Title: Wise man's advice

Fandom: Numb3rs

Characters: Don Eppes, Daniel (2x04 Calculated Risk so may have spoiler for this episode, but nothing that give away the plot)

Prompt: Breaking up

Word Count: 2300

Rating: G

Summary: Set during Calculalted Risk. Don ends up listening to the "wise man"...

Author's Notes: I don't have English as my first language, so I apologize for my mistakes...

N/B: Part of the fanfic100 challenge. Table at my homepage

Don was in his room, or what had been his room a lifetime ago. It hadn't changed a lot since the time he had left, save for some more picture of the people that he had met after leaving the parental house. He felt like he was a kid again, coming home and hiding in his room to find a sanctuary, a piece of peace when he didn't know where else to go, what else to do. His room had always been the place where he felt better, no matter what the problem was, no matter how hard it was for him to go on. He would come there and think about all the good times he had had in this room. Alone, with his parents, with Charlie, with some friends and even with some of his girlfriends, when he could sneak them in there without his parents knowing about it.

That was the main reason he had decided to let Daniel stay there. The kid needed a place where he could get away from everything that was happening in his life at the moment, a place so stay where he could feel safe and at peace, a place where he could seek refuge. Of course, Don knew that Daniel wouldn't feel the same way that him about this room; after all, he didn't have the same memories than him, but he hoped that it would at least give him some comfort, more than a room in an orphanage.

But at the moment, Daniel was downstairs, watching television and he was completely alone, a letter in his hand, and his eyes glued to a picture he had added to the decoration after his coming back to L.A. He just couldn't believe that had happened. Everything was so stupid; the whole thing had begun by something so insignificant that it should have solved itself in no time. But here he was, with this letter as a proof that everything had indeed gone wrong and escalated to the point of no return and it just hurt so much, that he didn't know what to do, except coming there. And he knew that he couldn't afford to take the time to sort this out and to think rationally about it because he still had to find the murderer of Daniel's mom. It was so hard.

The picture showed them both smiling, him and Coop, best friends, best partners, always there for each other. Even when Don left the fugitive recovery and took the position offered to him in Albuquerque. Even when done came back to L.A. and that they couldn't find the time to each other anymore, with Coop always on the road and Don having to take care of his family. Even with all that, they were still best friend and they had had the proof of that during the investigation they had to lead together. They could still work with each other, as if they had never been separated, they still had each other back, no matter how foolish one of them was acting. It was good, really good.

Then everything happened so fast that Don didn't know how it could have gotten so bad in so little time. The reason of their fight was so stupid he didn't even want to think about it now. And he knew he should have tried more to save their friendship. He had put the problems aside, choosing to take his work as an excuse not to think about it, to push it away, when he should have dealt with it immediately, and tried to talk to Coop, to tell him how much the latter was mistaking, to apologize, maybe, even if he didn't which one of them was the more responsible. But he knew Coop well enough to know he would never take the first step.

But, instead of that, Don had ignored it and, now, everything was lost. Their friendship didn't exist anymore. That was the message that the letter contained and it hurt so much that Don was under the impression someone had smashed his heart and was taking pleasure in stamping it.

He closed his eyes and drew his knees closer to him, so he could cross is arms on them and hide his face inside. He had to get himself into check. He had a case to solve and a little boy to take care of up to the moment he could send him to his grandmother. Why did that letter have to come in this morning? And why couldn't he have waited the end of the case before opening it? Of course, he knew why he had opened it. He had hoped that Coop would tell him that everything was forgotten and forgiven.

He took a deep breath before shakily releasing it. He felt his eyes burning but they stubbornly stayed closed, not letting anything pass through, even though his whole being was hurting. He suddenly felt the mattress dipping and he looked up to find Daniel, on his knees, on the bed, looking at his with concerned and worried eyes. God that was exactly what he had wanted to avoid. The kid was already hurting so much because of his mother's death that he didn't need to see Don's own breaking down, especially because of so futile problems.

"Don? Are you sad?" the child asked, uncertainty colouring his voice.

Don forced himself to relax and sit down a bit more normally on the bed before turning to face his young guest.

"Don't worry about it, Daniel, I'm fine. So, how was your show?" he asked, hoping to change the discussion's subject. It wasn't really a good idea to let Daniel on his problems.

"You know, a wise man told me that it was okay to cry."

That brought a smile to Don's face as well as a grimace. "So, you talked to my father, huh?"

"Is it because of you mom that you're sad?" Daniel apparently didn't want to let it go that easily. Beside, Don had been so nice with him that he could at least try to help him out.

Don shook his head, frankly denying the fact. "No, it's not because of her. But I wish he was here because she would have known what to do." And he wasn't lying. If Margaret Eppes had been here, Don was sure she could have been able to tell him what to do to make things better.

