A/N - Hey all. Here I am apologizing for another bit of a gap in posting. I moved this past weekend and had no idea how much junk I owned till now. If anyone knows of a magical organization fairy who can make it all livable please send them my way!

Thank you to all who are leaving anonymous reviews and to those I can't reply to. They're really sweet.

"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard

Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;

Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,

Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone…"

- Ode to a Grecian Urn, John Keats

The air was sacred and quiet, a handful of flames wavered from their votives as the door closed with a gentle hiss. It was long past visiting hours; that had ended some time ago. Alan shoved his hands deep in his denim pockets, the tails of the rumpled plaid shirt were untucked and coordinating with raspy, gray stubble. He took a seat in the back pew, the soft carpet muting his footsteps, leaving his companion nearer the front undisturbed.

Charlie had gone missing sometime in the last several hours. Alan wouldn't have even noticed him gone, except for when the doctor asked him to step out of the room while they checked under bandages and whatever else they had to do, it was only him the nurse escorted from the room. So he was left to wander the hall, disoriented when his youngest failed to materialize. A nurse was kind enough to tell him she had seen the younger man head towards the elevators.

Alan wandered down to the cafeteria. A few interns stood in a huddle that parted and moved towards the cash register as he pulled a paper cup from the stack. The coffee was hot and he drank it too fast, burning his tongue. There was a table far in the corner, he spent the time watching the waiting families and professionals. They blurred together like a watercolor when he realized that he was crying.

They had brought Don in the night before. There had been a long operation and very little sleep in a small, corner waiting room close to a nearly broken vending machine. Colby bought everyone nutty buddies and runts and Alan had never been so glad for those tiny candies. Marina had come and sat quietly in the corner. Alan never bothered to ask why.

His thoughts were broken as he watched Charlie stand up and walk towards the front of the small chapel. The light played across the professor's hair and hands as he lit a taper near the top edge of the stand. He stood there a long moment, shoulders slumping impossibly downward and eyebrows slightly raised as he turned and saw Alan.

"Dad?" There was a low note of panic in Charlie's words.

Pulling himself off the bench, Alan walked towards the front, "He's fine. They're checking him over."

Charlie nodded and then sat heavily back down. Alan joined him as the vigil lights cast a hypnotic spell over the room, "Susan..." Charlie leaned forward on his elbows, clearing his throat, "I met Susan Berry in church."

It was Alan's turn to raise his eyebrows, "I was there on an acoustics project, using Fourier... harmonic analysis. She was there to light a candle for her grandfather. He had pneumonia." Charlie leaned back again and rubbed a hand across his face, "Susan came every morning at eleven and pretty soon we were going to lunch together. She asked me about the orthogonality between sine and cosine and I asked her why she came every day. She said that he lived so far from her..."

Alan laid a hand on Charlie's back, massaging the knots there, "Susan said that maybe if she lit a candle every day, then God wouldn't forget her grandpa." His voice fell towards a whisper, "The superposition principle didn't seem quite so important after she said that."

They sat there, Alan left his arm on his son's back, eventually letting it rest on his shoulder, "It reminds me of the Hanukkah candles."

Charlie smiled at that, "Would it surprise you if I told you I said the second blessing when I lit it?"

"I think Don would appreciate that."

Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who wrought miracles for our fathers in days of old, at this season.

"I thought he might." Charlie shifted to face his father, more than light flickered in his eyes. "Dad, I'm scared. When they said that they weren't sure the rod would be enough..."

His words dropped off when he saw Alan wince and close his eyes, "Charlie..."

"That head injury is more than a concussion," The younger man nearly hopped as he stood back up. "Why else would he think he's going to miss his chance at the majors 'cause of a leg injury?"

He shook his head and let a wisp of nostalgia take over, "Do you think Don misses it?"

"Baseball?" Alan shrugged a little, "I would think so. You wouldn't guess it looking at him though."

It was a night for silence, questions didn't really need answers and answers didn't need any elaboration. Instead the pair sat there quietly as the ambient light through stained glass increased and an older woman joined them, crossed herself, lit a candle and clutched a strand of clear cut crystal that reflected in her hands.

