New Numb3rs Fic
Title: Migraine
Fandom: Numb3rs
Characters: Don, Millie, Alan
Prompt: #37 Sound
Word Count: 1683
Rating: T
Summary: Why was it that when your head was about to explode off your neck everything else had to hurt as well?
Disclaimer: The only I own that has anything to do with Numb3rs is a calculator.
Author's Notes: Fluff and probably OOC and many other things that can be found in the Author’s Assertion following the fic.
Don was never so grateful to pull into Charlie’s driveway as he was at that moment. He knew he shouldn’t been driving, but he wasn’t about to admit this particular weakness to any of his team, so he took the risk. Still, he wasn’t crazy enough to risk driving to his apartment when the house was closer.
Climbing out of the SUV, Don felt every joint in his body jarring against each other. Why was it that when your head was about to explode off your neck everything else had to hurt as well? Momentarily steadying himself against Millie’s car, he noticed for the first time that her vehicle was the only one in the drive. As of late, this wasn’t all that odd. Charlie had consented to let Dad give her a key, so if Dad had a late meeting Millie would come over to pop whatever Dad had prepared in the oven. Vaguely, he remembered something about a meeting all the way down in Del Mar, so he figured it would be a couple of hours before Dad was home. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or annoyed by this. As much as he hated the hovering Dad did, sometimes, like now, he secretly longed for it.
Deciding that he wasn’t going to throw up and that he could walk, Don pushed off Millie’s car and headed for the house. Once inside he closed the door and leaned heavily against it. The smell of pot roast filled his nose. Normally, he loved that smell, but today it made his stomach roll. The dining room table was set with four places at one end (Millie always did this, just in case he and/or Charlie were going to be home) and covered with papers and Millie’s red laptop at the other.
Don sighed and headed for the kitchen, where his Imitrex was mercifully stored. Before he made it a few steps, Millie came out of the kitchen and smiled.
“Hey, G-man, I thought I heard someone come in. You’re a little early for dinner and Charlie has an evening lecture at CalSci tonight, so he’s not home, yet,” Millie moved closer to him and finally got a good look at his face. The smile was quickly replaced with a frown, “Holy crap, Don, you look like hell. Are you okay?”
This is why he liked Millie; she didn’t beat any bushes. Smiling just a little, Don sighed, “Migraine. Bad one.”
Millie winced, “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry, they aren’t fun. Let’s get you to bed.”
“I’m fi…” Don started to protest when he remembered the stairs and decided help wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. With a minuet nod, he let her help him up to his old bedroom.
The progression up the steps was slow as Don fought against waves of vertigo. He figured hours must have passed by the time he fell with a soft plunk onto his childhood bed. He fell backwards, sideways against the mattress and prayed for the room to stop moving. He could feel Millie gently lifting his legs and shift him into a better position on the bed, but it almost felt like she wasn’t really touching him. Another of the surreal experiences of a migraine. She gently tugged off his shoes and sat next to him on the bed to pull off his tie.
She patted his chest to make him crack open his eyes to look at her. Once that was done, she smiled at him, “Anything else you want off, you’re going to have to handle yourself. Do you have any medication in the house?”
“Kitchen. Cabinet by the back door. Imitrex,” Don answered brokenly as his eyes closed again.
“Okay, I’ll get that. How’s the stomach? Think you could down a nice big glass of Coke?”
Don nodded mutely. The caffeine would help and hopefully the coke syrup would ease his stomach.
Patting his chest again, this time in a soothing manner, Millie stood. Before heading from the room, she pulled the shades on the two small windows. A small murmur of thanks came from Don. As she went to retrieve the medicine and soda, Millie briefly considered calling Alan. In the year that she had known Don she had never seen him with so much as a cold and she was slightly nervous about taking care of him with such an obviously bad migraine. Still, Alan was probably on his way home and there was no sense in worrying him, when the best thing for Don was just to lie in darkened silence for a few hours.
When she returned to Don with the pill and soda, she was sure she had made the wrong decision by not calling Alan. Don was sitting up on the clutching and pulling at his head and ears as he struggled against tears. She nearly dropped the items in her hands in her haste to set them on bedside table, so she could go to Don. It was a struggle against his toned strength, but finally she was able to pull his hands from his head.
