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A Numberless Equation	By : Prentice Category: M through R > NUMB3RS Views: 7167 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own NUMB3RS, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A Numberless Equation
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
Title: A Numberless Equation

Author: Prentice

Rating: PG-13; FRM (Fan Rated Mature)

Warnings: Incest, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Violence, Foul Language, Mild
Sexual Content

Pairing: Don/Charlie; implied Don/Kim, Don/Terry

Spoilers: Everything Up to Counterfeit Reality

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Pre-Slash

Series: None

Archive: Ask first, please.

Feedback: Is always cherished and appreciated.

Date Started: 3/12/05

Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained here-in, with the
exception of Andrea Richter, are the property of CBS and its creators. No
infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are being used here without
permission. No profit was made and no harm was done. The character of Andrea
�Andy� Richter is sole property of the author and should not be used without
prior permission.

Author�s Note: This was originally suppose to be a part of my
Midnight Confessions series but ended up turning into a �world� of its own.
I blame that fully on my muse because he�s a fickle bastard. Also, this story is
fairly riddled with Charlie whumping so if the thought of our favorite little
mathematician getting hurt, bruised or otherwise battered makes you cringe, you
might want to start running for the hills now, otherwise, Enjoy!

Summary: Don Eppes stared at the note in his hands and felt an
overwhelming urge to throw-up. This had to be a joke; a sick, perverse joke. No
one could really expect him to take this seriously, could they?

If people do not believe that mathematics is simple, it is only because
they do not realize how complicated life is. ~John Louis von Neumann

Chapter 1

�Family quarrels are bitter things. They don�t go according to any rules.
They�re not like aches or wounds, they�re more like splits in the skin that
won�t heal because there�s not enough material.� - Francis Scott
Fitzgerald

