Title: The Fury of the Wind

Author: Windimere Wellen

Part: 11 of ?

Disclaimer: Numb3rs isn't mine. Sigh Oh well.

Author's Note: Once again, you guys are amazing. I hope this chapter doesn't throw anyone for a loop. It's a little heavy on the Don/Amita thing, but I don't think it's too much… But then again, I'm the author lol. Hope you guys like what you read!

Lady Winter

Charlie had waited impatiently for the doctor to return with his release papers. He didn't want to be in the hospital anymore, at least not if Don wasn't there. He wanted out and he wanted to find his brother. And he wanted to apologize again to his father – to make his father understand what he had done – how he hadn't been able to protect Don.

The thought almost made him laugh, and he felt the inappropriate giddiness rising up in him. Protect Don? He'd never done that in his entire life. He'd never had to. Don had always been the one to take care of himself, because no one else had time to do it. He'd done it so much that it was part of his skin – part of his being, which made Don asking for help the most shocking thing Charlie ever heard.

Granted, Don had been doing better at that. He'd been doing much better. Sometimes he pressed too much for Charlie's help. But the only help he wanted was with his FBI cases. When it came to his personal life, Don ducked out again, the tight wall he'd erected so many years ago still in place.

Charlie had to bite down the giddiness inside of him. What was he thinking? Nothing about this situation was funny.

When the doctor had finally returned, he'd come bearing a wheel chair. He'd helped Charlie in, who'd felt a bit dizzy, and then as he'd rolled Charlie down the hall, he'd given Charlie express directions about what he was to do for recovery.

"You're on immediate bed rest for twenty four hours. I've prescribed pain medication to keep it at bay, but only for a week. After that you'll have to handle your own pain management with something else. I suggest Tylenol. The hospital will be contacting you shortly about a home care service. Your wound will need to be monitored. Your insurance should more than cover a visiting nurse to come, change your bandages and give you wound care. If you're told it's infected, you're to return to the hospital immediately. No heavy lifting for a month, and I want you to wear a sling until you return for a checkup, which we'll schedule for a few days from now. Charlie, do you understand all of this?"

Charlie blinked a few times, then nodded. He'd heard it all, but somehow none of it seemed important.

The doctor had let his father sign the release forms while Megan, Colby and Amita eagerly made sure for themselves that Charlie was going to be fine. Charlie had had to stop Megan from apologizing, and was shocked to find that she was feeling as guilty as he was. She kept saying over and over that she should have been able to do something and that she should have known that something like this could have happened. Charlie thought for a moment that he was going to cry if she apologized one more time for putting him in danger. All he could think about was that he was so glad she hadn't been harmed.

Then came the inevitable fight. His father had informed him that Don had been taken via helicopter to LA Central and that he was going straight there.

Naturally, Charlie wanted to go.

"Absolutely not," Alan said firmly. "You're going straight home. The doctor said bed rest." Charlie winced. The doctor had given Alan the same speech he'd received on the way to discharge.

"Dad, you don't understand. I have to see Don. I have to be there!"

"Charlie," Megan broke in softly. "There's not a very good chance that anyone will be able to see Don for a while."

"She's right Charlie," Alan said, and Charlie had caught the choked sound in his father's voice. The same sound that had been there when Alan had set Charlie down one day and explained that the doctors simply had no hope for his mother to ever recover. "You have to get your rest. I can't have two sons in the hospital. I have to know you're safe and all right."

"Dad," Charlie said, feeling the tears prick his eyes. "Don needs me. I have to make things right. If he… If he…" Charlie could not bring himself to say 'dies.' "Dad, I have to tell him how sorry I am…"

"Charlie!" The protest came from Megan, whose face was white. "This was not your fault. Don would never blame you."

"And he would want you to be home resting," Colby added firmly.

"I'm not bending on this Charles," Alan had said, and the full use of his name had signaled to Charlie that the argument was over. "Amita, would you mind being so kind as to take Charlie home for me?" Charlie had noted how anxious his father had been for her to say yes.

He had also plainly noted Amita's slight hesitation. It had spiked jealousy in Charlie, but as quickly as it came, it was gone.

