15All characters and all rights at 'NCIS: Los Angeles' belong to CBS and Shane Brennan Productions; no infringement of any data rights is implied. This story was written for the enjoyment of fan fiction readers. Many thanks go to Callen37 for her support in prompting me to publish this story.
Druid Hills, Georgia
The stage. A room — sterile white and unassuming, a tinted window with built in blinds, a small table with a phone on top with medical necessities tucked neatly within its drawers, and a 1960s style chair with wooden arms. Maintaining center stage was a hospital bed, holding a body being fed by ribbons of life sustaining fluids.
The Spiral virus had almost killed Callen, first attacking his lungs, causing them to hemorrhage. His body temperature had soared and soon after, his kidneys and liver had started to fail. The antidote was administered in timely fashion but the damage done had taken its toll on Callen's body.
It was now two weeks since he had been exposed, his body slowly recovering from the aftermath.
Beep … beep … beep … the sound inundated his senses as he grasped to understand its meaning. Slowly, ever so slowly, he felt light penetrate his eyelids, though his eyes were too tired to open. Beep. Callen lay there, his mind trying to figure out the world around him. Beep. He had heard the sound before. Beep. Trying to grasp the sound which escaped into the darkness. Beep. Darkness tried to envelop him. Beep. Monitor. Beep. Hospital. Beep.
Callen woke up in a hazy fog; every joint and fiber of his being screamed in pain. He was confused and disoriented; his mind wandered to the last thing he remembered — SPIRAL, coughing, blood, pain, searing breaths that couldn't satisfy his need for oxygen, drowning, and then nothingness. Callen tried to take control of his voice; his voice caught as he tried to capture the attention of a conversation emanating within the room. "Where are we?" A shadow crossed the room and came to the side of his bed, gently placing his large hand on Callen's arm … Sam!
"Druid Hills, Georgia. CDC Headquarters."
Holding his breath to try and calm the pain, Callen released the air in his lungs while trying not to announce his discomfort. At this point Callen wanted nothing more than to slip back into unconsciousness; the effort of trying to talk already exhausting him. "How?" he force his lungs to push out the word, his voice sounding tired and gravelly.
They talked for a bit, Callen's eyes kept closing as he tried to focus on the conversation between him and Sam, fending off the weariness and pain which engulfed his body.
When Sam threatened to fill the halls with the sound of his voice, Callen gave a small chuckle but suddenly his chest tightened and he couldn't breathe. He tightly closed his pale blue eyes as a wave of a pain-filled coughing fit captured him unaware. He gasped trying to draw in air, while stabbing pains forced him to exhale. The heart monitor escalated and suddenly the room was inundated with staff as they tended to their patient. Sam was forced outside the room, trepidation setting once again in the back of Sam's mind like a dark storm; 'one step forward, two steps back' he thought. But Callen had fought back thus far and had overcome the worst of it; he was hoping this was just a temporary set back.
Back in his room Callen's coughing subsided; drugs calmed his system and drain tubes aided in keeping his lungs clear. The staff, satisfied everything was under control, slowly left the room allowing Sam to return. Callen lay pale and exhausted from the coughing fit and closed his weary eyes; those weary eyes never reopened.
Sam sat diligently at his partner's side willing him to awaken … his daily mantra … "Come on G, wake up. Don't make me bring Hetty down here!" But the only sound in the room was the constant beep of the heart monitor telling him his friend was still amongst the living.
Sam rested as best he could in the uncomfortable chair, trying to fit his large girth into its small cushions. He had been at the CDC for three weeks now, leaving Callen's side only long enough to shower or grab a bite to eat at the CDC's cafeteria.
The food was palatable but he missed Michelle's home cooking. He was tired of eating shrink-wrapped goo, which the cafeteria tried to pass off as gourmet delights, or sandwiches which were tasteless and bland. A few nights were spent at a local hotel as he finally allowed his exhausted body to rest properly upon a firm mattress.
It was another long uneventful night and Sam took on Callen's sleep habits of getting up every 20 minutes to check and try to rouse his partner.
It was early morning, heralded by a cold gray sky and a slow rain which fit his mood perfectly. Sitting in his cramped position Sam closed his eyes once more and tried to will himself to sleep; his ears attentive as he listened to the sounds of the hospital as it started its morning routines.
