Prologue: Breaking Point

April 27, 2005

Maintown Apartments

Al Hillah, Iraq

Kensi Blye had been waiting by the phone for the past two hours.

Even though she already knew that it was connected, she still checked the cords. She kept flipping the TV on and off to make sure that the power hadn't gone out suddenly and she didn't know about it. She even went so far as to check the ringer on the phone, make sure that she had not set it on silent by mistake. Her mother had done that once. She hadn't answered her calls for two days and Kensi had been frantic.

But everything was on. The volume was turned up to full ringing capacity. The windows were closed, the radio and TV off. If the phone began to ring, she would know about it. Still, it didn't.

It was a frustrating feeling, Kensi realized with barely masked anger. She hated not knowing. It was terrifying. Her heart clenched painfully as she glanced at the clock and another minute ticked by.

3:43.

Kensi squeezed her hands into fists. Her eyes flitted around the room. It was a nervous tick of hers. She was nervous. She needed to do something; get herself moving. Anything that wasn't just sitting there and staring at a phone that she was starting to believe would never ring. And if it didn't…If it didn't then she didn't know what she was supposed to do. They had never thought this far through with the plan. They only had one back up plan. And if that phone didn't ring she knew there was nothing left she could do.

There was a thump outside the door. Kensi tensed, her hand immediately moving to the gun strapped to her thigh. The sound was followed by a laugh and a few words about being late spoken in rapid Arabic. She relaxed, letting her hands rest back on her lap. For lack of anything better to do, she went back to staring at the phone. No rings, although by this point, she really didn't expect there to be.

She should really start moving. She needed to gather her things, clear out of the apartment. Then, she had to make her way to the United States Embassy and call headquarters. Surely they'd know what to do. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so lost. Either way, she had to get it together. The worry that she suddenly felt shoot through her would not do any good. Not for her and especially not for her partner. What she needed was to keep her head on straight and calm down.

She spoke to herself fiercely, knowing the mentally shouted words of comfort would help her to relax and be able to look at the situation with clear, un-biased eyes. She took a few deep breaths and glanced at the clock again.

3:50.

Right. She needed to get moving. She shut off every emotional tie that she could think of to the apartment that she was currently hiding in and kicked herself into gear. She double and tripled checked the three firearms that she had hidden on her body for ammo and then went into the only bedroom that the small apartment held. Underneath the gaudy Persian style rug that she hated, she felt for the familiar notch in the wood flooring. It was easy to find.

She pulled up the plank of wood and spotted the safe tucked neatly under it. She entered the seven digit code by memory. With a nearly silent beeping noise, the lid popped opened and she grabbed the thick bundle of papers that were inside. She snapped the safe closed and put the floor board back into place. She rolled the rug back over it and went over to the bed, grabbing the satchel that she kept underneath it.

Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she slipped the papers inside the bag and slung it over her shoulder. She didn't bother going to the closet for any of her belongings. There wasn't time. Besides, she wouldn't need them anymore. She did stop by the bathroom and gather a few basic things. After stuffing a razor, a lighter, and some hairspray into the now full satchel, she left for the door.

Kensi never knew what hit her. As soon as her hand touched the handle, the door burst open in a hail of gunfire. Voices, loud and gruff, exploded around her, but she hardly noticed. She crashed to the floor, landing on her backside. She felt the wind leave her as her head smacked against the side of the table that was sitting right beside the door. Black spots danced behind her eye lids. Pounding filled her senses. She took a deep breath and tried to stand. In her haste to move away to cover, she failed to notice that satchel that had slipped from her shoulder or the sheaves of paper that now littered the floor.

Against the drum beat in her head, Kensi felt a hard pressure on her arm. Someone was lifting her up; someone speaking some not-so-nice Arabic words. Instinctively, she kicked out. She felt the satisfying crunch as her foot connected with bone. There was a loud shout and she was released. She scrambled to her feet, still struggling to keep her legs from buckling under her. She forced her eyes open and was assaulted with the image of three men, all masked. There heads were wrapped into turbans and she recognized the symbol on the left side of the wrapping.

Her heart stuttered to a halt. She had to get out of there.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins. Using it to her advantage, Kensi grabbed the gun strapped to her hip. She had fired off three shots before she even realized that she'd done it. None were kill shots, but two hit the man who had grabbed her in the leg. He went down. More bullets rained down on her. She ran, her legs still shaking, and took cover behind the couch that she had just been sitting on not even minutes before. Gunfire rammed against it. A bullet made it through the stuffing, missing her by a hair.

