A/N – This took, literally, forever to write. Seems like action scenes are not the easiest thing for me to write. But I hope I did it justice, and that you enjoy it, as it's the climax of the story. There's one chapter left of this story, which is mostly written (I'm like JK Rowling; I had most of the end written months ago) so there shouldn't be too much of a delay for that.
With a squeal of tyres, the four black Humvees skidded to a halt in the mission's courtyard. A second later a dozen – no, two dozen, Kensi instantly amended – men spilled from the vehicles; to a one they wore black fatigues, their features covered by balaclavas, and clutching SIG SG 552 Assault Rifles in gloved hands. The attackers opened fire, bullets ripping through the air between them and the Agents, who sprawled themselves to the ground or scrambled behind the cover of their own vehicles.
Kensi dove herself into the front of her van, spinning around and slamming the door behind her, the rounds slamming into the metal seconds later. The driver's side window exploded under the hail, glass splintering and showering across Kensi, though thankfully doing little more damage than a few small cuts to her flesh. She scrambled across the van, pushing herself into the passenger side, before barging that door open and spilling herself out onto the hard concrete on the other side. She pressed her back against the solid metal of the van.
"Deeks," she shouted, her desperate voice swallowed up by the yells and the crack of gunfire around her. "Deeks!"
There was no answer. Kensi's heart throbbed frantically in her chest, and her eyes swivelled this way and that, searching desperately for that infuriating mop of golden hair. But she couldn't see it, and knew that she couldn't spend much longer looking for her partner; there was a fight going on, and she needed to get back into it.
She grabbed her M4A1, sliding her frame along the side of the van until she joined up with the four Agents huddled at the rear. She placed a hand on one of the Agents' shoulders – Pete, his name was – to let them know that she was there. He glanced over, recognised her, and nodded.
"What's the sitch?" she asked, as bullets pinged off the frame of the van.
"We lost two already," replied Pete. "Who are these guys?"
"No idea," replied Kensi. "Hold on." She took three shallow breaths, steeling herself, before popping her head around the edge of the vehicle, glancing out at the enemy. They'd retreated after the initial assault, using their heavy military vehicles as cover. They exchanged fire with the NCIS Agents huddled by the third van, rounds bouncing harmlessly off the armoured carapace of the Hummers. But she saw something else; a smaller group of three had broken away from the main force of attackers, hugging the soft brown walls of the courtyard, darting between the ornaments, trying to flank the Agents. Kensi ducked back behind the van; total time spent, a little more than one second.
"Cover me," she said to Pete. The other Agents rose, almost as one, unloading heated lead from their Colts towards the Humvees, the new direction forcing the men there to duck back into cover. Kensi was already moving, towards the front of the van. She pressed herself up against the wheel, bracing herself, then threw herself out into the open, ripping out rounds towards the moving group. One went down, holes torn into his torso. The others dodged aside, Kensi's hailstorm of bullets passing impotently by them, before they span, seeking her out. Within seconds, they had found the source of the oncoming barrage, and turned their own weapons on her…
Something grabbed Kensi by the back of her vest, dragging her back behind the van even as the enemy opened fire, filling the now-empty space with death-dealing metal.
She reacted on instinct; twisting out from the hands that held her, using her own momentum to slam the bigger man roughly against the side of the van, face first, arm twisted painfully behind his back.
"Hi, princess," said Deeks through lips smooshed up against the panel.
"Nice of you to show up," she said, releasing her grip on her partner and allowing him off the van.
"Hey, in case you missed it, I, uh, I just saved your life," he said. "Again."
"I wasn't aware we were keeping score," she replied. "Cause if we are, does it count if you save me after getting me thrown off a roof?"
"Can't you guys do that later?" said Pete as he hurried over to join them, crouching low and tight.
"Do what?" said Kensi, turning her confused expression on the other Agent. Pete, for his part, just gave her an 'Are you serious?' look.
"So what now?" asked Deeks.
"Now," she said, taking his gaze and feeding confidence and determination into it. "Now we push them the hell out of our house."
Sam glanced at the clock on the Charger's dashboard, before lifting his watch and double checking the time against that.
"I don't like it, G," he said, though the open window to his partner. Callen leaned back against the hood of the black car, peering through a pair of binoculars, out the hanger's open doorway and out onto the landing pad just outside. "Where is everybody?"
