He blocked left, he blocked right, attempted to sweep the legs of the guy he was fighting, but the man's reaction was to quick.

A punch landed on the lower right part of his ribcage. It didn't hurt too much. He answered with a punch of his own, but it definitely wasn't a bullseye. The guy didn't seem to even notice.

Deacon attempted to land another punch, only to have his right hand being caught in the hands of the other man.

In one swift motion, he was twisted around and ended up with his wrist up between his shoulder blades. Something in his wrist, elbow and shoulder protested.

He stomped down on the guy's foot with all the weight he could muster, and the guy released his hand.

His wrist felt a little funny, not exactly bad, but weird. And the two other joints felt like he could be sore for a couple of days afterwards.

Deacon twisted around and prepared to continue punching.

He got in two good punched before he was grabbed by the arm and flung across the room.

He was not lucky with his landing, but had no other choice than to get back up and keep fighting.

Knowing that a right handed punch would hurt him more than whoever he punched, was not his favorite setup for a fight. Knowing that he'd probably hit his knees if the other guy managed to punch his wrist was an equally joyful thought.

Knowing he would have to get creative with his fighting, he lined up as a punter for the big kick. In reality it only looked like he was taking a step back to distance himself from the fight.

He picked his target, without looking directly down at it.

And it worked beautifully. The guy stepped towards him, just as he started the movement to kick the guy's knee. What ended up happening was that Deacon's heel came down two inches above the guy's kneecap and caused the knee to buckle backwards.

The rubber band snapping feeling made something in the pit of his stomach to churn, but he followed through and went on top of the other guy when he crashed into the floor.

A short moment later, he had the guy on his stomach and was forcing his hands behind his back. It was hard handcuffing someone with only his non-dominant hand to work the task, but will found a way as usual, and soon enough the man he had been fighting was handcuffed.

SWATSWATSWAT

As they all headed back out of the building, he watched as two regular police officers had to support the guy he had been fighting, since the guy wouldn't bear weight on his left leg.

"You really did a number on that guy…" Hondo said with a nod in the guys direction.

Deacon nodded, "Yeah, think I hit a bit better than I had bargained for."

Hondo nodded, and looked over at the way Deacon was holding his hand towards his torso. "You alright?"

He shook his head, "Think I snapped my wrist."

"Oh…"

"Think I can ride back to the station with one of the squad cars? I kinda want to get some ice on this thing and get some x-rays taken…" Deacon explained, "And I bet you have more than a couple of minutes left here."

Hondo nodded, "Yeah, go ahead. We've got this thing from here on, and good luck with that wrist."

"Thanks."

SWATSWATSWAT

He walked out of the hospital six-seven hours later with a brand new white cast covering from his hand to his elbow. He had been correct in his assumptions, his wrist was broken. It wasn't actually a surprise, considering how comically swollen his wrist was getting.

The wrist bone supporting his thumb had a good crack in it, and warranted that the thumb needed to be kept still for at least six to eight weeks, maybe longer. Plus, both the bones in his lower arm had chipped towards the wrist, and also needed the same amount of rest and immobilization.