Author's Note: First things first – I am sooooooooooo incredibly sorry for the long update time, but university and the so-called real life (plus a fit of severe writer's block, like really, severe writer's block, I'm not even kidding) have kept me from this story… and all my other stories, pretty much. I want to finish this, I do, I have any intention to, but… my mind won't set on it. And I just keep thinking too much, I guess. I hope you forgive me and still stick around. Thanks a lot for the encouraging and interesting reviews, you guys make me smile each time ^^

In response to my wonderful French reader – I will go with English because my French is really too bad to say that: Thank you so incredibly much for the input. I will try to incorporate the information as far as that is possible, but for the sake of fiction I guess I will make it appear faster than it would actually take for such a hearing etc. to get through. If nothing works, I take the liberty to rely on Hetty-magic to make everything go a bit faster. Because I actually don't want to stop with just having a court hearing to declare who gets to have Marty (I guess the mom-issue is a broad hint already). However, I'm really thankful for pointing this out to me. I hope I can incorporate it insofar to make it at least halfway-authentic ^^

Merci beaucoup ;)

As always, reviews are welcome and ever so much appreciated, especially after I kept you waiting for soooo long. *melts*

Read, review, and hopefully enjoy ;)

The next day, curiously enough, routine has the two brothers back as fast as it was ripped away beneath their feet. They greet the others almost cheerily in the morning, have takeaway coffee, Marty with cinnamon flavor this time. Perhaps it is to get back on the horse, find back into the routine, or just because they want to hold this routine precious for as long as it lasts. Neither one says it out loud, but that's okay. Either way, it's alright. They have their routine for now. They have coffee, with and without cinnamon. They have each other.

For now.

And hopefully for much longer.

Callen finds himself making phone calls to teachers and parents, even some students, CPS, and the like to gather tatters and bits of information to somehow complete the picture. However, this proves to be much more difficult than it could be expected. After all, if one looks at it from a distance, this should simply be an argument about custody. However, the mystery Callen almost forgot about that wafted around Marty when he first got to know him is slowly but surely starting anew and obscures all those tatters and bits that he needs so desperately, for Marty's sake already.

And another setback is that sometimes it is not at all mysterious, it's so crystal clear that it hurts G behind the eyeballs – whenever the conversations come to an abrupt end before they ever started.

Marty who?

No, I know no one of that name.

Brandel,no. Doesn't ring a bell with me.

You say we were neighbors? I can't recall, really, maybe you ended up with the wrong address, Sir.

Brandel, yeah, that sounds familiar in some way. Didn't they have two daughters? No, well, then maybe not.

I know they had a kid, but I never talked to them.
I only saw them walking down the streets from time to time.

I thought they had moved away shortly after. What? They didn't? Oh, that's a surprise, but well. It's not like I checked or so.

Sorry, but I have to ask again, what was the boy's name?

I forgot.

It is not just frustrating to have wasted yet another five minutes without getting any information, but it makes Callen sick to the stomach that seemingly no one bothered about his little brother when he was in dire need. And that already when he wasn't in the streets, where, so G had to understand, it's much more common and even accepted by the street kids themselves, that people don't care and turn away. However, even when Marty was a school child like any other, may have rode the same bus home with their kids, may have had the same classes with them, may have passed their door, their house, their fence... they didn't care. They just didn't care, at all.

And even if it may be perfectly irrational, no, he knows it's irrational, Callen fails to understand how someone can look past such a child, a child that grew to be his life, his little everything.

Nevertheless, he keeps going. Because some do indeed remember Marty, if only vaguely, and even if they didn't ever talk to the kid or his family, they might still remember someone else who talked to them, maybe. However, very often G stumbles over the name of Nancy Trager again. They plan to go to Marty's neighborhood tomorrow. She still lives in the same house, so Eric and Nell confirmed, still working the same job, and still a single mother. Callen phoned her already, a very nice woman from the sound of her voice. Even if he didn't give away everything yet, she agreed to have him over to answer some questions. He mentioned that it is about Marty, but didn't give away any more than that it is about him. He hopes that Marty will stir some reaction so that she doesn't do what he saw most of the people do who should remember Marty, namely to not get involved, which is why the kid is supposed to come along tomorrow.

