Title: Zen and the Art of War
Author: CeriseReve
Summary: Zen and the Art of War is an AU case-fic follow up to The Janus List that explores how it could be possible for Colby to work with the FBI team again.
Spoilers: Everything through the Janus List. Although it does not play a large factor, this fic assumes some of the background found in my other stories: Daisy Irrationality, Greedy Rationality, and Double.
Acknowledgments: Special thanks to Zubeneschamali and Laura for their willingness to beta.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Numb3rs characters because they were created by Nicolas Falacci and Cheryl Heuton. This story is strictly for fun not profit. It is also a complete work of fiction.

Zen and the Art of War

2,600 Years
186 Spies
2 Hostages
1 Moral Dilemma

Chapter I: Tomorrow's Sunrise

Still wearing his Aviator sunglasses Don yanked open his top desk drawer and rummaged for the bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol he knew should be there. He came up empty unearthing old phone messages, report folders, packs of gum, and several dried out blue ballpoint pens. Frustrated he banged the drawer closed and winced when the pain in his head jumped tenfold.

A moment later he opened his eyes to the still too harsh fluorescent light. It didn't help that one of the tubes high overhead kept flickering irregularly trying to thwart death for a few more seconds. He'd have to report that to maintenance after he found something to cut down the pain. At this point he wasn't picky: Aspirin, Aleve, Advil, Motrin, Morphine….

Too bad he couldn't get that over the counter.

He started to go over to the desk next to his, but halfway there he realized it was Colby's desk; he turned and pawed through the one behind him. Triumphant, he found a bottle of Midol when he pulled open the bottommost drawer.

He wasn't that desperate. Was he?

The sickly light fluttered again and—giving in—he reached for the bottle. Nothing rattled inside. Who keeps an empty bottle in their desk? Megan, obviously.

Resigned to the pounding in his head he head he tossed the Midol bottle into trash and dropped into his office chair. Head in his hands he rubbed his aching temples. It was a mistake to have had the extra shot after Dad and Charlie had gone up to bed.

It was only 6 o'clock in the morning on Saturday—the last day of one of the worst weeks of his life—and he didn't think the morning was going to get any better than the evening before. The sun, flush above the horizon now, made him wish for the starry night sky. Darkness is man's innocence and his had cracked more deeply less than twelve hours before. Thankfully the office was still quiet with only a few overworked, early bird Agents settling in for the day. He could hear them chattering about child molestation and bribery at the edge of his consciousness while he stared at the waste basket. Consciousness with a hangover is extremely overrated.

Steeling himself he took a deep breath and swung his chair around and faced Colby's desk—correction—Agent Granger's former desk. They'd never be on a first name basis again; it was too personal, too friendly. As much as Granger's betrayal and the sunlight hurt it was better not to be in the dark. If that became his new mantra, perhaps he'd believe it.

How in the hell had this happened? Why in the hell had this happened to him? He massaged his temples again, wishing this was all a nightmare and he'd wake grumpy and glaring at his alarm clock.

He'd trusted the man. He'd trusted the man with his life multiple times. With Charlie's life! God, how could he have read the situation so wrong? He didn't even want to imagine the report some high up flunky was going to write that plastered him in a bad light.

Flicker. Flicker.

When she returned from her assignment in El Paso, Liz would no doubt tell him it wasn't his fault. But it was because he was the one in charge and he'd failed to realize who he was in charge of.

There was a framed photo of his team resting on Granger's desk. Charlie had given them out as holiday gifts last December. He remembered Charlie insisting on taking it one night when they were all over at the house celebrating the conclusion of a case. He couldn't remember which one anymore, but there they all were with wide, beaming smiles. Granger even had his arms draped over David and Megan's shoulders.

Flickkkker.

The light whimpered and finally died; Don pushed the photo face down so he wouldn't have to remember the fake past. He heard a crack and didn't care.

"Morning," Megan said quietly behind him.

"Good morning," he replied.

"Is it?"