“What’s the matter, Donnie,” the name that only his father and brother called him, slipped from her lips without thought.
He looked at her like a scared little boy, “They’ve started.”
“What,” her free hand went to his cheek.
“Audio hallucinations,” Don stared at her. “I hear the most awful things.”
Millie nodded. While she had never suffered from migraines, both her mother and sister had. Her mother would have terrible and violent visual hallucinations, while her sister suffered audio hallucinations. She wished he didn’t suffer any hallucinations, but if he had to Millie was grateful that he suffered the audio kind because she could clearly remember her mother’s cure for those. Her free hand reached first for the Imitrex, which she gave to Don, who swallowed it dry. With a small roll of her eyes, Millie handed him the coke and made sure he drained the glass.
Taking the glass from Don, she again placed it on the nightstand and arraigned herself on the bed. A hand on Don’s shoulder tugged him down so that his head was resting in her lap.
Don blinked up at her, “What are you doing?”
“Helping you feel better. Just trust me, okay?” When he nodded, she asked, “Which side?”
“Bi-lateral,” Don sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Damn, Don, when you do something, you do it all the way, don’t you,” Millie smiled as she placed her hands on his temples and pressed. Keeping a constant pressure on his head, she began to sing… loudly.
Don’s eyes opened in shock. He stared up at her as she just smiled down at him as she continued to sing. Suddenly, he realized that her voice was drowning out the sounds in his head. And if he concentrated on her voice, the other noises ceased completely. Closing his eyes, he focused solely on her voice as she sang a medley of Beatles songs.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Alan stretched as he stepped out of his sedan, which he had pulled in behind Millie’s car. He hated the 5 with a passion, but until this project was finished - he hoped at some point in this century - he’d be driving the 5 weekly to Del Mar. Still, he liked the idea of coming home to a warm meal, even if he did have to prep it himself the night before, and good company, especially when the company included his eldest as indicated by the presence of Don’s SUV.
Opening the front door, Alan was assaulted by the smell of burning pot roast. He dropped his blueprint sleeve and laptop carrier next to the door and raced to the kitchen. The kitchen flooded with smoke as he pulled the scorched pot roast from the oven. Alan dumped the whole lot into the sink, turned the faucet on high and opened the window over the sink, hoping that the smoke would go out the window and not straight to the smoke detector. Grabbing a dishtowel to wipe his hands, Alan wondered where Millie and Don had gotten to that they let the roast burn. That was more of Charlie’s trick.
It was then that he noticed the blister pack of Imitrex sitting on the counter next to an empty can of coke. Well, that explained where Don had gotten to, but it left opened the question of Millie’s disappearance. Deciding the some mysteries needed to wait, Alan headed for the stairs to check on Don.
The second mystery of the evening was solved as he cracked open the door to Don’s bedroom and was treated to the most unusual sight of his life. Don was asleep with his head on Millie’s lap and Millie was singing hoarsely as she held his head. Moving into the room, he smiled as Millie as he crouched next to the bed and ran a hand through Don’s hair. He enjoyed the quiet moments when he could baby his eldest without Don complaining.
“How long has he been out,” Alan asked.
Millie moved her hands, so Alan could caress Don’s forehead, “About two hours. I was afraid to stop, in case the hallucinations came back.”
“Were they bad,” Alan asked, knowing full well that Don suffered terrible audio hallucinations if he didn’t get medicine or caffeine into him quickly enough.
“Not great,” she smiled as she played with the curls at Alan’s neck. “Singing to my sister always helped and it seemed to helped with Don, too.”
Alan nodded as he continued to brush his thumb across Don’s forehead. He remained silent for a few moments before swallowing deeply, “Margaret always sang to him or played music when he had these. Since she died, Charlie will talk to him, but it never works as well. Thank you,” Alan looked up at her with deep sincerity in his eyes.
Millie found herself at a lost for words, a rarity for her. She just smiled at him as she continued to sing softly to the two eldest Eppes.
