I don't own Numb3rs. I miss the show greatly though. This is my pathetic attempt at a fanfic for the show. It's not exactly great but I had an inspiration. I'm still working through it too so reviews are a source of weather or not I should continue.

There won't be any pairing slash or otherwise in this. I know. I'm trying something different.

This is a Stream of Consiousness chapter. If it makes no sense, I'm so sorry.


"You want to do what?" Maria asked, horror lacing its way into her voice. Charlie sighed. He'd expected the reaction. What else could he expect when he said he wanted to go see Sheila's school? However, it did seem to be a bit intense considering as far as he knew, she hadn't become aware of any new developments in learning his past.

Then again, he had heard her and Sheila whispering – yelling softly really – about the equations he'd left on the table from the night before. They really might as well have been yelling thanks to the thin walls of the old house. He couldn't really help feeling that something had happened before he'd had that sudden burst of equations. Sheila had recognized something he'd written and then Sheila – whom he'd told about the officer stopping by – mentioned it and Maria started praying in Spanish.

He probably shouldn't have told Sheila about the officer but she'd been so enraptured by his work that she hadn't even noticed her saying she'd seen one of them before – at school no less. He'd even heard her call it the Eppes Convergence complete with the Penfield Variation when she was showing it to her mother. There had, naturally, been more praying once that fact had been revealed. Of course, Maria had seemed far more worried that it had been Gary Walker whose name was mentioned and that the Lieutenant had seemed familiar – Charlie had said.

"I," he stated slowly, "want to see CalSci. As I was working last night, I felt that I was maybe a teacher or something and CalSci felt familiar."

"Are you sure it's not because Sheila goes there and you've heard it over and over from us for the past few months?" Maria asked, her voice soft.

It was early still – Maria couldn't sleep thanks to the news and Charlie had been up most of the night using the beaten up computer in his room to look up his equations – and both were speaking as softly as they could so as to avoid waking Sheila; even though both knew she slept like a ferret – completely dead to the world.

Charlie shook his head decisively. "No…I notice I woke up when you and Sheila were in the middle of finding that she'd be going to the university but the feeling I get about CalSci has nothing to do with that. I feel like I either taught or learned there – or had a friend there. I need to go there and see what I can."

"No," she hissed. He stared.

"What? Why?"

"Because I feel it'd be safer for you to stay here. You will stay in this house until I speak to this Gary Walker Sheila said you mentioned." She let out a huff. "Maybe he can help us out since you claim he's familiar."

"That-," he began only to be cut off.

"Enough."

The conversation had ended then and there. An hour or so later, Sheila came tumbling down the stairs, muttering about physics problems that she'd have to speak to Professor Fleinhardt about and that Professor Finch might be able to help her with something else and Professor Penfield was nice but he wasn't quite enthralled with him. Of course, as Maria was giving her advice, Charlie was thinking about the names she'd mentioned.

Memories flashed before his eyes.

"You know," he said carefully to a friend, "this isn't the first love letter I've ever received." The friend gave him an interested look. He smiled and went on. "When I published my first article in the American Journal of Mathematics, I was invited to spend the weekend at a bed and breakfast in Santa Barbara."

"Did you go?" Larry – yes, that was his name – asked interested beyond belief.

"Ah, I was fourteen," I admitted. Larry gave him an amazed look. He continued nervously. "My mother had to break the news to a very embarrassed female professor at Berkley."

What about the other names? Finch? Penfield?

"You've done some work there," Larry was saying.

"What the hell in that son of a bitch doing here?" Charlie yelled causing his companions to blink in surprise. Later, he was asked why he didn't like the guy named Marshal Penfield being around. "The only keg party I ever threw," he was explaining, his tone annoyed as he went about his work in a cluttered office, "he stole the keg."

That was the right Penfield he was sure. What about Finch?

"This bull has problems!"

That was right; the case on the guy who led a cult that was alright with inbreeding and marrying underage girls. Wait…Case? Why would he think of that word specifically? What was the supposed meaning for him to think that word when it came to that one phrase…and how had he connected what he did to it so easily?

Oh yes, he thought. My research did say I not only made those equations but I might have also worked for the FBI as a consultant….Why do I suddenly feel like fish are stupid? And why did that make me think of lavender...and someone being a fan of my hair? He rubbed his scar and waved at Sheila as she left.

"Charlie," Maria stated as soon as the door was closed. "I am going to speak to the officer you told Sheila about; stay here, the door stays locked."

"Yes ma'am," he sighed as she collected her purse and marched out. He locked every lock, knowing she and Sheila had all the right keys, and then sat down on the couch. His head was completely void of the numbers. Instead, it was filled with flashes of faces that he knew he knew it was just…the names weren't coming to him as easily. That alone frustrated him.

Not being able to leave the house annoyed him far more though. It hadn't bothered him when the numbers filled his head but now that they weren't there…he wanted to walk around outside and he wanted to get a conclusion on what his head was trying to tell him. From his research he had figured out he was a professor – at CalSci he added to himself as he remembered the night of reading old reports on himself – and that alone made him want to go and teach something. He guessed it was probably a good thing he hadn't told Maria that he'd searched the equations which led him to the common denominator; aka the name Charles Edward Eppes.

