Author: DreamBrother
Disclaimer: Numb3rs, nor the Pink Panther, are mine. Don't sue.
Author's Note: Time to wind things down, yeah?
C is for Cat Burglar (Part VI)
Charlie sat in the waiting room, arms crossed, head leaning back against the wall, eyes fixed on a spot diagonally opposite on the ceiling above. No emotions could be gleaned from his body language although any on-looker would be certain that it would take more than a mention of the man's name to capture his attention.
Charlie had accompanied the paramedics to the hospital, no-one questioning his desire to be with his brother until the doctors got their hands on him, Pasadena PD staying behind to investigate and process the 'scene', his living room. Once Don had been wheeled away where he couldn't follow, Charlie made his way to the nurses' station and asked to use the telephone, considering the fact his cell-phone was with the man whose actions necessitated his being in a hospital waiting room in the first place. His ability to remember numbers came in handy as he was able to recall Megan's number without any difficulty. Considering it was late at night and Megan would probably be enjoying a break from the multitude of cases they had had to investigate constantly for the past week, just like his brother had been before they had been interrupted, Charlie wasn't surprised that it took longer than a ring or two for Megan to answer, and that to with caution, seeing as it was an unknown number.
"Megan? It's Charlie,"
"Charlie? What's up? Where are you calling from? Everything alright?" asked Megan one after another, concern lacing her voice.
"I'm calling from the hospital. Don was shot-" began Charlie but was cut off.
"Hospital? Don? Shot? Charlie, what the hell happened?" fired Megan, fear making her jump the gun, seeing as Charlie was going to explain in the first place, before she had interrupted him.
"We were at home; we didn't notice a burglar had broken in. He shot Don before we could do anything," elaborated Charlie, his voice not betraying any of his inner turmoil and anxiety.
"Ok. Ok. The LAPD must already be there, you called 911. How's Don? What have the doctors said?" asked Megan, calmly, the FBI agent in her taking over. Faintly, Charlie could hear the rustle of cloth from the other end.
"Doctors haven't said anything but I've been told he's been taken into surgery," stated Charlie.
"Ok. He'll be fine, Charlie, don't worry. This is Don we're talking about. Listen, I need to call Colby and David in this, Don would have my head if we didn't immediately work to catch the guy. Can you tell me what stuff he took?" asked Megan.
"He took a lot of traceable stuff, pretty stupid for him, considering he looked experienced and smart. He took my car, our cell-phones, my laptop and the DVD player etc. Laptop and cell-phones have GPS so…" Charlie left the sentence unfinished. After all, he was talking to a person who had spent a lot of her adult life tracking down criminals.
"That's great, we'll have the SOB in custody before he even knows what hit him," stated Megan, the opening and closing of a door in the background. "Look, Charlie, I'll be at the hospital soon, ok, just hang tight. And don't worry, Don will be fine, he's a tough cookie,"
"Yeah. I know. Anyway, I better go sit, the nurses will need the phone back," said Charlie wearily, as he thought of the hours of waiting that were in his near future.
After hanging up, he made his way to the OR waiting room, and he was sitting there, head leaned back, arms crossed, when Larry found him half-an-hour later and put a hand on his shoulder, startling Charlie.
"Charles? Megan called. Any word on Don?" asked Larry in concern.
"Larry. Hey. No, nothing yet. But it hasn't been that long," said Charlie.
"That's good. Are you alright? Have you called Alan?" inquired Larry, giving his friend the once over and noticing flecks of a dark substance in patches on the knees of his pants and near the sleeve of his shirt.
"I'm fine, totally fine. And Dad's out of town. I'll call him once the doctors tell me more. Why should he have to worry more than necessary?" reasoned Charlie, smirking as he remembered his brother attempting to come up with a way to keep this from their father, even as he lay bleeding. Appendix, Don said. Yeah, right.
"If that's what you want, Charlie, we'll wait," and with that both men turned their attention away from each other and sat, shoulder to shoulder, until some hours later, a man in green scrubs approached Charlie, who quickly stood up.
"Hi. You're Don Eppes brother?" and after Charlie nodded, he continued, "I'm Dr. Keats, I operated on your brother. He made it through surgery, he's being settled into a room right now, and a nurse will take you there soon. We removed the bullet, repaired the damage the best we could, his blood volume was a little low for my liking, so we have him on transfusion. Barring any complications, he should be fine," finished Dr. Keats with a smile, watching the tension pour from his patient's brother and see the relief in his face increase with every word he said. Man, he loved being the bearer of good news.
IFCHRISCORNELLISGODJEFFBUCKLEYISJESUS
Don woke to the absence of pain, noticing immediately that he was lying on something definitely more comfortable than the wooden floor he last remembered lying on.
Hey, Charlie got carpet, thought Don at first but then after hearing the recognizable beeps of a heart monitor, thought no you idiot, it's a bed, and you're in a hospital.
Cracking his eyes open, he stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, waiting for the fuzziness to clear before turning his head to survey his surroundings. It was like every other hospital room except his one had a curly headed genius playing solitaire with a deck of cards in the cramped space of an open magazine atop his lap, sitting to the right.
The sight in itself amused Don for a few seconds, as he simply watched his brother pick up and turn over a card from the main deck and look where to place it. However, noticing his brother was still dressed in the same clothes as the last time he saw him, Don attempted to make himself known.
"Chuck playing solitaire? How very matronly," commented Don, the soreness of his throat limiting the sarcasm in his tone.
Charlie's head jerked up and a smile overtook his features, "Don! You're awake!"
"No, genius, you're asleep and this is a very boring, although vivid, dream," said Don dryly (literally and metaphorically).