They'd spoken to Eric in Ops not fifteen minutes passed. The technical operative had told them that Kensi and Deeks would be leading a TAC Team out to their location, scheduled to leave ASAP. But they were the only support the two senior Agents could expect. The Navy hadn't wanted to do anything; didn't believe the threat that St James and the remnants of Adrian Anderson's organisation held, and wouldn't even confirm or deny if the SEAL team would be landing when Carter said they would. Not even Hetty had been able to pry the information out yet, but no doubt she'd be making her way up the chain of command, bullying and threatening as she went until she got what she wanted. Hetty always did.
"They'll be here," said Callen, not taking his eyes from the binos. "We've still got time."
"I'd feel a lot better if we knew how far out they were," grumbled Sam. "I'm not saying we can't take care of ourselves, but we have no idea how many we're going to be up against. I don't like not being prepared."
"I know this Sam," Callen replied. "But you couldn't get anything more out of Carter, not in the timeframe we had. If it'll make you feel any better, why not try calling them?"
"I did," said Sam. "Kensi's phone went straight to voicemail."
That got Callen to lower the binoculars, and he turned to duck his head into the Charger. "It shouldn't do that. What about Deeks?"
"Rang out. I tell you, that guy has the most annoying answering message ever."
"You sound surprised by this. Have you not met the man?"
"Suppose I shouldn't be, no," said Sam, shaking his head. He and Deeks had never seen eye to eye, that was true; there was still a little resentment for the Liaison taking Dom's spot on the team. Sam knew it was foolish resentment. It wasn't as if it was Deeks' fault. And even though over the last couple of years they'd grown closer and more comfortable around each other, he doubted they'd ever be best of friends. They were just far too different for that. Deeks, too laid back, cocky and annoying for Sam's taste. He was glad he'd only been partnered with the man for one day, under Hunter's regime.
And then, of course, there was his relationship with Kensi. Sam felt a big brother instinct towards all of his team, and he couldn't get a read of Deeks' intentions towards the girl. It bugged him.
Sam shook his head, getting his thoughts back to the here-and-now. Not everything needed to revolve around Kensi and Deeks.
"Try Ops," said Callen, a touch of concern creeping into his voice.
Sam did so, the phone ringing and ringing. Just before he hung up, there was a click, silence… and then, though faded from distance, the unmistakable sound of gunfire.
"Sam?" came Eric's voice, through the speaker. His voice quivered; the man was clearly terrified.
"What the hell's going on, Eric?" asked Sam, stepping out of the car.
"We've got a bit a, uh, a bit of a situation here," Eric continued. "As the TAC Team were leaving, two dozen heavily-armed men ambushed them. They're out in the courtyard, trying to fend them off."
Sam gave Callen a concerned look. Concerned? No, that was only a tenth of the fear that coursed through his body. Callen's eyes told him that his partner felt the exact same way.
"We're on our way," said Callen, already reaching for the handle.
"You will do no such thing, Mr. Callen," said the unmistakably calm and commanding voice of Henrietta Lang. "You are too far out to do us any good. Besides, the SEAL team should be arriving at any moment. This is little more than a distraction; I fear Carter and St James played us. But we can deal with this. You stop them from accomplishing their mission. Do you hear me?"
Callen didn't answer right away.
"I said, do you understand the order you have just received, Mr. Callen?" repeated Hetty, sternly.
Callen shook his head, then sighed. "I hear you, Hetty. But keep us informed."
Sam ended the call. He looked over at his partner, who had gone down onto his haunches, his head in his hands. He was about to say something of support towards the man, but a sound stopped him. A repetitive thrub-thrub-thrub. He paused, recognising it, and looking up. A gunmetal grey helicopter, a Boeing CH-47 Chinook troop carrier, was coming in to land.
And then, in the distance, he saw three jeeps racing their way across the hard black tarmac to meet it.
"Here we go, Callen," said Sam, already moving towards the back of his Charger, where they kept the heavy artillery.
Eric cowered underneath his desk, flinching every time a burst of gunfire sounded from outside. As such, he shook constantly like a Chihuahua. He wasn't trained for this. Not trained for this in the slightest. Give him a triple-encrypted laptop, with firewall coming out of the wazoo, and he was in his element. He was the man, the myth, the legend. But put him in any situation with a loaded weapon? Yeah, no, that wasn't him in the slightest. That's why he worked in Ops, and very rarely set foot out of it. All to avoid what… well, to avoid what was going on, on their own front door. Outside the place they all felt was safer than even their own homes. It was like a nightmare come true.
