Title: Snowing on the Beach

Author: Lady-Daine

Rating: PG (May go up later for language/violence)

Author's Note: Thanks again, everyone, for the critique and compliments! I love feedback of any kind! Before the next chapter starts, I just wanted to note a few things about my writing. Firstly, I'm a surrealist, so a lot of my writing gets- a bit on the poetic side. I know it's probably not the best thing in the world for T.V. fanfiction, but hey, it's different. Secondly, I try to stay as far away from myself as possible when I'm writing. I want to create people, not just mimic them, so no one in this story (though I relate to them, on occasion) is remotely based off of me. The only exception I made to this, was a bit about colorguard in the next few chapters. I couldn't resist- I'm a band-nerd to the core… so, apologies for that.

So, without further ado, your chapter awaits.

Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with the T.V. show numb3rs, nor do I own any characters, concepts, or anything else relating to the show. I'm simply borrowing some of them because I was too lazy to make up my own.

Snowing on the Beach

Chapter 3

"Charlie?" Don slowly made his trek across the dark grass, avoiding sprinklers and holes as he moved towards the lighted garage. Stopping in the middle of the lawn, he halted for a moment and stared up into the inky sky, glancing at the streaks of silver that marked the end of one reality and the beginning of another. The stars had always reminded him a great deal of his brother- something awesome, beautiful, frustrating at times, and untouchable.

"Charlie?" The door to the smaller structure were open, the dim light spilling out from inside. Frowning, Don stepped in and peered around, looking for the familiar form of his brother, scratching away. What he found was silence.

Numbers, as usual, littered the pilfered blackboards that lined the walls, but there were no more figures going up. The wood-board floor was empty, save for several white pieces of chalk, left scattered around. A few pieces of notebook paper fluttered aimlessly when a gentle breeze disturbed the stillness. The agent frowned. It was not like Charlie to leave this place as it was- scattered and messy. Not that his brother was neat, not by any means, but he did have a certain order that he liked things in. Chalk on the ground, lights on, and- Don stared at the board with the freshest marks on it, filtering the mumbo-jumbo through his brain. The last symbol written in his brother's hasty scrawl was most definitely half a "2". That was definitely not Charlie.

A twinge of worry caught up in Don's chest, but he shrugged it off, forcing himself to calmly pick up the strewn chalk and rest it on a shelf, then turn off the lights and head back up to the house. He couldn't help the half-run that brought him there.

As he moved through the door, Alan, still at the table, looked up expectantly, his eyes obviously demanding a conclusive reason for his son's sudden return.

"He's not there anymore." Don obliged his curiosity quickly, hopping onto the steps that led upstairs. "He must have come in through the back or something." Alan raised his eyebrows, but made no comment, going back to his dinner as Don raced up the stairs, his heart pounding.

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"That wasn't very nice." Lily stopped in mid-turn and stared at her mother, who was still dressed in the stark white lab-coat of her profession.

"What wasn't nice?" the girl asked, continuing the routine, her wooden rifle whirling around one hand to the other as the soft melody played from the beat-up CD player in the background.

"Writing a paper on the imperfections of your English teacher." Lily caught the rifle in one hand and put it down before kneeling to stop the CD play. She sat down and turned towards where her mother was standing, hands on hips, her don't start with me expression on her face.

"I got an A on it." Lily shrugged and looked down at her faded blue jeans, tracing the sand-blown patterns with her hand.

"That doesn't make it OK."

"It was an open assignment."

"Lily!" Her mother walked over and put a hand under her daughter's chin, forcing the girl to look up at her.

"Lily, you are a very intelligent person, as well as a very sensitive person, and I respect you for it. But you cannot come down on people for their flaws! You're not perfect! Can you imagine receiving a paper that detailed everything that was wrong with you?"

"It wasn't what was wrong with her, it was what was wrong with her cl-"

"That," her mother interrupted her defense sternly, brown eyes angry. "is no different. Lily, this woman has a master's degree in English, and probably in education as well. Believe it or not, she knows what she's doing. You on the other hand, are under her guidance, and know nothing about education. Before you seek to judge her wrongs, look at yourself? What credibility do you have to tell her how to teach an English class?" Lily pouted. She was not given to temper-tantrums, but she hated more then anything to anger her mother. And the woman was definitely angry. Over nothing she thought with a mental frown.

