activities, when Hetty strolled in.

"Morning Hetty," Sam said cheerfully.

"Good morning," she said in her most cheerful tone, the one she used when she was about to tell them something they were not going to like. "Today is skills day."

"What is skills day?" Deeks asked eagerly, always up for something new. The other three agents groaned which earned them a slight frown from their boss.

Hetty turned to Deeks. "Skills day is a whole day of fun-filled activities to sharpen and build your tool box of tricks for field use. It is a training exercise but a fun one."

"Fun only for her," Sam said jerking his head at their diminutive boss. "She comes up with crazy contests and activities for us to do while she sits and watches."

"Someone has to judge and score," she admonished her large agent. Turning, she started to walk away. "Chop, chop folks," she said clapping her hands when she sensed none of them were following her.

Grumbling, the agents rose from their respective desks to follow, all but Deeks who was still in his happy, puppy mode. "This sounds fun. How bad could it be?"

Sam shuddered. "One exercise was a game of hide and seek."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Deeks said.

"It was in a warehouse that stored frozen meat. Rows and rows of hanging dead animals. Nearly made me a full time vegetarian." Sam shuddered thinking about it.

"But you have to admit," Callen added. "When we were in Siberia, on that case, it did come in handy. We had better cold weather skills."

"Don't cold weather skills me. You spent like what, one minute in that warehouse? The rest of us were stuck in there for over an hour looking for you," Sam complained

Deeks looked at Callen who indifferently shrugged.

Sam glared at his partner. "You cheated!"

"You call it cheating, I call it being industrious," Callen smirked.

"You found an old covered over skylight, climbed up to it, though I am still not sure how, opened it and laid on the roof, soaking up the sunshine while we froze trying to find you in that warehouse!"

Deeks looked over at Kensi. "Wow. You must have hated that Kensi. You hate to be cold."

Kensi smiled at her partner. "That happened on Renko's watch, not mine."

"And," Callen interjected. "I seem to recall there was some retaliation later from you and Mike. I believe the referee, Hetty, labeled it as unbecoming sportsmanship-like behavior." Sam smiled but Deeks never got the story because they had reached the firing range and Hetty demanded their attention.

She ran them all thru a series of accuracy drills, some which they grudgingly had to admit were not only imaginative but fun. Hetty had Nell trailing along behind her with a clip board and the intelligence analyst periodically made scribbles on it.

"What is she doing?" Deeks whispered.

"Taking notes, keeping score, grading us," Kensi supplied.

Deeks interest was peaked. "Is there a prize in the end? You know I have wanted trophy for my desk."

"Mr. Deeks. Focus please," Hetty called out. "Ok everyone, follow me to the garage."

"Road trip! I call shotgun," Deeks proclaimed to his teammates.

Sam nudged Deeks. "I wouldn't be so cheerful. Last road trip was to a garbage dump. She claimed we were learning urban fighting techniques."

"The city is a very dirty place, Mr. Hanna. And I am riding shotgun, Mr. Deeks," Hetty said firmly when they arrived at one of the large tactical vehicles. Nell got behind the wheel, laying her clipboard on the center console. Callen and Sam took the second row and Kensi and Deeks end up in the back. After they were on the road, Deeks wiggled up between the seats and tried to quietly snatch the clipboard, but his efforts were thwarted by a hard slap frI'm their Ops manager. "That is FOUO and you do not have an official use in this case. Hands off!"

A small smirk crossed Callen's face as Deeks slunk back to his seat.

"And buckle up, Mr. Deeks," Hetty admonished.

Callen, who by habit, had been observing their route, came to a conclusion on where they were going. "Pendleton, Hetty?"

The Ops manager smiled, picked up the clipboard and made an annotation. "Very good Mr. Callen. Plus one for 'maintains situational awareness' at all times."

"I knew where we were going," Sam whined.

"Ah but you didn't say anything," Hetty said, snapping the clipboard cover shut resolutely.

Callen gloated at Sam who sat sulking in his seat. "Maybe next time."

They badged in the gate at Pendleton and proceeded onto the base. Nell seemed to know exactly where they were going, as she competently piloted the vehicle. Callen decided she and Hetty must have been working on this little surprise training exercise together.

They stopped alongside a man-made body of water, that Sam recognized as an underwater dive training facility. There was a dock, floating boats, half submerged boats, and Sam knew underwater obstacles that could not be seen from above; all things he expected. What was odd were the two goals, like the type used in water polo, anchored amongst all the other floating objects.

As they all piled out of the vehicle and stood on the edge of the 'lake', a van pulled up and eight marines in wetsuits piled out, along with one man in uniform. Hetty greeted the man. "Chief, thank you for agreeing to participate."

"My pleasure ma'am. It will be good for my boys to work with another team and a hell of a lot of fun I suspect."

Hetty turned and faced her agents. "This is Chief Warrant Officer Davis and some of the members of his Marine water polo team. You will be participating in a game with them today."

"Us against them?" Deeks complained, eyeing the rubber-suited, buff bodies. "That hardly seems fair. Besides, you need seven players on each side. Even counting Nell and you, we are a man, I mean, a person short."

"Heaven forbid. Nell and I aren't getting in the water. You will be split, two and two, on each team. Normal partner pairings."

"Ah-huh. I'm not sure about the rest of my team mates, but I missed the memo that said we had to wear a bathing suit to work today." Deeks leered at Kensi. "Though I am opened minded enough to play..."

Kensi held of a warning finger. "Don't go there Deeks."

"I am well aware none of you are wearing bathing attire, but this is an exercise, designed to simulate a possible field situation."

Quizzically, Callen asked, "What field situation do you envision, where we will have to play water polo?"

"The playing of water polo is incidentally to this exercise, Mr. Callen. It is the swimming, fully clothed, that is important. I will make one concession and allow you to take off your shoes, even though you typically won't have time in the field."

Callen shook his head. "Still lost here Hetty. Time for what?"

"When you are chasing a suspect and you fall or deliberately go into the water, you don't stop and take your shoes off first."

"Or are thrown from a bridge into the water," Sam made a dig at Deeks.

"This exercise is designed to improve your efficiency in swimming when fully clothed. Please provide your firearms, knifes, phones and other non-waterproof objects to Ms. Jones. While I realize you will probably have them on your person if you enter the water chasing a subject, I don't think for this exercise, we should damage them just for the sake of authenticity. However, Ms. Jones will be supplying you with an experimental water proof gun that can shot rubber bullets. We will be doing some target practice as part of this exercise. Now, into the water.

Callen's eyes narrowed, but he handed over his stuff to Nell, accepted the waterproof gun and one extra clip of ammo. He checked the gun and found it was fully loaded with dummy bullets, then followed his team mates into the water. Each marine team welcomed their two new members and had a quick discussion as to what position they should play.

The goals had been set up at regulation lengths between the other obstacles in the water. It took some time but eventually the teams started to develop a rhythm with the NCIS agents gelling with their Marine counterparts. Kensi had pulled her hair up and twisted it in a bun before the game had begun. Callen and Sam had short or no hair. It was Deeks who had to fling his water logged mop out of his eyes as they played. His long hair caused him to miss once when the ball was thrown in his direction.

Swimming in clothes definitely took a toll on the agents, and they were happy when the first quarter was over and they could swim to the side for a break. They pulled themselves out of the water and sat on the edge.

Sam leaned over towards Kensi. "So you gonna like your partner with short hair? Might make him get ready quicker in the morning."

"What? Wait what are you talking about?" Deeks asked overhearing the conversation.

"I was just asking your partner how she was going to like you with short hair."

Deeks grinned uneasily. "What makes you think I'm getting a haircut? I like my golden locks." He gave his wet mop a little fling spraying Kensi with water droplets.

"I overheard your Marine buddies talking, after you missed the ball that would have put them in the lead. The one you missed because the hair was in your eyes. They have a half-time activity planned for you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Deeks saw Callen grinning and making a scissors motion with his right hand.

"Whoa. Seriously? That is so not cool," he griped glancing over at where the Marines were sitting with their seriously short haircuts.

Sam, Kensi and Deeks were trading barbs back and forth with Callen listening, but not participating. He was unobtrusively watching the Marines who had gotten out of the water and were walking, as a group, towards the van they had come in. Glancing around, he noted Hetty and Nell, who had been on the side lines cheering them on, were also gone. An uneasy feeling settled over Callen. When he saw the Marines start to get in their van he called, "Sam."

Sam instantly went on alert; after being partners with Callen for five years, he knew that tone in Callen's voice. Sam started immediately scanning their surroundings to see what had the blond rattled.

"Hey look." Deeks pointed over to the van where the last Marine had just entered and shut the door. "I think I scared them off with my awesome skills."

"I don't like this G," Sam said worriedly. "We're sitting ducks here. No place to hide..."

"But the water. Go. Now. Take cover behind the boats," Callen yelled to his team as he reached over and pushed Kensi into the water.

Men in combat gear, bearing rifles, came charging over the edge of the landscape as the team hit the water. The soliders dropped to the ground, took aim and started firing at the agents who were stroking quickly towards the boats. Bullets hit the water around them but the team safely made it behind the boats.

"These things don't have gas tanks I hope," Deeks said eyeing the wooden vessel they were hunkered behind.

"Anyone got a count?" Callen asked tersely.

Sam peered around the stern on the boat. "Five."

"Six," Kensi corrected.

"Is this for real?" Deeks questioned.

"One of Hetty's tests I'd bet," Sam answered. "How do you want to play this G?"

Callen studied the objects in the water they had to work with for cover and quickly formulated a plan. "We need the high ground."

A quick glance from the dock to Sam was all that was needed. "Got it."

"Kensi, stay here. Lay down some cover. Deeks with me." He gestured towards the half-sunk boat 200 yards to the East. "From there, I'll move to the dock. Once, Sam gets on land behind them we rise as one and take them out."

Callen nodded to Deeks before quietly diving under the water and swimming for the other boat. The detective waited for 5 seconds, then did the same. Kensi watched as the water ripples vanished and for a moment she felt very alone. That didn't last as shots rang out from the shore and she popped up to send a return volley back. When things went silent again, she maneuvered around to the edge of the boat get a better view of what they were doing on land. As near as she could tell, they were making no attempts to move into the water, though she wondered if they had started to circle around back yet. She got her answer when fire erupted from behind the second sunken boat and as their adversaries rose to return fire, she was able to do a rapid headcount and she got six; so if they were correct in their first summary, all parties were still in front of them. This actually made sense because it was a long way to the far edge of the man-made body of water and it would take a high power sniper rifle and an excellent marksman to pick them off.