With his pounding head, fractured team, and the impending arrival of the Assistant Director Dolon it was far from approaching anything masquerading as good. So it was probably better not to answer that question. Megan had pulled her hair into a haphazard pony tail and while her appearance was, as usual, immaculate her eyes were puffy and she wasn't wearing any mascara. "You're here early."

"I wanted to make sure I saw you first thing," she said not looking at him, but rather around the office bullpen drinking everything in.

"Get a good night's sleep?"

"No. You?"

"Hardly." Then she handed him the perfectly creased letter she had clutched in her hands. "What's this?" he asked without opening it.

"My letter of resignation."

Dumbstruck, he nearly dropped it. Fractured team, indeed. After several heartbeats, he tried to hand it back to her, but she wouldn't take it back. "Please tell me you're joking," he said. His voice came out in a croaked whisper.

"Don, I've thought about this all night."

"It was a bad night."

"Have you truly thought through what you are going to do once I turn this," he brandished the paper, "in? What are you going to do then?"

She blinked at him and hesitated before she said, "I don't know." She scanned the bullpen again avoiding his eyes and his question. There seemed to be a breakthrough in the molestation case.

"Look, I know you're reeling right now. I am, David is, Col—" That man was no longer on his team; he was no longer Don's responsibility. "It was a bad night," he repeated. "I don't want you to regret this in six months time. All I'm asking is for you to wait." He returned the letter, still unopened, to her hand. This time she took it. "I need you to wait."

I need you.

"Wait for what? You know exactly how I spent the past six weeks away in Washington. I'm not sure if, in good faith, I can continue to work for a government that… the United States isn't a nation like…" she trailed off.

Like China. The unsaid word hung between them like an albatross.

"Megan, do you want to quit for moral reasons, or because of Agent Granger's betrayal?"

"All my life I felt like I was on the outside. Joining the FBI gave me a family and a team I could trust. When I said that yesterday to," she shook her head and changed tacks, "I used to be a part of something larger and I'm starting to realize it was a lie."

"Hey," he led her to her desk chair and, like a lost little lamb, she sat. He pulled his own in close, leaned forward, and took her hands—the letter still clutched in them—in his. "It isn't a lie," he said softly. "Megan, you are the strongest person I know. You are also an agent, who works for one of the strongest, powerful organizations I know. You belong here and you make a difference. I know things look bad right now, but we'll get through it. This was a bad week."

"And how many more bad weeks will there be?"

"And how many more good weeks will there be?" he countered.

"How many more," she glanced to Granger's desk and the flipped over picture fame, "friends will we lose?"

"He's a spy." Was he ever going to get use to saying that? Growing up Don believed a spy was someone noble, someone brave, someone who did what was necessary to take down the bad guys: James Bond sophisticated and twice as cool. He may have romanticized Ashby's life and work, but the previous sleepless night and the ensuing headache had driven home the point that spies choose sides. And there are spies on the wrong side of the battle too. "He wasn't a friend," Don continued aloud. "It may be unbelievably selfish, but I need you to stay. I need your friendship, even if it is just for a little while longer," he gently squeezed her hands. "Take the day off. Go see Larry. You said you haven't seen him since he landed."

"Because I was working for West—" she cut off the name.

"Yeah. Take the day for yourself."

"What about the debriefing interviews?" she asked and he could tell she was trying to cling to a reason why she shouldn't take the gift of a day off. "I thought the Assistant Director was flying in specifically to oversee the situation."

"He is," Don said and took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Even with the light above off the room was still over bright. He didn't need to be reminded of the fact he needed oversight. He was use to being in charge and it was going to be shameful to be so forcibly reminded that he screwed up. Royally. "David and I will take ours. I'll reschedule yours for tomorrow.

"We should do it together," she protested and blinked back the tears welling in her eyes.

"We'll manage," he said closing the subject. "I want you to promise me something."

She sniffed. "What?"

"Promise me that you'll wait two full weeks before giving me your letter of resignation back."

