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.
A/N #2: Give yourselves a round of applause! "Shall We Play A Game" will be translated into German and posted on a German fanfic page, courtesy of a bilingual fan who wants to share the wealth. We are an international success.
The Soup Continues to Simmer…
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Chapter Sixteen: Just When You Think It's Safe
Charlie would be in recovery for at least an hour, so Don used the time to head back to the cafeteria and play a little phone tag with his team. Colby was at the Craftsman; Ian had also hung it up for the night, but David was still in the office when Don reached him. He avoided the topics of the secondary Brucella release and Charlie's most recent complication, wanting more concrete information before he brought the others in on a hunch. "You should probably pack it in, Dave," he finally said. "There's not much more we can do tonight."
Don clearly heard the rustling of papers. "I'm just going over some of the interviews conducted by other agents this morning," Sinclair responded. "Edgarton and I checked out some known Planet Green hangouts, and they've disappeared off the face of the earth. That just ain't right. Somebody up-top's gotta be helping them."
Don stifled a yawn. "I dunno. Makes sense to me – they probably went deep under before they released that communicade to the press."
"The deeper they went, the more help they needed," argued David. "I'm gonna read the interview and dossier on Andi Sommerfield, again. In fact, I think I'd like to talk to her myself in the morning."
"Take some back-up," Don advised. "What set off the hink-o-meter on that one?"
David chuckled. "I don't know. She was a card-carrying member of PG until the Presidio incident. Nobody could ever prove she was part of that, and she supposedly severed all ties with the group at that time. She's been on the straight-and-narrow for the last two years. Too straight, and too narrow to be as nervous as she sounds in this interview."
Don made a noncommittal grunt. "Watch your back," he repeated. "I don't think these guys are going to release a bacteria twice and just fade into the sunset. There's something else coming."
After he and David disconnected, Don phoned Colby, who answered the cell immediately. "Boss," he pled breathlessly. "Need some help? I can be there in…."
Don laughed. "Be careful what you ask for, Granger. All this time you thought it was a piece of cake to be Alan Eppes' son, didn't you?"
Colby moaned quietly into the phone, dropping his voice to a whisper. "What is it with the green Jell-O®, man? I thought he was supposed to be sick, but he's made enough for an army, already!"
Don feigned disbelief. "What? No Grandma's Chicken Soup?"
"He's in the kitchen stirring it now," Colby admitted, and Don laughed again, briefly.
He thought of his news and sobered quickly. "Listen, Col, I hate to do this to you, but I need you to stay there for awhile. Charlie…had a setback…and I want to see him again. It could be a couple of hours."
Colby's good-natured whine turned into genuine concern. "What do I tell Alan? What happened?"
Don sighed. "Look, just tell him I'm with Charlie. I'll tell you both everything I know when I get home." He grinned into the phone. "Okay, Bro?"
He could almost hear Granger's eyes rattle in his head as he rolled them. "Knock it off," he started, and then interrupted himself. "Alan, you didn't have to…"
"Eat up, son," Don heard his father say. "Save room for dessert – I made Jell-O®!"
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Amita had tried to call Charlie again, but there had been no answer in his room. She knew that Alan must be going crazy, not being allowed to see his son, and she didn't want to make it more difficult for him, so she didn't call. She tried Don twice, but both times his cell was busy. She ate the soup and half of the sandwich Larry had brought, feeling much better than she had in days, and then tried Don again. Still busy.
Finally she gave up, took a long, hot shower, and fell into bed. It was early, but days of feeling unwell plus the emotional roller coaster of the last several hours were catching up to her. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
It seemed like only seconds later that the chirping of her cell dragged her out of her slumber. Eyes still closed, she stuck out one hand to search the bedside table blindly. Finally hitting upon the phone, she flipped it open and brought the cell to her ear while she flopped onto her back. "Don?" she croaked sleepily.
"Oh. Forgive me, Dr. Ramanujan. Did I wake you? I didn't think 9 would be too late to call."
Amita opened her eyes and blinked lazily at the ceiling, trying to place the voice. "What?" She cleared her throat, trying to pull herself together. "I mean, who? Who is this?"
The voice became even more apologetic. "Kristy. Kristy Melbourne? I was your technician earlier this evening at the Oceanside hospital?"
Ah. With that clue, she could place the voice. Amita gripped the phone a little tighter, definitely awake, now. She slid out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. "Were you able to get the results earlier than you thought? Should Dr. Fleinhardt and I come in?"
