Title: Koi Killer Two: Circles on a Sphere

(Sequel to Koi Killer 1-9)

Writer: sparticle (tam)

Email: psycho trauma drama/Charlie and Don angst

Characters: Charlie, Don, Alan, Larry, Megan

Rating: T - Charlie's having a tough time dealing with the psychological aftermath of killing a man. When others try to help, he resists their advice while Don experiences a crisis of hisown. Charlie finds an attractive diversion—but is he making things worse?

Warnings: language

Notes: Charlie's POV. This is a completed story so unless something happens to me or my picky PC, it will end in good time.Thanks to readers of Chalk Chaser and Koi Killer. Special thank you to David Krumholtz for this sentiment: "Fan fiction is awesome. So are all forms of interpretive expression."

DISCLAIMER: "Numb3rs" and its characters are the property of Scott Free Productions, Paramount Network Television and its creators plus other entities I know nothing about. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations and story are the property of the writer and may not be reposted or archived elsewhere sans permission.

Koi Killer Two: Circles on a Sphere

Chapter One: Charlieland

Larry closed the office door. "Sit down, Charles."

Charlie turned to him from the bookshelves, interrupted while selecting a math journal. This time of day and year, sunlight streamed through the tall windows and warmed the room, sometimes uncomfortably so. He slipped the journal back. "Why?" he said. "Something wrong?"

"Not immediately. Please, we need to talk." Larry came nearer, walked to Charlie's ivy. The plant had thrived, spiraling into the blinds.

"If it can wait, this isn't a good time. I have a class—"

"It won't take long," he said. "I think."

Charlie seated himself at the desk. Larry made him nervous. "Everything all right?"

"Ostensibly, yes." He picked a snaking ivy tendril off the floor, set it on the ledge. He'd apparently stepped on its leaves. "But some of us have been concerned about you."

Not again. Damn it. I'll bet Dad has something to do with this. Or Amita. "I'm handling it."

"Let's examine the evidence," Larry said. "First, your father…"

"Dad talked to you?"

"He has. However, he hasn't introduced any concern which I've not been concerned with myself. Remember Charles, I've had the opportunity to observe you for over a month now."

"Don't tell me you've talked to Don, too?" Charlie said. He was irritated to know others were discussing him behind his back.

"No, no I have not. You needn't preoccupy yourself with that. Please, hear me out."

Charlie pushed aside a pile of documents teetering at the edge of the desk and swiveled his chair towards the window. On the sill below the panes, the rich bronzed tint of the armillary sphere lightened in the sun, the symbol for Pisces prominently displayed on its outer ring. Someday, at home in the garden, he planned to set one up—an adjustable sphere that doubled as a sundial, accurate to two minutes, oriented to the city's latitude and longitude. He wished he were home now setting it up, because he didn't want to hear what Larry had to say. He supposed running out of the room would be overly dramatic.

"Get it over with," Charlie said, and leaned back. The chair squeaked under his weight, the sudden movement.

Larry resumed his speech. "Amita and I are struggling, Charles, as is your father. He's told me you were doing well after your terrible experience in the wilderness with Mr. Reylott. And, after Don returned to his own home, you continued to adjust, at least he believed so, and, when the semester started that you'd truly recovered, since you proceeded with classes per your yearly routine."

"He should worry about Don, not me."

"He's been worried about both of you," Larry said. "And as I indicated, the rest of us are struggling because there are some very viable clues which are distinct indicators that all is not well in Charlieland."

Charlie lifted the screen on his laptop and Larry came over, lowered it gently until it clicked. The physicist wore a summer shirt—the blue one with seagulls in flight—although summer had ended. Rows of skin crinkled his forehead.

"May I go on?" Larry said, going to the bookshelves. "Your father says you've been waking up in an agitated state, conversing in your sleep." He paced the room, hands clasped. "Shaking your head at me now won't change that fact. Your father is an exemplary interpreter of human nature and human trauma."

"No trauma," Charlie said. "Anyway, that's private information." Dad had gone too far.

"Nevertheless, again. Let me finish." He touched the sphere, rotated the celestial band. "If the aftereffects hadn't attained this level of gravity I wouldn't be standing here before you presently when I should be preparing my lecture and visual aids for this weekend's seminar. Several times, Amita and I have observed you virtually leap out of your epidermis when surprised by anyone, including the instant I walked in on you Friday to ask why you hadn't shown up for our meeting. And when she and I and you were walking to lunch and Professor Mindus came around the corner…who happens to be six foot three and quite imposing, such as Mr. Reylott, whose whereabouts are as yet unconfirmed, a tremendous source of anxiety to you, I'm sure—"

My office is stuffy. Should take off my jacket. "You're exaggerating."

"I don't believe so. Tell me you haven't been startled many times over the last few weeks by seemingly innocuous interruptions and that you haven't experienced trying nightmares which prompted your long-suffering father to rush in to see what alarmed you so. Apparently on several nights."

Charlie grabbed his folder and got up. "I have a class."

"We have time. It's directly downstairs."

He sat again. "Get to the point, Larry."

"You've missed four lectures. Your students assumed you were ill."

"It was only two. I hadn't grown accustomed to the schedule yet."

"Charles, you've been teaching for years."

What I wouldn't give for a tide of sensory-pounding music right now, he thought, wave after wave to drown out the collective pressure of family and friends who have nothing better to do than correct me. No wonder I'm jumpy.

"Hello?" Larry said. "Am I making sense?"

Charlie sprung up and zipped round to the chalkboard. "What do you all expect from me?" He began to erase, making fast strokes. "No one except Don knows what it's like to…"

"What Charles?"

He bowed his head mid-stroke, still facing the board. "I'm not prepared to talk about it."

"I know it's a presumptuous imposition on your life, but we have talked and we're dismayed, as I said, watching you. Look at yourself. Circles under your eyes, thinner every day. Amita's commented you haven't smiled in weeks. I don't know why she elected to invite you to lunch after you snapped at her."

"I apologized."

"Your apologies are increasing of late." Larry stood beside him. "It's like you were someplace else the entire time we dined. Didn't eat much did you?"

He erased with sharp streaks into the corners of the board. "I wasn't hungry."

"Your father says you scarcely have dinner."

Why am I the last to know? Charlie tossed off the eraser and charged past Larry, seizing the folder. "Next time you want to know what I'm having for dinner, ask me," he said, and opened the door. "Until then, it's none of your business. If you'll excuse me, I have a class."

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