Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or any of the characters therein. Dr. Thompson is a fictional character and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

Don was still asleep when Melinda entered his room. He lay on his right side, breathing heavily through his mouth. She ran her fingers through his hair, noting how it had already begun to stick together from lack of washing, his face with two-day's stubble shadowing it. Before his session, he would have to be shaved. The hair growing on his face ruined the illusion she had planted in her mind of him as a little boy.

Still, he would not receive a bath or shower until his therapy sessions were over. She had decided that long before. When it was finally time for him to clean up, she would make it something special.

You always remember when you give your child his first bath- she thought.

Stepping next to Don, she shook his shoulder, gently at first, then harder when he seemed to rouse. Blinking open his eyes, he looked up at her and tried to move back- as far away from her as he could go. But Melinda just smiled, holding his left arm and pulling him up into a sitting position. He was too weak to resist.

"It's alright, baby," she soothed, running fingers up and down Don's arms.

She felt him shiver beneath her touch.

Melinda sat on the bed next to Don, placed his right arm around her back and helped him lift up from the bed. Still weary, Don stood up with her, his eyes darting around as he realized the exit door was open and they would be leaving the bedroom. Don walked with Melinda, using her for support, his senses weak from the injection she had given him, his vision cloudy.

She stopped at the bathroom door, asked Don if he needed to use it. Embarrassed, Don felt the sudden urge to urinate, but couldn't respond. Taking his silence for a yes, Melinda led him into the bathroom, leaning him against the sink while she helped him relieve himself.

Don kept his eyes closed from the moment he leaned against the sink, trying to think of anything else except the strange woman who was helping him perform such a personal bodily function.

When he finished, she placed his arm across her back again and led him from the bathroom, exiting out the bedroom door.

In Don's mind, he ran and ran, fleeing down the hallway to his left, passing the living room whose edge he saw, through the door he knew had to be there, the door that would give him access to the outside world.

In reality, he could only lean on Melinda, allowing her to take him down the opposite hall, to a room in which he saw a hospital bed lying flat, with nothing else around but a small table upon which sat a strange-looking machine.

So tired, so tired.

Melinda took Don to the hospital bed, scooting out from under his arm as she pushed her shoulder into his chest, the small movement causing him to sit on the bed's edge.

Don had no more strength left. The short walk down the hall had been too much for him. He lay down on his side, his feet still over the edge of the bed.

Melinda carefully lifted his legs onto the bed, turning Don over onto his back. She met no resistance. Don's eyes were already closed again, his breathing becoming shallow as he started to drift off to sleep.

Wasting no time, Melinda placed Don's wrists into the leather cuffs. She pulled on them to make sure they had enough leeway so that when Don's body started to convulse, he would not snap his wrists. She did the same for his ankles, noting wryly that she had forgotten to take off his socks; she quickly removed and tossed them aside.

She left the room to perform two more tasks before she started her son's therapy session. Going into her bedroom, she grabbed a bag containing items she had picked up from the pharmacy on her way to get Don Friday night. She grabbed a wash clothe from her sink, getting it damp. She carried it, along with the bag, back into the therapy room. There, she wet Don's face, and then she pulled an electric razor from the bag. Putting in batteries that she had also picked up, she performed her first task of shaving his face, doing so until she was satisfied his skin was smooth, though slightly pink.

Don's only response was to look at her once or twice, incomprehension apparent in his eyes.

Next, she pulled out a package of adult incontinency briefs. Though she had taken him to the bathroom before his session, the fact remained that during the seizures he would most likely lose control of his bodily functions. Taking care of that last task, Melinda set about to start Don's first session.

Carefully, she attached the electrodes to the ECT unit. She squirted out a dime's worth of conductive jelly onto each of the electrodes, attaching one on either side of Don's temple, above and a little behind each eyebrow. Without the jelly, his skin would burn at the contact point with the electrode. Next, she pried open his mouth, placing the sports guards inside, careful that they were properly placed.

At that, Don opened his eyes- wide- his consciousness awakening as he started to salivate. Reaching to remove the objects from his mouth, he was suddenly aware he could not move his hand. He tried his other hand- nothing. Starting to squirm, he weakly moved side to side, trying to escape the straps that bound him.

Melinda cooed softly in Don's ear, trying to calm him. When he looked up at her, he saw a portion of the wire hanging from his head. His eyes slowly followed it up to its end at the ECT unit. Mentally, panic overcame Don, but his body could not respond to the fear in his mind; it did not have the energy to physically express what he felt.

Seeing that her words were having no effect on Don, Melinda stopped trying to calm him down.

She flipped on the ECT switch.

And waited patiently while Don started to convulse.

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Don did not know what the wires coming from his head meant.

He did not understand anything that was happening to him.

He could not move- not his arms, not his legs.

He felt as if he hadn't slept in months.

He wanted to get away-

far away.

Far from the bedroom with the baseballs on the sheets and the blue toy box.

Far from this hospital bed and its straps and wires.

But, especially, far from this woman whose touch made him shiver.

And whose voice made him shake.

Don got his wish.

Because suddenly he was on the sun, and everything was bright, burning bright- and there was pain, so much pain; he felt a hundred hands trying to pull him apart- his body arching up to brush lightning that began flashing all around him, brighter and hotter than the sun-

As quickly as the storm began, it was over.

Don got his wish.

He was far away, falling into unconsciousness once again, far from everyone and everything he feared.

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Melinda turned off the ECT unit. It had run only seven seconds, but Don's body continued to actively convulse for a full minute. When the unit showed a red light, she knew the seizure was over and she could check on Don.

She undid the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, rubbing them to check for any breaks or sprains.

