A/N - Thanks again for the reviews... They really help!

And now, on with the show...

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

Alan hadn't got much sleep the night before. Knowing that Don was safe and alive helped, some. But the very fact that he couldn't call him, see him or have contact with him, left an aching feeling deep in his gut. He knew the whole death charade was for Don's safety, but even simply pretending that Don was dead, the sympathy calls, flowers, the constant barrage of grief, was more than he imagined.

It hadn't been surprisingly difficult to pretend Don was dead. And that disturbed Alan more than anything. Not but a few short, awful hours after Marshal Abrahams paid a visit, David Sinclair and Megan Reeves pulled up in front of the old Craftsman house. They had waited till morning. They were trying to be considerate despite... Despite this horrible nightmare... No acting was required when he answered the door. Their faces gave everything away and he vaguely remembered collapsing and David escorting him to the couch. I guess I deserve an Academy Award...

Charlie had been marvelous as well. He had come down the stairs, all ready to rush off to CalSci. Megan stopped him and he asked if there was something that Don wanted him to consult on or maybe something she needed to discuss with Larry. She asked him to sit down. He demanded to see his brother. They went at it like Forest Gump playing ping pong with that Chinese fellow, when she finally let the other shoe drop. There was an incident last night...

Marshal Abrahams had been helpful, had been fielding calls and questions from the press. Of course he wasn't able to help them directly, he had to protect Don. But he had made contact with a few people he knew that somehow managed to remove some of the spotlight from Alan and Charlie.

The top dresser drawer had always been Margaret's, knick-knacks mixed between camisoles and slips. Alan rummaged through it, carefully reaching towards the back. A few of the chotskies were still there along with the nylons and lingerie. There were just some things he couldn't bear to give away... He pulled out a small jewelry box with a three-stranded pearl and silver chain locket inside. He had given it to Margaret the day Don was born. The three strands were for each member of the Eppes family at that time and in the locket she put a photo of Don on one side, and Alan on the other. She had wore it with everything. And nothing... Alan thought fondly.

There was a knock on the doorframe. He slipped the box in his jacket pocket, hands slightly trembling. "Dad, are you ready to go?" Charlie's reflection came closer in the mirror. He placed his hands on Alan's shoulders, "Megan called, she insisted on sending David to come over to pick us up..."

"Did you tell her no? We can't have anyone go with us, Charlie..."

Charlie took a few deep breaths. "I called Tom, he said as long as we made David wait outside, it'd be okay."

"Well, I guess it's alright then..."

Alan ran his hands through his hair, tried to slow his too-quickly beating heart. Both men visibly jumped when they heard the door bell. Charlie left, walked into the solarium, checking to be sure it was David and not some unwanted visitor. "It's David, Dad..."

The two walked down the stairs, eager to leave, but not particularly excited about maintaining a facade of grief for their friend. The door bell rang again, Charlie stood back and let Alan answer it. "David, hello... Charlie told me that Megan sent you."

"Mr. Ep... Alan. How are you holding up?" David looked horrible. His normally meticulous appearance was gone and a scruffy, puffy-eyed man took his place. Alan wanted to tell him, let him know that his boss, friend, was still alive. David, I am so sorry...

Alan simply shrugged his shoulders. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't say what he wanted to, didn't care to find the words he could use. David simply patted him on the shoulder, "Hey Charlie..."

"Let's go..." Charlie had grabbed his jacket and pushed his way past the other two men. Alan gave David a look of apology. He simply mouthed, it's okay...

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

David pulled up in front of the funeral home. It was a serenely faded apricot stucco building with a red, Spanish tiled roof. There was a small garden in the front with several benches besides an understated fountain. Alan wondered if maybe the intention was that if the place were outwardly calm, it could somehow translate that to those who grieved. The three men climbed out and walked through the front door. "David, you wouldn't mind waiting..."

"No, of course not. I'll be here whenever you're ready to go." David took a seat in the lobby as a tall, silver haired man escorted Alan and Charlie towards an office. They walked into an airy room, a large mahogany desk took up a large space in the center. Bookshelves lined the walls and a fresh vase of exotic flowers stood in front of a closed window.

The man motioned for Charlie and Alan to take a seat while shutting the door firmly. I wonder if he's a hit man... Charlie mused. "Alan, Charles," the man nodded towards each of them. "I'm US Marshal James Harvey. I believe you've already met my partner, Tom Abrahams?"

They both nodded in unison. Marshal Harvey pulled out his badge, allowed the men to examine it. "If you wouldn't mind following me?"

Charlie noticed Marshal Harvey was the polar opposite of Marshal Abrahams. While Tom skirted along the edge of Colombo's rumpled and haphazard look, James Harvey could have gone against George Clooney in a bid for People's Sexiest Man Alive. His hair was stylishly slicked back and his suit looked like it could have easily set him back a house payment.

