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

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Alan came home and started looking through the house for his sons; more specifically, Don. It hadn't been a good day at court. The judge had refused the restraining order, stating something about there being no established relationship between his son and Dr. Thompson, no evidence she had been in contact with him for almost two weeks, and, well, the woman lives four hours away in an entirely different city- her choice in locating herself that far away was a strain on her ability to see him to begin with. Alan had taken the news hard, feeling as if it was a sign of things to come.

Having been denied protection by the court, Alan felt the need to see Don was safe. While he checked upstairs, Alan smiled to himself, thinking about the looks Larry had given him now and then the day before. Alan was sure that Charlie wanted the scientist to observe his interactions with Don, to see if he was overreacting and hovering over him too much; he felt it ironic, though, that he had seen Larry making mental notes about Charlie's interactions with Don, too, something that his youngest son seemed completely unaware of happening. He wondered what conclusions the scientist had made about all of their behavior.

Alan walked downstairs and headed to the kitchen, frowning. Where are they? He was beginning to worry but then he saw his garden hose connected to the sink, and followed it out through the back door, down the stairs to the back yard. He smiled when he found his boys, reminded of the times when they were younger and had played in the summers, Margaret in the water with them.

"What prompted you to do this?" he asked, standing beside the shallow swimming pool.

Charlie and Don smiled up at him while Larry concentrated on maintaining his grip on Don. It wasn't much of a pool, only four feet deep and twelve across, but it was big enough for Don to lie on his back and float. And from the number of flotation devices attached to his body, he couldn't help but float. Charlie had snapped a full-size personal flotation device around his chest, and then covered his arms and legs with foam disks; to keep his head out of the water, his neck was resting on the thickly-cushioned edge of the pool. Larry and Charlie were kneeling on either side of Don, holding him steady, but Alan had to wonder how they could possibly think there was even an inkling of a chance that he would sink.

"He was afraid to get in the pool at the institute, so I thought if he could see that it was safe to go in one, it wouldn't be a problem next week." Charlie held his right hand near Don's head while he moved his left one back and forth over the water.

"And how do you plan to have him do exercises when he's all bundled up like this?" Alan noted.

"Well, I figured we would take a few off each day, until he could see that he was safe without them. I'm hoping he'll be flotation-device-free by next week."

"If the weather holds, I think this just might work." Alan was looking at a tree nearby that was shading the pool. "Wouldn't it have been warmer if you'd placed the pool in the sun?"

"Maybe, but the warnings on his meds state that he needs to stay out of the sun, hence our position under the tree. When the water gets too cold, one of us runs inside and turns on the sink- voila, hot water. Besides, it must be over ninety out- I doubt we'll freeze."

Keeping a firm grip on Don, Larry and Charlie rested their heads on the pool's thick air-filled edge. Larry closed his eyes and invited, "You should join us, Alan. It really is quite relaxing. Even Buddy seems to be enjoying himself."

For the first time, Alan noticed the rabbit. He remarked to Charlie, "I think you better be careful; you seem like you're becoming as attached to him as Don is." Buddy was sitting on a small doll's chair, foam attached at the bottom. His head was squeezed into a pair of goggles, a snorkel was wrapped around his mouth, and a pair of flippers just barely clung to his feet.

Charlie made a face. "I was only thinking of making Don happy. Besides, he deserved a break, too."

Don tried to nod his head in agreement. Then he closed his eyes and serenely floated, his previous fears drifted away.

Alan ran his fingers through the water, listening as it lapped against the side of the pool. He became conscious that there were the fine strains of piano music playing softly nearby, keeping time with the movement of the water. He went around the pool and found a portable tape player. He recognized the music. Stopping the machine, he clicked open the device and looked at the tape. In his late wife's small print were the names of her four favorite concert pieces, and he realized these were recordings that he'd made of her playing when Don was in kindergarten and right after Charlie was born.

Alan was about to ask Charlie where he had found it, then remembered his son's forage through his mother's boxes. Somehow, the tape must have landed in one of them along with her clothes. Alan snapped it back into place and turned the music on. Then he went inside to get his swimsuit. On his way back, he stopped to fill a pitcher with Kool-aide and grab three glasses and a sippy cup, a habit from summers over twenty years before. He set them on a nearby table and slid into the pool, working his way to a position across from Don and Charlie, then laying his head on one of the billowy edges of the pool. When he closed his eyes, the sound of his sons' relaxed breathing and the tender music allowed him to imagine Margaret was there with them. Every now and then, his feet brushed those of his sons and he grinned; when Don told him to stop, he stretched out further and prodded Don's toes with his own, the combination of piano chords and his giggling son helping him sink into pleasant memories of his past.

