Fic: I Can Give You More - Part 2

[titti]

Title: I Can Give You More
Author: titti and kirasha
Artist: acquiescence_
Pairing(s): Sam/G
Rating: NC-17
Summary: In the aftermath of Moe's death, Sam has a crisis of faith and G must find a way to convince his partner not to leave NCIS, while at the same time keeping his own newfound feelings to himself.
Word Count: 34,460
Disclaimer: The trademark for NCIS:LA and its characters belong to CBS Television Studios. No trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: Written for the 2011 ncis_bigbang

Part 1

If the previous week, he had worked alone. This week included even more solitude. Gone were the drives together, the few (albeit tense) words exchanged every morning and every night. In his head, he could hear his daughter say he'd turned into a girl, missing the talking. She was saying it while giggling, too, just to annoy Sam more, not that he could blame her since at the moment she was just a figment of his imagination. She was also a wake up call.

He needed to make a choice.

Coming to that conclusion wasn't as difficult as reaching a conclusion. There was mail to deliver, high schools to clean, mosques to infiltrate; undercover work was so glamorous at times. During all of it, Sam kept thinking about what he wanted to do: stay or go.

Thursday night, he worked undercover at the high school, because nowadays schools didn't have to worry just about gangs, but about terrorist recruiters. By the time he went home, he still hadn't made a decision and G was coming back on Monday.

Friday, he was off because of the overtime at the school. He decided there was one person who could help with his decision. He packed his car and drove North, the five hour drive giving him more time to think. When he got there, it was almost dusk. Finding the beach wasn't difficult, finding G even less. It was early in the season and it had been cold for California; no one else was around.

"Had enough of being alone?" he asked with a smirk, although G did just fine with solitude. It was weird because G was the one who talked and yet he liked being alone. Sam used his words parsimoniously, but liked the company. Maybe G spent too much energy trying to talk to appreciate the company. "Kids have a school trip this weekend," he said, putting down his backpack and sleeping bag. "You'd better have room in that tent after making me drive up all the way here."

"If I manage to live long enough to retire," G drawled from the comfort of his beach chair without opening his eyes. He didn't need to open them to know it was Sam approaching. The other man's presence was too familiar. "I've decided to I'm buying a cabin at the top of a cliff that looks out over the ocean, one that has it's own access to a private beach below."

Being up here had helped G put a number of things into perspective. He'd spent the days down on the beach doing something he hadn't done in forever: relaxing. There were really only a couple places he ever relaxed. The beach was one of them. The other place was Sam's and he'd spent part of his time up there thinking about that.

Okay, he'd spent a lot of his time up there thinking about that, about Sam.

It was well before the season. No one was on the beach during the day. Fewer people still were in the camping area that overlooked it from the top of a small rise well back from the water. G practically had the place to himself. He spent the days down on the sand or in the water and, as soon as the sun was in his line of sight in the afternoon, he brought his chair back up here to the camp to get settled in by the firepit. It was a shame there were so few beaches in the state that allowed the fires anymore. Several years in a row of brushfires decimating large portions of the state had seen an increase in fire safety measures at all the parks.

But, there were a few places that still allowed them, like this one, and G had spent his evenings reading by the campfire in much the same way Sam found him now with the book splayed open across his stomach while he sat there and thought.

"If he's lucky, I might even give my best friend the address and a key. You know, for emergencies?" Opening his eyes, finally, he looked up and grinned. "There's room if we like each other a little. Here," he said, tossing Sam his car keys. "You can toss your things in the trunk with mine." G only had a tent big enough for two to sleep, not store anything. He'd been keeping his bags in the trunk of the car, which was parked right next to his assigned camping zone and much more secure than a tent in any case. "There's an extra chair in there, too, if you want it."

Sam dropped the sleeping bag and caught the keys. "Is there food in this cabin of yours? Or is your partner supposed to bring you sustenance?" He put the fast food bag on top of G's book, smiling back. "I'll get the extra chair, you get the extra beer because I know you didn't forget that."

He picked up the sleeping bag again and put everything in the trunk of the car. He came back with the chair and put it near G's. He sat down and stared at the ocean. He could see why G had picked this place and it was clear it had helped G relax. Sam felt a stab of guilt for barging in and disrupting his sense of peace. "I never seriously considered retirement before. Not sure it'd work out. Kids are expensive and a federal salary isn't nearly enough even with hazard pay. That and I'd be bored out of my mind after the novelty passed."

"You'll notice I said if I live long enough to retire," G replied, chuckling. There was a small cooler at the side of his chair. Taking out a bottle he passed it to Sam before pulling out one for himself. "First, I'd have to either get tired of doing what we do and quit, or actually find a sense of self-preservation. Much more likely, I go out as I like to go in. Guns blazing. As long as I take them out with me, I'll be good."

Reaching into the bag Sam had brought, he found manna from drive-through heaven and immediately pulled three fries out for himself. "On the other hand, my arteries might just harden and take me out the boring way."

It hadn't escaped his notice that Sam had changed 'best friend' to 'partner' in his rejoinder. And G was more than a little curious what had brought the other man all the way up here after all. He had left the house expecting to come back to a happier Sam who'd figured out he didn't need NCIS or G and was ready to move on. But, he wasn't going to push. That was what had exacerbated all of this in the first place. First when Sam was injured and G was hovering, then when G had found out Sam was looking for a new job, he'd been pushing, trying to make himself feel better by helping Sam or fixing things.

He'd forgotten the reason they worked so well together. They didn't push. They left the door open for the other to make the choice to talk, but they rarely pushed. So, that was the decision G had made while he watched the white caps and looked for his own peace. If Sam was going to come to him, he would. It was a leap of faith G wasn't good at making, but he needed to make it if he had any hope of salvaging their friendship.

"You give Kens the number or are they out of luck for the weekend? Because if you brought your work cell, it's going into the water."

Sam opened the beer and took swig, while listening to G talk. When his partner was done, he put the beer on top of the closed cooler and reached for the bag with the food. This was as unhealthy as it could get and it wasn't something the he would pick for himself, but he knew how much G liked those burgers from In-N-Out and it was dinner.

