Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined. I got the few words I used from "There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly" from a website I list on my profile page. And I do not own the rights to "Peter Rabbit".
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"Mel!" It is so nice to see you," Holly Miller led her guest to her patio, offering a seat and an expansive view of Los Angeles.
"Well, I haven't seen you in so long, I thought I'd check in on you; I've worried about you since Albert passed away."
Holly's eyes looked past Melinda, staring across the open land that dipped below the boundaries of her property. "Actually, I haven't been able to think of anything else. He had seemed so healthy, I just never imagined…"
"That's the way it always is," Melinda patted Holly's hand, "You love someone deeply like it will never end, and then suddenly they're taken from you, often when you least expect it."
"Yes, it was just like that- sudden and unexpected. But you were there for me, Mel, and I'll never know how to thank you."
"Actually, that is why I am here. Please forgive me if it is wrong to ask, but I need a small favor."
"Why Melinda! How could you even think not to ask? I'll do anything you want- anything at all."
"I thought you would, but if you are still mourning…"
"If there is something I can do to get Albert off my mind, then ask me to do it; I've been hiding out in this house for months now- just moping- and I must confess it has become quite boring."
Laughing, Melinda held her friend's hand.
"Actually, I think it is something that will both take your mind off Albert and bring you enjoyment. You know I sold my majority interest in Thompson Pharmaceuticals last year?"
"Yes, I thought it was a way of purging your memories of Randy."
"Maybe it was, but I did keep a substantial investment in the company; after all, the stock has always maintained a high value. One of the perks I retained before the sale was access to a property in Italy- it is just a quaint little villa, really, nothing more. The company has always owned it in name, but now that I am no longer majority holder, they have recently informed me that they plan to sell the house and the land. Only, the furnishings inside are owned by me; I am entangled in some other business affair at this time, and need someone else to remove them before the sale. That is the favor I need to ask you."
"So, you want me to find someone to box your possessions and ship them back here? Or, would you want them to be sold, like at an auction?
"A little bit of both. But I don't want you to find someone to do it- I want you to go yourself."
"Really, Mel- to Italy? It has been ages since I've been there!"
"I know, I haven't been there myself since before Randy died." Melinda took her friend's other hand, clasping both of them within her own as they sat knee-to-knee. "It'll be good for you, Holly, I am sure of it. It is beautiful in Italy this time of year; the fresh air and change in scenery will make a new woman of you. And when you're done packing up the house, I'll pay for you to stay at one of those darling little boarding homes for as long as you like."
"You're not doing this just because I miss Albert, are you? I appreciate the offer, but still…"
"Oh, no, I really need your help. I don't know any of the local brokers, and, other than you, I don't think I could trust anyone to know which items to keep and which ones to sell; you've always had such impeccable taste. Please say yes- I still have access to the company plane and you could leave for Milan tomorrow."
Holly smiled, hugging her friend and sighing, "I could never say no to you, Mel."
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Charlie rolled his neck, trying to ease the kinks in it. He had kept his head at an unnatural angle against Don throughout most of the night, letting it rest against his shoulder or back, and finally his chest- depending upon the other's shift in position; Charlie only moved occasionally himself within the narrow space that he had been granted on the bed. Blinking his eyes open, he pulled his head up and aligned his face inches from Don's, observing his brother briefly in the fading darkness while he slept. Don's face was placid, the crinkles that normally shown around his eyes lax and smooth, his hair unkempt and lightly damp around the edges, like it always was after he played baseball. Sitting up on one elbow, Charlie carefully slipped his index finger into the fist that protruded from Don's mouth, wisps of breath warming his skin, enjoying how his brother's fingers just barely wrapped around his own, as if he was clinging to him instead of Buddy.
He seems so young and fragile- I wish we could keep him between us, safe, forever.
