a/n: at the sounds of being repetitive, thanks to all the reviews, favorites and followers. And to cat4444, don't matter how red it is, I still appreciate all the help you have given me.

Chapter 12

Kensi ran the plan over in her mind. It was so simple: Four teams, four entry points. Her team, Charlie, was to go through the main doors, secure the lobby, and move on. She had run the plan over and over in her mind since Callen gave the go ahead. Get in, clear, secure, and move on.

She was now lying on her back staring at the darkening sky in the parking lot, her head pounding. She couldn't remember how she got there. Her mind began sifting through the events that led to her being where she now was, the memories, trying to justify her lying down while on a raid. The order had come in; the green light given. They had been running through the parking lot. She focussed on the doors: Her entry point. She remembered Callen's voice yelling something, but she couldn't remember anything beyond that, just blackness and pain.

She let her head roll to the left and found herself staring at a young man. His white name tag told her who she was looking at. "Hill?" Her voice burned in her throat. Coughing, she pulled herself toward him. Her left leg sent blinding pain pulsating through her body, and she paused, biting back a groan.

Resting her head on the pavement, she focussed on her breathing, on keeping it slow and calm, waiting for the worst of it to subside. Blinking back tears, she said, "Hey, Hill, you with me? Come on solider, sound off." She continued to pull herself to his side. Grabbing his arm, she pulled herself up so that she could check on him. She froze. His soft blue eyes stared sightlessly at the sky, and blood ran from his nose and the corner of his mouth.

"Eric!" she pressed her ear piece, "I have a man down. I need medical." She pressed her hand against Hills' neck. Pulling her hand back, she shook the tears from her eyes. "Eric? Callen? Anybody? Do you copy me?" she said as she pressed her earpiece again. Silence was her only response as she looked away from the body at her side. She fought back the nausea and slowly looked at what used to be the front doors of the hospital. Now there was only a large, gaping black hole. She looked around at the blackened bodies of her team littered amongst the debris of the building.

She swallowed the bile rising to her lips. Deeks was in there. The cry started low in the pit of her stomach, reaching past her lips. Her body shook. She was supposed to find him and save him. She was supposed to be there for him. She failed. She couldn't be here anymore. She struggled to stand, pushing past the throbbing pain and her protesting body's desire to stay down. She blinked past the tears. Slowly rising to her feet, she turned, looking at the vehicles. She had to leave; she needed to get as far from there as she could. The farther the better, because, in her mind, he could still be alive if she forgot the carnage. She could believe he had just quit and moved away if she could erase the smoldering building from her memories.

Her first step dropped her to her knees. Crying out, she slapped her hand against the pavement. Why did she have to be so weak? She pushed again, rising upright. Her steps became steady. Her left leg was stiff and throbbing, but it moved. She could get away from there.

"Kensi!" she heard Sam's voice and shook her head. He wasn't calling for her. This wasn't happening. If she acknowledged him, then it was real. She stumbled forward, tears blurring her vision. She wanted to believe Deeks was alive and relaxing on a beach somewhere. She felt Sam grab hold of her, trying to stop her. She pushed at him, shoving him away. He tried to grab her again, tried to stop her.

"No!" she felt his arms encircle her, his chest pressing against her face. Her tears soaked his shirt. "Why? Why are you doing this?" she said in a voice muffled by his shirt, "Why can't you just let me go? Just let me go."

"Kens, come on, you're hurt and not thinking clearly. He wasn't inside." Sam's voice shook, "This was accidental, a game to throw us off, to make us give up. He's out there, and we can't give up."

"He's dead, Sam. He was inside that building." She slammed her hands against his chest. "Let me forget. Just let me forget."

He held her close, the sound of a siren wailing in the evening air. "He wasn't inside, Kensi. He couldn't have been. Not our Deeks. Not our Deeks."

She stood in his arms, hanging onto him. Not wanting to look back or think. Even when the paramedics pulled her away, she kept her eyes closed, refusing to accept that her partner was dead.

