Title:
One
Author:
The Prickly Pear
Genre:
Angst/Tragedy
Rating:
T
Summary:
He could only pick one… WARNING – Rather dark / Implied character death.
Author's Note:
So… I don't really know what this is or where it came from or why. But, when the plot bunnies bite, I try my best to listen and, well, this is what happened. It was written in about twenty minutes while I was sitting with a goat in the early stages of labour so please forgive any idiotic mistakes you may find and let me know so I can fix them. :)
Disclaimer:
All characters you recognize are the property of NCIS Los Angeles' rightful owners. This fanfiction is written solely for my amusement, no money has been made whatsoever.
Happy Reading!
There was no other choice. He'd tried to find one, God had he tried, but there was none. He'd played the game and he's lost, bringing his team down with him to suffer the pains of defeat in his place. At least that's what they told him – he may have lost but the makeshift family he'd collected over the years and come to rely on would pay for him. And paying they were. They stood before him in a helpless line, shacked and bound and bruised.
Sam; the soldier, the mama bear, the closet nerd and doting father. His best friend. Sam stared at their captors and their captors alone. Sam trusted him to make the right call.
Kensi; the beautiful young woman, the deadly fighter, the closet romantic and key to many a locked door. His little sister, or near enough. Kensi gazed defiantly ahead of her and did not flinch. Kensi believed in her senior agent.
Deeks; the cop, the class clown, the city slicker who'd found a family in the same people he had. His constant reminder to laugh, mostly while shaking his head. Deeks shifted his attention between each and every person in the room, hostile or not. Deeks wasn't sure that family would ever protect him.
Hetty; the duchess of deception, the little ninja, the tea loving Cold Worrier with a kind heart. The woman who'd given him a home. Hetty paid their captors no mind, instead staring him straight in the eyes. Hetty understood.
They said choose, the men to whom he's lost, they said choose one who would live and watch the others die. They meant it too; he'd played with them long enough to know that. There was no other choice. There were no more moves. He told himself at least this way he could save one…
His arm went cold as it was raised, finger outstretched, pointing. The cold spread through to every fibre of his being as that finger made its choice and settled on one, and only one, and left him standing silent and still even as three shots rang out. The forth came without warning, ripping through his chest a moment after his three unselected teammates fell.