And Callen couldn't help but frown at how Marty's eyes twinkled with happiness for a moment once he told him about the plan – because there is seemingly someone who remembers him.

G is pulled out of his musing as Kensi asks him something, "So okay, we still need to do some figuring out when it comes to the domestic shooting. Do you think it's helpful to ask Marty's former lawyer?"

He and the rest are all in the bullpen, also the two analysts, to discuss the next steps, and for another round of coffee, after neither one of them got a good night's sleep ever since the encounter with Brandel and the mysterious woman.

"It might be," Callen shrugs.

"What about Brandel's lawyer, too?" Sam suggests.

"Well, then you two should see if you can dig up those two, maybe even the judge," Kensi says, referring to the analysts, who give a nod.

"Mark it off as done," Eric winks at her.

"But I really hope that Marty's lawyer can give us some information," Kensi makes a face.

Once again, as if on cue, Marty walks in, sipping a cup of coffee. He stops, but still has the mug lifted to his lips as he speaks nonchalantly, "That'll be difficult."

"I thought I told you to do your homework," Callen scolds. He actually wants to keep most of the "investigation" away from Marty. The kid has enough to figure out, and it surely shouldn't be about finding evidence. That's his job.

"All done. I went to have a coffee," Marty shrugs his shoulders.

"So okay... why do you think we can't get our hands on the lawyers? We can use Kaleidoscope to find them in no time," Eric argues.

"Don't bother about my lawyer. I know where he is," Marty tells him, which only makes the agents frown at him. How would he know?

"And?" the team leader asks eventually, to which Marty replies, "You can dig him up in Stark Cemetery, but I don't think that he'll be very talkative."

"He's dead," Callen makes a face.

"Yup. Bad cholesterol, I guess. Died from heart attack two years ago," Marty explains. Well, he doesn't know if it was really the bad cholesterol in the end, but that guy was fat and sweated a lot, that Marty can remember. That he always munched chocolates and energy bars during the breaks like a hamster. And that Marty didn't like him. At some point the teenager honestly hopes that it was his secret pleasure that killed him.

"How do you know that?" Sam questions. After all, Marty hardly attended the funeral or held up contact with this man.

"I know it only by chance – I read his obituary in the newspaper," Marty shrugs. "Well, it actually was only three weeks later. I found it in the trash near one place I stayed at when in the streets. I always liked to do the riddles, but then I stumbled over his name on the page with the obituaries, so... yeah, he's pushing the daisies in a while."

It was really curious how this slightly wet and blurred paper ended up in Marty's dirty-smudged hands while he dug through yet another trash can for a bit of leisure time, a bit of mental escape within the world of riddles and words. Marty spent at least ten minutes laughing whole-heartedly once his eyes traced the letters marking that person's death – because no matter how you look at it, it is probably a chance one out of ten million (or more, he never read such statistics) that he happens to stumble over this one newspaper containing this particular obituary. However, Marty took it as a wink of fate that maybe justice can win by the end of the day after all, perhaps just not the way he expected it to. And that gave him not only a good laugh, but also a strange feeling of… hope.

"Well, then your father's lawyer might still be a shot," Kensi shrugs.

"My father's lawyer's also a friend of his. We even had him over for dinner a few times as far as I can remember. So… no way he'd say something against him. So... the lawyers are either dead or my father's friends. In other terms: We are screwed," Marty retorts, now with a sudden grim expression on his face. Callen walks over to him and takes him by the shoulders, "We will find something, don't you worry."

"Yeah, yeah. I know," Marty sighs. He knows that moping doesn't get them anywhere, and he swore not to do it, but it honestly pulls the teenager down that not only people don't remember him, but that, once again, death and secrets get in the way of his happiness. How is he supposed to believe in justice and fortune when those two villainous powers always get in the way?

"And we still have Nancy to talk to tomorrow, right?" Callen goes on, hoping to bring his spirits back up, but gladly, Nell comes to his aid, "Hey, Marty! How about we play some video games? I bought a new one that you'll love for sure."

"You're at work," Marty frowns as the redhead comes closer to him.

"Those guys are giving me headsores, so this will help me focus again. And you still owe me a rematch after you got me by surprise last week," she winks at him. Marty shrugs as she puts a hand on his shoulder and starts to push him away and to the lounge. Callen mouths a silent thank-you as the two walk off.

