A/N - I'd like to say thanks again to all of you for reviewing. I appreciate it so very much. And a special thanks to anonymous, Oznet, Summer and Cris for their reviews. I'd send you a personal note if I could pm you. Thank you so much for taking the time to drop by!

"Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,

Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture,

Not even the best,

Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice."

-Song of Myself, Walt Whitman

Twilight had begun to make its first appearance. A few extroverted stars reflected off the waves, the surf board broke through them silently leaving a mini wake behind. He paddled out to the west, toward the disappearing sun and the incoming waves.

The air was warm still; the coast always seemed cooler than the Valley, but not tonight. His wetsuit was in the truck, the swimming trunks working well enough for now. He had always preferred the feel of salt water over neoprene anyways.

Water was already drawing back into a wave. Don pulled himself up from the board with practiced balance, throwing his arms out at the last second to equalize. It wasn't a large swell, just enough to coast through to the shallows and then back again. A sort of beginners run to bring back summers long spent on the California shore.

He swam further out. His board floated in the water, he sat in the middle, letting his legs hang over either side. The moon was full, pulling the tides along in a careless fashion and pulling him along with them. Don let his fingers dangle, water lapped at them, teasing him to go out deeper.

Way out on his left, the beach grew smaller and headlights from the roadway flickered on. The Pacific panned out in front of him on the right, stretching for miles. He could make out the dark shadow of a sailboat heading in towards the docks, lanterns hung off the bow, lighting the way.

The waves were crashing on shore, their strength gathering. He laid on his stomach as he stroked his arms through the water, pushing himself forward to a new wave, one that promised to tunnel.

The white foam rose quickly, nearly catching him off guard. But he went with it, riding the pocket, pushing closer to his inner "zen" and channeling the spirit of Duke Kahanamoku. It was nearly black in the almond tube, he rode towards the light from the pier, the ring of water dissolving, urging him forward.

The long board flew out at the last second; the last of the wave came crashing down behind him, nearly on top of him. The wave plowed him over the falls, his feet meeting the sand. He rolled with the waves and the water, the board following on its leash behind. Don let himself rise, breaking through the surface. He let the momentum push him to the shallows, letting out a loud whoop through the night air.

He held on to the board, wiped the salt water that was dripping from his hair. A breeze tugged at him, caressed his face, making him close his eyes in appreciation. Don hoisted himself up and then fell back on the board, watching the stars from where he lay.

Had he ever felt more alive than in this moment?

Sagittarius aimed his arrow at the Corona Borealis, the Northern Crown of the summer sky and Hercules seemed almost to reach out to play at the Lyra close by. The water soaked his hair and everything seemed so right. The heavens were close, the ocean closer still. Don let himself drift and lost himself to the currents.

Numb3rs…Numb3rs…Numb3rs…

Alan Eppes pulled up the collar of his jacket. The rain made a sudden appearance this morning as he made his breakfast, sugar-sprinkled oatmeal and a banana. He was trying to be good. His doctor told him that he needed to watch his cholesterol and the last thing Charlie needed now was another family member in the hospital.

He had left the dishes in the sink in a vain effort to reach the hospital sooner. The drive from Pasadena to Santa Monica was slow. Slower than normal, the traffic teasing him in an almost painful way, the storm bringing everything to a near standstill.

He ran across the parking lot, dodging and weaving through the cars, to finally shake off the excess water as he stepped through the revolving doors. The receptionist was different today, a woman nearing seventy with her hair pulled back in a gentle pug. She gave him a curt nod as she turned to talk to a young boy who pounded the bell on the counter.

The elevators were just around the corner. He pushed the up arrow and waited, checking his cell one last time before he turned it off. There were no messages or voice mails. Alan was glad to see it. Charlie said he would only call him if something went wrong during the night.

With the double doors closing behind him, Alan rested his head against the wall, his stomach sinking to his feet with the heady motion. Charlie had insisted he leave, eat a good meal, shower and sleep in his own bed. And then come back sometime the next day when he was more human.

