Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or any of the characters therein. All characters in this story are fictional and should not be associated with any person- real or imagined.

Author's note: I had these written last week, but for some reason, they would not upload. That's why I have 2 chapters to post at once.

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Gary Malone sat at his desk, looking over the past month's financial report. As head of one of L.A.'s smallest not-for-profit missing children's agencies, he was concerned at the lack of recent donations. People's interest in searching for the missing was beginning to wan, as the media was constantly pointing out the unfathomable number of kids that disappeared each year and were never found. The general public had begun to think that funding the searches was a waste of energy and money. Hence, the number of private donations was decreasing, putting many of the smaller agencies out of business.

Malone hoped it did not happen to theirs.

As he started marking off the names of previous donors, his ears picked up the sound of the side door slowly opening. Looking over his reading glasses, he observed a young man with curly black hair standing just inside the entryway.

Parent- lost his child- Malone immediately thought, noting the lack of focus in the young man's face, the downward tilt of his head- as if he could not bear to see the world without his child in it, the sagging shoulders- as if the unfairness that comprised the world were crushing him, and the air of depression and hopelessness that circled him like an extended halo.

Quickly standing up, Malone crossed to the young man and greeted him, shaking his hand gently and guiding him to a seat in front of his desk. Sitting in his own chair, Malone took out a basic form from his top left drawer, readying his pen so he could start recording information.

"This will be a lot easier if I just start asking the questions. It'll help you keep your mind on the facts we'll need- and not on the reason why you're here."

Charlie nodded glumly, his eyes staring at his hands.

"Name of the missing?"

"Donald Adam Eppes."

"Date of disappearance?"

"Friday," Charlie named the date.

"Last place seen?"

He gave his brother's address.

"General description?"

Charlie hesitated.

"Hair color?"

"Black."

"Eyes?"

"Brown."

"Height?"

"Something over six feet- not really sure."

Malone paused at that- must be a missing teenager- thirteen years old maybe, based on what he guessed this man's age to be. Malone was always surprised at how quickly kids got tall nowadays.

"Age?"

"35."

"Weight?

"Wait" – Malone looked up at Charlie. "Did you say thirty-five?"

Charlie nodded his head in affirmation, tears wetting his cheeks- the first he had dared to shed since his brother's disappearance.

Malone grabbed some Kleenex from his desk, handing them to the desolate young man and waiting for him to continue with an explanation.

After wiping his face and blowing his nose, Charlie downloaded to Malone everything that had occurred over the past month- from Don's last phone call to the news that Megan had conveyed to him earlier that day. He told Malone that for the first time since the whole thing had begun, he felt that he was all alone.

Taking pity on Charlie, Malone talked to him, comforting him like he would a parent who had lost a child. In his heart, Malone believed that the young man was suffering much the same way, his closeness to and his love for his brother apparent in every word he spoke, and in every movement of his body.

Besides, it was in the older man's nature to help.

"So," he asked Charlie, "the F.B.I. has given up on your brother."

"Yes."

"Believe it or not- that doesn't matter," he stated knowledgably. "The only thing that matters is this- have you given up?"

Charlie thought about Malone's question. Had he given up? Did he really believe his brother had been murdered and buried in some unknown gravesite? He searched his mind, but whether or not it was logical was beyond the point. Charlie had to search his heart- and in there, he found the answer. He believed- no, knew- Don was alive, and he would find him.

Sitting up confidently, Charlie stated firmly- "No."

"Good," Malone smiled, "Now that we've established that, I can tell you how you can look for your brother- F.B.I. or no stinking F.B.I."

For the first time in a month, Charlie smiled.

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Alan Eppes sat on the couch in the living room, leaning against a corner pillow and holding a crossword in his left hand. There was a pencil in his right hand, but it had not moved all night. The elder man sat motionless, his eyes unfocused as he was lost in the misery of his thoughts. He tried not to- but he could not help picturing his eldest son lost, pleading for his father's help; maybe he was as close as a local warehouse, hidden in its basement, or maybe as far away as New York, captor of an international team of terrorists- it did not matter the scenario that his mind conjured up, for in each one of them his son was crying and hurt and bleeding and dying…

He had again spent the day driving aimlessly around the city. At one point, he had thought that a homeless man walking down an alley looked suspiciously like his son. So, parking illegally on a side street, he had hurried back to check. When he approached the man, he was sure he was looking at Don's face- but when he was within a few feet of him, it became apparent he did not look anything like his missing child. Fleeing the alley, he had found himself in a large group of pedestrians- and everyone he looked at, every face he saw, belonged to Don- a hundred Dons crowding around him.

