General Disclaimer: Numb3rs and all its characters belong to people far more talented than I am. And they even make money with it. I don't. This story was written for gratuitous entertainment only and no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Alrighty, let's try this again. :-) For those who don't know, this monster was already partly posted about two years ago (until my computer died) and deleted about a year ago (for general edits and because a new computer wasn't anywhere on the horizon). And now, we'll restart this monster and finally bring it to the finish. Longer chapters this time, as a lot is already written and the rest has just to be wrestled into submission. Come along for the ride and enjoy, comments are muchly appreciated.
Bet Me A Lifetime
by Jules
"Come on, Charlie! You're missing all the good ones!"
Charlie Eppes just shook his head at his brother and buried his toes deeper into the warm sand with a content grin. From his vantage point, missing a few spectacular waves was okay. Enjoying the view was far more important to him right now.
He saw Don shrug his shoulders and watched him as he turned around to jog back into the water and duck-dive the first incoming wave. He vanished out of sight, only to reappear moments later, floating back towards the beach on the next incoming wave.
Charlie liked that picture. His brother was back on top. And not only on top of the waves. More than once during the past year, Charlie had thought that Don would never be on top of anything again. But now, in retrospect, on this sunny Saturday afternoon on the beach, those days seemed like a whole lifetime away...
XOXOX
One year earlier:
"Remind me again why I agreed to do this?" Don rubbed his hand over his sweaty brow and stared at his brother over the wide array of boxes between them.
"That would be Bruins against Kings."
"Ah, yes." He hefted up another box and deposited it to his right. "Remind me not to bet you for money anymore."
Charlie had the grace to chuckle only slightly. "Stick to baseball, Don."
Don grinned and busied himself once more. It wasn't so bad after all, even though he could imagine more pleasant ways to spend a Saturday afternoon than rummaging through a dusty and cramped basement. Far more pleasant ways, actually. But then, it had been his idea to mention surfing in the first place and it had actually been nice to see Charlie warm to the idea immediately. They hadn't been surfing for years. So long that their boards were actually buried way back in the basement, long forgotten. It would be nice to go. If they ever managed to excavate the surfboards.
"I think I can see one," Charlie exclaimed and clambered onto the remaining pile of boxes.
Don straightened and rubbed his dirty hands on his thighs, watching Charlie as he dug through years of dust and memorabilia.
"The blue one was yours, right?"
"Wait, I'll help you." He stepped up beside Charlie, both slightly stooped due to the low ceiling and helped him pull the wedged in board free. It didn't budge at all in the beginning, but with their combined efforts, it started to move slowly.
"We should've cleared more stuff," Don grunted, applying more force.
"Nah, it's okay." Charlie responded and gave another pull.
The board came free suddenly, too sudden for any of them to compensate the momentum and they both toppled sideways, the board following close behind. For a fleeting moment, Don tried to brace himself for the impact, then his head crashed into the wall and a lightening pain exploded through his skull, dimming everything else around him.
"Don? Oh, god, are you alright?"
Waiting for the pain to ebb to allow that assessment, Don fought to breathe, but Charlie's weight pinning him down made it almost impossible.
"Get off," he gasped, his eyes still closed.
"Sorry. Sorry, I..." Charlie moved, groaning as he did so, and now that Don could do the same, he gingerly touched the side of his head, certain his hand would come away covered in blood. "Ow."
He opened his eyes experimentally, pressing them shut again as the world tilted merrily and his stomach churned. "Don?"
"I'm okay." I hope.
"Lemme see." Fluttering fingers touched his head and he pulled out of Charlie's grasp, swallowing again as another wave of dizziness caused by the movement swept over him. He pulled his legs up and scooted backwards until he could lean against the wall. Fingering the side of his head again, he couldn't detect any suspicious wetness and the initial pain was subsiding already.
"Just a bump," he muttered, blinking his eyes open again, glad to see the world had stopped spinning for now. Charlie's face was only inches away, knitted in worry. Feeling the threatening nausea dissipate, he smiled reassuringly. "You okay?"