"Morning!" David said full of false cheer as he dropped a set of keys onto his desk.

That jerked the two of them apart. Don hadn't realized they were that close. Megan spun around in her chair and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I see you also needed to get to the office early this morning," Don commented to draw David's attention to him while Megan got herself back under control.

"Where else would I be on a weekend? Besides, compared to you two it seems as if I'm a bit late."

The large hand on the wall clock had barely nudged past the six. "Hardly," Megan replied. "I just came in to make sure I could have the day off." She took her letter and stuffed it into the still open drawer. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Monday," Don corrected.

"Tomorrow. That is unless you were planning on taking Sunday off."

Far from it. He gave her a tight smile. "If you promise me, then I'll declare a truce." Don caught the puzzled look on David's face, but ignored it.

"I'll… I promise I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask."

Megan scurried to the elevator and as soon as she was out of earshot David asked, "Is she alright?"

"I don't know."

David cleared his throat, "Last night when we retrieved Dwayne Carter, she said she 'couldn't do this anymore.'"

"I know."

"Oh," David said flatly.

"I've given her the day off. I hope she's going to see Fleinhardt."

"Ah."

With his freshly trimmed beard and defiant stance David looked like he'd weathered the night in a better fashion that either he or Megan. "You still with me?"

"Yes." No doubt, no hesitation. "You?"

Don gave a curt nod. "Yes."

"Good. What assignment do you have for me, boss?"

That meant a lot and as David had been with him the longest he was certain the other man knew it. "I figured you and I should do some background searching on Granger."

"Then isn't it convenient that I," David picked up the keys he'd tossed on the desk a few moments before and jangled the keys in the space between, "just happen to have a set of spare keys to Colby's apartment."

"And isn't it also very convenient that Assistant Director Dolon isn't due for a few hours yet," Don replied.

Both men looked each other in the eye, but neither smiled.

"I figure we've got two hours, three tops." Don strode over to Granger's desk, picked the photo up, and set it upright. The glass was indeed fractured through the middle in a thick slash. "And before I have to face the music, I want some answers."

"So do I," David agreed.

Don pulled out his cell. "Your phone off?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I've got a call to make and then I'll turn mine off as well." He grabbed his sunglasses and put them on. The darkened tint may not have been rosy, but it did make the situation and the pounding in his head bearable. Phone to his ear he headed to the elevator with David close on his heels. Neither looked back at the empty pairs of desks they left behind.

-oOo-

She lived.

Naomi Vaughn had lived. He didn't kill her, couldn't kill her, and that wasn't something Colby was going to allow himself to forget. Was that a benediction or reproach? At this point did it even matter?

It was the first time in his life he hadn't followed an order be it one from his father, one from his commanding officer, one from his boss, or one from his handler. His years of training insisted he was guilty, but caught in the middle of two conflicting orders—Westwood's and Don's—he'd made his choice even if the generations before him would gladly disown him.

He wasn't the same soldier anymore. He wasn't the same man and if he was guilty of protecting an innocent woman, then may he be damned for it.

He wouldn't be the one to kill Naomi Vaughn.

The room was square with plain, grey walls and a low ceiling. He sat on the cot that lined the wall kitty-corner from the urinal. The only other amenity in the room was a stout table and two chairs.

A cell was a cell, but it was a palace compared to his rat infested cell in China. He shook his head to dispel the memory and leaned his head against the cool concrete. He covered his mouth with the palm of his hand and mouthed the word alive against his own lifeline. Alive! She was alive and so was he. Colby closed his eyes and tried—not that it had worked the first dozen times he'd attempted it—to lull himself to sleep with sheer will power.

He drew his knees up close to his chest and concentrated on regulating his breathing pattern. Eventually he dozed off fighting nightmares best locked deep away. When the cell door clanged open sometime later for a half a heartbeat Colby expected Mr. Wang to step in.

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not, when his handler Victor Westwood and Assistant Director Michael Dolon entered instead. Without a watch or clock his grip on time was starting to slip, but by the tired expressions on his visitors' faces it must have been early. Probably just after sunrise. Very early.