Alan had run back to his car, ignoring the ticket that flapped under his wiper. He was not sure how he made it home- he just knew that he had gotten there, and somehow winded up on the couch, suffering the aftereffects of his earlier shock.

"Dad!"

Alan jumped out of his stupor, momentarily mistaking the sound of Charlie's voice for that of Don's. When he realized his mistake, his eyes welled up with tears- both because he had wanted it to be Don's, and because he was ashamed that he had been disappointed that it was Charlie's. He never wanted to feel disappointed to hear either of his sons.

Charlie entered the living room, his arms full of the papers, notebooks, and the computer case he was carrying.

Alan was surprised at the appearance of his son.

He seemed to be excited.

Sitting up from the couch, Alan tried not to hope- could they have found Don?

Charlie set his heavy load on the coffee table in front of Alan, a smile planted on his face.

"I've got a lot to talk to you about Dad- it's really important."

Alan leaned forward in anticipation.

For the first time since entering the room, Charlie noticed his Dad's demeanor. He realized he had given him a wrong impression, and wanted to correct it immediately.

"No," the words spilled quickly from his lips, "They haven't found Don- yet."

Leaning back into the couch, Alan began to traverse the nightmarish suppositions of his mind again.

"Dad!" Charlie demanded his father's attention. Alan looked up at his son, stunned at the forcefulness of his words. "This is important!"

"All right, Charlie- you have my full attention."

"Good."

Sitting on the edge of the coffee table, Charlie began to tell his father Malone's suggestions.

"He said we should approach the search like it was a campaign- instead of electing Don, the goal would be to find him. So, we would need a campaign office. And I already found one- there used to be this café across from Cal Sci- it closed down last month. It's not that big- but big enough. There's a main room, with plenty of room for desks and chairs and computers- oh, and phone lines; we'll need to remodel some, but not as much as you think, cause the place was just tables and chairs and a removable counter…"

Alan sat on the edge of the couch, waving his hands back and forth in front of Charlie-

"Whoa! Whoa! Slow down- what the hell are you talking about?"

Charlie tried to summarize everything into a single sentence.

Proudly he said, "We're forming a task force to find Don."

An unsettling feeling gnawed at Alan's stomach.

"Charlie- the F.B.I. already has a task force looking for your brother."

As much as he had dreaded having to talk to his father, Charlie found it was a lot easier than he had anticipated.

"No," he shook his head, "They dissolved it early this morning."

Alan felt as if a hot iron had been whipped into the center of his stomach. Trying hard to keep his emotions under control, his voice a harsh whisper as he asked-

"Why?"

Charlie sat down next to Alan, taking his father's left hand in between his own; gently massaging the elder man's knuckles, taking his time to word what he was about to say in the best possible terms. His eyes following the movement of his own fingers, Charlie carefully explained-

"An informant for Homeland Security says that Don was murdered- that we'll never find his body. The Bureau has decided to use his statement as an excuse to stop looking for him. Today, Tommy Larson disappeared- supposedly a victim of kidnapping. The L.A. Bureau is going to be busy looking for him- and too busy to do anything about Don. Though officially Megan, David, and Colby will still be researching his case, their work load is going to be too big for them to do anything really effective."

Alan's head fell between his shoulders, a short gasp of air efficiently expressing every pain he was experiencing at Charlie's words. He felt much the same as Charlie had earlier- his kind, loving, considerate, compassionate son; he was to be abandoned for some rich, spoiled playboy.

Letting go of Alan's hands, Charlie raised his own to softly clasp his father's face, lifting it level to his own, much as the elder man had done to his sons on other occasions. He locked eyes with Alan, trying to connect with the hopelessness he saw deepening into the dark wells that resided within.

Slowly, emphasizing each word, Charlie assured Alan-

"I- HAVE- NOT- GIVEN- UP."

