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: The Cat refers those still reading to any other chapter.

And Now…Soon To Be Made Into a Minor Motion Pictue…The Tale That Would Not Die…

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Chapter Twenty-Three: Tracking Charlie

Alan sat on the decorative concrete bench amidst the ferns, and stared at the koi pond. He felt closest to Charlie here. The two of them had started this pond project together, back when Charlie had returned from his time at Oxford. Don was in Fugitive Recovery then, and neither parent had begun to make peace with the dangerous career their eldest had chosen. Working on the pond had distracted Alan. He and their youngest had drawn plans, shoveled dirt, hauled rocks, landscaped, purchased koi. It had become Charlie's private retreat; when he was troubled, Alan was sure to find him skimming the pond, or simply sitting, as he was now, and studying the patterns of the fish.

Intellectually, he knew that a good portion of L.A.'s finest was on Eppes patrol. What bothered him was that no-one he knew was looking for Charlie. During his last conversation with Don, his son had urged Alan to trust 'the system'; things with Planet Green were apparently heating up once again, and none of the team could get away to join the search. Don did mention that the tracker he and Charlie had worked with before, Edgarton, was in town and volunteering to help – but Alan didn't know him, so that didn't soothe him much. He wanted to be on the hunt himself, but Don had talked him out of that, too. Millie and Larry had reluctantly returned to CalSci – Larry to cover a class of Charlie's, Millie to cover one of Amita's. At least Charlie's girlfriend, bless her heart, had stayed here at the house to wait with him.

She stood a few feet to the left and in front of him, on the very edge of the pond. Her arms were wrapped around herself as if she was cold, even though the October weather was still warm. Alan suddenly remembered that she had been ill while away on her trip, and stood guiltily. "Would you like a sweater, dear? Or, we could go inside…"

Amita backed off the edge of the pond and turned. She smiled shyly. "I'm fine, Alan. I'd like to stay here for awhile, if that's all right. I feel close to him at the pond."

Alan sank to the bench again and returned her smile with a genuine one of his own. "I was just thinking that myself," he informed her. "Thank-you for staying with me; I'm sure I'd go crazy, or do something stupid like drive all over L.A. myself, if I was left to my own devices."

She continued to smile as she crossed the few feet between them. She turned again and lowered herself to the other end of the bench. "Charlie knows them all by name," she shared, indicating the fish.

Alan snorted. "Oh, it's worse than that. He has diagrams depicting the swimming patterns of each one, somewhere in the garage."

Amita giggled. "I've seen those."

Alan groaned. "It's a miracle you ever went out with him a second time. Most men offer a beautiful woman flowers, or candy. Only Charlie offers her diagrams of koi."

This time she laughed out loud. "Well, I guess I'm not much like other women," she mused, glancing sideways at Alan, "although I do thank you for referring to me as 'beautiful'."

Alan patted her jean-clad knee gently. "Stunning, my dear. By far the best-looking woman Charlie ever brought home. Counting the one during high school, that's a total of two."

Amita raised an eyebrow. "Come now, Alan – I've met Susan Berry, remember? She's…a good-looking woman. For a blonde."

Alan chuckled. "True. But one, she doesn't hold a candle to you; and two, Charlie never brought her home – except for dinner, when she was here a few years ago. He was with her in England. That doesn't count. The International Trade Law or something – I'm sure Robin could tell you."

Amita smiled at the pond. "I like Robin. Do you think she and Don will stick it out, this time?"

Alan nodded. "I think so. I certainly hope so – none of us are getting any younger. A man should at least start being a grandfather when he can still pick up the baby."

The smile fell from Amita's face. "You want that very badly, don't you?"

Alan shrugged. "Well, yes, of course. I probably tease the boys too much about it. It's not like I want either of them to make a rash decision that will end up with another child living a divided life, with two separated parents. What I really want is for both of them to settle down; find that 'right' woman, and have her love and support for the rest of his life." He turned his head and winked at Amita. "Finally, both boys have their heads out of their asses on that one."

