Chapter Text
“Callen.”
Director Vance’s voice cut through the hubbub with distinctive ease, inducing an abrupt, uneasy silence. As one, almost every head in the bullpen swivelled around to watch the Director descend the stairs. Seemingly oblivious, he continued to speak. “I have fifty agents looking for you in ten different states. I’ve posted traces on your cell phones and your car. We’ve had tips that you’re in Mexico, Hawaii, even New York. So how have you managed to evade every single one for no less than a month?”
The heads turned back to the previous object of their scrutiny.
Special Agent G Callen shrugged, a move that completely disregarded the two rather nervous NCIS agents flanking him. The agents in question intended to handcuff him, but couldn’t quite summon the nerve to do it. After all, standing between them was, essentially, a living legend.
“Well, you know me, sir,” Callen finally replied, amusement lacing his tone. “I like a challenge.”
Before Vance could reply, Gibbs stepped forward, out of the section of the crowd that was comprised exclusively of his own team. “Director, give him to us,” he called out, his gruff tone modified slightly to sound almost polite, “I’d like to be the first to interrogate him.” Vance did well in hiding his surprise – not at the request but at Gibbs’ attempt to be conciliatory – and merely nodded, moving immediately to forestall the also-present Fornell’s almost immediate objection.
“Agent Callen,” he started, turning to the FBI Agent, “is under the employment of NCIS. Thus, this investigation is under our jurisdiction. We will be more than happy to collaborate with you.” That said, he turned away, and went striding back up the stairs and into his office.
“SecNav or Hetty?” Callen asked conversationally, directing his words at the Agent to his left. When all he received in return was a blank stare, he rolled his eyes and turned to face the rapidly approaching Gibbs.
Instead of speaking to him, Gibbs dismissed both Agents with a shake of his head, and then cuffed Callen himself. Placing a hand on Callen’s shoulder, he directed him out of the rapidly emptying bullpen towards the interrogation rooms.
Gibbs didn’t say a word for the entirety of the short trip, so Callen occupied himself by whistling quietly. When they reached the first interrogation room, another agent opened the door for the two men. Stepping inside, Callen waited until he heard the door close before he moved across the room and sat down as directed.
Gibbs removed the cuffs, but before Callen could bring his hands up to sit more comfortably, Gibbs pulled his arms back, one at a time, behind him. Confused, he half-turned, and stared down in disbelief as Gibbs finished locking his wrists to the chair.
"That can't be standard operating procedure."
Gibbs didn’t react.
“You’re really going to interrogate me. Unbelievable.”
“I didn’t bring you in here for pizza.”
After a meaningful pause, Callen looked away from bright blue, concerned eyes.
“Vance has contacted Miss Lang. Your team are now on a flight here.” Gibbs’ intent blue eyes catalogued Callen’s minute twitch at the word ‘your,’ and filed it away for later usage. “What’s going on, Callen?” he asked, leaning forward on his chair. “Why are you running?”
“What makes you think I’m running?” Callen returned, cool as ever. “Maybe I just fancied a vacation.”
Gibbs nodded. “Yeah. Except, you’ve taken...” he paused, and flipped open the file he’d carried in with him. Callen recognised it as his own as Gibbs perused the page briefly. “Only about the equivalent of a week’s vacation, in three years of working for NCIS.”
Callen smiled. “What can I say: I like my job.”
Gibbs almost sighed; held it in by force of will. “Callen, we want to help. You went ghost, no one’s had any idea where you’ve been for the last month, and then suddenly you turn up in DC and let yourself get arrested.” Gibbs’ tone had changed rapidly from default gruffness to something that was almost gentle, definitely concerned.
“Let myself get arrested?” Callen was openly smirking now.
Gibbs didn’t bother to reply to that. Leaning forwards, he waited until Callen’s gaze met his own. “When you’re ready to talk, give me a call.” He gestured behind him. “I’ll be outside.” Standing up, he deliberately left Callen’s file behind as he exited the room, pulling the door closed.
Callen sank down further on the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position.
~
“Where is he?” Sam Hanna’s voice may have boomed through the bullpen in a way that promised trouble if he was not immediately provided with an answer, but Gibbs couldn’t have been happier to see the other agent. After several hours of staring at the exasperatingly stubborn man still ensconced in the interrogation room, and several more making absolutely no head-way on why this whole sorry mess had occured, Gibbs had been feeling the strain: he hoped that Sam’s presence might persuade Callen to open up.
He came striding forwards from his desk to greet the newly arrived NCIS: Los Angeles team, who were, unsurprisingly, led by the diminutive Henrietta Lang.
