Disclaimer: Numb3rs and its characters don't belong to me, I just do nasty things to them.
Rating: T
Timeline: season 3
Thanks to whatever55 and Shakespeare's apprentice for providing me with this excellent title, and another thanks to everyone who's following the series.
A/N: I'm aware this took a while, so I'm doubly sorry if it turns out a disappointment for you, but I felt like focusing on the sideshows in this one. Still hope you'll enjoy. And above all: Merry Christmas!

Poison

"And you're sure you wanna come with? It's not too late to chicken out."

Don rolled his eyes. "Relax, Charlie! I said I'd come with you of my own free will, so stop asking. Besides, it is a little too late now, or do you want me to just leave you here and ride back home without you?"

Charlie eyed him from the side, trying to read from his expression what he was really thinking about this. In vain, of course. He still didn't know why Don had agreed to accompany him to this slightly tedious event in the first place. Actually, he'd only invited him as some sort of teasing. When his dad had asked him over dinner who was going to accompany him to the award reception now that his broken ankle kept himself from doing so, Charlie had given his brother a mischievous glance and said, Why, I was thinking of Don, knowing fully well that his brother had absolutely no interest in this kind of academic self-laudation. He'd been all the more surprised when Don, who apparently hadn't seen the teasing glint in his eyes, had readily consented – so readily in fact that Charlie hadn't dared to pull back again, even though over the next couple of days, he'd tried to make sure that Don hadn't just consented as some sort of prank, sort of a continuation of Charlie's teasing. But in the end, it had turned out that Don, for some reason Charlie couldn't figure out for the life of him, was honestly willing to keep him company tonight.

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you. These things tend to be a little boring, especially if you don't know anybody. I don't know why Dad would always come along."

"Because he's proud of you, and so am I."

Charlie stood and stared at him. He was certain he had misheard his brother, but he failed to morph the sounds he'd heard into something that would make more sense. "What did you just say?"

Don kept going, looking straight ahead. Even his face was kept straight. "Forget it, you've had your chance. I won't repeat that."

Charlie hurried to keep up and a second or two later told himself to close his mouth again. Don's behavior was starting to freak him out a little. Either Don was terminally ill – a thought that despite his best efforts, Charlie didn't manage to put out of his mind completely – or this was somehow Bradford's doing. Don's psychotherapist had tried to strengthen their relationship in the past, and that despite the knowledge that their parents had failed to do that for years, so maybe that was the reason for Don's unusual preparedness to spend time with him. In any case it was a notion that was much more to Charlie's liking than his illness theory.

"So do they have food in there? I'm starving," Don pulled him out of his thoughts and Charlie told himself to stop his musings and just be thankful.

"You know, that's actually the best part about these events," he replied and felt some kind of elation take hold of him as a grin spread out on his face. "Food is always free and plentiful."

Since it was such a hot day, they gladly accepted the water bottles the hostesses were handing out at the entrance and didn't have to wait for long until another busboy came in their vicinity and they could snatch some curiously shaped dumplings from his tray.

"What are those?" Don asked his brother when the busboy was gone, eyeing the object in his hand with some mistrust.

Charlie shrugged. "I don't know, but it's good," he said chewing. "The things they serve at such events usually are. Just once they had this strange combination with pickles and mustard inside, which, trust me, is a really bad idea to mix."

Don grinned back and took a tentative bite of the dumpling as well while Charlie snatched off the last nibble from the tray of another busboy who was hurrying past them. That was when Don almost choked on his dumpling, his eyes wide. "That's the mayor!" he whispered, pointing at a large man engaged in conversation just at a three yard's distance from them.

Charlie followed his gaze and grinned again. "Yeah, they make him come to these things every once in a while. It's actually quite funny. Sometimes he tries to make small talk with the nominees about their work, and sometimes, he's unlucky enough to approach someone so fascinated by their work that they don't realize he doesn't understand a single word of the private talk they're giving him."

Don raised his eye-brows with mock sternness. "Oh, so that's why you're letting our kind in, we're just here for your entertainment."

Charlie gave his brother a disarming smile. "You know I don't mean it that way. I'd be an illiterate too in a session of the city council, but I'm in the lucky position of not having to attend those, whereas his job makes him enter such foreign lands on a regular basis. So yeah, watching him trying to mingle belongs to the funnier aspects of such receptions. You have to make these things enjoyable somehow."

With some satisfaction, Charlie watched Don's lips twitch to a smile as well before he changed the subject. "So, did you have to make a presentation for this one?" he then asked.

Charlie was caught a little off guard. "Uh, yeah, how do you know?" Since he knew that Don took no interest in this part of academic life – in any part of academic life in fact, as long as it didn't make his job at the FBI easier –, he was surprised that his brother seemed to have some insight into the course of events of such an evening. Then again, Don might have asked their dad about these things beforehand in an attempt to figure out what exactly he'd gotten himself into.

"I hate giving those," Charlie went on in a talkative mood. "There's not enough time to go deep enough into the matter for those who are familiar with the field, and those who aren't get bored because there's no time to familiarize them with the topic well enough so they can follow."

