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.
Benson Memorial Hospital
Quantico, Virginia
(4:37 PM, Local Time)
She woke to find herself alone in her room. But the smell of Don's cologne still lingered in the air and the place where he had been lying next to her was still warm to the touch. 'He hasn't been gone long.' She looked at the clock. It was late enough in the afternoon for Don to leave. He needed the sleep. 'He's probably been by my bedside since he arrived in Virginia and God knows he was stressed by the long manhunt before that.'
Then her eyes settled on the suit jacket draped over the back of the chair. 'I guess he's still here then.' She sighed quietly to herself, 'I hope he'll be back soon; we have a lot to talk about. Is that an envelope sticking out of Don's jacket?'
"How are you feeling?" a sudden voice asked and Terry jerked in surprise before she winced at the pain as her muscles protested the abrupt movement. She hadn't seen the nurse standing by the IV line. The nurse smiled apologetically, "Sorry for startling you there. How are you feeling?"
"All right," Terry replied. She noticed the syringe in the other woman's hand. "What's that?"
"It's a painkiller," said the nurse, injecting the medication into the IV port. "We're going to start easing you off the stronger ones, now that you're awake. But this should be enough to let you sleep comfortably."
Terry just nodded silently. She hated being drugged, but the persistent physical ache in her chest suggested that pain medication would be a good idea for the next few days. Soft, familiar footsteps alerted her to Don's entrance. The nurse glanced up once from Terry's chart, but said nothing.
"What happened?" she asked softly, seeing him shake his head. I hope his case didn't take a turn for the worst. He looked up from the linoleum floor at the sound of her voice.
"Nothing," he answered dismissively, coming toward her bedside. "Jasmine just came by to tell me that I fly out tomorrow at 5:00 in the afternoon."
"That shouldn't have you shaking your head."
"No, but your guard and her husband are having an interesting discussion about rigor mortis and bodies."
"Ah," she nodded, "that would be interesting." 'I guess Lisa still hasn't figured out the Myers case.' Terry waved her hand at the white envelope tucked into his jacket, its corner sticking out. "What is that?"
He sat back in the chair, glancing at the nurse as he did so. 'One step at a time, Terry, just one little step at a time,' she reminded herself. 'You know he's never been the overly-expressive type and you're injured; he doesn't want to hurt you. And of course, there is that little complication called regulations that will have to be dealt with, somehow.'
"Case notes," he answered reluctantly. "Your case notes." 'I should have known this was coming. Do I really want to talk about this now?'
"Jasmine gave you the notes for the case I'm working on." she stated quietly, needlessly.
"Yes," he replied softly. With a final adjustment of the IV line, the nurse left the room, leaving the two of them to talk. When he didn't say anything more, she asked softly, "Are you upset I didn't tell you?"
"No," he replied honestly. "You didn't need to tell me. It probably would have given me more sleepless nights than I usually have." He sighed, running his hands over his face. "I know you can take care of yourself. Hell, I've seen you do it. But… warn me if I start getting overprotective of you."
She smiled at his statement; she had always known that he would never do anything to unnecessarily stifle her. "You've never been overprotective of me," she assured him, "and I've always appreciated that." 'Though you have to admit,' a quiet voice pointed out in the back of her mind, 'that was before he confessed he loves you.' Her practical self argued back, 'So? He's loved me for a while. He won't change his behavior because of that. He knows that I'm fully capable of taking care of myself without his help, just like I know he can. Sort of.'
"Terry…" he looked serious, "What happens in the field? We could get— I could get distracted, even more than I usually am."
"And I won't?" she replied. 'He'd better be joking.' "We're just going to have to trust each other that we're going to work harder at being careful, for ourselves, for each other. Don't you already do that for Charlie and your father? Being careful so you go home every night to them?" 'Just like I do for you? Double-check my weapon and vest before every raid like you taught me to, by your example, ingrained as instinct?'
"Yeah," he reached up to touch her cheek, "but they don't work with me, take the same risks. I don't worry about them getting caught in the crossfire if a raid goes wrong." She looked away from him, feeling disappointment well up in her heart. 'Do you think I can't take care of myself? You should know me better than that.' The comforting warmth of his hand slipped away from her cheek.
