Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

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Alan insisted Charlie go to a drive-thru so they could get something to eat, ignoring his son's complaints that they were wasting time. As they drove down the highway, the smell of food was too much for Charlie and he realized how hungry he was. Alan smiled and handed him the extra burger he had bought in anticipation of the request. They had both eaten very little that week and though Charlie had finally eaten a large breakfast, it had been earlier in the day. While they gulped their food, Alan managed to speak in between bites.

"I'm sorry for the way I've been acting Charlie." He continued to chew. "Maybe we would have thought of this sooner if I hadn't been so angry about what happened in court."

Charlie stole some fries from the bag his father had dropped between their seats. "Is that the pot apologizing to the kettle? If so, this is the kettle apologizing to the pot." After swallowing the fries practically whole, Charlie wiped his hands across a napkin he'd laid on his jeans. "I don't think either of us was thinking too clearly this past week."

"This past week? Humph," Alan said, "we haven't been thinking straight since Don got home. Should have taken off a long time ago."

"Yeah," Charlie shook three fries at his father, keeping the steering wheel steady with his left hand, "maybe- but who would have thought those courts would be crazy enough to give Don to Thompson?"

Alan snatched the fries from Charlie and ate them down in two bites, following the food with a long draw on his straw, sucking in half the pop in the oversized cup. Charlie grabbed it out of his hands before he could put it down, draining the remainder of its contents.

Both men fell silent when they finished eating, Alan deciding to get a few hours sleep, his spirit rejuvenated with the food and the thought of holding his son once again. Charlie focused on keeping a steady speed so they wouldn't be pulled over- it took all of his control to prevent his foot from pressing the pedal all the way down, his desire to reach Don throwing all other thoughts from his mind.

Please wait for me, Charlie chanted in his mind, I'm coming for you, Don.

A little over four hours later, Charlie was exiting the highway and making his way down the road that would eventually take them to Melinda Thompson's home. He remembered his way from when he had taken Jimmy there to see his grandfather Bob, the memory appearing to be from an event from a long time in his past. Had it really been only a month since he'd first come here, passing by Thompson's house on his way home and seeing his brother standing in her front window, not knowing who he was or the horrible treatment he was receiving while he was there? Charlie felt as if he was coming full circle to that first night, wondering if Don was staring out Thompson's front window once again, waiting for this brother and father to come get him. If so, Charlie was determined this would not be a repeat performance; this time, there would be no passing by Thompson's home and leaving Don behind. This time, whatever the consequences, they were going to get his brother and bring him home, Charlie defining home the same way Don had, as anyplace where he, his father, and his brother were allowed to be together.

As they were coming upon Thompson's house, Charlie looked for a place to hide their car. He found one on the opposite side of the street and two city blocks down from her home. Charlie pulled into the small enclave with high bushes on all sides but the one through which he drove, the ground easy to drive onto because it was covered in low weeds. He shut off the engine and put the keys in his front jeans pocket, waiting while his father stretched and woke up completely. A car passed them- Charlie could hear its engine but could not see it, satisfied they were completely concealed as the bushes were so dense the lights of the car had not been able to penetrate them. Finally, he took a deep breath and turned to his father.

"Okay, so what's the plan?"

Alan stared at him in shock. "What do you mean, what's the plan? You're the one who dragged me from the house saying we're going to kidnap Don- you should have the plan."

Charlie sank as if embarrassed into his seat. "I knew we had to get Don and what we'd need to take care of him once we had him again, but I didn't figure out the stuff in-between arriving here and driving away with Don."

Alan ran a hand over his face. "Charlie, I may be wrong, but that stuff in-between is going to be the most difficult part of our scheme."

He looked at his son; the crumpled-up way he sat suddenly reminded Alan of his son's natural childlike inclinations and innocence. It should not have surprised him that Charlie hadn't thought out a method by which they could force themselves into a woman's home and physically take Don away from her; Charlie could respond angrily when provoked, but to sit down and plan a crime was really not something that would come easily to his youngest son.