And yet it was also way too late for his soul.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Granger," Westwood greeted him. His old title was a slap in the face and he tried not to bristle. So much for burying the past.

"Sir," he replied saying nothing further and not moving from his position on the bed since he didn't trust his voice not to crack or his legs to stay steady.

Westwood was tall and imposing with close cropped hair kept out of military habit, while Dolon was far shorter and fair-headed. They made opposite bookends of each other and he pitied the person who tried to pull them apart. Despite an antagonistic history, when the NSA and FBI cooperated they won. These were powerful men, who ruled kingdoms. If he never saw those two particular men and their slick suits again it would be too soon; they played strings and he was their puppet.

"I apologize for the inconvenience of your arrest," Dolon began without further preamble, "but it will be necessary to keep you here a bit longer while we arrange for your release."

Colby made sure to keep his face impassive and project an image of serenity. He wasn't about to get his hopes for release up. It was a cruel lie he'd just as soon not relive. "And how are you arranging my release?" Colby asked trying to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

Dolon pulled out one of the chairs at the metal table and sat down. Westwood did the same with the other. While they both turned their chairs to face him Colby scooted his knees down flat on the bed. It was almost like a cozy chat, except for the video camera in the corner and the industrial strength lock on the door.

"It's off," Dolon said following his glance at the camera.

Colby nodded.

"We're still working the exact details," Westwood explained running a hand through his balding hair, "but the general consensus is that we're going to drop all charges against you and release you. It is going to be a giant misunderstanding, the incoherent rambling and unfounded accusations of an old, useless man. You are too valuable an Agent to keep locked up."

He was too valuable? He managed, just barely, not to snort.

"It took a bit of time to get on top of everything, but you did exactly what you should have. That will aid things considerably," Dolon added.

The praise was cold comfort indeed. "And I go back to my life as if nothing happened?" If only it was simple as that. He'd effectively lied to his friends periodically for two years and in the past week extensively. It would be months before he could blink and not see David and Don's hardened expressions as they held him at gun point. "I was arrested and interrogated by my own team."

"Which is most unfortunate, but there will be no official record of the events concerning your involvement in the past week's events. Do not worry, you will be cleared," Dolon assured him.

Name cleared perhaps, but his reputation would be an entirely different story. Nothing could be that simple. "I'm not sure that's possible."

"Anything's possible," Westwood said, "you of all people should know that implicitly."

"Do you want to go back to your team?" Dolon asked.

"Which team would that be?" Colby asked and felt his eyebrows rise.

"Your FBI team of course."

"I doubt they'd allow themselves to work with me."

"Very well. I will personally see to it that the transfer request you will put in next week is speedily approved," said Dolon. Then he turned to address Westwood. "I'd suggest an overseas location. Now that Carter has been completely removed from the equation, we can open a spot in our Beijing attaché office. His connections and experience would be invaluable in that role."

"I concur," Westwood agreed.

No mess, no fuss, no choice. They'd arranged his future just like they'd guided his past. Dining on authentic Chinese food for months on end did not appeal. Neither would the climate of endless espionage. His previous visit—if you could call it that—wasn't one he cared to repeat, or remember.

Before Colby could come up with an eloquent way to suggest another course of action, Westwood gave him his next assignment. "When Consulate General Chen contacts you, and he will shortly, you are to stress your importance and make mention of your upcoming plans. You are also instructed to attempt to sell Ashby's sham of a Janus List."

Sham?

"I must say, Agent Granger, I'm quite impressed with your behavior. You've handled this very difficult situation very well," Dolon said and Westwood nodded in agreement.

As if he needed their approval. "I was well taught," he said directly to Westwood.

"Yes, you were."

Don's interrogation couldn't hold a candle to Army Special Force's training and Chinese methods of persuasion and interrogation. He'd deliberately projected an air of resigned, restrained detachment last night. He'd provoked Don, roused David to violence, and sent Megan's profiling skills into overdrive; he'd played his friends just like these men played him.

