Ulysses Chapter 1: Thanks for the Memories *Eppes- family, Billy Cooper; A/M, C/A, D/R; PG-13/K*
Title: Thanks for the Memories
Series: Ulysses
Author: loozy
Characters: Alan- pov; mention of Margaret, Charlie, Don, Robin, Amita, Millie, Billy Cooper; A/M, A/Mi, C/A, D/R
Rating: PG- 13/ K
Summary: Maybe he had done wrong by Cooper. Maybe. He would always hold it against the other man that he had caused his wife to have many a sleepless night, even if Cooper was not responsible for it, logically.
Word Count: 2003
Spoilers: after 5x23, Angels & Devils
Notes: valeriev84 is again the beta for this fic... She rocks my boat... J And feeds me plotbunnies...
Prompt: # 4 Learning
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fic. Numb3rs and everybody associated with it belong to Cheryl Heuton & Nick Fallucci and CBS.
Feedback: Yes, please. I love every kind of review, even the bad ones, as long as they are helpful and constructive.
Alan wakes up, slightly disconcerted from the dream he had.
Margaret was in it, which has become a rarity in the last couple of years, and while he always welcomes her sight, this dream was a strange one.
He does not remember the exact details, he just has this unsettling feeling in his stomach now.
He feels too queasy to eat breakfast, so he just makes a cup of jasmine tea that soothes upset stomachs, and instead sits down on the piano stool, staring at the collection of photos up on top of the instrument, as if trying to find the answer in the photos that show Margaret with him, the boys, alone. None of them are sad photos; they are alive, laughing, in movement. No darkness, all summer and light and joy.
Back when everything was fine, when the only care they had was that their boys were not speaking. Or that Donnie had not called in two weeks, but they had heard in the news about the FBI chasing down a fugitive again, and they knew that their son was probably involved, as he was in most of the high- profile ones that they actually reported on national TV.
Or that Charlie and his girlfriend, Susan, over in the UK were happily settled in, and it seemed as though Charlie had found a place where he was so very happy and had found himself that they were a bit afraid that he might not return.
They had loved those couple of months after Margaret had returned to LA, and they had been on their own for the first time in just a bit more than two decades. They had made love and run around naked in the house, like they had done before common decency and Donnie had dictated they be more modest.
It was like they were on their second honeymoon.
He glances at one of the photos up there, a shot taken by Stan at a barbecue. Him hugging Margaret from behind, their smiles so big they seem to have overtaken their faces. He likes to remember those times.
And why should he not?
Everything was great. Great life. Great sons. Great partnership.
Just great.
There are a couple more of them from that evening, one of the pictures is on his nightstand now so that one of the first things he sees upon awakening is her beautiful smile.
Millie has a great smile, too, and a sense of humour so dark it rivals Margaret’s, but he just cannot seem to take that photo off the stand. And Millie does not seem to mind.
She and Margaret would have gotten along fantastically. Probably way too well, and him and Charlie would have had to interfere.
The thought brings a soft smile to his face that stays on as he lets his eyes wander across more of the photos.
His eyes rest on a photo of Donnie as a baby, the first photo ever taken of him. He was just fresh out of being cleaned up and they had placed him in one of those small beds that were supposed to keep the infant warm. One of the nurses had taken a photo of him with a Polaroid camera to show Margaret once she awoke from the anaesthesia.
He had not lied when he told Robin in the hospital that Donnie’s birth had been a difficult and strenuous one. For all of them.
Margaret had been in labour for twenty- seven hours, only slowly dilating, and no matter how often Alan told her that it was just because Donnie loved it so much in there that he did not want to come out, she still held his hand in a vice- like grip that seemed to break all the bones in his hand every time. Finally, when they had wheeled her into the delivery, complications had come up and they had to do an emergency Caesarean.
Alan had been forced to wait outside and had sworn to himself that he would never let anything again happen to the baby and his wife.
Funny, years later he stood in the same hospital and watched his wife die, with his firstborn by his side, and then even more years on, he watched his firstborn fight for his life.
With Charlie it had been so much easier.
Labour. Birth. Ping.
A son.
Of course, raising Charlie was much more of a struggle than Donnie had ever been. The baby that he had sung Sgt Pepper to still fell asleep the best when listening to the Beatles and grew into a shy little boy who taught himself how to read when he was three because he was just too curious.
About everything.
But Donnie did not run around asking questions. No, he went and tried to get the answers himself. Even if it was running out to the ice- cream van and asking the man how he made ice cream, scaring his mother half to death when she had come back from changing Charlie to find the front door open and her oldest son nowhere to be seen.
