Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.

A Close Call

The warehouse was quiet.

Too quiet for Detective Don Flack, who waited in the shadows, gun in hand. His palms were sweaty, his heart racing. He wasn't as prepared as he would have liked, but he had no choice.

It had to be now.

Slowly, he peered round the corner of the large crate he was hiding behind. Automatically, Don put his hand up to signal to the other officer, then remembered, almost immediately, that Officer McCoy had taken a bullet between the eyes as soon as they entered the warehouse.

Fleetingly, Don wondered how he would break the news to McCoy's family. He was sure that, in the weeks to come, every time he closed his eyes, he would see the look of shock upon his fallen colleague's face. But he couldn't afford to think about that now.

Silently but swiftly, Don turned the corner, looking back every few feet to see if he was being followed. Somewhere in the distance he heard a loud crack. His hands were trembling now, but he tried to keep them steady.

The man who had killed his companion was wanted by NYPD for a triple homicide. Several other officers, detectives and CSIs were, he knew on the way, but when McCoy had radioed to say that his truck had been spotted outside this warehouse, Don had had a choice to make.

It was a choice that had cost the younger officer his life.

Don pushed any thoughts like that out of his head, knowing they could easily get him killed.

There was a painful jolt in his ribcage and, realising that a bullet had wedged itself into his Kevlar vest, he dived for cover. It probably wasn't the bravest thing to do or the most graceful, but Flack would rather be called a coward than dead.

Another gunshot echoed through the room and Don flinched, knowing he was unlikely to get that lucky twice. In his mind's eye, he could see Sid Hammerback looking down at him, scalpel in hand.

But the expected pain didn't come. He opened his eyes to see the gunman lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath him from a wound in his chest.

Slightly confused, since he hadn't heard any squad-cars pulling up outside – and McCoy was definitely not responsible – Don turned, keeping his gun in front of him.

His mind raced.

The perp could have owed money or been double-crossed by a partner. He had seen it before.

But instead it was Detective Jessica Angell who was stood there, smoking gun in hand.

Don grinned at his girlfriend. "What are you doing here, Detective?"

Jess didn't miss a beat. "Saving your ass, Flack; what does it look like?"

"Oh, and I need you to save my ass now?" Don retorted.

"Apparently." Jess wasn't smiling. "You hit?"

"No." Don assured her. "I'm fine, really."

Jess didn't look convinced and approached the body warily, not lowering her weapon. With her left hand, she checked the gunman's pulse. "He's dead." She holstered her gun. "Let me see the damage."

With a sigh, Don undid his vest and pulled his shirt to one side, being careful not to dislodge the bullet, knowing it would need to be recorded as evidence. Jess gently prodded the reddening area. "You're gonna have a bruise there."

"Then don't touch it." Don moved away from her hand.

Jess smiled apologetically. "I was so scared when I heard that shot. I thought …"

"Hey." Don wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'm fine." Taking a chance, he leaned down and kissed her quickly.

But fate was not on his side.

"Hey Flack!" Danny's voice called. "Everything alright?"

Don and Jess quickly sprung apart as Danny approached, gun in hand. He stopped a few feet away from them, lowering his weapon. "What's up?"

"Nothing." Jess answered, a little too quickly.

A grin appeared on Danny's face. "Yeah right! You two were so makin' out!"

"What are we, 12?" Don muttered.

Danny laughed loudly. "You were! Lindsay owes me 20 bucks now! Yo, Montana!"

Jess shrugged as Danny jogged out of the warehouse again. "I guess they had to find out some time."

"Yeah, but Danny?" Don sighed. "It'll be all over Manhattan in minutes."

AN: Review please!