Alan agreed to it reluctantly. Charlie had taken time out earlier the day before for himself, to eat and to sleep. So then it had been his turn. It was hard to leave though, Don's second full night in the hospital. His fever had yet to fully break and his unconscious ramblings continued, leaving everyone to wonder what he was seeing, what was going on inside his head.

An orthopedic surgeon was brought in and said the leg was salvageable. So the good doctor put in a metal rod, fusing bone together. It had taken six hours and God knows how many screws; until finally somehow, like in the nursery rhyme, they put his son back together again.

Alan scrubbed his face with his free hand, the other holding his umbrella. It had been close, much too close for comfort. It left him thinking of the Tin Man on the Wizard of Oz and wishing that he could just tap his ruby slippers and take Don home.

But the Great and Powerful Oz wasn't done with him yet. An oil can wouldn't solve the problem. Doctor Rolfhaus said that months of physical therapy could possibly get rid of the inevitable cane and a few more after, the limp.

He stepped off on the fifth floor, the nursing staff hurried around him. They were in the middle of their mid-morning rounds, a few stopped to say hi. The door to room five eleven was cracked open slightly, a vaguely familiar voice rose and fell inside.

"Akhmatova lose much in translation. I think you like what she says in Russian much better."

Marina Kayakova's back was to the doorway. She had pulled a chair close to the bed, her legs tucked under her, right elbow on the mattress, Don's face hidden behind the recliner's back, "But you do not speak Russian. So I keep reading the English."

Alan leaned against the wall and watched her, half wondering where Charlie went.

"'...I'll tell you, Lena, actually I thought it up myself, and there's no better song in the world.' See, Anna is very wise. Says the girl wins the tsarevitch with her own heart. Is a beautiful story, da?" Marina continued on with the reading, interjecting commentary and literal translations when the volume in her hand was not enough.

"I make copy of tape for you, priyatel. Wake up and I will show you."

Marina set the book on the chair as she briefly squeezed Don's hand and then turned to leave. She gave Alan a shy smile and then quickly walked from the room, brushing by him in the slightest of ways.

Alan stepped out of the way when one of the nurses entered. She was tall and pear-shaped, with short brown hair. The chart was pulled from the edge of the bed as she made a few notations and changed the IV bag.

The covers shifted slightly. "Agent Eppes?" The nurse leaned over the bed, the chart forgotten, clattered to the floor, "Can you open your eyes for me?"

Audrey Hepburn told George Peppard in Breakfast at Tiffany's that it should only take four seconds to cross over to the door and that she'd only give him two. It took the former city planner less than that.

"Don?"

The agent's head was already tipped toward the door, eyes blinking slowly, not quite taking everything in. The woman left, told Alan to keep his son awake while she paged the doctor. Alan tightened his grip, not certain if he should laugh or cry. Instead, he settled on resting his hand on Don's arm.

"Wha'...?"

The sound was hardly there, more a groan than anything. His arm was cool as well, Alan pulled the covers higher, nearly to Don's chin.

"You took on a car and lost." Alan had hoped for more his usual sardonic inflection, relief instead pulled at it incessantly. "Sound familiar?"

Don tightly shut his eyes, the steady beep of the heart monitor speeding up, his fingers twisting at the counterpane. His head was thick and heavy and instead of seeing the world in sharp relief, colors were muted and glazed over and all the words seemed so echo-y and far away.

The little drummer boy eased up a little; he thought that maybe someone was talking to him. Something towards the south had started to throb, and now that he was aware of it, the spasms seemed that much more palpable.

The voice was back again, proddingly persistent. The person sounded terribly familiar and just as worried. The waves were back though, swelling and pushing him to shore, faces started to take shape and words steadily cleared.

"…He'll be in here in just a moment so don't go back to Neverland or wherever the hell you're mind has been wandering the last couple of days."

Now that just wasn't fair. Sure there was that one time when he was about eight where he was convinced happy thoughts just might make him fly. But that was years and years ago. What had happened? He remembered having lasagna and… "Dad?"