Kensi moved back behind her boat and did a quick cartridge check. She was down to four shots on her current sleeve and then the full one, still tucked in her pocket. Behind their boat, Callen and Deeks were doing the same check. Callen flipped out his almost empty cartridge before installing his full one and handing his nearly empty one to Deeks. "Two shots left."

Deeks nodded and shoved it in his pocket. "Going somewhere?"

"Dock," Callen said tersely, with a jerk of his head.

Deeks eyed the distance. It was probably on the edge of his ability to swim that distance underwater. He had to assume that Callen thought he could make it, because coming up for air in the middle of the swim would be the equivalent of a sitting duck. "You do know this is an exercise Callen."

Callen cocked his head slightly, giving Deeks a hard look. "We can assume this is an exercise, but what if we are wrong? I don't want the word 'assume' on my headstone. We play this out as if it is real."

Deeks studied the senior agent. "You got it. If you do pop up like a cork, I'll lay some covering fire. Breath quickly."

A half-grin graced Callen's face. "Appreciate that." After taking a few preparation breaths, Callen disappeared underwater.

Deeks loaded Callen's nearly empty cartridge in his gun and waited. After counting to 30, Deeks fired two shots at the targets on the shore and Kensi followed up with two shots of her own. Deeks changed out the now empty cartridge and put in a full clip in preparation. When he peeked around the edge of the boat again, he spotted Callen under the dock.

Callen was very happy when he could emerge under the cover of the wooden dock, as he'd been at the very edge of his ability to stay underwater. Looking back towards the boats, he saw both Deeks and Kensi had noted his arrival. Now the team had to wait for Sam to get into position.

He held on to a piling under the dock so he wouldn't have to tread water. It was still too deep for him to touch the bottom. Peering up thru the slants, he didn't see any shadows indicating there was anyone on the dock which made sense because they would have been an easy target for Kensi and Deeks. Looking around, he spotted a wooden ladder leading from the water, to the top of the deck. Silently, he moved over to it and clung to the lowest rung; this would make it easier to get on deck when the shooting started.

Sam made his own swim and was in position; he trusted his team was like wise. He had positioned himself behind the rear most shooter who was crouching behind a tree. Stealthily, Sam moved behind the shooter and wrapped his thick arm around the man's neck, cutting off his air and blood supply and rendering the man unconscious. Unfortunately, the nearby shooter glanced over and saw his team mate go down and he took a shot at Sam. The bullet hit Sam's left arm, as he dove for cover, returned fire, and took the man out. Glancing at his arm, Sam saw an orange paint splotch on it confirming this was an exercise. However, that didn't change his mentality and he still behaved as if this was a real event.

When Callen heard the first shot aimed away from the water, he knew that Sam had started his attack. Ascending the ladder, he scooted across the dock taking cover behind a wooden box, hoping Deeks or Kensi would lay down some additional fire power so he could move off the dock to better cover on the shore.

Kensi saw Callen climb up on the dock and move behind the crate. She signaled over to Deeks; she knew that box wouldn't provide adequate cover for long. The partners rose as one and caught the attention of the onshore shooters, giving Callen a chance to scramble off the dock behind a metal container.

As Callen was moving, so was Sam in his direction. Leap-frogging between objects, Sam joined Callen behind the metal container. They now had the remaining three shooters half-way boxed in by Deeks and Kensi in the water and Sam and Callen on land. Wanting to drive the other guys into a wedge, Callen used hand signals to indicate he was moving to the west. Sam popped to the side and drew their fire, while Callen scooted towards another container to hunker behind. He dove the last few feet, when he heard shots being fired in his direction. Something bounced off his left calf and when he was safely ensconced, he glanced down and saw an orange mark on his lower leg which confirmed this was an exercise designed by their Boss. Like Sam, exercise or not, he was taking this seriously.

While the senior partners were repositioning themselves on land, the junior partners took the opportunity to move together also. Once they were both back behind Kensi's 'boat', Deeks dove underwater and loosened it from the mooring. The two then started maneuvering their cover towards the shore ramming it up against the edge when they were close enough. From there, they were able to establish positions on the land that further boxed in the 'bad guys'.

With the four NCIS personnel now on land, it didn't take too long for them to 'kill' their final opponents. When the last man went down, the agents warily held their positions, until the SUV they had all come in drove out from behind a building, on to the 'battle field'. Without thinking, Sam and Callen trained their guns on the vehicle in readiness. The door opened and Hetty slid out.

"Stand down, gentlemen," she instructed. "I would prefer not to have orange polka-dots on my suit."

Callen, who was a bit pissed about this whole charade, was sorely tempted to ignore her and take the shot anyway; not a kill shot but something that would leave a mark. His own calf was smarting from the hit it took and he knew he'd be sporting a good bruise tomorrow along with the splinters in his hands from the dock. He wasn't even going to consider how they would get removed.

Sam stood up, dropping his weapon to the side and meaningfully glanced over at his partner. "Don't do it G."

Callen stared directly at his boss, who met his angry gaze steadily.

Kensi and Deeks had moved up behind the senior agents. "He wouldn't, would he?" Deeks asked. Kensi shook her head indecisively.

Sam continued to try to talk his partner down. "She'll get even G. You know she will and it will be so subtle you won't even see it coming until it is too late."

Callen's gun didn't waver.

"You know she is packing herself, probably three or more different weapons, real ones that will hurt."

Callen gave the slightest of shrugs. "Worth it."

Sam reached over and put a hand on Callen's forearm. Callen gave him a sideways glance of annoyance but lowered his gun.

"It will take an hour or so for the results to be tabulated..." Hetty started before Deeks interrupted her.

"What results? We were keeping score?"

"You are talking about the water polo game," Sam stated.

Callen eyes narrowed as he reached in his pocket and withdrew an empty cartridge shell. "I don't think she is Sam." Holding the casing between his thumb and forefinger, he raised it eye level. "That explains the odd markings on this as well as those towers," he said gesturing to the 'towers' that were poorly disguised as trees. The rest of his team followed his gaze to exam the structures.

Sam studied the towers. "Cameras, transmitters, receivers? Overview of the whole area. Some sort of tracking system?" Reaching over, Sam took the casing from Callen and explained it. "All packed in here?"

Hetty held her small hand out and Sam obediently placed the object in it. She turned her eyes to her Senior Agent in Charge. "Do you have any more souvenirs, Mr. Callen?" The agent shook his head no. "Good. I don't think the US Government is quite ready to go full disclosure on this system yet."

"What is it for Hetty?" Kensi asked.

"The objective is along the lines of smart bullets, though they are nowhere near that yet. In this case, this is a prototype training system. The cameras and tracking devices gather data such as where the bullet originated from and where it struck. The data then is analyzed and feedback provided to all the subjects. Particularly good actions can be used to train others and less than stellar decisions can be rethought and improved upon."

Sam held out his marked arm. "Why the orange paint?"

"The technology isn't fully functioning. The paint serves as a secondary confirmation tool. Ms. Jones, if you would please fill out the chart on everyone."

The perky, ginger, intelligence analyst nodded and grabbed her tablet. On it was two outlines, front and back, of each person. She walked over to Sam first and marked on the sheet were the orange paint splotches were located on Sam's body. When she finished with Sam, she did the rest of the team; Kensi and Deeks were clean, Callen had one splotch on his calf. When she was done, she electronically submitted the data.

"A fresh, dry set of clothing for each of you, can be found in the bags in the back of the truck. You can use the trailer over there to change." Hetty pointed to a nearby mobile facility. "Please return your weapons to Ms. Jones."

They filed over to the back of the truck where Nell stood collecting the guns and handing them their respective bags. As Callen handed over his piece, he glanced meaningfully over his shoulder at Hetty; who calmly gazed back at him.

After they were all changed and back by the car, Hetty declared it was lunch time. "I feel like Japanese." She leaned forward and entered an address in the GPS. The team was suitably impressed when they pulled up in front of an upscale Asian restaurant.

"Packing the gold card Hetty?" Deeks inquired as he climbed out. He was even more dazzled, when Hetty was greeted with great ceremony, and once inside the place, they were taken to a beautifully appointed private dining room.

"The owner is a personal friend of mine," Hetty explained as they sat down.

They weren't provided with menus; food just started appearing, carried by elegant waitresses dressed in beautiful kimonos. What didn't appear was silverware; everything was to be eaten with traditional chopsticks. Callen and Sam had no issues having spent some time in the Far East on a mission; they handled the implements with ease. Hetty had her own personally carved set that was presented to her in an intricately carved box. Kensi and Deeks handled theirs chopsticks fairly well though Deeks did ask Hetty if this was another test.

"Everything in life is a test, Mr. Deeks."

When they were done, each person was offered the basket, which was filled with fortune cookies, and they each reached in and withdrew one. "You know the fortune cookie is an American invention. But it is still fun," Hetty said as she drew hers out of the vessel.

Nell had broken open her cookie and was scanning the fortune.

"Please read it aloud, Ms. Jones," Hetty requested.

"Ok," she agreed. "Size is not an indicator of strength."

"Ms. Blye. You next."

Kensi read hers. "Want and need aren't always opposites."

"I'll go next," Deeks volunteered unfolding his paper. "Really," he exclaimed after reading it. "I want another fortune."

Kensi reached over and grabbed it from him, giggling after she saw what it said. "Hair length is not a defining character."

"Apropos," Sam said grinning at Deeks.

"And what does your say Sam," Kensi asked.

"It is a triad. Seal, spouse, spy."

Hetty turned her eyes on Callen. "And yours?"

Callen, who hadn't broken his cookie open yet, did so and pulled out the little white slip of paper. He absent-mindedly crunched on a piece of the cookie as he contemplated his message.

"What's it say G?" Sam asked.

Looking over at Sam he replied. I'll give you two clues. 'He who shall not be named'."

"Voldemort?" Deeks guessed.

Callen ignored Deeks and gave Sam the second clue. "Mexico."

"First case," Sam replied and Callen confirmed. "First case."

Hetty had a knowing smile on her face but Deeks and Kensi were still in the dark. "Somebody wanna share," Deeks whined.

