Numb3rs : Bed Time Stories
Title: Bed Time Stories (Team Schmoop : If)
Author: Avari ( sunlesslands)
Pairing: Don/Colby
Rating/Category: Slash, fluff
Summary: Telling the story of a meeting, a chance, a life.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Numb3rs or lay any claim to the characters or situations in the show.
Beta: The wonderful and amazing reapandcollect.
Author's Notes: This fic was written for the Angst vs Schmoop Challenge at numb3rswriteoff. After you’ve read the fic, please rate it by voting in the poll located here. (Your vote will be anonymous.) Rate the fic on a scale of 1 - 10 (10 being the best) using the following criteria: how well the fic fit the prompt, how angsty [or schmoopy] the fic was, and how well you enjoyed the fic. When you’re done, please check out the other challenge fic at numb3rswriteoff. Thank you!
The eternal silences were broken;
Hell became Heaven as I passed.-
What shall I give you as a token,
A sign that we have met, at last?
I’ll break and forge the stars anew,
Shatter the heavens with a song;
Immortal in my love for you,
Because I love you, very strong.
A rare moment of quiet filled up the still spaces of the house; silence crept cautiously around the corners, peered around every edge before it tip-toed into the dark living room and stole up the wooden steps. It paused, uncertain on the landing, as the familiar shadows gave way to pale light that had slipped from underneath closed doors. In the moment of waffling hesitation, sound snuck up behind it. Soft, shoeless footsteps strode past the dark couch in the dark living room and up the un-creaking stairs. Calloused fingers straightened a woman’s photo on the wall, gentle on the silver frame that always tilted to the right. A low voice seeped into the light that escaped under the nearest door. The quiet retreated behind the footsteps, sunk into the stairs while the step’s solid strength leaned against the wall in silence.
“Daddy! - tell it, please?” High and imperious, the voice that chased back the calm was light and bright and young. A little girl impossible not to picture her with dark, dark eyes and gold, gold curls and a name like Margaret. She had to be tucked into bed - something in creams and golds and greens, bigger and fluffier than California required. A fluffy stuffed cat would be tucked under her chin, barely visible under the covers while her father occupied his usual chair by the bed.
He was a handsome man with his daughter’s eyes and well-loved laugh lines. “You sure? You don’t want to hear something else like -”
“Daddy, those other stories are boring.”
“Ahh, I see,” he smiled - had to at that exact tone of ten year old exasperation. The stilled footsteps by the wall smiled too, strong, masculine features turned boyishly soft by the expression.
Behind the closed door where the lighted seeped out of, the dark eyed man stretched further in his chair while his little girl squirmed, but that was habit and ritual. She stayed silent under the lamplight as he looked out the window. “Well, once upon a time, there were some very bad men who were hurting Federal witnesses. At first, the marshals tried to handle it on their own, but no one could figure out how the bad guys were finding the witnesses - or why they were going after the ones they did.
So, the marshals called me - and your uncle - to help them -”
“I know this part!” The ten year old exclaimed. “Tell me about the surveillance and the sunset. Please, Daddy!” Her father sighed, but the line of light under the door made it sound like a smothered laugh.
“Okay, it was one of those nights you only get in California in the summer. The entire day we’re all sweating, even Colby, who never sweats, and his sunglasses are sliding down his nose and his shirt is sticking to him like crazy. Never said anything about it though - the rest of us are just - talking about transferring to Anchorage. And he and I’ve got surveillance on the house, windows rolled up and not even the AC on because the motor pool gave us this ancient Honda and we couldn’t afford to run down the battery.”
The voice hushed for a moment and against the wall, the silent footsteps pictured dark eyes gone darker in memory and a careless tongue flicking over dry lips.
“He smells like summer there, like the last day of school when time goes slow and fast. Half of it is just this weird, fresh grass scent and something peppery and his aftershave. This dark blue t-shirt stuck to his chest and his hair kinda sticking up because he’s run his hands through it so much. And we’re talking about - something -”
“Baseball.”
“Baseball?”
“Yeah, you were talking about baseball and arguing who the best player of all time was. Which is silly, ‘cause everyone knows that’s you.”