Nothing. Good.

She ran her hands up and down Don's body, squeezing here and there for signs of damage, finding nothing.

Good.

Melinda removed the electrodes from Don's temples and the guards from his mouth, hiding them along with the ECT unit in the closet. She went to get baby wipes and cleaned Don up before he could awaken; she did not want to unnecessarily embarrass him.

All that was left was the waiting game.

Waiting for Don to wake up.

Melinda sat on the edge of the bed, wanting to have a look into Don's eyes the moment they opened.

They did, almost thirty minutes later.

She was pleased to see the confusion in his eyes. He stared at her, not knowing who she was. Not certain who he was. He moved his jaw around, trying to loosen it up.

"Come on baby," Melinda said, helping Don pull up into a sitting position.

Again, she wrapped his arm around her back, and led Don back to his bedroom, helping him lie down on the bed. She fixed his pillow under his head at a tilted angle.

"Are you hungry, baby?" Melinda asked Don.

Confused by his surroundings and the woman in front of him, Don could not respond, so his stomach answered for him. It emitted a quiet rumbling sound.

Melinda smiled.

"I'll be right back, baby," she purred, leaving Don lying on the bed.

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Don was confused.

The electroconvulsive therapy had left him disoriented. He could not concentrate on any of the objects in the room- they all seemed to be swimming around him. Closing his eyes, he found that it was hard to focus on anything in there, too.

The events of the past few days were completely lost to him.

The last memory he had was of something cold, cold on his tongue- Don licked his lips, trying to remember the taste.

It was chocolate- cold chocolate, and I was eating it with-

Here, Don was stopped short.

Who was I eating it with?

As he settled into the bed and tried to relax, the memories he had stored before Friday evening came swirling back into his head, slowly, like good soldiers.

Charlie.

He had been eating fudgcicles with Charlie.

My brother- my younger brother and math genius.

Within twenty minutes of awakening, Don had all his memories back, except those from Friday evening on. He had no memories of the electroconvulsive therapy he had received, or of Melinda performing it on him.

Don began to ponder his current predicament; he did not even know how he had ended up in the room he was in. He felt like he had jumped from the park with Charlie into this room- like in a science fiction movie, or something. He wanted to ask the lady how he had gotten there, but he was too tired to move his lips.

That was something else he wanted to ask- why did he feel like he had been hit by a semi truck? Every inch of his body ached- so bad, that just lying on the bed made the muscles on the back of his arms and legs sore. Added to that was a throbbing that dwelled right behind his forehead.

Don rubbed his temples, wondering if he had been in an accident- had this lady taken him in to care for him. If so, why hadn't she called the police? Or his family?

Worn out by all the thinking he had done, Don began to fall asleep, the answers to his questions far beyond his grasp.

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Melinda smiled at Don's limp form. She was not surprised that he had fallen asleep. She knew the therapy was going to wear her son down, but she would be there in the end to help build him back up.

Settling herself next to Don's head, Melinda gently lifted up his pillow and slid her left leg underneath it. Then, she grabbed one of the two baby bottles she had balanced on the bed next to her.

When she was in the kitchen, she had filled the bottles with adult supplementary drinks; according to the cans, she would be providing Don with the nutrients of two meals. Since he hadn't eaten for almost three days, Melinda thought it was a good idea to supply this amount of nourishment. If he became too strong, she figured she could always cut back until his therapy sessions had ended.

Now, she ran her fingers through Don's hair, quietly trying to wake him up. When he opened his eyes partway, she used her left hand to firmly hold his chin still. Next, she used her right hand to hold the bottle, placing its nipple in his mouth, the tip down between his teeth. Cupping the bottle in her palm, with her right thumb she pushed down the plunger on the side of the bottle, forcing liquid into Don's mouth.

His response was immediate.

Don's eyes opened all the way as he felt the cool liquid in his mouth. When he saw where it was coming from, he tried to turn his head, but could not move it out of Melinda's strong grip. He let a few ounces run down his chin, trying to avoid swallowing- but gravity and his own hunger got the best of him. When the first few drops made it down his throat, he instinctively swallowed. His stomach demanded more, and he began gulping as fast as his mouth was filled.

Don found it hard to breathe; he was swallowing so fast that he had to concentrate to prevent the liquid from going down the wrong tube, his hands loosely clenching the sheets on the bed and his entire body tense.

Melinda saw Don's discomfort. When he finished the first bottle, she quickly replaced it with the second- but did not press down the plunger.

Without the liquid pouring into his mouth and throat, Don's body relaxed and his hands unclenched. His hunger, however, remained, and he waited for the coolness in his mouth to return.

It didn't.

Raising his eyes to Melinda's, Don saw the expectation in her eyes. He brought his eyes back down, trying to look ahead, the bottle blocking his view.

Closing his eyes, he could taste the rubber of the nipple; feel its smooth texture around his lips. But the center of his tongue was focused on a drop of milky-thick liquid that clung to the tip- just strong enough to make Don's body hurt for more.

Don's physical need won over his emotional pride.

Despite the utter humiliation and against his better instincts, Don began to suck on the bottle.

After he had drained the last drop, Melinda pulled the bottle from his lips and moved out from beneath his pillow. She went into the bathroom and came back with a wipe, intending to clean his face.

Don wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved that a third bottle was not offered. He tried to ignore the woman who was wiping away the spilled liquid on his chin and neck. When she finally got up to leave, Don turned over onto his left side, facing the wall, trying to make a barrier between them.

Melinda refused to let him put up that wall.

Leaning over him, she rubbed his arm and pressed her lips against his head, telling him softly-

"You're such a good little boy, Donny, so good."