Title: Shall We Play A Game?
Author: FraidyCat
Disclaimer: per diem re all Numb3rs characters and characterizations. The "main hospital" featured in this fanFICTION is a work of FICTION and does not really exist in any location other than my mind. Ditto the "downtown Y".
A/N: This is an INTERACTIVE reader-influenced story.
And Now, Back To Our Tale…
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Chapter Thirteen: I Will Follow You…
Don was back at the bureau, catching up with his team. He had stopped by the Craftsman to check on his father and update him on Charlie's new complication. Now he looked sternly at Agent Granger and tried to wear his F.B.I. face for what was essentially personal business. "It's already almost 4," he pointed out. "Millie is going to cover an evening class tonight for Charlie, and I think it would be a good idea all the way around if you went to the house and stayed with Dad."
As expected, Colby protested, his eyes narrowing. "Eppes. I'm not an invalid. You heard Havercamp -- there's a two-week incubation period with Brucellosis. She's got me on the meds, and I probably won't develop any symptoms at all!"
Don argued; also expected. "You're exhausted, Colby. Exposure to the bacteria aside, you haven't slept in almost two days. If you want to keep working this case, I need you at the top of your game." Granger opened his mouth as if to further object and Don pulled out the big gun, metaphorically speaking. "Besides," he concluded, gentling his voice some, "I'd consider it a personal favor if you stayed with Dad. He's not really that sick anymore -- he could probably stay alone -- but he can't go and see Charlie, and it's killing him. I'm bouncing back-and-forth between the job and Chuck as it is -- I think Dad needs one of his sons at home, to fuss over a little, and distract him."
Colby reddened, his gaze sliding over the silent David and landing on the floor somewhere between his feet. "You don't have to make fun of me," he muttered. "I'll go."
Don suppressed a smile, sitting on the edge of a table in a conference room. Colby sat close enough that Don could have reached out and touched him -- but he thought that might be overkill. "I'm not, Col," he assured the younger agent. He looked up and included David, seated at the end of the table, in his gaze, then looked back at Granger. "My Dad loves you guys. Megan, Amita and Robin are like the daughters he never had. You're all family to him -- and that means a lot to me, and Charlie." He cleared his throat. "It's not easy for me to ask for help -- from anybody, ever -- but this would really help me out, Colby."
David finally spoke, in a dead-pan that broke the tension in the room. "Hell, Eppes, now I want to go too."
Don laughed. "Where's Ian?" he asked, changing the subject.
"He and Bernie are at the diner," David answered. "Bernie finally i.d.'d the suspected Planet Green member who -- allegedly -- released the Brucella. They're trying to find her original app; see if they can track her, somehow."
Colby rolled his eyes. "Suspected. Allegedly. Come on, Dave, it's just us. No attorneys here. No witnesses."
Sinclair considered, and then smiled slowly. "All-right," he intoned smoothly. "How's this?" He looked up at Don. "Ian's on bitch patrol."
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Amita wandered around the perimeter of the physician parking lot behind the ER-entrance, her cell pressed to her ear. She felt a little guilty, the way she had bolted as soon as the technician had drawn her blood. She hadn't even waited for Larry, whose turn was next.
The guilt melted into something else, though, the second she heard Charlie's somewhat-breathless voice. "Hello?"
She closed her eyes briefly and smiled. "I wish I was with you," she whispered.
She could hear the answering smile in her lover's voice. " 'Mita." He took a ragged breath. "How…are you? Where…"
She interrupted, opening her eyes and frowning. "Charlie, are you all right? You sound…funny."
He chuckled briefly into the phone, apologizing when it broke off into a cough. "I've been better," he teased. "You…did find me in the…hospital."
Amita refused to be led astray. "Your breathing is off. Tell me what's going on."
"I'll…be fine," he insisted. "I'm on a…little oxygen now. Sorry…I didn't know; never would…would have expos…"
She shook her head and interrupted again. "Of course you never would have exposed me Charlie, I know that. Besides, we don't know yet that you did. There's a line at the lab, even here – Larry's still inside."
There was a moment punctuated only by labored breathing, and then a confused, "Larry?"
Amita executed an almost military about-face at the edge of the lot and headed in the opposite direction. "Mmm," she murmured, not really paying attention. "How's Alan? He was a little under the weather too, if I recall."
There was an odd choking noise. "Don't make…me…laugh," Charlie begged.
Amita stopped walking. "Why is that funny?"
