Disclaimer: Numb3rs - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me. This short story, however, does.

A/N – Hello, and welcome to this little angst-filled one-shot. It's my first Numb3rs story, and I wrote this story in one night after binge watching the show for about a week. I'm nervous about posting this, but I had a lot of fun writing it, and I really hope you get at least as much enjoyment from reading it! I see this as being set in the early days of the show, although it doesn't have a particular tie-in with any episode or season. I'm not going to say much more now because I don't want to spoil it, but I will say this: enjoy!

~ Second Best ~

Agent Don Eppes ran a tired hand across his face and finally threw the last file back down on his desk. Exhaustion was weighing down on him, but he'd been determined to get the paperwork done for this case so that he could try to finally draw a line under it and try to move on. Now, after working well into the night, he had finished, but it still didn't make him feel any better. He wasn't sure anything could.

It had been a hell of a day.

A hell of a week.

It had started, as it so often did, with a shooting, but it had quickly escalated into four further shootings, a bomb explosion with multiple civilian fatalities, and three dead FBI agents.

They'd caught the people responsible in the end, but not before he and Charlie had argued with each other so fiercely that it had ended – for the first time – in actual physical violence.

Don allowed his hand to run down his pale face, wincing slightly at the sore area on his chin. The kid had packed one hell of a punch, but the worst part of the fight had been the verbal assault Charlie had laid on him afterwards.

"You can't see the bigger picture, Don. You never could, even when we were kids. You've always been ready to accept the first explanation that hits your mind, and I've had enough of it. People's lives are at stake. I've done the math on this – math, by the way, that you couldn't even begin to comprehend in your wildest daydreams – and I know I'm right about where they're going to hit next. Don't be stupid, Don. For the first time in your life, stop being stupid and use your damn brain."

Damn, now that had hurt.

The thing was, he knew Charlie hadn't meant to call him stupid. Pig-headed or stubborn maybe, but not stupid. Never stupid.

Except Don felt stupid. And inadequate. And second best. He always had.

Don sighed and drained the last of his lukewarm coffee. He hadn't spoken to Charlie since their fight, and he wasn't sure when he would. Their dad would try to act as a mediator, Don knew that, but the damage felt irreparable this time. It had been an unfair assault on Charlie's part, and he knew his brother well enough to be certain that he would feel badly about it once he'd calmed down, but the trouble was that however unintentional, Charlie's tirade had definitely hit a few sore spots that Don had worked hard to keep buried.

Because it wasn't the first time he'd been called stupid…

"Hey, Don," Colby said, shooting a smile as he wandered towards his desk to pick up his jacket. Don looked up from his paperwork and tried to smile. He had a feeling that it looked more like a grimace, but thankfully Colby didn't comment on it. "You on your way out too? A few of the guys are meeting at Sullivan's. Wanna grab a drink?"

Actually, a drink sounded good, but Don wasn't really in the mood for company. Colby was one of his best friends, but right now he just couldn't handle any well-intentioned concern that might come his way once they started drinking.

"Nah, you go on ahead," Don said, forcing a more sincere-looking smile onto his face. "I've got stuff to do."

"Right," Colby said, clearly not convinced, but equally unwilling to challenge him on it.

The truth was, Don didn't have anything to do. Apart from get drunk off his ass at home, where no one could see. He'd never been one to share his pain with others, and he wasn't about to start now.

Don't be stupid, Don.

"See you Monday, then," Colby said a little awkwardly by way of goodbye. Don waved him off, then tiredly pulled himself out of his chair, working out the kinks from his body.

God, he felt old. Old and stupid.

Don picked up his jacket and pulled it on, straightening the cuffs almost as if he was on auto-pilot. He wondered how it was possible to feel so numb, and yet so wired at the same time. His mind was a mess, but his body was still running on the adrenaline that had built up during the heart-stopping, final chase through the streets of LA, even though several hours had passed since they'd apprehended their suspects.

The press had already started singing the praises of the FBI, despite the magnitude of the lives that had been lost, and Don knew that the people of LA would sleep much more soundly tonight now that the killers had been brought to justice. If only he could say the same about himself.

Don't be stupid, Don…

Don sighed. Then, as he began to make through the building, intent of getting to his car as quickly as possible so that he could get home and drink himself into oblivion, his phone began to ring.

He picked it up and held it to his ear, half hoping it would be another case. He knew his team deserved some time off, but if he was thinking selfishly - and in that moment, he was - he wouldn't have minded a distraction.

"Yeah?" he answered, tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he fished around his pockets for his car keys.

"Hey, Donnie."

"Oh, hey dad," Don replied, his stomach dropping slightly. He loved his dad, he really did, but the old man had bad timing. "I'm just heading home. What's up?"

