A/N: This was my contribution to the Numb3rs Gen Fic Exchange on LJ. My recipient was shaolingrrl and one of her prompts was to show Charlie's reaction to Don's comment that the job is more important than he is. And who I am not to comply? In fact, after I'd handed the story in, the musae still weren't done, so there's more to come.

To Guards and Guardians

by Jules

The door was mocking him, or so he thought. The dark wood was staring back blankly, not knowing either why the rapping of his knuckles wouldn't produce anyone to open it. Not that the door really cared, he was sure it wouldn't mind staying shut a little longer.

Shaking his head at himself and the way his thoughts seemed to drift way off course when he was worried, Charlie rose his hand to knock again. He was pretty sure that Don was home. Because he wasn't where he was expected to be and all other options possible had already been checked and deemed unlikely.

Fridays, as long as Don's cases weren't swallowing him whole and he hadn't planned anything with Robin, were family nights at the Craftsman. Often enough, the rest of the team or Larry and Amita joined in as well. It had become a nice way to ring out the week, to relax and reconnect and by unspoken agreement, they held up the tradition. But 8 o'clock in the evening had come and gone and a call to Don's cell had only yielded a voice mail response. Robin was out of town for the weekend, so there was no logical reason for him not showing while the rest of his team did indeed turn up in the Eppes' back garden, slouching off in deck chairs and relaxing proportional to their food and beer intake.

Alan had just shrugged it off, as he often did when Don eluded the return to the fold for whatever reason. Charlie had tried to do the same, knowing how his brother sometimes simply didn't feel fit for company. But when Larry and Megan arrived and Larry related a certain conversation he'd had with Don not too long ago, Charlie's uneasiness about his brother's absence had won over him.

So he'd excused himself from the others and had climbed into his car to drive out here. To make sure his brother was alright. But now, as he'd arrived here and was right at Don's door, the whole mission made him feel just a tiny little bit silly. He usually really wasn't the overprotective kind of sibling, that was normally a trait for the older one and Don had often enough filled that position with perfection in their younger days. But they had mostly grown out of those dynamics over the years, with only a few remnants shining through occasionally.

Maybe, this time it was different.

The FBI had just wrapped up a harrowing child porn case involving several children aged five and even younger. While each and every culprit involved in it had been arrested and the case was officially closed, Charlie could see how each member of the team was still working their way through dealing with this. When helping some on the case, he nearly started to protest when Don sorted through the files to filter out gruesome pictures for him not to see. Until he'd caught a glimpse from one of the photos and instantly felt bile rising in his throat.

For him, it was slightly easier, at least he tried to think so. He could always go back to his numbers and formulas and forget some of the horrors he came into contact with. His chosen profession was reasonably safe from this kind of exposure. Don on the other hand had to deal with it on a daily basis.

The door was still mocking him and no sounds from the other side were forthcoming, so Charlie rapped again, this time so hard that his knuckles instantly started to hurt. He shook his hand out and nearly flinched when the door suddenly swung open and Don stared at him from inside.

"Hey, I...," Charlie stammered, momentarily at a loss for words. Don's sudden appearance after he'd been trying to gain entrance for nearly five minutes, his red-rimmed eyes and ratty sweats as well as his grumpy expression certainly contributed to his perplexity.

"I... I was just...," he tried again, but Don only grunted and turned around again, leaving the door open for him to follow. Which Charlie did. With a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, knowing already that this wasn't exactly going to be a pleasant visit.

He closed the door behind him and followed Don into the kitchen where his brother had already reclaimed his seat by the counter. The room was semi-dark, only the suspended lights over the eating area casting a yellow light on the lone figure. There was a dark green bottle with nearly two inches of its content missing and a half-empty glass in front of him.

"I would've called, you know," Charlie said as he walked over to climb onto the barstool beside Don.

"Phone's off for a reason."

"I can see that. Larry said something about you sometimes employing the aid of high-spirited beverages to chase away your demons. I guess he was right."

Don only snorted and emptied the glass, reaching out with his free left hand to unscrew the cap of the bottle before he was even finished. He looked at Charlie with a raised eyebrow, but Charlie only shook his head. At least one of them should stay sober for this conversation to lead anywhere. He watched Don pour himself another generous drink and tried to read the bottle's label. An indecipherable name was all he could see. Probably Scotch, the color matched as well.

"Everyone else is over at the house, having a good time," Charlie said while he fished two coasters out of the plastic receptacle by his side. He slid one over the counter into Don's direction and kept one for himself. He needed something to keep his fingers busy.

"Well, good for them." Don took another sip, placed his glass on the proffered coaster and studiously looked away. "What are you doing here then?"

The harshness hurt, but only a little. Even without having it explained, Charlie understood the underlying turmoil his brother was fighting with. But he didn't like how Don shut everyone out to fight it alone.

"You did good, Don," he whispered, keeping his eyes on the cardboard square in his hands. "You caught those guys, they're off the streets and will be for a long time."

Don propped his head onto his left hand with a sardonic smile and looked directly at Charlie. "Yeah, we caught them, but not after they destroyed those children's lives. And no matter what we do, there will be others just like them. And again, we'll be that one step too late to prevent the damage from happening."