Laughter poured out of the room, low and exultant. “That’s my girl! All right, so, we’re in the car arguing about baseball and watching the house. It’s this sprawling ranch that you don’t see too much of around here. The paint’s gray and the trim’s blue and we can see the flat grass and some trees that’re all still green, even in the middle of a heat wave. It’s getting late and the sun starts to go down and Colby just - he goes quiet next to me. And I ask:
‘Colb? Hey, you see something?’
‘Nah, Don, it’s just -’ he shifts around in his seat, running his hand through his hair again and it sticks up in spikes on the right side.
‘Just what?’
For a second, Colby doesn’t say anything. He’s just looking at his hands, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb. ‘The sky.’
‘The sky?’
‘Yeah, um, I don’t know. We don’t get sunsets like that in Idaho.’ Before I can say anything about that I look - really look and he’s right. It’s bright and red like the sun’s setting all the smog and pollution on fire and it’s burning right in our eyes. We both just stop talking and watch the sky and the house and the reds and and golds above and the green and gray right out in front of us. We’re quiet enough that I hear Colby’s breathing, soft and slow and even. Then he nods at me and says, ‘show time.’
The bad guys get into their car, all three of them. I radio the marshals in the other car and then Colby and I go out to search the house. He covers me as we cross the ground, keeping low and there’s the grass smell and the earth that is squishing a little under my feet. The sprinklers must’ve just gone off and I’m paying so much attention on just watching my step so I don’t go flying on the wet grass. I don’t see anything but the ground, don’t hear anything but Colby suddenly screaming my name and this short, sharp sound that I’m trying to tell myself isn’t a gunshot even as he crashes on top of me.
He’s heavy and warm and his chin hit the back of my shoulder as he went down. My mouth was open and I just sink into the mud underneath - tasting grass and dirt as he rolls to the side and I roll up with my gun. I’m not even aiming, my blood’s in my ears and I’ve only got this idea of where the shot came from. But I can just see something - this light in the tree from the scope and I aim that. I aim and I fire and it doesn’t feel like there’s blood in my veins, just air because everything’s so light.
But the rifle falls out of the branches and so does the shooter. I keep to the ground, and the gun’s still hot in my hands, and I get to the shooter - kick his gun out of reach - and check the pulse. Nothing. I radio for backup and I look out over the grass and Colby’s not moving.
I drop my gun, drop my heart into my stomach, drop everything and run back to him. The grass is still wet I fall and slip and have to crawl because I can’t get to my feet and stay there. And I’m already on the ground when I get to him, see the blood on his back as he lays on his side. But I can still hearing him breathing - just like in the car.”
The silence - there was no silence. It couldn’t hold the memory of the inexorable gush of thick, slow blood around frantic fingers. It couldn’t hold the echo of thick, fast words that gushed past tears a man wasn’t supposed to cry. It couldn’t hold the prayers and the bargains and the pledges if he would just -
“‘stay with me, please, please, Colby just hang on a little bit longer.’ I’ve got both my hands pressing on his back, pressing on the wound but there’s still blood pouring around my hands. Pouring. And I can’t think past how much blood he’s losing and how bad his breathing sounds and that’s all that matters. I’m just listening to his heart and his breathing, and I’m breathing with him - in and out with him because if I’m breathing then he’s breathing.
I don’t hear the ambulance when it arrives; I don’t hear the medics tell me to move or Liz saying that it’s going to be okay. All I know is that if I’m breathing, he’s breathing, and I’m still breathing.
Someone manages to pull me back enough to load him on the ambulance. Liz takes me in her car because I’m shaking and I can’t stop. I’ve got his blood all over my hands and mud on arms and my face and suddenly I can’t breathe. He’s gone, in the ambulance, and I can’t remember how my lungs are supposed to work.”
“You were scared, Daddy.”
“I was terrified, princess. But when got to the hospital and I still haven’t washed my hands or anything. A nurse tries to tell me that I’m a ‘walking bio-hazard’ with the blood on my. I pull off my top shirt and wipe my hands on it, my face and my arms, I’m scrubbing at my skin trying to get all of this wet, sticky, clingy, cold feeling off of me and I scream at her:
‘Here! Take it. Burn it. Fucking send it to the FBI for dry cleaning, I don’t care just get the fuck out of my way.’ And she starts backing up and Liz, thank God for her, says that we’re both Federal agents and we’re there for Agent Colby Granger who was brought in earlier.