Don had often accused Charlie of being blind, especially when it came to women. Charlie had often argued and disagreed, but he'd always known Don was right. Being a genius, it sometimes wasn't easy to turn his mind off. In the middle of the most common things, Charlie's brain would simply start spouting numbers, and Charlie was left scrambling for a piece of paper, a chalk board, anything, to get it down. The numbers – the math – often consumed his life, and any social things he did were victim to the whim of his mathematical mind.

Relating to women had never been easy for Charlie. It wasn't that he wasn't horrible with women – he didn't send them running, and he had a fair share of students who practically stalked him on campus for his good looks and intelligence. However, prioritizing had never been one of Charlie's strong points, so putting a woman in front of his math was impossible, and there were few women who would mind the second slate.

The problem was, there were a few women did understand, and Amita had been one of them. At least, she had understood for a while. Charlie had always felt the undercurrent of flirtation and a simple mix of chemistry between Amita and himself, but he had waited too long. Their attempt at being more than just friends and colleagues hadn't gone well, and that had left them a bit estranged. It turned out their friendship worked just fine, but a relationship seemed doomed to fail.

They'd even gone so far to discuss it, and had settled on friends. Charlie had even been out on a few successful dates with other women, and was currently seeing where things were going with an old friend named Olivia, but somewhere, inside, he still felt something for Amita.

And that was the real problem because he didn't know why, and he wasn't the only one who had started to move on. The main difficulty was who Amita seemingly moved on to – none other than Don.

Charlie had known from the moment Don and Amita had met that they were physically attracted to each other. He knew the light in Don's eyes, and the way his skin crinkled around his eyes in a certain way when he smiled. And he knew the way Amita twisted her hair just so, and shifted from one foot to the other. He also hadn't missed their fairly innocent flirtation whenever they were around each other.

But Don was a good brother, and he hadn't ever pursued anything with Amita. He never let his touch linger, though the same couldn't be said for Amita, and he never even tried to make a move. Don had even encouraged Charlie to go after Amita before someone else did.

Charlie had confided in Don when everything between him and Amita had ended. Don had been a great comfort, offering words of advice, and a listening ear. Don had always been good with women. Women found him attractive, and he flirted easily. His easy smile was a beacon, and people were prone to trust him intensely. It was Don's follow through that was always the problem. Work ate up his time and his social life. Fear of leaving someone in pain kept him from becoming too attached. And Charlie had tried to pay back his brother's advice by explaining to Don that love was worth the risk, even when it meant losing.

Losing Amita hadn't bothered him until he'd caught her lingering glances on Don. She had always been willing to help Charlie with any of Don's cases, but as of late, it had become a real joy for her. At first Charlie had just thought he was being a little paranoid, but soon enough he'd realized that Amita certainly had a thing for Don. He'd caught Don gauging Amita as well, and figured that Don was well aware that Amita was interested.

At first it had been a surprise to Charlie that Don hadn't tried anything. After all, Amita was smart and fun, not to mention beautiful, and she clearly liked him. She wasn't oppressive with her intentions, but they were clear all the same. And somewhere inside, the part of Charlie that still resented Don's ease and charm, the part of Charlie that had never forgotten senior prom, figured that Don would use this as one more way to get back at Charlie for all the difficulty that he had caused Don in their youth.

Charlie had hated himself for thinking that way, and as the weeks wore on and Don still did nothing about Amita, Charlie began to hate himself even more. Charlie had realized that Don wasn't going to make a move. Don didn't want to hurt him. Amita was clearly off limits.

Then, slowly, Charlie had started to like the idea of Don dating Amita. It had almost become a plot for Charlie – wishing that two people he cared about so much could find happiness together. And more than anything in the world, Charlie wanted Don to be happy. And if happiness meant Don and Amita together, it was suddenly the most appealing thing Charlie could think of.

But there were still times when it hurt, and that moment, when Amita had hesitated in the hospital, clearly wanting to know how Don was, it hurt again.

"Of course Mr. Eppes! I would love to." And when she had said those words, the pain and jealousy faded, because there was nothing but truth in her voice. She reached down to squeeze Charlie's shoulder, and Charlie was eternally grateful for her friendship. "I'll stay with him as long as you need me to."

"Dad, please," Charlie managed to find his voice. "You'll call, won't you? As soon as you find out anything? I can't live without knowing."

Alan had smiled so tenderly at his son that Charlie felt the tears threatening again. Slowly, his father knelt in front of the wheelchair.

