W is for Welcome Home

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

(Written for the 2006 Summer Alphabet Challenge, Round 8)

Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I don't have anything to do with Numb3rs.

Author's Note: This story is a semi-continuation of 'P is for Prayer.' Thank you all for the kind reviews. Sorry I couldn't post yesterday; my Internet connection went on the friz.

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"Larry, I—" she began when the car came to a stop and she realized where they were.

"No, no, no," he said, waving off her sentence as he got out of the car. "The doctors forbid you from strenuous activity for the next two weeks, at least. During that time, I see no reason why you should be alone."

Undoing her seatbelt, she leaned back in her seat with a quiet sigh. She firmly quashed down a bout of irritation. It was not his fault that her parents and sisters had all converged on her at the same time to smother her in care, as if that could make up for years of frostiness. Then again, it wasn't their fault that they tried too hard. She knew that sometimes it took a near-death experience for people to appreciate just how precious and fragile life was, and the need to cherish each other while it was still possible. And it wasn't precisely like she was fully capable of fulfilling her everyday tasks without assistance the first week she was out of the hospital. Walking even a few steps tended to leave her winded; standing for an extended period of time left her exhausted. She needed her family's help, but they were very good at overdoing things, swinging from one extreme to the other.

But either way, the end result was that she was starting to meet any offer of assistance, or order that she not do certain things, with snappishness. She was an independent woman who was used to fending for herself. The realization that she could not was one that left her frustrated and short-tempered. Furthermore, with someone by her side almost twenty-four/seven for the past week, fussing over her, asking how she was feeling, and generally waiting on her hand-and-foot (which she saw more as an irritant than anything else), she hadn't had a chance to come to terms with what had happened in the warehouse. She still needed time to 'process' it, quiet time when she could struggle with herself and accept what had happened and move on, time that was uninterrupted. The whole time she was at her childhood home, she either had concerned relatives hovering over her, family friends gawking at her, her nieces and nephews 'playing' with her, or a combination of the three. It had taken all of her control to maintain her good nature.

"Megan?" he asked, concern clearly evident in his voice, "Are you all right?" While she had been musing to herself, he had apparently unloaded the wheelchair and opened the car door, waiting to help her get out of the car. She yanked herself out of her thoughts and smiled briefly, "Yeah. I'm fine. Help me out?"

"Sure," he said, reaching into the car, one hand slipping behind her shoulders and the other moving to slip under her knees. She gently pushed him back and smiled again, genuinely touched by his kindness.

"No, Larry," she said, pivoting around on the smooth leather seat, "I don't need you to carry me into the wheelchair, but I do need you to support me, okay?"

"All right," he said, immediately moving back to give her room. She wondered again how she had been so lucky to find a man like him, willing to concede that she needed her independence, dignity, and space, even when she was weak. He held out his hands for her to grasp, or to catch her if her knees suddenly decided to give way. That had happened once or twice at her childhood home; it had caused a fury of concern and scolding from her family.

Mindful of her injuries, she gingerly stepped out of the car, her hands quickly finding his. She was shocked to find herself trembling as she stood; apparently the plane ride back to Los Angeles had taken more out of her than she had expected. But he was there, immediately wrapping one of his arms around her waist, supporting her patiently as she traveled the short distance between the open car door and the wheelchair. She sank into the contraption with a frustrated sigh.

"I hate this," she muttered. He knelt down in front of her, "I know, Megan. But it's only for a brief time, a drop in the ocean of your lifetime. We'll get through this, together." He squeezed her hand and she suddenly felt tears threatening.

"Thank you," she whispered. He touched her cheek gently and used his thumb to wipe away a tear. "It's my pleasure." He didn't say anything for a long moment, just stroked her face gently, studying her. "I'm glad that everything has turned out well. For you, for us." Then he got to his feet, shut the car door and returned to her.

