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Reveal
Chapter 4
A week later, Sam set up a punching bag in the exercise room at the rehab hospital. He pushed his partner's wheelchair over to it. "Okay, time for some training." Sam helped G to stand before the oversized punching bag. "All you're going to do is punch one hand at a time, taking as long a break between punches as you need."
"I think I can do this."
"That's the partner I know."
Yet within himself, G had given up the moment he awakened from his coma. That seemed as if it were months ago. Yet only a month had passed since he first arose from the dead, as Sam had put it. At least that's what it felt like too. Sam had told him that the doctors had not expected him to live past the second week. Yet he made it.
Not only was his strength near non-existent but G had lost thirty pounds. Every waking hour Sam encouraged him to eat more, drink those fluids, and move his body. Inside he felt an ever growing doom heaped with a heavy dose of guilty conscience. He deserved whatever came his way. If it had not been for his stupidity—chasing after clues to a mission in the middle of nowhere—no accident would have occurred and he would not be here rehabilitating from it.
G punched the bag with halfhearted energy, displacing the bag's position only by two to three inches.
"That lacked luster."
He kept his eyes on the floor before him, unwilling to even glance in his partner's direction.
"G?"
He punched the bag with his left, gloved hand, dropping his chin to his chest.
"Come on, man, what's the problem?"
"Can't do this. Too tired. Need to sit down." He grabbed the wheelchair's armrests and plopped down in the seat.
Sam crouched before him, helping his partner place his feet on the footrests. "You were excited about doing this earlier."
"No." G kept his eyes averted from his partner's face.
"Look at me, man, talk to me."
"I did this to myself."
"What?" Sam's eyebrows lifted high.
"I deserve it."
"No one deserves this, you hear me, no one."
"If I hadn't looked for clues elsewhere—"
"No!" Sam grasped his partner's hands. "Don't knock your curiosity. That's where you've always excelled as an undercover agent. That along with an uncanny ability to anticipate the next move of your adversary."
"Then why did this happen?" G said. "What did I do to deserve this?"
"Nothing, man, stuff happens, you and I both know that from every ops we've ever ventured into."
"Every ops?"
"Nothing goes perfectly right every time or we reach a dead end," he said, "and that leads us to another clue."
"True."
Sam straightened and lifted his partner to a standing position. "Let's try this again."
"You don't understand."
"I'm missing something," he said. "Definitely."
G started to sit down again.
"No you don't, you need to—"
"I need to tell you something." He trudged over to the stretching mats, two steps from his position which he managed on his own. A first. He settled down on one of them. G stared out the floor to ceiling windows which brought in warmth and light into the otherwise gloomy exercise room. At least it was gloomy to him.
The typical, supposedly calming light green paint found in most hospital rooms and even in his private room graced these walls too. He reminded himself to throw away the light green paint he found in his garage. After this, the color would be banished from his life forever. The room represented the mistake he made that one day, jaunting through the Angeles National Forest searching for this one clue. One thing for sure, the clue was not part of their ops. G hid that from his partner on the fateful day of the accident.
He faced his partner. Five years they were partners, and he never withheld this kind of information from him. "I left you out of the loop."
Sam eyed him, sitting across from his partner on another stretching mat.
"The accident wasn't your fault."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm telling you about something I neglected to say to you that day."
"G, you're not making sense."
"Check the onboard vehicle cameras from that day."
"You're forgetting how long ago this was."
"You threw out the recordings?" G sighed. This was harder than he imagined it would be, trying to tell his partner what he knew.
"Of course not, but—"
"Listen to me, I'm attempting to tell you something."
"I'm listening."
"We were sideswiped by another car."
"No, I lost control on the rain slicked curve and—"
"No!" G lurched forward, attempting to stand but failing. He still lacked the strength to raise himself off of any surface. His lack of core strength bothered him. If he needed to fend off an attacker, it would be impossible to get a swing at them. I hate this. I hate my weakness. "Check the cameras. Please do this one thing for me."
"Humor you?"
"Yes, I guess so, sorry, I know you hate when I do that to you."
"I'll do it for you, but only once," Sam said. "I'll bring them here and we can watch them together."
"But you don't believe me, right?" G sighed. "I know what I saw."
"And what else aren't you telling me?"
A five year partnership was as if they were married, and they acted as if they were at times. Here was one of those times. "First let's watch the videos together."
"And then you'll tell me."
