Disclaimer; Numb3rs, it's characters and/or content, does not belong to me.
No spoilers
No warnings
Summary; Charlie helps Don and the team with their paperwork
A/N; Nothing too serious here. This is just a bit of fluff to get me through the winter doldrums. Hope you enjoy. Please read the author's note at the end.
The Coffee Equation
Special Agent Don Eppes took the pen offered by the SWAT officer standing before him and initialed the paperwork signing him and the team away from scene. He sighed and removed his FBI cap then ran his hand through his hat-flattened hair. He checked his watch. Nearly midnight. He sighed heavily again knowing there would be paperwork yet before he and his team could call it quits.
The remaining ATF agents and LAPD officers had the situation under control now, with some of the gun runners already behind bars, some in armed transport and the rest on their way to the hospital, either for treatment of gunshot wounds or a place on a cold table in the morgue waiting for identification. All that was left was the processing of the scene, with hundreds of cases of illegal weapons and ammunition needing to be cataloged and removed to a safe location. ATF would be busy at the sight for a quite a while, but he had just been informed that FBI involvement was no longer required. Ironic, Don thought, since ATF had been getting nowhere with finding this gang and had requested the FBI's assistance a few weeks ago. With the bureau's help came Charlie – who's equation had found the pattern that led to the bust of the largest cache of illegal arms in LA county history. Hours of tedious investigation, including stakeouts, witness statements and interrogations had all been fortified with the knowledge that a large sale to a foreign buyer was in the works and time was of the essence. It had taken it's toll on all of them and they were all exhausted, but it was their job and he was proud of every member of his team for the way they handled themselves during this case.
For now though, he smiled wryly, he had no trouble leaving the ATF with the clean up.
Don saw agents Liz Warner and Nikki Betancourt standing by his SUV removing their Kevlar vests and storing their tactical equipment in the back. He walked their way, his movements slow and conserved as he traversed the maze of vehicles, their pulsing lights giving the scene a strange strobe effect. As he passed a large trash receptacle he removed the overly chewed gum from his mouth and tossed it in. The spearmint flavor had long since evaporated and his adrenaline high had ebbed. He didn't need it anymore.
"Hey." he said as he approached them and both women looked up at him. Smiling wearily, Liz nodded slightly in acknowledgment just as David Sinclair and Colby Granger came around the back of the vehicle. "Good work tonight, guys," Don murmured as he stripped the velcro straps on his own vest apart. "And ladies," he added at the small sound of protest from the two female agents. "What do you say we get out of here and head back to the office? If we can wrap up the preliminary paperwork tonight I think I can talk the AD into a few extra days off."
The responding mumbles told him his team members were on their last legs and paperwork was the last thing they wanted to do, but they all removed their tactical gear and piled into the two Suburbans.
Don slid behind the wheel of his vehicle, Liz taking the passenger seat, while David, Colby and Nikki climbed into David's SUV. They drove on autopilot, almost hypnotically back to the FBI field office where they all entered the elevator in the parking garage. The ride to their level was silent, each of them beyond the state of casual conversation, needing to reserve any energy they may have left for the impending nightmare of dotted I's and crossed T's. The ding as they arrived on their floor roused them from their collective stupor and they all stood expectantly, waiting for the doors to open.
The last one to enter, Don was the first one out of the elevator but his steps came to an abrupt halt as he spied his brother, Charlie, pacing the floor in the hallway in front of them.
Don didn't need to look at his watch to know that it was now well past midnight, but the habit was so ingrained in him he couldn't stop the rise of his arm or the glance downward to his wrist. He frowned. "Charlie. What are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?"
The mathematician took a few steps back towards the open hallway to allow the other four people to exit the elevator before the doors closed. "Yeah, Don, I ... Agent Nowicki told me you were on your way back in and I wanted to..."
Don started walking away from the elevators and Charlie hurried after him, the team following quietly.
"Yeah, well, if you've been talking to Nowicki," Don said, the tiredness evident in his tone, "you should know the bust is over and no one on our side went down tonight." He saw the relief in his brother's eyes and his hand went to the younger man's shoulder. "We got 'em, buddy and everyone's alright. So, go home, Charlie. Don't you have a class tomorrow morn..., well, this morning?"
