The Kiss

Author's note: This story is a departure for me – it is relationship-oriented and more of a romantic tale than a crime fic. It definitely has its dark moments and some whumping – primarily emotional, and I should warn you, there is a character death. As always, I test the brothers' relationship – and you might call this the ultimate test.

The story begins a few months after the last episode of the show. Charlie has been married for a few months, and Don is engaged to Robin. There is mention of sex in the first chapter – it is implied only, not explicit, and no worse than prime time TV. One more thing – Amita will seem very OC in this fic – but I never write OC for any of the series characters unless there is a really good reason for them to be OC. That's all I'll say at the moment – you'll have to read on to find out the reason. The story is mostly finished, it will end up at a little over 20 chapters.

Are you ready for a tear-jerker? Come on in.

Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs or any of the characters, but I do claim rights to the storyline. Any resemblance of characters to real people, living or dead; is purely coincidental. This disclaimer applies to all chapters in this story.

Chapter 1

In retrospect, Charlie could see the signs. He'd always been a bit clueless when it came to reading others, however, and later, he blamed his ineptitude in that regard for not seeing the subtle changes sooner – or at least, for not understanding what they were when he did see them.

Tuesday seemed normal enough. It was months after his wedding to Amita Ramanujan, and after returning from a six month stint at Oxford, life had settled into a fairly predictable routine. Amita had moved in before they were married, but marriage had given her license to execute a few of her own decorating ideas, and she had transformed his bedroom in his Craftsman house into their bedroom. They had converted the garage into a suite for his father, Alan, to give the newlyweds some added privacy in the main house, but his father was very much a part of their lives. He was partially retired and still did much of the cooking, and most evenings they ate together. Charlie and Amita would both rise in the morning and share a ride to campus, and after a day of teaching and research at Cal Sci, would head home together in the evening. Sometimes, if Charlie was doing consulting work for the FBI on a case for his brother Don and needed to visit him at the office, they would have to make other arrangements as far as transportation went. Today was one of those days.

It was late in the afternoon, and Charlie knew that Amita's classes were over for the day. He checked a few last numbers on his work for the Williams case, packed his briefcase, locked his door, and made the short walk through the Cal Sci Mathematics department hallway from his large office to Amita's more modest one. Her door was partly ajar, and he rapped on it and leaned against the door jamb, smiling at her, as she looked up from her computer. She frowned slightly – apparently still concentrating on her work – and he said, "I have to run down to the FBI building to give Don and his team an update. If you're done I can drop you off at home, or I can pick you up on the way back if you're going to be here for a while yet. Or I'm sure Dad would be happy to come give you a lift if neither of those options work."

She straightened in her seat and a look of anticipation crossed her face. "How about if I come along? I can't look at this computer anymore – I'm going cross-eyed."

"You'll probably be bored," Charlie warned her. In the past she had occasionally helped consult on cases, herself, but recently had allowed her contract with the FBI to expire in order to concentrate on her teaching career, so she would probably be excluded from the meeting – or at least would be relegated to bystander. "I can drop you off at home – it's not a problem." Home, actually, was just a couple of miles from campus – if it wasn't for the computers and papers they lugged home every night, it was walkable.

She rose, scooping up papers and loading her laptop and files into her briefcase. "No, I want to take a ride downtown, if nothing else. We never go anywhere. I need to get out – somewhere other than school or home."

She stepped out and turned out the lights and locked her office door, and Charlie looked at her, his brow furrowed. "We went out Saturday with Don and Robin."

She grimaced. "That doesn't count."

He eyed her sideways as they walked to the car, and he could feel the little flutter of anxiety, the one that came so often these days, return to his gut. She seemed dissatisfied lately, impatient. About what, he wasn't sure, but it seemed as though she was nearly always brooding and irritable, no matter what the situation. He had subtly tried to draw her out to find out what was bothering her, but with no success – when he asked her what was wrong, the usual response was, 'Nothing, I'm just in bad mood.' He had thought she normally liked to go out with Don and his fiancée, Robin Brooks, but it was true, she hadn't seemed to enjoy herself Saturday night. She had made small talk, but she didn't smile much, and he got the sense that she was annoyed about something – and that maybe it was something related to him. It wasn't that she'd never had a bad mood when they were dating – but the moods back then were less frequent and she was more polite – she hid her feelings better. Something had changed.

They got into their respective seats in silence, and Charlie started his Prius and pulled it out of the lot, still reflecting on her recent behavior. She was always tired at bedtime, and their sex life had waned – not through lack of trying on his part – although, lately, when Amita did make the effort, she seemed to be more adventurous – wilder, impulsive. The sessions both drove him crazy, and freaked him out just a bit. Of course, maybe all of this changing behavior was just due to her becoming more comfortable with being herself, now that they were married. Or – a thought struck him suddenly and he turned to her, his eyes wide. "Are you pregnant?"

She gaped at him. "What?! No!" She scowled at him. "You know I'm on birth control pills. Why would you even say that?"

