Interrupted Day

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Rating: PG-13 (Implied Violence)

Spoiler: Semi-'Dark Matter'

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing our favorite FBI agent and I promise to return him unharmed. However, Melissa Jennings and her friends are my own muses.

Author's Note: This particular one shot was inspired by watching the teaser for this week's episode 'Dark Matter.'

This can't be happening to me. This just — this just can't. I know there's no divine law anywhere that says nothing bad can happen to Melissa Jennings, but this really cannot be happening. Just breathe, just breathe girl. You can handle this; I have to handle this, or else… I'm dead. No, don't think about that! Think about anything, anywhere, just not here, just not what's happening now. Okay, just concentrate…

If I have a favorite time during the day, it's lunch, when I'm with my friends. I'm not sure it's going to be my favorite time anymore. I hope they're okay. I shouldn't have left them, but how could I have known about this? It's not like I can protect them, but just knowing is better than this uncertainty. Are they all right? This can't be happening, not here, not at my high school. Granted I keep my head down a lot, but this—oh, God, I hope Officer Baker's okay. He must have heard the gunfire. I can't believe I haven't thought about anyone—no, I've been thinking about everyone and everything for the past…ten minutes? It's only been ten minutes? It can't have only been ten minutes, that's impossible, half an hour maybe, but ten? My hands are shaking so badly, I'm so afraid… calm down, girl, just breathe… Start from the beginning.

It had been a normal day for me. Seven classes to get through, seven teachers to please; crowded hallways to get through, assignments to hand in, quizzes to deal with and tests to weather, but those things were expected; I deal with them every day. The things that I don't resent at all are my friends. We eat together at lunch when we can and we always walk home together. I want to walk home with them today, I just want everything to be normal… Shut up, what if they hear you crying? Your sobbing's going to get you in hot water if you're heard. Just put a cork in it. Concentrate!

I toss my lunch tray into the trash can and stand up from the lunch table. One of my best friends turns to look at me, a question in her eyes.

"Hey, Shirley," I say in explanation for my early departure, "I have to print some stuff out in the library." I hoist my backpack onto my shoulder and grab my book bag. "I'll see you later, okay?" I touch her shoulder with one hand.

"Sure, Melissa," she says with a nod, "at the bench?"

"Yeah," I reply. "Beatrice is coming along today too. History project."

"Hah! And don't we love those?" Shirley asks dryly. I laugh and wave goodbye. "I'll see you."

"Bye!" she tells me before she goes back to her conversation with one of our mutual friends.

I quickly make my way out of the lunch room and into the library where 'study hall' takes place. I don't know what people are studying, but I'm pretty sure that making out in the back row of the library shelves doesn't count toward Bio graduation credits. I manage to snag a free computer that actually works and print out my homework (yeah? So I didn't get my homework done until my second period today. It's not a big deal, it's done; it's not like that's gonna kill — never mind). I'm on my way from the library to my English class, walking just past the counseling center when I hear a few cracks behind me and then screaming.

It's not the screaming that I hear at assemblies, not the happy, empty-headed kind of a bunch of frenzied teenagers screaming at the hottest boy in the school. No, this is shot — filled with terror and I just freeze. You know, you read about it, you hear about it, but you never think it's going to happen to you, to your high school. I run into the counseling center, find an empty office, shut the door, lock it and hide under the desk.

And that's how I'm here now, cowering under a counselor's desk, clutching my book bag like a shield, trying not to cry. Praying that Shirley and Beatrice and all my other friends are okay. Wondering if my parents have heard about the news. Desperately hoping that I'll be okay. I don't want to die, I don't want to die, not today, oh God, not today. I have dreams, I want to go to an Ivy League school, I want to travel, I want to get married and have kids… I can't die, I don't want to die.

It's been quiet now for a long time. An hour by my watch. I heard the sirens about forty minutes go, but then there was more gunfire, so I don't know what's going on out there. I don't want to know if—every time I've closed my eyes the past hour I see Shirley and Beatrice, de—NO! I don't want to think it. If I don't think it, it's not true, it's not true. They're okay, I didn't hear the gunfire start in the cafeteria, they're okay, they have to be okay. Why? Because I said so. They're okay, we're going to walk—

A knock on the door. No, someone couldn't have just… I don't want to die. But what if it's someone who needs he — what if it's the gunman looking for me? I don't—help me, God, send anyone to help me. I can't live with the idea that I've killed someone by denying them — keys, those have to be keys, maybe it's the police, the guy couldn't have gotten his hands on keys could he? I mean, he wouldn't have killed a teacher and grabbed — don't think about that Melissa, think about now. If you have to go down, you go down fighting. That's who you are: a fighter.