"Actually, I have a joint lecture with Professor Maisel from MIT at eight, but I knew you'd all have paperwork to finish and I wanted to help."
Don couldn't help the tired chuckle and the glance behind him at his team members, who all mirrored his weary smile.
"Well, we appreciate the offer, buddy, but there's not much you do. We have to fill out our own reports."
"No, Don, I know that. I just thought ..." Charlie stopped talking when Don turned towards the bull pen and their desks. "Don." Charlie's voice was sharp and he reached out and wrapped his hand around his brother's arm, bringing the procession to a halt. "The cleaning crew is just starting in the bull pen. They've finished with the conference room, though, and I have everything set up in there for you."
Don frowned wearily, at both his brother's actions and words. "What are you talking about, Charlie?"
Charlie's smile was mysterious, his eyes beseeching and Don reluctantly admitted he was just too tired to figure it out. He allowed Charlie to steer him towards the large room at the end of the corridor. Once again, grinning tiredly, the team followed.
Charlie opened the door and as they walked in a strong pleasant aroma enveloped them, but before their tired minds could register what it was, Charlie began talking. "I have everything in here you need to do your reports."
They stood, slack jawed, taking in the array of items on the long table that sat in the center of the room. "There's five laptops, all up and running, and ...." He hurried along the side of the table pointing out the supplies they might need. "There's plenty of notebooks and pens and pencils and staplers here. And over there..." He indicated another smaller table that sat against the far wall, it's surface covered with several file boxes, "are all of the files and information we have on the gun runners and their known associates. There is also copies of all the interrogations and suspects and witness statements." He moved towards another file box. "This box here is copies of all the ATF case files and warrants pertaining to this case." He smiled, then, a little uncertainly, but his eyes were bright with excitement. "I'm hoping having all the data and supplies in one place will expedite your efforts and allow you to complete your reports far more efficiently so you can return home sooner and get some sleep."
In the few seconds it took for Don and his team members to register what Charlie had set up for them, he took a few steps towards the front of the room and gestured towards another table. "And this table up front here has sandwiches and donuts and lots of . . ."
"Coffee!"
The cry was unanimous as the source of the delicious aroma finally broke through their fatigued minds and four bodies moved as one towards the refreshments.
With a start, Don realized how long it had been since any of them had eaten more than a granola bar. Sandwiches and coffee suddenly held the same appeal as a thick medium rare steak and a cold beer.
He was touched by his brother's thoughtfulness and he turned to him. "Thanks, Charlie. This is really great."
The two of them joined the others, whose excited voices belied their exhaustion. Don took in the array of sandwiches and pastries. "Hey, are those sandwiches from Burnside's?" he asked. "The ones with that special cheesy bread?"
Charlie smiled. "Yeah. I knew you guys liked them. They're fresh, too. I just got back a few minutes ago with them."
"Wait a minute. Don't they close at 11?"
Charlie nodded, still smiling. "I convinced them to stay open and make those for you."
Don frowned. "And just how did you do that?"
"Let's just say they were happy to do their part in the fight against crime." Charlie answered soberly.
Don nodded his head, slowly, remembering the two teenagers who robbed Burnside's two years ago using illegal weapons. Nathan Burnside's own son was shot during the robbery. The two suspects were never found, but Tim Burnside recovered from his wounds and was now attending UCLA.
"And the pastries are from Barnie's." Charlie continued. He held up his right hand and counted off the treats as he recited. "There's the raspberry filled that Liz likes, and the ones with the chocolate sprinkles for Nikki and the glazed cinnamon rolls for David and those huge, ugly, sticky pecan things for Granger."
Don shot his brother a hard look and Charlie laughed.
"Oh, yeah," he finished, grinning and holding his hand open to show all five digits, "and Boston creme filled long johns for you."
Don smiled and reached for a plastic plate. As he checked out the variety of sandwiches he was overcome by the aroma emanating from the coffee pot that sat on one side of the table. He noticed curiously that it was not the usual coffee maker they used in the break room. It was a large brewing system – the kind that used gourmet, freshly ground coffee. Where the hell did that come from?
"Mmmm, that smells great." he murmured. "What kind of coffee is that? Is that something new?"
