THE STANDOFF

This chapter is for Gwyn, and all the other Flack fans out there.

Chapter Twenty One

Don Flack hadn't realised quite how much he was relying on adrenaline until it left him. Luckily, Lindsay was nearby to catch him when he staggered.

"Mac sent me to check on you," she scolded him. "Good job too."

"I was heading for the ambulance," he grumbled. "I keep my promises."

Holding him steady for a moment, she peered into his face and relented. "Slow going?"

"Something like that. Blame the snow - it's slippery out here," he said with the best attempt at a nonchalant air that he could muster under the circumstances.

"Yes, it is." Lindsay appeared to be calm on the outside but Don could sense that she was battling with some inner demon. "Don…?"

"He's okay," Don told her quietly, anticipating the question. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Balance," he lied. "You want me to get there, you're gonna have to help me. Look, Danny's holdin' on, Linz; you know how he is."

"Yes, I do," she said wistfully. "I remember…"

An old, beat-up warehouse. A friend with his bloody shirt in tatters. "So do I, believe me. Danny got outta that hole in one piece – more or less – and he'll do the same right now; you wait and see."

"Waiting – that's the hard part," Lindsay sighed. "And Adam's okay?"

Don stumbled. Filled with a shame that he had no right to feel, he leaned down heavily on Lindsay. Just as he had always suspected, she was stronger than she looked. "Adam's stubborn. Sometimes I think that's his best trait."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not. Now please," he continued, letting just a little of the pain that he felt bleed through into his plaintive words. "Will you help me to the ambulance before I embarrass myself completely by falling at your feet?"

She nodded, and they set off through the falling snow. "You look terrible," she panted.

"I know." Don tried to sound smug. "I'm goin' for the sympathy vote."

"You mean, you're hoping for a female paramedic so you can wheedle her into letting you stay."

"Did Mac tell you to say that?" he guessed, feeling quite offended – mostly because it was close to the truth.

"Don Flack, you're an open book," Lindsay told him sweetly. "Here we are," she added, waving to the lone ambulance that had made it through the muddled streets to reach the scene and offer its assistance. "Don't let him out of your sight," she cautioned the waiting paramedic, who was indeed female, and built like a prison guard.

Don switched on the charm, ignoring Lindsay. From the corner of his eye, he could see that his unconscious foe was already inside the bus, cuffed to a rail on the gurney and strapped down for good measure, with an officer sitting beside him. "She's just kiddin'. I'll be a much better patient than him."

Lindsay shook her head. "Strap him down too," she advised the paramedic with a grin, as she unhooked Don's arm from her shoulder. "He's slippery."

"Detective," said the officer on board, also grinning. "You look like hell."

"Yes, I do," he agreed, thinking privately that Niall looked far worse. That was very satisfying. Perching himself on the tailboard, Don looked up at the dark-haired paramedic and offered her a winning smile.

"There's blood on your teeth," she countered firmly, dashing all hope of a quick examination and a sneaky escape. "Any pain there?"

"Nope – I'm good. Got a headache, though," he confessed, admitting defeat with a gracious air of suffering. "And a multitude of cuts and bruises. My name's Don, by the way. Don Flack."

"I'm Helen." She glanced at him shrewdly. "You flirting with me, Detective Flack?"

He raised his hands in a weary show of indignation. "Just bein' friendly is all."

Lindsay chuckled, and turned to leave. "Goodbye, Don. See you at the hospital. Strap him down," she repeated to Helen. "That's my advice…"

Don shook his head, full of woe, as his friend slipped and slithered her way back to Mac, and the action. "Lack of trust is a terrible thing."

"I don't know," said Helen sagely. "Seems to me she knows you pretty well. Now, tell me – where exactly does your head hurt…?"

-x0x-

He endured all of her poking and prodding with what he considered to be infinite patience. Truth be told, he was exhausted and pretty woozy from the combined effect of the fight and the bump to his head. "So, what's the verdict?" he asked Helen, when she had finished. "You still takin' me to the hospital, or am I free to go?"

"Detective Flack, your head may well be hard, as I suspect, but that's a nasty bump you've got. And some of those cuts need stitching. So you're coming in with me, and there'll be no more complaining about it."

"He comin' too?" Don said warily, nodding his head in Niall's direction. "Ouch," he added, as the action set off a wave of unexpected nausea. "Feel sick."