"So I got you by surprise ten times in a row?" Marty snickers, joining the light mood once again. Nell nudges him in the shoulder as they disappear. Callen lets out a deep sigh, running his thumb and index finger over the corners of his mouth.

"Great," he mutters. Kensi, Eric, and Sam look at him sympathetically. That is the moment Hetty makes her appearance.

"Hetty? Please tell me that you got some good news," Callen cries out more desperately than he would like to, however, his cool is long since gone – ever since Brandel resurfaced, to be honest.

"Where does that desperation come from, Mr. Callen?" she frowns at him, to which he replies with a shrug, "It turns out that Marty's former lawyer for the domestic shooting had a fable for fat and sugar."

"And kicked the bucket," Sam adds. "And the kid says his father's lawyer is a friend of his, so chances are low that he will speak in our favor in any way. We'll look at everything another time anyway, but let's just say this angle doesn't look very fruitful."

"That is of course a problem...," Hetty grimaces.

"So now, tell me something good, please," Callen sighs.

"Well, Mr. Callen... I don't think it's good news, but it's at least no such bad information which comes as a surprise," Hetty tells him.

"Hetty, just talk to me," Callen grunts. If there is yet another abyss before him, they should just get over with it, right?

"Mr. Connor informed me that an inspector was assigned to Mr. Deeks. Miss Lucile Hart. She will come to you and Mr. Deeks to have a look at the living conditions," the petite woman explains.

"I thought they'd go looking over at Brandel's," G grunts.

"No, the inspector is neutral and that means she will make her own impression of either living conditions to decide which one is best in Mr. Deeks' interest," Hetty explains.

"Okay, then she shall come. She'll see that I'm a way better parent than that bastard will ever be," Callen snorts. He can't picture that this will be a hard challenge. He never did to Marty what that bastard did, and won't ever. Point proven. Next question.

"Are you aware of the standards, Mr. Callen?" Hetty grimaces at him.

"Huh? Come again?" the agent frowns at her incredulously.

"The standards?" she asks again.

"For what?" G makes a face.

"Where do you live, Mr. Callen?" Hetty says, now in a scolding tone.

"In... a flat," Callen shrugs.

"Bunker is what you call it," Sam snorts, and Hetty only agrees, "Precisely. And where does Mr. Deeks stay?"

"He sleeps in my bed. I crash on the couch," Callen frowns. She knows that, so what's the point?

"Now, what do you expect will you find in Mr. Brandel's house when Ms. Hastings comes for visit?" Hetty goes on, but Sam answers for him, "A white-picked fence, a gorgeous house with a room with 'Marty' in sparkly letters on the door, flower curtains, cookies on the nightstand, a ton of toys and video games, a schedule for activities, tickets for the zoo, ready-made bed, and rose fragrance."

"You are weird," Callen makes a face.

"No, Mr. Hanna is absolutely right," Hetty argues. "It's about the impression. And when Ms. Hart shows up on your doorsteps, she'll see every particle of dust... and in your flat she will find a lot of it, literally as well as figuratively. She will see that Mr. Deeks is not having a real room of his own, which means that he has no proper place to withdraw to. You sleep on the couch, that doesn't speak for the stability Mr. Deeks needs. You are barely at home due to your job, you have no partner or nanny."

"Marty would kill me before I hired a nanny," Callen snorts. He never brought it up – for good measure. Marty would have the laugh of his life.

"That's not the point, Mr. Callen. It's about the appearance," Hetty reminds him.

"And Brandel and the chick will have all that to show," Sam adds. "Because they probably spent a lot of time framing that."

"So what am I supposed to do to change that? Move into a fancy house now, too?" Callen snorts.

Of course he would do that in an instant if that increased his chances, but G doesn't see that this is bringing them anywhere.

"I talked to Mr. Connor about that option, but moving into another house might actually not be in our favor. Relocation in times such as these might prove to be more of a problem than it would help," Hetty shrugs.

"So what do I do now?" Callen snorts.

"Well, the court will be interested in stable living conditions. That means that it is clean, clearly structured, and that there is a proper space for both you and Mr. Deeks," Hetty explains.

"… Again, what am I supposed to do?" G frowns incredulously.

