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: My deepest apologies for my late update. I know I promised to have the story done soon, but real life has demanded my constant attention for the past month.


Benson Memorial Hospital
Quantico, Virginia
(11:20 PM, Local Time)

While she waited for the arrangements to be made, Jasmine bowed her head and caught sight of her bloodstained cuffs. Bile rose in her throat, strangling her breathing. She swallowed hard, willing herself not to throw up. 'Oh God, please, let her live. Please. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I screwed up, Terry. Please. Please God, don't… don't let her die…' she begged silently before she began to pray, her lips moving in silent recitation of childhood prayers, fighting tears of worry. Time lost its meaning for her as she murmured ancient supplications for heavenly intervention, uttered centuries-old pleas for her to not hear, not tonight, the dreaded words from a solemn-faced doctor, quietly spoken, as if it could soften the news: "We did everything we could. I'm sorry."

"Theresa Lake?" a nurse called as she stood in the waiting room's doorway, jolting the agent from her guilt-filled reverie. Jasmine stood up quickly and forced herself to walk calmly to the doorway.

"Next-of-kin?" the nurse asked, glancing briefly at the chart she held in her hands. Jasmine shook her head, "I'm a colleague of hers. Her family lives out-of-state."

"I see," the nurse glanced down again at her clipboard, "Well, she's out of surgery and Dr. Meeker will be out soon to talk to you about her condition."

"Where is she headed?"

"ICU, I'm afraid. The doctor will be able to tell you more." Jasmine sighed with relief. Terry had made it through the surgery alive. 'That has to be good news right?' She glanced at the clock. It was past eleven now. 'Four hours…' Jasmine bit her lip. 'How bad was it?'

"If you'll follow me…." The nurse led the way out of the public waiting room to a private room. After indicating that Jasmine should take a seat, the nurse left her there. Jasmine couldn't sit down. She paced in a large restless circle while she waited for the surgeon.

Dr. Howard Meeker was one of the best medical professionals that Benson Memorial had to offer to the FBI. While Jasmine had never met him in person before now, she knew of him by reputation. He had saved the lives of many agents, though he wasn't always able to save their careers. But being forced into retirement was far more preferable to dying in the line of duty.

"Agent Lewis?"

"Yes?" She faced the speaker immediately. 'He's a surgeon?' was her first thought. The chestnut-haired man was tall with wide shoulders. He had a slightly hawk-eyed look — one that no doubt sent first-year interns scurrying to obey his orders — but there was also genteelness in his expression. A charisma surrounded him, a sense of wisdom and experience that demanded respect. His bearing was former military, but he moved with surprising grace as he walked into the room.

"Howard Meeker," he shook her hand. "I'm sorry we're meeting under these circumstances."

"How is she?"

"Critical," he answered somberly, "Her condition right now is surprisingly excellent, all things considered. The bullet nicked an artery, but we were able to repair it. We nearly lost her twice, but she pulled through. She's stable for the time being. Whoever applied pressure — Perhaps we'd better sit down." He guided a suddenly-faint Jasmine to a seat and sat down next to her. "Agent Lake has two broken ribs, one fractured. I've also been told she might have suffered a concussion. I didn't see any swelling that would concern me, but I'll wait a little while before we determine if further tests for head injuries are necessary. But beyond that… she's a very lucky young woman. A millimeter, in any direction…" He shook his head, "We'd be having a very different conversation right now."

"Thank you," said Jasmine shakily as a shudder of relief went through her.

"I don't want to alarm you," he said gently. "Certainly the fact she's stayed with us so far is a favorable sign, but the next forty-eight hours are the most crucial. The blood loss has weakened her considerably and with a possible concussion… I hope she'll regain consciousness soon. When she does, then we'll know for certain that she's out of the woods. Until then, hope for the best."

"All right," she said softly. "How long do you expect her to remain unconscious for?"

"The anesthesia we've given her should wear off in a few hours. Most likely, she'll be lucid by late morning tomorrow, though every person differs. If there are no complications, Agent Lake should be ready for any questioning you have for her by tomorrow afternoon." Jasmine nodded. He reached into the pant pocket of his scrubs.

