Title: Snowing on the Beach

Author: Lady-Daine

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

Author's Note: Special Thanks to Alamo Girl and Belligerent-road-pylon for their lovely comments. I love you guys!

Shamelessly, I again bequest any and all readers to drop me a quick review, and, as always, critique and suggestions are much sought out. This chapter introduces a new character, and as usual, features much of our favorite socially-catatonic mathematician. Forgive me for the late update. I fear that long jogging excursions and passing classes has taken up some of my precious time.

A belated happy Easter/Passover/spring to everyone!

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. Don't sue me- I'm a Red Sox Fan and a liberal!

Snowing on the Beach

Chapter 5

Charlie closed his eyes and let his breath out slowly, practicing the exercises that Alan had once taught him to keep his panic attacks away. It was completely dark now, save for the candle that he had lit on his desk for lack of a better lighting source. It wavered and shook its eminence over the various documents that were spread across the wooden surface, forcing the two scrawls that covered them to dance uncertainly. He stared at them without seeing, his mind on fire with thoughts and feelings, his dark eyes clouded with dreams and numbers together.

Across the room, Lily was sprawled out next to his bed, her breath even as she slept, for once, undisturbed by the dreams that had haunted her. She was too spent- there was nothing left even to witness nightmares. Her russet hair framed her pale face, which no longer showed the horrifying lines of grief that it had before. The clothes that she had sported were clean but rumpled, a pair of faded blue jeans, the bottoms shredded, and a nondescript gray tee-shirt that said "MIT" on it. As he studied her in the candlelight, the young man decided it was better to see things through fire then anything else. It was softer, gentler, than electricity. It was not that he was really the romantic type- the candle was the residue from an experiment based on spontaneous combustion of various elements and their relation to density- but the atmosphere hadn't been lost on the young man.

Turning back to the equations on the page, Charlie ran through them again, trying to find some detail that they might have missed when they went through the series of procedures that would justify the missing mathematical calculations, but there was nothing. Lily had known quite a bit, but much of it had been over her head. Now, it was only manipulation of what she had been able to give him that might allow him to fill in the gaps. And even that he wasn't sure of- he was not a chemist.

"Is she sleeping?" Alan peered in from the cracked door, his eyes searching those of his son. He nodded, and the older man opened the door the rest of the way, letting himself in. He glanced down at the sleeping woman- no, child really- and grabbed Charlie's comforter, draping it lightly over her.

"You should have been a gentleman and offered her your bed," he said reproachfully.

"I did- she refused. She said that it was bad form to take your host's bed." Charlie turned around and stared at his father, grateful to be in the company of someone who was an authority over him. Being a leader, he found, even in a figurative sense, was very uncomfortable. Alan smiled slightly and moved towards his son, taking the vacated seat that Lily had left when she became too tired to stare at the equations that were swimming on the page.

"Is she talking to you?" The question was layered, and Charlie did not lose the sophistication of it. He shook his head.

"Mostly only math, now and then something different. She's not a talker, at least, now."

"Is she….is she like you?" Again, Charlie shook his head.

"I don't think so. She's bright and she has a great drive for academic aptitude, but she's…in terms of IQ, no more then that. Gifted, probably, prodigy, no. Alan nodded serenely, and studied his younger son, eyes intent. "I think, I think she needs a…channel for her energy. I mean, like something that makes her…" He didn't know how to describe what he wanted to communicate. Her version of P vs. NP, or-

"You said something about her dancing. Maybe she has a coach or teacher or something… or maybe she just needs a CD player. I'll look into it." Charlie looked up and nodded at his father gratefully, happy to have him understand his intentions without having to articulate them. Alan smiled and held out a hand to his younger son's shoulder.

"You need to get some sleep."

"You say that every time you see me."

"It's always true." Charlie nodded, looking back over the work, his scrawl on the page mixed with her grade-school like handwriting. There was nothing there that was going to help him, and he knew it. He just didn't want to believe it. Giving up- it was the worst thing he could imagine- but even as his eyes scanned the pages, they blurred in front of him, and he knew that what his father said was true. He could work on it in the morning if he had time. There were still midterms to grade and lessons to plan, but he could probably fit it in. Not giving up, just saving for later, he told himself.