Thinking of himself, Alan realized it was something that would come easily to him; after all, he had organized and partaken in peace protests that were at times considered criminal acts, even though he had known his behavior fell within traditional lines of moral conduct. Their current situation was the same- it might be criminal to break into Thompson's house and the courts might say they had no right to possess Don- but Alan had absolutely no doubts that what they were doing was morally right, and he knew Charlie felt the same. However, Charlie driving to the house with the intention of getting his brother was not the same as a physical confrontation with Thompson; no matter how wicked she was, it probably bothered Charlie to think about having to harm her, as he had never been prone to violence. Alan thought about how he had been able to lean on Charlie for over three months, his youngest son taking care of both him and his brother, the strength Charlie had shown . But caring for his family was something that Charlie could understand- physical aggression was beyond his comprehension. It was most likely the reason Charlie had told Alan he needed him; Charlie needed his father as backup in case he was unable to use the physcial force that might be necessary to complete their task.

After having leaned so heavily on Charlie for so long, Alan thought it was fair that his son wanted to lay the weight of their current predicament on him.

Now, if he could just figure out what they should do...

Alan spoke slowly, voicing his thoughts as they came to him. "I think our best bet would be to sneak in through a basement window in the back and work our way upstairs to Thompson-get some kind of control over her before going to Don- you know, tie her up or something like that. We'd be able to get Don out of there without hurting her and it would give us enough time to get out of state before she could call in the authorities. It's not much of a plan, but what do you think, Charlie?"

Relieved to have his father directing this part of the show, Charlie nodded. "If you don't mind, maybe you could carry this, too?" He handed the gun to his father. When Alan checked it and saw it was empty, he asked Charlie for the bullets, loading the gun while Charlie watched him nervously. "I brought it, but I really didn't think we'd use it."

"Charlie," Alan said as he checked the safety, "I know you're determined to get your brother and I think you would prefer to do so without force, but don't forget this woman is dangerous. I don't want to have to use this either- I'm not sure if I even know how this thing works- but if I have to, I will. If nothing else, then you and Donny can go hide someplace."

"No way," Charlie shook his head, "No sacrifices, Dad- if we all go in, we all come out together, no matter what happens. That's the deal."

"Okay, Charlie," Alan agreed reluctantly, knowing he would not keep his promise if it meant his sons could get away and he was left to deal with any mess he and Charlie made. He climbed out of the car along with Charlie, hiding the gun under the front of his shirt. They walked slowly to the road and looked both ways for cars, and then around them for prying eyes; they found neither as the road was deserted and there were no neighbors within sight. The nearest one was Bob Anderson, and his house was on the opposite side from where they were making their approach.

Once they were sure all was clear, Charlie and Alan ran across the street, heading into the woods that led up to Thompson's home. They walked steadily but were careful of where they stepped, their hands held out in front of them so they did not stumble into a bush or tree; there was no moon out and it was almost pitch black, making their progress slow and rough. But they had no choice, not wanting to risk Thompson seeing them if they walked along the road. It took over twenty minutes to reach the edge of the trees; once there, they carefully observed Thompson's home before making their final approach.

"I don't see a car," Charlie whispered, "but she has a garage, so it might be inside."

"Doesn't look like any lights are on," Alan noted, "you don't think she took Don somewhere?"

"Well, there's only one way to find out. So, we're going in through the back?"

"Basement window."

Alan added with a note of sarcasm, "That's where he supposedly got all those rat bites." Fueled by the anger that memory brought them, Alan and Charlie immediately crouched down and rushed to the back of the house, stopping at the nearest basement window. They scanned the area to see if anyone had detected their presence, but saw nothing that indicated anyone had- no lights coming on in Bob's house across the way and none in the house before them. All was still, the only sound coming from crickets chirping in the grass all around them. Charlie left Alan momentarily, raising his finger to indicate his father should wait, and he ran around the side of the house, peering into the garage through a window, waiting for his eyes to adjust so he could make out its interior, then running back to his father.

