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

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Charlie's faith began to waver.

It was Sunday, and Don was upstairs taking a nap while Alan kept watch over him from the recliner near his bed. Charlie had again spent the day trying to get Don to trust him, but every time he tried to talk to him or help feed and dress him, or when he attempted to bathe him again, Don had become upset, crying to his father. Alan had quickly sent Charlie from the room, not wanting Don to lose the fragile trust he had in his father to keep him safe. Though he understood that Don had only been home two days, what really bothered Charlie was that he was not just being rejected by Don; his brother appeared to be terrified by him and he could not figure out why.

"Charlie."

Raising his head from the books and notebooks spread in front of him on the dining room table, Charlie looked up at his father, who was speaking to him through the balusters on the stairs

"I need to look at Donny's binder for tomorrow," Alan said, "and I think this is about the only time I can. Come watch him while I go over his evaluations."

Obediently, Charlie gathered his things together, attaching a small reading light to the hard cover of one book; afraid he'd fall asleep while he sat in the dark, he took a couple cans of caffeinated soda from the refrigerator, and then took his small bundle upstairs, balancing it carefully on the nightstand when he entered the bedroom. He took his father's place in the recliner, Alan standing in the doorway because he refused to leave Don until Charlie was fully established in the room.

After he was satisfied that Charlie was well-settled, Alan went downstairs and picked up Don's binder and a highlighter, then he sat on the couch in the living room. Now, he thought, if I can just pick out the major points I'll need to know for tomorrow. He stifled a yawn and sank deeper into the couch; two nights of sharing a bed with his grown sons finally had their effect, as soft snores began emanating from his mouth before he had finished reading the title of the first page.

Storm clouds gathered outside the Eppes' home, blocking out the sun. The sky blackened within minutes, rain starting to pelt down in harsh waves against the window panes, the wind emitting a high-pitched screech, a forbear of worse things to come.

Inside, Charlie sat reading with his legs drawn up under him, regularly looking over at Don, who was lying on top of the bed, his belt and jeans undone so he could sleep comfortably. Taking a large gulp of caffeine, Charlie's own eyes were drooping in response to the rhythmic patter of the rain. He opened up his second can of soda, propped it on his books after taking a swig, and got up out of the chair, walking back and forth quietly to stretch his legs.

A fast bolt of lightning was followed by a loud crash of thunder, which shook the house. Don reacted to the loud noise by flinging himself from the bed and tripping to the floor, knocking the nightstand and spilling all of Charlie's books and notebooks, the last dregs of pop seeping into the rug. Throwing on the lights, Charlie yelled out the door for his father; he then ran to help Don, who was half-asleep and struggling to sit up. Lifting Don back up to sit on the bed, Charlie tried to calm him down, not able to utilize Buddy as he did not see the toy had fallen hidden under the bed, and afraid that touching Don would be counterproductive. He visually checked his brother's head and was glad that he had not hit it.

Don was scared sitting next to Charlie. He chewed hard on his thumb, his left hand twisting his ear, wondering where his Daddy and Buddy were. Don had been afraid of Charlie ever since he took his bath the day before, when he had seen how strong his father and brother were; they had lots of muscles, not like Mommy, who was thin- but who could still hit him hard enough to hurt really bad. It scared Don to think how it would hurt if they had to teach him to behave, so he tried to do everything Daddy told him to do. But when Charlie had talked to him during his bath, somehow Don knew his brother was really smart and could count really fast; if Daddy let Charlie count when Don had to get the belt, Don knew he would not be able to move quick enough and would be hit lots and lots of times. Really hard.

Tears forever-developing in his eyes, Don noticed the mess he had made when jumping out of bed. He wished Mommy was there to clean up after him, like she had before; but she didn't know where he was, so she couldn't help him now. "Daddy," Don cried around his thumb, wanting him to make Charlie go away. When another blast of thunder exploded outside the window, Don's body jumped involuntarily as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Is that what's scaring you?" Charlie asked, "The thunder?"

