Disclaimer: This piece of fiction is made as non-profit entertainment. I own nothing except the computer I typed it on.

Author's Note: I love this series, but one of its main flaws is that a lot of the injuries the main characters take are underplayed (or maybe it's just me thinking people are more fragile than they are?). Anyway, I finally watched all of season 4 and thought the recovery from the fight in the vent was a little too... quick? I mean, that's a lot of hits to the head, among other things! Anyway, my take on the scene and how I'd rather it have happened (because I am a whumper). Also I tend to get the feeling partway through that I messed up the characters and it's a bit far fetched. PLEASE let me know if I did! Thanks for reading!

Ventilation

The screech of a saw, the sound of metal tearing. The heavy breathing and furious yells of the murderer, and his own blood roaring in his ears. His head was pounding, his vision swimming in and out of focus. But he didn't need to see, as he grappled with the man who he realized was stronger - at least physically - than he was. He struggled, punching and blocking hits as he was slammed up against the side of the vent. He blocked an elbow aimed for his already pulsing head, and shoved the prisoner back so the man's head bounced against the top. TC felt as though he was drenched in blood, it ran down his face and soaked into his clothing and he wasn't even sure how much of it was his own.

And then he was struggling again, blocking heavy hits. He shoved his knee up, pushing back, then they were twisting, his body momentarily pinned beneath the larger man, pain searing him. A moment later he was falling, the bottom of the vent falling away beneath him. He twisted in midair, trying to get free from the iron grip on him, only to slam onto the floor, flat on his back with the heavy weight of the prisoner on his side.

He gasped, stunned and completely winded. The pain rippled from his head and spread like a shockwave to the rest of his body as he coughed and tried to get his breath back. People were pulling the prisoner off him, dragging him away, and he was aware of Jordan reaching for him with a look of panic on her face.

He wanted to sit up but he was too winded, his body still too shocked from hitting so hard.

She asked about his spine, he said it was okay. How couldn't it be, with his entire body burning with shockwaves of pain? One side of his face was covered in blood, he could feel it drying against his skin, itching. She yelled about the gurney, palpating his sides and arms to check for broken bones. When her fingers pressed into his right side he yelped in pain, pushing her hand back. One or two broken or fractured ribs, not surprising considering the larger man had practically crushed them when he landed.

He wheezed in a breath. Now aware of the pain in his side it seemed to override the other aches and pains.

"Hey, we've got you," Jordan said. Drew and Paul helped her manhandle him onto the gurney, and he groaned in pain. He ached, his head pounded, his vision was spotty. And above the sound of their voices he could hear a distant ringing. He lost count of how many times he got hit in the face and head, and now realized it had been a few too many, at the very least. Jordan shined a light at his eyes, and he squinted and glanced away, head throbbing.

"Concussion," she said. The hospital was a blur around him as they wheeled him off to a treatment.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Jordan asked, suddenly furious. Drew and Paul wisely said nothing, and looked around warily, pretending not to be involved in what would eventually be an argument.

"Not thinking," he said, forcing a grin.

It failed to soften her up.

"Damn right you weren't. You could have been killed."

He understood her anger, but suddenly found himself too woozy to respond. The pounding in his head had increased, and his body felt cold and shaky. The last of his adrenaline had run out, and he was distinctly aware that the pounding of his head and ribs had outpaced the pains from the rest of his body.

"T? Hey T, open your eyes." That was Drew.

He felt a hand on his face, wincing slightly. He just wanted to rest his eyes, maybe ease the pounding in his head, for a little bit...

Drew POV

The sound from the vents was like two wild animals fighting each other. The clang of slamming, bodies banging against the metal, shouts of pain. He was trying to find them on the drone, when suddenly the area they had been sawing burst open, two people falling straight through. He looked on in shock as he saw TC's blood-streaked face lying on the floor, the prisoner lying partially on top of him and moaning in pain. He ran to get a gurney, guessing it was probably necessary. The sound his friend's body made when it hit the ground was agonizing, and there was a serious risk of potential spinal damage.

