G.U.N.

By

Aranna Undomiel

Okay, this turned very AU by the time episode 9x6 aired, but I started writing this after 9x5 (we're a bit behind where I live). I was a little fed up with Mac's stubbornness and unwillingness to do something about his condition, so my muse came up with this reason for him to finally start talking about it. And it gave me an opportunity to write some Don Hurt/Comfort, which is always a good thing ;)

"G…u…n, gun, gun, GUN!" Cursing his own mind for the fact that it had no trouble at all reproducing that word now, when it had been so elusive a few hours ago…

His pacing brought him to the edge of the room and he turned, feeling his anger at himself rise as he looked over the by now familiar scene in front of him. He swept his eyes over the machines attached to the dark-haired man lying in the bed, before focusing on the man himself, watching his stuttering breaths carefully. The tall man's chest was wrapped in tight white bandages, but even though they covered nearly all of it, at the upper side, over his heart, a dark blue bruise spread out from underneath it. Extra oxygen was provided through the tubes at his nose, to help his battered lungs, and morphine dripped into his veins at regular intervals to help manage the pain. Sinking into the chair next to the bed as his feelings of guilt threatened to overwhelm him; he grabbed the prone man's hand and squeezed it. "I'm so sorry Don" he whispered. No reaction came and he felt his mind drift back to the events that had led to Don lying in this bed…

They had a lead on the case of a young man who was beaten to dead. The murderer was said to squat in this old warehouse they were standing in front of; using its space to host illegal free-fight matches. Gaze sweeping over the dilapidated building, Don uttered a long-suffering sigh, as they continued putting on their bulletproof vests. "Why can't they just for once live in a nice cosy house and open the door for us as we approach, instead of having to search through some rat-infested hell-hole?" Mac merely chuckled, not bothering with a response as he checked the rest of his equipment. Don huffed, before sobering up as he put his hand on the door. "Ready?" he asked, and at Mac's nod he opened the door, yelling 'NYPD' as they entered. No reaction came and they looked at each other, listening for signs of movement in the dimly-lit steel hall. Hearing a slight scuffling noise to this upper left, Mac silently signalled Don. The dark-haired detective nodded, motioning his hand to indicate he was going to take the staircase a little further into the warehouse to reach the first floor. Mac looked after him for a few seconds, before moving silently up the stairs in front of him, prepared for anything…

He reached the landing, running around the sides of the entire building, first, scanning the shadows around him for signs of their suspect, before turning back towards the far end of it, where Don now had appeared. They began moving towards each other, clearing the rooms they passed as they did so. Exiting his second cleared room, Mac paused as he spotted movement near Don's end. The detective himself was nowhere to be seen, so Mac crouched into cover behind a railing, training his eyes on where he thought he had seen something. Don exited the room he had been searching and suddenly Mac saw movement again. It came from a position between theirs, closer to Don's location than to his own. A sparse ray of light glinted off something in the suspect's hands. Alarmed, Mac raised his voice to warn Don. The moment he opened his mouth however, the word he wanted to shout escaped him. He wracked his brain desperately, as he watched Don come closer, fear growing in his gut in those split seconds. He finally yelled, "Don!" hoping the detective would pick up on the tone of his voice and dive for cover. However, the detective, hearing the tone of fear in his voice, seemed to think Mac was in trouble and he started to move swiftly towards him…and thus towards the suspect. He actually screamed in his frustration at the inability of his mind to supply the much needed word, one he had used so many times before. His scream seemed to have startled Don, who came to a halt in the middle of the landing, a spot without adequate cover. Mac once again yelled the young man's name as he rose, but the sound was drowned out by five shots…

Momentarily paralyzed, Mac watched as two bodies slumped to the ground. Their suspect fell from his ledge on the roof, taken out by Mac's two shots. This meant the other three shots had been directed at Don.

Moving swiftly past the suspect, Mac only paused to disarm him, before dropping to his knees beside Don, yelling "Officer down!" into his comm. Not even listening to the responses buzzing in his ears, he focused his attention on the young man in front of him. Don was lying on his back, his long legs folded underneath him in an awkward angle. Checking him for signs of bleeding, he was relieved to find none, but that relieve died down again as he noticed Don's laboured breathing and the wheezing sounds that accompanied each panted breath. Gently undoing the detective's bulletproof vest, he then unbuttoned the blue dress shirt underneath. He nearly cursed as he saw the dark bruise already blossoming on Don's left side. Checking the vest, he noticed that the three bullets were positioned nearly on top off each other. He realised that while the vest had done its job, the combined force of the three bullets on the same spot had caused Don's ribs to be heavily bruised at the least. Guilt swept over him and he placed his hand on the young man's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "I'm sorry Don. I have failed you." A drawn out groan was his response and he found himself fixed by two uncomprehending blue eyes. "Not your…fault" the detective wheezed as he tried to sit up. "Didn't… know… 'bout… gun" The word slammed into Mac's mind, bringing with it the many memories of times he had used it. His anger at himself, for not being able to recall such a small word and guilt for the consequences that had brought, nearly drowned out his surroundings. He felt like screaming out his frustration or smashing something into a million pieces, before it threatened to consume him.