Moments after ending the call with Callen and Sam, Hetty had left Ops, heading back into the main area of the mission, ready to direct her troops into action. And she'd left Nell with very specific instructions. "Protect Eric at all costs, Miss Jones," the older woman had said. Nell had simply nodded, pulling her service weapon from the locked drawer of her desk.
Protect Eric. The words buzzed through his brain every time the gunfire let up long enough to allow it. Which, granted, wasn't often, but it was enough to nag at the furthest corners of Eric's mind. Okay, sure, he wasn't good at the fighting stuff, but there was other stuff he could do. It wasn't like he was a porcelain doll or anything; he could contribute.
And he couldn't do that cowering under a desk. That was… that was a childish thing to do. And while he was on the subject, just exactly what did sort of protection did he expect his hiding place to afford him? If those thugs got passed the Agents – unlikely, true, but if – it was right up with their Duck and Cover. Heck, it was Duck and Cover.
His mind made up, he started to unfurl his long legs from under him, creeping gently out from under the desk. A firm yet tiny hand pressed against his chest, pushing him right back in.
"Stay put," said Nell, her voice solid and authoritative.
"Nell, I can help," he countered. "Do something, anything." He paused, then his voice took on a tone of pleading. "I need to help."
"No," she replied instantly. "You're staying there, where it's safe. Hetty's orders, remember."
"Yeah, 'Protect Eric.' I can look after myself, you know?" he said, with a conviction he didn't feel.
There was no reply for a moment, and then her head appeared under the desk, her red hair hanging at a weird angle. "I'm not just protecting you for Hetty," she said, before her face disappeared from view.
Eric blinked. Now just what did she mean by that?
Kensi raised her weapon, butt hard against her shoulder, hurrying forward towards the next bullet riddled brick ornament. As soon as she reached it, she took up position, unloading a fresh spray of fire towards the enemy under the prying eyes of a hovering news helicopter. They'd need Eric to suppress the footage later, but right now they had bigger fish to fry. Behind her, Deeks took the advantage, hustling over to join her.
Three ornaments down, two to go, before Kensi and Deeks would be in a position to flank the attackers. But the ornaments, large brick work vases and statues, might not hold up for much longer; they weren't exactly designed to be used as cover, and the almost constant barrage from the SIG Assault rifles had churned them into small pieces. Which was why, as the pair moved forwards, Pete and the other three Agents – still by the van – unloaded suppressing fire at the black Humvees, forcing he men there to take cover of their own.
The Hummers smoked from the engines, thick bullet holes ripped into the metal. But this was what they were designed for; thick plates of armour, tested in combat around the globe. The huge vehicles would stand up a hell of a lot longer than the brick ornaments. So Deeks and Kensi had to keep moving, ever on. They couldn't afford to stay in one place for too long.
This time, it was Deeks who raced across the open space as quickly as his legs could take him. A black-clad attacker saw an opportunity, popping his head out long enough to sight up to the rushing LAPD Liaison – when a shot from the furthest end of the mission's courtyard took him in the throat, sending him flopping to the ground, dead.
Kensi glanced over her shoulder, and her mouth almost dropped open before she even realised it. At the far end, using one of the low walls as her own cover and snapping the bolt of her Remington 700PSS back into place – the exact same make of sniper rifle used by Kensi's own father – was Hetty. The rifle dwarfed the woman, but seemed so oddly natural in her grasp. So deadly. It was little wonder she was feared and respected the length and breadth of the espionage and counter intelligence community.
Deeks reached the next ornament, and Kensi hurried over to meet him.
"Remind me never to make Hetty angry," he said as soon as she arrived.
Kensi threw him a grin. "You didn't know this already?"
"Well, yeah, I guess," he replied. "It doesn't hurt to be reminded though, you know what I'm like."
"I sure do," she replied, with another smile. Wait a minute, she thought. Is this what Pete meant? Middle of a life or death situation, and we're still flirting?
They made it to the final section of cover without incident. As soon as they arrived, Kensi looked back at the Agents behind the van, giving Pete the prearranged signal. When he acknowledged it, he and the others redoubled their fire, looking to force the enemy further into cover. Kensi flicked her eyes forwards again, seeing the men retreating slightly, into a safer position.
