Series: Numb3rs
Season: 2
Part: 3/7
Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Numb3rs and its lovely characters don't belong to me. They do to CBS. Unknown OC belongs to me. We all know the drill…

A/N: This chapter has only been partially beta-ed. I hope my English grammar is not too bad. It often gets mixed up with my French. Thanks for your understanding.

Second, SPOILER WARNING: this story takes place right after the episode "DARK MATTER".

Don't Stay Away From Home For Too Long

Chapter 3: Home Is With Me and Dad.

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On the 68th day fallowing the evening at Churchill's, Don phoned his father to inform him that he was on his way home from Washington. In turn, Alan called Charlie.

"Would you want to come and greet your brother at the airport with me?"

"Sure. At what time is Don's flight coming in?" Charlie asked.

"At 6:35 P.M. I could pick you up at Cal Sci. by 4:00. It should give us enough time to get there despite the traffic," his father suggested.

"That's fine. I'll wait for you by the front entrance of my building."

At 6:40 P.M, Alan and Charlie arrived at LAX. They noticed on one of the monitors that Don's plane had landed on time. They hurried up to the appropriate exist. They waited for about 15 minutes before seeing Don come their way. His left hand was holding to the handle of a suitcase, which was rolling behind him. A carry-on bag was hanging from his right shoulder.

Charlie and his father exchanged a quick worried glance. Even from a distance, Don looked warned out.

"Donnie!" Alan greeted his oldest son.

"Dad, Charlie. It's good to see you. Thanks for coming."

"I'm glad you called. Let me take that for you," Alan said as he reached for the suitcase.

"And let me have your bag before your laptop ends up on the floor," Charlie offered.

"Thanks, Chuck," Don said with a tired smile.

Charlie would have reminded his brother not to call him 'Chuck', had Don not sounded so relieved to have the weight of his computer bag taken off his shoulder.

"How was your flight?" Alan asked casually.

"Good. I slept most of the way. The Flight Attendant had to wake him up when we started our descent on L.A. I could have slept some more."

"I believe that," his father agreed, seizing him up from head to toe. "To tell you the truth, Donnie, you looked dead on your feet."

"I pretty much feel like it, too," Don confessed. "I think I am coming down with the flu or something."

"Nice of you to come home so you can pass it on to us," Charlie teased him.

"I'll stay clear. I'll just go to my apartment and sleep it off for a day or two."

"No-no." Alan disagreed. "Flu or not, you're coming to the house. You promised me that you would be home every two weeks. Yet, I haven't seen you in two months! Now, you know there's got to be consequences to that. One of which will be to let me fuss over you until I you look alive, again."

Don shook his head.

"You know, Bro. It's only fair," Charlie chipped in. "He had only me to fuss over during the time you were gone. It's your turn, now."

"Uh-uh… Maybe I should have gone back to Montreal, as I was supposed too," Don muttered.

"But you decided to come home, instead," Alan pointed out.

"Yeah, I did. I got to the airport and just felt like coming home. So, I cancelled everything and jumped on the first plane out for L.A." Don looked from his father to his brother. "I'm glad I did. Really."

"So, are we, Son"

Soon they were on their way to house. They had been on the road for less then fifteen minutes when Alan noticed that Don had fallen back to sleep in the front passenger seat. Charlie saw his father extend a hand and touch Don's pale cheek.

"I'm afraid he might be right about that flu," Alan commented. "He's warm to the touch. I was thinking we could stop for a pizza, but I'm starting to believe it would be better just go straight home. What do you think, Charlie?"

"Might as well."

They reached the house at twenty minutes past eight. Alan shook Don awake and told him to get settled in the house while Charlie and he took care of the suitcase and carry-on bag.

Charlie found his brother back in the kitchen getting himself a glass of water. He washed down two pills, put back the glass on the counter, and then rubbed his lower back and hips with his hands.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Charlie. Just sore. With the jetlag and everything, it makes a long day."

"That's true, it way past 11:00 P.M. in Washington," Charlie noted.

They turned around to see their father walk through the bating doors.

"I don't know about you two, but I am starving!" Alan said. "What would you like?"

"Nothing for me, Dad" Don replied. "I had dinner hours ago. I'm just gonna go hit the sack, if you don't mind. I'm beat."

"You go right ahead, Donnie," Alan encouraged him. "We'll catch up tomorrow, once you feel better."

"Thanks. Good night"

"Good night," Alan and Charlie both called after him.

There was not much catching up done on the following day. Don got up by six. He joined his father for breakfast. He managed to get down a glass of orange juice and piece of toast with jelly.

By the time, Charlie found his way to the kitchen, at 7:35 a.m.; Don was stiffly rising from the dinning table. He mumbled something about hacking all over and returning to bed. Charlie and his father then watched him painfully make the trek back up the stairs.

Charlie came home by 4:30 P.M. that afternoon to learn that his brother had kept on sleeping most of the day. He had eaten some lunch to vomit it back less then ten minutes later. By 6:00 P.M. Alan coaxed Don up long enough so he could try some soup and take more Tylenol for his fever and muscle aches.

"His fever has been on the rise," Alan informed Charlie, as they observed Don sleep from the doorway of his bedroom. "If it isn't down by tomorrow morning, I'll bring him to a doctor."

"Good luck with that," Charlie said.