Suddenly he was aware of footsteps walking down the hall; sounds of hard soled shoes clopping on a tiled floor, nothing like the soft soled shoes the staff wore. Giving up on sleep, Sam leaned forward to a sitting position as the hard soled shoes entered the room. "Mornin' Sam."
Sam picked up the inflection of the forced salutation and his stomach tightened.
"Nate, what are you doing here?" Sam swiped his large hand over his face and forced a questioning look at the psychologist. He should be happy to see the psychologist, but he tensed. His mind told him the presence of Nate was the beginning of a downward spiral and he braced himself for what was to come.
Nate looked at Sam, his face grim, his jaw tight. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm good." God, he was starting to sound like his partner. But he tensed as he knew Nate could see beneath the lie.
Nate continued to look at him, his large dark eyes staring back at Sam. Sam knew Nate was fishing for more information and he grew frustrated with himself as he knew he had to expose his inner thoughts.
With a loud sigh, Sam pursed his lips and continued … "It's just this waiting, it's driving me crazy. Nate, he won't wake up. The doctors aren't saying much; they still don't know the extent of the damage from the virus, much less the vaccine." He sighed heavily, staring at Callen's still form. He turned his head and eyed Nate suspiciously, he reiterated, "What are you doing here?"
Nate pursed his lips and left the room returning with a chair so he could be on an equal level as Sam.
"Hetty sent me. The doctor called last night with an update. She thought …" His words dropped off and he looked at the floor, folding his hands tightly. "Sam, I know you've been through a lot and I don't want to beat around the bush here … but we need to talk."
Sam knew where this conversation was going and immediately went on the defense. "What's there to talk about? You know what that stuff did to his body? He almost bled to death, burned up with fever … his eyes were bleeding for crying out loud … he's a survivor …he doesn't deserve this … I need to be here for when he wakes up …" Sam was babbling, and he knew it. That proverbial storm Hetty had talked about years ago, was looming it's ugly head once again; only this time he felt the ship was listing heavily, was headed for the rocks, and the storm getting worse.
"Sam!"
"No!" Sam jumped up to stand at Callen's bedside, refusing to have this conversation. He grasped the side railings hard, staring at Callen. "Nate, he's gonna be fine!" His voice dropped to a whisper as he stared at his friend … "He has to be fine."
Nate gave Sam a few moments to collect himself. This was the hardest part of his job … ending hope … and Nate wished with every ounce of his being that he didn't have to have this dialog. He continued, choosing his words carefully.
"Sam YOU know, and I know … this" circling his hands in the air indicating the hospital room, "is not fine." Turning his stare at Callen "and Callen" … his voice grew softer … "Callen's not fine. He should have woken up a long time ago. You're right though, he is a survivor. But Sam, we've talked about this before; a body can only take so much abuse before it breaks."
Nate knew Sam's affection for Callen; he was walking on thin ice here, and he chose his words slowly and carefully. He sighed heavily and continued, his heart rejecting the words he had to say. "He's broken Sam, and there's nothing we can do about it. I just spoke to the doctors, his EEG is off the charts. His mind is in a constant state of agitation, his body can't rest, and it's starting to shut down. He's dying. We have to let him go."
"Let him GO? WHAT? No! Oh Hell NO! He's not brain dead, he's not terminal! What? We just say 'Oh, sorry G, thanks for your service, but we can't have you taking up space now can we, and throw him away?' Hell, he's been thrown away his whole life and you expect us to do it too? You're a damn fool Nate. I, you, the team, can't just sit here and watch him …" Sam's voice caught.
"It's what he wants, he wrote specific instructions in his will. I pulled his file when he was first infected, when it was touch and go. This is not the life he wants to live Sam, we both know that. Would you want it for yourself? Think long and hard before you answer … and you do know the answer. I know you love Callen, we all do. But this isn't living, it's just existence! Callen's road was hard in life; I couldn't have done it. But he lived, he survived, he fought, and he learned what family is. But Sam, he can't fight any more. The mind, the body, sometimes they just get too tired and "sleep" is the only relief that can quell the pain. I hope you're right, I hope he does wake up and all this will seem a bad dream. But the reality is …"
Sam interrupted Nate's thoughts. "Yeah, and how many times has G proven the doctors wrong, huh Nate?" The sound of 'Nate's' name dripped with venom. "How many times have the doctors said he should be dead, but yet here he is. Answer me that Nate!"