Fandom: Numb3rs
Characters: Don, Millie, Alan
Prompt: #37 Sound
Word Count: 1683
Rating: T
Summary: Why was it that when your head was about to explode off your neck everything else had to hurt as well?
Disclaimer: The only I own that has anything to do with Numb3rs is a calculator.
Author's Notes: Fluff and probably OOC and many other things that can be found in the Author’s Assertion following the fic.
Don was never so grateful to pull into Charlie’s driveway as he was at that moment. He knew he shouldn’t been driving, but he wasn’t about to admit this particular weakness to any of his team, so he took the risk. Still, he wasn’t crazy enough to risk driving to his apartment when the house was closer.
Climbing out of the SUV, Don felt every joint in his body jarring against each other. Why was it that when your head was about to explode off your neck everything else had to hurt as well? Momentarily steadying himself against Millie’s car, he noticed for the first time that her vehicle was the only one in the drive. As of late, this wasn’t all that odd. Charlie had consented to let Dad give her a key, so if Dad had a late meeting Millie would come over to pop whatever Dad had prepared in the oven. Vaguely, he remembered something about a meeting all the way down in Del Mar, so he figured it would be a couple of hours before Dad was home. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or annoyed by this. As much as he hated the hovering Dad did, sometimes, like now, he secretly longed for it.
Deciding that he wasn’t going to throw up and that he could walk, Don pushed off Millie’s car and headed for the house. Once inside he closed the door and leaned heavily against it. The smell of pot roast filled his nose. Normally, he loved that smell, but today it made his stomach roll. The dining room table was set with four places at one end (Millie always did this, just in case he and/or Charlie were going to be home) and covered with papers and Millie’s red laptop at the other.
Don sighed and headed for the kitchen, where his Imitrex was mercifully stored. Before he made it a few steps, Millie came out of the kitchen and smiled.
“Hey, G-man, I thought I heard someone come in. You’re a little early for dinner and Charlie has an evening lecture at CalSci tonight, so he’s not home, yet,” Millie moved closer to him and finally got a good look at his face. The smile was quickly replaced with a frown, “Holy crap, Don, you look like hell. Are you okay?”
This is why he liked Millie; she didn’t beat any bushes. Smiling just a little, Don sighed, “Migraine. Bad one.”
Millie winced, “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry, they aren’t fun. Let’s get you to bed.”
“I’m fi…” Don started to protest when he remembered the stairs and decided help wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. With a minuet nod, he let her help him up to his old bedroom.
The progression up the steps was slow as Don fought against waves of vertigo. He figured hours must have passed by the time he fell with a soft plunk onto his childhood bed. He fell backwards, sideways against the mattress and prayed for the room to stop moving. He could feel Millie gently lifting his legs and shift him into a better position on the bed, but it almost felt like she wasn’t really touching him. Another of the surreal experiences of a migraine. She gently tugged off his shoes and sat next to him on the bed to pull off his tie.
She patted his chest to make him crack open his eyes to look at her. Once that was done, she smiled at him, “Anything else you want off, you’re going to have to handle yourself. Do you have any medication in the house?”
“Kitchen. Cabinet by the back door. Imitrex,” Don answered brokenly as his eyes closed again.
“Okay, I’ll get that. How’s the stomach? Think you could down a nice big glass of Coke?”
Don nodded mutely. The caffeine would help and hopefully the coke syrup would ease his stomach.
Patting his chest again, this time in a soothing manner, Millie stood. Before heading from the room, she pulled the shades on the two small windows. A small murmur of thanks came from Don. As she went to retrieve the medicine and soda, Millie briefly considered calling Alan. In the year that she had known Don she had never seen him with so much as a cold and she was slightly nervous about taking care of him with such an obviously bad migraine. Still, Alan was probably on his way home and there was no sense in worrying him, when the best thing for Don was just to lie in darkened silence for a few hours.
When she returned to Don with the pill and soda, she was sure she had made the wrong decision by not calling Alan. Don was sitting up on the clutching and pulling at his head and ears as he struggled against tears. She nearly dropped the items in her hands in her haste to set them on bedside table, so she could go to Don. It was a struggle against his toned strength, but finally she was able to pull his hands from his head.