"That's not exactly true." Charlie turned around to face his brother. "You forgot to include all those lives that won't get destroyed because you caught them into your equation."

Don rolled his face into his palm and rubbed it wearily. "Equations are your field, buddy." The trace of a slur had started to creep into his voice and Charlie watched with concern as Don emptied his glass once more and instantly refilled it. He had no idea if he was able to lug his brother to the bedroom if need be, but the way the evening went, he might very well find out soon.

Charlie tried to remember when he'd seen his brother taking more than his fill the last time. Must have been in their teens, because he really didn't know. Don was always so in control, getting drunk just didn't seem to fit his personality makeup.

"Larry also said something else," he continued, hoping he wasn't too late already to breach that particular subject, "and that had me thinking. Do you really believe the job is more important than you?"

"Eventually, yeah." Don's fingers strayed out to his glass again. "We're all exchangeable. In the end, it only matters what we do, not who we are."

Charlie extended his hand and gently laid it over Don's before he could raise the glass again, a little flutter in his stomach trying to rise to the surface. "It's the people who do the job who make it important. Their expertise, their knowledge. Their compassion." He swallowed. "Your compassion."

Don blinked a couple of times before he looked away and pulled his hand free to lift the glass once more. He didn't put it down immediately though, but turned it in the light, watching the golden liquid as he gently swirled it.

"Malt does more than Milton can to justify God's way to man," he finally said in a rough voice.

"What?" Charlie blinked in confusion.

"E. A. Housman." Don threw a sideways glance at him and Charlie realized that his brother was drunk. Truly and totally toasted.

"Who's that?" he asked warily.

"English poet."

Okay. That didn't clarify things. At all. "You're quoting English poets to me?"

Don downed the remainder of his drink in one long swallow. "Felt appropriate," he answered, pronouncing every syllable very carefully.

Charlie watched as his brother slid off his seat with a lot more grace than he deemed possible after the amount of alcohol he'd witnessed him drink and made his way over to the bedroom in slow and measured steps.

"Are you okay?" he asked, unsure if he really wanted to receive an honest reply.

Don stopped mid-step, a hand reaching out to the wall for balance. He stood motionless for what felt like an eternity, only his shoulders tensing before he turned his head around. Charlie couldn't really decipher his brother's expression and a small shiver danced down his spine.

"Am now." A wry smile twitched the corners of Don's mouth and he disappeared out of sight.

Charlie heard the creak of bedsprings several seconds later while a big wave of sorrow washed over him. Sorrow for his brother, and for himself. It was so intense that for a couple of moments even breathing hurt. He had worked for the FBI long enough to experience a certain weariness himself, after a long period of getting used to it. And he sure had seen glimpses of that in Don over the years, but never before had he seen his brother so... dejected. Wow. Not a word he thought he'd ever use to describe Don.

The apartment had fallen silent and Charlie reached out to pull the dark green bottle nearer, inspecting the label more closely. It indeed was Scotch, even though he'd never heard of that brand before. But he wasn't a connoisseur in that area to begin with. Leaning over the counter, he grabbed a glass from the drainer and switched off the cap, pouring himself a small amount of liquid. It sloshed around like golden oil and he picked up the glass to take a small sip.

A multitude of sensations seemed to explode in his mouth. Saltwater, peat, woodsmoke, something sweet like vanilla as well. It burned its way down his throat and up through his sinuses and for a second or two after swallowing, Charlie had a hard time drawing a breath.

Whoa. Maybe it really was medicine, it sure tasted like it. He turned the bottle into the light and looked at the label once again, his brows rising as he read the alcohol content. That certainly explained things, along with the words 'cask strength' printed below. Nothing compared to Scotch you could usually buy in shops around here. Definitely not like what Dad kept at the house for special occasions. He wondered where Don had acquired this particular bottle.

Sliding off his stool with a distinct rush in his head, he slowly walked around the counter to get himself some water. It didn't really help to entirely clear his taste buds, but after two glasses, he felt a little more like himself again. He recapped the bottle and rinsed both his and Don's glasses, putting them on the drainer to dry.

Looking around in the empty kitchen, a distinct sense of loneliness made itself known. No use really to stay around. Don would surely sleep well into the morning. But when his eyes fell on the coffee maker, another thought sprang into his mind and he had to smile at it. Taking the glass carafe out of the coffee maker, he filled it with water and transferred it into the machine. He inserted a filter and scooped a generous amount of ground coffee into it. Judged by the events of tonight, Don would certainly need it and it would tease a smile out of him in the morning to find it all prepared already.

Charlie shook his head at himself. Maybe he was a protective little brother after all. But then, maybe Don needed it sometimes.

Having done what he could do, he picked up his keys from the counter and slowly walked out of the kitchen. He didn't turn right towards the door though. Instead, he walked down the hallway to the bedroom and took a peak inside. Don was turned the other way, curled into a ball and all he could hear were his slow and regular breaths.

"No demons," he whispered into the room. "No demons tonight, bro."

And with that, he left. Returning to the fold. There was still a party waiting for him.

-The End-