Nate watched as Sam's spirit crumbled, his shoulders sagged, his hands clenching the bed rails so hard Nate thought for a moment he saw them start to bend.
"They can't do any more for him here, they're flying him to Camp Pendleton tonight. If he doesn't wake up by next week, they'll stop all fluids, he'll slip into a coma …" Nate found he couldn't finish this story line, the ending was just too depressing. In all the years Callen played his psychological cat and mouse game with Nate, the two had developed a mutual friendship. "I'm here for you Sam, if you need to talk."
Sam straightened his back, balled his fists, and fought back with brazen anger. "Get out Nate! Just get the hell out of here."
Nate knew there was nothing more to say. He got up slowly, his stare aimed at Sam, then Callen, and back to Sam. "I'm sorry" he stated with words genuine to his nature. Nate walked towards the door knowing full well Sam's hateful words were strewn from fear and sadness. He turned and stared at Sam as Sam took hold of Callen's lifeless hand and wept silently.
Camp Pendleton
The stage. A room — sterile white and unassuming, a tinted window with built in blinds, a small table with a phone on top with medical necessities tucked neatly in its drawers, and a 1960s style chair with wooden arms. Maintaining center stage was a hospital bed, holding a body being fed by ribbons of life sustaining fluids.
Sam looked about and wondered if one guy had designed every hospital room in the world. Nothing ever changed except the direction of the window. This one faced west and he stood, watching a sun set in a blaze of gold and red glory. He gazed at the miracle before him and saw nothing; his emotions void of spirit.
Callen lay there silently, the heart monitor seeming to give him life where there seemed no life to give. Sam moved to his partner's side, willing him to wake up, but the only sound reverberating from the room was the constant beep of the heart monitor; Callen's heartbeat.
He texted Michelle and the Team, keeping them abreast of what was going on. His words seeming monotonous as every day was a repeat of the day before. 'No change.'
The nursing staff spoke in hushed tones as they focused their efforts on Callen. Performing their standard new patient assessment, they adjusted the various tubes running throughout his body, making him comfortable. They were apprised of Callen's condition, and understood the anguish of family as they tried to hold on to their loved ones, even as they were forced through the daily motions of living.
Saturday Morning
The day was created with a dark dense fog from a cloud which fell from the sky. Sam was sitting at Callen's bed side, reading him the news from the day's local paper. He felt a presence behind him and turned to see Hetty and a doctor standing in the doorway. He knew this day was coming … tried to ignore it … but here it was. Today Callen's death sentence would be put into play and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Sam and Hetty stared at each other, a sadness neither of them could contain. Tears filled Sam's eyes and Hetty placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as she fought back her own tears. "I'm sorry" was all she could say.
The doctor looked at Hetty and Sam and nodded his head. He opened his mouth to speak but realized no words could give comfort at a time like this. Pursing his lips, he moved to Callen's side and with deliberate moves and kindness of spirit he removed the IV and tubes which were draining fluid from Callen's fragile lungs. Turning to Sam and Hetty he explained, in a monotone voice, the sequence of death. Sam looked at the doctor, his emotions numb to the words which were tumbling out of the doctor's mouth. He wondered how many times the doctor had given this speech as saddened family members watched on. He turned his stare to Callen as the doctor's drone fell away into nothingness.
Hetty stayed for a while, then left; she would be back later she said.
The events of the morning were overwhelming; the other members of the team had come by to visit and console each other. Kensi tried to contain her emotions but failed miserably as tears fell unabashed through her dark lashes and down her face. Deeks held her tightly in his arms as he looked at the unconscious man. While Callen was always a mystery to him, he both admired and feared him … but still, as friend and agent, he trusted him with his life. How many people could attest to that he thought. Eric and Nell shed their tears as well. Watching Callen through video monitors was a buffering agent; watching him die in this hospital bed was a sad reality. The realization their friend was in the final throws of death was overwhelming.