"I promise."
"Shall we?" Sam motioned to the punching bag.
"One or two rounds is all I've got for you."
"I'll take whatever you'll give me." He stood and positioned his body in front of his partner, giving him the strong base to lift G to his feet. "Remember, use your core muscles."
"What core muscles?" G smirked. He grasped his partner's forearms and attempted to hoist his body off the stretching mat. G made it half way before Sam had to grab him by the upper body, lifting him off the mat. He panted, breathless with the move even though his partner had done most of the heavy lifting.
"I think we're going to focus on those core muscles this next week."
"Don't have any to focus on," he said, smiling.
"That's what I mean." Sam chuckled. "As usual, you're a funny guy."
"At least I haven't lost my sense of humor… today." He positioned himself in front of the punching bag.
Sam stood behind his partner. "Okay, close your eyes, and bring your focus to this area." He placed his hands below his partner's solar plexus. "This is your core."
"You coming on to me?" G chuckled.
Sam chuckled. "Nope."
"Good because I'm already married." He glanced over his shoulder at his partner.
"What?" His eyebrows raised high.
"To you and my job."
"Whatever, man."
G chuckled.
"Feel those muscles when you laugh."
"I do."
"Use this center. Throw your punch from this place. Open your eyes. Ready?"
"As soon as you remove your hands."
Sam chuckled and removed his hands while stepping backward.
G threw a punch with his right hand, pushing the bag and displacing it about a half of foot.
"Nice. Again with your left hand."
G threw the second punch, the bag moving about three inches.
"Better than before with your weaker left side. Two more and we'll quit for this morning."
"What?" He glanced over his shoulder again.
"Another session this evening, you need this core work."
G positioned his body, closed his eyes, and focused on his core, imagining it was growing stronger with each punch. He opened his eyes and punched the bag with his right hand. This time the bag moved more than a foot away from him.
Sam reached out to steady it, preventing the bag from coming back at his partner. "Last one."
He refocused on his core, and threw the last punch, pushing the bag well over a foot away from his body.
"Nice." Sam grasped the bag again, stopping its swing back toward his partner.
G stepped over to the wheelchair and grasped the armrest, settling himself down onto the seat. "That wiped me out."
"Good work and it should."
"Two punches on each hand and I'm wiped?"
"You're gaining more strength each time you work out or use the parallel bars."
"Maybe I'll be leaving rehab next year." G sighed.
"What?" Sam asked, eyeing his partner. "You're kidding, right?"
"Nope." A wry smile spread his lips thin.
"You got me going on that one."
"I'm good."
"Yes, you are." Sam pushed him back to the room.
"What, no stretching exercises?"
"That torture comes later."
"I thought maybe you forgot."
"You wish." He pushed the wheelchair into G's room and up to the bedside.
"I'd like to sit up for a while in my chair."
"Good idea, you need it, good for the core muscles."
"You've got a good case of core muscle-itis." G readied his body, hoping this time he could muster more energy to stand on his own. He grasped his partner's arms and attempted to hoist himself off the wheelchair.
Sam allowed his partner to do more of the work this time.
"I can't do this all the way!" He huffed out his disgust, lifting his body partially out of the chair.
Sam grabbed him by the waist and slid him into the chair. "Almost." He took a blanket off the foot of the bed and draped it over G's lap.
"Frustrating."
"While you're sitting there, focus on the core muscles and keeping your body straight."
"Core muscles," G said with disgust. "Takes too much energy to sit up straight."
Sam placed two pillows behind his partner, pushing him forward. "And now?"
"Much better." He breathed out a sigh of relief. "Sorry, it's too much work."
"No problem." Sam took his book and settled down on the window seat next to his partner's chair. "Want to watch TV or read?"
"Neither, sitting is enough exercise." He smirked.
Sam chuckled and opened his book.
G stared at the sliding glass doors, straight ahead of him. He swore someone had moved in the bushes in the courtyard outside his room. A creepy, crawly feeling started in the pit of his stomach. It was the same feeling he had in his gut before the accident on the mountain. "Sam," he whispered, frozen in place, unable to say anything more.
He glanced up from the book and scrutinized his partner's face. Something was off. "You okay?"
"Sam," G whispered again, "he's here… help me."
