Numb3rs fic: Just A Mathematcian, Chapter Three - David

[msgrahamcracker]

Title: Just A Mathematician
Author: msgrahamcracker
Characters: Charlie Eppes, Don Eppes, David Sinclair, Colby Granger
Pairings: none
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5464
Spoilers: none
Summary: We all use math everyday; to predict weather, to tell time, to handle money and when the situation calls for it, to save a couple of friend's lives.
Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs, it's characters or it's concept

Previously on numb3rs_fic; from Chapter Two - Charlie

Granger's head moved slightly in response, but his eyes remained closed and then, once again, he settled into stillness. It wasn't much, but Charlie felt rejuvenated with hope. He re-wet his cloth and tied it around his nose and mouth again, then returned the bottle to his jeans pocket and staggered to his feet. With one last look at Colby, Charlie turned and limped back into the inferno after David.



Just a Mathematician

~by MsGrahamCracker~

Chapter Three - David

Saturday, 10:58am

Warned by his partner's yell, David Sinclair immediately dove for cover behind a half wall partition that might have at one time been an elaborate work bench. It had thick wooden sides, reinforced with strips of metal and had been bolted into the wall. He had seen Granger's face as he reached for Charlie and the expression of pure panic told David all he needed to know - there must be a timer involved and it must have run out. No time to do anything but dig in.

Trained in explosive survival during his first posting in Tel Aviv he moved with precision, without thought. He shook his jacket off and wrapped it around his head to protect his eyes and ears from flying debris. Quickly, he laid down flat, with his head facing the direction away from where Colby had seen the bomb. He placed one side of his face to the floor, and covered his head with his hands, keeping his elbows tight against his sides to protect his vital organs. David knew it was the initial pressure wave that could do the most damage - sometimes causing Primary Blast Injury, an often fatal condition with multiple broken bones and deadly internal injuries. Lying flat to reduce his lateral profile as much as possible he laid still, breathing in and out in rapid pulses to keep his air passages open and waited for the shock wave he knew was coming.

A split second later all hell broke loose.

He felt the floor shudder beneath him and an immense whoosh of hot air pressed him further to the floor. The oxygen level in the room dissipated immediately as the heat increased and he fought the urge to breathe deep, maintaining the small measured breaths he knew would protect his lungs. Even though his ears were covered, the deafening noise and pressure caused by the explosion sent sharp needle-like jabs to his eardrums and he yelled out.

The wooden and metal work bench absorbed much of the initial shock wave, but splintered apart a few seconds later. No longer protected from the pressure wave, he found himself being propelled across the floor, joining the storm of flying debris. He rolled to a sudden stop against a fallen support beam and cried out in pain. Trained to remain down until the immediate danger of fallout passed, David covered his head again and forced himself to remain flat on the floor as he was bombarded with fragments of wood and metal and glass from the office windows.

After a few endless moments of uncertainty and at the first sign that the strength of the debris field was weakening he scrambled to his feet, gasping, shaking off the pellets of glass that clung to his clothing. He swayed, unsteady. There was an incessant noise, a buzzing in his ears, and he raised shaky hands to them. His left hand came away with a small smear of blood. Eardrum, he though grimly.

Even with diminished hearing, an ominous rumble got his attention and he looked up in time to see the open loft area directly above him, now fully engulfed in flames, crumble apart. He tried to dodge the initial shower of burning wood and metal but he wasn't fast enough to evade the 12 ton hoist chain that swung into his vision an instant before it struck him in the shoulder, knocking him backwards onto the floor again.

Dazed by the blow, he had no time to recover before the loft and everything that had been in it crashed down around him. He managed to throw his arms up around his face and head to protect them, leaving, in his opinion, far too many important areas unprotected. Somehow, with the exception of a few smaller pieces delivering glancing blows and small burns, most of the large debris missed him, leaving him stunned and breathless.

There was another rumble above him and David instinctively tried to roll out of the way. Several large pieces of the wooden trussel that supported the roof suddenly splintered apart and fell, two of the smaller sections hitting him and keeping him from moving out of the way. Before he could shake them off, one end of the main supports, twelve feet long and over a foot thick, hit the concrete floor beside him with a sudden loud crack. The rest of the beam hit David's left hip and thigh, pinning him to the floor. He screamed as the impact snapped the bone in his leg like a piece of dry spaghetti.

