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 10: Saying Goodbye

Sanjay and Tapti Ramanujan had agreed to stay in Los Angeles for Amita's memorial on the campus of Cal Sci. There had been no further discussion of any additional services -- if the Ramanujans were having a ceremony in India, they still weren't inviting Charlie. As for the professor himself, he found that he couldn't bear to go through the motions more than once. In some ways it felt wrong, being required to mourn at such a public spectacle; but in other ways, it was right to have the memorial at Cal Sci. The campus was full of places and people she loved -- and this was where they had met, so perhaps this was where Charlie should say good-bye.

It was a somber group that surrounded the slight man, almost like bodyguards, as they entered the gymnasium where the service was being held. Students and colleagues had entered some time before, and there was a low murmur that faded in degrees as Charlie and his entourage progressed up the center aisle, toward a block of folding chairs reserved for them. A portable stage had been set up at the North end of the building. The stage was adorned with potted plants and flower assortments of every description, including no fewer than four impressive funeral sprays on stands. Centerstage was a small, round table, covered with an ivory cloth made from Indian silk. A fine Irish lace topped the table covering. The table displayed two items; one was an 11 x 14 enlargement of Amita, which had been made from a digital print that Charlie kept framed on his desk. The photo had been taken the year before, when the two of them had managed a long weekend in Carmel. Amita had been standing on the beach, her dark hair blowing around her face, smiling happily at Charlie and his camera. The other item on the table was the urn that held Amita's ashes. The glazed, black, porcelain was decorated simply with a dark purple blossom of lotus, the national flower of India. A standing microphone was placed in front of the stage; it was from here that speakers would address the crowd.

Don sat on one side of Charlie, Alan on the other. The Ramanujans sat next to Alan; Robin was on the other side of Don, and Larry sat in the last chair, on the aisle. He felt slightly out of place -- most other friends of the family, such as Don's team, sat amongst the general population, but Charlie had asked Larry to stay close. As long as Dr. Fleinhardt had known Charlie, he had rarely been able to deny him anything -- and he certainly could not deny him this -- so Larry stayed with the Eppes. Millie opened the service, providing a synopsis of Amita's life and her brief career at Cal Sci, before turning over the microphone to Sanjay Ramanujan.

His comments were brief, somewhat stilted. He tilted his head to indicate Tapti. "My wife and I," he began in a quiet voice, "thank you all for your many kind expressions to us during this difficult time." He cleared his throat. "Amita..." He stopped, and cleared his throat again, looked at the floor of the gymnasium for a moment, and then looked back at the crowd. "Amita was our only child. In Hindi, the name 'Amita' means 'limitless', and that is what she always represented to us. Her talents and beauty were limitless, and our love for her was limitless. We are comforted that she found happiness and fulfillment here, at this university, in this country..." -- he turned his head slightly to regard Charlie, who was staring at his knees -- "...even a limitless love of her own." His gaze slid to lock with Tapti's as he concluded his brief address. "There is, unfortunately, also no limit to the sorrow that we feel at this moment." He looked at the audience once more. "We thank you again for your compassion -- and, for loving our child."

Sanjay returned to his seat, and Larry approached the microphone. "Dr. Amita Ramanujan was indeed limitless," he intoned. "I have had the pleasure of working with some very great minds in my time, and hers was among the best." He smiled crookedly in Charlie's direction; his friend still regarded only his own knees. "More impressive was her heart," he continued. "From her enthusiasm for her work, to her passion for teaching, to her fire for my best friend...Amita did nothing by halves." Charlie finally looked up, and Larry still addressed his words toward him. "As an astrophysicist, Amita would no doubt argue that it is not scientific to think of her as a brilliant meteor in our atmosphere, shooting through our lives in a burst of energy and phosphorescence that leaves us breathless, and full of wonder." He turned his attention to the crowd. "It is my hypothesis that she would be incorrect, for one of the few times in her career." He pivoted to regard Amita's photo. "I shall always remember your light, my dear."

