Note: Thank you so much for taking the time to write reviews, it means a lot to me and really helps keep me inspired to write. This won't be an epically long story; it follows the basic Numb3rs formula of setting up a crime and solving it. That being said, my stories always tend to drag on a little longer than I anticipate ;)

EPPES RESIDENCE, 0400, EIGHT DAYS AFTER THE ARREST

It would have been an endearing sight if it didn't make Amita's heart ache. Charlie was slumped forward on a chair by the blackboard, his forehead resting against the board. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep; the chalk was still clutched almost desperately in his hand.

Amita approached and rubbed Charlie's back in a tender greeting, and Charlie turned his head to look at her. "Charlie –" she took in his utterly lost expression and stopped. "Charlie, you will solve this." She rubbed the red line across his brow where his head had been pressed against the bottom of the board.

"I – don't know. I've never worked a case without Don – I go to the FBI and he's not there – I come home and it's so empty. His intuition is such a vital part of what we do, I can look at his face and see what he's reading about the human element. Without him, I feel like I'm spinning around in three dimensions without any frame of reference."

Amita wrapped her arm around his shoulders and half hugged, half pulled him to the couch. His unresisting form reflected just how dispirited he was, and after a minute Amita spoke again. "I was thinking about visiting Don today. How is he doing?"

"I don't know – I haven't been to see him since that first time."

Amita startled. "Wha – I would think you would be there every day. Why –"

"I just can't, okay? I can't handle it. Seeing him like that, feeling like – like a part of me is being killed and I can't do anything. I can't handle not being able to walk him out of there."

"Charlie…" she took his hands and rubbed them, while he sat, head down and eyes closed. "You're the most important thing he has in there. You realize how much seeing you must mean to him? The rest of us can get in once a week if we're lucky – how would it feel if you were in there and Don never came to see you, and reassure you?"

Charlie's expression didn't change, but a tear trickled from one tightly closed eye. "I'm not Don. I can't handle this stuff. I just can't – go through this again."

"Go through what again?" asked Amita, keeping her voice soft to blunt the impact of her words. "Seeing Don in prison? Charlie – is there a deeper fear at play here?"

"You mean my mother, don't you?" he asked, twisting the cuff of his jacket. She nodded. "I knew. For months, I knew and I couldn't stop what was happening to her. Don – Don and I weren't close then, but now…."

"That was a disease," she said, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "Nobody could stop it. This is a case, it's a problem, and I don't know anyone in the world better at beating this sort of thing than you and Don's team at the FBI. This story has a different ending, I promise."

Charlie pulled Amita into his arms and kissed her. "I'm so sorry – I've been absent from – us."

"Charlie – when I was kidnapped –"

Charlie brushed her hair back from her face. "Yes?" he asked, concerned.

"After – all the shooting started, I was on the floor, I hit my head, and I didn't know what was happening. I just kept wondering which shot was going to kill me. Then – I saw Don, and – that was probably the most intense relief I've ever felt. He was looking down at me, and the concern in his eyes was – it was like instant safety. He called me sweetheart. He was the first sane person I'd seen in two days – and I don't think I've ever felt more grateful for anything in my life."

Amita took a deep breath, collecting her emotions, and it took everything Charlie had not to interrupt, not to hug her and cut off the painful memories. "I loved him so intensely – for being there, and for looking at me with so much kindness, after - then he led me out and when I saw you – it was like everything else vanished. Don just faded into the background and left with the others, and I forgot he even existed."

She put her hands on Charlie's chest and looked deep into his eyes, troubled. "I wonder how many times he's done that for people, and never had them look back. What does it do to you, to work so hard, to go days without sleep and put your life on the line to save someone, and they just leave you in the dust?"

"I – don't think Don sees it that way," said Charlie. "Those moments are important to him too. He's so content when he comes home after he was able to save someone, it's what he lives for."

Amita relaxed in his arms, laying her head against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. "Have you ever talked to Don about this?" asked Charlie. "Told him how much that meant to you?"

She shook her head. "I – I think I was afraid it would be awkward, or he wouldn't understand the words the way I meant them. I just said thank you."

Charlie stroked her arm softly. "I think he probably understood."

US DOJ METROPOLITAIN DETENTION CENTER, NINE DAYS AFTER THE ARREST

"I wish you'd stop being so cheerful," Charlie admitted with a small smile. "I know you're just trying to make me feel better."

"Anything wrong with that?" asked Don, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, anything to keep you from going so long without stoppin' by again."

"It's not really working," said Charlie, trying not to stare at the orange jumpsuit his older brother looked so out of place in.

A genuinely affectionate smile spread across Don's face. "Hey. You know when they arrested you, and you were telling me how there was this little bunch of pits in the wall above the bed? Looked like the big dipper, said they reminded you of Larry?"

