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", as well as whatever else I decide to make up.

A/N: This is an INTERACTIVE reader-influenced story.

Meanwhile, back on The Farm…

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Chapter Seventeen: Oreo Cookies and Pineapple Ice Cream

Don employed the Oreo® pattern of disseminating information: Start with good news, sandwich the bad news in the middle, and finish with more good news. At the breakfast table, he smiled confidently and informed his father and Colby that Charlie was quite literally feeling no pain when Don had last seen him late the night before.

Colby paused in his reckless inhalation of hash browns, reaching for a glass of orange juice -- all three men had refused milk. "Did he have a fever? That little dude does some real weird sh..." -- he glanced guiltily at Alan -- "...stuff, when he has a fever."

Don furrowed his brow. "Have I told you 'Charlie fever' stories?"

He could have sworn the younger agent began to blush, but he couldn't be sure. Colby tucked his head down and attacked the mound of scrambled eggs. "Uh...yeah," he muttered. "You must have."

"Huh," Don observed mildly, buttering his toast. "Didn't remember that. Anyway, no, his fever is not real high -- still a little elevated but nothing that would cause him to act strange. He was given some Demoral. He always was a lightweight when it comes to pain medication."

Alan snorted and looked up from his own breakfast. He raised an eyebrow. "I seem to recall a certain federal agent singing almost an entire baritone aria from Don Giovanni; off-key and flat, I might add."

Colby snickered into his eggs and Don protested mightily. "Hey! That was morphine, and I'd been shot, for cryin' out loud!"

Alan's teasing smile faltered as he remembered the frantic trip he and Margaret had made to Albuquerque, and he quickly changed the subject back to Charlie. "Why did he need Demoral?"

Don seguewayed into the middle of the Oreo® -- the bad news -- and informed his audience about Charlie's cardiac tamponade and pericardiocentesis procedure. Almost as an aside he added the fact that the secondary release of Brucella was at St. Michael's, and all of the patients needed to be released early or transferred to other facilities. Both Colby and his father were staring at him, their faces registering varying degrees of shock, when he finished speaking.

"Holy sh...crap," Colby breathed. "I took one freakin' night off!"

Alan transformed into a machine gun, shooting rapid-fire questions at Don. "How is he? When can I see him? Where will he go? How soon is this going to happen? Why didn't you call, or at least wake me up when you got home!?"

Don ignored all the questions and placed the final tasty chocolate cookie on the Oreo®, transitioning back to good news. "I got a call on my cell from Larry just before I came downstairs. Amita's Brucella test is negative." He tried not to smile inappropriately. "I'm pretty sure his will be also. Charlie never took him to the diner, so he couldn't have ingested the milk. The other modes of contagion...don't really apply. I just had him get tested because it seemed to make him feel better -- and I thought it might help Amita; make her feel less alone."

Alan, who had been the one to model the Oreo® technique for Don during his growing-up years, narrowed his eyes. "You didn't answer my questions."

Don sighed, not really all that surprised. Like any highly trained law enforcement officer, he was ready with back-up. "I have assignments," he announced, focusing his attention on Granger. "Colby, you still feeling okay? Havercamp said some people experience problems from the high dosage of the prophylactic antibiotic cocktail." His eyes crinkled. "Although judging by the egg on your chin, that hasn't become an issue with you."

Alan smiled and Colby sullenly wiped at his face with a napkin. "I'm good," he answered when he was finished. "What've you got for me?"

"Call David and tell him you're going with him this morning -- he wants to re-interview someone with old Planet Green ties. Check back in with me when you're finished. I'm sure Lee has called in CDC reinforcements, but she may need some help on her end."

Colby nodded and Alan regarded him fondly. "Finish your breakfast first, son." He switched his attention to his eldest. "Is there something for me to do?"

