Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or any character therein. Any character in this story is fictional, and should not be associated with any person- real or imagined.

Author's note: Larry is a complex character- but I just love him, as I'm sure everybody else does, too. I have tried to write diaglogue that might come from Larry- but please forgive me if it doesn't seem quite right. For me, at least, it is difficult putting words into his mouth.

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Charlie said a few last words into his cell phone, giving a small wave in greeting to Larry.

The physics professor sat on Charlie's desk, his legs underneath him as he perched on its edge, studying a white baseball in his hand as he waited for his friend to finish.

Saying goodbye, Charlie put his phone away and dropped himself into a chair in front of Larry.

"When does Amita get back from India?" Larry asked.

"She's not sure- depends on whether or not they start another project. Could be a week- could be a month- could be forever, the way she's talking."

Larry nodded.

"And how did the latest tips pan out?" he asked, feeling that he already knew the answer.

"Another failure- fourth one in the past two weeks."

"False positive for a sighting of Don?" Larry inquired, tossing the ball up and down in the air.

"Yes- false positive. Always false."

Charlie looked glumly at his friend.

"You know- we take in all this information- thousands of calls in the last month- and the facts never add up to an acceptable outcome."

Larry nodded, rubbing the stitches on the ball in his hand.

"I think your problem, Charles, is that too many people are trying to get that two-hundred grand you offered up on a silver platter; too many people who are offering faulty information- it is corrupting your research- or would it be more proper to say search?"

Waving his hand dismissively, Charlie agreed.

"I know, I know- but, I guess, if nothing else, it keeps Dad busy. You should have seen him a month ago- he was driving around town accosting homeless men. Now, at least, he spends his time writing reports and pasting fliers- no threat to the lower socio-economic class of people."

"Well, Charles, many times we start down a path with a single purpose, then we find that another one begins to drive us- yet, in either instance, we are still on the same path, marching toward the same goal."

"True- but keeping Dad busy has actually been one of the reasons for this task force from the get-go. The problem is- we've been going down this path for a while now, but don't seem to be getting any closer to that goal. Every day, we get phone call after phone call."

In a mocking tone, Charlie mimicked-

'Yeah, that F.B.I. guy- he's my neighbor- been hiding out next door for years.' Or 'Man- I swear I saw him at the movies- he was selling popcorn and wouldn't give me extra butter.' Or my favorite 'I think he's the girl across the street- any chance he had a sex change?'"

Larry was spinning the ball around on Charlie's desk.

"When you have a complicated research project, it is not unusual for a lot of unexpected data to filter in- it is the job of the researcher to discriminate which information applies to the project and which information does not. Maybe you need to dispel more of the false data."

Charlie rubbed his face in frustration.

"Of course, Larry- we don't go running off to check out every tip. Obviously, that would not be statistically possible anyway, considering there are only three people available to verify the validity of the data."

"Ah, Charles, you must be referring to Megan, David, and Colby. How are they able to check the leads you give them- I thought they were overloaded with work."

Smiling, Charlie replied-

"Because they're slick- real slick. They can't have other agents help on Don's case- but many of their colleagues continue to offer help. Well, to get around Donaldson's limitations- they simply ask the other agents to do the basic paper- or footwork on their other cases. Thus, they have more time to spend on Don's case themselves."

"Splendid thinking on their part- I am impressed with their ability to move around such a formidable obstacle."

"Yeah- I'm grateful, too."

Twisting his body into various positions in the chair, he complained to Larry-

"But it seems so pointless. All the signs, the fliers, the billboards, the ads- we get all these calls and e-mails and people coming in to interview- but nothing seems to change. Don is still missing, and I'm beginning to wonder what the purpose is-we haven't made any more progress with all the work of the task force than we made without it."

"Are you old enough to remember "Hands Across America" Charles?"

Sighing, Charlie said-

"Maybe- but I don't really know what the hell you're talking about?"

"It was this nationwide effort to have people join hands- one person after the other in a single, solid line- from one end of the country to the other. This was the goal on the surface. But really, the purpose was to raise money and awareness of the starving people in Africa."

"And your point is- I should have a million people hold hands and pray that we find Don?"

"Not that that is a bad idea-exhibitions of faith often lead to astounding material results- but my point is that the solid line of people, the chain we may say, that goal- it was never met. There were too many places where people did not want to stand, and so there were gaps here and there across the country. However, the real purpose of raising money and awareness was still accomplished- so many people were affected by the attempt."

