Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
by FraidyCat
Disclaimer: All Numb3rs characters and characterizations respectfully borrowed from CBS, Cheryl Heuton, Nick Falacci et al. No animals were harmed in the writing of this fanfic.
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Chapter 4: Tea and Sympathy
The guest room in Don's apartment boasted a large window on the South wall. Don had never quite understood why, since the view was nothing to brag about: Part of the complex's parking lot; scattered residential areas with small neighborhood stores dating from the 50s or 60s; and, in the distance, the perpetual traffic jam sometimes referred to as a "freeway". Still, it was at the window where Don and Larry found Charlie.
Don had rapped lightly on the door, but his brother had not responded. Fairly certain Charlie had not fallen asleep, after a few seconds Don twisted the knob and pushed through anyway. Larry followed closely behind. Don paused just inside the door and allowed Larry first access. The physicist, who had been so distraught upon his arrival at the apartment that Don wondered if Charlie should even be subjected to the visit, had somehow discovered his internal fountain of strength. He brushed past Don and trod purposefully toward Charlie, who did not so much as turn around when the men entered the room. Larry stopped close behind his friend. He raised a hand as if to touch him, then reconsidered and shoved the hand into the front pocket of his jeans. "Charles," he intoned quietly. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I'm truly sorry for us all."
Charlie's shoulders stiffened and he drew almost imperceptibly away from Larry, side-stepping toward the left. "Thank-you," he answered dully.
Larry glanced back at Don over his shoulder for a moment, then tried again. "I'd be honored to be of assistance in any way I can, Charles. Would you like some tea?"
Charlie's tilted head seemed to indicate consideration. Finally he turned around to face Larry, and for the first time realized Don was also in the room. A flicker of emotion passed quickly over a face that was as carefully composed as its owner. "Did you get the phone?" he asked. "There's a 13-and-a-half hour time difference between L.A. and New Delhi." He glanced at his watch. "It's nearly 10 a.m. tomorrow there -- I should call before they're stuck in a meeting somewhere."
Don swallowed, allowing his fingers to play with the slip of paper Colby had given him. "You remember Sam Rumson, Buddy? He's the Team Leader for this investigation, and he wouldn't release the phone to Colby -- possible evidence." He thrust the paper out in front of him like a prize. "He let him write down the numbers from the cell's address book, though."
Charlie regarded the paper as if it was a rattlesnake. "I don't understand."
Don sighed, lowering his hand and letting it hang at his side. "Rumson feels Amita may have been the target, because of her work for us down at the Bureau. He also...." Don looked away briefly, embarrassed, then returned an apologetic gaze to Charlie. "He doesn't want the Ramanujans informed of the certainty of Amita's death until there is a positive ID -- but he can't stop you from telling them what you saw," he added defiantly.
To his surprise, Charlie smiled slightly, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Should I also inform them that it's my fault?"
"That's not true, Charles," Larry interrupted. "Don just said that Amita herself may have been the target. At this point you can't assume that someone came after you."
Charlie kept smiling, and the expression was starting to creep Don out a little as he watched. "I don't care who they were after," Charlie countered. "I sent her into the garage. I left my laptop inside, and sent her to pick up after me." He turned back to the window abruptly. "It's my fault," he repeated, whispering. He leaned forward and let his head thunk on the window pane. "I killed Amita."
Don hurried forward, exchanging a look with Larry and shoving the slip of paper into his pocket. "Hey, hey," he reprimanded gently, cautiously gripping Charlie's shoulder. "Be careful of your head, Buddy!" The shoulder beneath his hand began to shake, and Don realized that Charlie was crying. He swallowed back his own grief and used his free hand to rub soothing circles over Charlie's back. "We all know that's not true," he admonished. "You never would have willingly put Amita in danger."
"Absolutely not," agreed Larry. "You didn't know, Charles; the consequences of our dear Amita entering the garage cannot be attributed to your initial request!"
Don shook his head slightly; he wasn't sure, but he thought Larry was on his side. At least Charlie seemed to be calming down. "Dad and I can make the call," he offered. "Why don't you let Larry make you that tea?"
Charlie slowly raised his head, and Don could see his tear-stained face reflected in the window. "I need to do it," he said brokenly. "Dear God, I owe them that much, at least."
Don nodded, knowing he would feel the same way. He released Charlie's shoulder, although he let one hand rest on his brother's back, and reached into his pocket. Withdrawing the slip of paper, he placed it gently on the window sill. "Do you want us to stay? Or should I go get Dad?"
Again Charlie shook his head. "Just leave me alone," he pleaded.
Larry's eyes flashed dark with sympathy. "Very well, Charles," he said. "But I am going to make that tea. I'll be back with a cup in a few minutes."
Don didn't say anything else, but patted Charlie solidly on the back a few times -- almost as if he was burping him -- before turning and leading Larry out of the room. Charlie sighed deeply, resting his head on the cold window again. After a few moments, he reached out and grabbed blindly for the piece of paper. When it was secure in his hand, he turned and crossed a few feet of carpet until he could perch on the end of the bed. He pulled his own cell phone from his pocket and stared at it, momentarily surprised to find it still working. Not only had he been blown into his father's car, it just somehow seemed wrong -- that anything should work, that the sun should ever shine, that he should ever feel warm -- again. At length, he managed to enter a set of numbers from the paper into the phone's keypad; it took several seconds for the international call to connect. Finally he could hear the phone ringing, however, and it was not long after that he recognized Amita's father's voice.
