Disclaimer: I think, by now, most people know the stock disclaimer for these fanfics. They don't belong to me, and quite frankly I wouldn't want them. I had to buy a gross of ice packs yesterday to nurse my various cuts and bruises. Who knew Professor Eppes was so proficient at throwing calculators?

Chapter 4:

Don put his hand to his head in an attempt to calm his nerves. "She didn't come back to the office? I told her… Are you sure?" he asked.

Colby replied, "Yeah, Don. I'm sure. Is something wrong?"

"No," Don said, thinking fast. "Listen, I'll call you back, okay? And Colby?"

"Yeah Don?" Colby said.

"No one - and I mean no one – is to leave the office until I get there, is that clear?"

"Sure." Colby's voice was puzzled. "I'll let everyone know."

Don sighed. "Give David a hand going through the files. I'll call you." He disconnected and immediately dialled another number.

"Reeves."

"Megan!" Don let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Where the hell are you?"

"I'm at CalSci." Megan paused, then said, "Oh! I'm sorry, Don! I didn't mean to worry you."

Don didn't answer, fighting the urge to yell at the other agent.

"I found – never mind what I found. I'll tell you later. Did you want me to come pick you up?" she asked.

"Please," Don said.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Megan told him. "And I'll take the direct route."

Don flipped the phone shut and leaned against a nearby divider wall, suddenly exhausted.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Don had been driving in silence for quite some time before Megan attempted to make conversation.

"I said I was sorry, Don. It was only forty minutes. What else do you want me to do?"

Don shook his head once, not trusting himself to speak.

Megan sighed. "Do you want to know what I found?"

Glancing out the side window, he finally said, "Yeah."

"Singular monosyllables," she observed. "Progress, anyway." She took out a small notebook and thumbed through until she found the entry she wanted. "That substance didn't come from inside the office. I found traces of a yellowish powder in an envelope on your brother's desk."

Don shifted in his seat. "Abrin."

"I'm sorry?" Megan asked.

"Abrin," Don repeated. "It's called 'abrin', the stuff Charlie drank."

She frowned. "I don't think I've ever heard of it."

"Me neither," Don admitted. "According to the resident on Charlie's case, it's used as a medicine sometimes."

"For what?"

"I don't know." Don sighed. "It's… potent."

Megan looked at him for a long moment before asking quietly, "What are his chances, Don?"

He glanced at her briefly before turning his gaze back to the window. "About fifty-fifty, I guess. Charlie could probably calculate it for you, but…" He let the sentence trail.

Megan looked at her hands folded around the notebook in her lap. "Did they give him something to counteract it?" Don didn't reply. She lifted her gaze to his face, waiting for his response. When none seemed forthcoming, she asked, "There is something they can give him, right?"

Finally, he shook his head. Megan drew her breath in sharply. "There's no antidote?"

In a low voice, he replied, "No. Drop it, Megan."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Don and Megan walked into the FBI office to a frenzy of activity. Several agents were poring over folders that seemed to cover every available surface. The center seemed to be a table in the far corner of the room where they could see David and Colby surrounded by mounds of files and telephones. People were going back and forth to the table, answering phones and calling to one another over the general commotion. There was as much activity as if it were the middle of the day, instead of the early hours of the morning. Glancing up, David saw the other two approach and hurriedly concluded his conversation on the phone. He replaced the receiver and then made his way over.

Don asked, "What's going on here, David?"

"We finally got all your old case files," he responded, glancing around at the organized chaos. "I had to call in some extra agents to go through it all." David turned to Don and said, "I don't know how to use that filter thing of Charlie's, and I wasn't sure if I should put a call in to Amita for help, so we're doing it the old-fashioned way."

Don put his hand on David's shoulder in a gesture of gratitude. "Good call, David," he said. "I don't want Larry or Amita called in on this for now. Not until I have a chance to talk to them."

David looked like he was about to speak but at a quick headshake from Megan he kept silent.

Colby called, "Megan! I've got Evidence Recovery on the line for you." He waved a receiver at her. She looked at Don and said, "I called them to Charlie's office. Excuse me." She stepped around him and took the phone from Colby, who proceeded to shuffle through another stack of files.

Watching all the activity, Don said to David, "You've been busy."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged. "When you told Granger nobody was allowed to leave, I had to give them something to do. I figured, why pull my hair out trying to find this guy when I've got all these people standing around?"

Don glanced at the other man's bald head and remarked wryly, "Why indeed?"

