Disclaimer: You know the routine: not my characters, no infringement intended. Numb3rs is the property of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci, the folks at Scott Free Productions, Barry Schindel, CBS Paramount Network Television, CBS Studios, Inc., and whoever else appears in the parade of logos or can provide documents of ownership.
Author's Notes: Never say never. I never write prequel fic. Until now, apparently. Thanks to Izhilzha and the late night/early morning chats that result in random musings of random interludes in the characters' lives, and for her beta skills.
INEQUAL EXPRESSIONS
by
V. Laike
Charlie Eppes struggled to open the door to the apartment he shared with Susan Berry. Tossing his keys in the basket on the table just inside the entry, he raced to grab the ringing phone. It had better not be one of his students calling to complain about the mid-term. He didn't have time tonight. On the other hand, if it was the peer review board calling about the publication of the Eppes Convergence, he'd make the time. Susan would understand.
He snatched the phone from its base as he panted from his recent sprint across the apartment.
"Hello?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line, then a questioning voice: "Charlie?"
"Don?" Charlie's brain had to backpedal a few steps. Of all the callers he would be expecting, his brother wasn't one of them.
"Hey, buddy. How're you doing? Did I catch you at a bad time?"
Charlie looked at the clock on the wall. If he didn't leave within the next three minutes, he'd be late for the symposium he and Susan were attending with some friends. He really didn't have time to stop and chat.
"Well, no, I suppose not," he said halfheartedly. "What's up?"
"I'm between cases, and I just got off the phone with Mom and Dad. I thought I'd give you a call while I had the chance." Don sounded distant, detached, and Charlie knew Mom and Dad had put him up to the call.
"Oh, okay." Charlie paused awkwardly, waiting for his brother to continue, but conversation was not forthcoming. "So, how are things in the FBI? You're doing, what was it? Recovery? Search and rescue? Something like that?"
Don sighed. "Fugitive recovery. It's good. It's a great adrenaline rush, you know? Like you get when you've discovered something big at the chalkboard, maybe."
Charlie looked at the clock again. Two minutes left before he had to take off. "That's good."
Another long pause, and Charlie wondered if there was a point to this call at all.
"So how are things back East? How's that math thing you're working on?"
"Good," Charlie said. He knew Don was referring to the Eppes Convergence; "that math thing," as Don called it, was only the most important breakthrough of the math genius's career. It was only what his entire reputation was riding on, what he'd taken the better portion of several years to perfect. "I submitted the Eppes Convergence for peer review a couple months ago. They should be getting back to me in the next week to let me know how things are progressing."
"'The Eppes Convergence,'" Don said, and Charlie couldn't tell if he heard amusement in his brother's voice or not. "Well, good luck with that." Don just didn't get it. This was a big, huge deal. Like . . . like having a sports play named after you, or maybe a big case or something. Don didn't get it at all.
Charlie looked again at the clock. "Hey, Don. I'm sorry to cut this short." Charlie felt a twinge of guilt at the white lie. The truth was that he and his brother didn't really have much in common since going their separate ways. Even before then, they didn't get each other. They were from two different worlds, and they always would be. "I'm supposed to meet Susan on campus in about half an hour, and if I don't leave now, I'm gonna be late."
Charlie heard a grunt that could have been one of derision. "Hey, no problem. I need to hang up here anyway. Coop and I are going out to celebrate closing this case, then we've got an early debriefing in the morning."
"Well, you and Coop have a good time." Charlie had no idea who Coop was, but he or she was obviously important enough to celebrate with.
"Say 'hello' to Susan for me."
"Sure."
"Okay then. I'll catch you later, buddy."
"Right."
"'Bye."
"G'bye."
Charlie hung up quickly and hurriedly packed his satchel with everything he'd need for the symposium. With luck, he'd only be a couple minutes late and Susan would understand that Charlie got held up by an inconveniently timed call from his brother. She understood family, right?
The gunshot wound in his leg throbbed. After spending half an hour on the phone reassuring Margaret and Alan that nothing was wrong, Don Eppes didn't really want to go through the whole thing again with Charlie. Mom and Dad had insisted that the agent call his brother, but they could fill Charlie in when they talked. Don just didn't have the energy right now.
After the fourth ring, Don was about to hang up when a breathless voice came on the line. "Hello?"
Maybe he'd gotten the wrong number? Or maybe Charlie had had to run to pick up the call? "Charlie?"
"Don?" Charlie sounded surprised, puzzled. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to call.
"Hey, buddy. How're you doing? Did I catch you at a bad time?"
An awkward pause told Don that whatever was coming next was not going to be the complete truth. "Well, no, I suppose not," Charlie said halfheartedly. "What's up?"
Great. Let's keep this short and sweet, Don thought. Don't draw it out any longer than it needed to be. Besides, the pain meds were starting to kick in, and Don was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He'd need to move from the couch to the bedroom if he didn't want to be tied in knots when he woke up. "I'm between cases, and I just got off the phone with Mom and Dad. I thought I'd give you a call while I had the chance."
"Oh, okay." Another pause told Don that Charlie's attention wasn't fully on the conversation at hand, but that was standard operating procedure. Unless something involved math, Charlie's mind was always doing two things at once. The genius was probably fishing for a topic of conversation. "So, how are things in the FBI? You're doing, what was it? Recovery? Search and rescue? Something like that?"