"Well, maybe Charlie," Don's voice wavered slightly, "but I don't have to face it every day." She could hear the distress that was still evident in his voice as he thought back to the Crane case. She didn't blame him. That day had frightened her too if her dreams were any indication. 'Is that what I'm going to put you through if I return to the field? Is it that same pain in my heart, that worry, that fear that you're going to be taken away from me so suddenly and I can do nothing to protect you that I feel every time we go out on a raid? Could I do that to you? But could I give up my career for you? Would you want me to?'
"I can take care of myself," she said steadily.
"I know," he replied just as quietly, "But that's never stopped me from worrying." 'And by some miracle of blindness, I've never seen you worried.' She stopped and quickly reevaluated their interactions for the past year or so. She came up with numerous times when he had tuned into her moods, hovered ever so slightly near her after a raid, or just carelessly brushed his hand across her arm while reaching for a folder. Terry had always told herself that those were only accidents, or that he was just a close friend who was concerned for her well-being; apparently, they weren't what she thought. 'Then again, maybe I wasn't misreading your signals….' Prompted by that observation, she couldn't help asking, "And how long have you been worrying?"
"I don't know. Years?" His soft reply brought a stab of regret that she quickly pushed away. 'God, if I had known that he's loved me…would I have married Jake? Would I be where I am now? I… It doesn't matter. We can't go back and start all over again.'
"And in all that time," she asked him, "I've only ended up like this how many times? You're going to have to trust me that I'll be as careful as you." 'And I know that you've been in my position more times than I care to remember. And you've never told me about any of them. To be fair, though, I haven't told you about the other few times either.'
"But I know that being careful can only keep us so safe," he said, trying to hide his agitation. If it was anyone else, they would have thought he was calm, but Terry knew better. "I've seen friends who've been more cautious than I am get hurt in the field."
"Don," she looked back at him, meeting his expressive eyes, "I'm not saying that being careful will always bring us home, safe and sound. I was careful; I didn't have my gun with me. And look where I am right now. Things happen, Don. But I'm tired of trying to predict them. We have time, right now, to be just us, just Don and Terry, two people who love each other. I don't know how we're going to work together after this, but we will figure out a way. I know we will. We've figured out a way for the past year or so. Because regardless of whatever happens in this room, I will still love you and I will still worry about you every single day. But that won't stop me from letting you go to the office every day or from leading raids or arresting suspects. I know you worry about me, but that hasn't gotten in the way you've treated me."
"And I don't think that's going to change," he said softly, his hand closing over hers again.
"That's good," she said, slightly squeezing his hand. "As for not being able to protect me," she smiled sadly, "That's no one's job except God's. We both know the risks and the statistics, but that doesn't stop us from accepting them and getting on with our jobs. Both of us know that Charlie can calculate the odds for our survival each time we go on raids. A lot of times, those odds are slim, but we've made it through them each time. The chances one of us being in this position again exist, are higher than most people, but I'm not going to ask you to stop doing something you love, and I know you won't ask me to stop either."
"I wouldn't," he answered, "Even if I did want to. It's who you are."
"It's who you are too," she remarked. Her eyesight was blurring. Whatever medication the nurse had given her was making itself known. She sighed and asked softly, "Hold me again?"
"Gladly," he smiled as he settled back on her bed and put his arm around her. She shifted toward his warmth.
"So," she said, "tell me about how David's doing."
"He's doing pretty well," Don began, in a soothing tone. "He's finally getting more assertive, less hesitant about making his own decisions." His voice, combined with the painkillers and the warmth of his body next to hers, gently lulled her back to a blissful sleep.
Darkness.
Complete utter darkness.
That was the first thing she noticed. And hated. She had found that years of adult knowledge and logic never really did scare away old childhood phobias. Already, her breathing was ragged, wavering on the fine line of panic and control. She tried to calm herself, tried to orient herself in her surroundings.
There was nothing to her touch. Just air.
Something brushed past her, a warm breath on the back of her neck. She jerked away, one hand automatically rubbing her neck in a protective gesture. There was a whisper of a voice, too soft to hear the words, but enough to hear the tone: silkily malicious. She turned around in that all-encompassing blindness, her heart beginning to pound.
"Who's there?" she demanded, her voice trembling. There was no reply, just a chilling, low chuckle that reverberated around her. Her panic broke free of her tenuous control and she fought her urge to scream in terror. Sudden light flooded her eyesight and she blinked watering eyes, struggling to see through the blinding haze.
