Numb3rs: Family Ties

The Concept of Family

Disclaimer: I don't have anything to do with the creation or use of the wonderful TV show called Numb3rs.

A/N: Well this is it- the last chapter. Sorry about the it's-never-going-to-end delay, but I hope everyone really enjoys this chapter, especially since I made you wait so long for it and remember- review!

Summary: The Eppes brothers have been through thick and thin, but when the stakes change, will they be able to pull through for each other?

"Don…Don?" Charlie frantically ripped apart the sheets and the jacket that had been painstakingly laid on top of him, "Don! Where are you?"

Scrambling to his feet, Charlie hobbled to the door, favoring his right leg heavily, and pounded on the wood, sharp splinters digging into his fists. "Open up!" he screamed.

After a few more minutes of incessant pounding, Ron threw open the door, bleary eyed and unshaven. "What the hell are you doing, you little shit!" he snarled, pushing Charlie back one-handedly, "Don't you know it's three-"

Charlie rammed into him, hands blindly reaching to get past his captor. But all too soon, Charlie's bloated knee collapsed and he fell into his captor instead past him. The impromptu fight ended with Charlie slammed against the wall so hard that the edges of his vision went black, and a hand at his throat. He struggled weakly, clawing at the constricting hands blocking his airway and kicking Ron ineffectually like a child, but soon he had to stop, the exertion wasting whatever precious air he could gasp into his lungs.

"I thought I told you that if you ever did anything like again, I'd cut off your leg." he hissed, his breath sour on Charlie's face.

"I…I…bet your…employer would like…that." Charlie wheezed, still valiantly fighting for breath.

Ron's eyes narrowed. Then slowly, he loosened his vice grip on Charlie's throat letting him take a few agonized breaths. "Figured it out, did you?" he asked shortly.

Charlie's brown eyes were wide with pain and fear, but he nodded tightly, jerking his head as much as Ron's hands would allow. Slowly, Ron released him completely and let Charlie slump against the wall and then slide to the ground, his gasping sobs the only sound in the room.

"Where's…" Charlie coughed, pausing for an instant, "Where's my brother?" he demanded.

"Your brother…" Ron hesitated, looking at Charlie's limp form kneeling on the carpeted floor, "Your brother's gone- dead." Then with a sweeping motion, Ron grabbed Charlie's upper arm and half dragged him back into the small, enclosed room. Pushing him inside, Ron slammed the door shut and stomped away, swearing loudly as he did so. Charlie stumbled into the room, falling to the side of the bed. Then he slumped backwards, practically reeling from shock.

His brother was dead?

No no no no no no. Charlie's mind spun with confusion and denial. His brother couldn't be dead. Not Don- not his brother. Don was perfect. He didn't get shot or hurt or lose. Don just kept on going; he was like a god, he could get angry or upset, but nothing actually touched him: nothing ever hurt-

And then Charlie remembered that if a gun was pointed at you then, statistically, you were dead. How many times had the Eppes brothers had guns pointed at their heads during their time here? How many times had Don been shot at in his life? He wasn't James Bond; statistically, Don's luck had to run out sometime…and it had- today.

Charlie choked back the keening wail building in his throat, dying to be let out, and wiped away the few chance tears that had dared make themselves known. He wasn't going to take this sitting down, not anymore. He knew who had done this, and he knew where he was…where Don's body was. He was going to stop this, stop him.

Charlie turned and began digging at the mattress.

Don stretched his sore legs as Matt pushed him out of the car and handcuffed his hands in front of him. He hadn't had the best night. No one liked waking up with a bloody gun pointed at their face, or their kid brother's. And then of course, there was wonderful car ride in which Don had had to squash length-wise into a car seat that couldn't even fit half of his height, much less his entire body.

Days like this never tended to get better…

Don woke with a gun pointed at his face. Instinctively, he tightened the arm slung around his brother protectively. He shook his head: He wasn't letting them take Charlie anywhere without him. Matt snorted quietly and wagged the gun at him, making Charlie shift uneasily in his sleep. Don made a shushing noise and gently rocked Charlie until he was sleeping peacefully again. He was mumbling something in his sleep- maybe he was dreaming.

Noiselessly, Don slipped his arm off from around Charlie's slim frame, and agilely rolled off the bed, placing his warm FBI jacket over Charlie so that he didn't get cold. "What do you want?" he hissed, his voice as steely as during any interrogation.

