Author's Note: Well, here we are. It's been over three years since I've updated this story. I feel pretty bad about that. I got writer's block, then life just simply got away from me and I stopped watching Numb3rs. However, I'm back. And I'm going to try my best to finish this story, thought I don't know how long it will take.
Please keep in mind that when I started writing this, it was just second season, so this is going to seem way out in left field for some new readers.
One more warning – I had mentioned this before that this is non-canon because I chose to pair Don and Amita together. If you're hardcore Charlie/Amita fans, I apologize in advance.
That being said, here it is.
The sun was just beginning to rise in the sky; it's rays slipping into between the blinds, illuminating the minute dust particles that swirled in the air. They also cast a golden glow on Don's face – somehow making the now healing bruises look a little softer, a little less garish.
Amita shifted forward in her chair, her movement unnoticed by Charlie, who was asleep a few feet away, awkwardly perched in another chair. She examined the FBI agent carefully.
It had been four days since the mercy flight in the middle of the night to LA Central – four days since the brutal and unexpected attack in the bank. Four days of hell. Four days, and Don still hadn't regained consciousness, instead remaining in a coma. On day three, they had moved the agent from ICU into a regular, private room, paid for by the Bureau. Alan had been very positive about this – until Don had crashed – cardiac arrest, they'd said – due to the damaged tissue above his heart. From the bullet. Since then, things had been relatively quiet.
Amita scrubbed at her face tiredly. It was almost nine, but it felt like six AM still – she hadn't been sleeping well, not since being in the FBI office with Colby and David when the call had come in. She'd been plagued by nightmares of losing both Charlie and Don.
Reaching out, she squeezed Don's good hand. As usual, there was no response. Don still looked awful. Although some of the bruises on his face were starting to mend – a good sign according to Don's new doctor – most of them were still ugly shades of blue, black, and purple. Around his eyes looked the worst – he looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champion. Still, there was some green and some yellow starting to appear, indicating positive healing. Some of the yellow was appearing, poking out of the bandages that covered Don's chest – but it still made for an absolutely heart-rending sight.
Don was still on oxygen, and had a tube down his throat. He hadn't fought the tube since day two. There was also the chest tube still, sticking up out of his chest like some aberration, but it allowed oxygen into his badly damaged lung. There was also still a bandage around his head and his broken hand remained motionless in it's cast. Besides Charlie's soft snoring, the only other sound was the oxygen machine, whirring, forcing oxygen in and out of Don's body.
As the days had dragged on, and Don had shown no sign of waking, the doctors became more and more concerned. They'd run several CAT scans – and his brain activity was unacceptably low. Dr. Wild had explained that could mean more than one thing, but worst-case scenario was brain damage. Don had a severe concussion, resulting from his skull bouncing off a marble floor and another run in with a steel support strut. His brain had swelled dangerously. Charlie hadn't taken the news well. He seemed hell bent on thinking the worse – that Don was never going to wake up from the coma, that he was brain damaged anyway, that there was a good chance he'd never be able to hold a gun again, and that Don was going to die. Still, he stayed at the hospital obsessively.
Amita was beginning to worry about him – and she wasn't the only one. He only went home to change and shower. He ate all of his meals at the hospital and had arranged for care for his own wound to be taken care of there, at LA Central. The nurses and orderlies had tried to send him home, but he'd managed to get Megan to pull a few strings, and he was allowed to stay there whenever he wanted – though Amita suspected that Megan was now regretting her decision to help. At first, everyone had been very surprised, especially considering Charlie's pessimistic attitude. From what Don and Alan had once told her about Charlie's reaction to his mother's illness, she had half expected him to avoid the hospital, and avoid Don. But, the opposite was happening. He couldn't be dragged away.
It was all heart wrenching and horribly difficult all at once. Already, Charlie and Alan had had several heated discussions. The last one had happened around seven this morning, when Charlie had announced that he had run the numbers, and expected that they would need to make a decision about taking Don off the respirator in a little over three weeks. That had been too much for Alan. The fight that had ensued was a nasty one of angry accusations, hushed threats, and blame – all conducted in a whisper, to prevent either of them being thrown from the hospital for disturbing the peace. Amita had been unsure what to do, so she'd stayed there and witnessed the whole thing, afraid that in the fracas, Don might actually awaken and witness his family dissolving in front of him, so she'd gripped the agent's hand and then covered his ears, willing his world to be silent. The fight had ended with a bombshell, driving Alan from the room.