David grinned. "Couldn't resist. Sorry."

"Right." Don took off his jacket and slung it over the back of a nearby chair. Turning to face the room, he called, "Listen up, people!" Activity ground to a halt as most of the room's occupants stopped what they were doing. When he was sure he had their attention, Don continued. "There is someone out there who is bent on getting to me for reasons unknown. He has used a difficult to obtain substance to poison one person already, and has said he intends to make me suffer." He paused to let this information sink in. "I do not believe he will go after me, personally, but people I have contact with: friends, family… and coworkers. So from this point forward – no one is to leave this office alone. Do not go anywhere without someone to watch your back. If you have to go somewhere, and it is not possible to take someone with you, let me know and we'll arrange something for you." He looked around to gauge their reactions. "I cannot stress how dangerous this character is. Please. Do not allow yourselves to be caught off guard. Thank you." He turned back to the table. Colby and Megan had both gone back to their phone calls. Only David remained, standing next to him.

"What have you got so far?" Don asked.

"We've managed to eliminate about thirty percent of the files," David began. "But that still leaves an awful lot to go through." He paused, then continued in an undertone. "How's Charlie?"

Don avoided his gaze, watching Colby and Megan discussing something on the far side of the table. "He's doing as well as can be expected," he replied evasively.

David regarded his friend in silence for a moment. "Don?"

Finally Don seemed to deflate a bit, and then looked at him squarely. In a low voice he said, "If Charlie lives through the next few days, he'll recover."

David's eyes widened in shock. "Are you serious?" he asked. At the other man's nod, he said, "What was that stuff?"

"Abrin," Megan said, stepping around David to address Don. "It's a substance most commonly used to treat cancer. It looks like a yellowish powder and comes from India and other tropical areas."

"India's a tropical area?" David asked. Megan glared at him and continued, "It's a phytotoxin, can be inhaled, ingested or injected. Usually takes one to three days for the effects to show."

"You know, Megan," Don interrupted. "I got this from the doctor. He said Charlie must have an unusually large dose for the effects to be seen so fast."

She nodded. "The evidence recovery team I called to Charlie's office took the envelope in. They say it had a large amount of powdered abrin in it."

"What was on the envelope?" David asked.

"It was addressed to 'Professor Eppes' – no return address," she answered.

Don said thoughtfully, "I'll bet it smelled of perfume."

Megan looked at him sharply. "How did you know?"

"Charlie's been getting anonymous love letters," Don replied, seating himself in a nearby chair wearily. "He wouldn't think it strange to get another one. And he would have sniffed it – which would provide another route for the abrin to get into his system." He cradled his head in his hands. "No wonder it hit him so fast. The only thing this psycho didn't do was inject Charlie with it."

Megan and David exchanged glances. When Don finished speaking, Megan said, "Don, you've been working for about twenty-four hours. When are you going to get some sleep?"

He let his hands fall, but didn't raise his head. "I can't – there's too much to do. Too much at stake."

"I have an idea," David offered. "Why don't you go into one of the interview rooms – stretch out in a chair or something. We can let you know when we've gotten this…" He gestured at the stacks of files. "…Narrowed down as far as we can go."

Don stood a little unsteadily and made his way to the interview room without speaking. The other two agents watched as he seated himself in an armchair and put his feet on the table.

Megan turned to David. "We've got to get some answers for him."

"Let's get to work," he replied. They both turned and picked up a handful of manila folders.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Don had been dozing for about half an hour when his cell phone rang. He started out of his chair on the first ring, but it wasn't until the third that he finally answered.

"Eppes."

"About time, Agent Eppes," came the low tones of his tormentor. "What were you doing, sleeping?"

Don rubbed the sleep out of eyes viciously and looked out the plate glass window. Both David and Megan were deeply involved in what they were doing and didn't see him. "What do you want?" he growled. He tapped on the glass, and when David looked up, motioned first to his phone and then to the electronics tech, Craig. David nodded and called to the tech, who began typing on his computer.

Don turned away from the glass. "Who are you?" he asked.

"You haven't figured that out yet?" the man said. "I'm extremely disappointed in you, Agent Eppes. You used to be really good at figuring people out. Lost the touch, have you?"

"Quit playing games!" Don fought to regain his composure. "Tell me what you want."

"We've been through this, Agent," the other man said flatly. "What I want is for you to suffer. As for playing games…" He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Does your brother think it's a game, too?"

