Chances

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: This is where things start getting 'fun' and quite possibly, very confusing. I would say that paying attention to the location and time of each section of this, and all future, chapters is advisable. I can't say when the next chapter of this will be posted; it's being polished, but I'm a student and education always has to come first for me. (Plus, I got a nasty virus a few days ago that basically made it impossible to think, much less write coherently.) As for my other story, Secrets in the Sun, its plotline is being very stubborn with me at the moment. I hope to get it sorted out soon. Thank you for your patience and reviews; now please, enjoy.


14562 Madison Road
Los Angeles, California
(1:33 PM, Local Time)

With quiet swiftness, the FBI team surrounded the residential building. The neighbors had all either been evacuated from the area or warned to stay behind locked doors until the fugitive was in custody. Don took up his position on one side of the front entrance. On the other side of the doorway, David stood with his weapon cocked and ready for the 'go' signal. The bright sun and stifling heat foretold a sultry summer afternoon; already beads of perspiration were running down the faces of several agents. Don checked his weapon one last time, listening to the tense radio commands broadcasted over his earpiece as he did so. In a few seconds, everyone would be in position to move in and arrest Eric Warren, wanted for the thirty-five violent bank robberies across three states.

There had been a persistent feeling of foreboding ever since he had left the office; a gut feeling that something would go wrong. It was a reasonable uneasiness, Don had told himself, Warren was considered armed and dangerous; it was unlikely that he would surrender peacefully. So during the pre-arrest briefing, he had made sure that everyone under his command was fully aware of the situation and prepared for anything that might happen. He himself had checked and double-checked his weapon and vest, fully intending to join his brother and father for dinner that night. But now was not the time for distractions. He calmed his breathing and put away his feelings, narrowing his focus to the task at hand. Hearing confirmation from the agents covering the back of the home, he met David's eyes and received a nod in return.

"On my count," said Don quietly, "one… two…three!" A dull thud as the door gave way, "FBI!"


FBI Field Office
Los Angeles, California
(2:40 PM, Local Time)

Don sighed as he collapsed into his chair, giving the stack of pristine forms on his desk a look containing a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Around him, the office was emptying of agents. Warren was booked into custody, awaiting extradition to Washington; Warren's girlfriend was currently facing charges for aiding and abetting a fugitive as well as assaulting federal agents; everyone of his team was safely going home to their families; it was Friday and…well, he had a stack of paperwork to do before he could leave. 'Joy…' He got up to get himself a cup of coffee, nearly running into David who was on his way out.

"Have a good weekend, Don," the young agent said, his suit jacket draped over his arm.

"You too," he replied. "See you Monday." David chuckled at that statement which would most likely be proven false in the next twenty-four hours and waved as he turned the corner. Shaking his head at the other man's slight cynicism, Don continued on his way to the break room.

Steaming coffee cup in hand, he was greeted by the low warbling of his desktop phone when he returned to his desk. With a forced calm, Don carefully put his coffee mug on his desk where he wouldn't accidentally knock it over or be tempted to throw it in frustration. He glared at the ringing device as he sat down, daring it to bring him news of yet another case. He didn't want to consider the logistics required of him to call his team back into the office after he told them they could have the rest of the day off…not to mention their possible irritation. The phone continued to ring and he sighed. Experience had long ago taught him that ignoring bad news didn't make it go away. He picked up the receiver, reminding himself to not sound as frayed or exhausted as he felt.

"Eppes," he answered with his normal vigor.

"Donnie, it's—" a familiar voice began.

"Hi Dad," Don's mood brightened slightly. "What's up?"

"Nothing," the elder Eppes replied, "I was just wondering if you can make it to dinner tonight. I'm making spaghetti." Don smiled, "I'll try Dad. I can't promise anything though."

"You're not working on a case, are you?" Worry and disappointment seeped slightly into Alan's voice.

"When am I not?" asked Don with a short laugh. "No, Dad. I've just got some paperwork to finish up. It might take me a while."

"Yeah, well, drop by if you can. We'd like to see you more than once a week."

"I know," said Don, turning his attention to his stack of paperwork. "Look, it's Friday, so I'm sure Merrick won't mind if I let a few forms slide till Monday. I'll come around, say, six?"

