Disclaimer: Numb3rs and its characters belong to CBS, not to me. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance with actual people or places is purely accidental.
Timeline: Roughly between seasons two and three, so the team consists of Megan, Colby, and David (and Don, of course).
Warning: Don't read the rest of this warning if you don't want to read story spoilers. Seriously, stop now. But if you don't like character deaths, be informed that there is something that looks like a character death in the initial chapters of this story (up to chapter eight or nine). No reason to freak out, though – everything is not as it seems. I'm a Charlie-girl, so this is heavily CharlieWhump, DonAngst.
Another warning: this is a long one, as in 62 chapters plus an epilogue. Don't want to scare you away, just thought you should know what you're getting yourselves into ;)
A/N: I've written this story several years ago and published it on another fanfiction website. Since I kind of still like it, I've decided to translate it into English and post it here as well. So this is another warning: I don't have a beta and I'm not a native speaker, so this story is bound to have some mistakes, most of them concerning grammar (especially prepositions… hate them) and choice of words. I still hope it's not too bad so that if you decide to read it, you won't be too repelled by what I tentatively consider English language. Feel free to correct me, though – I'd like to learn from my mistakes :)
Edit (06/18/18): On that note thanks a lot to KCK-Lumcer! Funny thing is that later on you might come across some beers that should be bears. If you spot them (or other free-roaming typos), please feel free to notify me :)

Hope you enjoy!

1. The Beginning

Not for the first time this evening, Don's gaze went up to the clock at the wall before it almost automatically jumped back to the cell-phone, which was lying directly next to the cordless phone of the landline on the small table in his living room. It was 9 PM – no, as a matter of fact, it was four minutes after 9 – and he'd actually been able to leave work at a reasonable hour today. However, he hadn't really made use of his leisure time. He'd declined his colleagues' invitation of coming with them to grab a beer and a bite to eat, and even though he was well aware that he wasn't passing any quality time, he was glad he wasn't sitting in some bar right now, but here, relaxed, on his comfortable couch, alone. He needed the quiet, was tired and exhausted; the past week in the office was taking its toll. Besides, he mused, his team probably wouldn't have enjoyed his company all that much anyway, for his tense thoughts didn't really add to his level of gaiety.

After he'd come home, he'd watched today's baseball game on the television, and since he'd just left it turned on, he was now watching an old movie. Well, what counts as watching. To tell the truth, he wasn't really paying attention. If he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that he had no idea what the movie was about, and neither could he remember the game's final score.

His eyes went back to the clock. Since his last check, the second hand had made a bit more than half a round, but the phone remained silent. Don thought about turning the TV back on in order to get through waiting, but told himself that it could only be a matter of seconds now until the phone would ring. Reaching for the remote would be a waste of energy.

He sighed and leaned back deeper into the cushions of his couch, thoughtfully eyeing his beer bottle. Maybe he should have gone out with his team after all. Or he could have spent the evening with his dad, at Charlie's house. That is, no, he couldn't have, his father wasn't home tonight. Don frowned as he tried to remember what it was that his father was up to tonight. Golfing hardly seemed plausible at this time of day, and neither could it be his book club or his volunteer work for the homeless people, those meetings had never been on a Wednesday, as far as Don could tell. So what... right, of course. He'd gone out with Millie.

Another look at the clock. Nine seven and three seconds.

Don sighed and turned the bottle in his hand, thinking that waiting would have been far more agreeable if he could have spent the time with Robin. Too bad she was busy tonight with that business meeting. A rueful smile appeared on his lips. Oh yeah, she was definitely a workaholic, almost as bad as himself. Or, if Don thought well about it, maybe even worse. No wonder the two of them fit together so nicely. G-d, she was such a great woman. He was so damn lucky to have her, so he'd better make sure not to mess this up again. But things were looking good, really good, they had a real solid relationship, steady, and honest. Yeah, she could really be the one...

Nine eleven and forty-one seconds.

"You're late, Chuck," Don mumbled. His eyes were resting on the two phoning devices for a long time. Maybe he should try to reach him and ask what was going on…?

