Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs.

Not the last chapter.

Left in the Cold

Numb3rs

Mikkal

Part 7

He dreamt of snowmen and Jack Frost nipping at his nose. When he woke up his nose was colder—and moist, condensation?—than the rest of his body, his fingers and toes melting under something soft and warm. Everything was defrosted and just slightly chilled, allowing everything to start aching instead.

It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would—dull and a type of numb you didn't get from cold. More like meds, a lot of meds. Don made the mistake of shifting, pain flaring up. He groaned.

Then warm fingers touched his cheek. "Donnie? You waking up?"

His eyelashes stuck together, but he managed to open his eyes to see his father hovering over him with tears tracking down his face. Dad, he tried to say. His mouth was cotton; he couldn't even get a croak out. Not that it would be heard, what with the oxygen mask in the way.

His dad gave him a wobbly smile. "Hey, Donnie," he whispered. He turned away ever-so-slightly, keeping Don in view with one eye. "Robin, Charlie, wake up."

Don glanced over to see Robin sitting in an uncomfortable attempt-to-be-plush chair; well sleeping was more like it. Her face was directed towards the hospital bed Don was in and her hand was resting on top. Charlie was asleep on the floor, resting his head on her thigh, also facing Don. He couldn't keep the small grin off his face despite that it hurt.

Charlie woke up first with a jump. He glanced around wildly before spotting Don. The smile that appeared lit up his whole face, shaving years off. He scrambled to his feet and rushed to Don's side, waking Robin up. She too hurried to his side.

"I'm so glad you're awake," she said quietly, tearing up. She looked ragged and stressed, shadows under her eyes and her hair a tangled mess. She still looked so beautiful.

"I'll get the doctor," his dad said quickly, leaving his little brother and girlfriend behind.

Robin sniffed and ran her hands through his hair; he closed his eyes at the touch. "You're okay," she said, voice wavering in her joy. "You're okay," she said again. She slid a hand under the top blanket and wrapped her warm fingers around his.

Charlie wormed his way to his other side and put a solid hand on his shoulder. "Amita and Larry are getting us breakfast," he said. His voice sounded broken, but as he continued it got stronger. "Every one else is at the FBI, filling out the paperwork you left them." He smiled with a little laugh.

Don huffed a laugh too then groaned, bringing his free hand from under the blanket to his burning throat. That hurt a lot, almost too much. Not to mention moving his arm seemed like it was equivalent of having a red hot knife jammed into every joint and nerve cluster and muscle.

"You got a bad beating, Don," Robin said softly. "Then locked in a industrial freezer, you're gonna hurt for a while. On the plus side, all the guys who got you are dead."

He raised an eyebrow as if to say all five of them? Don got one of them, he knew that much. That was what led him to getting locked in the freezer. He hoped it wasn't any of his team to kill them, which would lead to a mess of IA and paperwork investigating whether or not anyone had been compromised.

Charlie nodded. "All five. You got one. They shove you in the freezer. Another one started backing out so she was killed." That sounded about right. She wasn't completely comfortable with it all. He felt kind of bad for her in the long run. "Three left, one killed himself because, and I quote, 'he was too beautiful for prison.'"

Don laughed a silent laugh at that even though just the thought of it hurt. Yeah, that sounded like him. How could such nice kids end up like that?

"And the last two were in an accident trying to get away. Liz and Nikki put up a car chase, but the bad guys ran a light and got T-boned by a semi." Wow, Charlie sounded kind of smug and/or happy about that.

Don frowned, that wouldn't do. His little brother—his naïve, twitchy little brother should not have that kind of view on people. It was him who should be the jaded one, the one glad when someone dies (a bad guy), not the mathematician.

He opened his mouth to say just that, but he choked instead. And then, suddenly, he couldn't breath. He tired, oh man did he try. Don tired taking small breaths, thinking it was his lungs that were the problem. He tried doing it slowly, doing his best not to panic. He tried leaning over the bed to get a better angle.

None of it worked.

Then there were hands on his shoulders and people shouting, his vision fuzzed gray at the edges and worked in. He closed his eyes and the panic started swelling up, engulfing him until it felt as if he was drowning.

Drowning in ice-cold water, never getting warm, slowly freezing.

"Agent Eppes. Don. Breathe. Calm down and breathe."

Don sucked in a breath, the air tasting bitter and settling thickly on his tongue. It worked though, he could breath. And he breathed and breathed until a hand touched the back of his neck and he was startled to realize he was propped up.

"Don," Robin said softly. The hand—her hand—massaged his neck, fingers carding through the fine hairs there. "You're hyperventilating. You have to calm down."

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and crushed some of the blanket in his fist and forced himself to breathe normally. He couldn't get the rhythm down, it felt too slow or too fast. Until there was a moment, a feeling. And then it took a few seconds—felt like an eternity—but he was finally able top open his eyes and see without it graying.

Robin smiled. "There we go," she said, her voice obviously deliberately steady.

Someone had his hand; his palm pressed against something solid and moving. He looked over to see his hand flat on his father's chest and his dad breathing slowly and exaggerated.

The doctor hovered around the machines surrounding him before she smiled. "Agent Eppes," she said. "It'd be best if you didn't do anything, talking or laughing. Your throat suffered a lot of trauma. I'm surprised you managed to call out for help."

He moved a shoulder in a shrug and the proved to be a bad idea.

"Yeah," the doctor said. "Don't do that either." It was obvious she was keeping her voice level and calm and ever-so-slightly teasing to keep him still and compliant. "We've got you on some nice drugs, but you're still going to be very sore. It's going to be even worse when we have to take you off them. That won't be for a while, though."

Charlie reached over and touched Don's temple, his hands shaking. "You're going to give me a heart attack," he told him.

He ignored the pain and reached over to grab Charlie's wrist, pressing his thumb to his little brother's pulse point, and trying to convey what he wanted to say without saying it.

His brother turned his arm, not dislodging Don's hold, and grabbed his wrist in return, mirroring his actions. Charlie smiled and Don smiled back.