Disclaimer:
It is said that G. Callen is fictional! Nêh… Still, I'm so glad he wanted to play along, though he usually lives in the place created by Shane Brennan, and belonging to CBS. Just like to have fun in here!
-21-
"Sam? How do I spell Stasya?" Eric asked. Before Sam had the chance to answer, he heard Hetty say "S.T.A.S.Y.A. That is, if one uses the proper Russian spelling. Which makes me wonder about this name. If it is Russian, the name has a meaning."
"Which is?" Sam got impatient, knowing that both Susie as Callen were waiting for him.
"Resurrection, Mr. Hanna. Which makes me wonder…"
"Indeed, Hetty. Hope you get it why I don't want G to hear anything until we know for sure."
"Oh, but I understand, Mr. Hanna, I understand. Now, I will pull a few strings in other places as well, and I will let you know. Meanwhile, Mr. Beale will do his utmost, I will take care of that. Now, call your little girl and wish her goodnight."
On that, she hang up, which left Sam flabbergasted again. How could she know he was about to call Susie?
He re-entered the restaurant after a short goodnight phone call and was glad to see the other three of the party in a pretty good mood. The only thing Sam wished was that he was just a good actor as G. Callen was. He knew he wasn't, since he immediately noticed that Callen could see right through his far too enthusiastic smile.
"Is the girl doing okay, Sam?"
He managed to smile in one way or another. "Oh, G. She is, yes, she is."
If his partner and best friend knew who he meant, Sam knew Callen's world would look very different. Upside down, perhaps.
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
By early next day, there were no messages yet from Hetty or Eric at his phone.
"We might check Myers' house. After all, he's married. Maybe his wife knows more about Fryman, maybe it is her we should watch," Callen suggested.
Sam really seemed to be in a bad mood, Callen thought. He did not know why, but something changed.
"Wonna be home, leave here?" he asked.
"No, that's not it G. It's just... I don't know. Working here is odd, I wished we'd know more about why Fryman contacted Myers and why Hetty persists on us staying", he sighed.
Callen had thought about that too. It was so not-Hetty to not explaining, still, he had learned that she never did things without a thorough plan, and although she did not discuss any plan, it existed, he knew. "Let's see if Myers wife knows more", he said. They took a cab, again, and went there after the time Myers himself should be at work.
"We married after Tommy left the Norfolk team. He actually hardly talks about it. Did not keep in touch with the rest," Liz Myers told them.
"But he had no bad feelings about them?" Callen wanted to know.
"None, as far as I know. Guess Tommy never enjoyed that work. He likes what he does right now, more the technical guy. And living here is great!" she stated. "He's got more friends than ever."
"Have you ever heard the name Fryman?" Sam asked.
She was thinking. "Could be he mentioned a call from somebody with that name? Was it Fryman? A guy called and talked a bit nonsense to Tommy, in the end asked for our address. Strange, huh, what do you think?"
"Strange indeed. Now, if any parcels would arrive, would you please not open any but warn agent Clarke at the naval services?" Callen suggested. "We don't know if anything comes, but if so, it might be nasty materials that's dangerous to human beings and environment, you see."
She promised and on that, they left.
"Now what?" Sam asked his partner.
"Dunno," Callen answered. "Think I'm going for a run on the beach." He used to do that a lot, but his troubled lunges had kept him from running the long distances he was used to. "Want to join?"
"It's about the best we could do. That, and wait, and eat out."
"Just imagine how jealous the kids at headquarters will be Sam. Now this is a reason to see the glass half full!" Callen chuckled. "Getting home relaxed, suntanned and case solved."
Sam tried his most optimistic smile, knowing Hetty and Eric and perhaps the other team members too, were working behind the scenes, keeping their head agent out of this one. "Sure, told you Guam is a great place to stay G. Much better than a desk job at the NCIS Office of Special Projects indeed. Let's grab some running shoes and clothes than."
Informing at the hotel where the best beaches would be, they rented a small jeep and took off to Haputo Beach, a quiet and remote beach.
They started to run together, but after a while Sam noticed his partner was getting tired.
"It's all right", Callen said. "Go ahead, I'll walk the last part—" when Sam's phone interrupted his last remark.
"Mister Hanna? Can we discuss anything freely right now?"
"Michelle! — No, it's a bad connection in here. G and I am at a remote location — Sure. — Call you in... Half an hour".
Callen looked at his partner, who seemed worried. "Go on Sam, you're fast enough. Call her at Clarke's office. I'll be fine, walk my way back and hike or hitchhike my way back to our base."
Sam hated to lie, but had to find out what it was Hetty wanted to discuss. So he kept running, leaving his partner behind.
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
Callen walked a bit further, then found a large and old tree and decided he might just as well enjoy the quietness of the spot for a while. He must have dozed off, because he did not hear it coming until a motorcycle stopping close by. He got up and started to run again, easy going, two miles one way and another two back.