"Don't make a fool of yourself," Don admonished himself. And stop talking to yourself, he silently added. He had better things to do than acquiring a multiple personality disorder. Or at least he would have better things to do if Charlie finally condescended to call him. One thing was certain, Don wouldn't start acting as a concerned father-substitute and assail him with phone calls, especially because…

Damn. For a moment there, he'd actually forgotten about that. Of course he wasn't going to assail Charlie with phone calls, because he couldn't: he had no number by which to reach his brother.

While Don gave the clock another glance (nine fourteen and thirteen seconds), he reached towards the phone, not really knowing whom he was going to call, but then he halted abruptly. There was no reason for such activism. Charlie's call was overdue for fourteen minutes – but fourteen minutes was nothing. Don knew his brother. If Charlie had immersed himself in a math problem, he could easily be late half an hour, certainly fourteen minutes. No, there was no reason why Don should be worried just because Charlie was a little late.

Even though Charlie had called him on time every time during the past four weeks.

And even though Don had no idea where he was.

No, no reason to worry. Everything was just fine.

Don sighed and ran his hands over his face. Just whom the hell was he kidding?

Of course he knew that Charlie merely did calculations, that he wasn't out in the field. Of course he knew that civilians were always well protected, especially in secret operations. Still, he was worried.

He knew that it was probably completely exaggerated. However, that didn't mean he could just turn off that nagging voice in the back of his head, and going by the data he had gathered in that respect over the last couple of weeks, he wasn't going to get a good night's sleep before he knew that his brother was safely back home. And by now, he really wouldn't mind sleeping through a night for a change.

For twenty-eight days now, his brother had been working as a consultant for some law enforcement agency on some secret project that had been estimated to last for about a month. That was everything that Don knew. He didn't know what exactly his brother's task was or what the project was about, he didn't know where Charlie was, hell, he didn't even know whom he was working for.

Not that he hadn't tried to find out. At the beginning of Charlie's assignment, he'd been tormented by the circumstance of not knowing anything about the details of this assignment. Usually, he knew at least the place or the agency for which Charlie was working, or he wasn't even aware that his brother was working on something at all because he was able to do the calculations from home. This time, however, Charlie was gone for a month and Don had no idea how dangerous the assignment might be.

It was a small consolation that Charlie never ceased to assure him that everything was fine, that Don shouldn't worry. They talked on the phone often, though never for any length of time. Roughly speaking they were talking to each other about every other evening, but Charlie always knew when he'd call the next time, and he was always true to his word. He couldn't tell Don anything about his assignment, but he knew that this form on helplessness wasn't easy on his big brother, and he tried to make the situation easier on him by calling him regularly.

Don smiled as his memory offered him some chunks of words from his conversations with his brother. I can imagine that you're upset, but you know perfectly well that I can't tell you anything, Don… No, Don, I really can't, and now stop pestering me… Tell Dad not to worry about me. I'm fine here, really. And I am eating… I really made some ground today, it's really getting easier to get into the zone… I think I'll probably be back for the weekend. I already told Dad to buy steaks, for that's something that's really lacking here. I've already thought about drawing up an equation that shows how everyone's performance increases proportionally to the number of steaks eaten…

The steak-equation had been the day before yesterday, during their last conversation. Charlie had been in a good mood; the assignment was nearing its end and everything seemed to go smoothly. Maybe he's already on his way home? it suddenly occurred to Don. Maybe that's why he doesn't call?

But he knew that was nonsense. Charlie would have told him. And if he said he'd be done by the weekend, he'd be done by the weekend and not earlier, at least not that much.

But then what was the reason for Charlie being late?

Don't think about it, Don told himself. He's gonna tell you what's holding him up. Maybe they'd been able to make some unforeseeable progress and that was why Charlie couldn't or didn't want to leave for the phone. Or he was being delayed by somebody who wanted to talk to him. Or he was currently on the phone with Amita or their dad or Larry and didn't want to end the conversation abruptly. There was surely a rational explanation. Charlie was going to call, sooner or later. Don gave him time until ten o'clock. He didn't know what he was going to do then, but he needed the deadline. However, Charlie would surely have called him way before that and given him an explanation for the delay. No, there was no way he was going to be later than an hour.

That he was more than a little wrong about his estimation of the delay, that it would take much longer until he'd get some information concerning his brother, and that he'd be going through hell until then – no, those were things that Don was still blissfully unaware of.