"It was just a paper mom!"

"I want you to apologize to her."

"Mom!"

"It was a personal insult. Lily- no, look at me!" Sulkily, the young woman stared up into her mother's eyes. "You are very smart, I just told you that. But you are extremely intolerant of others. And you are arrogant." She didn't say anything else- she didn't have to. The words stung harshly enough without any added punishment or condemnation. The woman stalked back into the house, leaving her daughter to stare at the concrete below her. Lily sat for several moments in silence, absorbed in her morose thoughts. Slowly, she stood, kicking the music player back on. The rifle begin to spin between her hands, higher, higher. Then, strangely, so did everything- the ground, the sky…

Lily sat up quickly, her eyes wide, chest heaving. She felt sick, a bitter taste on her tongue, her body covered in cold sweat. Looking around, she took in the still-alien surroundings. The room was dark, with even blacker shapes nestled among the shadows, the outline of the bookshelf and dresser looming over her.

She had fallen asleep draped over the side of the bed. She hadn't meant to go to sleep. Sleep meant dreams- dreams scared her. It seemed however, the exhaustion had overtaken her. It was strange, she felt even more tired then she had before she had dozed off.

Her body complaining about the sudden movement, Lily pulled herself up and put her feet on the floor, moving slowly, carefully, so as to keep the lightheaded dizziness at bay. As she moved towards the window, she tried to recall the details of the dream that was slipping out of her mind as moonlight that streamed from the window fell from the palms of her hands. What color had her shirt been? What song had been playing? It wasn't what had really happened- it was only her perception of a twisted unconscious, and it was swiftly losing its potency.

Her feet sliding on the sleek hardwood of the floor, Lily moved towards the window that provided the only light in the room, eyes for the first time in days turned up towards the windows. The glittering sky played across her face, adding a sparkle to her eyes that had been so frigidly absent over the previous few days. At long last, a tear began to make its way down one pale cheek, capturing starlight. I just don't know if I can hold on. There's just nothing to grab on to…

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Don scrambled up the staircase and into the corridor, stopping abruptly at the sight that met him. Charlie was sprawled outside Lily's door, his lithe body curled up across the hallway, legs folded up neatly. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing deeply, obvious asleep. Frowning, Don lightened his step and moved closer, watching the light tee-shirt flutter up and down with his brother's breathing. He looked so very young, so fragile, his tangled curls covering up part of his face. A child, and yet, never one, and again yet, into the years of a society's perception of adulthood.

"Charlie," Don whispered softly, coming closer and kneeling at his brother's side. "Charlie, wake up." The command yielded no result. His brother remained firmly in the world of dreams, unreachable, even more so then usual, and untroubled, at least, for the moment. Even that, Don could not be sure of. "Charlie, can you hear me?". Still, the older brother's words were not heeded, so he stood up with a sigh, laying one of his arms on the younger man's shoulder. Just seeing him there made the FBI agent feel guilty for his earlier outburst. Shaking his head, Don allowed himself one more mournful look before sighing and standing up. Turning around, he walked back down the hall, feeling lost in his own home.

Charlie watched his brother leave through slit eyes. He had been dosing, but the other man's footsteps had brought him out of the half-dream he was having. It had involved numbers- they always did- but he was almost able to ignore them now. However, the idea of facing his brother so very soon was impossible, so he had waited in hopes of the older man leaving. He had been in luck.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie turned over towards the door, wondering why he was still leaning against it, and stared at the wood-grains, subconsciously calculating the length of the lines that ran the width of it. He still didn't understand….understand anything, but for some reason, he felt calmed where he was- not sheltered, or safe, but rather, out of the onslaught, behind another barrier.

He had almost dosed off again when the door that he had been staring at suddenly cracked open. The sudden movement startled him, and he jumped, looking up towards the source of the disturbance. In the gloom, he saw a pair of hazel eyes looking down at him, shocked. He shared the sentiment.