Knowing that Don woke up regularly at seven, Charlie pulled his finger from Don's light grasp, rolled over and slid out of bed, not wanting to frighten him by his unfamiliar presence. He crept from the room and began his own morning routine, utilizing the bathroom and taking a quick shower, then dressing in comfortable Dockers and t-shirt. When finished, he quietly whistled to the kitchen, noting that Don should be awake soon and would want breakfast. After quickly chomping an apple to stay his own appetite, Charlie gathered three filled bottles from the refrigerator in his arms, walked through to the dining room, stopped long enough to grab Don's binder from the buffet, and then he returned upstairs. When he arrived at the bedroom, he maneuvered the bottles and binder under the pressure of one arm and opened the door slowly, hearing someone moving and hoping it was not Don. He wanted Alan to be awake the first time he and his brother met, so that Don's fear of him could be kept to a minimum by their father's reassuring words.
To Charlie's relief, it was his father.
Charlie pushed the door open and entered the bedroom, smiling at Alan, whispering "Hope you slept better than I did."
Alan was sitting in the recliner, twisting his body back and forth at his waist, and then rubbing his knees, which cracked when he finally stood. "Oh," he moaned quietly. "Not likely. Donny kept turning over and wrapping his arm and leg around me. All that weight pressing on my joints- I'm surprised I can even move."
"Won't he be awake soon?" Charlie asked, continuing to keep his voice low and putting the bottles on the nightstand. Alan began pushing the air out of them.
"Yes. What's that you have there?" Alan nodded towards the binder Charlie held in his hand.
"It's all of the information that's been collected on Don. I thought it might be useful if we were organized; we'll have to track and coordinate a lot of factors during his rehabilitation."
Alan raised his eyebrows. "Really, let me take a look."
Both men went to stand by the open bedroom door, taking advantage of the light coming in from the hallway. "This is good, Charlie. It'll be a lot easier for me to find everything Donny needs."
A rustling sound followed by tiny creaks caught the attention of both men; they looked up to see Don sitting on the edge of his bed, looking about in confusion, and frightened because he did not remember where he was. With Buddy held in his arms, he started crying profusely until he met Alan's eyes; when he saw him, Don recognized who he was, the confusion on his face making over into a plead for his father.
Alan rushed to him, sitting on the bed and pulling him in close. While he began massaging Don, Alan looked across to Charlie and waved him to stand near the closet, afraid Charlie would take off again if he stood near the exit too long. Alan did not want to have to wait to introduce his two sons to each other; the soreness in his joints and the thoughtfulness of the binder reminded him that he needed Charlie's help. And Alan knew he could only take full advantage of Charlie if he and Don learned to be near each other.
His voice muffled against Alan's chest, Don asked him, "Where are we?"
"We're home, Donny."
"Is not my home."
"Yes, Donny. It's my home, and now it's yours, too."
"Mommy won't know."
"That's alright, Donny. You're going to stay here with me. Remember?"
"I need Mommy." As Don's sobs increased, so did Alan's physical reassurances.
Inside, though, Alan seethed. He had been waiting over two years for Don to cry for the loss of his mother, knowing his son needed the release in order to come to terms with her death. As Alan listened to Don's despair at losing Dr. Thompson, he cursed the woman for stealing the emotions that Don once had for his mother, and for taking his late wife's rightful place as the focus of his son's grief.
While Alan continued to console Don, Charlie stood silently watching his brother cry. He had never seen Don cry- not like he was doing now, not as an adult. Even when they were younger, Don rarely cried, just an occasional tear slipping through despite his best efforts- and it seemed like it was never from sadness, but from anger or pain. As adults, Charlie had viewed Don as detached and unemotional, so that it had not seemed possible that he even had the proper outlets from which tears could flow.
But, Charlie reflected, he had been wrong. Don had tear ducts, ones in good working order if the continuous flow of liquid pouring from them was evidence. Charlie wondered about all the times in Don's life that he should have cried, if all those tears had been locked away in his brother's mind and that somehow his head injury had been the key to unleash them, a torrent that he could no longer control within himself. Charlie wanted to stop that flood like his father was doing, use comforting words and tender touches to dam them up; he felt the need so badly that he had to fasten himself to the closet door, knowing that any approach to Don would only make the situation worse because he would most likely frighten him. Charlie knew he had to contain his emotions, as it was an ability that his brother no longer possessed.
As he began to calm down, Don tightened his arms around Alan- who released a strained breath, then assured him, "I'll take care of you, Donny. You don't need Mommy for that anymore. You're with me now, and your brother. See. He's right over there."