Solemnly Sam said, "G's fortune is 'A Tribe of One'." Sam and Callen exchanged a knowing glance.

"Still in the dark here," Deeks complained.

Callen couldn't help smirking. "If I told you I'd have to kill you, Deeks. That would upset Teddy."

"Fine, whatever," Deeks said clearly miffed.

Changing the conversational direction, Nell asked Hetty about her fortune.

"Tea is the civilized answer to all." Hetty read, then smiled. "How very true." Clapping her hands, Hetty stood. "Let's go everyone. We still have work to do today."

As they walked out of the restaurant, Deeks whispered to Kensi. "How did she arrange that we'd each get the cookie with the fortune that fit us? It was a bowl full of cookies. She couldn't predict which one I'd take."

"Are you sure of that, Mr. Deeks?" Hetty voice floated back. Deeks wisely kept his mouth shut.

After they were all back in the truck, Nell drove them to their next destination which was near the Santa Monica aquarium. They all got out and Nell grabbed a zippered backpack and slung it over her shoulder.

"What's in there Nell?"

"You'll see soon enough, Mr. Deeks. Follow me please." Like ducklings following the mother duck, her agents trailed behind her as Hetty made her way to three empty tables near the aquarium. "Ms. Jones, if you will."

Nell swept some sand off the table top before opening her pack, removing three boxes of the game Jenga and placing them on the cleaned surface.

"I thought we'd let our lovely meal digest while we exercised our minds for a bit. Teams are as follows, Mr. Hanna, Ms. Blye; Ms. Jones, Mr. Deeks; and you, Mr. Callen, are with me."

Callen gave Hetty an indecipherable look but took his place opposite her at the table and waited patiently while she set up the game. While the other two teams played and traded good-natured barbs during their games, Hetty and Callen played in absolute silence. When Hetty won the first game, she clapped in glee exclaiming 'Oh goody'. Callen took the next round and though he said nothing when he won, his head tilt and slight smirk said it all. The next two games were spilt one each. By this time, the other two teams had ceased playing and were intently watching the battle between the Operations Manager and her Senior Agent in Charge.

As Callen contemplated his next move, Hetty broke the silence. "No one here to back you up, Mr. Callen."

Successfully making his move, he leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. "Tribe of one."

The next two moves were carried out quietly before Hetty spoke again. As Callen went to move a piece, she said, "Sometimes we have to make tough choices in our line of work. Are you sure you want to do that?

Callen hesitated slightly, then made the move anyway. "We have to trust our training."

Hetty calmly studied the tower and then made her move. "Yes, but the secret is not to throw the baby out with the bath water."

Deeks looked over at Kensi. "Am I the only one here that thinks this conversation needs subtitles?"

It's was Callen's turn next and moves that wouldn't bring the tower down were getting sparse. As he reached forward to pull the piece Hetty casually said, "If your hand trembles, it will be over."

Both Callen and Sam flinched slightly at her comment which answered one of Hetty's questions; Sam was in on it. Recovering quickly, Callen made his move. The rest of the team, sans Hetty, held their breath when the tower swayed, but didn't tumble.

Callen couldn't prove it, but he was pretty sure Hetty threw the game. In his opinion there were at least two more safe moves but Hetty choose a third option which brought the tower tumbling down.

"Bugger," she said as the pieces crashed to the table but Callen remained unconvinced as his team mates congratulated him on his victory.

As Nell re-boxed the game Callen remarked, "Interesting move."

"Not a good one it would seem," Hetty replied.

Callen pursed his lips and gave a little shrug. "Maybe, maybe not. Depends on your objective."

Hetty peered up at him but didn't validate his theory. "Last event of the day, ladies and gentlemen. Back to the truck."

When they arrived at the vehicle, Deeks asked, "Where's our next road trip?"

"We are heading back to the boat shed. Nell," she said, gesturing to the back of the vehicle. Nell walked around to the rear, opened the hatch and handed everyone a different bag. Inside was that person's favorite running gear. "I have obtained permission for you to change in the comfort station."

"Call it what it is Hetty. A dirty smelly, public bathroom," Sam griped.

Hetty blinked up at him. "Then I suggest you don't let any of your clothing touch the floor. Now, go change please."

"Why do we need to change again to ride back to Ops? Are we that offensive?" Deeks gave a sniff. "I don't know about you guys but I'm good."

Kensi peeled off to the woman's side and the guys went into the men's. "Because we are not going to ride."

Puzzled, Deeks looked over at Callen. "Then how are we going to...?" Callen reached into the bag and withdrew his sneakers. "Oh," Deeks finished flatly. "I'm not liking this at all," he grumbled as he changed. "How far is it back to the shed?"

Sam pulled his t-shirt over his head. "Only 5 or 6 miles."

When they were changed, they met back at the truck and threw their old clothes in the back.

"Is this a race Hetty?" Sam asked a bit too eagerly for some of the team's taste.

Hetty considered the question. "A reward is a very good motivator. How about winner gets Sam's parking space for a month."

"Whoa. Wait a second. That's my spot," Sam exclaimed.

"Then you'd better run fast," Hetty suggested. "Stretch everyone. We start in five."

Callen stretched out his hamstrings. "Are there any rules?"

Sam frowned. "What kind of rules does one need for a foot race?"

Callen shrugged. "Just asking."

Hetty pulled out a stop watch from the pocket of her blue suit. "Line up." The four agents stood in a line waiting for her command. "On three. One, two, three!" and the four agents took off, though not that fast since this was not a sprint.

"Let's go Nell." The two women got in the car and drove to the boat shed.

On the way back, Nell asked, "Who do you think will win Hetty?"

"Oh, that's easy. Mr. Callen."

"Huh. I would think Sam would have the best chance."

"If this was an observed, sanctioned race probably. But it isn't."

"Meaning?" Nell asked as they turned onto the PCH.

"Callen will cheat."

They more or less ran as a group down along the ocean path. Sam was in the lead, setting a moderate, but not killer pace. Callen was running a few feet behind him with Kensi and Deeks running side by side a few feet further back. By the time they passed Ocean View Park, the order had changed with Callen taking the lead from Sam. However, by the time they reached Muscle Beach, Sam had reclaimed the lead, and Kensi and Deeks passed Callen who was dropping back further and further. By the time the three of them turned onto Washington Boulevard, Callen was at least a quarter of a mile behind them.

"What's with Callen?" Kensi asked.

"All that bacon is catching up with him," Sam replied.

"He was injured a few weeks ago. Maybe he hasn't fully recovered," Kensi offered.

Sam felt guilty for a moment. Maybe Kensi was right. He slowed his pace wondering if he should turn back and make sure his partner was Ok. The other two partners slowed with him. He looked back over his shoulder and saw Callen turning onto Washington. "There he is, "Sam said as picked up the pace again. "He's fine. It's the bacon."

Callen purposely kept his pace slow as he jogged up Washington, letting the rest of the team pull further ahead. However, when he got to Pacific, he hung a right and increased his speed for the next half mile to Lighthouse Street where he turned, went over the 'bridge', cut through Mast Court eventually ending up on Tahiti Way. From there, he cut through the apartments to the Marina and the edge of water where he stopped. Stripping off his sneakers, socks and shirt, he walked to the end of the dock and dove into the water directly across from the boat shed. If he didn't get run over by a boat, he had this race won.

The next time Sam glanced over his shoulder to find Callen, he couldn't see him. That was odd and suddenly Callen's comment about rules hit him. His partner was cheating; Sam wasn't sure how, but he knew he was right. "Damn," he said out loud and quickened his pace, slowly out distancing the two junior partners.

Deeks looked over at Kensi. "What got into Sam?"

Kensi was puzzled too. She looked back over her shoulder and saw no sign of Callen behind them. "Well it isn't because Callen is catching up. I don't see him at all." After thinking for a few second Kensi said, "Callen is up to something. He has found a way to insure he wins and Sam just figured it out. That's why Sam is running like the hounds of hell are chasing him."

Deeks sighed. "So what you are saying is I have no chance of getting Sam's parking space."

"Nope."

Deeks slowed his pace to a walk. "So what are we running for?"

"Because Hetty told us to."

"Good point. But maybe we could run a bit slower? After all, we already lost."

Kensi grinned. "I'm good with that." The two started off again, but at a more leisurely pace.

Hetty got out of the car and headed for the dock behind the boat shed.

"Where are you going Hetty?" Nell inquired.

"To see if I need to call the Marine police." She walked to the end of the dock and sat on the bench. She orientated herself so she could see across the stretch of water between the boat shed and the Tahiti Marina.

Nell joined her on the wooden bench. "Why would you have to call them?"

"In case Mr. Callen needs rescuing," she said matter-of-factly.

"Oh," Nell said putting all the pieces of the puzzle tighter. "To save time, Callen is swimming across the bay to the boat shed. Smart move."

"If he doesn't get hit by a boat."

"So he's going to win," Nell surmised.

"Probably."

Nell shook her ginger locks. "Sam's not going to like that."

"No he's not," Hetty solemnly agreed.

"Will you give it to Callen? The spot?"

Hetty glanced over at Nell. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

Nell gazed across the bay. "Because Callen cheated. He didn't run, he swam."

"Ah." Hetty raised her finger and wagged it at Nell. "Callen specifically asked if there were any rules."

"And since no one provided any..."

"All is fair," Hetty finished.

Nell stood up, leaned her elbows against the rail and propped her chin up on her hands. "Sam is going to be pissed. And here comes our winner now."

Hetty stood up and looked where Nell was pointing. Three hundred yards from the dock, a man was swimming strongly towards their position.

Callen raised his head from his water, first checking for boats again and then scanning the dock where he saw the two women facing his direction. Leave it to Hetty to figure out his plan. Dropping his head, he continued his swim until he reached the dock where he hauled himself over the edge. He ran his left hand over his eyes and head to sluice off the water, before walking towards his boss.

"No towel?" he complained.

"My bad," Hetty replied.

"I win," Callen stated.

"Yes, you did Mr. Callen."

Nodding satisfactorily Callen said' "Good. Let me go dry off and change before Sam arrives. I can't wait to see his face." With a huge smirk on his face, the Senior agent headed inside.

Nell, who had been observing Callen, mostly his torso since he rose from the water, frowned.