Monday Night
The hospital staff left Callen alone now as they waited for the inevitable. The kind nurses understood family and friends needed to grieve and say their good byes; nothing more could be done with the patient but to keep him comfortable. It was hard to watch a patient die, especially one who had so many more years to live, but the competent staff curtailed their emotions to focus on those which needed to be healed.
It was late in the evening and Sam could tell Callen was having difficulties breathing; a sheen of perspiration appeared on his body heralding the onset of a fever. The nurses said it wouldn't be long, maybe another day or two; this projection of doom was always accompanied by an understanding look and a sympathetic smile. The nurses strength gave Sam a bit of solace but the emptiness in his heart was constant, his mind still rejecting the inevitable.
Sam again pleaded with him to wake up; it was the only thing he had left to give.
Sitting close by Callen's side Sam held his hand gently, "I'm sorry G. I'm so sorry. Sorry for all this, sorry for not helping you find your father, sorry for not being more patient with you … Hell G, I'm just so sorry and I don't even know what for. There's so much I want to say to you. So much I want to find out just what makes you tick. I want you to know … oh hell!" He looked up to the ceiling, looking for a sign, a higher spirit, a miracle to end this nightmare, and shook his head. He knew he was being selfish when he said, "Damn it Callen, you're my partner, my brother, you can't leave me?" He placed his head on Callen's hand and closed his eyes … his mind trying to ignore a future without his friend by his side. Exhaustion pushed Sam into the realm of nothingness.
The Vortex
Sam awoke suddenly. He found himself standing, surrounded by darkness. His thoughts were muddled and confused as if waking from a dream; he cursed to himself for having left his friend for such a basic need as sleep. But he couldn't understand why the hospital was so dark. Had there been a power outage? He stood in the darkness trying to adjust his eyes. "What the …?"
The darkness surrounding him was almost total and he couldn't move for fear of the dense void which seemed to surround him. All of his senses were on high alert as this world slowly opened up to him and he heard voices echoing softly in the distance. He tried to peer through the darkness but could see nothing. As his eyes adjusted to the inky blackness he saw a faint light in the distance. Taking slow cautious steps, Sam moved toward the illumination checking constantly for any threats from either side of him.
Slowly he came upon a giant vortex spinning around a beam of light, a cacophony of sounds inundating his senses. Dark clouds spun angrily around the walls of the spinning mass. A sound akin to a wind turbine with a bad bearing screeched an annoying sound through the air. Images and sounds flashed on the swirling walls … angry, leering faces spewed forth words of anger, hate, and humiliation; images and sounds of a child, a boy's small voice crying out in pain, his hands clawing to escape the evil, arms reaching for comfort. The vortex spun slowly, menacingly, seeming to be a living entity. The screams of the child tore at Sam's heart … "Stop it!" he yelled at the tormenters, but his voice was absorbed into the void; the vortex seeming to grow in strength.
Beyond the vortex Sam beheld a jumble of old battered boxes with locks and chains strewn about. A poem from his childhood flashed in his mind.
"Once upon a time in the land of Hush-a-bye
Around about the wondrous days of yore
They came across a sort of box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks
And labeled, "Kindly Do Not Touch - It's War."
Taking in the scene around him he saw Callen, sitting in the middle of the vortex, slumped over, holding something tightly in his arms. Squinting his eyes he realized Callen was cradling a small child, himself, beaten and bloody.
Sam placed his hand upon the vortex to try and reach his friend, but the vortex held emotions so great he couldn't penetrate its walls.
"G?" he said softly, trying to connect.
Callen sat motionless and Sam wondered if he had heard him. He clenched his fists and yelled over the din, "G!"
Slowly, painfully, Callen lifted his head. He stared at Sam and then back to the child he held so tenderly. Through sad, bloodshot eyes he stared at the child curled in his arms and whispered — "Save him!"
Sam looked at Callen, the boxes and chains, the angry walls, and realized now what had happened. All of Callen's past memories which he had filed away so methodically had somehow escaped, the memories overtaking his sanity and draining him of life. He remembered Nate's words, 'He's broken Sam, and there's nothing we can do about it.'
Unlike Sam's ability to separate his spiritual body from his physical body during times of extreme duress, Callen drew himself inward to escape the hell that was his life.