Don nodded, and Alan's face lit up before he even heard what the task entailed. "Havercamp said you can't be around Charlie until your white blood cell count is normal. She indicated that could take up to a week." Before Alan protested, Don hurried on. "See if you can get in touch with Millie. The two of you together are a force to be reckoned with; you should be able to hold your own with Charlie's insurance company. Try to get him into a private hospital or rehab -- all the public facilities are already pretty full, and St. Michael's has almost 700 patients to place somewhere. I'll tell Havercamp the family will arrange Charlie's care -- that'll give her one less thing to worry about."

"Done," Alan responded immediately. "What else?"

Don grinned. "Just be careful out there; both of you. There's more information about Brucella and St. Michael's in the morning paper, and we'll probably see some people running scared -- in a rush to get out of the city. Drive defensively."

Alan smiled briefly. "I started doing that the second your brother got his license, son."

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Ian Edgarton stood at the foot of Charlie's bed, regarding the flushed professor with a sardonic smile. "So. You're gonna make Don solve this one on his own, huh?"

Charlie smiled -- a tad weakly, Ian thought. "Agent Edgarton." His voice was a little breathy. "Don didn't tell me he needed a sniper on this. Have you tracked Planet Green?"

Ian shifted, widening his stance a little and crossing his arms over his chesst. "Nah. I volunteered to help however I could. Planet Green and I...well, we go way back."

Charlie nodded silently, his intense gaze saying more than words ever could. "Thanks for coming to see me," he said, changing the subject. "Don tries to, but he's a little preoccupied. Larry and Amita are out of town, and...my Dad has had the flu, so he's...not allowed."

"Sounds lonely," Edgarton noted.

"I'm okay," Charlie insisted. "I have to move somewhere...today. Did you hear they're...shutting down the hospital?"

Ian nodded. "Ran into that CDC doc downstairs." He indicated Charlie's drainage bag with a tilt of his chin. "She told me about that, too."

Charlie looked down at his own chest as if he wasn't sure to what Ian was referring. "Oh." He moved slightly on the bed, simulating a shrug. "That was kind-of freaky. I just...couldn't get enough air. Passed out. Woke up with...masked people all around me...some guy with...his hand in my chest."

Ian shuddered. "Sounds surrealistic."

Charlie lifted an eyebrow and grinned. "Yeah. They...must have given me drugs or something. I can...remember Don's voice...and a picnic we all went on...when we were kids. Strange. Something...about dancing, too."

Edgarton shook his head, smiling. "Must have been the good stuff, all right. Do you think the procedure helped?"

Charlie furrowed his brow, confused. "Yes?" His response sounded more like a question than an answer. "Seemed easier to...breathe, for awhile."

Ian frowned, and took a step closer. "It's not any more?"

"It's okay," Charlie responded. "There's...still some pressure, but nothing...like it was. Guess it takes a...few days." He grew tired of talking about himself. "What does...my brother...have you doing?"

"F.B.I. stuff," teased Ian. "I spent most of yesterday with a guy who reminds me why I became a sniper in the first place. Geez, what an annoying piece of work. Don does this all the time? No wonder he's seeing Bradford."

Charlie made a noise halfway between a choke and a laugh, and raised one hand to rest it on his chest, below the drainage bag. "Stop..." he pleaded.

Ian grinned and took pity on him. "Yeah, I should get down to the Bureau anyway. I'll hunt you down wherever you end up -- remember, I'm a trained tracker -- see you again. Soon."

Charlie held his gaze, his suddenly solemn dark eyes locked on a second pair of dark eyes. "Be careful," he said softly.

Edgarton let a cocky grin play at his mouth. "Not a problem," he answered nonchalantly, "not a problem."

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Larry sat in despondent silence for a moment before speaking. Then he regarded the Oceanside hospital's ER attending seriously. "I never should have let myself be persuaded," he finally shared. "The pineapple ice cream was so very nearly white, however. At the most, there was a 10 percent yellow tinge; I convinced myself it was the lighting."