Alan smiled. He didn't say Terry or Billy or even Captain Kangaroo, "Who else?"

"Wish I knew…"

Don's voice was quiet and slurred and Alan missed whatever else he had to say after Doctor Sawyer and two nurses took his place.

"Mr. Eppes," the nurse said. "If you wouldn't mind stepping out for a moment...?"

The hallway was mostly empty, a sudden dichotomy from the few minutes before. If he was in a western, it'd be high noon and he'd be walking, (swaggering, maybe even moseying?) down the always dusty main street in the obligatory showdown with the bad guy in a black hat.

But the lighting was wrong, and the colors, vivid and sharp, not a dust cloud or sage brush in sight. A knot loosened in his chest. Don was okay, he made it through another night. He jerked from his reverie as a hand came down on his arm.

"Mr. Eppes, Don's girlfriend went to the lounge."

Alan looked up, eyes crinkling in question, "My... Who?"

Doctor Rolfhaus was a shortish man, silvery brown hair and overly full pocket protector. He motioned to the open room at the end of the hall, "The girl..." He paused, "I'm sorry, she was sitting with him most the morning. I just assumed."

Alan thumbed his chin thoughtfully, "Would you believe me if I told you I didn't know."

The orthopedic surgeon slapped a hand across his back, "Mr. Eppes, I didn't know about my daughter's boyfriend till they came back from eloping in Vegas. Nothing surprises me anymore."

Another man in light green scrubs passed the small man a chart and a pen. Doctor Rolfhaus signed and initialed in a few places, then tilted his head toward the lounge, "I'd say now is a unique opportunity to find out the truth."

Then he rushed off to Don's room as well.

Alan followed the advice mostly out of curiosity, partly out of nothing to do. He ambled slowly, the weather unconsciously wreaking havoc on his joints.

The two lamps on end tables opposite each other let off the only light, the sky was still dark outside, rain hit the windows with uneven intervals. She was standing at the counter, lifting the tea bag up and down, like a yo-yo. The black knit gauchos moved rhythmically as she crossed the floor.

"Marina..."

The tea splashed across the continent of Asia in her National Geographic, "Mr. Eppes." She motioned for him to join her on the sofa. "The nurse ask you to leave?"

"She had to change his bandages..." Alan cleared his throat, "He's awake now."

"Good." The musician nodded and set the magazine on the floor next to her, "How are you? Charlie say he need to make you rest."

"And he did..." There it was. Charlie was growing up, joining the world beyond the numbers. Alan was glad for the change, the maturity in his youngest. "May I ask, are you and Don...?"

Marina pulled a coaster near as she left the tea on the coffee table, "No, we meet just other night." She paused, her hand going to the back of her neck in a nervous gesture. Her look was serious and more than a little sad, "Let me tell you a story..."

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

The storm had lessened to a heavy rain, which was too bad. Charlie hated driving in the rain. He especially hated driving anything top heavy on the Ten in the rain. It was a trifecta of lousy driving conditions.

The radio wasn't playing anything he liked to hear, instead hit the play button on the cd player.

"Hello, I'm Johnny Cash…"

A crowd of prison inmates cheered and Charlie let his fingers drum in time with the guitar. He didn't mind this music. It was something he'd normally never choose on his own, today the mournful lyrics seemed right.

Megan Reeves stopped by earlier that morning and Marina after her. The professor begged for a ride to CalSci, he was stranded in Santa Monica and there was an emergency on campus. Kayakova said she would sit with Don and Megan would drop Charlie off at the FBI if Charlie didn't mind taking Don's SUV out to Pasadena.

So that's what they did. Half an hour later Charlie found a spot along the street near the mathematics building. Don didn't have an umbrella that Charlie could find. He riffled through the console, there were receipts and a pen from a construction company.

Charlie lifted the coffee cup, the wax had given way and the paper leaked. He could feel his throat constrict as his fingers came away wet and sticky.

He left the cup there and ran out in the rain.