Alan let Charlie's words be absorbed by his mind, body, and soul. Nodding his head between Charlie's hands, Alan indicated that he trusted his youngest son. Pulling away from Charlie, he composed himself, sitting up straight on the seat, forcing his depression aside long enough to ask Charlie-

"So, what's your plan?"

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"No, no, no- the phone lines need to be over there, where the connections are. And that desk, it goes next to the other one."

Alan was directing a small crew of workers. He wanted them to work efficiently and fast.

It had only taken a couple days to 'remodel' the little cafe across from the Cal Sci campus. Being a former city engineer, Alan had contacts within the government offices that quickly processed his building permit, allowing them to start work the day after Charlie signed a three-month lease with the store's landlord.

The place hadn't needed much work, anyway.

The store was a main square space with a unisex bathroom and a small kitchen in back. Alan had decided to leave the kitchen untouched, as it would be too expensive and time-consuming to convert it to useful space. Besides- he figured it would be beneficial to have a place for workers to make their lunch or dinner on the job. The main area had needed to be emptied of old furniture- including a deli-counter; then, it just needed a coat of paint and some electrical work. An electrician had set up connectors to allow for a bank of ten phone lines, as well as several lines for internet connection.

All that was left to finish they were doing at that moment- putting into place the new office furniture, phones, and computers.

Looking over the room, Alan was pleased at the final result.

To the left of the door, two desks sat next to each other. There were ten phones on the desk tops, with a row of five chairs behind them. The setup would allow five people to man two phones each; extra chairs were lined along the front wall, for visitors to sit on or to be used by workers in case the phone lines became busy.

Directly ahead of the door, there were three small desks with computers on top, and a pair of chairs sitting directly in front of each. This was the area in which statements could be taken down, and research conducted on the computers. Finally, to the right, there was a copy machine, then a fax machine sitting on a long work table. Here, posters could be drawn, fliers copied, and buttons made- anything that was necessary to advertise Don's disappearance and the reward money of $200,000 that Charlie was going to pay out of his own pocket.

Based on Malone's suggestions, Charlie had explained his plan to his father. They could rent the store space, set up a small office, and advertise for volunteer workers to be on their task force. As they were located right across the street from the Cal Sci campus, they had a pool of thousands of people that might offer to help the popular math professor; its location would also be convenient for student volunteers to help in between and after classes, and during weekends. After getting permission to advertise, Charlie had spoken to his colleagues- including his best friend Larry- about his plans, asking them to request volunteers from their departments. Before the first fliers had even been printed, they already had over twenty people who promised to start working the following Monday, as well as the group of seven that had showed up to help put the furniture and computers in.

Alan had contacted his business lawyer, who would file the papers identifying them as a limited not-for-profit group. It would be Alan's main job to get the place ready, and then to serve as office manager. In this capacity, Charlie figured his father's compulsion to look for Don could be put to good use; instead of roaming up and down streets, Alan could focus his energy on encouraging the workers to make and distribute the fliers, buttons, and posters needed in their search for Don.

On top of the small items they would have the volunteers make and distribute, Charlie planned to hire a dozen billboards that would splash his brother's face and the amount of the reward money across the Los Angeles freeway. He had already hired a computer expert to build a website with pertinent information and contact forms, with a monthly stipend promised if he kept the site updated. Last, Charlie was going to buy a couple thirty-second spots of advertisement on late night cable. These more expensive ads would have to wait, though, until he obtained a little more money.

Because that was going to be Charlie's role in the plan- he would supply the funds. The professor called his old contacts at the NSA and finagled himself three high-paying consulting jobs. While his father worked at 'campaign headquarters', Charlie would be working in the garage and in his office, in order to finish the consultant work, and obtain more funds for their task force. This was because Malone had warned Charlie- no matter how much money he had, if he was serious about finding his brother, it would never be enough. So, he set out to earn more, in anticipation that they might need it.

Alan was pleased at the college students who had volunteered to work on setting up shop. They were young, energetic, organized, and smart. Most importantly, they understood how to use the computers, as Alan was not computer literate himself. This combination of traits allowed the students to make suggestions that Alan would never have thought up- suggestions that would make his job easier and the task force run smoother.

Despite himself, Alan was finding himself with a half-smile on his lips. Surrounded by all that youth and optimism, for the first time since the original Bureau task force had been formed, he, too, believed they would find Donny.