Welcome to all the new followers…

A few changes to the beginning. Thanks GUEST for pointing them out to me

NB: (conversations between Hetty and Callen are in Pashto)

Chapter 12

If Callen had been awake he wouldn't have missed all the frenetic activity that hovered around his arrival; he wouldn't have missed the worried and anxious faces of his 'family'; he wouldn't have missed the constant prodding and poking and the continuous leeching of his blood; he wouldn't have missed the psycho medical babble talk about the psychological trauma Dr Lowe thought he had sustained.

But he was someplace else.

Where he was, he had no idea. But it was quiet and peaceful; it was what he imagined heaven to be. He was happy and content. He could remain in this state forever.

Forever it did seem for Hetty and the others. Days passed and Callen seemed to pull further and further away from them. They continued with their lives but took it in shifts to sit with their fallen friend; all afraid he'd wake to an empty room…all alone. Hetty just couldn't have that.

On the fifth day an exhausted Hetty entered Callen's room after closing an undercover operation involving the Colombians. She didn't look at Callen. She knew what to expect. The grief was just insufferable. She needed her medicinal tea before she could face him. So she ceremoniously hung up her bag and coat on the door hook then placed her thermos on the cupboard near the window, gently unscrewing the lid, she poured herself a cup. Careful not to spill the steaming contents, she eased her weary body onto the chair. Gripping the cup between her small weathered hands she lifted her gaze to the wafting steam, when in the background she saw something next to the miraculous; two beads of cerulean staring straight at her.

The shock caused the cup to tilt to one side and then fall to the floor as she rushed over to Callen.

Hetty didn't know what to say as she looked lovingly at her fallen son. The bruises and abrasions had almost disappeared, but his face was drawn and far, far too emaciated.

Callen looked straight at her. His eyes lacked the spirit and fire they usually had but reflected a certain level of distrust and determination. Callen had woken. She called for the doctor. Callen continued to follow her every move. "It's not polite to stare?" she joked. Callen remained emotionless but she swore she noticed a glint in his eyes as she buzzed for his doctor.

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Callen had been assigned one doctor and that was a Dr. Taylor, a specialist in Trauma Medicine and a friend of Hetty's. It didn't take long for Dr. Taylor and his assisting nurse to arrive. They entered the room and the first thing they saw was Callen finally awake. It brought a smile to his face, then he turned to Hetty concerned, "Hetty, you look tired. He's awake now. You should rest now."

"I will. Only after you tell me he is stable and only after I speak to him," responded Hetty, glancing from Dr. Taylor to Callen.

He nodded defeated in his attempt, then turned his attention to Callen whose eyes never left Hetty. "Aziz, my name is Dr. Taylor. Do you understand me?"

Callen's eyes sleepily focused on the doctor and he nodded. "Good. I'm glad because I don't speak Pashto," he said smiling at his own attempt at humour. "Now I am going to check your vitals. Please be patient with me," explained the doctor smiling kindly. Callen didn't react.

Dr. Taylor ran through all the necessary motions then looking at Callen, he explained. "Young man, everything looks fine. You are healing well. You need to rest though. We'll start you on solids and put some meat on those bones." Then he turned to his assistant, "Jess, would you change the dressings on his back and adjust the medication accordingly while I speak to Hetty outside."

Callen watched them leave and wondered what they weren't telling him.

Outside

"How is our boy really, Tom?" asked a weary Hetty.

"Hetty, the physical trauma Callen sustained in Pakistan is improving. He will still be sore for several more days and the infection has all but gone. The identity issue is purely psychological and I'll be calling in a friend of mine who is very experienced in these sorts of cases if it persists. I am quite confident you'll get Callen back and soon. However, the identity issue is really the least of our problems."

"What do you mean?" asked Hetty, thinking that was the only problem.

"Dr. Lowe was confused by some of the results he had collated on the plane. We continued his line of testing. The lab work came in this morning and Hetty it is not good." said a disconcerted doctor.

"Tom? What? What is it?" asked Hetty, truly perplexed. "Mr. Callen has always been a picture of health, always passing his medicals with flying colours."

"When was he due for the next one?" asked Tom.

"In the next couple of months," she paused and collected herself then continued, "Tom, what is wrong with Callen?" Hetty anxious now of Tom's news.

"Callen is sick Hetty. Here sit down," he gestured her towards the chair.