Safer from the main force of Agents, that is. Not from Deeks and Kensi.
"Drop your weapons," shouted Kensi, coming out of cover, her partner at her side, their weapons trained on the men. The attackers reacted quickly to the new threat, but three more of them were down before they had a chance to fire back.
One was quicker, squeezing the trigger, the life-ending round hurtling towards the pair faster than it took to tell. Right for Deeks.
It would have got him too, if Kensi hadn't seen the man move, hadn't been even faster, pushing her partner against the solid wall, the bullet crashing into it a half a foot away with a finality.
Behind them, they heard Pete and the other Agents race forwards, surrounding the surviving attackers. Kensi glanced over at them. The men were clearly well trained, and knew exactly when a fight was lost, as they quickly dropped their weapons, placing their hands behind their heads and dropping to their knees in submission.
Dimly, Kensi became aware of the solid throb of Deeks heart, pressed tight against her breasts. Of the warm breath from his lips that washed against the side of her neck. She glanced back at him, eyes locking right on his sky blue.
Big mistake.
"So, uh," he began, his voice shaking. "Does that make us even?"
Kensi's own heart still thumped wildly in her chest. Her skin sang. Not the same way it had during the firefight though, as the adrenaline had surged through her. This was different; this was the electric charge she only ever got when she was with a guy she liked, and there was the hum of potential in the air. It was like the whole world faded into nothing but her and Deeks, and she became hyper aware of the distance – or lack thereof – between them. Aware that she was pinning him to the wall, her arms locked on either side of him, preventing him from moving.
Her eyes flicked unconsciously down towards Deeks' lips, and she licked her own. It would be so easy, she thought, to just lean forward and kiss him right now.
She blinked, the thought shaking her.
No. Not like this…
She took a small step back, dropping her arms, pretending not to see the small shocked look in Deeks' eyes. He'd felt it too. And it wasn't like she didn't want to. She did. God knows she wanted to right now. Had for a while too, if she was being honest with herself. But this was a hell of a line to cross, for their partnership, for their friendship, for whatever else they might be to each other, and she didn't want it to be a whim, didn't want it to be because they were both still alive when they very nearly hadn't been. Sure, there had been stray touches since they'd known each other; and more, escalating the last few days. But a kiss? A kiss was something more. Different. Something solid, tangible. No, if anything were to ever happen, she wanted it to be because they both wanted it, and not because of any external forces.
"So, uh…" began Deeks, before trailing off. He actually looked a little shaken up, though whether it was from the firefight or what had just happened, Kensi couldn't tell. A small part of her was actually glad he seemed stumped for words for once. It meant she didn't have to answer any questions she wasn't sure of the answers to.
Kensi moved back into the middle of the courtyard, where she was joined by Hetty.
"What was this?" she asked the older woman.
"A distraction, Miss Blye," Hetty replied. "They knew we were on to them, so sent these men to hold us here. We can address how compromised the OSP is later; right now, we need to ensure that their plan did not succeed."
"How we supposed to that?" asked Deeks, joining the pair. "They're the other side of the city. I can put a call in to LAPD, get some units out there, but they're likely to be outgunned until SWAT arrives. And they'll be as late as us with the traffic at this time of day."
Hetty didn't respond at first, instead staring off into the distance. Then, she raised her head, eyes locked on the setting sun. "I might just have an idea, Detective," she said.
The jeeps sped across the tarmac, encircling the Chinook as it came in to land. As soon as the vehicles had pulled to a stop, they deposited a dozen men. Instantly noticeable amongst their number were the familiar faces of Jamie Anderson and Françoise St James. From one of their men came a burst of gunfire, strafing the cockpit of the Chinook. The reinforced plexiglass held under the barrage, but the pilots panicked, trying to restart the huge double rotors. Two more mooks, one on each side of the aircraft, fired from some handheld device, long ropes jetting up and catching against the rotors. They caught, tangling up in the motors, and screeching as they stuttered to a halt.
More men flooded towards the rear of the Chinook, weapons at the ready. But whatever plan they had for forcing entry, for getting to the SEALS inside, was about to be delayed.
Because that was the exact moment that Sam gunned his Charger forward. The engine revved, unleashed, darting the car across the tarmac.
