Contemplation
Apr. 13th, 2009 11:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
digeedivaTitle: Contemplation
Word Count: 243 words
Character: Alan
Rating: PG
Summary: Alan thinks about his son. Sequel to The Shirt.
Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs. They belong to Cheryl and Nick.
A/N: Betaed by JLM110108 You are awesome Jo! All remaining mistakes are mine. Dedicated to NUMB3RSnut because she was the first to ask for a sequel.
Alan sat in his chair, the one next to the fireplace, contemplating what he had seen a couple hours ago. Thinking about a son who was bone weary; a son with a dangerous job; a son that who would never give up his job; a son who most likely would die on the job. That last thought, Alan couldn’t get out of his mind.
He had seen his son leaning against the table with that bloody shirt on. All he could see in his mind was Don lying down on the street covered in blood. His vest failing him, blood all over his shirt. Dead.
Alan’s mind screaming his son’s name. Holding him. Crying for him. His mind reeling. Willing himself to stop thinking.
Alan knew that was not true. Don was alive, back at his office, finishing his paperwork for the events that took place earlier today. All he could see was the blood on the shirt. The shirt now had dried blood on it, but in his mind it was still bright red. In his mind, it was Don’s. His son’s blood.
A couple hours ago he had seen Don, the shirt and the blood. Now he sits in his chair, holding the shirt in his shaking hands, thinking about his son. He sits in his chair praying that his son will come home tonight. He sits in his chair praying that he never sees Don’s own blood on a shirt.
Word Count: 243 words
Character: Alan
Rating: PG
Summary: Alan thinks about his son. Sequel to The Shirt.
Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs. They belong to Cheryl and Nick.
A/N: Betaed by JLM110108 You are awesome Jo! All remaining mistakes are mine. Dedicated to NUMB3RSnut because she was the first to ask for a sequel.
Alan sat in his chair, the one next to the fireplace, contemplating what he had seen a couple hours ago. Thinking about a son who was bone weary; a son with a dangerous job; a son that who would never give up his job; a son who most likely would die on the job. That last thought, Alan couldn’t get out of his mind.
He had seen his son leaning against the table with that bloody shirt on. All he could see in his mind was Don lying down on the street covered in blood. His vest failing him, blood all over his shirt. Dead.
Alan’s mind screaming his son’s name. Holding him. Crying for him. His mind reeling. Willing himself to stop thinking.
Alan knew that was not true. Don was alive, back at his office, finishing his paperwork for the events that took place earlier today. All he could see was the blood on the shirt. The shirt now had dried blood on it, but in his mind it was still bright red. In his mind, it was Don’s. His son’s blood.
A couple hours ago he had seen Don, the shirt and the blood. Now he sits in his chair, holding the shirt in his shaking hands, thinking about his son. He sits in his chair praying that his son will come home tonight. He sits in his chair praying that he never sees Don’s own blood on a shirt.
