A/N: This is the first of a two-part story, derived on what we learned from the Janus List. After a few weeks of mourning I decided that I believe Colby Granger is not gulity - not innocent, but not guilty. And then I got this idea for a story. The Garden of Eden takes place before the actual Numb3rs series, and the second part, which I am thinking about calling The Poisoned Apple, will take place directly after the season three finale.

I decided to put the prologue and Chapter 1 both on this page, because I know many people don't actually read prologues, but I promise it's short.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I am being forced to admit that I don't own Numb3rs, yet again. sniffle But, that won't stop me from having hour long daydreams about Colby Granger - those I DO own!

Garden of Eden

Prologue

There are some things that can never be brought back, some things that can be resurrected, and some things that should be left alone. The past should stay in the past, the future in the future. No one cares how much you love what you lost or despise what is coming and that's the way it will stay.

Life is life, death is death, but pain... Pain is the only thing that will make joy worthwhile. After all, how much will you truly enjoy Hรคagen Dazs if you've never hade no-name ice cream? Yes, a simplistic example, that much is true, but I think that every now and then simplicity is the only way to live that feels right. Maybe tonight the only decision I want to make is about which movie I'll watch or which kind of shampoo I should buy.

For the past five years of my life the word 'simple' has remained merely that - a word, and it will likely stay that way. And to be honest, I fear that possibility. Bullets can be dodged (or removed from flesh), criminals put in jail and bombs disabled, but once you live the kind of life I do...the kind that only a hundred others truly know and understand...it becomes a foreign concept. Sometimes, I sift through the memories of my adult life and I realize that nothing has been simple for a long, long time.

It used to be. Oh man, back in high school when all I wanted to be was an accountant. Numbers are simple. This one goes here, multiply by that one and you get this one. But, unfortunately I'm long graduated from school. But I've got this great new job with health insurance, dental, close and usually friendly co-workers. Even though the hours suck and sometimes I'd rather sit at my desk then go and 'exercise,' it was a life I loved and it gave me a sense of duty and accomplishment. I was on a shooting star, soaring through life and beating the crap out of bad guys when they got in my way.

And then I met Dwayne Carter.

At that time I was 'Jenny Anderson,' the woman that would let him 'woo' her into a life she pretended to want. The woman that would have his child and patiently wait for him to return from Afghanistan, caring for Johnny, the only man she swore she would ever love - even if he was only a year old at the time. He was Jenny's son and that's all that mattered to her. He was her life source, her flesh and blood.

No. He was my son. Jenny wasn't real, never was.

And this is where I smack myself - according to the government, I don't exist either.

These days, and every day I'm not pretending to be someone else, I go by Eden. I don't have a last name, a middle name, parents, a family, or a personal life. Well, not yet anyways. But then again, who really knows anything?

Dwayne sure didn't know anything, not when everything was going cold between us after he returned from war, he didn't know anything when I told him I was putting Johnny up for adoption, he didn't know anything the day I dumped him. He sure as hell didn't know anything the day that Johnny was taken from me forever.

I think my presence just sucks knowledge and common sense out of people, because when I knocked on that door in Idaho...Colby Granger didn't know anything at all.

Chapter 1

There isn't an answer for a long time, so I rap on the door again, glancing casually from side to side, noting that the door in the back of the hallway on the left wall is slightly open, and the light behind the exit sign is out. This time after four seconds I hear something crash inside (it sounded like a glass lamp, maybe a water pitcher) and I back up. My hand flies to the holster at my side, under my loose button-up shirt as I step to the side of the door.

But then it opens, and a bareback man (around six feet tall, wide build, messy sandy blond hair, a five day beard that easily added five years to him, magnificent eyes with brown around the pupil, green beside it and blue rims and good god an amazing upper torso) is standing there, looking slightly dazed. I relax my hand, but it remains where it is, slightly grazing the cold metal.

It's so obvious that he's assessing me, deciding whether I'm a risk to him or not so I drop my hand and smile at him, doing my best not to gawk at the man's body.

"Jenny."

His voice is gravely, and he has dark circles under his eyes, which have red around the rims.

Nightmares.

"You know who I am," I say it more as a surprised statement, rather than a question. Very few people actually know who I am. Dwayne took a photo of me along to Afghan, so I wasn't surprised to see that he recognized me. His eyes drop to my belly and, even though no one could tell I tried not to squirm.