Poor Kristy sounded as if she wanted to cry. "No, no, ma'am. The Brucella tests will be ready in the morning, just like we told you."
Amita frowned, and reached up to push her dark hair behind her ear. "I don't understand," she admitted, confused. "Can I do something for you?"
She could hear the technician inhale deeply over the cell. "I'msosorry," Kristy said in a rush. "It'sbeensocrazyhereandIdon'tknowwhathappenedandI'msosorry…"
Amita almost smiled. The girl sounded like one of her students about to tell her the dog ate her homework. "Calm down," she soothed. "What seems to be the problem?"
Another breath. "It's our practice to run the test twice, you see. Another technician will double-check the first results." She began to speed up, again. "As soon as I saw the report, I ran the test a third time. I'msosorry. Idon'tknowhowImixedupyoursamples."
Amita's eyes widened and she stood, barefoot, at the side of the bed. "Whose samples?"
Kristy giggled, a nervous reaction. "You and Dr. Fleinhardt."
Amita began to sway. "Surely Larry is not pregnant."
"No," agreed Kristy. "But you are."
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Don was about to get some dinner in the cafeteria when he remembered that everything could be contaminated with Brucella. He lost his appetite fast, and decided to go wait in Charlie's room for his brother's return.
Charlie was already there – awake and deliriously happy – when Don pushed through the door. "Donny!" He kept one hand cradled just below the drainage bag but fluttered a half-wave with the other. "I feel much better."
Don smiled and approached the bed. "That's great, Buddy. Havercamp said that the improvement would be immediate when the fluid was drained." He winked. "Of course, I'm sure it doesn't hurt that the local's probably still working."
Charlie smiled, loopy. "Okay," he agreed amicably. "I can breathe, now." He frowned, wiggling his nose, trying to dislodge the oxygen canula. "Take this thing off."
Don pulled up a chair and lightly admonished him. "Leave it, Charlie. We need to make sure this doesn't happen again. They'll take it off when it's time."
Charlie blinked at him over the rail of the hospital bed. "I feel like dancing," he said.
Don suppressed a laugh. "Please don't," he begged. "I've seen you dance."
Charlie's eyes widened and filled with tears, much to Don's dismay. " 'Mita likes to dance with me," he sniffed pathetically.
Don leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. "Ask yourself this, Buddy. Does she dance with you in public?"
Charlie opened and closed his mouth a few times, reminiscent of the koi in the backyard pond, then suddenly giggled at the ceiling. "WE BOOGIE IN THE SHEETS!" he yelled, and Don stood, horrified.
"Charlie! Geez, dude, keep it down!"
Charlie moved the hand under the drainage bag a little, and winced. "That sort-of hurt," he whispered confidentially.
Don sat down again. Charlie was wasted, and probably wouldn't be able to follow the conversation, but he had to try anyway. "Listen, Chuck, I'm glad you're feeling better. We may have to move you, tomorrow."
"Seventeen," Charlie answered.
"Right," Don agreed. "Seventeen what, again?"
Charlie tilted his chin as far back on the pillow as he could. "There were seventeen ceiling tiles in that other room," he shared. "You can count the ones in here."
Yeah. Charlie definitely was not going to be any help on this one. "I've got it," Don assured him. "But you know I'm slower than you are. Why don't you take a nap, and I'll tell you when you wake up?"
Charlie lazily rolled his head on the pillow until he was facing Don again. "Do you think I should have a baby?" he asked.
Don couldn't stop himself from laughing at that. He couldn't quite think of an answer, either. Charlie kept talking through a yawn. "I might, you know. Someday."
"You two keep at it like bunnies and it may be sooner than you think," teased Don.
Charlie yawned again, then smiled. "Bunnies," he repeated, closing his eyes. " 'Mita is my rabbit's foot. I like to rub her for luck."
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Lee Havercamp stood next to the technician in the lab and leaned over the microscope. She studied the sample for a moment, and then pulled back. "I concur," she said to the Chief of Staff, who was standing a few feet away.
He dropped his face into his hands. "What a nightmare," he moaned. "We're going to have to shut down and decontaminate everything."
She agreed again. "If you take voluntary action at once, I can hold off on a CDC-mandated closure," she offered.
He looked up, and sighed. "Well, that's something, I guess." He started to lead the way to the door. "I'm going to need your clout with the other hospitals, getting all these people moved."
"Of course," she murmured, following close behind.
"I'll set you up in an office," he said, holding the door open for her. "This could take a while."
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A/N: Long night for the Numb3rs crew…what will the morning bring?