Don made a thoughtful face. "I don't think it's that bad, at least I thought so at your presentations."

Charlie frowned. "At what presentations?"

Don raised his eye-brows as though he had just realized that he had revealed more than he'd planned, and if Charlie hadn't known it was impossible, he would have thought he was actually blushing a little. Even his speech seemed slightly rambling. "You know, that Milton Award and that… I don't know, some French guy it was named after."

Charlie's frown became deeper, because there was only one way he could make sense of his brother's words, and that defied any logic. "You watched the records of the awards?"

Don shrugged as if he could thereby make that topic go away while the blush became so deep that there was no more denying it was there. "Just of those two," he said as if that was an excuse. "And not all the way through."

Charlie was still staring at him trying to find any further signs that maybe aliens from outer space had kidnapped his brother and replaced him with this strange imposter. "You do realize that's even more boring than actually going to the award receptions?"

Don shrugged again. "Well, Dad was always your plus one, wasn't he?"

Charlie opened his mouth as if to say something, but found there were no words on his mind. To this very day, he'd always been convinced that Don had absolutely no interest in these events, or in math, or in his geeky little brother's life in general. However, this entire evening Don had been doing nothing but casting severe doubts on that assumption, and that made Charlie wonder whether maybe, he might have misjudged his brother's behavior towards him for some time now. After all, hadn't they become closer when they had started working together? Maybe Don had indeed changed the way he was looking at him?

Charlie felt inundated by a wave of heat that almost left him a little dizzy and he bit his lip, not knowing how to react to his brother's words, and still not sure whether he wasn't reading more into his behavior than he should. Therefore, there was an awkward moment of tense silence before Don asked, "So anyway, what are you going to talk about?"

Charlie cleared his throat and forced himself to keep his mind focused. He could dwell on Don's behavior later, when he was alone and didn't feel scrutinized by his big brother's watchful eyes.

"You remember that kidnapping case a couple of years back? It was shortly after we started working together, that mathematician who'd been working on the Riemann zeta function? Well, I've made some progress in that direction. You know Riemann's hypothesis states that the Riemann zeta function has no other zeros than the ones we know of, and what I did is that I developed a program that gives us all the zeros in any given set of numbers, as long as that set has boundaries. So now, we can finally use the knowledge that Riemann's hypothesis is true for such compact sets, which might actually help to significantly advance computer security."

Don was looking at him with that concentrated frown that told Charlie he was trying to follow him. "So you've done what that mathematician from our case couldn't do, you've proven that Riemann guy's hypothesis?"

Charlie laughed, he couldn't help it. "No, at most I made a tiny step in the right direction. If I actually solved one of those, I don't think I'd have to go to work ever again."

"Right," Don remarked dryly, "because money's your foremost motivation."

The comment made Charlie wonder. "Actually, that's an interesting question. You know, with the right investments and modest habits, I don't think that idea would be too far-fetched."

Don held up his hand. "Hold on a sec. Are you telling me that you're doing well enough to just stop working and live off your savings?"

Charlie shrugged. "Well, I didn't say it was advisable, but come to think of it, it might actually be technically possible. If –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, just shut up, okay?"

"What? Why?"

"Because if you tell me you're rich enough to stop working at age 31, it's more than 'technically possible' that I'm gonna break your nose."

Charlie had already opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, there was the sound of a gong that was apparently the sign for everybody to go inside and take their seats. Charlie led the way, but was suddenly more than a little reluctant to go inside the hall. Out here, the air had been somewhat fresh, while inside, he feared it would be much more stuffy, and right now, he would give a lot to be able to breathe fresh air. He was feeling a little off-color, his stomach didn't feel quite right and he seemed to have trouble getting enough air into his lungs. That had to be also the reason why he was starting to feel a little light-headed, almost as if he was having a fever. He was aware though that it was probably just a little anxiety, maybe in combination with hypoglycemia. He should have eaten something proper before leaving the house instead of binging of the nibbles. Or packed some chocolate bars or corn sugar or something.

It was too late now though and whining about it wouldn't make this any better. Seemed as though he didn't have another choice than to sit it out. It would certainly pass soon enough, at the latest when he would have left the stage again.

While he and Don were making their way through the hall, slowed down by the mass of people all looking for the perfect seats, Charlie saw his premonitions confirmed. Breathing was more difficult in here, and consequently the sickness was growing worse as well. If that didn't get better soon…

Their reserved seats in the front row had just come into sight when a wave of nausea swept over him so fiercely that for a moment, he thought he'd lose his stomach contents there and then. Before that could happen though, he mumbled an apology to Don and hurried back out of the hall, headed straight for the men's room.

Don frowned and stood a little indecisively in the middle of the aisle, watching his brother weaving his way through the crowd. His sudden flight left him with a twinge of worry, but then again, he knew his brother's nervous stomach, it had always made their family trips more adventurous than Don's parents would have preferred.

