A/N: Written for my dear friend's birthday quite some time ago, but only just now finished and polished enough for any sort of posting. Her only instructions were, "Take one G Callen, whump thoroughly, add two parts Sam and one part Hetty and mix well." So here we go!
Obligatory disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, and nope, not mine again. Plotline, yes. Rest of it, no. I didn't even create any original characters besides evil bad guy ones, so… yay. Read on.
Reality came back to him in a painful surge, and he gritted his teeth against the pain that was flaring in his head. When things inside his skull finally calmed down somewhat, he blinked his eyes open slowly, trying not to overload his senses.
Thankfully, the room was dark and quiet, although it was a little too dark and quiet. He couldn't make out much of anything in the room, other than what was illuminated by the small crack of light coming from under a door in the far wall. He could feel a hard, cold floor beneath him, and he knew he was lying on concrete. That was the first and only clue he had found so far to indicate anything about where he was. Unfortunately, with nothing else to go on, it didn't help him much.
When his headache had finally calmed down to a dull ache, he attempted to sit up. When he did, his head began to swim and he cried out as the pain flared again. He sank back to the ground, wishing for nothing more than to fall back into oblivion so that everything else would go away. Added to that, he found himself swallowing rapidly several times to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged. The last thing he needed was to lose his breakfast; he honestly did not think he was capable of turning over, although that would be his only option if he didn't want to choke to death.
Once his insides were safely where they should be, he closed his eyes and took as deep a breath as he dared. He couldn't hold back the small whimper that forced its way through his lips.
Something shifted in the corner, and he glanced that way, a jolt of terror flashing through his gut. There was a large, dark shape on the other side of the room, and something about it struck fear into him. He scrambled backwards, again unable to hold back a sound of pain as his injuries were aggravated but unable to resist the almost animal-like instinct that was propelling him away from the shape.
The shadow stopped moving and put its hands up. "G! It's just me. It's me! Are you okay?"
He had reached the wall behind him and there was nowhere else to go. Something in the very back of his mind was telling him to calm down, that he could trust this voice, but he still wasn't completely sure. His head hurt too much for him to concentrate on anything, and his attempt to figure out how this man seemed to know him didn't go very far. Regardless of what part of his mind was telling him to trust it, the voice didn't sound familiar. Neither did the name G. Apparently this man thought he was someone else.
"I… I... don't know." It was getting harder and harder to think; his thoughts and memories seemed to be one big jumble that he couldn't untangle.
"Do you remember what happened? All I know is I blacked out when we got forced off the road."
He slowly put a hand to his forehead, trying to massage away some of the pounding. "I really... don't… You must… confused me… with someone else." All he wanted was just to be left alone in peace.
"Bro, it's me. Sam. We've worked together for years."
Was his name really G? Was this stranger telling the truth? "Where… where…" His mouth didn't seem to want to work right, and he stumbled over the words, even as the pounding in his head and the throbbing in his side intensified.
"NCIS. We're special agents. We're partners!"
The explanation came a little too loudly and he closed his eyes and groaned. "I… I don't remember."
The other man paused. "You don't remember any of this?"
"No." Besides hurting, lost and confused were also the perfect adjectives for how he was feeling at that moment. "I don't… I'm sorry."
The realization had hit him like an iron fist to his already-roiling abdomen.
He didn't know.
He didn't know who he was or what he did for a living.
He didn't know this other man, even though the man seemed to know him.
The details Sam had provided seemed too detailed to not be true, and he had no reason to doubt him. He'd been told his name was G.
G Callen.
It was strange to think of it as his name; not just some other person's name—which it could very well be for how much he remembered—but his name that he had had for his entire life.
He tried to think, tried to remember what he could of anything in the past. The concentration caused his head to flare again, and he winced as the nausea also flared up. This time, no amount of slow breathing or gulping could do anything for him, and he forced himself to at least turn his head to the side as he lost whatever it was he had last eaten.
He heard Sam rush over to him, could feel the other man's hand on his back, helping him turn over all the way, but G couldn't concentrate on anything other than the roiling in his stomach. The heaving upset his head and side even more, which led to yet more unsettling of his stomach in one unending circle of sickness.
Things finally settled down and he lay back, panting as he tried to regain full control of himself. When his surroundings finally stopped spinning, he took a deep breath, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "Sorry," he muttered again, a little embarrassed at the spectacle he had made of himself.
The other man was quick to reassure him. "No, don't worry about it." He sounded slightly pained but G knew he couldn't do anything about it. His brain was beginning to become overwhelmed by all of the information being taken in, and he could feel himself fading.
He mumbled something but wasn't even quite sure what he said. It was enough to worry the other man, though, because Sam's face suddenly came into view.
"G! G, stay with me!"
As much as he wanted to do as instructed, he just couldn't hold onto reality anymore, and Sam's voice soon faded into nothing.