He paused in his thought line. Charles Edward Eppes sure looked a hell of a lot like him and the guy had apparently been missing a little over three months now. He'd been with Maria for about two of those months – maybe longer – and news of professors disappearing didn't exactly make headlines down in this area. He rose from the couch slowly and began pacing, the floor creaking under him as he moved. He craved an iPod in his hands but he had only the chorus of the damned wood planks under his feet.

He stopped mid-step and smiled as he remembered the perfectly good radio that was in Sheila's room that she only used when she had to – like when she was forced to clean her room from floor to ceiling and when she had to work on homework as soon as she got home – and she had said he could use it if he ever needed it after he'd said he liked working with music. He breezed up the steps and slipped into the cluttered room to move the boom box to his room. Pressing the power button he had a good guess what station would be on.

His hypothesis was confirmed when Skid Row's "18 and Life" blared at him. Strangely, he didn't mind the station – he'd heard it blaring before multiple times because Sheila was like him when it came to thought processes, she didn't stop until the line of thought was followed through with and it was easy for him to relate.

Ricky was a young boy, he had a heart of stone.

Lived 9 to 5 and worked his fingers to the bone.

Just barely got out of school, came to the edge of town.

Fought like a switchblade so no one could take him down.

He had no money, oh no good at home.

He walked the streets a soldier and he fought the world alone

And now it's

18 and life you got it

18 and life you know

Your crime is time and it's

18 and life to go!

Somehow the song caused the numbers to flow easily. The number eighteen meant something but he felt like it wasn't complete yet. He muttered 'paper, pen' and began shuffling through his desk until he found what he was looking for. He scribbled the number 18 on the top of the paper and started tapping the pen on the paper, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. He sighed when his thoughts didn't clear up further. He glanced at the bookcase next to the desk to find Sheila's brother's old CDs.

Oh I can work with those, he thought with a smirk. The first one he picked up was a simple mix CD and he shrugged as he popped it into the player on the boom box. He sighed with relief as the numbers became clearer and his fingers tingled with excitement as he wrote them down. He didn't mind the techno music since it was obviously making his life so much easier; the numbers were flowing to his fingers easily now.

He stopped and glared at the damned numbers. He knew this problem. P vs. NP and he knew very damned well it was unsolvable – it had tried to ensnare him last night too but he'd somehow managed to slap it away. This time however, it was staying put.

"Look," an older, slightly deeper voice pleaded, "please don't do this."

"Don't do what Don?" he yelled back. "Go ahead. Go ahead and try to tell me what it is that I'm doing. You don't even know what it is I'm doing."

He was at a chalk board, his face pale and his eyes panicking as he slammed his chalk against the board. There were boards all around him and he knew he was in a garage, one he knew well, and the boards all had numbers on them. The person next to him had the face he continually saw whenever he looked in the mirror. The person – Don? – looked worried about him. Some thing else had far more power over him though and he wanted to get it down.

"Actually, I do. The thing is, I don't think you do."

"Okay," Larry mumbled, his eyes slightly wild as he watched, "I'm going to go contemplate the koi pond." As soon as he was gone, Don set in again.

"Charlie, look, you helper us find these guys once before. You can do it again. Come on."

"Why, so you can get shot again?" He sounded dangerously close to freaking out at those words. Something told him it hadn't been the first time this person had been shot at but it scared him greatly to even think it.

"No, buddy, look," Don sighed as he tried to reassure him. "Understand, I appreciate you care about me, but it's not going to happen."

Charlie knew better. "Statistically," he stated, his breath ragged, "you're dead now." He slammed his chalk against the newest board. "You understand what that means? A man aimed a gun at your head and fired. The fact that you survived is an anomaly, and it's unlikely to be the outcome of a second such encounter." He sounded tired and petrified. His hand smacked his chalk against the board. He somehow knew he was in shock but he couldn't remember why – yet. He was sure he'd figure it out sooner or later. Something told him that he'd basically attacked Larry earlier but then Don had shown up. The panic and sarcasm had hit him hard and he took it out on Don.

"Listen to me," Don said, his tone losing its patience and beginning to plead at him – desperate to get him away from the boards. "We don't have many leads, okay? If you can help us predict when and if these guys are going to hit another bank, this is the only shot we got!"

"Please understand," Charlie begged as he reached over his head to write on a board, "sometimes I can't choose what I work on. I can't follow through on a line of thinking just because I want to, or – or because it's needed. I have to work on what's in my head." He gave Don a pleading look and turned back to his boards. "And right now, this is what's in my head."

He ripped the paper away and crumpled it into a ball so he could toss it into the wastebasket next to the desk. He loathed that problem. He knew – he just knew – it had made his life very painful at one point and he wanted it away from his mind. The only good thing it seemed to have ever done was link a name with that face he always saw in the mirrors.

Don. He was familiar. More so than Gary Walker. Why?

He started again with the number 18 on his new sheet of paper, brow wrinkled at how he couldn't make sense of how he'd gotten to P vs. NP from 18. He tried to ignore it as he went back to the math that was still flowing with ease from his brain. Something about timing human movements and then weak points of a building…Which building? Whose movements? He sighed and flopped onto the bed.

"I need to get to CalSci," he whispered to himself. Another face flashed before his eyes, a plain female face. Strangely he was able to put a name to it automatically. He wrote it down quickly.

Melissa Reynolds.

"I have something else to search," he smiled.


Really seriously guys, the note at the very bottom (that will ask you to review) is not a joke. I like reading them! Just adding me to story alert doesn't tell me jack.

Please review. Thanks.