"Cold" Trilogy
"Cold Truth"
Disclaimer: I don't won the numb3rs characters…..blah blah blah.
Summary: Part three of three. Parts one and two titled "Cold Nights" and "Cold Chills" but this can be read as a one-shot stand-alone. Don POV. Brothers, Confrontation and Revelations. Suicide/Self-hurt references. Minor Spoilers: Structural Corruption, Guns 'n Roses
A/N: Finally, the long long long ridiculously long delayed third installment of the "Cold" Trilogy. I apologize for taking so long to write this. I've had a serious writer's slump/block and it's been brutal. At any rate, I some how found the inspiration for this at long last after struggling to come up with something cohesive. Go figure I got the inspiration while dabbling in House fan fiction. Weird. I hope you like it, this was really really hard to write. Anyway, so here you go.
The night was dark and cloudy--the moon's pallid light occasionally made an appearance through the thickening clouds but it was tragically a losing battle. The wind was picking up as Special Agent Don Eppes almost casually jogged down the empty street at three in the morning. He veered only slightly from the straight line he was running when a particularly nasty gust of wind blew across the street. He could see and hear the frail forms of the tree branches flail and fight against the rampaging wind as if it was defending itself from some ghostly attacker. Don ran on, seemingly oblivious to the chilled night air and he tried to ignore the feeling of some impending doom, some catalyst that was going to destroy him. He was hovering dangerously on the edge of a dark, deep precipice and he knew it.
Since he'd seen Nikki lying on her bed, surrounded by photos of her friends and boyfriends from over the years, her gray matter splattered all over the wall, he'd been beginning to spiral down into a deep depression. Deeper than the one he'd already been stuck in. So Nikki hadn't really committed suicide, but it still hadn't stopped Don from thinking about it non-stop as well as contemplating his own thoughts about suicide.
The depression only got worse when he saw that his cell phone number was the last that she called. Don remember vaguely sitting down and was frantically trying to remember when he'd turned his cell phone off and for what reason that had caused him to miss such an important call. His father had indirectly told him that it wasn't his fault, but he couldn't help but feel guilty.
Earlier, his father had also told him about Charlie's "Suicide Analysis" and that "he was gonna be ok…he had strong family ties."
But they didn't really know now did they? He was beginning to fall to pieces and his coping mechanism was beginning to fail him. Logically he knew that self-hurt and pressing a gun to his temple every night thinking about pulling the trigger so he wouldn't have to dream anymore wasn't an emotionally healthy thing to do. His father was right, as usual. Don was "Mr. Emotional Health" himself.
Yeah, right.
And so here he was. Running in the middle of what was likely to become a violent thunderstorm and actually looking forward to the rain. It would be a welcome distraction from himself.
He thought about being at Robin's apartment earlier. He'd tried just talking to her but after a certain point she wanted to get a little more physical than he was willing to go and he practically fled from her apartment, leaving her upset and confused. Previously in the evening Don had been more than willing to use her as a pleasant physical distraction from himself but that was different than when he was at her apartment.
He couldn't let her see his scars.
No one ever could ever see.
The wind battered him relentlessly and he pushed himself even harder. His body would be hurting tomorrow but he welcomed the pain with a bittersweet tinge of regret that he had fallen so far as to be glad to be in pain. It was a distraction and anymore that was what was constantly revolving and surfacing deep in the well of Don's mind. The desire to be distracted from his own traitorous thoughts.
He continued to run, lost in thought and as he began to get closer to his apartment he turned a corner only to see a familiar curly-headed figure riding on his bike down the street.
Shit.
Charlie.
He was not in the mood to talk with his younger brother and yet he already saw Charlie glance over his shoulder with some odd sixth sense and spot him. He was turning around and calling Don's name in greeting and Don waved back.
Charlie could be neck deep in his equations and be completely oblivious of the world around him and yet the one time that Don was praying that Charlie would be less than observant, his younger brother suddenly developed acute senses and immediately noticed him. Just his luck.
"Hey Buddy" The agent greeted his brother.
"Hey Don! What are doing out here so late?" Charlie hopped off his bike and turned it so he could walk beside his older brother.
