So this is what it was like. He had wondered, like most cops. He could hear yelling and phones ringing but they seemed off in the distance and were nearly drowned out by the sound of his heart pounding in his head.
He was panting, which hurt, and he tried to consciously slow his breathing. Slow. Calm. Regain control. He closed his eyes against the bright fluorescent lights above his desk. He had complained about the dim light in his office last week and the lights had been changed. Bad move. He felt the lump of his service revolver in his ribs. He should try to get it. His arms wouldn't respond to his command.
"Wake up, cop."
He looked up into the muzzle of the gun that had shot him and the kid that held it.
"'It won't work." A hoarse whisper.
"Shut up!" The kid bent over him and pulled his revolver from its holster. Leveled both guns at him. Smiled. Touched both barrels to his face. "Hurting yet, cop? Scared?"
The metal of the guns was cold against his cheek. He tried to stop the shudder that ran down his spine, without success.
"Killing your hostage is a bad move." Zach Nichol's voice. Cool and confident. "Let me tend to him – you'll need him if you want your brother freed."
It seemed like hours until the kid sat back. He turned to Nichols. "Do your nursing. I'll be right here." The kid moved away, out of his sight.
Zach's form blocked the light from his eyes. "Danny. Try to relax while I check this out." His face showed concern as he pulled open his tie and eased his dress shirt and t-shirt away from the wound. "How you doing?"
"Not great."
"Where's it worst?"
"Everywhere. Breathing. How bad is it?"
"Hard to tell. Small caliber. I'll need to get some packing on it. You need to lie still, okay? Try to take shallow breaths."
He nodded. He didn't know how still he could be if this got much worse.
"Say, how's your ankle feel?" A question about the small revolver that he had carried in an ankle holster when he had partnered with Zach. It had come in handy at times in those days. But when he had attained the captaincy, he had ended the practice. Bad move number two.
Three strikes and I'm out. "Sorry."
"Just a thought." A slight smile. "So -- you're a hostage. Congratulations. Remember that kid we arrested that was trying to rob people at the ATMs? He's still in holding because of the delay in arraignment times, the A/C problem. Our shooter is his big brother. The other kids are cousins or something, a family thing. They want to break the kid out -- swap him for you. But don't worry, we're on it. Goren's in charge and working on the exchange."
"What?!"
"Relax," He felt hands on both shoulders. "I would've picked me too, but Goren got the vote. I think Eames voted twice."
"No exchange --" The force of his words made him cough and a froth of blood followed. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath and grimaced in pain. He was shivering, and tried to still it, but could not.
Zach stopped the hand that was coming up to wipe the blood from his chin. "Christ, Danny! You've been shot in the stomach. You have to lie still, reserve strength. It's okay to bleed." He blotted the blood with a handkerchief. "We won't leave you in here alone. We can handle this. Everyone's been called. Bobby's doing the right things, trust me. Trust us." He put the back of his hand to Ross' cheek. "Sorry it's so hot in here. You look like hell."