"Do you find it disturbing Nell," Hetty inquired when Callen was out of earshot.

"What?" Nell deflected.

"The scars. On Callen."

Nell sighed, knowing she had been caught. "Kind of," she answered truthfully. "I knew he had some, but not that many. He doesn't go running around Ops shirtless."

"No he doesn't," Hetty said drily. "Actually, he probably wouldn't admit it if asked, but he is embarrassed by them. His preferred swimming attire is a wetsuit and if it is skins and shirts he always plays on the shirt team."

"But why? In a way they are badges of honor for defending his country."

"Some of his scars are very old and not so honorably earned, at least in his mind." With that, Hetty walked away towards the front of the boat shed leaving Nell to ponder that last statement.

Even from a distance, Sam knew who was standing outside of the boat shed.

Being the bratty boy he sometimes was, Callen stood alongside of Hetty and Nell sipping a beer. "Want one? I had time to run over to El Torito and grab a case.

Sam glared at his partner while he worked to catch his breath. "You wanna come closer," he huffed. "And I'll show you what you can do with that beer bottle."

Callen took a step back. "See Hetty. I told you he was a sore loser."

"Loser! I'm no loser. You cheated."

With a smug smile and dancing eyes, Callen took a swig of his beer. "I didn't cheat. No rules. Remember? I did ask."

Sam turned to Hetty. "You gonna let him get away with that Hetty?"

The diminutive woman shrugged. "Mr. Callen is right in this case. He did inquire about rules before the start of the race and no one stated any."

Sam narrowed his eyes refocusing on his partner. "You swam. Across the bay."

Callen gave Sam his 'if you say so' face.

"You're nuts."

Callen grinned. "Maybe. But I won. I'll enjoy your parking space."

"Wanna ride to work tomorrow?" Sam asked.

"Nice try," Callen said moving by his partner and giving him clap on the back. "But I think I'll drive myself, thanks, for a whole month." He disappeared back into the boat shed.

"Where are Ms. Blye and Mr. Deeks?" Hetty inquired.

"Probably stopped for a snack," Sam grumbled, as he followed his partner inside.

"Shall we wait for them?" Nell asked turning to face Hetty.

"I wonder how long we'll have to stand here?" Hetty pondered.

Nell whipped out her tablet and poked at the screen. "I'd say 5 minutes, unless there is something between here," she pointed at the two green dots on the screen, "and here," she pointed to the icon representing the boat shed.

Hetty raised an eyebrow. "How? They do not have their phones."

"I may have put a tracker on their sneakers, just in case."

"Very clever and good thinking. Well then, I guess we can step inside out of the sun for a few moments and you can tell me when we need to go outside again."

"Yeppers," she acknowledged.

When Kensi and Deeks came up to the boat shed, the two women were waiting outside.

Deeks cut in front of Kensi making her have to slow up so as not to run into him; therefore he crossed the imaginary finish line first. "I win? I don't see Sam or Callen."

Kensi swatted her partner in the back of the head.

Deeks winced and rubbed his head. "Ow. What was that for?"

"You deliberately got in front of me!"

"Well when I didn't see Callen or Sam, I thought I had a chance to win. I really want that parking spot. Mine is next to the dumpster. On hot days, it is nasty."

"So you blocked me. Nice partner. I won't forget this Deeks." Kensi stormed off to the boat shed.

Deeks focused back on Hetty and Nell. "So I won?"

"I am sorry to say you lost both the race and your partner. Callen won."

Deeks made a face then hurried after Kensi. "Kensi. Partner. My favorite person in the whole wide world. You're not made right? It was only joke. I knew I didn't win."

Kensi stopped and angrily turned on her partner. "Maybe if I had a different partner, I could have won."

"Are you saying I drag you down, cause that hurts Fern."

Kensi spun away so fast her pony tail nearly smacked Deeks in the face.

As Deeks trailed after Kensi, trying to apologize, Nell turned to Hetty. "Well that was fun."

"Yes it was, though I think there will be some fall out from today."

"Yeah, about a months' worth," Nell stated.


	35. Chapter 35

Later that evening, everyone was packing to go home, Sam tried again. As Callen picked up his bag and walked between their desks, Sam innocently said, "So what time do you want me to pick you up tomorrow?" He rose from his desk and trailed after Callen, who hadn't stopped.

"Feel like driving myself. Will probably feel that way for the entire month. Enjoy the dumpster," Callen threw over his shoulder.

Sam reached out and grabbed his partner's bicep forcing him to stop and turn around. Callen gave him an 'excuse me did you just do that' glare.

"You get my spot and I get yours G," Sam bargained.

Callen choose not to hide his trademark smirk. "Not quite. I get your spot, Deeks gets mine and you get Deeks."

Sam looked horrified. "Ut-uh. I get your spot."

"Fraid not. Already made a deal with Deeks and Kensi. They flipped a coin, Deeks won."

"Unmake the deal," Sam insisted.

Callen just shrugged. "Sorry. I keep my deals."

"But I'm your partner," Sam whined.

Callen tilted his head to the left and pointedly said, "Who ratted me out to Hetty. Need I remind you of the glass in the back and the locker room?"

Sam winced. Retribution day was at hand.

"Pay backs a bitch. See you tomorrow Sam. Enjoy the dumpster." With that, Callen left the building.

"Oh Mr. Hanna. A word," Hetty's voice requested and Sam, after giving one last parting glare to his partner's retreating back, complied.

"Sit, please," she gestured to the chair on the other side of her desk. "Tea? Or something stronger?"

"No thanks. I'm good," Sam replied, settling his tall frame into the chair.

Hetty folded her hands on her desk. "So are you happy with the outcome of today?"

"Absolutely not. You gave away my parking space."

"Oh Mr. Hanna. That was all your doing. After working with Mr. Callen for so many years, it was almost embarrassing he pulled the wool over your eyes like that. However, that wasn't what I was referring to." Unclasping her hands, she leaned back in her chair. "Were you comfortable with your partner's overall performance today? Did he pass?"

"So this was a test." Sam thought back about the day's challenges. Sam leaned forward in his chair. "You engineered this whole day to test G. You know about his problem."

Hetty paraphrased a quote she had used in the past. "I don't know everything. But I have always suspected what I don't know isn't worth knowing." She raised her eyebrows at him. "You haven't answered my question Sam."

"I didn't see any signs of tremors today. Or for the last few days for that matter." Though he said it matter-of-factly, there was an unspoken undercurrent.

"But," Hetty prompted.

Sam smiled slightly. "But, I will continue to keep an eye on him just like I always do."

"And?" Hetty inquired leaving the question open-ended.

Sam had an internal debate with himself on whether he wanted to say more. What if Hetty reacted poorly? What if she pulled him from the field?

"What happened in the boat shed Sam?" she asked gently.

Sam made up his mind. His big brown eyes captured her myopic blue ones. "He's afraid," Sam whispered.

Hetty steepled her forefingers and placed them against her lips. She sat in silence for a few minutes contemplating Sam pronouncement. Finally, with a heavy sigh she asked, "Can he get past this?"

Sam sat up a little straighter and his voice grew strong. "Hell yes. I have and always will trust him with my life. He'd die for me, or anyone in the team in a heart beat. That scares me more than anything. He'll get past this, just give him some time."

A ghost of a smile played on Hetty's lips. "And if you spot something not kosher."

Sam tried to look indignant at her implications, but didn't quite pull it off. "Callen is a professional. He'd never intently put the team at risk." Hefty quirked an eyebrow. "And if I think there is a problem, I will haul his sorry ass in here myself. Is that what you want to hear Hetty?"

"I think the sentiment is correct though I would have chosen a more, shall we say, elegant way to put it."

Sam rose from the chair. "Can I go now? I have to get here early tomorrow."

Wagging a finger at him she said, "Fair is fair Sam. If I find you have parked in Callen's spot instead of leaving it for Mr. Deeks, I will have your car towed."

"You wouldn't Hetty," the big guy pleaded. "I can't be next to the dumpster. What if the garage truck backs up crooked, hits my car?"

"It hasn't happened since we moved here. I am sure it will not happen now," she assured him but he clearly wasn't pacified.

Shaking his head, he turned and walked away, muttering under his breath the whole time.

Hetty allowed herself to smile for a moment after Sam's left before she turned serious again. She was concerned for Callen and the whole team. She debated if she should call Nate in to work with Callen, help him get past this or in the worse case scenario, help Callen deal with being a desk jockey if his trembling did not go away. She made a decision, not to make a decision right yet. Rather she'd give it one more week; she owed that to Callen.

* * *

_Author's Note: Ok, this chapter got a wee bit larger in the final proofread. Four more regular size chapters to go and we are done. Have really been appreciating all the reviews. I typically read all the new ones before I do the final proofing of the chapter each day. They help inspire me because I know proofing is a necessary evil, but still not my favorite part of the process. Thanks again for the reviews._


	36. Chapter 36

Tuesday morning, Sam stomped into the bullpen with a thoroughly disagreeable look on his face and an attitude to match. Kensi glanced up as Sam passed by her desk, then quickly looked away to avoid any eye contact, wondering if it were too late to go somewhere, anywhere, but here. She was happy that Deeks wasn't in yet because if he irritated Sam this morning, as he was apt to do, Sam might just make good on his threats to harm the Detective. The only other person in the bullpen was Callen who appeared to be reading a paper. Kensi knew the senior agent had already clocked his partner's mood; the question was would he provoke the bear or not.

"Little late their partner," an accusing voice rose from behind the paper.

Damn, thought Kensi. Callen was going to provoke the bear. She slouched a little bit lower in her chair, hoping not to get caught in the crossfire.

Sam slammed his bag on the ground, as he dropped heavily into his chair. "I was up late last night. Washing my car," he growled.

"Again? Didn't you do that over the weekend? It got that dirty in one day?" Callen remarked as he flipped the page but didn't lower the paper.

"How many times do I have to tell you G. She. Not it."

Kensi couldn't see Callen's face, but she didn't have to; she knew it was configured with a smirk.

Sam slammed his hand down on his desk. "Do you know what I found on her hood last night when I left work?"

Callen flipped another page. "I'm guessing not a lady bug."

"A banana peel. A dirty, blackened, smelly banana peel," Sam said with utter disgust.

