The remaining four chapters will most likely be up by tomorrow for those that are waiting. Thank you kindly for the reviews and as always, any more feedback is honored and cherished :).

-

Don told Kim he was taking some time off. He called into work and said the same. Both were understanding and Kim again asked if she should fly out. But Don said no. He knew she had just started a case and Kim hated handing cases off to another agent, no matter what the circumstance.

He stayed that night in his old room. Of course, it wasn't his room anymore and his mother had boxed most of the things that he'd collected over the years. She'd sent a few his way and he knew the rest were probably in the attic or the garage, carefully packaged and labeled. Mom could never throw anything away. Even if Don insisted. He was sure if he opened a few of those boxes, he'd still find the picture he'd drawn her for Mother's Day back in kindergarten.

The next day yielded another waiting room and another set of uncomfortable chairs. Dad paced back and forth, trying not to worry and failing miserably, while Charlie scribbled numbers across a tattered notebook.

Don picked up the newspaper, tried not to stare at the clock, and found himself contemplating apartment listings.

He wondered if Kim would understand. Vacation and personal time only lasted so long and he knew his father was going to need help. Dad wouldn't ask, and Don didn't want him to have to anyway. He knew how hard asking for help was.

All the Eppes men had a strong sense of pride.

Even Charlie. But Charlie was...

Don could put in for a transfer. He'd put in enough time to make such a request.

It was the only thing he could do. Mom would do nothing less for him.

--

"What? Don, I don't understand what you're saying."

He listened to her voice and the surprise lurking within it. He shouldn't be doing this over the phone, but Mom was starting chemo the next day and he just couldn't fly back to New Mexico. Not yet.

"Kim, please don't make me repeat it."

"Repeat what? Don, you just implied you want to move back to Los Angeles."

"I'm not implying. I'm serious."

"Serious? Listen, Don. Your mom's sick. I understand. But she might not be sick forever."

"She has cancer, Kim. Stage III ovarian cancer. She's not going to be cured overnight and My father won't want to ask me to stay."

"Then why are you?"

"Because I don't want him to have to ask." He had to stay. If his mother... well, he'd never forgive himself.

"You have a brother, Don. You've talked about him. And you have an apartment, a job, hell, you have me, out here." She sighed. "You need to let me help. I should come out there. Stay for a while. Then we could both come back."

"You shouldn't come out here."

"Why not? God, Don, you obviously need help."

"No. My father needs help. Mom needs help. Charlie needs help. I don't need help."

"You're wrong. You and your father must have a lot in common, then." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"They're my family. This is my mother. And my brother... I don't think you understand."

"I don't understand? Don, your mom's sick. You need to be there now. But you don't need to move right away. What you need to do is stay for a couple more weeks, then come back home. We can talk then." He heard the exasperation in her deep sigh. "Listen. Hang up. Go see your mom. We can't have this conversation over the phone."

"Right," he agreed. "I'll call later."

"Good." There was more silence for a few seconds. "I love you."

"I know," Don said and hung up before he realized he'd forgotten to say, "I love you" back.

--

It wasn't until Charlie failed to visit Mom after her first chemo session that Don knew his brother was truly not dealing.

"He should be here," he said.

"He has classes," Mom said, closing her eyes.

Don didn't care. This was their mother. Charlie could cancel classes, get someone to cover. He saw his father purse his lips.

"He'll be by," Dad insisted.

Don didn't believe it.

Four hours later and Mom was puking her guts out. Dad was rubbing her shoulders and Charlie was nowhere to be found.

Charlie didn't come home either, not when Don ran back to the house to water the plants because Mom insisted they needed it and not when he retrieved Mom's favorite blanket. She was cold and tired. It had been one week since the diagnosis and already things had changed. It would only get worse, the nurse warned. It was better to be prepared.

Prepared. Better to both think about and avoid the worst case scenarios. But it was best to strategize. Just like Don did every time he worked a missing persons case.

But his mother wasn't a missing person.

Charlie, however, was.

Don didn't sleep well, and Charlie still hadn't made an appearance by morning. Dad headed off to the hospital; Don did the dishes, planning to follow shortly. He noticed the overflowing laundry basket on top of the washer. Mom never left a basket on top of the washer.