"I could ask the same of you…what are you doing out here?" Don pulled the 'big brother face', trying to repress his annoyance that his brooding was interrupted.
"Oh…I couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about the case today, and then I got to thinking about Finn Montgomery. It's been over a year since his suicide but it doesn't feel like it's been that long. Feels like it just happened yesterday."
"Yeah." Don replied expressionlessly. This was one area of conversation that he had no desire to delve into and not tonight, not when he was realizing how close to self-destruction he truly was.
"Don," Charlie began cautiously and the FBI agent felt a sinking in his stomach, "Have you ever thought about it? Suicide, I mean?" His prodigy brother stammered innocently, and Don swore internally. What should he say? Part of him was screaming to spill the entire truth, and another part wanted to keep it secret, under lock and key. He was crashing and he knew it, so he opted for a middle ground and prayed that it would go over ok.
"Sometimes, I guess." Don tried to stay nonchalant as he said it but he watched his younger sibling cautiously, trying to gauge the young professor's reaction. A look of mild astonishment passed over the young man's face before thoughtful contemplation replaced it.
"You see a lot of terrible things," Charlie began softly, "I suppose I can't really be too surprised that you'd think about it." Another pause followed by an intense stare that only Charlie could manage, "But you wouldn't ever really think about going through with it would you?"
"No, of course not Charlie. I've got you and Dad and I wouldn't dream of it. You've got nothing to worry about." Don lied through his teeth, with false incredulity and sincerity. He was so near telling the truth, to confessing everything --all his doubts, guilt and suicidal thoughts.
But he didn't.
"Good," Charlie nodded satisfactorily, unaware of the internal struggle his brother was experiencing, "'Cause you know that I'm always here for you right?" The professor's forehead furrowed as he looked at his older brother.
"Of course I know that Buddy," Don hastily reassured his younger sibling, throwing a comradely arm around the younger man's shoulders, "Hey, why don't you come up to my apartment and we can veg and watch something on t.v. together?" Don tried desperately wanting to change the topic. It was striking too close to what was really going on in the FBI agent's head and he was beginning to get nervous.
"Sure, that sounds great." Charlie nodded enthusiastically and Don breathed an inward sigh of relief. Moments later, he puzzled over the fact that he was perhaps not as relieved as he thought he should be and instead he seemed to feel terrible, the weight of his secret seemingly increased substantially.
He felt so ….weary.
A few minutes and some frivolous small talk later, the two brothers arrived at Don's apartment. The older man slowly opened his door, mentally preparing for at least an hour or two of pretending to be well-adjusted and normal--but when he glanced inside his heart froze.
The camouflage green box seemed to mock him quietly from the living room table as if voicing some triumph of battle in the back recesses of Don's mind. He had forgotten that he had left it out. He stepped quickly into his apartment and Charlie followed closely behind.
"Uh, I'm gonna go change really quick," Don spoke suddenly as he stepped towards his room, trying to casually scoop up the box from the table when he walked by, praying that his brother hadn't noticed and would ask about it. Don wasn't sure he could handle too much more lying and he refused to cave in and break down in front of his younger brother. He felt his jaw set in determination and slight victory as he heard his brother murmur assent behind him.
It had been a close call.
Don sat on the edge of his bed and just breathed for a moment. He carefully slid the box that held his personal gun and razor blades beneath the bed, where all his demons belonged and he let out a lungful of air. The FBI agent began to rummage through his clothes in search of something else to wear. He told his brother he was going to change and that was exactly what he intended to do. He pulled off his jogging pants and t-shirt while he searched for some decent sweat pants and a comfortable shirt to kick back in. He wasn't really paying much attention to anything around him when he heard a slight noise behind him.
As he turned, knowing that it was Charlie, a thought occurred to him.
All he had on was he boxer shorts. Now under normal circumstances that would have been fine. Except Don was struggling with self-mutilation and now the razor blade scars were quite visible on his lower thigh.
Unmistakable.
All these thoughts occurred in the instant it took for him to turn and meet his brother's eyes and freeze like a deer in headlights.
