Title: The Fury of the Wind

Author: Windimere Wellen

Part: 6 of ?

Disclaimer: Numb3rs doesn't belong to me, but I wish it did.

Author's Note: Thanks again for all the reviews! I have the day off of work, so I'm posting on a weekend for a change! This chapter's a little heavy I think, and I'm not exactly sure where I'm going next, who the next chapter is going to be settled on, but hopefully I'll be posting soon! Let me know what you think, and thanks for being so patient and supportive!

Don's vision was blurry. It was like the time he'd been playing in the attic and had found the box with his mother's wedding dress and he'd examined it, and since he'd never quite understood the point of a veil, he'd tried her's on, just to see if wearing it would make more sense. It hadn't. And getting caught by his father, who had stood in the door and laughed so hard that Don at first thought he was going to die from lack of oxygen, hadn't helped the situation. This lack of vision was like then – slightly blurry, like someone had put netting over his face.

Don shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable. The small action sent waves of fire shooting up and down his chest, causing bile to rise in his throat and for a few terrifying seconds, he forgot how to breathe. Slowly, the pain ebbed to a constant, that was like someone was pressing red hot pokers into his chest and stomach. His breathing came back as well, slow and ragged. Still, Don detected no gurgling or wet sounds, and although it felt like both his lungs had collapsed, obviously neither one had.

He leaned his head back against the metal pillar, turning it slight to the right, towards Megan, just far enough to avoid the nasty bump that was there when the man with the duct tape had slammed his head back. At least the woman, the woman with his gun, hadn't felt the need to put the tape back, though Don didn't feel up to talking anyway.

Don forced his eyes open when he realized he'd closed them, and met Megan's concerned face. She looked a little scared and Don didn't blame her. The situation they were in wasn't pretty. Where is back up? What do I pay David for these days? Don wondered to himself, then tried to focus. They'd come to the bank in the early afternoon, and technically, the drive should take no more than twenty minutes, but as the afternoon wore on, the traffic in down town LA would be worsening, increasing the transit time from the Federal building to the Cal Mutual branch they were at.

Then, they would have to coordinate whatever they were going to do. Don tried to pause his brain, but couldn't. The Federal Agent inside of him pressed on. Just what would they do? Would his team even be involved? If David had called Charlie, he was obviously aware there was some sort of situation, but the truth was that no one on the outside would know what type of situation it was. Don wasn't sure how he would handle the situation from the outside, except it would probably fall into a full blow hostage situation, which was never pretty. And Don didn't want to be further used as a hostage. This – being used against Charlie – was bad enough.

When his thoughts turned to his brother, Don gingerly moved his head so he could see Charlie.

Charlie was leaned over the console, his mouth moving in silent words as his genius mind took in what was there in front of him. Charlie, it seemed, was oblivious to everything that was going on around him. When Charlie was engrossed in his numbers, the world around him could be ending and he would never know it.

The look on Charlie's face - one of pure focus - and his stance – shoulder's hunched a little, hands always moving, even if they weren't doing anything – were all too familiar to Don. The way Charlie looked right then always had the ability to bring out the most amazing variance of emotions and responses from Don.

It was like a rollercoaster. Sometimes it was anger. Charlie would be so wrapped up in his numbers that he would be completely oblivious to everything else going on around him, which had included their mother's illness and death. Don had been extremely angry at Charlie – angry that his younger brother had retreated into the world of numbers to avoid what was happening to Margaret Eppes. That left Don and Alan to deal with the loss of a wife and mother, to deal with watching her suffer and grow weaker. And Don had been angry, that Charlie had run to his numbers, seemingly abandoning the mother that had sacrificed so much for him. The anger and injustice that Don had felt had only been quelled when he found his brother emotionally broken with his blackboards in the garage.

Sometimes it was irritation and frustration. Charlie had often forgotten to eat while working with his numbers. Charlie had often forgotten promises he had made. Charlie had often forgotten plans he had been involved in. Don could stand in the doorway of Charlie's office, or the doorway of the garage and call Charlie's name repeatedly over and over, but it wouldn't faze the young genius, because he had blocked everything else out. Charlie was so focused that he couldn't let sleeping dogs lie sometimes, and he certainly had a hard time letting go, especially when it revolved around Don's work.

Sometimes it was pure curiosity. Don had always found himself entranced by Charlie's hand snaking over the chalkboards, white powder floating in the air around him. Don was an intelligent person, and had done well in college, and his parents had often discussed that his mediocre grades in high school were a form of rebellion, but Don would never understand math like Charlie did. And sometimes, Don wished he did. Not to be a genius of course, he much preferred the life he'd found. But he did wish that he could better understand Charlie.

And there were times when Charlie's trance brought about huge amounts of awe and pride. There was no questioning that Don and Charlie hadn't been the closest of brothers, and it had been hard for Don to give Charlie praise, or to even want to give Charlie praise. Everyone had always gushed over Charlie, and no one had returned the favor on Don – not for baseball, and barely for Quantico. It had been a hard road that Don had taken, and there had been roadblocks that kept him from telling Charlie just how proud he was. But he was proud. Don Eppes was extremely proud of his younger brother and constantly in awe of Charlie's mind. If we ever get out of here, I'm going to tell him just how proud I am.

