Who: Dan Hoffman & Jason Song What: A date crashed by the SWATs. When: Friday night Where: Dan's apartment Rating: PG-13 Status: Complete
Dan flicked off the DVD player, turning the screen dark for a few seconds before it rerouted itself to cable. At the rate they were going, Hitchcock would be out of movies for them to enjoy in less than a month. He shot a look in Jason's direction and squeezed his fingers. "You're very quiet tonight. Everything okay?"
"I am? Sorry, I didn't notice," Jason smiled faintly and laced their fingers together. He sighed and raked his free hand through his hair, "I don't know, maybe I'm just tired. Today's been the only day this week that I didn't have a million things to do."
"I'm sorry." Dan twisted his lips into a faint smile, thumb rubbing over the other man's knuckles. "If you want to head home... or take a nap. It's cool with me. You don't need to humor me."
"I don't want to leave, if I only get to spend one day out of the week with you I'm going to make the most of it," Jason's smile widened. "I'll need to take a nap before I go, later. You'll have to humor me."
Jason sat up and leaned over the armrest to press a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. "So what do you want to do? Another movie?"
Dan grasped his shoulder, the pads of his fingers rubbing lightly. "Alright, if you say so." He didn't hide his pleasure at the thought that the other man enjoyed their time together.
"We can watch another movie or... not." He couldn't help grin a little as he said it, couldn't help let his mind run to the gutter.
"Or not," Jason echoed with a slight quirk of his brow and traced a finger along the collar of Dan's shirt, "I'm guessing 'or not' means I need to move. I'd rather be closer anyway."
"I can work with that." Closer sounded good, but he didn't want to make Jason to be uncomfortable, not when he was looking so tired. "Hang on, let me try something." Blocking the wheels, he leaned his feet on the ground for leverage, clumsily maneuvering onto the couch. It took a bit of effort, but then it always did.
Jason's arms went around Dan's waist as the man moved from his chair, instinctively wanting to help because he could see it took an effort for him to do so. Worried that he'd offend by helping, he merely played his assistance as a clumsy hug. "This works too."
Dan didn't object. He would've, with anoyone else, but with Jason everything was different. And concessions were worth it. "This is easier," he amended with a sheepish nod, embarrassed by how quickly and how easily he had come to need this closeness.
Jason cuddled close to the older man's side, and rested his head against Dan's shoulder. "This is easier," he agreed with a warm smile. "Comfy? I can make more room, or less. Whichever works."
"Comfy," Dan repeated, smiling against his hair. "You're good." And he was. He didn't need to be closer. Nothing needed to change. Hands arranged his legs so his joints wouldn't start protesting and felt shamefully relieved that Jason couldn't see him flush with heat.
"Okay," Jason murmured contently as he closed his eyes, taking comfort from simply being close to the other man, "if I fall asleep, wake me."
Dan nodded, linking their fingers. "Glad to know I make a good pillow," he murmured teasingly. He felt a sliver of pleasure at the thought that Jason was comfortable enough with him and kept it in suspense until he felt brave enough to acknowledge that it was mutual.
"Mhmm, you're a lot more comfortable than your couch, and so much warmer than a blanket," he teased back and tilted his head to steal a kiss against the side of Dan's neck. "Very nice."
"Stick around," Dan smirked. "I might start charging rent." He stroked his cheek, briefly, before dropping his hand.
"How much?" Jason laughed softly and rested his free hand against Dan's chest, "I'd pay. It'd be worth it." He absently traced patterns along the fabric of his shirt as he let his mind wander, drifting close to sleep but still stubbornly trying to stay awake.
"A night at my place," Dan replied, his voice a whisper, his words bolder than usual. "I mean..." he sighed, "you don't have to. It's a thought. And you... wouldn't have to worry about going home when it's late and dark and lonely outside."
"It's a good thought," Jason smiled and hid his face against Dan's shoulder in response to the warmth that flooded his face at the invitation. It saved him trying to justify why he insisted on staying later, when logic would say he should go home. "I don't want to leave anyway."
Just like the world hadn't imploded when they'd kissed, it didn't implode now. Nothing changed. Dan breathed a little easier and turned his lips into the other man's hair in silent, timid thanks. Jason didn't want to leave. "Okay," he smiled. "Then we can--"
There was no warning, no whisper of expectation. Nothing. Just the sound of his front door coming free of its hinges, the doorjamb coming free of the wall in the process. An explosion couldn't have been louder.
Lulled by the comfort of being in Dan's arms, and content in the knowledge that he was welcome to stay, the sudden intrusion couldn't have been more jarring. It was terrifying.
It was the shock of it that made him slow to rise from his position, at first merely holding on to the other man's hand and shoulder tightly before he sat upright, staring at the figures that quickly moved in from the broken door.
"What--" It was a movie. It was fiction. It was unreal. Dan held onto to the other man's hand, voice dying in his throat when he saw the guns. The bustle of people in full gear and obviously - easily - intending to use their equipment to its full extent. Bellowed orders echoed off the walls.
"Daniel Hoffman?"
"Hands where I can see them!"
"On the ground, now!"
Against his better judgment, Dan reached for the chair.
Jason froze, his body refusing to follow the orders being shouted at him from seemingly all directions. He couldn't believe it all was happening. They were after Dan, but he couldn't think of any reason why they would. Or why they had their guns trained on the both of them. They were far from dangerous. He lifted one hand with a start when the officer closest to him shouted a second time, his other hand still grasping the other's tightly refusing to let go until something, anything made sense.