Donnie was a handful, yes, but as soon as he realized that his parents were occupied with Charlie as a baby, who was, contrary to his birth, demanding, and later when they discovered his talent, eight- year- old Don Eppes decided that he had to look out for himself.
Margaret had told Alan at some point, he cannot remember when, that she feared that Don might have overheard them talking about how to raise their two headstrong sons, and what to do with Charlie. It was clear as day that his talent had to be developed, honed, but at the same time what were they to do with Don?
Don had solved that question by making himself sandwiches after school, or cycling home after practice once he had gotten his parents’ permission to cycle the ten minute- ride to school.
The growl in his stomach tells Alan that he probably should eat something. It is a Thursday, Charlie and Amita are going out for a rare weekend away tonight, working on their relationship, Millie and Larry are at a conference and he would have wanted to have dinner with Don and Robin if they are not caught up in a case. The last couple of weeks were intense and Don was up to his neck in work, which then often meant that Robin was not far behind.
He has not seen his son in almost two weeks and the one time he actually went up to the office, the team was out, only Nikki had remained, promising him that she would tell Don he had stopped by. When his son had rang him, he had sounded hurried, stressed, so Alan had told him to simply come over whenever.
After his return to LA, Don would come over to the Craftsman often, but now with Robin, he seems content to spend his rare quiet evenings in with her, and Alan does not hold it against him.
When he walks over to the kitchen, another photo catches his eye.
It is another one of Donnie, all grown- up, dressed in jeans and a white button- down with the sleeves rolled up, his hair shorn short, stubble grazing his jaw, decked out in tactical gear. He and the man beside him, Special Agent Billy Cooper, are sporting big
smiles despite the exhaustion marring their features.
Don had send them that picture after chasing down Burt Brethren, a maniac paedophile and serial killer who liked to spy on mothers with their toddlers. After figuring out their routines, he would kidnap them, kill the mother and drop her off on the highest level of the biggest parking garage in the town he was currently in. The children he would then scar for life over a period of three weeks, moving around all the time before leaving them stranded at a petrol station in the middle of nowhere.
After five years of chasing him, he had managed to escape from custody with the help of a bribed officer who, as it was later discovered, had a bunch of pornographic material on his computer, as well has having laid hands on his seven- year- old daughter and four- year- old nephew.
The case had held the whole of America in its clutches, mothers had not gone out with their children unless they absolutely had to, playgrounds had been as good as deserted, as well as crèches, kindergartens and pre- schools.
Donnie had called once before starting the chase to inform them that if they did not hear from him, that they should not be worried.
Of course, they had worried, and not even his phone call at the end of the five- week- long chase had calmed Margaret enough who had been near hysterics by the time he had called. So, Don had asked one of his colleagues to take a photo of him and Cooper, or Coop, as he called him, as proof of life.
The photo had found a place on the wall, and Margaret, appalled at the skinniness of her son, had sent him a care package to his apartment in Boston.
The one time that Don and Cooper had made it to LA for more than a couple of hours, they had come over to stay the night at the Craftsman. Alan had not been able to help himself, but he had not liked Cooper very much, and upon their second meeting years later, he could not quell the dislike.
He did not know why exactly.
As far as they knew, and Margaret had overanalyzed every word of the letters that Donnie sent, Cooper had been the man who had helped his son to get out of the black hole that he seemed to have fallen into after his three- month stint in Detroit.
Something had happened in Detroit that Don had never talked about, but Alan remembers that the phone calls got darker and darker every time they talked.
He had to find out what had happened. Now that he can recall the Donnie of then, he is filled with unease once again. Cooper had helped him through this. Fugitive Recovery had not been a good time for Donnie, who, even though he excelled at it, was more of a homebody than any of their family had ever expected.
He needed a foundation, a place to come home to; he needed people around himself, familiar faces.
Something had happened in Detroit.
Only what?
He could not lose that train of thought.
Maybe he had done wrong by Cooper. Maybe. He would always hold it against the other man that he had caused his wife to have many a sleepless night, even if Cooper was not responsible for it, logically. But the redhead had been the reason why Donnie had stayed in FR as long as he had.
But Alan had also seen the way his son’s face had lit up when he had talked to him on the phone when he was on sick leave. Maybe now that things seemed to have calmed down, they could reconnect?
Margaret would have been so proud of him. She had loved Cooper, had seen him for the friend that he was to Donnie.
Someone stable for him, Alan. You know how Donnie gets. He needs people, but he also needs his constant. And Billy is that to him. He is a very nice man with good manners. A bit gruff, but so is Donnie, haven’t you noticed?
Donnie has become a man.
A good man. And Cooper is partially responsible for that. You should not hold that against him.
Somewhere he had Cooper’s number stashed away, from years back, when Don had given them the number in a case of emergency and he could not be reached.