Don lowered his face away from Charlie, not hearing his words; all he could think about was the mess he had made on the floor, wondering how hard and how many times Charlie was going to hit him, and why he could never be good.

Moving away from Don in hopes of easing the other's tension, Charlie ignored his upturned books and sat back down in the recliner, focusing on Don. "When we were little, Dad had us count between the lightning and the thunder; that way, we could tell when the storm was going to leave."

Hearing the word 'count', Don suddenly fixed his eyes on Charlie, who mistakenly thought his brother's interest was a positive response in wanting to know when the storm would go away. Don no longer wondered where Buddy was; he mistakenly thought his brother had taken him away so he could be punished.

Eager to please Don, Charlie watched for the next flash of lightning and began to count, waiting for the sound of thunder. While he softly listed the numbers, Charlie was surprised to see Don rush from his bed and stand in front of him; his surprise turned to fear when Don inserted his thumb into his belt buckle and pulled it from the loops of his jeans, holding it out to Charlie. Shaky with confusion, he took the belt from Don, trying to understand the terror he saw in his brother's eyes.

"W-why did you give this-s to me, Don?" Charlie stuttered. He wanted to get his dad, but Don was blocking his path, standing directly in front of him.

"Five," Don told Charlie helpfully, afraid that he might realize he had actually stopped at seven.

Licking his lips, Charlie asked, "Five w-what?"

"Five times," Don said, becoming confused himself at Charlie's hesitation. Knowing that waiting to be belted could seem worse than the actual physical pain, he turned his back to Charlie, then slid his hands into his jeans and under his boxers, slowly pushing down to remove his clothing.

Charlie stared with horror at his brother's behavior. As Don's jeans started to slide down, Charlie saw the pallid and barely perceptible scars that lingered on his lower back and upper bottom. Finally realizing what Don expected him to do, Charlie put out a hand and stopped Don from pushing his clothes down any further.

"Stand still, Don," he ordered, the crisp firmness of his tone a surprise to his ears. Charlie leaned forward and scrutinized Don's exposed skin, the faded scars appearing to be innumerable and haphazardly placed, no pattern discernible to the average person; Charlie's mind, however, began to classify each pale imprint, moving them around in order in his mind until he found two parallel sets of marks that he could separate from the rest. Doubling up the belt, he fitted it perfectly within the diminished lines, his brother's trembling in reaction to the touch of the belt filling him with deathly anger as he now held in his hand the formerly unknown object that Dr. Thompson had used to beat and control his brother.

Dropping the belt to the floor, Charlie placed his hands over Don's and removed them from his jeans. He then pulled up his boxers and pants, gently pushing him away. Don turned and looked at Charlie, waiting anxiously; he was afraid Charlie would begin recounting, only this time as fast as Don remembered he could.

"Five," Don begged Charlie. "Only five."

Unknowingly to Charlie, his face conveyed the fury he felt for Dr. Thompson. As he rose from the recliner, Don started stepping backwards, trying to find a place to hide, but finding none, settling on scrunching himself into a corner of the room. Deciding that he should not have lied to Charlie about his stopping on five, Don tried a second attempt at convincing his brother to not start over, but to stick to a number of hits that Don believed he could endure.

"Seven, Charlie," he started crying. "Please, seven."

Realizing he was frightening his brother, Charlie stopped in the middle of the room and composed himself, taking deep breaths until his anger fled, bit by bit the emotion becoming replaced with compassion and concern. Stepping gingerly up to Don, who had begun to whimper amidst his sobs, Charlie gently cupped his face in the palms of his hands, wiping the tears from his face softly with his thumbs. "I will never hurt you, Don; I promise. Dad will never hurt you, Don; I promise. You don't have to be afraid of us."

Don's body gradually relaxed and he slowly quieted down. He looked over Charlie's shoulder at the belt. Seeing the direction of his brother's gaze, Charlie asked, "Do you want me to get rid of it?"