"Come on. Outside." Matt mouthed, clearly not wanting to wake Charlie.

Don hesitated. His instincts told him to wake Charlie, to let him know that something was going on…but, if something…bad was going to happen, then he didn't need to leave his younger brother in hysterics. Don shot one last glance at Charlie curled up form and followed Matt out the room, watching the gun trained on him steadily.

"Come on, big shot, we're going for a ride." Matt grabbed his arm, dragging him away, and only then did Don begin to fight…

He hadn't gotten much out of the fight, or apparently, all his hours working out at the gym. Sure he had given Matt a spilt lip and a black eye, but he had a bloody nose and a couple of bruised ribs in return.

"Hey." Matt waved the gun in front of his face, "Don't you recognize where we are?"

Don stared at his surroundings. His eyes swept over the familiar gravel path and beautiful Craftsman home. "Oh…" he muttered softly.

He was home.

It seemed to Charlie that it took eons –he could finally put a measure to one– to rip up the old mattress and pull out a spring to yank open the boarded window. From now on when one of his students asked how long an eon was, he'd tell them that it was the time it took to find a loose thread of a mattress and keep ripping and tearing at it, until you hit metal.

The fall itself wasn't too bad. Charlie had calculated the injuries and was sure that he would break something, most likely his back, but when he finally landed, adrenaline allowed him to keep the scream of pain somewhere deep inside he didn't know he had, roll over, and run…or rather limp, since by now he had figured out that the snapping sound he had heard was his ankle bone.

Hobbling over a mile to the highway had been a task in itself, Charlie flinching every time a car zoomed by. He didn't need to be a mathematician to know that the possibilities of getting hit by a speeding car were high, and no- he didn't need to instantly calculate the chances of there being anything left of Don by the time he summoned by the courage to hitch a ride with someone, he really didn't need that.

Determinedly, Charlie stepped up to the side of the road, and stuck his thumb up, eyes hopeful. Cars continued to race by, most people were too smart to stop for a hitchhiker, especially when hitchhiking was illegal. Desperately, Charlie began walking down the highway, trying to speed up his progress, even though, at the rate he was traveling- a few broken steps per minute, the result would be infantile in its success.

Finally…finally, a truck slowed down to the side of the road and a young girl with strawberry blonde rolled down the window and poked her head out. "My Daddy says that if you want a ride, then you better get in the back real quick, and shout out when you wanna be let out."

Charlie nodded shortly and tried to hop up, landing painfully in the bed of the trunk, face splayed against the hard metal. With a rumble, the truck started up and merged into the traffic, traveling much faster than Charlie was walking. Charlie scrambled to his hand and knees and peered at the speeding world, reflecting that it should have been Don sitting here feeling the wind in his face, smelling the acidy exhaust fumes, breathing in the pollution of an average Los Angeles day.

It should have been Don who survived.

Don stiffened as Matt pushed him to the back of the house, bypassing the garage. Gun pressed to the back of his head, Don stumbled to a halt at the edge of Charlie's koi pond. Dully, Don fixated his gaze on a spot on the far side of the pond. The koi were swimming lazily back and forth, eyes lolling when they sensed the slightest rippling disturbance in the water.

The gun's safety clicked off. "You know, Don, I've been thinking about your brother. He's rather good-looking isn't he?"

Don felt himself go cold at the insinuation in Matt's words.

"I've been in prison before," Matt stated roughly, "and I found out something that you might find interesting. Those young sweet boys are very good at spreading their legs." Chuckling, Matt poked Don once with the gun. "Maybe when I get back me and your brother-"

Don turned and punched him, coming at him with everything he had- feet, arms, teeth. Then, even with his tied hands limiting his movement, Don leapt after him, splashing into the koi pond after his stumbling figure. Hurdling forward, he looped his hands over Matt's flailing body and pushed down, slamming his head against a rock at the bottom of the pond. Matt struggled up sluggishly for air, his eyes blinking myopically, and the blood bright on his fair skin.

Furious, Don helped him, wrenching his head back by his hair and hissing, "Never! Never talk about my brother like that." Then deliberately, Don pushed Matt's head back under the water, ignoring his weakening struggles.

