POISON

For the poison of hatred seated near the heart doubles the burden for the one who suffers the disease; he is burdened with his own sorrow, and groans on seeing another's happiness.
- Aeschylus

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Series: Poison
Chapter 1: Run, Oswald, Run
Characters/pairings: Oswald, OCs, ??
Rating: T.
Warnings: A bit of violence.
Summary: Someone had to do the dirty job, and he gladly volunteered. Since he'd lost everything that meant something in his life, he was the most willing candidate.
Betas: The awesome lillyg and the amazing twins_m0m.
Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs or anything related to it.

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1 – Run, Oswald, Run

Like in every old, rough building near Chinatown, there were no security cameras. But that didn't mean he wouldn't hide his face.

Focused, the man put down the bag that had been hanging from his shoulder and opened it. The lights of the corridors flickered but they were fine as long as justice could be done. The usual black cap and the dark scarf would make a fine mask. No would identify him.

He dragged both items out of the bag and put them on. Then his hand slid inside again to find the prospective murder weapon. A nice Beretta pistol. Gun stores that were in the right places – places where money and dignity didn't fall from the sky – sold them to anyone, no questions asked.

The bullets were already in place, but he checked them anyway. He could hear a man typing and listening to music inside. His name wasn't known, but the killer knew about his connections. They hadn't been easy to find. Criminals were careful. It was all about the links.

The murderer prepared himself to execute the plan. Many men had gone down the same path, but he was different. He had a real reason and he'd analyzed the issue deeply and carefully. He'd been inside the system; he knew how it worked. He knew that neither the L.A.P.D. nor the F.B.I. were enough.

Someone had to do the dirty job, and he gladly volunteered. Since he'd lost everything that meant something in his life, he was the most willing candidate.

He blinked a couple of times, taking deep breathes. One at a time. There was no rush. The guy had never left his apartment after getting home at nine o'clock. Two hours had passed by and he was still there. The victim was served on a silver plate.

The man pulled off the safety device.

Simple intent was about to end. Action for real peace was about to begin. Even if no one else supported the cause.

***

His fingers danced over the keyboard as his brain explored the most fantastic, obsessive equations. This was the best thing that had happened to him today. The old routine of going to the grocery store to buy some Twinkies and other food supplies wasn't exactly exciting.

Now, sitting at the desk and working on the perfect code was amazing. The more he typed, the more in control of the situation he felt. It wasn't like his job was hard. He could provide the numbers, he could come up with those statistics. The problem was the consuming expectation of the further events, the consequences of his work. But as long as he got paid, those reasons weren't important enough to make him drop the deal.

In front of him, against the wall, beyond the computer, the TV showed an old baseball game. Oswald had analyzed it backwards and forwards; he knew every home run, every move the players had made. It was everything he needed to concentrate and succeed, except for Samantha. Sam wasn't there, and he missed her touch.

"C'mon… C'mon…" he repeated to himself as the code he typed appeared on the screen. Tension built up more and more, forcing him to continue, pushing him to the limit…

His cell phone went off.

Oswald laid back in the chair, stretched his arms and rubbed his tired face. It was getting late and he should have finished the daily part of his job already. Stage 15, which was the last part of this code, should be done as soon as possible. He was expecting the phone call, but at the same time, he didn't know what excuses he was going to give.

"Hello," he shyly said, remembering that the woman on the other side of the line had authority over him and that he should be polite. She was his boss, she'd been the one who had contacted him and set him up to provide the code. She had even bought his phone.

"Hello… Are you alone?" There it was, the beautiful voice against Oswald's ear. Every time he heard it, he felt a pleasurable shiver running down his spine.

"As usual, yes."

She waited a bit before asking, "Are you done with Stage 15?"

He gulped. His fingers trembled a bit. "Almost… Maybe in a few more hours?" The silence that followed got him nervous. In a meaningless effort to calm down, he reached for the beer hidden in his desk. "Miss…?"

"We'll have to meet," she muttered.

Oswald jumped in his seat. Was she mad? He couldn't tell from the strange tone of her voice. "When? Because I can finish this sooner if you need me to. I'll work my ass off and…"

"Meet me at the Tribune Garden in ten minutes. I'll take you to a safe place."

That didn't seem to be good news. "A safe place?" Oswald repeated. "What…?"

