Last man standing Chapter 5, a ncis: los angeles fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the recognizable characters. They all belong to Shane Brennan.

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Chapter 5

Tuesday 16th

Callen – or his alias Michajl Sokolov to be precise – refused the snack a stewardess offered him during the flight to London. He closed his eyes and sincerely wished just one thing – that his headache would stop. Comescu must have hit him with his gun or a vase or a heavy ashtray...

''London,'' he repeated quietly to himself and began creating a plan. Callen just couldn't let Comescu go. He had a photo of Sam and Kam! He was dangerous and very determined so that other attacks in the future couldn't be ruled out.

On top of that he was a Comescu. The desire to get a closure for his family was deeply embedded in the Romanian. Callen could identify with him on this point. He, himself, had dedicated his whole life to the past and search for his family.

'Just one flight behind Comescu, means two hours...,' Callen mused. 'First things first. A knife and a gun. And Comescu's address.' He smiled slightly. He had the same plan in Prague. But the difference was he knew Prague. He had been there many times.

Prague, being in the heart of Europe, was a busy crossroads of criminals from many countries, plus in the 1990s the Russians were more active here than appropriate, so Callen remembered many stake-outs, chases and undercover missions in the city.

In London, MI5 usually wanted to solve every case without the help of foreign agencies, plus NCIS could send any other agent there. His skills, particularly knowledge of languages, made him too valuable to be sent just to London. Central and eastern Europe, Russia and the Middle East were his destinations.

Because Callen didn't know London very well and didn't have any friends there, it took him longer to purchase the gun and find out which hotel Comescu was staying at. It was late and Callen decided that he should try to rest and postpone the confrontation with Comescu to tomorrow. He may even feel a little better by then.

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''Room service? I'd like to order champagne,'' announced a guest from room 618 at a luxurious hotel in the city center.
He was carefully studying a city map and making notes. 'Buckingham Palace, St Paul's Cathedral, the Tate … might be refreshing … if the damn leg doesn't hurt, I'll go.'

Already falling asleep he realized: 'I should call Constantin, reassure him that everything is ok, ask what happened with Callen... mhm … not now. Plenty of time tomorrow.'

Wednesday 17th

Soon after Comescu left the hotel he sensed that someone was following him. He didn't look back, he wasn't a beginner, he just slightly quickened his pace and chose streets that weren't too narrow and full of people. Comescu didn't know the city well and his notes about Buckingham Palace and St Paul's Cathedral weren't exactly helping as right now he needed a plan of shortcuts, exits and safe houses.

It astonished him that until now he hadn't thought about who was following him, he just kept going. 'It can't be Constantin. Maybe they found out that I used a fake passport...'

Callen was still easily following Comescu.

''Damn it!'' They came up to the docks. It front of them was just water and further away some deserted buldings. Comescu had to turn around. Callen didn't have anywhere to hide.

''Callen,'' he was shocked when he saw who was following him.

''Comescu, nice to see you face to face again,'' Callen greeted ironically.

Comescu thought in passing that however tired he was yesterday he definitely should have called Constantin and asked him about Callen, or just killed him when he could. Now, he didn't even have his gun.

''Relax,'' Callen continued in his ironic speech. "You chose such a lovely place where we won't be disturbed in our little chat. I have a lot of questions.''

It was only after the fight in Prague that Callen realized that he didn't know how much Comescu knew about his partner. He said he was completely uninterested in Sam but he had his photo. Someone had to take it and if it wasn't Comescu he had to get it somewhere.

''I'm afraid the little chat can't take place, you need two people: one who's asking and the other one who's willing to answer,'' Comescu said while he was trying to come up with an exit strategy.

''We are two,'' Callen icily replied.
''Yeah, but the willingness to answer is kinda missing.''

''What do you know about the man in the photo? Where did you get it?'' Callen asked.

Comescu knew Callen had a gun with him. But so far he hadn't threatened him with it and he knew that usually these sarcastic remarks would trigger Callen. He immediately saw an exit strategy.

''I took it. I followed your partner with great pleasure for many days,'' Comescu whispered dangerously.