"What? What are you talking—" The glint of a long-barreled handgun caught his eye. "G!" He threw his book aside and leaped off the window seat, shoving his partner to the carpeted floor and covering him with his body. Sam reached for his SIG-Sauer P229 in his holster, holding it with two hands and aiming it at the shadowy figure in the courtyard.
Glass shattered. A bullet whizzed and whirled past their heads.
Sam rolled his partner toward the bed, shoving him under it. On his belly, he cocked the trigger and aimed his weapon in the direction of the shot fired. He fired off one round.
Another bullet whizzed and whirled past him on his right, low to the ground, hitting one rear wheel of the bed and ricocheting off it.
G yelped and coiled his body in on itself, rocking himself and mumbling incoherent words.
He fired his weapon again, hitting his target, the owner of the gun crying out and leaping out from behind the bushes. Sam climbed to feet and charged forward, firing at the fleeing man.
Two nurses hurried into the room and stared at the destroyed window looking at the courtyard outside their patient's room.
Sam stepped back into G's room. "Leave and call Ms. Lange, ASAP, and tell her what happened." He watched them leave and crouched low next to the bed. His partner had not stopped mumbling the incoherent words and rocking himself. "G?" he asked with a soft, soothing voice, attempting to bring him back to the present. This was the first time he saw any outward, visible signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Not good. Sam reached out to touch him.
G jerked his hand away, snapping it back hard enough to hit the metal undercarriage of the hospital bed. He yelped.
"Easy, G, it's Sam."
"Help me…."
"Are you hurt anywhere?"
"Don't know."
"I'm going to touch you and pull you out from under the bed." Sam reached out his hand again, grasping his partner's left arm and pulling him toward him. He backed away at the same time, dragging G out from under the bed. Sam noticed blood dripping from a wound on his partner's forehead. He decided to not tell him for the moment. No use adding more problems to the equation.
Sam straightened, drawing G up with him. He maneuvered the bed into its lowest position, and sat his partner on it. Afterward he examined his partner's body for any more injuries and returned his focus on the initial one. The wound on G's forehead was only a slight graze but enough to make it bleed considering it was a head wound. He wondered where the bullet had landed after it hit him. "You okay?"
"He…." G pointed toward the now open window.
Sam whirled around, aiming his gun in the direction his partner had pointed. Nothing. With his gun poised at the last place he saw the gunmen, Sam grasped his partner and guided him into the wheelchair. He pushed the wheelchair into the most protected area of the room, the bathroom. The only problem was it faced the open window. Sam tucked the wheelchair into the tiled shower, affording his partner the most protection. "Don't move."
"Don't leave me… here… alone…." G stuttered in a staccato-like tone, each word forcing its way out with acute breathlessness. Damn it. I used to be the pillar of inner and outer strength. Not any more. Ever since the mountain….
"I won't, I promise." Sam edged toward the open bathroom door, hiding his body behind the door.
Another bullet whizzed and whirled past him, imbedding itself in the wall behind him. He was lucky the guy was a poor shot.
Sam pulled out his cellphone and called Hetty himself. Someone should have been here by now. He stood away from the door, closer to his partner's position, protected in the shower's alcove. "Hetty, I'm under fire again," he whispered into the phone.
A loud ruckus outside the room forced Sam out into the open this time. He crouched low and scanned the room and the courtyard outside. Deeks. Kensi. He breathed out a sigh of relief, his team was here. Sam shut off his cellphone.
"Are you guys okay?" Deeks asked, walking through the broken, sliding glass doors into the room.
"G's shaken up over this."
"And you?" he asked again, scrutinizing his team leader's body from head to toe.
"Fine."
Kensi entered the room in the same manner. "He escaped before we could arrest him." She placed her gun in its holster.
"LAPD's forensic unit just arrived and is now looking for evidence."
"Got any clues as to who they were shooting at?"
Sam lowered his voice and said, "Yes, G."
"What?" Deeks asked, holstering his weapon.
"He knows?" Kensi whispered.
"Yes."
"Hetty wants you both out of here, ASAP."
"Right and where are we supposed to go?"
"Her place," Kensi said, "and she suggested cellphone silence, regarding her address." She handed Sam a piece of paper with the address written on it.
He strode back into the bathroom to get his partner. Sam's jaw dropped.
G had positioned himself on the shower floor in one corner, rocking himself while mumbling the same incoherent words as he had before under the bed. Blood trickled down G's forehead onto his aqua-blue hospital gown and splashed on the dark blue tiled shower floor.
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