On the Road With the Dead

The day after they got back, Nate cornered him on the pretense of asking about the advisability of sending Eric out with Sam on a recon of the city to get him a little more field experience. G said it was a good idea, Nate said thanks, then—right in the middle of, ‘I’ll let Hetty know’— proceeded to work the conversation around to the prior two weeks. He asked G how they’d handled the stress, asked if there was ever a time he thought they weren’t going to make it, asked if he’d been scared.

G answered evenly, not really thinking about it.

But later on that night as he was trying to fall asleep, he had time to think about Nate’s question. 

No, there was never a time when he’d thought they wouldn’t make it. 

Because he actually hadn’t had time to think. Normally, he’d be six jumps ahead with the various possible outcomes accounted for and tallied. But with this mission, he’d been too busy reacting to each new problem and it was only now, days later, that he realized he hadn’t been all that scared. That once the main shock had worn away, his chief thought was after all was said and done, Deeks had been right—running for their lives on a cross-country trip through zombie-land had been pretty freaking boring.

***

“Kensi!” G shouted, jerking his head to the back of the garage where a man was weaving towards them. She whirled and placed a single bullet in the guy’s chest. He fell to his knees then tipped over. G edged towards the body, scanning the area. The car-less garage was the old fashioned type—small with no attached office or bathroom—in other words, no place to hide which was a very good thing.

“You okay?” Sam shouted from outside.

“Yeah!” he shouted back, examining Kensi to make sure he wasn’t a liar. She made a face at his concern and held her arms up as if to say, 'See?' He didn’t care if she was offended—this deep into unknown territory meant he had to be on his A game and part of that game was making sure that his team stayed healthy, mind and body. “It was just the one!”

He stuffed his gun back in its holster and walked over to the man. The man was really a kid, maybe eighteen; his name was stitched on the breast pocket of his coveralls. Elroy. He was in the first stages of the sickness—his hair was gone, his skin was starting to peel and two of his fingernails had fallen off.

“Elroy,” Kensi murmured, coming to stand next to G. “He’s so young.”

“Yeah, well, the meteor was an equal opportunity effector,” he replied, just as soft. 

“You sound like Deeks. ‘Effector’ isn’t a word.”

“It is today.” He stepped back. “C’mon. Sam’s got the SUV filled by now.”

They left Elroy to elements, but G made a mental note of the address—114 Main, Little Spring, Texas. When they got back he’d ask Hetty about making sure the kid got buried.

He ignored the little voice that tried to chime in with, ‘If they got back,’ and, ‘If Hetty was still alive.’ He didn’t have time for the little voice, not these days.

Sam was multi-tasking by hanging up the fuel nozzle as he screwed on the gas cover as he peered over his shoulder to track G's progress. Deeks was standing guard, back to the vehicle, rifle up. They’d learned the hard way that even in civilian USA, they needed to be in and out when they got supplies, that it didn’t pay to be lax even when a place seemed completely benign.

“What happened?” Sam called out, still looking over his shoulder.

“Nothing much,” Kensi said. “Just a newbie.”

Deeks shifted the rifle from one arm to the other. “Another one? Jesus, can we go now? This place is giving me the creeps.”

“Every place gives you the creeps, Deeks,” Kensi said, a little sharply.

“That’s because every place is creepy,” came Deeks predictable response.

Before they could get into it, G said, “We’re done here. Come on.”

They got in and before the last door was shut, Sam was peeling out, heading west, back to the highway.

G looked in the rearview mirror as the buildings disappeared from view, thinking what he always thought when they left a town—that the place looked far too peaceful for something so dead.

“You okay?” Sam asked again, this time under his breath.

“Yeah,” G said. “I’m fine.”

***

“All I’m saying is it would have been nice to have a little warning. That’s all.”

G couldn’t see Deeks face, but he knew that tone. “So you’re angry that all the books and movies and video games got it wrong?”

“Not just got it wrong. Got it wrong on a monumental scale of getting it wrong.”

“Because they’re not eating human flesh?”

“And moaning and walking around with their arms out.”

Sam shifted in his seat and pressed his lips together.

“And now you’re pouting?”