His breathy, raspy voice – sexy at the worst of times – took on a husky quality that made Amita blush right there in the parking lot. "You…only knew that because…he…came home early and…caught us on the…couch."
Her blush became earnest embarrassment. "It's not like that was the first time," she countered, chagrined.
Charlie huffed another brief laugh, followed by another cough. "He's…ok. No Brucella…just flu, I guess."
Amita breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good. That's excellent." She allowed a modicum of hope to color her voice. "Maybe I just caught the flu from Alan."
"Hope so," Charlie answered sadly.
Amita suddenly giggled. "That just sounds so wrong," she noted, starting to walk again. "There was a baby in the waiting room." She shut her mouth abruptly, appalled.
Charlie was back to confusion. "Alone?"
She rolled her eyes. "No, Charlie, her mother was holding her."
He sighed a little. "Oh. Sorry. Annoying?"
She bristled, a little. "No. Why would you say that?"
After a few more seconds of silence, Charlie demonstrated his remarkable IQ by a leap of logic that nearly caused Amita to drop the phone. "You're…still taking…the pill, right?"
She tried to laugh it off, then lowered her own voice to the sultry level she knew would have him tenting the hospital sheets soon. "Of course I am," she answered truthfully. "You keep me 'occupied' enough that I know not to let that prescription run out."
Charlie made a noise that was probably a groan. "Stop that," he begged. She giggled again, and he went on. "Before…you stop taking them…I'm going to want…certain guarantees."
She stopped walking again and felt suddenly cold, even though the sun's heat was nearly melting the asphalt of the parking lot. "Like what?" she almost whispered.
"We need…to see someone…make sure it doesn't get…my nose."
A shrill, almost-hysterical laugh escaped her. "I think it skips the first-born," she finally managed to say. "Don's nose is perfectly acceptable."
"Thanks…so much," Charlie grumbled.
Amita smiled. "What else?" she asked a little wildly. "Should we design the baby right now? How much time do we have? Enough to get ahold of a bioengineer?"
Charlie yawned, and coughed some more. "I'll talk..about it whenever you're…ready. Just…like you. Want her..to look like…you. Perfect."
Amita felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes. "I'll be there soon," she promised, her voice thick. "Get some rest, now. And…and Charlie?"
"Hmmm?" he murmured, close to under already.
"I love you, too," she declared loudly. "Even your nose."
Charlie made a noise halfway between a chuckle and another yawn. "Gotta…admit," he nearly whispered. "It would…look strange…on a baby."
When they finally disconnected, Amita didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. So she walked to the nearest bench, sat down – and did both.
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Her heart nearly stopped when the F.B.I.'s hired killer exited the front of the building with Bernie in tow. She had not seen her former boss go inside. Bernie was not someone who could be missed easily, so it must have happened during her trip to the bowling alley.
Sarah was just stepping off the bus when she saw them. Her plan had been to case the Wilshire Blvd. building that afternoon; get inside, hopefully in time to take the last public tour. Examine security – which was probably pretty damned impressive. It was the F.B.I., after all. Her plans were shot all to hell – just like Joe had been – the second Bernie waddled into sight.
She cursed under her breath and immediately dropped her backpack, bending over to pick it up and hide her face at the same time. She was wearing the glasses, the wig, the polyester pant suit…it was doubtful either man would recognize her. Self-preservation was so ingrained in her that it was almost a reflex action anyway. Surrepticiously, she knelt over the backpack as other passengers streamed around her – not one offering to help, of course – and watched Edgarton and Bernie over the low-strength lenses. They were heading for a dark sedan parked in one of the few available spaces on the street.
She hesitated for a moment, unsure what she should do. She could go ahead with her investigation of the building. Could she learn enough, about how to best dispose of the agent, when he wasn't even there? How would she know for sure where he worked if she didn't see him at a desk somewhere? There were a couple of taxis idiling at the curb, she had noted, their drivers leaning casually against the front fenders, waiting for end-of-working-day fares who would stream out of the offices soon. She hear the solid thunk of car doors as Bernie and the agent prepared to leave, and she made up her mind.
Pretending to search through her backpack, Sarah walked within two feet of Bernie, sitting in the passenger seat of the agent's vehicle. He wasn't even looking in her direction as the car slowly pulled into traffic. She quickened her step, shouting "Hey!" and waving a 50-dollar-bill at the first cab's driver.
He stepped toward her with a smile, reaching for the money. "Where to, lady?"
