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: (peeps out from under her computer desk) Hi everyone, this story is back and looks to be finished very soon. (And this time, I swear, I'm not bluffing in any way or form. All I have to do now is proofread…and maybe rewrite…and edit…um…). I know there are some parts of this story now that are out of canon, such as the fact that Amita is an American citizen and thus has no need to deal with the INS or that David is currently dating a someone and not engaged to be married. But, hey, fan fiction exists for a reason. All right, enough babbling. Thank you to all of you for hanging in there with me and, now on to the story!
Benson Memorial Hospital
Quantico, Virginia
(10:09 AM, Local Time)
As sleep gave way to waking, Terry felt a person's thumb rubbing back and forth across her fingers. Recalling a vague memory from her muddled mind, she mumbled, "Don?" It was difficult, but she curled her fingers around his, stilling his movements.
"Right here, Terry," he said, his voice calm and soothing. He pulled the chair closer to her bedside as she turned to look at him. 'Okay, he's still here…so that means…'
"I thought I was dreaming," she whispered. He shook his head firmly, "No, you weren't." He leaned toward the bedside.
"How long?" she asked, struggling to sit up. A sharp sting of pain pierced her chest. 'Have I been out for hours? Days? What happened to me? And why can't I remember?' Don quickly stood up, leaning over her, using his higher position to force her to stay still. His touch on her shoulder was gentle and sent a small shiver down her spine. It surprised her at how little pressure it took to hold her down.
"Take it easy," he told her. 'Right…' she glared at him, expecting an explanation since she couldn't remember what had happened. She had never liked being in the dark about anything. She also knew that she was taking her frustration out on him. It wasn't his fault that he could still make her feel like a giddy schoolgirl on her first date with just a gentle touch. 'Well, not entirely…'
"It's Sunday," he answered, sitting back down slowly, his eyes full of concern.
"Oh." The answer startled her and she looked away from Don, trying to piece together what she remembered, her eyes not seeing the beautiful summer morning outside of her window. 'The last thing I remember is Friday afternoon, having coffee with Jasmine….' She noticed a clock hanging on the wall opposite her bed. 'Sunday morning; so that's over a day that I don't remember.' Terry racked her mind, but she could recall nothing after leaving Jasmine on the patio. She sighed to herself and turned back to face her partner, "What happened? How much did Lewis tell you?"
The questions actually caused him to flinch slightly, but his voice was steady as he answered, "She told me that you were interrogating a suspect. There was a struggle and you were shot." He looked down at their linked hands and she saw the fear in him that he tried to hide from her. 'Jasmine must have told him more than that. But a suspect… How could a suspect have shot me while I was in interrogation? Who was I supposed to interrogate? Garcia? Ramos? Alverez?' The last name in the list triggered a deep-seated fear in her. 'Something happened when I was interrogating Alverez…' An unreasonable terror began to fill her, but Don squeezed her hand and she returned it. He was the anchor that was keeping her from panicking and she clung to his hand like a lifeline until the alarm subsided.
"I'm sorry," she said. 'I didn't mean to worry you. I don't know what I did to get myself into this mess, but I'm sorry anyway. I'm sorry I broke my promise. And trust me, Don, you're probably the only male non-relative I'd ever say that to.'
"For what?" he asked, surprised.
"For getting hurt," she answered. He shook his head, "It's okay. It isn't like I haven't been busy in the office while you've been gone. The manhunt almost ended in a shoot-out."
'And I'm sure you're never going to tell me the details. Typical,' she thought, but said aloud, "I know; Jasmine told me."
"Yeah," Don looked down again, "I saw Coop again." 'Where have I heard that name before? He's mentioned it somewhere….' It took a few seconds before her tired mind pulled out the right conversation.
"Billy Cooper?" she asked, surprised. From what she remembered, Don's former partner was a bit of a maverick agent who still got the job done, but never settled down. "Your old partner from the Fugitive Unit? You didn't mention it."