Kensi snorted. Deeks huffed. “I’m not pouting. It’s just that it would have helped us if we’d had a little more information, you know?”

“Like what?”

“Well, for starters, that they drop dead if you wait long enough.”

Okay, yeah, that information might have helped. At the very least, it would have saved them some ammunition. But they’d only learned about it after they’d arrived at the CDC, blasting their way through a throng of affected to where Jethro was waiting with what turned out to be a mixed crowd of Rangers, SEALs, U.S. Marshals, local cops, a couple nurses from nearby Emory. And a rep from the CDC.

They got inside, got the case, and learned that the zombies collapsed all on their own. No need to chop off their heads or pull out their hearts or do any of the things they did in the movies and video games. “What else?”

“That they don’t have to bite you to infect you. That all they have to do is touch you.” 

“The victims were irradiated, Deeks,” Kensi said. “That’s generally the way it works.”

“Yeah, but it would have been nice to know all that.”

“What are you really saying, Deeks?” Sam spoke for the first time. “That if we’d known all that, we wouldn’t have had to make the trip to Atlanta?”

“No. I’m just saying it’s not like the movies.”

Sam’s fists clenched around the steering wheel and G shot him a sympathetic glance. It wasn't the first time they’d had this conversation. “So you’re bored?”

“Well, yeah, kind of.”

Sam growled and the SUV jerked sideways. G reached out to touch his arm, then pulled back at the last minute. He peered in the rearview. Kensi was leaning over, hand covering Deek’s mouth. She rolled her eyes at him and he grinned.

Then reached out to touch Sam’s arm again, then pulled back, again.

***

He fell asleep somewhere west of Midland. When he woke up, bright gold sun was shining in his face and he squinted against the glare. “What time is it?”

“Five-thirty,” Sam murmured.

He sat up. They still had a couple hours before sunset, but another thing they’d learned the hard way was that when the sun went down, it was best to be off the road. If only to stop from accidentally hitting the zombies as they wandered around. “Where are we?”

“Almost to Pecos. Where we’ll be staying in a motel.”

“I thought we decided we were going to drive through?”

“No,” Sam said. “You decided. I didn’t.”

“Yeah, but—”

Sam gave him an impatient glare. His skin was covered with a fine dust and his eyes were bloodshot. “But nothing. We need to rest. In a proper bed. We’re not like you, G. We need to sleep longer than twenty minutes at a time.”

G opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Sam was right. The last time they’d tried to find a ‘proper bed,’ was four hundred miles east. The first town had turned out to be filled with unfriendlies. They’d gone in, shot a few zombies, then decided it wasn’t worth it and kept going. The town right after had been clean, but the locals had driven them out, too afraid to let four strangers spend the night. The worst had been the last, a tiny town seemingly peaceful until they'd realized that the things swinging from the trees and streetlights were bodies. Sam had muttered that the townspeople had most likely hung the affected out of sheer panic even as he was urging G to get the hell out of there. He'd slammed his foot on the gas, not slowing down for a good hour.

It still turned his stomach, thinking about it.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Let’s make a pass, though. Okay?”

“I thought the metallic belt thingy skipped this part of the country,” Deeks mumbled.

G looked around. Kensi was fast asleep, arms and legs all over the place. Deeks was curled in the corner like he was trying to keep from touching her. Which was sort of funny, considering. They’d started sleeping together the night before they’d reached Atlanta.

“Band,” Sam corrected. “Gamma radiation band. Not metallic. Not belt. Not thingy.”

“Belt, band,” Deeks muttered as he closed his eyes again. “It’s not like the zombies are going to sue us for getting it wrong.”

Sam shook his head. G rested his head on his fist.

***

If the town of Pecos had ever been a going concern, it wasn’t now. There was no one on the road, no one walking about. Even though it hadn’t been a month since the meteor had streaked across the sky, the town was cleared out as if it had never held anything remotely like people.

“I don’t get it,” Deeks muttered.

“What don’t you get?” G answered.

“They didn’t have to leave. If they just waited, they would have been okay.”

“Maybe they couldn’t take the chance, Deeks,” Kensi said, her voice rough with sleep.

G added, even thought they’d had this conversation, too, “If they had a family, they were smart to get out if they could. Don’t forget, it wasn’t just the sick that they had to worry about.”