"Here's the information you need for your incident report." He handed her a folded piece of paper, which she tucked into her purse. She couldn't look at it. Not now.

"Can I see her?"

"Briefly," he replied as they both stood up. He walked with her down the eerily silent corridors. They were nearly at the marked entrance to the ICU when Jasmine remembered her supervisor's instructions.

"Dr. Meeker, Agent Lake was injured during the course of a case. I'd like to post a guard in the ICU and then outside her door for her safety."

"I understand," he replied, shooting her a briefly questioning look. Both of them knew he wouldn't receive a clear answer and that he wasn't expecting one either. "As long as they're quiet and don't interfere with her care, I won't bar their presence."

"Thank you." With that, he pushed the door open, and motioned for her to go in first.


Eppes family residence
Los Angeles, California
(8:30 PM Local Time)

The chess match proceeded predictably, with Charlie's black pieces overrunning the board and her meager defenses. However, Amita promptly forgot her impending doom when Don's cell phone rang. Both players ditched the game to hurry to the kitchen doorway, praying fervently for good news. There wasn't much to be gathered from Don's short, clipped replies, but by the time he hung up, he seemed less tense than he was before.

"How is she?" asked Charlie. Don smiled weakly at the two of them, "She's in the ICU now. The doctors think she has a good chance. I'm flying out tomorrow at 6:30." Amita sighed quietly in relief, but she noticed the worry in Don's eyes. More likely than not, she knew, he was shielding them, giving Charlie only the good news, and none of the bad.

Alan wiped his hands and said briskly, "Then you'll need to get some sleep." Don just nodded in reply. 'He does look tired. Emotional roller coasters do that to people,' she thought and checked the time, 'Eight-thirty. Rina will start worrying.' Knowing it was time to leave, Amita said reluctantly, "My roommate will freak out if I don't get home soon." Charlie nodded absentmindedly, while her words had no affect on Don. 'He's got more important things on his mind than a panicking, near-paranoid housemate to worry about.' Picking up her satchel from its position next to her chair, Amita looked at Alan apologetically, "Thank you for dinner Mr. Eppes." 'Sorry I can't stay longer to help you.'

"Thank you for staying," he replied, his expression telling her that she had nothing to apologize for. She nodded slightly in understanding before she turned to Charlie. 'Help him maintain a degree of normalcy, so even though you really want to, don't hug him…he doesn't need to be thrown into more confusion and emotional chaos than he already is in.' So she forced herself to say gently to her thesis advisor, "Charlie, I'll see you tomorrow." Amita searched for the right words as she turned to Don. 'What do you say to someone who knows more about the situation than you do?'

"Don…she's going to be okay." Amita offered that assurance for all of them. 'Terry, you have to be fine. Please.' He nodded before he looked away. Alan hovered near his eldest son's elbow, ready to escort him to bed. 'What hasn't he told us?' she wondered as she allowed Charlie to walk her to her car.

Standing there in the driveway, Amita felt the gloom that was radiating off of him as she unlocked her car door. She turned to look at Charlie. Away from his father's scrutinizing eyes, the young professor allowed his emotional shields to drop and she saw the full force of his worry and unresolved fears in his eyes. 'I can't leave him like this.'

"Charlie," she told him firmly, "Terry's going to be okay. You have to believe that."

"I know what ICU stands for," he snapped back. She didn't take the tone personally; he was upset and when he was, sometimes he just lashed out without thinking.

"And both of us know it's not a death sentence," replied Amita sternly. "She's going to beat the odds."

"I just…" Charlie's hands were shaking. Amita longed to take them in her own and steady them, but she refrained from physical contact. "I don't know what Don's going to do if Terry—" He choked on the words.

"She's not going to die," she said desperately, trying to convince him and herself of that. "You don't need to think about—"

"I can't help what I'm thinking about!" he said heatedly. "Do you think if I could—" Then he sighed and continued in a quieter voice, "I don't want Don to lose her. He—" Amita gave into her impulse and put a hand on his arm. He looked down at the pavement.

"You're not going to lose Don or Terry," she declared softly. 'And you're not going to lose me.' He stood still for a moment, pondering what she had said, before he nodded and looked back up at her.