"I will do no such thing. Now spit it out," Hetty raised her voice.

"Callen has Chronic Lymphocytic Leukaemia," explained Tom.

Hetty froze and asked in total shock and disbelief, "Would you mind repeating that again?"

"You heard me correctly the first time Hetty. Now please sit down and I'll explain," said Tom appeasingly.

She did. She had to or else she was certain she'd end up on the floor. She pushed back the helplessness she felt. This was time for strength. Tom sat next to her and placed a caring hand on her knee, "You are his next of kin and you need to know. CLL usually gets worse more slowly than acute leukaemia and it is not always treated right away. We've detected it in its early stages. I've consulted with a few of my oncology colleagues and they believe the best possible treatment in Callen's case will be watchful waiting and quite possible targeted therapy with a monoclonal antibody if his condition deteriorates. Hetty we need to decide how and when to tell him whether it be Aziz or Callen. It must be done."

"He will not be happy, no matter who he is. He will be angry. Callen does not cope with pity and fragility. But I agree he needs to be told…how this will affect his work…I don't know," mused Hetty sadly. "He is one of the great ones, Tom."

"They always fall the hardest. But there is no reason he cannot return to work in the future if the CLL is kept under watchful scrutiny. If the cases aren't overly taxing he could resume his work," argued a hopeful Tom.

"Will he die Tom?" she asked like little vulnerable girl than the fearsome ninja she was.

"It will eventually catch up with him Hetty. I can't make promises. I can only tell you the now and the near future. He will not die of CLL now nor in the foreseeable future unless his health takes a drastic, and I mean DRASTIC turn. Would you like me with you when you tell him?" he asked sympathetically.

Hetty took in a cleansing breath and shook her head of the cobwebs of the past, "No. It's fine. I will do it in my good time and I will do it before he is discharged."

Tom nodded, "Ok…I'll check in with you later then." He stood, gave Hetty a kiss on the forehead and left.

"Oh and Tom…this is strictly confidential." It was not a request. It was an order. Tom nodded and left.

Hetty knew she had to go back and talk to Callen. She would postpone the talk until she had built a rapport with Callen's new identity. She stood, brushed herself down and walked towards his room. When she walked in she noticed her boy had fallen victim to the power of sleep. She found the chair again, checked her tea…it was cold. Bugger! So she just sat listening to the constant rhythm of the medical machines and sleep claimed her as well.

A few hours later, her mind started to rouse and she felt that penetrating glare. Callen was awake. Again those sapphire orbs were staring at her. She smiled pushing back her emotions she croaked, "Hello."

Callen became puzzled at the use of his language by Hetty. His brow furrowed. He shifted uncomfortably in his bed causing him to wince. "Now you must take it easy Aziz. You have gone through a great ordeal. I am Hetty, a friend of Mustafa," she said quietly. "He asked me to help you and keep an eye on you."

Callen looked around suspiciously, "Where am I?" His tone was cold and devoid of any emotion. She knew this Callen and she was up for the challenge.

"You're in a hospital recovering from your wounds," said Hetty trying to avoid the whole 'America' thing yet and marveling at how Pashto flowed off Callen's tongue.

"Where am I?" Callen's tone hard and direct, obviously annoyed at Hetty's avoidance.

"In the United States." She moved slightly weary of Callen's reaction.

"Am I a prisoner?" asked Callen hoarsely, suddenly noticing the arid state of his throat.

"No, you are not," Hetty responded truthfully, "however you are a person of interest."

"Will you stop me from leaving?" asked Callen testing the waters.

"No but we need to ask you some questions when you are able. There is no rush. You need rest, Aziz," she said calmly.

"So I am a prisoner," reiterated Callen.

Her eyes became downcast, as Hetty couldn't respond to his question. All she really wanted to do was congratulate her boy on a job well done. She wanted to go back to the Ops Centre and announce that Callen would be shortly on his feet and rejoining them at NCIS. She wanted this whole damn debacle to be over. Her team had sacrificed enough…Callen had sacrificed enough.

"Aziz what do you remember?" asked Hetty hoping to get her operative to reveal the true state of his mind.

"I will not betray my people," said Callen coldly.

"That is not what I'm asking you Aziz…I want to help you. You are an educated man and please reason like one. We need to work together in order for you to be discharged. What do you remember?" asked Hetty gripping his arm.

