This one-shot is a missing scene which is based on and takes place during the episode Money for Nothing; between the time when his father leaves Charlie's office, and when Charlie shows up at Don's office. These are Charlie's thoughts and memories of what happened at Don's thirteenth birthday party campout. It starts out present day, and flashes back. Whenever you see the break 9999999999 I am moving backward or forward in time from the present to the past.

I do not own Numb3rs or any of the characters. Any OC's and/or mistakes are mine.

The Birthday Party

Charlie stared absently at the chalkboard, then sighed and rubbed his temple. His father had left several minutes ago, and he had tried to make some progress with his equations, but he was losing the battle. Concentration eluded him; every time he turned around to consult the notebook on his desk, the picture stared back, taunting him. His eyes fell on it again, and he moved to the desk and sank into his chair, studying it.

Don's thirteenth birthday had been a treat from his father, a camping trip for Don and his buddies. In the picture, Don and his friends were spread out around the campfire; there was Sid and Justin and Tommy from his ball team, and three other boys that Charlie recognized, but their names escaped him. There were a few girls sitting among them from a neighboring campsite; Charlie had forgotten about them being there. Sid was saying something, looking to his left toward the others, and they were laughing.

Charlie was seated to the far left in the picture, a small figure with a mop of curly hair and dark eyes too big for his face, his knees pulled up to his chest. He wasn't smiling; instead he looked at the line of kids spread out to the side of him with a seriousness that belied his age. He was a little bit removed from the rest of them; not really part of the group, an obvious outsider.

Charlie studied Don for a moment; there was a carefree grin on his brother's face, a glint of humor in his eyes. His head was thrown back slightly as he laughed at whatever Sid had said. The laughter hadn't lasted long, Charlie thought. He'd taken care of that. He put his elbow on the desk and leaned his head on his hand, as the painful memories came flooding back…

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"Charlie, run up and get your bag, we need to get going." Alan's voice was brisk, and at the statement, Don's head whipped up from the sofa in surprise.

"Charlie's going?"

"Yes, of course, he's going," replied Alan, a bit testily, as he tied up a sleeping bag that was threatening to come undone. "Since when have you not attended each other's birthday parties?"

Don shot a glance at Charlie, and his expression soured. He shrugged and looked down at his lap, trying to hide his disappointment. "I dunno."

Charlie felt a twinge of emotion at the look, a combination of hurt and uneasiness. It wasn't that he didn't want to go – he would love to go if he felt he was welcome; let's face it, he was dying to go, but not if it meant the usual; feeling like a fifth wheel, an anchor, the little pest. He sighed, and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom, where his mother was zipping up his duffel bag.

"Mom, maybe I should just stay home."

"What?" she said, turning in surprise. "Don't you feel good?"

Charlie looked down at his sneakers. "No, I feel okay."

She picked up the duffel bag and crossed the room, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Well then, go. It'll be fun. You like to camp." She looked down at him, wondering at the serious expression on his face. Maybe he felt a bit shy around the older boys, she thought. In any event, the weekend outdoors would do him good. He spent too much time inside; too much time poring over books.

She held the bag out to him, and placed a kiss on the top of his curls. "Here, bring this to your dad. He needs to finish packing the van."

He took it reluctantly and turned, lugging the bag behind him. The other boys were beginning to arrive, and were clustered in the driveway with their gear. Alan was piling as much of it as he could on top of the boxy van, trying to leave room inside for the passengers. One of the parents waved from their car as they pulled out of the driveway, and Charlie trudged forward with the duffel. Okay, so he was going. In spite of his misgivings, he felt a little thrill of anticipation. The weekend had sounded like a glorious adventure, and now that it was here, he was secretly excited to be part of it.

He handed his father the bag, and the boys slid open the van door and began to pile into the back seats. Charlie queued up behind them and as he went to step up into the van, Sid looked down at him. "There's no more room back here," he said rudely, and slid the door shut with a slam in Charlie's face. He heard snickers of laughter behind the doors, and just stood for a moment, nonplussed.

"Charlie, come sit up front with me," he heard his father's voice from the other side of the vehicle. "I'll give you the map. You can be my navigator."