"Dwayne showed me a picture."

I was still pregnant when that photo had been taken.

Okay, so someone's a bit grumpy, and I attempt to keep my amusement hidden, so I pretend to remember all the good times that were never real (considering he was a spy since he was barely an adult who just wanted to go to Afghan) and all the 'heart warming' memories that made me want to shoot someone. "Yeah...I thought he might have."

It's surprising how easy it is to be 'sad' but I might as well use it to my advantage - I needed to get him to open up to me so I could assess him more closely. I frowned when the idea of a physical assessment popped into my head, completely unwanted. A fake tear trailed down my cheek and I 'embarrassedly' wiped it away, choking a laugh. "Sorry, I don't usually cry in public."

Or, you know...ever.

"Oh..." he cleared his throat. "Uh, you wonna come in? It's a bit of a mess but..."

"Thanks." I give him another glimmer of a grateful smile and follow him as he leads me to the living room, which really isn't that bad. A few dishes here and there, a toppled lamp, a shirt on the floor. When I sit down on the couch I notice it's warm from body heat.

He was sleeping on the couch, and when I knocked the second time startled him and he knocked the lamp off its kilter. "Did I wake you, Colby?"

I slyly slip in the use of his first name, trying to send the message that I'm a friend. He yanks the shirt from the rug and pulls it over his head. Uncharacteristically, I look away.

"It's all right. I shouldn't have been sleeping anyways," he shrugs his huge shoulders and settles down on the seat across from me. "I'll never get to sleep at night now."

"Having trouble getting used to regular hours again?" I didn't make him answer and continued, "Dwayne had the same problem. He would always get up in the middle of the night...go stand over Johnny's crib and just watch him." I look down at my hands, neatly folded in my lamp, regret etched all over my pretty average features. Really, there's isn't much significant about me other than the fact that I could take down guys three times my size. My face is almost oval - it's my too defined and straight jaw that ruins it - and I have cheekbones that apparently were envied in high school. I don't understand why; they're just bones. My eyes are light blue; nothing unusual and I have shoulder length, dirty blonde hair that's too straight and too flat for my liking.

But I blend in which is a must in my business, but with some make up and a revealing dress, trust me - I stick out, also a must. Oh, the joys of being stacked. Not.

After clearing his throat again he offers to get me some water. Politely, I accept. When he's in the kitchen and I'm out of his eye site I stand up and look around. There isn't much that is personal, the couch, two chairs, one leather recliner facing a flat screen television. As I walk around I pass a small table with framed pictures of his family (I recognize them from the pictures I was shown a few weeks ago) and sigh. That's going to be an issue. Ties to the real world are never good.

This is the exact reason I didn't want to do this. But it's not like I know how to do my job, noooo, Big Boss knows best, that's what they always say. And if Big Boss wants Granger then Big Boss gets Granger, dammit.

I hear footsteps and I clear my facial expression of anything less than exhaustion and lament. Turning around when I feel his presence two feet away from me clear as day I sigh. "Thank you." I take the nearly full glass from him.

"If you don't mind me asking, Jenny... Did something happen to you and Dwayne? The way you're talking about him..."

I feel kind of bad for the guy. Here I am, forcing myself to keep my utter hatred for the bastard out of my voice and away from my face, pretending to actually care for the damned traitor and Granger's got that look in his eyes that make me feel so safe. I actually think I could dissolve into tears and he would just scoop me up with his magnificently huge hands.

But safety is a luxury that I just don't have. I'll probably be the crazy old hag on the corner lot with fifty cats and a sniper rifle under my pillow, a machete beside my rocking chair, sitting next to my cane - that of course has a spike at the bottom, should I feel the need to stab some poor cashier at the grocery store.

I nod sadly and glance down at the floor. "We uhh...broke up. He was different after he got back, you know. Angry and closed off from me. He wouldn't talk to me anymore and he hated that I put Johnny up for adoption."

"Johnny? That's what you named him?"

This time, anything that crosses my face is as real as the air I'm breathing. The rush of pent up emotion surprises me as it slams into my heart all at once - grief, regret (the kind that keeps you up all hours of the night, "What if? What if?") gut-wrenching pain, and the bitter taste of anger. "Yeah," I swallow, hating myself more every second. I'm not supposed to have weak spots, you see. Weak spots are what kills people who do what I do. And when these people die everything they're working on usually goes up in smoke.