"I'm not surprised. You've been through the wringer and your body is just catching up. And yes," Helen continued, sounding less enthusiastic all of a sudden. "He's coming too. One bus, two passengers."

"Three," said the officer, folding his arms. "I've been ordered to keep a watch on this guy. The perp, that is, not Detective Flack," he added unnecessarily.

"Ha ha," Don grumbled, before realising that it wasn't meant to be a joke. No sense of humour, this one, he sighed to himself. As he rose to his feet and climbed up into the back of the ambulance, he gripped the door frame discreetly.

"Need any help?" Helen murmured.

"Nah. I'm good." He sat down heavily near the officer, a heavy-set, bland sort of fellow whose badge proclaimed that his name was Holstein. "So - you got stuck with baby-sitting duty, huh?"

The officer sat up straight and tried to look important. "He's a dangerous felon."

"Yeah, in his own mind," Don said quietly, shivering as another flash of nausea chilled him to the core. Get a grip, he commanded his gut, but his gut had held on far too long already and now it was revelling in its distress. He clamped a hand across his mouth – and Helen placed a basin on his lap.

"In case you need it," was her calm explanation. Don gave her a grateful nod, which she missed, since she had already turned to close the double doors.

As she sat down beside Don, her colleague started the engine. He was a mousy little man with tiny spectacles, who had not spoken a word since Flack arrived, but he could certainly drive, as the ambulance rolled through the slush and the snowdrifts without a hitch, pulling out from the scene and heading off into the night with its siren wailing mournfully.

"'S too loud," came a mumbled complaint from the gurney.

Don kicked the metal leg discreetly. "Sleeping Beauty's wakin' up," he muttered to Helen. "Haven't you got somethin' that can put him out again?"

"I've got the means but not the right," she replied, sounding rattled by his suggestion even though her eyes were full of regret, suggesting that she, too, was wary of the ugly, battered little man.

"He's strapped down," Holstein reminded them with stubborn logic. "He's not goin' anywhere. You know, other than the hospital."

Thanks for that, genius. I hadn't noticed. Don refrained from saying the words out loud. Instead, he watched the straps with avid fascination, as Niall began to twist and wriggle like a fish in a net.

"Get me outta this rig," the man protested, fully awake by now. "You can't tie me down – that's not legal, okay?"

"As a matter of fact, it is – for a scumbag like you," Don told him, instantly drawing Niall's attention away from the straps. Cold eyes glittered, full of fury.

"It's you!"

Don's teeth were clenched against the lingering nausea. He turned it into an irritating smile. "Last time I checked."

Helen raised her hand to hide a tiny snort of nervous laughter. Niall sneered.

"This one ain't as pretty as the last one," he told Don. "Your standards must be slippin'."

"Changed your mind yet, about that thing with the means and the right?" said Don to Helen airily.

"Don't tempt me," she growled. "Jason, can't this thing go any faster? I want this garbage outta my bus. The perp, that is, not you two," she explained to Officer Holstein.

Don choked down the sudden urge to giggle. Niall, on the other hand, was infuriated. With a howl of rage, he jerked even harder on the cuffs and the safety straps that held him. Distracted by the noise, Jason looked behind for a split second, taking his eyes off the road – but a split second was all that it took for everything to turn turtle, as the left front wheel hit a nasty patch of slush and the ambulance veered drunkenly into a road sign, slamming hard and tilting over on its side with agonising slowness, like a sequence in an action movie. Drawers swung open; their contents falling in a shower around Don and the other passengers. By the time the vehicle had settled, its siren still rolling in fits and starts, Jason was hanging limply from his seatbelt; Officer Holstein appeared to be unconscious; Helen was gripping her left arm with an expression of shock on her face… and Niall was free. How the straps had broken, Don could not be certain but he had a pretty good idea. The gurney itself was in three pieces and Niall gripped a length of metal tubing in his right hand - the tube that had once secured the dangling handcuffs - as he stared at the battered detective with a look of naked triumph.

Don himself was on the floor… or is it still the side, he asked himself dizzily. Nope – doesn't matter… He lay in a puddle of bandages, micropore tape, scalpels, suture kits and – right next to his head – a heavy case marked 'defibrillator'.

Close one…

Niall stared at him greedily, holding the bar aloft. Don feared the thoughts that were running through the other man's mind – but suddenly Niall tore his gaze away, leapt for the doors and wrenched them open, jumping free before Don could even think about chasing after him. The detective surged up, scattering packages everywhere, as the ambulance rocked around him.