She let the pack gape open, so that he could see the rest of the money inside. "Do you have a problem following that fed's car?" she asked, remembering to smile at the end. "My boyfriend – I want to surprise him."
The taxi driver escorted her quickly to the rear of his vehicle, opening the door and ushering Sarah inside. "Not a problem for me," he said, tossing a cigarette into the street and latching onto the fifty. "Not a problem at all."
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Aaron passed the pipe to Patty, hoping she was already so stoned that she didn't notice his hands were shaking.
He couldn't believe what Cracker had just proposed – what no-one else in the room seemed to have a problem accepting. The leader could do no wrong as far as Dawn and Patty were concerned, so their whole-hearted support was not surprising. What did concern Aaron a little was the apparent ease with which Marcus jumped onboard. Now Cracker was looking at him, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if daring Aaron to object.
He shrugged apologetically and let his gaze wander the room, looking again for anyone with even a modicum of rationality. "I don't know," Aaron finally murmured quietly. He looked back at Cracker. "I mean, on the one hand, it's brilliant." He inhaled deeply, swallowing down a lung-full of Mary Jane. "On the other," he squeaked, "it's kids, man."
Cracker smiled indulgently – no doubt a show for the others – and stared daggers at Aaron. "No more pipe for Aaron. Dude, that's kind-of the point."
Patty giggled and Aaron smiled sheepishly. He began to play nervously with his own fingers. "It's just that…look at prisons, man. Kiddy-killers take all kinds of shit in those places. It seems like a sure-fire way to instill hatred for Planet Green and our cause – not adherence!"
Cracker's eyes narrowed even further. "It is time for a sacrifice," he insisted. "The babes are innocent, and that is why we must sacrifice them. Society's eyes have become too jaded, and they can only see the truly reprehensible now."
Dawn added her opinion. "Their souls will be rewarded," she said. "I believe the children will be reincarnated on a higher level, and they will understand why it had to be done. They will be pleased they helped prolong life on this planet by giving up their own."
Patty swayed next to him, bumping into Aaron's arm. "That's so beautiful," she said, her voice holding a tinge of awe. She reached out and grasped Aaron's hand – whether in solidarity or to hold herself upright, he wasn't quite sure – and held on tightly. "We have to do it, Aaron," she cooed, leaning closer to kiss his cheek. "It's the only way, now."
Aaron turned his head toward her slightly. She was still facing him, her lips parted slightly, her eyes mere slits. "You're right," he groaned, taking her in his arms. "You're all right."
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Larry was waiting for her in the lab's waiting area, which was still full. He absently rubbed at the tape wrapped around his elbow. "They're bringing in techs to work all night," he said, "but they don't expect to have any results for us before morning. We should probably find someplace to stay for the night." He smiled at her kindly. "Are you feeling any better, dear?"
Amita thought. Ever since the spectre of a possible pregnancy had reared its ugly head in the bathroom, she had been thinking so hard about that, her symtoms had taken a back seat. "I think so," she said.
Larry's smile grew broader as he stood. "That's excellent news. Were you able to speak with Charles?" The two were starting to head out the door into the main corridor of the hospital when Amita recognized the technician who had drawn her blood earlier.
The young woman was headed in their direction, looking right at her, and Amita suddenly felt like sitting down. "I think I need some water," she said, halting her steps, and Larry looked at her anxiously.
She was pale, and trembling, and he turned quickly to the folding chairs that had been brought in for overflow seating, and lined up against the wall. "Come and sit down. I'll see what I can find."
Amita allowed him to escort her to a chair, but patted his arm solidly and tried to smile brightly. "I'm all-right, Larry. Would it be too much trouble to get a cold bottle from the machine down the hall?" She started to open her purse. "I think I have some money…"
"Nonsense," Larry objected. "And it's no trouble at all, Amita. Are you sure you'll be all right here for a moment?"
Amita looked up at him, her head bobbing. Just smile and nod, she told herself, just smile and nod. "Thank-you," she called after him at he hurried from the room.
She had time for half a breath before the technician sat beside her. "We won't have the Brucella results until tomorrow morning," she said quietly, "but I ran the pregnancy test right away. I thought you'd like to know as soon as possible."
Amita gripped one hand with the other, resting both on her purse. "Yes," she agreed. "I would."
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A/N: Ha! The most evil of all cliff-hangers! Votes are pretty dead-even: is she, or isn't she?