He came back in time to see Jordan checking his arms and sides for injuries, and his cry of pain when she pressed on his ribs. At least he was able to move. His head looked like it had been bashed pretty hard, blood pouring down. His eyes were unfocused.

"1... 2... 3." They lifted at once, and Drew set his jaw at the corresponding groan of pain. He checked back to see the prisoner being dragged off, covered in blood and looking much worse for wear. The man was sizable with a great deal of strength and Drew realized just how lucky TC had gotten when they fell through or he would have been beaten half to death in close places where he wouldn't be able to move much. Of course, it looked like he already had been beaten half to death.

He chose not to get involved in Jordan's anger but frowned uncertainly at his half-hearted response, and then by his eyes drifting close. He was drifting, still conscious but not all there.

Drew tried to move his head back up, only for TC to wince, and then drift out completely.

"Damnit," he grumbled. They had gotten to the room at least. Drew looked closer as the bleeding on his head, realizing that fresh blood was still streaming out. He saw a long gash in his head under his hair. "This will need stitches," Drew called out. Paul quickly grabbed the tools while Jordan was removing the shirt to check on the painful ribs. The bruising stood out starkly on his pale chest and she carefully prodded at his ribs, doing a quick check now that he wasn't pushing her away.

"We'll need an x-ray," she said.

Drew nodded while stitching the gash up as Paul pressed the gauze near to soak up some of the blood.

"We should probably get a scan of his head and make sure there's no bleeds," she said to herself.

"Nah, his skull's thick enough, it'll take more than a madman with a gun to break through that," Drew said lightly, trying to get the frown off her face. She only gave a pained smile in return and he tried to hold back a sigh. Her feelings for TC were obvious, practically apparent to everyone even if she continued to deny them.

He finished the last stitch, tying it off and cutting away the excess. Fortunately, the wound no longer streamed blood rapidly.

"Let's get the x-ray before he wakes up. It's easier when he isn't trying to fight us."

TC POV

The pounding in his head had faded. His side hurt, but not as badly as before. He could practically feel bruises all across his back, his shoulders. His mind felt liquid. His body heavy. He struggled to open his eyes and see through a haze. He could hear a steady beep, and an IV in his arm. From the fogginess he was feeling it was most likely a sedative or serious painkiller. Had he hit anyone in a half-awake state without realizing it?

He managed to open his eyes fully but was held back by pain when he tried to sit up.

"You're an idiot."

He looked at Jordan who was sitting with an annoyed face as she looked at him. It seemed annoyance was the way she looked at him all the time, and he couldn't exactly blame her. He also couldn't deny her comment. Not when she had been the one to pick him off the floor.

"Guilty," was all he said, managing to crack a smile.

He saw her lips twitch in the beginnings of a smile but she was actively trying to stop it. "If they hadn't been cutting the vent you could've been killed. Your face looks like you got kicked by a horse." TC feigned hurt, trying to stop the smile that was making his face hurt more. "You also have a 3 inch laceration on the side of your head. Because you decided to go after a murderer in the vents where you can't move." She glared at him and he forces his smile away so it stopped tugging at the sore spots on his face.

"I had my knife too," he argued just to break up her growing rant.

She ignored him. "You have two broken ribs, and bruises everywhere. Nice hand-shaped bruises on your shoulders by the way," she said, her voice growing brittle. He knew it was coming to an end when her frustration was failing.

He tried to sit up again, and hissed with pain.

"Someone had to stop him," he said, leaving behind his earlier humor.

"It didn't have to be you," she said, quietly. "You could have been killed. A little longer fighting and you might have been."

He didn't have an argument on that because she was right. He would have been pummeled again and again and only be able to defend himself from immensely strong hits. That man had gotten through a car accident and being shot and still had the strength to take on TC, and probably would have won and taken on someone else.

"How is she?" He asked, thinking of the swat officer who had been shot.

"She'll be fine, she's stable," Jordan said with a sigh.

Good.

He felt exhausted, as if he had been putting up a fight with a bull rather than a person. Or maybe it was the painkillers. "You should sleep off that concussion," Jordan said, before he could muster up any words to try and announce his blurring vision.

And she had already walked out of the room before he could say thank you.