Last man standing Chapter 4, a ncis: los angeles fanfic

Chapter 4

Tuesday 16th

No-one was dead or seriously injured. Was it emotions that influenced the shots? Or was it determination to punish the opponent more, to get revenge, that prevented both of them from choosing this ''easy solution''?

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Clenched fists, blood, falls, groans, kicks, hits. Silence.

Constantin was restless. He was still thinking about Gracian. He liked him. Constantin had been an 'employee' of the Comescus for so long that he considered them his family. Gracian was like a son to him. He didn't agree with his current plan but he still wanted to make sure that everything was alright.

If so, the house should be empty. Gracian would be on his way to the airport and Callen, well, his body, shouldn't be there either.

Constantin stopped his car by the 'Comescu house' and opened the door. He immediately saw two men laying on the floor in the entrance hall. Maybe he could save the situation! Both of them were breathing. Callen wasn't dead, which meant that Gracian wouldn't be a primary target of any serious investigation conducted by American agencies.

He left Callen on the floor, Gracian needed his help. Constantin thought that if he managed to get Gracian on the plane to London, he would be far from danger.

''Gracian, wake up, wake up, come on,'' he urged him. Comescu opened his eyes and was so relieved to see his trusted partner that he even didn't say a word about their earlier dispute.

Comescu successfully tried to stand up, Constantin cleaned and dressed the most serious wounds. There wasn't time for more. They had to escape from the house and Gracian had to catch the plane.

Callen finally came to awareness. He immediately remembered where he was and how he was fighting with Comescu. But was it a few moments, minutes or hours ago? He slowly sat up. His head was killing him but nothing was broken, Callen concluded after he had inspected his body. For a moment he was surprised that he was alive. Both of them fired a gun after all.

Now, he saw the two guns on the floor. 'Comescu didn't take his gun?' The even more important question was: 'Where is Comescu? He obviously isn't dead...'

Then Callen noticed a phone. 'Maybe he called for help. Maybe there is a trace hidden somewhere.' Callen pressed a button which automatically dialed the last number. Prague – Václav Havel Airport.

It took some time, patience, switching of languages and identities, but he got his information. Comescu was flying to London. Actually he was flying as Mr. Andrej Grigorescu. Callen's alias Michajl Sokolov immediately booked an airplane ticket to London, too.

This game wasn't over. Except it wasn't a game.

Thursday 18th, evening

Dr. Antony Nemec was tired to the bone. His shift ended a long time ago, he even caught up on his paperwork, but he was still stubbornly staying in the hospital. Mr. Flash drive was a mystery and above all they had something in common. Both spoke Czech. Antony was a Czech, Mr. Flash drive probably not, but still it was a connection.

Antony operated on Mr. Flash drive, he had helped him, but felt that he could – and wanted to – give him more. His real name for starters.

Maybe his former classmates from the Charles University in Prague, now successful doctors, could help him. 'Not many patients had survived such multiple serious injuries, mainly gunshot wounds. There had to be a hit in a database, a record, an x-ray... There was a chance that Mr. Flash drive was treated in a Czech hospital...' Antony speculated.

Antony spent the next hour calling his friends in the Czech Republic and asking them for help. Unfortunately, trying and searching didn't bring any results. The man in question had probably never been in a Czech hospital, so for the time-being he still had just the stupid nickname Mr. Flash drive.

''You really can't help me?'' Antony asked the sleeping man. ''I don't have any other ideas,'' he sighed then.

Friday 19th

''Doctor Nemec, the police are here,'' a nurse announced. ''I told them that they couldn't speak with the patient. But maybe you could tell them something. You know more than him, at least right now,'' the nurse continued.

''We received your information that you admitted a man who was potentially a victim of a crime,'' a policeman recited.

''Yes, he was beaten and stabbed in the shoulder, he has fractures of both legs... Unfortunately we don't know much more.''

''Let's see what he tells us,'' the other policeman decided.

''Wait,'' Antony stopped him. ''I thought the nurse had already told you. The patient is in no condition to be questioned now. He's on strong pain medication and he has suffered a head injury. He can't remember anything.''

''Memory loss? Is there at least something you know?'' the policeman asked slightly annoyed.

''He was found at the old docks. With no documents, apart from his clothes he had only a flash drive with him. It's completely destroyed. That was all in our report,'' Dr. Nemec replied shortly.

''Mmm, it doesn't bring us any closer. There aren't many cameras... It was probably just an unimportant fight between local criminals. Who else would do this,'' the policeman stated.

''So that's it, that's your conclusion?'' Antony asked and didn't try to conceal his disagreement.

''There's nothing much to do,'' the officer lightly concluded. ''Ok, we can try to identify him by his finger prints,'' the second officer allowed.

''We don't have his finger prints in our database. Sorry, we can't help you identify the person,'' a tech informed Antony.

