A/N: Takes place in season 4, with references to trust metric. Don/Robin. This is my first Numb3rs fic, so please be nice. Shameless Don whump.

Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs or its characters. Those belong to CBS and the show's creators.

"I was born here and I'll die here against my will
I know it looks like I'm moving, but I'm standing still
Every nerve in my body is so vacant and numb
I can't even remember what it was I came here to get away from
Don't even hear a murmur of a prayer
It's not dark yet, but it's getting there"

-It's Not Dark Yet, Bob Dylan

Chapter 1—I'm Gone

They tried knocking. No one answered, and they had a search warrant. Don looked at Colby, who nodded back at him. Don moved forward, kicking the door inwards as Colby yelled "FBI!" Don moved in first, gun out, scanning the room. He'd motioned to Colby to go left while he went right. Don moved slowly into the living room, swinging his gun in wide arcs, careful not to miss any potential hiding places. He moved slowly into the next room in the flat, a bedroom of some sort. He came in from the left, moving at a diagonal. There was nothing to his right, and he quickly pivoted, scanning his left side. Nothing. He stepped farther into the room, heading towards the next door that would lead him into Colby's section of the house. Suddenly, he heard movement behind him.

Don began to turn, but never finished. The pain on the back of his head was sharp and sudden, and he felt himself fall forward, losing his grip on his gun. The world around him swam in and out of focus. He saw blue, like the sky. When his eyes sharpened, Don realized that he was just seeing the rug, mere centimeters from his nose. He groaned, beginning to move. He tried to get his hands under him to push himself up, but something jerked him back. He heard Colby call his name from somewhere far away. The world spun dangerously and when it came back into focus, Don was upright again, something locking him into place. He looked down in confusion and saw a man's arm, strong and muscled, locked around his chest, keeping him from stumbling forward.

"Colby?" Don mumbled.

"Shut up," growled a voice in his ear and it took Don a moment to register that the voice wasn't Colby's. A split second later, he registered the cool, hard object being pressed to his temple. A gun. The arm turned Don to face the doorway through which Colby would no doubt come in the next few seconds. Don's attacker shifted with him, keeping Don between himself and the door.

Part of Don knew that he should fight back, do something. But his head was pounding and his eyelids were flickering. His head nodded as he began to slip out of consciousness, but the resulting growl in his ear caused him to wrench his eyelids back open, trying to focus on the door through which Colby was just now coming.

At the sight of Don with a gun to his head, Colby froze, gun up. The man behind Don was only slightly taller than him, so that Colby could just barely see the tip of his nose behind Don's head. The voice that came from the man was deep, cold, and deliberate.

"The agent and I will leave," said the man. "You will stay."

"Not gonna happen," Colby told him, voice steady. Colby searched Don's face, looking for instructions, determination, anything. All he found was confusion. Colby's resolved doubled. There was no way this man was walking out of here with Don, not when it looked like Don had a concussion.

"We'll start simple, then," said the man, sounding in no way surprised by Colby's refusal. "Put down your weapon." Colby looked at him, then at Don, then back again. He slowly lowered his weapon onto the cool linoleum of the kitchen. It wasn't like he had much of a choice. If Don was communicating with him, maybe, but Don still looked only semi-conscious, semi-aware of what was going on. In short, he looked helpless.

"Good," said the man, and Colby could see his cheeks crinkle with a humorless smile. "Now kick it back away from you, all the way to the end of the room." Colby did as he was told. "Now your back-up weapon." Colby hesitated and saw anger flash in the man's eyes. He pushed the gun even harder into Don's temple, forcing Don's head to tilt sideways slightly. Don groaned as the world around him spun.

Colby bent and removed his back-up from its ankle holster, sliding it away to rest with his main weapon. "And your knife," the man informed him. Colby removed it from its sheath and slid it away as well. Now he was totally unarmed and they both knew it.

