Deeks was panicking and he knew it. The last operation hadn't gone down so well, and there'd been a fair few collateral lives lost. Collateral. Deeks hated that word, hated it with a passion. It was so impersonal, reducing once living, breathing, complex people into a side note. Honestly, he understands how ol' Arnie Schwarzenegger feels in that movie, what was it called?

Of course. Collateral. Go figure.

Kensi had taken one look at the scene, the scene that was now burned into the back of Deeks' retinas, the scene that had shown only limp, broken bodies, and turned around, not able to face it. Deek's didn't think any less of her for it, Hell he'd nearly hurled then and there. But someone had to keep it together, and Kensi had already decided that it wasn't her.

He didn't blame her for a second.

Tall, strong, broad mean reduced to a mere shell, twisted so that they weren't tall any more. Young, vibrant women whose delicate features were marred and warm bodies now cold. But they were not the worst, they weren't the reason Deeks' stomach kept trying to crawl its way out of his throat.

It was the eight children who were no longer children.

The bomb had been placed under the merry-go-round, and shrapnel had torn into soft, undeveloped flesh like a hot knife through butter. Eight children who had been torn into pieces and had even the most seasoned cops unsteady on their feet, and would definitely send them to the bottle when their shift ended. No one had stepped forward yet, attempting to create some form of macabre order out of the unfathomable chaos.

Deeks wasn't sure what to do either.

But, with Kensi out of action, and Sam and Callen five minutes out, it had fallen to Deeks to organise the paramedics in the recovery. The glassy eyed officers had gone through the unnecessary motions of checking for life before lifting them onto stretchers and covering them with a white sheet. Deeks had stood by silently, watching as each person was rearranged in less horrific but just as lifeless positions and wheeled away from the destruction that had ended their lives.

And then it had come time for the children.

The paramedics balked, and the cops flat out refused to step foot inside the scene. At around this time, Sam and Callen had found Deeks, after taking down the lower-than-rat-shit bomber, and apparently stopping for coffee, the time it had taken them. Although, Deeks' concept of time had ceased the moment he'd entered the playground, and seen what he could never unsee.

Neither agent had been prepared for the sight before them.

Sam had raised a hand to presumably lay on Deeks' shoulder, but he'd stepped away from it, and incidentally, towards the carnage. So he kept going, pulling on his black gloves as he walked down the slight embankment made deeper by the explosion that had ended thirteen lives and destroyed several more. The remaining paramedics that hadn't turned completely ashen followed mutely, Callen with them. Deeks stopped by the torso of a young girl, no older than eight, a once bright yellow dress now stained to the colour of rust, with veins of something darker, something still tacky.

God. Oh God. How could any God let this happen?

A stretcher was placed on the other side of the girl, and without looking at each other, the medic and Deeks lifted her body onto the clean surface. And then Deeks placed the severed left leg next to the right, while his impromptu partner added a peppered hand. They stood the stretcher, and the EMT covered the too-small body with a too-white sheet. Deeks moved on while the little girl with blond hair and yellow ribbon to match her dress was wheeled away.

Don't think, don't see. Don't think, Don't see.

Three EMTs, Callen, and Deeks picked up the children and put them back together as best they could because that was all they could give them. There was no bandage, no surgery, no spell, no wish that would let the three young boys become men one day, nor the five little girls make their dads proud as they became women.

But Deeks had not panicked then.

No, that came after. After the last ambulance had made its too-slow journey to the hospital, after the passengers were sent to the morgue instead of the Emergency Department, after forensics arrived to do their best to clean away the blood and shrapnel and so much else but-don't-think-about-it. After the parents of six of the children were led away, dead-eyed and hollow to the core, after a fiancé had struck out at him when he'd told her that it was too late, after he'd held close a distraught widow who'd outlived her child.

And then there was nothing to do.

Nothing but time to think, time to relive, time to go through the whole nightmare again. Kensi had driven Sam straight to his house, where he no doubt had embraced his family tightly, reassuring himself that they were still there. From there, Kensi had probably headed straight home for a long, hot shower and then settled down to watch several bad movies.

They'd had a scare, but they'd be alright before too long.

Deeks had slipped away, merging with the shadows as the sun set on the horrific scene, making everything look strange, and normal, as if lives hadn't been changed forever a few short hours earlier. He hadn't headed anywhere in particular, just started walking, getting away. Walking faster. Breaking into a jog.

Running from the pain.

And run he did. It was at least four miles before he slowed down, and another three before his legs simply couldn't keep up the pace, sending him staggering into the pavement. Deeks shut his eyes tightly and heaving in air, focussing on nothing but the strain of too much oxygen yet not enough and the pain it was causing. The fire of the stitch that had emerged fifteen minutes ago. The steady lap of the ocean as is pushed against the stone wall keeping it from the quiet street.

Deeks was panicking and he knew it.