"I'll get your bags once you're settled," he told her. She sighed mentally to herself, sternly lecturing her growing temper that his care for her was much different than her family's care. He actually listened to what she needed, as opposed to her family who just assumed. She would not take out her bad week on him. Her neck was starting to ache at the amount of emotional control she was exerting to stay calm. She listened to his voice, trying to relax, as he pushed her through the complex. By the time they had reached his apartment, she had managed to get her agitation back down to controllable levels.

"How did you know that my flight was today?" she asked. She had been so eager to get away from her family that she had completely forgotten to call someone and let them know that she was coming back to LA. When she had realized that in mid-flight, and remembered that she didn't have her cell with her, she had simply decided to hail a cab and call him when she got home. So she was pleasantly surprised to see him waiting for her at the baggage claim, her luggage already located and loaded onto a trolley. But someone must have told him.

"Oh, that," he pushed open his door and came to push her wheelchair in, "um, your sister, Caroline, I believe, called and told me. I gave her my number, um,"— he paused to maneuver around a corner — "just before you left."

"Oh," she gritted her teeth and told herself that she would not be angry with him for his and her sister's foresight. It had saved her a lot of hassle and pain and exhaustion. She should be grateful, rather than annoyed. As the second youngest in the family, Caroline had always been the most in-tune with her out of everyone in the family, but since Caroline couldn't chase away everyone, she had settled for sticking by her baby sister's side as often as she could, running interference with their parents and two elder siblings. Caroline had always been good to her, always been there for her, always looked out for her. She should be appreciative of her sister's kindness and his too. But since she couldn't seem to get herself to achieve a state of thankfulness, she settled for being in control of her emotions.

"Would the couch be all right for you?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Yes," she said, mentally grumbling that it would probably do a number on her back and neck, but those weren't where her injuries were. She accepted his support again as she stood and they made their way to the couch.

"I figured that since you seem to be a little restless that you'd want to read and this room has the best light," he said, as they walked, "But if you want to sleep, I have the bedroom ready for you."

'See?' she chided herself, 'He is in no way a thoughtless man. And am I really that obvious that I'm losing control?'

"Where will you be sleeping then?" she asked as she sat down. "With me?"

"Uh," he drew away, his face flushing pink, "I'll be, um, sleeping on the couch."

"It's all right," she smiled at his gentlemanly manners, "I'm sure the bed is big enough for two. And I trust you." That voicing of trust on her part made him blush.

"If you're sure," he said after a moment. She nodded, "Yes, I'm sure." He cleared his throat and gestured at a pile of magazines stacked neatly on the coffee table, "I thought you might want to read something non-work related. Since you've mentioned that you're interested in historical sites, I thought that you would enjoy reading the Smithsonian."

"Yes," she grinned, "I will. What's this?" She touched a stack of magazines with white covers on the end table. Next to them were two piles of ring binders.

"That," he replied, "is something that would probably have somatic effects on you. Those are several of the science journals Charles and I supplement our livings by. I know that at times, I can barely make it through some of the articles without indulging in dreams."

"Ah," she said, wondering if he had happened to publish anything in the recent issues that she could read.

"Do you want some water? Tea? Milk?" he asked.

"No, I can get it myself," she said, already scooting to the edge of the couch and preparing to push herself up into a standing position. He was there in a second, a gentle hand on her shoulder, "No. Let me get it for you."

"I can do this," she said, feeling her exasperation rising. She hadn't left her obnoxious family behind to come home to this.

"Your doctors said that you need to rest," he replied.

"I've rested enough," she struggled to rein in her temper. "I can make the walk to get a glass of water, okay? You don't need to cater to my needs."

"You will let me take care of you," he said stubbornly, "And that is non-negotiable, Megan."

"Larry," she said, angrily, "I don't want to be cuddled. I've spent the past two weeks being cuddled by my family and I am sick and tired of being treated like broken china! I want people to stop acting like I'm on my deathbed because I'm not! I'm not deaf, either, for goodness sake! Everyone there was either looking at what a nutcase I am to be working for the Bureau or thinking that I am an invalid who can't do anything by herself. I have lived and taken care of myself for the past two decades without anyone's help and I think I'm doing a damn fine job of it. I know what I'm doing every day and what I risk and I don't need anyone to tell me that. And despite my injuries, I am not an incompetent fool who's playing 'cops-and-robbers.' I'm not going to shatter if anyone asks me about my work! And I am sick and tired of being told what not to do and treated like I don't have an ounce of common sense or dignity!"

