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.
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Charlie and Alan took turns on the phone, each apologizing for the way they had talked to the personnel at the institute, gratified when Jim said he had been subjected to worse, promising the therapist that they would find a support group to help them deal with the anxiety that was building in them. Then they spent the rest of the afternoon watching television, first cartoons and then a ball game, still needing the time together and the enjoyment of an everyday activity. However, they followed Don's therapy schedule and encouraged him to complete his regular exercises. Charlie and Alan were dismayed to see that Don was not working hard at the tasks, half-heartedly finishing each one. Don alone knew they were now pointless, as he would be returning to his mommy soon and he knew she would not let him improve on the things his family was attempting to teach him.
After dinner, Charlie took his father aside one more time and reminded him that Don preferred that his brother clean him up after his accidents. Alan apologized. "I've felt the need to do everything I could for him today, but it was wrong for me to put my feelings first. It won't happen again." Then they entered the solarium, where Alan read Don a book, Charlie on his other side, still desirous of his family's closeness. Don finished his sucker and handed its holder to Alan, who noticed some of the sticky candy had gotten onto Buddy.
"Let me clean him for you, Donny."
Don nervously gave his friend to his father and watched as he took him from the room. Alan headed into the kitchen and began to run some water over the rabbit's ears. Charlie commenced reading another book to Don when the doorbell rang, startling both men.
Charlie left the solarium and went to the entryway, meeting his father, looking at each other puzzled and edgy, not expecting company.
"You stay with Don, Dad, and I'll answer it." Alan nodded. He went to Don and began to read again, telling his nervous son that he would bring him Buddy after the rabbit's ears had finished draining into the sink; he didn't want to tell Don the truth, that he had forgotten him when he hastily left the kitchen and that he would not leave Don alone to retrieve him.
Alan raised his eyes after each sentence that he read, wanting to see if trouble was waiting for them behind the front door.
Charlie stood on his tiptoes and put an eye to the peephole, then stood back down, his feet flat on the ground, clenching his fists. He groaned, looking up towards the ceiling.
"What's wrong?" his father called from the other room, fear in his voice.
"Nothing," Charlie called back, "I mean it's not that woman or her lawyer." The doorbell rang several more times. It was obvious their visitor was not going to leave.
Alan came into the entryway, standing sideways so he could see Don. "Well, who is it, then, and why aren't you answering the door?"
A voice boomed from the other side. "It's me, Billy Cooper- you remember, Don's ex-partner."
This time Alan groaned. "Why is he here?" Alan was whispering, as it was clear that Cooper could hear their normal voices through the door.
"I don't know. Maybe he wants to see Don," Charlie whispered in return.
Both Eppes jumped when Billy spoke loudly to them again. "That's exactly why I'm here. Look, I know I'm prob'bly not your favorite person in the world, but I am one of Don's friends and I think I should be able to see 'im."
Alan was about to tell Billy he would never use the word favorite in a sentence that referred to him, even if it was a negative reference, but he was interrupted by his eldest son. "That's my friend?" Don asked, having appeared without them noticing.
Charlie and Alan sighed. They were stuck. If they refused Billy entrance, Don would wonder why they had turned away someone they had purposely told him was a friend of his; he might even think they were trying to keep all of his friends away, a belief that could easily erect a barrier of mistrust between him and them. This was something that Charlie and Alan could not have, as they believed Thompson was continually trying to break the bonds that they had developed with Don, and an action like that would give her more leverage to cut into them.
"This is going to be fun," Charlie lamented, opening the door to a grinning Billy.
"Took ya long enough," Billy smirked. He saw Don standing behind them and went to hug him. "Hey, man, how you doing?" He stood back a foot, his hands on Don's shoulders. "I gotta tell you, I've heard some horror stories about what happened to you." He turned Don's head back and forth, looking him over. "But they must have been exaggerations, cause you look fine to me." Then he slung his arm around Don's shoulders and led him to the living room couch before Alan or Charlie could stop him, sitting them down on it while he continued to talk.
"Man, you look good." Billy sniffed at Don. "Smell good, too. What is that, some kind of powder?"
Charlie rubbed the back of his head nervously. "What do we do? I mean, Don wants to see him, but I don't want Billy to screw up any of the progress he's made."
Alan rubbed his hands up and down the top of his jeans. "I don't see how it can hurt. You already told him he worked with Billy and what he did. Don's comprehension of things is still limited, so I don't think it'll do anything but confuse him some- which is nothing worse than the condition he is in now."
