Last man standing Chapter 6, 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 6

Saturday 20th

''We've reduced the pain medication, so he's more alert but the memory loss abates slowly. Yesterday he remembered that he had been shot before and someone had urged him to stay awake. This man had called the patient G. It's probably a nickname,'' Antony told inspector Murphy.

''I've read your report. Unless he's the best actor in the world, the memory loss is real. There are interesting details though, English, Russian, Romanian, German, French and Czech. Who is he, a language teacher?'' Murphy conversed with Antony.

"Have you ever seen a language teacher fighting with someone so hard that he suffers a concussion? A teacher who fights again two days later and manages to survive it all? Besides it's not the first time. The gunshot wounds, the number and their position indicate that he had suffered very serious injuries before.''

''Yeah, a little bit too adventurous for a teacher, or a translator,'' Murphy summed up.

''By the way, the divers found a wallet and keys in the canal. They belong to Andrej Grigorescu. Grigorescu was a maiden name of the head of a criminal family in Romania but I don't see how this can help us. Let's see what the patient tells us,'' the inspector decided.

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''I'm inspector Murphy from the Metropolitan Police Service London. We would like to find out what happened at the docks on Wednesday. Do you remember anything?'' she introduced herself.

''No, I don't remember anything,'' he replied shortly.

''Have you ever heard a name – Andrej Grigorescu?''

''Romanian. But no, I haven't heard it, as far as I know. Which isn't very much at the moment,'' he snorted.

''What can you tell me about yourself?''

''I can't... I just … I speak English, German, French, Czech, Romanian and Russian as the doctor can confirm. I can tell you that blue is a good color, that those breakfasts in the hospital suck, that nights are too long, that the crisis in Crimea will last long, that the Marshall Gambit in chess is pretty boring and that rule 18 says it's better to seek forgiveness than ask permission. But I can't fill out a simple form unless you are satisfied with one column and one letter. G,'' the man flared up in frustration.

''You remembered this letter yesterday. Describe to me how,'' it wasn't really necessary but Murphy hoped that maybe he would remember something new or that she could discover how his mind worked. Languages, chess, politics, possible insomnia, rules – they could stand for training, some sort of an organization... An interesting mix.

''I saw some scars,'' he slightly touched his chest now covered with pajamas. ''I heard: 'Stay with me, G. Don't do this to me. Come on. Stay with me.''

Antony noticed that the patient used exactly the same words as yesterday. It must have been stored deep down in his brain.

These simple sentences sent shivers down Murphy's spine. She knew this. You desperately scream similar words when your colleague is severely injured and you need to convince him not to give up. She gulped. ''Thank you. I should go and you need to rest.''

''I don't need to rest. I need to know,'' he got angry again.

''Take care of him, I'm almost certain that he's from law enforcement,'' she said to Antony when they left the room.

''It occurred to me, too,'' he agreed.

''We need to be careful. We can't contact all agencies and alert the wrong one. So, assuming he's an English native speaker, we'll send a message to all sorts of law enforcement here in the UK and the US – he has an American accent, and then maybe we contact agengies in Ireland, Australia...'' Murphy said.

Sunday 21st

''Stay with me, G. Don't do this to me. Come on. Stay with me,'' he repeated relentlessly. It was sunny, he saw a young blond girl and palm trees, heard gunfire and then he saw soft brown eyes pleading with him not to give up.

''Sam,'' the patient whispered in realization. 'Ok, ok, ok, I need to think, I need to focus...'

''Good morning, how are you?'' Antony greeted the patient.

''Have you ever left the hospital?''

''I'm an attending physician, it's my job to be here, but don't worry, I have shorter shifts next week and two days off.''

''Let's play a game,'' Antony suggested.

''When a patient has to provide a doctor with distraction and entertainment, I'd say there's something wrong with the hospital,'' he protested.

''Just say the first thing that comes to your mind. Don't think,'' Antony instructed him.

''That's an activity I'm very good at, right now.''

''I like croissants and you,'' Antony started.

- ''I like … bacon,'' he replied automatically.

''I like white and brown.''

- ''I like blue.''

''I live in a house.''

- ''I live... I don't know. It's not important.''

''I was born in the Czech Republic.''