The young man stood up and moved towards his bed. As gently as he could, he reached down and picked up the sleeping girl, supporting her head on one shoulder, her legs draped over his arm. She murmured quietly as he tugged off his comforter and made towards the door, which Alan opened to its fullest extent for him. He quickly moved towards the end of the hallway where "her" room was, noticing how light his burden was- too light. His father moved on in front of him and pulled down the covers so that he could lay the sleeping girl in her bed. Replacing the blankets, Charlie stared down at her for a moment, lost in his memories and feeling her pain. Then he turned around abruptly and moved towards his own room, saying a sleepy goodnight to his dad who pealed off into his bedroom on the way back. Somehow, he didn't really feel like talking to the older man for the moment.

Without undressing, Charlie slipped into his bed and threw the comforter over himself, staring at the dark ceiling above him. The candle still burned on his desk, casting shapely shadows around the room, reminding him of archaic tales with faerie rings, lit by fire. In his solitude, he found the candle-light almost festive, but it didn't drown away the tangle of emotions that had become a constant burden for him. The past hours had been surreal, like a nightmare, only not so much that, because he found himself not wanting to leave it. Something in him wanted closure, something else, before the "dream" ended. He blinked a few times, wondering how he would find his way out of the situation, but it wouldn't come to him. Sleep however, did.

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"Believe it or not, we will probably be more effective if you talk to me here." Don's voice echoed through the empty corridor of the chemistry corridor. Terry said nothing, her eyes focused straight ahead of her as she strode down the hallway, occasionally turning her head to look at the etched nameplates on various doors.

"What exactly are you hoping to find here anyway? There's aren't any people around at this hour!" The FBI agent was at wits end with his partner. She was letting personal problems get in the way of her work- or at least, that's what he told himself. Truly, he simply couldn't see what she wanted him to do to redeem himself, and this, most of all annoyed him. Problems, he could deal with. Problems with no apparent solution that he was helpless to face drove him absolutely insane.

To his indignation, she didn't answer, but simply pressed on until finally, she stopped in front of a door and pulled a key out of her pocket.

Making quick work of it, Terry easily made her way into the dark office. Within moments, she flipped on a few lights on the wall next to the door. It was similar in many ways to Charlie's office, minus the books and papers scattered everywhere in an order that only the mathematician, and somehow, Amita, were able to navigate through. With his eyes still adjusting to the darkness, Don could easily imagine a similar scene in the alien environment. He snapped on a flashlight and peered around. A print of Monet's water lilies was slightly crooked on the wall, next to a very detailed poster of the periodic table. Bookshelves, their contents having been pillaged, lined the outer walls, with a small gap between them for a dark window that would have looked out onto the campus. Turning his attention to the center of the room, Don again tried to envision it before it had been raided by the FBI, and…someone else perhaps

. The desk was bare now, no more then a wooden contraption, and a chair and with smudge of the fine dust that was used to make finger prints-

"We didn't take finger prints!" Don exclaimed excitedly, striding over to the desk that held the dust and squinting down doubtfully."

"I was right." Terry said, almost to herself. Preoccupied with her discovery, she turned to Don and stared at him with worry glinting in her eyes.

"Than who did? And why?"

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She woke up around noon, perhaps a bit later, for the first time feeling more rested than she had when she had first gone to sleep. Lily was in "her" room, and sunlight poured in from the window in to corner, playing across the rumpled comforter that she was under. Taking stock of herself, she shook her limbs slowly, not yet ready to face the emotional inventory that was clouding her mind. I've got to do something today, or I'm going to get so out of shape. Julie is going to- Now she stopped. What was Julie going to do? She hadn't shown up for practice on Friday, or Saturday, and, based on the amount of sun streaming in her face, she was hours late for practice today- I think it's Sunday. Without a call, the woman must have noticed that something was wrong. Lily found it hard to care. It doesn't matter, I'm not going to be dancing anymore anyway…

"Bad form, very bad form, sleeping in on a practice day, and what with the regional qualifiers not a few weeks away!" The familiar words, tinted slightly with the warmth and dusty rasp of a middle-eastern accent was enough to penetrate even the toughest mental scars that had enwrapped her recently. Lily look up towards her door. Sure enough, the chocolate-skinned guard coach was leaning on the doorway, looking down at her with something that looked like an amused grin on her face.

"God, Julie. What in the world…how did you get here?" Lily couldn't escape the groan that emancipated from her as she saw the woman's mind working behind hazel eyes. If she had her way, the "Viper" as her team fondly called her, would have the young woman doing rifle tosses all over the place with minutes.