Callen watched the old woman intensely. She was never comfortable with Callen's probing stares but she held her own.

"You know me, don't you?" asked Callen squinting his eyes with curiosity.

"Yes, I do…but it is complicated. There is a great deal taking place here Aziz than you know…or rather, than you are able to understand. We need to take this slowly. I want you to trust me," pleaded Hetty.

"Trust American dogs...infidels," he scoffed. Hetty could not believe how different this man was to her agent. Could his trauma have been that great?

"No…trust me. Trust that Mustafa would ask me to help you."

Callen knew it was a lost cause. He was injured, in a strange country…alone. Maybe this woman would betray him, or maybe she wouldn't. He'd have to take the risk.

Callen placed his hands on the bed and pushed himself up, grunting with exertion. Hetty watched him with terrifying helplessness. He took a deep breath, "I remember joining my fellow countrymen in the fight for freedom…Mustafa helped me with the introductions. I remember helping oversee the maintenance of their vehicles. I remember the sense of belonging and brotherhood. I remember feeding the American soldiers−" Callen stopped suddenly as a sharp pained lanced through his head. His hands shot to his temples. The pain was excruciating, "AAArrrrrgh." He pulled his knees up and tried to steady his head against them.

Hetty's hands went to his back and started to rub with compassion but to no avail. She called for the nurse. By now Callen was twisting and bucking with pain. She came in and went straight for the IV. Without looking at Hetty she asked, "How long has he been like this?"

"Seconds," answered Hetty.

"Help me keep him steady. This should start working very quickly." She administered the narcotic and within seconds, Callen had slowly relaxed. His hands flopped by his sides and his glazed eyes found Hetty's again.

"What happened?" asked the nurse.

"He was recalling memories and he suddenly grasped his head in pain," explained a startled Hetty.

"It's common with trauma victims. The scans show no lesions nor damage. The pain is usually associated with his subconscious not wanting to remember, or a conflict of the real and the reality he has fabricated. Be patient with him and allow him to tell you when he's ready," the nurse kindly said. "I'll be at the nurse's station if you need me."

Again they were left alone. Hetty looked at Callen, at the ailing boy she had helped so many years ago and her heart broke. She had tried so hard to look out for him but life had a way of interfering with his happiness and that thought ripped her insides apart.

"Hetty?" The voice brought her back from her thoughts…his voice, Callen's voice.

"Ah Aziz, do you feel better?" asked Hetty approaching the man.

"My head feels like it's on fire," he croaked looking at her. Suddenly she saw something different about him; a certain tenderness in his eyes.

"I should let you rest and I should return to work. You've had a big day," said Hetty as she turned to grab her bag and coat.

That quiet voice spoke again, "No…please stay if you can…I want to remember."

She smiled at his impatience and rashness; at least that hadn't changed. "But you are tired and in pain, Aziz," she said smiling.

"Please…" he pleaded.

"Fine…you were talking about the American soldiers," reminded Hetty tentatively.

He didn't have the energy to move so he let his body sink into the pillow, "I have memories of helping them by untying their binds but that doesn't make sense. They are my enemies. I remember talking with Raza and feeling hatred, then I remember setting explosives, talking to the black soldier, watching them escape…watching them leave me behind. Then came the searing pain in the back. I was shot and he just drove away…he left me behind, behind to die…we were…we were." He couldn't put voice to his thoughts anymore. Everything seemed so confused and jumbled. The person he was and that person's belief did not correspond to the way he felt when he relived the memories that were flooding his mind.

The broken pleading eyes of a child looked up to her glistening with hurt and abandon, "Who am I?"

Oh dear childshe thought. He had asked her that question so many times as her Callen, and even then she couldn't give him an answer. She quickly moved closer holding his hand with her left she embraced him with her right. She pulled him in tight. "You need to discover that by yourself Aziz but I will be here every step of the way." She felt his body tremble with sobs of a desperate soul, then she did the only thing she knew would calm him. She sang him a song:

Bayu-bayushki-bayu,
Nye lozhisya na krayu,
Pridyot serenkiy volchok
I ukhvatit za bochok.
On ukhvatit za bochok
I potashchit vo lesok,
Por rakitovyi kustok.

He looked at her strangely, "Russian?"

"Yes," she smiled.

"I understand the lyrics," he said surprised.

"Of course you do. Sleep child."

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