A/N: First off, I couldn't believe no one had snatched this title, but I'm glad they didn't! This came to be while I was staying up with a sick friend tonight, so it's almost insomnia. As usual--some Don Angst, but actually is mostly a David fic with a little Megan thrown in for good measure. It's just a mix and match of characters, okay? Hope you like it.
DISCLAIMER: Let's not go there...I'm still depressed from finding out that the characters weren't for sell...much less finding out they belonged to someone else...
K is for Kevlar
Fear clutched at David's heart. Everything moved in slow motion as he raced across the plaza. His feet beat a rhythm on the cobblestone. He's down. He's down. The phrase formed a repetitious cycle that played over and over in his mind. Thousands of possible resolutions and repercussions sped through his brain. How bad was it? How far away was the shot? How would he explain this? How could he fix it? How could he have let this happen?
That last line struck a chord. In a matter of milliseconds, he had determined that this was his fault. He was at his destination now. He dropped beside the fallen agent and quickly checked his vitals. He wasn't breathing.
"Come on, Don!" he cried desperately, as he fumbled to undo the buttons on his boss' shirt. Another pair of hands began pulling at the buttons. David didn't look up. He couldn't bear to see the fear that he knew would be on Megan's face.
There was a sizable mar in the vest. David tore at the velcro straps, desperately hoping that the tightness of the kevlar was what was constricting Don's breathing.
David took a sharp breath when he saw Don's chest. It looked like he'd been hit with a baseball bat! The thought was pushed to the back of his mind when he noticed that Don still wasn't breathing. He nodded for Megan to start rescue breathing. He put his hands in the correct position and had just touched Don's battered chest to begin compressions when Don gasped.
"Whoa!" David and Megan chorused in surprise.
"Stay still Don," Megan commanded, pushing his shoulder down firmly, to make herself clear. "I'm going to get the paramedics."
With that, she was gone. Don groaned and coughed painfully. David pulled himself together and turned a scrutinizing eye on his boss. "You okay?" he asked concernedly.
"Hurts," Don managed to say, through clenched teeth.
"Yeah, I know," David murmured sympathetically. "But at least it hurts." Receiving a confused glare from Don, he hurriedly added, "I mean, the alternative is alot more grim."
Don nodded weakly and threw a glance at the discarded vest that had, once again, saved his life. "That thing's shot," he said, almost regretfully.
"Yeah," David murmured as the paramedics arrived and pushed past him. He picked the vest up and turned it over, looking at the brass entombed in the kevlar. "Yeah," he said again. "It's shot...but you're not."
He laid the vest on the pavement and shook his head. Sometimes, the kevlar didn't work. But today--it had. He nodded a silent thanks to the damaged equipment and followed the stretcher out of the plaza.
THE END