"You're still at the office?" his dad replied. Don could hear the faint surprise and concern in Alan's voice, but he sure as hell wasn't going to call him on it.

"It's been a long case, Dad," Don replied wearily as he unlocked his car and climbed in. "I had a lot to wrap up."

"Right," he replied. "So, you coming round to the house? I've got plenty of leftovers you can have."

"It's late," Don replied, "I think I'll just head home."

"Okay, Donnie," Alan replied, and this time the concern was obvious. The old man hesitated. "You know, Charlie – "

"Look, I've got to go, dad," Don interrupted, annoyed at the flare of anger his brother's name brought up. "I'll see you tomorrow sometime, okay?"

"Okay," his dad replied with a heavy sigh. "Take care of yourself, Donnie."

Don't be stupid, Don.

He could almost hear those words coming out of his father's mouth as well. God, what the hell was wrong with him…?

"I will, dad," he replied woodenly. "Bye."

"Bye, Donnie."

Don hung up then, and fought the urge to throw his phone to the floor. Damn his dad for being so nice, so…kind. Don didn't want kind. He wanted alcohol and an empty apartment in which to drown his sorrows.

He wanted to be alone.

Don drove home with a sense of urgency, but made a point to stop at the first place he could find that sold whiskey. It was Friday night, but he had no plans, no date, nobody to come home to. His apartment was cold, dark and lifeless.

Whiskey sounded good. Oblivion sounded good…

As he finally made his way inside his apartment, he couldn't even find the energy to turn on the lights. Instead, Don kicked off his shoes, took of his jacket and immediately made his way over to the couch, bottle of whiskey in hand. He didn't even bother taking it out of the brown paper bag. Instead he just screwed the lid off and took a long drag of the drink, enjoying the way it burned his throat on the way down.

He could feel the effects almost immediately. His hand stopped shaking. His thoughts stopped whirling around his head. His breathing steadied. He wasn't an alcoholic or a drug addict – not even close - but it felt like he'd just taken a hit. It was almost enough to make him forget what a shitty day he'd had. Almost, but not quite.

Don't be stupid, Don.

Damn Charlie for bringing back the crappy parts of his past like that. Charlie had never had trouble poking the metaphorical bear, but this time he'd really done it.

Don ran a hand over his face again, and took another swig of whiskey. It didn't burn as much this time, and that meant that it was starting to work. Soon, he wouldn't be in any position to worry about it all. He took another long drink, quickly followed by another. Then he closed his eyes and tried to forget.

Don't be stupid, Don.

God, oblivion couldn't come soon enough.

Charlie sighed, deeply and without relief. He was worried about his brother. Really worried.

At first he'd been angry at Don – so angry he'd actually punched his brother square in the face– but once he'd had a chance to calm down and think rationally about everything they'd argued about, his anger had quickly transformed into worry. Worry and a whole lot of guilt.

For a genius, he could be a real idiot sometimes…

By the time he'd made it back to the Craftsman after the case had been wrapped up, almost all his latent anger had already seeped away, putting him very much in a regretful mind-set. The guilt of what he'd said to his brother – of what he'd done – had bubbled up inside of him, so Charlie had taken refuge on the couch, intent on waiting all night if he had to. Even though it was late, Charlie knew Don would come. Don always came back to the Craftsman after a difficult case.

And when he did, Charlie would apologise, and beg for his forgiveness.

Charlie passed the time as he always did - with math. He ran through all sorts of variables and equations in his head; some new, some old favourites. Anything to distract him from the guilt.

By the time the clock struck one o'clock in the morning, Charlie was struggling to concentrate on anything but thoughts of his brother.

Where the hell was Don…?

"He's not coming."

Charlie jumped, but quickly turned around to face his dad. Alan was stood in the doorway, weary and worried.

"What…?"

"Don," replied his dad. "He's not coming round. Not tonight."

"You've spoken to him?" asked Charlie, trying to ignore the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

"Just now," his dad replied. "I couldn't sleep without checking on him. I spoke to him on the phone about ten minutes ago. He's only just leaving work, and he'd rather go home."

"But – "

"I don't know what's gone on between you boys," Alan said with a pointed look. The old man always seemed to know when one of them had done something wrong. It was a parental sixth sense that had served him well over the years. "But, Charlie, you need to fix this, okay? Don's always been strong, but I think this might have been one tough case too many."

Charlie stood up. "I'm going round there."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Alan asked. "When I said that you needed to do something, I didn't mean right this second -"

"You just said that I needed to fix this," Charlie replied. "I'm afraid that if I don't go now, it'll be too late."

And it would be. He'd done the math while he'd been waiting for his brother to come home. Statistically speaking, if he let this fester then their relationship would be broken beyond repair. Numbers don't lie…

"I'm going," Charlie said firmly, reaching over to grab his jacket.

