A/N: This one came outta far left field. Nothing's mine, by the way.
On the ground. Whitley's on top of him. Swinging, punching. I can't get to him, my partner, my radio, my gun, nothing. Never taught us this in the Academy. What to do when you and your partner somehow get tied up and now the guy's kicking the shit out of your partner.
Let me amend that. I'm not tied up. I just can't see, my legs hurt like hell and my head is pounding. I don't know how Whitley, all by himself, got us. A bit foggy now, but I seem to remember a wooden board comign through the air. Must have been easy to take Fin out with me incapacitated.
What I don't know is how long I've been out and how long Whitley's been beating the crap out of my partner. I hope it isn't long. I don't call out, hoping maybe that if I wait a couple minutes, I could sneak over or something. Chances are though, that I've been out long enough for him to take down Fin, and confiscate our weapons or anything else that might be of service. Including my glasses. Bastard.
I squint, trying to bring things into focus. Can't see much. It's dark. Too dark for me to make out more than the shapes of Whitley and Fin, the former still being on top of the latter. That scares me. Means Fin is unconcious. And if he's out, how the hell am I supposed to take this guy on myself? He's already taken me down once. For him to do it again would be simple. I try scooting a bit on the floor. Damn. What the hell is wrong with my legs?
I try to lift myself up a bit. Don't want him to catch any motion. That wouldn't be good. They look okay. I reach a hand down and poke and prod a bit. No idea. Hurts like hell, any motion, any pressure. But no obvious deformations of any sort. Just makes things dandy, doesn't it? I scowl.
Eyes squinted again, I try to make out if there might be anything that can be used as a weapon. Not that I can see. God, why don't you jsut kill us both? Save Whitley the trouble.
Don't be stupid, John. Think. You can get out of this. Just think, stupid.
Okay, propping myself on one arm, I use the other to pat myself down, checking for anything. Only thing he left me was my belt. Worse comes to worse, could always whip him into shape. Like that would really work. No cell phone, radio, gun, handcuffs. Nothing.
I look back at Fin. That's when I notice it. His gun, lying behind Whitley. Problem is getting it. Look down at myself. Army crawl? I need a new jacket anyway.
Rolling onto my stomach, I notice again the pain in my legs. Hard not to. It tears up my body and I pause, trying not to cry out. I clench my teeth and make fists with my hands. It passes after a moment and I try not to think about it as I start my way across the wasteland.
My so-called wasteland is only about twenty feet, but it feels like miles. I grit my teeth and try to ignore it. Thinking about it won't help me at all.
Whitley's shifted positions. His back is now to me, which means that Fin's gun is to Whitley's right and a bit behind him. I wonder if the angle will allow me to go undetected. I hope so.
My arm grazes a piece of glass, or rather my forearm rests on its sharp edge just long enough for it to slice through my jacket and skin. The blood comes, quickly soaking the arm of my shirt. Another thing to ignore.
Another five feet to go. If I do it right, I'll only have to pull myself twice more and then reach for it. Never thought I'd be so glad to be the lanky one with the long arms. I pull myself. Once. Twice. I glance towards Whitley, back to the gun. Fin needs me. Can't let him down.
The cold metal feels absolutely wonderful in my hand as I pull it back to me and cradle it to my chest.
Whitley shifts again.
Oh shit.
He snarls in anger and the gun is up. Squeeze. Fire.
The shot echoes.
As do the next two.
I allow myself to relax, but only for a minute. Fin still needs me.
I crawl over to Whitley and bring myself up on my uninjured arm until I'm sitting next to his body. I pat him down and find what I take to be my radio. "This is SVU portable to base. Two officers down. Request an urgent bus. Repeat, two officers down." I give the location quickly. Sirens can be heard approaching. I try to crawl the couple feet to Fin. My arm hurts but it is probably nothing compared to what he's feeling. His face his swollen and bloodied so much I can hardly tell who it is. The sight makes me want to vomit. This wasn't supposed to happen.
I push that thought from my head because it makes everything hurt worse. There's nothing I can do for him as the sirens grow louder. A couple uniformed officers run into the warehouse. Upon seeing us, they look angry. They see Whitley's body and call it in. I don't care about anything at this point. Just get the fricken bus here and take my partner. Take me, too, while you're at it.
The officers lean over us and when the one starts asking how I'm doing, I snarl at him, "Just look the fuck after my partner."
"I'm not just gonna leave you sit here. You're bleeding."
Smart guy. Doesn't listen to me. I offer up my arm. He takes it and rips the sleeve of the jacket and the shirt the rest of the way to my wrist. After looking at the wound for a minute, he wraps his hands around it, trying to stop the blood flow. He also raises my arm above my head.
Paramedics rush in, along with a couple more uniforms. What I assume to be the senior medic goes to Fin while the other kneels down next to me. Bandages come out and he quickly puts gauze on the cut and secures it. "Can you walk?"
I shake my head. "My legs hurt."
He starts in with his own poking and prodding. I watch as one of the officers helps the other medic get Fin onto a backboard and then up onto the stretcher. Then I wince and look back down at my medic, who just hit an especially sore spot. He looks up at me. "Might be broken," he says.
"No shit, Sherlock," I grind out.
Standing, he goes over to the officer who was tending to me and a few words are spoken before the officer runs back outside. He comes back a few minutes later with two more paramedics who have another stretcher. Soon, I'm on it and we're all heading outside.
"Officer," I call and he comes. "You gotta search that warehouse. My weapon, radio, cell, handcuffs... it's all in there. Don't know where the bastard put it."
"You got it, Detective. Hang in there." He pats my shoulder, grabs his partner and returns to the building.
Hang in there, I think. Hang in there.