Dropping the paper, Callen took the last bite of the banana he was eating then ceremoniously tossed the peel into Sam's trashcan across the bullpen. "Huh. Imagine that." He blinked innocently at his partner. "Two points."

"I'm gonna..." Sam said rising out of his chair but he was interrupted from any further words by Deeks, who came around the corner eating his own banana.

"Hey big guy. Want a banana?" he offered innocently holding out an extra one.

"He gave me one earlier, when he first came in. Before he went to look for some pens," Callen added, his face neutral but his eyes sparkling.

Deeks held a box of pens aloft. "I got them too, though I did have to bribe Candice. She guards the supplies like she bought them with her own money instead of the US government's funds."

Deeks held the banana out to Sam, who viciously grabbed it and also ripped the one Deeks was eating out of his hand. He threw both in his trash with a resounding thump. "No more bananas. In fact, no more eating in the bullpen, or for that matter anywhere in this building. We have to stop making trash that ends up in that dumpster!"

Deeks had a hurt look on his face. "It's fruit. It's good for you. It's not like I offered you a bacon sandwich. Yeesh," he concluded walking over to his desk and plopping into his chair. "Get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

Callen, who still had an amused look on his face explained. "Sam found a banana peel on the Challenger last night and apparently stayed up all night washing..."

"And waxing," Sam grouchily interjected.

Callen picked up his narrative, "and waxing her."

Deeks couldn't stop himself. "His wife?"

Sam took a menacing step towards Deeks. "Tell me you didn't just go there."

Using his feet, Deeks rolled his chair a few feet further away from Sam. He was saved by the bell, or in this case Eric's whistle, calling them to Ops.

"New case on deck boys and girls," the tech said before turning and heading back to the control center.

Kensi quickly scooted out of her chair and up the stairs, happy to put some distance between her and the boys.

Sam glared at Deeks, then his partner. "I know you are behind this G." Sam headed for the stairs and Callen got up and followed him.

"You think I used all my years of experience to sneak into the parking lot and place an old banana peel on your car?" Callen asked, climbing the stairs.

Deeks, who was trailing behind Callen said, "If you are so upset Sam, why don't you check the surveillance video of the parking lot."

"That's an excellent idea," Sam agreed.

Callen stopped dead on the stairs, swiftly turned and glared at Deeks. For the second time in the space of five minutes, Deeks thought he was going to get hit, hard. Callen's eyes flick quickly over Deeks' shoulder and narrowed before the older agent turned away and headed to the top of the stairs into Ops.

With an audible sigh of relief, Deeks started back up the stairs, when he heard the voice. "I would lay low if I were you, Mr. Deeks. Avoid being trapped alone, in any place, with Sam or Callen. I won't always be there to save you." Hetty climbed past a worried Deeks.

"Save me? I don't need saving," he called after her with bravado. "I didn't do anything. I'm innocent," he protested though inwardly he thought her advice was sound.

When Deeks finally walked into Ops, last, Sam sarcastically said, "Nice of you to join us. Were you busy taking out the trash?"

Deeks stood on the far side of the table from Callen and Sam. "Trash? What trash? How could there be trash? There's no eating in the bullpen."

Eric's head whipped around to stare at Deeks. "Wait. What? I know there is no eating in here but Hetty has forbidden you guys to eat in the bullpen?" Eric almost looked happy that he wasn't the only one under a 'no food' edict."

"It was Sam," Callen explained.

"But why would...," but the stern warning glare from Hetty had Eric redirect his conversation, "...I care. Let me tell you about this case."

Hetty graciously smiled. "That is an excellent idea, Mr. Beale. Proceed."

"James Reid." A picture of a man, mid-forties, tan and fit, flashed up on the screen. "His wife, Cathy and daughter, Jill." Two more pictures popped up. "Both deceased. Killed in a boating accident six months ago. Seems the Navy was doing advanced testing on highly classified under water weapon. The test did not go as planned and Reid's 42 ft. Catalina sailboat was destroyed."

"What was Reid's yacht doing so near the test site?" Sam asked as the pictures of destroyed boat appeared on screen.

Nell cleared her throat. "Actually, they weren't. Let's just say this test went really, really wrong."

Sam studied the picture. "Looks like it blew up."

"Yeah, something like that" Eric said evasively.

"This case has nothing to do with how or what caused that boat to explode. That has already been handled by others," Hetty explained.

Callen folded his arms over his cheat. "What is our job?"

"Find Reid," she said succinctly. "Eric."

"Reid's wife and daughter died in explosion."

Callen squinted at the picture of the destroyed craft. "But not Reid? How Eric?"

"At the time of the accident, he had taken the dingy and gone ashore for supplies."

"Leaving his wife and kid alone on the boat?" Deeks inquired.

"Yacht, Mr. Deeks. She was over 100 feet in length. This was an experienced seafaring family," Hetty supplied.

"So he comes home from grocery shopping and finds his family dead," Sam said flatly.

"Still not seeing our connection," Callen complained.

Hetty took a few steps to her left. "James Reid was distraught to say the least and vowed revenge."

Deeks raised his hand. "Let me guess. He has access to something super dangerous that could wreak this revenge."

"Indeed he does. Mr. Reid has shall we say connections, with people that can obtain unique items. Add that to the fact he has a lot of money..."

"And you get the motive and opportunity for revenge against the Navy for blowing up his family," Callen concluded, dropping his arms to his sides.

Sam shifted his weight against the table he was leaning on. "Can you blame him? The Navy killed his family."

Hetty glanced up and over at the ex-Navy SEAL. "What happened was a tragic accident and the Navy has some explaining and apologizing to do, but that doesn't give Mr. Reid the right to take the lives of 282 sailors."

Nell picked up the narrative. "The USS John Paul Jones is due back to base in two days. Based on current Intel, we believe this is Reid's target."

"Do we have any idea how he is going to do it?" Sam inquired.

"We found a few clues," Nell pulled few emails up on the screen, "that indicate Reid, a licensed pilot, plans to make a suicide run on the ship with a plane full of explosives."

"Can't the ship just shot him down? After all it is warship," Deeks pointed out.

Kensi studied the picture of the USS John Paul Jones on the monitor. "They have the technology but it they miss they forfeit 282 lives. Either way, this isn't going to look good on the evening news."

"No, it is not. If it comes down to it, the ship will protect herself. But the SECNAV is hoping we can apprehend Reid first and avoid all the unpleasantness," Hetty said drily.


	37. Chapter 37

_Author's Note: As they do before breaching a door... 3_

* * *

The next 48 hours were non-stop, all out action for the team chasing down false lead after frustrating false lead. They could feel the pressure of the clock ticking down as they sat in their respective cars, watching Reid's house, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. To date, they had zero luck finding him and they were clutching at straws.

Back in Ops, Eric and Nell were searching high and low for more clues. Hetty did her best to remain optimistic and bolster her flagging team's spirits, but the ever increasing phone calls from Assistant Director Granger, who in turn was being called by his boss, were even starting to make her doubt her team would pull this one off.

Sitting in the black Challenger with Sam, Callen chewed on his lower lip, which didn't go unnoticed by his observant partner. Sam reached past the worried blond into the glove box, pulled out a tootsie pop, unwrapped it and handed it to his partner. "Take it before you chew a hole in your lip."

Sheepishly, Callen accepted the treat, twirling the stick between his fingers for a few seconds as he contemplated Reid's house thru the Challenger's windshield. "We're missing something here, Sam."

Sam started making creases in the lollipop wrapper as he summarized. "We know Reid intends to kamikaze the USS John Paul Jones. To do that he needs a plane, which he owns, which we have under surveillance, which is not currently loaded with explosives."

Callen ran his free hand over his face. "Which means we have the wrong plane." Callen watched as the object, being sculpted by Sam's hand, began to take shape. "So where does one get a plane?"

Sam made a few more folds. "You own one, you rent one, you buy one, you borrow one."

Callen gave Sam a sideways glance, noting it was an airplane Sam was folding, as he tapped his comm unit. "Apropos." When the Op tech answered he said, "Eric, re-check people associated with Reid that own planes."

"Probably fairly close acquaintances," Sam added. "You don't let just anyone borrow your plane."

"On it," Eric quickly replied as his fingers flew over the keyboard.

Sticking the orange lollipop in his mouth, Callen sucked on it for a few seconds. "You'd lend me your plane, right Sam?"

"If I had a plane, no, I wouldn't. The last plane you flew crashed." Sam took the origami plane in his hand and spiraled it into a fake crash on the Challenger's pristine dashboard.

Callen thought for a minute, then his eyes narrowed. "Are you talking about Columbia?"

"Just how many planes have you crashed Callen?" Deeks piped up over the comm link from Kensi's car, which was also staking out Reid's house.

"To date, two that I am aware of," Sam answered drily, much to his partner's chagrin.

"Actually three," Callen corrected. "Well depending on how you define crash. Do you count shooting one down as a crash?" He took a few more hits off his candy before continuing. "And for the record, technically I didn't crash the planes."

Sam snorted. "True. You jumped out and let them landed on their own. Badly."

"It works. Well assuming you have a parachute." Putting his lollipop back in his mouth, Callen glanced out the car window.

"Which," Sam pointed out. "You didn't."

Using his tongue, Callen pushed the pop to the side of his mouth. "You are talking about Columbia! Aren't you over that yet?"

"Damn straight and no. I had to save you, again, because you threw your chute out the plane's door."

"Whoa there big fellow," Callen said removing the pop. "I threw the chute at the guy who was holding his gun on you, thereby preventing him from killing you. It knocked him and the gun out the open bay door of the plane."

"The guy, the gun and your chute all went out that door," Sam reminded him. "Then you and I had to tandem jump 'cause you didn't have a chute."

"But I did save you from getting shot Sam," Callen said smugly.

"And I saved you from crashing into the earth with the plane, G, " Sam one-upped.

Grinning, Callen crunched to the middle of his candy. "So were even on that save."

The excited voice of Eric came over their Comm link. "I think I found it. Reid has been using a friend's plane while his own is supposedly being repaired. The friend's plane is at a small airfield out near Bakersville. According to the crew at the airport, it is being prepped for a flight this afternoon."

"Timings right," Sam said looking worriedly over at Callen.

"Address on your phones guys," Eric informed them.

The Challenger roared to life as Callen gave instructions to the rest of the team. "Kensi, Deeks, stay here in case this is another false lead. Sam and I will check out the plane. Eric, make sure that plane stays grounded."