"You don't have to do anything much, you may consider it being taken care of," Hetty tells him with a smirk tugging at her thin lips.

"What does that mean?" G puckers his lips suspiciously.

"I took the liberty to have your home… upgraded a bit, for the present purpose," Hetty replies.

"You seriously have the craftsmen in my home as we speak?" Callen looks at her with a grimace, to which Hetty only gives a shrug.

"… Under different circumstances, I would feel offended for invading my privacy like that, but right now I can just say… thanks. I appreciate it," Callen sighs. Because, to be honest, he didn't even think about it in his wildest dreams that this might be an issue.

Just that everything is an issue recently.

"The work will be done quickly, so that it looks polished before Ms. Hastings even places her foot upon your threshold," Hetty smiles at him.

"That is actually an upside for once," Callen shakes his head. "Really, thanks."

"We all want Mr. Deeks to stay, so this is the least we can do," Hetty replies. Callen smiles at her. If he didn't know before, he surely knows now that this is his family right there, doing anything for him… and more.

Callen is pulled out of his musing by the vibration of his cellphone. He takes it out of his pocket to frown at the number, "That's the doc."

He turns around and walks a little away to have some privacy.

"I honestly wonder where you store those millions of minions who build new kitchens and polish up entire apartments in a day, Hetty," Sam snorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't have minions, Mr. Hanna. I have a widely spread network of friends," she replies with a wink.

"Right," Sam chuckles softly. Callen soon returns to them.

"What did the doctor want?" Sam questions.

"Well, you know that we need the tests and x-rays to prove the injuries Marty received at Brandel's hand. The doctor informed me that he has an earlier slot for our appointment free after another patient cancelled. I wanna see if Marty's okay with it to go right now, if that's alright, Hetty?" Callen replies. The petite woman nods at him, "Of course. We will keep working on the leads during your absence."

"Thank you," the agent nods. He walks over to Nell and Marty, who are accompanied by Kensi now. G didn't even realize that the female agent took off as well, but she is almost as good as sneaking up and away as Hetty, though no one will ever beat this woman in that game. It's her game after all.

Kensi frowns at the screen, waving around with the controller still in hand, "Wait... so the goal of that game is to kill all those zombies... and that's just it? Like, no greater goal, just kill?"

"Of course. What else would you do with them?" Nell shrugs, furrowing her eyebrows.

"And you seem so nice and cute with your pixie-haircut," Kensi shakes her head.

"And you just lost," Nell shrugs, nodding at the screen where Kensi's avatar just gets eaten by the green zombies.

"Argh!" she grumbles, pushing some buttons in anger.

"You gotta go for the heads, that brings extra points," Marty tells her.

"And they say I got anger issues. This is a whole new level of weird anger management," Kensi shakes her head.

"And if it's cute little brown chickens you shoot at, then it's not? I mean, all played that game when it came out, as far as I know?" Marty argues.

"Still, and then they wonder that their boys want to have a sword for Christmas!" Kensi argues.

"And girls. I wanted one when I was eleven," Nell argues.

"What? Did you get one?" Kensi frowns curiously.

"Yeah," she smiles wickedly.

"Isn't that kinda irresponsible?" Kensi makes a face. Of course she got knives for Christmas all the while, but she knows how to use them.

"What about it? It was a perfect replica of Link's sword from Legend of Zelda. I still have it in my collection," Nell explains.

"... collection," Kensi repeats. Sword collection. She never took Nell for the type, to be honest.

And Kensi didn't see it, even though she slept over at her place by now.

"Hetty's not the only one who has such things, just that mine, well, are mostly coz they are badass cool or coz they are from a movie or video game," she shrugs.

"... you surprise me," Kensi shakes her head, but then turns to the teenager. "Marty, promise me that you won't start that, yes?"

"Why? You like weapons, too. Hetty's thing is amazing… and I bet G wouldn't mind," Marty puckers his lips.

"I can't lose a comic buddy to the gamers!" Kensi argues vehemently.

"Hey! You want to pick a fight!?" Nell makes a serious face.

"I like comic books better, for collection reasons," Marty shrugs eventually. "But if you wanna play with something, video games are still best.

"That's my boy," Kensi smiles happily, clapping him on the back.

