Nixie
Disclaimer: The Numb3rs characters are currently not in my possession—I'm currently working on an evil plan to remedy that however…muhhahaha!
A/N: Ok I have a pretty picture in my head for what I want this chapter to contain—let's see how close I get shall we? Oh and all official stuff—I'm making it up—same as always
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Chapter Six: Storms in Africa (Enya)
The three weeks following Don's visit to the New York hospital were hectic at best. 'Jane' had yet to speak, yet with Don's persistent prodding she was giving the FBI a wealth of knowledge by drawing, picking out photographs, pointing out certain people in a line-up—among other things. The paperwork getting her moved into Don's custody was getting processed slower than Don hoped. The fact that Jane was a key witness to an FBI investigation tied up the process some.
Don even worked on the case some.
He had been doing quite well handling all the things Miriam Wild had done; he managed to stay clear headed—well, at least until he spoke with her face to face.
He had managed to convince Jack that he could handle facing her in the interrogation room and after Don nagged Jack for almost three days straight, the other man relented.
Don handled himself calmly for most of the time he spent in the room with the woman. Her hating blue eyes had unnerved Don but he managed to maintain a straight face. That is until Don decided to try to pull a distracting technique by asking a question unrelated to the investigation; as well as answer a personal question of his own.
"So," Don asked, changing the topic abruptly, "Why didn't you put a name for your daughter on her birth certificate? What, you forget?"
She met his gaze, unflinching, and sneered.
"It's like having a dog," she began, her eerie melodic voice whispered, "I don't know about you, but after I have a dog awhile I get sick of its company and I go out and shoot it," Don didn't like where this was going, but he kept his anger in check. "It's so much easier to shoot a dog if it doesn't have a name…" Now Jack, who was also in the interrogation room, began to shoot worried looks in Don's direction and attempted to guide him out of the room. No such luck, Don was rooted to the spot, his jaw rigid.
And the Miriam just kept talking, taking malicious glee in Don's anger.
"She was the same way—she was just a dog to me—something to keep me company—I knew sooner or later I'd get sick of her and have to 'put her down' and I didn't want to make that any harder for myself by getting all attached by naming her…" Whatever else she was going to say was cut off, as Don completely lost his temper and went over the table and attempted to wrap his fingers around her damn neck.
Don had been keeping his anger in check, but when she started in on how Jane was just like a dog to her, Don just couldn't help but think about all the things he had learned about her in the time he'd spent with her.
They'd been living in a small hotel room and Don picked up on her habits relatively quickly—How she favored the color yellow and had insisted on the majority of her wardrobe being that color—how she bobbed her head along to upbeat songs on the radio when Don was driving her to a day-care facility—how she waited every night for him to kiss her on the cheek and hug her; acts that she never reciprocated but Don was pleased with the fact that she wouldn't go to bed until the nightly ritual was done—How she had frequent nightmares and the feel of her small hands shaking Don awake so he could sit on the edge of her bed until she fell back asleep and how after the third nightmare she stopped having to wake Don—He was already ready when she came to his bedside—all these things and more Don had learned and now, now that Miriam said Jane was basically an animal to her that she was going to shoot sooner or later—well, Don just lost his temper.
So Don wasn't allowed to work on the case anymore, a fact that didn't really upset Don all that much.
The trial came and went in record time—Jane's account and witness 'statement' was more than enough to put all the criminals in question behind bars for a very very long time. And now all Don was waiting for was the final ok on his custody paperwork, that and deciding a name to put on her birth certificate.
The day was bright and clear and Don decided to take 'Jane' to a nearby park. He watched her frolic around the playground and smiled as she twirled and jumped. She got so caught up in her movements—her own little dance—that she frequently got her feet tangled up together and fell in the grass.
The first time she fell, Don ran over to make sure she was ok.
By the third time, Don yelled across to her from where he was sitting, if she was ok.
The sixth time, Don merely made eye contact with her and nodded to make sure she wasn't hurt.
She never left Don's line of sight, and Don never lost track of her.
Don marveled at how each time she fell, she never cried out when surely any other child would have. She just got up and kept going every time, turning her face up towards the sun, enjoying its warmth and invariably each time, losing track of where she was going and falling once again. Down she fell and each time she rose again—Don thought about how in some ways the neglect she went through damaged her but he also saw her strong persistent personality shine through and that in some areas she was still a clean slate, untainted by the harshness of her mother. She had been through terrible storms early in life and now she was finally able to enjoy the sun—
Don watched her running and tried to think of a name for her. What he should have been doing was calling his father and Charlie and telling them about his child. Don grimaced to himself. He still had yet to tell them. Weeks had gone by and each week he called his father and each week he strained the truth and neglected to reveal the existence of his daughter to them.
Don pushed the thoughts out of his mind—he'd deal with telling his brother and father after he got all the paperwork sorted out. Don began to sift through names in his head, discarding them or mentally putting them aside as 'possibles' as he watched his daughter play.
Then Don watched as the girl, dressed all in yellow, fell for what seemed to be the millionth time and yet, once again, she got right back up and continued to run and leap—her face pointed towards the sky. The way she fell and rose again and again reminded Don of the mythical phoenix that would perish in flame and be reborn from the ashes, living for all eternity. Just like Jane's persistence to get back up after she had fallen, rising after each 'crash-n-burn.'
Ah, that's it, Don thought, satisfied, Phoenix…
Don watched as Jane, no Phoenix, fell again—this time tripping in the gravel of the playground and not out in the grass. Don stood up quickly as he watched Phoenix's face furrow into a frown. She had landed on her knees. She stood up and then sat down on her rear and looked at Don, and even from across the playground Don could tell that she'd scraped her knee pretty badly and that tears were welling up in her little eyes. Don, anxious at his daughter's 'wound', ran over to her and scooped her up in his arms, murmuring reassurances to her as he carried her over to his SUV that was parked on the side of the road.
Her knee had a pretty good cut on it form the gravel; blood had begun to well up over the cut. He sat her down in the passenger side back seat and began to dig around for the first aid kit he always kept with him. Just in case.
He muttered a triumphant 'a-ha!' when he uncovered it and then set to work on repairing the offended knee. Phoenix sat still, not speaking, as Don repaired her cut knee. Falling on grass and dirt and scuffing her knees slightly was one thing but falling and cutting her knee on the gravel was another story. Don finished putting a band-aid on and wiped away the single tear that tread down her sweet face with a tender hand. He smiled at her.
"See? All better." Don picked her up and transferred her to the front seat, "Let's go back to the hotel room ok?" Phoenix nodded and buckled herself in as Don went around and got into the driver's seat.
Don started the vehicle and pulled out. He was getting the hang of this whole 'dad' thing—well so far anyway—Phoenix still had yet to speak; a fact that was beginning to worry Don.
At least I have a name for her now…Don thought.
"So," Don said to the child, "What do you think about the name Phoenix?"
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A/N: OK originally I was going to put another part in this chapter but I think I'm going to just stick it at the beginning of the next chapter as this one is pretty well wrapped up—R&R! Constructive criticism appreciated.