"Let's put the future to rest for now. Can you brief us on the events of the past two days?" Dolon asked.

Colby cleared his throat and began the report he'd been preparing for. "Four months ago I attended a meeting with Chen. He was in the process of attempting to bargain down Dwayne Carter's threat assessment and asked for my assistance. I relayed this information through the proper channels." Colby gestured to Westwood. "As ordered I made personal contact again with Ashby two weeks later."

"How did you find the man?"

"Paranoid and angry about his termination from Black Rain."

"Despite his usefulness Alistair MacClair always was short sided," Westwood muttered, "Go on."

"Ashby was suspicious, but willing to cooperate. After laying the foundation, I was ordered to take no further action until commanded to do so. A week from yesterday I received a call to watch Ashby for any overly suspicious action, maintain my cover, and prevent the release of the Janus List using deadly force if necessary."

"What happened next?" Dolon asked.

"Ashby blew up the Sixth Street Bridge."

Neither man even cracked a smile. Be dry. Stick to the facts he reminded himself. "As the investigation proceeded it was apparent that Ashby had made contact with a reporter at the LA Ledger. Megan Reeves and I were assigned to assure Naomi Vaughn's protection. Last night Reeves had taken out two of Black Rain's gunman when I left to retrieve Ms. Vaughn from the back of the house. We went down the stairs towards the beach and that's where they apprehended me."

"You claimed you were removing her from the fire zone?" With that wording Dolon revealed that he must have read the transcript of yesterday evening's interrogation.

"Yes."

"And your team didn't believe you?"

"No," he replied and it was plain neither man was pleased with this turn of events.

"What did you reveal in the course of their questioning?"

"They know I planted the Chinese bug in Ashby's apartment two years ago and that I removed it earlier this week."

"They don't know of anymore of your relationship with the Chinese?"

"With the exception of my involvement with Dwayne Carter, no. They didn't ask for a motivation."

"Sloppy of them," Westwood murmured.

"And lucky for us," Dolon said. "Then you pinned the release of the Janus List on Carter rather than on us?"

"I pointed out who gained in the situation. Don Eppes made the leap as to whom. I didn't contradict him." Colby crossed his arms across his chest and then quickly uncrossed them once he'd realized he'd done so. "I'd imagine Dwayne wasn't pleased about it."

"We left him an hour ago metaphorically spitting tacks," Westwood revealed. "Plus he blames you for being unable to kill the reporter. He believes you failed. Do you think so?"

He wouldn't say yes to that.

"Why hadn't you eliminated the reporter beforehand?" Dolon pushed when Colby didn't answer immediately.

"I… I never had an opportunity alone with her before the Black Rain ops moved in." Careful not to allow his posture or eye movements give him away Colby continued, "I was unable to complete the mission I was assigned."

"That is a pity," Westwood sighed and leaned back to cross an ankle over one knee. "MacClair jumped the gun and knows it. We'll have to lean on him, but I don't expect that he'll sit still for long once he has confirmation we do indeed have some facsimile of the Janus List. We'll have to see what can be arranged. She is still a large liability."

"I am not convinced she ever knew anything about the Janus List," Colby cut in. "Ashby choose her as a conduit, but she never knew any of the names, details, or country affiliations of our agents and spies."

"Is that why you didn't kill her?" Westwood said sharply.

"I didn't kill her because I didn't have a prime opportunity," he lied smoothly. Opportunities, yes. Prime ones, no. And, direct order or not, she didn't need to die in cold blood for something she was caught in the middle of and couldn't understand, unlike he who understood with terrifying clarity.

"I do have to hand it to Ashby; he went for maximum impact and maximum coverage once he pieced together what we were planning." Westwood sounded almost awed.

"What makes you say that?" the Assistant Director asked.