Amita sputtered out a half-laugh, half-choke. "I think you'd be a wonderful grandfather," she finally managed to say.

Alan dimpled, and beamed. "Thank-you. So do I." He studied Amita for a moment and grew serious. "Please don't feel that I'm pressuring you, dear. I know you and Charlie are still in the…'data-gathering' stage." She blushed and looked away, and he continued. "Although frankly, when he made you the pancake dinner, I think he was staking his claim. Charlie's a little…anal, sometimes. Or maybe it's just fear. I think he's more than ready for you to move in." Amita didn't respond to that, and after a moment or two of silence Alan made an offer. "I know young people need their space – especially in the beginning. If it's me, please don't let that stop you. I'm still looking at condos."

Amita whipped her head back around, and black hair nearly slapped Alan in the face. Her eyes were wide, her face distressed. "Oh, Alan, no! Please, it's not that, really. I know Charlie sometimes teases you about it, but it means a lot to him to have you here." She seemed to hesitate, biting her lip. "He told me," she said, finally deciding to go on, "that you worked very hard to pay for his tutors when he was growing up. He said you sometimes took private consulting jobs, and worked nights and weekends. He…didn't always feel very close to you, when he was young – he just didn't see you all that much. Then he left for Princeton so early. I think he really missed having a traditional family life, and he's loving the opportunity to enjoy it now." She blushed again and looked quickly away. "That's just what I think," she mumbled, letting her voice drift on the afternoon breeze.

Alan felt tears press at the back of his eyes. "Well. Well." Could what she observed be true? On some level, was Charlie still trying to have some of what he missed, all those years ago? And had one of the things he had missed been his father? "Well," Alan said again after clearing his throat. "I don't have to move. I just thought you should know it's an option."

Amita silently studied her knees for so long, Alan started racking his brain to figure out how he had offended her. Just as he was about to ask, she turned her whole body sideways on the bench so that she was fully facing him. She looked so serious it frightened Alan a little. "What is it, dear?" he asked, concerned, reaching for her hand.

She accepted his hand, and sandwiched it between her own. "By all rights, Charlie should know this first – but it's already too late for that, and nothing seems to be going the way I always dreamed it would, anyway…maybe next time."

Alan frowned, confused. "What?"

Amita smiled at him then, brilliantly and completely. "I'd like you to stay at the house," she announced. "What grandchild doesn't want his grandfather at his beck-and-call all day?"

Alan responded to her smile, grinning himself. "Of course if you and Charlie decide to have children, I'll help myself – I mean, help you out – all I can."

Amita shook her head. "I'm not sure you understand," she said. "There was no rational thought involved, but his sperm and my egg made the decision already."

It took Alan 2.4 seconds to compute that tidbit of information. Then he was off the bench, dancing around it like a man half his age, shouting and laughing and stooping to hug Amita. He raced to the edge of the koi pond, skidded to a halt and pivoted so quickly he nearly tipped over and swam with the fishes. "My God," he exclaimed, gathering his feet underneath him again and starting back toward the bench. "You mustn't sit out in this weather. Come in the house, and I'll heat up some nice stew. Would you like a nap, first? What can I get you?"

Amita stood from the bench and found herself immediately wrapped in Alan's loving embrace. Her arms flopped at her side for a moment, then lifted and began to pat Alan on the back. "Alan, calm down," she advised. "You're going to kill yourself before…whenever…"

Alan pulled back and smiled broadly, not even attempting to hide the tears in his eyes. "Not a chance," he assured her. "I've been working out."

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Charlie regained consciousness – such as it was – almost immediately, when his water broke. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why he was on the floor, or why his chest and pajama bottoms were all wet. His limbs flailed, arms and legs akimbo. If it wasn't for the total lack of coordinated movement, Charlie would have thought he was swimming. As it was, faced with the evidence, he assumed that he had wet the bed, and fallen out of it as well. He groaned, unhappy and guilty, and tried to figure out what to do next.