But there, in the present time, Don didn't know what emotion to feel. He only felt huge amounts of guilt and sorrow, directly related to the fact that he had put Charlie in this horrible situation – that he had put Charlie in so much danger.

Don closed his eyes, letting Charlie's form fade to black. Ok Don, that's enough feeling sorry for yourself. You need to get Charlie and Megan out of here. So stop having a pity party for yourself and your injuries and get to work.

Resolved, Don opened his eyes again, and focused on the jacket that lay half on one thigh, and half on the ground, next to his back, just a short distance from his numb fingers. There, inside the jacket, tucked into one pocket, were the keys to Don's SUV, and on the key ring was a key to the handcuffs that were squeezing all of the blood out of Don's hands.

Very slowly, Don gathered the strength he had, and when the woman had turned her back on him to get closer to Charlie, and the man with the duct tape was talking to the two security guards, and the man with the suit was appraising Megan, he moved his body.

It was only an inch or two that he shifted, but the result was almost more that Don could handle. He had pulled his body to the right, to get his hands just a little closer to the jacket, but the pain that had accompanied the slight movement was unbearable.

Don fought to keep himself from gasping for air, not wanting to alert their captors to the fact that he'd been wiggling around. The task seemed monumental. It was like he could feel all four bullets, pressing through the Kevlar, against his bruised skin, against the grating broken bones.

Don's vision swam and for the fourth of fifth time that day, he felt like he was going to throw up. The only thing that kept him from blacking out was his resolve to get them out of the horrible situation they were in. Attempting to focus on something, he forced his eyes open again, though he didn't remember closing them, only to find Megan looking at him in irritation and worry.

She had clearly seen his antics, and although she had probably guessed at some part of his intent, she seemed unhappy with him. If Don could have seen himself, he might have felt the same way. Don offered her a weak smile and was relieved when she didn't acknowledge him to keep from drawing attention to what he was doing.

Slowly, Don focused on his fingers. He could barely feel them, and they were shaking badly, no doubt from the shock his body was in. Still, he forced his shoulders a bit further back against the pole, allowing his hands to drop all the way to the marble floor. Instead of hitting cold stone, they touched the soft nylon of the jacket. Don smiled in satisfaction, and quickly checked to see if he was still being ignored, which he was.

He risked a glance at Charlie. Charlie was still typing quickly, and it was clear he was still in his groove. Don didn't doubt that another five minutes had passed, but the woman seemed oblivious, as if hypnotized by Charlie's moving fingers. Don could fully understand that sensation, and hoped she would stay confounded by it. He knew that eventually the Kevlar vest would be compromised – after all, the material could only take so much abuse before the fibers gave way. Charlie could probably have given him the statistics that related to the positions of the four bullets, but not now.

Don managed to hook one finger into the sleeve of the jacket, and little by little, he pulled, dropping the material several times because his fingers were so nerveless. Another minute ticked by and finally Don could feel the lump that could only be his keys. The actions felt like they had taken the last of his energy, but Don continued to fumble with jacket, trying to turn it to find the pocket so he could get the keys inside of it.

Finally, he found what he was looking for, and with great effort, he managed to slide his pointer finger through the key ring. Don never thought that something so small would feel so comforting. He was just about to tug the keys loose when Charlie's computer beeped. Don froze, and both he and Megan turned their gaze on Charlie, who was beaming.

"I did it!" Charlie sounded surprised, and hopelessly pleased, and he looked up, finding Don, and smiling, as if to say I am going to save you after all.

Skellet pushed Charlie aside roughly and looked down at the screen, and slowly, a smile appeared on his face.

"He did," he acknowledged, and the woman seemed to relax a little.

"Hurry up and download it," she said, still authoritative, but smiling. She grabbed Charlie by the arm and Don felt anger rise inside of him as she touched his brother. She pulled Charlie away, further towards Don and Don noted that Charlie had a funny look on his face.

Don searched his memory, trying to figure out how he knew that look. Then it dawned on him. It was the look that Charlie had when he'd tried to hide the fact that he'd ruined all of Don's piano music by writing numbers on it when they'd been five and ten respectively – not hiding from Don, but from their mother. It was the same look Charlie got when they ever planned a surprise party – the same look that gave it away every time when Charlie had been forced to lie about it. It was the look that signaled that Charlie had done something that he shouldn't have. Don felt sick again, but it wasn't from his injuries. What have you done Charlie?

Quickly and with great urgency, Don forced his fingers to keep moving. He knew he was taking a risk. He could only see the guy with the duct tape and the two security guards in his peripheral vision, and there was a good chance they might see him trying to unlock his cuffs, but fear for his brother drove him to take the chance.