"I promise I will Charlie. This is all going to be ok, you understand that? Do not give up on your brother, he's going to be fine. I just need to know you're going to be ok, so I need you to do this. I need you to go home and rest. Ok?"

"Ok Dad," Charlie said, feeling suddenly exhausted. Alan leaned forward and gently kissed Charlie on the forehead, then motioned for Amita, who gently took the handles of the wheelchair.

"Come on Charlie, let's get you home. I know you probably don't feel like eating, but I'm going to make some food anyway. And then you're going straight to bed…" Amita kept talking, but Charlie lost his focus, the gentle tones in her voice easing some of his fear. She helped him into Don's SUV, and for a moment Charlie thought he was going to be sick, but there was nothing in his stomach to come out.

"I'm sorry Charlie, this is the only car we have here," Amita said sadly, clearly noting his reaction.

Charlie offered her a ghost of a smile to let her know he was ok, then leaned his head back against the head rest, and closed his eyes. He inhaled slowly, sensing Don all around him and tried to fight back the tears. He was unable to, and the tears slipped out from underneath his closed lids. Slowly he felt Amita hook one of her hands through his.

Charlie awoke with a start when he heard a car door shut. He opened his eyes to find that they were back at his house, and for a moment was confused, but realized he must have fallen asleep. Amita was there suddenly, opening his door and reaching over to help him take the seat belt off.

They didn't speak, but Charlie leaned on her a little, too tired to stand up all the way as she eased him out of the car and towards the door. She fumbled with the keys Alan had given her, but soon had them both inside the warm, inviting house. Charlie caught sight of Don's baby book lying on the floor, its pages splayed out on the carpet, but Amita steered him straight towards the stairs.

"I thought we were going to eat?" he protested gently, and she paused.

"Are you hungry?" she asked worriedly.

"No," Charlie said.

"Then stop being a pain," she said, a small bit of mirth in her voice. Charlie laughed a little, and it felt good, but he jostled his arm against the wall and let out a hiss of pain. "Be careful," she admonished. "Your father will kill me if he doesn't find you in one piece."

"Sorry," he replied, and for all the world, Charlie thought he sounded like a small child. At the top of the stairs, Amita turned him left to head towards his bedroom, but he resisted. "No. I want to go to Don's room."

"What?" she asked surprised, hesitating. "Charlie… I don't know if that's a good idea…"

"Amita, I can't be there with him. I… I just need to be close to him somehow. Please?" Charlie knew he was begging, but he simply didn't care.

Amita sighed out loud, and Charlie knew she was extremely worried about his mental state. He was worried about his mental state too, but he needed to be in Don's room.

"Ok," she finally agreed, and then turned to the right. Don's room was close, just a few feet away. It was much the same as it had been when Don had left for college, but the baseball posters had long been removed from the wall. The soft green that Margaret Eppes had painted the walls was an eerie match for the same color in Don's apartment that he was hardly ever at. Some of Don's baseball trophies from winning championships still littered the dresser and the book shelves. The closet was empty except for three or four shirts and a couple of ties that Don had left there in case of emergency. Don often wore those three or four shirts though, since he often ended up at the house instead of his apartment.

Charlie stumbled a little and was grateful that Amita was there to catch him. Slowly she lowered him onto the bed, hurriedly pulling the blue comforter and sheets back. Charlie sank back onto the bed, his arm, still in its sling, tight against his chest. The moment his head hit the pillow, he inhaled again, and was thrilled at the smell. It was a mix of the laundry detergent that his father used, the same kind his mother had always bought, and the smell of Don – it must have been his soap, his shampoo, or maybe his aftershave, but either way it was undoubtedly his big brother, and for as long as Charlie could remember, Don always smelled like that, and it was more comforting that he could express.

"Charlie, do you need anything?" Amita asked quietly, and he felt her warm hand smooth his curls away from his face.

"No, but promise you'll wake me up when Dad calls, just in case I fall asleep."

"I will Charlie. I promise," she said soothingly.

"If I could just figure out why it took me so long…" Charlie said, trailing off. He looked up at Amita, who was gently trying to quiet him. She smiled at him and he closed his mouth.

Another wave of exhaustion passed over Charlie. He was determined to stay awake, to wait for his father to call, but he closed his eyes for a moment, to try to ward of the sleepiness. It was the last thing he thought about as his tired body caught up with his mind and sleep overtook him.