"I have my cell. Kensi has the number, my ex has the number, my kids have the number. You touch the cell and you end up in the water," he said calmly. "Relax; no one will call unless it's an emergency. I don't think Hetty is stupid enough to call me unless something major is happening and she doesn't know I'm with you, or even out of town."

He unfolded the wrapper and murmured, 'Bismillah ar-Rahman, ar-Raheem,' before taking a bite from the burger. His eyes stayed on the water, thinking. "What if you're pushed into a promotion? Then you're off the field. Would you retire then?" Sam wasn't sure why he was even asking. He would never go for the promotion. In fact, at this point, he wasn't sure if he should be in the field at all, let alone being in a position where he should tell people what to do.

G snorted while unwrapping the Double-Double Sam had brought him and trying to keep his mind from putting any of the little things together and jumping to conclusions. Leap of Faith, he kept repeating in his head. "It's Hetty. She knows somehow. She probably even knows what beach I'm on despite the fact you were the only one I told where I was going."

Instead of digging into the burger, though, he picked at the bun, thinking about Sam's question. "Don't know if you know, but after Dom, Hetty almost resigned. Actually, she did resign. She turned in her letter to Vance while he was out here. And, before he left, he asked me if I wanted to be considered for the job. Of course, I was picking his pocket at the time and removing Hetty's letter because I was trying to talk her out of resigning. But, the answer I gave him was the truth -- I'm not interested. I like where I am, what I'm doing. I'm a field agent. It's where I belong, where I can do something that means something. They might try to push me into a promotion, but it'll just push me out of the agency and into something else where I can keep doing what we do."

Desk jobs were for people with a life outside the job. G's life was making sure the people with the desk jobs and real lives got to enjoy them.

"She's not Allah. She doesn't know as much as you think. She likes to pretend she does, and you let her psych you out." It would have been a lot more funny if the situation wasn't as tense as it was at the moment. "Our job is to lie. Do it while you're convinced you'll be successful and you will be. She's also too set in her ways. She likes to see what she wants to see at times." Sam took another swig of the beer. "Maybe she should retire, G. She's old school and things don't always translate. Hell, maybe we should all retire. I can't even protect those close to me. Why am I even doing this anymore?"

G knew they had different relationships with their Operations Manager. He thought, sometimes, he saw more of her than she let the others see. Maybe it was because in a lot of ways, he was the one who was most like her. They weren't the same, but they shared a number of traits and behaviors. They understood each other on a level G was hard put to describe.

It wasn't a level Sam would ever share and it wasn't G's place to fix things between them.

"Maybe. She seems tired lately, tired in the spirit." He shrugged and took a pull from his own beer, fortifying himself for the raw honesty this conversation was encouraging from him. "But, there's more to the job than lies. Remember how you told me partners need to seek that higher purpose or 'we're just a couple of guys with guns drifting from case to case'? This job is like that, too. If you pick it apart and break it down into it's components, we're nothing but liars, thieves, and murderers. We need that higher purpose, the reason to keep doing the job even when it sucks and causes pain and nothing looks like it was worth any of it. Sometimes it's not. Sometimes the price is too high and we're not superheroes, no matter how much we talk like it. But, if either of us were in it for ourselves, we'd have become mercenaries like Marchetti's guys."

Sighing, he turned to look at his partner. "I know what it feels like, you know, feeling like you failed someone you cared about, failed so badly they paid that too high price. I live in her house, with her ghost, and remember every day my lack of trust in nearly anyone is the reason one of the few bright spots in my childhood is dead. I failed Alina. I've failed a lot of people, failed you and Moe. But, I can't help thinking retirement would be like giving up, failing again because I haven't learned anything, dishonoring her memory by walking away from the fight and letting someone else pay the price. I keep doing it because the times we get it right mean someone else gets some peace in their life. It's enough for me. You have to find what's enough for you, where the line is that balances the good we can do against all the crap that comes with the territory."

"You're right; we do it because we can make a difference. But, when we're doing more harm than good, then are we working for a higher purpose or to soothe our egos?" Sam asked. "Walking away might save the next Alina, or the next Dom, or the next Moe."

He sighed. "So how is it we seem to save the people we don't know and kill the ones we care about? Maybe we're doing it wrong, maybe Hetty takes over and she gets it wrong, or maybe we let her take over. I don't know. I just know our success rate when it comes to people we care about sucks and that can't be destiny or fate. That means there's something wrong with us. We're not doing what we're supposed to. Even with Kensi, it was Deeks that got there to save her, not us. She would have been gone without his help and he had two bullet holes in him. What does it say about the way we operate? How we run operations? I keep thinking about it, keep looking for alternatives, and I don't know, G. I really don't know. I know what makes sense, go private, work a few years, make more money than I could make in a lifetime, collect my Navy pension, keep the military benefits for the kids, and when I have enough for them to live comfortably, then retire for good. It's a smart plan, but I don't know if I can walk out on you, on Kensi... even Deeks," he said, rolling his eyes. "The team is what's keeping me there, but I don't know if the team works anymore or if it's enough to fight the political bullshit."

"Deeks is her partner. He's the one who's supposed to save her. If anything, the only thing we did wrong that time was to check all of our egos and make the logical assumption the man with two bullet holes in him was the intended target." G smirked a little. "Well, maybe you could have taken a little more time off for that fractured rib of yours."

Setting his beer down, along with his food, he stretched out in the chair to stare at the sky full of all the stars you forgot about when you lived in the city with it's thousands of streetlights and flashing signs. He tucked his hands behind his head. Nights like this, G could almost understand why someone would start to believe in something bigger out there, more divine. "Isn't there something about a team is only as good as it's leaders? I've been a pretty crappy lead, you know. I don't have that team instinct. I'd rather go it alone than risk any of you. I act without considering that I could ask for help or talk to someone before acting. It took thinking I was seeing you die out there in the desert to realize you've been right all along and we're stronger together as partners than I could ever be on my own.