"No car," Charlie whispered, "I thought she might have left Don alone- it was the only way he could have called us."

"Then let's hurry," Alan replied. "If she's not home, we should be able to get him without a confrontation. I'll try the back door- better forget the front, it's too risky. We don't want anyone calling the cops." Alan walked up the few steps leading to the back door and tugged; locked. Alan moved his hands along the door and frame, and then banged on the window next to it. No response. If Don was in there, he was unable to answer them. He finally gave up and returned to Charlie. "Door's too strong to break it in. Guess we're stuck with the window."

Alan leaned down in front of the basement window. It was comprised of twelve individual panes of thin glass. They could see the lock for the window inside and just above the bottom frame.

Charlie took off his jacket. "I guess we can do like on TV and break the glass with a rock and my coat." He folded the jacket and placed it over the center, bottom pane, trying to center it while his father looked for a rock or stone. Alan returned empty-handed.

"Here," Alan said dropping to his knees with a groan, "hold your jacket in place while I..." Alan turned sideways, leaned on his left hand, bent his right arm in half and suddenly slammed his elbow into the center of the jacket. He overestimated his strength, his elbow going easily through the glass and pulling him off-balance into the window, shattering it in several places. He tried to extract his elbow but found a shard of glass, still attached to the window frame, was shoved into his arm at an angle that prevented him from moving without tearing his skin halfway up to his shoulder.

"Charlie," he gasped. "I'm stuck."

Charlie crouched, keeping the jacket up out of the way so he could see the problem. He saw the piece of glass and grasped it between his finger and thumb, bending it forward until it broke free from the frame. Alan slowly extricated his elbow, gingerly pulling the glass free from his arm and tossing it aside.

"You're bleeding," Charlie noted, having released the jacket and taken his father's arm in his hands. "Not too bad, I think. Got something we can wrap it with?"

"Maybe my handkerchief- but later." Alan looked around them nervously. "We need to get inside before someone sees us."

As if on cue, they heard a car pull in front of the house. "Damn!" Alan and Charlie whispered in unison. They listened as footsteps approached the house, a screen door was opened, and a key turned in a lock; then, moments later, the front door shut.

"Now what do we do?" Charlie asked.

"Original plan- get in there and do whatever's necessary to free Don."

Charlie left his jacket where it lay and reached his hand through the opening Alan had made, unlocking the window. "Me first, okay?"

Alan patted him on the back to indicate agreement then pulled the window up. Charlie brushed aside as much glass as he could before lying on his stomach and sliding into the house, steadying himself when his feet touched the basement floor. Immediately, he felt stinging in his palms. Carefully, he brushed his fingertips over his skin, pulling out any small shards of glass that he encountered, ignoring the wetness he felt welling from several of the fine cuts. Then, Charlie stood near the window, at its side, so he could help his father climb down in. Alan handed Charlie the gun before following his lead and lying on his stomach to slip in. Charlie held the gun in one hand and kept the other on Alan's back so his father did not lose balance.

Once Alan was inside, he brushed several slivers of glass from his palms before taking the gun. Charlie tugged his arm, leading him to a corner where they could barely see by the glow of several tiny squares on the fuse box. Overhead, they could hear Thompson walking around. She sounded as if she went into one room at the back of the house, but a few minutes later was up in one at the front. As Charlie took his father's handkerchief and quickly tied it around his bleeding arm, they heard a door open and shut about the middle of the house.

"Ready?" Alan asked Charlie.

Charlie pulled himself to his full height, replying with a firm "yes".

Alan gripped his son's shoulders, quietly telling him, "No matter what happens, Charlie- I am trusting you to take care of your brother. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Dad," Charlie said. "You can trust me."

Alan gave him a quick hug, whispering in his ear. "I know I can, Charlie. I've been doing just that the past three months. You're mother would be proud of the man you've become."