“Looters and criminals,” Sam muttered under his breath. Then, in a more normal voice, “It looks good to me. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

“Other than a complete lack of people?” G said. “Okay, but let’s see if we can find something on the outskirts of town.”

Sam gave him a sour look, silently reminding him who he was talking to. G shrugged.

They found a place which was nearly perfect; a half mile from the town, small, easily defended with a three-sixty line of sight. 

Sam drove around the building, cutting through what had once been a picnic area. “Looks good.” He stopped in the middle of the dusty parking lot.

G picked up his rifle and checked the clip. “Kensi? Feel like making sure we’re alone?”

“Sure.”

He got out and sighed as he stretched his arms and legs. He'd give anything to go for a long run, but of course, couldn't.

Sam leaned over. “Be careful.”

G turned and smiled. “Always do.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“And I’m always right.”

“You’re sometimes right. Which means you’re sometimes wrong.”

“Boys?” Kensi said, pistol out and pointed to the ground.

G smiled at Sam again, letting it bleed into a grin, just to make him feel better.

They didn’t sneak up to the office, but neither did they march. The last time that had happened, they’d surprised a thief trying to download information from the hotel’s computer. The guy had fired a couple wild shots, then ran off.

This place didn’t have a computer. Just two rooms—the office for show, the back room for storage. Both were empty, both had been looted.

“What a mess,” Kensi said, looking over G’s shoulder.

He nodded then edged around the counter. He found the room keys in a cabinet conveniently titled, ‘keys’ in faded blue ink.

“Think the rooms will be torn up, too?” Kensi asked.

He smiled. “Think Sam will freak if we get two rooms?” It was one of Sam’s rules: stick together and they’d make it back alive. And according to Sam, sticking together meant sleeping in the same room, car or tent. Night after night after night.

G had learned more about Kensi and Deeks than he’d wanted to know. Kensi snored and Deeks giggled in his sleep. The former was kind of cute but the latter was just weird.

“I don’t care if he does,” Kensi said. “I want a hot shower and a bed all to my own.”

“Good luck with that,” G muttered as he flicked the switch on the small desk lamp. Surprisingly, it turned on.

“That’s a good sign,” Kensi said.

“Don’t get too excited. There probably won’t be any water.”

***

But there was. When he reached around the old shower curtain in the even older bathroom and cranked the knob, water spurted out, rusty red at first, then clear. “Hey?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ve got water.”

There was no answer. He turned the water off and went back to the room. Sam was standing by the bed, arms tight across his chest, staring at the curtained window.

“Now you’re pouting?” G asked.

“I’m not pouting, G. This is a bad idea.”

“Kensi and Deeks are right next door and these walls are thin enough to hear everything that’s going on. And believe me, that’s not necessarily a good thing.” When Sam didn’t answer, he walked up behind him. “What’s really wrong?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “What’s really wrong is this is when things go south. When the end is in sight and you think nothing else can possibly go wrong.”

“Something can always go wrong, at any time. We deal with that fact every day.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

G shrugged because, yeah, he did know it. He’d been there before, same as Sam. “Tell you what—you take the first watch, I’ll take the second. I’ll wake you six and we’ll be on the road by six-fifteen.”

Sam’s shoulders dropped, just a little. “You’ll wake me at the slightest noise?”

“Even if it’s just Kensi and Deeks going at it.”

Sam sighed and he finally relaxed enough to lower his arms. “Please. Like I want to hear that again.”

“Yeah, who knew Deeks was a screamer?”

Sam gave him the look that said, ‘You were surprised by that?’ and reached for the case. He slid it under the bed—standard operating procedure—then got his duffle bag.

“Need any help?”

“No,” Sam said succinctly. “I don’t. I just want to get clean and I know you. I let you within ten feet of me and it’ll be hours before we get out of that bathroom.”

G didn’t point out that, flattering as it was, they usually only took ten or twenty minutes And that the room was only eleven feet deep so no matter where Sam went, they’d be within ten feet of each other. “Okay. I’ll just be out here.” He nodded to the ancient CRT television. “Watching ESPN.”