"I don't know, Dad. Won't Don be ashamed that Billy saw him this way?" Charlie chewed on a fingernail, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"No more than all the other people he knows who have seen him act like this. Don't forget, all three of his team members were here last night. We're beyond keeping his childish manners hidden from everyone he knows. Of course, that doesn't mean we have to parade him around, but I don't see any difference between Billy seeing him and when Megan, Colby, and David did."
Charlie nodded, unhappily giving up his argument. He did not want Billy there, but he could not think of a reason for ushering him out the door; at least one that would not make his brother unhappy. "I guess you're right. But I think we should stick close to them, so we know everything he tells Don. That way, we can intercede if Don becomes anxious and we can be prepared for any questions he has later."
They both grabbed a chair from the dining room, Alan placing his seat near the front of the couch while Charlie sat in the corner to the left of it, taking out one of the two boxes he had stacked there, and absentmindedly going through the top portion of its contents while he listened to Billy talk to Don.
"I'm stationed out of Texas, but they had me searching for this fuge that headed your way- just caught him a few hours ago. Had 'im hogtied and ready for the locals before he even realized I was behind him." Billy sat with one leg crossed over the other, his arms out to both sides and covering the back of the couch, oblivious to the incomprehension on Don's face. Billy smiled at his friend, feeling relief upon seeing him. Rumors had spread throughout the bureau that some woman had done a number on Don, and Billy had taken the first opportunity he had to check on his former partner. From the looks of him, he did not appear too bad. His frame was a little lean, he wasn't talking much, and he seemed skittish, but all in all, he was as Billy remembered him from his last visit to L.A.
Alan interrupted. "We need to talk, Agent Cooper. I think you're missing something here."
Billy grinned, his teeth flashing. "Only thing I'm missing is my ol' pal over here." He gave Don a gentle punch on the arm.
Don kept his eyes on Billy. He knew the man was supposed to be his friend, but he couldn't remember anything about him except what Charlie had told him: they used to be partners in something called Fugitive Recovery. Beyond that, Don had no inkling of what they felt for each other or what they had done as friends. The guy wasn't nice and quiet like Larry, who always paid attention when other people talked; Billy was loud and didn't listen to Daddy. Don wondered why he had chosen him for a friend.
Charlie fidgeted in his seat. He wanted Billy to leave. During Billy's last visit, Don had spent almost all of his time with his ex-partner, and it had made Charlie jealous of the man. Now, though, it was different; Charlie knew Don wanted to be with him, his brother, and he didn't want that to change because Don remembered how Billy had been very important to him at one time. Charlie was aware of his feelings of jealousy. He had acknowledged to himself during the prior incident with Don that he had always felt that way about his brother's friends. This had not changed, and with Billy visiting, Charlie felt the evil green-eyed monster rise again. It was stronger than ever as just the day before Charlie had thought he'd physically lost Don, and he was going to be damned if he was going to let this jerk take him away in the metaphorical sense, either.
Why did I open the door? Charlie thought angrily, but it was too late for that. To Charlie, Don looked immersed in every word Billy was saying, taking Don's interest in his brother far away, just like the last time he had visited. The items that Charlie took from the box clanked as he roughly tossed them one by one to the ground, ignoring what they were as he tried to figure out a tactful way to tell Billy to get the hell out.
Billy continued to talk about the times he and Don had spent in Fugitive Recovery together, Don trying to emulate his friend by sitting back against the couch with his legs crossed and his arm thrown loosely over the side. His eyes widened with the stories Billy was telling him; in time, he began to pull at his left ear anxiously, the stories becoming too scary for him.
Both Alan and Charlie saw the gesture, each rising quickly, Charlie sharply cutting Billy off mid-sentence. "I think that's enough. Don's getting tired and it's time for him to go to bed."
Billy cocked an eye at them. "It's not even eight o'clock. Me and Don are usually up half the night talking."
"Well, times change Billy, even if you don't," Alan informed him. "Don needs his rest. If you would just listen"-
But Billy ignored Alan, seeking reinforcement from Don. "Hey, since when do you let your dad make all your decisions?" He stood up and reached for Don, "Come on, I bet you haven't had any fun in a while- let's go find a bar to hang at."
And all at once, Billy could see what Alan had been trying to tell him, because Don cringed at his outstretched hand and curled up into the corner of the couch, afraid that the man before him was trying to take him away. Billy's jaw slowly dropped as Don stuck his thumb in his mouth, starting to shiver and cry, looking at Charlie and asking, "Buddy".
Alan blurted 'kitchen' to Charlie.
Charlie stood up quickly, the box falling out of his lap and its contents spilling across the floor as he ran to the kitchen and brought back the stuffed toy, pushing Billy aside as he handed Don the rabbit and started soothing him, furious they had thought the visit would not affect him so adversely.
