Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or any character therein. Any character mentioned in this story is fictional and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

Author's note: Long chapter, but I thought it needed the details to explain the bonding between Melinda and Don; hope I succeeded in describing it.

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Five weeks after having taken Don, Melinda was reviewing her subjugation of him.

First, the thumb sucking was going well. Knowing that it took as little as three weeks to form a habit, she was not surprised that he continued the practice even after she had stopped continually smacking him. Along with the physical reinforcer of Buddy, she contributed the formation of the habit to his having a previous oral fixation- she had noticed before she took him that he was a gum-chewer. The need to have something in his mouth to work his teeth, jaw, and tongue around was there before she had started his therapy; all Melinda had to do was transfer that need to the thumb sucking. Without any societal limitations present when he was alone in his bedroom, he had simply replaced the gum with his thumb. Melinda noticed that he would place it in his mouth whenever he appeared to be thinking, intently interested in something, anxious and scared, or at night, when he was asleep.

Second, he was readily accepting his punishment. After the first week of grabbing Don and executing his belting for being bad, Melinda found that she was wearing herself out from the exertion. With the little nutrition and lack of muscle control that he continued to have, he was still not able to give much of a fight; it was just that pulling and dragging a one-hundred-ninety pound man was not easy without expending a lot of energy. So, she decided to teach him come to her to make it less tiring.

Using the age-old trick of counting, whenever he needed to be punished, she would take Buddy, sit in the recliner, and tell him to get the belt, "come here', pull his pants down and lie across her lap. Then, she would slowly start counting from one. Whatever number she ended on when he came to her became the number of times she would belt him. The first few times had been the most difficult, because he did not correlate her counting to the lashings he would receive. But it only took those few times of being hit fifteen, sixteen times to teach him to grab the belt as fast as he could to keep the number to a minimum.

It became that just hearing the recitation of numbers was enough to make him anxious.

Third, Don had developed an attachment to Buddy that was stronger than Melinda had expected- but was understandable. She assumed he thought he was talking in his head, but she had overheard him several times talking to the toy. This did not surprise her, either, as she knew humans were social creatures and she had cut him off from all human contact- save herself and the toy. He had the simple but compelling need to talk to someone, anyone- and she had made only herself and the rabbit available.

He had also learned that taking Buddy away meant he would be punished. She smiled when she thought about how he hid the rabbit in his shirt to try avoiding punishment.

She'd pretend she couldn't find him, and then she would punish Don emotionally by removing her presence from him, refusing to enter his room. Melinda knew that the complete isolation was too much for Don to handle; she would wait patiently until Don could not take it anymore, and would tell her that the rabbit had suddenly returned from whatever mysterious place he had been hiding, the physical punishment causing far less pain than the feeling of absolute aloneness.

Don also used the rabbit to relieve nervous stress and fear. He had already had the habit of pulling his left ear when he experienced these stressors; Melinda noticed that, when he was anxious or scared, Don would now- along with his thumb sucking- pull on Buddy's ear more often than his own, resulting in the formation of a large bald spot on the bottom of the left ear of the rabbit.

Finally, Melinda thought about the third part of Don's training-the bottle feeding; it was not as successful as the first two. Though he drank the bottles almost everyday without incidence, he was still reluctant in accepting them from Melinda, now and then continuing to refuse them until he had been punished. Occasionally, he would even resist her when she gave him his bath, or shaved him, or brushed his teeth, only obeying when he caught sight of the belt, or because she started to count.

And that was where Don's overall subjugation was not successful. For Melinda, it was not enough that Don do what she said because he was avoiding punishment. It wasn't enough that she had trained him to call her Mommy- because he did not say it like he meant it, only doing it to avoid her smacking him. Melinda wanted more. Her desire was for him to want to depend on her, be grateful for all she did for him- really see her as his mommy. For that to occur, she knew he would need to be taught that he could not do without her help.

After reviewing how her plans had proceeded so far, she decided that the next day she would help him understand how much he needed her-

needed his mommy.