His doctor was expecting us. Takes us both aside and says that -”
“That if the bullet had been one half-inch higher or to the left, Daddy would have died on sight. That if you hadn’t slowed the bleeding with your hands, Daddy would have lost too much blood. That if the ambulance had got there a minute later -”
“Colby wouldn’t have made it. You’ve heard this story too much.”
“But it wasn’t and you did and it did, so it’s a happy story! Because this is when you decided that you loved Daddy.”
“I don’t think it was really my decision. But yes, it was a happy story. Because the doctor told us that your father would make a full recovery.
‘Agent Granger will need close monitoring for the next two weeks, though. His contact information lists an Agent Sinclair -’
‘David is back east in Virginia.’
‘Ah. A Megan Reeves?’
‘Also back east, New York.’
‘Ah. Well -’
‘I’ll do it. Just leave me the instructions.’”
“And that’s how you and daddy fell in love!”
“Yes, sweetheart. I got stuck taking care of your father for the next three weeks - and he’s a pain in the ass to take care of. He started trying to go out jogging after a week; I swore that he was trying to drive me crazy. But he always insisted that he was fine and he was stubborn and beautiful when he smiled. I was in the middle of yelling at him for being reckless and jogging before he was fully cleared - he’d just come back from his run, in a grey tank and covered in sweat and smiling, his smile - and he looked at me and said:
‘That wasn’t reckless,’ and he kissed me mid-lecture. I kissed him back and I swear he was doing his best to drive me crazy. He got his hand into my shirt and walked back against the wall, holding onto me, until I had pinned and -”
“And you signaled the stork?” She supplied helpfully.
“Ah - not quite then. But we stayed together, and got married and had you. The end.” The silence and the footsteps heard an almost desperate edge the story’s finish. Without disturbing the hush that coiled at his feet, Colby straightened from his slouch against the wall.
“Daddy!”
“Nope, that’s enough of a story for tonight. Goodnight Margret.”
“Good night, Daddy Don.” The light stopped edging from under the door just as it swung open. Silhouetted in the dark, Don Eppes closed his daughter’s door behind him and offered a hand to his husband. Colby took it, wordless, and the gold of their bands clinked together in the fresh well of quiet.
Author: Avari ( sunlesslands)
Pairing: Don/Colby
Rating/Category: Slash, fluff
Summary: Telling the story of a meeting, a chance, a life.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Numb3rs or lay any claim to the characters or situations in the show.
Beta: The wonderful and amazing reapandcollect.
Author's Notes: This fic was written for the Angst vs Schmoop Challenge at numb3rswriteoff. After you’ve read the fic, please rate it by voting in the poll located here. (Your vote will be anonymous.) Rate the fic on a scale of 1 - 10 (10 being the best) using the following criteria: how well the fic fit the prompt, how angsty [or schmoopy] the fic was, and how well you enjoyed the fic. When you’re done, please check out the other challenge fic at numb3rswriteoff. Thank you!
The eternal silences were broken;
Hell became Heaven as I passed.-
What shall I give you as a token,
A sign that we have met, at last?
I’ll break and forge the stars anew,
Shatter the heavens with a song;
Immortal in my love for you,
Because I love you, very strong.
A rare moment of quiet filled up the still spaces of the house; silence crept cautiously around the corners, peered around every edge before it tip-toed into the dark living room and stole up the wooden steps. It paused, uncertain on the landing, as the familiar shadows gave way to pale light that had slipped from underneath closed doors. In the moment of waffling hesitation, sound snuck up behind it. Soft, shoeless footsteps strode past the dark couch in the dark living room and up the un-creaking stairs. Calloused fingers straightened a woman’s photo on the wall, gentle on the silver frame that always tilted to the right. A low voice seeped into the light that escaped under the nearest door. The quiet retreated behind the footsteps, sunk into the stairs while the step’s solid strength leaned against the wall in silence.
“Daddy! - tell it, please?” High and imperious, the voice that chased back the calm was light and bright and young. A little girl impossible not to picture her with dark, dark eyes and gold, gold curls and a name like Margaret. She had to be tucked into bed - something in creams and golds and greens, bigger and fluffier than California required. A fluffy stuffed cat would be tucked under her chin, barely visible under the covers while her father occupied his usual chair by the bed.