"Again, Larry- you are completely losing me here."

"My point, as you say, is that you are thinking along linear lines- and that is your fallacy. You suppose that someone is going to see a poster of Don, recognize him, and then come in with news of where he is - like counting, one, two, three. I am trying to suggest that you stop thinking that way. You do not need to have direct contact points between yourself and the final goal, all in a row. You may have touched one person already, the reacting result being that indirectly, not along a straight line from point a to b, he will touch someone else and so on; maybe breaks in the chain will occur along the way, but reactions will still occur between the necessary people, and ultimately, your goal of finding Don will be accomplished."

Charlie tried to summarize what Larry was saying in his own terms-

"You're saying that I might not know it, but the chain reaction that will lead to finding Don may have already started- beginning with my 'touching' the right person. And there is no way to follow its progress, because it may be jumping- seemingly randomly- from one person or event to another, with gaps in between. But it is still able to head towards and accomplish its goal."

"Well put, Charles."

A knock sounded on Charlie's open office door. Standing up, he greeted one of his students.

"Hey, Jimmy- I didn't expect to see you till two o'clock."

A shy, twenty year-old stood in Charlie's doorway. Short blond hair, skinny, with thick glasses and a crooked smile, Jimmy Nicholson was the quintessential geek.

Responding to his professor, Jimmy explained-

"Oh- our departure time is still the same. I just wanted to know if I could bring some fliers with me- you know, to post around town."

Charlie was touched by Jimmy's question. He had been the first one to join Don's task force; he had also been working every extra hour he could to help his professor in his search for his brother, and obviously did not plan on taking a break from his work, even though he was heading on a weeklong vacation to see his grandfather. The young man felt he owed a debt to Charlie.

Jimmy had been a student of his for two years. As a freshman, Jimmy had lost funding for his second year- so wrapped up in his studies, he had forgotten to file the final papers for a grant that was to pay most of his costs. Frantic, he had confessed his mistake to his math professor. He had cried, telling Charlie he was his Grandpa's only grandson- his mother and father had died long ago, both of them only-children. Grandpa had offered to mortgage his house and land to pay for Jimmy's college, as he was adamant that his grandson should go. Jimmy had refused, stating that he had received enough financial aide to cover his costs.

Only, he had screwed up and couldn't bear the thought that his grandfather would be risking his home because of his stupid mistake. If he couldn't get the money on his own, he would drop out of Cal Sci and go to community college.

Charlie had rescued Jimmy, using his prestige to contact the grant provider, asking them to give him an extension so he could file the proper papers. In return, Charlie had to promise to provide a few research services, which he easily rendered before the semester had ended.

In Jimmy's eyes, Dr. Charles Eppes was his hero, touching his life like no other- and there was nothing he wouldn't do for him.

"It's okay, Jimmy- don't worry about the fliers. You deserve a break from all the hard work you've been doing for the task force."

"I don't mind, Dr. Eppes- I really don't. Grandpa's house is stuck out in the boonies, so to speak, and it will give me an excuse to go into town whenever I get cabin fever."

Charlie laughed-

"Okay, fine- take as many as you want. It's out of our projected search area, but, what the heck- we've got plenty of fliers to spare."

When Jimmy had taken his leave, Larry asked-

"Are you taking a trip today?"

Sliding back into his chair, his head leaning on the back of the chair and his eyes closed, Charlie murmured-

"Yes- I'm taking Jimmy to his grandfather's house so he can visit this week. He's been working so hard on the task force- when I heard he needed a ride, I offered to take him as a small gesture of gratitude."

"It is wonderful that you can continue to think of others in your time of need."

"Well, Larry, when it hurts to think of the one you want- sometimes it's actually easier to think of others."

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Spring sucks, thought Bob Anderson, pulling another weed from his garden. The eighty-year old man was kneeling in the small garden next to his house. He had decided to spend his day tending to his property, as it was the first time in three days that it hadn't rained- and he loved to be outside.

Only, he hadn't expected so much work needed to be done. The storms of the last few days had flooded his garden, leaving small puddles in several spots, and drowning out many of his flowers. He had spent the good part of his morning in front of his house, picking up the limbs that the storms had so brutally whipped off the trunk of his favorite oak tree.

Standing up after pulling the last weed, he took in the rest of his property. He owned exactly two point nine acres of land, most of it wooded. In front, he had cleared a small yard years before, an old swing set still standing next to the oak, rusting as slowly as the old man himself. On either side of his house, there were lines of trees, most of them pine. He could not see his neighbor two acres away to the left of his house, as the trees were too thick. However, he could see pieces of his neighbor's house to the right- the bright yellow of the ranch standing out clearly between the browns and greens of the trees.