He glanced back toward the road, flushed, and shrugged. "It's just –you've, uh, been a little moody lately, and well, uh, you know…,"

His voice trailed off and he chanced a glance back at her again. Her scowl had deepened. She rolled her eyes and looked away from him, out the passenger window. "That would be all I need right now."

He blinked; her rude response admittedly shocked him a bit. His heart contracted, and he riveted his eyes on the road. Was the thought of having a child with him that horrible? He wasn't sure of himself around her anymore; being with her was like walking on eggshells. He was purposely trying to be calm and conciliatory, to carry on like nothing was the matter, but everything he said or did seemed to put her in a mood. He felt out of his element and had no clue how to get to the bottom of this. Was she second-guessing – was their marriage at risk? He shook himself. She had insisted nothing was wrong, he told himself. Maybe she was simply out of sorts, trying to assimilate the changes – a new husband, keeping up with a sizable house – and she had added responsibilities at school, he knew. It was probably just a little stress.

Amita reached over and turned on the radio, flipping through the channels until she heard something she liked, and music filled the void. By the time they got to the offices she seemed to perk up a bit; the sullen stare was gone and Charlie breathed a sigh of relief.

On the elevator, she chatted amiably about what they should do for dinner; maybe they should take advantage of the fact that they were out and stop for dinner downtown somewhere. The doors opened and they bustled into the office toward the bullpen. Special Agent in Charge Don Eppes was standing at his desk and he turned and saw them, a smile creasing his face. "I see you've brought some help."

They both smiled and Charlie said to his brother, "Amita came along for the ride. Hope you don't mind. I'm going to head in to set up," and he made for the conference room.

As he walked away, he heard Don say to Amita, "How are you feeling? You seemed pretty quiet Saturday night." So he had noticed it, too.

Charlie glanced out of the corner of his eye, as Amita blushed prettily and smiled, and said, "Sorry, I just had the worst headache that night…," The rest of her statement was lost as he entered the conference room.

Agents David Sinclair and Colby Granger hurried in behind him, smiling, exchanging greetings, and they immediately started talking about the case. Charlie half-listened, glancing through the glass window as he pulled out his files, and he could see his brother still chatting with Amita, both of them smiling. They were standing a little too close, their eyes locked on each other, and Amita was laughing at something Don said as he smiled down at her. Charlie stared, and his grip tightened on the folder in his hands. Were they – flirting? Colby asked him a question and Charlie jerked his gaze back down at his briefcase and tried to compose himself before he turned. "What was that?"

Colby grinned. "Earth to Charlie. Do you want the screen turned on?"

"Oh – uh – yes, thanks," said Charlie, and he turned back to his briefcase and lifted his laptop out and connected it to the projection system. He glanced up surreptitiously, back at the tableau in the office. Amita had drifted even closer to Don, who was talking, his expression teasing, and he touched her lightly on the arm and then turned and headed for the conference room. Her eyes followed him, and she tilted her head up, still smiling, and walked toward the conference room.

Don brushed past Charlie with a pat on the arm exactly like the one he had just given Amita. A brotherly pat. Nothing more, Charlie told himself. He was being irrational. When Don spoke casually to someone and was in a fair mood, he was apt to smile, to tease. His good looks and the irresistible crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he smiled had a tendency to make women sit up and take notice – but that was natural behavior for Don. He didn't necessarily mean to flirt. It was reflexive; Charlie had seen him turn on his charm with more than one woman. It didn't mean a thing. Don was finally committed, after all, and his days of dating and a sequence of relationships were behind him. In fact, he had seen very little of Don outside of work since his brother gotten engaged to Robin – Don spent nearly all his free time with her. Charlie was projecting his insecurities regarding Amita on the situation, he realized, and reading something into their interaction that just wasn't there. He flushed, embarrassed by his own paranoid suspicions.

"I told Amita she could sit in on this," said Don quietly as he passed, and Amita entered and made her way to the back of the room. The last member of Don's team, Nikki Betancourt, hurried in as Charlie pulled up his laptop, and began to speak.

The meeting went well, and afterward, Charlie called home and told his father they were going out for dinner. He and Amita went to a Middle Eastern restaurant a few blocks away. She was upbeat; cheerful now, and Charlie began to relax a little. Amita perused the menu, and said, "You know, I think I'm going to try something new – maybe the lamb shish kebab."

Charlie stared at her, his mouth open. "You don't eat red meat."

Amita sighed and smiled, and sat back. "It's never too late to try something new. I want to find out what I'm missing. You know, those steaks your dad made for the two of you smelled amazing the other night. The eggplant he made for me was great, but it got me thinking, why am I restricting myself? It's not like I'm a practicing Hindu in any other way. And many Hindus these days eat meat, anyway."