At the words Charlie felt a bit of the excitement return. He waved to his mother on the porch, pulled the van door open and clambered up into the seat, anticipation returning to his eyes as his father handed him the map. He impatiently put on his seatbelt and pulled the map open immediately to study it, as his father backed out of the driveway. "Where are we going?"

"The Angeles National Forest. We're camping halfway between the towns of Three Points and Wrightwood, off of Highway 2. Find a route that is mostly highway."

Charlie found the location, tracing the path backwards with his eyes. "So the quickest way is to go Garfield to E. Walnut, to highway 210, then take the exit to highway 2." He smiled triumphantly at his father.

Alan shook his head in amused admiration. His son had an aptitude for finding the shortest route between two points that put most adults to shame. "Garfield to E. Walnut it is then."

"How long will it take us to get there?" asked Tommy from the back of the van.

Alan called back. "About 45 minutes, once we hit the highway."

Charlie studied the map and made some quick calculations, then turned around, his eyes shining with excitement. "Fifty seven point five four minutes, from here," he called, grinning.

Sid looked at him blankly; then whispered in Don's ear. Don rolled his eyes and they both snickered, their eyes on Charlie. The grin faded from Charlie's face, and he eyed them for just a moment; then turned back to the map with a small sigh.

He occupied himself during the ride calculating and recalculating the arrival time, trying to allow for the changes in speed limits. He could hear the rest of the boys behind him laughing and talking. Someone had brought a portable radio, and it played in the background. He could see his father smile from time to time in amusement, looking back at them in the rearview mirror. The smile would fade a bit as he glanced at Charlie, who was pretending to be immersed in the map. Charlie the outsider, the little geek, never part of the group, always off in his own world, not quite normal…..

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Charlie raised his head from his hand, and lifted his eyes. The rest of the ride was really more of a blur than a memory. He suspected he had spent it pretending to read the map and watching the passing scenery. He was fairly certain he hadn't volunteered any more information or conversation to the boys behind him. Like always, when he felt threatened, he retreated into himself, into his numbers. Funny, he mused. He had done that even as child, now that he thought about it. The overwhelming urge to find solace in the comfort of his numbers had started that long ago. He leaned his head in his hand again, his eyes searching the picture, looking at what could be seen of the surrounding campsite…

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Laughter and bantering mingled with the sounds of clanking aluminum tent poles. In short order, three tents had been set up; two for the boys, right next to each other, and another for Alan, across the campsite, on the other side of the fire pit. The boys raced back to the van, and Charlie actually managed to keep up, almost, even though they were twice his size. They grabbed their sleeping bags as Alan handed them out of the rear of the van, and ran back to the tents to roll them out.

Charlie waited for his impatiently – Alan had stowed it on the top of the van under a tarp, and it took him a few minutes to free it. As soon as he had it, Charlie wrapped both arms around it and trotted off, headed for Don's tent. The tent fly was unzipped but it was hanging shut, and he bent over awkwardly with his bundle to open it, and lifted a foot to step in.

Don scowled at him. "You aren't sleeping in here. There's no room." Charlie set his lifted foot down, and looked uncertainly at the other tent. "You aren't sleeping in there either," added Don. "These tents aren't big enough. You're supposed to sleep with Dad."

With that, Sid grabbed the tent flap from Charlie's hand and pulled it closed. Charlie stood for a moment, clutching the sleeping bag to his chest. He could feel a lump starting in his throat, and he swallowed hard, and turned to the other side of the campsite, trudging despondently toward his father's tent.

He was inside unrolling his sleeping bag, when Alan poked his head in the tent, maneuvering his own sleeping bag in front of him. "Charlie! Didn't you want to sleep with the boys?"

"No, that's okay," mumbled Charlie. Don had lied to him. There was room, but there was no way on earth that Charlie was going to ask again.

Alan smiled at him. "Well, I'm glad to have a tent mate," he said with false heartiness. He watched; his brow furrowed, as his youngest nodded silently, and slipped from the tent, heading for a large rock.

Charlie clambered on top of the rock; his shoulders slumped, his feet dangling. It was a Friday evening, and the sun was beginning to set. He could hear the radio playing in one of the tents, and laughter floated out. Alan came from his tent and called them out, and they emerged, smiling and talking, and gathered in front of him.