"All right," his father replied, sounding pleased. "We'll see you then. You'll call if anything comes up?"

"Yep."

"Bye, Donnie."

"Bye Dad." Don hung up the phone with a sigh and turned his attention to the topmost folder. Flipping it open, he grabbed a pen and began filling in the blank boxes. 'Keith Matthews' case, Matthews, K.…Where did I put those case notes?'


Office of Dr. Charles Eppes,
California Institute of Science
Los Angeles, California
(3:26 PM, Local Time)

"Charlie?" Amita knocked on his open office door. He wasn't in sight, but chances were he was at his blackboards and those were out of sight around the corner. She stepped into the office, calling his name again, knowing the chances of his hearing her the first time were slim.

"Charlie?" No sooner then his name leave her lips did he appear in front of her. Startled, Amita took a step back. "Char-Charlie," she smiled, "you scared me." He smiled back at her sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said in apology. "I didn't mean to."

"That's okay. Ready to go?"

"Yep," he replied, patting his full shoulder bag. "You?"

"Yes," she adjusted the strap of her heavy knapsack, stuffed full of ungraded papers as well as one of her final drafts. "Ready."

They chatted idly about their classes as they walked toward the parking lot. Amita was teaching a few undergraduate classes as part of her graduate degree requirements and it was an experience that Charlie was eager to share with her. He, in turn, kept her informed about the latest project that he was working on — if he was allowed to talk about it — as well as who was available as a possible graduate adviser in the Physics department. When she started her car, with Charlie in the passenger seat, there was no question about their destination.

It was a long standing arrangement between the two of them: he would invite her over to his home for the afternoon and while he reviewed her latest thesis draft, she would help him grade his undergraduate classes' papers. Most of the time, it ended up that the two of them would share the workload equally and then Mr. Eppes would invite her to stay after for dinner. She would shyly accept the invitation and immerse herself in the Eppes' family life. Amita always took care to return to her shared apartment before nine so that her roommate Rina could truthfully vouch for her whereabouts at night if anyone (such as the university's ethics board) cared to inquire, plus it was just safer to be behind locked doors after the sunset.

Amita had long harbored suspicions that the patriarch of the Eppes family was up to something, especially since she usually wound up sitting right next to Charlie at every meal she partook at his house. But in a way, she was grateful for Mr. Eppes' matchmaking efforts; it allowed her to get to know Charlie better without raising red flags at the university. After all, who in their right mind would be carrying on a romantic relationship right under their parent's supervision?

Then again, as Larry was really quite too fond of saying within her hearing: "Affairs of the heart tend to throw common sense out the window."


FBI Interrogation Room #4
Quantico, Virginia
(6:43 PM, Local Time)

Terry looked down at her notes, her face as still as a statue's blank gaze, as she waited for Kirsch to escort Alverez out of the room. The man had been arrogant and aggressive. He had actively leered at her while making all sorts of double entendres, and worst of all, she had to submit to them in order to get a feel for his mentality. It made her feel contaminated and nauseous. 'A long, hot shower would be great.' From the man's behavior, Terry would not be surprised if Jasmine's investigation also uncovered human trafficking. She heard the jingle of handcuffs before a startled cry warned her of danger.

"Lake!" Her head shot up and her training kicked in, assessing the situation in a heartbeat. She ducked, her knees making painful contact with the floor. The gun went off. Somehow, Alverez had managed to get his hands on Kirsch's weapon.

'Get the gun,' her training urged. "Promise me you'll be careful," Don's voice echoed softly through her mind. 'I will,' she reaffirmed as she joined Kirsch in his struggle to disarm their half-shackled prisoner. Kirsch grunted as he took the facial punch meant for her. Her knuckles stung from dealing a right-hand hook. Alverez had the look of a cornered predator in his eyes — he didn't have anything to lose and that made him dangerous. She fought harder, twisting his hand, desperate to keep the gun's barrel pointed away from her and Kirsch. Her partner jerked his head and she nodded. Together, they heaved Alverez toward the wall, giving them a better chance of handcuffing him.

A gasp of surprise escaped from her lips when she was thrown to the floor, her head aching from sudden contact with concrete. She tried to get up, to breathe properly, but her body refused to obey. White-hot agony stabbed her chest and she couldn't take a lungful of air. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the room, the deafening shot still ringing in her ears.