If the number was still correct, then Alan had to make a phone call now.
Series: Ulysses
Author: loozy
Characters: Alan- pov; mention of Margaret, Charlie, Don, Robin, Amita, Millie, Billy Cooper; A/M, A/Mi, C/A, D/R
Rating: PG- 13/ K
Summary: Maybe he had done wrong by Cooper. Maybe. He would always hold it against the other man that he had caused his wife to have many a sleepless night, even if Cooper was not responsible for it, logically.
Word Count: 2003
Spoilers: after 5x23, Angels & Devils
Notes: valeriev84 is again the beta for this fic... She rocks my boat... J And feeds me plotbunnies...
Prompt: # 4 Learning
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fic. Numb3rs and everybody associated with it belong to Cheryl Heuton & Nick Fallucci and CBS.
Feedback: Yes, please. I love every kind of review, even the bad ones, as long as they are helpful and constructive.
Alan wakes up, slightly disconcerted from the dream he had.
Margaret was in it, which has become a rarity in the last couple of years, and while he always welcomes her sight, this dream was a strange one.
He does not remember the exact details, he just has this unsettling feeling in his stomach now.
He feels too queasy to eat breakfast, so he just makes a cup of jasmine tea that soothes upset stomachs, and instead sits down on the piano stool, staring at the collection of photos up on top of the instrument, as if trying to find the answer in the photos that show Margaret with him, the boys, alone. None of them are sad photos; they are alive, laughing, in movement. No darkness, all summer and light and joy.
Back when everything was fine, when the only care they had was that their boys were not speaking. Or that Donnie had not called in two weeks, but they had heard in the news about the FBI chasing down a fugitive again, and they knew that their son was probably involved, as he was in most of the high- profile ones that they actually reported on national TV.
Or that Charlie and his girlfriend, Susan, over in the UK were happily settled in, and it seemed as though Charlie had found a place where he was so very happy and had found himself that they were a bit afraid that he might not return.
They had loved those couple of months after Margaret had returned to LA, and they had been on their own for the first time in just a bit more than two decades. They had made love and run around naked in the house, like they had done before common decency and Donnie had dictated they be more modest.
It was like they were on their second honeymoon.
He glances at one of the photos up there, a shot taken by Stan at a barbecue. Him hugging Margaret from behind, their smiles so big they seem to have overtaken their faces. He likes to remember those times.
And why should he not?
Everything was great. Great life. Great sons. Great partnership.
Just great.
There are a couple more of them from that evening, one of the pictures is on his nightstand now so that one of the first things he sees upon awakening is her beautiful smile.
Millie has a great smile, too, and a sense of humour so dark it rivals Margaret’s, but he just cannot seem to take that photo off the stand. And Millie does not seem to mind.
She and Margaret would have gotten along fantastically. Probably way too well, and him and Charlie would have had to interfere.
The thought brings a soft smile to his face that stays on as he lets his eyes wander across more of the photos.
His eyes rest on a photo of Donnie as a baby, the first photo ever taken of him. He was just fresh out of being cleaned up and they had placed him in one of those small beds that were supposed to keep the infant warm. One of the nurses had taken a photo of him with a Polaroid camera to show Margaret once she awoke from the anaesthesia.
He had not lied when he told Robin in the hospital that Donnie’s birth had been a difficult and strenuous one. For all of them.
Margaret had been in labour for twenty- seven hours, only slowly dilating, and no matter how often Alan told her that it was just because Donnie loved it so much in there that he did not want to come out, she still held his hand in a vice- like grip that seemed to break all the bones in his hand every time. Finally, when they had wheeled her into the delivery, complications had come up and they had to do an emergency Caesarean.
Alan had been forced to wait outside and had sworn to himself that he would never let anything again happen to the baby and his wife.
Funny, years later he stood in the same hospital and watched his wife die, with his firstborn by his side, and then even more years on, he watched his firstborn fight for his life.
With Charlie it had been so much easier.
Labour. Birth. Ping.
A son.
Of course, raising Charlie was much more of a struggle than Donnie had ever been. The baby that he had sung Sgt Pepper to still fell asleep the best when listening to the Beatles and grew into a shy little boy who taught himself how to read when he was three because he was just too curious.
About everything.
But Donnie did not run around asking questions. No, he went and tried to get the answers himself. Even if it was running out to the ice- cream van and asking the man how he made ice cream, scaring his mother half to death when she had come back from changing Charlie to find the front door open and her oldest son nowhere to be seen.
Donnie was a handful, yes, but as soon as he realized that his parents were occupied with Charlie as a baby, who was, contrary to his birth, demanding, and later when they discovered his talent, eight- year- old Don Eppes decided that he had to look out for himself.