Still, he was tempted to follow his brother, and be it merely to not be alone in this hall full of scientists. Only now did he become aware of how little he fit into this world. It hadn't been a problem while Charlie had been around, but now that he was gone and Don was on his own, he didn't quite know what to do with himself.

At least he had no trouble finding their seats and once he'd sat down, he took up one of the leaflets lying around that gave him an overview both of the prize itself and of its recipients. Still, he couldn't help but glance in the direction of the doors every few seconds. He felt a slight twinge of panic when the lights went out and Charlie still wasn't there, but before he had made up his mind to go look for him, he saw him come down the aisle and take the seat next to him.

"So you're getting a little nervous there?" Don opted for teasing.

"Shut up," was Charlie's reply as he was sinking into the cushions so deeply that it seemed as though he intended to completely disappear in them.

The twinge of worry was back as Don tried to study his brother, which wasn't easy in the dim light. "You okay?"

"Sure," Charlie answered, and with that, the subject was dealt with, for at that moment, the host of the evening entered the stage and welcomed the audience to tonight's reception.

In the leaflet, Don had read that Charlie was actually the first one to be awarded, so it was hardly more than fifteen minutes of general speeches before he was asked on stage.

After few general remarks, he jumped right into his topic and immediately captured the interest of the audience. Don glanced around and couldn't help but smile with pride. Alright, Charlie might have had the benefit of being the first one to give his talk, when all his listeners were still fresh and alert, but there was no denying that he was good at this. He could talk about math with an air that made other people hang on his words even when their interest in math didn't stand a chance of competing with the enthusiasm he was displaying himself.

It was only after a minute into Charlie's talk that Don noticed that his brother was putting on a show. Yes, at first glance he seemed as energetic and excited as always, but Don knew him better than that. He could see the tiny signals that showed that Charlie wasn't nearly as at ease as it seemed. His speech was a bit slower than usual, he seemed a little short of breath and his hands were gripping the lectern as though he needed its support to keep himself upright. Don looked harder, but only found more things to leave him worried. Charlie was pale and he thought he could see pearls of sweat on his forehead, but since he was on stage and being illuminated by several spot-lights, maybe he shouldn't think too much of that.

Or maybe he should.

At first, Don wasn't sure whether it was because he was paying more attention to his brother's physical well-being or because there was actually something wrong with him, but he was sure that Charlie's state was deteriorating by the minute. His voice had become less stable and he seemed to be trembling a little. Don bit his lip, suddenly very ill-at-ease. He didn't like what he was seeing, and by now, he couldn't pretend anymore he was merely imagining things, for the whispers and murmurs among the audience showed that he wasn't the only one who had picked up on Charlie's sickish appearance.

"It's an application that has been…" Charlie was just saying, but broke off. "I'm sorry," he then said and made an obvious effort to see this through. "It's an application..." He broke off again. Don noticed that while his left hand was still gripping the lectern, his right arm was being held in a slightly unnatural position, a position that didn't look very comfortable and yet hadn't changed for more than a minute, as Don now realized.

Don sat up a little straighter in his chair, feeling an uncomfortable sensation of alarm awaken in his guts. This was more than a little nervousness and indisposition, something was definitely wrong, and given the rapidity with which Charlie's state seemed to deteriorate, Don was suddenly filled with a feeling of urgency, evoked by the fear that had been building up inside him, merely simmering at first, but an undeniable fact now.

Just as Don had come to decide that he had to do something, Charlie seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

"Excuse me," he was mumbling into the microphone and turned as if to get off stage. He didn't come that far, though. Before he had made another step, his knees buckled and he was lying on the ground.

Don bolted from his chair and initially thought that his own knees might buckle as well. For a moment, his legs were set in stone, denying their service, but the next instant, he'd already reached the stage and swung himself on top, registering the mumbles from the audience as though they belonged to a world foreign to his own.

He hadn't been the first to arrive at his brother's side. The host and a women from the committee donating the prize were already kneeling next to Charlie and just when Don reached them, the host called out asking if there was a doctor in the audience. The irony of the situation hit Don hard, there were probably more doctors in this room than people without an academic degree, but he couldn't laugh about it. He was still trying to catch a glimpse of his brother's face. All he could see right now through between the host and the woman was the squirming, convulsing figure of his brother on the floor.

"Let me through," Don heard himself say as he knelt down himself, accidentally shoving the woman away a little. Now, he could finally see his brother's face, and what he saw made him cringe inwardly. It wasn't his brother's face that he was seeing, it was a mask of pain, the eyes closed tightly, the mouth distorted, the complexion white and sweaty. He was holding his chest and seemed to have trouble breathing and Don could feel his heart race in his own chest, giving him almost as much pain as he could see on his kid brother's face. Something was definitely not right with him.

"What's wrong, Charlie?" he asked, hearing his voice and hardly recognizing it as his own. It was tense and strained, and to make matters worse, there was a pressure on his ears that made him feel as though he was under water. Maybe that was why he was feeling so short of breath. "Where does it hurt?"