He was pulled out of it by a harsh sounding cough, followed by a pain-filled groan, as Don tried to take a deeper breath. The groan turned into another cough and soon Don was curled into a ball, arms wrapped around his torso as he tried to breathe through the waves of pain. Mac tried to comfort him, guilt growing with each desperate gasp for air. Don's eyes became unfocused and he soon lost consciousness again, for which Mac was secretly grateful. Don's breathing slowly returned to a calmer pattern, just as the medics arrived…

Sighing, Mac wiped a tired hand across his face. The doctors had explained that Don had 1 broken, 1 cracked and two bruised ribs, which meant he would be out of commission for quite a while. And that all because of him, because of his traitorous memory.

He closed his eyes for a moment, once again offering Don his apologies. "Wha'for" came the mumbled response from inside the bed and Mac startled, eyes flying open to focus on Don's bleary ones. Don chuckled at this reaction, but immediately regretted it as he scrunched his eyes shut in pain. "Damn…"Don breathed, and Mac felt his guilt spike again. Don must've noticed something, because he frowned at him. "Y'okay Mac?" Mac hesitated for a moment, his need to keep his problems to himself battling with his guilt, feeling he owed Don an explanation for what he had done to him. "Mac?" Don questioned, worry lacing his voice and Mac's decision was made. "I'm really sorry Don. I never meant for this to happen, for anyone to get hurt because of me." Seeing Don's puzzled expression, he elaborated. "Since I was…shot…I've been having difficulties recalling certain words. And today, I couldn't come up with the word 'gun'. " Don grunted. "Didn't know…had one…" "Yes, I did" Mac interjected, voice rising. "I saw him, I saw it in his hand, I knew what it could do and that I was holding one too, but I couldn't name it. I couldn't warn you! I should have done something about it months ago, but I didn't and now you nearly had to pay the price…" Mac admitted, defeat visible in the lines of his face.

Don grunted, struggling to sit up so he could better talk to Mac. Finally succeeding, he waited a few moments for the waves of pain to subside. "Not your fault…" he panted, the painful expansion of his ribs nearly robbing him of his breath. "It was" Mac interrupted. "If I had warned you he had a gun, he wouldn't have shot you!" Don shook his head. "Don't know that….had a vest….be okay." He waited until he had caught his breath again before continuing making his point to the stubborn man beside him. "But…not…what I meant….Not your fault…you got shot….nearly died. That's something….recovery takes time. Expert remember?" Looking at Mac, he was glad to see a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "We'll help…fix it. Fix you. Family…right?" Sagging back against his pillows, Don tried to slow his breathing again…

Mac took in the young man, noticing the hand not holding his, fisted in the sheets. Don's eyes were closed by now, lines of pain clearly visible on his face, as each small panted breath was accompanied by a soft moan. Feeling an unexpected surge of pride for the young man who refused to give in, even now. He felt all the more aware of his own fears and failures. "But what if I can't fix it, if I can't be fixed…" he nearly whispered, not sure Don could even hear him over the noises of the machines in the room, and not sure he wanted him to hear. He felt his hand being squeezed and lifting his head, he took in the half-raised position Don had managed to pull himself into, blue eyes fixing his own with a stare. "You will!" Don said with utter certainty. "But how do you know that?" Mac asked, whishing he believed that with the same intensity. Don just shrugged, as if it were obvious. "You're Mac Taylor….Can do anything….you set….your mind to…"

Mac swallowed thickly around the lump suddenly stuck in his throat, as he processed the utter faith the young man had in his abilities. A few minutes passed in silence, in which Mac silently battled his own mind. Decision made, he turned his attention back to Don, brows creasing in worry as he took in the detective's appearance. His dark hair was plastered to his head, beads of sweat rolling down his face, trailing along the lines of pain etched into his face, as he tried to even out his stuttering breaths. Shaking his head at the young man, who had his own share of stubbornness; Mac reached for the button for the morphine drip and pushed it. Shortly after, Don's breathing eased out and he was able to take deeper breaths, the lines of pain slowly disappearing. Blinking his eyes open, Don stared at Mac, who stared straight back. "You don't have to do this alone." Don just raised his eyebrow at that. "Pot meet kettle…" he smirked, before yawning widely. Mac shook his head. "This pot is going to be white from now on…"he stated. It took Don's drugged mind a little longer than usual to decipher this cryptic message, but soon Don's megawatt smile was beaming his way and he couldn't help but grin back. The smile soon grew into a smirk. "Maybe we could ask Lucy's school if you can join her lessons…I'm sure she won't mind" Mac glared at the detective, who nearly giggled at this, before he turned serious again. "You'll be the same old you before you know it Mac!" Don nodded vigorously at him, eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to fight the pull of the morphine-induced sleep tugging at his eyelids. Mac once again felt his heart swell with pride and love for this young man. "I promise to try and fix it Don, with your help" He squeezed the detective's hand and watched as he finally lost the battle with sleep, a smile playing around his lips.

Mac squeezed Don's hand once more, before he pulled out his phone. He stared at Christine's number on the screen for a long time, contemplating his words. Glancing over at the sleeping detective, he finally hit the call button. "Christine? We need to talk…"

THE END

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