Comatose

This is an alternate universe fan fiction. In which Damon and Alaric both work for the FBI and are all human.

"You killed those men because they reminded you of your father." Alaric spoke calmly, his gun still attached to his hip holster; his hands in the air to show he meant no harm to the out of control kid, he was practically just a kid, only twenty. "You killed them because they looked like him and it reminded you of the times he'd come home and beat you or the times you'd wake up in the middle of the -"

"Shut. Up!" The man shouted, tears rolling down his face "H-he deserved to die! They deserved to die! I was only eleven years old, I was just a kid!"

"Yes, you were just a kid but those men you killed, they weren't him."

"N-no they weren't but they'd become just like him. They would. I know."

"Please, Matt just put the gun down. If you come with us now, you'll get help and with a diagnosed condition you'll get a short-"

Alaric's words stopped as the door to his right burst open, Damon, his partner stormed in, gun in hand and ready as two more FBI and NYPD officers behind him. Alaric only had seconds to think No! Before the shot rang out in the air and the bullet pierced though his side, making him collapse to the floor. Another shot rang out and the muffled sounds of an officer shouting "Officer down! Officer down! Assistance needed, Officer down!" and the feel of a weight on his chest and the frantic whispers of a very familiar voice before everything went dark.

The room smelt strongly of hospital, that sick smell that makes your stomach churn with unease. The room barely lit from the bed side lamp. The sounds filling the room were filled with the steady beep beep beep of the heart monitor, the sound of the machine that supplied clean oxygen and the sound of the IV machines beeping. Damon stood at the window, staring into the room through the slanted blinds, too scared to go into the room, to even begin to accept that was Alaric; his co-worker, best-friend and 4 year and 346 day lover lying there or even begin to accept that there was a forty percent chance that he wouldn't make it off life support.

He'd been in the room once, remembered the smells, the sounds as if it's the only thing he could smell and hear since. It had been nearly one week and they were taking him off life support to see if he would manage on his own. That god-damn bullet and that even stupid kid puncturing Alaric's lung and some major arteries. The internal bleeding had been nearly unable to control and his lung had collapsed and his coma has been ongoing since he hit the wooden floor back on that god damned day.

Damon finally grew some courage and was able to go into the room. After the doctor told him that Alaric was off life support and was coping very well and that his percentage of survival was at ninety-five percent and that the only reason for him still being in the coma was so his body could repair itself. So Damon did what he had been doing for one week and one day, thirteen hours; waiting. This time he waited next to Alaric, in the stiff chair with his eyes never leaving Alaric's only to close from exhaustion and only then to wake up in a startled shock when the IV next to him would beep loudly.

One week, five days and two hours, Damon had Alaric's hand clasped in both of his, lifted to his lips and he spoke against Ric's knuckles.

"I think it's time you woke up. Lying here while there's still people who need their worthless asses thrown in jail. C'mon baby." He sighed and after a long moment he spoke again

"5 years today. Are you really going to miss that?"

It had been five years since they had been sent in another job to Miami, where a car bomb had gone off in the very car that Alaric thought Damon was in, and when Damon ran around the corner, a packet of his previous bad habit in one hand and a single smoking one in the other; Alaric had grabbed him and pulled him into the alley way next to bar where the lead they had, had taken them and punched him in the face then shouted at him; calling him a selfish jackass who doesn't give a shit about anyone else. Then grabbing the collar of Damon's leather jacket and pushed him back into the brick wall and kissed him, mumbling about how scared he was and god damn it never do that to me again, you hear? And Damon had just replied with a breathless Okay and kissed him again.

"I found the rings, by the way, stuffed in your wash bag isn't a very good hiding place, baby. I know the FBI are strongly against fraternizing with colleagues, but I would of still said yes. Secret or not. So please give me the chance."

"So is that a yes?" A very rough, dry voice faintly filled his ears.

"Fuck, Ric, baby." Damon was on his feet in seconds, lifting the oxygen mask and kissing him as quickly as he could and mumbling through the kiss "Yes, that's a yes, you idiot."

Alaric's reply was just a sleepy smile, a squeeze to Damon's hand. As Damon pressed the button that called for the doctor's, he knew that he'd be okay, especially with Damon at his side.

FLUFFFF. Reviews are like Dalaric fluff... and smut. So give me some, too!