Larry returned to stand at the end of the aisle, and Alan, clutching a soggy handkerchief, edged past Charlie and Don. He stopped to embrace Larry before he took his place at the microphone. "My name is Alan Eppes," he said. "Some of you I know as fellow students; Amita encouraged me to go back to school, and I'll always be grateful to her for that." He smiled tenderly in Charlie's direction. "Some of you know me as Dr. Eppes' father. That has also been a challenging role, I assure you." Soft laughter rippled through the gymnasium. Alan waited for it to quiet, moving his gaze to the Ramanujans. "I have lost much in my lifetime," he finally said, "but only because I was blessed with much. I loved my wife a great deal, and I still miss her every day. I loved your daughter a great deal as well. I expect to miss Amita for the rest of my life. She was full of joy, and brought peace and delight to my son, and to myself." He bowed slightly toward Sanjay. "I thank you for creating such a charming creature." When he straightened, he placed a hand over his heart. "My soul is burdened for you." Almost imperceptibly, Sanjay nodded in response, and Tapti reached across the empty chair to lift Charlie's hand from his lap, and take it in her own. Alan concluded his speech. "I have two sons." He looked at Robin, and smiled slightly. "The daughters I will have are the women they love; I'm happy to report that they've both made excellent choices." Robin smiled and the audience tittered, again. "If I could choose my own daughters, I would not choose differently," he stated emphatically, his eyes back on the Ramanujans. "Dr. Amita Ramanujan is unfortunately missing from my home -- but she will always be in my heart."

Don shifted a little when Alan returned to the row, so that his father could squeeze by him and reclaim his chair. Don had briefly considered speaking, but after a talk with Robin, had decided that he didn't want to upset the Ramanujans more than they already were. As far as anyone knew right now, Amita was dead because Charlie was targeted by Jack Crane, a suspect in a case he had worked on at Don's request. Although Robin and his father tried to convince him it wasn't his fault for letting Charlie get involved in F.B.I. cases in the first place, Don still felt responsible -- and he imagined that the Ramanujans might feel that way about him as well. When Alan was settled in his chair, there was a brief pause in the service. This was the point at which Charlie was supposed to speak, although no one knew if he'd be able. He sat staring blankly ahead for so long that Millie started to stand, intending to return to the microphone, where she would introduce the next participants. Charlie stood at the same time, and she sank back into her chair as he edged his way out of the row and walked slowly to the microphone.

He stopped to stand and stare at the display on stage for several seconds, finally turning to approach the mic. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet that it was difficult to hear him, even through the sound system. "Thank you all for coming," he said. He paused, looked over his shoulder at the photograph of Amita again, then returned his attention to the crowd. "When I close my eyes," he continued, doing just that, "I see Amita's beautiful face. I can see her smile, hear her laugh, feel her small hand in mine…and I never want to open my eyes again." He stopped speaking and simply stood before them with his eyes closed. Even though the gymnasium held hundreds of people, it had become almost completely silent. Don felt as if he didn't have to strain his ears at all; it was easy to hear his brother's heart breaking. After a few long seconds, Charlie opened his eyes again, and looked directly at the Ramanujans. "That would be wrong; I'm a better, stronger man, for the years I shared with your daughter. To give into the temptation to stop this pain now…" – he shrugged – "it would not honor the woman I love." He seemed to square his shoulders as he took a deep breath and looked back at the crowd. "I want the world to know that a remarkable, talented, intelligent woman changed us all while she was here…" Now, he turned his head to smile sadly at Alan. "I'm sorry to admit that I have not always chosen the honorable path," he said. "Loss…grief…they are teachers, too, and I had much to learn." He dropped his gaze to the floor, seeming to run out of steam. "I'm sorry, I…" He looked helplessly toward Millie, who stood immediately and joined him at the microphone.

"Thank you, Charlie," she said quietly. Don couldn't stand it any longer; he practically leapt from his chair and went to fetch his brother. Millie introduced the university's string quartet as Don led Charlie back to his seat.