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Don did not know when he first started talking to Buddy.

He just knew he was doing it now.

Sitting on his bed, he was watching the DVD of a cartoon rabbit outsmarting the people chasing him.

"That's one smart rabbit, huh." he told Buddy in his mind, the rabbit sitting next to him.

The stuffed toy did not reply.

It wasn't that Don thought it was a real living thing; obviously, it did not move or breathe or talk.

It was just that Don was extremely lonely. He had been in his bedroom for more than a month, having no one to talk to but Mommy; and it was risky to talk to her.

If he said the wrong thing, she would still backhand him.

If he said no, she would still take Buddy and tell him to pull down his pants and belt him; if he took too long, she would pull them down herself and hit him as many times as she had to count while she waited for him to obey.

He had learned that it hurt less to just do what she said.

And that was what he had been doing.

He noticed, however, if Buddy stayed with him, she would not hit him; she always had to take him away first. Don imagined that maybe she was afraid of Buddy, and that the toy had the power and desire to protect him. In the logical part that was left of his mind he knew the toy could not possibly have this power or this feeling. But, gratitude resided in Don's heart for the comfort these beliefs gave him; he felt the need to offer protection in return- so he kept his only friend by his side, never letting him out of his sight. Neither he nor Melinda knew the truth- that he was projecting the feelings he had for his brother onto the toy, and that his protective nature of the lifeless creature was an extension of what he felt for a living human being, the memories of whom still lingered lost in his mind.

Sometimes, he would hide the rabbit, slipping him under his left arm within his shirt. If Mommy couldn't find him, she would not punish him; she would just wait until Don told her that the rabbit had appeared again. That often gave Don's previous wounds time to heal, so that the belt did not sting as much. Sometimes he thought maybe he should hide Buddy forever, but the loneliness would overcome him, as Mommy would refuse to feed him or talk to him, or even enter his room while Buddy was hidden, and then Don would have to take him out again, hold onto him for the contact that his mother refused him whenever he hid his friend. Besides, Don would never turn his back on a friend.

With no immediate knowledge of his family available to him, Don had sadly come to rely on the companionship of the rabbit, because besides Buddy and Mommy, Don believed he had no one else in the world.

It was really just too emotionally draining to have no one- even if the alternative was an angry Mommy or a non-responsive stuffed toy.

Melinda came in while Don watched the television. She told him it was time for him to go to bed. Obeying her, he went to the bathroom and then climbed under the covers. Melinda sat down next to him on the bed and tucked in his blankets.

Don scowled at her while she did this.

Ignoring his facial expression, Melinda asked Don-

"You don't like when Mommy tucks you in, do you?"

Not trusting her, Don waited a few minutes before deciding to answer-

"No, Mommy."

"You don't like when Mommy does anything for you, do you?"

This time, Don's answer came quickly-

"No, Mommy."

Shaking her head sadly, Melinda said-

"Well, little boys should let their mommies help them- but if you can be a big boy and do everything yourself, then I guess I better stop trying to take care of you."

With that, she kissed Don goodnight- his mind left behind to wonder what exactly she meant.

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Smells good, Don thought.

He took a deep breath, enjoying the aromas tickling the inside of his nose.

Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see a wooden tray set in front of him.

Sitting up in bed, Don placed his legs over the side of his bed, positioning them tentatively under the tray.

On the small wooden space was a round plate with a thin steak and two fried eggs. Placed on either side of the plate were a knife, fork, and a glass of water.

Don sat still, not knowing what he was supposed to do- waiting for Melinda to appear.

Right on cue, she did.

"Good morning, Donny- how are you feeling today?"

"Okay, Mommy."

Don sat looking at the food before him, waiting for Melinda's directions.

Melinda sat down in the recliner, smoothing her pants as she asked Don-

"How would you like to go outside today?"

Don lifted his head up, staring at Melinda.

Licking his lips, he greedily replied-

"Yes, Mommy."