The pain was almost unbearable, nearly paralyzing in it's intensity and David choked on another yell. All thoughts of the explosion and fire and Colby and Charlie were dwarfed by the agony; only the pain existed and for a short time David was afraid he would succumb completely to it. Rational thought returned slowly, then his breathing evened out and the pain became secondary to his desperate need to get out from under the heavy beam.

It had fallen across his left hip, angeling over his right leg and both knees. He could actually move his right leg slightly beneath it because the majority of the beam's length extended several feet beyond his left shoulder; its edge flush on the floor and raising the shorter end that laid across his right leg up a few inches. Another shattered fragment of wood next to him on the floor was actually supporting some of the beam's immense weight and had kept it from crushing his leg completely.

He raised both hands to it and pushed hard. Nothing. He tried to shift around under it and use more of his body's weight behind the effort but all he succeeded in doing was wrenching the muscles in his back. He fell back, trying to control his need to gasp against the pain.

He wasn't going to get out of this by himself.

Realizing he couldn't move the weight from his leg without help, David's thoughts returned to his partner and Charlie. Did they make it? He knew they were too far inside the building to be able to get out before the explosion. And they were closer to the actual bomb than he had been. Were they hurt - trapped - dead? Instinct told him to call out for them - maybe, by some miracle they had survived and they could help him out from under this damn beam - but, once again, his training kicked in and told him to keep still, be quiet. Yelling for help or moving around would stir the dust and dirt and he could do more damage by inhaling dangerous amounts of it. He needed some other way to let them or potential rescuers know where he was.

His phone was lost somewhere among the debris. He did, however, have his ID and badge. Maybe he could bang the metal badge against something - just enough to make some noise. After a quick search, he realized, with despair, that there was nothing with metal or steel in it close enough for him to get to. There was always his Glock, resting in the holster under his arm, that he could fire into the air, but David wasn't sure if there were any gas or chemical leaks that would spark at gunfire and he sure as hell didn't want to cause another explosion.

Surely someone had heard the noise. Surely someone, somewhere saw the flames and smoke that had to be evident from every window or door. Surely someone called it in and emergency squads would be there soon.

He looked around. The building was vast and open and, even though it was filling rapidly with smoke, David thought there just might be time for a quick rescue before smoke inhalation would become a danger. If the rescue crews got there in the next few minutes, that is.

There was a groaning, an agonized sound of a building in the throes of imminent death and, with a sinking heart, he knew rescue would not be in time. The area close to where Colby and Charlie had been standing before the explosion suddenly disappeared in a dense cloud of dust and dirt as another part of the building's roof collapsed inward with a thunderous roar. Once again, David raised his arms over his head, fending off flying debris. He closed his eyes and held his breath as long as he could.

When he opened them again he imagined this must be what a war zone would look like. The air was dark with dust and dirt - the only light being provided by the fire that now fed ravenously on everything in it's path. The scattered debris, which just seconds ago, had threatened to bury him now suddenly became a threat of a different, more heinous, type.

With terrifying, heart-stopping alarm, he realized the collapse of the roof had fed the flames with fresh oxygen and the pockets of fire about the room were suddenly ablaze with new vigor and energy and spreading, inch by inch closer to where he lay trapped by a very flammable wooden beam.

Despite his training and his resolve to remain still, he panicked.

He began thrashing back and forth trying desperately to move the cumbersome beam, heedless of the pain or stirring the dust and dirt. He shifted his weight onto his left hip, groaning loudly as a sharp pain radiated throughout his spine. Ignoring it, he pulled his free right leg up, placing his foot against the wood and pushed with all his might. With excruciating agony, he raised his upper body off the floor, adding both hands to the effort. The stubborn piece of wood would not budge.

No longer able to control his breathing, he was panting now with fear and pain, his mind raced with frightening images of the old wood consumed by flames, his body beneath it burning, as well. His stomach clenched and he gagged as a long repressed memory surfaced clearly.