Alan spoke. "We don't have a lot of daylight left, and we need kindling to start a fire. I want you boys to spread out and find twigs and branches of different sizes. You don't need to go too far, just stick around our campsite. Put what you find by the fire pit." As the boys started to spread out, Alan called Don back.

His father pulled his brother to the side for a private conversation, but not far away enough. Charlie could hear most of it.

"Donnie, I have a lot of boys to keep track of here – some of them have never camped before. My hands will be pretty full, and I need you to help by keeping an eye on Charlie. I'll watch them; you watch Charlie – that's simple enough, isn't it?" Don nodded morosely, and Alan continued. "He goes where you go, understand?" He looked intently into Don's eyes, and Don mumbled something back that must have been acquiescence, because Alan nodded with approval.

Don walked slowly over to Charlie, slouching, and spoke tonelessly. "Come on. We're s'posed to go find kindling." Charlie slipped from the rock and tagged along obediently, silently…

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Charlie sat back in the chair and pondered for a minute. His father had done that on purpose, he realized. Alan must have figured out that Charlie wasn't being included, and had done what he could to remedy the situation. By assigning Don to take Charlie wherever he went, Alan figured Don would have to include him. Of course, it hadn't worked out that way. It had just set up more opportunities for rejection…

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Charlie followed Don to the edge of the clearing, and began picking up sticks, imitating the other boys, trying to blend in. He noticed that a few girls were approaching; three of them looked like they were around Don's age, and one was a bit older. Some of the boys gathered to talk to them, and then the girls started to spread out and pick up sticks too, ostensibly to help, but in reality to have an excuse to flirt.

Don was a few feet away amid some tree trunks, and Charlie saw a group of boys stop next to him, on their way back to the fire pit with their hands full of twigs. He looked down, away from them, pretending to concentrate on his task, but he couldn't help but hear Sid's snide comment. "Too bad you had to bring the little dweeb along."

"Yeah," said his brother sullenly. "Now I have to watch him too."

"Says who?" asked Sid.

"My dad."

Sid sounded indignant. "That stinks, man. It's, like, your birthday and you have to baby-sit?"

"Whatever, Sid," said Justin. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

"It's all right," said Don sourly. "It does stink. It's always Charlie. Even on my birthday, it's still all about him."

He glanced sideways, a bit guiltily, to see if Charlie had heard. Charlie straightened and turned away, pretending he hadn't, pretending he didn't have tears in his eyes. He walked stiffly away, clutching the small bundle of twigs to his chest, headed toward the campfire.

He set them down carefully next the growing pile of tinder, and approached his father, who was starting to arrange some of it in a pile in the pit. His voice sounded plaintive, even in his own ears. "Dad, can I go home?"

The pile of twigs collapsed, and Alan grunted in frustration, and replied a little more harshly than he intended to. "No, Charlie, you can't go home. There's no one to take you. I can't just leave a bunch of boys here unattended." He looked up at his youngest, and as he caught the misery in Charlie's face his expression softened. "Do me a favor; go get some bigger sticks, about an inch around. I'll get the fire started, and we'll make some hot dogs."

Charlie complied reluctantly, gathering an armful, trying to steer clear of Don. He felt his brother's eyes on him once or twice, but ignored him. Eventually, the fire was lit, and they gathered around, threading hot dogs on sticks and turning them over the flames. His father must have invited the girls to join them at some point, because they sat down with the group. It was now dark, and the fire illuminated the scene with a warm glow. Charlie sat off to the side, his arms around his knees, watching them despondently, as they sat down to eat, laughing and talking, the boys joking, showing off for the girls, who responded with giggles.

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Charlie stared at the picture. His father must have taken it not too long after they had made the hot dogs, because they were still gathered around the fire, in the same positions as he remembered them being when they ate. He didn't remember his father even taking it, and he didn't remember the time that immediately followed, other than snatches of song, and bursts of laughter, neither one participated in by him. In fact, he was fairly certain that he hadn't eaten anything either. He really had no idea how long they had sat there, before they got up begging to go play 'capture the flag.' His memory started to clear again, to come into focus…

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"Dad, Dad!" Don ran up to his father, who was putting the remainder of the hot dogs in the cooler. The rest of the group jogged up behind him. "Can we go back up the trail to the clearing and play 'capture the flag?"