Charlie said nothing; he could think of nothing to say. It seemed to him that suddenly throwing away a lifelong practice of observing partial vegetarianism for religious and cultural reasons needed some more thought, but he could hardly argue when he didn't practice his own faith. He wondered what her parents, Sanjay and Tapti, would say. He rubbed his forehead as he considered his menu. It was just one more thing – one more unpredictable quirk in her recent behavior that made him wonder how well he really knew her. Maybe he was the problem – he worked so many hours, maybe he was neglecting her; not taking enough time to really find out what she was thinking. He looked up and smiled at her. "Lamb sounds good." He ordered for both of them, and requested a bottle of wine.

It was a nice evening, one of the best they'd had recently, and when they got home Charlie was feeling contented and relaxed, and Amita seemed to be relaxed, as well. Later, when he settled into bed and he watched her climb in next to him, he reached for her and kissed her gently. Her scent, the sensation of her lips, sent a shot of arousal through him and he began to deepen the kiss. To his infinite relief, she didn't push back like she had so many nights recently, instead, she responded.

Afterward, he lay back, gasping, still reeling from mind-blowing sex. Amita had not only responded; she'd been crazed, wild, more aroused than he'd ever seen her. Maybe she was acting a little differently lately, but not all of it was bad, he reflected, as he breathed deeply. Maybe she was concerned about being in a rut now that she was married, and was just trying to spice up things a little. He reached for her, hoping to cuddle, but she pushed his arm away and turned on her side, away from him. "It's too hot," she said, a little crossly. "Go to sleep, we need to get up in the morning."

Just like that, the little frisson of doubt was back.

Amita sensed Charlie's hand reaching for her and she pushed it away.

She'd been feeling out of sorts for weeks, with almost unbearable anxiety and irritation crawling up her insides. She was overloaded at work, but worse yet was beginning to wonder if she'd made the right choice in her profession; she was beginning to find academia lacking somehow. She was bored, she was restless to the point of distraction; and deep down she was beginning to doubt her ability in her chosen field of mathematics. She had to admit, she felt completely outclassed by Charlie's genius. Marriage, too, wasn't what quite she'd hoped. She was beginning to find Charlie dull. He was consumed by work; work that used to interest her as well, but didn't anymore. They didn't go anywhere, do anything fun, and she was beginning to get the horrible feeling that she'd settled down too soon – that life was passing her by. Charlie was a good lover – considerate in bed, passionate, and was gentle and caring – but she wanted more. He was too caring, too gentle. She wanted morepassion, more edge, more danger, more – something. And until tonight, she hadn't realized what that something was.

Seeing Don at the office was like setting a spark to tinder. The mere act of talking to him made her feel more alive. It made her think of that almost-forgotten moment, long ago, when as a graduate student, she had first tagged along with Charlie to the FBI offices, and had met Don for the first time. It was before she and Charlie were dating, and she had felt the same intense attraction to Don that she had today. A few weeks after that first meeting, they had been at the offices late one night as Charlie helped with another case, and Don had driven them both home when they were done – Charlie, who hadn't bothered with something as trivial as a driver's license until well after he was out of school, didn't drive in those days. Don had dropped Charlie off at home first, and then had driven Amita to her apartment. During the brief ride silence had descended, heavy with anticipation. She could see the way Don looked at her, and when he walked her to her apartment door that night, after she'd thanked him they had stared at each other for a moment, and then unexpectedly he leaned forward and kissed her. It was gentle and brief, but so – hot.

He'd never followed up on the kiss – never asked her out, although she wondered several times if he hadn't been thinking about it. But then as time went on she'd gotten interested in Charlie. Don had probably seen that her relationship with his brother had taken off and had never pursued anything further, and the incident faded into the past. An anomaly, as Charlie would put it – a blip on the radar that meant nothing. She had never told Charlie, and had even forgotten about it herself.

Until now. Or until three weeks ago, to be precise. Don had stopped by Charlie's office to discuss a case with him and Amita had walked in, and suddenly the sight of him, leaning casually against Charlie's desk with that rakish smile, had hit her in the gut. She'd brooded over him for two weeks, and the real reason for her sour mood Saturday night at dinner was seeing Don seated across the table – with Robin Brooks at his side, the woman he planned to marry. Jealousy flared. But tonight, seeing him at the office had given her hope. He had flirted with her – there was no doubt, and she flirted back, shamelessly, and she could tell that he liked it. The encounter had lifted her mood immediately.

Don was seductive, charming, extremely masculine, commanding, worldly – a little bit of a bad boy, a little dark, a little dangerous. Charlie was sweet, a bit unsure of himself socially, considerate, loving, naïve – a little too good, a little too clueless; a little too safe. Tonight, when she and Charlie had made love, she had closed her eyes and imagined it was Don in bed with her – and it had been unimaginably good – the best sex of her life, leaving her panting, staring at the ceiling, almost in a state of shock. And now, as she lay on her side and stared at the plaster swirls on the wall still swimming in front of her eyes, she knew.

She had married the wrong brother.

End, Chapter 1