Kensi sucked in a breath. The firing stopped. Her face paled as the remaining two men began to speak. She didn't recognize the first voice, but the second…

Oh, God. She felt her heart hammering in her chest. It couldn't be. Not Paul. But it was. It was his Arabic. He'd never been able to pronounce his 'r' right. Kensi used to poke fun at him for it. Now, that same lisp made her shudder. She ran her hands through her hair. It was matted to her forehead with sweat. She couldn't believe it. What was she supposed to do now? Then it struck her. No wonder the phone hadn't rung.

"Kensi," someone called out in clear English. The deep, gruff tone told her all that she needed to know. "Come out, come out wherever you are."

She took a few deep breaths. Her eyes began to sting. They clouded with tears. She wiped them away quickly with a shaky hand and gripped her gun tighter in the other. A frown crossed her face, but she pushed it away into one of impassiveness. She knew that her voice reflected whatever expression she had on her face. Paul did, too. Really, Paul knew everything about her.

She didn't answer. She couldn't make herself speak. She didn't even try. The silence rang out through the room for a few long moments until finally, "I just want to talk to you. I promise that you won't get hurt. But only if you come out now."

Against her better judgment, Kensi snorted. The sound was loud enough that she knew she had no choice but to speak up. "You promise?" Her voice was rough with unsuccessfully masked hurt. "Yeah right."

"But I do," Paul said. He was using his soothing tone; the exact same one that had made Kensi let her guard down in front of him in the first place. "And I think you know what about."

"Not sure I do," Kensi shot back. Holding her gun out in front of her with one hand, she used the other to grab the other one strapped to her ankle. "Maybe you could elaborate."

Paul was silent for a minute. There was a mumbling beside him and then an angry growl. Footfalls followed, then the opening and closing of a door. Finally, he spoke. "It's just us now, Kens. Just us. Now maybe you could come out."

There was only one way out of this situation, Kensi knew. She couldn't face Paul on directly. He was huge. Besides, he'd always been better than her in gun fighting. Hand to hand, too. But he knew that. And she was pretty sure that he knew that was what she was thinking about. He knew her so well. So the only way to make it out of the room alive was to do the exact opposite of what he'd expect her to do. Kensi had never been one to hide out during a gun fight. She was prideful and took every suspect that she handled head on. She never gave up. Now, she would have to do the opposite.

She bit her lip. She needed to time this carefully. Slowly and silently, she turned. She pulled herself onto the balls of her feet, her back hunched over. Stealthily, she peaked over the top of the couch. There Paul was, just as she knew he would be. While pride was her downfall, his was his cockiness. His gun, some form of sub-machine rifle, was resting at his side, his finger nowhere near the trigger. His stance was relaxed, but Kensi knew better. He could strike in a single moment. He was fast.

She just had to be faster.

Breathing a few deep breaths, Kensi clenched tightly to both of her guns. She raised them slowly from her sides, fingers on the triggers. She tensed her legs. The adrenaline, the thrill of the fight was rising inside of her. This was when she was at her best. This was when she did her greatest work.

Not giving herself a chance to think, Kensi leaped to her feet, guns at the ready. She identified the points that she'd have to hit to cripple Paul, and squeezed the trigger. She wasn't sure how many rounds she'd fired, but when she heard the thump of a body hitting the ground, she stopped. Paul was resting on his back. The only movement he made was the slight twitching of his hand.

Heart racing, Kensi hurried over to him. She kicked the gun away from his side and bent down. She didn't need to feel for his pulse. Paul's eyes followed her around as she leaned over him. She surveyed the damage. Two shots to the right leg, one to the left. Three in the stomach. None by themselves were fatal, but together…

Kensi felt the tears blurring her eyes again. Hating herself for the hurt she felt, she turned from Paul. There was nothing left for her to do. Her only contact here was on the ground. She had to get to the American Embassy. Then, she'd think about Paul. Then, she'd wonder.

Still, as she stood to go, she turned around and asked one question:

"Why?"

So, prologue. I know that I have a lot of other stories in the works, but this idea kept nagging at me. this is my first attempt at an NCIS: LA story but I know exactly where I want it to go, I think. I know that this is short, but it's because it's only a prologue. The actual chapters should vary in length but will all be at least 3,000 words probably. I just needed a beginning.

So, if anyone is interested, please review. I never dictate the number of reviews i want for a chapter usually, but I always like to when I first start a story. If I can get 5 reviews from people saying that they are interested, then I'll continue.

Thanks. :)