It had happened during his third week in Tel Aviv, Israel at his first posting out of Quantico. He had been assigned to assist a unit of Israeli soldiers just outside the American Embassy during a protest against the US. The car had come out of nowhere, driving into the small group before he knew what was happening. The suicide bomber planned it well and fifteen people were killed. A young Israeli soldier had been standing too close and his clothing had caught fire. He had flailed and screamed as he ran in circles, hampering rescue efforts while the constant din of his screams and moans blocked everything else out.

No amount of training could have prepared him for the sight of that young man shrieking in agony, or the smell of burning flesh as the flames devoured his skin and hair, or the image of his tortured body finally falling to the ground, twitching even in death.

Could he just lie here and wait for the fire to reach him? Could he remain passive while watching the flames inch closer until the wood finally ignited, followed by his leg beneath it? It wasn't in his nature to submit without a fight, but, unless Colby or Charlie or Someone showed up in the next few minutes, he didn't think he would have a choice.

With a detachment that shocked him, the thought came to him that he was wrong. He did have a choice. He wasn't completely helpless. He could escape without physically leaving this spot. He could run away even though the beam continued to hold his leg prisoner against the hard concrete.

His hand moved beside him, reaching for the comfort and reassurance of his Glock, waiting silently in it's holster.

He shuddered. The idea of being burned alive juxtaposed with the alternative of putting a bullet into his own brain and David fought back the bile rising in his throat at the thought of either one. The young soldier's screams of agony filled his mind, his senses, his entire being and the thought of dying like that was incomprehensible, unfathomable - but, so was killing himself. Could he take the easy way out, could he end it all as a quitter?

In the end, he knew he couldn't do it. He didn't fight his way out of a poor, hard life in the Bronx, to attend Cornell University where he had to work two jobs to pay tuition and living expenses - just to give up now. He didn't fight prejudice from New York to Israel to the west coast where everyday was a struggle to define himself as a person, not a race - to take his own life. He didn't push himself through the rigorous training at Quantico in order to help people and make a difference - just to die alone, by his own hand, in some stupid abandoned factory in L.A.. No, he would face this as he had faced every other hardship in his life - straight on. If this is what fate had planned for him he would accept that.

That didn't mean, he thought grimly, that I have to give up trying.

He reached out towards a long slender section of metal pipe that had come down with the ceiling and lying just a few feet away. He had to shift again, gasping as he irritated the wrenched spinal cord once more and stretched his fingers as far as he could. He managed to nudge it with the tip of his finger, changing it's position just enough that he was able to grab it.

Lying straight again, David looked around him. In some areas, there was nothing between him and the burning debris but empty floor space; concrete floor, he thought with no small amount of relief. He wouldn't worry about those just now. Other hot spots of fiery rubble, though, burned voraciously, spreading quickly towards him and the wood above him. He knocked them aside with the metal pipe, pushing them away from him, trying to scatter the different elements of debris and hopefully reduce the flames.

All around him, as far as he could reach, he continued his assault on the fire, switching the pipe from hand to hand, maintaining an arm's length clear parameter on all sides.

The heat had become unbearable, beyond anything he could have imagined. Both his eyes and his lungs burned and he coughed, his body racked with spasms produced by the the heavy smoke. He knew he would lose that battle first - that smoke inhalation would kill him before the fire - but he didn't ease up.

David Sinclair would not go down without a fight.

There was a sudden movement - a noise, barely discernible through the incessant crackle of the fire and David strained to identify it. He thought he heard...was that?...then clearly he heard a slight cough. He tried to yell but as he took in air, his throat closed up and he coughed harshly. His cough merged into a moan as pain flared through his body. Desperate now, he slammed the metal rod onto the concrete floor, hard and fast and repeatedly, and the sound carried through the smoke.

Like a scene from an action packed summer blockbuster movie David saw a faint image through the haze. Instead of Bruce Willis or Will Smith, however, it was Charlie Eppes' limping, battered, bloody form that emerged from the smoke. David's emotions warred with his immense relief that someone was there to help him and the fact that it was Charlie - and he was obviously injured - and what could Charlie do to help him move this damn hunk of wood - and Charlie would only perish along with him in the unforgiving inferno - and he had made a promise to Don.