Once he saw the tree again, he stopped to do some stretching and cooling down exercises. He grinned when close to him a woman came out of the water. It reminded him of a scene from one of the Bond-movies he'd seen at Kensi's place. This was of course not Halle Berry he saw, but a well-built young woman, tanned, curly dark hair, that nearly touched her shoulders. Self-assured, clearly not aware of any possible company. She took a towel from the motorcycle and started to dry herself.
Callen noticed she had a small tattoo on her left shoulder, an angel.
In a split second he saw her profile. "Chris?"
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
It had taken her nearly six months to recover. During the first two weeks, when she was constantly kept in a sleep, her government had made decisions without her but with lots of consequences for her life.
A helicopter had taken her away from the site of the car crash, landed at Saint Vincent Medical Center where they managed to get her stabilized. With an extra medical crew they continued the flight to San Diego, where she had been operated several times in a small hospital. When she woke up, Christianne Young did not exist anymore, they told her. It was better that she went back to her home country for a witness protection program. They'd even chosen a new name for her, Anna de Vries.
It would be better that way, so they said.
She had refused. She insisted on going to Brazil for a full recovery, to the place she had worked as a volunteer, ages ago. She decided not to rely on others, not her government, nor friends or a team.
So far, she never informed how her family had dealt with her so-called death. She doubted if she could handle it. It was awful to live with the idea, because it was what she felt too, the other way around, as if her father and younger brother had died as well. Nobody told her anything about what really happened but when she had keep asking about Borya, they showed her a newspaper article in which was written about somebody shot to death and another person that died from the car crash itself. He was gone, something that affected her more than she thought. Later on, she had googled and found out that Vayavich had been transferred to Europe due to an extradition agreement.
The bullet that had hit her had fractured her left shoulder blade, leaving lots of bone splinters in her body, in her lungs. It had taken hours of operating to remove most and to keep her lung as intact as possible. It had taken her months to get stronger, to get used to a capacity of nearly 70% of her left lung and to function as if all was like it used to be.
Swimming helped and she was glad she could do it in here.
Chris had decided that there would be no Anna de Vries and no anonymous life to be lead. Instead, she rejected the Dutch nationality and she had trained hard to get where she was today. And she was now working for Interpol, momentarily liaised to the Bureau of counterterrorism. Stationed undercover as a Staff Sergeant of the United Air force at this lovely island for a nasty job. He had a new name too, one she was given by Interpol and which she liked. It included a former life that wasn't hers, but it should be her new future as well. Right now, she, Stasya Newton, worked at Guam.
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
"Chris?"
Nobody she knew should use that name. She decided to ignore it. Ignore, get in her clothes, take the bike and leave as soon as possible.
From behind her, the voice changed.
It was the body language, the extra tension that occurred when she heard him ask. Anybody who expected to be all alone would look around, curious about a stranger calling a name. He spoke louder. "Chris?"
She hurried even more, desperate to leave now. Then, from behind, he caught up with her, grabbed her shoulder to turn her around. The flash of fear when she saw those steel blue eyes she never thought she'd see again.
"No… it can't be you" she said in a soft voice.
He looked angry as he pulled her closer and he snapped "So, why did you decide to die, Chris Young?"
"I... I never did." She swallowed.
"Than what is it you are doing in here?"
She needed to think clearly. It was all so coincidental. He showed up at Guam while she was working in here to do her job. "I am not telling you Borya. Now let go of me," she said, her dark blue eyes spitting fire. She tore herself away from him and was going to run for her bike, but he was faster.
"Chris, wait… I'm sorry. It's just that—well, I don't get it. Why?"
"Why what," she snapped. "There is no sorry. Chris Young died. That's it. I did not kill her and you don't know me. Now please, stop doing this, will you?"
He pulled her close, noticing how his warm and sweaty body responded to feeling her bare skin and wet clothes. It felt goddamn great. Everything was right, like he knew it should be. All, except the fact that she refused to trust him. "Chris, listen, please. I—my name is not Borya, and I am not Russian. I told you that I was there to help you…"
She shivered. "I know. I remember. I heard somebody shout… and I wanted you to know I heard, but I could not…speak." Tears welled up in her eyes, he noticed, but she looked away from him.
"Please, remember Chris", he said in a soft voice. "I'm so very sorry all went wrong. I tried, I really did, but I failed". He felt she trembled. "You're cold. Get dressed and go, leave. Just forget it."
He turned, took a deep breath. So far for uttering his feelings, something he never seemed to succeed in. He never learned to express himself any better, he had always been afraid to get hurt himself if he showed other people how much he wanted to be loved. So he did what he was good at: put up his defenses and started to run again, run to road, run to the hotel, run away from what could have been, run away from her.
She didn't respond. She got dressed, took her motorbike and started the engine. She was wondering if she did the right thing.
Thank you for reading. Your reviews are welcome, as ever!