''So he's not a criminal?''

''He hasn't been investigated or convicted, to be more precise. Look, he's probably homeless or a criminal, who's been careful so far, or is just at the beginning of his career,'' the tech advised him.

''Unless he tells us something, we don't have enough evidence to open an investigation,'' the policeman announced.

''How did it go?'' nurse Amanda wanted to know.

''Idiots,'' Antony wasn't very polite while evaluating the effort of the police. ''A homeless man with a perfectly tailored shirt? A criminal without a record but with healed multiple gunshot wounds? A local criminal who doesn't understand English? Yeah, that makes perfect sense.'' And he added quietly: ''It's up to you Mr. Flash drive. Come on, wake up.''

Although Antony didn't expect any reaction, the patient was slowly waking again. ''Let him talk first,'' Antony instructed the nurse in a whisper.

The patient was confusedly staring at the white wall. ''Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? Tu dois partir. Cours vite...'' Amanda looked at Antony questioningly.

''What has happened? You have to leave. Run fast," he translated.

As had happened before, the patient quickly fall asleep again. Antony just checked his pupils. ''French. Thank god my wife comes from France. But seriously let's hope he's not too big a polyglot. I'm running out of languages,'' he muttered.

Friday 19th, afternoon

''We should reduce the dose of painkillers. He'll be in pain but hopefully he'll be more responsive and his thinking may be clearer,'' Antony decided.

He heard rhythmic beeping. He smelled disinfectant. He didn't open his eyes, instead he shut them more tightly. Pain was everywhere. He tried to move his legs, his arm, his head. It hurt too much. He groaned softly. ''What... What is... Stop. What do you want?'' he asked breathlessly.

''Calm down. You are in a hospital. You are safe. I know you are in pain. We need to do some tests and then we'll give you the meds,'' Antony reassured the patient. The man opened his eyes and carefully looked around the room. It really looked like a hospital and he relaxed a bit.

''Do you remember this room? You've been awake a few times.''

''No... How long I've been here?''

''For three days,'' Antony replied truthfully.

''What's happened? I need to go,'' the patient insisted.

''They found you at the docks. You were seriously injured. You need to stay for some time, your legs are broken, you have a concussion,'' Antony tried to convince his patient.

''Do you remember what happened before you were brought in here?'' Antony asked.

Only in this moment the man tried to really concentrate, to remember and he found that he couldn't. Antony could see panic in his patient's eyes.

''Green cupola... river... photo..., I can't! ... I can't remember...''

''Don't worry, it'll come, you have a concussion as I said. Let's start with your name,'' the doctor suggested. ''I.. I can't... what's going on?''

He had a feeling that he shouldn't ask, that his opponent shouldn't have the advantage of knowing that he couldn't remember - but he needed to know. And right now the only way was to ask directly: ''Where are we, doctor?''

Usually it were doctors who asked patients about names, times and places – just as part of quick neurochecks - and expected answers but Antony calmly answered: ''St Mark's Hospital, London.''

''London?'' the patient was shocked. ''I assumed...,'' he went quiet.

''Did you assume that you were in Prague?''

''Why would I be in Prague?'' the man asked incredulously.

''You spoke Czech. Když jste se poprvé probudil po operaci,'' Antony explained and supplied additional information that it was the first time after he woke up from the surgery. This way Antony unobtrusively tested whether the patient understood or not.

''Surgery. Anesthesia. Explains a lot,'' the patient said.

''Then you spoke German and French.''

''What did I say?'' the man asked alarmed. He didn't know why but hundreds of tiny voices in his head were shouting at him that it was important to always control what he was saying.

''It didn't make much sense. You were scared of something and wanted to know what had happened. You urged someone to leave. Now you should rest, everything will get better with time.''

Antony registered that the patient still wasn't satisfied.

''What are you thinking about? Even a small detail may help you remember, don't suppress them,''

Antony advised him. The patient - for how many times today? - felt, that he was doing something that wasn't usual for him, but he still voiced his confusion: ''Czech, German and French... Why not Romanian? Shouldn't I speak Romanian? Or is it Russian?'' Then he drifted off into sleep.

In a few hours the police returned. ''I'm inspector Murphy. I need to speak with one of your patients. The man who was found at the docks.''

''So you decided to open the investigation? That's great. Unfortunately I still don't think it's a good idea to disturb him. He suffers from memory loss and is stressed.''

''Memory loss? How convenient,'' inspector Murphy replied.

''Pardon?''

''I can come back later, but frankly, doctor, I don't care who your patient is or what he remembers. For me he is suspected of murder,'' she said.

I would like to ask, honestly - are the time jumps too much, making the storyline incomprehensible, or are there too many OCs, or too much focus on the Czech Republic? ... I can change it, but I have to know what...