"You're our compass, Sam. Why do you think Deeks works harder to earn your approval? You're the one who reminds us we need each other, that we're people as well as agents. You're the one who sees how badly fucked up we are and still cares so much you've spent weeks trying to figure out if you can walk away even though we, I, cost you something we can never replace. Maybe that's why things have been so hard, lately? We all look to you to know how to behave as a team. But this time, you were the one who needed us and we don't know what we're doing.

"You have to make your own choice on this one and it's probably not fair to say this, but this team would fall apart without you, Sam. We need you, maybe more than you need us."

Silence reigned between them, interrupted by the sounds of nature: a cricket here, a bird there. For a while, Sam was happy to let nature do the talking for them.

"Deeks was practically crawling," he said with a snort, "but that's not the point, G. The point is we're becoming complacent, taking too many risks with other people's lives. We rush, we take shortcuts, and people die. We are becoming as much part of the problem as the problem itself."

Sam sighed. "It's not your fault. It's everyone's fault. We're too familiar with each other, too comfortable in our roles. We act like we're invincible, which is fine, if you're following a plan. The problem is we don't plan. We're so damn cocky we wing it. Turn that hard drive on because you're so good you'll beat water and Dom dies as a result. Moe will be fine; Nate is there, but Moe dies. Something is going down; let's play along even though we have no clue it's about nuclear missiles, and we almost kill hundreds of thousands of people. We're not superheroes, but we sure act like we are and the people around us are the ones that pay the price."

He turned his head and stared at G. "Last few weeks, I've come to the opposite conclusion. Maybe we've been at this for too long; we know each other too well. Maybe shaking the team up is exactly what's needed. New partners, new dynamics, learning to be a team again and be more careful in the process, take the time to step back and formulate plans before going in, and save lives as a result."

G wasn't sure what to make of that and he stared up at the sky hoping maybe the answer was up there somewhere. "Sometimes you get a month to plan them, sometimes a day," he said softly, repeating something he'd told Gibbs awhile back. "I'm not making excuses...or, maybe I am...but, we don't always get the time to make those plans. What would you have done differently with Marchetti?" That seemed the least volatile, personally, of the examples Sam had given, and the one G had most direct control over himself. "We were never going to know about the nuke until it was too late. DoE wasn't giving out that information. We set up the job to keep Greer or one of the other Taxi Service riders from being the next body on the pile for refusing the job. What else could we do? We didn't have a name, we barely had a description. There was no one to bug, unless we sent an already wounded Greer into a meet that would only have accomplished exactly what we did ourselves, provided Marchetti didn't finish the job. What we had was timetable we weren't aware of and one way in to find out what was really going on."

"We had nothing, G. Six months and we had no proof of any leaks. We had a dead ex cop and a bunch of corrupt cops with no evidence of any connection to Camp Pendleton or terrorism. There wasn't even a legal reason for us to keep the case and we should have let LAPD handle it, but we kept it because we know better," Sam said. "It might have worked out in the end this time, but that doesn't change the fact we're making decisions without thinking."

Sitting up and turning in the chair to better look at Sam, G shook his head. "We had more than that. We had an MP with reason to suspect Marines were working with Beane's crew. We had a dirty ex-cop who was the victim of a professional hit after he turned down a job he thought was going to far. And we had our gut feeling whatever was going down was going down soon. We were thinking, Sam. The thinking just wasn't linear.

"We could have turned Beane's murder over to LAPD. And it would still be sitting in a pile on some overworked, underbudgeted homicide detective's desk like the other hundred or so unsolved homicides in this town each year, probably one laid off the day before the murder. How much of a priority do you think they put on finding the killer of one dirty cop? What are the chances anyone in LAPD has the bandwidth to consider the other angles? Look how quick they were to turn over the investigation into Deeks' shooting and he's a good cop. I get what you're saying. And there are times, yes, we take risks we shouldn't. But, sometimes we have to take the risk, trust our gut, and go for it."

"Sometimes. The problem is we always go for it, G," Sam answered, "and people die. Moe died. Months in that prison, months with Nate there and he couldn't even figure out Abdul had guards on his payroll and then we have to do an op in twenty-four hours, forty-eight if we're lucky. Don't tell me there's nothing wrong with that."

"You know I'm not going to tell you that, I won't deny there have been times when we could have taken more time to plan and didn't. But, again, that's leadership, not the team. I'm the one who makes those calls. It should have been me making the calls with Moe, but I wasn't there." Biting back another sigh, he leaned back in the chair again. "Breaking up the team won't change those things. They follow me. And I need to learn some of these lessons more than they do." He needed his partner there to help him. For the first time, there was something G didn't think he could do on his own.

"It's not just you, though. It's all of us. It's Hetty. It's our inability to say no to you or her, and that's not the result of the job, but of familiarity and friendship, except-" He stopped. "I don't think it goes both ways, and-" Sam stopped, sighing. And he didn't know what there was to say. G and Hetty worked on a different level and he let them, because he considered G a friend and because G considered Hetty a friend. And, others had paid the price for his decisions.

"Why are you here?" G asked, giving in to the urge after another short silence. "Why did you come up here, Sam?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I thought it might be easier to make a decision with you around, that I could find some answers, instead of playing the what-if game in my head. I joined OSP because I wanted to do good, make a difference at home and not just on foreign territory. But I'm staying because of my partner and I don't know if that's a good enough reason when we're harming the people we care in the process."

"It's not." A more difficult two words G had never spoken. "It's not a good enough reason when staying makes you doubt yourself, the good you do. No partner is worth that and I'd be an even worse partner than I already am if I let you do that. Don't think I'm telling you to leave. I'm not. If we can find a way to make the work rewarding for you again, then I want you to stay. But, I won't be the reason you're miserable or ashamed of the work you do. You're a better man than that."

Sam laughed mirthlessly. "That simple? I wish it were, G. But a team, a partner, those things mean something, too. If they didn't, the decision would have been made outside a hotel room with Moe's body still warm." His head lolled back and he stared at the sky. "Nothing I do is going to make up for the mistakes I made with him. Nothing. No revenge or justice will bring him back. No successful mission is ever going to justify what we - as a team - did. Maybe I came to find some peace. I should have stayed home and not ruined your vacation."

