Numb3rs drabble. Because I am bored, and depressed, and maybe some Don will cheer me up. I don't own numb3rs. (no duh)
It was the ring that broke him.
He'd taken the funeral arrangements, and the eulogy, which he'd given in a rock steady voice, hiding his shaking hands in his lap, twisitng them so hard they bruised later. He'd guided his brother through the motions of the day, sat with his father until he slept, said goodbye to all his relatives, written out the thank yous, put the food in the fridge, and done the dishes.
Now he was sitting, staring at the envelope, leaned against the locked bathroom door, because his parents were never much for privacy and this is the only door in the whole house that locks, and right now, he wants that lock.
He knows what it is, doesn't even want to open it, but he makes himself, because, It will not go away because no matter what anyone says, he is not his mother's son, and ignoring it will do nothing.
There's a note, but he doesn't read it. Everything that he needs to know is right there, in that little band of gold.
He'd been so proud of that thing. He'd saved up for it for months. Cut out Chinese to afford it. He'd taken extra shifts, and chased down extra fugitives, and even dragged Coop around to all the jewelry stores in town, picking the ring over his partner's caterwauling.
Now, as he held it in his hand it occurred to him, just how much he'd lost, and he began to sob, great heaving sobs that rocked him back and forth and made him lean against the door. He tried to be quiet, but knew there was no point.
There was no one around to hear.