In between their property, an old wooden fence leaned perilously, half the slats rotted away. Bob saw that an entire section of the fence had fallen during the storm, the top of which was resting in the middle of a small stream that skirted his property. His back beginning to ach from the dampness, Bob headed to the fence, wanting to check if it warranted complete removal. Made no sense to let it completely fall into the stream- the weight of it might obstruct the water's path, and one really did not know how that might affect the land around it.

Reaching the fence, Bob pulled the fallen slats out of the stream, laying them next to the fence. He began to walk along it, checking to see how rotted it was as a whole. Over the fence, his neighbor's house sat, less than half an acre away. She had also cleared a yard out years before, from the front of the house to around back and nearly as far as the fence. Bob seemed to remember her having done this sometime in the late sixties or early seventies, a little after the time he and his wife had first moved in. He thought he remembered her being pregnant at some point, but did not remember having seen her with a child.

Shame her husband died of cancer, Bob thought, as he put his head around a large hole in the fence to check the condition of its other side.

He jumped back when his face met that of another's.

Laughing at himself, he recovered quickly, chiding his jittery bones. He looked back through the fence to see who the young man was that had also been startled by seeing an unexpected face.

He examined the man, who was staring straight at him, his body stiff and unmoving.

Bob thought about his appearance- looks to be in his thirties, he thought, has a lot of black hair. His eyes traveled down the man's body, taking in the rest of his appearance. He noted his casual dress- the t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. He especially noticed the toy rabbit stuffed under the belt around his jeans, and the modified baseball glove that he wore on his left hand, Velcro straps across its opening clearly keeping it on his hand.

Staring back at the man, Bob thought to himself- he must be special.

Attempting his most charming smile, Bob gently said-

"Hello there, son."

He got no response.

"My name is Bob- friends call me Bobby. Want to be friends?"

The man shifted his weight from one foot to another, seeming to become anxious.

Oh, boy, thought Bob, I don't want to scare him. Wonder if he's related to Dr. Thompson, or if he's one of her patients.

Bob reached into his pocket, pulling out a piece of chewing gum. He had the habit of chewing a piece now and then, still having most of his teeth.

Offering the gum as a peace offering, Bob asked-

"What's your name, sweetie?"

The man approached him, tentatively reaching for the gum.

He heard him start to stutter his name-

"D-d-ddd"-

Bob was so intent on his new acquaintance that he did not see or hear Dr. Thompson come up along the fence.

"Exactly what do you think you are doing?"

Both he and the man jumped for the second time that day, Bob dropping the gum on the ground.

Turning to Dr. Thompson, he explained-

"I scared this young man, and I just wanted to let him know that I didn't mean to do it."

He met Dr. Thompson's gaze, keeping his eyes on hers. A cold spike struck his back as he saw something fly through and out past her eyes that he remembered from an experience from his past. Shuddering despite the warmth of the day, he turned to address the young man again, but was cut off by Dr. Thompson with finality.

"Please don't talk to my son- he becomes most anxious when around strangers."

Bob did not understand this, as the man had seemed okay once he pulled out a piece of gum. Glancing his way, he saw something new in the man's stance and the look on his face- that something was unadulterated fear. Bob was getting a sickening feeling in his stomach, one that he could not quite place his finger on. Odd, too, was the fact that he had been unaware that Thompson even had a grown son.

Picking up on this, she explained-

"My son has been in an institute all of his life. They just released him about two months ago. It is hard for him to be around other people, having been isolated for most of his life. You do understand, don't you?"

Looking at her smile, Bob was reminded of the proverbial cat that ate the canary- a jaguar, he thought, with that shining black hair of hers. He had not seen a smile like for over sixty years- he had hoped he would never see one again.

Protesting, Bob asked-

"But he seems to like me- why don't you let me throw the ball around with him for a while- I bet it'd do him good."

She gave an emphatic "no".

Bitch, Bob thought.

Rudely dismissing Bob, she commanded the man "Come on- we're going back to the house- right now."

Bob watched as Dr. Thompson pounded off to her house, her son walking dejectedly behind her. He was curious when her son suddenly rushed to catch up to her, appeared to talk to her, and then he came back towards Bob, the whole while Dr. Thompson keeping watch, standing with a glare on her face and her arms folded tightly across her chest.

