Numb3rs

Season 2

Disclaimer: Numb3rs and its lovely characters are not mine.

A/N: I'm happy to share more of this Rampage-inspired-fic. Thank you all for your support. A special THANK YOU to CELADON for editing this text.

For Dear Life

Part 2

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"You don't understand," Charlie almost yelled, frustrated. It's seemed nobody understood much of anything these days. He noticed movement through the window that was separating his brother's hospital room from the ICU's nursing station. His father had looked up from his hovering position by Don's bed side at the rising volume of his voice. Charlie ignored his Dad's concerned expression as he concentrated on Megan and David. "What I'm saying is that I can help you. I just can't go back to the FBI. That, I can't."

"I understand, Charlie," Megan soothed. "You were exposed to a very traumatizing event. Feeling some acute stress is a normal reaction."

"Why are you talking about this as if you weren't there? You were there, Megan. So were you, David. You both shot at that gunman. You were there for Don, afterward. David, you even tried to stop the bleeding. Don't talk down to me as if I was some sheltered kid who had witnessed something horrible for the first time. I'm not and I know the shooting must have been just as traumatizing for you as it was for me."

"Charles-" Larry tried to bring him back to reason – away from all these volatile emotions.

Charlie had momentarily forgotten that his best friend was there too, probably feeling just as uncomfortable as everybody else did.

"I'm sorry," Megan apologized. "You're right. I was there, too. We all cope with trauma in our way. Mine is to distance myself from the event in order to keep a cooler head."

Charlie sighed. "I'm sorry, Megan. I'm the one who's unfair. I understand that you need to distance yourself. Don would do it as well. Worse, he would probably joke about the situation in order to minimize its impacts further."

Charlie looked over his older brother's laying form. Don was not out of the woods yet, but he was pulling through this – gradually getting better as time went by.

"It's a matter of time, Charles," Larry comforted him as if he had read his mind. He met the cosmologist's eyes as realisation drew upon him. Again, his old friend was right.

Time – its perception could be so relative to each and every one. It was felt slow or fast depending on one's level of attention. Yet, Time was a constant. Each second was following the next at the same intervals. Each minute counted sixty seconds. Each hour changed after sixty minutes. Days were made of 24 hours – even if it actually took 23 hours and 50 minutes for the Moon to circle around the Earth each day.

Still, there in a matter of seconds, fear had suddenly struck Charlie in the form of a bullet that had flown by his head and had ended its course in his brother's chest. Time had slowed down to an agonizing pace and Charlie's newly acquired fear had lingered – invading every part of his body, every train of thought, and every action.

Time – in the midst of the chaos created by the gunman, Charlie had lost track of it. He was therefore missing an important angle to his perception of the critical event that had almost resulted with the loss of Don's life. That said, to comprehend the nature of that very same critical event and, hopefully prevent another one, Charlie needed to undo the thread of Time in order to better study each component.

A knot unexpectedly formed in the pit of his stomach. Tension built in his shoulders. His lungs felt constricted as he breathed. "I need to see a picture of the movements of a man throughout real time. I have to go back to the FBI," he finally concluded out loud.

"What will you need?" David asked him before he could change his mind.

"String," the mathematician replied.

"String?" repeated the agent, not quite following.

"Yes, lots of string," the professor emphasized.

Larry nodded approvingly.

Charlie sighed. "Give me a few minutes, please." Slowly, he made his way back to his brother and father.

Don tilted his head in his direction and let his gaze fell on him. "You O-K… Chuck?" he asked, just above a whisper. The ventilator, that was now thankfully gone and replaced by a nasal cannula, had left his brother's voice raw and broken.

No! I'm not okay. None of this is okay, he almost shouted back. Instead, he bit his lower lip. He reminded himself that things could have been worse – a lot worse.

"Sure, everything's fine, Bro," he assured the injured man. "And don't call me Chuck," he told him, faking irritation.

A small grin crept upon Don's pale face.

"What's going on, Charlie?" his father asked, having noticed that his older son's colleagues had stayed behind.

"It's time to get back on the horse," the younger man said.

"That's good," Don approved.

"You're ready to go back downtown," Alan validated.

"Ready?" Charlie questioned. "I'm not sure that I'll ever be ready. I know that the possibility of this kind of thing happening again is improbable, but the idea of going back to the FBI office just put knots in my stomach."

"It's O-K… to be afraid… Buddy," Don said compassionately.

"Donnie's right, Charlie" Alan agreed. "You know- fear is a very practical feeling. It's mainly common sense. It tells you not to poke the alligator with a stick."

Charlie sighed. "I know. I realize that what I'm really afraid of is- It's being afraid, again," he admitted. He met his older brother's gaze. "How come you're never allowed to be afraid?"

Don snorted. "I'm afraid… all the time," he confessed.

"You never show it," Charlie stated with admiration.

"Doesn't mean… doesn't exist…. Got lots of people… counting on me," he explained. He offered Charlie a hand. The younger man took it and his brother gave his an affectionate squeeze. "Got people… counting on you… now."

"It's going to take some time, Charlie," his father said. "But you'll see that the fear will fade away. The first time is always the worst."

Time – things could only get better with Time. They had to, Charlie decided.

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TBC