Sticking his thumb in his mouth, Don darted his eyes around him until they fell on Charlie, whose appearance was slowly emerging in the morning light that was expanding in the room.
"Charlie, go turn on the light so your brother can see you more clearly," Alan directed.
Without thinking, Charlie did as he was told, cautiously returning to his position at the closet door, standing directly across from his brother's frightened but curious eyes. They studied one another, Charlie trying to discern any recognition in Don's eyes, while the other tried to decide if this new person was a threat.
Don suddenly stiffened and sat up, his eyes widening somewhat as he looked down at his lap. Alan immediately understood the problem.
"Wait here, Charlie. I'm taking Donny to the bathroom. When we get back, you two can work on getting to know each other better."
While they were gone, Charlie grabbed the binder and checked Don's schedule, pacing back and forth nervously. He did not want to scare Don, or make any mistakes that would make him more anxious than he already was. When he heard the bathroom door open, Charlie put down the binder and sat in the recliner, hoping he would look less intimidating to his brother.
Don entered the room with Alan holding his hand.He tepidly walked to the bed and lay down, keeping his focus on Alan as he had once done with Debra. Alan sat at the bed's edge facing Don, expertly feeding him with his left hand, all the while rubbing his right hand along his stomach and side. Charlie observed quietly, noting how Don trusted their father; he wanted to earn that trust, too.
When Alan reached for the last bottle, he copied Debra in allowing Charlie to take over for him; Don was noticeably stressed by their switch in position. While Alan continued a litany of assurances that Charlie was his brother and wanted to take care of him, too, Charlie tried to make eye contact with Don, but the latter shut his eyes, drinking so quickly that a small stream of fluid spilled from the side of his mouth; reaching around Charlie, Alan mopped it up with the end of his pajama top. When Don finished, Charlie grabbed the bottles intending to take them downstairs, trying to ignore the way Don had turned over on the bed and placed his back to him when done drinking.
"Where are the things he needs for his bath?" Charlie asked Alan.
"Oh, I forgot. I left them in the car- there are quite a few packages from the institute. Bring the black suitcase and the brown bag marked 'bath' up here. If you put the rest of it in the dining room, we can sort it out later."
Nodding, Charlie traveled downstairs, taking care of the bottles, exiting the kitchen door, and reentering ten minutes later with his arms loaded from his dad's car. Dropping the items in the dining room as told, he took Don's suitcase and bath bag up to his bedroom. Both Alan and Don had vacated the room, so Charlie emptied the clothes from the suitcase into Don's dresser and put his shoes under his bed; he then took the bag across the hall to the bathroom, knocking twice before entering.
Alan was kneeling next to the bath tub, running his hand through the water to test its temperature. Don stood undressed beside him, looking into the water, stepping from one foot to the other anxiously. Charlie was momentarily taken aback by the sight of his brother's naked form; he quickly recovered and averted his eyes.
After Charlie gave a quiet 'ahem', the two men looked toward him. Don stood still while Alan twisted, beckoning Charlie towards him.
"Right now, I just need the three boats on top."
Keeping his eyes on his hands, Charlie opened the bag and grabbed the toys, handing them one by one to Alan, who floated them in the tub, Don watching intently the entire time.
"Okay," Alan grabbed the tub's side and pulled himself up with an 'Oof". "Let me show you how to help Don into the tub." Swallowing his embarrassment twice, Charlie raised his head and watched Alan as he positioned himself next to Don, shouldered his weight, and lowered him in. Don immediately began playing with the boats, completely engrossed in the routine. "Uh, if you don't mind, it would be a little easier on my knees if you could wash Don."
Charlie chewed on his index finger as he drew near to the tub. "I don't know," he responded nervously. "He didn't seem too happy when I fed him. Do you think he'll let me?"
"Well, his day nurse told me he does just about anything if you tell him to be a quote good boy unquote; it seemed to work when getting him used to me."
Charlie thought about the expression. Isn't good boy what you say to a dog? During his contemplation, he watched Don play with his boats and wondered if Dr. Thompson had used the expression as one way to teach his brother the childish behavior.
