Wow. I missed out on a great show for a lot of years. Guess I've gotta make up for that now.

This idea struck me one night and wouldn't go away until I wrote it down, but it just doesn't fit into any of the Numb3rs AUs I'm currently working on, so I guess it's its own little thing now. It is complete with a total of three chapters. Set between the first and second seasons, seeing as those two are near and dear to my heart. Not really a case fic, I wanted to focus more on the brothers' interactions than the whodunnit part.

Warning: Going to spoil myself, but this fic isn't as dark as this chapter starts to imply.

The Apartment

Don froze with the beer bottle halfway to his mouth. He muted the TV and sat forward on the edge of the couch, straining to hear over the everyday mundane sounds of his apartment building. The fridge in the kitchen hummed. The dryer was finishing the last load of clothes with a steady whump-whump. A fly knocked around in the lampshade on the end table. Upstairs his neighbor continued rearranging furniture with concrete shoes on. To the side came the indecipherable words from his other neighbor's favorite soap opera. Outside a car drove down the street and hit the pothole all the residents of the block did their best to avoid.

He shook his head and turned his attention back to the files spread out on the coffee table. His bed had been beckoning him for the last hour, and he very well might have started hearing things in his half-awake state. He set the bottle down next to one of the packets of paper and crime scene photos. Unfortunately, crime didn't care if the lead agent was exhausted.

It had been a long day - no, scratch that, it had been a long week. Between Terry leaving and half a dozen cases landing on their laps, he was running on fumes. To add to that, he was still getting a feel for Megan Reeves who had shown up at the beginning of the week, trying to figure out what made her tick and how she fit in while he and David worked on their active cases, and to top it off he'd been informed another agent was going to show up next week to join his team. Colby Granger.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair. How was he going to break in two new team members at the same time? Megan had seemingly started swimming as soon as he'd tossed her into the deep end on one of their open cases, which was a relief. It meant he and David could focus on the caseload along with a fresh pair of eyes without having to supervise the new kid too much. He hoped this Granger guy fared as well.

The tapping he thought he'd heard earlier came again at his door. Louder and more insistent this time. So it wasn't sleep deprivation making him hear things.

He glanced at his watch as he stood up. It was well past midnight, edging closer to one in the morning. People didn't go around knocking on doors late at night for no reason. The adrenaline rush of being prepared for anything seeped through his veins and woke him up a little, but the cool tingle tapered as soon as he looked through the peephole. He pressed his forehead against the door and dredged up as much patience as he could.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head and undid the deadbolt. "Come on, Chuck, really? What'd you do, go through another box of my stuff?"

As soon as he opened the door, the adrenaline was back in full force, flooding his body with a cold chill and sending his heart kicking against his ribs.

Charlie looked up from sagging against the doorframe and a tiny smile ghosted across his face. "Don."

"Oh man, Buddy."

Don pulled his brother inside and slammed the door shut behind him, taking the extra second to flip the deadbolt shut. He tugged Charlie along into the living room and sat him on the couch in the halo of light spilling from the lamp. Papers fluttered onto the floor in his haste to shove files out of the way so he could perch on the edge of the coffee table facing his brother.

"Charlie, what happened?" he questioned.

Charlie flinched.

He forced himself to rein in the angry big brother for the moment and softened his posture, laying a hand on his brother's knee and lowering his voice. "Charlie, come on, Buddy. Talk to me."

It didn't take the agent in him long to start putting pieces together before his brother could form any words. His hair and clothes were tousled and there were dirt smudges on his knees and elbows. The ugly bruise across his left cheekbone was starting to cause a black eye and dried blood crusted under his nose. Someone had caught him with a right hook at least once, maybe twice. Knocked him flat. A few red dots speckled the front of his shirt and red was smeared across the back of one hand. Hopefully it was all from a bloody nose and not some other injury he couldn't see at the moment.

His grip on his knee tightened.

"Don, I…" Charlie trailed off and coughed to the side.

"Hold on." Don sprang up towards the kitchen to grab a water bottle off the counter. When he rounded the corner back into the living room, Charlie was leaning against the arm of the couch watching him return like a spooked animal. He unscrewed the lid and handed it to him while he slowly sat on the coffee table again. "Here, take a few sips. Take a few breaths. Tell me when you're ready."

He was well aware he was using the tone of voice he used with victims. It seemed to settle his brother, though.