The three walls of shatterproof glass facing her were instantly familiar. Even without turning around, she knew that her back was to the one-way mirror that took up the fourth wall of the room. The table in front of her was set for an interrogation: a notepad, two pens, and a still-steaming mug of coffee, sitting innocuously on the cold hard surface. Her hands reflexively reached for and grasped the back of the steel chair in front of her. Across the table, the other chair was neatly pushed in. She looked around warily. She was alone in the interrogation room.
A sudden weight slammed into her back, throwing her forward over the chair. She heard the sickening snap of bones as her ribs took the brunt of the impact. Her scream of surprise and pain was muffled by a large hand clamped over her mouth and nose. The coffee cup overturned and spilled the dark liquid across the notepad. She struggled to free her hands which were pinned under her body, but to no avail.
"You're so pretty," a man's voice — no, Alverez, she knew without a question — breathed heavily into her ear. She couldn't stop the shiver of horror that went through her. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't be working like this." She knew precisely what he wanted and the terror of what was coming sent her heart racing. She fought helplessly, trying to turn around and fight him off, but it was useless, his weight was enough to easily pin her down against the table. He laughed at her struggles and his free hand began to tug at her clothes. "Let's get rid of some of the distractions, no?" His voice was the voice of a predator.
Check into human trafficking. She didn't have a clue why those words had popped into her mind at a moment like this. Where the hell is the guard? she screamed mentally as Alverez's hand continued to roam. Desperate, she bit his hand as hard as she could, at the same time she elbowed him in the solar plexus. To her surprise, he just laughed again, "So, you like to play it rough, huh?" He flipped her around effortlessly, his hand easily catching both of her wrists and pinning them above her head. Her breathing was frantic now, but he leered at her, taking pleasure in her fear. She squirmed and spit in his face, anything to delay the inevitable. She was well-trained, but at an impossible disadvantage against the criminal. She kicked and struggled and he finally grunted in pain, his expression twisting into murderous anger.
"Agent Lake?" another man's voice broke in above her struggles, sounding unbelievably calm.
"I think I've had enough of this." A butcher's knife appeared in Alverez's hand. The impossibly bright lights reflected off the weapon, giving it a macabre glow, as he raised it high above his head.
"Lake, it's all right," the second man's voice soothed, though now an edge of alarm tainted the reassuring words.
The knife whistled as it traveled toward her heart.
A hand closed on her forearm in a near painful grip.
She screamed.
"Lake? Terry, wake up," a concerned voice penetrated her panic. She jerked awake and flinched away from her coworker's hand. Higgins stepped away from her, letting go of her arm, giving her space, watching with concern as she struggled to calm her rapid breathing, her eyes darting around the room, half-afraid of the shadows.
"Terry," he voiced cautiously once she had calmed down from her nightmare-induced terror. "You okay?" He approached her again and gently put a hand on her arm. A part of her independently-minded personality was irritated that her need for human contact at that moment was so obvious. The trained FBI agent in her reminded Terry that human touch was one of the suggested methods of calming traumatized victims. But most of her was just glad someone was there to anchor her to reality, even if it wasn't Don.
She nodded silently, not trusting her voice. She felt his skeptical look before he said, "I've already paged the nurse. You've been tossing and turning for a while. And I don't think that's good for your injuries." Heartbeats passed in silence before Higgins offered awkwardly, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Terry was spared the effort of replying when the night nurse walked into the room. She shooed Higgins into the hallway before performing a quick examination. After making sure that the stitches had held through Terry's nightmare, the nurse fussed with little things until another orderly entered the room. Both of them moved away from the bed. He murmured something to the nurse, much too soft for Terry to hear, but he handed a filled syringe to the woman before leaving the room. Higgins, sensing that it was all right now for him to be present, walked quietly into the room just as the nurse returned to her side.
"It'll help you sleep," the nurse replied quietly to Terry's silent question, injecting the sedative into the IV line. Terry didn't like it, but she kept silent. As the medication took effect, the nurse quickly rearranged the coverings in an attempt to make Terry as comfortable as possible. Higgins stayed by her side, a silent protective presence, until she drifted off into a drugged sleep.
(8:11 AM, Local Time)
Terry woke up the next morning, feeling sore and unsettled. She hadn't had anymore nightmares, but…bits and pieces of that evening were coming back to her, slowly but surely. She remembered her conscious decision not to carry a weapon, of Lisa handing her Alverez's file, of Kirsch being in the interrogation room with her. The attack itself was still a blank, but she vaguely remembered two frantic voices, pleading with her as she lay bleeding on the ground. It wasn't something she wanted to think about.
