Rating is for strong language, alcohol, sexual references (including allusions to bondage), and one barely noticeable drug reference. Enjoy this second chapter! And, I apologize for any inaccuracies involving the alcohol. Not a fan, sorry. Slightly humorous. Slightly.
There will be a third chapter now. However, it will not be up until the third chapter of The Odds and Repercussions are ready to go up as well.
Also, for those of you who haven't heard, it has been confirmed that Sabrina Lloyd will no longer be on Numb3rs. Which is why I'm writing this, because it appears that the scriptwriters do not intend to give a reason for her disappearance.
"Send me another painkiller, dearie," Terry says to the bartender, who nods. She is loose now, probably the most drunk she has ever been in her life. She doesn't know what the bartender is giving her, but is sure as hell feels good.
"So, as I was saying, this total ass who's followed me for three months finally gets the balls to ask me out to a drink. I decided to humor him, which was totally the worst mistake in my life. But, that bastard Kenny had just crawled between another girl's legs three nights before, so I thought a date might be fun. Guess where the loser takes me?"
"A Laundromat?" The bartender asks, rolling his eyes. The woman has told the same story three times in a row.
"A mother-fucking Laundromat! He looked like such a geek too, smiling like some dumb ass with a needle up his arm. Hey, my glass is empty."
"You should probably giving the whiskey a break," the man warns, though complies. "You've been knocking them down for two hours."
"I'm gonna keep knocking 'em down until they knock me down, dear," Terry replies. She leans forward, staring down at the shot glass. Somewhere inside her, her sober conscience reels with guilt and shame. How could have let it gotten this far?
"Anyway, the geek was pretty nice, actually. Well, for a little while. We had great sex. The handcuffs were cool."
"I'm sure they were," he answers sarcastically.
"But it was more than just sex with him," Terry says thoughtfully, putting down her drink, looking almost sober. "There was something special there."
"What happened between you two?" The bartender asks. Terry shakes her head, sorrow overcoming her intoxication.
"Son of a bitch!" she muttered, downing the shot. "He decided to take the needle out of his arm, that's what he did."
"And that's why you dropped out of Space Camp, eh?" The barkeeper said, pouring another shot.
"Yep," Terry answers. She picks up the glass, but suddenly, a hand, a terribly familiar hand, takes the glass from her. She swallows hard, sobriety coming back to her.
"You've had enough of that, Terry," Don Eppes says gently.
"Obviously not, geek," Terry replies. "You still look hot to me."
A faint grin crosses Don's face, but concern quickly replaces it. He sits down next to her, and signals the bartender to leave.
"What are you doing here, Terry?" Don asks.
"What the fuck do you think? I left the FBI today! It's been my life for, for… shit, Don, how have I been working at the FBI?"
"Long enough to know that you shouldn't be getting drunk without someone to keep an eye on you," Don says.
"You think I need protection? Don't worry, prick, no son of a bitch's gonna mess with me! I'll psyche them out if I have to."
"And how are you getting home?"
"I'm not. I'm gonna sleep here, with Earl. Earl likes handcuffs." Don glances at the bartender, who shakes his head firmly in denial.
"Earl's going home soon."
"Well, what the fuck do you care anyway, dumb ass?" Terry asks brusquely, catching Don off guard. He has never seen her so angry, nor heard her speak so foully.
"Because, you're my-"
"Nope," Terry says, interrupting him. "I'm no longer your partner, as of two hours ago. You won't even admit why. Bastard."
She begins to rise, but her knees buckle, turned to liquid from the liquor. Instinctively, Don grasps her arms in an attempt to steady her. She tries to brush him off, but finds herself wanting him to hold her.
"I'm getting you out of her, Terry," Don states. Terry recognizes the tone in his voice. It was his boss voice, and when he used it, whatever he said happened. He was going to take her home, whether she wanted it or not.
"Damn it, you're stubborn," Terry says as Don pays the bartender.
Keeping his hands firmly on her arms, he leads her to his car, and helps her into the passenger seat. She leans back, a wave of dizziness crashing through her.
She watches the streetlights as they pass by, and admires the pretty, dancing fairies that surround them.
"This isn't the way to my apartment," she says suddenly in realization. Don nods, not taking his eyes off the road.
"We need to talk, Terry. But not until you're sober."
"Good luck, bitch," Terry says. "I'm not in the mood for counseling."
"You need it," Don mutters under his breath.