When the man was within a couple feet of Bob, he bent down to retrieve a soft ball.

As he pulled himself up, their eyes met.

The old man was barely able to read the man's lips as he mouthed to Bob-

"Donny"-

before running away to meet an impatiently waiting Dr. Thompson.

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Charlie and Jimmy left Cal Sci a little after two o'clock in the afternoon. The traffic was light, so they traveled at a leisurely rate, discussing math, the college, and, of course, Don. The weather was nice and warm, though the air was still humid from the three previous days of rain. When they arrived at their destination, Jimmy directed Charlie to park on the side of the road in front of his Grandpa's house, the dirt driveway being so thick with mud he was afraid his professor's car would get stuck.

The old man was standing at the end of his yard, wanting to guide them around the piles of sticks, puddles, and mud that still comprised the front edge of his yard. While Jimmy went to his grandfather, Charlie waited politely, leaning against the side of his car with his back to traffic- allowing Jimmy and his Grandpa to hug and greet each other privately, the reunion touching his heart as he imagined it would be that way when they found Don.

He was shaken out of his reverie, though, when he heard a car coming down the road behind him, and was astounded to see the old man suddenly release his grandson and hold both his middle fingers up towards the passing car.

"Grandpa Bob!" Jimmy shouted, shocked at his grandfather's behavior.

Charlie walked up to the old man, who stood sullenly by Jimmy's side. Laughing, Charlie had to ask-

"What was that all about?"

The old man peered thoughtfully at both young men, then explained-

"Neither of you would understand. That was Dr. Thompson"-

"But Grandpa, you've lived next door to her for over twenty- no thirty years."

Nodding his head, Bob continued-

"Yes, yes- but I never really knew her. Well, maybe I thought I did- but today, I found out different."

Bob walked them to his front porch, where they could sit on some rockers.

"Today, I met her son- kid just got out of an institute. Seemed real sweet- I tried to talk to him, but she wouldn't let me."

Jimmy defended Dr. Thompson-

"But she would know what's best for him- maybe he needs to be left alone."

Bob shook his head-

"It wasn't that- it was just this look- I can't desribe it- she gave this look when I was talking to her. I've only seen it one other time- back in the Second World War. Before everything went to hell, I went to Germany as part of an emissary group from the State Department. I was just a kid, really, a new private in the Army, assigned to perform a few secretarial duties cause I could type. Met this Nazi there- you gotta understand, this was before they started with the gas chambers and all those other horrors you read about but find hard to believe. They were just another political group, yet- I met this high ranking officer. He was always smiling- but once, just this once, I saw this look pass over him- it was gone so fast if you had blinked you'd have missed it."

Bob paused, the memory clear in his mind.

"I saw that same look fly past Dr. Thompson's face- it was predatory- and pure evil. You can smile and be proper and purr all you want- but you can't hide the animal in your heart forever."

While Charlie and Jimmy thought over the old man's words, he added-

"And that kid- I can't help feeling sorry for him, being special and all, stuck in that house with that woman; you could tell that underneath it all, that kid was scared as hell."

Charlie stood to leave, sorry that the old man had been so aversely affected by his experience with his neighbor. As they all three walked back to his car, he suggested that the old man might call adult services- he could report any abuse he might see. Bob thanked Charlie, promising he would keep it in mind if he saw anything unsavory happening next door.

Upon reaching the car, Jimmy exclaimed "oh yeah", running around to the passenger side of the car and reaching in to grab a small closed box.

"Almost forgot your fliers," he explained to Charlie.

Saying goodbye, Charlie pulled out onto the road, his headlights piercing the blackness in front of him. Before he passed Dr. Thompson's house, he suddenly had the urge to slow his car down and take a look at the residence of the topic of his most recent conversation. As he moved at a snail's pace, he could see that the house was set well back from the road. Apparently, there was only one light on in the house, an eerie glow highlighting a figure standing in her front window.

Charlie supposed it was her son.

A curtain dropped down over the window, and Charlie could no longer see his vague outline.

Pressing on the gas pedal, he increased his speed, thinking about the gesture the old man had given Dr. Thompson that evening. Charlie supposed that, if he thought a person was abusing his or her child, he would not hesitate to offer them the same.

But if Charlie knew what Dr. Thompson had planned for his brother that night, he would have used his hands for much more than a gesture.

He would have used them to tighten his hold around her neck, so he could slowly strangle the life out of her.