Don sighed. Oh, yeah, pain meds were a good thing—unless he was on a long-distance phone call. And Charlie really didn't have any idea what the agent did for a living. Don wondered if he could put it in terms Charlie would understand. "Fugitive recovery. It's good. It's a great adrenaline rush, you know? Like you get when you've discovered something big at the chalkboard, maybe."
"That's good." Yes, Charlie's mind was definitely elsewhere.
After another long pause, Don decided to try to put the conversation back onto his brother. "So how are things back East? How's that math thing you're working on?"
"Good," Charlie said. "I submitted the Eppes Convergence for peer review a couple months ago. They should be getting back to me in the next week to let me know how things are progressing."
"'The Eppes Convergence,'" Don said. Who'd have thought Don Eppes's little brother would have a freakin' math formula named after him for the entire mathematic community to use? Pythagoras had his theorem. Charlie Eppes had his convergence. Annals of history, bro. Damn, that made a big brother proud. "Well, good luck with that."
"Hey, Don. I'm sorry to cut this short. I'm supposed to meet Susan on campus in about half an hour, and if I don't leave now, I'm gonna be late."
An unexpected pain shot through Don's leg, and he grunted as he tried to move to a more comfortable position. He really needed to get to bed before the pain medication rendered him immobile and unconscious. "Hey, no problem. I need to hang up here anyway. Coop and I are going out to celebrate closing this case, then we've got an early debriefing in the morning." Yes, Don could lie like a rug when he wanted to, and Charlie was never the wiser. Lying long distance just made it that much easier. Don and Charlie didn't have much common ground to discuss anyway.
"Well, you and Coop have a good time."
"Say 'hello' to Susan for me."
"Sure."
"Okay then. I'll catch you later, buddy."
"Right."
"'Bye."
"G'bye."
Don hung up the phone and reached for his crutches. Carefully he levered himself up from the couch and slowly made his way to his bedroom, where he collapsed into a hard, medication-induced sleep.
"Are you kidding?" Susan asked excitedly, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the din of patrons in the coffee shop. "The way he used Metcalfe's Law to—"
"No, no, no," Charlie argued. "Metcalfe's Law is entirely too simplistic. It doesn't take into account the differing values of the individual connections within the network based on the probability that the network user will—"
"I'll tell you what, you're both wrong," their friend Sarah said. "What he should have done is . . ."
The symposium had been fascinating, if completely erroneous, in Charlie's opinion, but half the fun of these things was hitting the coffee shop afterward to debate the merits with friends over cappuccinos and muffins. The entire group had very strong opinions about the theories they'd heard posed, and the conversation promised to be lively and diverse.
"Hey, Eppes!" Charlie's friend Adam had been at the end of the table reading the early edition of the national news. "You have a brother in the FBI, right?"
The conversation came to a halt as several pairs of eyes looked at Charlie intently.
"Yes, why?"
"Where's he located?" Adam asked.
"New Mexico," Charlie said.
"Your brother's a Fed?" Brian asked.
"That's terrible!" Melissa was aghast. "You remember Waco, right? All those people dead. A bunch of overgrown Neanderthal thugs goose-stepping all over our Constitutional rights, if you ask me."
"Shut up, Missy," Brian said. "Charlie's brother wouldn't be one of those. Right, Charlie?"
Charlie swallowed and started to reply, but Susan stopped him. "Didn't you say your brother played baseball or something?"
Charlie nodded. "Yeah. For the Stockton Rangers."
"And he gave that up to become a Fed?" Melissa asked with disdain. "No wonder you don't talk about him."
"Shut up, all of you." Adam pitched his voice to be heard over the rest of the table. "Listen to this: 'Dateline, Santa Fe, New Mexico. After a nine-hour standoff that ended in gunfire and the wounding of one federal agent, authorities have taken into custody Harold Frank Rachins, suspected in the murders of at least six college students after escaping from the Penitentiary of New Mexico, located fifteen miles south of Santa Fe.
"'After five months of searching, federal authorities traced Rachins to an abandoned house outside of Rodeo. Federal Bureau of Investigation agents apprehended the suspect as he was preparing to make a run for the southern border into Mexico. Rachins had with him one hostage. Federal authorities negotiated with Rachins for nine hours until Rachins opened fire, shooting one FBI agent before being wounded himself by a Federal Marshal sniper. Names of the hostage and federal agents involved are being withheld pending further investigation.'"
Brian looked at Charlie. "You think your brother was involved?"
Charlie chuffed a laugh. "No way. Are you kidding? I just talked to him tonight before the symposium. No way was he involved in something like that."
"Well," Melissa said, "rescuing a hostage from an escaped fugitive is certainly more noble than violating privacy rights."
But Charlie wasn't really listening. He was thinking about the odds that Don was involved in the incident. Was that why his brother had called? Nah, he told himself. In the entire state of New Mexico, Don was only one agent in hundreds. Besides, Don sounded fine on the phone. His usual distant self. Charlie took a swallow of his coffee. "Right. So, as I was saying, Metcalfe's Law is way too simplistic to . . ."
And with that, the news article was forgotten.
finis