Title: High Society

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: (a) a denial or disavowal of legal claim… (b) a writing that embodies a legal disclaimer… Definition courtesy Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary, G. & C. Merriam Company, Springfield, MA, U.S.A. Copyright 1979. COLLEGIATE is a registered trademark. Furthermore, NUMB3RS is a trademark of CBS Studios Inc. TM, © and ® by Paramount Pictures. All rights reserved. High Society, a Rabid Raccoons production, is not recommended for young children. This disclaimer applicable to High Society in its entirety. The corporation known as "Rabid Raccoons" further disavows claim to any or all fan fictional works attributed to FraidyCat and/or Serialgal. At this point we also deny any connection to unsolved federal crimes. The compilation of this disclaimer took longer than the story you are about to read.

Add'l A/N: Rabid Raccoons exists to push envelopes; to cross lines. In this fic, they will be crossed. If you decide you'd like to stagger along with us, we suggest alerting this story; the rating will soon change to "M", and we'd hate for you to get lost! The story is 49 chapters long, and we plan Monday and Thursday postings. Settle in for a ride.

(Those of you waiting for Part 3 of the Mistaken Identity series, rest assured that it is marinating as we speak. Don, Ana, Charlie and Lydia requested a little time alone to develop their relationships.)

High Society Timeline: This story is set post-Megan and pre-Nikki. The issue of Charlie's clearance is not yet resolved. And now, we whet your appetite...

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Chapter 1: In Retrospect

In retrospect, Don knew that he had gone too far. Sitting glumly in the break room, ignoring a cup of coffee, he could even pinpoint the moment he had crossed the line.

Contrary to how it might appear, he had pushed the envelope long before he broke his brother's nose. In the truth of hindsight, he knew he had broken something more important the instant the words flew out of his mouth.

You're an arrogant ass, Charlie, and it's time you understood that this office does not revolve around you, any more than the world does. I'm sorry that I ever agreed to let you consult on your first case. I'm sorry you were ever born!

He had seen the flash of hurt when those last words rolled off his tongue. Undeniable, even if Charlie hadn't lost his place in the tableau, forgetting to duck or even attempt to block Don's blow. His fist had crashed into Charlie's face, and Don had almost passed out himself at the crack heard 'round the bullpen. Blood had spattered back onto his own face, and he had withdrawn bruised knuckles to stare at them in horror.

Charlie had grunted and dropped to his knees. Don had felt someone – later, it turned out to be David -- pulling him back, and made a half-hearted attempt to struggle. He watched Colby rush to Charlie's side, and wanted to cry out how sorry he was, push him away and take his place. Things had gone horribly wrong, miserably wrong, permanently wrong.

They should have had a script. They had talked about a general direction for the disagreement to take, but Don was afraid to over-rehearse and run the risk of giving themselves away. He had joked that he was sure he could come up with something to rile Charlie up – he had been doing it for years, after all. Plus, during those final moments in the elevator, just before curtain-call, Charlie hadn't seemed all that invested in preparation himself.

Don had no idea where that phrase had come from. I wish you had never been born. He hadn't said that to Charlie since he was seven years old. His mother had overheard him and he had spent the next two weeks grounded every afternoon after school. Every day he had to write a paper for her: One reason he was glad Charlie was his brother. He still remembered some of them. The first, "I gots the only liddle bruther that kin do all my homewurk fer Mrs. Angel." Mrs. Angel was his math teacher, and that paper had persuaded Margaret to have a little talk with her. Don's work had mysteriously doubled, and she started making him stay in at recess to complete the assignments.

A throat cleared behind him, and Don recognized Sinclair. He picked up his coffee and took a sip, to hide his face. He had to do this. He couldn't let the other agent suspect. Besides, he needed to stick around the office long enough for the rumor mill to rev up and reach warp speed; long enough for Wright to come down to the bullpen and publicly suspend his ass.

"Don…are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital? Colby just called, and the plastic surgeon on duty is going to set Charlie's nose. I could give you a ride."

Don set down the coffee mug and snickered. "Did him a favor," he said, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. "He should have had a nose job years ago."

He felt David shift behind him. "Isn't your dad still out of town? Maybe Charlie shouldn't be alone, tonight."

Don clutched the mug and hoped Sinclair didn't see his knuckles turning white. They had thought it good timing, that their father was off on a visit to their Aunt Irene in Santa Barbara. They wouldn't have to worry about Alan finding out what was going on, or fretting over something that wasn't real. Things had suddenly taken on a shocking reality, though, and now Charlie was hurt. He would be in pain, and he would go home alone, and Don could not go to help him. Even if it killed him. "He's got friends," he grumbled, and he succeeded in making himself feel even worse. Amita and that…that professor guy, the one who had taken over the bulk of Larry's Hoggs boson research…they had squeezed in a quick trip to D.C. to meet with Larry. Even though the diminutive physicist had taken a huge step back when he decided to join Megan in the nation's capitol, he still had a hand in the project; when he left, the plan was for him to come back to L.A. occasionally, and for Amita and that other guy to go to D.C. every now-and-then. Surely Colby would at least ask Charlie if he should call Amita or something, and figure it out? Damn.

Don took another sip of coffee and was glad when it burned all the way down his throat.

He deserved it.

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End, Chapter 1