A/N: Standard disclaimer applies. I don't own Numb3rs or any of the characters. In this fic, I do own Stupid Cop, but that's about it. If you choose to sue me, you should know up front that all you'll be getting is a lot of Ramen noodles and maybe some engineering textbooks. Sorry.

This fic will probably be 2 or 3 chapters at most. Really. I mean it this time.

Don's gaze flicked back and forth between his hand and the brick wall in front of him. Both were smeared with blood. His blood. Fine particles of brick and mortar were embedded in his knuckles. His hand throbbed, the pain radiating up his arm every time his heart beat. Before he knew it, he punched the wall again. The throbbing intensified, but he hardly noticed.

Despite the chill of the winter evening, Don had shed his jacket and now stood only in short sleeves. Alcohol was pumping through his system, keeping him warm even without the burden of extra clothing.

The last case had been rough. Rougher than most. A child molester had eluded capture for five full weeks now. They'd finally brought him in, thanks to one of Charlie's magic equations. The perp had lawyered up before they even sat him down in the interrogation room. After the molester was taken to the lock-up to await arraignment, Don's team had spent two hours at one of the local bars, drowning their memories of the case. They had all seen too much. Cases involving kids were always the hardest, and this one especially tough. Don only wished that he could drink enough to forget the images from the case file. Too many innocent lives destroyed by one man.

Thankfully, Megan had the foresight to have everyone carpool to the bar. That way, they'd only leave one government SUV in the bar's parking lot, while the four agents found alternative transportation home, all of them intoxicated far beyond the legal driving limit. Don was the last to leave. He'd assured his teammates that he would call a cab after he finished his last beer, but now that he'd left the bar, he didn't want to go home quite yet.

So here he was, punching a brick wall just a hundred feet from the bar's exit. He was too impaired to recognize the flashing of lights behind him or the first second of a siren's whine. He didn't hear the man addressing him from the street. The first thing he noticed was a hand gripping his left bicep. Startled, Don twisted in the man's grip and threw a right hook across his body, catching the man square in the jaw.

Before he knew what was going on, he was tackled to the ground, face-first. Someone heavy was pinning him down and twisting his arms behind his back. Don's instinctual reaction was to fight to get free. He didn't know who was attacking him or why, but he didn't want to stick around long enough to find out.

As he struggled, more weight was applied to his shoulders and back, effectively keeping him immobile. He heard unfamiliar voices beside his head, but everything was swimming around him, and he couldn't focus on what they were saying. Only when steel bracelets were tightened around his wrists did he start to figure out what was going on.

Two guys picked him up by his upper arms and deposited him on his feet, although they still didn't let go. He was guided toward the curb, where a car door was being held open. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Don forced himself to focus on what the voices around him were saying. "… arrest for public intoxication and assaulting a police officer. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney..."

Don blinked hard and worked his mouth a few times before he could manage to form any words. "I'm FBI," he slurred. The man holding his right arm didn't even pause in reciting his Miranda rights. When they reached the police cruiser, they propped him up against the trunk and proceeded to frisk him. "Fed'ral a'nt," Don tried again, even less intelligibly than before. Don briefly wondered where his sidearm was, knowing that would be a dead giveaway, but he vaguely remembered securing it in his desk before leaving the office. First rule of going out for a drink after a long day at the office was to leave any weapons behind. Impaired judgment aside, with slower reaction times, it would be too easy for an opponent to snatch the weapon and use it against the agent.

The uniformed cop did a poor job of patting down the Special Agent. If he had been thorough, he would have found Don's badge still attached to his belt, hidden by the bottom of his shirt. That was the second rule of drinking after work. Don't draw any unnecessary attention to yourself. Flashing a badge might deter some people from trying anything, but if the agent was intoxicated enough, it would just be better to go unnoticed. If anything started to go down, the agent could always then make himself known.

Having now been frisked and Mirandized, Don was pushed into the back seat of the cruiser, one cop's hand on his head, another gripping his right bicep. Don had given up trying to communicate his federal status, thinking he would try again when they got to the station. For now, he was content to lean into his seat and close his eyes. Normally, he would be furious by now, but the alcohol had just made him sluggish and more easy-going.

When Don next opened his eyes, they had arrived at the station, and the cop was pulling open the back seat door. Don blinked against the harsh sunlight as he struggled to get out of the cruiser. The fact that his hands were still cuffed behind his back did nothing to help the situation. Finally upright, Don stumbled, almost falling against the cop on his right.

"Whoa, bud," the cop took his arm and led him inside.

Crossing the threshold, Don decided that this would be a good time to try communicating again. "F. B. I." he said as clearly as he could manage.