"You haven't ruined my vacation, Sam. I wanted to come with me at the start, remember?"

Of course, G had also wanted to not push Sam about this and he seemed to be doing a spectacularly bad job of that. Getting up, he moved to kneel at the side of Sam's chair. As it grew darker it was more difficult to see his partner's eyes and G wanted to make sure Sam was really hearing him. "I know a team means something. I've also learned a partner who holds you back or doesn't push you to be the better man isn't much of a partner. I'm telling you that you need to make the choice you can live with, if that's a new team, then it's a new team. But, if you can live with yourself and be, if not happy at least content, with the choice to stay, then I hope you stay. But, the peace you need, won't be found in our partnership, this team, a new team." He reached forward and placed his hand over Sam's heart, hovering without really touching the other man. "It's going to be found here when you're able to forgive yourself enough to go on living and trying to do the good you want to do."

Sam's eyes went to G's hand, before raising to meet G's gaze. "I know, but nothing I do helps. I've boxed until my knuckles bleed; I've prayed more than I have in ages; I've thought about it; I've debated with myself. But I keep going in circles. I can't forgive myself - or anyone else, for that matter, until I know we won't be making the same mistakes over and over, and it's not something I can fix alone because some of those mistakes weren't mine. Can we make it work, G? Because I can't go through this again. I can't watch people who shouldn't be in the field die because we picked the fastest way instead of thinking things through. I don't trust Hetty to put people before the mission. But I trust you to curb her and you can't do it if you aren't around. I need to know you're up to this."

G held Sam's gaze steadily, even as something inside him broke at seeing his usually strong partner so lost. He'd been wrong before. This, kneeling here and having to keep his distance when his every instinct was telling him to touch and comfort, this was the hardest thing he had ever done. And, it was because he knew, somehow, at some unconscious level now was not the time for that sort of comfort, if there was ever going to be a time, that he managed to pull his hand back before he did touch.

"I know I wasn't here when you and Moe needed me to be. I've said it before and I know it doesn't change anything, but I am more sorry for that than you'll ever know. I can't promise it will absolutely never happen again that I'm not there when I should be and I might need to be reminded I don't need to go off on my own to do everything. But, I want to be here to do my best to help fix this." He held up his hand in offer. "I can promise you that much, that I will do my best, whatever it takes, to make this right if you'll give me that chance. I might share a bit of the ruthlessness and I might make mistakes, but you know me, Sam. Not many can say that, but you can. You know my partner and my team will always come before the mission."

"Lots of adverbs there. I'm not asking for guarantees, not in our line of work, but I need you not to disappear on me because it's hard to remind you of something when I can't find you." Sam gripped G's hand and pulled him closer just as Sam leaned into his partner, and clapped G's back. "Told you I hadn't decided," he said as he pulled back, and then smirked. "Don't tell, Hetty, yet."

"Tell Hetty what?" G laughed, returning the smirk. "I don't know anything."

It was definitely time to put a little physical distance between them now the emotional distance was closed a little more. Although, G wouldn't be taking it for granted they were good this time. It was time he started watching out for his partner a little more than he had been. "I'll have you know," he added, standing up to brush the dirt from his knees before returning to his chair. "The only reason I'm letting you get away with that I told you so is because my Double-Double is getting cold."

"My Double-Double. I don't remember you paying for it," he answered with a smile. "You'd better have some food to go with the beer, or tomorrow we're driving to the closest grocery store and we buy what we need." He picked up the beer and took a sip before turning his attention to the food again. "How did you survive a week without me?"

The past few weeks had gone well. They had worked more contacts, saved Lt. Commander Chambers, avoided an international crises by keeping a scumbag politician alive. They had worked together and got the job done, but Sam could feel G's eyes on him more times than not. This wasn't the usual 'I need to protect my partner' stare. It was different. He supposed it was warranted considering he had talked about leaving.

The distant attention got even more intense after King killed Asher and then the explosion that made them think - if even for a short while - Kensi could be dead. Jokes about seducing their target stopped being funny until they found her alive.

The end of the mission couldn't come soon enough for Sam. If he had the choice, he would always go himself instead of sending one of the others, especially when they didn't have proper back up. Like Moe. Like Kensi. But she was alive, King was behind bars, and they could breathe easier.

"You okay?" he asked as he cornered her away from the bullpen to have some privacy.

Kensi stared at Sam for a moment and then nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

"There was nothing you could have done about Asher."

She sighed. "Does it make a difference, Sam?"

"Not one bit," he answered her honestly. "You watched a man die and there was nothing you could do. That will always suck, no matter who made the call, no matter the circumstances, no matter he was a thief."

"It sucks, all right," she agreed.

"But your partner is taking care of you?" he asked.

Kensi cracked a smile and nodded again. "Yeah... yeah, he is," she said, sounding surprised of admitting it.

"Good, because he'd have to deal with me otherwise. I'm glad you're okay."

Now, she smiled brightly. "He's too afraid to do anything to upset you, and... thank you, for-" She waved between them. "This. Thanks," she added, before hugging him quickly and stepping back just as quickly.

"No problem, Kens." He tapped her cheek. "Let's go pack it up. It's time to leave."

They barely made it to their desk before G arrived with a dinner offer. Most people would have refused since it was closer to breakfast by now, but neither G or Sam were normal and a steak sounded really good.

The scotch wasn't older than they were, but it was old enough to get the job done after the day they'd had. It wasn't too difficult to follow the rest of the rules G had set out for dinner, either. This time of night, not many places serving exotic fungi or eggs that came from something other than a chicken were still open. And, yet, it was Los Angeles, so there were still better places than Denny's or Bob's Big Boy open for business, which allowed Sam to get his porterhouse and G, as well. To go with the scotch he was barely touching.

The thought had crossed his mind, when the others' declined to join them, it was better this way, anyway. As much as the team meant to him, it was always easier for G when it was just him and Sam, the troubles from a few weeks ago notwithstanding. But, now it was just him and Sam in a nice restaurant and the insecurity attack from hell creeping up on him as G second guessed every decision he'd made on this case, wondering if there had been enough mistakes to change Sam's mind about staying. They could have lost Kensi and it very definitely would have been G's fault. He'd thought he was doing everything possible to keep her covered. But, maybe there was something he'd missed? Maybe they should have gone in sooner, when the cars had pulled up, instead of waiting until they lost her feed. There were a lot of maybes.