Alan straightened and looked at them, his lips pursed. The 'trail' was really a dirt driveway that led to their campsite, off the main gravel road that ran through the camp. There was a large open space next to it, not too far away. His eyes fell on Charlie, a small solitary figure still huddled next to the campfire.

"All right," said Alan. "You remember our agreement – bring Charlie with you and keep an eye on him." He fixed his eyes on the girls. "Ladies, I am assuming that this is okay with your parents?"

"Yes," said the older one. "We were playing there last night. Our campsite is just the other side of the clearing."

Alan gave them a nod. "No one goes anywhere but the clearing or this campsite. I don't want to go hunting for any of you in the dark." They nodded back, grinning, and took off at a jog.

Don called to Charlie impatiently. "Come on, Chuck, we're going to the clearing!"

Charlie grimaced at the hated nickname, but rose to his feet and trotted after Don, hope rising in him. Maybe he would finally get to do something; to be included.

Moments later he stood alone in the moonlight, between the two groups, uncomfortably aware of their eyes on him. They had chosen teams, and he had stood resignedly watching as each boy and girl was picked by the captains, Don and Sid. He had already known he was going to be selected last, but knowing it didn't make him feel any better. It was Sid's turn to pick, and Charlie looked at him expectantly.

Sid scowled. "I don't want him. The teams are even, five and five. It'll mess it up to have five and six."

Some of the other boys nodded, and Charlie looked at Don with a plea in his face. "Can I be on your team?"

Don frowned, staring at him. "No," he said finally, "Sid's right, it'll mess up the game." He pointed to a log on the edge of the clearing. "Go sit there, and we'll take turns trading off. We can rotate you in."

"Not," he heard one of the other boys say in a stage whisper, and the some of them sniggered. One of the girls tossed Charlie a look of sympathy, but said nothing. The group trotted out to the edges of the clearing, to place the flags.

Charlie's shoulders fell, and he stared back at Don with dark accusing eyes. He put his head down silently, and walked over to the log and sat down, putting his head in his hands. Don stared after him for a moment, a guilty expression on his face, then turned and ran after the other boys, shaking his head with irritation.

The game seemed to last an eternity. Charlie sat silently, forlornly watching the figures run through the moonlit glade, hearing the shouts of excitement. After a half hour had passed, his hopes of getting called in had dimmed, but still he sat there, hoping for one small reprieve, even five minutes of play, one little moment that would salvage that painful day. As he heard his father's voice calling them back to camp, he knew it was over.

He stood, tears rising to his eyes, and a feeling of desolation in his heart that slowly turned to hurt and anger. He turned without waiting for his brother, suddenly determined, and made his way to the dirt road. With defiant tears running down his face he headed away from the campsite, and ran toward the gravel road that led out of the camp. If his father wouldn't take him, he would just walk home. He knew the way; the map was stored like a picture in his eidetic memory. Once he was out of the camp and on Highway 2, he could find his own way home…

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Charlie groaned and leaned back from the desk, his head on the back of the chair, and covered his face with his hands. He sat there that way, unmoving. How stupid had that been, he thought. How naïve, to not recognize that it might be dangerous for a young boy to walk down an isolated stretch of two-lane highway – at night, no less. How frightened his mother had been. Not to mention that his decision had effectively ruined the rest of his brother's birthday. He dropped his hands from his face and sat for a moment, trying to imagine what had happened after he left. He had a good idea, he had heard the story from his father afterward, as Alan had recounted it to his aunt on the phone, not knowing that Charlie had been listening.

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Alan stepped to the edge of the clearing and called again. The girls turned and trotted off toward their campsite, and the boys slowly straggled in from the edges of the trees, trading good natured jabs. "We slaughtered you."

"No way."

As they gathered in front of Alan he did a quick head count, and then frowned. "Where's Charlie?"

Don pointed toward the log. "He's right over there."

Alan squinted. The moonlight was casting a shadow and the log was hard to see, and he couldn't make out a figure. "Charlie?" he called.