He was a handsome man with his daughter’s eyes and well-loved laugh lines. “You sure? You don’t want to hear something else like -”
“Daddy, those other stories are boring.”
“Ahh, I see,” he smiled - had to at that exact tone of ten year old exasperation. The stilled footsteps by the wall smiled too, strong, masculine features turned boyishly soft by the expression.
Behind the closed door where the lighted seeped out of, the dark eyed man stretched further in his chair while his little girl squirmed, but that was habit and ritual. She stayed silent under the lamplight as he looked out the window. “Well, once upon a time, there were some very bad men who were hurting Federal witnesses. At first, the marshals tried to handle it on their own, but no one could figure out how the bad guys were finding the witnesses - or why they were going after the ones they did.
So, the marshals called me - and your uncle - to help them -”
“I know this part!” The ten year old exclaimed. “Tell me about the surveillance and the sunset. Please, Daddy!” Her father sighed, but the line of light under the door made it sound like a smothered laugh.
“Okay, it was one of those nights you only get in California in the summer. The entire day we’re all sweating, even Colby, who never sweats, and his sunglasses are sliding down his nose and his shirt is sticking to him like crazy. Never said anything about it though - the rest of us are just - talking about transferring to Anchorage. And he and I’ve got surveillance on the house, windows rolled up and not even the AC on because the motor pool gave us this ancient Honda and we couldn’t afford to run down the battery.”
The voice hushed for a moment and against the wall, the silent footsteps pictured dark eyes gone darker in memory and a careless tongue flicking over dry lips.
“He smells like summer there, like the last day of school when time goes slow and fast. Half of it is just this weird, fresh grass scent and something peppery and his aftershave. This dark blue t-shirt stuck to his chest and his hair kinda sticking up because he’s run his hands through it so much. And we’re talking about - something -”
“Baseball.”
“Baseball?”
“Yeah, you were talking about baseball and arguing who the best player of all time was. Which is silly, ‘cause everyone knows that’s you.”
Laughter poured out of the room, low and exultant. “That’s my girl! All right, so, we’re in the car arguing about baseball and watching the house. It’s this sprawling ranch that you don’t see too much of around here. The paint’s gray and the trim’s blue and we can see the flat grass and some trees that’re all still green, even in the middle of a heat wave. It’s getting late and the sun starts to go down and Colby just - he goes quiet next to me. And I ask:
‘Colb? Hey, you see something?’
‘Nah, Don, it’s just -’ he shifts around in his seat, running his hand through his hair again and it sticks up in spikes on the right side.
‘Just what?’
For a second, Colby doesn’t say anything. He’s just looking at his hands, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb. ‘The sky.’
‘The sky?’
‘Yeah, um, I don’t know. We don’t get sunsets like that in Idaho.’ Before I can say anything about that I look - really look and he’s right. It’s bright and red like the sun’s setting all the smog and pollution on fire and it’s burning right in our eyes. We both just stop talking and watch the sky and the house and the reds and and golds above and the green and gray right out in front of us. We’re quiet enough that I hear Colby’s breathing, soft and slow and even. Then he nods at me and says, ‘show time.’
The bad guys get into their car, all three of them. I radio the marshals in the other car and then Colby and I go out to search the house. He covers me as we cross the ground, keeping low and there’s the grass smell and the earth that is squishing a little under my feet. The sprinklers must’ve just gone off and I’m paying so much attention on just watching my step so I don’t go flying on the wet grass. I don’t see anything but the ground, don’t hear anything but Colby suddenly screaming my name and this short, sharp sound that I’m trying to tell myself isn’t a gunshot even as he crashes on top of me.
He’s heavy and warm and his chin hit the back of my shoulder as he went down. My mouth was open and I just sink into the mud underneath - tasting grass and dirt as he rolls to the side and I roll up with my gun. I’m not even aiming, my blood’s in my ears and I’ve only got this idea of where the shot came from. But I can just see something - this light in the tree from the scope and I aim that. I aim and I fire and it doesn’t feel like there’s blood in my veins, just air because everything’s so light.
But the rifle falls out of the branches and so does the shooter. I keep to the ground, and the gun’s still hot in my hands, and I get to the shooter - kick his gun out of reach - and check the pulse. Nothing. I radio for backup and I look out over the grass and Colby’s not moving.