The next thing his mind registered was not so much one particular sensation as it was a lack of any. The overwhelming pain that had been shooting through his head and side the last time he had been awake was gone, replaced by a lighter-than-air feeling that seemed to occupy most of his body.
There were some sounds around him, but they were all distant and muted. But he didn't really care. For the time being, it was enough to just enjoy the painless darkness and drift off again…
He wasn't sure how much time had passed the next time he came to. He still felt light-headed but this time he also registered something soft underneath him, and he could hear a persistent beeping all around him.
His eyelids felt too heavy, and he gave up trying to open them, at least for the time being. Instead, he took a deep breath—or rather, he tried to. There was something down his throat.
With that realization, his gag reflex kicked in, and he began to gasp and thrash as his body tried to remove the offending object. He involuntarily tried to suck in a breath through his mouth, prompting an attempt at coughing. That didn't work, and he began dry-heaving, which sent him into even more panic. Something wet rolled down his cheeks as he attempted to claw at whatever was obscuring his airway. His arms felt like lead, only slightly lighter than his eyelids, and they kept catching on something. Something was pulling at his hand as well, sending a sharp pain up his arm with every movement.
Urgent voices began shouting nearby, but he couldn't make out what was being said. Suddenly, there were weights against his shoulders and legs, pushing him down, forcing him still. He tried to protest but only succeeded in provoking another round of gagging.
A sharp prick in his arm stung for a moment, then he slowly calmed as all sounds and sensations faded away again…
"… G…"
"… pulled… IV again…"
"… will he… soon…"
"… n't know… have to wait to… out…"
His mind slowly began registering more sounds, although he felt as if he was floating. It took a few moments before his surroundings registered and he again felt something solid beneath him and heard sounds. That persistent breathing was back, as was a soft buzzing sort of sound.
His eyelids were much more cooperative, and he was able to slide one open with only minimum effort. The other soon followed and he blinked, slowly allowing the room to come into focus. It was dim and still, other than that beeping and buzzing that he had heard at first. He suddenly remembered his earlier experience and the machine beside him sped up its beeping as he didn't dare take a breath but raised a hand to his mouth.
This time, his arm wouldn't move, and he tried again. Only now he felt that there was something soft but firm around his wrist, keeping it down at his side. He tried his left arm and had the same result.
Panic, one of the only feelings he could remember other than pain, kicked in, and he yanked furiously in an attempt to free himself. Just as he realized his feet were similarly held at the bottom of the bed, there was a quick movement beside him, which made his heart rate jump even more.
"G!" The figure put a hand on his chest. "G, stop."
He recognized the voice from somewhere, although he couldn't place it. He was still panicking over his inability to move and his unfamiliar surroundings, but he did as the man was asking—not so much because he wanted to but because he found himself too weak to continue.
"Hey, just calm down, okay? You're safe," the man continued. "It's me, Sam. Remember?"
He didn't remember, but he also couldn't really argue at the moment as he lay still and caught his breath. It was then that he realized that whatever had been down his throat earlier was gone, and he coughed tentatively.
A cup appeared in front of him, Sam putting a straw to his lips, and he gulped down the cool, refreshing water. A moment later, the straw and cup disappeared, and Sam raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry about the restraints, G, but you kept pulling everything out."
G… that was his name? Then in a flash, he remembered the man…
Sam…
From earlier, before he had woken up here. Sam had called him G there as well…
Reading the confusion in G's eyes, Sam's brow furrowed. "You still don't remember anything?"
"Not…" He cleared his throat again. "Not before the room. Can you take these off?" he asked, motioning with his hand.
"If you promise not to pull your IV out again," Sam told him sternly. There was a look of sadness in the man's eyes, but it was quickly masked.
There was a jingle of metal as Sam worked the buckles, and the tension around G's wrists vanished.
"I'm going to call the doctor to let him know you're awake," Sam continued. "Behave." He pointed a finger before walking to the door.
"How is the investigation going?" Sam asked Hetty as they waited for the doctor to finish with their friend. There were several things that needed to be done for which they both knew G would much rather not have them there, so they had moved to two chairs a few steps down the hall.
Hetty shook her head. "Not very well, I'm afraid. They're going through every lead possible, but nothing yet. The only security footage we had of the accident was too dark and grainy for Mr. Beale or Ms. Jones to get any facial matches."
"He still doesn't remember." Sam shifted the sling that held his right arm immobile, a feeling of helplessness in his gut as he said the words. This was G, his partner, his best friend. To not be recognized and to know that the other man must be feeling scared and utterly alone right now was bad enough, but then there was the realization that there was nothing that Sam could do to help him.
The look in Hetty's eyes told him she understood. Sam knew she was probably feeling the same things as he was, perhaps even more based on the almost-mother-and-son-like relationship that existed between Hetty and G.