Don wasn't sure when he finally let Matt go. He held him there for a long time- long after his knuckles went white from the strain of clenching Matt's hair so tightly, long after Matt went through his last drowning convulsions…far longer than he needed to. Slowly, arms stiff, Don released Matt's body, swearing that he could feel his fingers cracking from the effort of unclenching them from Matt's lifeless hair.

Clothes soaked, Don watched numbly as Matt's body floated upwards, bobbing listlessly on the surface of Charlie's beloved koi pond. His water weighted clothes were slowly, but surely pulling him down, and the fish were only now starting to lazily drift near him, nipping almost distractedly at his dead clothes or lifeless face, a cruel mockery of what it once was.

Don got up, wide-eyed and staggered back, shivering in the waning sunlight. Then, abruptly, he sank to his knees, trying to stop, stifle, or at least quiet, the keening, desperate cry that escaped his lips as he leaned over and dry retched, stomach heaving in turmoil. He had killed someone. He had killed someone. Charlie hadn't even been in true danger, just implied, but one word from Matt and Don had flown at him- punching him, choking him…killing him.

He had killed someone for his brother.

His stomach heaved again and he forced his eyes away from the floating body in the pond, instead focusing of the trampled grass he was clenching desperately as if to anchor him to reality. His brother had planted all of this, coaxing the plants and surroundings to life out of pure will more than anything else. His brother who had once chased him through these woods because he had stolen some polyatomic chart or something, his brother still helped Don with homework even though now it was a lot more dangerous, his brother who…who he had killed for.

Don closed his eyes, kneeling in the mud with his hands bound and let his new assailant come up behind him and press a gun to his head.

"Good morning, Dad." he whispered.

Alan Eppes flinched at his oldest son's words. "How did you know it was me?" He asked dully, pressing the gun harder into his elder son's skull.

Don shrugged. "You're my father." he murmured, the words catching and drifting in the wind.

"I'm sorry Donnie," Alan sighed, "I didn't want it to happen like this. I didn't want this to happen at all, but it's got to-"

"Dad…no stop!" Charlie stumbled over the crest of the small hill that led downwards to the koi pond and fell to his knees a couple of feet away.

Alan turned around, swinging the gun to face Charlie. "Charlie, get out of here!" Don yelled out.

"Oh Charlie…" Alan's face transformed into a gruesome mask of terrible sadness, "I promised Margaret that I'd take care of you, but look at you now. Just look at you."

"Dad," Charlie said slowly, "Look at yourself. This isn't you. You're pointing a gun at your own son. Put it down."

Alan laughed, wild and insane. "I haven't been myself for years now, boys. I haven't…I haven't…ever since your mother died." he laughed again, "Charlie," he said, his voice suddenly hardening, "Get over there," he gestured his with gun towards Don, "Go on, move it."

Charlie staggered towards Don, thankful when Don caught him and placed himself protectively in front of his younger brother. "Come on Dad." Don pleaded, "You don't want to this. I know…I know it's been hard, it has been for all of us, but this isn't the way to handle it."

Alan chuckled, his eyes twinkling like normal. "Oh but you see, this is the only way. I tried so hard to keep you boys safe like Margaret wanted, but with your job, Donnie, there isn't much I can do…not much I can do against the drug-dealers and bombers of the world, is there? But…but at least Charlie was safe, we were together, and math couldn't hurt anyone, that is until he started working for you."

Don winced.

"Don't think I didn't know how much danger he was in. He was-"

"Dad, I was never in any danger." Charlie protested.

"You almost got shot!" Alan screamed, spitting, "You almost got shot," he repeated, calmer, "And imagine my surprise at learning it from the TV, instead of my boys. Hmm?" Alan paced back and forth in front of them. "So I decided that I couldn't keep you safe here, not here. I wasn't good enough alone. It was always Margaret and me who took care of you, not just me, never just me. But up there," Alan pointed to the sky, "up there, Margaret's waiting for us. We can join her up there." Alan smiled at them, looking almost dreamy. "We'll all go up together."

"Dad-" Don started.

"Daddy," Charlie interrupted, his voice scared, "are…are you going to hurt us? Mom…" he swallowed, his body shaking, "Mom wouldn't want that. She'd- she'd want us to happy."

Alan looked at his sons, silent tears streaming down his face. "Yes…" he whispered, "Yes she would." He smiled. "I'm so sorry boys."

