Disclaimer: We do not own any of the recognizable characters from Numb3rs in this story. If anyone 'owns' them it would probably be the following: Cheryl Heuton, Nicolas Falacci, Scott Free Productions and CBS Network. Unrecognizable characters are our creation and are not, despite appearances, meant to portray any "real life" person or persons. We're both poor college students, not worth suing.

Thanks: Beta Readers and Editors, Antoinette and Ely. Without their help, this tale would not be as tightly written as it currently is. Thank you, ladies!

Feedback: Positive, negative, scantily clad and sweaty FBI Agents … we'll welcome it all. Certain creative license has been taken by the writers in order to make certain scenes fly by or, just because we're not Native Los Angelinos.

Synopsis: It was just the flu, or so everyone thought, so how'd he end up in ICU fighting for his life?


Arsenic And New Kevlar

Chapter 2

By AmyD & Suisan


The early evening darkness was slipping across the apartment complex when there was a knock on Colby's apartment door. With a groan, he dragged himself to his feet and answered it.

Hattie was standing there, another medium-sized dish in her oven-gloved hands. "Oh dear! You don't look at all well, Colby." She stepped into the apartment, placed the dish on the kitchen counter and came back over to where Colby was still standing by the doorway.

"Come on, you really shouldn't be up just yet. Let's get you back on the couch for now." She helped him settle on the couch.

He attempted a smile for her. "I've felt better." Which was true but he could honestly say, he had never felt as bad as he did right then

"It's always the stronger among us who fall the hardest when they get sick. It's like the viruses have to work extra hard to get to you." She disappeared into his bedroom and came back out with the light blanket he usually kept on the foot of the bed, draped it over his legs and tucked him in. "When was the last time you ate or drank anything?"

He blinked and tried to remember. "I had some water around 3?"

"Did it stay down?" Hattie asked. She walked off to the kitchen, where he heard her start gathering up his dirty dishes and filling the sink to wash them up.

"Mostly." He closed his eyes and listened to the noises Hattie was making. It was comforting. It was almost like being at home. In fact, he kept expecting to hear his mother call him for dinner at any moment.

"Let me get this mess cleaned up, no - don't protest, I don't mind helping you." She dried her hands as she reached up and grabbed a new glass from where he kept them on a shelf over the sink. She opened the fridge, filled the glass with 7UP and brought it out to him. "Now, you sit there and just sip that. Not too much or too fast. You're probably dehydrated and need the fluids."

"Yes, ma'am." He did as he was told. The soda felt good going down. Now, the challenge was for it to stay down.

Hattie left him to sip the soda in peace while she cleaned up the kitchen. He shut his eyes and sipped. The odor of the orange-based cleaner he used wafted through the air. He opened his eyes when he heard her messing around in the tiny laundry room.

"Hattie? What are you doing?"

She came bustling out, her arms loaded with the navy blue top sheet he'd had on his bed. "Oh! You were sleeping so well too. I hope I didn't wake you filling the washer."

He shook his head. "Just wondering." He closed his eyes again.

"I was straightening your bed up, so you could just climb in later, and realized you'd been sweating a lot ... so I thought I'd change the bedding for you. Nothing feels better when you're ill than a freshly made bed." She disappeared into the laundry area again, and a few minutes later, came out through his bedroom door. "There. It's all ready for you whenever you're ready to sleep." A warm dry hand brushed against his forehead. "You're still too warm ... did the soda settle okay?"

He nodded. He was lucky to have Hattie willing to come up and help out.

"Do you think you'd like to try something a little more solid than soup?"

"No, thanks." Just the thought of solid food made him nauseous

"Then how about a little more soda? I don't like the look you have, like you've been in the heat all day without water."

"Okay."

She bustled into the kitchen, his empty glass in her hand, then came back out a minute later with a fresh glass, this time with one ice cube floating it in. "Looks like the soda's all gone now. The corner store is just a five minute walk away ... I'll be back. I'm going to go get you some more. Don't lock your door, dear. I'll be back in a jiff."

And she was gone before he could protest.

He woke to the sound of rustling bags and saw Hattie come bustling through the door with two shopping bags. Determined to help, he threw off the blanket and climbed to his feet. It took a moment for him to get his bearings but once he did, he followed Hattie into the kitchen to show her where to put the groceries.

