A/N: Hey everyone! NUMB3RS may be over, but I'm glad to see that its fanfiction is not.

So here's my contribution, just a one-shot baby that (holy cow, this fic would NOT stop growing, no matter how hard I tried to contain it!) grew into a freakin' MONSTER (no longer a one-shot but a three chapter fic) featuring my personal favorite, Don-whump and Charlie-angst! Also, if I have any information about England wrong, I'm sorry. I've never been to England (although I'd really love to someday) and I have no idea what it's like there. So I guessed. I also don't know much about buying airline tickets and how far in advance you can buy them, and what airlines do in certain situations, so I took a few liberties there in order to make my story work the way I wanted. If it's not 100% realistic, then...well...at least I tried. And after all, it is my story, right? :)

Oh, and Robin makes a brief appearance in this story. I've said before that I don't like her, but (oh, I can NOT believe I am admitting this out loud)...she's grown on me and I like her now. There, I said it!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything NUMB3RSish. Although I feel as if I can take more liberties with their lives now that it's...sniff, sniff...over.

Connections

June 23, 2010
Cambridge, UK
Local Time: 6:22 a.m.

He absentmindedly fingered her long black hair, stroking gently so as not to wake her. Her dark hair was a big contrast to the sheer whiteness of their bedroom with its white curtains, white bedsheets, and even the clothes they were wearing were all white. She was curled up, head resting on his shoulder as he lay on his back. Charlie smiled; although it had been three months, he could hardly believe that he and Amita were now officially Mr. and Mrs. Eppes. And here they were, living Charlie's other lifelong dream: teaching at Cambridge, if only for a short while. In six months, at the end of the fall semester, Charlie and his bride would board a plane home back to Pasadena, back to real life.

Real life, Charlie scoffed silently. It's not like this is a fairy tale or anything. Although sometimes it sure feels like one. Just a few short months ago, Charlie's life consisted of teaching some classes, planning a wedding, and trying to squeeze in some other professional duties around consulting almost every week for the FBI. Now suddenly here he was, in England of all places, far from home and the people he knew (well, aside from Amita, of course) living out a dream. He knew this was a time of his life he'd remember forever.

Amita shifted slightly under him. He peered down to see her brown eyes blinking in the morning sunlight that was already much higher than he was used to, given that the sun rose about an hour earlier here than in California. In the back of his mind, Charlie noted how it was already a perfect summer day. He smiled at her in silent greeting, grin growing bigger as she smiled back.

"Good morning," he uttered quietly.

"Morning," she returned, smiling up at him. "What should we have for breakfast today?"

"Hmm. I don't know," Charlie answered. "You choose."

Amita bit her lip as she thought, something Charlie had noticed she did quite often and found incredibly cute. "Well, we could try that cafe down the street we've been meaning to try since we got here."

Charlie nodded, still gazing into his wife's eyes. "Perfect."

Charlie and Amita lay where they were in bed for a few more moments in silence, both comfortable and neither willing to ruin the perfect moment. Amita was the first one to move, sitting up over the edge of the bed.

"I'll get dressed first," she announced.

"What's wrong with what you've got on?" Charlie teased, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

"Charlie," Amita gently chided, as she looked down at her all-white, revealing, summer nightgown. She laughed a little, which set Charlie to chuckling himself. Amita rolled her eyes. "I'm going to go get dressed." As she stood up, she picked her pillow up and lightly tossed it on Charlie's face.

"Hey!" Charlie protested, laughing. He launched the pillow back at her head, hitting her square in the back of her head.

"Okay, that's it!" Amita giggled. "You're going down, mister."

"Oh yeah?" Charlie challenged. "You and what army?"

"This army," Amita replied. She picked up her pillow off the floor, as well as another pillow off the bed and squished them both into Charlie's face. It wasn't long before the married couple was engaged in a full-on pillow fight, each laughing until their stomachs hurt.

10:43 a.m.

"Charlie, I am just so not surprised you left your phone here," Amita's voice flooded the apartment (or flat, as the locals called them) as the door opened and the couple let themselves in. "I'm sure you do that at least once a week, even at home."