"Go," Helen urged. "I've got this." Already, she was reaching for the radio with her good arm. Hanging sideways in the front seat, Jason groaned.

"Whu…?"

Don didn't wait to hear their conversation. He could trust them to care for Holstein, and to fetch help. His single focus now, the urge that drove him to his feet and out of the ambulance into the frozen air, was the fleeing man that seemed to be his nemesis tonight.

Spread out like hunter and prey, they ran. The falling snow was both a blessing and a curse. Flack could barely see through the flakes that battered his face, slipping into his open mouth and almost choking him – but he could follow Niall's footprints. It was late now, and the nasty weather meant that the streets of Manhattan were almost empty. Don closed his mind to everything but the fleeing figure ahead of him. His bruises were nothing; his headache was an unimportant niggle. Only the thumping of his feet was real, as he tried to keep himself from falling. His clothes were soaked already and his hair was dripping. He panted like a dog, sucking in the cold air and heaving it out again. "Come… back… here… you jackass," he grunted, spurring himself on to even greater speed with a determination that was bound to drive him into the ground if he didn't catch up soon. And little by little, he found that he was gaining on Niall. The shadowy figure became more distinct, and Flack gave a low cry of triumph – until his prey turned sideways, ducking out of sight.

Flack reached the point where Niall's footprints disappeared and skidded to a halt - literally. The ugly little man was already halfway up a fire-escape by now, hoping to be hidden from view, but he had reckoned without Don's well-honed instinct. "You're on my turf now," the detective muttered, swinging up onto the ironwork. "Means you're mine."

As he paused to lean out and measure the state of Niall's lead, a familiar metal bar came winging past his head, narrowly missing him. It landed on the street below with a gentle 'whump' that could have been the sound of Don's skull caving in, had Niall's aim been only a fraction more precise. "Focus," Don warned himself, breathing heavily in shock. "And be glad." For now the bar was below him whilst Niall was above, completely unarmed. "Jackass," Don repeated softly, grinning at last as he started the long climb.

Slowly was the best way to begin; gradually gaining speed as his breath evened out and his muscles settled into the jerky rhythm. Clamber – turn. Clamber – turn. It was hard work that set his head spinning, but Don persisted, knowing full well that Niall must be tiring too. "Up," he grumbled, as he had many times before. "Why do the idiots always go up?"

The building was a residential one, and the glowing, curtained windows that he passed were strangely comforting. It was funny to think that, on the other side, Joe Public was going about his evening routine, eating junk, watching movies… dating… Now and then, through a chink in the curtains or a badly dropped blind, he could make out a cosy scene and a cluster of startled faces as he blundered into the midst of a Friday night family setting - and vanished a moment later.

The roof was nearing, and Niall was slowing. Now he was four… three… two flights away. Don cheered himself on as the snow pelted down. It was so much more than freezing up here. He could see his breath on the air, snatched away in a warning about the fragility of his life right now. One false move; one blow from above. One struggle in a high place… There was a serious chance that this foolhardy chase wasn't going to end well.

But Adam and Don and Selena were counting on him to avenge their mistreatment.

No, Don scolded himself. You're a cop. This is justice. You're goin' to catch him; that's all.

When Niall swung onto the roof, Don was hot on his heels and the young man was screaming. "Get away from me!"

"Not a chance," Don challenged him, diving from the ladder like the quarterback he used to be, long ago in a far more innocent life. He crashed into Niall and they fell, landing heavily, wrapped together. Round and round they rolled and struggled, fighting for the upper hand. Niall scratched like an animal, foaming at the mouth in fear and fury. Don was silent, focussed; battling on until, finally, his prey lay still, exhausted and limp in a gathering snowdrift.

As he sat on Niall's chest, heaving air back into his own starved lungs, Don rejoiced in his victory. No door had saved him this time; no unexpected assistance. Instead, he had run down the enemy, faced him cleanly and been victorious.

Staring up at the tumbling snowflakes, he closed his eyes, full of relief.

"That's better," he sighed.

-x0x-

A/N: I hadn't planned this little side trip but, when it came to me the other week, I knew I simply had to do it. One whole chapter of Don, who is always a joy to write. I hope it was fun for you too!

More soon, and this time… a chapter of Mac.

Thanks to everyone who is still reviewing, favouriting and following this story. Your encouragement spurs me on!

Smuffly.