"I, uh, I, I, uh," Billy stammered. "Didn't know, I, uh, he seemed so, so, normal."
"He is normal," Charlie said with tears of anger in his eyes, "just different, that's all."
"I didn't mean it that way," Billy tried to apologize. He found the sight of his former partner too much to comprehend and turned away, making a fast retreat to the front door.
Billy was halfway across the porch when Alan called to him. He stopped, swallowing thickly, ashamed at his behavior. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and faced his friend's father, his eyes at his feet. "I'm sorry. I should have paid attention when you said I was missing something."
Alan closed the door behind him and stepped forward, standing directly in front of Billy.
"He does look the same, at least at first he does. Sometimes I can fool myself into believing nothing has happened to him, that he's the same son I had three months ago. That belief never lasts long. But once you saw the changes in him, no matter how shocking they were, there was no excuse for you to behave the way you did, storming out of my house like Don has the plague."
"I know," Billy placed his arm across his chest, rubbing the opposite shoulder. "I'm not good at, at- handling things, bad things that happen to people. That's why I came tonight- I wanted to prove that nothing bad had happened to Don, so I wouldn't have to think about it in the field. Now," Billy lowered his head, shaking it, "I'll prob'bly never stop thinkin' about it- about what I saw tonight."
"Don't expect any sympathy from me," Alan told him coldly, "I have to see him that way everyday. I don't know what kind of friend you were to Don before his accident, but I think I know what kind you are now."
Billy lifted his hand from his shoulder and formed a fist, running it across his teeth. His mouth felt dry and he found it difficult to speak. He lowered his hand and moved his tongue in his mouth, trying to form some saliva. No matter how hard he tried, he could not look Alan in the face.
Alan continued, "Don had three friends over last night, good friends- ones who didn't blink twice when they saw the way he was acting. It might have been because they knew what to expect, but I don't believe their reactions would have been any different if they hadn't known. That's just the type of people they are- loving and accepting of their friends, no matter what bad things happen to them."
Billy turned his back to Alan, shaking, his arms hanging at his side. "I know what kind of person I am. I was never like Don. He always wanted to do what was right- it was his guiding principle. Me, I never seem to be able to do anything that is right." He stared off dreamily into the night, remembering his friend. "You know, it didn't matter if we were chasing a white collar criminal or a serial rapist; Don made every decision about their capture as if it was the most important one in his life. Funny, those decisions were some of the most important in the lives of the people we caught, but they didn't know it. They never knew how many times Don had to keep me from hurting them, not just a little bit, but really bad; could've gotten away with it too, only Don never thought about that, only thought about it not being right to hurt another human being without provocation."
Tears sprang to Alan's eyes. He had known Don was a good agent, but his son had told him that his life in Fugitive Recovery had been some of the darkest hours of his life. Alan had assumed that meant he had done things he regretted doing- like hurting someone during an arrest and claiming the person struggled. It made Alan proud to hear his son was never like that, not even when the opportunity arose where he would not be punished for acting that way and when faced with some of the vilest criminals in the country. Alan was suddenly grateful to Billy, for having cleared up a shadowy part of Don's life, at least enough that he no longer had to question any of his son's actions while working for the F.B.I.
"Why," Billy asked quietly, "why would something like this happen to a person like Don? To me, that I'd understand, but not Don."
His voice and his heart warmed, Alan responded, "I don't know, Billy. We keep asking ourselves the same question, but we don't seem to find the answer."
"Yeah, well, all I can say is I'm sorry. I'm going to leave now, cause I just can't handle this situation. Like I said, I'm not like Don. He was even able to take care of his mom while she was dying, that's what I was told." Alan responded with a quiet yes. "Truth be told, I don't have enough maturity to deal with the ups and downs of a serious relationship- with a family, girlfriend or a friend like Don. That's why he ended up as a team leader and I'm still in Fugitive Recovery. One day he would've made director while I'd be drunk at some bar, not knowing what to do cause I was too old to chase escaped cons and too stupid to handle everyday people."
Alan stepped forward, standing next to Billy. "I'm sorry Don's condition is too hard to take. You were really important to him. You're actually the only person Don has indicated he wanted to see, so that should say a lot about your relationship with him. Maybe you did better being his friend than either you or I thought."
"Maybe," Billy said, "but right now I can't be here for him."
"If it's better for Don that you stay away, then maybe that's the best way for you to be his friend."
