It was to bright, but she could not see.

Why couldn't she see?

Her skin felt as though it was on fire.

But it was so cold.

She couldn't move.

Her lungs wouldn't fill, she tried to take a deeper breath.

She couldn't, she couldn't breath.

There was noise everywhere but she couldn't make it out.

It hurt, everything hurt.

Was she dead?

Was this dying?

If it was, why was it so painful?

She couldn't be dead, this could not be death.

Why wasn't she dead?

A voice rang out, louder and clearer than everything else.

But not clearer or louder than the pain.

She recognized his voice. He was male.

Who?

Who was it? Callen or Sam?

Wait who was that... G Callen, her boss and friend. Sam Hanna, her colleague.

Like brothers. But it was not them.

Then who was it? Was it him?

Him, Deeks, Marty Deeks.

Her partner, the LAPD detective who wouldn't become an agent, because of her.

No, not him, anyone but him.

He was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital with Callen and Sam, doing nothing.

It had been hours.

Well, he was thinking, or more, trying not to think. He looked around.

He saw Callen reading a Romanian magazine, trying to learn the language by asking the girl beside him to translate parts.

She was all to happy to help.

He saw Sam, looking calm, but really he knew he was wondering what had happened.

And probably blaming him.

He knew he should have checked on her, made sure she had gone to bed. Or couch, because he had fallen asleep watching a movie on the bed.

He had made sure she had taken the bed every other night.

Made sure she was comfortable.

Damn it, he should have checked. It really was his fault, he knew it and everyone else knew it.

That was why they didn't really trust him. Because he couldn't even trust himself.

But he knew he was lucky to get the little, tiny, bit of trust he had, because they were NCIS OSP, they didn't let people into their tight-knit group.

But that didn't bother him. Not at all really, he hadn't been part of the group at LAPD either.

He hadn't even really been part of his family, so he was used to not being cared about.

No one cared about him, no one had ever. Not since he was seven years old, when his mother got sick.

Kind of like Kensi.

Kensi Blye. Wonder-Woman. Fern. Sugar addict and coffee chugger. That was his partner. The one currently lying in a hospital bed, in a damn hospital where nobody would tell them what the hell was wrong.

He was pissed.

And the team was pissed at him.

For...well, he didn't exactly blame them.

They didn't trust him in the first place, never had, and now, probably never would.

Because Kensi, their junior agent, was in the ICU of a hospital in Romania.

The girl they treated as a little sister was teetering on the edge of life and death.

Because of him.

Damn.

He knew there had been a reason for not signing those papers.

And this was it.

Kensi was the reason. It sounded bad, but really it wasn't.

He couldn't let her get hurt. Not because of him. It would kill him.

It was going to kill him if she didn't wake up.

Then there was that voice. The one who's words broke though his screaming thoughts.

"Agent Blye is now stable."

Sorry for the slow update, had a problem with my computer's charger...anyway hope you aren't to mad at me for taking so long and will still review!

Updates will probably be bi-weekly...i don't know.

Please it that little button at the bottom...please!

Luvs, Yazzy