Charlie nodded.

"Guess what's above the bed where I've been living?"

Charlie emitted an incredulous half laugh, grinning despite himself. "You mean we've both been held in federal detention in the same cell?"

"Yep," said Don, returning the grin. "The Eppes brothers, criminal masterminds."

"Wow. That's –" Charlie stopped trying to talk and just smiled.

"Yeah." After a long, affectionate look passed between the two of them, Don spoke again. "It's gonna be okay, buddy. Don't drive yourself so hard, all right?"

"Since when have you not driven yourself when you were working on a case?" challenged Charlie.

"Yeah, well, lives aren't on the line here. Financial crimes cases move slower than violent crimes, that's just the way things are."

Charlie gave him a rebuking look. "Yours is. I've been working with you too long to be that naive, Don."

"Yeah?" asked Don softly. "Okay, then you know what could happen every time I walk out the door."

Charlie winced. "I guess – this scares me more, knowing you can't fight back."

Don watched him quietly, taking a long moment to make up his mind. "Back when I worked fugitive recovery – some things happened. Not bein' able to fight back doesn't mean giving up."

"Don-" Charlie stared, his eyes seeking out every line on his brother's face, every shade of expression in his eyes. The same person he'd known a minute ago looked back with calm, even gentle understanding. This Don was at once the brother he knew and the stranger he didn't.

"You take these risks too, you know," said Don, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the steel table. "Do you know how much that scares me, seeing you get tangled up with my world? You don't even have the training to defend yourself, now that's worry."

Charlie swallowed hard, momentarily scared and feeling very alone. Without Don at the helm, the world of the FBI forfeited its fascination for a sense of fear and forbidding. "It's hard, working on this without you. I mean – the guys are great -"

Don raised his eyebrows. "Hard on you? Do you know how nuts it's driving me not to be working this case? How many times I've gotten an idea and reached for my cell phone before I remember the bastards took it away from me?"

Charlie grinned, relieved at the sudden lightening of the mood. "Let me get this right. You're framed and locked up in solitary confinement without bail, and your most strongly worded complaint is that they took your cell phone away?"

Don's eyes twinkled in amusement. "How else am I gonna wake David up in the middle of the night to run down leads?" He leaned back in the chair. "Nah. I do miss work. A lot."

The look he gave Charlie was contemplative and unusually open. "But I dunno. Out there, all the lines I've crossed, people I've hurt – they're looking back at me, every day."

Charlie looked back at him for a long time. That was exploration, not self-pity or even quite guilt. Don's expression was open; his relaxed posture an invitation to discussion.

"Amita and I were talking last night. About when you rescued her, and how much love she felt for you in those moments when you were taking care of her. Do – do those people ever look back at you?"

"Yeah," Don admitted, tapping his fingers on the table while he contemplated. "They tend to have tears in their eyes."

"That has to be hard, to be the first person someone sees after they're kidnapped, or tortured…."

"It's easier than finding their body, I'll tell you that much." Don sighed. "Nah, bringing someone home alive, that's a good day. Nothing better than knowing you helped save a life. But that hurt – there's no undoing it."

Charlie nodded. "Amita's said there are things that scare her now. But she's more affected by learning how important she was to us. You sent in helicopters. That's what you do for people. They'll know for the rest of their lives that a stranger cared enough to track them down and fight for them."

Don contemplated Charlie's words for a minute. "Is that why you do this? FBI stuff? I mean – I know it's hard on you, it's bad for your career…"

"What, like it's not hard on you?" challenged Charlie, and Don give him a small smile of concession. "I'm not exactly sure why I like it yet, and to be quite honest – a close look at the psychological motivations behind my involvement tends to be uncomfortable. But have you seen the research on our inability to relate to genocide and other mass tragedies?"

"Actually – yeah, I think I read something like that. Like, we'll go all out to rescue a lost hiker, but we go numb and don't do anything when a million people starve to death?"

"Exactly. We cease to relate emotionally to tragedy when the numbers exceed our immediate comprehension. I love my academic work, and I appreciate on an academic level that I can help far more people in that capacity than I could by chasing down cases with you guys. But the emotional rewards are far higher on this micro level, where one can see and feel the impact on real lives."

Don smiled, a soft expression on his face. "You're hooked, buddy. All this job takes out of you, and you still come to work each day thinking you can't believe you get to do this for a living. You get hurt, see things that'll haunt you forever, and there is nothing you'd rather do than chase the rush of stopping a bad guy from hurting someone."

"And getting to work with someone you care about," said Charlie, unable to stop himself from glancing away in a sudden fit of shyness.

Don, too, glanced away before speaking. "It's been good. Really, really good."

"Hey," said Charlie. "No speaking in the past tense. We'll get you out of here."