Before he could speak, Sam cut him off. With anyone else, Gibbs would have instantly bristled, but the mingled concern and frustration was rolling off the other man in waves. “I want to see him.”
Gibbs didn’t reply; he just nodded.
Sam entered the small room with little ceremony, barely giving the rest of the team enough time to get into the observation room. Callen’s head jerked up as the door opened – he’d been essentially sleeping on the table – and Sam saw and noted the slight flicker of wariness that he was very familiar with.
“You went lone wolf on us, G. Again.” Sam sounded calm, but Callen could clearly hear anger simmering just beneath the surface.
“Some things,” Callen replied, “I have to do by myself.”
His calm reply got a rather unexpected (at least for him) reaction. “No, you don’t, G! I’m your partner, and I’ve always got your back. Whatever happens. You know that. So why do you keep doing this?”
Now Callen was angry. “I had to, Sam. I had something I needed to do, and I had to leave to do it. What I did could very well have just saved your life.”
Sam stared at him, rendered silent by Callen’s involuntary slip, the rarely-seen loss of control. For his part, Callen glared back.
“Talk to us, G,” Sam whispered. “We want to help you.”
Callen laid his head back down on the desk, closing his eyes.
Sam left.
~
“Mr Callen.” Operations Director Henrietta Lang had barely slept in the last month, spending her nights making phone-calls and following every possible lead in order to identify Callen’s whereabouts. Despite averaging only two hours of sleep every night, she sounded as calm, as unruffled, and as entirely in control as ever.
That time he had been asleep.
Callen blinked several times, lifting his head up off the desk. When his newest interrogator came into view, however, he couldn’t help but groan. “I feel like I’ve inadvertently walked in on a speed dating game. Who’s next, Kensi or Deeks?”
“I hope you’re more convincing when you are working, Mr Callen. This false bravado is entirely unnecessary, and, I believe, tiring even for you produce in front of your friends for such a prolonged period of time. Am I wrong?”
The silence she got in reply was more than sufficient confirmation.
“Your team is worried about you.” Hetty sounded softer, gentler this time.
Callen closed his eyes.
“They want to help you; Mr Hanna especially. I suggest you let them.” Satisfied that she had said all that was necessary, Hetty left the room.
Callen returned his head to the table.
~
“What now?” Sam was the first to break the silence in the observation room, but his eyes never left Callen’s hunched form.
Gibbs smiled. “Now we have a case.”
There was no need for any further discussion. The two teams, joined together to protect one of their own, split from the room, each to follow their own leads and find out what they could. Later, there might be time for worry; now they were all business.
Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, more commonly known as Tony, knocked a couple of times on the door to the interrogation room, then simply waltzed inside just as Callen had pushed himself up again.
“Time to move,” he said cheerfully, unlocking the cuffs on Callen’s wrists. He gave the other agent a moment to ease out the stiffness and stand up, and then he took him by the arm and led him down the corridor towards the holding cells.
Minutes later, Callen was comfortably – so to speak – situated in the first cell, and Tony had left to join the rest of his team.
“And now the fun really begins,” Callen murmured, stretching out on the bed.
~
The comfortable silence of the empty corridor was broken an hour later by the sound of footsteps. Callen woke immediately from a restless sleep: it was difficult to break a habit formed over long years. Glancing down the corridor, he relaxed back onto the bed when he recognised the familiar form of Gibbs, plus the always-welcome, if unexpected, sight of a box of pizza.
Reaching Callen’s cell, Gibbs eased himself down so he was leaning semi-comfortably against the bars, the pizza at his side.
Callen waited, but he didn’t say anything.
Long minutes passed.
“You’re going to break me with pizza?” Callen sounded incredulous.
Gibbs didn’t speak, didn’t even move.
Callen huffed out an impatient sigh, and stood, and took the two steps over to the bars. Mimicking Gibbs, he leaned back against his side of the cell, to Gibbs’ left.
“You ready to talk?” Gibbs had turned his head, and cold blue eyes met Callen’s own with an intensity that was unsurprising in its power.
Callen held his gaze for a minute before he gave in, dropping his eyes to the pizza. The head-slap was entirely unexpected, and he jerked around in shock, staring at Gibbs in disbelief. Marshalling himself with some effort, he spoke in his normal unconcerned tone. “What happened to bribery?”
Gibbs shrugged. “You gonna talk to me now?”
Callen sighed, visibly frustrated. “It’s not as easy as that. I’m not being stubborn,” Gibbs made a disbelieving sound, “I just can’t tell you. I can’t get NCIS involved.” He looked up, then, meeting Gibbs’ gaze. “Don’t push this.”
Gibbs picked up the box of pizza, sliding it through the bars. Callen took it automatically, then watched, confused, as Gibbs left.