Life During Wartime
A NUMB3RS Fanfic
I don't own NUMB3RS or the Talking Heads…the latter of which would be freaky.
Darrell Johnson is an original character, and quite possibly, a figment of my imagination.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Special Agent Colby Granger looked through his apartment window. It was a rainy, cloudy day in California. He pulled on his black jeans, white undershirt, army hooded sweatshirt, and headed down the stairs.

He passed a Starbucks on the way. Normally, he would have been going to work, but Colby needed some time for himself. Don Eppes knew this too. Colby hadn't been himself lately. He needed to visit somebody.

Colby walked into Huntington Memorial Hospital, and signed in. He slowly walked to the room of a fellow soldier.

Heard of a van that is loaded with weapons,
packed up and ready to go
Heard of some gravesites, out by the highway,
a place where nobody knows
The sound of gunfire, off in the distance,
I'm getting used to it now
Lived in a brownstore, lived in the ghetto,
I've lived all over this town

"Hey, Darrell," Colby said.

"Granger, is that you? I thought you were still over there…"

"Nope. I'm with the FBI now."

"A G-man? Dude, I thought that it'd never happen," replied Darrell. "You have a woman, too, I assume?"

Colby laughed. "I wish. Haven't found anybody yet."

This ain't no party, this ain't no disco,
this ain't no fooling around
No time for dancing, or lovey dovey,
I ain't got time for that now

Darrell sat silently for a minute. "So what kinda cases have you been on?"

"All sorts. You have no idea. Polygamous sects, school shootings, arson…"

"Arson? Isn't that kind of…basic?" Darrell interjected.

"Not when involves Molotov cocktails and tree huggers," laughed Colby.

Transmit the message, to the receiver,
hope for an answer some day
I got three passports, a couple of visas,
you don't even know my real name
High on a hillside, the trucks are loading,
everything's ready to roll
I sleep in the daytime, I work in the nighttime,
I might not ever get home

"When do you find time for yourself?" asked Darrell.

"Not often. But when I do, I like to go to the beach, and just float on the waves. Or surf."

"That sounds nice," Darrell said. "I have no idea if I'll ever be able to do that. I mean, I've got half a leg for Christ's sake."

"Darrell, don't say that. Do you know the story of Bethany Hamilton?" Colby asked.

"No, what is it?"

"She was surfing one day, and she was attacked by a shark. She lost up to her shoulder on her right arm. And you know what?"

"Hmm?" said Darrell.

"She stills surfs and wins competitions to this day."

"But, Colby, I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing once I get out of here. My wife left me when we were overseas; I've got no place to go…"

"Man, you can stay with me. I have no woman, but I do have another bedroom."

"Thanks, Colby."

This ain't no party, this ain't no disco,
this ain't no fooling around
This ain't no mudd club, or C. B. G. B.,
I ain't got time for that now
Heard about Houston? Heard about Detroit?
Heard about Pittsburgh, P. A.?
You oughta know not to stand by the window
somebody might see you up there
I got some groceries, some peant butter,
to last a couple of days
But I ain't got no speakers, ain't got no
headphones, ain't got no records to play

"Anytime, Johnson."