There wasn't an answer at first. Don was just about to ask a second time, to increase the urgency in his words, when with a mixture of a groan and a sob, Charlie squeezed some words through his clenched teeth seeming like a single sound, "Can't breathe."

Don swallowed, but his throat remained dry. "It's alright," he told his brother and was aware that there was probably nothing he could have said that would have been further from the truth. Yet he couldn't stop himself from going on with those lies, and somewhere deep in his mind he realized that this was probably because he himself couldn't bear the truth. "You're gonna be fine, just try to relax, okay? Breathe with me, okay? In and out. In and out."

It wasn't working. Whatever was wrong with his brother, it had robbed him of the control over his body, and Don could see that Charlie had realized that as well. There was a fear in his eyes so deep and yet screaming at him so loudly from their depths that it sent shivers down Don's spine. He tried to avert his gaze, but he couldn't, he had to stare into those brightly shining eyes and listen to the desperate plea they were screaming at him, a cry for help that was drawing its strength from a sudden terror of death.

"Don't worry, help's on the way," Don said and was fervently hoping that he was right, that someone had had the quickness of mind to call for an ambulance. For he knew all too well that he could say all he wanted, but it was never going to change anything. He couldn't help his brother, and when he realized that, when he realized that the plea in Charlie's eyes had to remain un-answered, he felt his throat constrict and his eyes burn. Giving up the attempt to talk seeing that there wasn't coming anything helpful out of his mouth anyway, he just gripped Charlie's hand and held onto him, knowing that his brother would understand the gesture as a promise that he was never going to let him go.

David could still feel his heart beating forcefully. It was giving him slight tremors that were making him a little jittery, and he had to make an effort to not let that tremble show in his voice, for he could not ruin this. And he wasn't. This was going well, like really well. And Nicole was just perfect. She was funny, intelligent, kind and G-d, she was beautiful. She was the woman of his dreams, and the best part was that apparently, she wasn't thinking too bad of him either.

"What's so funny?"

He looked up at her. Careful, a voice in his mind told him, pay attention. Don't blow it. "Huh?"

"You're smiling," she remarked with a smile of her own. "A bit stupidly, in fact."

His smile grew wider and he felt himself blush. "I'm just having a good time," he said truthfully.

He might have been mistaken, but he would have sworn she was blushing as well. "Yeah. Me too."

And to be sure, just in that perfect moment, his cell phone rang. For a moment, David didn't understand, then he wondered what on earth had stopped him from muting it like he'd planned to do.

"I'm sorry," he said and checked the caller ID to decide whether or not he could just reject the call. Don. David cursed inwardly. He wasn't on duty, and he knew that Don had had plans of his own tonight. The fact that he was calling him seemed to suggest that something grave had happened, something so severe that they were calling in even those units that weren't on call tonight.

He bit his lip. "I'm so sorry," he repeated, "but I think I'll have to take this."

"Need to save the world tonight?" she said, the smile still on her lips, but David could see that it was a little dimmed now.

He shrugged apologetically and replied nothing since he would have felt uncomfortable telling her that she might actually be right. Instead, he finally answered his phone. "Hey, Don."

"I need your help."

David's sense of alarm, merely simmering before, was now going crazy. This wasn't what he had expected, this wasn't even something he would have thought possible. This was new. It didn't sound like Don was talking to him as his boss, but as his friend. And as hard as David tried to remember, he didn't think that the friend Don had ever asked for his help.

"What's wrong?"

There was a moment of silence at the other end as though Don was having a hard time finding the right words. "It's Charlie. I think someone poisoned him."

David was sure he had heard wrong. "What?"

"He collapsed on stage when he was giving his speech, we were at that award reception." There was a pause during which David tried to make some sense of the information he'd been given and had to restrain himself mightily not to burst out asking further questions. "It must have been some paralytic, he couldn't move and then he couldn't breathe –"

He broke off and this time, the pause was so long that David dared giving in to the urge of asking.

"Where are you now?"

Don was back in an instant. "At the hospital. They're treating him right now."

"What do you want me to do?"

As if it had been the cue Don had been waiting for, he was back to his professional self. "I'm sure that there's foul play involved, it was all just too sudden. I was thinking we could request permission to investigate this matter as an act of terrorism."

David frowned. "Terrorism?"

"It happened during a public event, and in this case Charlie was indeed some sort of public person. He might have been targeted for the work he presented, it could have effects on internet security and therefore on fighting organized crime."

David's frown was still there. "You really think that?"

"I don't know, it could also be that the mayor was the real target and Charlie just had the bad luck of snatching off a nibble that was meant for him, but in any case we can assume that it was a premeditated, directed attack."

"Which justifies us taking command instead of the LAPD?"

"Look, we need to find the perp as quickly as possible. The paramedics said that depending on what that substance is that got into Charlie's system, they might gonna need some kind of antidote, so we need to find the perp to figure out what he gave him, and fast."