"So, why are you sad?" Daniel asked again, scooting over Don who was now lying down on the bed, his head on the pillow. Daniel was looking down at Don, while he sat Indian style at his side. His face was so open, letting show his curiosity as well as his wanting to hep that Don felt his resolve crumble.

Would it really be that bad to tell Daniel what was going on if the child was really interested in knowing? Beside, it was not as if he was a suspect, or if he needed to testify in a trial, so there was no reason creating bond would be bad for the case. And, maybe, if he told someone, it would help him concentrate again on his job.

"It's because of a friend," Don said, not being able to prevent his gaze to go to the picture showing him and Coop.

"Who is he?" Daniel asked, following Don's eyes.

"My best friend," Don simply answered before frowning. "Or he was, at any rate."

"Why?" Daniel asked, not understanding why the man wouldn't be considered as his best friend anymore. Best friends didn't change that much, did they? They were always there, always best friends, or at least that what he thought.

"He… he doesn't want to be my friend anymore," Don told him and, suddenly, he wasn't feeling so much like a FBI agent than a child who just lost his best friend. His throat constricted and he prayed that Daniel would stop his questions because he didn't think he could have talked anymore.

He closed his eyes, too, because even if he had confided in Daniel, he couldn't let the kid see him showing so much weakness, not when he was supposed to protect him. He wasn't going to cry, not in front of Daniel, not even alone. No matter what his dad could say, he was not a child anymore, and he didn't weep just because of a broken friendship even if it hurt like hell.

But when he felt Daniel's hands took his, trying to comfort him with all the innocence that only children could manage, it was the last straw for him and he couldn't help the water droplets that began to leak through his still closed eyelids. Daniel moved just a bit more so he was sitting at the level of Don's face and the FBI agent turned around to hide his face in the child's knees, his whole body shaking with silent sobs.

There he was, a grown man, an FBI agent, who saw more horror everyday that most people in their whole life, because of his best friend – or former best friend – in the arm of a child that he was supposed to protect and comfort. How could the role have turned like that? But the stress he had been under for the last few months, mixed up with the whole story with Coop and the case he was working on at the time that had prevented him from sleeping way too long had brought him on the edge and this letter had been the last straw, particularly added to everything that had happened even before.

He didn't so much cry for Coop that he did for his mother's death, for Terry's departure, for his broken engagement to Kim and for all the time he didn't cry since he had decided that he had to be strong for his family.

Finally, as his tears continued to run freely, freeing him of all the feeling he had buried deep inside of himself for so long, he felt himself drifting away into a dreamless sleep, while a gently hand ran through his hair, soothing him as his mother had always done she had still been in this world.

When Alan entered the house, the first thing he noticed was that Don wasn't in the living room, which surprised him greatly since he had thought that his eldest son was going to spend his nights here up to Daniel's departure. Maybe he had been called to the office and was intending to come back later that evening.

As he was making his way to the stair, he noticed the envelope that rested on a piece of furniture in the hallway. Briefly looking at it, Alan saw that it was addressed to Don and that the expeditor was Billy Cooper.

Now, Don may have thought that he had hidden what was happening very well but Alan knew his son and had guessed a long time ago that something was going on, something that had to do with Billy. He knew there was a problem between Don and his best friend. He now hoped that this letter had brought good knew.

He knew that he may have given the impression of not liking Billy Cooper but it wasn't true. He had nothing against the young man, actually he even liked him to some extend. He knew that Don and him had always had each other back and he was glad that Don had a friend who showed so much loyalty. It was only the memories of worrying about Don when he stayed weeks without giving any new that he didn't like and he had to admit that Billy reminded him a lot of that.

Well, he would know soon enough what was the content of this letter. For now, he was just going to see if Daniel was doing okay, if he didn't need anything and then go to his own room to get some sleep.

He climbed up the stair silently, not wanting to wake the kid up if he happened to be asleep, and crept through the open door. What he saw there was enough to make his heart ache as well as giving an answer to the question he had been wondering about previously.

Don was asleep on his witness' knees and the tears tracks on his cheeks were still visible. He entered the room without a noise, still causing Daniel to turn to him and look at him sadly. Alan could see one of the kid's hand around his son's, and the second one still on his head. The old man sat down carefully on the bed and brushed Don's hair away from his forehead.

"Look like he finally listened to the wise man," Alan murmured. "Thank you, Daniel, for him. I think that you're the only one who could have made him allow himself to show what he was feeling."

Daniel just nodded before yawning. "Try to get some sleep kiddo. My son will be alright, don't worry," Alan said getting up.

"Sir," Daniel called, whispering just before Alan closed the door. "What's Don's best friend's name?"

Alan smiled sadly, his suspicion confirmed. "Billy, Billy Cooper. They worked together a long time ago."

Daniel just nodded, willing himself not to forget the name, and slid down to lie beside Don, closing his eyes and falling asleep almost immediately. Alan stayed some more seconds, looking at them, before closing the door on the two sleeping boys.