"Me?" Charlie's laugh had a hint of hysteria. "Yes, I'm okay."
"Good." He stretched out his hand and let Charlie help him to his feet again, groaning as the rest of his body reported its discomfort. But the dizziness stayed at bay. Just a few bumps and bruises. Not to mention the slightly dented ego.
Charlie reached down to pick up the board, turning it from side to side. "Looks still good, huh?"
"Yep. Now, where's the other one?"
They continued moving boxes, a bit more careful now and by the time the second board was freed and both brought upstairs into the garage for cleaning and waxing, the small accident was almost forgotten.
XOXOX
"So, surfing?" Alan asked after dinner.
He'd found Don and Charlie sweaty and bickering in the garage when he'd returned home and relished their antics while he puttered around in the kitchen. The last months had been rather tense and it was great to see both his sons regaining some sense of ease again.
"Yeah. It's been a while." Don was lounging on the couch, one leg stretched out, his coffee growing cold on the side table.
Alan smiled. "It's great to see you guys doing something together apart from work, you know?"
"Yeah, wait 'til we're at it." Don grinned, then pulled his hand up to rub the side of his head with a slight wince.
"Ah, Charlie's good at surfing, he always was."
"Yeah. S'gonna be fun." Don let his eyes fall shut and pulled his other leg up as well.
Five minutes later, Charlie came bouncing down the stairs, his hair still wet from showering.
"I think you're wearing your brother out already," Alan remarked with a fond smile, nodding his head to the couch. Don lay fast asleep, one arm folded under his head, his features slack.
Charlie mirrored his father's smile, but couldn't suppress looking a bit more closely at his brother as he slid into the armchair adjacent to the couch, the incident in the basement suddenly again very vivid in his mind. But nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.
Making a mental note to keep an eye out, he busied himself with grading papers.
XOXOX
Mondays and paperwork never seemed to mix well, but this time the air inside the office seemed even thicker than usual.
"Can someone tell me why this heap never seems to reduce, no matter how many files I handle?" Don groused.
Megan rose her head and stared at him over the rims of her glasses from her side of the cubicle. "My, you sure are grumpy today."
Scrubbing his hands over his face, Don managed a small snort. "Sorry."
But she was right, he was. He'd vegged out all Sunday on his couch, sleeping most of the time. Just as he'd vegged out the evening before on Charlie's couch. His father actually had to wake him, asking if he wanted to stay over or drive home. He'd opted for driving home though, but still couldn't remember any of the drive. He'd even had a hard time remembering where he'd parked when he left the house in the morning.
After sleeping as much as he had over the last two days, he should've felt a lot better than he did. Something was off, but aside from the nagging headache that had pestered him all day and the nausea the copious amounts of coffee he'd downed were giving him, he couldn't really put a finger on it.
"Here." Megan had suddenly materialized beside him and deposited a bottle of Aspirin on his desk. "Trust me, we'll all benefit from it."
He threw her a deadly glare, but unscrewed the cap and shook two tablets out.
They helped.
An hour later, after he'd chewed out one of the secretaries for a minor mishap and almost reduced her to tears, the atmosphere thickened again as now a million set of eyes seemed to watch him. He made a mental note to apologize to her once he felt less testy.
Two hours later, after returning from the restrooms where he and his meager lunch unanimously had parted ways, Don decided to call it a day.
XOXOX
"Donnie. I didn't expect you today," Alan said surprised as he looked up from the blueprints and construction plans spread out on the dining table.
"Hey, Dad." Don forced himself to smile and slowly made his way through the living room, careful not to stumble.
He hadn't really planned to stop by the house today. But after having to stop twice on his way because of dizzy spells, he thought it wise to make a pit stop here. Whatever bug he'd caught, it sure was persistent and if it became any worse, he might as well stay here.
He sank into the nearest chair, glad to be able to close his eyes and stave off the next wave of nausea.
Don heard his father stepping closer. "You alright? You look a little peaked there."