As far as G knew, no one else but Hetty even had a clue Sam had been so close to leaving. With the others there, it would have made it easier to focus his mind elsewhere. With just Sam, G couldn't help thinking about it more, waiting to see if Sam said anything.

"So, we're on the same page thinking Deeks is feeling a little more than partnery with his partner, right?" Possibly not the best idea for conversation either, considering G's own dilemna. But, teasing Deeks, even in absentia, was much better than brooding over mistakes or giving Sam a chance to tell him he'd decided to leave, after all.

"The fool doesn't know what he feels. He's not used to a partner and has this dangerous habit of getting involved with them." Sam snorted. "Kensi will shoot him if he tries anything. That will be fun to watch."

He's not the only one, G thought.

"I'm thinking she's more likely to go after him with the practice knives first," he said aloud. "Shock some sense into him." Now, if someone could just knock some sense into him, things would be all the better. Problem was, G wasn't Deeks. G knew exactly what he felt, exactly how different it was from the previous times he'd made the same mistake, which was why he had resolved this time not to give in to it. How fast would Sam be headed for a new job if he thought G was this stupid?

"I think he's more aware of what he feels than he wants us to believe, though. Deeks likes to play more clueless than he really is." G smirked. "He did manage to get his phone into your bag, after all."

"He did not put his phone in my bag," Sam insisted. "I would have seen him, no matter what he says. No way he got that close to my bag without me spotting him."

He shook his head. "But, I don't think he does. I think he thinks he does. Deeks has spent too much time alone. He can fake friendship; he can have a few friends; but I'm not sure he knows what to do with a partner." He smirked at G. "That doesn't stop me from making fun of him."

G snorted. "Are you talking about Deeks or me?" Shrugging, he focused on his food a moment. "I don't know. I think you underestimate him." Glancing up from his plate, he flashed his partner a grin. "His phone was in your bag."

"Are you trying to piss me off on purpose?" he asked without any anger in his voice. "He didn't put it there and when I find out what he did and how he exposed me, I'm going to have his ass." Sam wasn't really thinking too much about it, though. Deeks might be creative but he had shown that Sam himself was getting careless. No one would get near his bag anymore.

G hid another smirk by taking an extra big bite that required opening his mouth far wider than would allow the smirk to show. Maybe someday he'd be a good partner and share his knowledge. But, for now, he was keeping it to himself until the day it was needed.

Sam took a sip of the red wine, before sitting the glass down. "I don't underestimate him and he might even be growing on me. Like a fungus. He shares a lot of traits agents have. It's no wonder Hetty picked him. It's also not surprising you two share some characteristics, but you're much worse than he could ever be. Only I can put up with you."

"That might be because you're the only one who has really tried," G pointed out. "Why, the world will never understand. Do you remember the rampage the guy before you went on before he actually quit? If I recall, Mace's words when she told me she was making you my new partner were 'Maybe you won't be able to break this one'."

"Or the only one who's more stubborn than you are," he answered. "And the why is very simple. You're my partner," he said with a shrug. That should explain everything as far as Sam was concerned. He chuckled. "I don't break easily and certainly not because you're throwing your tantrums about working solo." He leaned closer. "And I got you trained by now." Sam clapped G's back. "It took time, but slowly I've shaped you into an agent instead of some solo operative going off to play James Bond. It took time, but we got there. Think about the possibilities. You'd have ended up like Deeks or Renko without me around."

"Me? Stubborn?" G asked, eyes wide to match his guileless expression. "And I am not a puppy. I won't be trained," he huffed. "Maybe I would have ended up like James Bond instead. I do make a tux look good. Besides, you should talk. Which one of us is keeping track of how many places they've worked that James Bond has also worked?" The little half-smirk G had almost patented for himself returned. "Admit it, Big Guy. You like the maverick loners. We keep your life from getting boring."

"I go in and shoot people, and not just where James Bond went. I don't go in with a tux," he said, making a face at the idea. He liked ops that required fancy clothes, as long as they stayed few and far between. "And you definitely would end up like Renko. James Bond and his brand of spying disappeared with the cold war." Sam chuckled. "Maverick loners? Are you going to quote me the lyrics of Here I Go Again next? Because if you are, I'm taking that steak to go."

"Except for those times when you do," G said with a chuckle. Sam made the tux look good, too. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'Danger Zone' or maybe 'Great Balls of Fire'." There was no way G was keeping a straight face at that one and he didn't even try. "But, I'd never end up like Renko. The man has a different woman putting him up every time he's between assignments. Do you honestly see me crashing at some random person's house each night? In a random bed each night?"

"No, the man has a woman putting him up after being in town for two hours," Sam pointed out. "If you consider the time he needs to clean up, how does he find the time to find women and convince them to let him crash at their places. He must tell them he's some kind of producer; that would explain things," he said, almost thinking aloud. "There's no other way he could get so much tail. None. And you? Who knows? Maybe if you didn't have one specific person to bother with a very specific couch to crash on, you'd become like him. Really, I've saved you from turning into Renko, no matter what you say."

"Nah, I clean up better and I'm more charming. There wouldn't be a question of how if I wanted that much tail." Not that G was a monk. He was just paranoid and selective with a very bad habit of falling for his partner. Totally different. "But, I'll grant you that I have been saved from that fate by having a regular place to crash when necessary." He paused, smile sliding into an aren't-I-so-clever grin. "Remind me to thank your sofa the next time I'm there. I was horrible to it last time I stayed, tossing and turning all night, I probably hurt it's feelings and should make amends now that I know how much I should appreciate it."

"The toaster is the one you should apologize to," Sam answered without missing a beat. "Trying to see if you can turn it into a bomb at three in the morning is not an activity it likes." He stared at G for a moment, the silence familiar and comfortable after weeks of tension. "What about any tail? It'd do you good to go out, have someone, even if you can't tell her the truth, it still helps to have a lover, someone you can talk to about things not work related."