"Got it," all parties acknowledged.

Forty-five minutes later, Sam and Callen stood in the shadow of a beige, correlated metal hanger, scanning a small white plane with a blue stripe that was sitting on the hot tarmac. There was no sign of any life around the plane at the moment.

"I'll go check it out," Sam indicated as Callen pulled his SIG out of the holster to cover his partner's journey to the aircraft.

Pulling a logo emblazoned cap down over his forehead, Sam made his way over to the plane and started an inspection on it like he was part of the ground crew. Callen kept his eyes peeled but the immediate area around the aircraft stayed deserted. Sam slowly made his way over to the door of the plane, tested the handle and found it unlocked. With a last look over his shoulder, Sam scurried in the plane, closing the door behind him.

The lights from the few windows in the cabin provided enough luminance for Sam to easily see inside the plane. It wasn't an overly large aircraft and he could see most of it other than the cockpit, restroom and small cabin in the rear. Gun drawn, he silently moved to the front of the plane and cleared the cockpit which was empty. Changing direction, he moved towards the rear, checking the restroom first, finding it deserted too. As Sam moved to clear the final room in the back of the plane, a small maintenance hatch in the floor behind him tipped up slightly; it went undetected by Sam. As Sam opened the final door, poked his head inside and discovered it was a bedroom that was empty of humans but full of explosives. As Sam walked further into the bedroom, the man under the hatch lifted it quietly and slid into the cabin undetected by Sam.

Pulling out his phone, Sam contacted Callen. "Jackpot. This..." Finally, Sam sensed someone behind him, but before he could take action, a large wrench smacked him across the back of his head, causing a deep gash in his skull and driving him to his knees. The phone clattered to the floor when Sam fell the rest of the way to the plane's deck. Callen, still on the other end, knew something went terribly wrong and he sprinted from his concealment to the side of the plane.

Inside the plane, the assailant took advantage of Sam's dazed state and secured his hands behind his back with cable ties, as the agent lay dazed on the floor. The assailant knew he was trapped, since the plane only had one exit and it was obvious the downed agent had a partner who,would arrive shortly. Therefore, his only hope of escape was to use Sam as a bargaining chip. Forcing Sam back on his knees, which was no easy feat, he pressed the gun to the back of the clean-shaven agent's head and waited.

Callen entered the plane, clearing the cabin area as he would any hostile space. Seeing the partially opened door to the rear cabin, he crept forward and opened it fully with a powerful kick.

"Federal Agents," he yelled as the door burst inward and the scene of Sam on his knees, hands tied behind his back with a gun pressed against his skull became visible.

"Drop your weapon," Callen barked at the wielder. "It's over Reid."

Callen's conversation was being heard by the Ops Center as well as the junior partners and Kensi started the car when she heard Callen call out Reid's name.

Deeks looked baffled. "How the hell?"

"We must have missed him leaving somehow. Eric, we're on our way to the airport," Kensi stated pushing her car to the limits traffic would allow.

Back in the tech hub of the Ops Center, Eric worriedly glanced at Nell and Hetty who were standing nearby. "Their forty-five minutes out. Callen's on his own," he said nervously stating the obvious.

Callen had his gun trained on the would-be-bomber, who was using Sam as a human shield. Behind them were the explosives, enough to take out the whole of the USS John Paul Jones and then some. Silently studying his partner, Callen determined Sam was too stunned to fight his way out of this situation so whatever Callen chose to do, he was on his own.

The blond agent's agile mind was running scenarios through his mind and none were great choices. There was one spot, were he could place a bullet, that would theoretically kill Reid and not hit Sam or the explosives. But if Callen was off by a millimeter, Reid could survive to shoot Sam in the head killing or if his bullet hit the explosives that Reid and Sam were situated in front of, everyone would die. Lovely choices.

Sam was fighting hard to stay upright and conscious. He raised his pain-filled, brown eyes for a second, just long enough to meet Callen's calculating and concerned, blue ones. This was the moment of truth where Callen had to get over his fear and take the shot or back doen because he was afraid thereby ending his career. In that spilt second glance, Sam conveyed his entire trust to his partner. It was as if he had spoken aloud saying, 'Take the shot. I trust you. I know you can do this G.'

A tentacle of doubt tried to thread its way into Callen's mind saying, 'What if your hand trembles? Like it did with Alex?' Ruthlessly, the agent shoved his doubt away, trusted his training like a wise outlaw once told him, and squeezed the trigger.

Back in Ops you could have heard a pin drop, as they all held their breaths at the sound of a gun discharging. With no visual, only audio, they had no clue whose gun had just been fired and who was still alive.

Remaining professional, Callen kept his weapon trained on Reid until the man slumped to the ground, releasing his hold on Sam who toppled to the deck. As much as Callen wanted to run to his partner's side, he stuck to proper procedures, cleared the gun and ensured Reid was down for good. When all was confirmed, he holstered his weapon on his back and quickly headed for his partner. Reaching out, he placed two tentative fingers on Sam's carotid artery, checking his pulse, which was strong.

"Suspect is dead. Plane is secured. Threat is over," Callen stated for the benefit of his team mates who couldn't see what had transpired. "Eric, send an ambulance and bomb squad."

"Mr. Hanna?" Hetty's voice calmly asked from Ops, though her hands were clasped tightly in front of her.

Still kneeling next to his slumped over partner, Callen visually inspecting the bloody gash, then let a little grin escape. "He's gonna have a hell of a headache."

Callen felt Sam's hand rise and grasp his forearm. Slowly, Sam lifted his heavy, aching head until his eyes met Callen's. "Thanks."

Reaching out, G grasped Sam's shoulder gently, even while giving a little indifferent shrug. Try as he might, Callen couldn't hide the last vestige of fear in his eyes from his partner, who knew him too well. Callen had been terrified something would go wrong.

With Callen's assistance, Sam rose to his knees and then to his feet, lightly swaying. The shorter man helped shore up his unsteady partner. "You know Sam. I think you have the concussion this time."

The two men slowly made their way out of the plane and over to the shade of the warehouse where Callen helped Sam lower his protesting body to sit on a crate.

Sam winced from the sun's glare, even in the partial shade. "You should have moved quicker, caught me before I hit the ground," the hurting man groused.

Making a slight variation, of the oft asked question of people with concussions, Callen asked Sam, "So how many of me do you see?"

Sam didn't even glance up at his partner. "Doesn't matter. One, is one too many."

"That's hurts considering I just saved your life." Callen glanced over by the plane where people were starting to gather. "I'll be right back," Callen told his partner as he headed back to the plane.

"Hey. No problem. I'll just sit here, alone, hope I don't pass out and hit my head again."

Callen knew their banter was their method of tension-relief so he didn't take offense and went right back at his partner. "With your hard head, wouldn't be an issue if you fell again," Callen tossed over his shoulder with his trademark smirk.

Waving the people off, Callen had the area around the plane cleared and secured by the time the bomb squad arrived on the scene. In the background, he heard the sound of the ambulance and Callen saw the EMTs take Sam over to the rig where they began examining him.

Kensi and Deeks arrived then spilt up, Kensi heading for Sam and Deeks walking out to join Callen near the plane.

The two male NCIS agents stood to the side, as the suited-up bomb experts went inside the plane and surveyed the scene. After some discussions with the tact team doing the cleanup, the dead body of Reid was removed and the plane was towed off to a deserted part of the airfield to empty the explosives.

The head of the bomb squad walked over to where Callen and Deeks stood. "One of you the guy that shot that man?"

Folding his arms across his chest and taking a slightly defensive stance, Callen quietly answered, "I am."

A look of admiration appeared on the man's face. "Hell of a risk, shooting a gun amongst all those explosives. No margin for error."

"My partner's life depended on it," Callen said matter-of-factly, his face portraying no emotion.

The head of the bomb squad reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. "I hear you." With that, he turned away and went back to his team.

Deeks, who had watched in silence, turned to Callen. "How small?"

Callen held up the thumb and forefinger on his left hand, positioning them less than two inches apart. Deeks whistled in awe as Callen headed off, back to the ambulance.

As he approached the EMT working on Sam he asked, "Concussion?"

The med tech straightened up. "Yes. Pretty severe in my opinion. However, he is refusing to go to the hospital."

Kensi looked over at Callen apologetically. "I tried. He's nearly as stubborn as you."

After giving Kensi a 'thanks a lot' glare, Callen turned his attention to his injured partner. "Go to the hospital, Sam."

"Don't need to. I'm fine." Behind Sam the EMT was shaking his head no.

Theatrically, sighing, Callen reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew his phone. He started thumbing thru his contacts searching for a number.

"Who you calling?" Sam asked suspiciously. "Hetty? She doesn't scare me."

Callen raised his eyebrow at his partner, as he dialed the phone. "I can't believe you said. Now I definitely know there is something wrong with your head."

Kensi, who had worked with Callen enough to know he was running a scam on his partner, joined in. "He doesn't have to call Hetty. Ops is still dialed in. She can still hear everything you say."

Sam realized Kensi was right. "Crap," he whispered and the expected "I heard that, Mr. Hanna," came in over the link.

Meanwhile, Callen had switched his phone to speaker and everyone could hear it was ringing. "Then who are you calling?" Sam asked a little panicked now since he probably knew the answer.

"Michelle," his partner answered succinctly.

"Stop G," but it was too late. Michelle answered with a slightly hesitant 'Hello'. Callen rarely called her and when he did, it usually was not good news.

"Hey Michelle. Callen."

"Callen. What's up? Something wrong?"

The team could hear a slight edge of concern in her voice and Callen hastily assured her. "Nothing major. Sam just had a little accident today and he hit his head. However, he is refusing..."

Even though it hurt him incredibly, Sam started shaking his head 'no', mouthing he would go to the hospital. The injured man went as far as to get up and climb in the back of the waiting ambulance.

Smirking, Callen restarted his sentence. "Sam is on his way to the hospital. I thought you'd like to meet him there. You might want to bring an overnight bag for him."

"Thanks Callen. I appreciate the call. Are you Ok?" she asked with genuine concern.

"I'm fine," he assured her, even though in the background his partner was calling him a rat bastard and threatening to kill him.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries with Michelle, Callen hung up the phone. Deeks snapped an imaginary whip at Sam. Sam reminded him he could be next on the hit list after he took care of eliminating Callen. At that point, the EMT closed the doors and the ambulance drove off with Sam safely ensconced in the back.

