Title: Home Invasion
Rating: PG-13
Genre: het
Pairings: Don/Robin
Characters: Don, Robin, OMC
Disclaimer: own nothing, not being paid
Spoilers: season 5
Warnings: violence
Word count: 912 words
A/N: Written for my lovely co-mod of lj comm hurt_Don, Valerie Vancollie's birthday. Happy birthday, sweetie!!! Not betaed.
Summary: Don and Robin are attacked in a home invasion.
The carpet was slowly turning red. Little patters of rain, not quite random in location. Moving, spreading out, as Don wobbled in place, hands braced against the pull of the floor. A hand latched into his hair and he was wrenched back, off balance and on his knees, falling almost sideways. He couldn't help but cry out and the hand tightened in reaction.
"Quiet," the man's voice hissed in his ear. "Or neither of you make it out of this alive."
He'd already warned Don, right after he'd knocked Robin unconscious. She was still sprawled on the floor, eyes closed and a bruise forming on her forehead. The way her hair fanned around her head and fell over her face disturbed Don more than the fact that she was unconscious. Unconscious, not dead. Don refused to believe that she could be dead. He'd seen a thousand crime scene photos that looked exactly the same; no difference between dead and not dead.
The hand abruptly let go and Don fell forward again, determined to do something to get himself and Robin out of the situation. He was no longer stunned and shocked from the unexpected attack in his own home, he had a chance to try to respond. Before he could gather himself something was wrapped around his throat and pulled tight, lifting his head back up. He automatically scrabbled at it, trying to pull it loose—material, slightly silky—but he couldn't. It was digging in, tightening, cutting off all air as his attacker dragged him upwards towards their own body. Don tried to fight against his panic, fight against giving in to it and letting himself be killed. His back was pulled against the man's chest, giving the man extra leverage to pull the cloth tighter and finish strangling him. Don's vision was starting to fade, his lungs felt like they were about to explode and his neck hurt.
He managed to finally get his feet underneath him and pushed up with his thighs, moving his head backwards as hard and quickly as he could. There was a sharp crack as Don's skull crashed into his assailant's chin and they both staggered back, the man's grip on the material around Don's throat loosening. Don gasped as air started to flood back into his starving lungs and drove his elbow back into his attacker's torso. They both fell, Don's encounter with the floor cushioned somewhat by the body that he landed on. He rolled away as quickly as he could, not wanting to take the chance that the rather limp-seeming body wasn't going to suddenly move again. A wracking cough shook through his frame as he tried to get his breathing back under control. His throat felt like it was on fire, the outside skin also raw and hot.
Don's handcuffs, gun and cell were beside his bed and at the lack of movement from the man, Don staggered to the other room and collected them. He pushed the handcuffs and cell into his pocket and unsteadily aimed the weapon in front of him, as he reentered the room. The man was still, lying where Don had left him. Approaching cautiously, Don nudged at the man's chest with his toe. The man was out for the count so Don holstered the gun and handcuffed him. Spots appeared in front of Don's eyes and he had to put out a hand to steady himself. He stayed half crouched and half slumped over the man's form for a few seconds, waiting for his vision to clear. It finally did and he allowed himself an extra second to make sure he wasn't going to get a repeat performance. Convinced that he wasn't going to pass out right that minute, he stood up and hurried over to Robin. He hesitated, hand hovering above her neck, before putting his fingers on her pulse point. The thud was strong and regular and he sighed in relief, triggering another coughing fit that made him almost long for the oblivion of unconsciousness.
Assured that she was alive, he made the phone call that would get them both help. His voice was hoarse and every word hurt and put further strain on his still struggling lungs. Minutes after the call, Robin started to stir. She finally opened her eyes, moaning as she did so.
"Hey," he rasped. "Don't move. Ambulance is on its way." He winced when he finished speaking, gingerly feeling along his throat with his hand. The flesh felt tender and swollen at the light touch.
"Don..."
Robin reached out with her right hand. He stopped investigating his neck and grasped her hand instead, squeezing in reassurance. They stayed that way until the ambulance arrived. He didn't protest when they were separated and bundled quickly on their way, oxygen helping to ease his breathing, as the LAPD dealt with their prisoner and secured the scene. Once the EMTs had them settled in the ambulance Don lying on a gurney and Robin sitting up beside him, Don resumed the connection.
He'd been terrified that he was going to lose her, almost more terrified of that than dying himself. The pressure on his fingers increased and he looked up to see Robin looking at him, tears in her eyes in juxtaposition with the almost grateful look he could see on her face.
"Hang in there, G-man," she said quietly.
He squeezed gently back and did as she told him.
--FIN--