Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs.
Through the Eyes of My Locked Up Rationality
The dejected man sat still and alone on the hard prison bed. I watched as his shoulders rose and fell, the breath of life sustaining him as he thought of all he did. I knew the memories haunted him, I could see it in his eyes; the broken orbs that used to hold those beautiful and lively irises of brown. But now they're empty of all feeling, only the coldness of his recent days showed through and watching as he's breaking is pulling me in two.
I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout, and I wanted to make him move from that lonely prison bed. I wanted him to lift his head, to see what little there was to see. I wanted his hope be renewed, and most of all I wanted him once again to let me live.
I watched from behind his eyes, I felt his sorrow and his hatred of himself; but I could not get through the barriers that he had built between me and real life. I could not do what I wanted to, I could not give him hope. I had been banished to the farthest reach of his poor, broken mind. I spread my fingers to find his cracks, but the wall was much too thick. My hand brushed the barrier and I was banished back.
I called his name, a whisper from one lonely man to another. I told him it would be okay if he would let me through. I told him that he would live again, but he could not hear my call. For in his other ear was the voice of true despair, whispering that all was lost and that he was the one at fault. Damn Dwayne, I thought as the words rushed in and grappled with his common sense, and won.
My fault, he thought, again and again. My own damn fault I'm in this place, my own damn fault I'm here. I slammed my fists against the wall, I punched and pushed and kicked. I screamed and called and yelled, but still his anguish did prevail. My fault. My fault.
It's him! I yelled. He is at fault! But you, you're innocent! He does not hear, or perhaps he chooses to ignore, the truth within my words. Someone must be at fault, he knows, and who better than himself. He's lost it all by coming here; his job, his friends, his life, his love.
His love, David. You.
You would not recognize him now. He wallows in self pity, but that is not what you would hope. You would want his body beaten, his limbs and soul completely broken. You would hope that his life would be more miserable than this. Sitting stricken in his cell is far from the revenge for which you'd hope.
You may think his transformation doesn't matter, since you have had one of your own. You'll never admit it to Don or Megan, but you're broken. Almost as bad as he is. His actions tore you into pieces, pulling you in every direction other than the one you needed. You needed to be mended, to be reassured, but that day in that interrogation room you saw in his eyes that the truth was right in front of you; and you broke.
I remember the tears glistening when you tried to hurt him, tried to rip him to shreds like he had done to you. You wanted him to feel the pain he had inflicted on you. They held you back, and I could see your anger peak as their hands pulled at you, and I could feel his sorrow deepen as you were pushed out of that room. He wanted you to hurt him, David; he wanted to feel that pain. He wanted you to take it all out on him, because then he would know it was out of your system. He would know that you weren't stewing out there, waiting for a chance to bring all of that anger crashing down on top of him. It scares him to think that your hatred for him is growing while he is here.
Oddly enough, though, you were what kept him together. Not that he's really together now, but he would have been worse off if not for you. Every waking moment he spent thinking of you. Trying to find a way to tell you, to make you understand. He knew you wouldn't, that you couldn't, but still he tried. He ran scenarios and conversations over and over in his mind. He knows you well, David. Does that scare you?
When you were on his mind, even Dwayne couldn't get in. Despair wasn't allowed its untimely entries. You're a fucking Knight in shining armor, David. You're the reason he might just survive. Every thought of you, no matter how hopeless or terrified it started out, turned into a memory of your happy days. The days of stealing kisses at work. The days of staying in bed for an entire weekend. The better days. They all came rushing back, filling his empty eyes with the hope I had so desperately wanted to give him.
I beat the hell out of his damn wall and all it took was the mention of you to bring the corners of his lips up. Even when it was Dwayne talking about you, calling you a sad excuse for a friend, he would tune the other man out and wallow in memories. Congratulations. All of that hatred he knows you're brewing and he's smiling at the thought of you.
But it was that easy to bring him down again. Dwayne would tell him that it's all his fault and everything would end. His eyes were empty again and his mouth returned to its perpetual frown. I returned to my task of beating at the mental blocks and screaming at him in hopes of pulling him out of his own head; yet, for some reason, I never thought to scream your name. As my attempts at playing savior fell on deaf ears. He wouldn't listen to himself but he'd listen to you.
So when you came, I smiled. I laughed. I danced. I was relieved. Finally, a true smile would surely come. But I was wrong to think you'd come to give him hope. As he sat across from you in the visitors' room and looked into your eyes, I realized why you had come. You wanted to break him. Jail wasn't enough for you; you wanted to be the cause of his pain. His conscience eating him up wouldn't cut it, it had to be you. After all you had given to him he broke you. It was your turn to do the breaking.
"Colby," you said, emotionlessly. Your voice was so flat that I didn't recognize it. I thought someone had replaced you. You were an imposter and soon the real David was going to walk through the door and set it straight.
"David," he responded. His voice was emptier than yours. It was painful to hear, for me and for you. I watched your eyes and saw the faintest cringe. This wasn't Colby Granger, just like you weren't David Sinclair. He was an imposter, just like you. The real Colby and the real David would come soon and they would embrace and they would smile. There would be tears, and there would be sobs, but most of all there would be forgiveness.
"How's Dwayne?" you inquired. To anyone else it may have seemed as though you were beating around the bush, but I knew better. Colby did, too. You were cutting straight into it, bringing up the person who had started it all. That first seed of doubt in you, in all of his colleagues, had been planted by Dwayne. It wasn't the lowest cut, but it was the easiest move for you to make.
"He's Dwayne," was Colby's answer. He was willing to play your game and I felt a small spark of hope rise inside me, hope that soon I would be free. I suppressed it. It had become too much to hope, too hard. I would simply have to wait and see.
"That's specific," you said, with a small, cruel laugh. I cringed, but Colby held his ground and that spark of hope rekindled. It was all I could do not to dwell on that fire as you helped to feed it. I focused instead on the hatred in your eyes.
"Hire my replacement yet?" he asked, you nodded. "You sleeping with him, too?" That hurt you both, but Colby wouldn't show it. He had known it would cut him as deep as you, but it was worth it to see the look of pain cross through your eyes.
"Gotten into any fights?" you queried, avoiding the question. Colby laughed, hard and chilled. It scared even me.
"No one fights an ex-marine, ex-FBI agent," he said.
"Even if he was a double agent?" you asked, and that was it. Colby was on his feet in an instant and so were you. You start to leave, motioning for the guards, but Colby was too fast. He pinned you to the table, a difficult task with his hands cuffed, and he gazed into your eyes. For the first time I saw cracks in my prison, and I urged him on.
"Get the facts," he said, his face inches from yours. His lips brushed against yours as he spoke.
"I have the facts," you replied as hands wrapped around his arms. A moment before they pulled him off of you he pressed his lips to yours, and you reciprocated. They pulled him away and you followed, your lips lashing against his and your hands running up and down his jump-suited body. He pulled away first, leaving you to stand dumbfounded as he let them lead him back to his cell.
While you were puzzling over the moment that had passed, I was rejoicing. The wall had crumbled, David Sinclair. I was free.