This place, this place of solace was now a place of terror. He wondered how many times Callen had come here to escape, survive, the horrors of his childhood or the dangers of being an agent. This place, where he once felt safe, where he could lock away his memories, was now killing him in the process.
This was a war now and Callen would have to fight against every demon from his past. Callen was broken but Sam realized he had to help mend his friend, his partner, in order to save him.
"G? G! Look at me buddy … Look At Me! … " The vortex roared louder. "You need to close the boxes. Give me the child. Please listen to me."
He waited for a response but got nothing.
"G!," he pleaded again, "look at me."
What seemed like ages, Callen finally spoke, his voice forced and filled with sadness, "I'm so tired Sam … so tired. I can't …. I can't do this anymore."
Sam knew what he had to say; something Callen had issues with all of his life. "Do you trust me?"
Callen's head dropped lower, his eyes closed. "With my life."
The Boxes
Putting all emotion aside, Sam gathered strength, and with an authoritative voice yelled "Get up G. Get Up! I know you're tired but you have to do this. Kensi and Deeks, Hetty … they need you." Sam pleaded, "I need you! Please, please, don't make me go this way alone. I'm begging you."
Callen sat there, lost in his world of pain. Alone. That word … Callen had spent most of his life 'alone.' He had locked away his past and had not allowed anyone to pass through the walls he had built. That was until he came to NCIS. It was a rocky start at first. But at NCIS he had found people who accepted him for who he was, people who opened their hearts to him, and expected nothing in return, people he could trust. Now here was Sam, begging him to live; Sam … his anchor, his friend. Throughout his life he never truly had someone he could call 'friend' except maybe for Jason … Callen stopped there, he couldn't go further in that thought process.
"G!" Sam called, pulling him out of his reverie, "Give me the child, you need to close the boxes. You can do this; you have to do this. God, please!" There was great urgency in his plea and Sam could hear Callen struggling for breath and see the beads of sweat on his brow.
Callen looked down at the child, his face a mixture of pain and sadness. He pulled the child closer in his arms, apologized for causing him more pain as he adjusted him in his arms, and then slowly, painfully, stood up. He moved through the vortex, unsure his legs could carry him; the voices in the vortex cried louder as he passed through its walls. He came to Sam and ever so gently placed the damaged child into Sam's waiting arms.
Sam looked at the child, surprised at how light he felt. He thought of his baby girl and how bad he felt when she got even a small splinter. No child should ever have to endure what he was holding in his arms. He looked at Callen who seemed to waiver as he tried to remain standing. There was no sympathy in Callen's eyes for the damaged child in Sam's strong arms; this was Callen's past; he had lived it … and now he had to bury all of his memories away.
"Thank you for trusting me. You know what you need to do. Please you have got to do this," Sam said quietly.
Callen closed his eyes and nodded slightly. He took a step back, staggering in his gait, and walked back into the vortex. Once again the vortex seemed to cry out as Callen passed through it's walls; the vortex seeming to draw energy from Callen's already failing body. He reached out hesitantly and pulled at a memory … Foster Home #3. He shut his eyes tight as the memories flooded his mind. He stood up slowly, staggered to a box, and put the memory away. He then slowly picked up a chain and lock and carefully secured the box.
Sam watched Callen's eyes harden as he shoved the box, like a vile piece of garbage, across the floor beyond his reach, a piece of his former life now safely locked away. He knelt there for a moment; his jaws tightened.
Sam sat down, the child moaning at the movement.
Slowly, one by one, the memories were filed away as Callen's eyes grew colder and colder. He was barely able to stand now, his energy waning as each horrific memory was revisited, replayed, and then locked away.
Sam watched Callen's face harden as he realized these recollections were shutting down Callen's emotions.
The child in his arms squeezed Sam's hand hard as each memory was awakened and relived; his small nails puncturing the skin of Sam's large hand. Sam was amazed at the strength the child displayed, knowing the intensity of his hold was equivalent to the pain he was feeling. He dared not pull his hand away, but spoke in soft soothing tones hoping to help the child overcome the pain of the memory. "Shh, shh … hold on buddy. I've got you … I've got you. I'm not going to let go. I promise …"
Sam watched the parade of tragedies continue for what seemed like an eternity. The broken child in his arms continued to claw at Sam's now bloody hand as the child was forced to remember his pathetic past.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the angry voices started to abate from the vortex and the sounds and faces of the traumatized child dissipated from the vortex walls. Callen was crawling now, unable to stand, his breath coming in hard gasps. He returned to the vortex and sat for a while, his arms resting on his bent knees, his head resting on his forearms.