POOF! And it's gone.

"Johnny. After Dwayne's father."

He nods and ushers me to the couch, where I sit back down without argument. I need to get the topic back to Dwayne and away from Johnny. I need to get back in control, where I'm safe. "You know, when Dwayne got back he talked about you a lot, where you were from and your family and stuff like that."

"Yeah?"

My chin bobs up and down, hair with it. "I always wanted to meet you. I figured that maybe if I could befriend you and show him that I was still apart of his life he might, ya know..."

"Talk to you again?"

"Mm-hmm. I guess I'm a little late, huh?"

He grins at my rueful expression, and drops his bum

(woooooow)

onto the wooden coffee table, facing me. "Better late than never, isn't that what everyone says?"

"Yeah, but 'everyone' doesn't know shit about anything." I need to get to the point of my visit, and fast. In a few hours I am supposed to be at a private, supposedly non-existent tarmac either with Granger tagging behind me or a new spy to hunt and bring down. If I can't do either I will officially be the worst agent ever. Besides, what good is a top secret organization meant to apprehend spies in the United States if no one can even identity one?

He is fighting a full-blown smile, I can tell, and it makes me feel...proud. I don't want to admit it, but I am seriously hoping that he isn't a spy. Judging by what I already know about him, and talking to him now I am pretty sure he is a good guy.

Pretty sure isn't good enough.

I'm still waiting for one phone call that will make up my mind one way or another. After watching this man for six damned months I wouldn't be the first to admit that I was ready to make or break this guy. So far, he was clean. Just the average, all-American man. Who just happens to be gorgeous.

"Colby, I gotta tell you that I'm a little surprised by you."

He frowns the cutest frown I have ever seen, it kind of looked like one of Johnny's. My heart jumps into my throat and I force it back down. Oh yeah, smooth Eden, trying to make a connection because you think he's hot. So professional.

"How so?"

"I just kinda expected the ultimate bachelor pad with the way Dwayne talked about you, with a few girls hanging onto your arm wearing next to nothing."

He looks at me like I've grown two heads then glances around his dismal apartment. Then, a trademark smirk pulls a corner of his mouth

(Guh)

up and his shoulders square, his head tilting off to the side, slightly higher. "I can tell you're impressed."

I laugh aloud at that and push some hair behind my ear. Then my cell rings, saving me from coming up with a response I worry would feel too natural. "Excuse me. Mind if I take this in the kitchen?"

He shrugs, watching me as I rise. "Go ahead."

The second location is for more than just privacy - safety is a major factor, as well. If this guy does turn out to be a bad one, giving myself a few seconds to memorize exits and objects is something you always want to be able to do. Whether you get jumped or not is beside the point. Preparation is the objective.

Once I'm in the next room I answer. "Yeah." Never identify yourself.

"How's it going?"

Cleo. Computer Geek Extraordinaire. Off the record, she can hack the Pentagon in her sleep.

"Looking good. So? What about on your end? Make or break?"

"He's a good one. D says bring him in with you."

D is short for 'the director.' No one knows his real name and no one dares to ask if they value their life. "All right."

"Hey, how sure are we that he's even gonna, you know...go for this."

"Well, if by 'we' you mean D, we're positive, but if by 'we' you mean me...let's just say I would rather get to you-know-who" (Dwayne Carter) "via other ways."

"Okay. Call before you leave and I'll get everything ready on my end. See you in x number of hours. Be safe. Kick ass."

God, I love that woman. "Don't I always?"

We hang up and I know that this very second she's sending up a chopper from some random place that I'm not even supposed to know about so she can monitor my vehicle the second I turn on the ignition.

I walk back to the living room, my posture straight and my face free of anything remotely related to sadness. Granger looks up at me, rising when he sees the change in my attitude. "Good phone call?"

A ghost of a smile crosses my lips and I slip my phone back into my pocket. "Get dressed."

"I am dressed."

"I don't mean sweats and a tee."

"And why am I changing?" He folds his arms over his chest defensively, spreading his legs wider apart.

My answer probably sounds colder than I mean it too, more threatening and kinda evil. "Because, Colby, we're going on a little field trip."

A/N: So, if you liked it and would like to read more, press that itty bitty purple button and I shall oblige :)