Title: The Fury of the Wind
Author: Windimere Wellen
Part: 9 of ?
Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs, and sadly, I never will.
Author's Note: Once again, thank you so much for all of your wonderful reviews. I rewrote this chapter twice, and I had hoped to get further along in the timeline, but suddenly it was so long! So I had to change my thinking! I hope you enjoy it…let me know!
Lady Winter
Alan Eppes had always thought that he was a lucky father. There had been many trying moments obviously – millions of them in fact. After all, there was no such thing as smooth sailing when you were raising children. His children had proved to be even more difficult than most. Or, rather, Charlie had proved to be more difficult, though difficult wasn't a word that Alan would have chosen.
There was no arguing that raising a gifted child had its bumps, and those bumps had been all encompassing. It hadn't been easy to give Charlie what he needed and to balance Don, who had been bright enough, but always eclipsed.
Alan had a lot of regrets regarding his sons' childhoods, but, as he often said, that was in the past. The real joy had come as the boys had become older. They were both fine children to have, and Alan had plenty of bragging rights. His youngest son was a genius, a prodigy in his field, and well respected and well known. His older son was a gifted and decorated FBI agent, who did more for justice than Alan would ever know.
He was proud of his sons. It was a terrible thing that it had taken his wife's sickness and death to bring Don home from a self-imposed distance, but in the end, as Margaret had predicted, it was a homecoming that would change everything.
Don and Charlie still had their issues. They were both stubborn – they got that from Alan himself. They were both proud – that they got from their mother. They were so different that they were constantly banging heads – Don still trying to get out of Charlie's shadow, a shadow that was mostly in his own mind, and Charlie constantly trying to win his older brother's approval, which he already had, but didn't realize. Sometimes, they were exhausting.
None the less, in the past few years, Alan had been thrilled to see them renew their relationship and start to sift through the issues that they had. It was a gradual process, but Alan had thought they were doing rather well for all of the problems that they had.
At first he'd been reluctant about Charlie assisting Don with the FBI. He had been afraid of the results of Charlie encroaching on what Don did best, and what was worse was actually knowing what Don did. Hearing the sordid details was too much. Having Don come home after being shot at, and having Charlie blame himself for it was too much. And having Charlie in the line of fire, that was too much too.
Still, he couldn't stop either of the boys, who weren't really boys, but rather grown men. Grown men who could make their own decisions. And making their own decisions was what they seemed to think they did best. Which included Charlie deciding to get involved in Don's more dangerous cases. It also included Don thinking that he was taking great care of himself, even when he went for days with almost no sleep, and then into the field with even less.
But they were good children. They loved and respected him and they never ceased to show it. Alan certainly thought he was a lucky father.
Today though, at seven forty one at night, he suddenly didn't feel so lucky any more. Not standing in a non-descript hospital waiting room, with orange plastic chairs, a left over from the seventies, and green flecked tile that clashed horribly. No, Alan wasn't feeling lucky.
He hadn't been feeling lucky since Megan Reeves had pulled into his driveway driving Don's SUV, which was lacking its owner. He hadn't been feeling so lucky since Megan had told him that his sons had both been injured. Even when she'd assured him that Charlie was going to be fine, he didn't feel lucky. The strain in her voice told him that she wasn't completely sure. And when he'd asked about Don? It seemed that there was no luck left in the world.
Alan reflected that he should have known something was wrong when Amita had shown up at the house. He'd been surprised to see her. He knew that things between Amita and Charlie were over, at least romantically speaking, thought it was hard to really say anything, beyond a lot of flirtation, to which Charlie had been rather blind, had really gone on. Charlie was still her thesis advisor, and they remained friends, but her social visits to the house had cut down significantly. She was only there when there was some sort of get together, and then, she hardly gravitated to Charlie like she used to.
So Alan wasn't prepared when she'd knocked on his door with a hollow look on her face, which she had tried to hide. Alan had assumed something was wrong and she'd come to get advice from Charlie, or perhaps Don. When he'd told her that neither of the boys were home, because many times he caught her asking after Don rather than Charlie, she had seemed unsurprised, but had asked to stay anyway. That should have been his first indication. She must have known something was wrong. She had done a marvelous job distracting him, down to making sure he'd never turned the evening news on.
The car ride to the hospital, Grace Memorial Megan had told him, was excruciating. No one spoke. Alan had been hesitant to let Megan drive, because she looked so lost and so hurt, an image that he was mirroring ten fold. She had insisted, and when they'd left the house, she'd managed to tell Alan that she'd been there, with the boys when they'd been injured, but when he pressed for details, she choked up, something that Alan hadn't thought the strong, often detached profiler was capable of. He hadn't pressed, unsure if he wanted to know what she knew. Unsure if he could handle it.
They'd taken Don's car, and the faint scent of his aftershave, something so familiar to Alan, had almost made him want to take his own car, but he didn't trust himself to drive. Amita had wordlessly come, and Alan caught her gripping the plastic handle on the door so tightly that her skin was white around the knuckles.