Don frowned, and then trotted over to the log, and the group trailed after him. There was no sign of his brother. "Charlie?" he called, louder, a note of mixed apprehension and annoyance in his voice.

Alan looked back over his shoulder at the clearing. "Are you sure he didn't run off somewhere while he was playing?"

Don looked up a bit guiltily. "He wasn't playing. I told him to sit right there."

Alan frowned at him, and the disappointment in his face made Don cringe. "You didn't let him play? Donnie -," he said in exasperation; then stopped. He wasn't going to lecture his son now; it was pointless, and there were a group of boys staring at him.

Alan sighed. "He probably headed back to the campsite. Let's go." He turned, with one more stern look at Don, and led the way out of the glade.

Upon reaching the site and finding it unoccupied, the first thing Alan did was check the tent. No Charlie. With rising apprehension he checked the van, thinking Charlie might have gone there looking for a secluded spot. At the realization that his youngest was no where in sight, he stepped from the van, and called in a loud voice tinged with panic. "Charlie!"

The loudness and the tone made the boys turn and stare at him, and he spoke to them sharply. "Stay by the fire. I'm going back to the clearing." They clustered uneasily around the fire, as he strode off.

Forty minutes later, they were sitting in the van, quiet and subdued, outside the ranger station. Alan came out of the building, his face pale, accompanied by the ranger. He had just reported his son missing and the ranger had called out some of his men to search. "Is there a phone?" Alan asked.

The ranger nodded toward the corner of the building. "Around the side."

Alan walked around the side of the building, trying to quell the fear in his gut. He put in change and dialed, and when the phone was picked up, he spoke with a shaky voice. "Margaret, honey, we've got a problem. Charlie is missing."

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It hadn't taken Charlie long to find the way out of the campsite, and he had begun making his way back along Highway 2. That section was the longest part of the walk and most of it ran through the Angeles National Forest. He had known the walk would be long; he calculated that at a rate of three to four miles per hour, he wouldn't make it home until sometime Saturday evening. The highway was dark and lonely, and he walked well off the side, through the grass and the brush, giving passing traffic a wide berth.

There were few cars on the road that time of night, but Charlie tended to find cover when he saw headlights approaching. His mother had lectured him countless times to never get into a vehicle with a stranger. At eight, he hadn't really considered the possibility that there were people in the world that would see a lone eight year old boy as a target, a potential victim, but somehow he knew instinctively he should hide. So when Margaret came speeding up the road toward the campsite, followed by the parents of the other boys, as the headlights approached, he had found cover in clumps of brush, and in the darkness, he had not even realized that they were the cars of friends and family.

By morning, he had come to the edge of the park. He was still in a rural area, but there was a scattered house or two. No one was stirring in the gray dawn, but as the light grew, he felt a little more at ease with being seen by passing motorists. When he added to that the fact that he was hungry and exhausted, and it was infinitely easier to just stay on the edge of the road, he decided to stop hiding as the rare car went by.

As he prepared to cross a driveway that led to a trailer park, he stopped suddenly. A rusty battered Buick was weaving down the road, and was swerving toward the driveway entrance. It pulled into the driveway of the trailer park, a few yards past him, and then stopped in a cloud of dust. There was room to walk behind it, so Charlie did, but as soon as he passed it he heard a voice.

"Hey kid."

Charlie turned. The car window was open and a man's face was protruding from it. He was unkempt, his face covered with stubble, with dirty, longish hair. He looked about forty, and his eyes were glassy with intoxication. As Charlie regarded him, he took a swig from a flask. Seeing he had Charlie's attention, the man spoke again. "Where you goin', kid?"

Charlie shrugged slightly, and eyed the man uncomfortably. "Home."

"Live around here?" The man eyed him speculatively, running his eyes up and down Charlie's slight frame, and a glint of something predatory appeared in his eyes.

"No, not really." Charlie felt unaccountably uneasy, and turned to go. The man didn't say anything more, and Charlie breathed a sigh of relief as heard the vehicle move behind him with a crunch of tires on gravel.

He had only made it a few yards further down the road, when he heard a vehicle behind him, and he snuck a glance over his shoulder. With rising apprehension he noted that it was the battered Buick, and he put his head down and quickened his pace, darting a look at the road in front of him, suddenly hoping to see another vehicle, any other sign of life.