Don nodded his head timidly. Charlie clutched his hand and led him across the room. Picking up the belt, Charlie let the desire to tear it up pass through him, but common sense made him suppress the urge; he believed that they now had a solid piece of physical evidence that could be directly linked to Dr. Thompson. Instead of destroying the belt, he decided to hide it, opening up the closet door and trying to find a good place to put it. He rummaged through the sports equipment and clothes in the front of the closet until he found an old security box with a lock and key behind some old children's books in a back corner. He showed the box to Don, then placed the belt inside, flamboyantly snapping the lid shut, locking it up and putting it in the closet. Charlie was about to shut the closet door when he thought about the books, spontaneously grabbing them. He remembered Don used to read to him during thunderstorms when they were little, the sound of his strong voice chasing away his fears; maybe his voice could chase Don's fears away today.

After shutting the closet door, Charlie noticed Don staring at it. Assuming the unlocked door wasn't enough protection in Don's eyes, Charlie put the thin books on top of the dresser and pushed the heavy piece of furniture in front of it.

Don was amazed. Charlie had locked away the belt- he couldn't hit him now, and neither could anybody else. Bridges of trust were scaffolding together in Don's mind, connecting to forgotten feelings he had buried deep inside, ones that had always allowed him to believe in Charlie. His faith growing and his fear waning, Don pointedly stared at the mess he had made on the floor, nervously darting his eyes between it and Charlie, sucking his thumb while he waited to see what his brother would do. Observing Don's eye movement and newly understanding why Don had felt he should be punished, Charlie picked up the large medical books and notebooks, dropping them on the recliner, and then ran to the bathroom, returning with a damp towel to blot up the soda, all the while telling Don, "It was an accident. You didn't mean to do it. I'm not mad at you. See, everything is as good as new."

As he was bent over cleaning, Charlie saw Buddy. He pulled the toy from beneath the bed, stood up and lovingly placed it in Don's arms. With the belt locked away and no punishment for his bad behavior-even without Buddy to protect him- Don smiled, the last fears he had of Charlie disintegrating. Because of his simple but thoughtful actions to convince Don he would not hurt him, Charlie had formed an irrevocable and protective bond with his brother.

Charlie regarded Don's body language. He was no longer trembling, he was standing close to him, and, most importantly, he was smiling. Satisfied that Don was mostly over his fear of him, Charlie picked the books up from the dresser. He was just about to ask Don if he wanted him to read a story when a loud boom sounded and the lights went out. Charlie desperately reached in the dark for Don, feeling his brother's arms wrap around him in a stranglehold when they met; he repeated the list of soothing words he had heard his father tell Don ever since he had come home, pleased to be the one who Don was seeking for safety.

"Scared, Charlie," Don whispered.

"It's okay, Don. The power just went out. Walk over here with me and I'll get my reading light." Charlie released the light from the book it was attached to, holding it in his hand while he turned it on; the thin light bathed them in an eerie glow. Guiding Don to the bed, he told him "When we were kids, we would put the sheet over our heads to keep everything scary away. Do you want to do that?"

"Yes, Charlie," Don faithfully believed him.

Charlie skillfully pulled the top sheet from the bed and tented it from the headboard, fastening two of the sheet's corners around the upper bedposts. Continuing to work in the narrow reading light, he guided Don to lay on his stomach under the sheet and scoot over to the center of the bed with Buddy, mindful of his brother's head; Charlie then slid in immediately next to him, dragging the books and light with him, billowing the thin sheet over their heads one last time and letting it drape around their prone bodies.

They lay there next to each other for several minutes, flat on their stomachs and propped up on their elbows, faces inches from each other, their hips and shoulders pressed against one another, the minimal radiance of the reading light casting shadows around them under the sheet. Charlie felt like a little kid again, and wistfully thought that Don should be there to protect him, not the other way around. He regretfully allowed the feeling to slip away, and reassumed his new role of big brother.

Charlie lifted the top book, peering closely at its blanched cover. Unable to read the words, he opened it to the story's first page and spread it out in front of them, gently maneuvering Don's elbow forward to hold open the left side of the book while his own lay on top of the right side. As they concentrated on the book and their tranquil proximity, they were no longer conscious of the storm that continued to war outside their flimsy shelter.