"Yeah," he said. "Well, neither of us had much time to talk on Wednesday." There was regret in his voice. 'From the way he's acting, it's like he's upset that he hadn't taken the time to talk to me when he was trying to save an innocent woman's life. That's not like him, at all.' Terry did not like the way certain pieces of her memory were falling into place based on his behavior.
A distant, contemplative expression had settled over his face and she knew that he was thinking about his past, the years she didn't know about in much detail. When Kim Hall, Don's ex-fiancée, had left, he had that same distant look as he watched her walk away from him. Terry had tried to tease him, get him to open up a little, but he just smiled tightly and she knew to just drop it. She waited for him to make the first move. When he didn't say anything after several minutes, she took it upon herself to prod him into talking, "How are Charlie and your Dad?"
"Doing well," he answered, coming out of his trance. "Dad took us out for a round a few days ago. Charlie's having a helluva time learning how to golf."
A sudden image of Charlie calculating the trajectory of golf balls while on the green popped into her mind and she couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up from within her. That is, until her giggles sent a jagged stab of pain through her chest, making it hard for her breathe. She bit her tongue as she focused on taking deep breaths, wiling herself to ignore the pain.
When the ache had subsided into something that was bearable, she looked at Don, who had tilted his head in question. She shook her head and he nodded, accepting her decision despite the misgiving written in his expression. Terry didn't want any painkillers; right now, she got the feeling that Don needed her awake and talking to him. He was clearly shaken by whatever happened to her and they both needed the reassurance and comfort of human communication.
She looked at him; he was thinking again. About what, she wasn't sure, but it was bothering him, and by extension, her. When he shook his head slightly, she asked, "What's on your mind?"
He shrugged, "It was good to see Coop again, brought back a lot of memories…" She waited for him to elaborate. He rarely talked about his career in the FBI after the Academy and before L.A. with her. She had given that time period in his life the cheesy, but accurate label, of 'The Missing Years.'
"What's bothering you?" she finally asked.
"Dad… he — I don't know how to put this," Don struggled to describe his thoughts coherently, "he basically accused me, well, no, he warned me not to distance myself from him and Charlie again and I don't understand, well, I do understand, I just don't… How could he think I could do that to him and Charlie now? I mean, I'm past it, at least, I'm fairly sure that I don't want to return to Recovery. Coop was a good partner, it's just… I've changed, he's changed and back then, things were different. Sure, it was exciting during some of the chases, but…" Don sighed before he returned to silence. 'In other words, you joined Fugitive Recovery to find yourself and when you did, you left for Albuquerque. But your father's having some difficulty seeing that you've changed. For some reason, he's still scared that you're going to disappear from his life again.'
"Don, as far as I know, you've never opened up to anyone about that time," said Terry quietly, "not to your father, not to Charlie, not to me." She hoped he wouldn't think it was odd that she listed herself. 'Because if he does…damn. It must be the painkillers or something. I usually don't make this many slips.' "Maybe you should talk to your father about it," she suggested, "get him to understand that you're past that now, that you're not planning on leaving them." Don nodded slowly as she processed her advice. She continued to wait patiently, watching his expression as he tried to put his emotions into words.
Being a profiler had made her a good watcher, able to wait out even the most stubborn people. She had gained the upper hand in many interrogations by simply sitting across the table with a suspect until they couldn't stand the silence anymore and started to babble, saying things they would have never said without being unnerved. 'Of course, I'm not interrogating Don. I'm just here as a friend, listening to him. Okay, maybe not just as a friend.'
"What is it?" she prodded gently, seeing there was something he wanted to say. Though he never hesitated to share his reasoning while working cases, he was naturally silent when it came to personal matters. 'I have no idea what's making him tell me so much about his personal life right now. Then again, we haven't been in the same room with each other since…since we kissed. Has it been on his mind as much as it's been on mine? Maybe, maybe not; after all, he's always so focused at work and we've both been busy.'
"I wouldn't trade what I have now to go back there again," he told her, giving her a look that made her heart leap. 'Don't take it as too more than it is,' she warned herself, but a warm cozy feeling spread inside of her. "I mean," he said a little too quickly, "it's nice to be back home with Dad and Charlie." He looked away, his smile fading.