"Do as I say. Get out of there. Now. Your cover's been blown up."

Without responding, Oswald closed his phone and messily took out the memory-stick from his laptop. As soon as he turned, looking for his bag, he heard a hard sound near him, coming from outside. It was the door; someone was hitting it without mercy.

Looking around, he felt almost blinded by adrenaline and fear, but he still spotted his bag on the bed and ran to grab it. Praying that whoever wanted to catch him wouldn't get to him before he was gone, he took the memory-stick, his laptop, his cell phone, a couple of bucks and his keys.

The door lock was going to be broken at any minute. There was no time to pick up anything else, so Oswald ran towards his apartment's window and got out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he cursed as he looked down at his way out. The fire stairs were fine, but there were too many steps to get to the street.

His footsteps were loud as he ran downstairs, holding his bag tightly. He couldn't get caught, even if it'd be hard for the person outside his apartment to figure out what the code was about. He'd already sent out of the sexy voice the previous parts of his work, and even if the criminal got his memory stick, he wouldn't be able to do much with it. Still, it wouldn't be very smart to let it fall into the hands of a stranger.

Oswald lowered his head and took his cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed his contact's number, the one with the beautiful voice, hoping she would set a closer place for their meeting. He probably wasn't gonna make it to the Tribute Garden.

She asked, "Where are you?"

"There's someone… following me! A man, I think! He broke into my apartment and… and he's shooting at me!" Oswald yelled, out of breath as he jumped on the street. It was hard to talk and run for his life at the same time.

"Of course he is, that's what I told you!" the woman told him. "Now get your ass here. Tribune Garden. Don't waste your breaths talking to me. I'll be waiting."

As he touched the ground, a shot hit the floor, almost reaching him. Oswald accidentally dropped his phone and quickly glanced back, finding a dark figure at his window pointing a gun at him. He didn't pick up the device. When the shots continued, he started to run again.

Soon another bullet almost got to him, which meant the man dressed in black was following down the streets. It passed very near his shoulder and went to die against a wall. Maybe he could use a short cut through Chinatown to get to the Tribune Garden, which wasn't too far away after all. He entered the shiny, colorful city and noticed that there was some kind of festivity going on, since so many people were on the streets wearing traditional clothes. Happy kids were even waving their windmills to their smiling parents, asking them to buy them some candy. Street sellers were showing their products to excited buyers.

No one would dare to use a gun in such a crowded place – or at least that's what Oswald thought. When he heard a new shot, people started screaming and running in all directions. He tried to cover himself behind a street seller's trolley, but he ended up sending all the food for sale to the floor. "Shit, I'm sorry!" he yelled at the poor woman who'd lost her merchandise, but she ignored him and threw herself on the floor, trying to protect herself.

The Tribune Garden was now only two blocks away. He could make it, he just had to get out of Chinatown and cross Leather Street…

As soon as he got there, the image of people with almost no clothes on walking around the corners didn't catch his attention. He didn't think about the kinky outfits some of them were wearing to cover their intimate body parts.

"Oswald, hi!" a woman wearing red leather dress told him. Samantha. They used to get together at least twice a week, but this wasn't a visit. Smiling, she licked her lips and reached for him as he passed by. "You can't take a break from me, can you?"

"Not exactly, Sam!" he informed her as he kept running. "Run!"

The bullets came too close. There were more screams and curses as the prostitutes tried to cover themselves. Oswald kept running towards the next street but when he heard a painful scream behind him, he glanced back. There she was – Samantha, with her red leather dress being stained with blood.

"No…" he muttered. His heart ached at her death, at the memory of all the great moments they'd spent together.

But the shots didn't stop and he had to keep running, wondering what these people would have to suffer for him and trying to figure out what the man who was following him was capable of doing. Feeling his ears burn, he went around the corner. The Tribune Garden was now only one block away…

He wasn't expecting someone to hit him and push him hard onto the cold street as soon as he passed the corner. Oswald felt the concrete hit his forehead but then things got dizzy around him, all sounds turned strange and slowly fading away.

The last thing he heard and saw was a blonde guy talking over a cell phone. "Got him," he was saying, while two big dudes grabbed Oswald by his arms and legs and brought him into something that looked like the inside of an SUV.

Oswald tried to call for help, but he couldn't scream. A second later, darkness submerged him.

***