Billy thought about this. Don's father was giving him a way to feel good about his decision to leave and not offer any help to his friend's family. In a way, Alan's attempt at making Billy feel less guilty had the opposite effect: how could he ignore the needs of such good people? They could probably use some help in caring for Don, and Billy knew he had plenty of time that he could take off; but he also knew it wasn't in him to do something like that, to provide for another human being, no matter how close he might be to him. Torn apart by guilt, Billy thought about the person who had caused the damage to his friend and his family.
"How about the person who did this to Don?" Billy asked, "Which prison she in, cause I have some contacts that could"-
"No, Billy," Alan said firmly, "You said yourself that Don wouldn't approve of you doing something like that. Besides, she's not in prison- they dropped all the charges against her a while ago."
Alan moved back to sit in one of the chairs on the porch, asking Billy to sit beside him in another. For fifteen minutes, Alan gave him a shortened version of all the events that had occurred since Don had disappeared, including the fight they were having in court against the woman who had taken his son.
Billy gave a low whistle. "Crazy court systems- they release the bitch and then allow her to stop you from caring for the person she harmed. Makes real sense."
"I know," Alan said, "but it will be over by Monday- or Tuesday at the latest. Then we can have her arrested if she comes within a mile of Don."
Billy rubbed his mouth again. He knew the court systems could do a lot of screwy things, but this had to be the worse. And it sounded like Don's kidnapper was smart. He had met that kind of predator before, when searching for fugitives that had taken months to capture. They were always a step ahead and never made mistakes. Billy had found the only way to entrap them was by means that he knew his friend and former partner would not have approved of using, means that were more than a little illegal. This Dr. Thompson that Alan was talking about sounded like one of those predators. If so, he knew the Eppes were bound to be disappointed in court. At that point, they would need some help, and it was possible that Billy could provide the kind they might need. Billy pulled a pencil nub out of his front pocket, scavengered a small scrap of paper from his back and briefly wrote on it.
"I have to go tonight, Alan, I've already explained why. But if you ever need anything that's out of the ordinary, call me here." He handed the paper to Alan, who glanced at the number written on it before sticking it in his pocket. Billy leaned towards the other man, speaking deeply. "That phone number's serious, Alan. I got it from a former member of the CIA- it hooks you up to a secure line and to an untraceable cell phone. You can call me from anywhere in the world- even a pay phone- and it won't cost you a dime. Just type the number onto a key pad and you'll reach me. Keep it close- you just may need it."
Billy stood up along with Alan, both men walking to the car of the former. After Billy shook Alan's hand, he climbed inside and shut his door, then rolled down his window, telling Alan one more time, "I mean it, Alan. I can't do anything for Don now- that supportive crap is out of my league. But I might have other ways to help him in the future. Keep that in mind. And whatever you do, don't lose that phone number. It may be more important than you think."
Billy pulled away from the curb and headed down the road, leaving Alan behind to wonder at the underlying meaning of his words.
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It took Charlie ten minutes to calm Don, using every bit of soothing technique he had learned to be effective in the task. Don continued to be scared, thinking of the badman that had tried to take him outside the institute. This supposed friend of his was scarier; he had come into his home and tried to take him right in front of his daddy and Charlie.
"That's not my friend," he told Charlie, trying to catch his breath between his sobs. "Won't go with him."
"Shh, Don, it's okay." With Billy gone, Charlie's previous jealously had flown away and he could focus entirely on explaining to Don what had actually occurred. "He is your friend, Don. Billy didn't mean anything when he asked you to go with him. You went with Larry to the institute last week, didn't you?"
"He's not Larry," Don whined, stating what he thought was obvious.
Charlie smiled. "Well, that's true. But you can't expect all of your friends to be like Larry- he's one of a kind."
"Don't care... Don't like Billy." Don closed his eyes and slowly fell into a shallow sleep. Charlie continued to rock him, wondering where their father was.When he was convinced that Don was settled, he slipped out from under him and started to clean up the mess he had made when he'd dashed to get Buddy and spilled the contents of the box he held. Hefting the box in front of the couch, Charlie began to refill it, putting in pictures, sports knick-knacks, pens, notebooks, small screwdrivers, pliers, and containers of various sizes. He noticed some items scattered to the side of the couch, and fell to his knees, crawling to the wall till he felt a prick on his knee, then sighing as he began to pick up one by one the tiny items that had spilled.
While Charlie was thus occupied, Don sluggishly opened his eyes, bolting up when he could not see his brother. He heard a noise at the end of the couch and scooted along it to look over the right arm, sitting on his knees. Charlie smiled up at him. "Be just a minute, I need to grab a couple more things." He had formed a small pile of white out, paper clips, and tacks in front of his knees; who the heck thought to pack a box of tacks, Charlie thought ruefully, gingerly picking up another one and adding it to the mound in front of him.