David nodded slowly and gradually realized how desperate Don was. Now it made sense that he was clinging to that terrorism theory, for if they didn't have a reason to suspect organized crime or terrorism, it would be difficult to investigate the case. If, however, they left this to the LAPD, the solution to this case might come too late for Charlie.

"I'm gonna tell Colby and Megan to meet me at the office and call you back from the car," David said without further hesitation.

"Thanks," Don said with a strained voice and then was gone.

"Something wrong?" Nicole asked while David was still staring at his cell.

He nodded, still trying to get it all in. "A friend of mine's in trouble," he explained and tried not to think about how severe Charlie's troubles actually were. "I'm sorry, I have to go." He stood and pulled some bills from his wallet that should be enough for tonight's dinner. Then he looked her in the eye. "I'm really sorry."

"It's alright, I understand," she said and in her eyes, David could see the truth of her words. "Good luck helping your friend."

David nodded and gave her a last thankful glance before he made a hasty exit.

"David," she called after him and he turned. "I trust that you're going to explain all this to me during our next date."

He smiled, despite everything. "I will."

Once again, he'd gotten off the phone with Don, but this time, he needed a moment to himself to digest the news. Until now, keeping himself busy at the crime scene had occupied most of his thoughts, but denying the severity of the situation and closing his eyes from what the imminent future might hold was no longer working.

"Any news?" Colby asked hopefully after David had finally pocketed his cell and returned to him and Megan.

He shook his head. "No good ones," he replied gloomily. He withstood the urge to nervously bite his lip. When he'd called Don back the first time, he'd slowly realized how bad things actually stood with Charlie, and the feeling of dread had been smoldering in his guts ever since. "It's still touch and go. The doctors are ruling out all classic forms of food poisoning, so chances are that we're indeed looking at something intentional."

Colby looked downwards, clenching his teeth. David had no trouble understanding why. Apart from the fact that learning that someone had just tried to kill their friend filled him with a kind of aggression that was hard to contain, David knew as well as his partner that the poisoning being intentional was bad news for Charlie's outlook. Food poisonings had the advantage that they were rarely lethal for a grown, healthy man like Charlie was. Intentional poisonings, on the other hand, were a completely different story.

"Any hints as to how it was administered?" Colby asked.

"They're still running tests, but as long as they don't know what they're looking for, the chances for them to find the source of origin are pretty slim."

Colby nodded and made an obvious effort to give his voice a determined, optimistic tinge. "Then let's not waste any more time to find that son of a bitch."

"Don gave me a list of everything that Charlie came in contact with. Apparently the doctors say that it's likely that the poison came into his system orally, so I guess we should start by what he ate and drank. We should talk to the busboys and the caterer."

"I have my eye on two hostesses and three busboys, who were acting rather nervously when I took their contact information," Megan joined the discussion. "I suggest we start with those."

David nodded. They'd better hope that Megan's instincts were as spot-on as usual in this case, they couldn't afford to waste any time.

Megan was torn between her worry for Charlie and a feeling of satisfaction as she watched the woman across the desk from her fall apart. She had definitely been right about this one, although evidence suggested that they were looking at an accomplice, not the mastermind of this operation. Still, they had made an important step in the right direction.

"What exactly did he ask you to do?" she asked in order to get the girl's story straight. The crying had made her statement more than a little incoherent.

"I had to hand the bottle that he tampered with to Dr. Eppes when he entered, that was all," she sniffed. "He told me it was only a laxative and that this Dr. Eppes would only get what he deserved," she repeated what she had told them at least three times by now. "I would have never done that if I had known… I didn't want anyone to get hurt!"

"He paid you money?" Megan asked undeterred. Her cool manner also served as a form of self-protection. She couldn't think of what tragedy that girl's naivety would have caused by a snatch. Might still cause.

She nodded, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief that had to be soaked by now. "$500 in advance, and he said he'd give me another $500 tomorrow, when he could be sure I had done everything like he'd asked."

"And you know him?"

"He didn't tell me his name, but from what he told me, I figured out who he was and I researched him. His name's Steve Harrow, he's a professor here in L.A."

Megan took down the name and decided that they had learned everything from that girl that they needed for the moment. What mattered now was getting to the real culprit and figure out what toxin he had used. All other questions could be dealt with later, when Charlie would be out of danger.

Apprehending Steve Harrow had actually been easier than they'd thought. The man evidently hadn't expected to become a suspect in the investigation, so they had found him at his home address. Another piece of luck was given to them by the fact that Harrow was amply intimidated by the FBI. It was no coincidence that poison had been the method of his choice; he was clearly someone who rather avoided confrontation than seeking it, which in this case meant that he didn't attempt to play complicated games with the FBI or cut some favorable deal for himself. Therefore, it didn't take long for David and Megan, who conducted the interrogation, to establish all the facts they needed to learn, mainly what kind of poison Harrow had used execute his plan. As it turned out, it had been some form of Tetrodotoxin, or TTX for short, a naturally occurring paralytic often found, in much lower concentration, in sea food. The dose that Harrow had dissolved in the water bottle he'd slipped Charlie however had been much higher, so high in fact that merely few gulps of the water could have proven lethal.

