A Simple Situation
Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Semi-'Protest'
Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.
"Your shoulder okay?" was his colleague's quiet question. Most of the agents around them didn't know about his recent injury that had sidelined him for several weeks. They just assumed that bureaucracy had called one of their best agents out of the field.
"Yeah, it's fine," he replied. He checked his weapon one last time. "Ready?" he asked the ex-Army intelligence officer. Colby nodded in reply. "Then we'd better go." As he got into his vehicle with his partner and second-in-command, he reflected on the happenings of the past few weeks.
It had been a simple situation that should have resulted with everyone going home happy, naturally excepting their suspect, that is, he had reflected as he glared at the white-jacketed doctor sitting in front of him. But hadn't. Everyone was going home alive that day, thank goodness, but not entirely happily. The whole case, as far as he knew, had gone very smoothly up until the point that had brought him there. There were the witnesses who positively identified the man posing as a federal revenue agent, claiming to collect on 'unpaid taxes' from his victims; ample fingerprints to yield the man's real name and his yard long rap sheet as a local swindler; a last known address that was still valid; a warrant in hand and a team at ready to make an arrest within two hours.
It should have been simple.
Except that things never were, not in the field anyway.
Because while this man was, as described by his victims, a soft-spoken, assertive charlatan who had no history of violence, someone forgot to mention to the ex-con that he had lost his Second Amendment Rights. So, he had several illegal guns at hand when the FBI came a-knocking at his door.
The man panicked.
Fortunately for all involved, the swindler was more of a talker than a shooter. He didn't reach for a weapon. Instead he ran for his freedom…straight into the body of Special Agent Don Eppes who was ungraciously thrown off of the back porch onto the ground and then used as a landing pad for said criminal. At that time the pain didn't register. Confusion first—what in the world was this man-size cat doing on top of him?—then training—blow to the solar plexus, roll the man, get on top, disarm him (a key chain), handcuffs out, Thank you Terry for teaching me that the hard way, "David, you got him?", "Good," metal latches snapping shut—before standing up, pulling the perp to his feet, passing the man to Colby.
It was when David was almost done reciting the perp's Miranda rights that the pain had made itself known. His right shoulder began to whine a little at the treatment it had endured, an ache that slowly blossomed into throbbing. He rotated it slowly, hoping to ease some of the tension, but stopped abruptly when pain shot through that shoulder. He pretended that it was nothing, hoping to avoid getting called on it by his colleagues — he would go home for the rest of the day, and if it wasn't better by tomorrow, he'd take a personal day and make an appointment with his doctor. No such luck.
Megan had tapped him lightly on the shoulder, not feather-light but with gentle pressure, to catch his attention. That mild touch alone was enough to make him hiss quietly with pain and wonder if he hadn't partially dislocated his shoulder, though he doubted it. She had looked at him in worry for less than five seconds before telling him he needed to get checked out by the medics who had been standing by for possible injuries. He complied as soon as he saw the look in her eyes; there was no use in arguing with her and he really was beginning to think there was a problem.
The good news, the paramedics announced, was that he hadn't dislocated or broken anything. The bad news, the Bureau's doctors announced, was that he wasn't qualified for field duty. With a wretched right shoulder, he couldn't draw and fire his weapon without considerable pain. In his condition, he would be a danger in the field. So while it irked him to sit out, leaving his team to take all the risks, he trusted Megan to take care of the team if anything went south. Well, he reflected glumly as he walked out of the doctor's office, at least there's nothing for Dad or Charlie to panic about. My life will be just very administrative for the next few weeks.
Three hectic weeks had passed, and with them, two mundane cases that generated a flood of paperwork. He had managed to tame the tide of documentation for a new case into something controllable before he paid another visit to the Bureau's doctors. This time, he returned to his office with a green light for full duty, just as the arrest warrant for their prime suspect on their current case came in. Megan had given him a small smile and yielded full operational command to him without a word. He pulled to a stop at the gates of the construction site and parked. As he got out of the car he thought, It's good to be back in the field.
A few minutes later, he took a deep breath to calm himself. He cautiously glanced at the clear stick of blasting gel that had bounced to rest next to his heel, still half-expecting it to explode. David carefully picked it up and exchanged a wordless look with him. As he holstered his weapon, watching his junior colleagues handcuff their perp, he thought, The only thing I can really say is this: Thank goodness Colby remembers his explosives.