Don sat down on his bottom, relieved to have found Charlie; he looked around at the other things that had fallen on the floor, frowning at the mess that he decided was the fault of Billy. Only, Charlie had to clean it up, which wasn't fair. There were four wooden containers at various angles on the floor. Don wanted to help his brother, so he leaned over and tried to pick one up, but it was too heavy for him to slip his fingers under its bottom. He made another attempt with the next one, but found that it was also too hard for him to lift. The third container made him smile. It was big, and it had fallen so it was at a forty-five degree angle against the couch, leaving a space underneath that would allow him to put both hands around it without having to first maneuver it up to obtain a grip. Don wrapped both hands around it and pulled up, just making it to the cushion besides him before he dropped it on its side, his hands no longer able to remain closed.
He blinked in surprise as the lid fell off, a shiny object landing in his lap.
Don looked at the object. He was sure he knew what it was, but its name slipped away to the edges of his mind, just out of reach. Carefully, he put his left index finger into a circular holding attached to its bottom, lifting it to his face. Don sniffed it, scrunching his nose at the acrid smell. He turned it around, smiling because he was enjoying how the light seemed to reflect off it, enticing him. The object was heavy, smooth in spots, hard and cool; it felt right for him to be holding it. Don turned his new toy around, trying to look down into a hole bored into the front of its long cylinder snout, but his finger slipped and he dropped it back into his lap. Refusing to give up, he stuck his left thumb into the circle, feeling it fit snugly, and lifted it back to his face, turning it once again so he could look inside the hole, thinking that he knew something was supposed to come out of it, but unable to remember what, squeezing his thumb and finger against it in excitement as he tried to see what that something could be...
"Oh, Lord, Donny! Don't move!" Alan stood in the entry to the living room, leaning forward and reaching for his son, all color drained from his face and sweat dripping down from his temples, so horrified he could barely breathe.
Don froze, his thumb partially compressing the trigger of the gun, its barrel pointed right at the center of his face.
Hearing his father's cry, Charlie rose from beside the couch and then, when he saw what his brother was holding, bit his tongue to keep in a shout of panic. All three men remained still, all afraid to move, Don confused as to why he shouldn't but too scared to ask.
"Okay, easy Donny," Alan said quietly, moving at a snail's pace towards his son, not wanting to startle him, thankful he hadn't when he'd first cried out. Don whimpered, the digits on his left hand spasmodically moving from the stress of keeping them immobile. "Please don't be scared, Donny. Just don't move your fingers, okay? Can you do that for Daddy?"
Don gave a very short nod. Sweat began to wet his brow and hands, making it difficult to keep his grip on the gun. Alan saw this; putting his own safety aside, he took one long stride towards Don, standing in front of him and gently, slowly, pushed the gun so it no longer faced his son's face. Alan could hear Charlie breathing heavily next to the couch. Dropping with a gruff grunt to his knees, Alan covered Don's hands and held onto the gun, careful to keep it facing the opposite direction from himself and his sons, sliding a slick finger under the trigger so it couldn't be fired, and pulling the weapon off of Don's thumb and away from him. When Alan was finally sole possessor of the gun, he and Charlie both let out a sigh of relief while Don's tears began anew.
Charlie jumped over the arm of the couch, landing on his feet and falling to his knees on the cushions next to Don, grabbing him, digging his fingertips into his back, while Alan put the safety on the gun and shoved it across the floor; he then turned to put his arms protectively around his children, tears in all of their eyes. They stayed that way, folded upon each other, until Charlie and Alan heard Don softly snoring against his brother. Alan pulled away and groaned as he leaned on his elbows and made his way to his feet. Trembling, he picked up the gun and took it upstairs, locking it in the nightstand in his own bedroom. Afterward, he made his way downstairs to his sons.
Neither he nor Charlie was able to speak, stricken mute with the nearness of death having hovered above them. Alan picked up the spilled items from the floor, checking the remaining containers for other weapons; he found none. After he finished, he took the box and its companion out to the garage. When he returned, he and Charlie nodded to each other, each putting one of Don's arms over their shoulders and helping him upstairs, Buddy hanging by an ear in one of the loops of Charlie's jeans. Alan let Don lean against him while Charlie took care of his bathroom needs and got him dressed for bed, all three heading into the bedroom, lying Don carefully in the center of the bed.
Charlie and Alan collapsed around Don, leaving the light on, silently agreeing they needed to see as well as touch him, needed to see each other.
Needed to know they were all safe tonight.