I drop my gun, drop my heart into my stomach, drop everything and run back to him. The grass is still wet I fall and slip and have to crawl because I can’t get to my feet and stay there. And I’m already on the ground when I get to him, see the blood on his back as he lays on his side. But I can still hearing him breathing - just like in the car.”
The silence - there was no silence. It couldn’t hold the memory of the inexorable gush of thick, slow blood around frantic fingers. It couldn’t hold the echo of thick, fast words that gushed past tears a man wasn’t supposed to cry. It couldn’t hold the prayers and the bargains and the pledges if he would just -
“‘stay with me, please, please, Colby just hang on a little bit longer.’ I’ve got both my hands pressing on his back, pressing on the wound but there’s still blood pouring around my hands. Pouring. And I can’t think past how much blood he’s losing and how bad his breathing sounds and that’s all that matters. I’m just listening to his heart and his breathing, and I’m breathing with him - in and out with him because if I’m breathing then he’s breathing.
I don’t hear the ambulance when it arrives; I don’t hear the medics tell me to move or Liz saying that it’s going to be okay. All I know is that if I’m breathing, he’s breathing, and I’m still breathing.
Someone manages to pull me back enough to load him on the ambulance. Liz takes me in her car because I’m shaking and I can’t stop. I’ve got his blood all over my hands and mud on arms and my face and suddenly I can’t breathe. He’s gone, in the ambulance, and I can’t remember how my lungs are supposed to work.”
“You were scared, Daddy.”
“I was terrified, princess. But when got to the hospital and I still haven’t washed my hands or anything. A nurse tries to tell me that I’m a ‘walking bio-hazard’ with the blood on my. I pull off my top shirt and wipe my hands on it, my face and my arms, I’m scrubbing at my skin trying to get all of this wet, sticky, clingy, cold feeling off of me and I scream at her:
‘Here! Take it. Burn it. Fucking send it to the FBI for dry cleaning, I don’t care just get the fuck out of my way.’ And she starts backing up and Liz, thank God for her, says that we’re both Federal agents and we’re there for Agent Colby Granger who was brought in earlier.
His doctor was expecting us. Takes us both aside and says that -”
“That if the bullet had been one half-inch higher or to the left, Daddy would have died on sight. That if you hadn’t slowed the bleeding with your hands, Daddy would have lost too much blood. That if the ambulance had got there a minute later -”
“Colby wouldn’t have made it. You’ve heard this story too much.”
“But it wasn’t and you did and it did, so it’s a happy story! Because this is when you decided that you loved Daddy.”
“I don’t think it was really my decision. But yes, it was a happy story. Because the doctor told us that your father would make a full recovery.
‘Agent Granger will need close monitoring for the next two weeks, though. His contact information lists an Agent Sinclair -’
‘David is back east in Virginia.’
‘Ah. A Megan Reeves?’
‘Also back east, New York.’
‘Ah. Well -’
‘I’ll do it. Just leave me the instructions.’”
“And that’s how you and daddy fell in love!”
“Yes, sweetheart. I got stuck taking care of your father for the next three weeks - and he’s a pain in the ass to take care of. He started trying to go out jogging after a week; I swore that he was trying to drive me crazy. But he always insisted that he was fine and he was stubborn and beautiful when he smiled. I was in the middle of yelling at him for being reckless and jogging before he was fully cleared - he’d just come back from his run, in a grey tank and covered in sweat and smiling, his smile - and he looked at me and said:
‘That wasn’t reckless,’ and he kissed me mid-lecture. I kissed him back and I swear he was doing his best to drive me crazy. He got his hand into my shirt and walked back against the wall, holding onto me, until I had pinned and -”
“And you signaled the stork?” She supplied helpfully.
“Ah - not quite then. But we stayed together, and got married and had you. The end.” The silence and the footsteps heard an almost desperate edge the story’s finish. Without disturbing the hush that coiled at his feet, Colby straightened from his slouch against the wall.
“Daddy!”
“Nope, that’s enough of a story for tonight. Goodnight Margret.”
“Good night, Daddy Don.” The light stopped edging from under the door just as it swung open. Silhouetted in the dark, Don Eppes closed his daughter’s door behind him and offered a hand to his husband. Colby took it, wordless, and the gold of their bands clinked together in the fresh well of quiet.