"What have I said about the separation between partner and mother?" The old, familiar feint came easily, but now, G reached for his scotch and allowed himself a healthy swallow. "What am I going to talk about that's not work related? The cover story life I pretend to live and that means nothing to me? What kind of relationship would that be? I can sit on a beach with my partner and tell him why I do what I do, what the work means to me. I couldn't do that with a lover I couldn't tell the truth. I'm married to the job. If I need to talk, Nate will tell me, I'm sure. And then I can avoid doing it by going to your place for a beer and to watch the game."

"You can have lovers who know, maybe not the details or the names, and certainly not at the beginning, but you can have lovers who know the truth in part," Sam said gently. "It's possible. I've done it. It doesn't happen often, and it takes time, but it can happen. The lies don't always have to stay in place, no matter what Hetty says. Sometimes, you take a chance and you trust the other person to understand why all the lies when you finally tell them the truth. Of course that works better when your partner doesn't scare possible girlfriends away," he said, chuckling. "You crashing on the couch is not really good for my social life. I can't even say you're my cousin."

"Lucky for your social life Hetty bought me a house of my own to crash at, then." G retorted. "Could have just told them I was adopted."

Sam laughed. "I'll use it the next time you crash at my place." It would happen sooner or later, and Sam didn't mind. The easy banter stopped when the waiter approached with their food, but as soon as he was gone, Sam pitched his voice in a falsetto. "And now eat, finish all your vegetables or you won't grow up."

The smile was easy on Sam's face. Things weren't perfect, they would never be in their business, but at least their partnership seemed on track again. They'd figure the rest day by day.

G had been reining in his anger over this since Nell had first called to ask him to give the young tech a pep talk before his first (and, yes, hopefully, last) undercover assignment. The decision was made and out of G's hands; they had a very short window of time. He just had to make sure they kept the young tech alive long enough to send him back to his computers -- and they almost didn't. But, now the case was over and pretty much everyone else had gone home for the night, he intended to have a few words with Hetty. "Nate, I got," he opened, leaning against the post in front of her desk, arms crossed, as though they were about to have a cozy fireside chat. "His background in Psych means he can read people; he knows how to talk to them and get information. More training in stealth and defense, he won't be a half-bad agent. And he wants it. Maybe a little too much. But, while it wouldn't have been my choice, I get it."

Hetty watched him, but didn't seem inclined to interrupt. She sipped at the tea she'd been pouring when G approached and set it down, waiting.

"But Eric?" He came forward to rest his hands on the back of the chair he usually sat in when they had more personal conversations. "He's a tech. He watches us work from a video screen. He hasn't the first clue how to do undercover work, what dangers to look out for around him, or how to defend himself."

"Mr. Beale was eminently qualified for the role he was asked to play."

"He might be qualified as a genius, but not as an agent playing a genius. Either Kensi or I could have easily taken that role and had both Eric and Nell feeding us the information we needed over the comms, giving us a trained agent in the field and the benefit of Eric's knowledge, as well." Hetty looked ready to speak up in her own defense again, but G cut her off, taking advantage of the relationship they did have to be more direct than the word games the two of them usually played. "Even with Eric involved, the entire thing could have been handled differently if I'd known before I was in the air he'd be out there with us. You just row the boat. I shoot the ducks. I get that. But, I can't protect my team from drowning if I don't know they're in the boat. We could have gone in as a joint task force, if we had to, to make sure there was someone with him from the moment he was on the ground. Not waiting for Sam and I to find him."

"The presence of you or Mr. Hanna right at his side would not have prevented the remote activation of the testing room, Mr. Callen."

"Maybe not, but it might have prevented an untrained tech dressed up like an agent from being in it when it did. You did it to me again, Hetty. You sent my team into an op without my knowledge and this time you did it when I was right here. But, you waited to make the call until after I was out of the room."

"When it comes to your team, Mr. Callen, you do, indeed, still shoot the ducks." Hetty leaned back in her chair, one hand supporting her wait while the other gestured pointed. "However, the support staff in this office is not here to only serve your team. Your team had its assignment. Mr. Beale reports to me and was given his."

"And y-"

"No, you had your say, you will allow me mine." The look in her eyes quelled any further argument, though G was still visibly irritated, and she continued more calmly. "This is not the first time you have questioned me, it's not even the first or second this year. You do not trust me and I wonder if you truly trust your team to be able to do their job. Mr. Beale was the best for this job. It was unorthodox, but so was the situation and there was little time to consider other options."

"Fine." G said tightly. "But, you put him in the field, you put him under my responsibility. I'm the one out there to look after him, not you, and you let me go out there blind." Sighing, he ran his hand over his head. "My team is your team, too, Hetty. And you've been pulling away from us for months, making these calls, sending us out without all the information. You want me to trust you, but you make it hard by not trusting me, not trusting us. I don't mean just today, or what happened in that prison with Moe. Even further back. Back to the book and Cole. Deeks' disappearance. You used to be one of us, you kept your secrets, but you still worked with us. But, lately, it seems as if you'd rather we work for you."

"Mr. Callen-"

G shook his head. "Eric could have been killed, today, Hetty. Whether he's technically my team or not, he and Nell are as much a part of the unit as me or Sam or Kensi, Deeks...you. Eric is one of us and we almost lost him because you were more interested in keeping control than letting us work together to find a better way that would protect your assets." He stood, just looking at her for a moment. "I would have thought you, of all people, after everything this unit went through last year, would see the difference."

"It is unlike you you be the one lecturing on duty to team, Callen." Hetty seemed subdued when she spoke and he wasn't sure if it meant she had washed her hands of the conversation, or was thinking about what he'd said.

Smiling, G shrugged. "I've been partnered with Sam for four years. It was bound to rub off sometime." He hesitated for a moment. There wasn't much more he could say. "Think about what I said, Hetty. I'll see you in the morning."

