W is for Welcome Home
By Dragon's Daughter 1980
(Written for the 2006 Summer Alphabet Challenge)
Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I don't have anything to do with Numb3rs.
Author's Note: This story is a semi-continuation of 'P is for Prayer.' Thank you all for the kind reviews and readership.
Don wobbled unsteadily as he tried to get out of the backseat of Charlie's car by himself. He had a foot on the ground, but as soon as he put weight on it, his knee turned to gelatin. Just as he resigned himself to falling onto the pavement, in clear violation of his doctors' orders, a supportive hand appeared to grasp his, one with far more strength than he had at the moment. He looked sheepishly at his father's knowing expression.
"You know, Donnie," said Alan conversationally, bracing his son's shoulder with one hand, half-holding, half-shoving him back into the car, "one of the conditions of your getting out of the hospital so soon was that you would take it easy."
"I am," Don replied meekly, clinging to the car frame. But he knew there was no way he was going to escape the coming lecture. 'After all,' he grumbled to himself, 'it's not like I'm in a shape to walk anywhere by myself any time soon, let alone run.'
"That means," Alan continued as if his son hadn't spoken, "beyond following all the doctor's instructions, there will be no stubborn, idiotic attempts to do things by yourself until you're better. Understand?"
"Yes, Dad," he sighed. His father nodded firmly, "Good." Charlie appeared, tucking the car keys back into his jean pocket. He took in the scene, Don struggling to get out of the car and their father trying to make sure his eldest didn't end up collapsing on the driveway pavement.
"Is he being difficult?" the mathematician asked their father jokingly, already reaching for Don's other arm.
"Hey." He glared at his younger brother. "I am never difficult."
"You, shush," their father said sternly to him before looking at Charlie, "You, get over here and help." Charlie quickly obeyed, helping their father carefully ease Don out of the car.
"Dad," he said as soon as his older brother was standing, "go ahead and get the door."
"Are you sure, Charlie?" asked Alan with a degree of concern in his voice, his arm still around Don's waist. "It's a bit of a walk."
"No, I'm fine."
"Yeah," said Don, adding his voice to his brother's, "We'll just take it slow." Neither of the other men missed the strained tone of those words. The agent was in pain, no matter how much he tried not to show it. "Go on ahead Dad."
The patriarch of the family reluctantly withdrew his arm. Immediately, Charlie shifted his position, tucking himself closer to his brother so Don could lean on him. Alan smiled to himself at the level of trust being so openly displayed before he turned to walk up the driveway to the house.
Slowly, laboriously, Don and Charlie began to make their way to the front door. At first, with his legs so unsteady, Don was leaning on his brother for balance. But as he got used to walking, his strides became longer and sure. That is, until he forgot about his injuries and took a normal length stride. The burning ache in his torso became a sudden searing pain that made him hiss in distress and lean against his brother so much that Charlie nearly toppled over.
"Don, let's stop," the young man suggested. His older brother shook his head stubbornly.
"Nope, Chuck." Don started to shake his head and quickly decided that it was a bad idea when the world took on a slight tilt and his head started pounding.
Charlie ignored the remark, "You're in pain."
"Am not," Don said tersely. Charlie rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"You do know that if I decide to let you go right now," Charlie muttered quietly, "you'd end up on the pavement?"
"Yeah," replied Don smugly, "but if you did that, I know Dad would kill you." Charlie glared at him, "Shut up."
Amita met them at the front door, pointing towards the living room. She closed her cell phone with an irritated sigh.
"The delivery truck's lost," she said. "They'll be here in an hour, if we're lucky. So we're going to have to put you on the couch for now. Sorry Don."
Don shook his head sharply to dismiss the inconvenience. By now, he was gritting his teeth to hide the amount of pain he was in. But he still managed a weak grin when he saw his fiancée standing in the living room, fluffing a pillow on the couch. It was just so…domestic. If it didn't hurt, he would have laughed.
Robin smiled at him, even though she inwardly fretted at how pale he looked. She took a few steps forward and extended her hands to him, silently offering to take Charlie' place as Don's human crutch. The mathematician let her, panting slightly at having to bear his brother's heavier weight. Robin carefully guided Don to the edge of the couch and pulled a warm blanket over him once he lay down. She sat down on the edge of the couch, her hand reaching up to stroke his face.
"Hi sweetheart," he said weakly, once he got his breathing back under control. He touched her smooth cheek and she smiled, just for him.
"Hi there, handsome," she said back. "I'm going have to get back soon, but I just wanted to make sure you were settled."