"This is your fault Dad – if you hadn't ignored Don when he was a kid – if you had just put him on equal footing with me, we wouldn't be in this situation. He never would have joined the FBI. You practically forced him into Quantico! If you hadn't talked so much about hating Feds and how the FBI needed to clean up it's act, Don never would have thought twice about going! He only did it to prove you wrong – to show you that he could do something you wanted in the 70's. So what happened? He joined the FBI and threw him self in harm's way – just hoping you and Mom would pay attention to him – and when that didn't happen, he decided more dangerous must be the way to go – so he moved into Fugitive Recovery – where he learned all of these bad habits of only having himself and his co-workers to rely on. So now, he comes home the hero, and you still have a problem with it, so he pushes harder, faster – stretches himself to the limit – just to get your attention! And now look – now he's dying, all because of you."
The words had been too much for Alan. He'd frozen, deadly still, his skin ten shades paler than it should have been, then he'd fled from the room, even as Amita had leapt to her feet to intervene – to try to stop Charlie from saying those things that she knew he really didn't mean. It was too late though, and Alan was gone, and Charlie stood there, gaping after his father, as if he'd been possessed and was just then realizing it. "Dad…I'm sorry – I didn't mean it…" he'd said in a strangled voice, then turned away from her like she wasn't even there, had curled up in the chair and had stared at Don catatonically until he'd fallen asleep out of exhaustion. Amita hadn't known what to say – didn't know if there was anything she really could say. So she'd sat there in silence, a tear running down her face.
Alan still hadn't returned. She could only imagine what he was going through, because she'd seen in his eyes, as Charlie had said those awful words, that even though Charlie didn't really believe them, Alan did. She'd known the family was a little dysfunctional – had seen Don and Charlie fight – had heard stories about their not exactly normal childhood. The thing was, for all that had happened, they seemed fairly well adjusted. What two siblings didn't fight? Don was certainly the Alpha Male of the two, but he was never vicious, at least not that she had seen. It was only normal for two brothers to go at it from time to time – why didn't they realize that? It wasn't like they hated each other. In fact, as the days, weeks, months, and now years, of her acquaintance with the Eppes family had passed, she had seen their bond grow and strengthen. Of course, it would take a life-threatening situation to start to unravel all that work.
Charlie had told her haltingly about the bank in more detail, even breaking down, tears streaming down his face as he revealed the guilt he felt now and the helplessness of the situation. He had asked her why Don had done it – why he'd gotten up – but she hadn't answered because she knew that Charlie had an answer in his heart. It wouldn't have been Don if he hadn't gotten up to intervene. Charlie had spoken of his fear in the bank and how the numbers wouldn't come – and the trusting look in Don's eyes. Amita had been overwhelmed with emotion – she had wanted to tell Charlie that Don would never blame him but Charlie didn't want to listen. When she'd come out with it and said that Don probably blamed himself, Charlie had all but freaked out, growing despondent that Don would blame himself for something beyond his control, which had led to a tirade about Don – about how he felt the need to take everything on himself.
The tirade had gone on for a good half and hour the day before. Amita has sat there patiently and listened to Charlie blame Don for being Don. It hadn't been easy to hear. What kept Amita sitting there was that she knew that as much as Charlie hated everything he was listing about Don, that he equally loved those parts of his brother – as they were the things that truly made Don who he was.
Since then, Charlie had been slowly spiraling out of control.