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Ian Edgarton had started on the third floor, in Charlie's old room. The floor was empty now, offering only hazmat workers – but Ian was a detective. On the white board in Charlie's former room, he found the name of the RN on duty that morning. He took out his cell, cut through the red tape of administration by calling Havercamp directly, and at length was informed that the nurse, now into overtime, was still assisting with the evacuation and was assigned to the first floor main entrance. She was double-checking every patient's identification bracelet before he or she was loaded into waiting transport. " 'Bout time," Edgarton mumbled before thanking Havercamp and disconnecting. After a final search of Charlie's room, Ian hit the stairs.

He found Nurse O.K. Betah exactly where he had been told he would. The woman took a quick break, giving him her full attention and cooperation. "I'm so sorry this happened," she confided. "It would be terrible with anyone, but Dr. Eppes is such a nice man. I feel especially bad about this."

"Did you move him anywhere yourself?" Ian asked.

She shook her head. "No. Several aides, orderlies – even some officers from LAPD -- were helping out. It was a madhouse, and all I could do to handle the paperwork." She had the courtesy to flush with embarrassment. "More than I could handle, apparently."

"Do you have a record of who moved him?"

She nodded, with hesitation. "I turned everything in to administration when the floor was emptied – and so did every other nurse on every other wing of this hospital. It will take days to wade through all of that and find what you want." Edgarton frowned and she hurried on. "But I remember. Dr. Eppes was in 314 – I sent two orderlies to transport 312 and 314. Dr. Eppes should have come down here, to a private ambulance, and 312 – who ended up here – should have gone downstairs, to the basement exit."

Ian ruminated. "The guy who accidently went to county lock-up; do you know where he was?"

She nodded. "Mr. Simmons. I checked that out as soon as I heard about the mix-up, and he was down in the basement as well. There must have been another mistake made there."

"What's in the basement?" Edgarton asked, half turned to head toward the stairwell again.

"It used to be the ER," Betah answered. "We remodeled about five years ago, and now it's mostly used by the School of Nursing. Their classrooms, labs and administrative offices are down there." Ian nodded and started to leave, and she called after him. "You won't find anything – it's empty now, except for the hazmat team."

"And one tracker," Ian muttered, all-but ignoring her. Without turning around, he dismissed her with a wave of his hand over his head, just before he opened the door to the stairwell.

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He had managed to get to his hands-and-knees. Even that much altitude further stressed his shallow breathing, so it didn't take many failed attempts at standing for Charlie to give up and start crawling through the puddle. The liquid smelled, and it was oddly sticky, and Charlie was disgusted with himself. He shivered as it soaked through his pajama bottoms, wetting his lower legs and feet as he moved through it, but it was his own fault for peeing in the first place, so he wrinkled his nose and continued to crawl without complaint.

He wasn't even sure where he was going. All he knew was that it was claustrophobic lying on the floor in-between the beds, and there was open space just ahead. It couldn't be more than six or eight feet, but Charlie began to wonder if he would ever reach the Promised Land. Even crawling, he had no energy, and was covering only a few inches at a time.

Charlie let himself examine the room with his peripheral vision, too tired to move his head. I don't know where I am, he thought, and crawled another inch. Why am I here alone? he wondered as he rested before the next inch. I want my daddy, he mused sadly, and a tear dropped between his shifting hands. Where is Don? he questioned, as, driven by a force outside of himself, he moved forward another inch. I want my brother, he sniffed, and another tear dropped onto the floor.

Charlie finally cleared the beds and reached the center of the room. Carefully, he lowered himself onto his side, avoiding the pencil that was sticking out of his chest, for some reason. He glanced down at the ugly parasite, and the inflamed and puckered skin surrounding it. Amita won't like that, he decided, closing his eyes and trying to remember how to breathe. I'm broken now, he concluded, drifting off to sleep. Maybe that's why they don't want me anymore….

And then he was asleep, safe from reality once more.