“Get out of here, Charlie.” David croaked, desperately. He had already come to terms with dying here today. He didn't want to take the young professor with him, as well.

Charlie shook his head slowly. “Don't talk.” he grumbled, his words muffled under the strip of cloth over his mouth. “Can't hear you anyway.”

David watched as Charlie pulled the last strip of his T shirt from his waistband and the water bottle from his pocket. He soaked the material, then gave the bottle to David, letting him drink the last of it. When David had finished and tossed the bottle aside, Charlie handed the cloth to him. “Here, this will help.”

It did. For the first time since this nightmare began, David allowed his lungs to fill completely and he relished the feeling.

He watched Charlie quickly take in the scene around them; the beam, the pipe in David's hand, the scattered remnants of the building, ablaze and spreading towards the trapped agent.

With surprising dexterity, considering his injuries, Charlie cleared a larger area around them, then turned his attention to the source of their trouble.

He studied the beam, running his hands over it, testing it, his head cocked to one side, and from the movement of the cloth around the consultant's mouth, David knew he was talking to himself. This was ridiculous. There was nothing the smaller man would be able to do. Even their combined efforts wouldn't be enough to move the behemoth holding him captive.

“Charlie, please, just go get help. You can't do anything for me.”

When Charlie silently turned and disappeared into the smoke again, David was both stunned and relieved. He'd expected Charlie to put up a fight, to argue with him, to at least try to move the beam. He certainly didn't think the stubborn professor would give up so quickly and leave the building like he was told to.

It was better this way, David told himself. At least Charlie would make it out alive. He thought, again, of Colby, his partner, his friend and hoped he was already on the outside, coordinating rescue operations - or, worst case scenario, that his death had been painless and quick.

He tried not to think of the young Israeli soldier; tried to stay positive and hopeful, not hopeless, helpless and alone. It was hard. He thought, briefly, of just taking the damp cloth from his mouth and letting the smoke do it's worse. At least, he would be gone before the fire reached the beam.

He was startled out of his morose thoughts when Charlie suddenly returned, panting and struggling under the weight of a fragment of concrete or cement, roughly the size of a large boulder. It was flat on one side and Charlie leaned over, dropping the flat end on the floor, a foot or so from David's lower left leg.

Before David could even ask what he was up to, the mathematician disappeared into the smoke again, only to return a short time later, dragging a long section of heavy steel pipe.

David watched helplessly as Charlie moved around him, adjusting the placement of the cement fragment, then shaking his head and moving it again. Despite himself, David was spellbound. Charlie was literally shaking with fatigue and pain, but the agent had seen that look in the consultant's eyes before. He was in the zone. He was lost to the real world and absorbed in that magical stuff only he could see.

David knew what Charlie was going to try. He had seen a lever used other times, in other situations. From the position of the concrete fragment, or fulcrum, David could see that if Charlie were able to move the beam at all, he would only be able to raise it far enough to allow him to slide his leg out. Any further and the heavy piece of wood would roll forward, possibly crushing his chest and head.

Charlie placed the end of the steel pipe securely beneath the beam, wedging it tightly between the wood and the hard floor, just inches from David's hip, then double checked the pipe's placement across the fulcrum.

The steel pipe was long, probably ten feet or more and angled as it was across the concrete fragment, the end extended upward into the air and nearly out of the consultant's reach.

At any other time, it would have been comical to see Charlie try to reach the end of the pipe, and he and Colby would have had fun with it. David watched the smaller man stretch and reach up over his head for the sheered off edge of the pipe, and was instantly sobered by the image.

Stretched as he was, even in their smoke-filled surroundings, the puncture wound in his side was more visible and David grimaced. It was bloody and angry looking and David knew it had to be painful.

The agent hadn't noticed the injury to Charlie's hand before, but now, with his arms above his head, he saw the blood drip slowly down the inside of his arm. David felt frustratingly helpless and awed at the sight.

Charlie had finally connected with the pipe and wrapped both hands around the smooth surface. He pulled down with all his might, but his weight wasn't enough to raise the beam. He let go and David saw him bend forward slightly, his hands on his knees, obviously in pain and taking measured breaths under the strip of cloth.