"He's already in no shape to put up a fight of any kind with me. If this keeps up, I'll have to literally drag him to a doctor." Alan stated. "He's trying to hide it, but I can see that he has severe muscle pains and headaches. He's been having chills and some dizzy spells. He's been nauseous all day, too. He even vomited a few times."

"Rough. Let's hope the night does him some good," Charlie wished.

Alan simply nodded. Concern was written all over his face.

By the time Charlie came down the stairs, the following morning, he found his brother making his way back up.

"Done with the bathroom?" Don rasped out.

"Yeah. It's all yours."

"Good, 'cause I need a shower," Don told him. He was already out of breath after a few steps.

"Yeah, you do," his brother teased him, trying not to show how troubled his was by Don's deteriorating condition.

Charlie found his father sipping coffee at the dinning table, a paper spread in front of him.

"Morning, Dad. Did you convince Don to go see a doctor?"

"I did, but your brother has in his head that he'll stop by his office, first. He said that he turned his cell phone back on long enough to notice that he had 17 messages. He didn't dare estimate how many e-mails were currently sitting in his inbox."

"He probably has quite a few," Charlie agreed. "Still, he should see a doctor first. He's been coughing most of the night. He definitely doesn't look any better."

"You tell him so," Alan challenged his youngest son.

Charlie did just that when his brother rejoined them in the dinning room, some twenty minutes later. Despite the fact that he was neatly dressed, combed, and shaven, Don was looking worse.

"You know, Don, you really should go see a doctor first thing this morning. It's bad enough you're infecting my house with whatever you've got, you should at least spare your team."

Don massaged his forehead with his left hand.

"Yeah, maybe you're right. I can go to the office later." He coughed. "I really got to drop off these files I have."

"That's settled, then," Alan told Don. "I'll drive you to the doctor's office. We'll make a quick stop at the FBI afterward, then I'll bring you back home so you can rest some more."

"Sounds good, Dad," Don agreed. "Let me go back upstairs. I forgot to bring down my stuff."

"I can go for you," Charlie offered.

"That's okay. I better do it."

Charlie knew Don's refusal meant that he didn't want his little brother to go through some disturbing FBI material.

Once again, Charlie and his father watched Don stubbornly make the journey back up to his bedroom on his own.

Alan sighed with dismay, and then gathered the plates that were on the table. He followed his youngest son to the kitchen.

"I wasn't expecting a fight," he remarked. "But that was…"

"Too easy." Charlie finished for him. "That's not like Don."

His father nodded. "At what time is your class this morning?"

"10:30. I'll be done by noon. Why don't you call me then to give me an update on Don?"

"I will. If everything works out, maybe we could have lunch all three of us, together," Alan suggested.

Charlie was about to agree when both men heard something hit the floor over their heads. They exchanged a worried look. Quickly, Alan made his way out of the kitchen, Charlie on his heels.

"Don!" he called from the bottom of the staircase. "Donnie! Are you all right?"

When he received no answers from his oldest son, Alan took the stairs two at a time on his way up. His heart almost stopped when he saw Don sprawled on the floor of his bedroom.

"Donnie!" he shouted. He came knelling down by his son. "Don, can you hear me? It's Dad." Alan reached for his son's cheek. "Oh Donnie, you're burning up."

"Dad?" Charlie ventured, shocked by the scene in front of him.

"Charlie!" his father turned to face him. "Don't just stand there. Call 9-1-1."

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Charlie distractively answered the phone as he kept an eye on the paramedics. They were transferring his brother from the stair-chair they had used to bring down Don from the house second level to an awaiting stretcher in the living room.

"Hello?"

"Charlie?"

"Hey, Megan. I can't really talk right now. Can I call you back?"

"Sorry, Charlie. It's important. Don turned his cell phone off and we've been trying to reach him. Have you heard from your brother in the last two days?"

"He's here, Megan. Paramedics are about to get him to the hospital. I'll call you back, okay?" he asked, not trusting himself capable of explaining the situation.

"No, Charlie. Not okay. I need to speak with those paramedics right away!"

"What?"

"Charlie, just let me talk to one of them," she told him sternly.

"Sir," he called one of the EMT. "Megan… Agent Megan Reeves form the FBI wants to talk to you."

Annoyance quickly flashed in the paramedic's eyes before he took the phone. "This is Todd Burlow… It's seems Agent Eppes has a serious case of the flu. He's been in and out of consciousness due to high fever…. Oh, I see… No, I know it's not contagious. Just a sec… Dwayne, call dispatch ask for the protocols for HPS."

Alan looked up from his position at Don's head. "HPS? What's going on?" he demanded. "Charlie, do you know?"

Charlie shook his head slightly. He felt so sick; he feared throwing up in the middle of the living room. His eyes came on Dwayne. The EMT was now reciting numbers over his radio – BP: 187/100; pulse: 112; temp: 102.3. The numbers, usually so reassuring, did nothing to comfort Charlie this time.

"We need to get going ASAP," Dwayne told his partner. "We're going to UCLA Medical."

Todd Burlow relayed the information to Megan, and then handed the phone to Alan.

"Megan, what's going on?" Charlie heard his father asked. "…I understand. Alright, Charlie and I will see you there."

How could his father be so calm?

Charlie stayed rooted in one place as he watched his brother being whisked away into the ambulance.

"Come on, Son," Alan encouraged him gently. "Let's go."

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TBC

A/N: Taking a deep breathes.

Hope you liked it.