"I realize that," Charlie agreed. "But I really do wish I could have taken a picture of that guy in his ridiculous outfit and sent it to Don. He would have totally gotten a kick out of it."

Amita put a hand on his shoulder. "Well, maybe next time, Charlie." She walked over to the table next to the couch. "Here, I found it. It was charging." She unplugged the cell phone and handed it to Charlie. "Looks like you missed a call."

Charlie looked at his front screen, noting that he did indeed have a voicemail. He dialed his inbox, put in his password, and waited for the message, grinning back at Amita.

"Charlie, it's Dad," came a voice through the speaker, followed by a pause of several seconds.

"It's my dad," Charlie told Amita upon seeing her questioning glance, goofy smile still dominating his features. It fleetingly crossed his mind that for Alan to have called since they went to breakfast, it had to have been about one in the morning in California.

"It's Donnie," Alan's voice continued. "He's been shot. In the leg. It got infected...he's really sick. I don't know, Charlie." Charlie could hear his father's voice breaking from thousands of miles away. "It's a little touch and go right now, uh...I think maybe you should come."

Amita watched her husband with concern as his wonderfully boyish grin gradually slid off his face, morphing in to an expression of deep fear and worry. It wasn't until he suddenly tossed the phone away, onto the floor, as if it were hot metal burning his hand that she moved forward towards him.

"Charlie, what is it? What's wrong?" she demanded, laying a hand on his shoulder as before, but not as playfully.

"Don was shot," he uttered, almost too quietly for her to hear. Once it registered in her mind, she was sure her face mirrored Charlie's.

"Is...is he okay?" she ventured, not too sure Charlie had a good answer that they could live with.

He shook his head before he spoke. "I don't know. Dad said it's...touch and go right now. God, how did this happen?"

"I think maybe you should go," Amita unknowingly parroted Alan's earlier plea from the message. When Charlie didn't answer, she added, "I mean, Don's strong. He's going to be okay, Charlie. But I bet you being there with him will help. At least while he's recovering."

"How are you so sure he's going to be okay?" Charlie demanded angrily.

"I'm just trying to be positive, Charlie," Amita replied quietly. "And it's true, Don is strong. If anyone can pull through, he can. Do you know what his chances are?"

Charlie shook his head. "Dad didn't say. And that's what worries me."

Amita understood what was left unsaid: that numbers would help Charlie not worry, so if Alan didn't give any, that means they weren't good.

June 24, 2010
London Gatwick Airport
8:15 a.m.

Charlie was about as fidgety as a five-year old boy. His flight was to begin boarding in a few minutes for a 9:00 departure for Atlanta, Georgia where he would connect to Los Angeles. Much of the previous day was spent fighting and arguing and trying so hard to get a plane ticket home. Having done a quick Internet search with Amita after first hearing his father's message, Charlie discovered the best he could hope for was an early morning flight the next day out of an airport slightly farther away.

The first thing Charlie had done after this was to return his father's phone call.

Charlie nervously bounced his leg up and down as he sat on the couch, drawing strength from Amita's gaze. The phone rang three times before finally being picked up.

"Hello?" a clearly distressed voice answered.

"Dad," Charlie sighed in relief. "I got your message. I'm going to get there as soon as I can. I think it's going to be impossible to get a flight before tomorrow, but I don't know."

"Oh, Charlie," Alan breathed. "It's okay, just please, get here soon."

Charlie could detect the desperation in Alan's voice, although he knew his father would never openly admit how much he needed his younger son with him.

"I'm coming, Dad," he replied. "How's he doing?"

"Charlie, it's just not looking good. His fever just keeps getting worse and worse. The doctor's trying everything he can think of to cool him off, but we're almost getting to the point of no return. He's pretty unresponsive; the fever's so high he's becoming delirious."

Oh, Don, Charlie thought with despair. "Dad, I'm leaving for the airport right now. Maybe if I'm lucky, I can get a flight home tonight."

Looking back, Charlie scoffed. Some plan that had turned out to be. He had left for the airport, as soon as he could pack a quick bag. He and Amita agreed that she would stay behind, taking care of things with the university and everything else. She would fly out later only if the unthinkable happened.