Yeah, it's still hard sometimes dealing with Charlie when he's in his own world and I wish Mom was…" he trailed off. She squeezed his hand in sympathy. The grief was still raw and there were unresolved issues, she knew, between him and Charlie. 'Hopefully in time, everything is going to work out…including this little issue between us. Why can't it just go away and leave me alone and let me be…be rational!' A part of her pointed out rather petulantly, 'You certainly weren't acting rationally when you started this mess. You kissed him, not the other way around.' He took a breath and purposefully made his tone lighter, "but you know, Charlie's grown up a little while I was away. Sometimes I can still see him as a little kid and other times…" Don smirked slightly.
"What?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. Amita had called her once or twice and emailed when she could find the time, just to talk.
"You know that Amita's almost finished with her degree, but she's staying at CalSci for another PhD in astrophysics…"
"…which will mean that Charlie will no longer be her thesis adviser and professor-student rules don't apply," she concluded with a smile. 'I wish my situation could be as simple as that. A simple ceremony and Voila! We could date.' It wasn't that she was jealous of Amita; no, far from it. The younger woman had confided in Terry about her feelings for the genius mathematician they both knew, and the frustration associated with not being able to act on those feelings. 'And Charlie's probably slower in the romance department than Don is. At least I know that my favorite Eppes is capable of recognizing a crush.'
There was a memorable case the two of them had worked a year or so back, where one of the suspects in a murder case had developed a romantic attachment to Don. It was amusing insofar as watching her partner attempting to maintain proper physical distance while he questioned the woman. Eventually the one-sided 'relationship' went nowhere, particularly after the FBI discovered she was deeply involved in an unrelated kidnapping-extortion case.
"It's about time." She nearly laughed at the surprised look Don gave her. Instead, she allowed her amusement to seep into her voice, "You can't tell me you've missed the looks that they give each other?"
"No," he answered, "I just didn't realize that you noticed it too." He gave her an odd look, slightly questioning but not at the same time. She had never seen it on his face before now.
"Don," her voice was playfully stern, "It's my job to notice things like that." 'If you've noticed Charlie and Amita, have you noticed us? How I look at you, hover near you when I can? I thought there was a moment that you wanted to kiss me in the train yard, but then again, we'd just escaped death. Maybe I misread your relief. Have you noticed how I've always glanced at you while we're doing our paperwork? Have you noticed how I've been avoiding physical contact with you because I'm afraid that one touch will lead to something more passionate, something that you might not want? And surely you have noticed how I've been fishing for information, on our stakeouts, through David, and teasing you?
Do you know how my heart pounds each time you execute a raid, that deep down inside, I'm afraid of hearing a gunshot, seeing you fall in front of me? That when I'm not with you and I hear 'officer down' over the radio that my heart stops because I'm terrified it's you, and that even when you're right next to me, I have to sneak an extra glance, just to be sure you haven't wandered away when I wasn't paying attention? That you're probably one of my weaknesses?
Have you heard the worry in my voice for the past month while I've been gone? I know you heard it in my last night in L.A., but have you heard it all this time? Why did you kiss me back? Do you really want something to happen or was that just…just a little act, a little mistake that happened because of my leaving? Are you in love with me? Do you know that I've been in love with you since the day you stepped back into my life? Do you know?'
Don drew in a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something momentous. "So Terry," he said casually, not looking at her, which, for him, was always a tip-off that it was going to be a personal issue and, because it was personal, that he was nervous about having to discuss it, "have —"
Footsteps interrupted him and a nurse entered the room, a pleasant beam on her face, carrying pillows in her arms. Approaching the bedside, she chirped, "Good morning, Ma'am." Unlike any of the other nurses Terry had encountered in her years with the Bureau, this woman's voice was soft enough that the cliché greeting didn't sound nauseously cheerful.
