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 double-treat for your patience! The next chapter will be up before the New Year. I swear.


James Carter Regional
Quantico, Virginia
(1:00 PM, Local Time)

Having avoided being trampled by the harried, constantly-moving crowds of passengers in the terminal, Jasmine waited silently as the plane carrying Terry's next-of-kin landed at the busy airport. As disembarkation began, she ignored the happy reunions of families that took place around her. Instead, she searched for a man who radiated authority, competence and responsibility in the swarm of passengers. She found one such person, with a carry-on bag slung over his shoulder and a worried expression on his face. The dark-haired man did not look like he had slept well at all and anxiety hung over him like a dark cloud.

"Don Eppes?" she asked, moving to stand next to him. Despite his exhausted features, he was well-dressed in a suit and looked barely rumpled by his early morning flight, a mark of a seasoned agent.

"Jasmine Lewis?" he asked in reply after studying her for a millisecond. She nodded before saying, "I'm sorry that we're meeting under these circumstances." He accepted her offered hand. 'And he's not wearing a wedding ring either… then again, he might be engaged or he just doesn't because of the job. I don't.' Greetings done with, Jasmine gestured toward the airport exit. Eppes' strides had purpose to them, but were restrained, as if he was aware that she had to take more steps to keep up with him.

"You'll be glad to hear that Agent Lake was moved into Recovery this morning," she said as they walked toward the airport exit. Carl had called her earlier with the good news, waking her from an exhausted sleep. He had also told her that he wasn't expecting her in until late morning, knowing that she would want to pick Terry's designated kin up at the airport. Carl did not remark about the hoarseness in her voice when she had answered the phone, but Jasmine knew that she would face some concerned questions from her boss as soon as she got into work. She willed herself to ignore the stiffness in her bones from spending the night on a cold, unforgiving floor as she moved through the crowds.

"That's good," Eppes said. His voice was too calm to be normal. His body language radiated tension, even though his walk, to the untrained observer, was just a relaxed stroll. Though he was unknowingly on the lookout for trouble, his brown eyes were weary of the strain. A young man wearing a windbreaker, carrying a bulky duffle bag in the crowded terminal caught their attention. As their eyes tracked the man back to his family and dismissed the civilian as a threat, Eppes asked, "Is there anything else?" as if he knew that Jasmine was holding back on him. 'He must be a terror to suspects in interrogation.'

"Even though she is out of the ICU," Jasmine didn't want to increase his stress, but she didn't want to lie, "her condition is still critical, but stable." She glanced at him, checking his reaction. He seemed to be handling the news stoically. "Things can still go either way." He nodded, perhaps unable to find his voice.


Neither of them said much as she drove him to Benson Memorial. He spent most of the drive looking out the window. She didn't mind. 'What can you say to a man who entrusted the safety and well-being of his partner to you when you've screwed up?' She parked her car and led him to the fifth floor of the hospital, going directly to the nurses' station for information.

"We're here to see Theresa Lake," she said calmly, masking the nerves she still felt every time she asked for Terry's name.

"And you would be?" the nurse asked cautiously, looking between the two people standing in front of her. Jasmine was glad for the wariness. Dr. Meeker must have told the nurses about the special circumstances surrounding one of their patients and urged them to take precautions about her security.

"Agents Jasmine Lewis and Don Eppes, FBI," she replied calmly, pulling out her badge. After a second, he did the same. The nurse took a good long look at the identifications and nodded, "She's in room 306, down the hall, on your right. There's a guard outside her door. Dr. Meeker just checked on her. There's been no change in her condition."

"Thank you," said Jasmine as she put away her identification. She walked with him in silence down the corridor. She could feel the stress and fear seeping out from him, even though he tried to conceal it. Their footsteps tapped softly against the linoleum floor. Higgins was on duty outside of Terry's door, reading a book. He stood up at their approach, protectively blocking the entrance to her room, his hand already moving slightly back toward his service weapon. She knew he was just warning Eppes and showing her that he was armed, prepared for anything that happen. While it was unlikely that the cartel would attack Terry or attempt to finish what Alverez had nearly done, the mere existence of that possibility warranted a round-the-clock guard on her.