"I did a bit of digging on Ms. Vaughn," Westwood elaborated. "Taylor Ashby, as unbalanced as he's been in the past few years, didn't choose the woman on a whim. He found someone with a background in government corruption and civil rights." No wonder she was so offended with Megan's slurs about dates and hair appointments. "She's quite the spitfire. She's spent some time in India and most recently Africa and returned to Los Angeles in late 2001. "The FBI brought in outside help to work on this case, correct?" Westwood asked letting the subject of Naomi Vaughn drop. Colby had no illusions about it being forgotten.

"A bit of an unconventional relationship I admit, but it's been fruitful," Dolon said and started to tap his foot on the floor.

"Who did they bring in?"

"Professor Charles Eppes of CalSci."

"Eppes?"

"Charlie Eppes is Don Eppes' brother," Colby added.

"Brother…. Well, that's another complication I'm not pleased about. He has the proper clearances, correct?"

"For the past several years," Dolon said. "I'm surprised you haven't heard of him before, Victor, he's done extensive work for both the FBI and NSA. Apparently, Ashby asked specifically to speak with Professor Eppes," Dolon raised his eyebrows at Colby as a question.

Colby nodded. "They spoke on the bridge and later again at the hospital."

Westwood stroked his chin in thought. "Perhaps we can use that to our advantage. I'll assign my assistant, Markenson, to work out the details."

"Are you sure that is wise?" Dolon asked.

"What?" Westwood blinked. "You don't?"

"We'll discuss this later."

Colby felt his heart sink in his chest, but wisely held his tongue. There wasn't anyone he could warn, assuming they were willing to listen in the first place.

"Do you have any insight on the man that may make our decision easier?" Westwood asked him.

He wanted a read on Charlie? He had to consciously concentrate on not fidgeting with the bedsheets. "The man's brilliant. He's able to find connections and analyze problems like no one I've ever met before."

"We need all the analysis we can get," Westwood muttered. "And the brother?"

"Don'll see my perceived betrayal as a person affront. Despite his authority he is perceived by every member of his team as a friend. He may emotionally avoid the situation, but professionally he'll attack it like a pit bull. In order for my release to be successful you'll need to have his cooperation."

"If he is removed, who would take his place?"

Colby swallowed. "Megan Reeves."

"Not Sinclair? Hasn't he been with Eppes the longest?" Dolon asked.

"No," Colby shook his head, "David may have been on the team an extra year, but Megan has more seniority. She's also just returned from an assignment with the DOJ and–"

"I'm well aware of her recent return to Los Angeles," Westwood cut him off. "She's an excellent profiler."

"One of the best," Colby agreed. That was interesting. What had Megan been doing for the man?

"Does Agent Eppes have any weaknesses that we could exploit?"

No!

No, absolutely not. He wasn't going to sell Charlie to them.

"Granger?" Westwood prompted.

Then again…he tilted his head to the side as if to seriously consider the question. They wouldn't ask if they didn't already know the answer. He suddenly felt very, very cold when he realized this was another test. "A great source of his strength is his family."

"That's what our analysis of the situation was as well. Thank you for the confirmation."

And thank you for proving you're a cold-hearted bastard.

Assistant Director Dolon checked his watch and got to his feet. "We have other matters that we must attend to which are time critical. Do you have any further questions?"

"May I ask what is going to happen to Dwayne?"

"He is no longer your concern," Westwood replied curtly also getting to his feet.

Conversation closed in other words and Colby was smart enough not to push it.

"In the meantime, is there anything we can bring…to make your stay more comfortable?" Dolon asked.

A decent meal, a shower, a shave, and a tunnel out of this godforsaken cell of memories. He didn't think they'd allow him out of the cell for any of those things. "Something to do maybe? A chess set?"

"I'll see what I can do," Victor Westwood assured him. "Again, we apologize for the inconvenience."

At least there was no blood involved in this interview; Colby clenched his right hand several times to convince himself nothing was broken. Lying back down on the bed he had one question running through his mind. Could he tell the difference between an interrogation and interview, or between war and peace?

Was there a difference?

-oOo-