There was no way Charlie was going to be able to move this beam, but, before David could try, once again, to convince the consultant to leave him there, Charlie disappeared into the smoke.

An interminable few moments passed before Charlie appeared again. He had another, smaller fragment of concrete that he placed on the floor under the raised pipe and David was surprised to see that the young man had also retrieved his backpack.

David watched, mesmerized as Charlie began gathering small chunks of wood and concrete that lay scattered around them and put them in the pack. When it was filled, Charlie dragged the now heavy backpack over to where he had placed the second concrete fragment. Stepping up onto it, he used both hands to lift the pack up and drape the shoulder harness over the end of the pipe. He held it in place with one hand while he untied the strip of cloth from around his mouth.

“No, Charlie. Don't.” David croaked.

“Needs more weight.” Charlie said absently as he looped the cloth through the harness and began tying it to the pipe. “ ... distance is right, but the force is insufficient.”

When the weighted backpack was secured he centered his stance on his makeshift pedestal. His chest was even now with the end of the pipe and he leaned forward onto it, letting his feet leave the concrete and adding his body weight to that of the pack. He cried out with a primal mix of pain and fear and supreme effort.

Incredibly, David felt the beam twitch slightly and shift. The joy was short-lived, however, as pain shot up and down his leg when the heavy beam finally lifted. He lent his voice to Charlie's as he yelled out in pain. Gasping, he put his hands flat on the floor and when the force of Charlie's weight moved the beam far enough away, David slid his body out from under it.

Immediately, he rolled away and as soon as he was clear, Charlie let the beam fall back to the ground.

David wasn't sure how he managed it, but somehow Charlie got him to his feet. It took a moment for them to get their balance, with both of them favoring a leg, then Charlie wrapped one arm around the agent's back and pulled David's arm around his shoulder. They started towards the door, David trying not to put weight on his leg, but trying not to place too much burden on Charlie, who was now limping badly enough himself to hamper their escape.

They made it to the door, panting and clutching each other for support. When they stepped out into the sunlight, the first thing David saw was Colby laying where Charlie had left him. As they made their way to him, David noticed the tarp his friend was laying on and the identical strip of cloth beside him and he knew instantly that, somehow, as crazy as it sounded, Charlie had gotten them both out.

They dropped gingerly to the ground beside Colby, each of them groaning as they slid down. David reached forward right away and checked for the pulse in Colby's neck. It was there - a little weak, a little unsteady, but gloriously there and David sagged gently against his friend in profound relief.

After a moment, he reached up and pulled the cloth away from his face, tossing it next to Colby's on the tarp. He cleared his throat and let his gaze take in Colby's injuries. Stunned at what he saw, David turned to Charlie with every intention of asking him how he had managed to get Granger out of the building without exacerbating his injuries any further, but Charlie was laying flat on his back, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly, his face a mixed expression of exhaustion and relief and satisfaction.

Maybe Charlie had the right idea, David thought. Miraculously, they were all alive. Everything else could wait a minute or two. He let himself lay back beside his friends and just...breathe.

He jerked when he felt his head being lifted gently and an oxygen mask slipped efficiently over his nose and mouth. Shocked to see a concerned paramedic in front of him, he tried to get up but gentle hands kept his shoulders to the ground.

“Take it easy, agent. Try to be still.”

He looked around. The area was full of emergency vehicles and firefighters rushing around as they fought to extinguish the fire. When had they arrived?

A young, intense medic was fitting a blood pressure cuff to his arm, as another one gently examined his leg. He noticed another team of medics beside him, working on Colby. A third set of paramedics had moved Charlie a little away from them, probably to give the two working with Colby more room for the equipment they needed.

He knew the routine; had been to too many crime scenes and watched too many medics work with the victims. He tried to relax and let them do their job.

A gurney had been moved into place beside Colby and now, with the help of two firefighters, the two medics lifted him up, using the trimmed down tarp to move him onto the mobile cot. In an efficient flurry of movement and words the injured agent was loaded into the back of an ambulance and rushed away.