The sound of the front door slamming was loud and damning in the otherwise
silent apartment. Special Agent Donald Eppes swallowed a sigh of irritation,
wishing for the thousandth time that night that he had kept his mouth firmly
shut. At least then he and his younger brother Charlie would still be on
speaking terms or, at the very least, civil terms. Well, maybe not civil terms,
since Charlie had already been upset when he�d walked through the door hours
ago, totting Don�s box filled with mementos with him.
The mementos were of old friends and acquaintances, of good times and
valuable memories, of a person he once was and a completely different life than
that of which he could now claim as his own. But all these keepsakes paled in
comparison with the two things that Don knew bothered Charlie the most: a woman
he had almost married and a ring. A woman that for three years Don had lived
with and of which Charlie knew nothing about despite the fact that their dad
knew who she was, how they�d met and most importantly, how deeply Don had felt
about her, and a ring that had been bought just days before their mother had
fallen ill and Don had been forced to choose between his family and his new
life.
His family had always won out. Charlie, his father and his mother had won
out. Every time, no matter how difficult it had been, they had won out and Don
couldn�t help but feel the tiniest bit of resentment for it. Not that, were he
able to rewind his life, he would have chosen differently but old wounds,
especially wounds concerning the heart, were slow to heal.
His life had been good back then. Good and decent and on track. He had been
making a name for himself in the Albuquerque bureau, he�d been on the fast
track, taking in the cases left and right and punching them out with no help
from his brother. He�d had a nice apartment, a decent car and, nicest of all, a
woman to share his life with; a partner. Someone to turn to when a case got too
rough or when all he needed was someone to give him a good swift kick in the
ass. He had that all, with Kim.
He�d had a life that was, for once, completely and entirely his own and he�d
enjoyed every single second of it. There was no one he had to worry about aside
from himself and his partner, no one to compare him to his brother or say �hey,
aren�t you Charles Epps� brother�?� There was no one saying, every day, every
hour, how wonderful and brilliant his brother was while all the while
overlooking all of Don�s accomplishments. There was no one depending on him but
him.
That is, until their mother fell ill.
Don can still remember the nauseating coldness that had seeped into his
stomach, slowly spreading outward with each passing second, when his phone had
rang and changed his life forever. It had been the first time in all his life
he�d ever been so scared and out-of-control. The conversation with his father
had been brief, just a quick �Donnie, Donnie, son, you�re mother�s sick. She�s
in the hospital. I�I think�you need to get out here. Charlie and I, we�re here,
we�ll be waiting.� And that was it. No buffer, no explanation, just a quick two
minute phone call that ended in Don packing up his life and moving back home to
make things easier.
And there was nothing, absolutely nothing that could replace those last few
months he spent there with his mother, his father and�Charlie. Sometimes,
Charlie. From the moment the doctor had said �malignant� and �terminal�, his
younger brother had holed himself into the garage, working day and night on that
damn equation. That damn equation that had caused Charlie to miss the last
precious moments of their mother�s life.
Don didn�t understand it, couldn�t understand. How his brother could be
so�detached�was beyond his comprehension. Even himself, who from the moment
Charlie had come into their lives had learned to be independent and
self-sufficient, whom had learned that, sometimes, life threw you a fast ball
right in the face, had broken down and cried. Had wept and clutched onto their
father as if he were a little boy again and had said his goodbyes.
But not Charlie, no, never Charlie. His younger brother had to be dragged
away from his precious blackboards, his precious P vs. P or whatever the hell it
was, for the services. And there, he had simply stared forward vacantly, eyes
glazed over, white dusted fingers twitching in his lap as though waiting to
clutch onto another piece of chalk and get writing.
At the time, it had only made Don madder. He had wanted to slap his brother,
shake him, yell at him, spit in his face until he used some of that genius brain
of his to realize that their mother was gone, dead, and she wasn�t coming back
so for god�s sake say goodbye while he still had the chance. But, he didn�t.
Instead, he�d done what any big brother was suppose to: he�d quietly collected
himself, pulled together his control and moved over to Charlie�s side, silently
taking his elbow and leading him out when the services were over. Not even when
they were back home, relatives and friends having left, did Charlie lose
control. He�d simply stood in the foyer staring blankly at the wall until Don
had once again taken his elbow, lead him back to his blackboards and shut him in
the room. Charlie had picked up the chalk and began writing as if he�d never
left.
It was memories like those, memories of the anger he could so easily feel
towards his brother that made moments like this somewhat easier to bear. After
all, Charlie had no right to be angry or upset over not being in one small part
of Don�s life. Of not knowing what happened to him, who he dated or who he
loved. He had no right.
And, so what if maybe it wasn�t right to shut his brother out like that? He
wasn�t shutting him out now. He wasn�t shoving him away now. He saw him every
day. He worked with him all the time. Charlie was as much a part of his life now
as was breathing and bureau policy.
Charlie was a reason, was the reason, why he had left Albuquerque
behind. He�d turned his back on his life for Charlie, his little brother, and
what did he get in return? Bitter and twisted upset because Don wanted that
small part of his life to be his and his alone; to be his past, dead and buried
and never to be resurrected.
And, yes, while it was true that part of Don wanted and wished he had told
Charlie, another part, a larger part, reasoned that he didn�t know anything of
Charlie�s life during that time either. That he didn�t know what Charlie had
done or who Charlie had dated, if anyone. He hadn�t known any of that because
they lost touch. Not completely, not fully, but they�d still lost touch so that
the only time he ever heard how Charlie was doing was when he asked his father
during their weekly telephone conversations.
�Oh, he�s fine. Working on some new equation. Want me to get him?� His father
would say and he�d reply, �No, no dad. I don�t want to bother him while he�s
working.� And, that would be it. They�d start talking about box scores or how
Don�s life was going and that would be it.
Another sigh passed over the agents lips. This argument, this fight, this
whatever it was with Charlie, wasn�t his fault. He wasn�t going to shoulder the
blame alone, not this time. So what if he was feeling more and more guilty every
time he remembered the frantic, heartbreaking look his brother had worn when
he�d wandered into the apartment? So what if, after he�d said they were from two
different world, Charlie had had the same painful, lost look on his face he�d
worn from the moment their mother died? So, what?
He wasn�t alone in this. Not this time.
�Goddamn it Charlie, I don�t need this.�
- 1
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A Numberless Equation