The everyday mundane sounds of his apartment fell to the background as he waited, listening to Charlie swallow a few gulps of water, listening to his ragged breaths, and if he listened any harder he imagined he would hear a rapid heartbeat to rival his own. Charlie was looking anywhere but at him or the light, so he dropped his eyes to the floor. Personnel files looked back up at him. His earlier frustrations and qualms about the new team members being tossed so suddenly at him seemed like nothing compared to the emotions coursing through him now.

"I think I was drugged."

He whipped his head up at that. "Drugged? Charlie, are you sure?"

Charlie nodded. He picked at the label on the water bottle, not meeting his eyes. "I remember having…having lunch and writing in my notebook…and then it's like I woke up with a cab driver telling me I was here."

"Where? Here, at my apartment?"

"Yeah. But I don't know how I got here." Charlie finally looked at him. The fear and confusion in his brother's eyes twisted his gut and made him want to drive his fist through the wall. Or someone's face. "I just remember stumbling out of the cab and recognizing the building and…and being so relieved, because if anybody knew what to do, it was you."

He stiffened.

The admission hit him like a sucker punch. Stole his breath.

There was no denying Charlie had looked up to him when they were kids and their father had recently told him his younger brother couldn't say no to him, but this level of trust caught him off guard. The adrenaline flowed through his veins in a frozen slurry, pooling in his palms in beads of sweat and sending a twitchy bounce into one leg, making him forget how to refill his lungs fully. It took a good long moment for the shock to fade and for him to resume breathing normally, and in that moment all he could do was hold his brother's gaze and squeeze his knee.

Then reality started to set in. The dark reality his line of work had conditioned him for. The big brother was going to need to take a step back so the agent could take over.

"Do you remember how you got that shiner?"

Charlie furrowed his brows at him and gingerly probed his cheek and nose, wincing as his fingers touched the purple bruises. His breathing started to quicken. "No. Don, I don't…I don't remember anything. I don't…what happened?"

"I don't know, Buddy, but we're going to find out." He pushed himself to his feet and offered his hand. Hesitantly, Charlie took it and let himself be pulled upright. Don steadied him as he swayed. "I'll call David on the way to the hospital."

"Hospital?" Charlie shrank back.

"Yeah. The hospital." Don jammed his feet into the sneakers by the door, snagged his keys off the table, and grabbed his jacket. He checked to make sure his wallet and badge were in the pocket before slinging it over his shoulders and took a second to reattach his holster and phone to his belt while he debated the best way to drag his brother to the hospital if Charlie put up a fight about going. First rule of dealing with his brother was to use logic. "If you were drugged, a tox screen and a urinalysis will help us identify what they used and might help us track down whoever did it."

He waited with his hand on the doorknob. Charlie had yet to move much further than the threshold between the living room and hallway.

"Charlie?" he asked. The seasoned agent in him started to wonder what else the hospital might find and if the tension rippling off his brother was from that, but the big brother in him held off on going there. Yet.

"Will…will you…" Charlie shuffled his feet, squinting against the dim light thrown by the lamp. Suddenly he took great interest in the scuff marks on the floor by the end table.

Don gave him a couple of seconds to gather his thoughts. The listless movements and lack of full sentences left him no doubt there was some kind of drug in his brother's system, and they needed to move on it before it metabolized fully, but the second rule of dealing with Charlie was to keep from getting short with him. It never worked, only drove him further into his shell, and that was when drugs weren't wreaking havoc on him.

Though it went against his nature of handling a situation, he waited some more precious seconds. Fought against the chips of ice prickling in his veins. Kept his tumultuous thoughts in check. Made sure that he didn't lash out at the wrong person.

Charlie wrung his hands and his shoulders shook. "Never mind."

"Buddy, what?" he asked.

"It's just I don't…I don't want to…no. No. It's fine."

It finally clicked and once it did, it didn't take a genius to decipher what his brother was asking. Reeling back the emotion trying to cloud his mind and constrict his windpipe, Don crossed over to him and gently set his hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, of course I'll stay with you at the hospital. I'm not going to make you go in there alone, okay?"

That appeared to be the answer Charlie was looking for if the shy, grateful grin was any indication. He wasn't going to have to worry about dragging him to the hospital. Instead, Charlie simply followed closely behind him as they exited the apartment. Don glanced over his shoulder every so often to make sure his brother was still steady on his feet. He wasn't going to win any tightrope walking contests, but he wasn't drunkenly listing all over the place and in danger of faceplanting, which left Don to scan the surrounding area as they walked.

As usual, the area was pretty dead given how late it was. He didn't spy any suspicious vehicles or shadows watching them as they climbed into the SUV. Given Charlie's scant recounting of events, it was possible the perpetrator had never even been in the area.