The man pushed Don away from him. He stumbled towards Colby and Colby caught him. Colby looked back at the man, who he could now see was sturdily built, strong and tall, with nondescript brown hair and cold grey eyes. "Take his cuffs," the man demanded. Colby did as he was told, reaching behind Don, who was managing to support himself on the door frame, to grab his cuffs. "Cuff him, hands behind his back. Do it tightly, because I'll be checking." Colby saw very little point in resisting. Although the man had no hostage anymore, he was too far away to fight, and he had both of Don's guns as well as his own. He would no doubt retrieve Colby's weapons as soon as possible. Colby cuffed Don, who appeared to be recovering. Don looked at Colby, his expression giving nothing away.

The man motioned to Don with his gun. "What's your name?" he asked. Don, not seeing any point in not answering, told him. "Eppes," responded the man. "Interesting. I take it you come bearing search warrants?" Don nodded, wincing slightly at the resulting tilt of the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out a closest, door open. That must have been where the man was hiding. There was no handle either, nothing that would have tipped Don off about its existence from the angle at which Don had been standing. It looked like a sliding door. He turned his attention back to the man, who he now recognized as the murder suspect who owned the house, Dylan Hett.

"Eppes," continued the man. "Well, Eppes, please have a seat," he said, indicating the wall next to the door into the kitchen. Don considered refusing, wanting nothing more than to spit in the man's face as he retrieved his gun, which was currently being pointed at him and Colby. On the other hand, Don wasn't entirely sure that his legs were going to support him for much longer. He took a step or two to the side and sunk to the floor, his head spinning. The man turned back towards Colby. "Now your turn," he said. "Cuff yourself." Colby did so, seeing no other choice. The man would probably just leave them here now—why make them cuff themselves if he was just going to shoot them? And with a little work, they would be able to reach their cell phones to call for back-up. Sure, Hett would be gone, but they could always find him again. This was much, much better, thought Colby, than Hett with a gun to Don's head.

Hett directed Colby to sit against the wall about three yards from where Don sat. He then walked up to Don, who glared up at him. "Hett, you know you won't get away with this?" Don spat. Colby sighed inwardly. Maybe Don could have waited to threaten the guy until they were actually safe? Hett looked down at Don, and then stepped towards him from the side. "Don't move," Hett warned, gun pointed at Don's head. Don didn't need Charlie to tell him that if managed to take Hett's legs out from under him, the gun would shift up until it was pointing directly at Colby. It would take roughly that long for Hett to pull the trigger. Hett leaned over Don, still keeping the gun pointed at him. He reached out his hand and for a moment Don couldn't figure out what he was going to do. Then the hand grasped Don's hair and yanked his head back so it slammed into the wall. The last thing Don heard was Colby's angry "No!"

Colby watched Don's eyes flutter shut. He was barely conscious, Colby could tell, not enough to try anything. Then Hett turned to Colby. Colby watched him carefully. Hett didn't step towards him, merely away from Don. Then he raised the gun. Colby's breath hitched, but then Hett lowered the gun from his head. Colby relaxed slightly, and then was caught completely unaware by the shot. It reverberated through his body. His heart was beating and he could feel each new pulse of blood pumping towards the gaping hole in his leg. Colby moaned, automatically trying to reach out for his leg, to make the pain stop, control the blood loss, anything. The handcuffs cut into his wrists.

Colby was vaguely aware of Hett leaving the room and returning with Colby's weapons. Hett tucked them away into various holsters around his body. He seemed very prepared for this—most people didn't have room to stow five guns safely on their person. The thought flickered in Colby's mind through the pain—he'd been waiting for them.

Colby automatically threw himself forward as Hett reached once again for his boss, dragging Don up. Colby recoiled as the pain shot through his leg. Don groaned, opening his eyes and stumbling when Hett pushed him towards the exit.

Colby watched them go, feeling nothing but the throbbing pain in his leg. Once they were gone, Colby looked down at his leg, trying to assess the damage. It looked as though Hett had hit an artery. The world was beginning to spin and Colby frantically fumbled for his cell, punching in his speed dial number for David.

"David," he managed to get out. Then the world slipped sideways and black took its place.

Please R&R!