Smiling, Melinda continued to play with the seam of her pants-

"Well, I know you think you're a big boy- I've decided that maybe you're right. I'm going to let you be a big boy from now on- would you like that?"

Don nodded his head gently, always careful of the headaches that could suddenly appear at the slightest provocation-

"Yes, Mommy!"

"Well, okay then"- Melinda agreed "You take care of yourself today- eat your breakfast, take a bath, shave, brush your teeth, and get dressed."

Going across to Don's bed, she leaned underneath and pulled out a pair of socks and tennis shoes.

Continuing her directions as she put them beside the bed, she told Don-

"I put a clock on your dresser. Be ready to go at 12:00- I'll be shopping till then. We can play baseball outside when I get back."

Don could not believe what he was hearing. All the struggling he had been doing was finally paying off; somehow, Mommy understood he didn't need to be treated like a little boy, and he could take care of himself. He did not know how, but despite the strength she had to make him do what she wanted, Don had defeated her.

He turned to tell Buddy, but noticed the rabbit was not sitting next to him.

Beginning to search his bed, he stopped when he heard Melinda ominously say as she went out his bedroom door-

"Don't worry- I took care of Buddy. Big boys don't need stuffed rabbits, now do they?"

With that, she shut and locked his door.

Don had a hollow feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. Mommy was right, of course, he was too big to play with stuffed toys.

But now he had no one to talk to, and he suddenly felt as if he was really the only person left in the world. Swallowing thickly, Don decided he would have to come up with a good reason to convince Mommy to give him Buddy back. He did not want to think that she had thrown him away someplace where he could not be retrieved. Suppressing the anxiety that threatened his insides, he decided to concentrate on eating breakfast.

This was not an easy task.

Trying to pick up the fork, Don found that though his fingers would close enough for him to grasp the thin spear of metal, he could not manipulate it toward the steak. He gave up, not even attempting to hold the knife, deciding to scoop up the steak with his closed fingers, and then balance it on the palm of his hand. This would have been successful, except he found his jaw continued to be limited in its strength; it took all his energy to tear into the meat, but then he had none left to chew the small portion of steak that had slipped into his mouth. Dropping it out of his mouth and off his hand back onto the plate, he tried to eat the eggs. These he could not pick up, as they were slippery with the grease they had been cooked in, sliding away from him and falling apart when he tried to pick them up.

Don became extremely tired from the exertion of trying to eat. Glancing at the time, he could not believe that over an hour had passed since he had first woken up. He had less than three hours before he had to be ready to go outside.

Abandoning breakfast, he climbed around the tray and went into the bathroom to take his bath. Pushing the water on with his palms, he waited for the water to fill. He figured he could try to eat again later, not wanting to miss the opportunity to leave his room.

After the tub was filled, he managed to slip out of his boxers and t-shirt. As he stepped over the side of the tub, he tried to balance himself by holding onto its side. He did not have the coordination or the holding ability to cling to the cold, slick porcelain; his feet skidded out from under him, and he fell into the tub, hitting his back and side hard as his head slid under the water.

Panicky, Don pushed against the end of the tub with his feet, and then managed to get his face above the water, his mouth gasping for breath. He tried to calm down, but the panic spread from the pain that dwelt where his body had impacted the tub. Don took big gulps of air to ease his anxiety, taking in as much bath water as he did oxygen. His stomach and chest began to hurt.

Finally under control of his emotions, Don pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning his back carefully against the back of the tub. He tried to grab the bar of soap and wash cloth. The soap flew out of his hands-out of his reach- so he just laid the wash cloth over his fingers and tried to clean himself. In the back of his mind, he was beginning to doubt himself- and beginning to miss the strong scrubbing hands of his mother. After his poor attempt at self-cleansing, Don reached for the shampoo but found he could not open the cap. Angry, he threw it across the bathroom.

Frustration was beginning to mount his self-confidence and take it for a ride.