Charlie was still being treated a few feet away. In the sunlight, now, David could see the young man's injuries more clearly and he winced at the sight of the wound in his side; the blood staining his skin and drying on his jeans. The medics had applied a neck brace and were now busy wrapping a white gauze bandage around his head wound.

The entire scene was too surreal - smoke, flames, noise, flashing lights, blood, pain - and David closed his eyes against it. It was too much.

The medics who were helping him kept up a constant dialogue between themselves, full of medical jargon he couldn't begin to comprehend, and his impaired hearing caught bits and pieces of it. A different set of voices broke through and David caught “... yeah, that one.” He opened his eyes to see two uniformed policemen walking by. One was older than David and the other one was young, probably a rookie, he thought. The “newbie” turned to his partner.

“That little guy ... there? There's no way. Both ... other guys outweigh ... by 50 pounds or more - and I mean 50 ... of muscle.”

“Adrenaline. I've seen ... before.”

They were gone, then, and David thought about what they said. Yeah, the rookie was right. He and Granger kept themselves in shape - they had to, to do the job. They worked out, they stayed active and they attended periodic specialized training courses. They were trained federal agents, who, in addition to the promise they made Don, had vowed to protect and save civilians - not the other way around.

Charlie Eppes was a college professor who, even though he played basketball, took the occasional hike and literally ran from one project to another, still lived the life of an academic; most of his work was done standing in front of a blackboard or sitting in front of a computer. He also had a tendency to get a little pudgy if he indulged in too much of his father's cooking. His physical attributes and accomplishments paled dramatically next to his mental ones.

David turned his head towards Charlie again and noticed that one of the medics that had been treating the consultant had returned to the ambulance for the gurney while the other one was helping a firefighter who had been overcome by smoke. In the midst of the large scale activity all around him, Charlie looked small and vulnerable laying there alone.

There had certainly been nothing small and vulnerable about him today, though, David thought. He had been larger than life and unexpectedly formidable.

David remembered his Grandma Sinclair telling him not to judge a book by it's cover. That platitude certainly described the enigma that was Charlie Eppes. In the five years he had known Charlie he had seen many different and varied layers of the man; from a slightly quirky math geek to an honored mathematician, a valued consultant and a revered educator, a loyal friend and a loved family member; and today - today, an unlikely hero.

On a late night stakeout once Don had told David that while math obviously came easy for his brother, it was life that was hard for him. He just couldn't seem to reach the same equilibrium that others could.

One thing David knew for sure is that he and Colby were alive right now because of Charlie and he knew what it had cost the young man to save them. Knowing Charlie, David grinned to himself, he will shake it off and attribute his amazing feat to math, somehow. What was that he had said once - oh, yeah - “Everything is numbers”.

Well, not everything, David thought. There's courage and bravery and loyalty and a whole spectrum of things that had nothing to do with numbers and everything to do with the kind of man you are.

The paramedics had the collapsible gurney in place beside him, then, and gently lifted him onto it. They took a moment to adjust the IV bag and check the straps that held him in place, then they raised the gurney and snapped the legs into position. They rolled him to the ambulance and with synchronized, practiced movements, they collapsed it again, then pushed it into the back of the vehicle.

Even though he had seen that the medics helping Charlie were also preparing him for transport David didn't feel right leaving the scene before Charlie.

After what had happened today it was obvious Charlie could take care of himself, but....

He pulled the oxygen mask to the side and turned to the attendant beside him. “Hey, man, do you think we could ...”

A new set of flashing lights caught his attention and, with immense relief, he watched the familiar black Suburban expertly maneuver it's way through the phalanx of emergency vehicles.

Slipping the mask in place again, he settled back onto the way too narrow mattress and waved his hand dismissively. “It's all good, man. Let's go.”

The attendant behind the wheel pulled the ambulance out of the parking lot and onto the street. Even though there was no traffic, he turned both the lights and the sirens on, and David found himself nearly hypnotized by the vibrations and rhythmic sounds.

“That was some explosion, dude,” the young medic commented. “You guys were sure lucky.”

David didn't answer, but he grinned wryly under the oxygen mask. Luck, he thought, had nothing to do with it.

TBC

A/N: And last, but certainly not least, Don's up next.