"He's with me," said Jasmine, "Agent Lake's listed next-of-kin." Higgins nodded, lowering his guard, and sat back down in his chair. "I'll be out here," she told Eppes gently. It didn't take a psychology degree to know that he wanted to be alone when he first saw Terry. He took a deep breath before he went in and Jasmine swallowed hard as she waited outside. She exchanged a worried look with Higgins.

'I probably should go to the office,' she sighed. 'I can't let Carl handle everything.' Still, she waited about five minutes before she went into Terry's hospital room, giving Eppes time to master himself. He had sunk into the chair by his partner's bedside, his hand wrapped around hers. At first, Jasmine thought he didn't hear her enter the room, but he turned his head slightly toward the doorway. She hoped that he wouldn't ask questions; she wasn't sure she could answer them. He didn't say anything. Instead, he remained silent as Jasmine informed him that she had to return to the office and told him that if he needed anything, all he had to do was ask Higgins to contact her. Eppes simply nodded and returned to his vigil. Jasmine took one last look at Terry, still unconscious, before she walked out of the room.


FBI Field Office
Quantico, Virginia
(4:00 PM, Local Time)

Lisa looked down at the pristine report form in front of her. She had been in shootings before where agents had gone down, but she had never been directly involved. Other agents or paramedics had stepped in with medical aid and comfort. She hadn't had to sit there for four agonizingly long minutes, praying desperately for help that didn't seem to come fast enough. She didn't know how many prayers she had run through while waiting for the paramedics to arrive.

Lisa was no stranger to blood. Childhood nosebleeds followed by a career in the Bureau meant she wasn't afraid of it. It made her nauseous sometimes, but she rarely threw up at crime scenes because of it. She wasn't sure if that was something she should be proud of. But if she closed her eyes, even now, just sitting at her desk, she could still smell the acrid copper scent, feel it running like water through her fingers. Lisa dry-gagged and forced herself to clear her mind of negative thoughts, trying to reach a state of detachment. It didn't work.

Last night, after the shock had completely worn off, she had spent hours kneeling on the cold tiled floor of the bathroom, her husband holding her hair back from her face while she threw up. He had tried to assure her that Terry would be all right, that Benson had some of the best doctors in the nation, that she had done all the right things. But both of them knew that he could make no promises about Terry's chances and the amount of blood she lost could determine her survival. And despite all of his medical training and soothing, there was nothing he could do about the memories in Lisa's mind; all he could do was cradle her as she cried.

When the sun had risen, she had insisted on going to work. Despite his grave misgivings, he let her. She had entered the office to find her coworkers subdued; most kept glancing anxiously at Jasmine's and Terry's empty desks. Someone whispered to her that Terry had made it through the surgery last night and that her next-of-kin was arriving today. Lisa wondered how Terry's relatives felt, how they had learned the news. 'Was it a personal visit by a Bureau agent? Or was it just a simple call that turned the world upside down?' But one thought kept running through the young agent's mind: 'It could be me next time. And I might not be lucky.' She knew the risks of her job, the perils of her chosen career, but it never ceased to shock her every time someone she knew was hurt.

Lisa had completed her paperwork on a previous case before Markey tracked her down. She barely managed to give a statement about last night's events without losing her composure. With an apologetic look, he had handed her a form to fill out, an internal incident report. It was required for every prisoner-involved incident to prevent allegations of mistreatment against the Bureau. She had looked at it blankly before setting it aside to deal with later, when things weren't so painfully clear, when she was ready to face what happened the night before with professional detachment.

Hours later now, she sat at her desk, staring sightlessly at the black-inked words, making no move to do anything else, utterly unable to pick up her ballpoint pen and start writing.

Now was 'later' and she still wasn't ready.