Their gazes meeting, the two of them could only stare into the darkness for several moments, fearing to move or breath. Finally, Charlie inhaled sharply.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" his words shook slightly as they came out, the tone almost a whisper. He didn't know any of the variables in the equation. He didn't know where it had happened, or how, or why, but he knew that it hurt. It seems that people are so often too immersed in detail to worry about the heart of their woes. What did the variables matter anyway? They all came to the same solution. It hurt.

Lily stared at the curly-haired shadow who had been keeping vigil outside of the door in wonderment for several moments. Those eyes…those eyes understood. No, those eyes are lying…

"I'm…air." She couldn't focus her words enough to articulate sentences, only thoughts, only inconsistent thoughts that echoed uncomfortably through her. She realized that her throat hurt, throbbed really, and that it was dry and raspy, but it didn't really matter. She couldn't bring herself to let it matter. Nothing matters. She wanted to run, she wanted to go outside, to get away from the stifling confinement, but his legs were in the way, and she didn't know how to tell him to move them.

Charlie stared at her for another moment and then cautiously stood up, suddenly timid, intoxicated with the confrontation and terrified of it. He lifted his arm up, slowly, and then brought it back down again, his eyes still caught on the tragic figure in front of him, his mind outlining her shape with equations that weren't just made up of numbers. The young woman, for her part, took a gasp of air and made her way unsteadily past him, aware, for the first time, of her surroundings. Even as she made her way purposefully down the hallway and onto the stairs, she felt the shadows of the night moving around her, the memories caught in mercury and hung in frames, their contents locked by the blackness that was not quite complete. She could see other closed doors, perhaps with dreamers behind them that were away from the world she inhabited. She saw his eyes on her back.

The unsteady walk became a stride, and from there a run. She tore down the stairs, hair flying behind her, grabbing for doors, throwing them open. Within moments, she stood out on the darkness of the lawn; her bare feet nestled softly in shadowy greens, eyes turned upwards for the first time in days. She didn't know. She just didn't know…anything, anything at all. She wasn't a physical implement of the place where she stood, but rather, a wandering shape, a sort of anti-existence upon which her conscious separated from her flesh.

Charlie was never more then a few steps behind her. She was pulling him into her silken web of sorrow, but it was a voluntary journey that he was taking. He knew the way. He had already been there.

"I can't figure it out." It was the first time she had spoken to anyone in- days? Weeks? It was so hard to remember. The words were stilted, but a hint of the melodious soprano was discernable, along with a flavor of regality and a taste of bitterness, the normal palate of her tone. Charlie jumped when he heard her words, having been wrapped up too much in his own thoughts.

"Sometimes….sometimes there's no solution." He didn't know what compelled him to speak- except for what he wished someone could have said to him years ago.

Lily turned around, seemingly surprised to see him still standing here.

"I've never not been able to figure it out."

"Null-set, like in the determinants from earlier. If the determinant of the coefficient matrix is zero, and the X or Y matrices have value, then there is no solution. It's the same with all systems." It was comforting, if only a little, to wrap himself in his math.

"But there's still a solution- every equation has a solution, even if it's no solution."

"A null-set isn't a solution"

"I can't find the null-set."

Charlie shrugged. He didn't know what else to do. He could barely make out the face in the semi-darkness, but he could sense her presence, the instability of her stance, her breathing long and labored.

"Can you touch me?" Lily turned her eyes away from the sky and turned towards the mathematician.

"What?"

"Touch me. I want to know if I still exist." Charlie shook his head and looked at his feet, his head spinning.

"Of course you exist. Law of conservation of matter- that's high school chemistry. Nothing can be added or-"

"But something's missing." Lily interrupted him, breaking through the comfort he was trying to attain.

"That's impossible."

"Have you ever heard of anti-matter?" Anti-matter. Chemistry. Cal-Sci. Research. Mother. Each word hit her like an ice-storm.

"Yes, but-"

"To be impossible is impossible."

His hand shaking, Charlie reached out slowly, deliberately, his eyes meeting hers, the darkness becoming obsolete to his senses. Lightly, his fingers brushed against her salt-streaked cheeks.