Sam gave him a smirk then shut—and locked—the bathroom door.

***

There was no cable because there was no broadcast but he left the set on, a silent link to civilization as it had been. When Sam came out of the bathroom, skin wet, completely dressed, G got his gear and they traded places.

***

He was dreaming something about a beach and a pale blue sky when a touch on his shoulder pushed the dream away. “What time is it?” he mumbled into the pillow.

“Ten,” Sam answered softly.

“Ten?” He frowned. “Why’d you let me sleep so long?”

Sam snorted. “Only you, G, would consider forty-five minutes ‘long.’”

“Only me,” he answered sleepily. Then, when Sam didn’t answer, he turned on his back and opened his eyes. Sam was gazing down at him, barely smiling. “What?” he asked, even though he knew what Sam’s faint smile meant. His heart, and dick, woke up.

Sam shrugged. “Nothing. You just looked peaceful, that’s all. Were you dreaming?”

“Hm-mm.”

“What about?”

“A beach with blue water.”

“Was I there?”

“Of course,” he lied smoothly.

Sam gave him a sideways look as if he’d heard the truth behind G’s answer, and that was too sexy, that Sam knew him so well.

Sam stroked his cheek with his knuckles. “C’mon, get up. It’s my turn.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He rolled to his feet, out of the danger zone, as it were. Sam gave him the rifle, then took his place on the bed and closed his eyes. He was asleep, just like that.

G watched him for a long moment. He loved a lot of things about Sam, but this was a private, ‘never gonna tell anyone about it’ thing—that Sam, when he finally allowed himself to sleep, conked out like a little kid. It was the training, of course. Drilled in from practice, fortified by experience. But still, G liked to think some small part of it was just Sam.

He sighed, then brought his focus around to the task at hand and sat in the chair Sam had vacated. 

***

He let Sam sleep until five-thirty, until the sliver of a moon had dropped to the horizon and the sky was a dark grey. He went outside to do a quick recon, breathing in the soft scents of the country, then returned to the room.

He hesitated for a brief moment—the chances of his plan working were roughly thirty, thirty-five percent. Sam was in his mission-is-all phase and little could make him forget that. But, G wasn’t ‘little,’—he might as well give it a go. He laid the rifle in easy reach, then sat down. The mattress was too soft and Sam rolled towards him.

“Hmm?” Sam asked.

G bent close and whispered into his ear, “It’s five-thirty.”

“So?”

“So, Kensi and Deeks are asleep. They won’t hear anything.”

“No.”

He leaned closer, letting his arm brush against Sam’s back. “C’mon.”

“It’s too dangerous, G. We can’t take the chance.”

“No one is out there. I took a look.” 

“And?”

“And it’s quiet. The ‘early-morning’ kind, not the, ‘everyone is dead and you better run,’ kind.”

Sam smiled. G could see his cheek and ear move. 

“I’ve got thirty more minutes.”

But it was a false, playful protest and G pushed his advantage. “C’mon,” he urged again, this time pressing his chest into Sam’s shoulder. “It won’t take long. I’ll do all the work. You can just lay there.”

“G—”

He kissed Sam’s cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Sam smelled of cheap soap. “Please,” he whispered, meaning to tease only it came out wrong, too needy and plaintive and he shut his mouth against the other words that were suddenly stuck in his throat. 

The, ‘It’s been too long,’ and the, ‘This might be our last chance for days.’ Even though they were both technically true, they were both nonetheless false and not the real reason he felt as if he were moving through a dreamland of yellows and grays.

But, he could hardly say that seeing dead body after body was making him crazy. That even though they’d made it to the CDC and got what they came for, the endgame was yet to be played out and he didn’t want to miss a chance, now that he knew what he’d been missing all those years.

And that something was coiled up in his chest, hard like a stone, and it was only when he was touching Sam that the feeling faded away.

But even in this—especially in this—Sam knew when to give him what he needed and he nodded. “Okay. Nothing fancy, though.”

G breathed a laugh of relief and pulled Sam to his back, then slid on top.

***

Nothing fancy. They didn’t undress—just unzipped zippers and pushed up shirts. And somehow that was even sexier, Sam with his t-shirt pushed up to his armpits and pants open, belly and cock exposed, skin hot like the sun. Whole and smooth, not peeling and blistering and sloughing off in sick patches.