Then he pulled the trigger and the world went to hell.

One year later…

Charlie fumbled with the keys to his apartment and opened the door, dropping his final cardboard filled box on the hardwood floor and walking into the kitchen for something to drink. It wasn't home. He couldn't smell the lingering remnants of his mother's cooking when he opened the cabinets, nor could he idly run his fingers down the wall and feel the notches carved into the wall signifying how tall he and Don had grown, but it was something. And, it was a mathematical statement that everything had to start somewhere. Pi started 3; the digits began at 1; and Charlie was going to start again…here.

"Hey Charlie, is that the last of your stuff I tripped over in the hallway?" Don asked, loosening the top button of his shirt and tossing Charlie his heavy jacket to be put away.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'll move it."

"You can to it later. Let's have dinner."

Charlie smoothed the jacket in his hands and put it away neatly in the closet, while Don got out two beers and starting heating up some leftover lasagna that Amita had made for them. It had been hard for the first month or two- living together. Their static personalities refused to bend to each other's styles of living. For instance, even though it was Don's apartment originally, Charlie couldn't help leaving his math calculations all over the place, and Don –so set in his bachelor ways- was equally unable to change his…well almost all of his habits.

But thirteen years of living together as children did have some impact, and they learned when to push and when to let go. They learned when to avoid each other and when they needed each other. They learned that sometimes there was nothing for it, and that you needed to stop thinking about the past in order to move on.

"Charlie, get your head out of the clouds and come eat."

They ate in silence.

Before, it had always seemed that there was one presence missing at the table, but now, there were two. The silence that they created, two reproaching specters whose aura weighed heavily on the two men, caused them to bow their heads, shoveling food into their food with little attention to what it was.

"So Charlie," Don paused, wiping his mouth, "Did you talk to Megan today?"

"Yeah…she's pretty nice for a psychologist. And- um…I think I'm ready to help out at your work…" Charlie paused, watching Don's darkening face, "and Megan said so too." Charlie added quickly. "In fact, she said it might be good for me."

"No Charlie." Don said firmly, "Agent Reeves has no right making that sort of insinuation; I'll talk to her about that tomorrow. You don't work with me unless you have my say so, and I don't want you involved in my work again."

"Don, it wasn't your fault." Charlie said, striving not to let frustration enter his voice.

"Charlie." Don said, putting down his fork, "Don't push me, okay, Buddy. Not right now."

Charlie winced as Don dropped his half-full dish in the sink with a clatter and left the room silently. Suddenly he felt like a disobedient child being scolded for not bringing in the dog or the like. Pushing his own food away, Charlie got up and picked up his overturned box in the hallway. Then he walked to his room, filled with more unpacked boxes, and placed the last one on his unmade bed, brushing aside a few thesis papers from his students. Then he left, crossed the hallway and knocked on Don's door, entering when he didn't hear him call out.

"Don?" He was lying on the bed, fully clothed, with his arm over his eyes. "Don, I'm going to start working at the office starting tomorrow."

"No, Charlie, you're not." Don repeated, "I told you that I don't want to talk about this."

Charlie slammed the door shut behind him. "But I do." he snapped, causing Don to jolt out of bed, "I…I just moved the last of my stuff over here." he said, more quietly.

"So?"

"So I…it's over, Don. That was the last of it…and now…it's done." Charlie said, trying to figure out why he was saying this to Don of all people, but then again, who else was there?

Don scrutinized him carefully before smiling suddenly. "It took you long enough, Buddy."

Then he got up and hugged his brother, and for the first time in a very long time, Charlie knew that everything was going to be all right.

The End

End Notes: Well, that's it- the end of my first Numb3rs story. I hope everyone's enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I wanted to write a story that was different and hopefully I've accomplished that. In this story I wanted to illustrate the bonds of brothers and family in general. Sometimes they're not as strong as we think and sometimes they can pull us through crap we never thought possible. Charlie and Don grow throughout the story. And, of course, I have to talk about the ending and the villain- Alan. I hope no one thinks this is a big stretch, because I wrote this story with plausibility in mind. I considered a lot of aspects of psychology and I don't think it's too much of a stretch to believe that Alan could have lost his mind after the pain of losing his wife, not to mention the stress over Don's dangerous job and having to deal with a younger genius son. Anyway, thank you for reading and sticking with my story; it's been loads of fun!