Disclaimer: Since I don't own Numb3rs or any of the characters associated with it, this little story will not make me rich and famous.

Warnings; For violence and strong language

Spoilers; For all seasons; specifically early first season – "Pilot" and "Sabotage", and later, "Man Hunt". Also, mid- fourth season – "Primacy".

A/N: #1 - I continue to be fascinated with the dynamics between Don and Amita, especially early in the first season. There was some serious flirting going on in the "Pilot" and "Sabotage" and I got the feeling that she was as interested in Don, at that time, as he was in her.

That said, please check the category before you read this; this is NOT a Don/Amita romance story! This is simply how I think their relationship with each other might have developed over the last four years. This has been bubbling inside my head since "Primacy" and Amita's first plunge into the dangers of FBI work. With no other canon to base it on, this is how I feel she might react in the deadly situation she and Don find themselves in here.

A/N #2 - It's been nearly a year since I tried a multi-chaptered story. I've recovered from the experience enough that I thought I would give it another try. There are nine chapters in all. This story is different from anything I have ever done and I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

Summary; What if Amita was the only thing between a seriously injured Don and a ruthless escaped convict?

Necessary Action

chapter one

The man watched them, silently, as he had most of the day from the dense cover of the pine trees. This area of the Sierra Nevada's was thick with the large Ponderosa pines and he had easily remained hidden in their depths, unseen, as he observed the man and woman. He watched them now, a sardonic grin spreading beneath his beard, as the woman fluffed a colorful blanket onto the ground and they settled down on it, placing a large basket between them. A picnic! He almost laughed out loud. Two lovers, sharing an intimate picnic by the lake. How perfect!

He scratched his cheek through the week's worth of dark, coarse facial hair. There hadn't been many opportunities since he escaped from prison 6 days ago for personal hygiene and he was starting to resemble the mountain men who roamed these peaks 200 years ago.

It had taken him three days of traveling on back roads to meet Joey, just south of Redding. Once a member of the same motorcycle gang, he had given him a change of clothes, some pocket money and a ride on the back of his Harley as far as Sacramento.

He knew the authorities would figure he'd make a quick run south to Tijuana, but he had another friend in Phoenix who told him he'd take him across the border through Nogales for a price. He headed east out of Sacramento, staying to the back roads. It hadn't been easy, but, so far he had managed to stay out of sight. He had tried to sneak into a small town two days back for supplies, but a large Rottweiler announced his arrival and he barely made it back to the safety of the trees before being spotted.

It had been a welcomed surprise when he had stumbled into the clearing this morning and discovered the cabin nestled among the trees. The nights were already cold here and even though he knew he would not be able to make a fire in the fireplace, he still savored the thought of a real bed with warm blankets.

At first, he had stayed within the tree line and watched the small wooden and log structure for a while, thinking someone might be out hunting or fishing or just into town for supplies. When he had seen no activity for an hour, he had crept up silently. He tried the door; it was locked, but after a short search in the area around the front of the cabin, he had found the key hidden beneath a large rock. He smiled at how foolishly predictable some people can be. He stepped inside, careful not to touch anything. There had been no sign of anyone around, but he had an uncomfortable feeling about it. Pocketing the key he had returned to the woods and settled down again to watch and wait. He had learned patience in prison and had no trouble sitting still for another two hours before he was rewarded with the sight of a black Suburban being driven slowly up the dirt road. It stopped in front of the cabin.

Three men and a woman got out, all of them arching their backs, as if they had been in the vehicle for a long time. The muscular, light haired passenger stretched his arms out, as well, and the man noticed the Glock, tucked behind him in the waistband of his jeans. He smiled. Cops, or maybe feds. He had thought briefly about killing them all – right then – and taking the vehicle. He had the element of surprise and the dead prison guards gun. He could do it. After a day of rest he could take the SUV and drive to Phoenix. The Suburban screamed "official", however, and he knew it would be hard to remain invisible in it. In the end, when the blond man got back into the vehicle with the black man, he let them leave – let them drive away, leaving the dark haired man and woman behind.

Invisible. He was good at it. He hadn't made a sound or moved an inch – still – he had seen the dark haired man pause twice through the day, looking around, scanning their surroundings with an experienced eye that said he knew someone was watching them.

He would have to be more careful.

He was city born and raised, but he could tell they were getting the cabin ready for winter. He watched the man working outside, his movements sure and precise, his muscles rippling as he tied a large tarp around the stack of wood behind the structure.

He knew the man would be a threat and he would have to kill him first. He had noticed the gun on his hip, but a blow to the back of his head would take care of him; just like the guard at the prison. He regretted ditching the metal rod he had used on the guard, but a heavy piece of wood would split the skull open just as well. Then, he would take the woman. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed a woman. The pretty boys in prison were . . . available, but he knew looking at her she would be soft and round in all the right places. The thought of taking her while the man lay dead or dying beside her made him wet his lips in anticipation.

Afterwards, it would be easy to dispose of the bodies in a shallow grave in the dense woods behind the cabin. Better yet – and a lot less work – he could drop their bodies into the fast moving river that lay east of the cabin. The swift current would carry them away and when they hit the rapids downstream, their bodies would be broken and torn apart by the sharp rocks, covering all evidence of the murder.

Watching them now, as they shared the picnic, he wondered who they were. The man was obviously a federal agent, he was sure of that now. His actions were too structured, his stance and movements always alert. She was of no consequence – a bit of fluff – but, the man could be a danger to his longterm plan of staying alive and out of prison. When the agent looked up, his intense dark eyes once again studying his surroundings, he knew he could not play games with this guy. He had to kill them now. They were vulnerable, in the open there, picnicking by the lake. It would be easier to strike now, before they got back to the cabin.

He knew the first shot would have to count and put the agent down, but, in the last couple of minutes a few dark clouds had gathered and affected the visibility. He had never been that good of a shot, but from this distance, he was pretty sure he could at least hit him. Once he was down, he could move in for the kill. If things didn't go as planned, he would just shoot them both there at the lake. If he got lucky and was able to kill the man quickly, he could still take the woman back to the cabin for a little fun. It looked like quite a storm was brewing and he would rather wait in the cabin for the other two men to return with the SUV. He would kill them when they did, putting a bullet in them as soon as they got out of the vehicle.

Regrettably, he would have to kill the woman, too. A hostage would just complicate his escape. There would be other woman, though. He had never had any trouble finding women before he was sent to prison – in fact, it was because of a women that he was sent there in the first place. Kitty; that two timing bitch. He had caught her with that used car salesman and killed them both. He had enjoyed squeezing the life out of her, watching the light leave her terrified eyes, her lover still in the bed with a hole in his forehead.

Changing his mind again, he decided he would just leave all four bodies where they fell and get out of the area as quickly as he could. It was desolate up here and even if anyone else knew where they were, he was sure he could be far enough away by the time they were discovered. He would dump the Suburban and switch vehicles as often as he could. Besides, he mused, the wildlife in this area might even help him out. He knew there had to be cougars or coyotes that would be happy for the free meal, and what they didn't take, the crows or buzzards could finish. DNA identification could take a while.

He watched, alert now, as the man and woman rose and began gathering the remains of the picnic. He didn't miss the fact that the agent had once again looked his way, studying the tree line. He pulled the gun from his pocket and released the safety. It was time.

tbc