Margaret had told Alan at some point, he cannot remember when, that she feared that Don might have overheard them talking about how to raise their two headstrong sons, and what to do with Charlie. It was clear as day that his talent had to be developed, honed, but at the same time what were they to do with Don?
Don had solved that question by making himself sandwiches after school, or cycling home after practice once he had gotten his parents’ permission to cycle the ten minute- ride to school.
The growl in his stomach tells Alan that he probably should eat something. It is a Thursday, Charlie and Amita are going out for a rare weekend away tonight, working on their relationship, Millie and Larry are at a conference and he would have wanted to have dinner with Don and Robin if they are not caught up in a case. The last couple of weeks were intense and Don was up to his neck in work, which then often meant that Robin was not far behind.
He has not seen his son in almost two weeks and the one time he actually went up to the office, the team was out, only Nikki had remained, promising him that she would tell Don he had stopped by. When his son had rang him, he had sounded hurried, stressed, so Alan had told him to simply come over whenever.
After his return to LA, Don would come over to the Craftsman often, but now with Robin, he seems content to spend his rare quiet evenings in with her, and Alan does not hold it against him.
When he walks over to the kitchen, another photo catches his eye.
It is another one of Donnie, all grown- up, dressed in jeans and a white button- down with the sleeves rolled up, his hair shorn short, stubble grazing his jaw, decked out in tactical gear. He and the man beside him, Special Agent Billy Cooper, are sporting big
smiles despite the exhaustion marring their features.
Don had send them that picture after chasing down Burt Brethren, a maniac paedophile and serial killer who liked to spy on mothers with their toddlers. After figuring out their routines, he would kidnap them, kill the mother and drop her off on the highest level of the biggest parking garage in the town he was currently in. The children he would then scar for life over a period of three weeks, moving around all the time before leaving them stranded at a petrol station in the middle of nowhere.
After five years of chasing him, he had managed to escape from custody with the help of a bribed officer who, as it was later discovered, had a bunch of pornographic material on his computer, as well has having laid hands on his seven- year- old daughter and four- year- old nephew.
The case had held the whole of America in its clutches, mothers had not gone out with their children unless they absolutely had to, playgrounds had been as good as deserted, as well as crèches, kindergartens and pre- schools.
Donnie had called once before starting the chase to inform them that if they did not hear from him, that they should not be worried.
Of course, they had worried, and not even his phone call at the end of the five- week- long chase had calmed Margaret enough who had been near hysterics by the time he had called. So, Don had asked one of his colleagues to take a photo of him and Cooper, or Coop, as he called him, as proof of life.
The photo had found a place on the wall, and Margaret, appalled at the skinniness of her son, had sent him a care package to his apartment in Boston.
The one time that Don and Cooper had made it to LA for more than a couple of hours, they had come over to stay the night at the Craftsman. Alan had not been able to help himself, but he had not liked Cooper very much, and upon their second meeting years later, he could not quell the dislike.
He did not know why exactly.
As far as they knew, and Margaret had overanalyzed every word of the letters that Donnie sent, Cooper had been the man who had helped his son to get out of the black hole that he seemed to have fallen into after his three- month stint in Detroit.
Something had happened in Detroit that Don had never talked about, but Alan remembers that the phone calls got darker and darker every time they talked.
He had to find out what had happened. Now that he can recall the Donnie of then, he is filled with unease once again. Cooper had helped him through this. Fugitive Recovery had not been a good time for Donnie, who, even though he excelled at it, was more of a homebody than any of their family had ever expected.
He needed a foundation, a place to come home to; he needed people around himself, familiar faces.
Something had happened in Detroit.
Only what?
He could not lose that train of thought.
Maybe he had done wrong by Cooper. Maybe. He would always hold it against the other man that he had caused his wife to have many a sleepless night, even if Cooper was not responsible for it, logically. But the redhead had been the reason why Donnie had stayed in FR as long as he had.
But Alan had also seen the way his son’s face had lit up when he had talked to him on the phone when he was on sick leave. Maybe now that things seemed to have calmed down, they could reconnect?
Margaret would have been so proud of him. She had loved Cooper, had seen him for the friend that he was to Donnie.
Someone stable for him, Alan. You know how Donnie gets. He needs people, but he also needs his constant. And Billy is that to him. He is a very nice man with good manners. A bit gruff, but so is Donnie, haven’t you noticed?
Donnie has become a man.
A good man. And Cooper is partially responsible for that. You should not hold that against him.
Somewhere he had Cooper’s number stashed away, from years back, when Don had given them the number in a case of emergency and he could not be reached.
If the number was still correct, then Alan had to make a phone call now.