"I remember this book. 'There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly.' Mom"- catching himself, Charlie continued, -"Dad used to read this to us all the time."

Don heard who Charlie had referred to the first time. He realized he missed his Mommy and wondered if Charlie did, too. He also thought about how Mommy had left him at the doctor, wondering if she had left Charlie there, too, and if she did, would she be coming back for both of them?

With a low voice, Don asked Charlie, "You miss Mommy?"

Moisture engulfed Charlie's eyes because he knew Don was not referring to their real mother, and because discussing their mother's absence as if it were recent made it seem as if they had lost her a second time. Being careful with his words, he told Don, "Yes, I miss Mom."

"Will she come back?"

Charlie swallowed hard, clearing the lump that kept forming in his throat. "I don't think so, Don."

Don didn't believe Charlie was lying to him- maybe Mommy hadn't told Charlie she'd be back like she had told him, but Don couldn't be sure. He did feel that if Mommy took him he wanted Charlie to go with them; he believed his brother could keep the belt hidden from Mommy forever.

"You go with us?"

Charlie outlined the letters on the page of the book with his index finger, thinking about what Don was asking him. Sighing, he turned his head and stared directly at Don, who was wearing an anxious look on his face. "I don't think Mom is coming back. But what I do know for sure is that wherever you are, I am going to be there, too, taking care of you."

Don nodded his head, smiling with satisfaction at Charlie's answers, knowing he would protect him and never leave him; Charlie smiled himself, pleased because it was clear that Don wanted to be with him again. Cheered by the outcome of their conversation, they resettled their attention on the book, both their bodies and their hearts nearer and warmer to each other than they had been before their talk. Charlie began reading with a serious tone of voice, "There was an old lady who swallowed a fly…"

At first reading the faded words quietly and at an even, strict pace, Charlie slowly got into the folksong; he began to pick up speed and a beat, eventually singing the story from memory, emphasizing every other line with various silly voices, and jostling Don with his shoulder and hip each time he said 'that wriggled and wiggled and tiggled inside her'; he was smiling all the while at Don, who was obviously enjoying his performance, the movement of his feet back and forth and his own smile testimony to the fact. When he finished, Charlie was embarrassed to hear a giggle escape his lips, giddy with happiness and relief. Things had gotten better and he knew they would get better still- because he had his brother back.

Reaching for a second book, they were interrupted by the beam of a flashlight shining on the sheet.

"Donny, Charlie- are you okay? What are you two doing?" They could hear Alan's smile in his voice.

"Hiding from scary things," Charlie explained, both him and Don giggling this time.

"Uh, huh. As long as that doesn't include me."

"No, papa bear, you're not scary." Charlie lifted the end of the sheet, allowing Alan to see both his and Don's wide grins.

"Well, I see you've become friends."

Don nodded his head and wrapped an arm loosely around Charlie, who beamed in agreement.

"I'm sure there is an interesting story behind this?" Alan enquired, raising an eyebrow to Charlie.

Unexpectedly frowning, Charlie replied, "Yes, but we'll have to discuss that later. It is more interesting than you think."

"Alright, in the meantime, the electric company predicts the lights will be out another hour. Do you guys have any ideas about how we can spend our time?"

Don and Charlie looked at each other, then at the books next to them. They moved over in unison on the bed; Charlie then opened another book while Don held up the sheet with the back of his hand to allow his father entrance underneath. Alan rolled his eyes and groaned a little as he squeezed himself between Don and Buddy, but he obligingly pulled the sheet over his head and shut his flashlight off, which allowed the amiable beam of the little reading light to shine most brightly on Don's face, accentuating his excitement; for the first time he felt he was completely safe and at home, just like Daddy had told him.

"Do you want to do the honors?" Charlie asked, sliding the book over to Alan.

