Author's Note: Wow, thanks for all the reviews! I did not expect such a response. Thank you so much!

Charlie pulled off his headphones after the house had stopped vibrating.

Amita rolled her eyes at him as he timidly poked his head into the dining room. "Don't say a fucking word, Charlie."

He smiled in what he hoped was a sympathetic manner. "You're mad, huh? I thought the Rachel and the supersonic door slamming was a bad sign."

"Teenagers suck."

"It's only a few more years. And then a few more after that while we wait in agony to find out if we massively screwed up."

"My husband, so comforting."

"I've gotta get to class," he said. "We're still on for lunch, yeah?"

"Yeah." He kissed her on the cheek, before grabbing his coat, backpack, and key to his bike chain.

m m m

As the winter months set in, Charlie was really, really, starting to wish he still had a driver's license.

It truly hadn't been his fault. Don had called him, and there was shit going down at the FBI that they apparently needed a mathematician for. Immediately. He could accept that maybe the ensuing argument with the highway patrolman may have been kind of his fault, but...oh, well, to hell with it. The fact remained he was a fifty year old man riding a bicycle to work.

He locked up the bike and jogged to his first class, Mathematics for the Non-Mathematician. He'd been teaching this class for years, but now there was a distinct melancholia associated with it. He tried to suppress the feeling as he greeted the class.

m m m

If there was one thing that had not changed in twenty years, it was the office of Professor Charles Eppes.

The exact material had changed, but every surface was still piled high with papers. Every chalkboard still covered in scribbled equations. They'd returned from England a year after Rachel had been born, when Alan had fallen ill. They weren't sure if the move back to LA would be permanent or not, but when Alan eventually succumbed to heart attack in his sleep, it quickly became apparent that this was where they needed to be. Charlie and Amita began working at CalSci again, and they gave him back his office.

Larry Fleinhardt was waiting for him, sitting in his desk chair and fingering a sundial. He was creeping up on seventy, but was still clinging to his teaching position with as much enthusiasm as he'd always had for it. Not to mention he had a girlfriend twelve years younger than him.

"Morning, Larry."

"It's funny," he mused. "How people have dropped the 'good' in 'good morning.' I used to think it was a southern affectation, but it's so widespread..."

"Good morning, Larry," Charlie made a beeline for the coffee machine in the corner. "How's Megan?"

"She's good," Larry replied, eyes still on the sundial. "Very good."

Larry and Megan had both found their way back to Los Angeles in the last few years, resuming their relationship, while Megan joined Don again at the FBI. David Sinclair had also migrated back to LA, with his wife Elena and their children, adding to Don's team also, along with several younger newcomers.

"Don't you have class right now?"

Larry paused in his inspection of the dial. He looked up, and without saying a word, grabbed a handful of seemingly random papers off of Charlie's desk and sprinted out the room, presumably toward a lecture hall.

Charlie shook his head. He supposed that was another stagnant aspect of his life.

m m m

"Did you ride your bike here?"

"Nah, I took the bus," he smiled, taking a seat at the table across from her.

"Good, I worry about you."

"Apparently the DMV does too, hence the reason they took my license away."

Amita leaned across the table to kiss him lightly. "Good day so far?"

"I've had worse. You?"

"Same," she sipped at her drink. "I already got a call from Rachel's US history teacher. Got her phone taken away for the third time this month."

"That's better than usual," he frowned. "We should probably see to that, though."

Amita looked resigned. "I feel so helpless. I remember high school. I wasn't even aware people could get in as much trouble as she does."

"I was eleven in my junior year. Tell me about it."

"She takes more after Don, I suppose."

Charlie chuckled softly. "I never worried about him."

"Why not?"

"He was my big brother, invincible, as far as I was concerned. I was completely wrapped up in my own life at that point. He got arrested once at a party and I barely even noticed. And then that phase was over and he got serious about his life." He paused, and Amita spoke quietly.

"It's so different when it's your own daughter."

The humor had left the conversation. "Being at the FBI, you see what happens when women are in the wrong place at the wrong time. And Rachel seems to often put herself in an area where that wrong place is nearby."

Amita's lips were set in a thin line. It was clear he had upset her, even to him.

"I'm sorry; we should talk about something else."

They did manage to find another topic, but the rest of the meal seemed to have the volume turned down on it. They were laying down a credit card to pay the check when Charlie's cellphone chimed. He pressed talk and answered, "Charlie Eppes."

Amita watched him nod a few times, grab for his coat, and edge out of his seat. There was only one kind of regular call that could get him moving that quick.

"Right...I'll see you soon," he hung up, getting to his feet.

"Don?"

"He's gotta case."

"Try to be back by dinner?"

"I'll do my best."