Kensi held up her hand. "Nicely played." Callen gave her a high five as the group, sans Sam headed back to Ops.


	38. Chapter 38

_Author's Note: 2..._

* * *

Friday morning, Callen showed up for work alone since the Doctor, but more likely Michelle, insisted Sam stay overnight in the hospital for observation. Then Hetty, again most likely at Michelle's insistence, had stood down Sam. He could return Monday, if and only if, Michelle deemed Sam was fit to come back to work. While this all amused Callen, if also served as a reminder as to why he stayed single.

Friday turned out to be a paperwork day at the office and the Senior Agent in Charge swore he would never catch up. Every time he thought he had finally reached the bottom of his inbox or his last email, more flooded or their Operations Manager insisted the rules changed and a new form was required. There was a part of Callen that thought Hetty was making up all these new rules and regulations as a form of punishment, or sadistic pleasure, but to date, he'd been unable to catch her; every time he called her out, she showed him the rule, regulation, guidance or memorandum for record.

Callen snuck up to the Ops Center for a few minutes to talk to Nell in afternoon, when 'the ninja assassin' glided into the bullpen in full stealth mode and nearly made poor Eric wet his pants for being caught with an Oreo in Ops. To his credit, Eric did not rat out Callen or Nell who had also been munching on cookies but were quicker in making their damning evidence disappear. After frightening Eric into getting a vacuum to clean up the imaginary cookie crumbs, Hetty turned her attend to Callen. "A word, Mr. Callen. In my office, please."

"Sure Hetty," he agreed amicably, following her out of Ops, down the stairs and into her den. Once there, she started to brew a pot of tea while Callen took up residence in the wicker chair on the far side of her desk. It was obvious no communications were going to be conducted until the tea was ready, so he sat back, crossed his legs and patiently waited. When the tea was done, Hetty set one fine-boned china tea cup and saucer on her desk. She filled it to the rim, set the pot back down, then excused herself. She went off across the open space to the kitchen. Shortly, she returned with a small, plastic, single serving, screwed top container of skim milk and set it in front of Callen. She proceeded to take her seat, pick up her tea, blow across the top then finally take a sip.

Callen sat there with a bemused expression on his face, as Hetty peered at her agent across the top of her tea cup. "Am I wrong in assuming you'd rather have milk to wash down those Oreo's in your pocket, then tea?"

Callen knew busted when he heard it. With a grin, he took the lid off the milk and took a healthy swig before reaching in his shirt pocket and pulling out four Oreos, two which he kept and two which he handed to his boss.

"About time. For a moment I thought you weren't going to share," she declared as she took one of the cookies, twisted the lid off and licked at the creamy white icing with a delicate pink tongue.

Callen's eyes narrowed slightly which wasn't missed by his uber observant boss. "What? You don't twist them open to eat them?"

"Actually, no, I don't."

Hetty shook her head in disbelieve. "You aren't a dunker are you Mr. Callen!" she said with loathing.

"Yep. Wanna lend me a tea cup to pour this milk in?" He held up the half empty carton and gave it a little shake.

Hetty's hand remained firmly wrapped around her tea cup as if guarding it. "Heaven forbid no! If you must eat your cookies in that barbaric fashion, go get a recycled paper cup."

"Too much work." The agent took a bite from one of his cookies then slugged some milk with the mouthful. "This works," he mumbled with a mouthful of cookies and milk. When he was done, he brushed a few crumbs off the front of his blue shirt on to Hetty's rug which earned him the evil eye , which he chose to ignore. "So what do you want to talk about Hetty? I assume this wasn't just so you could steal my Oreos."

"Well," she said innocently, "I was looking for a little nosh to have with my afternoon tea..." Callen rolled his eyes. "But I also wanted to ask how things are going."

Going on instant alert, Callen uncrossed his legs, as he studied his boss because she never just 'wondered'; there was always an ulterior motive. "Do you have a specific thing in mind or just general things?"

She took another sip of her tea. "Is there a specific thing I should be asking about?" she countered.

"Sam is recovering nicely. I talked to him today," Callen offered.

Hetty hmmed. "Yes. Michelle gave me a call."

"You women all stick together," Callen accused his boss.

Hetty gave him a slight frown. "Was that a sexist remark, Mr. Callen?"

Giving her his best choir-boy face he replied, "It wasn't meant to be. Did you take it as one? It was just an observation."

"Perhaps an observation better kept to one's self in the future," she gently chided.

"Noted." Callen settled back deeper in the chair and recrossed his legs to wait her out. After what felt like an eternity, he broke; otherwise he had the feeling they would still be sitting here come Monday morning and he actually had a few plans for the weekend. "Something else?" he reluctantly inquired.

"I don't think you answered my first question yet, Mr. Callen. If you hope to catch the first quarter of the game, down at your favorite guilty pleasure bar on the strip, you'd better start talking. Happy hour and half-price appetizers don't last forever."

Damn the woman knew everything. Sighing in frustration he pleaded, "Give me a hint Hetty."

Moving her nearly empty teacup to the side, she leaned forward on her desk. "From what I hear, you displayed remarkable marksmanship yesterday. Probably the only reason your partner is still alive."

"I'm a good shot Hetty. You know that," he said quietly.

"True. An excellent shot if the truth be told, but it seems to me recently, oh say the last month or so, your aim has been a little off."

Callen's eyes grew cold. "Are you referring to Alex Fryman?"

"Am I? Is there something you neglected to mention to me connected to that case?" Hetty could see she struck a nerve in her agent by the way he cocked his jaw. "Let's stop beating around the bush shall we? Have the tremors gone away?"

His heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach. She knew. "Sam told you?"

"Mr. Callen, no one told me, especially not you're loyal, if slightly misguided partner in crime. Don't you think you should have told me? I thought we had a more honest relationship than this," she stated, disappointment coloring her voice.

Callen let go of all his anger and his head drooped in shame. "I should have. I was wrong. Where do we go from here?"

"Well, you might be happy to hear that I received a call from Assistant Director Granger. You have been cleared of any wrong doing in the Alex Fryman shooting."

Callen's head shot up and his eyes sought out hers to see if she was telling the truth, a habit he found hard to break since when he was growing up everyone had lied to him; the tiniest piece of low self-esteem still lurked in his soul and probably would forever.

"However," Hetty admonished, wagging a slightly crooked finger at her lead agent, "if I ever catch you in the field medically unsound, endangering your team, well let's say you'll be riding a desk for the rest of your life, if I let you live. Am I making myself clear Agent Callen?"

Callen nodded his head sincerely. "Crystal." Pausing for a moment, Callen ran his hand over his mouth and chin which he did when distressed. "I still don't know, what I meant to do that night, in the tunnels, about Alex."

"And you never will. You can't resurrect the past," she said wisely. "I hope I never have to make a decision like you did, Mr. Callen and I hope you never have to again."

Slowly nodding his head in concurrence, he rose and walked back to the bullpen. Hetty quietly sighed to herself. Another scar had just been carved on his psyche. It made her think of the lyrics from a song, 'How many times can I break till I shatter'.


	39. Chapter 39

Author's Note: ...1

* * *

On Monday, Sam came back to work, fully refreshed but slightly grouchy from being grounded all weekend. He and Callen traded barbs and insults all morning starting with the topic of who had the most saves, then branching out from there in a myriad of directions to include who had the most scars (Callen), who had the best pickup lines (Sam because he got Michelle), who was the best shot (Sam grudgingly gave that to Callen), who was the strongest (hands down to Sam), who was the better liar (slight edge to Callen), who was the better driver (after much protest Sam took that honor), who was the better fighter (they couldn't come to agreement on what a fight was so they called it a draw), and a host of other stupid comparisons. Hetty got so tired of hearing them she sent them on a wild goose chase just to get the dynamic duo out of the office and her earshot.

After banishing them, Hetty returned to her desk, sat in her chair and nearly rapped her chin on her desk because her chair was so low. Slowly getting out of it, she examined the mechanism that raised and lowered it. It must have failed as she sat because it had been the perfect height a few minutes earlier. She raised it back up, cautiously sat and thought no more about it when it seemed to hold.

Later that evening when she went to get into her car to go home, she took another unexpected plunge as if someone had repositioned her car seat to the furthest most position from the steering wheel. She couldn't reach the steering wheel or the brake or gas pedal. Annoyed, she had to readjust her seat.

The next day back at the office, again she found her seat at her desk in the lowest position and again that night her car seat moved. Over the course of the next couple of days, other odd little things kept happening besides the sinking desk chair and the elongating driver's seat. First, a number of her items in her office seemed to magically get moved to shelves just out of her reach. Even in the ladies room, the paper towels mysteriously ended up on top of the dispenser, way above her normal reach. She reviewed the tapes of the garage but had no luck in spotting the culprit. The final straw was when she went home one night, went into her kitchen to prepare dinner and discovered every item in her cupboards had been moved to the topmost shelf. She was pretty sure who was doing this and even had an inkling of what it was in retaliation for; but she still hadn't caught the person with a smoking gun so to speak, so she set a trap.

Hetty was sitting at her desk the next day when she saw Callen go flying through the hallway in front of her desk, towards the gym. A faint odor drifted to her olfactory sensor and she couldn't stop the smile that crept on her face. She was pretty sure the trap had been sprung and she headed off to the gym to confirm.

Awhile later when Callen emerged from the locker room, freshly showered, wet head and wearing a long-sleeved, light blue, buttoned up shirt, she was waiting.

When he saw her, he pulled up short. He glanced around the gym and found it totally empty except for him and her. "Are you looking for me?"

"Should I be?" she calmly asked.

He gave her a slightly stressed look. "Please don't start that again."

She pointedly stared at his long sleeves which he had not rolled up yet. In all the years she had known him, unless he was wearing a short sleeve shirt or a long sleeve shirt under a suit jacket, he always rolled up his sleeves. If he wore a long sleeve t-shirt, sweat shirt or polo, the sleeves were halfway up his forearms. Long sleeve shirts with cuffs were neatly folded back to the required position. But today, his sleeves were down to his wrists. "You forgot to push your sleeves up. Is the world coming to an end?"

"Ha, ha," he replied brushing past her.