Don ground his teeth in frustration. There were a million things he wanted to yell at this guy, but to do so would only make matters worse.

"Now then," the man went on. "Just to show you that I can be reasonable, I am going to lay a few ground rules."

Don sat in the chair. Hard. "Ground rules?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The voice continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Number one: I never hit the same target twice. Number two: I never hit the same place twice. And number three…" He paused for effect. "You get to pick the next target. Choose carefully, Agent Eppes." The line went dead.

Don stared mutely at the cell phone in his hand. David opened the door and poked his head in. "Don?" He lifted his gaze to the other agent's face.

"We didn't get anything this time either." He waited for a reaction. Don just went back to staring at his phone. David stepped inside and closed the door. Moving to his friend's side, he leaned against the table and folded his arms. "What did he say?" he asked.

Don set the phone on the table and rubbed his face with both hands. Letting them drop, he replied, "I get to pick who's next."

"What?"

"He said there were 'ground rules'. His words, not mine." Don stood and began pacing nervously. Megan came into the room and stood by the open door. Don turned to them and began reciting, ticking each item off on his fingers. "He never hits the same person, he never hits the same place, and I pick who's next." He threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Who the hell is this guy? How do I decide who's next? Do I talk to them? Drive with them? Phone them?" He leaned on the table, energy spent.

Megan moved to his side and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Don, I know this is hard, but you need to get some rest – real rest. Not twenty or thirty minutes in a chair." She looked at David. "We can handle things here. Go home."

Don stood. Looking from one to the other, he asked. "And how do I find out if you have something? If I call, is that marking someone as the next target?"

"I don't know, Don," David replied. "Maybe you shouldn't call."

Megan dropped her hand from his shoulder. "David's right. Don't call. Get some sleep, and just come in. Then there's no way he can know who you're interacting with specifically."

He mulled it over for a minute and then gave in. "All right. It sounds reasonable. And I am tired." He picked his phone up off of the table and clipped it to his belt. Heading for the door, he said, "But I'm going to my apartment, not Charlie's house. He'd never forgive me if…" He stopped, mid-stride. Taking a deep breath, he turned slowly to face the other two. "I'll go home," he said. "Right after I – no. I can't go to the hospital. My father is still there. Damn it!" In his anger, he seized the edge of the door and flung it away from him, causing it to put a doorknob-shaped hole into the paneling behind it. He grabbed it on the back swing to prevent it crashing into him, and stood staring angrily at the floor. Finally, he let go and said quietly, "I'll be at my apartment." He turned and walked out.

David said, "We've got to get this guy. Soon."

"Yeah," Megan agreed, watching Don's departure through the glass. "Don's getting very close to his breaking point."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Don stood wearily in the hallway outside his apartment, fumbling for his door key. Finally locating it among the several others on the ring, he fitted it into the lock and opened his front door. He quickly scanned the corridor and then, satisfied he was alone, stepped inside. He stood for a moment in his entranceway after shutting the door and listened for any odd noises.

Odd noises? He berated himself. Any noise here is odd. You're hardly ever home. He shook his head and made for the kitchen, tossing his coat on a chair as he passed. A tinkling noise, like that of a music box, caused his heart to leap into his throat. He froze, mid-stride, and listened. The noise seemed to be coming from the bedroom.

Unholstering his pistol, Don slowly made his way to the bedroom and eased the door open. Glancing around, he saw nothing that could be making the tinny music, and allowed his gun hand to point down to the floor. He crept into the room, checking behind the door as he went. A quick look around satisfied him that nothing had been touched, and he moved to the bathroom door and peeked inside.

Nothing.

Then where the hell…? He suddenly realized the tune was coming from the window. He moved to one side of the frame and slipped a finger under the edge of the blind. Easing it away from the glass, he peered through the gap at the fire escape outside. Sitting on one of the metal grille stairs was a small, plain wooden box. The music was definitely coming from there.

Don let the blind fall back into place as he pondered what to do. On the one hand, it was probably a threat – how many people put a music box outside someone's window? But if he called for help, anyone who responded may wind up the next victim. On the other hand, it might not be dangerous at all. Just a sick, twisted way of getting on his nerves. Don rubbed his temple with his free hand, wishing he wasn't so tired and could think clearly.

Well, you could look at it, just don't touch it, he told himself. Nodding, he stepped away from the wall and faced the window, replacing his gun in its holster. He reached for the cord to pull up the blind.

The music stopped.