Buckshot Memories
NCIS:LA
Callen remembers a few things.
References: Legend and Identity. This is my first foray in to NCIS: LA. I hope I've done it justice.
/
He would never remember the first six times he woke in the hospital. He barely remembered the shooting. It came in flashes he could hardly hang on to, playing out like a badly edited black and white film. They kept him medicated and unconscious for the first four days after the shooting, so those were gone too.
But there were other things he remembered vividly. The day they pulled out the ventilator. Not his proudest moment. Even with the anti-nausea medication and the pain killers he still gagged and vomited, even though there was nothing in his stomach except bile. And the burn and the smell and the sound of the medical staff trying to both comfort and restrain him was burned into his memory. His one saving grace was that none of his team was there.
The next weeks blurred with some vivid highlights. The second week after the shooting he woke to find Hetty Lange sitting in the bedside chair watching him with eyes that seemed twice their size due to those dark-rimmed glasses. "All things considered, you're looking well, Mr. Callen."
"Thanks." He rasped out, his throat still sore. "I wasn't expecting you here. Weren't you in DC?"
"Ah, yes, but I got back a few days ago."
Callen nodded, his drugged mind trying to calculate the time lost.
"I just wanted to check on you. I go away for a few days, and you decide to take a …holiday."
He would have laughed, but it hurt too much, so he smiled instead. "I keep telling you guys. You work me too hard. Sometimes I have to step in front of a bullet just to get some down time."
"Well, be that as it may, may I suggest: Don't do that again." She wagged a finger at him, but it wasn't harsh.
"I'll do my best."
She rose and patted his leg. "Good. Can I get you anything?"
He shook his head. They weren't letting him eat yet, not that he could keep it down if they gave it to him. He was supposed to get jello and pudding and stuff later today. He thought it was today. He was pretty sure it was today.
He must have drifted off because the next time he opened his eyes, the room had that warm feeling that came with the afternoon sun. There was a bowl of jello on the tray beside the bed. It was green. Not his favorite, but while the act of feeding himself seemed like a really good idea, reaching for it was murder. His right shoulder was strapped down tight and with his arm across his belly. His left arm has a bandage as big as Ohio. He needed to roll over to get the jello, but twisting wasn't on his agenda, and reaching didn't look promising either. He glared at the little plastic cup, but it didn't do his bidding, so he went to sleep.
When he woke next he was on a gurney, rolling down a hall, the overhead lights making his eyes hurt. "Am I going somewhere?"
Macey's face came into view and he felt her hand on his leg. "You're being transferred to the secure section of the VA hospital. The marines are taking over your protection."
He knew he frowned. "Protection?"
"We haven't caught who did this, yet, Callen, but we will." Her face was serious.
"Okay."
"You just concentrate on getting well."
"Okay." He was missing something. He could tell.
"Callen, I've been recalled to DC. I'm not sure when I'll see you again."
"Oh." The wheels were turning in his head. Just slowly. "Oh." He grimaced as the gurney went over the door sill. "Because of me?"
Her hand was still warm on his leg. "No, not because of you. Because of me. I'll call you in a few days, well, maybe a week, when you can stay awake enough to answer the phone."
"Mace. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Callen."
"Okay."
/
He didn't remember the ride in the ambulance, or the transfer to the new room. He woke when a nurse came in to check the machines and gages that beeped next to him. He saw her in a blurry haze and she smiled at him and patted his arm.
"My name is Jessie," she put a plastic square with a button on it in his hand. "Buzz me if you need anything." That had been late afternoon and when he finally got around to pushing the button it was full on dark outside. It wasn't Jessie that came in. He would come to learn Jessie was his day nurse. She shared the shift with Sue and Kate. The night nurse was Debbie and she shared the shift with Mike, who gave him a start the first time they met, but he came to appreciate the big guy once he started physical therapy.
His first days of PT were a joke, but they were seared into his memory with a clarity that scared him. He couldn't walk further than from the bed to the chair without a wheezing noise that made him want to cry, or scream, or punch something. His therapist, Jake, must have had a second job as a grand inquisitor, as he kept demanding answers to questions. "Do you want to stay in that chair forever? Do you want to be able to take a deep breath? Once they put you on solid food, if you aren't getting exercise, you're going to weigh 300 pounds, you want that?"