"Mr. Callen is strong; he'll get through this," Hetty stated firmly. "We just have to help him remember."
Sam took yet another run at the door, doing nothing but rattling the wall a little and jarring his shoulder even more. He could barely feel his arm at this point; it was just a solid throbbing pain above his elbow.
The pain blended with the cut on his forehead that, though it had long since stopped bleeding, was still making its presence known quite loudly—right along with the various bruises on his abdomen and arms. His rushing against the door was probably not doing him any good, but he had to do something with himself.
In frustration, he slammed a fist against the solid wood. It had barely even splintered from his efforts, much less did it give any indication that it was going to give way anytime soon. He stepped back to catch his breath and glared at the door, as if looks alone could do what he had been trying to use force to accomplish off and on for the past few hours.
He had been all over the small room several times and not once had he found a way out. He'd looked quite desperately too, but the lack of light made it hard to see. He could only make out vague outlines and had to rely on his sense of touch more than anything else to search for an escape. Unfortunately, it appeared the only exit was the one that was securely shut and locked.
He sank back against the nearest wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, resting a few minutes to even his breathing before trying again. It might be futile, but it was his only option at this point. He couldn't just sit around and do nothing, especially since sitting still would only give him time to worry.
It wasn't that he was trying to worry, necessarily. In fact, he was trying very hard to think of things on the brighter side, but his years as an NCIS agent, not to mention his years in the service, had exposed him to the darker side of humanity. And try as he might not to dwell on them, he couldn't help but think of all the reasons why he might be where he was. They rushed unbidden into his thoughts, and the best way he had found to banish them to at least a small corner of his mind was to keep busy. And the only way to do that in his current situation was to work on getting out, no matter how futile it seemed.
The worst part about the thoughts wasn't of what could happen to him, although those were bad enough. No, he was most concerned over his partner. When he had come to in the dark room, he had found himself lying beside an unconscious G. It had been a bit of a challenge trying to see in the dark, and without anything to aid his sight, he had to rely on his sense of touch and the very vague bit of light that was making its way through the crack under the door on the other side of the room.
From what he had been able make out, the only indication of injury on the other man was the sticky substance on his head. That correlated with the fact that G was still out cold, and it had Sam quite concerned. Head wounds were always a cause for concern, and when a head wound was coupled with the man being unconscious for who-knew-how-long, things got worse.
And then the fact that he couldn't really see and so couldn't tell what other damage had occurred made things even worse.
His memory was a little fuzzy, but he remembered enough to know that his partner had been with him when their car had been forced off the road. The last thing he remembered before waking up in the dark room was blacking out after his head smacked into the car window. Apparently, the same thing or worse had happened to his partner, and now they were locked in an unknown place by unknown people with unknown intentions.
The only thing that wasn't unknown was the time and date. For some reason, he still had his watch, and the illuminated face informed him of just how much time was passing as he sat in the darkness. It had been over twenty-four hours since they had left the boatshed. Hopefully that length of time also meant that the others would be looking for them now. The rest of their team knew where they had been headed, so it wouldn't have taken long for them to find the car abandoned on the side of the road, as long as no one had moved it to avoid just such a clue being left in the open.
There were a host of reasons for them to have been taken; it could have been related to the case they were currently working, or it could have had to do with some other case in the past. There were really too many reasons to easily narrow down the right one. NCIS agents generally incurred the wrath of many people in the course of their job. It could be any one of the hundreds, or maybe even thousands, of people they had angered as they solved crimes and arrested criminals.
Suddenly, he realized that there was no sound coming from the other man. Not even the muffled sound of breathing. He reached over and felt until he reached G's wrist.
There was no pulse.
He frantically felt up towards G's neck and tried again. Still nothing.
There was no breath coming from G's nostrils or mouth either, and terror began to gnaw at Sam's stomach. He refused to believe it, but it was right there in black and white.
His friend was gone.
The stress and horror took over and Sam fell back. His already-limited vision blurred, and before he knew it, he had faded into unconsciousness…
But then Sam jerked awake, his pulse pounding in his ears. It took a few minutes to calm his breathing, and once he had, he carefully sat up. He had to be slow and purposeful because of the concussion that still had his head pounding. Any quick change of altitude, however slight, made his stomach roil and his vision fade.
After making sure he hadn't woken Michelle, he stood and made his way to the bathroom. He knew it would be a waste of time to try to get back to sleep, and he didn't particularly want to. If he did, chances were high that he would have a similar nightmare, and he had no desire to experience anything like it again—ever.
Instead, he got ready for the day as quickly as possible before heading out to the garage. He couldn't go back to the hospital—Hetty had kicked him out the night before so that he could go home and rest—so his next option was the office to work on the case. He knew he shouldn't be driving, but there were some things that were more important than obeying doctors' orders.
Finding the people who had hurt his partner was one of them.
