Title: Mistaken Identity

Chapter 1: Lasagna Dreams

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: (a) a denial or disavowal of legal claim… (b) a writing that embodies a legal disclaimer… Definition courtesy Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary, G. & C. Merriam Company, Springfield, MA, U.S.A. Copyright 1979. COLLEGIATE is a registered trademark. Furthermore, NUMB3RS is a trademark of CBS Studios Inc. TM, © and ® by Paramount Pictures. All rights reserved. In addition, the authors unfortunately do not own characters popularized by the landmark CBS series NUMB3RS, but respectfully supplement with a few of our own. Mistaken Identity, a Rabid Raccoons production, is not recommended for young children. This disclaimer applicable to Mistaken Identity in its entirety. The nonprofit corporation known as "Rabid Raccoons" further disavows claim to any or all fanfictional works attributed to FraidyCat and/or Serialgal. At this point we also deny any connection to unsolved federal crimes. The compilation of this disclaimer took longer than the story you are about to read. Attorneys were involved.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Considering the facts, Don was in a pretty decent mood.

Of course, it helped that one of those facts was his father's lasagna. He had enough experience to know that he could talk the old man into making it -- Alan always had the makings of lasagna in the house -- if he could just get there before his father started cooking something else. Hell, he wouldn't even have to work very hard for his lasagna. For one thing, Alan loved it when either of his sons requested anything he could easily do for them. For another, Don had been gone for 10 days at an advanced training program Quantico offered. His Dad would be so happy to see him, lasagna would be nothing.

Don felt an evil grin form as he strode down the hall of the Math & Sciences building at CalSci, toward his brother's office. Charlie and his father would both be speechless when Don finally gave them more details on the mysterious Quantico class. He had purposefully left them with very little information, because frankly, he had been a little concerned about pulling it off. The class had been great, though. Well-attended and informative -- and now he was ready to tell them the name: "Applying Mathematical Principles to Advanced Field Investigative Techniques". Don, even though enrolled as a student, had been one of the special speakers. Charlie would have an aneurysm when he realized a fellow Princeton graduate was the consultant who helped develop the whole thing, but it served him right. His little brother had put the Bureau off on Don's last two requests for help. Besides, the little jerk forgot to pick him up at the airport.

That was one of the facts that should have him in a worse frame of mind. He had stood on the sidewalk outside LAX with his luggage in 100-degree heat until a security officer threatened to bust him for loitering. Moron hadn't even been impressed with Don's F.B.I. I.D. He had kept one hand on his weapon and talked tough, and had obviously been on the job too long. He saw terrorists everywhere. Rather than ruin his mood or risk being on the six o'clock news as the tragic victim of a renegade TSA agent, Don had finally picked up his bag and headed back into the terminal. Unable to reach Charlie on his cell, he had momentarily hesitated. If he caught one of the cabs outside, he might end up passing Charlie. It didn't take Don long to make up his mind. Charlie had not left him a voice mail of any kind and had turned his own phone off. No doubt he was buried in a mountain of Blue Books, ignoring everything. Don never should have counted on him to remember; not the week after finals, anyway.

In the cab, Don had glanced at his watch and thought of the lasagna plan. He wasn't due back in the office until the next day, so he had the rest of the afternoon off anyway. Feeling like giving Charlie a hard time first, he diverted the driver to CalSci. Hopefully Charlie had driven his car to work today, and not ridden his bike. Don could drag him away from his desk with a little well-placed guilt, he was pretty sure. Studying math all week had him missing the geek, although he would eat his gun before he admitted that.

Now, Don plodded down a narrow corridor in the faculty offices wing, deciding that he would make his brother reimburse him for the cab. He shifted his heavy bag to his other hand, wondering idly at the activity level in the hall. Finals were over and summer session had not yet started, so he hadn't expected to see so many people.

His steps slowed and his hackles rose.

All of these old people. In suits. Obviously, not students.

Picking up speed again, he rounded the last corner before Charlie's office and bounced off an LAPD detective going in the other direction. Don's finely honed investigative mind deduced that the man was a detective as soon as his eyes registered the crime scene tape across Charlie's doorway.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Somehow, Big Brother Eppes managed to channel Agent Eppes. In milliseconds, he was magically teleported to the doorway of Charlie's office and shoving his badge in someone's face. "Special Agent Eppes, F.B.I. This is my brother's office. What the hell is going on here?" He bit off the words harshly and angrily, daring anyone to give him bad news. Unfortunately, the effect was ruined when the LAPD detective shifted his weight to look more closely at the ID, revealing the chalk outline of a body on the floor in front of the desk, drawn through a pool of blood.

Don paled and swayed into the officer, who grimaced in sympathy and put out his hands to steady the larger man. "Hey, hey now," he intoned lowly, steering Don backwards and away from the office. "You need to sit down, Agent? Maybe some water?"

Don lifted a hand to clutch at the detective's suit jacket. "Please," he begged, "just tell me that wasn't my brother you found in there. Eppes. Dr. Charles Eppes." He staggered a little, reaching back for the wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. "Oh, God, I should have a picture. I might have a picture." He looked pleadingly and frantically into the compassion-filled eyes staring back at him. "Charlie?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

End, Chapter 1