Disclaimer: I've got three times three little words for you: Numb3rs is CBS'. And not mine. The story is.
Thanks a lot to my beta Medraut! And thanks a lot to those who reviewed my last story, 'Chaos'. Criticism still is always welcome. Therefore: another thanks to Starfishyeti!
Three Little Words
Colby didn't know how to phrase it.
Sitting in his car driving, he sifted through different variants. There were so many of them, but none seemed appropriate. He wondered how David might be acting. They had parted ways at Charlie's. Alan's words when he had opened the door for them were still reverberating in his mind.
Oh, hello, you two… Do you have any idea what time it is? And anyway, your being here is useless; regardless of if you're looking for Don or for Charlie, I'm afraid I can't help you.
Alan had been smiling. He probably wasn't anymore.
0 0 0
Robin's house came into sight. Since Don had turned off his mobile and was not at home, the friendly estate was his most probable location. They had probably had a nice evening and Colby hated to interrupt them now doing something he'd rather not even imagine.
He parked at the curb, got out and closed the door of the car as quietly as possible. Above all he didn't want to confer quarrels with neighbors on the prosecuting attorney. For, they would certainly not be particularly pleased if they were woken up at four o'clock in the morning by a brawly FBI-agent.
Colby went along the cobblestone path towards the door. The little two-storied house was lying darkly in front of him. Quiet and peaceful. A calmness he was about to destroy.
He rang the bell. Nothing happened and after a few seconds he forced himself to ring a second time. Shortly afterwards, above his head were illuminated a window and the door to the balcony from the inside. So, there was her bedroom. But how could it be that Colby found this information so unbelievingly uninteresting?
Some seconds passed before he heard steps on the stairs. Eventually, Robin opened the door. She was in her bathrobe. Don appeared behind her, having pulled a T-Shirt over his head, with black jeans and bare feet.
"Colby?" he asked incredulously.
"Hello, Robin. Hey, Don."
Don groaned. "Oh man, you know what time it is? What's going on?"
Colby was looking to the ground and Robin seemed to realize that something was wrong. "Come in," she hurriedly uttered, let Colby in, spied one more time in all directions outside and then closed the door behind her.
"Have a seat. You want a cup of coffee?" she asked, joining the men in the kitchen.
"No, thanks," he managed to say, and when Don let himself lower into a chair, he too sat down at the table beside him. Robin accompanied them.
"Well?" Don urged. "What brings you here? Did Merrick slap a case on us?" Since today was their first free day after nearly two weeks, that would really be pretty steep.
But Colby shook his head. "No." He was staring in his hands that were knotted into one another and wondered why he was finding it so difficult. He wasn't doing this for the first time, after all.
"But?"
Colby swallowed hard. One last time he wondered how he should ever say it, and finally decided for the direct way.
"Charlie is dead."
He saw Don freeze briefly. "You should know by now that you don't joke about things like that."
Colby breathed deeply and looked up. "Don, I'm not joking." He waited until Don looked directly at him and repeated the agonizing words. "He is dead. I am sorry."
0 0 0
For a moment, Colby thought someone had frozen the scene into ice, but after a few moments Don began to nod slightly and to rub his forehead. "Okay… okay… Who is it?"
Colby furrowed his eye-brows. "Don – did you understand me? Charlie –"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I understand. Okay… What are you allowed – what can you tell me about it?"
Colby still didn't know what to think about this strange conduct. Though, it wasn't as if he was being able to perform advanced mental activities at that time. But at least it was enough to repeat some of the sentences that had been hammered into his eardrum and were still thudding along. "Charlie was in an accident, Don. He was on the way with his bike. A drunk driver violated his right of way and hit him full from the side." Colby had to swallow. He still had this terrible image in front of his eyes, a body bag on the tarmac under which the dead body was all visible…
"Gary Walker apparently grabbed the case as soon as he'd heard about it," Colby went on, realizing in confusion that his voice was trembling a bit. "When he couldn't reach you, he called David and David called me. He's with your dad now."
The furrows on Don's forehead deepened. "And you're telling him this too? Is that necessary?"
"Don… I mean, he has to know it, after all."
"He has to?"
What the hell was going on in Don's mind? Colby glanced helplessly at Robin. It wasn't until now that he noticed that she was crying silently, one hand pressed to her mouth, and he quickly looked away again. "Of course he has to know, Don." Colby, too, was frowning. "Are you sure you understood what I said?"
"Of course!" He took a few deep breaths before he was unsettlingly quiet again. "Where is he? Charlie?"
"In the hospital."
Don's complexion went another shade paler. "In the hospital?"
Something was really wrong here, Colby said to himself. Don's behavior was… strange. Alarming. "Yeah, in the hospital," he repeated with a certain care in his voice. "Apparently he's an organ donor." Was, Colby corrected himself and he had to fight the emotions that wanted to overwhelm him. Charlie was an organ donor. As a dead person you can't be anymore, not even an organ donor… Colby hadn't known about it. How much else might there be that he didn't know about Charlie? He would never know…
Don's voice brought him back from his thoughts. "Okay, well… But what about the driver?"
"He'll have to take the responsibility for it, Don, I promise."