After the quartet presented a requiem by Mozart, the floor was opened to anyone who wished to speak. Charlie sat mutely through the memories and testimonies of dozens of students and fellow faculty members. Even some of her classmates from her own college days were in attendance. The stories were bittersweet; brief memories of an all-too-brief life. When Amita's former landlady reached for the hand-held microphone being passed through the crowd, Don felt Charlie slump beside him. He looked at his brother, concerned, and met Alan's eyes over Charlie's head; their father had felt Charlie wilt as well.

Charlie was pale, and his respirations were rapid. His eyes were closed, and Don felt the beginnings of panic; had Charlie passed out? He was trying to turn in the seat to more fully face him, without removing the bulk of his body from serving as Charlie's support, when Charlie's eyes fluttered and he turned his face toward Don. "I need some air," he whispered.

Alan had heard him and moved as if to stand, but Don shook his head. "I've got him," he whispered. "I think it's almost over; you stay. We'll be waiting by the car." Firmly, he grasped Charlie's forearm and stood, bodily lifting his brother with him. Charlie stumbled a few times as the two men exited the row of chairs, but he stayed on his feet. Don moved to a position beside him when they were both in the aisle. Placing his left hand lightly on Charlie's back, he gripped his brother's shoulder and steered him toward a gymnasium exit.

He didn't even register the sympathetic looks of Colby, David and Liz as they passed by where the agents were sitting. Don's focus was on Charlie. There were several people standing near the exit; Don's brusque "Excuse us", combined with the protective glint in his dark eyes and the stony set of his chin, parted them like the waters of the Red Sea.

Don tightened his grip on Charlie's shoulder, and ushered him gently into a life without Amita.

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Eppes had walked right by him, at the memorial.

He passed so closely, in fact, that their eyes met for a moment, and he easily could have reached out to touch him. The bastard just looked away, and continued his sad and dignified walk, as the woman's family and friends surrounded him like a warm blanket on a cold night.

It galled him to witness the parade, for he had been denied such comfort for years. Since his lovely bride was essentially stolen from him, he had been forced to sleep alone every night. He had not been allowed to seek the haven of her arms as he adjusted to the loss of his child, and the dissipation of all the dreams and plans that had been centered around the boy. He was glad, happy to return the favor. Perhaps the woman had not been the original target, but her death served his purposes well. Eppes was clearly heartbroken, misery etched into the lines of his face.

Good.

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The Ramanujans and the Eppes had time for a meal that no one ate before Sanjay and Tapti had to be at LAX. The meal was largely silent; every individual at the table was exhausted from the memorial service, and unable to think about much, other than Amita. Eventually, Alan took a stab at conversation. "Perhaps you should try to get on another flight," he suggested. "You must be completely drained."

"Another day or two will not address the problem," Sanjay responded briefly. "When the light disappears from your life, you are left only with darkness."

Alan wasn't sure quite how to respond to that -- he had never been much for senseless platitudes, and was even less inclined in that direction since hearing so many from ill-prepared well-wishers after Margaret's death -- so he snapped his mouth shut in a grim line and turned his attention to his meal.

A few minutes later, Tapti spoke. "It was a lovely memorial," she said. "Thank you for convincing us to stay. It is a comfort to understand just how many people respected and admired our Amita." She looked directly at Charlie. "And to realize how deeply she was loved."

Charlie had stopped pretending to eat long ago, and just stared miserably at his plate, still full of food he had not even ordered; Alan had ordered it for him. Don watched him for a moment, and then glanced at his father, who was blinking rapidly at his own meal. Don tried to float the conversation. "Yes, I thought Millie did an excellent job with the arrangements."

A few people at the table nodded in agreement, but silence reigned for another three minutes before Sanjay looked at his wife, who felt his attention, and turned her head to smile and nod at him. Sanjay nodded in return, then placed his napkin carefully next to his plate and lifted his water glass, pushing back his chair at the same time. He took a sip of water, replaced the glass on the table and looked at directly at Charlie. "You will come with me," he said. Realizing almost immediately that his request sounded more like an order, Sanjay bowed his head in a show of respect, and added, "Please." Both Alan and Don made moves as if to stand, but Sanjay stopped them. "If I might speak to Charlie alone?" He stood, and offered a wobbly smile. "On my word of honor, there will be no repeat of my earlier, reprehensible behavior."