G made some weird noise in the back of his throat and Sam rolled them over, covering him like they were in the middle of a firefight and bullets were whizzing overhead.

“It’s okay,” Sam whispered. “Baby, it’s okay.”

It wasn’t, but it would have to do and he arched up and bit Sam’s chest. Then spread his legs wide, bucking when Sam took them both in hand.

He came quickly, gripping the back of Sam’s neck, the ugly comforter, muffling his moans against Sam’s shoulder.

So, nothing fancy. Just this. Just Sam and him.

***

Sam was the cuddler in the relationship.

Most of the time, when they were finished and still breathing hard, he’d pull G close and stroke whatever body part was nearest and talk about things like ancient Arabic love poetry or the proper way to field strip an M1 Garand rifle.

G was the opposite and it had taken him a while to retrain his responses, to not leap up and go get a beer or pick up the book he’d been reading.

But it was almost six and as much as he wanted to let Sam hold him, they had to move. He pushed, just slightly, and Sam let him go.

“You want to shower again?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, we better. We don’t want to give Deeks any more ammunition. He takes one whiff of you and he’ll be asking if we got any sleep at all.”

Sam’s tone was casual, but G wasn’t fooled. “It’s not me that’s worried about that, you know.”

Sam nodded shortly and got up and tugged his shirt over his head. “I’ll be right back.”

He watched Sam walk away, examining the way the muscles of his back slid against each other. It was something they’d probably need to talk about, the way Sam had started to keep his hands to himself, the way he had found himself reaching out at the most inappropriate times to touch Sam's arm or hand. “Don’t use all the hot water,” he said absently.

“Perish the thought,” Sam replied without turning around.

***

When they were both showered, they dragged Kensi and Deeks out of bed and were on the road by six-ten.

And except for a tense moment courtesy some para-military types near Phoenix, the drive across the southwest was without incident. They made it to Los Angeles two days later, exhausted but unscathed.

***

L.A. wasn’t quite a ghost town, but close enough. The state curfew was still in effect, and it was eerie, passing the tall, dark buildings, the empty streets.

“No cars.” Deeks murmured. “Freaky.”

“Yeah,” Kensi agreed. "Weird."

G shrugged. He was at the wheel, taking the last leg of the trip. They’d passed maybe a dozen cars since they came out of the valley, mostly emergency vehicles. “At least we’re making good time.”

“Did you try Hetty again, Sam?” Kensi asked.

Sam nodded shortly. “Yeah. No answer.”

“The service might still be down,” G pointed out.

“Hey,” Deeks said, his voice loud with fake cheer. “How much you want to bet she’ll be waiting for us in the courtyard, asking for our expense reports from Atlanta?”

G looked at Sam. Sam looked at him. “Only an idiot would bet against Hetty,” he said, forcing the anxiety back where it belonged, telling the knot in his chest to go away.

***

He pulled into the courtyard, expecting to see a small figure waiting for them in the doorway. But no, no Hetty. Which meant nothing, really. It was almost four in the morning—she’d be asleep. At her house in the hills or her apartment in the city.

“I’ll get the case,” Sam murmured. “Kensi and Deeks? Grab the gear.”

G didn’t wait for them, but strode to the door, gun up and ready, thinking about Sam’s comment the night before, telling himself that everything was fine; fate wasn’t going to throw them a curveball after all they’d been through.

He eased the door open. And sighed.

She hadn’t been waiting for them in the courtyard because she was waiting for them in the middle of the well-lit, empty operations room. Her hands were folded in front of her, every hair in place. The only concession to the fact that their world had gone to hell in a hand basket was her clothing—she was wearing cammo, including bandolier and boots. All she needed was a red headband to make her look like a tiny Rambo; his heart jerked and he choked back a smile.

“It’s about time,” she said. “I was getting worried.”

“Sam wanted souvenirs,” he answered brightly. Behind him, Sam snorted.

“I didn’t send you on a vacation, Mr. Callen.”

Her tone was tart, but she was too happy to see them and he wanted to kneel and pull her into a tight hug and tell her how glad he was that she’d made it.