"That's not what I mean, I mean… what?" The confusion in Don's face even beat the one in Colby's. He ran a hand over his eyes, but he couldn't brush aside his expression. "I mean… wouldn't it attract attention if there weren't any judicial consequences?"
Now, the two faces were balanced in puzzlement. Only Robin gradually seemed to understand. "Don?"
Come again? Where had the tough attorney gone? This tremble in the voice didn't fit her at all. "Don, I think you misunderstood the situation."
"Why?"
"I mean… I mean, do you believe Colby that Charlie is dead?"
"No, of course not."
0 0 0
Silence. It was pressing down on the three of them with leaden heaviness and settled as though it didn't want to go away. No one knew what to say and no one said what he believed to know. The vicious circle of silence was spiraling down further and further until Colby pulled the lifeline.
"I can take you to him."
And indeed, for Don it seemed to be the rescue; his tensed face brightened a tiny bit. Colby, however, was not sure if, with his offer, he weren't leading Don straight into destruction.
They didn't say a word as they drove. They both were about to speak several times, but not a word fell between them. An eternity later they arrived at the hospital. They entered an adjoining building, walked through a nearly deserted hall and took the elevator downstairs.
Colby was still thinking frenetically if there was a way he could argue Don out of doing this to himself. But then, it was also clear to him that Don sooner or later would want to see Charlie one last time anyway. Still, Colby felt like a traitor, as if he was sending his friend and boss completely unprepared in a hail of bullets. He had said it, though, multiple times even, he had forced himself to say it…
But Don just didn't want to listen.
0 0 0
Don did want to listen, just not to what Colby had tried to tell him. Don would much more prefer to listen to Colby telling him what was going on here, what was happening. As he followed Colby through the cellar rooms, Don's nervousness rose a few notches. What did they want here? And much more importantly: what about Charlie? It was evident that his brother was in some kind of trouble; it probably had something to do with the NSA or the CIA or some other bureau of investigation. Don could only make sense of this much: that they had had to fake Charlie's death in order to protect him.
But why hadn't they included him? Don knew that he should be glad that the whole lie was being kept up so extensively, that they really didn't let anything to the outside, but that did not assuage his wish to find out what was going on here.
And above all: why did Colby know about it? At least Don's thoughts had by now cleared up enough that he could determine that David didn't know anything and that, therefore, his father was not being confronted with the agonizing story right now. At least he hoped that Colby had only invented that to make it sound more authentic in front of Robin. As well as the story about the hospital. Of course, it was possible that Charlie had just been brought here in pretense, but even if Don didn't know exactly what was going on here, he would have preferred to know that Charlie was in a safe house. As long as… as long as Charlie hadn't been hurt.
Don shuddered. After all, he had no clue what significance all that had, what had preceded all that! Maybe Charlie had been attacked? God, maybe they had even attempted murder on him!
Don could only hope that Colby really was leading him to Charlie right now. At least he would now finally get to know what was happening and why whoever-it-was had to fake Charlie's death. But hopefully Colby was leading him straight to Charlie. For no matter what the reason for this horror might be, Don wouldn't be appeased until he saw Charlie unharmed.
Oh God, what his brother must have gone through by now! Maybe they had already taken him into witness protection or something like that? And if Charlie knew what a story they had invented to guarantee his safety? They certainly hadn't asked him; Don knew these agencies – whichever one might be behind it – too well to doubt that. In any case, one thing was for sure – the sooner he was with Charlie again, the better.
0 0 0
"We're here," Colby's muffled voice suddenly said as if he had read Don's mind. They were standing in front of a great double door beside which the bell seemed strangely out of place. "Are you sure you want to do that?"
And bang, with that the question had been asked after all. At the last second. Don now still had the opportunity; he must have realized by now that Colby was telling the truth, that it was correct, as terrible and wrong as it was…
"Of course I'm sure. I want to know what's going on now." Without further ado Don rang the bell.
A few seconds later, the door was opened. Colby introduced the two of them and showed his badge while Don tried to see into the chamber behind the pathologist. Was Charlie really here somewhere? Don was about to call out when the doctor let them in.
In spite of the dim light, it didn't take Don long to discover that there was nobody here. This was just a great room with several examination tables, just as other autopsy rooms he had already seen.
The pathologist led them to a table in the middle of the room. A green cloth lay on top of it. And under the green cloth, there was unmistakably lying a human body. The feet were peering from under the sheet, and a slip of paper was attached to one of them. A whole existence on a scrap of paper.
"Where's Charlie?" Don asked Colby. He winced slightly himself; his voice was echoing in the subterranean walls.
"Don, he's here. He's lying under there."
"But… no…"
"He's dead, Don."
Don was still shaking his head slightly. "No, he isn't. You just made that up."
"We didn't make up anything. He's dead."
Still the shake of the head, but the voice had become lower and the speech more strained. "You're lying."
"Maybe we should just…?" the pathologist joined in. They seemed to take too long, in his opinion. He already held his hand above the head of the sheet in expectation.
Colby gave Don a queasy glance. "Are you ready?"