"Lake!" Kirsch's voice had a note of panic now as his service weapon fell to the floor. Alverez slumped against the wall, stunned by a blow to the head. He was cuffed securely now. Her breathing was becoming erratic. Air wouldn't come.

Someone was lifting her up. A soundless scream of pain bubbled up in her throat at the movement. Voices, frantic and loud, ordering, shouting… pleading? Noise was overwhelming her as the room began to spin. Jasmine was kneeling by her side, her voice calm, but panic in her eyes. Terry felt pressure on her chest and struggled against the agony; she couldn't breathe. Someone else was asking her to calm down, that she was bleeding.

'Oh God, this is bad. Please, I don't want to die,' she begged silently. 'I don't want to die.' Her iron-control over her emotions eroded with every labored breath she took. Tears clouded her vision. It was her nightmare coming true. A cold hand gently wiped them away while two voices pleaded gently with her to stay with them. 'I can't do this to Don. I never told him. I should have told him. I can't break my promise to him. I can't….' Terry's eyes drifted closed, gray warmth enveloping her in its painless embrace that soon gave way to utter darkness.


"What the—?" Lisa's head wiped around. 'I could have sworn that was a gunshot. But there's no reason for anyone to open fire; not in the office and most certainly not in the interrogation — oh God.' Her mind recalled seeing Terry entering the interrogation room unarmed. She had glanced through the file on Alverez before she had handed it over to the senior agent. 'If he's got a gun…' She watched as others shook off their feelings of shock quickly and move toward the sound. A second shot tore through the air, followed by a cry for aid.

"Someone call Benson right now!" Jasmine bellowed as she shoved the interrogation room door open. Lisa didn't think; she just grabbed her jacket and ran to help.


"William, get him—" ordered Jasmine as she entered the room. Procedure was going to be the only thing to get her team through this hellish nightmare. They couldn't afford to panic or collapse, to be human. The life of their colleague depended on them not doing that. She knelt down next to Terry, her eyes quickly assessing the extent of her friend's injuries. The FBI had to keep it together so no big shot defense attorney could say later on that they were traumatized and had abused Alverez or used 'excessive force' to subdue him. 'Though I don't think any of us would mind using Alverez for a nice punching bag…'

"Already done," Kirsch answered, hauling a dazed Alverez to his feet and shoving him out of the door. He left his service weapon on the floor. They all knew that later on, when Terry was on her way to receiving the best medical attention Quantico had to offer its agents — 'or dead…' a part of Jasmine's traitorous mind whispered; she immediately fired back, 'Terry's too strong-willed to die. She won't die.' — another FBI team would seal off the interrogation room as a crime scene. 'Because that bastard's going to go down for this,' Jasmine swore to herself. She heard someone holler from outside that the paramedics were on their way.

"What's the ETA?" she heard someone yell back. It was disorienting to realize a second later that it was her voice. She was sinking to serious shock.

"Three minutes at worst," was the answer. 'Hang on Terry, for God's sake, hang on…'


Blood. There was so much of it. It was soaking the makeshift bandages. Its copper smell robbed the room of air. Jasmine's stomach rolled. She looked across Terry's body at Lisa. The young agent had run into the room and immediately applied pressure on the bleeding wound. Right now, Lisa's face was pale, but her hands were steady and her voice was calm as she kept up a stream of gentle reassurances and cajoling Terry to remain conscious. Jasmine followed the younger woman's lead.

"Terry," Jasmine tried to steady her shaking voice, "Terry, please, you've got to hang in there. The paramedics are coming." Blood was pooling everywhere. Terry's eyes were glazing over and her breaths were getting shallow. 'Not a good sign.' She pushed down even harder on the cloth bandage. Lisa glanced at the older agent, fear in her eyes. 'Damn it, where the hell are those paramedics?'


"Agent Lake," said Lisa gently, her voice betraying none of her terror, "you're going to be okay, but you've got to stay with us." Terry was murmuring something under her breath as a tear rolled down her cheek. Lisa reached out and gently wiped it away. Her hand left a crimson streak on Terry's face. The young agent blanched, but didn't move from her spot. Instead, she swallowed hard and cooed softly, "Just hang in there…come on, stay awake for us now…"