Sam waited at his desk, watching G talk to Hetty . As soon as he was done, they picked up their things and drove home. They were quiet in the black Mercedes. It had been a long day and they should get some sleep, but Sam knew better than to think G would sleep any time soon. "Do you want to come in?" he asked when G stopped in front of the house. "You can crash here if you like and the couch has to be more comfortable than your floor."

For the second time that night, G Callen hesitated. But, the day had been too long; there would be no driving to a beach to calm his mind that night and he felt comfortable at Sam's place. He'd made the decision not to crash at Sam's if he could help it. Still, going inside and crashing didn't have to be the same thing. "Yeah," he said at last, nodding. "For a while." He tried his hand at a teasing smile, shutting off the car and reaching for his bag just in case. "Not sure I'm up to scaring away your dates tonight."

"My big date with the TV. I'm not sure I can forgive you if you ruin it," Sam teased, as he opened the door. His eyes darted to all the little details that would tell him if anyone else had been here. He didn't expect trouble, but it was second nature. "You know where to set up." He sent to his room to put the duffel away and then picked up two beers, before going to the living room. Sam handed G one of the beers and sat down. "We need a new rule. You and I are the only ones allowed to go undercover, and you only when I'm there to cover your ass."

"Not agreeing to that corollary unless it goes both ways, Big Guy." G couldn't help thinking of Yemen, how nothing else had mattered once Hetty said Sam had been compromised, the sleepless night that had followed as he put together an extraction plan to get both Sam and the boy out of there alive. It was a miracle he hadn't crashed the car driving around looking for that futah Hetty wanted given he hadn't slept and had then thrown himself out of a moving vehicle, not for the first time in his life. Sighing, he cracked open his beer and stretched his feet out in front of him, resting them on his own duffel and not Sam's coffee table. "The rest of that rule is fine with me."

"You think I have a problem with my partner watching my back?" Sam asked with a smirk. "Amended corollary accepted. Now that we have an oral agreement, we need to convince Hetty and we're done." It would never fly, but it was a nice idea, a safer idea, at least.

Taking a pull from the bottle, G turned his head to watch Sam in silence for a moment. "We good?" he asked at last.

Sam nodded. "We're good. Are you good?" he asked. "Things with Hetty seemed... tense?" He never got into the middle of their discussion because it wasn't his place, but he wanted to make sure G was all right. "We'll figure this out, G. We'll make it work."

"I'm fine." G shrugged. "Hetty and I...there have been some things that have needed to be said for several months, even before I made you that promise." He didn't feel he needed to specify which promise. He didn't make enough of those to lose track of them. Although, he was pretty sure most of the ones he was still keeping were made to Sam and he wasn't sure how or when that had happened. "You're not having second thoughts, yet?"

"G, I made a decision. As long as we're both trying, I'm not going to bail on you and I'm not bailing the first time something goes wrong." Sam sighed. "Things are bound to go wrong. Don't start to second guess yourself at every corner or you'll go crazy. As long as you remember we do things together, we'll be all right and, if you forget, I'll remind you." He drew circles on his jeans with the bottom of his bottle. "I'll make you a promise. If things get bad again, I'll talk to you before doing anything, even putting out feelers. You shouldn't have to hear it from anyone but me. I wasn't thinking straight and I'm sorry for that. I can see why you thought I didn't trust you, but that's never been the case."

"You don't have to apologize, Sam." G reached over and grasped his partner's shoulder. It was a balancing act between saying enough and saying too much. "My default is to think the worst and I couldn't figure out you weren't in a place to balance it out like you usually do. In a way, I needed the wake-up call. I've had other partners. I've even liked some of them. But, especially after Tracey, I've never had one I trusted so completely I could take it for granted he'd always be there. It hurt to think you couldn't tell me things were that bad. I figured out it was because you were hurting, eventually." Grinning, he let go and leaned back again. "Just remember you have to bring me sustenance in that retirement cabin by the beach or I'll starve."

"No, I have to, because it was wrong not to talk to you. That's my fault. You can take the blame for everything else," he said with a wink. "I get the food, you get the beer. It's perfect. I'll even be nice and bring the ammo since you're buying the cabin. One of us has to think about the important things in life, like guns and knives."

"Not that I mind," G replied, laughing, "but when did the emergency key I was going to give you so you can feed me turn into you moving in and bringing the artillery?" A long pull from his beer was necessary to stamp down on the confusing mix of pleasure and trepidation the idea stirred up. He shrugged again. "Mi casa es su casa. I'll just have to make sure there's a spot for your punching bag."

"You need to eat daily, don't you?" Sam answered, chuckling. "And some ammo is not the artillery. I don't think they let you keep the artillery when you retire, but we can always ask. No harm in that." He flashed G a smile. "Who else would visit you anyway? We've established I'm the only one willing to put up with you."

"So you keep telling me." G was too busy trying to keep down the unfamiliar sense of warmth stealing over him at the idea of Sam moving in to take care of him, of maybe taking care of each other, to come up with a better retort. And, Sam probably had no idea how much G really wouldn't mind. Damn it; how did he keep getting into these conversations with the one person it was most dangerous to have them with in the first place? "Please," he continued with a snort. "Between the two of us, we have enough contacts around the world to keep us well armed in whatever manner we see fit for the rest of our lives, government subsidized or not."

"I was talking about a few guns and bullets, now you're asking about using my contacts to keep you well armed. What's next? Are you going to expect that I make an honest man out of you?" Sam asked, with just the right tone of annoyance anyone forced into a marriage would have. "I don't know, man. You keep pushing. I need room to breathe."

Two decades of experience as one of the top undercover agents in the country and rarely breaking character under any surprise circumstance, four years of trading outrageous jokes and dares with one Sam Hanna, and G still was a hairsbreadth away from choking on his beer at hearing his partner pout over having to make an honest man of him. The problem was, G Callen had rarely ever backed down from a challenge, even in jest. He might be getting well in over his head with this line of joking, but he wouldn't be the first to give. "I don't know," he drawled, deliberately giving Sam an overly-exaggerated 'once over' with his eyes instead of the slow, meaningful one he was tempted to give. "If you're going to make an honest man out of me, I'd want to make sure we were fully compatible, you know?"