He tossed the clothes into the washer, starting the cycle before he headed out the door.

Don planned on driving straight to the hospital, but found himself taking a detour past CalSci. He wasn't sure why he did it, but when he saw Charlie's bike chained outside the building Don knew housed the math department, he pulled over.

He wasn't sure what he intended to do. If he would drag Charlie out, if he would yell, if he would tell his little brother Mom needed him on the first day of chemo. Charlie was Mom's little boy and Charlie knew that just as well as Don did.

Don entered the building and realized he had no idea where Charlie's office was. The last time he'd been here was the day Charlie got his PhD. And that was nearly four years ago. Or had it been five? Don couldn't remember.

He needed to check the directory. Professor Charles Eppes, room 303. Charles. That seemed so foreign to Don. Charlie was Charlie. No one called him Charles, except Mom, and that was only when she was pissed.

"Charles, I don't think I understand what you are trying to achieve with all of this."

Don paused at the door, surprised. Apparently someone did call him Charles, after all. Did Charlie have a whole different life at the university?

Charlie was scribbling numbers across a white board. The dry erase marker squeaked. The man Don remembered vaguely from Charlie's PhD ceremony - Larry, Charlie's thesis advisor - stood watching him, one hand on his chin, the other in the air.

"I'm not trying to achieve anything, Larry." The marker stopped a moment. "It's statistics. There's not enough data to do an analysis." Charlie tapped the marker on the board. "Or maybe there's too much."

"Hmm," Larry replied. "Now there's a question. How much is too much? When does any analysis collect an overabundance of data? Does the study that has only thirty subjects become any less relevant then one that has three hundred?"

"Do they yield the same data? Results?"

"The very same. Perhaps whatever you are trying to achieve here is being oversimplified."

Don watched Charlie take a deep breath and run a hand through his hair. "Oversimplified. That really is the question."

"Well, it would be if I knew what you're working on." Larry scratched his head. "And why it was deemed important enough to cancel your eight o'clock class. This is no ordinary statistical analysis."

"No, it's not," Charlie agreed. The marker rose again and that's when Don noticed the abundance of open texts scattered across a desk. Suddenly all the random numbers made perfect sense.

It was just like the string of prime numbers all over again.

"Charlie."

Charlie jumped at his voice. Larry turned.

"Hi, Don," Charlie said. "I didn't realize you knew where my office was." He gestured towards Larry. "This is Larry Fleinhardt. I think you've met him. Larry, my brother, Don."

"Ah, the elusive older brother you've mentioned." Larry offered Don a hand. "We did meet. Once."

Don stepped into the room and shook Larry's hand and gave him a nod. "I read the directory downstairs. Charlie, Mom needs you."

Charlie moved across the room to his desk, staring down at one of the open books. He flipped a few pages and read for a moment. "Mom's fine. She doesn't need me."

"Fine?" Don repeated. Had Charlie just said that? "She's in the hospital, Charlie! She's as far from fine as you can get. For someone so smart, you can certainly be dense."

Charlie's head snapped up. "Dense?" Charlie repeated, shaking his head. "I can't be there."

Larry started backing towards the door. "I have a quantum field theory seminar to prepare."

"Larry, you don't need to leave," Charlie said. "Don, Mom's fine. She's just a little sick. She'll come home soon."

There was the word "fine" again. But Don noticed something different this time. Charlie believed it.

"Does your statistical analysis say that? Do all those numbers say that?" Don walked to the blackboard, picked up a marker. "You need to visit her today."

Next to the door, Larry shifted, clearly uncomfortable. "My seminar..."

Charlie looked back down at the book in front of him. His finger tapped the pages. "25,000 new cases diagnosed annually. Estimates indicate that 1 in 70 women will develop ovarian cancer in her lifetime. 1 in 70. Last year, the census reported that there are 106.7 million women in this country." Charlie lifted his gaze again. "106.7 million. 25,000 cases. 14,300 deaths. " Charlie was silent a moment. "Mom's an anomaly. Or she will be."

Charlie's eyes were so determined that Don knew Charlie wasn't coming with him. Not that day.