"And my boy, too," Nell grins, copying Kensi's movement.

"Having fun?" Callen says casually as he comes up to them.

"Splendid. I feel so old when I play these," Kensi snorts.

"Yeah, I know what you mean...," Callen agrees, but then tilts his head at the screen. "Even if Zombie Apocalypse Los Angeles 3 is kinda cool, once you know that you have to aim at the heads."

Kensi shakes her head with a smirk, "Marty, you spoiled him."

"... Nate told us to do something together. He's good at shooting, so why not shooting monsters?" Marty shrugs.

"That is... a case in point," Kensi nods. Inside her head she now pictures Callen freaking out over the video game as much as she does, though, which makes her chuckle softly. All those new images of G Callen – it never ceases to amaze her that there are those varieties now, where they didn't use to be.

"Marty?" Callen turns to the teenager, who blinks at him curiously, "What is it?"

"I just talked to Dr. Cramer. He said that we could get an earlier appointment for the… check-up… if you are up to it," Callen explains.

"You are killing me with this," Marty pouts, leaning his head on the controller.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to," the older brother assures him quickly.

"I kinda do," Marty snorts. "But I guess that the sooner we get over with this, the better, right?"

"Right," Callen agrees.

"But I don't get yet another of those funny surprise shots, like last time? I wanted to hit that guy in the arm real hard when it was suddenly about a vaccination I didn't even know I had to get," Marty narrows his eyes at him.

"No vaccinations, I promise," Callen holds up his hands in surrender.

"Good, I hate needles," Marty shudders.

"I don't like them either," Kensi whispers to him.

"So this is seriously happening… right now… or did the doctor just mean to say the earlier appointment is like… one hour before the time we had before?" Marty huffs playfully.

"No, it'd be now," Callen replies.

"Okay, fine, then let's… get that over with," Marty makes a face, getting up. He hands the controller over to Kensi.

"If the doc's mean to you, you tell me, I'll beat him up for you," Kensi offers with a wink.

"Thank you," Marty grins. "I might take you up on that."

"C'mon," Callen ushers the younger brother, leading him away by the shoulder.

"So… we should get back to work…," Nell puckers her lips.

"One last round?" Kensi grins.

"Yep," Nell chuckles and starts the game.

So the two brothers soon find themselves in a private treatment room, waiting for the doctor.

"I really hate hospitals," Marty murmurs, looking around.

"They are just doing their job here, too," Callen shrugs, though he absolutely shares the young brother's sentiment.

"And that is why I never want to become a doctor later on in life. Just imagine you have to work here… and treat lousy patients such as us," Marty goes on.

"They get good money for it, and I think they have nice patients around on occasion," Callen chuckles. "And anyways, even if you are a lousy patient, you know that Dr. Cramer likes you."

"That might be, but… I'm still a lousy patient, from the bottom of my heart," Marty shrugs. He likes Dr. Cramer, too, actually. He helped save G's life, so that man has many plus-points on his list even though Marty didn't know him really well until recently.

"I really hope I didn't rush you with this," Callen grimaces.

"G, it's okay. I'm… alright… so far, and I really just wanna get over with it," Marty assures him. He knows his brother is just trying to be nice and put as little strain on him as is possible, but Marty sees the necessity, the absolute necessity. The way he figures, Marty wants to treat this like his brother does it with the bad guys, like a case. A case to solve. And what do you do to solve a case?

You gather evidence.

Everywhere.

Even on your own body if it has to be.

For as long as it gets the bad guy into prison, what does it matter, right?

"Sorry that I kept you waiting, but another patient of mine kept me longer than I thought. I'm glad you could make it that fast. I know it was a little rushed, but…," Dr. Cramer says as he enters, Callen holds up his hands, "We are glad for the earlier appointment."

The doctor takes his seat in front of the two.

"Good," Dr. Cramer smiles, before turning his attention to Marty. "Alright, Marty. I think you know what we are going to do today, right?"

"Yes," the teenager replies.

"Do you want your brother to go outside for the matter?" the doctor questions. Marty looks at G for a moment, but then shakes his head, "I want him to stay."

"And you're sure?" G grimaces.

"Yes," Marty nods. If he shares this with someone, it is with G.

"What number are we at?" the older brother asks.

"… six," Marty replies.