She spent the next hour or so alone, only having her silence interrupted by an orderly delivering breakfast. Jasmine did call briefly to check on her, having heard about what happened the night before from Higgins. During that conversation, Terry managed to persuade the other agent to at least give her an idea of what had happened on Friday night. The information, vague as it was, was still enough to disturb her serenity. But it was after she was done with her meal and the tray collected did she have her first visitor of the day.
A quiet knock from the doorway caused her to look away from the hospital window. Kirsch stood somewhat nervously at the entrance, carrying a file folder in one hand and his coat draped over his other arm. Judging from the fact that he wasn't carrying, she guessed that he was still on leave. 'I hope this doesn't get blamed on him. I wasn't carrying my gun.'
"Hi Kirsch," she said with a slight smile to put him at ease.
"Hi Lake," he replied, coming into the room. "How are you feeling?"
"All right," she replied.
"That's good to hear." He sat down and studied her. Terry saw the guilt that flittered across his features.
"I'm fine," she told him. "Now, what is it?" That question seemed to snap him out of his thoughts. "Dunne needs you to file a compliant as soon as possible. No one's happy about it, least of all him, but he wants to make sure that Alverez isn't going to walk, not after what he did."
"All right," she said quietly, taking the file from him. "When does he need it by?"
"The sooner the better."
"What if," she chose her words carefully, "What if I don't remember precisely what happened?"
"Dunne says the more you can recall the better. But he's going to be adding the doctor's statement to supplement yours." There was a long silence after she nodded.
"Lake…" he sat forward and she knew he was going to apologize.
"It's not your fault," she said firmly.
"Still, I was your backup and—he used my gun. I'm so sorry," he lowered his head, clearly feeling guilty, "If I hadn't…" Terry quickly pushed back her horror, 'I was shot with his service weapon?' to concentrate on relieving him of a burden that wasn't his to bear.
"If I hadn't been unarmed," she said, "then I probably wouldn't be here. It's not your fault. No one saw it coming. I should have listened to Jasmine and brought my weapon with me into the room like I usually do. But I didn't. I don't blame you and you can't blame yourself. Jasmine says that you disarmed Alverez and restrained him in a professional manner, even though it was complete chaos in the office. You did the right thing, Kirsch, and the doctor says that I'll be fine."
"And I am very thankful for that," he said quietly, his shoulders relaxing. "I should get to the office now. The team wants to visit you later on, when things calm down a little."
"All right," she said, smiling at him, "I'll be here."
Kirsch said goodbye and a few moments later, Don walked into the room, his carry-on bag slung over his shoulder. She couldn't help but grin at him. After he deposited his bag in the corner, he came over to her bedside and murmured, "Morning, sweetheart."
Those two words and the accompanying kiss suddenly brightened her whole morning. She laughed quietly, just because she wanted to, and returned the gesture.
"How did you sleep last night?" she asked, her hand lingering on his cheek before he sat back down in his chair.
"Probably as well as you," he said, his eyes catching the folder resting where she had set it on her blankets. "I take it you're getting restless?" he teased, nodding toward it.
"Yes, a little bit," she replied. "But I also need to file a complaint as soon as possible."
"You're kidding," he said, looking at her. His expression clearly was asking her if she was teasing.
"I wish I was," she replied. "But they just want the paperwork out of the way. Right now Alverez is just being held on drug trafficking charges, not for this. The sooner I get this done, the sooner Dunne can schedule an arraignment and ask for remand. And Kirsch wanted to apologize." She looked away from him briefly. "He was in the room Friday night," she said unnecessarily. Don took her hands in his and drew her attention back to the present.
"Want to talk about it?" he asked softly. She shook her head.
"Not yet," she bit her lower lip briefly, "I don't remember much. Perhaps it's better that way." 'But I will probably remember it all one day,' she said silently, 'and I'm going to need you to catch me when I do.' When the tears came, he gathered her in his arms and murmured soft reassurances in her ear, carefully rocking her gently. Eventually, her pent-up fears from the past few days eased themselves and she was able to accept a tissue to wipe her face dry and to blow her nose. All that time, Don did not move from his position on her bed, staying close to her, being her rock as the emotional tempest of nearly dying swept through her.