As it was, the lethal effect of the poison was still a possibility to reckon with. True, Charlie's condition, though critical, had been more or less stable ever since he'd been admitted to the hospital, but that had been almost sixteen hours ago, and only now that they had identified the poison could they start administer the antidote. In the meanwhile, the TTX had had a lot of time to do damage to Charlie's body, so they were still faced with the task of hoping and praying and waiting for a word from Don. And even though they knew that such things took time, it didn't seem like a good sign that since identifying the poison, several further hours had elapsed without any information concerning Charlie's condition.

In the meanwhile, they'd busied themselves with closing the case, which meant digging up the details, figuring out the motive and getting the paperwork done. Colby was eyeing his coworkers with a mixture of curiosity, awe and mistrust. When they'd conducted the interview, he'd thought (and still did) that they had to be absolute saints, for he knew that he himself couldn't have maintained the kind of cool professionalism that they were showing, not while Charlie's life was still hanging by a thread. On the other hand, he could see in their movements and in the expressions on their faces that they weren't as calm on the inside, so apparently, he wasn't the only one waiting anxiously for some news.

Therefore, saying it was coincidence that Colby spotted Don the moment he stepped off the elevator, wouldn't have been quite accurate, for since he'd glimpsed in that direction every few seconds, it would have been hard for him to miss his entrance.

"Guys!" he called out to his coworkers while he rose from his chair, giving them a meaningful glance towards their friend and boss.

Don was looking beat, he could see that even from across the bullpen. When he came nearer, the bad impression actually grew worse. His shirt was wrinkled and so was his face. There were dark smudges under his eyes and also his hair was looking slightly disheveled. And then, there was the look in his eyes. They were red-rimmed, though due to his emotional distress or fatigue was something Colby couldn't tell. Maybe it was a combination of both.

"Hey," Don greeted them when he'd reached them and they all gave him a subdued "hey" back, nobody daring to ask the question they were afraid to hear the answer to.

Don didn't keep them in suspense for long though. "He's going to be okay," he said, and a simultaneous sigh of relief went through the team. They were aware only too well just how close of a shave this one had been.

"He still hasn't woken up yet," Don went on, "but now that they've given him the antidote, they say it's only a matter of time before he'll breathe on his own again and they can turn off the machines."

As relieved as he was to hear those words, Colby couldn't help but notice that Don wasn't looking them in the eye while saying them. Also, his whole body was bespeaking a kind of tension that made it hard to believe that everything was indeed as peachy as he was claiming.

"What's wrong?" he asked him point blank, feeling a little as though he was interrogating him.

That finally gave him Don's full attention. "Nothing," he said with a slight shake of his head, but the furrows on his forehead were still too deep for Colby to take his word for it.

Apparently Megan had noticed too, for she came to Colby's assistance. "You can tell us, Don."

Don sighed and closed his eyes, and when he opened them, there was the ghost of a smile on his face. "It's nothing, really. I've told you everything we know. He's going to be fine. It's just… it's just that from where we stand, there's still no change compared to yesterday, so I guess I'm just having a hard time believing he's actually going to be alright."

Megan put a hand on his arm. "I think for once, your professional mistrust isn't what's called for. If the doctors say he's going to be fine, he is. You just have to give it a little time."

Don, with pressed lips that showed that his emotions were slowly catching up with him, nodded and with a soft "I know" ended the discussion. Then he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "So you're done with interrogating him?"

David nodded and pulled out the file they had put together. "Yeah, we just handed him over to detention."

"And he's a professor at CalSci as well?" he asked as he leafed through the pages.

"Also in the math department," Colby confirmed. Since David had been the one to regularly update Don on their progress in the investigation, he wasn't sure what exactly he already know, but he also thought it couldn't hurt him to get a structured report as a whole. "His name's Steve Harrow, and apparently he's been a rival of Charlie's for some time now. Or maybe rival's a little exaggerated, for he seemed to have grown his jealousy of him in a very quiet and stealthy manner."

"It's the same dynamism you see with stalkers," Megan put in. "Harrow became obsessed with Charlie and his work, and with every award or other form of appreciation that Charlie got, his hatred against him grew until it made him lash out against him."

"So he paid one of the hostesses to poison him?"

David nodded. "He prepared a bottle of water with the TTX and told the girl to make sure to hand it to Charlie as some sort of prank. I'm pretty sure the girl really didn't know what she was giving him, she seemed genuinely upset."

"In contrast to Harrow," Colby added and couldn't quite ban his hatred of the man from his voice. "He knew exactly what he was doing."

He watched Don bite his lip and cramp up his left hand to a fist, but those were all the signs of anger he was letting them see. When he spoke, his voice was kept deliberately calm, even though the slight tremble in it left them at least something of his emotions to see.

"Anything else I should know?"

Colby exchanged a glance with his two coworkers and could easily read the silent request in their eyes, and he knew they were right. "Actually, there is," he said and made sure to keep his voice matter-of-fact and not sound too defensive. "There was a little altercation during the arrest during which our perp got a bloody nose."