"What was that?" Stupid Cop asked.

"FBI, dumbass," Don slurred. He knew he should refrain from insulting the cop, but it slipped out before he could stop himself.

The cop let him slam into the next doorframe as they walked through. "Watch your mouth," he growled.

They kept moving down the corridor. Don was getting more frustrated that the cop was intentionally ignoring what he was trying to communicate. "Phone call," Don began to insist.

"After we get you booked," Stupid Cop answered shortly.

"Now."

"No. Later."

Stupid Cop was beginning to get on Don's nerves. Before long, the pair stopped, and Don found a breathalyzer being shoved toward his face. "Blow into it," Stupid Cop instructed. Don rolled his eyes. As if he didn't know what he was supposed to do with a breathalyzer. Only after losing a stare-down with Stupid Cop did Don comply. Stupid Cop pulled the device away. When he checked the readout, he arched an eyebrow at the agent.

"Not even seven o' clock," Stupid Cop shook his head, sounding disgusted. He took Don's arm again and started to lead him down another hallway.

"Don Eppes?" The cop and agent stopped and turned toward the voice.

"You know this man, Lieutenant?"

"Do I know him? Of course! That's Special Agent Don Eppes, FBI."

"FBI? Maybe that's what he was trying to tell us earlier," Stupid Cop sounded like he'd just had an epiphany. Don glared at him with disgust.

Lieutenant Walker turned his attention back to Don, apparently just noticing the handcuffs for the first time. "What's going on here?" The question was directed at Stupid Cop.

"PI and assaulting a cop while resisting arrest. Found him just outside of a bar. Wasted off his ass. He was punching a brick wall. We thought he was a danger to himself, and probably to others, so we brought him in."

"Why does it look like you've both been knocked around?"

"We tried to get his attention, but he didn't respond, so I grabbed his arm. He punched me, so Rogers tackled him. We tried to bring him in easy, but he fought us all the way."

Don swayed where he stood. He tried to put out a hand to balance himself against the wall, but his hands were still cuffed behind his back.

"You alright, Eppes?" Walker asked.

"'m fine," he mumbled.

"Sure about that?"

"I'm fine!" Don insisted, despite his inability to stand straight up without Stupid Cop's grip on his arm.

Lieutenant Walker glanced back and forth between the two men. "Alright. I'll handle this one, Stephens," he sighed. "What did he blow?"

Stupid Cop hesitated before responding. "Point two three." Walker's eyes widened, but he motioned for Stephens to let go.

Stupid Cop abruptly released Don's arm. Don, who had been leaning against the grip to stabilize himself, immediately stumbled. Walker stepped in and caught the agent. Stupid Cop was obviously disappointed – it appeared that Don was getting off the hook for everything. "I'll tell you one thing," Stupid Cop added as he walked away. "He's got a hell of a right hook, even drunk."

Walker shook his head at Stephens. With practiced movements, he uncuffed the agent. Slowly, he guided Don into the elevator and propped him in the corner while he mashed the button for the fourth floor. "Today is your lucky day, Eppes," he commented while the elevator car ascended. "My office is on the fourth floor; I don't usually do much on the first except pass through." Don was obviously not paying attention to what Walker was saying. He had just leaned his head against the elevator wall when it dinged to a halt, indicating they had reached their destination.

"Ah, no you don't, Eppes. Don't pass out on me yet." Walker deftly maneuvered the drunken agent out of the elevator and into his office. "Just sit right there," he instructed as he deposited him in a chair. The Lieutenant sat down at his desk, picked up his phone, and looked up a phone number. After a brief conversation, Walker replaced the phone receiver in the cradle and looked at Don.

"What the hell were you thinking, Eppes?"

Don's head was spinning, but now that he was sitting down, it wasn't so bad. "Bad case," he mumbled.

Lieutenant Walker nodded in understanding. "How much did you have to drink?"

"I dunno," Don slurred. "Stopped counting after six."

"You know I don't approve of law enforcement officers thinking they're above the law. But I also know that you are an exceptional agent, and I wouldn't want you to kill your career because of this one stupid mistake."

Don tried to focus on the Lieutenant's face as he spoke, but it was hard to concentrate that long. He nodded to show that he heard and understood at least some of what Walker was saying. "Thanks," he replied.

"You just sit tight in here, I'll get you some water. Your brother said he could be here in an hour."

Don nodded again. He had passed out by the time Lt Walker returned with the water. Walker shook his head again, still not quite believing what he saw. He set the cup of water on the edge of his desk closest to the unconscious agent. The Lieutenant decided that he was at least fortunate that Don hadn't puked in his office yet.