Alan nodded with a resigned look on his face. "Fine, but be careful. Please."

"I will, dad," Charlie replied grimly. "It's Don I'm worried about."

"Me too, son," Alan replied. "Me, too."

Charlie made it to Don's apartment in record time. He paid the cab driver and almost bounded up the stairs of the apartment building, eager to see his brother; desperate to fix whatever was wrong.

In no time at all, he was standing at Don's door. For the first time that evening, Charlie began to have some doubts.

He'd punched his brother not five hours earlier. Not only that; he'd also laid into his brother about how stupid he was being. Except, as it turned out, Don had been right to doubt him. Even though his math had been sound, his conclusions hadn't been, and had Don listened to him, Charlie knew that there would have been a great deal more dead agents that the three they had lost today.

Don had been right. Charlie had been wrong.

Charlie shook his head forcefully and clenched his fists. Then he knocked on the door before he could change his mind. He had to make this right. He had to tell Don that he was sorry.

When the door didn't open immediately, Charlie began to worry again. It was a worry that festered deep inside him until he could stand it no longer. What if Don was in trouble? What if he was hurt…?

With only a slight hesitation in his movements, Charlie pulled out the spare key his dad had given him, and slowly turned it in the lock. Then he pushed the door open and quietly stepped inside.

The first thing that struck him was the darkness. Which at one in the morning wasn't all that surprising, he supposed. In fact it would have been completely normal had it not been for the figure sitting at the couch, drinking what looked to be a bottle of hard liquor straight out of the paper bag.

Oh, Don…

Charlie crept forward, slightly surprised that his brother hadn't noticed his arrival yet. His brother always noticed…

Well, there was nothing for it.

"Don?" Charlie began, turning on the light as he moved further into the room. The figure jumped up and span around.

"Charlie," Don said hoarsely, blinking at the bright light. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Dad gave me your spare key," Charlie said, lamely holding up the offending key. Don marched – somewhat unsteadily – over to Charlie, and with a scowl on his face, snatched the key out of his brother's hand.

"Thanks," he muttered. "You can go now."

"What…?" Charlie stuttered. "No, I'm not going anywhere. Not until we've sorted this out. What the hell has gotten into you Don?"

"Me?" Don replied incredulously. Charlie could smell whiskey on him, but he didn't appear drunk. "This is my fault? You hit me, Charlie, remember?"

"I know," Charlie replied, his stomach twisting. "I'm…God, I'm so sorry, Don. I was...I was so wrong. I was wrong about everything."

"Not everything," muttered Don.

"What are you talking about?" Charlie asked.

"Nothing."

An awkward silence fell on them then, and it was clear that neither of them knew how to break it. Charlie felt as if he had been placed right back into his teenage years again.

"Listen, can I come in?" Charlie asked. It was a bit of a moot point since he was technically already in Don's apartment, but he was so uncertain about his standing with his brother that he'd felt compelled to ask.

Don hesitated. "I'm not good company right now, Chuck."

"What's on your mind?" Charlie asked, careful to keep his voice casual.

"According to you, not a lot," Don replied bitterly. "I'm the stupid one, remember?"

Charlie felt as if a bucket of ice cold water had been dropped over his head. How could he have been so cruel to Don…?

"Don, I…I'm sorry," he began. "I didn't mean what I said. That's why I'm here, I guess. I wanted to apologise. I waited back at the house for you, but then dad said you weren't coming home so I decided to come to you, but then you didn't answer the door so I used the key…"

"Slow down, Charlie," Don said. "Or at least sit down first. It's late, I've had more than my share of whiskey, and I'm tired. My brain isn't firing on all cylinders right now."

It felt like Don was calling himself stupid again, and Charlie hated it. He hated that he'd planted that idea in his brother's mind.

"You're not the stupid one, Don," Charlie argued desperately as they both sat down. "You're the strong one. Without you I wouldn't have survived high school and we both know it."

"Right," Don said dismissively. "The way I remember it, I was essentially your bodyguard. Do you have any idea how many fights I got into because of you?"

"No," Charlie replied quietly. "You never talked about it."

"Didn't want you to feel responsible," Don muttered. Then he sighed. "Dammit, it wasn't your fault, alright? Those kids just didn't get how special you were."

"You were pretty special yourself, Don," Charlie argued. "Everyone liked you. You were popular, good at sports, confident…"

"Maybe," Don mumbled. "But it damn sure didn't make me special. Not compared to you."

"Compared to...?" Charlie hesitated, unsure if he wanted to go; if he wanted to know. He had a bad feeling…"Don, what are you talking about?"

"You were so smart, Charlie," Don began quietly. "So damn smart. You knew more than all the teachers put together, and everyone knew it. And then there was me. I could see them looking at me, testing me, to see if I was as smart as you. But I wasn't. I never could be."