At the end of her rant, she flushed with shame. Here was her boyfriend, a kind, devoted, and thoughtful man, who had a very busy life of his own to live, who was there at the airport to take her home after a very long trip, who was letting her move into his bachelor pad until she recovered, who was standing in front of her with a calm, nearly Zen-like expression while she yelled at him for no reason. What was she thinking? He sat down on the couch beside her and took her hand, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.

"Megan," he said calmly as if she had not just been throwing a temper tantrum a second before, "it's very clear to me that you are a competent, brilliant woman who excels at a very demanding job. I assure you that I am proud of your abilities, not shamed by your choice of an honorable profession. Indeed, there are still days when I find myself marveling at how such a beautiful, confident woman has chosen me to accompany her on life's journey. Your family has clearly failed to give you space, space that you need. I understand that. Post traumatic stress in your situation is perfectly understandable." He tucked a stray strand of her hair back behind her ear. "I will give you your space, as long as you promise me that you will talk to someone about what you are feeling, whether that is with a professional or a friend or me. As for your care, there will be no more cuddling. But that does not exclude sensible concern for your health."

She nodded, trying, and failing, to hold back her tears. What had she done to deserve such a good man in her life? His hand moved to caress her cheek, again wiping away her tears. "Oh Megan, I am so glad and thankful."

She smiled slightly, knowing all the unspokens behind that simple statement.

"So am I," she replied, her voice choking on a sob. He drew her into an embrace, letting her cry on his shoulder. In the back of her mind, she knew that this outburst had been building up since the day she woke up in the hospital, disoriented but assured that he was there for her. Clinging to him, she felt him kiss her head and heard him murmuring over and over, "Let it out, Megan. I'm here, let it all out."

She didn't know how much time had passed, but her tears eventually exhausted themselves and a comfortable silence descended. She felt him kiss her forehead again before he whispered, "Do you want to get some rest?"

She nodded weakly, feeling the soft cotton of his shirt rubbing against her cheek. She inhaled his scent and relaxed a little bit more. He gently drew her up and they started down the hallway together. She was breathing heavily when they reached the doorway to the bedroom, but he didn't say anything, letting her brace herself against the doorframe. When she nodded again, he came to support her to the soft mattress and crisp white bed sheets. He opened one of the drawers in his bureau and shook out a large long-sleeved shirt

"If you want to wait, I'll be right back with—" he began.

"No," she said, holding out her hand for the piece of clothing, "it's fine." He handed it to her, "Then I will go get your luggage while you change."

"Larry," she said as he turned to leave. He paused in the doorway. "Could you, could you stay the rest of the day? I mean, here, with me? If that's not inconvenient?"

"That's not a problem at all," he replied. "I'll be right back." She nodded, watching him go. After he was out of sight, she began to undo the buttons on her blouse. She had trouble lifting her arms without feeling pain and had stuck with shirts and blouses since she had gotten out of the hospital. It took some maneuvering, but she managed to change out of her clothes and into his. When she was done, she slipped under the covers to wait for him.

As if on cue, he appeared in the doorway, carrying a glass of water in one hand. He sat down next to her, on the edge of the bed.

"You've probably missed this," he said softly, tipping the pills he was carrying in his free hand into hers. "Sensible concern," he reminded her, their eyes meeting. She nodded and took the pills, swallowing them with the water he had brought her.

"Now, get some rest, okay?" he said, adjusting her pillow as she lay down. "I'll be here." She nodded, feeling the painkillers taking effect. She watched him circle the bed and then lay down next to her, drawing her into a gentle embrace. She snuggled closer to him, her eyes closing as sleep claimed her. She relaxed, feeling the tension draining out of her as serenity finally found her. There was nowhere in the world she would rather be. This was home, here, in the arms of a man who loved her for herself.