Chapter 9

~ Turn Back Time ~


She wasn't particularly talkative, which did not surprise him at all.

The only thing she brought up herself was "Did you see who did this?"

Callen shook his head. "No. Granger warned us someone might be looking for you. Listen Rebel, whoever did this, knew your alias. Any idea why, or who?" He tried to fill it in himself. "Did Granger tell you beforehand where you were heading to?"

Rebecca shrugged, which made her wince in pain immediately.

"Becca?" He used the name he was told by Granger. It was odd he never knew her real name, while he should have found out all those years ago. He let his gaze go over the woman sitting next to him.
The gorgeous green dress was ruined from the glass debris and water, there was blood on her face and her hair hung tousled and loose. Despite the poor look right now, he was mesmerized to see her alive and next to him right now, instead of reappearing in his nightmares like she'd done so many times. "It's not only your head that's hurting, right?"

She slowly breathed out and answered in a strained voice "A bullet grazed my upper arm. It's still bleeding. Maybe we should have a look at it."

Sam was not going to like this, Callen thought as he parked the Challenger in the parking garage opposite of the LA County Hospital. His wet jeans and shirt clung to his body and he now knew she was off worse than him - wet, hurt ánd bleeding. They'd probably be ruining the leather of the car for real this time.

"Ready for the next move, Rebel?"

She shot him a weak smile and gave a confirmative hum.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

NCIS Office of Special Projects || Los Angeles

-"Hanna?" The nasal voice of Owen Granger sounded surprised when Sam called in with Kensi's phone.

"We didn't catch them, Owen. Whoever it was that fired at her car got away. We checked the building from where we estimated the shooter was firing from. Did find some footprints, but that's all. We're waiting for forensics to see if they find any sleeves. Did you hear from Callen?"

-"Nothing so far. Did you receive that letter code Nell sent to your phone?"

Sam sighed. The last one who used his phone was his partner, and Sam had no clue about the location of both. Just as he wanted to tell so, Eric's voice came in.

-"Sam, your car is parked at Marengo street, that's—LA County Hospital."

He nodded, unseen from the others at the ops center. "He's having her checked up in there. Good. I'll have Kensi and Deeks drop me off in there later on. Will contact you as soon as I'll know more. Expect you to do the same." He hung up, glad to know Callen and Becca would be alright. It was after midnight by now and he longed to be at home with his own family.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The Strand || Manhattan Beach

For some moments he had thought about hot-wiring one of the cars in the parking garage of the hospital, but decided it would be too risky in the end. Instead, Callen had helped Rebel in one of the wheelchairs which he pushed past the cameras. His trained eyes had figured out soon enough which would be the next step to leave unseen.
At this time of night it was quiet and although he realized Rebel needed care, he also realized that whoever it was that had shot at her car, would have noticed the black Challenger. It would be far too easy to find the car or the woman near a hospital. So instead, Callen had shown his ID to one of the nurses who was leaving, telling her the FBI needed her car. Leaving by the personnel exit would go unnoticed, he assumed.

He drove the grey Chevrolet all the way to the locked gate and pressed the buttons of the code lock. The gates immediately swung open after this and Callen slowly drove further before he parked the car. Looking in the rear view mirror, he checked if the gates automatically closed. All worked fine.

And now he reached this place, Callen felt safe enough. "Rebel?" She didn't respond and he noticed how pale she was. Opening the passenger's door he gently touched her shoulder. "Becca?"

Her eyes opened, tired and less alert. "Hu-huh. With you," she murmured. She unbuckled the seatbelt and rather unsteadily got out of the car.

"Need a hand?" he asked, not too sure how she'd react. But at the same time he decided to step closer and put his right arm behind her in a protective grip. There was no struggle, no reply, and together they walked to the side door and entered the house.

Callen guided her onto a small, cushioned bench in a cozy kitchen. He then motioned "Wait here for a second. I'll be back with someone who can help you."

There was a pause before she mumbled in a soft voice "Thanks."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

The warm shower had been welcome indeed. Somewhere soon after the long sleeve was cut from the green dress, Rebecca was helped out of the rest of the dress. Although she did not know where she was and who it was that she was with, it felt okay to be taken care of this way.

"Now this part is going to be nasty, young lady. There's nothing I can do about that, so brace yourself for what's to come."

Rebecca simply nodded. She'd quickly examined the spot where she felt most pain came from, where the fabric of the dress stung to her upper arm. There was a piece of glass stuck in it as well and she bit her lower lip when, carefully, it was pulled out with a tweezer.

"Perhaps you'd better stop biting your lips and sit down."

She looked down, understanding she'd better just obey. She managed to breath in deep, exhaling through her nose, something she'd learned in the past. Despite the fact she was prepared, the pain from when the wound was probed was too much and she simply passed out.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

She held up the ruined dress with a satisfied smile. "Now, so it was finally used I see. Tell me, Mr. Callen, how did this dress look when your poor young woman wore it?"

He looked up at the older woman who was so dear to him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"It was an early Christian Dior, designed for and worn by Grace only. A personal present, because… well, that doesn't matter, does it?"