"You look a little better. More color in your cheeks. I got you a bottle of Ginger Ale, that helps settle tummies better than 7UP, and a couple of tins of clear broth - mostly chicken." She found the trashcan where he kept it under the sink and tossed the bags in. "Do you think you're ready to try something to eat now?"

What the hell? He thought. I gotta eat something. He nodded his head.

"Right, let's refill that empty glass with some of this Ginger Ale, and I'll grab a bowl to warm the Mac N' Cheese up in." She moved past him to grab his glass from the living area, came back, filled it and placed in front of him on the counter before grabbing a dish out of the drying rack and put a small helping of the casserole in it.

She put the dish in the microwave while he moved down to where there was a barstool he could sit on. In a minute, she was placing the food in front of him and handed him a fork.

He stared at the food, almost as if he expected it to climb out of the bowl. His stomach turned over at the sight of the Mac N' Cheese but, praying it would stay down, put a forkful of the Mac N' Cheese in his mouth and swallowed. When it didn't come right back up, he tried another forkful.

All the while, Hattie was smiling as she helped herself to a glass of water.

After the third forkful, Colby decided that he had pushed his luck far enough and laid the fork down. "Thank you, Hattie but I think that's about all I can handle right now."

"At least you ate something. I can go home now knowing you're taken care of for the evening." She put the lid back on the casserole dish and placed the whole thing in the microwave. "That should keep just fine if you decide you want more. I'll be back in the morning to finish up on your laundry. You get your butt back into bed and sleep." Hattie leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. "You need to get better, Colby. Who else could I call on to help me with my little chores?"

"You'd find somebody, I'm sure."

"No body like you, Dear." She gave him a light squeeze on the shoulder as she gathered up her over mitts and left the apartment. Once again, the only sign that she'd been there was the slight odor of carnations and roses on the air.

He staggered off to the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. He didn't even bother to crawl under the sheets.


Day Three

Sleep came fitfully to Colby. He would drift off for a couple of hours, only to be awaken by his stomach. It dragged him awake at 2 A.M. forcing him into the bathroom yet again, emptying his stomach of a second helping of Mac N' Cheese.

Okay, shouldn't have had that second helping. He thought, rocking back on his heels. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared up at the ceiling. The first helping stayed down, why not the second?

He flushed the toilet, lurched to his feet and got a drink of water from the sink. Man, I hope whatever this is runs its course soon. He stumbled back into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed.

His stomach kicked him awake two and a half-hours later with such serious pain that he began wishing he were dead. He struggled through it but it was hard and getting harder. When the pain subsided, his mind cleared enough for him to pick up his cell phone and give Don an update. Like the day before, he dialed the number from memory and waited.

"Eppes." A sleepy voice greeted Colby's ear.

"Don? It's Colby." He gritted his teeth, waiting for the wave of pain to wash through him.

"Colby? What's going on?" Don asked. The change in his voice and a fast glance at a clock told Colby that he had just woken his boss up at 4:30 in the morning.

"Nothing, really. But this stomach bug is really kicking my butt. I'm not gonna make it in today." Colby said, trying to sound as positive as possible.

"Okay. Are you sure you don't need anything?" Don asked. "I can be there in twenty minutes."

"No, really, I don't need anything. I just wanted you to know." Colby replied, a spasm gripped his frame, robbing him of his ability to breathe for a moment.

"All right. Now, listen, I want you to call me tomorrow no matter what, whether you're coming in tomorrow or not. I don't care what time it is. Just call, understand?" Don had never sounded so worried to Colby's ears before, but he didn't want the man losing any more sleep than he already had.

"Yes, sir." Colby swallowed. "You'll hear from me, I promise. I think I'm going through the worst right now. You'll see me tomorrow, I'm sure." He ended the conversation, dropped the phone on the nightstand and fell back to sleep.


Aside from the conversation with Don, the rest of the day passed by in blur for Colby. He saw Hattie flit in and out and, at one point, could have sworn he heard her say 'This should have happened much sooner.' But why would she say that? And how, exactly was she getting in, he didn't remember giving her a key. No matter. He was happy to see her however she got in.