She trailed after him. "Is there perhaps some reason you don't want to roll up your sleeves today, Mr. Callen?" She saw his shoulders blades tighten at her remark. "I have some soothing Aloe Vera in my desk, if you want it."

With that Callen stopped, turned and faced his ninja boss. "That wasn't very nice Hetty," he griped. "I could have been seriously hurt."

"So could have I, having to get a ladder to reach the necessity to make my dinner last night. And how did you get past my security system?" she questioned him.

"I'm a Special Agent. I have skills," he drolly replied.

She smiled smugly, cocking her head to the side. "But what you don't have is any hair on your forearms, do you."

With an aggravated sigh, he pushed up his sleeves displaying his red, hairless forearms. "Your little fire bomb did the trick nicely thank you very much."

"I do hope there was no damage to the interior or my car."

He ruefully shook his head. "Not a scratch."

"Goody. Glad to see I haven't lost my touch. Don't mess with my car, Mr. Callen."

"Duly noted," he sincerely replied.

Callen thought the war was over when he left for the night. He couldn't wait to get home as his forearms felt like they had a bad case of sun burn, but he had been too stubborn to ask Hetty for her lotion. On the way home, he bought a big bottle of Aloe at the drugstore and slathered his arms with it when he got home.

For once he was tired so he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, flung his clothes on the floor in a pile and dropped onto his bedroll. He was sound asleep when his phone went off, displaying an emergency message to return to Ops immediately.

Groping in the dark, he found his pile of clothes and pulled the shirt over his sleep tousled hair. Next, he felt for his jeans but couldn't locate them. Grumbling, he walked over and flipped the light switch for the overhead light. As the room was illuminated, he scanned it but still couldn't find the elusive jeans. His socks and boots were where he'd tossed them. Still a bit groggy from being woken up from a deep sleep, something that rarely happened, he decided he must have taken his jeans off in the bathroom and left them there. However, a quick scan of said room came up empty; no pants.

Finally deciding he had to get to the office, he went to his closet to grab a new pair of jeans. Flinging open the door he looked inside and found shirts, but no pants except for a single lone pair of jeans, neatly hung on a hanger. "What the hell," he growled before he stalked to the single, beat up dresser in the room and started flinging open the drawers. Socks and shirts greeted him but not a single item that went on the lower half of the body, other than underwear. As he opened the last drawer he found a single pair of pajama bottoms, red flannel, with an Oreo cookie pattern on them.

He started cursing in Russian, as he held the ridiculous pajama bottoms aloft. Tossing them on the floor, he stalked back to the closet and dragged the lonely pair of jeans out. An examination of them showed they were skinny jeans at least a size or maybe two smaller than he wore. His eyes darted from the damn skinny jeans to the Oreo pjs on the floor. His eyes glinted for a second, as a thought occurred to him. Dropping the jeans onto the floor, he practically sprinted for his to-go bag. Ripping open the zipper, he peered inside and groaned as he discovered it had been stripped of any form of pants or even shorts.

His phone urgently buzzed again and glancing at it, he saw it was Sam. "You get the call G? Do you know what's up?"

Callen was about to say it was a hoax when his phone got a second call which showed Kensi was calling him.

"Wait a second G. Deeks is calling" Sam said as he put his partner on hold.

Callen eyed the two pair of pants on the floor. He had thought this was a Hetty hoax but even she wouldn't go as far as to wake up the entire team just to get even with him, would she?"

When Sam got back on the line, he offered to pick Callen up but Callen passed, saying he could get there sooner on his own. He had already decided he was going to make a quick stop at the Walmart on the way to Ops, emergency or no emergency. That was an easy decision; the hard one was what pants to wear into the store so he could buy a new pair of jeans. As much as he detested the thought of putting on either pair, he decided that getting arrested for indecent exposure and having to be bailed out of jail by Hetty would be worse.

Switching to Spanish to continue his cursing, he grappled with the skinny jeans, trying to pull them on. Tug as he might, he could not get them all the way up. Peeling them off his thighs, were they had gotten stuck, he threw them back on the floor and reached for the Oreo pajama bottoms. He figured if anyone asked, he could say his child was sick and being a good father, he'd hurried to Walmart to buy his sick son medicine without thinking to change out of his jammie bottoms.

Procuring his phone, gun and wallet he was suddenly stymied. What the hell was he supposed to do with them? The pjs had no pockets and the holster he threaded on a belt to hold his SIG only worked if one was wearing a belt. The pajamas had no belt loops; no big surprise.

Stomping downstairs with his hands full, he grabbed an old, plastic Chinese takeout bag lying on the counter and dumped all his stuff in there feeling vaguely stupid. If he ever had to draw his weapon, he'd be dead before he could fish it out of the plastic bag that smelt vaguely of soy sauce.

His car keys were on the counter and he scooped them up and headed out the front door. As he stepped into the dark, a flash went off and he stumbled, nearly falling off his small stoop. He was desperately trying to find his gun in the bag, when another flash occurred. "It might be nicer if you smiled," a familiar disembodied voice drifted out of the darkness.

Callen stopped digging for his gun and looked around. There on his lawn stood his ninja boss, who was snapping pictures of him. He turned around and went back into his house. He was tempted to slam the door in her face but he didn't. Once they were both inside and the door shut from any prying neighbors that might wonder why there was a photo shoot on Callen's front lawn at 2:00 a.m., he rounded on her. "This was a hoax! How did you get Sam and the rest to play along?"

"I didn't. I simply used some technology to make you think they were also getting an alert. All smoke and mirrors. The rest of your team is at home, snug in their beds."

Shaking his head, he walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, seized a beer, flipped off the lid and chucked it in the sink. "Want one?" he offered and she shook her head no as he downed half his bottle in a single gulp. "You broke in my house," he accused.

"I have skills too," she mocked.

He drained the rest of the bottle before setting it on the counter. "My jeans?"

"In the washer."

"I don't own a washer or a dryer for that matter." When she simply stood there and patiently gazed at him, he added, "I do now don't I."

"As usual, I got you a very good deal. You will save a lot of money not having to go to the laundry mat."

Grumbling like a teenager he replied, "Maybe I like going there."

"Perhaps, but Michelle Hanna thinks you like to show up at her house with your dirty clothes and hope she will do them."

Callen walked back into the living room and flopped in his chair. "That was once, because I ran out of quarters and clean clothes. And for the record I offered to wash them but she said something uncomplimentary about my laundering skills."

Hetty took up residence on the sofa she had purchased for him, using his money, a few years ago. "Couch seems to be holding up well," she said running a hand over it as she set the camera next to her.

"You did a good job picking it out Hetty," he grudgingly admitted. "I'm sure you did an equally good job with the washer and dryer. Am I to assume you raided my account again?"

Hetty gave a whisper of a sigh. "We have had this conversation before. Let's not hash it out again shall we?"

Callen shook his head. "What about those pictures you just took," he said gesturing to the camera.

"Oh, them," Hetty said innocently looking at the camera as if she had forgotten all about it. "Let's just say they are insurance."

"I think the term you are looking for is blackmail," Callen corrected.

Hetty shook her head in feigned disgust. "That is such an ugly word. If you behave going forward and don't step over the line, then these photos will never see the light of day. Step out of line..."

Callen winced. "You know that is the text book definition of blackmail." She said nothing, just sat their calmly staring at him as he ran weary hand over his face. "Do I get a warning of some sort, when I am getting close to the line? Behaving isn't my strong point."

Hetty freely laughed. "No it isn't. Yes, you'll know when you are getting close to exposing yourself."

"Fine. Can I go back to bed now, in my new pajamas? By the way, a matching top would have been nice."

Rising from the couch she replied. "In the washer, with your jeans. You might want to put them in the dryer before you go to bed or you will have nothing to wear in the morning."

"It's already morning," he grumbled pushing himself out of the chair.

"Watch the temperature setting on the dryer. You don't want to shrink your jeans," she added as she headed for the front door.

"Yeah, because that already happened to the other pair of pants you left upstairs for me," he reminded her.

"I do know exactly what size you wear, Mr. Callen. And I don't make mistakes, unless it is deliberate."

Callen realized that was a dig for two weeks ago when he accused her of not getting his size right when she was outfitting him for the undercover assignment with Deeks. "Touché."

"Goodnight," she said walking out the door to her car.

Callen stood and watched until she pulled away. Shutting and locking his door, he headed to the small laundry area attached to his kitchen. There stood a brand new washer and dryer and as promised, the washer was full of his pants. Transferring them to the dryer, he carefully selected a temperature and headed back to bed. It had been a long night.

A few weeks later, he and Sam came up with the brilliant idea to celebrate a particularly bad case by raiding Hetty's liquor stash. As they opened the drawer, Callen spotted a single Oreo cookie sitting on top of the bottle of scotch they had been about to pilfer. The agent slammed the drawer so fast he nearly took off his surprised partner's fingers.

"What the hell?" Sam angrily groused.

"It's over the line Sam. What we are doing his over the line," he repeated as he frantically scanned the area for his ninja boss.

Sam shook his head. What was up with Callen? He was definitely spooked about something. "A minute ago you thought it was a great idea. In fact it was your idea."

Callen brushed past Sam and hurried away from Hetty's desk. "Well now I think it is a stupid idea." Back in the bullpen, he grabbed his bag. "Come on. We're going out to get a drink. Somewhere where they don't have Oreos."

Sam was sure Callen had just gone off the deep end but he had no idea why. "You buying?" he asked as picked up his own bag and followed his partner down the hall.

"Yeah, sure," Callen answered absent-mindedly as he hurried towards the door, still peering around him like he expected someone to jump out and shout 'boo'. There was a story here and Sam decided it was going to be his mission to ferret it out of his recalcitrant partner.

In the distance, Hetty smiled as she watched the two men depart. You could teach an old dog new tricks, if you gave them the right incentive or maybe that was threat of punishment. Twisting the cookie in her hands apart, she contentedly licked the cream filling off the chocolate wafer as she headed for the fridge. Opening the door, she discovered there was no milk. "Oh bugger." Oreos really did go better with milk than tea.

The End

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_Author's Final Note: Well the story is complete. Hope you enjoyed it and take a few moments to leave a review. This last chapter wasn't strictly necessary, though it does tie back a lot of events from throughout the story. __Enjoy the rest of your summer, for those who read this in real-time. _


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