Sam silently begged him to continue on.
Callen knew the next childhood memory would be the hardest. Foster Home #17 … Jason! Callen sat with his eyes closed as he listened to Jason's screams, his screams, his foster dad and his drunk buddies as they spewed their vile words and looked at him with lust. Jason trying to save him but dying just beyond his reach. Callen's body too damaged to go to his friend to comfort him in his final moments of life. He grabbed at the memory and held it close to his body. His breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes; tears filled his eyes but failed to fall. Tears were futile and solved nothing. Callen had stopped crying a long time ago; it was his defiant nature to stand strong against his oppressors.
With marked determination Callen drug his weary body to another box, and put away the memory, seeming to take extra care to ensure the box was tightly locked. Collapsing to the floor he pulled his tired body back to the vortex, collapsing in a fetal position onto the hard floor. Sam noted his exhausted eyes were cold and heartless and felt afraid.
Callen lay in the vortex; he had never felt so exhausted in his life. The anger of the vortex had abated though, and the evil it once held was replaced by memories his mind could handle, and some good ones as well. His eyes softened as familiar sounds soothed him with memories of laughter and kindness. Shared drinks with his team … Sunday dinner with Sam's family … nonsensical conversations with his partner during stake outs … basketball games in the gym where no one really kept score and rules were changed on a whim.
Suddenly Sam felt the child struggle in his arms. Looking down he saw most of the cuts and bruises had disappeared and the boy's large sad eyes stared at him with fear. The child struggled and escaped Sam's reach, stood up, and slowly backed away towards the vortex, looking to break into a run if Sam moved. Turning to the vortex he stopped just before the swirling mass and stared at Callen. Suddenly he turned back to Sam. With confused eyes he looked at Sam and hurled himself towards him, burying his face in Sam's chest.
Sam wrapped his strong arms around the fragile child and hugged him gently … thinking only to say "It's okay now. It's going to be okay."
The child stood and stared again at Sam as if he was trying to remember how he knew him. Returning to Callen, he wiggled into his weary arms, and fell into an exhausted sleep. In a protective gesture, Callen softly pulled the child closer to his body. Sam watched as the child, enveloped in Callen's arms, slowly faded away, leaving Callen lying curled on the floor.
Callen lay there unable to move; emotionally and physically drained, his breath catching in heavy gasps. He lay there and watched as his present life flashed on the walls of the vortex. His family, Sam, Kensi, Deeks, Eric, and Nell sharing their laughter and words of kindness. His family whose touch did not result in pain … Callen realized he needed contact, he needed to connect, he needed life.
He stretched out his hand to Sam, begging him with his eyes to take hold … and Sam did. With every ounce of energy Callen had left, he grabbed on to Sam's hand and held on.
The Awakening
Sam awoke with a start to the pressure of someone holding his hand. He opened his eyes to the darkened hospital room, the familiar beeps of the heart monitor filling the air. Gathering his senses he looked over to Callen only to see his partner staring back at him, his pale blue eyes dull with pain, but awake and aware. "G? Oh my God G! NURSE!"
Callen tried to talk but his throat, his mouth, his lips were so parched all he could do was mouth the word "Sam …"
"NURSE!" Sam yelled again as he grabbed the call button.
A nurse quickly appeared in the doorway and moved to Callen's side. "Is there a problem here?" It was then she noticed Callen's eyes staring at Sam. She performed a quick assessment, "Hold on sweetie, just hold on," and then looked at Sam, "I'll call the doctor, we need to get an IV in him," and with that she ran out of the room. She and another nurse arrived shortly later and immediately started working on Callen. She gave Sam a frozen popsicle of water to rub over Callen's dry lips to soothe his parched mouth. "I've called the doctor; he'll be here shortly" she said.
Within minutes the doctor showed up to check Callen over. Sam was forced into the waiting room where he put his own dent into the floor.
