Show: NUMB3RS

Genre: Action/Adventure/Suspense

Rated: T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

Pairing: Don/Terry friendship

Summary: As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

Disclaimer: I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

Chapter Nine:

Don dutifully rewound the tape of the afternoon's phone call for the twentieth time, ready to listen to it again in hopes of catching something that he'd missed, some clue as to identity or weakness. He was doubtful that this time would reveal anything different, but he was unwilling to give up hope. The afternoon had been split between analysis of the tape and long, bureaucratic phone conversations with the office, trying to configure the drop-off schedule for the formula the next morning. He and the team were finally able to convince the office director that Terry's life depended on complete accordance with her captors' instructions – they couldn't risk surveillance or stationing undercover agents.

Charlie was still out in the shed perfecting his forged copy of the formula. Don had gone out to see him only once to bring him a tuna sandwich for dinner, a visit which was barely acknowledged by his work-consumed brother. Charlie seemed to be attacking the problem with an intense and renewed energy, refusing to stop for any interruption. It was too soon for him to be overly concerned, but he hoped that his brother would be able to separate himself from his work when it came time to trade – he didn't want Charlie blaming himself if it failed.

He was about to push the recorder's play button again when he heard the kitchen door softly open and close and the quiet, familiar patter of Charlie's footsteps against the wood floor. Charlie suddenly appeared in the dining room entrance holding a sheaf of papers and looking exhausted but satisfied, smudges of chalk visible on his cheeks and clothing.

Collapsing into a nearby chair, he pushed the stack of papers toward Don with a sigh. "I think I'm finished."

Don nodded and thumbed through the manuscript, not understanding any of the numbers but fully appreciating the immense work and time involved on behalf of Charlie. "This looks good. Did you manage to take a break and eat that sandwich I brought you?"

Charlie glanced up at him and asked in a bewildered voice, "You brought me a sandwich?"

Don couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, but that was about…" He checked his watch, shocked that it was already 11:45. "Five hours ago. Are you hungry?"

"No, not really. I'm mostly just tired. You managed to get everything coordinated for tomorrow?" Seeing Don's nod, he continued with a set expression, "I'm coming tomorrow. I want to be there for whatever happens."

His older-brother mentality suddenly kicking in, Don shook his head in immediate denial of the request. "Charlie, you've done enough. This whole situation could turn out very badly." He swallowed at the sudden image of Terry being brutalized by several undefined male figures and forced himself to focus on his brother. "We're going to do everything we can to get her back, and you've already helped out more than anyone could ask."

"Exactly. My formula is what started this whole thing, and my work will get her back. I need to be there to see this whole thing through."

"You just made my point, Charlie. What if this doesn't work? You're already too close to this case, and I don't want you blaming yourself if this doesn't go the way we want it to."

Charlie stared at him with a disbelieving expression. "I'm too close to this case! Listen to yourself – you're hardly one to talk! Terry is your partner, she's one of your best friends – you two dated at the Academy for God's sake! If anyone's too self-involved with this case, it's you!"

"It's not the same at all, Charlie! I am a trained FBI agent, and I know how to handle myself. Just because Terry is involved in this doesn't mean that I can't stay impartial."

"You want to bet? I heard you when that guy called the office – you practically lost it, and now you say you can handle yourself. You are emotionally involved, but if you want to keep telling yourself that you're not, I won't question it. I am coming with you tomorrow, and I dare you to say that I'm closer to this case than you are – you'll just be lying to yourself," Charlie finished, eyes burning with barely contained emotion.

Don glared at Charlie, not wanting to admit the truth in his brother's claims. He knew that Terry's disappearance was getting to him, throwing him off balance, and making him edgy, but he believed admitting it was the first step to succumbing to hopelessness. He stood from the table and swiped up the recorder in one fluid motion. "Fine. I'm going home," he said, "If you want to come that badly, I'll pick you up tomorrow, but you'd better make sure Dad knows this was your idea."

He stormed to the door, barely acknowledging Charlie's nod. He seethed all the way to his apartment, knowing that Charlie had him pinned and hating himself for allowing his emotions to get the best of him when he most needed his control.

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It was late, right after one of their movie nights. Don liked to spend time with the team after long, hard cases just having fun without worrying about pressures or time crunches. He and Charlie had hosted the last one at the Eppes' house. Larry, David, and Terry had all been there, all thankful for a change of pace and an opportunity to let their hair down, so to speak. The only rule to the movie nights was no office clothing or discussion was allowed, and everyone had to bring their favorite junk food. Don and Charlie provided the beer, soda, and the movie, which had been "Finding Nemo." Charlie insisted that Disney movies had a certain calming effect on the psyche, so they all went along with it good-naturedly. It turned out to be a success, and the entire team enjoyed themselves immensely, especially Don, who felt that he never got to spend any quality time with his friends outside of the office.

After the movie, they all helped clean up the popcorn-littered living room, and David and Larry said their goodnights. Charlie headed back inside to prepare his lecture for the next day while Don and Terry relaxed on the porch swing outside. It was a clear night, and as the swing gently rocked, they watched the stars and chatted quietly about nothing in particular. As they sat, the night air grew chillier, and Terry drew up to him, snuggling closer, and resting her head against his chest. He put a companionable arm around her shoulder, stroking her hair as they talked. Don closed his eyes in relaxed bliss, savoring the time he could spend with his friend.

Suddenly, he heard a shot, a loud, harsh bang that caused his eyes to snap open. He felt his chest and shoulder suddenly grow warm, wet, and sticky, and the comforting weight of Terry's head lolled forward. Sitting up, he saw his shirt was covered in a bloody pulp of brain and bone fragments, and Terry slumped to the ground as though boneless. His heart racing in his chest, Don turned her over only to see her lifeless ashen face staring back up at him. Looking around in desperation and panic, he could see the dark silhouette of a tall, imposing, and unfamiliar man standing at the end of the porch, a smoking pistol dangling from his right hand. As he watched in a state of shock, the man unflinchingly raised the pistol again, aiming it at Don, and fired.

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Don sat up in bed, jerked awake from his nightmare, and finding himself shaky, covered in a cold sweat. Looking around his darkened bedroom, he couldn't stop the images of his terrifying dream from stealing back into his mind. He glanced over at his alarm clock – 3:47. Padding from his bed to the bathroom, he switched on the light and squinted against the sudden, powerful glare. He doused his face in cold water, rubbing his eyes as though to erase the memory of such a powerful dream. Don could feel himself physically trembling from the intensity of the dream. He didn't believe in precognition or foreshadowing of the future, but seeing Terry gunned down right in front of him was horribly unsettling to say the least.

Forcing himself back to bed, he rested his head on the pillows with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling and finding himself involuntarily turning over the images of his dead partner in his head. There were only six hours left until the drop-off, and Don found himself finally considering the possibility that his idea wouldn't work. The image of Terry lying dead in his arms flashed through his mind, and he felt pinpricks of tears sting his eyes. Blinking them away defiantly, he steeled himself for the coming day, refusing to acknowledge the reality that Terry could be dead by this time tomorrow. He rolled over, staring at the alarm clock, watching the minutes roll by and praying for the dawn.

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I've never written a dream sequence or anything, so I don't know if it was any good. Comments?