"So? Are we good to go?" the doctor questions.

"Six is very good given the circumstances," Marty manages a small smile.

"Good, so now… I would simply ask you to tell me what injuries you remember having gotten over the years. You don't have to go into detail about how you got them, unless you feel the need to, because then I will of course gladly listen to you, but other than that… you just have to pretty much give me a list of what to look for. Then I will tell the nurses what body parts to take x-rays from and the like. We don't want to bother you with tests and x-rays of parts that weren't hurt. So that you can soon get the hell out of here. Is that okay for you?" Dr. Cramer asks in a warm voice.

"Yeah, sounds good to me, yeah," Marty nods, actually glad for the man's approach. It feels more like gathering evidence. And that he is okay that Marty just wants to get over with it makes the teenager even more confident that this is not the worst of worst case scenarios, at least for that little scenario here.

"Alright, so… whenever you are ready, you can go ahead. We have time, so take it if you need to," the doctor assures him, but much to the older men's surprise, Marty straightly goes ahead, "I received a few blows to the head when I was around… seven to eight years old, though I don't think those were too severe, so I don't know if that would show on any x-ray. I got a few jabs in the face… I had my right shoulder dislocated a few times… because he twisted the arm… I also had a cast for the left hand once, though I don't know if it was broken… or if yes, what was broken exactly. I guess the ribs also got a fair share… and the back."

Callen bites the inside of his cheek, but chooses not to comment.

"Okay, thank you for sharing that," the doctor replies in a soft, but reassuring voice. "Did you receive other injury? Burns? Cuts? Again, if you don't want to answer that, it's fine."

"… he never burned me, no cuts either, other than a split lip, but he never used a knife if that's what you are asking. He's only… like… beaten my mother and I around," Marty tells him. "Except for… ugh… right, this here."

He shows his left elbow where you can see fine scars, "One time he pushed me over to our table, which had a glass tabletop. I landed in such a way that the glass broke and I cut myself here."

Callen bites his tongue this time, trying to concentrate on a small stain on the opposite wall, because he feels like screaming right now. Loud.

"Did you see a doctor? Is there a medical record, do you know?" the physician questions.

"Not the way I reckon," Marty shrugs. "I mean, of course I saw a doc, but dad's never beaten me around the time so that there were no bruises or whatever. I'd get my flu shot or so and off I went. For the rest… if it got really bad… ugh, he's got a friend who's a retired doctor… at least he used to say that. When I injured my elbow, he brought me there because it wouldn't stop bleeding."

"Do you know his name?" G frowns.

"Bert Fuller, but he died a year before I ran away," Marty replies. "He's never made records of that, though, if that's what you are hinting at."

G purses his lips shut.

"School nurses?" the doctor goes on to question, but the teen just shakes his head, "Again, dad had mom tell him when there were examinations or whatever. And he told me to never show it or else… yeah… I guess you can imagine the rest."

"Is there anything else you'd like to mention?" Dr. Cramer asks.

"Not really," Marty shrugs, not meeting the older man's eyes.

"Okay, so do you think you're up to taking some x-rays?" the doctor questions.

"I've been waiting for my personal mugshots in a while," Marty jokes.

"Good, then let me get Paul for you, he will lead you to the room, if that's okay," the physician suggests.

"Sure," Marty nods. Soon Paul, a tall orderly with a nice smile and dark tan, arrives. The way Marty figures, this guy is a surfer – he looks like it, which makes him like the orderly a lot more.

"Would you please take him to the x-ray room? I will be there in a minute," Dr. Cramer asks Paul, who gives a nod, "Of course. Alright, follow me."

"Aye-aye," Marty says, making a mock-salute. The two head off.

"On a word?" Dr. Cramer turns to Callen, who replies, "Yes."

"Do you think he kept anything from us? I just ask so that we don't miss something that may help to prove your case. I know that some children still tend to hide injuries or scars because the memory is still too hurtful for them," Dr. Cramer asks, confirming Callen in his choice of this particular physician. He knows what he is doing, and Marty likes him. That's the most important.

"Marty's never said anything other than that he beat him around, and that is bad enough already," Callen tells him.

"Simply unforgiveable," the older man agrees. "I just want to be on the safe side."

"I get that, but I think we are," G replies.