“What’s the matter, Donnie,” the name that only his father and brother called him, slipped from her lips without thought.
He looked at her like a scared little boy, “They’ve started.”
“What,” her free hand went to his cheek.
“Audio hallucinations,” Don stared at her. “I hear the most awful things.”
Millie nodded. While she had never suffered from migraines, both her mother and sister had. Her mother would have terrible and violent visual hallucinations, while her sister suffered audio hallucinations. She wished he didn’t suffer any hallucinations, but if he had to Millie was grateful that he suffered the audio kind because she could clearly remember her mother’s cure for those. Her free hand reached first for the Imitrex, which she gave to Don, who swallowed it dry. With a small roll of her eyes, Millie handed him the coke and made sure he drained the glass.
Taking the glass from Don, she again placed it on the nightstand and arraigned herself on the bed. A hand on Don’s shoulder tugged him down so that his head was resting in her lap.
Don blinked up at her, “What are you doing?”
“Helping you feel better. Just trust me, okay?” When he nodded, she asked, “Which side?”
“Bi-lateral,” Don sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Damn, Don, when you do something, you do it all the way, don’t you,” Millie smiled as she placed her hands on his temples and pressed. Keeping a constant pressure on his head, she began to sing… loudly.
Don’s eyes opened in shock. He stared up at her as she just smiled down at him as she continued to sing. Suddenly, he realized that her voice was drowning out the sounds in his head. And if he concentrated on her voice, the other noises ceased completely. Closing his eyes, he focused solely on her voice as she sang a medley of Beatles songs.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Alan stretched as he stepped out of his sedan, which he had pulled in behind Millie’s car. He hated the 5 with a passion, but until this project was finished - he hoped at some point in this century - he’d be driving the 5 weekly to Del Mar. Still, he liked the idea of coming home to a warm meal, even if he did have to prep it himself the night before, and good company, especially when the company included his eldest as indicated by the presence of Don’s SUV.
Opening the front door, Alan was assaulted by the smell of burning pot roast. He dropped his blueprint sleeve and laptop carrier next to the door and raced to the kitchen. The kitchen flooded with smoke as he pulled the scorched pot roast from the oven. Alan dumped the whole lot into the sink, turned the faucet on high and opened the window over the sink, hoping that the smoke would go out the window and not straight to the smoke detector. Grabbing a dishtowel to wipe his hands, Alan wondered where Millie and Don had gotten to that they let the roast burn. That was more of Charlie’s trick.
It was then that he noticed the blister pack of Imitrex sitting on the counter next to an empty can of coke. Well, that explained where Don had gotten to, but it left opened the question of Millie’s disappearance. Deciding the some mysteries needed to wait, Alan headed for the stairs to check on Don.
The second mystery of the evening was solved as he cracked open the door to Don’s bedroom and was treated to the most unusual sight of his life. Don was asleep with his head on Millie’s lap and Millie was singing hoarsely as she held his head. Moving into the room, he smiled as Millie as he crouched next to the bed and ran a hand through Don’s hair. He enjoyed the quiet moments when he could baby his eldest without Don complaining.
“How long has he been out,” Alan asked.
Millie moved her hands, so Alan could caress Don’s forehead, “About two hours. I was afraid to stop, in case the hallucinations came back.”
“Were they bad,” Alan asked, knowing full well that Don suffered terrible audio hallucinations if he didn’t get medicine or caffeine into him quickly enough.
“Not great,” she smiled as she played with the curls at Alan’s neck. “Singing to my sister always helped and it seemed to helped with Don, too.”
Alan nodded as he continued to brush his thumb across Don’s forehead. He remained silent for a few moments before swallowing deeply, “Margaret always sang to him or played music when he had these. Since she died, Charlie will talk to him, but it never works as well. Thank you,” Alan looked up at her with deep sincerity in his eyes.
Millie found herself at a lost for words, a rarity for her. She just smiled at him as she continued to sing softly to the two eldest Eppes.