Leaning over the side of the tub, Don managed to slide out onto the floor. He had not wanted to risk standing again, his fear of falling too great. Pulling himself up to sit on the toilet lid, he dried himself the best he could, and then discovered that he could not hold his toothbrush or open the cap of the toothpaste; nor could he hold the electric razor due to its vibrating action, dropping it each time it turned on.

He dropped it all into the sink.

Managing to pull on his boxers- but not his shirt- Don left the bathroom, tears of failure falling down his face.

When he got to his bed, he kicked over the tray of food, knocking its contents across the floor. Noting that it was already past 11:30 and he was not ready to go outside with Mommy, he laid down on his bed, purposely putting his thumb in his mouth.

Don was thoroughly depressed. He was dirty and hungry and tired. He hadn't been able to do anything- not one single thing. Now he wouldn't be able to go outside; and when Mommy came in and saw the mess he made, plus how he had failed so miserably at being a big boy, she would probably hit him till he died.

Don trembled at the thought of how badly it was going to hurt when she beat him.

But worst of all, now he was all alone. After Mommy saw how horrible he was, she would never listen to anything he said to get Buddy back.

Mommy's right-I am a bad little boy, Don cried to himself, hiding his head under a pillow.

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Melinda entered Don's room at twelve o'clock, finding exactly what she had expected to find: a defeated little boy.

She walked into the middle of the room and surveyed the results of Don's attempts at his assigned tasks. The steak and eggs were sitting in the middle of the carpet, yellow yolk seeping in and forming a small stain. She mentally noted she'd have to buy some cleaner to remove it later. Melinda had known that Don would never be able to eat the food- she had picked out a tough piece of steak and then proceeded to overcook it, knowing his jaws were not working well enough to chew the meat; she imagined that even the sharpest knife would have had a hard time cutting through it. As for the eggs- well, she was glad she had cooked them in a lot of lard, the greasiness it provided would have made it difficult to keep on a fork, whether alone someone's uncoordinated fingers. And, of course, she had picked out a fork and knife that was designed extra thin- making it impossible for Don to hold, so he had been forced to try to use his fingers.

Melinda went into the bathroom. She saw the toothbrush and razor sitting unused in the sink, as well as the towels abandoned on the floor beside the unopened shampoo. Looking into the tub, she noted there was no soap- he had obviously not been able to clean himself. She had known that, too, as his ability to control his muscles was not sufficient enough to grab a slippery bar soap- she had made sure not to buy bath gel- nor strong enough to scrub himself clean. Melinda was surprised he had even managed to get into the tub without killing himself, the damp towels the only indication that he had accomplished that feat.

Going back into the bedroom, she saw that Don was still wearing his underclothes from the day before. He had apparently not been able to pull his t-shirt on, his bare chest exposed. Melinda stood next to Don's bed; neither one of them could look at each other, as he had his face hidden under a pillow, hiding in embarrassment and shame from her.

Don heard Melinda walk around in his room and the bathroom. He waited for her to tell him to get his punishment, but was surprised to hear her leave and then return a few minutes later. But he was absolutely shocked when he felt her lift his left arm up and place something soft underneath, laying his arm gently on top of it.

He didn't want to believe it, but he ran his fingers along the left ear just in case- sure enough, the bald spot on the left ear told Don that he was holding his best friend.

Stroking Buddy, Don listened in confusion as Melinda continued to walk between his bedroom and bath. It sounded as if she was picking things up, the sound of an object being dragged from the room apparent one minute, then the sound of someone scrubbing, the scrape of a drawer being opened and closed. At one point, he detected water starting to run in the bathroom.

Before long, he heard her stop moving, aware that she was standing in front of his bed, even with his head. Don's breathing picked up, as he was not sure what Melinda was going to do.

Melinda bent down in front of Don's head, crouching before him. She had cleaned up his bathroom and the food on his bedroom floor. She had lain out fresh clothes on the recliner, taken the tray and dishes from the room, setting them in the kitchen. Now, she was prepared to take care of Don.

Lifting up the edge of the pillow, she turned her head sideways, peering underneath. She was confronted with two moist, doey eyes peeking out at her.