Wedging his hand into his shirt pocket, Alan pulled out his reading glasses, put them on and opened the book in front of Don, he and Charlie gripping one hand on either side of the book this time, all three men bowing their heads over the first page of the story in concordance with one another, but with Alan and Charlie cautiously aware of Don's tender temples.

"Hmmm. Of course, 'Peter Rabbit.' I guess Buddy will like this one," Alan looked down at the stuffed toy. Don pulled him from between them, squishing him under his chest so Buddy's face was looking at the book.

As Alan was about to begin reading, the bedroom lights flickered on in an untimely manner. To Don's disappointment, Charlie slid out from under the sheet. Starting to follow his brother's lead, Don stopped short when the lights were extinguished, proceeded by the reappearance of Charlie next to him, who pulled the sheets back over them, once again providing their family a temporary refuge from the physical and human storms that raged against them. All three men wriggled and wiggled and tiggled momentarily in the bed, getting comfortable next to each other, then Alan began to read, "Once upon a time…"- the day, at least, ending 'happily ever after' for the first time in months for all three of the Eppes men.

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The stormed reigned outside the windshield of David's car. He sat across the street, watching the Eppes' house the best he could through the sheets of water that blurred his view. When all the lights on the block had gone out, he had been about to personally check on Don and his family when he saw a small light shine in the upper bedroom and the beam of a flashlight a little while later in the living room window. He decided to be prudent and had called the house, not wanting his appearance to upset Don; Megan had warned him and Colby that their arrest of Dr. Thompson had probably put all three of them at the top of Don's hate/fear list.

After speaking briefly with Alan, David had watched as a flashlight beam had appeared in Don's bedroom window. When the lights came back on a short time later, he had seen the lights extinguished in Don's bedroom, and had assumed the family had decided to return downstairs.

It was the third night that David was watching the house. He had the four o'clock to midnight shift, then came Colby's eight hour shift and finally Megan's. Merrick had subversively approved their shifts, mixing the paperwork in with some other obscure case, swearing the team to silence, as all were concerned for the safety of Don and his family. However, with their time newly occupied with protecting the Eppes, they were limited in their ability to work the actual case. None of them knew how long they could continue their watch, but they planned to do it as long as possible. Megan was convinced that Dr. Thompson had something up her sleeve, but after several brainstorming sessions, none of them could figure out what it could be, short of another kidnapping- but that seemed pointless, as she would be the first person they would look at.

David checked the time, then drank some more coffee. He watched as a car parked behind him, a teenage boy exiting and running swiftly through the rain across the street to a house two doors down from the Eppes. David tapped his fingers on his steering wheel, trying to stay focused. A large blue car drove slowly down the street, catching his attention. He kept his eyes on its steady movement, his right hand on the gun at his hip. The car sped up and then came to a halt, roughly pulling back into the spot directly in front of his car. His body tensing, David gripped the door handle, waiting in anticipation, unable to see the license plate of the Lincoln that was idling in front of him. He released pent up air when a young girl came bobbing out to the car, greeted by the car's driver, an older hippy-type, both people ignorant of the torrential rain as they kissed heavily upon meeting. Thoroughly soaked, they entered the car and sped off.

Laying his head back in relief, David still kept on his guard, observing a white compact pull from the driveway of the house on the other side of the Eppes'. He could not see if it had come from the house's garage because tall hedges lined the entire edge of the driveway, blocking his view from the sidewalk all the way up to the house. The car had been pulling in and out of there during different times of the day, and matched the description of the occupants' car, so it had not raised any concern in any of the team members.

However, if they had been allotted more men and been able to be more thorough in researching the Eppes' neighbors, they would have discovered that these occupants were often gone for days, both husband and wife retired and enjoying the benefit of being able to pick up and go whenever they wanted. Add to that mix automatic lights and a sprinkler system and no one noticed they were not at home, which is what the thin, middle-aged driver of the white compact had depended on.

Driving down the street, away from the federal agent who so obviously sat outside her son's home, the woman thought about how close she was to seeing her little boy once again.