Charlie's wild-eyed disbelieving look told Don all he needed to know.
Charlie knew. His secret was out. And his brain could come up with no reasonable explanations.
Shit.
"Charlie…"Don spoke softly, uncertain. His younger brother gave him a pained look, filled with realization that his older brother, whom he loved and practically worshipped was not denying what his eyes were seeing. The younger man's eyes began to fill with unshed tears and Don felt his heart ache. He couldn't see how this was going to end well….
"Don," Charlie whispered into the dimly lit room, "What have you done to yourself?" Don couldn't determine whether his brother's voice was accusing or merely filled with sorrow. "Why have you done this to yourself?" Charlie now croaked louder, more demanding. Don froze. He couldn't speak and he shrugged helplessly.
"I can't explain why." The words slipped from the older man's mouth and even as he spoke he realized that this wasn't going to be a satisfactory answer.
"That isn't good enough. Sit down." Charlie demanded, his voice beginning to raise angrily as he pointed at the bed.
"Charlie…."
"Now, Don. We are going to talk and we are going to talk now." Charlie's voice brooked for no argument as the younger man steadily focused on each word he spoke, his eyes never moving from his brother's even when a single tear trailed down his face that was filled by raw emotion.
Don obediently sat down on the edge of his bed, still not sure what to make of this new side of his brother or what he could say that would make things better.
Nothing, Don thought, nothing will make this better. And he felt despair begin to sink into his soul as Charlie sat next to him.
They sat in silence for a few moments, Charlie staring intently at his brother, gathering his thoughts while Don studied his scars. He noticed that Charlie was sitting so close to him that their legs were touching. Charlie was wearing shorts and the lower part of his thigh was touching the lower part of Don's thigh. Charlie's leg was touching his scars. The agent tried to discreetly put a little space between himself and his brother, feeling self-repulsion for having someone he cared about touch his….abnormality. The younger man noticed and immediately understood to some extent that Don was uncomfortable with his close proximity and he persistently moved closer to Don every time the agent moved away until the professor spoke.
"Stop moving away from me dammit--stop trying to distance yourself from me." Charlie half-growled through the lump in his throat. Don continued to stare down, not really looking at anything but merely awaiting the condemnation from his brother that he was so sure was coming.
"Why have you done this to yourself Don?" Charlie repeated quietly, hushed. Don could find no words. "Donnie?" Charlie pleaded for some explanation, reverting to the nickname that his father gave to his older brother. The agent was reminded of a time when Charlie used to call him by that nickname when they were younger. Charlie sounded so young to him and finally Don spoke.
"I-I used to be stronger than this Charlie," he began softly, "but then somewhere along the way I stumbled and I lost my calm…" Don rubbed at his face as if he could wipe himself away, wipe away how tired he was.
"It's your job isn't it? It's your job that's getting to you?" Charlie stood up suddenly and began to pace and continued, no longer needing confirmation from his brother as he began to put the pieces together. "Quit Don….just quit." Don's head snapped up to his brother's face, so full of concern and pain.
"What? No Charlie! I can't just quit!"
"Why not? All it's causing you is pain!" Don began to feel an odd panic rise in his gut as both his and his brother's voices began to climb in volume and he couldn't help but notice that his own voice now held a tinge of the panic he was feeling.
"No Charlie! It's what I do! It's what I'm good at! When I'm doing my job well I-I think less about the cases that went wrong," Don frantically searched his mind for something to say, "You've helped me out so much on these cases Charlie, and its only the cases that we don't solve or that take too long to solve when more lives are lost that are the worst for me and you've helped me solve more of these cases sooner!"
Charlie seemed to consider his brother's words as he paced with a furious energy. He halted suddenly and turned towards his brother.
"It's not worth it Don, you're good at other things….you can do other things!"
"No Charlie, this is what I want to do!"
Don started as he his brother lunged forward towards him, he forced the short hem of the agents' boxers up, exposing most of the thigh and the criss-crossed mass of scars on it.