Charlie squeezed his father. He knew he would do whatever he had to in order to save Don, but it was good to know he had his father with him to provide much-needed support. In all of his life, Charlie never thought he would be doing something like this, and he hated to admit it- he was scared. If anything went wrong, any one of them could get hurt- even Don.

The two Eppes men broke apart and moved along to the stairs, not wanting to trip over anything and give their presence away. At the bottom of the stairs, Alan clicked off the safety on the gun. Patting Charlie again on the shoulder, he started to slowly ascend the stairs, his son right behind him, both men trying to be careful not to make any noise.

Then they heard Don scream "No, Mommy!" and all cautions were thrown aside as they pounded up the stairs and through the upper door, Alan with the gun shakily extended before him and Charlie hysterically yelling for his brother.

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Megan stood in Bob's kitchen, wondering why she had yet to get through to Charlie or Alan. She had left messages throughout the day, but still no response. Finally, she had contacted David, who promised he would drive by and see how they were doing. This was supposed to have made her feel better, but David had called an hour before and reported nobody appeared to be at home and their car was not in the driveway or garage.

Where did they go?

Even earlier, she had seen Thompson drive away from her house, but it had not been something Megan expected so she had been unable to follow the woman to see where she and Don were going. As a result, Megan had been stuck in Bob's kitchen for over five hours, watching for Thompson's return- the lights off to prevent Thompson from seeing Megan leaning against the kitchen counter with her binoculars trained on her home, the night vision option turned on because there were no lights in the front or the back of Thompson's house.

Megan was in the midst of yawning and deciding to call it a night- really morning she thought tiredly- when she saw movement near the woods next to Thompson's house. She could not be sure, but it had looked like two dark forms had run from the woods to the Thompson's backyard. Wanting a better look, Megan stole from the kitchen, crouching once she was outside, and entered Bob's backyard, moving as far back as she could so she would have an unobstructed view of the back of Thompson's house and then hiding behind a small bush. She focused the binoculars on the general area behind Thompson's house, scanning up and down the backyard until she could see what had caught her attention. She bolted straight up when she saw two vague figures fooling with a basement window. The small height of the one standing was offset by the largeness of the one kneeling beside it.

She knew they had to be Alan and Charlie.

Megan wondered if they knew Thompson and Don weren't there and were planning to ambush her when she brought him home. Just then, Thompson pulled up to the front of the house and parked outside her garage. Megan turned the binoculars on the woman, groaning when she realized Thompson was by herself and carrying what looked like medical supplies.

All that time Don had been alone and Megan had done nothing to get him from that house. And those medical supplies- what had Thompson done to Don that required her to travel a presumably long distance to get them, obviously in an attempt to prevent local people from commenting the same thing- what do you need those for? Now, Megan realized with growing horror, Charlie and Alan were in there with Thompson- both men defenseless against that kind of woman.

Megan made a quick decision to help. Using the binoculars to see the path in front of her, it did not take Megan long to slip past the fence dividing the properties and make her way to Thompson's, the whole while keeping low to the ground, slowing when she neared her destination. Megan made her way around back, seeing the broken window leading to the basement. She knelt before it, but the glass scattered about as well as the blood made her form the opinion that it wouldn't be the best way for her to get into the house. Moving on, she stepped up to the back door and tried to turn the knob.

Locked.

Frustrated and impatient to get inside, Megan decided the direct approach might be best, saying, "To hell with it!" as she kicked in the door.

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Melinda had arrived home tired and angry.

The hospital had told her they had a new set of rules-have to meet the federal guidelines- and she had to fill out a multitude of forms before she was able to get the supplies she needed. The whole affair had taken much longer than she anticipated and she could only hope her son was still adequately sedated.

Though really, she thought as she entered the front door, she could easily solve that problem even if he resisted, now that she was equipped with a full case of syringes. And injecting a liquid sedative into her son would be much easier than trying to get him to drink it in powdered form every time it was required. He was bound to eventually figure out his bottles were laced with something that made him sleepy, so yes, the injections would be much more efficient.

