A/N: Contains spoilers for "The Janus List." Please R&R

Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs.

Betrayal

David watched dejectedly as the SUV drove away. The image of Colby climbing inside, hands cuffed and head down, was imprinted in his brain. He felt tears welling up behind his eyes, but he held them back and quickly headed for his own car. Once he was safely behind the wheel, he let them fall. Droplets cascaded down his face and dripped from his chin to the steering wheel. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He took ten slow, deep breaths before blinking his eyes open and starting the car. He drove away from that scene, from that scarring memory of his lover's betrayal, but where he was going he did not know.

He couldn't go home. There was too much of Colby there, clothes, pictures, books, movies. Too many memories that would tear him apart. No, he could not go home. He drove aimlessly; taking turns he would not normally have taken, hoping to get lost and perhaps to lose himself.

Lights and people, buildings and signs, they all became blurs. Flashes of shapes and colours zipping past in his peripheral vision, He found the bar after a few hours. It was falling apart, with dirty windows, peeling paint, and many a homeless person creating a tableau of misery that perfectly matched how David felt. He parked and shuffled slowly into the dilapidated building. Its inhabitants were few, and all of them looked to be drinking away their sorrows. David took a seat at the bar and prepared to join them.

.-.-.-.

Colby silently prayed that Dwayne wouldn't say anything, that the idiot would keep his mouth shut; but it was Dwayne, after all.

"I can't believe you," he said, and Colby groaned and leaned his head against the window. "I can't believe you sold me out." Colby wanted to say that Dwayne would have done the same, but he knew he wouldn't have. The man had lost his sense of honour, his sense of duty to his country. Colby hadn't, and that's what was killing him. He still had his sense of chivalry, his sense of responsibility. That was why it had been so easy for Don to get him to talk, to confess. Colby had never felt right lying to them.

"Shut up, Dwayne," Colby snapped as Dwayne got further into his tirade. The other man stopped, but only for a moment.

"What's wrong with you?" Dwayne inquired. "Half the world is dual agents, Colby, why're you all broken up about it?"

"Because I lost everything!" Colby shouted, turning to Dwayne. "I did you one favour, Dwayne, and I lost everything. My job, my friends, my lover," he stopped. Dwayne cocked an eyebrow, an expression of accomplishment growing on his face.

"Lover?" he queried, but Colby had returned his attention to the window.

.-.-.-.

David didn't know where he was or why he was there. All he knew was that some old man had offered to buy him as many shots of "the strong stuff" as he wanted, and David had taken him up on it. Every time the bartender poured another shot, he said that David "ought to slow down," but David knew his own limit, and he hadn't reached it yet.

"Yer gonna cost me an arm and a leg, young fella," the old man said, his voice pleased, as David slammed his glass down for the umpteenth time. He glanced from the bartender and the proffered bottle to the old man's expectant look, and back.

"Call me a cab," he slurred. The bartender nodded and David heard the old man grumbling about weak constitutions as he slipped from his stool. David thanked the man for the drinks and stepped outside. He took deep breaths and leaned against his car as he waited for the cab to come.

.-.-.-.

"C'mon, Colby, I'm your friend," Dwayne prodded, still attempting to get an answer out of Colby's stolid silence. Colby shook his head, letting it bump harshly against the glass of the window.

"No.," he said. "You're not."

"What d'you mean?" Dwayne queried. "I saved your life, man."

"And I did you a favour," Colby said, turning to face the other man. "I did you the one favour I never should have done. A friend never would have asked me to do that."

"So I asked for a favour, so what?" Dwayne asked. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Maybe then," Colby said. "Maybe when I didn't know what the hell you were up to, but now I know and now it matters. I'm on that damn list because of you, Dwayne."

"You did that one yourself," Dwayne replied. "Can't blame me for it."

"Yes, I can," Colby countered. "If it weren't for you, I never would have gotten mixed up in all this. I'd still be with the FBI. Hell, I probably would've been the guy to cuff you."

"No, Colby, if it weren't for me then you'd be dead."

.-.-.-.

David went home. He paid the cabbie and climbed the stairs to his apartment. When he got inside, he went straight to the bedroom. He pulled open the dresser drawers and the closet and tossed aside anything that belonged to Colby. Shirts, pants, ties, everything that was Colby Granger's wound up in a pile on the floor. When he was done, he left the room and closed the door, trying to determine what he should do with the pile.

He collapsed on the couch and started flipping through television channels. The late night shows washed over him. Bad jokes and forced laughter filled the room. He quickly gave up and turned the TV off, resigning himself to his thoughts.

"Why'd you do it, Colby?" he whispered as more tears began to slip from his eyes and across his face. "Why?"

.-.-.-.

"I'd rather be dead than here," Colby replied, his voice venomous. Dwayne laughed a cold, hard laugh.

"That's not what you said when I saved you," he pointed out. Colby fixed him with a glare, but Dwayne simply laughed again.

"When you saved me," Colby hissed. "I didn't think I'd ever wind up here."

"So, what, you wish you were dead?" Dwayne asked as the SUV stopped.

"Yeah," Colby said as the doors were pulled open and he was wrenched from his seat. "I wish I was dead."

.-.-.-.

David had figured out what to do with the clothes. He took the pile out behind the apartment building, dumped gasoline on them, and burned them. He stood watching the blaze, a glass of whiskey in his hand and a grim smile on his face. The flames leapt high, licking at the dark night. The bright flames seared colours into David's vision, and he raised his glass to the makeshift bonfire.

"Goodbye, Granger," he whispered. "I wish I'd never met you."