MURPHY'S LAW: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

This is a Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles (T:SCC) and a Numb3rs crossover fic. This will be a massive, multi-chapter story (hopefully) by the time this is done, so consider yourself warned. I am trying to write it so fans of either show can read and enjoy, but it will help if you at least have a rudimentary knowledge of both shows, because this becomes important. Constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms, as this is my first multi-chapter story. I have written one-shots in the past, though for neither of the fandoms I'm attempting to write in now. Thank you for taking the time to at least click on the title and get to this page, and I sincerely hope you enjoy reading. I also hope you enjoy enough to leave a review.

DISCLAIMER:

Numb3rs is created and owned by CBS and relevant parties. Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles (T:SCC) is owned by FOX and relevant affiliates. I, the author, make no claim that these franchises are owned by me, nor am I making any profit from this. This story is written using characters and universes from these two creations, and is meant only for fun.

PROLOGUE:

Blood drenched hands swept over the counter, smearing the sterile white with a disgusting crimson red, knocking over the perfectly suburban drying rack in his haste to get to the prize.

A large butcher's knife with a smooth, sharp edge.

With a knife, it didn't matter that he couldn't feel his left arm past the blood oozing out of that shoulder. With a knife, it didn't matter that his attacker was much, much stronger and much, much, much more experienced than him. With a knife, it wouldn't matter that it was pure, unbridled anger versus a terrified man who wanted to live.

Because now the terrified man had a knife, and he was going to win.

A roar broke past stiff lips, bursting from a burning throat, his whole body protesting the effort it took to spin around and slice wildly at his attacker, who had gotten close, too close… The rugged man echoed his roar with one of his own, his filled not with effort but pain. The man doubled over, clenching his arm, blood now oozing past his dirty fingers, out of his tattooed arm.

Vengeance would be his.

A yell sounded now, sounding crazed to his own ears, swinging the knife high with the intent to bury it in the rugged man's shoulder, to see how much he liked it. See how well he would fight with blood oozing out of his shoulder. For once, the small, terrified man would have vict—

The knife never got there, never made it lower than an inch after his yell. His attacker was a better fighter, he had always known that, even before they'd started rolling around, staining someone's kitchen blood red. His attacker slammed his shoulder into a still tender stomach, knocking all the air out of strained lungs, and slamming a battered body against the cold, hard floor.

Pain shot up his nose, his cheek, his temple, his eye as he was hit, one, two, three… so many times that he lost count. He heard no screams of anger, no professions of hate. His attacker may have been angry beyond all sane reason, but he was a professional. He didn't have to tell the man whose face he was beating into a bloody pulp why he was doing it. The man already knew.

Then, all of a sudden, the pain stopped, cold air hit his new wounds and all the weight left his midsection. The man allowed himself one gasp to hope that it would end, that it was all over, before something very, very cold pressed hard against his bald head.

Terrified brown eyes met cold blue ones. There was warm liquid in his mouth, so much that he wasn't sure the words could break through. But they had to. They just had to. Because he didn't want to die, oh he didn't want to die...

"Derek, please—" He rasped, tears coming to his eyes. Please...

Derek didn't let him finish his plea. One bullet and one bullet only was trusted to the duty of turning healthy brain matter to mush. Then, Derek stood up straight, tucked his gun in his waist band, face blank. Just as calmly, as if he hadn't just murdered an individual in someone else's kitchen, Derek grabbed a white dish towel from it's rung on the stove and wrapped it around his right arm, before kicking the back door open and disappearing into the night.