The door's open and I can hear the person's footsteps, no two people's feet, as they walk into the room. I try to steady my breathing, concentrate on staying quiet but I can't. Mom, Dad I love you so much. I hope you know that. Beatrice, Shirley, you gals have to be okay without me. Go on and be big stars and change the world and I'll be watching over you, if Heaven does exist. God… please, I'm still begging you to send someone to help me, but if I have to die…don't let me suffer and look after my family and friends, please.

"Does Ms. Martinez keep her office locked during the school day?" a man asks calmly.

"No," says another, "most of the time she's here so there's no need."

"Where is she right now?" the first man asks.

"Triage, gunshot to the shoulder," the second says bluntly, his tone tired. I shiver. Maybe these are the good guys, but I can't make myself move to let them know I'm here. I'm frozen, helpless. I just can't stop shaking, but I can't actually do anything. But I must have made some kind of noise.

"Wait, you hear that? The first man speaks again.

"What?"

"Is there anyone in here?" the first man's voice softens. Just hearing it calms me down a little. "My name is Don Eppes. I'm with the FBI. Everything's okay now. You can come out."

It's like hearing his voice frees me from my paralysis and I'm able to shift my weight forward and crawl out from under the desk. But my arms are shaking and I feel like crap and lightheaded and God, all I want is—

Strong arms wrap around me as I collapse into a warm body and I burst into sobs, huddling in the reassurance that's being provided. I'm babbling through my tears, but I don't care. I'm safe now. Someone's going to take care of me. Thank you God.

The man waits until I've calmed down before asking softly, "What's your name?" His voice rumbles in his chest, over his steady heartbeat that's pressed against my ear.

"Melissa," I whisper, and I'm not sure he's heard it. "Melissa Jennings."

"Are you hurt Melissa?"

I shake my head, but what about everyone else? "Shirley and Beatrice, do you know —" I raise my head to look at him, foolish me, how could he possibly know who they are? He doesn't even know me until about two seconds ago or however long it's been — "if they're okay?" But I have to ask.

I look into gentle brown eyes set in a solemn face. There are a lot of frown lines, I guess as a cop in LA—No, didn't he say he was FBI or something? — you see a lot of bad things every day. But there a few laugh lines around his eyes and those crinkle up as he smiles slightly at me. I hope he's not going to lie to me, tell me that they're okay, even though he doesn't know for sure. I won't be able to survive that, being told that they're alive and then finding out that they're dea—no, they can't be, they're okay. Please, God, let them be okay.

"You mean Shirley Olsen and Beatrice Anders?" he asks in reply, naming my friends' last names correctly to my shock. "Yeah, they're okay. They've been pretty vocal about trying to find you though. You're a junior, right?"

"Yeah," I say, but I can't describe the relief that melts my body at the knowledge that they're okay. For the first time since this whole thing started, my heart stops pounding and returns to its normal rhythm. I'm probably a weak lump of weight resting against him, but my mind won't concentrate on anything other than the fact that my friends are okay and that I'm alive and thanking God for both blessings. More people enter the room and it's only when one of them touches me that I return to the reality around me.

"Melissa, I'm going to let these paramedics check you out," he says calmly once he feels me start at the paramedic's touch, slowly pulling away from me, but he's looking straight at me and he has his hands on my shoulders. "My partner's going to stay with you and when you're done here, he's going to take you to where your friends are."

"Okay," I nod, starting to feel a little unsettled that my 'rescuer' is going to leave, but also feeling my confidence return. I feel the butterflies in my stomach like when I'm about to give a big presentation that I'm not entirely ready for, but I've done and survived that hundreds of times. I'm still shaky, but there are adults around me now, people to take charge. I give him a little smile that's more of a grimace then a grin, but he smiles kindly back at me. 'It's going to be okay,' it says and I believe him.

I believe him even more when I'm wrapped in my best friends' tearful joyous embrace, when my parents hug and kiss me and tell me how much they love me through their relieved sobs, when our family friends are whispering blessings over my head and praising God for my safety. I know that it probably won't be easy to move on, but his reassurance that everything will be fine will carry me through whatever comes my way. I will say a prayer for him tonight, asking God to bless him with a rescuer should he ever need one as he has done for me. While he didn't save me from the shooters, he was there when it counted, when I asked God for someone to help me, when I needed him the most.

Thank you, sir, wherever you are.