Charlie snorted and nodded his head. "I've seen what you call coffee here. It shouldn't be included in anyone's dietary intake. I've actually researched different brands of coffee, examining different grinds and textures in an attempt to develop a usable equation to create the perfect cup of coffee."
Don paused in his sandwich selection to look incredulously at his younger brother. "Wait, you did an equation for coffee?"
"Yes. I wanted to ensure you all had the optimal level of caffeine without sacrificing flavor or aroma. The aroma of coffee percolating, Don, is an essential part of the entire coffee experience."
Don shook his head, letting Charlie ramble as he placed a roast beef sandwich on his plate, grabbed a long john and moved towards the coffee pot.
"I studied a number of different brands in an attempt to assure that it not only provided a certain level of stimulant that would allow you and the others to finish your reports in a reasonable time frame, but that would also dissipate gradually to allow all of you to fall asleep once you got home."
"Huh." Don muttered, emptying a packet of Splenda into his cup and swirling it around with a wooden stirrer. "I didn't know it was that big of deal."
"The amount of caffeine in any single serving of coffee depends on a number of variables, Don; the variety of the coffee bean, where the bean was grown, the type of coffee grind, how the product is manufactured, the method of preparation, such as the length of brewing or the proportion of coffee to water and even the size of the cup or mug it is served in."
Don was nodding his head. "Uh huh, well, thanks Charlie." he interjected, chewing on the stick. "We really appreciate this. I'm sure it will be just what we need. Now, I'd better get to work and you should go home and get some rest."
Charlie headed for the door then stopped and looked back to Don, grinning. "The coffee is in the cupboard there, if you need to brew another pot."
As Charlie left, Don found the last unoccupied laptop and sat down.
Despite the late hour and their obvious exhaustion there was a low level of excitement in the air, punctuated foremost with the knowledge that the gun running operation had been broken and that the sale of weapons to a foreign country had been stopped. They all knew they had made a difference today and they reveled in that. As Don worked he noticed the subdued, quiet team that rode in the elevator with him had now become lively and animated. They were alert, working quickly and efficiently. The sandwiches had helped and the pastries had provided a much needed sugar rush. It was obvious, also, as time went on that the caffeine from Charlie's coffee equation had kicked in and they were soon joking and laughing as they worked.
"Hey, Granger," Liz's teasing voice broke Don's thoughts. "how do you spell foreign agent?"
Colby answered drolly, without looking up from his work, "Ah, that would be b.i.t.e.m.e.."
They had never done reports like this before - at a communal table, sharing supplies and work space and a strong feeling of camaraderie permeated the area. Reports had always been done at their own stations, on their own computers, at their own desks. When they were complete, they handed them to Don and went home. This had a more relaxed, comfortable feel to it. The bull pen, in contrast, seemed dark and closed off and crowded, whereas the conference room was well lit and open with a warmer, friendlier atmosphere. The fact that they were there after hours also meant there were no distractions or interruptions.
Half an hour later, Don was already finished with his daily report to the Assistant Director and was ready to start the Joint Field Operation report.
"Hey, boss," Colby spoke up. "Do I have to go into detail about being caught in that crossfire and David charging two AK47's to break me out or can I just put that Special Agent Sinclair was doing his superhero impersonation again?"
"That's Super Special Agent Sinclair to you, Granger." David quipped.
At this rate, with the serious caffeine buzz everyone was on, they'd be out of here in no time. Speaking of which, Don thought, it's probably time to brew another pot.
It took him a moment to figure out how the new brewing system worked and another moment to find the coffee filters. He opened the cupboard Charlie had indicated held the coffee and reached for the foiled package. His hand suddenly froze over it and he couldn't stop the sharp expulsion of breath as he read the large red letters across the front of the package proclaiming it be to decaffeinated. Decaffeinated. Charlie made them decaffeinated coffee. No caffeine – no stimulant – no surge of energy. Just. Plain. Decaffeinated. Coffee.
The smile that slowly creased Don's face was one that only a big brother who had grown up in the same house with a genius would have if said genius had just made a monumental mistake.
Only Charlie would spend hours developing the perfect equation for the perfect cup of coffee, searching for the right blend with the desired flavor and the required amount of caffeine, seeing things in his mind that only he could see. Only his genius brother would examine every imaginable angle, then literally pick up the wrong coffee at the store and completely miss the glaringly obvious fact that it was decaffeinated!