By the time Alan realized Megan was physically shaking, they were pulling into the hospital parking garage. His fatherly instincts came out in overflow, because if he couldn't take care of Charlie and Don, he would take care of his son's partner. Once they'd arrived at the waiting room, he'd sent Amita to find Megan a blanket and to get her some food, or at least some liquid.
Only then did Alan gather the courage to go up to information desk to enquire about his sons. He'd almost reached the desk when Colby Granger appeared by his side, seemingly out of nowhere.
"Mr. Eppes?" he asked, worry heavy in his voice as he reached out to touch the older man on the arm.
"Colby, did you come here with my boys?" he asked, surprised at how broken his voice sounded, how desperate he was for information.
"I rode in with Charlie, in the ambulance," Colby said, a semi-relieved look passing over his face.
"How is he?" Alan asked, his voice catching in his throat.
"Actually, I've been waiting to hear. When I got here, they wouldn't let me follow him any further, but the EMT told me he'd be fine, and she was pretty certain." Alan carefully listened to Colby's tone of voice, and found no reservation there.
"But you haven't heard anything since they took him into the ER?"
"No, sir. I was just coming to check again. I had to call in to the director. I've only been here for about an hour."
Alan had nodded and then turned to see that Amita had returned to Megan's side bearing coffee and a stale looking donut. "You should check on your partner and I'll ask about the boys." Colby nodded and turned to go, but Alan reached out to grab his elbow. "You haven't heard anything about Don?"
Just saying his son's name made his heart feel like it was being crushed.
Colby shook his head, his eyes finding a spot on the tile beneath his feet. "No, sir." It dawned on Alan that Colby had seen Don – maybe had even seen what happened. Alan turned away, still unable to ask for answers. He left Colby there, knowing he might have seemed rude, but unable to care.
The final few feet to the information desk seemed painful. Alan felt like he had lead weights tied to his feet, but before he knew it, he was standing there and the receptionist in yellow scrubs was staring up at him, asking in a kind voice if she could help him.
"Yes…" he started, but his voice was so soft that he had to try again. "Yes. My son's were brought in earlier. I need to… I need to…" Alan didn't know what he needed. There were just a million things. He needed to see the boys. He needed them to be ok. He needed to talk to a doctor. He needed a doctor to tell him that both his boys were fine. He needed to touch them. He needed to see them laugh. He needed to see them smile. He needed for this not to be happening.
"Can I have their names?" she asked him understandingly, dragging him back to her attention.
"Eppes." It was all he could manage. He tried again. "Charles and Donald Eppes. E, P, P, E, S."
"I'm showing that a Charles Eppes is still in the ER, but hasn't been admitted yet. They haven't moved him to a room yet," here she frowned. "I don't have a Donald Eppes listed. Are you sure they were both brought here?"
Alan had stopped breathing. The only thing that his mind allowed him to think was that Don was dead. He wasn't listed in the computer because he was already in the morgue. What was it they said? DOA? Dead on arrival?
"Mr. Eppes? Are you all right?" the young woman was asking, now on her feet, staring at him with a huge amount of concern. Alan tried to speak, knew his mouth was opening and closing, but nothing was coming out.
"Excuse me, is there anyone here for Charles Eppes?"
The question, spoken from across the room, startled Alan enough that he turned to find a doctor standing in the doorway to the ER, looking around hopefully.
Megan, Amita and Colby were on their feet.
"Me, I'm here for Charles Eppes," Alan finally said, finding his voice. He took a tentative step towards the doctor, but his mind was still trapped on what the receptionist had said.
"And you are?" the doctor asked, clearly noting Megan and Colby's FBI jackets.
"I'm his father," Alan said, his voice betraying all the tension and fear he was feeling, and it came out a little sharper than he intended. The doctor didn't seem fazed, and he smiled at Alan.
"Good, Charlie's been asking for you. I'm Dr. Gordon, and if you come with me, I can take you to see Charlie. But, I'm afraid it can only be immediate family." His last comment was directed at Megan, Amita and Colby. Alan was nodding, but he fiercely grabbed Amita's hand as he walked by her.
"The receptionist says that Don's not listed as being a patient here. Find him." He knew it came out as an order, but Amita was nodding, and the two FBI agents had heard him too.
It always seemed to be this way. He had to make sure Charlie was ok and Don would have to wait. For a little while longer, Don would have to be on his own. It was a simple repeat of Don's whole life. Alan bit back the bitterness within himself at the mistakes he felt he'd made as a father. Right now, Charlie needed him.
The doctor had a hand on his elbow, leading Alan through the doorway.
"Mr. Eppes, I'm glad to tell you that Charlie's going to be just fine. Has anyone told you what happened yet?"
"No," Alan said, reflecting that he hadn't let Megan tell him. "No, all I know is that both my sons were injured."