Knowing the morning flight from London Gatwick Airport was his best shot, Charlie went straight there instead of trying any other airports. In hindsight, it hadn't been the best idea. For all he knew he could have gotten a ticket somewhere else for a much earlier flight. After begging and pleading with the lady at the ticket counter, Charlie sighed in defeat at the cruelty of it all and bought a ticket for 9:00 the next morning. He'd gone to a hotel nearby, spent the night not sleeping but worrying about Don and calling his dad regularly for updates. By the time this morning had rolled around, there was no new news about Don.

So now Charlie sat, more antsy than ever in his life, just outside the gate that he would soon walk through and be carried back across the ocean to his home country, to his home, to his brother.

During one of his nocturnal phone calls home, Alan had filled Charlie in on the sparse details of what had transpired. It had been a simple raid, nothing out of the ordinary. A man had kidnapped a six-year-old boy, and Larry had mathematically discovered their location. What Larry didn't account for, however, was an unknown accomplice the FBI had no idea about: the kidnapper's girlfriend. She had quite literally appeared out of nowhere, taking Don and Liz, who he was partnered up with, totally by surprise.

This mysterious girlfriend had held them at gunpoint, telling them to get on their radios and report that the room they were in was all clear. When they refused, she had gotten hysterically angry. Charlie didn't quite know what the full story was after that, but he knew it ended with the girlfriend shooting Don in the leg.

Apparently, Don had been conscious, aware, and responsive all the way up until the doctors had put him under for surgery to remove the bullet. They had wanted to keep him overnight to make sure the wound didn't become infected. Clearly, that did not happen. By the next morning, Don had a fever that wasn't too high, but high enough for his doctor to keep him at the hospital to deal with the infection.

That had been Wednesday morning in LA. It was a little past midnight that night when Alan had called Charlie. Now, it was twenty-four hours later and Don's condition was pretty much the same, if not a little worse.

Charlie rubbed a hand over his face. He was exhausted, but he knew he wouldn't sleep on the plane. He tried to occupy himself by scribbling random equations in a notebook he had purchased at a gift shop a couple hundred feet away from where he currently sat. His heart wasn't in it though, and he gave up with a dramatic slam of the cover, drawing the attention of the elderly lady across the aisle. He gave her an apologetic smile and quickly looked away.

Don would be able to charm that lady into not glaring at him like that with just a smile, Charlie thought to himself sadly. If Don makes it through this, that is.

A new thought came unbidden into Charlie's mind. What if I had been there? Charlie chewed at his lip. Maybe he could have predicted that there was a second person.

It occurred to Charlie that this was sounding an awful lot like the situation just over a year ago that had ended with Don in the hospital, suffering from a stab wound. Charlie knew he had never looked at a case quite the same way after that, never wanting a repeat of those few dark days. But this time, Charlie hadn't been there to stop it.

This is all my fault. Charlie buried his face in his hands, biting back the tears that threatened to fall. And it's too soon. Don was just almost fatally stabbed last year.

He spent a few minutes trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. At one point, he peered at his watch, which read 8:36. Of course. Twenty-four minutes until departure, and they hadn't started boarding yet. They didn't even look like they were trying to start boarding. Great. Just great.

3:10 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

It was silly, but Charlie thought that if he leaned forward, he could make the plane go faster. With each passing minute, his anxiety grew as did the butterflies in his stomach. As it turned out, his flight had been delayed for two hours for mechanical problems. Nothing serious, just a malfunctioning lavatory. Charlie had been enormously irritated. Why in the world would they have to delay everyone just for a stupid broken toilet? Just because some agency required all lavatories to be working? It's not like it was a small plane; there were many other lavatories on the plane. Just thinking about it made Charlie's blood boil.

Now, if he made it to Atlanta in time for his connecting flight at 4:30 flight to Los Angeles, he'd be lucky. Didn't they understand that his brother could be dying? It was so frustrating, he could bang his head repeatedly into the seat in front of him if it wouldn't disturb the woman sitting there.