She got him to drink something and tried to get him to eat something. She cleaned up after him if he didn't quite make it to the bathroom. She was a godsend.

As the day passed, his stomach seemed to have settled which seemed to allow him to sleep longer and longer which had to be a positive sign right?

Day slipped into night but Colby neither knew or cared.


Day Four

No phone call jolted Don awake the next morning. Colby must've been right. It must've been the stomach flu after all and if that's the case, I'd better see him this morning.

He arrived at work just before 8 A.M. Assistant Director of Agents Wright had a whole list of things for Don to do for the follow up from Rep. Hoffman's visit and he was knee-deep in report writing by the time Don and Megan came in half-an-hour later. He waved them over, telling them "If Colby doesn't show by nine, I want both of you to get over there and see what's going on. I've tried a couple of times to raise him this morning but no luck so far."

They both nodded. When nine o'clock came and went and still no Colby, Megan and David disappeared out the door. Don watched them go, dialing Colby's cell phone as he did. C'mon, man, just answer the phone, that's all I want.


Ringing. Something was ringing and it was close by too. Colby cracked open one eye to search for the noise but quit after a few seconds. It was too much of a bother.

Hattie'll answer it. He thought before sinking back into sleep.


Megan made the trip from the F.B.I. building to Colby's apartment in record time. It was truly amazing how quickly the traffic scattered when a siren and flashing lights were seen.

"You know, Colby's gonna be hacked when we show up and nothing's wrong outside of a dead cell battery." David said, climbing from the Suburban.

"Serves him right then." Megan replied, slamming her door shut. "He managed to call the other two days but not today? Besides, Don's also been trying to call him on his landline with the same result. Which apartment is his?" she asked.

David pointed at the third building on the left. "He's on the second floor, number 245."

"If he doesn't answer after the first couple of knocks, I'm getting the key from the manager." Megan told David when they arrived at Colby's apartment.

David nodded and knocked on the door. "Colby? You up?"

No answer.

David frowned and knocked again, harder this time. "Colby! Come on, man! It's David!"


Thump. Thump. Thump. The noise made Colby open his eyes for a moment. First ringing, now banging. What was next? No matter. Hattie will answer it. He closed his eyes.


Megan peered in the window. "I don't see anyone, David. Maybe he did go to the doctor."

David looked at her. They'd both seen Granger's Department issued sedan in the parking area when they'd pulled up. Something was wrong and he was not about to leave until he found out what.

"I'm going to get the key." Megan said but before she could take more than a few steps, her cell phone trilled and stopped her. She looked at David before answering. "Reeves."

"Megan, it's Don. I haven't gotten Colby yet. You at his apartment?"

"Standing smack in front of it. You want us to go in?" Megan asked.

"Yeah, do it." Don hesitated only a moment. If Colby wanted to be pissed, then so be it. Better pissed than dead.

"Megan, his door's not locked." David called to her.

"I'll call you back." She hung up on Don. There was no good reason for Colby's door to be unlocked. She slipped her gun from its holster and watched David do the same. She nodded and he pushed the door open. She went first, he followed.

At first glance, everything seemed normal. The living room and kitchen were neat and clean with only the slightest hint of carnations in the air but they had only seen the front half of the apartment. The closer they got to the back half of the apartment, the more apparent it become that something was horribly wrong; smell being the biggest indicator. It wafted from the bedroom and stopped David dead in his tracks.

"Breathe through your mouth." Megan told him. "Where's a light switch?"

David found a switch and flipped on the lights, half wishing he hadn't.

Colby lay sprawled on his back on the bed. The navy blue sheets crumpled and tossed aside. Glasses littered the bedside table and the smell of vomit hung in the air.

"Colby!" David holstered his gun and knelt down by the bed. He grabbed Colby's arm, shaking him gently. "Colby? Wake up. Come on, open your eyes. Look at me. It's David."

Colby's left hand grabbed David's arm and his eyelids fluttered open. David's joy, however, was short lived. Colby's gaze was unfocused and glassy. He looked straight through David. "Dad?" He mumbled. "I don't feel so good." His grip slackened and his eyelids slid shut.

"Megan? Call 9-1-1. He just called me 'Dad'."