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Ian lifted a hand in greeting whenever he ran into a member of the hazmat team. They were congregated toward one end of the basement, lifting samples from the offices and classrooms. Occasionally, one would shuffle down the hall to deliver specimens to the headquarters hazmat had set-up on the second floor.

Edgarton strolled around what had been the triage area and receptionist's desk in the old ER. He approached the exit, showed his badge to the security guard there and waited until the man unlocked the door for him. The basement opened into the hospital's parking garage, which was well-lit and empty, now that this exit had been shut down. Ian stepped through the door, informing the guard that he would knock when he wanted back in.

He roamed a few feet into the eerily quiet concrete structure. He passed a stairwell that led pedestrians to another level, paused and squinted upstairs for a moment before moving past an empty bicycle rack. He checked around a vertical support pillar, thick and cylindrical, and found only trash cans for his trouble. In all, he only ventured about 20 feet from the door before he made an announcement that echoed in the cavernous garage: "Charlie's not here," he noted, daring the building to contradict him. No response was forthcoming, so Ian turned and started walking back to the door. "I'd smell him if he was here," he chuckled to himself.

Edgarton rapped smartly on the door and the security guard readmitted him to the old ER. Ian nodded his thanks and made his way down the corridor. He passed the stairwell, and the elevator. Several feet later, he passed a bathroom. He paused a few steps past the men's room and lifted his chin in the air as if to test the wind. Then he backtracked to the restroom and pushed through the door.

He felt around the door frame, found a light switch and clicked on the fluorescent lights. "Charlie?" he called. He paused again, half-expecting to hear something. Then he strode through the room banging open each of the three stall doors to peer inside.

Nothing.

"Hmphf," remarked Edgarton. Turning out the lights again, he opened the door and went back into the main corridor of the basement. He was alone now, the hazmat team behind him, and his footsteps echoed loudly in the hall. About 12 feet past the restroom, he came to a fork in the road and was faced with a choice: Turn left, or turn right.

Ian looked over his shoulder to make sure no-one was watching him, and then did what he always did when he found himself in this situation. With no scent or footprints to follow, he took his lucky quarter from the front pocket of his jeans and flipped it into the air. Always, heads meant left, and tails meant right.

It was a 1995 'Liberty' coin, a quarter dating from a time when money was money, and not some sort of geography lesson. When he caught the silver with his dominant right hand and slammed it on the back of his left, he lifted his hand to reveal a magestic eagle, its wings unfurled. "Okay, Eppsie," Edgarton murmured, and he turned right.

He continued down the vacant hallway, passing a closed door on the left marked 'Storage'. Ian stopped to rattle the door knob, finding it locked. Leaning over to look more closely at the lock, he also discovered that it was as old-fashioned as his quarter. He could gain entrance with a credit card, if he had to. Straightening, he decided to save that for the return trip. He didn't smell Charlie behind Door #2, either.

He crossed the hallway to the Student Nursing Instructional Lab, and started to put his hand on the glass door, leaning in to peer into the room. This door was not locked, however, and to his surprise was motion-controlled. The glass panel began to retract into the wall.

Ian stepped inside, and again tilted his chin into the air, narrowing his eyes. "Eppes," he breathed. He was standing beside the miniature 'nurses' station' that was just inside the door. With one long stride he was past it – and standing directly over Charlie, who was lying on the floor in a fetal position staring up at him, his eyes bright with fever, dark with pain and terror and confusion.

Ian dropped to his knees and reached for his cell phone in one motion. "Hey, Charlie," he greeted.

The slightest hint of relief flashed in Charlie's eyes. "I lost…my bed," he whispered breathlessly and confidentially, "but we have...to be careful. There…are aliens afoot."

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A/N: Oh, no! Charlie is drowning in his own…stuff (yeech)…and still avoiding the aliens! Not only that, he thinks everybody left him there intentionally! Now that Larry, Millie and Alan know that Amita is pregnant, who is next? Perhaps she should just take an ad out in the paper and get it over with. Meanwhile, what the hell is Don up to?