Don looked up at him with a scrutinizing stare. "How exactly did that happen?"

"Okay look, I might have handled him a little roughly, but at the end of the day, it was an accident. He stumbled against the door frame, but he wasn't seriously hurt. He got checked out by a doctor who made sure to stop the bleeding, and that was it."

Don's gaze shifted to Megan and David and for a moment, Colby got a little nervous after all. Yes, everything he'd said had been true, but whether or not his rough handling of the suspect had been justified was a different question.

"It was an accident," David confirmed Colby's story and even Megan nodded as confirmation. "There was nothing wrong with the arrest. We didn't exactly treat him with kid gloves, but there was no unusual violence either."

Don let his gaze linger on them for another second, then he nodded as though to close the subject. "Okay. But let me be clear here, this is a fine line and I won't tolerate anyone stepping over it."

"You know this was an exception," Colby took up his defense again. "I mean, what did you expect when you asked us to find the son of a bitch who did that?"

Don looked at him for a second before answering very quietly, "Actually, I hadn't thought that far ahead." He glanced back down at the report as though he could find there any hints as to how to phrase what was on his mind. Apparently, he couldn't, for he glanced around, and when he couldn't find the answer there either, he finally settled for their eyes. "Listen, guys… I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done. If it hadn't been for you and if you hadn't done everything to solve this case, I don't know what would have happened to Charlie, so… thanks."

"You know there's no need to thank us," David said, acting as their joint voice. "Charlie's one of us, so if someone hurts him, he's gonna have a brush with all of us."

Don just nodded, apparently struggling to find his voice again. "I should get going now, he's supposed to wake up any minute."

"Let us know when he does," Colby said and suddenly understood the dread he'd seen on Don's face earlier and the nervousness he was showing now. True, everything seemed to be falling back together now, but as long as Charlie's condition was still as critical as it was, it seemed to early to breathe a sigh of relief.

Don slipped into the room and quietly closed the door behind himself. He actually flinched a little at his dad's greeting, for to be honest, he found it a little loud for a hospital room in the ICU.

"How's he doing?" he asked back in a much lower voice.

"He's doing fabulous," a dry voice replied, and Don felt his heart make a leap in his chest.

"Charlie, hey! You're awake!" He realized he was grinning rather stupidly, but he didn't care in the slightest.

There was a smile on Charlie's face as well, although it still seemed pretty tired. "Nothing gets past you, does it."

His speech was still incredibly slow, as though someone was playing it at half speed, and he seemed exhausted, but his eyes were open and his words coherent, and that was more than Don would have dared hoping for.

"How are you doing?" he asked as he dragged up a chair to his brother's bed so that he and his dad were now flanking Charlie.

"Told you. Fabulous."

Don bit his lip. Charlie sounded too tired for Don to be sure whether he was being sarcastic or whether this was his way to try and lighten up the mood. He glanced up at his dad to get a second opinion, but his old man only had eyes for his youngest.

"Are you in pain?" Don eventually asked.

Charlie gave him something like a shrug and finally, Don had the feeling that his brother was indeed back for good. "It's okay." His mouth twitched to something like a sheepish grin. "I'll survive."

Don felt his facial expression become set in stone. He was suddenly sick, and breathing had become a difficult task.

"That's not something to joke about, son," his dad's stern admonishment broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said, obviously having become aware of the inaptitude of his words, and then the awkward silence was back.

"Look," Charlie then started anew, "I wasn't thinking. But I am doing a lot better, so… you can stop worrying about me, that's all I was meaning to say."

"Well," Alan said after a pause and cleared his throat, showing something of his old activism. "I think I'll leave you two alone for a moment, I should give Millie a call. She asked me to tell her the second you woke up, so wish me luck she won't bite my head off when she hears I'm more than an hour late."

By now, Don too had found his wits again. "Really, Dad?" he asked with mock innocence. "Can't you give him a break? You don't think he earned some rest before you blab to his boss he's fit to work again?"

His words had hit their mark, for Charlie rolled his eyes. "Thanks again for reminding me that Dad's dating my boss."

Don let the facade fall and the grin show on his face. "You know that's what I'm here for."

Alan stood and gave them a stern glance, but let the hint of a smile show on his lips. Still, what caught Don's eyes was the exhaustion on his face. "Be nice to each other," he told them before he turned and left the room.

Don watched his exit and when he turned back around looking at this pale, haggard figure in the hospital bed, it hit him that this was the first time he'd been with Charlie – with the real, conscious Charlie – since those tense moments on the stage. The memory brought a lump to his throat and he had to swallow hard to get his ability of speech back. Since he still couldn't be sure it was actually back though and didn't know what to say anyway, he chose to pass the time in this not uncomfortable silence.

Thus, it was Charlie's turn to break it. He did so very quietly, yet with a look in his eyes that told Don to pay attention, that it was important what he had to say.

"Thanks."

Don frowned. "For reminding you of Dad's relationship with Millie?"