Amita appeared with a glass of water and a neon orange prescription bottle, both of which she handed to Robin. He groaned, knowing that arguments would be useless when it was one against four. 'It was easier when it was just me against Dad and Charlie,' he thought, watching her unscrew the childproof cap and shake out two pain pills. She put the bottle on the living room table and turned to him. 'Not that I ever won those battles either.'
"Take them," she said, putting the pills into his hand. "Don't even argue. You need them." She handed him the glass of water.
"How can I say no" he asked, teasing her, "especially to such a beautiful lawyer?"
His comment elicited a small smile of amusement from her, easing the worry lines on her face. She caressed his cheek after he swallowed the pills. "Get some sleep. I'll be back tonight, okay?" She leaned down and kissed him briefly.
"Okay," he caught her hand as she stood up, "Don't work too late." She laughed and bent down to whisper in his ear.
"It's a bit early for that, Agent Eppes," she chided softly. "But I assure you," her voice became low and sultry, "as soon as you're well, neither of us will be working late." He smiled, closing his eyes. His last conscious memory was of her hand gently stroking his arm in a long caress.
His first clear thought was that his mother was comforting him through a fever, her gentle hands running across his face and down his right arm. He opened his eyes, half-expecting to find his mother smiling by his bedside. Even in the dim light of the darkened living room, he instantly recognized Robin's tall, graceful body, sitting on the edge of the couch.
"Hi handsome," she said softly, when she saw he was awake. "Feeling better?"
"Hurts," he muttered, referring both to a building headache and a throbbing in his chest.
"I know," she murmured, running a hand across his forehead, "You should've had another dose about an hour ago."
"Don't want to sleep more," he managed through his sleep-muddled mind. The headache was threatening to become a migraine at any moment if he didn't sit up.
"Okay," she said, slipping off the couch to kneel by his side.
"Is he awake?" came Charlie's voice from somewhere off to his left…no, to his right… Someone switched on the lamp, the sudden light making Don wince and blink. Amita quickly apologized and threw something over the appliance, immediately dimming its effect. Once he could see again without squinting, he recognized his brother's jacket draped over the lampshade.
"Yes, he's awake," said Robin. "Help me get him up, will you?"
Working together, his family managed to get him sitting upright on the couch without causing him too much pain. Almost as soon as he was sitting, his father placed a tray of chicken soup in front of him.
"Eat," said the patriarch. "And don't argue." Don managed to maneuver a shaky spoonful of the warm broth without spilling it all over himself.
"Beats hospital food," he said after he swallowed. His father smiled, "Good. I expect you to have several bowls then."
Robin settled down next to him, a case file in hand. She angled it so he couldn't read the papers, but her shoulder was gently touching his. He leaned into the contact as he continued to eat.
"Dodgers versus Mariners, tonight," said Charlie, settling down on the floor, laptop in his lap, already spreading his students' papers out in an academic equivalent of a banana peel on the floor. Amita settled in the chair next to him, her students' papers in a neat stack in her lap. She muttered something to Charlie, provoking an outburst of 'I am not disorganized!' Alan carefully sidestepped his youngest son's organized chaos and set a platter of cheese-drenched nachos on the coffee table.
"No, Don, you are not allowed," his father said even before Don opened his mouth to ask. "Does anyone mind if we watch the ballgame?" After receiving a chorus of approval, he switched on the television and found the right channel. Even though they were 'absorbed' in their work at first, everyone eventually gave up the pretense of working and started cheering on the home team. Don leaned back against the couch, his hand finding Robin's, their fingers interlacing. He smiled as she leaned forward, dark hair tumbling off of her shoulders, "Now that's a foul!"
"Now that's biased," remarked Alan. "He didn't trip, the guy shoved him." Charlie and Amita exchanged looks, but stayed silent. The mathematician had analyzed the posture of each batter and come up with a 'fairly accurate prediction that the Dodgers will not have a good night.' Alan just about chucked the suduko book at his youngest. Amita had swatted in his general direction. After that, Charlie had, wisely, remained silent.
As the current player ran the bases, Don smiled. He wasn't the type to openly admit that he needed his family, but he did. He needed the teasing, the fussing, the caring, and the love that his father, brother, and now, sister-in-law and wife-to-be gave him. Charlie made some remark or other that earned him a glare from his father and wife. Robin leaned over to adjust the blanket across his lap, giving him a breath of her heady perfume. She settled back in her seat, but not before she planted a brief kiss on his lips. He heard his father chuckle with anticipation and mentally rolled his eyes for the coming lecture about grandchildren. Yeah, he was definitely home.