"Thanks," he said quietly. Sensing that he was no longer in a mood to talk, she nodded and let her hand drop to her side.

"Goodnight, Charlie," she said, getting into her car.

"Goodnight Amita," he answered, shutting her door for her. She nodded at him as she turned on the ignition and pulled out of the driveway. 'I hope we get more good news soon….' Amita sighed, her thoughts turning toward the other side of the nation. 'Terry, please be okay. You mean so much to all of us….'


Benson Memorial Hospital
Quantico, Virginia
(11:35 PM, Local Time)

Jasmine walked out of the hospital into the cool summer night, the refreshing breeze hitting her face like a splash of cold water, reminding her of her duties. She first put in a call to the cab company before she sat down on the curb. 'Terry's a fighter. She's going to beat the odds. She's going to be fine.' When she had walked into the ICU… 'If it wasn't for the heart monitor, I would have thought…She was so pale…' With those thoughts, Jasmine's emotional barriers collapsed.

It was a while before the night air ceased to echo with her quiet sobs. She wiped her face and cleaned up the best she could before she pulled out her cell phone again. Jasmine made the necessary phone calls: one to Carl to tell him that Terry was out of surgery, one to the travel department to confirm the flight and lodging arrangements, and finally she called Don Eppes.

"Eppes." His voice was tense, braced for the worst. She thought she heard silverware tinkling in the background. 'He's married? Maybe he's Terry's brother-in-law or something? Though that has to be a very odd coincidence if he is, a relative and a partner.'

"Agent Lake's out of surgery and in the ICU right now. The surgeon was cautiously optimistic. The next forty-eight hours are the most crucial." She didn't think he needed to know how close his partner came to dying. "Your flight leaves tomorrow at 6:30 am on Continental Airline. One of your agents, David Sinclair, has already volunteered to deliver the ticket and boarding pass to your home once they're ready."

"Thank you," he sighed. She could hear the relief in his voice.

"You're welcome," she replied before she went over the travel arrangements with him. The conversation was short and by the end of it, she was glad that his tone was lighter than before. The cab pulled up to the curb. She got in and hesitated when the driver asked for her destination. 'If I go back to work, Carl will throw me out of the office.' But she did not want to return home either. Her Navy husband was gone on deployment, leaving their shared apartment empty and uninviting. She needed human companionship at the moment. Jasmine even briefly considered the possibility of going to a bar or an all-night diner. But in the end, she gave the driver her home address. She needed the comfort of familiar, serene surroundings, but she knew she would not get any sleep. Not tonight.


The interrogation had gone well, at least as well as could be expected. Watching from the observation room, Jasmine was satisfied by the slight progress Terry had made in convincing the man to talk. She half-turned away from the one-way glass to return to her desk, but she stopped. There wasn't anything wrong, but Jasmine's instincts were on edge for no particular reason. Terry's head was lowered as she finished up her notes. William Kirsch had moved into position behind Alverez, one hand reaching back for his handcuffs, the other hand pressing firmly down on the prisoner's shoulder. When he had his handcuffs in hand, Kirsch ordered sternly, "Stand up."

Watching how Alverez meekly obeyed the command, Jasmine frowned slightly. It was a good thing that the career criminal was complying with authority, but there was something off about the whole thing. The next second, everything went to hell.

Three rapid gunshots.

Terry's body knocked limply back in the chair by the force of bullet, blood seeping down the front of her chest.

William's lanky form crumpled on the ground, two bullets causing an impossibly large blood pool to form around him.

Voices surrounded her, accusing, condemning, echoing impossibly loud. "You killed them. You killed them." Terry's voice rose above the others.

"Why?" she demanded, her tone harsh. Her body rose from the chair, taking drunken steps toward a frozen Jasmine. "You were supposed to keep me safe. I trusted you. Look what happened. You killed me, Jasmine. You killed me."

"No!" Jasmine fell forward off of her couch and her body collided painfully with the living room coffee table. She stayed sprawled on the ground for several minutes, her bones protesting the impact against the wooden table, her breaths coming in frantic gasps, the nightmare's terror still paralyzing her mind and body. "Oh God, no, no, no…" She curled up into a ball on the cold wooden floor, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. Eventually, she cried herself back to sleep.