Sam stretched his legs in front of him, sprawling on the couch as he looked up into nothing. "Oh, where should I even start with that one?" Neither one liked to back down from a challenge, verbal or not, and this was too easy to let it go. "You've seen me practically naked, being pinned down during defence, what they say about men with big feet." He turned his head to look at G and smirked. "My favorite: once you go black." He shook his head. "Baby, if there's anyone who's got to worry about that, it's me. Skinny white boy like you? I could be disappointed."

Even though G knew how deep his feelings for his partner ran, it was still something of a shock to realize those feelings came with such a strong physical component. But, as he'd barely drunk half his beer, yet -- and, it was only beer -- he knew the heat he felt was from thinking about just how many times he had seen Sam practically naked, or been the one pinned beneath him on the mat. Yet, he knew there was no way Sam meant any of what he was saying. Regardless of his own very real attraction and the trouble he could get into, G still wouldn't be the first to cry uncle. And, more importantly, he couldn't not play the game full out and up the stakes, for the simple reason that alone could clue Sam in to the facts.

Setting his bottle on the coffee table, G got up and stood in front of Sam, his legs straddling Sam's without touching them. Then, leaning forward, he placed his hands on the back of the couch, one to either side of Sam's head. "What kind of partner would I be," he asked, voice gone low and rough, deliberately for the most part, as he stared into his partner's eyes, "if I wasn't confident I could have your back no matter how difficult the position we found ourselves in?"

They played verbal games all the time. It was the way to pass the time when things were slow or to break the tension when the world was going to hell in a hand basket. In neither occasion, it turned into this.

Sam blinked, wondering what was happening, but he was not going to be the one to back down. His hand rested on G's hip in deceptively loose hold just as he smirked. "A smarter man would know if you try to trap a SEAL, the only position you'll find yourself in is pressed against something unable to move, and that doesn't sound too nice, does it, partner?" He took another sip of the beer, careful not to touch G in any way other than the hand on the hip and then put the bottle down, staring at his partner again. "Or do you want me so bad you' re trying to piss me off on purpose so I'll put you on your knees."

There had been covers that had bled into reality, or where reality had bled into the cover, until G came out of the op confused and conflicted about everything for days after. Never had that line been so blurred as it was now, here, playing at seducing his partner when he would have liked nothing more than to really do it if he thought the man had even the slightest interest. The hand on his hip and the images Sam's words conjured in his head were playing havoc with his concentration. "If you have to get pissed off to appreciate a man willing to go to his knees for you," he murmured in Sam's ear, "you're playing the game wrong."

G put some distance between them again. But, he did it in such a way as to make it part of the game instead of a retreat, slipping back slowly until he almost slid down Sam's legs to kneel on the floor. Reaching for Sam's beer, he smirked before taking a slow pull from the bottle that had his head tipping back and his throat moving as he swallowed what was really no more than a small sip.

Playing seduction games with his partner was dangerous enough; actually stealing a SEAL's beer was suicidal!

How the game had began was a distant memory already. They became their cover, even when their covers were just a game. Things that would never be said if they were themselves were uttered easily, not even lies, because their alter egos believed them. That was what kept the game interesting, watching and waiting for the one who would blink first.

Sam wasn't blinking.

"Or maybe the game is a little different." He traced the bottle from bottom to G's lip. "Looks to me like someone's pissing me off on purpose. Making offers he won't see through, drinking my beer. Looks like someone's just asking for me to take control so he doesn't have to admit just how much he wants this. There are nicer way to do it if he just asked."

The hand he rested on Sam's thigh might have been there to tease the other man, but as G leaned in close, erasing the distance between them until he was practically speaking against Sam's lips, he knew it was holding him up and keeping him from actually pressing against his partner's muscled chest just as much. "Offer," he said softly. "Promise. Never make one I won't keep."

Standing swiftly, then, or as swiftly as he could while trying to disguise the state of arousal their game had left him in, G did something he almost couldn't believe he was doing himself.

He backed down before he lost control and actually kissed his partner, forever destroying the partnership and the friendship they'd worked so hard to get back on track. "But, not tonight. I've got a headache; it resembles the paperwork I didn't finish before we left. And, you actually like to sleep at night." Grinning, as if this was really nothing more than a game he'd grown tired of playing, he reached for his duffel. "I should probably head back to my place if you expect to get any of that sleep, too."

G blinked!

It should have ended there, because a few comments, no matter how racy and an almost kiss were nothing in the grand scheme of things. Leaving? That wasn't part of the game and had Sam worried.

He got up, the beers ignored now, and moved closer. "You didn't even finish your beer. What's going on, G?" With someone else, Sam might have worried they had been insulted or they felt pressured into something, but G was the one to push, the one to play games, and there was no way he felt pushed into anything, but there was still something wrong. "Talk to me. Whatever it is, leaving isn't going to help."

"There's nothing going on." G slung his bag on his shoulder and schooled his expression into something he hoped passed for normal. "I said I'd stay for awhile. But, it's been one of those days and I might need a drive tonight to get the image of Eric in that room out of my head. That's all. And, I doubt you want me coming back here that late -- or finishing that beer and driving."

They had been partners too long not to recognize the lie, but they also didn't push each other unless it was work and this wasn't. Sam hesitated for a moment, before stepping back. "We've barely got here, but if you need to go." He nodded toward the door. "Come back if you want. You can even use the key," he said with a tiny smile. "Or you can stay and no more games. We sit down, put the TV on, and we can relax."

Indecision wasn't something G was overly familiar with in his life. Indecision was what got you killed in the field and he'd learned to consider the angles quickly and act before hesitation cost him. But, there were moments, when lives weren't on the line, he had no damned clue what he should do. Logically, he should go, remove himself from the temptation he obviously was going to have trouble resisting. Still, selfishly, he truly enjoyed spending time with Sam, just sitting and watching a game or making stupid comments that meant nothing. No cover had ever been as exacting as trying to ignore these feelings or pretend they didn't exist.

"It's nearing the start of playoffs," he said finally, after staring at Sam's face for a long time. He put the duffel back down a faint smirk. "There'd better at least be highlights of some games."

Part 3 ~ Art