"Already did." Megan replied. "My God, what the Hell happened?" She crouched down next to David, checking Colby's vital signs. "We got here in time. Just keep repeating that to yourself. The ambulance will be here at any moment."

"Excuse me!" A new voice reached their ears. "Who are you and what have you done to Colby?"

Both agents looked toward the open bedroom door and saw the living embodiment of Miss Marple standing there and she did not look happy. She stalked into the room, a scowl on her face. David stood, his hand automatically reaching for his weapon. Megan stood up next to him. She put her hand on his arm and stepped forward.

"We're co-workers of Colby's." Megan told her, in her most calm voice. "I'm Agent Reeves, this is Agent Sinclair. We were concerned because we hadn't heard from Colby. So, we came by to see him. Who are you?"

"I'm Hattie MacPherson. I've been helping Colby out while he's sick." She eyed Megan distrustfully. "Do you have any I.D.?"

Megan nodded. She pulled her badge out and held it out for Hattie to inspect. David followed suit.

"Oh, dear." Hattie murmured, after looking at their badges. "Oh dear, oh dear." Her hands began to twist together.

"Hattie?" Megan asked, softly. "How long has Colby been like this?"

"It can't have been too long." Hattie said. "He was better last night."

"Tell me about last night." Megan requested as she managed to back Hattie up until she was back in the hallway. Until they learned just what exactly Hattie's relationship to Colby was, she wanted as much distance between the two as possible. For all they knew, Hattie could be, not was - just could be, the reason Colby looked so bad.

"I came up around 7:30," Hattie responded. "Just after Wheel of Fortune. I got him to drink something and I think he ate something too but I don't remember." Hattie's hands twisted together faster and faster. "He went right to sleep. I didn't think anything of it." She stopped talking and looked at the floor, her hands moving to cover her face. "I thought about calling an ambulance last night but I didn't! I didn't think he was that bad off!" She wailed, looking up at Megan, those active hands of hers reaching out to clasp Megan's arms. "You've got to believe me!"

Megan was torn between wanting to hug Hattie or arrest her. In the end, she did neither. "Where's your apartment?"

"I'm directly downstairs, number 145."

"I need you to go down to your apartment and stay there. Someone, probably Agent Sinclair or myself, will be back to talk to you. All right?"

Hattie nodded.

"Would you like me to come with you?" Megan asked. I don't believe I'm doing this. Colby could be dying for all I know and here I am focusing on this old woman as if she was a potential suspect!

Hattie's hands started to twist together again but no answer was forthcoming.

"Hattie?"

"No, no, I'll be all right. I'm not a child." Her response was a tiny bit peevish,

"All right then. One of us will be by later." Megan repeated her earlier statement. It was absolutely imperative to get Hattie into one place and have her stay there. Megan couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that she might be the key to understanding what, exactly, had happened to Granger.

Hattie nodded again and went out the apartment door in a very different demeanor than from when she came in earlier. Megan followed her out, watching to see where she went. "I'm going to guide the ambulance in." She called back to David.

"Got'cha." David called back. He looked down at Colby and gripped his arm. "Just hang on, Colby, help's on the way."


Megan was gone no longer than five minutes, maybe six but to David, it was an eternity. There was nothing he could do. He was totally and utterly helpless. All the training he'd had and he couldn't do a damn thing to help his partner, his friend.

How long has he been like this? How long has he been lying here? David closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to keep his mind focused but the image of Colby's glassy stare and nonsensical statement took hold and played over and over and over in his mind's personal cinema. His eyes popped open and he shook his head in an attempt to dispel the image. What the hell kind of flu is this?

"You're gonna be okay, Colby. You're gonna be fine." He said, holding on tight to Colby's arm, giving himself - and the stricken agent - something to cling to. "You're gonna be okay." Maybe if he said it enough times, it would become the truth.

"Right through the open door, Number 245. He's in the bedroom." Megan's voice reached David's ears and he was never happier than at that moment.

"What's his name?" A male voice asked, presumably it belonged to one of the paramedics.

"Colby Granger." Megan replied.

"Hang on, help's here." David told Colby.

Shortly, two paramedics came into view, a man and a woman, pushing a gurney. It occurred to David that they'd had to carry the gurney up the stairs and would have to carry it back down with Colby on it.

