Reflection, a numb3rs fanfic

Author's Notes: For those of you dear readers who wanted closure and resolution to "Inequal Expressions," this isn't it. But I hope it helps. This is actually my first Numb3rs fic. It's been sitting on my hard drive since about a week after "Protest" originally aired. It's gone through a couple different incarnations, but Musey is finally satisfied, I think. Or at least she's no longer complaining. Many thanks to Iris Wilde, one of the original betas on this one, and of course to Izhilzha, who finally said, "Go post." And to Cheryl and Nick, who gave us the characters in the first place.

Standard Disclaimer: Not my show, not my characters. See production credits and parade of logos for ownership of Numb3rs. (Yes, that means you have to go watch the ep. Such a hardship.)

Spoiler warning: As this is an epilogue to the eppesode "Protest" (and a fine, fine eppesode it is, too. Freakin' awesome is what it is), all standard spoiler warnings are in effect. Carry on.

REFLECTION

V. Laike

"How was everything, sir?" The restaurant hostess smiled prettily as Don Eppes approached the cash register.

Don returned the smile, his eyes crinkling in amusement as he handed the young woman the check and his debit card. "Delicious. You can bet we'll be back." He waited patiently, casually noting the way she eyed him slyly from beneath her long, dark lashes. Dinner had been relaxed and enjoyable, and the agent was not above relishing a moment of peace amid the chaos his job regularly served up. When the transaction was complete and the hostess had returned his card, Don made his way back to the corner booth where his father was finishing his coffee, Charlie his cola, and where Don himself had a quarter of a bottle of beer left.

"What time did you say the service is tomorrow?" he heard Alan ask Charlie.

"Laura Sterling said ten o'clock," Charlie said as his older brother slid into his seat. "Hey, Don, you should come, too."

"Where?"

"To Matt Sterling's memorial service." Charlie popped the last French fry into his mouth.

Don was taken aback by the suggestion. "Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?" Alan's reply sounded somewhat defensive and perhaps a little more harshly delivered than he'd intended, Don thought. After days of underlying tension, it had been great to get back on an even keel with his father. The mention of Matt Sterling threatened to rock the boat once more. Don resisted the urge to become defensive in turn.

"I don't think I'd be a very welcome guest," Don said matter-of-factly as he downed the last of his beer.

"Why not?" Charlie seemed genuinely puzzled.

Don shrugged a shoulder. "C'mon, Charlie. I'm a Fed. The enemy. One of 'those people' who tried to railroad Sterling for a crime he didn't commit. At least that's how Mrs. Sterling sees it."

"That's not how Laura sees you," Charlie replied. "To her, you're the agent who led the team that proved her father's innocence."

"Charlie's right, Donnie. Thanks to you, Matt's name has been cleared and everyone can stop wondering what happened." Don met his father's gaze and appreciated the understanding—and pride?—he saw there. "Tell you what," Alan said more cheerily. "Why don't you spend the night at the house? You've got one of your suits up in the closet, right? You can come to the service with us."

"I don't know . . . " Don cocked his head with uncertainty.

"You know," Charlie coaxed, "you're the one—you and your team—who made this service possible. You found the body. You not only cleared his name, you made it possible for the family to put Sterling's remains to rest."

"Well, you had a lot to do with that, too," Don replied.

"But you're the one who figured it out."

Don shook his head. "Look, this memorial service is going to be for family, friends, and invited guests. You two were invited. I wasn't. It's no big deal. I was doing my job. Let's just leave it at that."

"Well," Alan said in his no-nonsense tone, "I was one of Matt's friends, and I'm inviting you. So it's settled."

Don raised his hands in surrender. "You know what? I'm too tired to argue with both of you. I'll spend the night at the house 'cause I've got to take the two of you back anyway. Then we'll see about the service in the morning."

Don was not surprised that he beat Charlie downstairs the next morning, arriving at the table just as his father was laying out a light breakfast of bagels, cream cheese, and juice.

"Good morning," Alan greeted him, noticing Don's suit and nodding his approval. "Sleep well?"

"Are you kidding?" Don spread a bagel with the last of the strawberry cream cheese. "I got to sleep in on a work day. Can't beat that."

Alan smiled. "So have you decided to come with us?"

Don shrugged. "It couldn't hurt to show Mrs. Sterling that we're not all government-paid thugs who get our kicks abusing the system and railroading innocent people."

Alan placed a hand on Don's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. An understanding glance passed between father and son, then the moment was gone.

"Hey, leave some of the strawberry cream cheese for me," Charlie called as he came trotting down the stairs.