Out of the corner of her eye, Terry caught a fleeting glimpse of disappointment on Don's face. She made a note to ask him about it later. "Let's get you more comfortably situated before Dr. Meeker comes." With Don's help, the nurse carefully slipped the pillows behind Terry's back before raising the bed, allowing her to sit up without straining any muscles. She winced as she settled back; the pain was starting to become a dull persistent throb as the painkillers wore off. Don sat back down in his chair, watching her with a worried expression.
"Agent Lake," a man's voice said pleasantly from the doorway. She looked up to see a tall, chestnut-haired man in a doctor's white coat, smiling at her. "It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
"Sore," she replied softly. He walked quietly into the room, his eyes clearly evaluating her answer, weighing against his medical knowledge and past experiences. He picked up her chart and glanced through it briefly. He murmured a few quiet words to the nurse, who nodded and left the room.
"That's not surprising," he remarked, not looking at her. "Any difficulty breathing?" With that simple question, the interrogation began as the doctor ran through a checklist of things he wanted her to answer. Everything was routine until she protested — a little stronger than she meant to — against being stuck in Virginia for three months. That's when the doctor threw a bombshell at her.
"Agent Lake," his voice was gentle, but firm, "you were nearly shot in the heart. You were very fortunate to have survived as it is. I would not advise you to fly anywhere until you are fully healed. It would be too risky otherwise." Terry swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her throat, her breathing ragged. 'I didn't know… I don't remember anything. How can I deal with something I don't even remember?' Don gripped her hand tighter as if he knew the fear rushing through her veins and was trying to reassure her that she had survived and there was nothing to fear now. Dr. Meeker carefully watched her reaction, ready to step in with medication if necessary to prevent her from stressing her body too much with an emotional breakdown. Employing Bureau techniques, Terry exhaled slowly, forcing herself to relax.
Dying in the line of duty was a risk she took every day, a fact of the career she had chosen. But coming face-to-face with it was not a normal occurrence. She never went into a raid or arrest thinking that any of the participating agents would die. Maybe the suspects, if they resisted arrest or opened fire on them, but not her colleagues. No one lasted long in law enforcement if they thought like that.
Out of her ten years or so with the Bureau, she had only thought she was going to die a handful of times, perhaps in two or three situations. The only one she remembered with frightening clarity had happened during her year as a rookie, when a suspect had caught her off-guard and overpowered her on a raid. After several tense minutes, her mentor had managed to talk the man into letting her go, unharmed. But for Terry, those minutes had been an eternity with the cold barrel of her own service weapon pressed against her temple, the man's arm across her neck restricting her breathing, the struggle against her own instincts not to scream with fear. And while she hadn't burst into tears or fallen into hysteria, she had prayed fervently to God and to every patron saint she knew to help her, to save her. Her mentor had praised Terry later, for her stoic handling of the situation, and the very first of all her emotional walls were built with that single remark. Don's hand squeezed her hand gently again, bringing her back to the here and now.
When she could look at Meeker again, the doctor continued giving her instructions about her outpatient care. The first chance she got, Terry asked quietly, "How long before I can return to field work?"
Dr. Meeker looked down, gathering his thoughts, before saying carefully, "Let's just wait before we answer that question, all right Agent Lake? It will be a while." He discreetly glanced at his watch. "Unfortunately, I have to go; if you have any other questions, just ask the nurse to page me. It's about time for lunch for you and then get some rest, Ms. Lake. Agent Eppes," he nodded at Don before he departed.
"Three months…" she sighed quietly to herself. While a part of her was grateful that she had the chance to even be irritated at being stuck in Virginia for a season, the majority of her was missing L.A. already.
"It's okay," Don said. "It's not forever. Is if okay if I run down to the cafeteria for a moment? I promise I'll try to smuggle in a cup of hot chocolate in here."
She smiled, "I'm not sure that Meeker would approve though."