Hell of a way to get a workout.

Megan waved him out into the hallway, giving the paramedics room to work. "David? How are you doing?" she asked, concern coloring her words.

"How do you think I'm doing?" He said, not wanting to snap but failing miserably.

She nodded. "You're going with him." It was not a question.

"Yeah."

"I'll call Don and give him an update."

The paramedics rolled past with Colby strapped down on the gurney. "Either one of you riding with him?" The male paramedic asked.

"I am." David said.

The male paramedic nodded. David followed them and Megan followed David. She stopped just long enough to lock the apartment's door. Unless Colby had the flu, for some reason her mind was supplying doubt to that theory, his apartment was now a crime scene. The mental image those words conjured up sent a chill down her spine.

"Colby will be fine." She muttered to herself. "He will."

She turned from the door and caught up with David and the paramedics half way down the stairs. The stairs didn't go straight up but came to a landing then turned 180 degrees back on itself. Going up with an empty gurney had been interesting; coming back down with a 185-pound man strapped to it made maneuvering nearly impossible but it was neatly and quickly done.

David, as focused as he was on Colby, did not see the curtains in Number 145 flutter as they went past. Nor did he see Hattie's face peer out from behind them but Megan did. There was an odd mix of worry and curiosity on the older woman's face. Hattie would definitely need to be questioned further.


David hung on to the small bench seat, watching the paramedic work on Granger. He had to admire the man's ability to start an IV in the back of vehicle, which was weaving in and out of traffic, without having to stick the downed agent more than once.

His admiration only grew when a sudden stop made the paramedic lurch onto his feet but that was all. "Rebecca!" The medic bellowed.

"Sorry!" A response drifted back to him. "Some fewking minivan wouldn't ditch!"

"He's gonna be okay, right?" David asked.

The paramedic shrugged. "I hope so. You said he first complained of being ill three days ago?"

"Nearly four. Our boss sent him home early Monday. We've had an outbreak of the flu at the office and he didn't want to chance it spreading any further."

"Your friend isn't running a fever, which is typical of the current flu virus, but I could be wrong." The medic grabbed a radiophone and made a call. "Medic 5301, Gardena."

//"Gardena, go ahead Medic 5301."//

David blocked out the conversation as he concentrated on Colby. Even for a white guy, Granger looked pale; and he was so utterly still. He had never seen Granger so still. His biggest worry was that there was far more going on here than a simple viral infection like influenza. David was unable to shake the memory of the mini-outbreak of 1912 flu virus Charlie had assisted in vectoring for the CDC and FBI over two years ago. That strain had been deadly. If Granger had somehow been exposed to a strain like that...

David shook his head. No negative thoughts. Granger's going to be fine once he gets proper medical care.

The ambulance driver caught off the siren, made a turn up and over some sort of speed bump and came to a stop. The back doors of the ambulance flew open and two nurses and a man in a white lab coat helped the paramedics unload the gurney Granger was lying on.

Jumping down to follow his partner into the emergency room, David tried to track the conversation between the medical personnel but it was all Latin to him. He could only watch in horror as convulsions began to rip through Granger, making his body buck on the gurney as he was wheeled into a treatment room. That was David's last image of Granger, for the doors closed and his way was blocked by one of nurses, who put a hand on his chest.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you can't go in there." She said.

"That's my partner in there." David said, staring down at the petite woman.

"I understand that, but you'll just be in the way and I know you want us to be able to do our best for your partner, right?" Her face lit up with an understanding smile of concern. David was not the first distraught cop she had had to deal with.

"Yeah." He showed her his badge and I.D., daring her to tell him to leave entirely. "I'll be over there, all right?"

She nodded.

He walked two paces away when an overhead alarm made him jump.

"CODE BLUE – TRAUMA ONE ---- CODE BLUE – TRAUMA ONE!"

David spun around and looked at the room number on the wall next to the door he'd seen Granger pushed through. 'Trauma One'

"Oh no! No, no, no! Granger, you'd better not die on me, you son of a bitch!" He collapsed against the nurse's station as a team if medical personnel ran by him into the trauma room. "You still owe me a six pack."