- ''Black Sea. Why is it only you asking? Can I ask?''

''No, I'm asking, that's the rule.''

- ''The other one is willing to answer,'' the patient said as if he remembered something.

''Ok, I have a son.''

- ''I don't, I think.''

''My boss is strict but fair.''

- ''My boss is tiny but very tough. How do I know that?''

''Don't think. I'm an orthopedic surgeon.''

- ''I'm special...'' he abruptly stopped. 'Agent,' he finished only in his head.

''Sorry to interrupt your game but I'm tired, I want to be alone.''

He suddenly stopped Antony in the door. ''Doctor,'' he addressed him urgently. ''You are very neat, diligent, you are writing reports all the time but you can't write about this little game. Someone is in danger. You can't tell them that I remembered something. Don't say anything even to Murphy, please. I have to deal with it alone.''

''Like you said, this game was just a distraction for a bored surgeon who doesn't have anything better to do. But whatever is going on you shouldn't deal with it alone. Besides you're on bed rest and that's an order - not that you could actually walk out of here...'' Antony said casually and gestured towards the patient's legs.

As the day advanced he remembered most of the details of his life. 'G. It's not a nickname. That's my name. G Callen. That's it.' Since last Saturday everything was foggy, he also didn't know what had happened at the docks. Callen still had a feeling that someone, probably Sam, was in danger because of him. He had to gather information, preferably without inspector Murphy.

''I just have a question. The column 'next of kin' is blank and I thought that maybe you would like to fill it out or contact someone,'' Antony suggested.

Callen was silent.

''Is it that you don't want to or that you can't fill it out? It's a huge difference. I thought that further neurological tests wouldn't be necessary but...''

''They won't, you can call me G,'' Callen yielded.

''Ok, G. I probably don't know all the fine details of your business, I'm just a surgeon... But you obviously don't want to be found so I should probably tell you that inspector Murphy has already noticed all agencies in the UK, the US, Ireland and Australia. Just so you can be prepared...''

Callen was still silent.

He knew that it was Sunday, a calm day, tomorrow however Sam would find out that he was missing. And Eric would undoubtedly read the report from the London police and they'd find him. But he needed to stay in the shadows until he made sure he was no threat for his team.

Certainly, it was unusual to ask Doctor Nemec to play a detective but he didn't have much of a choice. ''What did Murphy tell you about the docks? Yesterday she left quickly and I don't remember whether she was there previously.''

Antony contemplated whether he should tell the patient about the dead man but concluded that he, as a policeman or something, could cope with the news.

''Your injuries show that most likely you fought with someone on Monday or Tuesday... Then they found you at the docks on Wednesday and on Friday someone called the police that there was a dead body in the canal.'' Antony carefully watched his patient. He wasn't frightened and didn't show any signs of surprise, he just quietly analyzed the news.

''The pathologist said that the man drowned. He had documents with him but they were probably fake.''

''Andrej Grigorescu,'' Callen broke in.

''Yes, he also had some keys with him.''

The whole time Callen was tense, sitting upright in bed, focused. Suddenly the tension left his body, he rested on the bed and whispered: ''I got him! Comescu. Sam and Kam are safe.''

After this Callen didn't say much. Antony noticed that his patient was much more evasive, replaying only vaguely, but the panic Antony could see in his eyes even a few hours ago had receded.

It was one of the rare occasions when Callen just wanted to sleep. 'They'll come. Everything's ok. Comescu's dead,' with these thoughts he fall asleep.

Monday 22nd

''Callen,'' Sam shouted into the phone. ''Pick up the phone,'' Sam soon realized that there was absolutely no sound on the other side. ''I'll kill him, when I find him,'' he remarked.

Sam glanced at his watch. '8.15, mmh, who manages to annoy his boss on the first day after holidays? Callen.'

Sam parked his car near Callen's house and honked.

Nothing.

He got out of the car and knocked on the door. ''Callen, come on, you are late again. Callen.''

Nothing.

Sam noticed that the mailbox was full of leaflets. Nothing surprising for Callen but still... Sam cautiously looked through a window into the house.

Nothing.

''Callen, G, it's me, open the door. Get up, man,'' Sam knocked on the door again.

Only very reluctantly Sam got in the car and drove to work alone.