Charlie was sitting between Don and Alan, and they both scooted their chairs to the side so that he could stand and exit the dining room, following slowly after Sanjay Ramanujan. Tapti saw concern darken their faces and leaned forward a bit to touch Alan's arm briefly. "I am certain Sanjay will behave," she said. "Tell me, Alan, about your fish. I quite enjoyed the koi pond when Sanjay and I visited your home last year."

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Charlie and Sanjay walked to the Ramanujans' rented vehicle. When he had reached the passenger door of the back seat, Sanjay turned to face Charlie. "As you know, Tapiti and I planned to take Amita's ashes back to India with us."

Charlie blanched, and put a hand out to steady himself against the car. "I understand," he whispered.

Sanjay's face took on an expression of kindness. "You do not," he said. He opened the car door and leaned inside, withdrawing the urn of ashes. When he had straightened, he caressed the porcelain absently as he spoke. "Tapti and I were very moved by your words at the service. It caused me to remember the joy in my daughter's eyes, the last time I saw her. It brought to mind the love I heard in her voice, each time she spoke of you. Amita made her choice, and she was happy with it; you and your family loved her well. No parent could want more for his child." He stopped speaking for a moment, and turned his gaze downward, to the black receptacle that contained his daughter. He looked at it for a long moment, then lifted it at the same time as he bowed his head slightly, to tenderly kiss the cold surface. Then he extended his arms toward Charlie, offering him his burden. "It is right that you should have Amita. She chose you, as you chose her."

Charlie gulped and regarded the urn warily. "What…what do you want me to do with…the…ashes?" He was whispering by the last word.

Sanjay continued to hold out the urn. "Whatever you feel is appropriate. Interment, or scattering…there were many locations the two of you loved to go together, were there not?"

Charlie still didn't reach for the urn. "I…think…I think Amita would like the idea. There…there's a place we tried to go early every summer, on her birthday. Palomar Mountain State Park; we'd hike the trails." He was warming to his story now, his eyes reflecting a dreaminess as he remembered. "Last year, we laid on our backs in a meadow covered with dogwood blossoms…she said she'd like to lie there forever."

His voice trailed off at the end, and Sanjay waited for Charlie's eyes to focus before he thrust the urn at him again. "And so she shall," he remarked quietly. "Tapti and I will hold Amita in our hearts always…but perhaps, you can send us a photograph of the meadow?"

Charlie finally accepted the urn, holding it as if it was a fragile egg. One hand rested beneath the porcelain, and the other lay gently on top. "You could come back," he suggested almost shyly.

Sanjay used one of his newly emptied hands to wipe at an eye, and shook his head sadly. "I thank you for that, Charlie. We would very much like to see a photograph, or even a video of the ceremony…but Tapti and I cannot bear much more."

"I know," Charlie whispered, "I know…"

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Don had listened to Tapti and Alan discuss now-dead koi as long as he could, before he pushed back his chair and headed for the entry of the restaurant. Charlie was in no shape to withstand any more verbal abuse from Sanjay, and Don was not as trusting as his father. Maybe Alan was ready to accept Tapti's assurances, but he would rather see with his own two eyes that Sanjay was behaving himself.

He arrived at the glass door just in time to see Charlie accept the urn from Amita's father. There was a stab of grief in his heart, even as there was also a sigh of relief upon his lips. Despite Sanjay's earlier protestations to the contrary, he was leaving Amita's cremains with Charlie. He blinked rapidly as his vision clouded momentarily. He knew several things at that moment. One was that Sanjay Ramanujan was a father consumed by grief. Another was an inkling of the feelings he would have, if he was holding Robin's ashes in his hands.

The third was that Charlie was perhaps the strongest man he knew.

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End, Chapter 10