When she was able to carry on a normal conversation, she was grateful that Don steered the topics toward the lighter events of his life while she was away. Most of them were about Charlie and Larry, a few about humorous little mishaps their coworkers had gotten into, like the time Anderson had purposefully dropped a water balloon on his partner's head…unfortunately soaking his partner's wife in the process. However, talk did eventually drift to work and, from there, to their personal pasts. 'It really does say something about us,' Terry thought in half-amusement, 'that we talk about work before we talk about ourselves, about how much our work defines who we are.'
As Don answered her question about Kim Hall, Terry found that she was no longer jealous of the other woman. Kim had tried her best to love Don and be his pillar of support; at least when she found that she couldn't handle it, she had the decadency to end the relationship before it got more involved than it already was. From the way Kim was watching Don though on the counterfeiting case, Terry suspected that the other woman, while giving up marrying him, had not giving up loving him completely. But there were signs that she was slightly out of touch with him: the abrupt conversation with Don about Charlie's presence on the case, her tendency to sometimes stand a little too close to Don during briefings, her repeated overtures to reestablish a good relationship with her former fiancé. But at the end of the case, Don had ended his personal connection with Kim and, as far as Terry knew, spoke to her only as a colleague.
Her story was harder to tell. Jake had been adamant in pursuing and wooing her, but vicious in the divorce proceedings. He had accused her of adultery, something that was nearly listed in her personnel file as her supposed lover, he said, was her partner, a married man in his mid-fifties. The courts, thankfully, found his accusations to be what they were — lies — and ruled in her favor. But even now, years later, she was still bitter about what he had put her through. The emotional roller coaster of being betrayed and then falsely blamed for his wrongs had nearly wrung her dry. It had only been the unconditional support that she received from her partner and his wife that got her through the case with her sanity intact.
When she was done with her story, she glanced at the clock that hung on the wall, its quiet ticking steadily marking the hours and minutes before they would be separated again, but this time, only physically, not emotionally.
"It's three," she said quietly. He nodded, not moving from his spot. Time had flown.
"Don…" Her voice was gentle, "We've still got time." 'And I thank God for every moment of it.' He slowly pulled away from her.
"I know," he answered quietly. His eyes met hers as he carefully took her into his arms, being extra careful not to jostle her injured shoulders. She wrapped her arms lightly around him in a chaste hug. As she leaned back to settle on her pillows, Don gently pulled Terry close to him again. A slight smile touched her lips when she realized he had in mind a little less chaste.
The kiss was everything she remembered and more. It was gentle, yet passionate at the same time. It was a silent promise never to leave her and that she would not be alone, even though he would soon be flying back to the other side of the nation. She moaned quietly and he pulled back slightly, as if he was afraid that he had hurt her. But she smiled at him, taking a breath of much needed air before his lips closed over hers again.
"I love you," Don murmured after they broke apart, his arms supporting her back and her arm around his neck.
"I love you too," Terry whispered, a hand caressing his cheek as he gently lowered her back onto her pillows. "Stay safe."
"Take care of yourself," he said softly as he slowly pulled away from her.
"I will…." She settled back against her pillows and watched him prepare to leave her room. He kissed her one more time and then he was gone to catch a flight back to Los Angeles.
Merside Apartments: Units #19-24
Quantico, Virginia
(5:29 PM, Local Time)
"Thank you so much, Jasmine," said Terry as the other woman opened the car door. "You know you don't need to do this."
Jasmine shook her head as she helped her friend out of the car. "You've said that several times, Terry. And I do need to do this. You got hurt on my watch," Jasmine held up a hand to quell the blond-haired agent's protests, "And it will make me, and everyone at the office, sleep a lot easier at night knowing that you're staying with someone."
"All right," Terry conceded. "And how is everyone?"
"They know that you've been discharged, so we're all breathing a sigh of relief. But don't even try to tell me that you're going back to work tomorrow," Jasmine said sternly. "Meeker's already told me that it's at least one week off for you and I fully plan on making sure you listen to him."
"I know, I know."
With Jasmine's support, Terry eventually made it up to the third story apartment, but her breathing was harsh and her legs weak by the time they reached the top landing. The other FBI agent quickly guided her to the living room couch and settled her down for a moment to catch her breath. As she struggled to breathe normally, ignoring the ache in her chest, Terry knew she had a long road ahead of her. 'But I am going to provide Merrick wrong about this,' she vowed to herself. 'I will be back on field duty one day.'