"Look at yourself Don! Look!" Charlie half yelled, his face inches from his brother's and suddenly Don realized that there were not only tears streaming down his brothers face but down his as well, "You're hurting yourself! You need to stop!" The older man shuddered with an unexpected chill. His brother spoke the truth. The cold hard truth.
"I know Charlie, I know! But quitting my job isn't going to change whether or not I do this anymore, I've made it habit and I'm going to have to figure out a way to stop this that doesn't involve quitting at the one thing I'm good at!" Don felt his heart pounding in his chest, the heat flushing his face as he cried and he could feel a similar heat radiating off of his brother as well.
"Stop being so…stubborn!" The younger man glared, "I'll go to your supervisor." He threatened and suddenly the panic that had began to rise earlier came to surface and it broke free of his control. He couldn't explain it, but his job was more important to him than he realized…
"No, Charlie, please don't do that, please. I promise that I'll do something to stop this, I'll work on it but just don't go to my supervisor….I-my job is important to me Charlie, I don't want to lose that…" Don knew that he was pleading, begging even but he didn't care anymore. He was coming unraveled and slowly as he rambled on he leaned his head into his hands and fought the emotional hurricane that was swirling in his mind. Suddenly he felt hands on his wrists, forcing him to look up and then Charlie was hugging him fiercely, tightly and Don was hugging him back like a drowning man grabs onto the last spar of driftwood floating in the middle of the ocean.
The agent didn't know how long they had sat that way, but suddenly Charlie's voice was in his ear, shaky but still somehow firm.
"Ok Don, Ok. I won't tell anyone. But you have to promise me something." The younger man loosened the hug and looked his older brother in the eyes, searchingly. Don nodded slowly, tired. "Promise me that whenever you feel like doing this to yourself--like hurting yourself, you'll call me ok? I don't care what time it is or anything. We don't even have to talk about what's bothering you just talk to me--about anything. Ok?" Again the agent nodded silently. "Promise?" Charlie persisted. Another nod. "I want to hear you say it."
"I promise Charlie. I promise." Don half-croaked, weary. "You want to go watch some t.v. now? I'm beat--all this emotional crap…" the FBI agent spoke with a weary hitch as he made a feeble attempt to lighten things up. They both realized how pathetic the older man sounded and simultaneously broke into weary chuckles. Charlie gave his brother one final look-over before assenting.
"Sure, I'll go wait in the living room while you change." The younger man turned to go when a thought occurred to Don.
"Wait, Charlie." The younger man turned, the question on his lips, but Don was already reaching under his bed for the green metal box that contained his nightmares. He held it for a moment and Charlie waited, trusting that he brother would explain when he was ready. "I want you to hold onto this for me," Don held it out to his brother, "I don't want you to ever try to open the lock or look inside it but I-I just want you to hold onto it for me, ok?" Charlie took the box, nodding with an intelligent gleam in his eye, which told Don that his younger brother had a pretty clear idea of what the box contained. The professor gave a sad smile to his brother before he turned and left the room. Don changed slowly, replaying what happened over in his head, but was too tired to make too much sense of it all.
He plodded out to his living room and immediately noticed that while Charlie had made himself quite comfortable on the couch, he had placed the box dead center on the table. Don only hesitated a moment before stoically taking a seat next to his brother, determined not to let it bother him that the box was in plain sight.
As the night progressed into morning and as the conversation between the two brothers freed up and grew lighter with the day did Don later realize that at some point he ceased to notice the abrasive presence of the green box.
Finally, just before he drifted off to sleep, Charlie already snoring lightly half-sprawled out on the couch, did Don notice that he felt….lighter….like a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. And when he looked again at the box that had contained his nightmares, he realized that it just had things inside it. Granted they were dangerous things, but things nonetheless. It was the mental burden that he had assigned those items that had been lifted from his shoulders.
He was free.
And so he fell asleep next to his brother, exhaustion across both of their features but also, the hints of two light and easy smiles played across the brothers' lips as they both had fought a hard battle that night.
They had fought and won.
Together.
A/N: so there's the conclusion to the trilogy. You likey? I've just listened to like four and half hours of The Cranberries and it's 3:24 in the morning. OK I'm sleeping now. Review!