She smiled reassuringly-

"It's okay, baby, you don't have to hide from Mommy. I'm not mad."

Tears started to drip down Don's face as he pressed his eyes into the bed sheet, too ashamed to face her.

Rubbing Don's shoulder, her thumb playing along his collarbone, she assured-

"All little boys need their Mommy to take care of them. There's not a little boy in the whole world that doesn't have to depend on his Mommy."

Don cautiously looked back at Melinda, listening to her words and concentrating on the feel of her hand on his shoulder.

"Come on," she said, running her hand down to his, tugging at him sympathetically.

"Let Mommy take care of you- and then we can go outside to play baseball."

This gleaned a response from Don.

Reluctantly, he sat up, putting the pillow aside.

His eyes downcast, he told Melinda morosely-

"No good, Mommy."

Kneeling between Don's legs, she caressed his face with the tips of her fingers-

"You're a good boy, Donny- you just need your Mommy. Please let Mommy help you so we can go outside."

Don felt guilty. He studied his bedroom- the mess he had made with breakfast was gone; Mommy had to clean it up. His clothes were sitting on the recliner; Mommy had placed them there for him. The bathtub was probably full of hot fresh water and scented, soothing bubbles; Mommy had done that for him, too. She had even cared enough to keep Buddy; somehow, she knew how important he was to Don, even though she couldn't punish him when the rabbit was around.

Don began to think of the other things Mommy did for him. Like, how he didn't fall in the tub, because she held onto him until he sat all the way down; he remembered with remorse that sometimes she grunted when she did this, because he was probably too heavy for such a tiny woman to handle.

Then, how she would scrub his body, massaging his neck and lower back, easing them from the tension he had built up there, the result of his frequent headaches. He thought about how good it felt when she kneaded his skin when she dried his body; about how patiently she shaved him and brushed his teeth- it never hurt. He knew when bath time was over, he felt tingly and good all over, the baby powder silky on his skin; sometimes, she would even put his clothes in the drier right before he got dressed, the feeling of warm, fresh clothes incomparable- clothes he could put on only because she so tolerantly helped him pull up his jeans, and always she had to zip and button them on.

Glancing at the tennis shoes that sat beside his bed, Don realized she would have to put his shoes and socks on in order for him to go outside. Mommy could go outside whenever she wanted to; she didn't need his help. Yet, she was still willing to do these things for him so that he might also enjoy being outside- and play ball.

And for the first time, Don realized why Mommy made him drink the bottles- he probably would have starved to death a long time ago, as he obviously could not chew solid food.

Yet, Don fought her so many times when she tried to do anything for him. No wonder she punished him- he was bad to want to resist her. She was his Mommy, and loved him- always wanting to take care of him when there was no one else to. When he did not do what she told him to do, she was just concerned that he might get hurt- like fall in the tub- or not be able to eat, or do special things- like play baseball.

She said she was teaching him when she spanked him, but he had never learned.

Like so many people in abusive relationships, Don was isolated and dependent upon his abuser. As he sat staring at her falsely compassionate eyes, he began to do what so many other people in similar situations do- and it was easier for him, as taking responsibility for the actions of others was already a part of his nature.

For Don decided to take responsibility for every horrible thing that Melinda had done to him- and anything she would do.

Smiling, Melinda helped Don to his feet and to the tub. When he was cleaned, shaved, and dressed, she began to put on his shoes. Before she could begin, she heard his voice whisper-

"Hungry, Mommy."

"Oh, baby! Mommy's so sorry. I forgot you didn't get to eat."

She quickly got three bottles. When she came back into the bedroom, she saw that Don was already lying on his bed. As she began to sit next to his head, he gestured to her to lie on the bed next to him. Happily, she did, placing her arms around Don as he drank from a bottle balanced on her breast.

He finally knows I'm his Mommy, she thought.

And she had proof.

Because, for the first time since she had brought her little boy home-

when she hugged him-

She could feel him hugging her back.