A/N: I'm a big fan of Deacon/Jay Harrington, so I know that doesn't hit the normal demographic here. But oh well! I will most likely add to this. I've got plenty of time on my hands, after all...
Thankfully for his sake, Deacon only had to wait for a handful of seconds before the screech of tires sounded off to his left and the measured footfalls of EMTs came scampering over to the driver side of the mangled SUV.
Deacon resisted the urge to give in to panic, to hit the seat belt release and shove his way out of the vehicle. He knew as a seasoned officer that he must remain completely still in case there was a spinal cord injury. He could recall countless times before his days with SWAT working on patrol, responding to major traffic crashes and shouting the same orders to a frightened motorist or passenger. Try to stay as still as possible, okay?
"You're gonna be okay, Deac!"
It was Chris' voice, but he didn't turn his head to acknowledge her. He knew his situation could be life-altering. Worse yet…career ending. His days may never be the same, for work and home—all because of a split second decision to use his SUV as a means to stop a rampaging killer.
Deacon experimented a little by trying to wiggle his fingers and he was rewarded with easy dexterous movement. He decided to skip over the agonizing, contracting muscles of his low back and thought of his toes—an obvious indicator of below the waist paralysis—and felt nothing. His legs were immobile heavy oak stumps that stubbornly refused to move. Fear finally pierced his middle with cruel fierceness, as the reality of how serious the situation was settled over him with an oppressive blanket of clarity. His brows creased, awakening the stinging sensation of a small cut on his forehead. His pulse thumped as fear and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He could very well be paralyzed for the rest of his life.
For a brief few seconds before the EMTs pried open the driver side door, he imagined what life would be like after such an injury—using a wheelchair instead of his legs, needing help with nearly every normal personal task, being unable to get on the floor to play with his kids, help with the brand new little one with her special needs, even making love to his wife, and of course what would inevitably become forced medical retirement…
The loud groan of twisted metal being forced open brought him out of his cerebral hell and suddenly a concerned face appeared to his left. "Hey, man," said a young and confident male voice. "Your coworkers said you are having trouble moving. Is it because you're stuck, or you can't feel anything?"
"I can't move my legs," Deacon replied in a low, hushed tone.
The medic gently applied a rigid neck collar against his throat that forced Deacon's head into an uncomfortable position, which made him instantly claustrophobic since he was now unable to move his head from side to side. The young medic continued. "Okay, I gotcha. I'm going to need you to stay as still as possible for me. What's your name, Sir?"
"David Kay, but you can call me Deacon."
"All right, Deacon, my name is Nayshawn. I'm sure you know the drill, but I'm putting a neck brace on you to limit movement. We're going to do whatever we can to minimize any possible damage to your spine."
The younger man carefully unbuckled Deacon's seat belt and moved him forward while he wrapped the backside of the collar around the nape of his neck and secured it together with Velcro straps.
The helmet Deacon had been wearing came off and already his head felt a bit lighter, despite the rivulets of sweat plastering his hair to his head. Panic began to set in, and unknowingly, his shaking hands reached up to touch the edge of the restraining device wrapped around his neck.
"Sorry, Deacon, I need you to keep your hands down." Nayshawn easily pushed his hands away. "Are you able to breathe?"
"Yes." Deacon cleared his throat and the medic removed the safety glasses until they were face to face.
Nayshawn took his pulse and quietly looked at his watch and seemed happy with the result. "Okay, Deacon, your breathing is great, and your heart is good even if it is running fast right now, but that's to be expected, right?" He half-smiled as he peered into Deacon's eyes, probably assessing his neurological functions. "We're going to get you outta here and strapped to a backboard and then we will be on our way. Sound good?"
"Sure," the older man answered and grimaced when his back seized with pain unexpectedly.
It took some maneuvering, but Deacon was carefully removed from the SUV and flattened onto a stiff orange backboard and buckled onto it. Since there was more freedom of movement, Nayshawn and his partner Olivia were able to take his blood pressure without the confines of the vehicle, and set up an IV on the top of his hand.
Deacon concentrated intensely on making his toes move, praying silently that something would happen. Suddenly, pins and needles took place of complete numbness, and he briefly felt his toes wiggle around in his socks and shoes, even felt the softness of the fabric against his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut thankfully. "My toes just moved."
Nayshawn smiled down at him. "That's a good sign!" He and Olivia lifted the backboard onto the waiting stretcher and set him down upon it.
Deacon elaborated. "I mean, it feels like my legs fell asleep, so they're pins and needles right now, but I definitely felt something."
"That's a good indicator that your nerves are waking up, and it's very good to hear this early on." He patted the SWAT officer's shoulder just before the two pushed him into the back of the ambulance.
Chris and Hondo sidled up to the stretcher. "Hey Deac," said the SWAT leader, still in full gear. "How're you doing, man?"
"Are you able to move anything below the waist?" Chris apprehensively asked, with a worried tilt to her eyebrows.
"I wiggled my toes," Deacon said just before the stretcher folded into the rig.
"Hey, where are you taking him?" Hondo called out to Nayshawn just as the medic hopped into the back.
"We'll be taking him to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. They're a great hospital for spinal cord injuries."
"All right, we'll see you there, Deac!"
Deacon had no time to say good bye, couldn't even meet their eyes being that he was immobilized and unable to turn and look at them. All he did while the doors slammed shut was stare at the metal ceiling of the ambulance. The rig jostled a moment while Olivia hopped into the driver seat and then the vehicle was in motion.
He noticed no sirens blared while they were on their way, and this calmed his nerves. The medics did not think his situation was dire enough to necessitate a code three response. "No lights and sirens, eh?" Deacon said with a small grin.
Nayshawn was busily checking his patient's vitals but he let his eyes crinkle in good humor. "Nah. You're doing great, Deacon!"
He once again concentrated deeply on the movement of his feet and frowned a little when it took what he felt was too much time to wiggle his toes in his shoes. The pins and needles were incredibly uncomfortable and anxiety was beginning to take over his normally rational and calm thought process. "How far away are we?" he asked after a moment of quiet.
Olivia called to the back, "We're making good time. ETA is two minutes." The ambulance let out a blip, probably to encourage a slow-moving car to move out of their way. "Just try to relax, Sarge. We promise to get you there as quickly as possible and in one piece."
"Sure."