"Usually, if a girl misses three practices, we don't let her represent us in the solo competition." The woman strode farther into the room as Lily shook her head, sure that she was still dreaming. She tugged at her blanket, trying to pull it back over her.

"I'm sorry. My mom sort of ended up being an undercover CIA agent and got her cover blown and sort of got shot three times in the head. Forgive me for missing your precious practices." The words burst out of her mouth before she could help herself, the bitterness flowing through her and stinging like poison. It hurt so much to reject her love, and yet the idea of dancing…the idea of living seemed so much like an impossible dream.

Julie looked unimpressed.

"That's the oldest excuse in the book. Outside, now. There's a rifle in my car." Lily squinted, the disorientation of the whole situation settling over her. Her grief got the most of her, and she glanced resentfully at the other woman.

"No."

"No?"

"No, I'm not doing your stupid guard anymore. My life comes before your competition." She didn't really want to say what she was. There was nothing she wanted more than to take a few hours of abuse from the guard coach, but she couldn't. It wouldn't be right, it wouldn't be…"

"Rissaya, guard is your life. And the time that's most important to be doing it is when you least want to. You get outside there right now. I left practices with Mark, so you had better not waste my time. You have a regional solo tryout in three weeks, and you're still in bed. Get the hell out there!" There was no sympathy in her brown eyes, no compassion. There never was. But now, Lily resented it more then ever- why shouldn't she have compassion? She had just lost her…

"I'm waiting."

"Go to hell." She had never talked back to the older woman before, never said a word against her. Now, Julie pursed her lips and looked bored.

"Probably will. I'm not wasting my time. I'm out of here." She turned around and headed back out the door without so much as anther comment. Lily crouched on the bed for several moments, still trying to decide if what she had just encountered was real and hating herself for the missed opportunity. It took her mere moments.

"Wait, Julie, look, I'm sorry, I-" The girl chased her instructor out of the room. She caught her just as the woman had started down the stairs. "Julie!"

"I'm going to be flexible this time, because I'm feeling generous today." The Arabian let the smile fall from her features. "And I'm sorry about your mother Rissaya, but life goes on. You go on….and guard's going to ensure that." Lily swallowed a lump in her throat. She couldn't just drop away from her miserable being….but she had to. This time, she had to, if there was another chance, this was it. Besides, Charlie had said that he wanted to see her dancing.

"But if you slack I'm going to change my mind and kick you off the team, girl. Get moving!" Another glance from the coach sent Lily scampering down the stairs and out the door. She barely noticed the two men staring after her, and the looks that they exchanged with the older woman.

Ten minutes later she was listening to Julie counting off numbers, tossing her weapon directly on cue on the back lawn, doing various spins and lunges between each throw. In between, she shot as many nasty glances as she could at the two men across the yard, who were lounging in chairs and making "helpful" comments.

Charlie had taken his lap-top outside, and was happily watching the scathing remarks made each time her toss was a half-turn off, or her posture slipped. Occasionally he'd add in his own observation about the varying velocities of seemingly perfectly united endeavors, earning himself a death-wish from one of the women, and a smile of approval from the other.

Alan was nearby, looking like a cat that had gotten into the cream with the result of the phone calls he had made that morning. Coffee in hand, he pretended to read a magazine as he watched the two women work.

"Come on Rissaya, three days shouldn't make you this sloppy. Sharpen up. I want a sequence now with proportional step turns. Start with ones, then move up." Lily spun the wooden block between her two hands, tossing it higher, higher, feeling the danger of solid wood whirling around her, and yet no more dangerous to her then any of part of herself, for it was only that- an extension of herself that was never quite solid, never quite stayed in her hands. She tossed it up lightly and raised her hands for the step turn, not seeing the emerald and cerulean blue around her as she made the move and brought her slender arms back in, ready for the perfect catch. Nothing mattered anymore. She had the world, she had the rhythm of the step in her heart and soul, dictating every move, every breath, every thought…

"Is it just me, or is Lily dancing with a giant hunk of wood?" Don stepped out onto the porch, his hair sticking up on all ends from a shower, and a cup of coffee in his hands. He hadn't returned from his late-night exerusions until after day-break, and had caught up on some much needed rest.