There was nothing he could do but sprawl unevenly on the ground and try to breathe, which, while not exactly what Deeks had set out to achieve, took away his ability to focus on anything he'd witnessed today. But as his breathing steadied and Deeks' head cleared, his brain took him to images, smells, sensations that would hitch his breathing and quicken his heart rate, trapping him in a loop on not-quite-terror.

Maybe he shouldn't have wandered off alone.

As if the thought had summoned it, a black Challenger pulled up half-on, half-off the curb, headlights mercifully missing Deeks eyes by centimetres. A figure that wasn't Sam got out of the car, and it took a moment for him to process who he was seeing.

Callen. Unshakable, unflappable Callen.

The NCIS agent knelt down beside Deeks as he continued to drag in air, fighting to calm his breaths, more out of embarrassment than any actual desire to be able to think again. He turned his head from Callen, as he realised that his face was damp, and it wasn't from the sweat, and distractedly rubbed at his face while simultaneously trying to straighten up. Callen lay a gentle restraining hand on Deeks' shoulder, preventing him from standing, which, considering he was shaking sitting down, was probably a smart move.

But breaking down in front of his team leader wasn't on Deeks' to-do list.

He shrugged off the admittedly-comforting hand and used a wall he hadn't been aware of to gain his feet and begin walking in the opposite direction of the car and its light that was way too bright for how Deeks was feeling. Three steps in, he saw Callen in his peripheral vision falling into step with him, effortlessly keeping up, despite his shorter legs. Deeks determinedly didn't look in the blue-eyed man's direction, lengthening his stride in an attempt to lose the man.

Apparently Deeks had forgotten that the man was trained to take down baddies.

A scuff on the pavement, and Deeks' feet were swept from under him, the only thing sending him from sprawling in an ungainly heap on the deserted road was a strong pair of hands, one catching a shoulder and the other bunched in the front of his shirt, halting his fall, and leaving him hanging awkwardly a foot or so from the ground. And then Callen gave an almighty heave and righted Deeks, even though he was a good few inches shorter, keeping a firm hand on Deeks' shoulder, whether to steady him or keep him in place, it hardly mattered.

Deeks had lost the will and the energy to keep running anyway.

~xXx~

"Is this where you take all your dates?" The words were out before Deeks'd even processed his mouth opening, something that'd gotten him into more than his fair share of fights, both verbal and physical.

Today must have been his lucky day, because all Callen did was chuckle, and usher him towards a slightly darker corner of the already pretty dark bar, taking the furthest seat from the entrance, which also, totally not coincidentally, afforded the best view of the establishment.

"Yeah, totally not paranoid," Deeks muttered under his breath, and then spoke to Callen, "you're willing to let me die first when the gun-wielding psychopath busts through the door?"

"Only if he enters through the front. If he decides the back's a better option, I'm the first to go down. I expect you to avenge me." Callen didn't even miss a beat.

"And avenged you shall be. But if you ever plan on leaving through that back door in a hurry, you make sure you drag me along." Deeks sat tentatively on the edge of the seat that Callen had absently pulled out, mind falling effortlessly into the banter, but not being enveloped by it, leaving plenty of room for the events of the day to come seeping in. The blood that hadn't quite crusted, the pale, pale flesh, the frozen pain and lifeless eyes forever etched onto faces. The tears of the families, the absent, hollow expressions that meant the pain would come later, and hit with all the force of a truck.

"Deeks. Don't." A firm hand on his arm startled Deeks, and he realised the conversation had continued while he hadn't been paying attention, his own responses slowly becoming more monosyllabic.

"Pardon? What am I not doing? Have I already done it?" Deeks did his best to drag his mind out of his memories, voice missing light-hearted and falling straight into badly-concealed-struggle.

"Today was bad. Today was goddamn awful, but you can't keep reliving it. Helps no one." Callen shuffled on the stool, facing Deeks, making sure he was in Deeks' face, keeping him focussed on what was happening right now, in front of his face.

"I… right." Deeks opened his mouth, intending to deflect in his usual style, not liking how intently Callen was watching him, not liking how close he was getting to personal conversation, something he rarely engaged in, even with his oldest friends, few as they were.

But there was something in the blue, so-blue gaze of his team leader that had Deeks rethinking the response that was already almost out of his mouth. "I know Callen, I so know," he sighed, "But that doesn't stop me from doing it."

Before Callen could answer, a short man with at least three separate tattoos slotted into the space on his bicep, knocked gently on the bar top. "Your usual, Cal? An' what's your friend gettin'?"

Without even conferring with Deeks, Callen nodded, and said, "Same as me, but make it a double for him Shane, rough day." Which was probably the understatement of the year, and Deeks hid a snort as Shane stepped away to concoct their drinks.

"Just a heads up. 'Round here I'm Callum. Shane misheard me first time I was here, and, well, it's close enough really. Just don't ask anyone about Karaoke Night, alright? I'll gun you down myself."