He tilted his head, then shook it, hardly understanding what he'd heard "Grace as in Kelly?"

Callen frowned, knowing there was one of Hetty's secrets she probably was not going to reveal any further. "So how come you get all freaked up the moment you discover a spot of ketchup on a pair of replaceable jeans I've been wearing, yet you nearly seem to appreciate this unique dress ruined completely?"

A rare but genuine broad smile appeared on Hetty's face. "Because, my dear boy, it is clear that this woman might be special to you, and therefore I'd say the dress served its purpose."
She paused for a minute then she said – not really expecting an answer. "You worked with her? Then she is one of Owen's protégés I reckon."

Hetty very well realized there was more to this story than what happened during the short period she had been summoned to come to Washington where she had spent two full weeks.
Until the case that the team was working on right now would be solved, she'd stay away from the Office of Special Projects. Owen Granger was more than capable to temporarily run the office and despite the fact she loved her job, Hetty admitted she enjoyed her time off.

"So, how did it look on her?" She repeated.

"Stunning." He sighed.

Hetty looked at the man she'd often considered as the son she never had. She then carefully phrased "Is there anything you can tell about those scars I noticed?"

Callen swallowed as he remembered the terrible footage he was shown years ago. "Knives," he mumbled. He paused for some seconds. "They used knives. Gibbs finally showed me when I was well enough. She never gave away the info's they wanted. I was told— They said she died, eventually."
He didn't talk about the message that was written on the wall next to her seemingly lifeless body that was left in an empty room - 'CIA whore'. Nor about the bullet that was fired too soon and slipshod, luckily, so it did not kill her at the spot. Nor that he'd ever told Hetty, Sam, Gibbs or Nate of the fact the images and the screams he never heard, had haunted him in his dreams all those years.

"She's going to be alright. All she needs is rest."

He smirked. "And how comes she is as fast asleep as she is right now Hetty? How did you manage that?"

A quick smile appeared on her face. "Just half of the dose of Zopiclone I would have given you, dear boy. She needs the rest, and after a restless and painful session she's just had, well, I was not too sure."

Yes, Hetty had seen the scars - a long one in the neck that had been carefully stitched, most likely by a plastic surgeon. The one on the inside of her right upper arm must have been deeper, or longer around. From the years of experience, she knew of many ways of torturing people. One of it was to tie ones arms above the head and use simple materials; salt and vinegar for instance, and pour it in a deep wound. It would do a lot of damage to most people's resistance. And oh yes, she'd seen there was a finger missing too. The girl had suffered enough and she figured that was one of the reasons Callen had taken her to her place.

"Mr. Callen? Sometimes we make bad choices for the right reason."

He let out a loud breath. "Heard that before, Hetty."
Of course she had read his thoughts. Didn't she always manage to do so? "And what bad choice you think I made? Taking her here?" From where he sat, he looked at the older woman he felt he could trust. "Hetty… You think I should have been looking for someone who was supposed to have died? Cause that's what—that's why. Well, she and I should talk about it."

He gently touched Rebel's, Becca's, cheeks, put back some strands of loose, light brown hair. Looking up at the small, older woman, he smiled gratefully. "You got rid of the hair dye. Lenses too?" He remembered the real eye color – a deep gray, a color that was very unusual.
When she had been angry they were like steel. Excited, they'd change into nearly black. The time the two of them had strolled along some streets in a city which belonged to others and sunlight caught her eyes, he had wondered how it was that a greenish color was added to the gray. Chameleon like.

"You feel guilt, Mr. Callen. I can read that in your eyes. Now, there is no need to tell me why that is. As long as there is a time you manage to speak the right words at the right person."

His shoulders slump forward as he admitted "She's here because she was upset by something I said. At least, I think— And regrets? Well..."
He paused, let his fingers go over Becca's left hand and swallowed, then he spoke in a gentle voice "For crying out loud, Hetty. I was young. Stubborn, naïve. Made lots of mistakes, like wanting to see her." He sighed loudly. "When she died, well, when they told me she was—It is why I finally promised myself never to get involved with women with cuffs. Never to date law enforcement again, not anymore. Because… maybe it was a foolish mistake I made in Belgrade, coming to see her, visiting her apartment, over and over again."

Rebecca started squirming, as in a bad dream. It made them turn their attention to the here and now.

Nearly unseen, Hetty shook her head. "It sounds like you're too tired to think clearly, so I suggest you too should get some rest, Mr. Callen. There's a makeshift bed you can put in here, if you feel like it."

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

He had checked the incoming calls on Sam's phone. Like Granger had promised, Nell had sent over the character row that Eric had found on the computer system of this guy Greer.
It was just a row of characters – for those who did not look any further. Because of that, Callen was taken aback of the fact that Granger had known about an alias. Reeza – the name she'd used when she was singing in the Novak Café, all those years ago. Or Rebel. The name suited her all too well.

The thing was… If someone managed to find her, someone might be knowing about Gibbs' alias and his own as well.

For some seconds only he considered his next move. Was Hetty right, could it be he didn't think clearly?

Then he took his phone to make a call.


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