"Charlie was shot at fairly close range, but the bullet was significantly slowed down, so by the time it entered Charlie's arm," here the doctor was motioning to show Alan where Charlie had been shot, in the left bicep, "it had slowed down so much that it lodged just under the skin. We simply removed the bullet, cleaned the wound and made a few wide sutures. It's going to take some time to heal, he shouldn't use the arm very much and will need to wear a sling for about four weeks, but we expect full recovery."
Alan was listening so hard he almost missed the part when the doctor told him Charlie was going to be fine. The relief was so overwhelming that he couldn't think straight for a few moments, and the doctor mistook his silence for worry.
"Trust me Mr. Eppes, your son was incredibly lucky. It didn't come anywhere close to a blood vessel. We only had to put him under lightly, and he's already awake." At that point, they had reached a room, and when the doctor still didn't get a response from Alan, he simply slid a curtain to one side and ushered Alan in.
Apparently the information the computer had was wrong, because Charlie had been placed in a room – if a space surrounded on three sides by a curtain, and only on one side with a wall could be considered a room.
Charlie was propped up in the standard hospital bed, looking a little groggy. His left arm was in a sling, protectively resting against his chest, and Alan wanted to scream with joy, because besides looking a little pale, there was Charlie, in one piece.
As soon as the curtain moved, Charlie looked up and even managed to smile. It was a smile of desperation. "Dad! Thank goodness you're here. They wouldn't let me call you…" Charlie began, but his voice sounded exhausted and Alan didn't like what he was seeing.
Charlie might have been ok physically, but there was something else seriously wrong. Only a father could note the drawn look about Charlie's face, how his brows seemed pinched, and the vacant look in his eyes – the look he'd only seen when he'd walked in on the boys after their mother had died.
He'd rushed home, hurrying to stop Don from doing something he would regret with the anger he'd been feeling towards Charlie. Instead of finding Don venting his anger at Charlie, Alan had found Don holding Charlie, sitting on the floor of the garage, as Charlie sobbed. When Charlie had finally gotten himself under control, he's simply stayed in Don's arms, that vacant, terrified look in his eyes.
"Dad, I'm so sorry." Alan realized Charlie was still talking and he forced himself to focus. "I'm so sorry."
"Charlie, what are you talking about? Shhh, you have to rest. You've been hurt. That God you're ok." Alan did the only thing he could do, and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching up to move errant curls out of Charlie's face. He was so grateful to touch his son that the feeling was too hard to describe. Charlie was there. Alive.
"Dad it's my fault. I couldn't save Don. I tried to. I swear I tried to, but I just wasn't fast enough…" Charlie was crying now, reaching for his father. Alan carefully pulled him into a hug, keeping himself clear of the wounded arm. "Is he? Is he ok?" Charlie was sniffling, and Alan was thinking that the last time he'd seen Charlie cry was when Margaret had passed. And now he was crying again, babbling on about not being able to save Don. Alan wanted to ease his pain, but he had no idea what Charlie meant.
"Charlie, whatever happened, I'm sure it wasn't your fault. All that matters is that you're ok," Alan soothed, but now his mind was working overtime. What did happen? Charlie didn't respond, just buried his face back in Alan's shoulder. "Dr. Gordon?"
The doctor, who'd been standing nearby, was frowning.
"I promise he's fine. We can discharge him within the hour if you'll sign for his release. He'll have to come back for several check ups and the wound must be kept clean, so some sort of home care would be advisable. I've already written out a prescription for pain relief…"
"Dr. Gordon," Alan said again, interrupting. The doctor paused. "I have another son. Do you know what's happened to him?" Slowly, Gordon shook his head no. It was clear that Charlie had already been asking.
"No, I'm sorry. I only took care of Charlie. But I haven't seen anyone else on the board with the last name of Eppes," he paused, gauging the shocked expression on Alan's face. "There is a chance… I mean, do you know what the extent of his injuries were?" Alan could only shake his head negatively. "If it was very severe, they might have simply mercy-flighted him to LA Central. They have the best trauma unit in the city."
Alan nodded, and tried to fight the spark of hope that flashed in him. He didn't want to be let down. But the word trauma was already burned into his mind, mixing the hope with bitter fear.
"Why don't you go out and have the receptionist make a few calls and I'll get Charlie ready for discharge," the doctor suggested, but Alan hesitated, not wanting to leave Charlie who was so obviously upset.
"Dad, please go check," Charlie was pleading now, his tears drying. "I'll be fine. Please."
"Ok, but you do everything the doctor asks." After procuring a promise from Charlie, it was all Alan could do to drag himself away, but his need to find Don was overwhelming. As soon as he came back through the doors, he found Amita and Colby anxiously waiting for him.
"Mr. Eppes! Don was here, but they moved him. They took him via a mercy flight to Central," Colby told Alan quickly.
Alan shivered a little. "Just how badly was he hurt?" he finally managed to ask.
"Very badly," Megan said, coming up behind Alan. "I'm so sorry Mr. Eppes."