D.A.S.T

Final Show Down

Title: DAST: Final Show Down
Pairings: Harry/Louis
Rating: R (for slash themes and violence)
Word Count: 8,180
Summary: The Dog and Armed Swat Team unite to bust open one of the most active and dangerous terrorism rings in Britain. Harry finds himself uneasy at the end of the night. AU
Disclaimer: This story is complete fiction - i.e. it had never happened. All real people in this story own themselves and I am in no way affiliated with them. Nor do I make any money from writing about them.

There was a knock on the door and Harry quickly swiped at his eyes and cheeks before it was opened. Taking a second to compose himself, Harry rolled his shoulders and then twisted in his seat to see who it was. His expression darkened instantly when he saw the two men in the doorway. Letting out a huff of air, Harry turned back again and slumped down in the chair. He was not in the mood for them. "Unless you can tell me how a bullet managed to pass clean through Louis' bullet vest then you should leave right now because I do not want to talk to you." He said coldly. 

Hayes stepped forward - Harry could hear his dress shoes squeak against the lino, could feel his unwanted warmth loom closer. "We can," said Hayes quietly and Harry twisted back around in spite of himself. 

"You what?" He narrowed his eyes at the investigating officer - daring him to be fucking with him. His heart was in his throat though, pulsing rapidly. 

"It was tampered with," Hayes explained, stepping forward again, looking deadly serious. 

Harry sat up straighter and suddenly his heart felt like it had stopped, "What do you mean tampered with?" He asked sharply, "That was my bloody bullet vest he was wearing! I... I lent it to him ..." Harry turned anxiously back to the bed where Louis lay unmoving, desperately pale. Realisation dawned on him. Someone had tampered with his bullet vest - probably to try and get him killed in battle - and, unknowingly, Harry had given the vest to Louis... Louis had been shot... could possibly die... because Harry had lent him his bullet-proof vest. 

"The metal plates had been removed," Hayes explained, "and replaced with cardboard and little lead weights so that it didn't feel any different." He paused, hesitating, then spoke again, tentatively. "Harry... I need to ask... the vest you're wearing at the moment...?" 

"Is my spare," Harry whispered, staring straight at Louis' chest, where the potentially fatal wound lay covered with gauze under the pristine white sheet. So sterile... so unsympathetic... so irresolute. "I gave Louis my usual one because I... I thought it would keep him even... safer..." His voice broke over the last word and he swallowed hard, throat burning in warning. 

"This spare one..." Hayes pressed, and Harry heard Kane shuffle loudly in the background, "do you keep it in your locker as well?" 

"Yes," Harry whispered. 

"Can I see it?" 

Harry nodded numbly and absently unzipped the vest he was still wearing. He shrugged it off his shoulders and handed it back to Hayes who took it and starting to pull the pouches open. Vaguely curious, Harry turned and watched the detective pull out the padding with gloved hands and he froze at the same time as Hayes did. That wasn't titanium in those pouches... that was... cardboard... Hayes then pulled out some small silver coloured strips - weights. He continued to empty all the pouches - each time pulling out cardboard and weights.  

Hayes finally stopped and stared at Harry grimly. Harry stared right back with only one thought going through his head; I just walked into the bust wearing no bullet-proof protection whatsoever. Shit. 

"You're the target," Hayes stated, almost breathlessly, "not Louis. It's you they're after." 

Harry swallowed hard, again, and croaked, "I know."