Nikki's teasing voice broke into his thoughts. "Hey, guys, I'm just about done here. I say whoever gets done first gets to take the rest of the pastries home with them."
"Anyone touches my pecan rolls, they'll lose a hand." Colby growled.
And yet, Don thought, look at them. They were having fun, actually enjoying themselves as they worked. They had pulled it together, without the stimulation of caffeine to complete their job and wrap up the case.
Thoughtfully, he studied his team members.
David Sinclair was solid, brave and passionate. He was the iconic boy from the wrong side of the tracks who left the slums behind and made a good life for himself.
Colby Granger, a witty, small town, corn-fed Idaho boy from a military family. He was as loyal as they come and had the medals to prove it.
Liz Warner was smart, exotic and tough with a genuine, delicate beauty.
Nikki Betancourt, raised in east LA, she was sassy and eager with more street smarts than common sense sometimes.
They literally had nothing in common - except the job and their dedication to it.
Every one of them had grabbed whatever sleep they could during the last few days as the raid was planned. Just hours ago, they had all been involved in a deadly fire fight with over 20 heavily armed men and they had come seriously close to losing Colby when he was, indeed, caught in a deadly crossfire. Don shuddered as he recalled David running towards the two gunman who had his partner trapped, his government issued assault weapon spitting bullets at them as they returned fire. It had been too damn close to losing both of them.
And now, here they were, laughing and trading barbs with each other, working into the wee hours of the morning on mind numbing paperwork – on decaf, no less.
Recalling the discussion with Charlie earlier and how he had analyzed different brands to determine the correct amount of caffeine, Don figured his brother didn't intentionally make the decaf coffee.
Or did he, Don thought suddenly.
In his time with the bureau Don had known and worked with many different teams. As Senior Agent he was damn proud of this one – and that included his brother Charlie. But, just maybe there was more to it. These very different people with very different backgrounds sitting together at the table Charlie had arranged were not just team members wrapping up paperwork on a difficult case. Maybe these people sitting there tonight didn't need caffeine to overcome weariness in order to function. They had something better. They had their friendship. They honestly enjoyed each other's company.
Did Charlie know that caffeine wouldn't have made a difference? Could he know that somehow the five of them working in a room together, under these circumstances, with a well lit space, good food and the delicious aroma of percolating coffee that they would find themselves relaxed and focused enough to finish the paperwork tonight?
Don knew one thing for sure; Charlie's numbers were never wrong, but his knowledge of social interactions were at best barely functioning and at worst, non existing. Sure, his book "The Attraction Equation" was a best seller, but those who knew Charlie knew the mathematician had based it on proven math theorems and equations – not his own personal experience with people. Still, maybe . . . Aw, hell, Don thought, maybe I'm just over analyzing this. It's possible Charlie just goofed and picked up the wrong coffee. It's also possible he knew how close the members of the team really were and that given the right surroundings and stimuli their friendship would override their level of exhaustion and. . .Oh, God, Don groaned to himself. I know I'm tired, but now I'm even beginning to sound like Charlie.
It's simple. His team members were all well trained professionals and tired or not - caffeine or not, they get the job done.
Professionals. It was that simple.
He turned back to the coffee maker and began measuring out the dark granules.
He felt the prick on the back of his neck and turned in time to see the paper airplane land at this feet. A warm, slow smile turned up the corners of his mouth and he looked up at the faces of his friends. "So, who wants more coffee?"
The end
A/N; A personal note; I have been a member of this fan fiction site for one and a half years and have just recently suspected that my email account, although enabled, must not be working. Suspecting this, I had another member try to email me, only to have the thought confirmed. If any of you have sent me an email through my profile page, either a reply to a review I have left, or a comment on one of my stories or one of my reviews to your story, please don't think I ignored you or the message. I have sent a few emails and even though they did not require an answer I can't help but wonder if they were even delivered. I know that it is probably a simple thing to fix and will probably only require a click here and there, but I am not extremely computer savvy and I am not quite sure what to do since I can't even send an email to the help/support page. I just didn't want anyone to think I ignored them. Thank you.