"It's a rifle." Charlie said absent mindedly, tearing his eyes away from the pair in front of him momentarily to gaze at his computer screen. "Colorguard, traditionally military, but now more of a dance-form. It's really great, there's a perfect ratio of weight on the various ends so that…"

"Who is the other lady?" Don asked, ignoring his brother's subsequent lecture about weight ratios and velocity with a well-trained deaf ear. For once, his mind felt somewhat clear, and the sunlight less threatening than it had in past days. While deeply disturbed from the previous night's findings, it was difficult to dwell on them while peering down at the happy faces of his family, for once, unstrained with the grief of a burden he himself had brought upon them. True, they had embraced it, but it didn't make the FBI agent feel any less guilty for dumping his "problem" on them.

After they had found the fingerprinting dust, Terry and him had sped back to the office as fast as they could, and spent the wee hours of the morning racking their brains for possible leads on the trail of their mystery co-investigators. Don hated an enemy he couldn't see- it was easy to crash-and-bash take things out, but being forced to simply watch his shadow and wait for the obstacle to show itself- it made him more than nervous.

"Julie Dashee. She's the head coach of the Los Angeles Silver-Tree Colorguard. I called Lily's high school, and they gave me her number when I explained the situation." Don stiffened at Alan's response.

"What did you tell them?" he demanded sternly, turning on his father. The older man shook his head at the violent reaction.

"Just that I had a member of the guard and that she was sick and needed to contact the coach. Don't worry Donnie, I know how to keep quiet. But, the less you tell me, the less I know to keep secret." The older man flipped a page of his magazine nonchalantly, and stared up at his son. "It was Charlie's idea. He said that she needed her equations."

Don looked up again, watching as the girl lay what looked like a sword on one edge of the lawn and the rifle at the other. She moved a distance equally apart from them and posed stiffly, one hand up raised, the other behind her, one foot pointed in front of her body, which had taken on a graceful arc of concentration.

She did look better. In the sun, her skin didn't have the sickly pale-sheen that it had in the past few days, and her hair, tightly pulled back, revealed a face touched with more then blind mourning. There was a focus that Don recognized from his Baseball years, a mindset that he taken her out of his world and into her own, where nothing existed but herself and her intentions. She had changed into dark green shorts that had two leaves embroidered in silver on them and a black tank-top that revealed a line of toned skin around her mid-drift. Her body was sturdy, athletic- not petit or particularly alluring, but fit and healthy. She really is a pretty girl, Don thought vaguely. His view was blocked by the Arab woman who strode across the lawn towards him, holding a boom-box in her hand.

She was stocky, but not large, with a single long black braid that swung back and forth as she walked. Her bearing was full of purpose and authority as she moved towards the three men, her age indiscernible- impossible to read, overshadowed by her extreme presence. When she reached the porch, she stopped and studied them for several moments.

"Do you have an outdoor outlet? Miss I-skipped-three-practices has a regional competition that she needs to place in to qualify for national and international shows." The woman directed the question with a nod of greeting towards Alan." The man smiled at her, apparently amused by her no-nonsense attitude and pointed a few feet away from him, where an available outlet stood on the wall of the house. The woman nodded again, to show thanks and proceeded to plug the contraption in, then bent down to play with the controls.

"She's had a very difficult few days," Don said quickly, irritated by the woman's obvious lack of compassion. Perhaps his father hadn't explained the situation to her correctly-

"Yes, and so have I. Do you know what I went through when I thought I'd have to find another solo dancer for the show? I'm a good coach, but I'm no miracle worker. There's not a single other guard member that could-" Don frowned at the cold hearted words, bristling up. He too, respected the aura of intelligence that this woman toted, but he didn't like her attitude.

"You're lucky she's still able to walk and talk after what this girl's gone through!" he interrupted, his eyes glowering with anger. Julie finished fiddling with the CD player and stood up, turning to face Don.

"You must be Don Epps." she said. "When I talked to your father, I was surprised that I hadn't already met you." The woman held out a hand to the man, and he took it, albeit reluctantly.

"What…why?" The response didn't make any sense. Julie turned to look at Lily, who was still obediently in the starting pose for whatever she was about to being, ignoring the question.

"That girls' a tough one. She's got a history, and I've known her name since before she knew it. I taught her to dance before she could walk, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you can't let her stop. If she stops, she falls. If you push, she keeps going, even if she's been derailed, and if you push hard enough, she'll get back on the tracks." The words were quiet, and for the first time, Don heard traces of an almost maternal regret in them.

"A past?" he asked, the FBI part of him never dormant. The woman laughed softly, a full, rich sound.

"Government agent to the core." she said. "And it's about time." Don jumped and again, Julie laughed.