"Alright… is he okay with men staying in the room or would he prefer a female nurse, you think? I just don't want him to be forced to say it, you see?" the doctor asks.

"I think he is better around guys," G says. At least that was so when he first met him.

"Good, gladly the radiologist happens to be a man," Dr. Cramer winks at him.

"Then we should be good," Callen chuckles softly.

"Alright, I will stay with him, though, so that he doesn't feel too frightened and has someone around he knows," Dr. Cramer suggests.

"Thank you," Callen nods

"We will be back in a bit," the physician says before heading out himself, leaving Callen pacing around the room, trying to count the dots on the wall to distract himself from the emotions bubbling up his stomach to his head.

Because he definitely wants to punch something.

Or rather – someone.

If only it weren't against the law to just punch his father in the face.

Soon Marty finds himself in one of those hideous gowns, sitting on the cold metal table in the room's center, making him feel much smaller than he is.

"Alright, Marty, if you are ready, I would ask you to lie down on your back," the radiologist asks him kindly. Marty obeys wordlessly while the man cautiously moves his limbs into position, though the teenager notes with curiosity that he actually doesn't feel frightened by the touches this time. "Now you have to lie still," the radiologist tells him. "I will take the x-ray and then we move on. No worries, this doesn't hurt."

"I know," Marty nods at him, flashing a nice smile.

"I'm right behind that wall with Dr. Cramer," the physician says before walking behind said wall. The teenager stares at the ceiling, which mashes into twirls of grey above him, like the sky looks like short before a tornado.

Maybe thinking about natural catastrophes is not a smart move right now…

Marty really doesn't like hospitals.

The teenager just wants to get over with this, because honestly? He can already feel the phantom pains rushing him only at the memory – and that even though he didn't have that in felt eternities.

Or perhaps it was only just yesterday… Marty is losing track of time.

It's just drifting away, like the tornado on the ceiling.

Marty doesn't even realize that the radiologist came back inside to rearrange his position.

"Are you doing okay there?" Dr. Cramer asks over the microphone.

"Awesome," Marty lies swiftly.

"We work as fast as we can," the radiologist assures him.

"Take your time," Marty replies. The teenager looks at the ceiling again, suddenly having an uneasy feeling he can't explain. Perhaps it's that the lights are out and there is a spotlight… Marty screws his eyes shut.

Yep, that's why.

Memories can be great at times, but very often they are just painful. Whenever Marty has a sort of flashback or a memory sneaking all the way up his back, his knuckles start to hurt for some reason, but not the way it'd hurt if someone stepped on them. The ache is dull, as though his bones shrunk, forcing his hands to clench, if that is making any sense… Okay, scratch that, none of this is making sense because no one hurts his fingers and he surely has no chronic hand pains. He'd know that. Marty just has it when his mind wants to travel to the dark parts of his mind, of his past, stored inside his mind. And right now his fists are clenching to the point that Marty is sure it'd mess up the x-rays if they were taking them of these limbs now. The teenager forces another deep breath out of his ribcage.

G.

Kensi.

Sam.

Eric.

Nell.

Hetty.

Nate.

Michelle.

Jazzy.

Marie.

Ten good things to counter the bad. The bad memories of the ring when he was put to display in a dingy room with its only light source being that stupid spotlight.

He knows it's not like that now, but the memories just want to come back, are washed over him in huge waves.

It's just because of the overall situation, probably.

They are past that. He is past that, or well, he was… mostly.

No more flashbacks.

Flashforward.

Beep.

"We're almost done, just a few more, alright?" the radiologist coaches him.

"Okay," Marty replies sheepishly.

Breathing in and out… something about the meditation Sam tried to beat into his brain might be helpful here, but then Marty would just burst out laughing – and that would mess with the x-rays.

Okay, what were the presidents of the US again? Backwards?

That's boring.

Spanish vocab?

There was supposed to be a test… but then this happened, so no one is thinking about tests anyway…

Beep.

"Alright, Marty, that's it for the moment," Dr. Cramer says, pulling Marty out of his musing. That went fast, all of a sudden. The teenager straightens up instantly, getting rid of the lead apron around his waist.

"Can I go change back now? I feel way too girly in this. And the color doesn't suit me, at all," Marty jokes.