He smiled at the feather-light touch ghosting over his forehead. "A little headache. Think I caught a bug or something."
"How about I make you a cup of tea, huh?"
Don kept his eyes closed and followed his father's steps towards the kitchen, listened to the familiar squeaking of the swing door. It needed some oil. It had always needed some oil, even his mother had complained about that years and years ago. He even remembered oiling it himself, but it still squeaked. Stupid door.
Stupid headache, also. It was killing him, really.
Don tried to open his eyes again, but they wouldn't obey, no matter how hard he tried. He was starting to feel a little spacey, as if he was slowly spinning away. Something definitely was off here.
Dad?
XOXOX
Don hadn't mentioned he would come by, but Charlie saw his car parked in the driveway when he came home. Maybe something had come up at work. Or maybe his big brother just wanted to bond a little more.
"Hey," he said as he came through the door, but the smile died on his lips.
He could see Don sitting in the living room, but he looked... odd. "Don?"
His brother gave no indication he'd heard. And something was in the air, a certain tension, as if a bolt of lightening was about to hit the house, even though the sky outside was deep blue and cloudless.
"Don?" He stepped nearer, extending one hand to touch his brother's shoulder, feeling the muscles slightly bunch under his fingers. Don moaned.
"Dad?" Louder, with more urgency. Charlie let his bag slip off his shoulder, crouched down beside Don's chair and searched his face.
"Charlie? I'm in the kitchen."
And suddenly, another moan, louder this time, passed over Don's lips. His eyes fluttered open, unseeing, and in the next instant his body started to convulse.
"DAD!"
Something crashed in the kitchen, but Charlie had his hands full. Literally. His whole world narrowed and everything felt acutely clear as he watched the fully fledged seizure take its course and as he felt the convulsions running through his brother's body.
"Charlie, what..." His father was beside him in an instant and somehow they managed to get Don onto the floor, away from the furniture. Alan tried to wedge himself behind Don, cradling his head and Charlie watched in horror as a trickle of blood started to run down Don's chin.
"Phone, Charlie! Get the phone!"
He patted his pockets for his cell phone, unable to move any further. "He was fine, Dad. He... he was fine."
"What are you talking about?"
Don's face had taken on a bluish hue, but the convulsions were slowing down. "The basement. Saturday." Charlie located his phone, handed it over, his eyes still fixed onto the horrendous sight before him. "H-he hit his head. But he was fine."
Alan muttered something under his breath and punched in 911 with his left, his right hand still cradling Don's head, fingers stroking through his hair. The seizure had finally stopped and Don lay impossible still, his face white and slack.
While his father relayed all the necessary information to the emergency dispatcher, Charlie reached out and gently grasped one of Don's hand with both of his own. It felt cold and lifeless and he started to rub it and closed his eyes.
Maybe, if he concentrated enough, he could wake up from this nightmare.
XOXOX
Some distant part of his mind found all the positive aspects of the current situation. Huntington Memorial was a small, but very renowned hospital, specialized in neurosurgery. The ambulance ride had probably not even taken 5 minutes. The emergency room had almost been deserted, so the doctors could immediately take over the moment Don was wheeled in. All points to their, to Don's, favor.
But there was the other part of his mind, the one that predominantly was a father. The emotional side of him that couldn't simply be switched off, no matter how logical the other part argued.
Alan Eppes had seen a couple of horrible things in his lifetime. A few years back, he'd even witnessed a man having a seizure at the skid row shelter. It had been a shocking experience, but now he found that even that had not been enough to prepare him for what had happened. It was always different when it concerned your own flesh and blood.
Alan couldn't suppress a shudder.
Patching together what little information he could get out of Charlie and what he'd grasped from the EMT's, he knew that the situation was bad, at best. The analytical part of his mind told him that given the odds, they probably were lucky. The paternal part battled between denial and desperation.
And Charlie was wearing a hole in the floor.
