Numb3rs
Season 2
A "Rampage-inspired-fic.
Disclaimer: Numb3rs and its lovely characters don't belong to me.
A/N: After months of writing block, brought on by too much work done in French, not enough time and energy, I was finally able to write this "Rampage-inspired-alternate-scene". I thought that I share it with you. Actually, I'm hoping sharing it will help me get creative again now that RL is quieting down for awhile.
THANKS CELADON FOR EDITING THIS TEXT.
For Dear Life.
Part 1
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The velocity of the bullet that struck the FBI agent sent him crashing backward on the floor with a loud thump. Still, in the mix of other sounds: glass breaking, people screaming, and more guns firing, Charlie Eppes did not register it. Lying low on the hard office floor where his brother had pushed him down, he stayed motionless and scared.
So scared…
A million things crossed his mind at once: number of shots fired, number of screams, numbers written on a back board, numbers saved on his laptop…
My laptop…
It was there on the table, just above him. He could not afford losing the thing. So much was dependant on the work saved on it. He had to prevent his computer from being blown to pieces. He had to reach for it no matter what. He could do it. He had to do it!
In a rush of adrenaline, Charlie pushed himself upward and instinctively grasped the machine. He quickly brought it underneath his chest, protecting it with his body for dear life.
The precious item secured, he relaxed somewhat. Only then did he realise that he had seen something odd in his left field of vision. Only then did he risk looking back towards the white board by which Don and he had been arguing almost all morning.
He froze, his skin suddenly soaked in a cold sweat. He sucked in a breath and quickly exhaled. The name of his brother brushed his lips as he did so.
Don…
The agent was lying on his back a few feet away to his left. He was so still… Too still… A large pool of blood had already started to form on the ground. The red silky liquid had stained Don's white dress shirt as it rolled down his right side.
Charlie distractedly discarded his laptop to the side. He forced himself on all fours. He covered the small space separating him from his brother on shaking limbs. Bile rising in his throat, he reached for the wound with a tentative hand. Charlie closed his eyes and then put pressure on the unnatural hole in Don's chest. He felt the agent's body react to the pain with a shudder.
"I'm sorry, Donnie…" he whispered plaintively.
"Down… stay… Down," Charlie heard the FBI agent order him through his ragged breathing.
"I'm- I'm down," he assured him.
"Bud-dy…"
"I'm here, Bro," he replied looking up to the older man's face. He noticed his brother trying to assess his condition thought half-opened eyes. "I'm fine, Don. I swear. Hang on, okay?"
From the bullpen, Charlie heard someone shout: "Who's hit? Who's down?"
Turning his head over his shoulder, the mathematician called for help with a voice he barely recognized as his own. He looked back down at his brother and held onto his gaze for dear life.
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From the moment he had been shot, Don had put on a valiant fight with unconsciousness. The ambulance ride to the ER had proven to be too much for his assaulted body however, and Charlie had seen his brother lose his battle halfway to the hospital.
The shooting at the FBI office had happened two days before, and Charlie – and everyone for that matter – had yet to see Don's dark brown eyes opened again. After being reanimated twice and no longer able to breathe on his own, his brother remained in a coma.
If only I had paid attention… If only I had reached for him first…
"You would have known Don had been hit the moment it happened," Charlie told his father with conviction. "Why didn't I notice right away? Why?"
"Charlie, you were scared," Alan Eppes reminded his younger son gently. "I would have been scared too. I don't know how I would have reacted under similar circumstances. What I know is that you did the best you could to slow down the blood loss and keep your brother conscious."
"Dad, you don't understand!" Charlie almost cried with anger. "Don put me first. He protected me – he probably saved my life – and my first thought was to save my laptop – my laptop!"He swallowed painfully. He was feeling so ashamed, so cheap. "My own brother was lying- dying beside me and the first thing I did was reach for a computer! What kind of brother am I?"
"Charlie, you are a very good brother," his father comforted him. "You have been there for Don time after time. You have been providing your expertise, opening your house and, most of all, opening your heart. You have been there for your brother in your own way more than you give yourself credit for." Alan put a hand on younger son's shoulder. "Charlie, Don's aware that you love him very much. He doesn't always understand you, but he tries. Your brother knows your work is very important to you, just as his is important to him. He knows it defines who you are and helps you get trough life." Alan gave Charlie's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "And never does he expect you to react like an agent. That's his job."
"But who put Don first?"
"We do. Granted, we can't protect Donnie like he does us," Alan replied sadly. "But, at any moment, we can be there for him. We can provide him with a safe harbour to come home to whenever the world he lives in gets too much. That's our job."
A profound sorrow that Charlie often associated with the loss of his mother and his absence around the time of her death tightened his chest. "It doesn't make me feel any better," he confessed dejectedly. He swallowed a lump. "For once…" a tear rolled down his cheek. "For once, I wish I would have thought of Don first – just like he did me. I wished I had put my family first over my work."
"Charlie, that's what you are doing now, Son," Alan assured him. "Can't you see you are Donnie's life line?" They both looked down at Don's left hand. His strong fingers had curled around Charlie's smaller left hand in a death grip. "Your brother is hanging on to you for dear life."
"The grasp's only a reflex," the professor argued.
"Are you so sure, Charlie?" his father questioned. "What I have seen is Don's condition slowing improving ever since he reached for your hand. Charlie, it is from you that Donnie is drawing the strength to get better. You are your brother's secret weapon in more ways than one. He knows he can come to you for help. He knows he can count on you."
"Of course, he can," Charlie whispered. He covered his and Don's hands with his right one. "Don, I can hold on to you like you can hold on to me. I'm not letting you go. You can count on that."
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A/N: Thanks for reading. I was not planning to write more, but a second chapter eventually fallowed. I hope that a third and final one will do to.