"I've got it," Skellet crowed triumphantly, and withdrew a CD from the computer, where he had obviously burned all the stolen information to. The blond woman beamed, then suddenly turned. Don swallowed hard as the gun came up.

He knew what was coming next. Now that they had what they needed, there was no need for any hostages, especially hostages that could identify them.

Don saw a look of horror on Charlie's face, but also a look that betrayed that Charlie knew it had been coming too. The woman had turned her aim on Don again, and Don wondered just how good her aim was and where she was going to shoot. His fingers were so numb that he was having a hard time identifying which key was which – house key, apartment key, SUV key, old apartment key, locker key, gun locker key… He'd never realized how many keys he had and he couldn't believe he was thinking about keys at a time like this.

"Don't!" Charlie said, and although his voice was strained, he wasn't begging, he was ordering. "If you shoot him, or Megan, or me, that information will be useless to you."

The woman, who was still holding onto Charlie's arm, checked herself before pulling the trigger, and everyone, including Don, gaped at Charlie.

"Excuse me?" she demanded.

"I encrypted it," Charlie said sheepishly. "I ordered it to encrypt when it was downloaded, so now I'm in charge, ok?" he said, sounding uncertain, but he reached up to push the barrel of the gun down, away from Don. Don blinked at Charlie, realizing what a huge gamble his brother was taking. He redoubled his efforts with the keys, hoping the one he had singled out was indeed the handcuff key.

"If you shoot my brother, or anyone else, I'll never give you the key. So here's what you're going to do. You're going to walk out of here and leave us, and when a half an hour has passed, you can call my phone and I'll give you the code. It's not hard, I'm sure Mr. Skellet can handle it. But you're not going to kill my brother."

Don had never been more proud of his brother, and he had never been more scared for Charlie in his entire life. It was something he would have done if their rolls had been reversed, but he had to be honest, he wasn't sure if he could risk Charlie's life for it, but in this case, it was either this or be killed anyway.

The woman was gaping at Charlie, but Don's attention was drawn to Megan, who was signaling with her eyes. She had seen something. She slowly dragged her eyes to the big windows that were near where the security guards were standing. Everyone's attention was on Charlie, and that was to their detriment, because through the open blinds that covered the windows, Don could see the rear end of what could only be a FBI tactical team truck, and there, just barely peeking into the window was David. Don smiled. He gave Megan a brief nod, telling her that if she could get David's attention, she should try to tell them that they should come in now.

"You little whelp," the woman was growling, and she had wrapped her fingers around Charlie's neck. "You give me that code now or I'll take your precious brother apart, one bullet at a time."

Charlie's eyes were wide, but he shook his head no. Don felt fear spike inside of him and with great difficulty, forced the small metal key into the lock on the cuffs, knowing that if he'd chosen wrong, there was a good chance he would jam the key in the lock and be stuck.

"Let him go," Don warned her, forcing his voice to be as loud as he could make it, but it was disappointingly rough. She let go of Charlie and turned back towards him, her eyes blazing. Don tensed, his muscles screaming in wild protest, and then, miraculously, the cuffs snapped open. The feeling of horrible pins and needles spread through Don's hands, but he didn't care. He would do whatever it took to protect Charlie.

Just as he was about to taunt the woman, to draw her away from his brother, all hell broke loose. Two gun shots broke the tension in the room as the big glass panes shattered, and the two security guards fell amongst the shattered glass. Instantly, an FBI tactical team was though the shattered windows and everything slowed down for Don.

He could hear another gun shot, and watched as the man standing next to Megan, pulling her gun out of his waistband, was spun around by a well aimed bullet. The man with the duct tape had run for the back offices, and was pursued by a tactical officer. Skellet had ducked down behind the computer terminal. But what caught Don's attention was the woman who had been running the show.

She had turned on Charlie and was bringing Don's gun up. Don forced his body up, the cuffs dangling from one hand. His body was no where ready for the movement, pure instinct drove Don. It was less than five feet to reach his brother, but it seemed much further. He could hear David yelling, watched as the woman was struck in the shoulder, heard his own gun go off in her hands, realized that Charlie hadn't been hit, and then he was there, as she was regaining her balance.

Don gave her a shove, and he knew it was clumsy, so clumsy that it merely pushed her a few feet to the side, and she turned, gun up again and Don knew that he had misjudged his strength, because his legs were giving out, but all that mattered was that he was between the gun and Charlie. David was firing again, and the bullet struck the woman one more time, but too late, as she fired, from just three feet away.

She'd meant to shoot Don in the head, but this time, her aim was off. The bullet smashed through Don's unprotected right shoulder, passing clean through, and hit Charlie, who was reaching out to catch his falling brother, in the upper left arm.

Don thought he heard himself crying 'no' but wasn't sure, as he and Charlie fell together. When they landed in a tangled heap, it was like someone had jammed an ice pick into Don's side and he couldn't breathe, for real this time. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was that there was blood on Charlie's jacket and that Don hadn't been able to stop his brother from being shot.

It was the last thing Don thought about before his world turned to black.