"Too bad, Chuck. You snooze, you lose." Don stuffed the last of his bagel in his mouth and licked the remaining cheese from his thumb.

Because Don wanted to head straight to work afterward, the Eppes men drove separately to the community center where the memorial service was to be held. Pulling into the parking lot together, the trio made its way to the front door and into the entrance lobby. Beyond the lobby area, in the main room of the center, Don could see people milling about, greeting one another, hugging, some laughing softly as they reminisced and perhaps got reacquainted after years of separation. Alan was immediately greeted and pulled off in one direction to speak with a middle-aged couple, while Charlie made his way toward Laura Sterling and her mother. Don paused in the doorway, scanning the room and sizing up the occupants, both out of habit and uncertainty.

I don't belong here, Don thought to himself. These are friends, family. A woman edged past him, and he stepped aside, excusing himself as she made her way into the room. Don checked his watch, then took a breath to bolster his confidence. Just a quick offer of condolence, then I've got to get back to the office. But before he could decide exactly how he would approach the Sterlings, it was decided for him as Charlie pointed his brother out to Laura, who made her way quickly across the room, her mother's hand firmly in her own.

"Agent Eppes. I'm so glad you came." Laura shook Don's hand warmly, a genuine smile gracing her features.

Don was startled by the heartfelt greeting. "Thank you. I just wanted to offer my condolences." He shifted his gaze to Mrs. Sterling. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." Mrs. Sterling also offered him a smile, small but cordial.

"If it weren't for you and your team," Laura continued, "we'd still be wondering. Now I know my father was innocent. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I was just doing my job, Miss Sterling. Following the evidence."

"Which is more than they did thirty-five years ago." Mrs. Sterling's tone was a mixture of resentment and gratitude.

"And for that, I'm sorry." Don really didn't want an argument. He didn't want to be part of a scene, not here with these people. These people had been his father's friends, his mother's friends. This was a day to celebrate fond memories, not dredge up old wrongs. The case was closed, Don and his father had resolved their differences, and the agent was ready to get back to work.

Mrs. Sterling held her hand out to Don. "Thank you for bringing Mattie home," she said, her tone sincere.

Don smiled appreciatively. "You're welcome." As he shook Mrs. Sterling's hand, Don saw out of the corner of his eye his father and Charlie standing together, watching him, their expressions unreadable but warm.

"Please, won't you join us?" Laura asked. "Let us introduce you to some of my father's—your father's—friends."

Don accepted politely as Laura gently took his arm. He spent the next few minutes being introduced to friends from his parents' past. It soon became known that he was an FBI agent, and it turned into something of a running joke that Alan and Margaret Eppes had parented a G-man. Though he didn't relax completely, Don soon eased himself into conversation and began to understand what a leader his father had been—respected by his peers, forceful, strong, but never violent. Don wasn't surprised that he found himself feeling a renewed sense of pride in being Alan and Margaret Eppes's son.

Unable to slip away before the service started, Don sat toward the back of the room, where Alan and Charlie joined him. In the back of his mind, Don suspected it was more than mere coincidence that his father and his brother seated themselves on either side of him. He valued the unconscious show of support. After the service, Charlie followed Don to the parking lot.

"Hey, are you okay?" Charlie's eyes held a hint of concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"No reason. Just . . . checking."

Don clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I'm fine. This was good. I've got to get going, but I'll catch you later, right?" He climbed into his SUV and started the engine.

"I'll call you," Charlie said.

"Sure." Don slid his sunglasses on and waved to his brother, then pulled away as Charlie headed back toward the center.

Driving beneath the shade trees toward the interstate, Don realized that he was glad he'd come. It had provided not only closure for the case—which he didn't always get once a case had passed from his hands—but also a new appreciation of his own father.

This investigation had brought up a lot of old memories, things Don hadn't wanted to think about too closely—the sense of unspoken conflict, that his parents didn't approve of his career choice, the sense that he'd let them down. He'd always been proud of his parents' accomplishments, and Don knew that his father was proud of him as a son, as a man. But last night was the first time Don had heard his father verbalize his approval—his pride—in his son as an agent. Alan had spent Don's early years trying to save lives in his way; now Don was trying to do the same in his own.

"Commie."

"G-man."

Don laughed to himself as he reached for the radio dial. Scanning the dial for a good rock station, he came across a pop station playing an old song. He paused, humming along, the lyrics seeming to reflect his own thoughts. The specifics of the song didn't mirror reality, but the sentiment was unmistakable:

"The leader of the band is tired and his eyes are growing old
But his blood runs through my instrument and his song is in my soul—
My life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man
I'm just a living legacy to the leader of the band
I am a living legacy to the leader of the band."

finis

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