What seemed like forever the doctor came out, "Callen is coherent but exhausted. He's responding to vocal stimuli and is aware of his current surroundings. His EEG shows almost normal brain function, though there's still some activity. He's running a fever which should respond to antibiotics and we've re-attached drain tubes to help remove fluids from his lungs, this will help his breathing. This virus is unknown to any of us, but barring any unforeseen setbacks, I'm giving a tentative prognosis of a full recovery." The doctor saw the relief in Sam's face and put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it tightly. "You know, every once in a while I am witness to a miracle. I'll be back a bit later to check on him, the nurses will monitor him closely." With that the doctor walked away, a small smile on his face, shaking his head in amazement.
Sam almost ran into the room; relief was the only word he could think of right now, the burden now lifted, he had a return of hope.
Closure
Sam stayed with his partner until late morning. The staff forced him to leave Callen's side to go home; promising they would contact him if there were any problems. They predicted Callen would sleep for the next 24 hours.
Standing by his car, keys in hand, Sam stood for a long moment to look around him. For the first time in what seemed forever, his senses became aware. The sounds of leaves rustling in a gentle breeze, the energy of the sun as its heat penetrated his body, the nuisance sound of traffic in the distance, birds sharing their songs. His partner, was alive and with hope came the awakening of life around him. Sam felt tears well up in his eyes but forced them back. A slight smile graced his face as he shook his head, unlocked the car, slid onto the leather seat, and brought the Challenger to life.
Sam drove home on autopilot, his mind blank as he tried to make sense of the events of the night, Callen waking up, the dream, the realization of this nightmare finally being over. He drove into his driveway unaware of how he got there. Turning off the engine he sat in the now quiet car, his body exhausted.
Michelle came to the door as she heard the roar of the Challenger pull into the driveway. She watched as her husband sat, dumbfounded, staring at nothing. Her heart dropped at the thought of what may have caused her husband's empty stares. "Oh God" she thought, her mind going to the darkest corners of her being. Her breath caught as tears blurred her vision. What seemed like forever, the car door slowly opened, Sam's large body removing itself from the car. He locked it and then slowly started walking to the house; becoming aware of his wife staring at him … her eyes large with sad anticipation. Sam regretted he hadn't called her when Callen woke up.
Sam looked at her, too tired to smile.
Michelle gave him a questioning look, not knowing how to interpret her husband's body language. "Sam? No! Oh please no!"
"Come here baby," he took her into his arms and hugged her tightly, holding her head to his chest with his large hands; he was trembling. "Michelle, he's alive," his voice choked at saying it out loud. "He woke up. He's gonna be okay."
Michelle pulled away from her husband, keeping her hands on his chest. She looked at him, her eyes giving way to the questions she had.
Sam went to the refrigerator and pulled out a cold beer. After the night he had, he needed something to take the edge off of his emotions. Not one to drink before noon, he was going to make an exception to the rule today. Taking a long draw of his beer he walked slowly to the couch, his gait mimicking the exhaustion he felt. Michelle held her distance and then followed behind him; holding her questions until her husband was ready to talk. He sat down heavily and stared at a blank television screen; allowing himself to breathe for what seemed the first time in weeks.
"What happened Sam? Is Callen going to be okay?"
So he began at the beginning, telling Michelle about Callen waking up, the prognosis, and the bizarre dream. Michelle listened to it all, watched Sam cry when he needed to cry, and lent her strength when he needed that too.
Three beers later an exhausted, and slightly buzzed Sam put his feet up and leaned back into the couch. Michelle sat on the floor allowing Sam to stretch out and relax. Stroking Sam's long arms she finally relax along with her husband, releasing tension she now acknowledged. She took his long arm and brought it around to the front of her and ran her nails softly along the back of his hands. She knew her husband would probably sleep a couple of hours and would then return to his partner's side. She understood the deep friendship Sam had with his partner. Their relationship started unlike finding a lost puppy outside your door on a rainy night, you looked at its sad eyes and took it in. You tolerated its mischief and distance with unrequited love. That love had slowly become a two way street, and a brotherhood had flourished.
Sam had closed his eyes and she smiled as she watched his face relax. Michelle went to kiss his hand when she noticed the deep gouges and marred skin; she stared at them intently and asked …
"Sam, what are these marks on your hand?"
The End
The Box - Kendrew Lascelles