''No!'' Callen shouted. ''The photo is old, it couldn't be you. Back then you were too green. Nobody would entrust you to do it. You were so unimportant that you weren't even in the beachhouse or in the safe house in Prague. You just hung around,'' Callen provoked him.

In the next moment Comescu gripped Callen's throat tightly and tried to knock him down to the ground.

Just another fight. They were all similar: hits, kicks, slaps, pain, falls, near misses, adrenaline.

In a tight embrace they were dangerously approaching the water.

It's said that fear provides unusual strength to people. Comescu was badly injured but perhaps he remembered this and suddenly he threw Callen into the canal. The water wasn't deep here and Callen couldn't stop his fall in any way. He landed at the bottom with full force.

Literally he heard how a bone in his leg cracked and then a loud slosh. Back on the dock he had probably been clutching at Comescu's jacket so the Romanian accompanied him in the fall into the canal, only Comescu went head first. He fell unconscious and Callen would soon follow him.

Hetty said many times that Callen was a survivor. He, again, proved her right and gathered the last remains of strength and crawled from the water to the safe ground.

After a few hours he was found by two workers going to the docks and was brought to St. Mark's Hospital.

Friday 19th

''Metropolitan Police Service London,'' an operator announced.

''I... good morning … I'm at the docks … huh …. there's a man here, a body in the water.'' This phone call from a distraught citizen launched the police investigation. And as a result inspector Murphy was now questioning Dr. Nemec.

''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.''

"Suspected of murder? He was beaten, stabbed and has fractures of both legs, he's a victim,'' he argued.

''That doesn't exclude the possibility that he murdered someone. We went through the reports and apparently your patient was found in the same place as the body. The pathologist says that our victim died on Wednesday.''

''Ok, I believe you. It's your job. But please believe me, I'm a doctor. He's not faking the memory loss. You won't learn anything from him today.''

''Excuse me,'' inspector Murphy answered the phone and heard: ''So I finished the autopsy. Our victim drowned. He was unconscious at the time, most probably as a result of the head trauma. He must have hit the bottom. But no signs that he was actively pushed into the water. And he has a lot of minor injuries as well, cuts, bruises, stab wounds. Some of them appear to be older. He got hurt a day or two before he died.''

''Thanks. Anything for the identification?''

''No, no match.''

''Ok, I'll have the divers search the canal. Maybe he lost some documents, keys, a wallet, whatever, during the fight.''

Antony listened to the phone call in suspense. ''Two unknown men. One injured, one dead I guess.''

''He drowned. The pathologist can't say that he was murdered. But obviously he fought with someone, with your patient I assume...'' Murphy informed him. ''I'll come tomorrow.''

Nurse Carin told Antony: ''Doctor Nemec, the patient is awake.''

''How are you?'' he asked him.

''I've been worse,'' the patient automatically replied.

''Yeah, I believe you.''

The man didn't start talking about the memory loss so Antony found another topic. ''We should take a look at the wounds and redress them.''

When Antony was probing the stab wound on his shoulder, the patient had a chance to see his own bare chest. His breathing quickened. ''What do you see, what have you remembered?'' Antony asked directly.

''Those scars. I hear: 'Stay with me, G. Don't do this to me. Come on. Stay with me.' But that's all,'' the patient said, voice full of emotions.

''It's a good sign. You'll remember. Traumatic events are sometimes the first ones to return. And we have your nickname, G.''

''It's just a letter,'' he rejected it.

Saturday 20th

''Stay with me, G. Don't do this to me. Come on. Stay with me.'' he repeated quietly.

'I need more, I have to remember. It's not safe,' he thought. 'Something happened at the docks. I have to go there.' He slowly sat up, the headache was still intense. After pulling off the sheets he grumbled dissatisfied. ''Great, just great.'' His left leg was in a cast up to his hip and his right was put in plaster up to his knee. Soon he realized that it was really impossible to go somewhere.

''We checked the x-rays again and compared them. You have in fact suffered two concussions. The first one was milder, a few days before the injury on Wednesday. Just give it time, everything will be alright,'' a neurologist assured the patient.

''Yeah, everything will be alright but I need it right now,'' his impatience was showing.