"I'm gonna go back..." Charlie whispered.

Alan waved him on, "Go, I'll be up there in a few minutes."

Charlie slipped from the room. The woman gave Alan a nod which he returned. They were comrades-in-arms, in grief as they quietly acknowledged the other. She left as quietly as she came.

He approached the altar and picked up the white taper and lit a votive near the center of the grouping. For a moment he felt strange for what he'd just done. Then Alan thought that it didn't matter that much. He silently prayed the third blessing of Hanukkah, "Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has kept us alive, and has preserved us, and enabled us to reach this time..."

Numb3rs...Numb3rs...Numb3rs...

A distinct echo of yellow rubber connecting with a racket came from the other end of row of courts, the sign read Leamington Spa. It was close to midday, he squinted as he moved his sunglasses from the collar of his white polo to his eyes. The green clay was firm as he bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting for the serve.

He studied the figure on the other side of the net. Terry wore a short baby blue skirt with a white tank, her hair back in pigtailed braids. Don smiled, he like her hair that way, long and a more chestnut color, the way she had it back when they were in the Academy.

"You're gonna serve sometime today, Lake?"

She laughed, missing the jadedness that had built up around her over the years, "I think the phrase is be careful what you wish for."

"What? You don't think I can take you?"

"You just keep telling yourself that, Don."

Her arm raised high above her head as she threw the ball in the air, slamming it forward with the racket. Don shifted over to the right side of the court and set the ball back towards the other side. Terry lunged out and swatted it back, landing outside the line.

He could feel a line of sweat trickle down his back, "I think that would be fifteen to love, Ter." He knelt over, picked up the ball that was making a getaway near the chain linked fence. He set it bouncing between his hand and the court floor. Terry was waiting for him, her racket steady, her feet constantly in motion.

"I'm lulling you into a false sense of security, Eppes."

Don chuckled, "I think the word your looking for is loosing." He threw the ball up in the air and caught it, "Fifteen love." He threw the ball up once more and then hit it with full force.

Terry angled for it , "How about return to sender?"

"Maybe I should say the same thing."

Don was already to where she aimed but instead of making the serve, he tripped and went down. There was something wrong as he tried to get back up and then couldn't.

"You trying for sympathy points, Eppes?" Terry jogged over to the net, her voice a curious mix of sarcasm and concern, "Cause they don't count." She gasped when Don turned to look at her, his hands clutching his leg, the white tennis shorts slowly staining a deep red.

His voice shook as he stared at the stickiness on his hands, "Something's wrong, Ter. Something's really wrong..."

Numb3rs...Numb3rs...Numb3rs...

Alan shifted in the chair again. One of the nurses, Allie, he thought her name was, had pulled a recliner and cot in when she learned that he and Charlie had no intentions of leaving. He flipped through the Readers Digest, half reading an article on a chamber orchestra. Alan glanced up at the clock, it was after ten. Charlie had left half an hour ago or so to pick up a few things at home and to meet up with Amita and Larry.

Don was sleeping quietly now. When Alan had returned to the room earlier, the nurse was still there, first telling Charlie and then the both of them that there was an infection. She said that it wasn't a surprise really, what with how Don was injured in the first place. So they had started a more target specific antibiotic and it had seemed to help. His fever was lower and he looked better for it.

Alan reached over to the end table to pick up his now cold coffee. Back when it was warm, Don had been rambling about tennis and Terry Lake. Doctor Rolfhaus said it was the concussion, a pretty severe one, mixed in with the pain medications. He said the disorientation wasn't strange, that eventually, his thoughts would clear and Don would be fine.

He was surprised when he saw the family picture sitting on the nightstand. It had showed up sometime after Don had been moved to the private room, just when he wasn't sure. It was taken on Margaret's fiftieth birthday. They had a big party and someone, maybe Art or Rose, waved them together before she blew out the candles.

A smile teased the corners of his mouth as he thought of when Don physically dragged Charlie from the garage that afternoon. It was funny to see and everyone laughed at that. Alan redirected his attention back to the page, starting again at the top because he had never actually read it the first couple times through.

Not that he expected to this time either though.