"Hey, it can't hurt to get some sugar into you," he grinned back and squeezed her hand once more before he left the room in search of food for both of them. She sighed quietly once he was gone. 'What the hell happened in that room?' Terry asked herself. 'And do I want to know? Who was with me? How did the gun go off? Was anyone else hurt? Why can't I remember?' A part of her wanted to scream with frustration, but her considerable self-control asserted itself and she remained silent, turning the issue over and over in her head. Her thoughts were disturbed once when an orderly entered the room and handed her a lunch tray. She gave the man a small smile of thanks, but she didn't make any move to eat. She knew she would need time to process yet another close scrape with her mortality. Soon, Don returned with a paper bag in hand and settled down next to her again, pulling her out of her reverie.
"You okay?" he asked, watching her as he took out a turkey sandwich, two plastic-wrapped cookies and two disposable coffee cups. The faint, familiar aroma of coffee filled the room. For a brief moment, a vague memory flittered across her mind, skittering out of reach when Terry tried to capture it. She knew better than to push herself.
"I'm fine," she said, quickly reaching for her fork with her good arm to cover up her lie. His hand gently covered hers, stilling her trembling fingers over the silverware.
"Don, I'm fine," she said again, trying to laugh it off. She avoided looking at his eyes. "I don't need you to feed me."
"Terry," his voice was soft. "You don't need to lie to me. You don't have anything to prove. When you want to talk, I'll be here to listen, I promise." She nodded, feeling teardrops gathering. He handed her a tissue and waited for a few moments, until her eyes were dry once again, before he said gently, "It's going to be a while before you can get back to LA, if Meeker has his way. What do you think the chances are of me getting Merrick to find a qualified profiler to sub for you?"
She smiled at him, grateful for the division, even though it was work-related. "I'm sure it'll be easy."
"I don't think there're that many people who can get Charlie to cut straight to the point," he replied with mock seriousness. Terry laughed then and fell into an easy banter with him as they ate. Eventually, the conversation touched on more serious matters, like who would stay with her when she was discharged and how her apartment had to be taken care of. Don, displaying his usual concern for her well-being, overruled her preference of staying alone. "Meeker wants someone to stay with you," he had insisted, taking out his cell phone. Before she could protest any further, he was talking with Jasmine who promptly offered to let Terry stay with her. Outnumbered two to one, she gave up and let them have their way. 'Though truth be told, I'm glad that I don't have to worry about figuring out who to stay with. And maybe Jasmine needs reassurance too, that I'll be okay. If my staying with Jasmine spares him from even one minute of worry, I'll do it, even though I hate being cuddled.'
Eventually, the conversation turned toward Daisy, a seven-month old kitten that had recently joined Terry's household of one. The expression on Don's face when she mentioned the feline was priceless.
"Who's been taking care of your cat?" he asked, slightly bewildered. She understood his confusion; most single FBI agents didn't have any pets since they were rarely home.
"Oh, I left her with my next-door neighbor," she answered before adding, "but she doesn't really like pets in general."
Don said something in reply, but she didn't hear it. Her mind had wandered slightly and she asked carefully, "Don, before Dr. Meeker came in, you were going to say something. What was it?"
It was probably the second time in her life that she had seen Don flustered. He shifted his weight nervously before glancing at her and back down to his hands. After an uncomfortable silence, he seemed to remember that she was in the same room with him and he looked straight at her, "Uh, I was —"
A sudden knock startled both of them and Terry automatically looked to the doorway. Lisa was standing there, apologetically interrupting their conversation. Glancing sideways, she saw that, again, Don had that look of mixed relief and annoyance on his face.
"Um, excuse me, Agent Lake, Agent Eppes, there's a call for you down at the nurses' station, sir. It's an Agent Merrick from Los Angeles."
Terry exchanged a harassed look with him. They had been expecting the call, but it was still unwelcome. She let his hand slip out of her grip and restrained the sigh that threatened to express itself. 'A case has probably come up and he'll need to fly out tonight or even this afternoon…leaving this issue unresolved. And I wonder why my life is deficient in the romance department. Sometimes,' she reflected as she leaned back into her pillows and stared up at the tiled ceiling, 'I hate this job.'