-NCIS LA-

Peter Vrolick leaned back in his chair. He hated the night shift. Looking up at the ceiling, he groaned. The most excitement all night had been the John Doe that was brought in three hours ago. Concussion, dehydration, malnutrition, beaten, and a tox screen with results that had been off the chart. He had been found in a storm drain by two transients that often frequented the area.

The paramedics figured he had overdosed and brought him in. Peter had done his due diligence and reported it to the LAPD, but after three hours, no officer had come, and he didn't really expect one. A homeless man, near death and high as a kite, seemed to be the norm in his ER and, really, they were all low priority. He knew once the IVs were finished and John was awake, they would dress him and send him on his way. The police would come by in a day or two and make a report and that was it. He scratched his beard and groaned; he kicked his feet off his desk and glanced at the clock. Five more hours before he could go home and call this day a wash.

The ambulance radio squawked, almost making him topple over. He turned as the ER nurse stood up. "We have three ambulances ten minutes out. Explosion at an abandoned hospital. We're expecting multiple casualties. I've paged Doctor Cardinal and any available interns." Peter stood up, a smile crossing his lips.

"Clear out all the ER rooms. Move anyone who is low priority to the hallway. And let surgery know as well." He hurried to the entrance, waiting for some entertainment.

It only took a matter of moments before the ER was a cyclone of controlled chaos; the more they cleared people, the more flooded in. Peter stood back wiping his brow. He stabilized and pushed them off to surgery or off to other hospitals awaiting the overflow.

He was getting good at moving around when he heard the commotion from the hallway. His John Doe was awake and not liking where he was, his screams echoing down the hallways. Peter tried to ignore the yells, but soon found them wrecking his momentum. He tossed his gloves to the floor in frustration and pushed his way out of the ER. The man was sitting up, his swollen face transfixed in horror.

"Hey, buddy, calm down. You're in a hospital." The right hook the man suddenly threw caught Peter off guard, throwing him back against the wall. The homeless man was on his feet, ripping the IV line from his arm and screaming. Jumping on Peter, he continued his attack.

"Security!" a nurse or someone cried out, calling for help.

Seconds later the deranged man was pulled off Peter, his screams turning feral as he struck out at Bob, the oversized night watchman. Peter stared, watching the thin man fight as though it was the only thing keeping him alive.

He pushed himself up the wall, amazed that the man still had fight left in him. The nurse that followed him out to the commotion already had the syringe in her hand. He didn't hesitate to snatch it from her hands, pulling the cap off he moved forward watching the two men struggle in the hallway. He couldn't have this homeless man causing any more problems. After all, he had an ER to run. Pushing forward, he plunged the needle into the man's thigh. The rage turned to loud sobs and pleas for mercy.

Bob groaned, pushing the man to the floor, his knee pressed against his back. Pulling the man's bruised arms behind his back, Bob cuffed them together. Peter stepped back, looking toward the silent ER. A large man stepped forward.

"Get off of him," the man growled, reaching for Bob. "Get off of him now!"

"Sam," a blond man said as he pushed through the crowd of people in the hallway. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

"I assure you the man is fine," Peter stepped in the way of the man called Sam. "The drugs in his system are wearing off, and it is quite normal to have this kind of reaction. He will be moved to another area where he won't be a bother."

Sam glared at him, his jaw clenched and unclenched. "Get out of my way." His voice cold, the blond man stepped beside Peter. He placed his hand on Sam's chest, keeping him from moving forward. "G, it's Deeks."

"Sam, calm down, you did hit your head. . ." G's voice trailed off as he slowly turned around, looking at the battered homeless man lying at his feet. His voice cracked as he anxiously said, "Sam, call Hetty." Turning to Peter, he continued, "That man is not homeless. He is a Federal Agent."

a/n: I know I know I couldn't hold out any longer, I hope you all understand. His pain and suffering is far from over I promise.

TBC