Title: As the world falls down
Rating: R
Genre/Pairing: Het - Don/Robin, but with a focus on Don rather than the relationship
Warnings: graphic violence, may disturb some readers
Spoilers: General season 5
Challenge/prompts: September rewind - Midnight, Naked, Handcuffs, Fantasy
-January rewind - Bullet, Blood, Luck, Survival
-102 - Confession (all at numb3rs100)
Word count: 1800 words (9x200 drabble series)
Disclaimer: Own nothing, not being paid.
A/N: I come from a family of cops, and wanted to try and write some of the reality I've heard about, as opposed to some of the drama we see on TV. Betaed by Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain and krazykitkat and discussed with juleself. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Title shamelessly stolen from the title of a song from the movie Labyrinth.
Summary: Then something hit Don hard on the back of the head, knocking him to the floor.
Midnight
Don woke, unsure exactly why. The room was dark, the clock by the bed indicating it was five after midnight. Figuring he was already awake, he pulled the covers off and slid his legs over the edge of the bed; the first step in a trek to the bathroom. He stood up, rubbed his hand over his face, coughed, and tried in vain to breathe through his nose, before shuffling over to the door. The cold that Nikki had so very nicely given him was leaving him feeling like something that had been run over twice by a very large truck. Robin was back at her own house, as there were only so many germs that it was actually nice to share with your girlfriend. They'd decided this cold wasn't worth the risk, considering how quickly it had infected people in the FBI office.
His nose chose the minute he reached the doorway to start running, and, in lieu of a tissue, he rubbed the back of his hand under it to catch the drip, snorting to try and keep it from running further.
Then something hit him hard on the back of the head, knocking him to the floor.
Naked
He was dazed and unprepared for an assault in the middle of the night, sluggish from the effects of the cold. It wasn't until he felt hands on his back that he reacted; started to struggle, started to yell, started to do the one thing he really shouldn't: panic. One of the hands left his body and he used that as an opportunity to try and run, wriggling forward out of the tight grip. He had one foot underneath him when he was brought back down again, his assailant almost covering his body with their own, breathing hard in his ear. The muzzle of a gun was shoved against his head and he went still.
"Like that, don't ya?" a voice said, low and rough.
The gun was withdrawn and then there was fiery pain as it impacted on the back of his head. He was dragged across the floor as he blacked out.
When he was next aware of what was going on, he was lying on the bed. He'd been gagged, making it harder for him to breathe. Cold hands reached below the band of his boxers, pulling them down, leaving him naked.
He fought for his life.
Handcuffs
They struggled on the bed. Don knew that if he could get to the nightstand on the other side of the bed he'd find his cell, if not his gun. The lamp beside him crashed onto the floor as they hit the nightstand on that side of the bed, Don taking the brunt of the impact, feeling the air whoosh out of his lungs. The assailant took the opportunity to punch Don hard in the chest, further winding him. The gag was hindering Don's desperate efforts to get air back into his lungs, his nose too blocked to breathe through.
The gun was pulled back into play, aimed at his head and Don froze; he now realised he wouldn't find his gun on the nightstand. At the man's gesture, he crawled back onto the bed, feeling light-headed from the lack of oxygen.
"On your stomach, hands behind your back."
Don obeyed, panic rising again, tears forming in his eyes. A heavy weight rested on his back, pinning him, and the cold hands grabbed his own, snicked handcuffs around his wrists. He couldn't slow his breathing, couldn't get enough air into his body, couldn't stop whatever was going to happen.
Fantasy
"Normally I use a knife, but sometimes it pays to go with what's on hand."
The hot breath left his ear and the man shifted his position, removing his knee from the small of Don's back and resettling with his knees either side of Don's body, his weight on Don's waist. Don shuddered, his heart rate picking up, his breathe wheezing in and out of his mouth, a sob trying to escape.
He hoped to hell that wasn't what it felt like. Hoped hoped hoped hoped hoped.
The man continued the fantasy, running the tip of the gun down the middle of Don's back, putting the muzzle against the side of his head and holding it there for a long time.
"Now the fun part."
The man got off the bed, put the gun back on the nightstand where it originally had been and unbuckled his belt. Tremors shot through Don's body as he watched, wanting to close his eyes, block it out, convince himself that this was not happening. There was a lump in his throat, wanting to escape, forcing his chest down to shallow movements, making black splotches dance in front of his eyes.
He heard the zip.
Bullet
"-the gun down, now!"