The doctor paused in the act of ripping the prescription slip off his pad. His rapid online review of Brucellosis hadn't mentioned any mental effects from the disease, but that seemed like a fairly incongruous statement. "Pardon?"

Larry reached out to accept the prescription. "I admit, I was also touched that Charles thought to bring me the ice cream in the first place," the physicist continued. "He raved about it so...and as I mentioned, it was nearly white." He studied the prescription briefly before looking again at the physician. "Are you quite certain that I need this? It was such a small amount of ice cream -- I did not even finish the quart -- and it was several weeks ago. I have experienced none of the symptoms reported on the news."

The doctor decided to ignore the comments that eluded his sensibilities. "Not everyone who is exposed will develop symptoms," he informed Larry. "You may have a natural immunity. There are also those who are especially susceptible." Larry thought of Charlie; according to Don, he was not improving. On the contrary, his friend was growing worse. He tuned back in to the doctor, who was still speaking. "...you from becoming ill," the man was saying. "It's a simple prophylactic treatment. In three weeks you should see your personal physician for another blood test."

Larry nodded. "I understand. Is it safe to continue traveling with my uninfected colleague?"

The doctor nodded. "Of course. Brucellosis is rarely transferred by human-to-human contact." He smiled. "There is a small window of opportunity for sexual transmission. Are you and your colleague..."

Larry interrupted him. Truly appalled, his hand flew to his ear, and fingers began to tug the lobe. "Oh my heavens, no!" he insisted. "Amita is simply not that kind of girl."

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Andi Sommerfield sat behind her receptionist's counter, the fingers of one hand worrying the other – something that did not escape David's attention. "Why do you need to speak with me again?" she asked. "I told two of your men everything I know yesterday."

Sinclair responded smoothly. "Those agents were assigned to another case, and turned their interview reports over to us. I'm sorry, we just have a few questions; there are some things we need to clarify."

One of the brokers rushed by, glancing disapprovingly in her direction, and Andi stood. "Could we step outside?" she nearly begged. "It doesn't look exactly…trustworthy…being interrogated by the F.B.I. in the lobby of a financial consulting firm."

"Of course," Colby answered. "There's an outdoor café just down the block. Why don't you arrange for a break and meet us there?"

Andi flashed him a grateful smile and quickly agreed.

Refusing to be one-upped by his partner, David released his most charming smile. "We'll order for you. Coffee?"

"Skinny iced white chocolate mocha latte," Andi replied quickly, and David's smile faltered. He wasn't even sure he could say that. She relaxed marginally and leaned into him a little; he caught a whiff of vanilla and cinnamon. "Just ask for Number 14."

He nodded and the two agents exited the building and headed down the sidewalk, Colby snickering all the way. They claimed a sidewalk table at the café and ordered. A waitress was just delivering their coffee when Andi appeared. She seemed to have taken the few minutes to compose herself – but that was fine with David. He wanted her to feel a certain amount of security before he dropped the world out from under her.

Colby had been briefed during the ride to Andi's office that morning, but David, who had spent much more time with the report, was running point on this one. "I'm a little unclear from the report," he began almost apologetically. "You were once a member of Planet Green?"

Andi sipped her drink, then set it on the taple top and smiled. "Only on the fringes," she insisted. "I was never part of what they call 'leadership', so I was never privy to such things as long-term plans. Most of the leadership lives communally, but I'm not sure where. I think they may move around a lot – sometimes it would take them longer to arrive at a meeting than it did at other times."

David nodded, and doodled in his notebook. Her smile wavered a little, and she stared at the small book – he could tell she was wondering what he had written. He doodled some more. "How did you become involved with Planet Green?"

Andi answered freely, knowing she wasn't telling him something he didn't already know. "They recruit actively on most large California college campuses. I was a junior at Pepperdine when I attended my first meeting." She giggled a little nervously, turning her cup around in her hands. "I suppose I was your typical spoiled, upper-middle-class coed. My parents were sending me to school, but I was refusing to get much out of it." She laughed self-depreciatingly. "That's why I'm a receptionist instead of a broker. I kept changing my major. When I had enough credits I took my degree, but it was in 'General Studies'. I'm not qualified for much."

