Nixie
Disclaimer: I don't own any Numb3rs characters, but I did send a letter to Santa…
A/N: Woo-hoo, I've been ungrounded! Yay me! Posting still may be a little sporadic for a while due to the holidays and all that jazz. Anyway here's a new chapter for all you good little girls and boys:-) oh and p.s. all official stuff—made up, as usual.
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Chapter Nine: Stand By Me (Sam Cooke)
The dawn came on subtle feet, tingeing the morning sky with brilliant hues of pink and orange as Don and Nixie began the drive out of the city. Don marveled at the canvas of sky that looked as if some frustrated painter has thrown their bright paints across the blankness of the sky and in doing so, created their finest masterpiece. He tried not to think about the fact that the reason the sunrise was so beautiful in the city was because of the distortion of color by the smog—it rather killed the romantic notions of beauty.
Nixie sat complacently in her seat, only slightly groggy, as Don pulled into the gas station—the SUV's gas gauge practically howling at him. The federal agent grumbled about outrageous gas prices as he turned the vehicle off and got out. He watched with some amusement, as the girl, my daughter; he amended in his thoughts, hopped out of the vehicle and came over to stand next to him. She smiled up at him as his tussled her hair affectionately.
After a few moments Don watched the numbers on the gas pump and muttered as he managed to go one cent over the dollar mark—Happens every time, he thought and turned to where Nixie was standing next to him.
To where Nixie had been standing.
"Nixie? …Phoenix?" he called out uncertainly.
Don frowned, now where did she go? He walked around the back of the SUV after placing the nozzle of the gasoline pump back. There, she was kneeling back on her ankles in the middle of the gas station, examining what appeared to be a quarter; at least as far as he could tell.
Her name was on his lips when he spotted the suspicious man.
Sunglasses, baseball cap, long coat.
Don felt his nerves stand on end and his heart clench in some nameless terror, when suddenly, the unidentified man moved towards Nixie quickly, and grabbed the surprised child placing a hand over her mouth and nonchalantly began dragging her away.
For Don, time seemed to slow—he heard himself yelling—he felt himself running—he saw the kidnapper running—he saw his daughter's frightened eyes—
He couldn't move fast enough it seemed—he heard others from their vehicles yelling and running behind him—good Samaritans trying to help—it all seemed muffled and slow to Don, like molasses oozing out of a jar or a bad dramatic scene from a movie—a nightmare—
Then, in a single agonizing moment, his daughter bit the man's hand and gave an earth-shattering scream that seemed to rip through Don's entire being, spurring him to move faster.
"DADDY!"
Stop slow motion—move fast forward.
The next thing Don realized was the feeling of his body slamming into that of the would-be kidnapper's and then in another instant his daughter was back in his arms, shaken and sobbing and most importantly –safe.
He was vaguely aware of the fact that yes someone was calling the police, and yes he and his daughter were alright, and yes the good Samaritans of the gas station weren't going to let the bastard go anywhere.
It was all a blur—the only thing Don seemed to cognitively be aware of was the feeling of his daughter's small arms wrapped around his neck and her soft sobs muffled into his shoulder. He pressed his lips against the side of her head, reassuring himself that she was really and truly safe and he held her firmly in his arms, telling himself that he wasn't going to let her go ever again.
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A few hours later, the police allowed Don and his daughter to leave the police station. The man had been wanted for several other crimes and turns out it wasn't necessary for the two of them to stick around. The shaken FBI agent gave a statement to the police about the chain of events as best as he could remember and then he was permitted to leave.
Don sat in his vehicle with a weary and emotionally stressed Nixie sitting in his lap. He sat for a long time, absently stroking his daughter's hair and trying not to think about how terribly close it had all been and yet failing miserably to do so. Don felt the lump he'd been repressing grow in his throat and he swallowed several times, feebly trying to quell it and all the feelings it represented. Nixie rested her head against his chest and after what seemed like hours, her breathing evened out as she silently fell into slumber. He carefully moved her over to the passenger seat and buckled her in, allowing only one silent tear to drift down his face. He sat and with a shaky hand, wiped the offending tear away realizing all the wonderful things about Phoenix he was now growing accustomed to, and how in a perilous moment, those wonderful moments had almost been snatched away.
It wasn't until Don was on the freeway that he had two vital realizations.
One, his daughter had not only spoken, but had called him 'daddy', and two—somewhere between the time the man grabbed Nixie and the time it took for her to be back in his arms, Don ceased to have to correct himself that she wasn't just 'the girl' but his daughter. He had thought it would take a long transition to get used to the fact—that he would have to correct himself less and less until finally it was automatic but no, it hadn't been that way. In that single moment, that terrible moment of stark terror, Don truly became a father. All his paternal instincts had suddenly kicked into high gear and now it wasn't any effort at all for him to think the seemingly simple phrase 'my daughter.'
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A/N: Ok—this was a tricky bit to write and feedback would be appreciated. Emotion can be a tricky bastard. R&R! Constructive criticism is welcome, as always.