Nonetheless, he kept his senses on high alert as they pulled out of the complex's parking lot.

He eyed his brother fidgeting uncomfortably in the passenger seat. "You okay?"

"Fine."

Fine was the farthest word from Don's mind.

"Charlie."

The firm tone did the trick and Charlie caved, crumpling back against the seat and hanging his head.

"Head is killing me. Feel kinda nauseous."

"Got some plastic evidence bags in the glovebox if you feel like you're going to puke," he said. As gross as it was, vomit could prove to be valuable evidence if it came down to it. Still, he didn't really want his brother puking in his car, so he cracked the windows to allow some fresh air to drift in. "Better?"

Charlie pressed his forehead against the window. "Yeah."

He flipped on a blinker and cruised out onto one of the main streets to join the light late night traffic.

The agent in him knew he needed to start asking questions, needed to start gathering details and timelines while it was fresh, but the big brother was hesitant. It was different when he knew the victim. Had grown up with him, taught him to play baseball, worked with him on a near weekly basis, crashed at his house frequently, whipped him playing Scrabble. It was easier to ask the tough questions when he could stay detached, when he could ask without fear of damaging a relationship, when the answers might sicken him but not emotionally crush him.

He licked his dry lips. Hesitated.

Besides, he needed to call David. If that put off finding out the possibly horrifying answers to the questions that needed asked for a bit longer, he wasn't going to worry about it.

The phone rang twice before a groggy voice answered.

"Don?"

"Hey, David. Did I wake you up?" he asked and winced. Normal people tended to be asleep at this hour.

"It's fine. What do you need? We catch a case?"

He looked over at his brother. "Charlie showed up at my place bruised and possibly drugged."

"What?"

"I know. Listen, he said he remembered taking a cab to my building, but that's all he remembers. There's a gap between lunch yesterday and a quarter 'til one this morning. I'm taking him to the hospital and I need you to see if you can track down that cab using security cams from around the complex. There's a corner store that has a camera facing the front of my building, too."

"Yeah, sure, no problem. I'll be down at the office in about twenty minutes. Does he remember a company, maybe? Or cab color? Driver? Anything that might help narrow it down?"

Hoping Charlie had been listening since the whole conversation had been on speaker, Don held his tongue and focused on the other cars on the street.

"No, I'm sorry, David. I just can't…can't remember much," Charlie said. He combed his fingers through his curls and exhaled heavily. "I think maybe it was yellow? And the driver…he was…uh, was a big guy. I think."

"That's great, Charlie. That actually helps a lot. Do you still have your valuables on you? Phone, wallet, watch?"

Charlie touched his pocket and wrist. "Watch is still here. Wallet is in my pocket. Pretty sure I left my phone on its charger this morning."

"Alright. I'm going to say it wasn't a mugging, then. Don, should I call Megan?"

He pursed his lips. From what he'd seen so far, Megan was a decent profiler. Her skills might be useful, but she was new. She hadn't even met Charlie yet, and introducing her to the team's math consultant in such a raw situation as this one didn't feel right.

"Let me know what you find with the cab, then I'll decide if we need to call her in," he said.

"Got it. Let me know if there's anything else you guys need. Take care, Charlie."

The call ended and the SUV fell into silence. The tall buildings of LA passed by in muted colors, the sidewalks empty and void of life for the most part. Only a few late night travelers shared the road with them, all faceless and nameless in a red haze of taillights. Don stared unblinking at the lines on the street. He wondered if Larry or Amita had seen Charlie during the afternoon. They might need to get a hold of them. And his dad. That was one call he wasn't going to enjoy. Not that he enjoyed anything about this situation.

Charlie grunted softly and shifted.

He shot a glance over at him. Now that he didn't have the excuse to call David, he couldn't stall on the questions.

"Charlie, what do you remember from your lunch?" He'd start with a less awkward question. Ease into it.

"Um…I went to eat at a diner not too far off campus. I was working on something…a proposal for a class I want to put together? Or putting together my syllabus for an upcoming class," Charlie said. There was a pause. "I think I had a cheeseburger."

"With fries?" he asked, grasping at anything to lighten the absolutely miserable sound of his brother's voice.

"What good is a burger without fries?"

He forced a grin. "I remember telling you that when we were kids."

"And it stuck with me," Charlie said. He grumbled and in his peripheral Don saw him rubbing his hands over his face. "Unlike the rest of the afternoon."