"Don…"

"It was never your fault, Charlie, but..." Don paused, clearly trying to find the right words. Charlie wondered whether the whiskey was helping or hindering him. "When everyone realised I wasn't hiding a great intellect like my brother's, I could see how…disappointed they were. Most of them didn't say anything, but I could see it in their eyes."

Charlie felt dread hit his stomach like lead. "Most of them? So some of them did say something?"

"The teachers?" Don replied. "Nah. Some of the kids would bring it up every now and then, but I shut them up pretty quick. Not all of the fights were because of you, Chuck."

"What did they say to you?" Charlie asked, almost morbidly fascinated by the insight into a part of Don's past that he'd never known had existed.

"It doesn't matter," Don shrugged. "Ancient history."

"Somehow I don't think so," Charlie replied, thinking back to their earlier fight. When he'd done laying into his brother – both verbally and physically – Don had looked shell-shocked by the outburst, but not necessarily surprised by the content of it.

"Charlie, just drop it."

"Don, what did they say to you?" Charlie asked. "I'm not dropping this until you tell me. I've got all night –"

"Fine, they called me stupid, alright!" Don snapped. "Charlie Eppes' stupid brother."

Charlie paled. "Don…"

"They weren't exactly wrong, either," Don muttered.

That shocked Charlie into action. "Yes, they were!"

"The first born, but the second best," Don muttered bitterly. "Always second best."

"No!" Charlie replied immediately, fighting the urge to grab onto his brother and shake him. "Dammit, Don, stop being so…"

"Stupid?"

"Shut up," Charlie replied angrily. "You're not even close to being stupid."

"Compared to you, I always will be," Don replied with a shrug that was anything but casual.

"There are so many things you know that I don't," Charlie argued.

"Not important things though."

"Yes, important things," Charlie replied with certainty. "You catch criminals every day – "

"With your help," Don pointed out.

"Only recently," Charlie replied. "You've put plenty away all by yourself, Don. No way in hell you could have done that if you were stupid."

"I've made mistakes," Don replied bitterly.

"Who the hell hasn't?" Charlie shot back. "Don, you can't honestly believe…"

"You thought I was," Don pointed out quietly. "Earlier today. Just after you hit me. You…uh, you called me –"

"Stupid," Charlie finished quietly. "Yeah, I know. Look, Don, I'm…I didn't mean it. I was just angry. I wasn't thinking straight. I don't think you're stupid."

"Well, I do," Don replied, holding the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I lost three agents today, Charlie, and I don't even know how many civilians. If I'd just been smarter…"

"It wasn't your fault, Don," Charlie replied with absolute certainty. "You didn't do anything wrong. I was the one who got it wrong. If you're looking to blame someone, you should blame me."

"I could never blame you," Don replied, his gaze fixed downwards. "This job…it was never your responsibility. I should never have asked you to help me on cases…"

"If you hadn't...well, I don't know where we'd be, but I do know that we wouldn't be hanging out much," Charlie ran a hand through his hair. "I don't regret doing working cases with you, Don. I could never regret it. It's been the best time of my life. I have…a purpose now. A life worth living. And people worth living it with."

"It hasn't been all bad, I suppose," Don replied quietly. He turned to face Charlie, and Charlie felt relief hit him. Don looked…better. More grounded. More…himself.

"No, it hasn't," Charlie replied firmly.

They were quiet then, but it was a better, less oppressive quiet this time. A more comfortable quiet. Charlie hoped they'd turned a corner, for tonight at least.

"God, if dad could see us now, he'd call us both idiots," Don joked with a small smile.

"Yeah, but not stupid," Charlie replied quietly, though he did offer a smile back.

"No," Don replied softly. "Maybe not stupid."

It was a small victory, but one Charlie clung to. It gave him hope that Don would be okay.

"And not second best, either," Charlie continued. "Never second best."

"Charlie…"

"Don, shut up," Charlie interrupted. "Listen, I couldn't imagine a better brother than you. Those kids…they were the stupid ones, because they couldn't see how incredible you were. You're the best, bro."

"You too, Chuck," Don replied. "You too."

It was their way of saying 'I love you' without actually saying the words, and they both heard the sentiment loud and clear. They'd always had trouble communicating, especially as kids and teens, but when it mattered, when it really, truly mattered, they always seemed to find a way.

It would probably take some time, but Charlie knew they'd be okay.

And Don? Well, Don would never feel second best again. Charlie would make sure of it.

A/N – So what did you think? Like I said at the start, I'm intending for this to be a stand-alone one-shot, although if I get a good response, I may consider expanding it, or at least trying my hand at more Numb3rs stories in the future. With that in mind, please do take a second to let me know your thoughts – I'd appreciate any feedback you have to offer. Other than that, and until next time, thanks for reading!