"Go ahead. Once you are ready, Paul will take you back to your brother. I will just wait for the results and join you in a moment," Dr. Cramer tells him.

"Thanks for the nice mugshots, doc," Marty tells the radiologist before quickly disappearing into the adjacent room again to change back into his clothes, finding the fabric exceptionally soothing against his skin. Once he is done he exits, finding Paul waiting for him.

"Alright, I'm ready if you are ready," Marty greets the tall man.

"Shall we?" he smirks, mockingly holding out his arm to the teenager.

"I feared you'd never ask, Paul," Marty grins. The orderly chuckles as he leads the teenager back to the room where G is nervously pacing. His face lights up upon seeing his brother, though. He looks fine and not stressed-out, something G really started to worry about once the kid was gone.

"Hey. Did everything go alright?" G asks.

"It was okay," Marty nods. In the end it was. The mind is a great escape after all.

"The doctor will be here any minute now," Paul says.

"Thank you," G nods curtly. With that the orderly leaves.

"And you're really okay? Or are you just putting on the smiley-face again?" Callen questions.

"As I said, I don't like hospitals, but… I'm at a solid… three, I guess," Marty replies.

"And in the room?" Callen asks.

"Short moment of a ten, but it passed once I said my ten things to myself. That works miracles," Marty beams at him.

"Good," Callen can't help but smile as well.

"You're hovering much, huh?" Marty snorts playfully.

"I'm not hovering, I'm just worried, alright?" Callen grins. And doesn't he have any reason to?

"I'm, too," Marty mutters. Callen pulls him close, running his fingers over Marty's scalp, "We fight this, and we do anything to win."

"Yeah, I know," Marty nods into his brother's chest.

After the final talk with the doc, the brothers head back to the NCIS. One thing less to worry about. A million remain.

"Ah, there you are!" Sam greets the two as they come inside. "Did everything go alright?"

"No surprise flu-shots," Marty replies.

"Yeah, those are suckers," Sam chuckles softly. It amazes him how the kid manages to make a joke in such a situation and mean it.

"Ah, Mr. Callen! Mr. Deeks!" Hetty greets them, walking up to the group. "Did everything go smoothly?"

"Yes," Callen replies. "The doctor writes the reports now, so this is something we don't have to worry about anymore."

"Very well. I call this a success, then," the petite woman nods. "But we didn't just sit still while you were away. We've been quite busy as well."

"This kinda scares me now," Callen makes a face.

"Mr. Deeks? Would you come with me little quick?" Hetty turns to the teenager, who frowns at her uncertainly, "Sure..."

"Mr. Callen, you, too," Hetty motions at the agent to follow. The three walk over to the lounge area. In the corner now stands a small wooden table and stool with some personal items from Marty on it, accompanied by his school books and other school material. While it is new to the room, it looks as though it always belonged there, though. It complements the room, to be exact.

"What's that for?" Marty blinks at her incredulously.

"This is for you to work at, for your studies. Now you have a place here in the NCIS where you can go after your education for as long as Mr. Callen is at work here. Ms. Jones arranged some of your personal items on there so that you'd feel more at home," Hetty explains, shooting a quick glance over at Callen, who gets the broader hint here, of course. This is also to please the judge later on, but the gesture is nevertheless… outstanding.

"Mr. Deeks?" Hetty says in a soft tone. He glances at the woman, so she goes on, "The entire team is standing behind you. And that is what we wanted to... show, with that little gesture."

"This is huge!" Marty insists. A desk. To other people that may seem small, but this is not small to him. This means the world to him, because it comes from the people who mean the world to him.

"And you deserve huge," Callen smiles at him softly. Marty then walks over to Hetty to pull her into a hug, much to her surprise, and Callen's as well. Marty doesn't do hugs that often, except for Callen and Kensi on occasion, so that he does it is already a small miracle, but the real miracle is that he goes for Hetty, for whom he always feels the highest respect and maybe even a bit of intimidated.

"Thank you so much," Marty mutters into her shoulder. Hetty pats him on the back, visibly taken aback by the gesture. Callen smiles as he winks at her. Marty is probably the only person who gets to hug Hetty like that – and to actually get this kind of reaction from her as a result.

"You are very, very welcome, Mr. Deeks."