Amita groaned. "Don – you have to wake up. Your family is falling apart because of all of this. They need you to keep them together." A moment later, she felt a twinge of guilt. How could she put that on Don? He was so sick – so injured – so hurt. How could she ask him then to shoulder his family's issues at a time like this? If it was one thing she'd learned about the Eppes family though, it was that Don was often the glue that held it together. Alan was a sweet and caring man, but he wasn't always as understanding as he could be, prejudiced by a long life full of experience, the loss of his wife, and the burden of raising two exceptional children – one a prodigy, the other with a hero complex. Charlie was sometimes socially stunted, and often so distracted by his work that he was emotionally and physically unavailable. Don, while having his own issues, seemed to hover right in between. He was often able to pull Alan back to the present, always finding a way to show him the big picture, while at the same time able to not only handle Charlie's gift, but in a way, translate his brother – the core of who he was – to the rest of the world, including their own father.
Amita was afraid that if Don died, Alan and Charlie might be estranged forever, both alternately blaming themselves and each other at the same time. She couldn't imagine what toll Don's loss would take truly, but she knew it wouldn't be good.
As for herself, she knew she would feel a hole inside if the agent died.
Being the only one in the room awake, she blushed. She knew she was being crazy. Knew that everyone else was wondering why she was at the hospital so much. After all, why would Charlie's ex-girlfriend be so concerned about his older brother, especially now that Charlie was seeing someone new, albeit casually? By now, she figured she was pretty transparent, and that embarrassed her – especially because she was pretty sure they thought she was turning into a stalker.
After she and Charlie had decided that friends worked much better than dating, she hadn't planned on pursuing another relationship. She was busy with her studies and busy helping Charlie with the FBI cases that Don dropped in their laps. At first, everything had been very innocent. She loved Charlie's family – loved Alan, loved Don, and loved Don's team. They were like a surrogate family to her, being so far from her own. And the cases were interesting, if not a bit emotionally trying at times. She liked extending her knowledge out of books and out of classrooms – she liked trying to be a bit like Charlie. But then she found she liked looking at Don too. A little too much.
The first time she had really realized it was a few months back. She and Charlie had been in the FBI office, wrapping up at the end of a long day. She and Charlie were going to join Colby and Megan for a bite to eat before they headed home, so while they were waiting, Charlie had gotten into a conversation with David and Amita, bored, had began to wander. She'd made it halfway down the hall when she'd spotted Don coming out of his office, headed in the opposite direction. Lost in the paperwork he was carrying and reading, he'd bumped his elbow and the small stack of papers had fluttered to the ground. When he'd bent over to pick them up, Amita felt her breath catch in her throat. She'd always known Don was attractive – had been physically attracted to him the first time she'd met him. After all, he and Charlie didn't look all that different, and she'd been attracted to Charlie, but Don…Don was different. And there he was, standing there in the hall, wearing some sort of designer jeans that hugged all the right places, bending over, his white polo shirt tight around his upper arms, muscles defined, teasing her. That was when she realized she wasn't breathing, she was staring, and that she was likely to get caught.
She'd ducked into the conference room next to her, breathing like a 16 year old did after her first real kiss with the hottest guy she knew. The idea that she was so captivated with Don's butt had hit her like a ton of bricks. Since when had she gone from thinking of Don as Charlie's hot older brother to Don – the smoking hot, available FBI agent she knew? After that, it was like she couldn't contain herself. Every time she was around him, she couldn't stop looking. He looked good in everything. From jeans and a t-shirt she saw him in at his father's house, to a suit and sunglasses at work, and everything in between. His dark hair and dark eyes were alluring and his well-toned body was intoxicating. His voice was ridiculously sexy and there was something about his cool, confident, in control personality that she absolutely loved. Then there was the affection for his family and his loyalty for his team that pretty much made him the ideal man, and since she wasn't afraid of guns in the least, the fact that he carried one just made him all the more attractive for some reason.
Amita had tried to keep her new feelings under wraps, at first attributing them to basic physical attraction. It wasn't surprising, she'd seen plenty of women look at Don Eppes like he was a piece of meat. But as time dragged on, she realized she liked him for who he was – for his personality, for his laugh, for the motto he ran his life by. It was then she realized, that like a schoolgirl, she'd fallen head over heels for her ex-boyfriend's older brother. That hurt her, because she realized that to act on her feelings would be to hurt Charlie, and to test the fragile bond between elder and younger brother.