Melinda turned on the living room light, checked her son- he looks so beautiful when asleep- and took her supplies into her bedroom, laying them out. She was halfway through sorting them when she suddenly stopped, dropping a syringe back in its original place.

Something seemed out of place in her house, but she couldn't think what it was. Trying to brush the uneasy feeling aside, she continued...

The living room- it was in there, when she first entered the house. Melinda left her bedroom, walking quickly to the front of the house, standing in the middle of the living room as she looked around it.

What is it?

There.

Melinda stood in front of the phone, its receiver hanging almost imperceptibly off the hook. She put it in place, hesitating several moments before lifting the receiver to her ear and hitting redial.

When the sound of Charlie and Alan's voices came across the line, Melinda's cold fury lowered the temperature of the room ten degrees. She replaced the phone and walked to her son's room, turning on the light as she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her and stepping across to grab the belt on the dresser where she had put it after force-feeding her son his dinner.

Two more steps and she yanked down his briefs, Don looking at her with sad and unfocused eyes. Then her hand was raised above her head and the lashes started, one after the other, Don still too drugged to stop her, finally able to scream "No mommy" with the last bit of his strength before he began to slip into unconsciousness, the beatings too much for his already wrecked body.

Melinda's mind was set on one thing only: teaching her son the consequences of contacting his former family. She did not hear Alan and Charlie clobbering up the basement stairs nor Charlie's voice crying out for his brother.

Her attention was completely on her task.

Charlie and Alan checked two doors before stumbling into Don's, Charlie throwing himself over Don when he saw Thompson raising her hand to thrash him again, while Alan dropped the gun and tried to contain Melinda, putting his right hand over her arm and tugging her towards him, away from his sons. Charlie pulled his feet up onto the bed, his hands on either side of Don's shoulders, completely covering his brother as he had done in their bed when keeping away the bad dreams that had assaulted Don, receiving three lashes of the belt across his own back before his father turned the woman away from them. "I'm here, Don, I'm here," Charlie whispered soothingly, sucking back sobs as he felt his shirt dampen from where the skin had broken on Don's backside and began to bleed.

Melinda faced Alan with burning eyes, hatred so harsh he was shaken to his very core and faltered in his grip, the woman taking advantage and striking him across the face with the belt. But Alan swiftly recovered, snatching the buckle end of the belt from her hand and shoving her back against the dresser, his own rage so strong he briefly lost control, using the belt to strike the woman across her upturned hands and upper arms repeatedly, bellowing at her- "How does it feel! How does it feel!" with every blow he hit her with, stopping at last when Thompson collapsed to the floor, moaning.

Alan dropped the belt, staggering towards his sons, a heart wrenching cry escaping his lips when he saw the condition Don was in, falling to his knees and holding his sons protectively. "Oh, lord, look what she's done- look what she's done."

Behind them, Melinda lifted up on her arms, glaring at them, shaking from the pain that Alan's beating had dealt her. She wiped the hair from her sweaty brow, her eyes falling on the gun Alan had dropped in their scuffle. Keeping her eyes on Charlie and Alan, who were trying to wake Don, she picked up the gun and drew herself to her feet, silently stepping back towards the open bedroom door, gripping its edge in order to steady herself.

Melinda raised the gun, pointing it at the back of Alan's head, slowly pulling the trigger...

Then she felt a hand grip her shoulder, spinning her around, the gun discharging wildly away from the Eppes, looking into the face of Megan, who pulled back her fist and cold cocked Melinda with a single punch.

Charlie and Alan stared at Melinda's limp body lying flat on the floor in front of them; then they raised their eyes to Megan, who was busy picking up the gun. Once it was in her possession, she turned on its safety and slipped it into the top band of her shorts.

"Megan," Charlie whispered, "can you teach me to do that?"