Disclaimer: Ahahaha. Aha. Ha. Haha. Ha.

A/N: I begin to wonder why I put this in when I have really nothing to say...


One terrorist dragged out the body halfway into the lobby, another behind him standing guard with a machine gun.

Sick to the stomach and shaking with terror, a policeman rushed forward and pulled out the dead agent the rest of the way. The terrorists retreated back into the main room, leaving all the agents and cops staring in dismay at the giant of Fabian Sawicki, brought to them dead and cold by these bastards. Jamey, still in her blood splattered clothes, rushed to his side and held his lifeless hand. People, everyone, really, had told her to go home and change, clean up, or when she refused, offered to send someone to find some fresh clothes, at least. She'd said they needed everyone they could get, and she wasn't joking. She looked up at Lucas and Gibbs, standing together in silent respect for the fallen man. The three NCIS agents turned to look at Andy.

"We're hurrying, we're hurrying, we're hurrying… faster. Okay."

Lucas felt a rush of affection for his old colleague. Andy was a good man, a good police officer, and if, like at the moment, there was something big that NCIS couldn't handle, there was no one he'd rather be assigned to it. But really, things needed to move faster. It was Gibbs who first said it.

"We're going to have to go in blind."

Surrounded by a group of team leaders from the various agencies and the police, no one responded for a few seconds, before there was mutual nodding and order yelling. Nobody wanted to send their people into that situation, but sometimes, Gibbs knew too well, you had to. And goddamnit, it was his people inside. After all these years, still, he thought of them that way.

As the two sides of the building coordinated the attack, Lucas found a police van and geared up in a bulletproof vest and a helmet, the best he could do. He grabbed stuff for Gibbs and Jamey too – not really sure that either should be going in, Jamey traumatised, Gibbs… old – here he winced to himself, glad that he was fairly sure his ex-boss couldn't read minds – but he knew the hell he'd get if he voiced such concerns, and how he'd feel in their situation. So he got them the gear, and they gratefully put it on.

When Lucas turned to walk away, Jamey leapt after him and gently placed a hand on his arm.

"Thank you," she said. "For not saying I shouldn't be there. I know I shouldn't, but I need to be. Maybe, when you're talking with Andy, put me in one of the further back teams. Where I'll be less of a…" she paused, not wanting to finish, but forcing herself to, "liability."

He smiled faintly and put his hand on hers. "Yeah, will do."

He wanted to say how impressed he was, that she could realise that herself, act on it. Say it to him. But such sentiments were hard to express, especially when you worked in a team, day in, day out, used to banter and light-heartedness. He hoped she understood how proud, yes, proud, of her he was. Maybe it was patronising – in fact no, it wasn't. Lucas had seen her grow, from when he'd made her turn green with teasing her on the day of her arrival at NCIS, and he'd like to think he had contributed at least a little toward that. He had every right to be proud.

Jamey, for her part, wasn't feeling like there was much to be proud of. She wasn't strong enough to be up front, or to do the right thing and pull out of the operation altogether. She was glad Lucas hadn't said anything about it, just accepted it. She didn't think she could have coped with him commenting. But Lucas was good that way, for more tactful than you'd think at first meeting. She smiled at the Senior Team Agent's back, before her expression darkened. Soon, soon this would all be over.

Lisa DiNozzo turned to the sleeping children. Jenny, nine, and Paul, five, were out like lights, and she hoped it would stay that way. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching the news with rapt attention. Her first thought, of course, had been to rush there herself and harass the police to tell her what was happening. But then there was her children, in a hotel room, in the city of Washington D.C., where they'd never been and there was no one she trusted enough to look after them. Other than her husband and his team, and the Washington team, but they'd gone and gotten themselves stuck in a terrorist controlled building. She had gasped at McGee's death, and she choked with sobs when she heard of Fabian's – a man who was one of her best, most trusted friends.

"I am going to kill you, Ton-ee," she told the television. "If you get out of there alive, I am going to kill you myself."

And then, to stop herself rushing out the door, she looked round at her children again.

"Ready to move when you give the go-ahead," Ziva David said, nodding at Isaac and her team.

Standing next to Andy on the other end, Lucas shook his head. He could have sworn the voice was Israeli accented. But the brain did strange things while under pressure.

"All units, go go go," Andy said, not needing to yell, as the leader of every team was tuned in to the same channel.

The attack, despite the tension crackling in the air, started in silence. They wanted to get as close to the ballroom as possible before people knew they were there. When they were at one of the outer walls, an FBI agent found an air vent and fed through a camera.

With a gloved hand, he signed to all the others. The hostages were in a large group in the middle of the room. Some of the terrorists were round the edges, others guarding the central group. The leader was in the centre, walking around. Different teams stuck plastic explosives to the walls in designated parts around the room, all carefully planned.

The same agent put up his hand, counting down fingers.

Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.

And then the silence ended.

As soon as the walls exploded, Tash threw herself out across the room to where she, Jamey and Kathy had hidden their guns. She slid two over toward Kathy and Tomlin, who picked them up and fired at the terrorists from their positions on the ground. Tony seemed to have had the same idea, having given McGee and Fabian's guns to random NCIS agents and grabbing his own.

The leader of the terrorists stood in the middle of it all, like the god of all this carnage, spraying bullets from his machine gun into the crowd, who were running and screaming, trying to fight their way past agents.

Lucas and Gibbs, side by side, saw him together, and knew it was him. It was in everything about him. This was the leader. This was the man who'd killed them. Tash and Tony were better informed, they'd seen it with their own two eyes. All four took aim, quickly, as they'd been trained, and fired, with precision, as they'd been taught.

And as the four bullets slammed in to him, the machine gun fire came to halt, and his body fell to the ground, not one of them felt it was nearly enough.


Ah, I quite like this chap. Hope y'all agree.