"It's okay. Take it one step at a time. You had a cheeseburger with fries at the diner near campus while working on stuff for your classes. What happened next?"

"I had some things I needed to do on campus…some student meetings and maybe something to do with the board…I think I rode my bike back over to CalSci?"

"Any chance Larry or Amita would've run into you?"

"Larry took a few days to go hiking and Amita is in San Diego visiting friends."

"I'll take that as a no, then. Do you remember your ride back to campus?"

"I don't know," Charlie murmured. "It all goes black until the cab."

Food and drink were the easiest ways to drug someone and with the blank space appearing soon after that, he ranked the diner high on his list of possible locations Charlie might have been drugged. He'd have to call David back and see if he could pull footage from the diner.

"Do you remember anyone hanging around the diner? Anyone that didn't seem to belong there or made you uncomfortable?" he asked.

"No. Everyone from CalSci eats there a lot and the staff knows most of the faculty and students. I don't really recall anyone out of the norm."

Eating there a lot also meant it would be easy for somebody to pick up on his brother's routine. He filed that away. "So you're on your bike pedaling back to CalSci. Does anything stick out to you? A sight or sound? Maybe even a smell?"

They stopped at a red light and Don looked over. Charlie pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead, eyes closed and face screwed up in concentration.

"Tea? In my office?"

"Is that a guess or a memory?"

Charlie made a sound dangerously close to a whine and buried his face in his hands. "I don't know. It's like it's right there but…I can't remember anything!"

"Okay, that's okay. Calm down. If it's gonna come back, it'll do it on its own. You did good, Buddy," he said. He gripped the steering wheel and kept his focus on the taillights in front of him as he prepared himself for his next set of questions. "Charlie, I need you to be honest with me. How are you feeling?"

"Hungover."

That answer screamed certain well known drugs to Don, and he wished more than anything the first thought that popped into his head was alcohol and not a roofie. He took a breath in. "Care to elaborate?"

"Headache, light hurts my eyes, stomach hurts," Charlie replied. He slumped further down in the seat. "Just feel like crap."

"Yeah, I bet," he said. "And you haven't had anything to drink that you can remember?"

"No."

He glared out at the dark street, already hating the next question he was going to ask and knowing what the answer was going to be. "And you haven't done any drugs recreationally?"

"Don."

He didn't know how Charlie could make a single syllable sound like he was pleading and begging him to believe him, to understand how ridiculous it was that he would ever abuse any substance, like he was hurt Don would even think that. If Charlie wasn't his brother, he'd be suspicious, but seeing as he knew his brother valued being able to think clearly and their parents had brought them up right, he dismissed recreational drugs or alcohol as viable suspects immediately.

"Sorry, Buddy. It's just standard protocol to ask."

Charlie's reply was soft. "I know. I just…I wouldn't do that, okay?"

"I believe you. Trust me, I do." The car in front rolled to a stop at another light and in the lull he looked over at his brother. "Besides all that, do you hurt anywhere else?"

Charlie shrugged. "Kind of hurt all over."

"Anywhere specific?"

Even in the dark of the cab where the only light was the gentle glow from the dash, he could pinpoint the exact moment it registered on Charlie's face what he was asking. It wasn't until the car behind them honked that Don realized the light had turned green. He was too focused on the tear glistening on his brother's cheek.

Reluctantly, he tore his eyes back to the road and eased through the intersection. The hospital loomed just around the corner.

"I don't know, Don," Charlie's voice cracked.

Don clenched his jaw. The terror slithering around his insides sent bile up his throat and it took all his training and willpower to keep himself from reacting as he guided the SUV into a parking spot near the emergency entrance. He glanced over at Charlie. He was rigid, staring at the well lit entrance with a slight tremble and shallow breaths. Sometimes knowing for sure was as bad as not knowing, but they needed to know. He needed to know.

Don sighed. He took a deep breath, swallowed back the acid, and pulled at the door handle.

"Don."

The barely whispered name was louder than a gunshot in his ears.

"Yeah?" He held himself still, hiding behind the mask of an even-keeled FBI agent as his brother turned wide, shining eyes on him. The control on his emotions started to slip.

"I'm scared."

He reached across the center console and slid his hand around the back of Charlie's neck. There wasn't much else to do.

"I know, Buddy. But I'll be right there with you. I'm not going anywhere," he said.

Charlie nodded faintly and opened the passenger door.

Don stepped out, as well. He braced himself against the hood of the vehicle with one hand. Under his breath he echoed his brother, "I'm scared, too."

To be continued…

Thanks for reading!