Charlie came to a decision and crossed his arms, shaking his head, "No- I won't use that phrase. I don't understand how referring to Don as a boy will help him remember he is a man." He fixed his eyes on his father, "It might take longer, but I think Don is going to have to learn to trust me our way, not"- he hesitated to speak her name, not knowing how well his brother was listening to what he was saying- "not her way."
Alan frowned, then rubbed a hand across his weary face as he sat on the lid to the toilet. "I guess I was looking for the easiest way to get Donny home; it never occurred to me those were her words, not Debra's."
"I understand, Dad. Within a limited time, you used the best method available to achieve a desired outcome. The situation is different now; our methods are not bound by such narrow restraints of time."
"You're right, of course-we can change some of the ways we talk to Donny. But he has a lot of behaviors that we can't change. You have to accept that he is going to continue to do things that neither one of us like, until he is ready to give them up and wants to behave otherwise."
Nodding his head in agreement, Charlie responded, "Fine, so we take small steps. Let's agree the first one will be to not use that phrase."
"Okay- agreed. Now, convince him to let you give him a bath."
Lowering himself to his knees, Charlie leaned slightly forward against the tub, reaching for the nearest boat floating on top. Don suddenly shifted his attention from his toys to his brother, shivering despite the heat of the water; he stopped playing, waiting uneasily to see what Charlie would do.
Charlie lifted the boat, looking at its design; it was a simple, red plastic tugboat, with fat, round edges and large holes cut out for the windows. There were no sharp edges or details; it had obviously been designed for a baby or toddler. Charlie put it back in the water and dragged the tugboat back and forth, eyeing Don out of the corner of his eye. To his disappointment, Don slid down the back of the tub and closed his eyes, ignoring both the toys and his brother.
Abandoning the boat and standing up, Charlie tried the direct approach.
"Don, would it be alright if I gave you a bath?"
Sinking a little lower in the water, Don did not respond.
Charlie stepped over to stand next to Don's head, speaking quietly. "Do you know who I am?"
Briefly peaking one eye at Charlie, Don replied, "Yes."
"Who am I?"
Don fidgeted a little in the water. "My brother."
"Do you know what that means?"
His eyebrows burrowed together, Don obviously concentrated on the last question; suddenly, he bolted straight up in the tub; he began pulling at his left ear while throwing a frightened glance at his father, his breathing increasing in speed.
"What's wrong, Donny?" Alan promptly rose from his seat and moved in front of Charlie, blocking Don's view of his brother.
Grabbing at his father's hand, but unable to obtain a grip, Don said, "He's real smart," wanting to convey what that meant to him, but not capable of explaining.
Confused, Alan agreed, "Yes, Charlie is smart. You don't like that?"
"No I don't." His eyes glassed over with a subtle panic; Alan read them and responded, "I think maybe you should leave, Charlie. Something he remembers about you is upsetting him."
Charlie hesitantly agreed, "Okay. Are you going to be alright? I could get you a chair to sit on."
"No, it's easier to reach around and under him when we're level with each other." Turning to smile at Charlie, Alan promised, "Don't worry, there are other things that you can help me with, and eventually one of them will be this. Until then, I can handle it."
Trying to put aside his disappointment at Don's rejection, Charlie offered to make breakfast. "Great," Alan encouraged him, "That's just what I'll need. Give us about an hour."
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Don was dressed and sitting on the living room floor, watching a cartoon DVD that he had been allowed to choose. Charlie had set up the table so he and Alan could keep an eye on him while they ate breakfast.
"This is good, Charlie. Thanks."
"No problem. When you're done eating, I can watch Don while you take a shower and get dressed. I'll do the dishes later."
Alan hedged a little before giving a response to the offer. "Well, if you promise you won't leave him alone- I mean, not even for a second."
Charlie knew something was wrong by his father's hesitation. When Don had been at Dr. Thompson's house, he had supposedly been free to walk around her house, and did not appear to have hurt himself. "I'll keep an eye on him, Dad, but I think he'll be alright if I have to leave the room for a moment…"
Alan stopped eating, throwing his napkin on his plate and trying to avoid Charlie's questioning eyes. He leaned on his arms, talking to the table. "Megan called me while I was stuck in traffic with Don yesterday."