The moment the words had left his mouth, he had a feeling what Charlie was truly hinting at, but right now, when he could see his brother's open eyes and talk with him, he didn't want to think any longer about how easily he could have lost it all. Therefore, he decided to maintain his nonchalance and keep the mood light, even though Charlie's eyes told him what was about to come.

He wasn't mistaken. "Dad told me that they wouldn't have been able to administer the antidote in time if you hadn't caught him. I'm only alive because you're as good at your job as you are, so… thanks."

"Hey, no need to thank me here," Don said. "It was the team mostly. You know, we were pretty eager not to lose our math consultant."

Charlie, apparently too exhausted to actually laugh, gave him a smile. "Yeah, I can see that."

They were silent for a while. Don could see that there was something on his brother's mind, so he waited. He didn't have to wait for long.

"Steve Harrow then, huh?"

Don bit his lip. He would have liked to fill Charlie in on the details of the case himself. "Dad told you?"

Charlie shrugged. "I may have shown some curiosity in the matter. Can't hurt to know who wants to see you dead."

Don grimaced. Judging from the look in Charlie's eyes, knowing something like that actually could be hurtful.

"You know him well?" he asked.

Charlie shook his head. "Not really. We're colleagues, that's it. I don't think he's very close to anyone in the department." He paused for a second and Don could see how the muscles around his jaw became tense. "Actually, he came to my office a couple of weeks ago to congratulate me on the award. I mean, I could see he was only being civil and that he would have liked to get the award himself, but I never would have expected something like this."

Don bit his lip. There was a melancholy in Charlie's eyes that it was hard to bear.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

Charlie sighed. "Yeah," he said, but the wheels behind his forehead kept turning, so Don waited until they reached their next destination. "Actually, no, I mean, I don't know." He hesitated for a moment and had to make two attempts before he managed to get the question out, "That was actually his goal, right? Killing me?"

Don shrugged and avoided his brother's eyes. He'd never liked this part of his job, but he would have never thought how much worse it was telling someone about that kind of deadly hatred when that someone was your own little brother. "He's denying it," he explained. "He claims he only wanted to scare you and teach you a lesson, but I guess he won't find a jury to believe him, not with the amount of poison he used."

He swallowed, stopping himself from letting any more words come out of his mouth. This was dangerous territory. Telling his kid brother that someone had tried to kill him wasn't a very pleasant conversation topic and certainly nothing to help him heal, but going one step further and blabbing about how close their adversary had come to achieving his goal would have felt even worse. And not just for his brother. When Don thought about how close he'd come to losing him… If Charlie's stomach had been a little stronger, he wouldn't have lost his stomach contents before more of the poison could have gotten into his system, and from one moment to the next, Don would have become his father's only son. The thought still send shivers down his spine, and he made a promise to himself to never make fun of his brother's nervous stomach ever again.

"Charlie," Don said, thereby startling himself. He hadn't planned to speak. On the other hand, he knew exactly what he wanted to say, even though it was the same thing he was mortally afraid of saying. "I'm… I'm glad he didn't succeed."

"Um… that's good," Charlie replied with a tone that Don couldn't quite place.

His confusion must have been visible in his eyes.

"I mean," Charlie explained, "this conversation would have been a little awkward if you had wanted him to succeed."

Don gave a nervous chuckle, but failed to keep the tone light. What he wanted, what he needed to tell his brother was just too important for this sort of banter. Plus, the emotions were tightening his chest, making talking difficult as it was. "That's not what I meant, obviously. It's just..." He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. Why was it so hard to figure out what exactly he wanted to say? "Look, I know I had been acting a little distant while we were growing up and… and I think we haven't completely cleared the area yet. I mean, contrary to how I may I have been acting at times, I don't want to see you dead and I think, well, I hope that's never been a question. But… I realized only recently that I want more than that, that knowing you're okay is not enough. What I mean is that… you're my brother, and I don't want to lose you. Either way. So what I'm saying is that I don't want us to go back to being distant again, I want to keep doing what we did that night at the award reception, you know, hang out together, as brothers."

Since Don had been anxiously watching his brother's reaction, he couldn't miss all those signs showing how deeply Charlie was moved by his words, even though he seemed adamant to hide those feelings. When he thought he had won control over his emotions, he cleared his throat and asked, "You're not terminally ill though, are you?"

"What?" Don asked back, wondering where on earth this was coming from. "No, I'm not."

"Good," Charlie said simply. He was silent for a moment, but then he seemed to have regained his good spirits. "You know," he said with a telltale twitch around his mouth, "I think you might be one of the very few people enjoying themselves at such an event."

Don smiled back warmly. "I'm open to all kinds of suggestions. It doesn't have to be another award reception, but I wouldn't mind if it were."

"Okay," Charlie said and cleared his throat to free his voice of the husky, emotion-filled quality. "Sounds good. Though next time, I suggest we leave out the poisoning part, what do you say?"

Don laughed, he couldn't help it. "Agreed."

- finis -