Boulevard of Broken Dreams

chapter 3

Los Angeles || AlhambraHospital

He could go back to the office and help Fatima and Eric, or do what he detested most-- finish more paperwork. Or, as the special agent in charge, he could go and assist his four co-workers on the street and try and find out what happened.
In all those cases he'd needed to drive half an hour either way.
Or he could stay and wait until this woman would wake up. The answers to all the questions would come from her.

Callen took the liberty to study the chart which was clipped at the end of the bed.
Not that he was a medical expert, and the numbers on it or on the small monitor above the bed he banned from his mind. But he understood there were bruised and broken ribs. And he knew how much that could hurt.
There was a serious headwound and a broken wrist, both as a result of being hit by a car. But then, there was a gunshot wound which miraculously only shattered a rib and grazed and damaged the spleen. It could've been worse, then again, why was she on the run and why someone had shot her?
He shook his head, more or less to himself. He took the chart and the pen and took a seat. There were just a few more things he read, things he knew he should not share unless she, herself, or a relative, would agree. An earlier scar of what appeared to be a knife wound. Despite his reluctance, he sent the little new info to Eric and Fatima. If it would help to identify this woman, it would be forgiven.

Callen couldn't recall any cases where a John or Jane Doe crossed their path before.
He took one of the empty papers beneath the ones with the info from doctors and nurses, and despite the fact he hated hospitals, he sat down with a blank backside of a file and the pen. Just in case he'd needed to note things.

Who was she? Who missed her, or was she living alone? Living in LA, or just a visitor? Not someone who was simply robbed. Dressing a wound like that, breaking in and getting changed, obviously to avoid the ones who were after her, it all required some kind of training. Missing fingerprints, ID or not being recognized by the usual facial recs meant something, but he didn't have any grip on what exactly that was. Yet.

Sitting here and observing a patient like he had been observed many times himself, he relaxed a bit more and he used his booted feet to make the chair lean against the wall and find the balance on its back legs.

He let his thoughts go over his own life. With Anna really doing volunteer work nowadays, he wondered how long he wanted to continue this job.
Whereas Sam was serious about selecting and coaching green agents, he wasn't too sure at all of the future plans. Handling and directing the team, or any new teams, from inside the office wasn't really his cup of tea. Besides, it fit Nell much better. Getting sidelined and inside the office never sounded exciting and in fact he thought he'd die of boredom within a few months. But well, the alternative was chasing the bad guys until he was too old and the inevitable retirement came.
Or worse, when one bullet with his name on it would destroy the life that he knew.

He wasn't Gibbs, but he wondered how his friend from Washington felt about being the senior. The Washington team worked different from theirs, that was true. Would he want to switch teams and move to the East coast? Probably not.

Perhaps he could switch to the secret service or for a close protection detail of a Hollywood star. Which, all in all, sounded dull as well.

He heaved a deep sigh. He actually wished he could go on working with Sam the way they'd worked together for the past fifteen years. Before that he was a loner. Going back to some kind of job like that wasn't what he looked forward to either.

o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)

Los Angeles || NCIS OSP ||half an hour later

"We still have nothing, absolutely nothing, new to work with guys," Eric said, frustrated. He sent all team members a text message to have a joint meeting, all audio though.