Disclaimer: Numb3rs isn't mine, sadly.

A/N: Wow, really did a disappearing act, didn't I? To those who've wondered where I've been, I started university at the end of September and been busy since even before then, considering all the prep and last minute this and that. I think I last wrote something concrete and complete early September – it's been a while. When I saw that the latest Numb3rs Write-Off round was on Don, I couldn't resist – I figured the deadline pressure would get me writing and at least October wouldn't be a complete bust writing-wise. The Fresher's Flu finally caught up with me (three weeks late – hah!) so apologies if this fic isn't quite up to par.

Warning: Death of a character – yes, yes, I know, cheap way of inserting angst into a fic. This was supposed to be part of a much larger fic (the whole verse from Ecclesiastes, actually) but time constraints (and health – stupid flu) meant I had to post this now. Until I complete the whole thing, hope this will tide you over.

Of Time and Place

(Ecclesiastes 3:1)

For everything there is a season,
And a time for every matter under heaven:

A time to be born…

"Mr. Eppes? You can come in now."

It took a moment for the nurse's voice to register in his head. Straightening from his slouched position on the uncomfortable plastic chair, he stood up on legs which weren't as stable as he'd thought they would be.

Then again, it wasn't every day you became a father for the first time so a little shakiness was par for the course. Uncharted course.

Oh God.

"How is she?" He supposed he should have asked about the new addition to the family as well, but he needed to know this first. He couldn't do this alone.

The nurse smiled, openly and without reservation – always a good sign. "Your wife is doing just fine, Mr. Eppes. She has someone she'd like you to meet. Follow me."

He obeyed and was soon entering a room which must have been a replica of every other on this floor and in this hospital, except for one special detail – no other room had a blonde beauty such as his wife on the bed, cradling a bundle of blue in her arms.

When she looked up, he couldn't help but notice the lines of exhaustion but thought them immaterial compared to the happiness he could see in her eyes. She shifted slightly as he approached her bed-side, maneuvering her arms in such a way to grant him a better sight of the child.

Of his newborn son.

Of their newborn son.

"I'm guessing the blue kinda gives it away, huh? I should have brought a neutral colour blanket along with me to keep the surprise," she commented by way of hello. When seconds passed without a reply, she carefully pulled out a hand from underneath the baby to poke her husband with.

"So... I know we agreed on a name if it was a boy, but for some reason I don't think we have a "Charles" on our hands here. What do you think?"

Alan finally broke his stare away from the sleeping baby to glance at his wife for a second, before focusing on his son again who didn't strike him as a Charles, if that made sense. "No, I agree. We can name the next one Charles."

Margaret's laughter filled the room. "It's hardly been an hour and you're already thinking of the next one. How about we name this one first before thinking of his upcoming brother or sister?"

Alan was silent for a few minutes, and Margaret let him – she wasn't about to be bored with a baby in her arms after all. Lost in her own world, she was slightly startled when Alan spoke up again:

"Don."

"What?"

"A name – how about Don?"

Margaret crinkled her nose slightly. "Donald Eppes? I don't know, Alan… it just reminds me of... quack quack."

Alan smiled and shook his head at the Donald Duck reference. Trust his wife to bring up Disney cartoons out of nowhere: "No, not Donald – just Don."

Margaret contemplated the suggestion, before looking back at her slumbering son.

"Don Eppes it is."

…and a time to die;

Alan waited in a hospital corridor much like the one he'd been in over thirty years ago. This time however, no smiling nurse approached him. Instead, it was a doctor in green scrubs with a countenance that etched his worry up another notch. When Alan stood to meet him halfway, yet again on unsteady legs, Charlie rose with him, a silent but steady support, shoulder to shoulder.

The rest of Don's team had already been standing and by unspoken agreement, Alan had been appointed as spokesperson for the large number of people concerned about one of their own.

"Family of Don Eppes?" The doctor asked, just to be certain.

"That's us. How is he?"

Alan needn't have bothered asking – if only from instinct, or perhaps the answer written plainly in the doctor's body language – he knew that his firstborn was with his mother again, but this time he wouldn't be following a medical professional to meet them in health and happiness.

Khatum

This fic was written for the Angst vs Schmoop Challenge at numb3rswriteoff. After you've read the fic, please rate it by voting in the poll located (www . livejournal . com / poll / ? id 1284155 - remove the spaces) (Your vote will be anonymous.) Rate the fic on a scale of 1 - 10 (10 being the best) using the following criteria: how well the fic fit the prompt, how angsty or schmoopy the fic was, and how well you enjoyed the fic. When you're done, please check out the other challenge fic at numb3rswriteoff. Thank you!