Disclaimer: I own not Numb3rs though it is very kind of you to think so.

A/N: My A Levels are over. Muse? Fire up thy engine.

The Rise and Fall

«What is the worst of woes that wait on age?

What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow?

To view each loved one blotted from life's page,

And be alone on earth, as I am now»

- Childe Harold (Lord Byron)

There was a quiet hush in the room. Every sound that existed had a damn good reason for being there while the undesirable nuisances found themselves literally outside the noise-reducing door.

Of the two human presences in the relatively spacious room, neither wasted their precious energy doing unnecessary tasks, all focus instead on life-saving tasks such as breathing although one was assisted by a machine, its rhythmic whoosh making its contributions towards the semi-hypnotic quality of the room.

Such was the deceptively peaceful scene when the noise-limiting door contradicted one of its many uses when it slid back to allow the hustle and bustle of outside life to be audible in the room before it was quickly shut again, but not before it allowed entry to another person.

The new presence was not openly acknowledged by the woman sitting in the chair beside the sole bed in the room. However, when the man gently placed a hand on the lady's shawl covered shoulder, she did not jump in surprise, nor did she react in any way to suggest she'd been surprised by the touch.

She simply sighed.

"Irene?" whispered the man, hoping to draw her gaze away from the sickly, yet sleeping, occupant on the bed. "Irene, it's time for you to leave. Charlie will take you back to the house."

"Oh Alan." Irene Mann sighed again. "It never gets easier, does it?"

Alan wasn't entirely sure if his wife's aunt was asking the question rhetorically, but he decided to answer it anyway.

"No. No, it never does. And a part of me hopes it never will."

"I understand what you mean," she replied, her eyes still on the slumbering patient. "Imagine having loved ones in hospital so often you get inured to it. Horrible thought."

Alan remained silent but sensing that his in-law wasn't going to immediately get up and leave, although visiting hours were over, he sat down in the empty seat next to her but was careful not to dislodge his hand from the older woman's shoulder, trying to provide comfort the best way his currently wearied body, mind and soul could.

He was not the sole weary person in the room, it turned out, as Irene began speaking again, careful to keep her voice low thought it would have taken a lot more than that to disturb the patient at this point.

"Over eighty years of life, Alan, and it never gets easier, only harder. Parents you understand will leave you at some point, older brothers and sisters slightly harder to accept yet still inevitable." Irene drew a shaky breath but kept a tight hold on any traitorous tears that strove for freedom. "But those younger than you, much younger… I thought Harry would be around to bury me, like I did Clarisse and Ann."

There was a pause but Alan did not intercede, at least not yet.

"But then you figure it's just fate, to be the last of your family. But when nieces, nephews… Margaret." Alan's grip tightened slightly on her shoulder but Irene did not notice. "I never had any children so I suppose I can be thankful I was spared the pain of mourning them as well."

Alan now felt it was high time he intervened before things got too out of control. "Irene," he began but was interrupted.

"But when the children of your nieces and nephews have to fight for their lives while you continue living… it just makes you wonder if the Lord granted old age as a sort of punishment for past sins."

"Irene!" Alan whispered sharply. "You have to stop thinking like this. Don is going to be just fine. The doctors say the infection from the bullet wound is almost gone. The antibiotics are working. All this," Alan waved a hand, motioning to the peripheral equipment surrounding his eldest son's hospital bed, "all this is just to help Don get back on his feet that much sooner."

"I understood what Dr. Austen said, Alan, I'm not deaf or senile yet," replied Irene with some of her characteristic sharpness that had somehow left her in the last few days of her visit, ever since they'd received the dreaded call at the Craftsman that Alan and Charlie had feared for a long time coming, informing them that Don had been injured in the line of duty. The resulting infection had just been one complication over another.

Irene inhaled deeply of the anti-septic smelling hospital air before adding: "But the fact still remains that while I grow old, my friends and family are slowly but surely going somewhere where I cannot seem to follow. And to watch someone in the prime of life…" Irene didn't continue but she swept one hand towards her great-nephew's prone form. A moment later, she covered Alan's hand on her shoulder with her own and commented: "You know, you have more strength that I ever gave you credit for, Alan Eppes."

Alan laughed slightly, more out of surprise and disbelief than any real humour.

"Oh I know where that's coming from," Irene noted. "You always thought that I believed you an unsuitable match for my niece." Alan didn't deny it but neither did Irene require verbal confirmation. "Truth is, Maggie could have done a whole lot worse. You made her happy, you were there for her until the end and now, with all the dangers of Don's job and how much you must worry…"

"With good reason, it seems," muttered Alan darkly.

"Nonetheless." Irene groaned slightly as she stood, old bones and what seemed like hours in a hospital chair not doing her aged body any favours though Alan tried to help with a hand under her elbow as he stood up alongside her. Looking Alan directly in the eye, she repeated again: "You're a much stronger and finer man that I ever thought, Alan. I'm not often wrong but seeing how well you did by Margaret, your boys whom you did a fine job of raising, I'm very glad I am in this case." Irene turned her head slightly towards the bed and placed a hand on one of Don's. "You've taught them well."

"Well…," Alan began but instead of continuing he chose to glance over his shoulder to find Charlie through the glass wall of the room. His youngest was standing by the nurse's station, conversing slightly with one of Don's agents who'd come to check up on his progress. Charlie had stayed with Don throughout the night and was now being told to head home to rest, Alan having arrived to relieve Charlie of duty, taking Aunt Irene along with him as visiting hours were soon getting over. As Alan looked at his son, hair unruly, lines of worry etched in his face, bags under his eyes to suggest sleeplessness yet standing straight and tall with shoulders thrown back, an aura radiating control and readiness to take charge if need be, to stand in for the man down.

Alan felt a surge of pride and he turned to look glance at Don as he lay resting, his eldest having fought hard, achieving victory where lesser men would've perished, now holding his own after days of a raging fever, let alone a bullet wound in the mix.

Watching Don, having watched Charlie, Alan felt a need to clarify something to his late wife's aunt:

"Irene, let's just say I've leant as much from my sons and they've learnt from me."

Khatum

Now that summer has offically started for me, I hope to get back on track with everyone's stories and reviewing them. As for my own work, let's just say I've got plenty in the mix. This one is me slightly stretching the boundaries - this time last year I wouldn't have dared writing from such a point of view. I always think how can I replicate a father's emotions in Alan, Irene goes beyond, an 18 year old trying to write an 80 yr old. I kept to canon as much I could regarding her but they haven't exactly said much about her.

Hope you liked! See you all around.