"I've been around them awhile. I used to be one- did CIA undercover missions around California. It got to be too much- I saw too many things that I can't forget, did too many things…" her voice betrayed nothing, but her eyes were troubled. Don found himself intrigued. "I finally said it was enough, and we cut a deal. I keep quiet about…everything, and they let me teach CIA sons and daughters to dance. Lord knows, they need something beautiful in their lives, with everything exploding around their ears."

"You knew…you knew that Nina Rissaya worked for the CIA?" Don asked, dumbfounded. Julie nodded, with another glance towards her student. Why hadn't he found her sooner? The man had to keep reminding himself that the case was only days old. It felt like years.

"I knew- the day she moved to LA, I came to her door-step and stole baby-Lily for her first dance lesson. Never said a word to the girl of course, but I sure as anything prayed after every practice that she wouldn't come home to find her mother with a bullet in her head. I guess God doesn't have time for every request."

"But, she was undercover, wasn't she? You wouldn't have been able to-" Charlie joined the conversation, his fascination with the topic undisguised. Julie shrugged and turned her attention to the young man.

"Part of the deal that we made." Charlie looked up at her, and even he didn't miss the shrewd darkness that came about the woman's eyes. "You're Charles Epps then, you're the one who had the idea to call me down. Sharp." Charlie smiled timidly at the compliment and turned back to his computer. Don wondered if the woman had any idea how sharp. He decided that from what he knew of her, he wouldn't dismiss the idea. "Dancer's body too," Julie continued, still looking at Charlie. "Do you-" Now the mathematician blushed furiously.

"Uh…no, never." he stuttered, trying to keep his eyes on his word. Don grinned, armed with a new antagonistic remark for his younger brother, next time the young man's head got too large for his taste.

"You should ask Lily sometime, she could teach you a thing or two." Julie said offhandedly. Charlie muttered something indiscernible under his breath.

"You ready, Rissaya?" The Arab woman turned her attention back to the girl, one hand resting on the CD player. On cue, Lily threw herself into a jump turn and halted, pulling her body back before entering another spin and a deep dip-curtsy. Stiffly, her right came up in an unmistakable salute.

"Guard is pretty formal," Julie said to the surprised men, whose full attention had turned to the girl. "They salute to gain permission to enter evaluation." She raised her voice so that Lily could here. "Los Angeles Silver-Tree guard soloist Lily Aaralyn Rissaya, you make take the floor in competition." Julie slammed her hand down on the play-button.

A soft flute-tone came on, followed by the sound of a strong rhythm and a couple of other instruments. The song wasn't slow, but eerie, entrancing. It reminded Don of a waterfall at night. He didn't know why, but something about the inky melding of starlight and water rushing into faceless depths lent itself to the nature of the melody. It was not threatening, but at the same time almost frightening in its intensity, not accusatory, but knowing, as though it was making the listeners transparent, and stealing their secrets.

Lily immediately blended herself with the melody, the drum-beat matching her feet, the flute becoming her arms, her torso a violin. She easily spun and glided across the lawn, her posture rigid and fluid at the same time, a dancer to the core. She was the water, the stars, the rocks below, the watcher, and the watched, with a surety that only months of practice and discipline could bring.

A minute or two into the song, the young woman dipped down and picked up the sword, balancing it in one hand before swinging it into the other. Soon is was a whirling blur, leaving her hands farther and farther into the cloudless sky, each spin yielding a more complicated spin or leap on the ground, the young woman's eyes upturned and focused, her performance expression not a smile, for a smile wasn't appropriate to the song, but rather an intense stare, a challenge, and a glint of mystery.

The men watched, amazed at the transformed figure that had been their tragic emotional-bombshell.

"Wow," Don breathed. Charlie was silent, his eyes following the girl's every move.

"It's Ok, for not having done the routine in a few days. And it's nothing compared to what she'll be doing at the regional meet," Julie commented, her eyes intent and critical. "Don't shirk that extra half turn! Come on, keep your back straight! Straighter- I want to see every rib sticking out!" As she screamed critique for the invisible thoughts, Charlie sighed wistfully. There was something about the pure grace and emotion of it that he so lacked, and at the same time, he was very familiar with it- finding it in many other mediums of his own.

"She's amazing." Alan said, out of character in being so readily impressed. Again, Julie shrugged.

"As far as guard soloists go, she's alright, maybe even good. But she's a hardy one. You just keep knocking her down, and she gets back up and keeps dancing. She loves it. She sleeps dance, breathes it, you know." At this, the Epps brothers both nodded understanding.