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"Agent Epps? Agent Hernandez, CIA." The man was taller, even taller then the FBI agent, with thin graying hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache that badly needed trimming. His heavy build showed no signs of the age that his faced revealed, and left little doubt in Don's mind that the man would be a nasty opponent in physical combat. The spark of intelligence and ice in his slate-gray eyes made it clear that his wit as equally as imposing as his figure.

"Sir, we're glad to have you." Don replied, nodding slightly and hoping that the bitter edge in his tone hadn't shown through. It was still only eight in the morning, but already, he felt hopelessly lost in the case that had suddenly consumed his life. To finally see someone who might be able to offer a hint was a little bit encouraging, but no small part of him wished to glare mercilessly at the visitor and growl, It's about time.

Trying to contain his anger, and look as professional as possible, Don waved the man into the briefing room and signaled for Terry and David, who had been trying to glance inconspicuously over at the two men, to follow. They obliged, and within moments, the four of them were seated, the former three staring intently at the latter, eager for more information. Slowly, Agent Hernandez cleared his throat.

"We left this case to you because we felt as though the FBI could handle it. Our agents don't often deal with…petty crimes." His cool tone was patronizing, signifying his obvious accordance with the traditional rivalry between the two agencies. Don couldn't hold his tongue.

"You call murder a petty crime?" His eyes flashed angrily between memories of the bloodstained floor and a screaming girl. The older man shrugged.

"Murder, grievous as it may seem, is hardly something worth spending the federal attention of the CIA on, when there are, say, terrorists on the loose and possible intelligence breeches at any moment." His eyes were empty of any compassion.

"Don't you care why one of your undercover agents was found out? Don't you want to know what she had found out before she died?" Don opened his mouth to continue the tirade, but was silenced with a single look from Terry. The CIA agent looked as though he hadn't heard of a word of the outburst.

"We know what we need to know, agent Epps, trust me." Don counted slowly to ten and stared at the carpeted floor, willing his temper under control. "But what we are curious about, and my reason for stopping in today," the other man's referral to "stopping in" almost seemed like he meant some sort of social event, "was to find out what you know. We want to know what you've found out."

"If you know what you want to know, why do you want to know what we've found out?" Don demanded fiercely, hating the man for his insensitivity. And to think he had been so hard on his brother.

"That does not concern you, agent Epps." The other man's voice softened ever so slightly. "We're on the same side here, and believe it or not, we are deeply concerned about the death of an agent, but this isn't a one man-or woman- world. The CIA doesn't go down with one of its agents. That's why there are multiple groups- so what we can pick up the slack for each other." Don turned his head sideways, mimicking his brother's gesture of uncertainty.

"We've got almost nothing- the scene was pretty clean. We know she was a chemistry professor at CalSci, had a daughter, was shot three times with different guns, more then one murderer, at least, that's our theory" He started slowly, choosing his words carefully, ticking off important information. "We started looking into her research at CalSci today, trying to discern motives for death, but honestly, we were hoping that you'd fill us in on some of this. Why was the woman undercover in the first place? Can't you give us something?" He refused to look at the man as he said the words, not wanting to sound as though he was begging. Hernandez shook his head slowly.

"I cannot disclose that."

"Even to another federal Agency?"

"It's too risky, especially with accomplices still loose."

"Can you give us something?" David asked suddenly. Don jumped, having forgotten that his two counterparts were still there. The CIA agent shrugged.

"I had orders to get a briefing from you, that's all. I follow orders." He glanced around as though daring one of them to protest. When they were satisfactorily silent, he continued.

"You said there was a daughter. Where is she now?" Don hesitated. CIA or not, he didn't like the evasive nature of the other agency. While he had to admit that he wasn't immune to the natural rivalry between them, this went far deeper then that. He did not like the attitude that the CIA was exuding on this case. Not in the least.

"We sent her to the hospital," Terry spoke up softly, "she went into state custody from there. They might have released her- she's eighteen, technically an adult. We'll eventually have to track her down for questioning, but she was unstable at the scene, so we figured it best to wait until things settled down." Hernandez looked somewhat disturbed at the news, but he quickly hid the expression under one of indifference.

"Very well, I think that our business is complete. I'll let myself out." Without another word, the man stood up, strode across the briefing room, and left.

