Nixie
Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah blah. However any characters you don't recognize are all mine—nyah nyah :-P
Summary: Don discovers that a past one-night stand with a dangerous woman now leaves him with a neglected six-year-old daughter. Don-centric WIP
A/N: Oh and like with my other stories, with official business type deals, such as Child Services, FBI procedures, ect ect—I include them randomly and probably botch the way they do things—keep in mind I'm going for dramatic effect as opposed to realism; I'll try to stay at least quasi-close but no guarantees.
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Chapter One: Invisible Wounds (Fear Factory)
"Eppes." Don answered his phone, still amused by his clumsiness and yet also extremely annoyed.
"Hello—Don Eppes? This is Agent Jack Wilson from the New York FBI office…if you aren't busy I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes…"
Don frowned; why was an agent from New York calling him?
"Sure, I've got time—Shoot," Don shrugged absentmindedly as he closed his apartment door and began to pick up the groceries that had been strewn across the floor.
"Do you happen to know a woman by the name of Miriam Wild?" Agent Wilson's voice asked tentatively.
Don froze; had he heard right? Miriam Wild? Oh no…
The small dingy hotel room screamed cheap yet Don was too intoxicated to care as cold blue eyes stared at him hungrily, luring him into temptation like a moth is drawn into an all-consuming flame…
"I uh…" Don started then swore softly, "Yeah I know her…unfortunately…what has she done?" Don sat down in the middle of his floor raking his hand through his hair. Of all the things…Don thought, and on my day off to boot…
"Can I assume you aren't on good terms with her then?"
"She…aw hell…" Don decided to swallow his pride and get the embarrassing story out of the way, "I had a one night stand with her after a really bad case—it was stupid—but I needed to forget about what had happened and she was ready to go. The next morning she had this idea that were going to be more than just one night of sex and I just looked at her like she was nuts—she got the message pretty quick—flipped out and tried to stab me with a knife…"
"Jesus…" Don could here the agent muttering faintly.
"So I got the hell out of there—I didn't tell anyone," Don grimaced, "I should have but I didn't…I was too embarrassed." Don stopped and rubbed his forehead—the memories that stirred up were…unpleasant… at best.
"How long ago was that?" The New Yorker asked.
"It was about…seven years ago? Something like that…in Quantico. So why exactly are you calling me if you don't mind me asking?" Don was confused—he didn't really see what any of this had to do with him.
"Well, Agent Eppes…we brought in Miriam Wild for being a part of a Human Trafficking Ring—we started to interrogate her when we discovered that she had a daughter who, in all likely-hood, witnessed a large amount of criminal activity and would make an invaluable witness. However, Child Services says we can't speak with her until we locate her other parent, if living, and go from there. The girl is severely neglected—she barely speaks—she doesn't have any idea who her father is and when we questioned Ms Wild, she wasn't very forthcoming; until a short while ago…she gave us your name…"
Don sucked in a large breath…there was no way this could be happening to him. One of the most embarrassing things that ever happened to me…something I just want to forget…
"Damn," Don muttered, "Do you think she's lying?" Don hoped she was. He didn't think he could handle raising a child—he didn't know anything about taking care of kids; he had no illusions about that.
"We aren't sure—look, what we'd like to do is have you come out here for a DNA test—we'll even tell your boss that we want to have you consult on a case for us since you are familiar with one of the perps—just in case the test comes back negative, so you won't have to worry about rumors—I had an, ah, experience that was similar and rumors were killer—I'd like to try to spare you any embarrassment... besides, any info that you know about Miriam Wild would help us out a lot…"
"I don't know much but whatever I do know, I'll tell you," Don paused, "How long do you want me to come out there for?"
"One week minimum, up to two months tops, if you do turn out to be the girl's father and we have her testify." Don thought it over. There wasn't any way he was going to get out of this. He could always say no but that would complicate their case unnecessarily and besides; Don wouldn't be able to stand not knowing whether the girl was his daughter or not. Anyway, even if she was his, he didn't have to take responsibility—he could always sign over custody and have her put in an orphanage or in foster care; as much as he hated the system he didn't think he would be a good enough father. Damn, I'm getting ahead of myself…she might not even be mine…
"Ok, I'll come," Don could hear the other agent let out a sigh in relief, "But I'm going to have to drive—It's the beginning of the summer and flights are going to be booked…"
Don stood up and grabbed a pen and paper as the other agent gave him directions for once he got into the city. Don hung up the phone after Agent Wilson profusely thanked him for being so cooperative and he sank down onto his couch. The groceries still lay all over the floor, forgotten and now completely unimportant. Don wasn't looking forward to the trip—first he was going to have to lie to his father and brother about why he was going, he was going to have to stretch the truth at the office, and he still was getting flashes from the recent gore-fest case.
Don thought about Miriam Wild—and what a terrible memory that was. It seemed odd to Don, how what happened still affected him so strongly. He had thought he was over that years ago…But when the New York agent mentioned her name Don had instantly felt all the muscles in his body tense. That experience had left invisible wounds beneath the surface: on his pride and on his confidence. You can't fix what you don't know is there, Don thought wryly.
Don sighed and pulled himself off the couch. He needed to pack; the sooner he got going, the sooner this mess would be over.
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