He pulled open a door on the left side of the office. It lead to a narrow passage way with stairs to the basement. Alan thought perhaps it reminisced a little too much from Nosferatu. He wondered if Don's whole career had been more cloak and dagger than he always imagined. The doorway opened to a chilly morgue. A sickly green tile covered the walls and floor. "If you'll just wait here, he'll be along in a moment."

Alan shivered at the sight of the stainless steel doors hiding what could have very easily been his oldest son's fate. "Don't you find this all a little too morbid, Dad?"

"You've read my mind..." His words were interrupted with another door opening. Marshal Harvey re-entered the room along with...

"Don!" Alan and Charlie sprinted across the room and wrapped the missing Eppes in a group hug. "Oh, God... Donny." Alan didn't try holding back his tears. "Donny, Donny..."

Don tried not to wince as his dad and brother tackled him. It had been less than seventy two hours since the accident and the bruising on his back was still tender. "I'm okay, you guys. I'm alright..."

Alan pulled back, studied the black eye, traced the line of stitches with his hand. "If this is okay, I'd hate to see you when you're not..." The Ghost of What-Could-Have-Been hung like a cloud over the reunion.

They spent the next half an hour talking, Don quietly relayed what had happened, told them about Emily. "Where is she, Don?" When am I ever going to hear that again?

Don sighed and Alan wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders. "She's with Tom right now. They said that it'd be safer to keep us apart for the time being. We're meeting up again later tonight when we leave LA."

"Emily's going with you?"

Alan and Charlie didn't miss the quick side glance Don made over to James and the subtle nod that was returned. "Yeah, we're uh... I guess this won't spoil anything..."

Don's face went from rather sad and frustrated to unreadable. "What is it, Donny?"

"...This isn't... Well, what I mean to say..." He held up his left hand, showcasing a silver ring on that all important finger. "We're married... It wasn't planned..." A look of shock passed over Alan's and Charlie's faces. "I mean... We were probably going to eventually anyways... But with the cover stories and new identities... They filed a back-dated marriage license from a month ago... And another from..." Don pinched the bridge of his nose, "I"m sorry, Dad, that you didn't get to throw a wedding like you've been wanting to..."

Alan could feel his eyes misting over again, "Oh Don, there's nothing to be sorry about..." He placed his hands firmly on Don's shoulders. "Do you love her? I mean do you really, truly love her?"

"I do, Dad." He bit his lip, "I'm sorry that I never brought her around..."

Charlie felt the need to jump in, "But you were going to... We had those dinner reservations... It was just bad timing."

"Charlie's right, Don." Alan pulled a son under each arm, mentally imprinting the feel of his family together, one last time. "You had no idea this was going to happen." He paused. "I'm just glad that I brought this..."

Alan drew out the jewelry box from his coat pocket and gave it to Don, "Dad, what... Mom's necklace?"

"She always wanted you to have it Don. She wanted you to give it to your wife someday..." Alan chuckled, "So you have a wife now, she should have it. Just... just don't stay away too long..."

Marshal Harvey cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, but we need to get going."

They gave each other a final hug. "Charlie..."

Charlie was vainly wiping a suspicious moisture out of the corners of his eyes. Gotta be from all this formeldehyde in the air... "Yeah, Don?"

He pulled a small bundle from his jacket pocket, "I was wondering if you could hand these out..."

Charlie's face wrinkled, "What are they...?"

"Letters... For my team, Amita, Larry... They need to have..." Don trailed off. The word closure did a slow dance with death in the air.

Charlie fiercely hugged him again. "Don't worry, bro. I'll give them out..."

Alan could feel the heaviness that had been in his chest ever since their first visit from Tom Abrahams, steadily tighten, stilting his breathing. He knew that their time was up with Don. An unfamiliar panic settled in. When would he see his son again? He had asked Tom that same question. Tom said that he wasn't sure. Depend on when... if... when, when, when... they caught all the bad guys and who knows how long that would take. "Is there anything else we should take care of, Don?"

"Well, actually Dad..." A familiar twinkle gleamed in Don's eyes, "Do you like tropical fish?"

"I think I'm going to regret saying yes..." It wasn't too hard for Alan to find his sardonic tone.

Don chuckled, "Emily has a fish tank that needs a home. She... she doesn't have any family..." He whispered. "Would you mind?"

Something unfamiliar tugged at Alan's heart. There was a woman in the Eppes family again. He had a daughter-in-law... How long had he waited for this day? There was someone there who loved his son, enough to stick with him in such a dangerous time. Someone who would take care of his son. Alan found himself making a mental bargin with God. If she's taking care of Don, I'll take care of her fish... It was one small way to keep contact. "Sure, Don. Tell her not to worry. Tell her..." Alan's voice caught, "...tell her she has a family waiting for her when you both come home."

Don's head dropped. There was a suspicious sniffle and a pause, "...Thanks, Dad... Thanks for everything..."