The days after those first two were more of a blur. Aching muscles, sweaty palms, wobbly knees and more tears than he'd ever admit to anyone beside Jake filled his days and twitching muscles and exhausted sleep filled his nights.
Sam came by one late afternoon. He strode into the room like he owned it, filling the doorway with his bulk. In his hands was a large white Styrofoam cup. "I've been warned not to give this to you."
Callen grimaced. "And since when do you do what people tell you?"
"I follow orders, remember? It's you that doesn't." He pulled a small bag out of his pocket and put it in Callen's hands. Inside were about 15 tootsie pops. "Nobody said anything about these."
Callen grinned and shoved him under his pillow. "Where have you been?"
"I've been working the case, but…" Sam waved one hand. "Sorry, G. We got nothing."
Callen rubbed at his eye. "It's okay. You know why, don't you?"
Sam shook his head and looked down at the space between his feet.
"You didn't have your best detective working it."
Sam snorted a laugh. Jessie peeked in, but Sam's coffee cup was firmly in his hand, so she kept walking. "They are very protective of you. I got questioned three times before the marine at the door stopped me."
"I don't feel very VIP. They don't feed me and what they do is … bleck."
"They got you on solid food yet?"
Callen gave a halfhearted shrug. "Yeah, barely. But when I'm out of here, you are so buying me a good steak dinner."
"I can do that. Do they have a date for springing you?"
"I gotta be able to brush my teeth," he gestured toward his right arm still strapped in its sling, "with both hands and stand up at the sink doing it."
"So, basically you're here for the rest of your life."
"Yeah, about that," Callen sighed.
Sam sighed. "Just so you know, I'm headed out to Somolia tomorrow."
"Oh." It wasn't like he should be surprised. Sam still had a job. NCIS didn't stop just because he was laid up. "How long will you be gone?"
"Six week," Sam was still looking down. "Give or take."
"Sure," Callen made an exaggerated sigh. "You'll do anything rather than help me do PT."
"Damn straight. You're a whiney SOB."
Callen laughed and had to clench his stomach muscles. "Go, play in the sun; bring me back some Basboosa."
"You'll be on your feet when I get back?"
"I'll be out of here by the time you get back. Sunning myself on a beach with a beer."
"Don't push yourself, G." Sam shifted forward on the chair. "There's no rush to get back."
"I just want out of here. Hospitals are terrible places to get any rest. The night staff comes in to check your vitals and then the day staff bitches cuz you're not sleeping through the night."
"Poor baby," Sam clucked. "You're laying here in this nice room, with TV 24/7, air conditioning and someone to wait on you hand and foot. I'm going to be eating dirt and rice and it'll be 80 degress and probably raining."
Callen gave Sam a half puzzled look and rubbed his fingers over the bandage on his left peck. "Want to trade places with me?"
"No." Sam pressed his lips together and looked away.
"And you say I'm whiney." Callen's eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Shut up." Sam retorted, but grinned back.
"Give me some coffee and I'll forgive you."
"Really? You're willing to risk the wrath of Jessie for a sip of mocha capacino?"
"Oh, oh." Callen looked like he was swooning back against his pillows. "Mocha? Really? You got it with a double shot, didn't you?"
"I always do."
"I hate you."
"I know. I hate you, too."
Sam got up from his chair, cast a covert look to the door and passed his coffee cup across to Callen. He helped his partner sit forward just a bit as Callen took a healthy swig.
"Oh, I've died and gone to heaven." He licked the foam from his lip. "Six weeks? I won't get another sip of this for at least six more weeks? "
"'Fraid so, partner."
"That bites. I so have to get out of here before you get back."
"You should." Sam took back his cup and stepped away from the bed. As if they had both had a sixth sense it wasn't a minute later that Jessie popped in the doorway. "Five more minutes, guys. You need to get ready for your physical therapy."
"Thanks, Jessie." Callen nodded her way.
"I expect to see you doing push-ups when I get back."
"When did I ever do push-ups before? Oh, and if you do come by, call first, before you stop by. I'm sure I'll have hordes of women in and out of my place all day and night. Taking care of me and stuff. One of them will surely bring me mocha capachino."
"Right. Sure. Maybe get a place with a bed and I'll believe you." Sam hated to leave, now, when Callen was still bed-ridden, but there wasn't much he could do for his partner, and crime didn't wait for convenient times.
"I'll think about it." Callen held out his left hand, and his partner grabbed it. "Be careful out there, Sam. I don't want to break in a new partner, okay."