"Hold on," yelled Sam, to Callen, before pushing the gas pedal down as far as it could go. A couple of the men heard the engine finally, over the sound of the Chinook's own straining motors, and looked over. It was too late, and the Charger ploughed into them like it was going for a Strike. Bodies collided with the unyielding metal frame, and came out on the losing side. It wasn't nice, and it certainly wasn't pretty. But the NCIS Agents were going to be seriously outnumbered and outgunned, and Sam had no qualms about doing what needed to be done to even those odds. Besides, these were SEALS in there; there was no lengths he wouldn't go to protect his brothers.
The Charger skidded to a halt, and Callen was already opening the door, pushing it out wide to use as cover, pumping the trigger of his Mossberg 590 Shotgun. Each blast of the opening salvo took down one of the enemy, but they recovered quickly, darting for cover of their own and returning fire with a mixture of SAR M41s and H&K G36Cs. Bullets shredded into the door of the Charger, forcing Callen to retreat further behind it.
Sam, already angered by the assault on Ops and now enraged by the attack on his brother SEALS, burst from the driver's side, ripping out rounds from his M4A1. Two more went down, but again they quickly repositioned themselves to avoid the hailstorm, and returned fire. The windshield went first, followed by the headlamps, then the tyres popped in a ferocious storm of bullets.
"How you liking this action?" called Callen from the other side of the car as he reloaded his Shotgun. "Cause you were complaining about it earlier."
"They're shooting up my car," yelled Sam, his voice actually raising several octaves. "I didn't sign up for this. I mean, I seen some nasty stuff in my time, but ain't nobody ever shot up my car before."
"Making you mad?" asked Callen.
"G, I am pissed off!"
And as he spoke, he popped from behind cover, unloading a torrent of lead towards St James and the others. He saw more go down, surprised by the fresh attack, but didn't get a full count as a sudden, blinding, heat blossomed in his shoulder, the impact sending him flying backwards.
"SAM," he heard Callen yell, even as his back crashed against the hard tarmac, white hot pain lancing through his entire body, burning brightest on his left shoulder. Blood was already beginning to pour out of the wound.
Callen saw it all happen, of course, almost as if it were in slow motion. Horrific slow motion. His partner, his best friend, knocked onto his back as the bullet ripped into his flesh. But from his position, he didn't know – couldn't know – exactly where Sam had been hit, whether he was still alive, or if he'd died instantly. And if there was anything in this world he didn't want more, it was for it to go on turning without Sam Hanna in it.
Ignoring the enemy, he threw himself back into the damaged Charger, crawling over broken shards of glass, across the bucket seats, before he dropped to the ground next to Sam. Blood was already pooling around the hole in his shoulder, but thankfully it didn't appear to have hit anything vital. And more importantly than that, Sam was still alive. Thank God. Alive, but in a great deal of pain.
Callen needed to get him back into the car, needed to gun the engine, and get the pair of them the hell out of there. Regroup, buy themselves some time to try and reattempt a rescue mission for the SEALS' sake. But even as he thought it, he knew he would never be able to move the injured and semi conscious Sam back into the car. Callen knew he was in shape, but his partner was just too bulky for him to manoeuvre unassisted.
That didn't mean he wasn't going to try. He dropped his Shotgun, the metal clattering on the cold tarmac, and grabbed Sam by the good shoulder, trying to drag him back towards the black car. But then, the familiar cock of a weapon caught his attention.
Callen looked up, into the unforgiving eyes of Françoise St James, standing over him. M1191 Colt pointed right at Callen's head.
"You put up a good effort, Mr. NCIS man," said the mercenary. "Sadly, it was in vein. You were just outmatched. Remember, there's always someone better than you. But remember it quickly, because you won't be able to put it to much use very shortly."
St James grinned again, cocky, confident. But Callen refused to close his eyes. He stared down the barrel of the pistol, waiting for death to come.
And come it did. But not for G. Callen. Instead, with the boom of a higher calibre weapon, Françoise St James went down, blood spurting from the side of his head. Callen blinked, surprised, as two more of the attackers went down, followed by more, Jamie Anderson amongst them. And then, he became aware of another sound, a dull trubbing sound. He looked up.
The news copter hovered not far away from them. Visible behind the stick was the unmistakable form of Hetty Lange. And through the open door, both carrying Remington sniper rifles and picking off badguys with ease, were Kensi and Deeks.
The cavalry had arrived.