Charlie closed his eyes, clenched his fist at his side, and inhaled deeply. "Mr. Ramanujan. Sanjay. This is Charlie Eppes."
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While Larry busied himself in Don's tiny kitchen, the three F.B.I. agents talked quietly in the living room. Don kept glancing at his father, who was standing at the window in a pose hauntingly similar to the one in which he had so recently found Charlie. At least the view on this side of the apartment was a little better, although Don sincerely doubted that Alan was really seeing anything.
David regarded his team leader sympathetically. "We'll get this guy, Don," he offered.
Don grunted in exasperation and ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. "We don't even know if it was a guy," he sighed. "Maybe it's a jealous woman, or a bored teenager just trying to see if his Internet pipe bombs really worked!" His shoulders slumped and he glanced one last time at his father's back before he hung his head. "I can't believe this happened."
Colby was silent, but David nodded. "I know. I mean, I get that we see things like this on the job – but it's different when it's someone you know. I helped the EMT walk Charlie over to the bus, and I don't think he ever recognized me."
Alan finally turned to face the group. "I didn't even notice that," he said softly, and the agents all lifted their heads to him. "Where was I" The elder Eppes seemed genuinely confused.
"Colby and another EMT took you to another bus," David informed him gently, and Alan turned surprised eyes toward Agent Granger. "Really? I'm sorry; it didn't even register that you both were there, until Don told me later." He half-smiled sadly, looking from Colby to David. "I appreciate it. Thank-you, for taking care of us."
The two agents exchanged an embarrassed glance, and Don stood on shaky legs to go to his father. He grasped Granger's shoulder briefly as he passed the younger agent. "I absolutely concur," he said somewhat gruffly. "Thank you – both -- for taking care of my family."
Colby's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment before he looked pointedly away. "Alan and Charlie are family to us, too, man," he reminded Don, finishing with a promise. "I swear to God, Eppes, we'll make someone answer for this!"
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It was late.
A mug of cold tea sat untouched on the bedside table. Larry, David and Colby had left hours before. At least twice since then, Charlie had quietly endured Don's head injury checks. "My name is Charles Edward Eppes," he had said aloud, while silently he thought to himself – My life ended tonight. To his brother, he had said, "I was born on September 5, 1975." There was an answering echo in his head: She was born just two months earlier, on June 10. He had refused to meet Don's gaze when he told him, "I'm a tenured professor of applied mathematics at CalSci University". His expression did not change when he thought, She was my student, then my colleague, and finally my reason to get up in the morning. He had correctly named the new President of the United States before he had asked to be left alone for a while.
Now, he lay in the dark, on top of Don's bed, and waited to die. It wasn't so much that he wanted his own life to end; he just could not comprehend how it could continue, without her.
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Don had not yet bothered to pull the couch out into a bed. Even if he had not been checking on Charlie periodically, he did not think sleep was anywhere in his immediate future.
When his cell began to vibrate and bounce about on the end table, he reached for it right away, and noted Robin's name on the call display. Tears, unbidden, gathered at the backs of his eyes again and he blinked rapidly and swallowed once, thickly, before he flipped open the cell. "Hey," he whispered.
"Hey," she replied quietly. "How are you? How is he?"
"It's not good," he answered, and they let a few seconds of silence pass before he spoke again. "Thanks for pulling in some favors."
"It's no problem," she assured him. "I just wish there was more I could do – for all of us. Did you give Alan and Charlie my love?"
"Of course," he said. "I'm not sure it registered with Charlie, but Dad actually smiled. While Charlie was in the shower I told Dad you were pretty good friends with the coroner, and you'd convinced him to personally do the autopsy tonight."
"It was the least I could do," she murmured, and Don snorted lightly.
"That, and convincing a Santa Monica dentist to meet you at his office in the middle of the night and hand over dental records."
He could hear her sigh over the phone. "It was just…God, I can't use the word 'lucky'…expedient, I guess, that I picked her up after her root canal a couple of months ago, or we wouldn't even have known who her dentist was, until Charlie was capable of telling us."
Don let a few seconds pass before he asked. "Has it been confirmed, then?"
"Positive I.D.," she answered quietly. After a few more seconds, Robin continued the conversation. "I'll come over in the morning," she promised. "Do you have anything to eat in the apartment, or should I bring some groceries?"
Don suppressed a groan. "I have half a box of Lucky Charms," he admitted, "and I drank the last of the OJ this morning. What would I ever do without you?"
"Permission to find out denied," she replied archly. "What should I bring? Milk? Oatmeal? Eggs? Maybe some frozen hash browns?"
"All of that," Don decided. "I'm not sure what Dad will want. Pretty sure Charlie won't want anything, though…. Which reminds me. I'm almost out of that tea he likes. And maybe…"
"I'll pick up some more coffee, too," she pre-empted, and in spite of himself Don felt himself smile. He thought about how good it was, to have a woman who read his mind, a woman who comforted and excited him – a woman who was breathing.
The smile dipped into a frown. "Every few minutes it hits me all over," he confessed. "I can't believe she's gone."
"I know," she agreed. "Our careers didn't do a damn thing to harden us against something like this, did they?"
"I guess not," Don sighed. "I guess not."
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End, Chapter 4