Then there was the day the realization came that she'd been pretty bad at hiding her feelings. It had all happened at once. At dinner at the Eppes' house, Don had caught her staring at him and had winked back, and that wink had communicated everything she'd needed to know – he knew she was into him – he'd seen everything, and he was more than flattered. But he did nothing about it. Charlie had obviously seen the exchange, because in a controlled voice, as he'd tried to hide some hurt, he'd asked her later that night, out in the garage, if she was falling in love with Don. She'd stammered and stuttered, but didn't want to lie to Charlie – didn't want to lose his friendship, so she'd said nothing and hung her head. For a while, the garage was very quiet, then Charlie had squeezed her arm and given her a weak smile. "Just give me a little while to get used to the idea, ok?" he'd finally said. She was taken aback, surprised. "I want Don to be happy too, you know," he'd said a little defensively. After she'd muttered a very quiet apology, it was like everything had been forgotten.
Amita had then hoped that things would progress. She even purposefully stopped by the office more and took every opportunity she had to see Don – and although he returned her flirtation, there was always a controlled edge to it. She'd even caught him staring a few times, the way she watched him, but still, he did nothing. Her only conclusion was that while Charlie had sort of given her the go-ahead, he'd not had the same conversation with Don – and Don, valuing his relationship with Charlie, was not willing to risk losing his brother over a woman. The realization had hurt a little, but Amita knew she couldn't be selfish. If Don really liked her, someday, he would say something. Until then, she would have to wait. And waiting was hard.
Just like sitting there, waiting to see if Don recovered was hard. If he did, she was determined she would say something, even if he told her he didn't return her feelings or that he couldn't risk his relationship with Charlie. She found she respected him far too much and cared about him far too much to let another opportunity slip by.
A nurse came in to check on Don, stirring her out of her revelry – and awoke Charlie in the process. The mathematician looked around expectantly, and his face fell.
"Dad's still not back?" he asked, his voice tortured.
"No," she responded softly.
Charlie stood stiffly, his attention on Don. "Any change?" he asked the nurse, but his voice didn't hold any hope of a positive answer.
The nurse frowned apologetically. "I'm afraid Agent Eppes is much the same as he was a few hours ago." Charlie nodded stiffly, then turned to Amita. "I'm going for a walk," he told her, then stepped out.
Amita sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair, watching as the nurse finished checking Don's monitors and readjusted his fluids. "Don't let him get to you," the nurse told Amita quietly, referring to Charlie. "I've seen other family like that – they just can't handle the stress. You're Agent here hasn't given up though yet, just keep reminding yourself of that."
Tears pricked Amita's eyes. It was hard not to let Charlie's mood influence her. "Thank you," she said to the nurse, and meant it. The nurse nodded, and left her alone again.
Amita squeezed Don's hand again. "I suppose it's wrong of me to refer to a federal agent as 'smoking hot,'" she said aloud, laughing to herself. "But you are, even if you don't know it."
"He is what?" a tired voice behind her asked, and abruptly, Amita dropped Don's hand, leaping out of her chair.
"Alan! Thank god… I was so worried you wouldn't come back…."
"I was just waiting for Charlie to leave. I…couldn't face him."
"You know he didn't mean what he said…that none of it's true…" Amita began, talking rapidly.
"Amita," he said with a tired wave of his hand. "Please, it's not your job to sort out our family problems, though I appreciate your willingness to try. What Charlie said does have a grain of truth to it though – we made some mistakes raising both of them, you know," he said, pure emotional exhaustion in his voice. "And I've no doubt that I might have planted a seed in Don's mind – but I'm old enough to know that what Don wants, Don gets – and if that meant the FBI, wild horses couldn't have dragged him away. I have regrets, but regrets do me no good now," he told her and Amita clutched his hand.
"You're very wise," she told him softly. They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a little while, her eyes traveling back to Don, and after a while, she reached out to grip his cold hand again. She heard a soft snort from her side and turned to see Alan giving her a long, measuring look.
"I've been meaning to ask you, which of my sons are you here for? Charlie? Or Don?" The question caught Amita off guard, and as her mouth hung open, she stared at the older man, almost missing a slight twinkle of mischief in his eyes.