Don blinked slowly, feeling the burn in his lungs, feeling the pain in his head. The man was pointing the gun at him, again, and looking at something on the other side of the room.
"Put the gun down, now!"
It slowly clicked in his brain and the relief coursed through his veins. He must have greyed out to have missed the initial yell of 'police', although how long, he wasn't sure. The man's belt was still undone, his zipper down, and Don didn't hurt anywhere new, so he thought it couldn't have been too long.
He tried to slow his breathing, tried to get more oxygen in, but his body wasn't having any of it. It felt like all the snot and mucus his cold was producing was clogging his throat and mouth, making it almost impossible to get any air around the gag. He didn't want to suffocate while within minutes of being saved.
"You shoot me, you shoot him."
The gun moved closer to Don's face and he didn't feel relief anymore. One bullet would be all it would take; one bullet, and the fact that the police were there would mean nothing.
Blood
Don stared at the gun. One way or another, if it didn't end in the next few minutes there was a very good chance he'd be dead. His vision was greying out again, his brain getting sluggish. If the gun wasn't pointed at him or he wasn't there for the gun to be pointed at, then the situation would be simple. He couldn't remove the gun; the only solution was to take himself out of the equation.
He was close to the side of the bed, lowering the odds of the man being able to shoot him before he was out of sight. Knowing he had no choice, Don dug his feet into the mattress and pushed, rolling to the side. Someone's gun went off, he felt a pain in his shoulder, and then there were multiple bangs. He went off the edge of the bed, falling to the floor, his face hitting the nightstand in the process, blood flowing into his eyes; new pain for the collection. A pool of wet warmth was forming at his shoulder, and everything faded away.
It all came very sharply back into focus with his body trying to violently cough up his lungs.
Luck
There were hands on his shoulders, holding him on his side.
He fought.
His hands were uncuffed, pain flared high and unbridled through his shoulder as he hit out, he still couldn't catch a breathe, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was getting away, getting safe.
There were more hands, holding him down, his arms, his legs, stopping him from escaping, hurting him, wanting to hurt him, so he didn't stop, didn't give up the struggle.
The hands lowered him to the floor, retreating, and he scuttled back, leaning against the nightstand, curled as small as possible, trying to breathe.
"-okay, it's okay, you're safe. We're not going to hurt you, it's okay."
The words were a mantra, low and soothing, finally penetrating his panic. His attackers finally morphed into two police officers, a respectful distance away, one with a clearly broken nose, the other with a split lip.
"You need to try and breathe and calm down," split lip said, hands held up, placating, registering that Don was back with it.
Don looked around the room, seeing that no-one else was standing, registered the time on the clock. Only thirteen minutes had passed.
He was lucky.
Survival
He was pinned down, helpless, unable to breathe. There was no help coming, no-one to save him. It was going to happen, and then he was going to die. He tried to call out, but nothing made it past the gag. There was the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down, hands on his naked skin and he screamed.
Don came awake abruptly, feeling his heart beating like he'd run a marathon, his breath wheezing in and out of his chest. Sweat drenched his skin, making him feel itchy. He ran a hand over his face, feeling Robin looking at him in the dim light. She'd learnt the first time he'd had a nightmare to not try and shake him awake, or try and touch him immediately afterwards. It was unclear who'd been more apologetic, him for hitting her or her for provoking the terrified reaction.
The sweat was cooling on his skin, his heart rate approaching normal. He reached a hand out, pulling Robin towards him. She moved over willingly, kissing him on the chin, snuggling into his chest, holding on tight, giving him something to remind himself that it was over.
He'd survived; was still surviving.
Confession
Don sat, staring off into the distance, avoiding Bradford's eyes. He didn't doubt that Bradford felt like they were back at the beginning again; Don knowing he needed to be there, but not able to figure out how to even approach the issue. Forty giant steps backwards.
It was frustrating Don too. He needed to get this out, get it said, but it was the one piece of control he had left. Saying it would make it real.
"I panicked."
The words came out on their own, surprising him, surprising him with how easy it was to say. He looked at Bradford, needing to see his reaction.
"I shouldn't have panicked."
Bradford leant forward in his chair. "Don, you're human. As much as FBI training tries to prepare you for anything, it can't. Training can never completely reflect reality. At some point you'll be in a situation you never expect to be in, and everything will go flying out the window. You're not superhuman, as much as you'd like to think you are."
Don felt his head shaking no as Bradford spoke.
"Tell me, how many people would have rolled off the bed to get themselves out of the way?"
--FIN--