From his father's behavior, Charlie discerned that the news could not have been good. "And?"
"And, they had to drop the charges against Dr. Thompson. She was released yesterday."
Charlie dropped his fork with a clang; he stood up, his hands moving wildly, one to his forehead, another to his hip, then one back to the base of his skull, another rubbing his chin, all the while pacing back and forth. "How is that possible- they found him in her house?"
"She said she was taking care of him, thought he had been left homeless by an uncaring family. Megan said if they had gone to trial, they would have lost and Thompson would never pay for what she did to Don. Megan swears they'll keep looking until they have the evidence to convict her."
Nodding his head into his hand, Charlie tried to comprehend what this meant to Don's situation. "You don't think she'll come after Don, do you? Can they offer him protection?"
"Nothing official. Since the charges have been dropped, the Bureau stance is that Don is not- has never been- in danger from Thompson. His friends have offered to sit outside when they can, to keep an eye out for us. But according to Megan, Dr. Thompson probably won't try to take Don again. However, she thinks she is planning to do something- she just can't figure out what."
Stopping in the middle of his flurried activity, Charlie focused his attention on his brother, watching Don sitting quietly in the living room, his appearance angelic and far removed from the concerns that his family was discussing. "I have to- we have to- protect him. I swear, I won't leave him alone for a moment."
"I trust you, Charlie." Alan left the table to stand next tohim, sharing in his observances of Don. "Uh- you think maybe you could come up with an algorithm to figure out what she did to Don; then they'd know what evidence to look for."
Charlie turned abruptly, staring at his father. "I've been afraid to concentrate on too many numbers- I'm already working on algorithms to determine how long and how successful Don's rehabilitation will be. I'm afraid if I do too many things at once, I'll get lost in my work, just like when Mom was sick."
"You were a different person then. Don was there for you to rely on; now, he needs you and you've been there for him. If you can't stop thinking about the numbers anyway, why not use them to help Don in all the ways you can?"
Resting a hand on Charlie's neck, Alan restated his faith in his son, "I have a feeling that no matter how deep you get in your mind, one word from Donny and you'll snap out of it." Leaving to take his shower and get dressed, Alan added, "You know-he's always had that effect on you."
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The Eppes men spent the rest of the day uneventfully at home, Charlie busying himself between kitchen work and the garage, where he was applying numerical values to the different aspects affecting Don's ability to recover; after his father's talk with him, he was now confidant in his own ability to leave the comfort of his numbers with regularity and as needed. Alan was sitting in the living room with Don, dividing his time between Sudoku puzzles and mounting the electric train from the institute on the coffee table, having finally gained Don's interest.
The day ended, and about an hour after Don and Alan had gone to bed, Charlie went to check on them, his plan to crash with a blanket in the recliner in Don's bedroom. Once he had settled into the chair, he again heard Alan calling to him, "There's not much room, Charlie, but the bed still has to be more comfortable than that chair."
Hesitantly, Charlie walked to the bed, carefully climbing in when he saw that Don was turned on his side towards Alan, limbs entangled around his father, leaving adequate space behind him. Lying on his back, Charlie put an arm under his head and asked, "Uh, you don't think this is kinda, you know, odd- us all sleeping in the same bed, do you?"
Stifling a laugh over Don's head, Alan explained, "I'll have you know your grandfather slept with his father and brother more than five years into his marriage."
"You're kidding."
"Well, three couples in a house and two beds, figure it out."
"And how did they manage…?"
"They had to be creative in granting each other privacy. You know, not every family can afford to give a bed to each of its members; we're kinda spoiled in this country."
"Well, not everyone is."
"True. In any case, this family needs the closeness- for now. And I personally don't feel Don is safe unless one of us is with him. Maybe I'm a little paranoid, but like everything else, it'll get better."
"I think that should be our anthem- "It'll get better."
Laughing softly, Alan told Charlie, "Remember that when Don sees the therapists on Monday- and if he rejects you again tomorrow. It'll take time, but"-
"It'll get better," Charlie finished, shimmying deeply into the mattress, believing his own words as he lay in the small enclave his family had formed on the bed.