"Charlie, you're wearing a hole in the floor," he said and Charlie simply looked up, quirked the corners of his mouth into what probably was supposed to be a smile and wandered on. Fifteen steps to the left, an about-face and fifteen steps to the right. It was maddening. Just like the waiting was.
And the memories began swirling again, of how frail Don had looked in those long moments until the ambulance arrived. Don had never looked this frail before, not even as a newborn.
There just was no way to prepare yourself for the possibility of losing a child, was there?
XOXOX
The sun was warm on his back and the salty air smelled fresh and pure. It was this moment, always, when the elements surrounded him, that he remembered why he liked it so much.
It was the combination of peace and challenge, fighting nature and becoming one with it at the same time.
The waves rolled in languidly, gathering height slowly and he waited for the perfect opportunity.
And suddenly, the ocean became a green monster, rolling him, over and over again. Swallowing him whole.
XOXOX
Charlie was on his 143rd round--yes, he counted, he was a mathematician after all--when the sliding door opened and a scrub-clad doctor stepped out into the waiting area. His father was on his feet in mere instants, barging forward, but he just couldn't move at all. Moving meant getting closer to the truth and Charlie wasn't at all sure if he could handle the truth.
"We're preparing to take your son up into surgery now, Mr. Eppes."
"W-what," Charlie saw his father swallow, fighting for composure, "h-how is he?"
The doctor smiled a very noncommittal smile, one of the first things he'd probably learned as a resident. "As we'd expected already, the MRI confirmed that he has suffered a subdural hematoma. There's no skull fracture, which at this point is a good thing. He's holding his own and our main concern now is to go in and reduce the pressure on his brain."
Against his own expectations, Charlie was moving after all. He stumbled once, caught himself against the wall and barely made it into the restroom before his stomach started to turn inside out.
XOXOX
The coolness of the tiled wall against his back was starting to creep into his body and Alan felt himself shiver.
"Charlie?" he tried again.
And finally got an answer. "I'm okay."
"I'm not convinced, son."
A strangled sound, half snort, half sniffle, emanated from inside the stall before the toilet finally was flushed. Charlie stepped out, looking positively gray and wobbly, and leaned against the door frame, staring at his own reflection in the mirror across from him.
"There's a surgical waiting room on the second floor," Alan said, monitoring his youngest son with as much compassion as he could without breaking down himself.
Charlie nodded and absently started to pat his pockets, still fixing himself in the mirror with half-lidded eyes. "Did you pack my phone?" he rasped.
Momentarily confused, Alan starting going through his pockets, pulling out a phone. "No, that's mine." He searched further, finally coming up with Charlie's cell phone, which he'd absently stuffed into his jeans pocket before they'd rushed out of the house. Charlie reached out his hand to take it and Alan followed his reflex and held on, their hands clasped around the device.
"This isn't your fault, Charlie." But Charlie's eyes told him a different story and Alan felt another shiver coming up.
"Give me two minutes, okay?" Charlie's hand tensed for a second, before he tugged the phone free and slunk out into the hallway.
XOXOX
It had taken one phone call and roughly 30 minutes of waiting--okay, 32.6 minutes or 1956 seconds, of course he'd counted--until the support system was up and running. His own support system, in the form of Amita. She sat beside him, lending him a shoulder to lean against and a hand to clutch while he watched the clock on the opposite wall tick away the seconds. And his father's support system, Megan and David, who both had appeared only minutes later and now tried to keep Alan occupied with exchanging stories, although they both looked frayed around the edges themselves.
Misery loves company, Charlie thought and clenched his fingers around Amita's hand, smiling faintly as the pressure was returned with just as much force.
And the clock ticked away the seconds unerringly. 5276. 5277. 5278.
"I felt it," he whispered, closing his eyes and opening them immediately again, because the darkness felt intimidating.
Amita's head moved against his shoulder. "What?"
He swallowed, looking back at the clock, trying to find his place again. 5292, 5293.
"The seizure. Right... before it happened. I... I felt it."
"He's going to be okay, Charlie." She pressed a soft kiss against his cheek and settled back against his shoulder.