“So good to see you all,” she said peering around G. “I take it the mission went well?”

G jerked his head to Sam and the case. “Your plan went without a hitch. We’ve got the compound and the instructions. Where’s everyone else?”

“Nate and Agent Martinez arrived last night by plane. Leon arrived two hours ago. They’re all upstairs, asleep.”

“And Jethro?”

“He called on the satellite phone. They delivered their package to Washington yesterday morning.”

“Took them long enough,” Sam said.

Hetty gave him a sharp look before saying, “You three—there are clean clothes and cots upstairs with your names on them. I need to talk to Mr. Callen.”

Sam raised an eyebrow but went willing, following Kensi and Deeks as they trudged up the steps.

He waited until they were completely alone, then asked reluctantly, “What about the other teams?” He knew the chances of all eleven teams making it back alive via the sky, the train tracks, the road, but he’d hoped for more than three.

“Unknown.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Hetty shook her head. “No sense in mourning before we know the facts, so tell me, how did it really go?”

He cocked his head. “You mean how did they handle it and were they exposed to the radiation?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “Kensi and Deeks both had a hard time in Georgia, but they kept it together. Sam wanted to help everyone we came across.”

She peered up at him, head cocked like a bird. “I take it you stopped him from doing anything foolish?”

He shrugged again. “I did.” And that’s all he was going to say. No need to mention the time he had to physically drag Sam into the SUV when he’d tried to help a little girl who was in the first stages of infection. Or the time Sam had almost lost it, watching a kid run after their car, calling out for them to 'Stop, stop.' “This drug better be worth it, and no, we’re clean.”

“Good,” she said quietly, still watching him with her eagle's eye. Then she clapped her hands together. “What's done is done and you've done your job well; I was right to trust the fate of the world in your collective hands. Now, go—there’s a cot upstairs for you as well.”

He turned to the stairs.

“And Mr. Callen?”

He looked back at her. She was smiling up at him, her eyes bright with feeling.

“It’s good to have you home.”

‘Ah, screw it,’ was his last thought as he dropped to his knees and reached out. She gasped and resisted, then didn’t, returning his embrace, her small arms surprisingly strong. They held each other for a brief moment then let go at the same time. He got to his feet and without another word, went upstairs.

He skipped the shower; he needed sleep more than he needed to be clean.

He found them in one of the galleries that overlooked the main room, lined up like little kids in a daycare. Whether by accident or design, Sam’s cot was on the other side of an old cabinet, partially hidden from the rest.

G edged by Vance, then Kensi and Deeks. They didn't stir even though they couldn't have been asleep for more than a few minutes.

“Hey,” Sam murmured when G got within ear’s reach. 

There was a second cot next to Sam’s, against the wall. G pulled off his holster and dropped it at the foot of the cot, then sat down.

Sam turned on his side. “She okay?”

“Yeah.” He unlaced one boot, then the other, toeing them off when he was done.

“The other teams make it?”

He lay back, shifting about to get comfortable. “She hasn’t heard anything.”

Sam took the news stoically. “It’s early days yet. We’ll mourn when the time is right.”

G mirrored Sam’s position, on his side, making sure their knees touched. “Should I be freaked out that Hetty said almost the same exact thing?”

“No, because I’m the one freaked out,” Sam muttered affectionately. Then, “Get some sleep. Real sleep—no cat nap, okay?” He closed his eyes.

“Yeah, okay.” He tucked his hands under his cheek and absently watched Sam, thinking about the last ten days.

Nothing had changed much. They had no idea whether or not the drug would work. They had no idea whether Hetty’s crazy plan to disseminate it around the globe would work. But he supposed it didn’t matter, as screwed up and selfish as that was.

Because the minute he’d walked through the door of the old waterworks building, the minute he’d seen Hetty, the hard something that had been living in his chest had started to break apart, hopefully for good.

“I mean it, G,” Sam muttered, eyes firmly closed. "Asleep. Now."

He grinned. "Yes, sir." And then he reached out, this time letting his hand touch Sam's.

 

fin.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Story notes:
G. Callen/Sam Hanna
NCIS: LA
5,000+ words
All characters belong to people and organizations that are not me