The chivalrous, Bruce Wills-type reaction would've been to go quietly for Jason's sake. To save the other man. And Dan would've, if he would have been able to do more than hear the pounding of his heart, adrenaline a rush under his skin.
"Whatever's going on, he's not--" He swallowed thickly, aware of red laser dots over his chest.
"Shut up! Keep your hands where we can see them, get on the ground, now!" One of the men harshly interrupted Dan, shouting loudly as he kept his gun trained on the man next to him. "Both of you, move!"
"Wait, this isn't right," Jason shouted, only cooperating halfway, still in shock and unable to believe this was more than a grave mistake on their part.
"He's not part of this, he didn't do any--" The muzzle of a gun pressed between his shoulderblades and he dropped Jason's hand out of some ancestral instinct of self-preservation.
"Shut your fucking mouth."
Whether it was the gun pressed against the other man's shoulders or the break of contact, Jason finally moved from where he sat on the couch. He kept his hands held in front of him as he slowly lowered his knees to the floor.
The movement was enough for one of the men to grasp the back of his shirt and shove him forcefully face first to the ground. Jason didn't have a chance to catch himself, and groaned from the pain that radiated from the side of his face that hit the floor.
"Hands behind you, move!"
"Jason--" Dan reached for him blindly, for a moment brave in the face of guns and men who wouldn't bat an eyelid at the thought of taking them in dead instead of alive.
"On the ground!" shouted one of the men, tugging him down to the floor with little regard for his disability. With anyone less prepared he would've thought they didn't know, but these men - they had been briefed. They knew why they were here.
Handcuffs snapped around Jason's wrists, then his own and the sound made panic rise in his throat thickly.
Jason distantly heard the other man call out for him, but it was mixed in with the sounds of people shouting. His arms were pulled painfully behind him and his wrists handcuffed together while someone kept him pinned to the floor with one hand.
He looked to the side and could see that Dan wasn't fareing any better. Jason wasn't sure what he expected to see reflected on the other's face, but it wasn't the panic and fear that was there. This all had to be a mistake, what did either of them do that would deserve being treated this way?
There was no talk of rights being read or reasons expressed for why they were being taken in. The fact that goggles and masks obscured the faces of their captors was enough to explain the why. Even through the fear choking him, Dan understood that much.
"Get up," one of the men barked in Jason's direction. "Get up, start walking." The same was repeated to him, the words hitting him with profound irony.
I can't, you fucking bastard, he wanted to shout. He wanted to scream.
With his arms handcuffed tightly behind him, Jason wondered how in the world was he expected to stand or go anywhere. Suddenly the hand that was holding him to the ground grasped one of his arms and yanked him up. The abrupt movement was painful, his shoulder and wrists protesting, and Jason stumbled as he tried to remain standing.
The room spun and he dropped to one knee, only to get yanked to his feet again. "Move."
"I don't know..." Jason almost cried in frustration, instead he grit his teeth and tried to reason with them. "He needs...he needs his chair."
Dan heard his voice, but he didn't hear what he said. Other sounds intruded - shouts, orders, insults and threats, all with an undercurrent of violence and pain that pervaded far beyond the shock and materialized into something concrete. He had been trained for this. Ten years and some and counting and he had forgotten all of it.
"Get up," gritted out a man, his gun under Dan's chin and his eyes reflecting nothing. He meant business.
"My chair-"
"He can't," Jason insisted as he stumbled forward, having trouble himself keeping one foot steady in front of the other. "He needs the wheelchair."
The man escorting him toward the exit grasped his elbow and twisted his arm until Jason yelped in pain, "shut up and keep moving." Jason made two steps forward before he felt faint and dropped to his knees, it wasn't an act of defiance as the officers reacted, but he really couldn't bring himself to his feet on his own.
"He can't," he repeated, his mind stuck on the thought that Dan was still being threatened for not doing something he couldn't do.
A brutal hand grabbed Jason by the hair, no order, no mission justifying the treatment. "Move!" he shouted, driving the flat end of his gun into Jason's shoulder.
They were out of Dan's field of vision, but he could hear the sound of ther voices, dimly, gradually receding and taking with them everything. His life. His hopes. Everything that had made the past minutes enjoyable dissolved into thin air, replaced by vicious grips on his arms, wrestling him into the chair. He fell back helplessly, glasses askew and wrists digging into his spin where the handcuffs held them pinned.
One of the men took hold of the chair and turned it to the door. And of course - of course - they weren't going to interrogate them here. Of course they were going to take him out. Out there. Outside.
"No, please, I can't--I can't--" Breath choked him. "I can't go out there, please--"
There was no heed to Dan's panic or protests, the goal was to capture their target. They didn't care much to any distress they caused, came along with the methods they employed. It didn't matter if the suspects deserved it or not, they were merely following orders.
The younger of the two suspects was dragged to the first elevator, still struggling weakly, whether it was against his arrest or merely to stay upright didn't matter; he was treated the same regardless.
It ended with shouts, just like it had begun. Torn between fear for himself, fear for Jason and fear of being forcibly thrust into the open, Dan forced breath into his chest, trapped with no way out, with no control over his wheelchair or his body and so weak. So helpless.
He saw the doors slide closed behind Jason and felt like it would be the last time he'd see him alive. Like he was being taken away - to the gallows, the electric chair. Away. For good.
The hallway changed shape and color. The neons flickered overhead. Dan's world went black.