David smiled. "I'm sure you're an excellent receptionist," he said smoothly, and Colby hid his rolling eyes behind his coffee cup. He waited for David's cue, primed for his turn as 'bad cop'.

Andi blushed prettily. "Thank-you. Well, Planet Green wanted me to drop out and turn my back on everything – join them. Leadership was not happy when I insisted on getting my degree." She leaned toward David a little, completely ignoring Colby. "I was just so close – less than a year to go!"

"I understand," he soothed. "But you continued to go to meetings?"

She sat back a little. "Yes. I don't really know why; it probably appealed to my desire to appear the 'bad girl'. I graduated, moved to L.A. and got a job. Six months later, three members of Planet Green tried to take down the Presidio armory. They were killed, as you no doubt know – and I got scared. It really showed me the kind of people I was playing with, how dangerous they were." She picked up her coffee, starting to feel secure again. "Well, I could not get away from those people fast enough."

David's eyes flickered to Colby and then down to his notepad, filled with nonsensical doodles. Granger moved to the edge of his chair, slamming his cup so hard on the table that coffee spilled out even though it was half empty. "How stupid do you think we are?" he demanded loudly, and Andi winced, leaning away from him and closer to David.

"I…I don't under…" she began, but Granger interrupted.

"Known Planet Green operatives are kept under surveillance by our counterterrorism agents whenever they pop above ground," he sneered. "All we need is a traffic violation to take any one of them out of commission for a few months. In the two years since the Presidio incident, you have been photographed in the company of Planet Green terrorists on at least six occasions."

Andi looked frantically at David, who sorrowfully placed the 8 x 10 glossies he had found in the system the night before on the table. "I'm sure they were probably harassing you," he offered sympathetically, and she jumped on the excuse.

"Yes! Yes, leadership knows where I work. I've…I've moved, to try to get away from them, but jobs are hard to come by!" She blinked quickly and swallowed thickly. "I knew I should have quit anyway…"

Colby made a sound of disgust and leaned back in his chair, raising one leg to cross his foot over the opposite knee. "You understand that there have been fatalities. We'll catch these people – and when we do, you'd better hope no-one implicates you as an accessory. There's a death penalty now, both on the state and federal level." He snickered sarcastically. "We may have to kill these jokers, give them CPR and then kill them again." He smiled almost crazily. "You want a piece of that?"

Andi had been staring at him with ever-widening eyes, and now she turned them to David, seeking help. He quietly closed his notebook and laid it on the table. "I'm sorry," he said, and he seemed genuinely so. "My partner lacks a certain finesse."

She sounded a little frantic. "But is what he's saying true? The death penalty?"

He nodded reluctantly as if his own heart was troubled. "One of the fatalities was a child. Plus, after the secondary release of the bacteria, there will undoubtedly be more – already compromised individuals, lying in the hospital, hoping to be cured…" He clucked his tongue. "No, it won't sit well with any jury."

Andi looked nervously over her shoulder and then pushed her cup of latte aside, leaning even closer to David so she could lower her voice. "I didn't know," she almost whispered. "Please, I only helped them a few times a year, because I was afraid. Isn't there anything you can do? Can't I make some kind of…deal?"

Sinclair's eyes turned to steel, and Andi suddenly understood that she had been played by the men at this table as surely as she had been played by Planet Green. David flipped his notebook open to a clean page. "You want me to go to bat for you," he said, "you've got to give me everything you've got. After I know everything you do, then I'll decide whether or not to let you hang with the rest of them."

Colby bobbed his foot in the air and casually contradicted his partner. "She won't hang, Dave. Lethal injection in California."

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Mwa ha ha ha ha…Larry is infected, Alan & Millie have been unleashed on an unsuspecting society, Andi is turning tail…and what could Sarah and Aaron be up to?