"What the hell? What the f-" David stood up as soon as the man was out of hearing range and banged his fist heavily against the wall of the small room that he occupied. "We have almost nothing on this case, and when the CIA finally sends us an agent, he stays only long enough to mock us and then just leaves?" He stuffed his face in his hands, as Don sat, perplexed, and disturbed. Finally, after several moments, he turned to Terry.

"Why did you lie about the girl?"

"Why do you think?" The woman responded, her eyes flashing with frustration that she wouldn't express. "Something's up, and until we know what it is, I think that she's safer with you then with anyone, let alone the CIA. It's possible that this is something that's too delicate to spread, and they're just trying to keep everything clean. Whatever it is, it's weird." Don nodded in agreement and stared into space, his mind against aghast with information, none of it useful.

"Terry, did you delve into the files at CalSci?" he asked finally, still only half listening to the conversation.

"Yeah, I have a big box in my car that Charlie should look at. A lot of it is more science then math, but there's a lot of numbers and chances are that he'll have some idea of what it all means. It's all the papers that we could find in her office and classes. And we're going to interview a bunch of professors tomorrow morning. Someone had been there before we were. There wasn't nearly enough clutter for an academic in her office. "

"Alright. Let's go. Much as I hate it, I think we need to have a chat with Lily. There's something going on here that isn't healthy."

"You mean besides the fact that you haven't eaten or slept in the last three days?" Terry stood up and pulled on Don's arm. He shook his head, eyes still following the trail of a CIA agent, as though looking for the remaining essence of the man, perhaps a trail of slime on the floor.

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"Colorguard? What color do you guard?" Charlie was situated underneath a tree in the yard, his back pressed against the bark. Lily was nearby, sitting in the grass and plucking strands of it.

"It's not…that," her voice still reverberated with exhaustion- among other things, but it sounded alive enough for the moment. The older man had been prodding her since three that morning to tell him something about herself that made her… happy. All he could remember was equation after equation in the dimly lit garage. She needed her equations, now, more then ever. The repair work could be done later. Now, it was just holding on. Not terribly shady for mathematician. I wondered if that psychology class they made me take would ever serve any purpose.

"Well what is it?" his voice was genuinely curious, enough to make Lily look up at him, abandoning her idle grass-murdering activities.

"It's…well, sort of like dance. But there's also spinning, flags and weapons, in a routine. Haven't you ever seen a marching band or something like that?" Charlie shook his head.

"You never went to a high-school football game and saw a marching band or a drum corps perform?" Again, Charlie shook his head, for once, totally ignorant.

"I wasn't into- that stuff, in high school." He didn't mention that attending a social event would have likely resulted in several nasty glares and muttered comments about the gawky twelve-year-old who was taking college level calculus.

"Well, I mean, I spun rifle and flags. And you do it to music, with the band."

"You spun a what?"

"A rifle- it's wood, not a real gun. It's shaped to look like one, though, and wrapped in tape. And it's, weighted so that it spins very fast." She gestured vaguely with her hands to show what she meant. Charlie squinted at her.

"What were the weight proportions?" Lily shrugged.

"I don't know, I'll show you one…sometime." The last words were cut off, almost caught away in the slight breeze that blew through the grass. There wasn't any direction anymore. She didn't have anywhere to go, or anyone to tell her to go there, and no reason to be moving anyway.

"But you dance?" Charlie was still bamboozled by the idea of a spinning rifle, but the dancing seemed straight forward enough.

"Yeah." She looked away, across towards the still house that she had so eagerly fled only the night before. Something about the idea of dancing turned her stomach. Dancing was a memory. Memories always ended at one place. A place that was too close still.

"And you? You do… math?" She turned back towards her older companion, willing him to take the burden of the conversation.

"Yeah, you could say that." Charlie almost smiled at the blissful ignorance on the girl's face as she spoke to him. Asking him if he did math. Would she ask him if he breathed, next?

"What exactly, um, do you do?"

"I'm a professor of mathematics at CalSci. I teach applied mathematics, and advanced levels of calculus." The familiar words were comfortable in his mouth, more so then his awkward questions. Lily didn't respond. She was staring back at the house, lost again in her thoughts, lost again in the depths of the places where light was immediately absorbed and destroyed. Anti-existence.