5330. 5331. "How can you be so sure?" But he got no answer to that particular question.
XOXOX
"I can't help thinking that I must've felt something," Alan said and downed the rest of his surprisingly good coffee. They sure had to have changed their formula, because the last time he'd had coffee here, it tasted awful. Or maybe his taste buds were off due to all the stress. He glanced sideways at Megan, who rubbed her eyes tiredly. "You know, felt something. Gotten him help sooner."
Megan's smile didn't reach her eyes. "You know, he was a bit more irritable than usual when being drowned in paperwork." Alan had to smile at the description, fully able to understand that kind of resentment. "But even if I had known about the accident, I don't think I would've caught on. He does have a temper sometimes, you know."
Alan chuckled with little humor and crushed the paper cup in his hand. "Yeah, I know."
They fell silent again and Alan watched Charlie and Amita, who both seemed to have nodded off, their heads leaning against each other, both of her arms curled around one of his as if she was afraid he might float away if she didn't held on tight. They looked so much like a couple that he, who knew they weren't, almost couldn't believe it. At least he thought he knew.
Another flutter of tension settled in the pit of his stomach and he almost jumped out of his chair, walking over to the trash can to dispose of the empty cup and started pacing. "This is taking too long," he muttered, rubbing his temples.
David, who hadn't said much since he'd joined the waiting, offered a smile. "Maybe no news means good news."
"Yeah, maybe." And then, maybe not.
XOXOX
And finally, after 7818 seconds--according to the wall clock and Charlie's counting, which both had stayed oddly in tune even though he'd almost dozed off--the sliding door opened and two doctors entered the waiting area. 7818 seconds, 130 minutes and 18 seconds, 130.3 minutes and 1303 was a prime and a lucky prime even. Charlie smiled, even before anyone could say anything, hearing Don's voice in his head, ribbing him about how he could do anything with numbers, even finding the odd pattern no one else would care about. As if he sat right beside him, as if they could all just get up now and leave and pretend none of this had ever happened.
Don had come through surgery. He was alive. Guarded prognosis, possible brain damage, uncertain until he'd wake up. Don was in a coma.
The medicalese washed over him, trickled away before he could grasp and comprehend it, just like the seconds had trickled away with unerring certainty. Certainty. Uncertainty. Heisenberg's Uncertainty principle. You couldn't measure an electron without bumping into it in some small way and change its path of travel. He'd bumped into Don, sent him careening into the wall, he'd...
"Charlie? Breathe."
He breathed, held onto Amita's hand, forced bile back down and air in and out, but none of that changed anything.
He stood up when his father stretched out his arm for him, accepted the arm over his shoulders, let himself be lead past the sliding door and down a semi-lit corridor until they reached the small cubicle at the far end, off the left. And he stood by the bed, close enough to see, but too far away to feel. He felt as much as a lifeless shell as Don looked like one, almost hidden under all the equipment and bandages.
The two minutes they were allowed to stay stretched like an eternity and when they finally could leave, Charlie had to force himself not to run. Back down the long corridor, into the waiting area, down to the parking lot. Saying goodbye to Megan, David and Amita, promising to call with any news, accepting both Megan's and Amita's hugs and kisses and then his father's arm back across his shoulders.
Before he could really form a memory of the drive, they were already there. Something had to be wrong with the space-time continuum, the fourth dimension had taken on a life of its own. Home. Back to the beginning. The living room was a mess, furniture disarranged, a forlorn plastic glove and some wrapping paper left behind by the EMT's littering the floor. And the strong presence of his father in his back, his hands on his shoulders, steering him towards the stairs.
"Come on, Charlie. I think we both could use some sleep now. Things will look brighter in the morning."
And Charlie almost laughed at that and turned around, four steps up, and searched his father's face. "Do you really believe that?" he whispered and his voice sounded just as alien as he felt right now.
"No, Charlie," his father said and he suddenly looked so old that it hurt, "but it felt good saying it."
TBC