Title: Saved by the bear
Characters: Don, Megan, Colby, David
Disclaimer: own nothing, not being paid
Spoilers: General for season 3 of Numb3rs, set in season 3 or 4.
Word count: 971
A/N: Written for celadon's birthday. Happy birthday!!! Not betaed. This came about from a discussion in the comments of a previous fic with ALEO. Most definitely whump without plot.
Summary: An arrest doesn't quite go to plan.
Don couldn't believe it. Spelling was taking absolutely no notice of the gun that Don was holding on him, or Don's repeated shouts telling him to put his hands up. The man was pretty much cornered, Colby and David closing in from the right and Megan from the left with Don in front, but still he didn't obey Don's instructions. They were on the third floor of the factory and there was nowhere else Spelling could go, a railing a few feet behind him leading into empty space.
"Give it up, Spelling. You've got nowhere to go," Don barked, thoroughly annoyed. He'd clocked his knee on a table leg while sprinting after Spelling and it still throbbed and stung, adding to his bad mood. The slight dampness he could feel trickling down his leg indicated that it wasn't just bruised, either. "Hands up." Don gestured with his gun.
Seeing that Spelling was still looking for an out and likely never going to obey, wasn't armed—meaning that Don couldn't shoot him, even if he really, really wanted to—and was well surrounded by people with guns who had Don's back, Don moved in, holstering his own gun when he got in range of the man. He exchanged the gun for a pair of handcuffs.
"Hands behind your back." Spelling ignored the command, so Don grabbed his right hand, preparing to twist the arm around and up. "I said—"
He didn't get to finish the sentence. Somehow, he was up in the air, over Spelling's shoulder—and the railing—and falling into empty space. He distantly registered the pop of a gunshot and a yell (himself?) as he fell, not even having the time to really be terrified before his body hit the floor. The floor had more give than he'd expected, but the air had been knocked out of his lungs and he couldn't breathe.
After several terrifying seconds—now the terror—Don managed to drag a rasping breath in. He repeated the experience, trying to slow the speed of the rapidly drawn in and expelled air down. The terror mostly subsiding and his eyelids managing to stay open, Don marvelled at the unexpected fact that he was still alive. It hadn't felt like he'd fallen three floors, and after looking back up to where he had fallen from, Don estimated it to be only two. He didn't feel quite game enough to risk turning his head—still caught up in the fact that he'd just fallen, his head should be splattered grey matter right now—and see what he'd landed on that had apparently saved his life.
"Don!" The call came from above, Colby's head looking down at him over the railing. "You okay? Don't move, Megan should be there in a minute."
Not moving was fine with Don, he still wasn't convinced that he was still alive and not cracked like an egg all over the hard floor. A surge of fear swelled up in him, even though there was no need for it.
"Don." That was Megan's voice, much closer. "Shit, this isn't easy to walk on." She was suddenly in his field of view, leaning over him. "You okay, you hurt?"
"I'm still trying to decide whether I'm alive or not."
Megan gave a short laugh at that. "I can believe it. I think my stomach just about hit the first floor when you fell, I can't imagine how you felt."
Don did a quick exploration of how his body felt. The only thing that really hurt was his knee, now that his lungs were working again. "I'm fine, was a bit winded, but I'm okay now."
Megan turned away from. "Guys, he's fine," she shouted up to David and Colby.
They both appeared over the railing, David giving a thumbs up, before disappearing again. Don thought he could then hear what almost sounded like howls of laughter.
"Are Colby and David laughing at me?" he asked, perplexed.
A small grin quirked Megan's lips. "Don... You're wearing tactical gear and lying on a giant pile of stuffed toys. Be glad that they've shown some restraint and haven't taken any pictures."
At that Don did turn his head to the side, seeing that he was indeed lying on a sea of stuffed children's toys. It explained why he was still there and why Megan had trouble walking; it was amazing she hadn't turned her ankle.
"Hadn't looked?" Megan asked.
"I was still—"
"Trying to decide whether you were alive or not," Megan finished for him. "Come on tough guy, we should get out of here. While the mothers might appreciate a life-sized action figure, I don't think the kids will." Megan didn't bother hiding her smirk.
"Oh, ha ha ha." Don picked up the closest toy, a purple and white panda, and threw it at Megan's head.
She easily caught it, a bright and mocking smile developing on her face. "Why thank you, Don. You spoil me."
Megan dropped the toy and offered him a hand up, knowing when not to push it. He took the offered hand and pushed up with his other. There was a squeak, coming from somewhere underneath him.
"I thought something squeaked when I landed." Don was fairly certain that he didn't squeak, at least not in normal operation. "You got Spelling?" He hid a wince; his knee hurt more now that he was standing and putting weight on it.
"Yep," Megan said with satisfaction. "He's going nowhere, other than to hospital. Which is where you're going as well."
"Fine," Don muttered. He wasn't going to argue after falling that distance. Some prodding and poking, and possibly some X-rays, would prove that he was still alive and in one piece.
A little reassurance never hurt.