Deeks' turned his head so fast he was sure he felt something snap, "Karaoke Night?! You?! How drunk?! I…" The incoherent sentences trailed off as Shane reappeared with two glass tumblers, containing an amber liquid, one substantially darker than the other.

"There y'go Cal. An' here's yours, mate. Don't down it too fast." Deeks finally placed Shane's accent, as the barman headed off to the busier end of the bar, clearly cluing in that this wasn't the night to be chatting aimlessly with an obvious regular and his work colleague/acquaintance/friend?

"Australian?" Deeks decided to start again on the conversation front. "Didn't know your recreational choices were so cultural."

Callen snorted into his drink. "Because they're such a foreign species."

Deeks muttered under his breath, "May as well be."

Callen looked at him, wondering if that was an invitation to ask about Deeks' encounter with an Aussie that left him with that impression, before decided not to push it, and continuing. "Shane moved here about five years ago. Think his original goal was to make a fortune in black market liquor, but… well, turned out he wasn't so good at it." Callen grinned wryly, clearly remembering how awful Shane'd been. "So now he manages this place, pays for his alcohol above the board and gets to meet nice people like me."

Deeks snorted indelicately and tasted his drink. The alcohol content was way higher than he'd been expecting, and he felt his eyes water, as the whiskey burned its way down his throat. It took him a few moments to remember how to talk, and when Deeks got to it, he sounded breathless. "Geez. That wasn't any double I've ever had before. You sure he wouldn't be better off in the black market?"

Callen laughed, throwing his head back. Deeks watched, mildly intrigued at everything he was learning about his team leader, but mostly tried to be annoyed that Callen found his inability to breathe funny.

"Ah, I forgot how strong of a mixer Shane was. Australians do things differently, and Shane more differently than most. I'd gotten used to it." Callen calmed, but couldn't prevent the grin that played around his lips as he sipped his less alcoholic but-apparently-still-stronger-that-the-norm beverage. Another thing learnt about the ex-CIA agent.

Deeks examined the glass in his hand, swirling its contents like he'd seen all the important people do on television, before coming to a decision. He put the tumbler to his lips and tilted back, draining the entire thing in one go. The burn was sensational, and again, Deeks' brain forgot how to function for a few moments before snapping into gear as though to make up for its lapse.

"Whoa," Deeks set the glass down, and Callen slid it away from the edge of the bench. "think I needed that, but… whoa." He closed his eyes momentarily before reopening them and settling more comfortably into the stood, which, probably fortunately, was fashioned with a small backrest.

"You were warned," Callen said without inflection, before tossing back his own drink and setting the tumbler next to Deeks'. "Don't try to stand up too fast. In fact, don't do anything too fast from here on out. You'll probably end up on the floor."

"Least it'll stop me from thinking," Deeks muttered darkly, the sudden influx of alcohol allowing him to not care that he was unravelling fast in front of his immediate superior. After all, it'd been Callen who'd gotten him the drink.

A second later, Deeks' sanity caught up with him, and he sat up straighter, wishing he could take back his words, but barring that, he wouldn't whine to Callen about how not-okay he was at the moment. He'd had enough practise hiding it, even from Kensi, so a little bit of alcohol wasn't going to undo him, not if he wasn't stupid enough to skull another death trap.

Callen broke the ensuing silence. "I'm sorry you had to deal with what you saw today nearly all on your own. I'm sorry you had to go down there and help. I'm sorry you had to inform the families. I'm sorry none of us checked on you when you needed it. I'm sorry." He took a deep breath before continuing, Deeks listening in silence, giving away nothing but for the hunched shoulders.

"It's not fair what happened to those people. Especially… especially those children. And while it won't bring them back, having caught the man responsible means it won't happen to anyone else. I-"

"Monster," Deeks cut Callen off, "he was a monster. No man could have done that."

Callen nodded in agreement, but didn't let the interruption distract him from what he was determined to get out. "It's going to be awful for a while, but you need to know that there's nothing you could have done that would have changed the outcome. You did all you could have and it was brave. It took courage to go down there and give those victims back their dignity, even in death." Callen fell silent as the words finally ran out, this nearly being the most he'd spoken in one go to Deeks.

Deeks, in turn, simply hunched forward, staring at the bar top, not giving any sign of having heard Callen's impassioned speech. Shane chose the moment to silently place a beer in front of the two men, tapping Callen softly on the upper arm as a show of sympathy, and nodding at Deeks, even though his head was downturned. Shane had a feeling that he caught it anyway.

Righto, so, this's my first NCIS:LA entry, and I'm hoping it's not too shabby a story. It's a two-parter, with the second part hopefully up later this week. Please let me know what you thought, 'cause there ain't no way to improve without feedback. Cheers, Ghostly ;)