Prompt 2 - Reworked

[umbralillium.livejournal.com]

swweeks made some good points and, while reading through it again, I made some adjustments to the flow of the story. So here we go, Carry On My Wayward Son, reworked.

Title: Carry On My Wayward Son
Fandom: Numb3rs
Prompt: #2, Mens rea, guilty mind
Warnings: Mentions of violence, loosely fits the prompt.
Rating: Light R
Summary: Each time they were too late, it took Don a little longer to pull himself out of the quagmire of guilt and exhaustion.
Notes: Anyone who is familiar with my Numb3rs stories might be a little confused. Cassandra is an original character I created; in the series I originally created her for, she’s legally deaf. I have pulled her into a few other universes and in those universes, she can hear. This particular story occurs in my Precious Moments universe. Yes, it’s official; Cass falls in love with Don there, too. Anyways, all newcomers need to know is that Cassandra is an original character and Don is Charlie’s older brother and an FBI agent.

Carry On My Wayward Son

Cassandra fought back tears as she stared blindly at the book she was pretending to read. She didn’t know how much longer Don would last. Each case seemed to erode a little more of his soul. He hardly slept at night; he never loosened his near-bruising hold on Cassandra, even when he was asleep. Each time the team was too late to save someone, it took him a little longer to pull himself out of the quagmire of guilt and exhaustion. He never shared the gruesome details, but the haunted look in his eyes told her when a case was worse than usual.

She looked down at her watch as the first tear slid down her cheek. Don had gotten off work half an hour before; he should have been home by now. As that thought materialized in her head, she heard the front door open.

Before her book could hit the floor, she was out of her chair, heading for the hall. She looked towards the front door and saw Don leaning his back against the door with his eyes closed. She quickly closed the space between them and gently cupped Don’s cheek. His eyes opened and she gasped at the depth of pain and despair in them. Her hand slid around to cup his head and she coaxed his head down until his forehead rested against her shoulder. His strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. Cassandra’s eyes closed when she felt the fine tremors that ran through him.

After a few moments, she pulled back. At Don’s confused look, she took one of his hands and led him into the living room. She sat down on one end of the couch and made herself comfortable before gently tugging on Don’s hand until he lay down on the couch, facing the back, with his head in her lap. Companionable silence settled over them like a familiar blanket as Cassandra gently ran her fingers through Don’s hair. Every once in a while, the tremors ratcheted up to shivers before settling back to tremors.

Her eyes closed for a moment when she felt the damp patch on the thigh of her jeans underneath his head. She pushed gently at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back and looked up at her, silent tears trailing down his temples. “Talk to me,” she requested softly.

“How can we be so cruel to each other? Humans are the only species on the planet that kills its own for fun,” Don whispered, a wealth of emotion in his words.

“What happened?”

“All he would tell us was that ‘he got tired of dealing with their shit,’” Don replied.

“Who’s shit?” Cassandra asked softly, her fingers combing through Don’s hair again.

Don’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, accentuating the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, before he answered, “His family’s.”

Cassandra shook her head in disbelief. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

Don shrugged, deep brown eyes locked with Cassandra’s dark blue eyes. “If I hadn’t, someone else would have.”

Cassandra knew he was going to say that. Don would rather deal with the darker aspects of society himself than let someone else face them. Gently, she eased Don’s head off her lap. “Scoot up,” she said once she was standing. Don obligingly moved up the deep couch until his head was on the pillow that had fallen down to lay on the cushion Cassandra had been sitting on, turning to face the room as he settled. He opened his arms and Cassandra lay down in front of him, their faces a scant inch apart. She leaned forward and kissed him softly. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“Sleep,” she said softly, knowing exactly how much sleep he’d gotten since being assigned the case.

Don sighed quietly and settled more deeply into the couch, tense muscles relaxing, allowing him to slip into sleep.

“Carry on my wayward son,” Cassandra sang softly, silent tears falling from her eyes. “There’ll be peace when you are done; lay your weary head to rest; don't you cry no more.”

End.