"Okay. I'll come back, just so some poor newbie doesn't get saddled with you." Sam grinned. "I'll text you later."
"Okay."
/
His days were boring and dull. He couldn't tell mostly what the day of the week was, except the news shows were all different on the weekends and he knew now more than ever he'd never own a TV.
Hetty brought by a stack of books when she came to tell him that Macey was permanently reassigned and that he was getting the lead agent spot as soon as he was back on his feet.
She never mentioned it was optional, or that he had a choice to turn it down. It just was, and with so many of her decisions, he didn't bother to question it.
Three months, three weeks and two days after being shot five times he was out of the VA hospital and paying his first weeks rent on a ground floor room in Manhattan Beach. It got him close enough to the water and running paths that he could get his wind back up. Four days later he moved to Venice. He didn't feel comfortable in the first place and there weren't enough restaurants.
He couldn't tell you why he'd left the next place, although when Nate stopped by he called it "reasonably justified paranoia".
Now that he was out of the hospital he met with Nate twice a week. It was Nate's job to make sure he was mentally as well as physically able to return to work.
"Are you sleeping?" Nate asked one day as they walked the sunny pedestrian path from Callen's dingy apartment to the deli three blocks away. It was cold today, despite the summer sun and they both had windbreakers on against the chill.
"Some. More than I used to. Not as much as in the hospital."
"And dreams?"
"The usual. Exotic beach front locals with leggy brunettes."
Nate smiled and shook his head. "You know what I mean. Dreams or nightmares about the shooting?"
"You know," Callen was serious for the moment. "Not so much, no. I wake up sometimes feeling like I'm being watched, now and again, but honestly, not about the shooting."
"Okay, that seems pretty normal. Anything else?"
They entered the deli and Callen stared up at the menu board for a few minutes. "Number 2, no cheese, and you can keep the pickles." The girl behind the counter looked to be all of twelve, but she took down his order quickly and accurately.
"I'll have the number six and no mayo but extra mustard, please." Nate paid for the order and gathered up the two drink cups and filled them with iced tea for both of them.
Callen was sitting by the window. It was warm here, in the sunshine out of the wind.
"I'm looking forward to getting back to work. I mean, really looking forward to it, because I'm bored out of my freakin' skull."
Nate nodded. "It must be hard when you brain is ready to go and your body isn't."
"You have no idea."
"Don't push yourself too hard. And be happy. Did Sam tell you were moving offices? Hetty is a little packing demon. We are doing inventory at the same time. All the serial numbers of every piece of equipment is being checked and cross-checked. There won't be a staple unaccounted for before we get into the new building."
"Okay, I could live without that." He rubbed a little at his shoulder and pulled his arm out of the sling. He didn't need it as much anymore. "Jake says I can start light weight training at the end of the week, if I keep on track."
"Great." Nate pushed the condiments to the side of the table as the girl brought up their orders. It was quiet here, mid-week, and mid-day. She topped off their ice teas and went back behind the counter. "Sam's due back soon, too. Maybe you two could train together."
Called shook his head. "I'm not ready for that. I want to actually get a clean bill of health from Jake before I let Sam ruin all his hard work."
"Again, Callen, don't push yourself. You're not due back for two more months. And even then, you know Hetty and the director will give you more time. You have like a year of sick time, not to mention vacation time available."
"Don't worry, Nate. I'll know when I'm ready."
"Just make sure you are really ready. Because Hetty will set you on your ass, if you're not."
Called scratched at his chin. "Don't I know it!"
"She knows things, Callen. And I don't know how she knows them."
"I chalk it up to magic and leave it at that."
They ate together and Nate went back to the office and Hetty seemed to know the outcome of his talks with Callen before he filled her in, but he still gave his report.
/
It was five months to the day after being shot that Callen walked into the new ops center. He tried to take in every corner and crevice, but it was too big. The space was amazing. It would take weeks to map the place out in his head so he could find it, trace it, know it, even with his eyes closed.
Even though he'd never been in the building before, this he remembered. The smell of bureaucracy and manila folders and red-tape and black ink pens mixed with sweat and gun powder and hard work and determination. All with the underlying smell of tea and Hetty's perfume and something that reminded him of cloves. This was what he remembered. There were so many things he'd forgotten the last five months, the last five years, in his life, but this, this he remembered. This he would always remember.
January 2012