"A simple 'duh' would have sufficed, you know," commented Charlie, noticing the rasp in his brother's voice. He flipped the magazine shut, unconcerned with the cards stuck between its fold, quickly stood up and moved to pour his brother a cup of water and helping him drink it. When Don was done, he asked, "How you feeling, bro? Should I call a nurse?"
"I'm feeling fine, don't worry about me, how are you doing?" asked Don. It was true; whatever medication he was on, it didn't leaving him feeling much of anything. His brother, however, made him feel worried.
"I'm fine, I'm not the one who got shot," stated Charlie, dragging his chair closer to the bed and sitting down, not taking his eyes off his brother.
"Alright. What time is it?" asked Don. He'd observe first, and then interrogate his brother about how he truly was. And if the happy drugs made him incapable of that, he'd get Megan on it.
Charlie grinned at his brother's perpetual need to know what the time was, he made a mental note to ask his brother later why he kept on checking his watch all the time, "It's noon. You got out of surgery around 4 am and you've sleeping since,"
"It's noon? Shouldn't you be at CalSci, don't you have class?"
"Shouldn't you be at the office? You're here so I'm here," shot back Charlie.
"Seriously Charlie, have you been here all night? Have you even slept?" asked Don, his own eyes feeling heavy as he fought his body's desire to sleep, needing to know the answer even though his brother's clothes and unshaved face spoke volumes.
"Yes to both. Unlike you, I'm young and my body does not hate me if I fall asleep in chairs. The house is still taped off so Dad went to your apartment to snooze and Larry and Amita are covering my lectures for the time being. Now that you know, go to sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up,"
"You called Dad? I guess with the house cordoned off I can't get away with blaming my appendix?" sighed Don, taking his brother's advice and letting himself drift off to sleep.
"You could try if you wanted to, although Dad's reaction might not be pretty," offered Charlie, but Don was already asleep.
HAVEABREAKHAVEAKITKAT
"Hey Chuck, are you sure you didn't donate some of your blood for me?" asked Don, two days after, still in hospital but not thinking of ways to break free. Eating the food in front of him would have helped, but there was a limit to what he was willing to do, and eating the goo in front of him was not an option.
Charlie looked up from the paper he was planning his next lecture on, and asked, confused, "Yes. I'm pretty sure I would have noticed them jabbing a needle into me. Why do you ask?"
"Well, it's just that I'm really craving some lemon meringue pie right now and you're the only person I know who loves it as much as you do," said Don, shooting the 'food' in front of him another glare.
"I'll see if I can smuggle some in later on but for now, be a good little boy and finish your lunch," said Charlie, bending his head to hide his smirk. He had seen what was on the tray and he didn't find his brother's cravings all that surprising, considering.
"This 'good little boy' wants to kick your ass," grumbled Don but picked up the spoon and ate as much as he could manage, resorting to speed to prevent him from actually tasting what he was eating.
Don had just begun to plot ways of messing with his brother who was ignoring him for his lecture notes when he was interrupted by some visitors.
"Hey Boss-man, miss us?" asked Colby as soon as he walked into the room, Megan and David behind him.
"If you brought coffee and some decent food, then yes I did," countered Don.
"No contraband for you, we're good little Feds we'll have you know. Thought we'd see how you were doing, now that we've wrapped up all the paperwork on the case and all," replied David, as he leaned against the wall, Colby and Megan taking the remaining sitting spaces.
"Seriously, you guys really know how to pick them. When we hauled him in, the only indication of him moving was the handcuffs, the guy makes no sound when he moves!" said Megan, admiringly, "The CIA should have recruited him. He would have been great for stealth attacks and all."
"Exactly what I thought," grinned Don, "So, what's his deal?"
"Pretty simple. John Miller, age 32, suspect in two murders, never convicted, served some time for assault. Simple catch, though. GPS on your phone, as well as Charlie's laptop, led us straight to him, he was trying to leave the city," stated David.
"I don't know about you guys but he seemed pretty clumsy to me. He kept on walking into walls and tables and chairs and all on the way to interrogation. It must be a nightly thing, his grace," said Colby, failing to mention that he had ''accidentally'' led Miller into some walls and tables. "It was embarrassing; really, you'd think a cat burglar would know how to avoid them."
"Maybe you're right," said Don, reading between the lines and smiling as he met his younger agent's eyes. That's improvement, Don thought, a year earlier he probably would have straight out punched the guy and then we'd have to deal with anofficial reprimand.
Shaking her head, Megan added in a serious tone, "By the way, the house is all good now, the stolen goods are back and the evidence has been cleared, no traces left of Miller's little visit," deliberately avoiding mentioning that the 'evidence' consisted of a nice sized blood stain on the floor in the living room.
"Yeah, I can tell, Charlie's looking a lot less sore and his bones aren't cracking as much," grinned Don.
"That's gratitude for you," grumbled Charlie from his position, not bothering to lift his head from his notes.
Smiling at the sight of their boss teasing his little brother, the team stayed for a little while longer before taking their leave.
"I'll show you gratitude," began Don innocently, "I'll get you some lemon meringue pie. Go fetch, bro, and bring some back for me."
Phew, that's a long one. An epilogue to go and then we are done with this. A whole week of night's writing one story. I'm proud of my consistency :)
I named the doc after one of my fav. poets, John Keats. Cato is named Miller because 'Miller' sounds a bit evil (blame it on Supernatural). If your name is Miller, oops :D. And I couldn't resist the breaks. I got tired of putting 'x-x-x-x-x-' as in previous fics.
Writing this took time. But what was fun was getting reviews periodically from Patty as I was writing (Hi there! You're here, finally :D)
Thanks to all those who reviewed the previous chapters. They make me write when I feel like procrastinating. Now, review this one. G'night. Also, which film would you consider an opposite of The Pink Panther?