Thanks for the reviews; they make me smile! For clues on how to break the code yourself, check out chapter 4 of my other fanfic...

4. Disintegrate

Don sat with his head in his hands, blinking furiously from both the cruel fluorescent lights that lined the soulless hallway and the tears that threatened, blurring his vision. Looking up, he stared fixedly through the observation window across the way, through which a frail form on a pristine hospital bed was visible. Charlie's pale face was contorted in concentration, as if he were simply trying to solve a difficult problem; even though his eyes were shut, Don felt his gaze upon him, its innocence waking more guilt within him than any accusation could have.

The sound of a door opening suddenly broke the silence; he started in surprise, his eyes meeting Terry's as she slipped into the ward.

"Hey," she said, lamely. "How is he?"

"Asleep," he replied, rubbing furiously at his eyes to hide the tears there. "Keeps talking in his sleep, spitting out numbers."

"Definitely Charlie," she admitted, stopping gin front of him and crossing her arms. Her expression was pained as she stared through the glass. "How could this have happened? He was one of the only ones not to visit the quarantine zone."

"Weaver," he answered simply.

"What?"

"Clarence Weaver visited the office when Charlie made the discovery that there were two viral strains loose. Remember he gave a long speech on the integrity of his coworkers? I was watching him; he was fooling around with something in his pocket. He was releasing the virus. It could have infected any of us – Weaver was just lucky that it chose Charlie, the only person whop could predict and stop the spread of the virus."

Terry stood for a minute, processing the information. "Maybe it wasn't just luck. Charlie hadn't slept or eaten since this started; he was the perfect target."

Don tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Our first priority now is finding Weaver. I have two units on the way to his house and another posted at his work. I want you to call David and start working on where else he might be."

She nodded. "What will you do?"

He stood and slipped on his coat. "I'm going to see Amita; maybe she can figure out how to use Charlie's formula. Or maybe she can break a code for me."

"A code?" Terry repeated with interest.

"It was something Charlie said; he told me had the answer." He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. It had six numbers scribbled on it.

17-8-312

"And this is the answer to…?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"I don't know, but I'll find out." The sudden strength in his voice made her stare. "I owe it to him."

"Don," she said levelly, handing the slip back to him, "none of this is your fault. You know that, right?"

Shaking his head, he pocketed the scrap and pushed past her. She watched him go with a concern that she knew in her heart was not purely professional…