AN: We write a lot about the way the team feels after rescuing someone, but the thought hit me last night that we tend to miss out on imagining how the victims feel when they are rescued. This is one of those stories. I hope you enjoy, especially during this hiatus from NCIS: LA, which seems to already be too long!
PS...I know I haven't been on here in ages...my job keeps me so busy I barely have time to remember my own name! Hopefully I can keep up these days, and try and finish some of the in-progress stories on here...
The Arms of Rescue
by scarlet79
Cold, shivering in my near-nakedness, blood-streaked skin turning blue, I can hear the door to my prison being burst from its hinges.
Afraid, so weak and hungry I can barely focus my eyes, I see the blurred image of hands reaching out for me. I shuffle back, my arms instinctively covering my face from blows that never come.
Instead, the unmistakable warmth of a good man surrounds me, pulling me up to carry me like a baby. His strength is palpable under my shaking knees and around my back as a soft voice murmurs comfort into my ear. So tired, I lay my head against his firm chest, his heartbeat tapping out a lullaby. Letting my eyes flutter closed, I drift into the safety of my rescuer, echoes of his voice soothing me deeper. He isn't even talking to me, but the words don't matter as much as his tone - anger at those who took me and determination to see them pay, as well as concern for my well being.
When I at last feel myself being laid down, my bruised arms fling about his neck and my face presses to his clenched jaw. My legs fail to hold me and I sink to the ground, but rather than let me go he comes with me, his arms still holding me as his knees sink to the dewy grass. His eyes, blue as the tropical sea, stare into mine as he checks me over, cataloging each cut and bruise. Assurances that I am safe fall from his lips, and I collect them, tucking them away to recall over and over when I'm alone.
An ambulance's flashing lights strobe across the neighborhood yards, lighting houses in red and blue, and suddenly there are more people there, concern for me etched into their faces. Voices speak, but all I hear are murmurs. A blanket wraps around my shoulders, coffee is pressed into my hands. I pick at the Styrofoam as they ask the usual questions, rolling the pieces between my dirt-caked fingers and wishing for the comfort of his arms once more. Tears prick my eyes, and he stops talking to smile softly at me.
"Go get looked at. We can finish this when you're feeling better," he says, pointing at the ambulance, and I instantly nod, eager to please him, to do anything he asks.
"Th...thank you," I stutter, horrified by the cracking voice that sounds nothing like mine.
He doesn't seem to notice. His face becomes serious, the smile faded to little more than a lifted corner of his mouth as he replies, "You're more than welcome. Take care."
His hand clasps mine for a moment, and instantly the sense of safety I'd felt in his arms comes rushing back to me. It drifts slowly away as his fingers release me, and I climb into the ambulance's astringent-scented back. They are about to shut the doors when I realize I need to know his name. I call out, "Hey!" but he is already too far away to hear me. Desperate, I ask the EMTs, but their shaking heads are their only answer. The tears that had threatened now fall down my cheeks, disappointment raining onto my lap.
It is only later, when the man and his partner come to visit me in the hospital, that I learn the name of the man who bore me to safety, who wrapped me in his arms and treated me more gently than any other in my life.
As those piercing blue eyes gazed down at me, losing me in memories of warmth and comfort, he says, "I'm Agent Callen. But my friends call me G."