He had tried watching the in-flight movie, but he couldn't concentrate. He was fidgeting so much that the elderly lady next to him kept shooting him exasperated glances every now and then. Especially now, as the flight had somewhere less than an hour to go.

Charlie sighed and looked at his watch again. After making it through customs, I'm only going to have...oh shoot. He would never make it. He heard a slight whimpering noise, before he realized that it came from him. Get a grip, Eppes.

"Gonna miss your next flight?" the old lady next to him asked.

Charlie looked at her and nodded. "I think so. It's not looking good." He turned slightly and looked out the window, as if he could will land to appear beneath them instead of the empty blue ocean.

"Yeah, me too," she replied. "Stinks, too. My granddaughter is getting married tomorrow. Looks like I'm going to miss her rehearsal dinner. What about you, where are you going?"

"Uh," Charlie hesitated. "Well, I'm going to, uh..." he swallowed. "I'm going to see my brother. He's in the hospital."

"Oh," the woman said, in a knowing voice. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope everything works out for you."

Charlie smiled at the woman, but a little halfheartedly. "Thank you."

The plane ride was pretty silent after that.

4:34 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport

Charlie never realized that one's heart could literally sink, but he was pretty sure that's what his had done. He stared out the window, despair creeping through his heart. If only he had run a little bit faster. If only the customs officials worked a little bit faster. If only his plane from London had flown just a little bit faster. If only the stupid maintenance people had fixed the plane's lavatory just a little bit faster, then maybe, just maybe, he would have caught his flight to Los Angeles. As it was, Charlie was about ready to throw his carry-on at the glass window as he watched his plane back away from the jetway. If he had been there just two minutes ago, he could have talked his way into letting them board at such a last minute.

All I would have had to tell them is that I'm going home to see my dying brother, Charlie thought with disgust as he walked up to the airline workers at the gate. His mission: tell them he missed that flight and that he needed to be on the very next plane to Los Angeles.

"Good afternoon, sir, how can I help you?" greeted the frighteningly cheerful young woman at the desk.

"Hi. I was supposed to be on that plane that just left, but I'm late because my last flight was late and I need to be on the very next flight to Los Angeles." Charlie's words came out in a desperate rush.

"Okay, sir," said the woman. She started looking things up on her computer, and after a brief pause, she turned back to Charlie. "All the flights today from this airline are booked."

Charlie sighed angrily. "Well, is there another airline that can see fit to squeeze me in? I don't really care!"

The woman, whose name tag read Hayley, looked taken aback. "Um, well, I suppose I can check around, sir. We'll get this straightened out, don't worry."

"Oh, I'm worried all right," Charlie snapped before he could stop himself. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just that this is a family emergency. I really need to be in Los Angeles as soon as virtually possible." His voice had taken on a pleading quality.

"I understand, sir," Hayley replied. "We'll do everything we can."

Twenty minutes later, Charlie could feel a slight headache coming on. Hayley searched through the airport departures for Los Angeles, and after finding full flight after full flight, things weren't looking good. Why does everyone have to be flying to Los Angeles today of all days? He glanced at his watch, a la Don. Just hang in there, Don, I'm coming.

"Whoa, hang on," Hayley suddenly announced. "I have an idea, if you don't mind us getting a little creative." She looked at Charlie, and when she had his full attention, she continued. "There's a flight to Salt Lake City in like an hour and a half that isn't full. From there, there is a flight to Los Angeles a couple hours after that I can book you on right now. No extra cost. You'll be home by like, midnight, Pacific time."

"Done," Charlie slapped his hand on the counter for emphasis.

"All righty then!" Hayley said.

Five minutes later, Charlie was almost running to another gate. When he got there, he was nearly breathless. Hayley sent him to the new gate's flight counter to get his new boarding passes printed. The ladies there were very nice like Hayley, and Charlie soon had a boarding pass for his new flight. Finally, he had a moment to breathe.

TBC

Well, there's the first part. I hope my chapters flow together well. For some reason I chopped them off in the middle of scenes, hoping to make it more dramatic. Tell me what you think! If there's anything in this world I'm addicted to, it's reviews! Please don't put me through withdrawals. :)