Title: I Love You, But You're Killing Me
Fandom: Numb3rs
Characters: Don
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: 487
Feedback: Is loverly
Disclaimer: Not mine, only borrowing, just fun, no infringement intended


Don kept his hand pressed to his mouth; it was the safest place for it. As long as he kept his hand there, somewhere on his body, he wouldn’t hit something, wouldn’t shatter everything around him, wouldn’t find himself with bleeding knuckles. One hand on his mouth and the other on his thigh, fingers biting into his skin. He wouldn’t let go.

The time on the clock was nearing six in the morning. He had to be to work in three hours, earlier if a call came in. He should have gone to bed hours ago, but going to bed would mean having to wake up again, and he didn’t know if he had the strength to do that.

Maybe Bradford was right. Maybe he needed to take something for the anxiety. But going to therapy was bad enough. Admitting that he needed help finding perspective had taken a big bite out of his pride. He couldn’t imagine himself succumbing to a point where he required a pill to make him function.

Don had every right to his anger. The things he’d seen, the things he’d done, each new file piling up on his desk with those photos that haunted him – everything gnawed at him until he was raw. All that work, time, and energy, and he did it because he was expected to. It was his job.

He loved it, but it was killing him. More and more, he considered stepping away. There were snide comments made about what it was to be good leader, tiny shots following the mess with Colby and Megan’s reassignment, that he overheard, knowing he was the topic of conversation. He was a leader in therapy with a crumbling team, and the small pieces of appreciation he received for when he did save the day no longer sustained him through the majority of cases that didn’t go as well.

Don tried to analyze it, tried to figure out if the problem was with the FBI or the other agents or just him. Maybe he had pushed too hard when he took the Special Agent position at the LA office, tried too hard to control his team, fought too zealously to be the best, and this was payback. Maybe he had succeeded in all that, and those other teams were envious that his team got their cases closed so quickly, thanks in huge part to his brother. Maybe it was just time to move on.

Hesitantly, he removed his hand from his mouth and grabbed his cell phone, willing himself to flip it open instead of throwing it against the wall. He had to look up the number in his directory, and he held the phone to his ear, listening to the dial tone. He cleared his throat just before the machine picked up and left a message that he would be out for the week.

Maybe he just needed a break.