The car pulled beside him, and slowed to a crawl. The passenger window was down, and the man called out to him. "Kid, it's not real safe to be walking along the highway. I think I should give you a ride. Hop in."

Charlie shot a look at him, trying not to appear as frightened as he felt. His heart was thumping. "No thanks."

"I'm gonna have to insist, young man," came the voice. "Your parents would be highly upset if you didn't listen." The car pulled ahead suddenly a few yards and then stopped, and the man opened his door and stepped out. Charlie stopped in his tracks; to walk ahead would bring him right next to the car. At the same instant, the man froze, looking at something down the road behind them, and then hastily got back into his car and pulled away.

Charlie turned, confused; then breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the outline of a local police vehicle approaching. His relief was short lived, however, as the officer pulled next to him and slowed the vehicle, speaking to Charlie through the window. "Hold up there son. Can I ask you your name?"

Charlie turned and spoke apprehensively. "Charlie."

"Charlie Eppes?"

"Yes sir."

The officer flipped on his lights, put the vehicle in park and got out, stepping over to where Charlie stood. The man looked intimidating in his uniform, but his face was kind. "I'm officer Stanhope. Son, do you know you've had a bunch of people out looking for you?"

Charlie felt an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach. "No sir."

"I'm going to need you to come with me, Charlie. I'm going to take you to your parents, okay?" Charlie nodded mutely, his shoulders sagging as he realized the ramifications of what he had done. He had a horrible suspicion that he had caused far more trouble than he intended to.

After a forty minute ride, he was back at the campsite, and his suspicion became a certainty. His mother's vehicle was parked alongside the van, along with a sheriff's vehicle, and the tents had been taken down. As the police car pulled into the area, his parents ran forward to greet it. Don trailed behind them, and as Charlie stepped from the car, he caught a flash of relief on his brother's face, which was quickly followed by something that hovered between a scowl and a look of misery.

Charlie didn't get much of a chance to look, because he was swept into his mother's arms. Margaret had tears running down her face, and to Charlie's amazement, they also glimmered in his father's eyes. He didn't think that fathers cried, and the look on Alan's face shook him. He stared at his father as he knelt and looked into Charlie's face.

The officer spoke. "I found him thirty-six miles south of here, on Highway 2, headed away from the park."

Margaret released her grip and held Charlie at arm's length. "Sweetie, don't you know that when you're lost you should stay where you are? You shouldn't try to find your way back."

Charlie looked over her shoulder at Don. His brother was a picture of misery; his friends gone, his birthday ruined. Charlie swallowed and shook his head, his stomach in a knot of fear and guilt…

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Charlie sighed and rubbed his face. It was true that he and Don weren't close when they were young, but by that one bad decision, Charlie realized, he had made the chasm widen. They had drifted apart further after that; Don seemed even more resentful of him; the events of that weekend set the tone for their relationship for years to come.

And now Don wanted him to talk, to meet together with Bradford, just when it seemed they had come to a truce, a point of understanding. They still weren't what Charlie would call close, but they at least had a relationship. Talking, bringing back old memories, could dredge up hurt that could tear it apart. Especially, thought Charlie, when Don found out that Charlie hadn't really gotten lost; that he had walked away on purpose.

He looked again at the picture, at Don's smiling face. It seemed to beckon him, to welcome him, he thought, and he was seized with sudden conviction. Maybe his father was right. Maybe they should talk. True, it could threaten their newfound relationship, but it also had the potential to strengthen it; to get it past this holding pattern that they had settled into. Desperately, more than anything in the world, Charlie wanted them to be close, and he suddenly realized that he would do anything to make that happen, even if it meant he would risk it all.

He rose, and gathering his papers, packed them into his briefcase. He needed to go down to the FBI offices anyway and give Don new information on the escape routes; he would tell Don that he would agree to meet with him and Bradford. He paused; staring once more at the picture, then gently set it on top of his papers, and closed the briefcase. Lifting it, he stepped quietly out of the room, turned out the lights and shut the door, and headed down the hallway, away from the past, and toward his brother, toward the future.

Finis