Don had wanted to speak, but his voice had somehow gotten lost. Instead, he made a sign with his head that was somewhere between a shake of his head and a nod.
The pathologist folded the cloth back.
0 0 0
Don staggered backwards. If it had not been for Colby holding him, he'd have certainly collapsed. Maybe that would have been better; then his eyes would have saved themselves the further sight. He wanted to close them, but he couldn't turn his gaze away. He had to go on staring into this face, this much too familiar face, the nearly Roman features, the slightly awry nose, the broad forehead, the dark, vivid curls, the expressive lips that so often had offered him a smile, that so often had spoken to him…
Now they were frozen. Embedded into the immobile marble that greyly and coldly exuded a life-extrinsic dignity. The vividness and the warmth of the smile and the eyes had disappeared, everything empty, everything… dead.
Don didn't even notice how heavily he was breathing. He was much too much occupied with running away, away from the pathologist, away from Colby, away from this pale-faced body on the examination table.
Not Charlie. No, not Charlie. This couldn't be Charlie. Charlie was alive. Don had seen Charlie the previous evening. Don had spoken to Charlie the previous evening. No. No, it can't be…
It could not be! It wasn't possible, for he wouldn't be able to bear it! And he had to get away, he had to get away, and he was running, running anywhere, away, running on…
However, strangely his feet didn't move an inch. Only his hand suddenly acted independently and set out, bound for Charlie's face…
0 0 0
The skin was cold and didn't remind him a bit of his brother. The fingers immediately jerked back. That couldn't be. This wasn't his brother. This just wasn't possible.
But the similarity was striking.
Okay… all logically… think logically, just as Charlie would do now. If this wasn't Charlie…
"Who is that?"
Strange. Not even he had remained himself. At least his voice he seemed to have switched with that of someone else, and to boot with that of some frightened coward.
At least Colby, too, had lost much of his strength and ready wit. "Don, please stop that. It is Charlie. He's got the same blood type. He was on his way home on his with his driver's license, and not to forget it looks just like Charlie. Stop trying to fool yourself. That won't bring him back."
"But it's not possible," Don's weak protest answered, and the SAC had to realize in shock that tears were coming his eyes. No, no, no, something was going wrong here, nightmarishly wrong; it was all wrong; he couldn't cry, there was no reason for it; no, it was all just a misunderstanding…
He couldn't betray his soul, however. Inside, Don knew that the inconceivable was real.
"No."
Don had tried to shout his pain against destiny, a challenge, but nothing came out but a husky whisper. And as if that weren't enough to seal his destruction, his knees buckled and tears ran down his cheeks.
"No…" He was supporting his head with his hands, holding his eyes closed tightly. He didn't want to see anything anymore. He wanted to banish this image of this terrible marmoreal face from his mind forever. He wanted to get away, he wanted to get home, he wanted to get to Charlie…
He sensed a breath beside his face, an arm around his shoulders and a hand on his back. Colby. Colby tried to console him. Had Don wasted a thought on it, he probably would have been embarrassed, he probably would have gotten angry – at Colby, at himself, at everyone. He would have tried to act strong, to keep up the cool façade, the façade of Super-Don, whom nothing and no-one could shake.
But what for? If Charlie… if his brother really wasn't there anymore … why should he ever do anything again?
0 0 0
It just couldn't be. It was too much. Don still couldn't understand it. He was at his end. He didn't know, didn't know anything, couldn't understand what was going on here and had gone on.
The agonizing, detailed questions would arise later: what exactly had happened? Whose fault was it? Could he have prevented it? Maybe if he had picked up his brother and had not let him ride his bike? Maybe if he had tried to repair Charlie's car himself instead of Charlie bringing it to the garage? Would they have been able to prevent it? How on earth should he go on living?
No, these questions had plenty of time. Currently, the questions were very simple.
What…
How…
Why…
The questions were clear, but the answers were not. Just one thing was clear, omnipresent, and didn't let itself be banished. The solution to all questions, the cause for all problems.
Charlie was dead.
Don didn't understand it. He couldn't and didn't want to. Everything he knew was that with these three words, his life as he knew it, his life with his brother at his side, that at this moment and with these words this his life had ceased to exist. He was aware that he was still breathing, that his heart was still beating, and that his brain was still being supplied oxygen. He just didn't know anymore where the sense in it was, why his body was still keeping itself alive.
Charlie is dead.
Dimly, Don sensed tears running down his cheeks. He didn't notice, though. He didn't notice anything anymore. A part of him seemed gone, disappeared, as if it had vanished in nothing. The reason was obvious. Charlie was dead. And into his death, he had taken a part of Don with him. The hole yawned in Don and left a void that could only be filled by pain, a pain that to bear seemed impossible to him.
However, he didn't want to refill the hole, didn't want to have this part of him back. He couldn't change the past. He couldn't bring his brother back from the realm of the dead. But when a part of Don went with Charlie, he at least hadn't left his brother alone.
Nobody could separate them now, no more. They might be miserable, torn, shattered. But there was one thing nobody could take from them. Charlie's life had been taken, and his brother had been taken from him, but a part of Don was always with him, until eternity. They were together, more than that. They were closer than ever in life. They were one.
Finis.