"You're mother always loved this music," Alan sighed.

"She did?" Don responded.

Alan was brought back to the present, when their lives were no longer as innocent of summers long passed. Missing his wife, and fed up with the courts, Alan felt as if he'd had enough of Dr. Melinda Thompson's presence in their lives. He came to the conclusion that even if Don became confused or stressed, discussing the memories of his real mother and allowing her back into his life could not possibly hurt him any more than him being assaulted every night by his recent memories of Dr. Thompson. He was sure that it was worth the risk of upsetting Don to talk about his real mother, especially since Don had remembered Val the day before.

"Yes, Don, she did. She would sit at the piano in the living room and play for hours when you and Charlie were little. Do you remember?"

"I don't know…What else?"

"She sat at the dining room table with you and colored pictures in books. Outside, you two would cover the front driveway with chalk, just like Charlie's, only it was different colors- blue and red and green. At night, she would throw a blanket around you and you'd both stay up watching old monster movies. And then afterwards, she'd let you sleep between us because you were always scared." Alan's voice began to crack as he continued, "Whenever you fell down, she'd kiss your scrapes and make them better, she would stay next to your bed when you were sick, and she would cover you with her body when sudden storms started up, protecting you from the rain."

Alan opened his eyes and crouched in the pool, pushing toward Charlie and Don. When he was near them, he emphasized, "And she never, ever hit you- not even once."

Don listened closely to the description of his mother. She sounded like Mommy, how she took care of him. But there was something not quite right about what his daddy was saying, especially about her not hitting him. Something wasn't right, but he didn't know what it was.

"I remember Mom, too," Charlie chimed in. "She always made you pancakes, because they were your favorite. When you played baseball, she stood in the stands and cheered for you. When you had homework, she would sit at the table for hours until you got it done. And I know she never hurt us, not even unintentionally. Everything she told us was good. She thought we were the best boys in the world."

Alan and Charlie talked back and forth about Margaret Eppes while Don listened and tried to fit their picture of his mommy over the one that he had in his mind. He was confused, because though they overlapped, they didn't quite fit.

When the sun started to lower and it was dinnertime, they left the pool and went inside, Larry offering to cover it. While they ate, Charlie asked Don if he had any new memories about their mom.

"Just…she was nice…when she played."

"Played with us?" Charlie asked.

"No, the music."

"Maybe you can picture her when she was nice like that, tonight when you go to bed. Then that's how you'll dream about her."

Don didn't think Charlie's suggestion would work, but when it was bedtime, he tried anyway. When he laid his head on the pillows, he pictured Mommy doing all the nice things they had told him about. In the midst of this mental effort, he briefly opened his eyes because he heard the piano music from that afternoon wafting from the direction of the dresser. Charlie smiled at him and said that he was going to dream the same nice thoughts about their mom, too, and that if both of them wished for that image of their mom to appear, she was the one who would visit that night.

Their wish came true, only Don didn't know it.

Don did not wake up even once. When Charlie was getting him dressed the next day, he asked Don if Mom had been nice in his dreams, just like she had been in his.

"No, Charlie."

As he pulled a sock onto Don's foot, Charlie asked, "But you didn't wake up at all last night, Don. She must have been nice."

"Mommy didn't come…last night."

"No?" Charlie asked, listening intently.

"No, Charlie…only…"

"Only what, Don?"

"A strange lady…did, Charlie…an angel…"

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Megan, Colby and David were sitting in a conference room once again, going over everything they had learned the past few days about Melinda Thompson.

"He didn't deny that he took Caleb, but he refused to tell me where she is," Colby was sitting with dire frustration consuming him. He had been recounting his meeting with Gordon (Alfie) Fairfield the day before. "And I'm having mixed feelings about his actions, because I think the reason he took her from the farm was to protect her against Thompson. Only, of course, now all we have is a lot of story and nobody to appear in court to tell it."

"Well, we do have some information that the Thompson's doctor can talk about, and combined with what the cemetary director had to say, we have a way to tell some of the story, even if not all of it. As for Fairfield's actions, I haven't talked to Nadine since that whole Jackson affair," Megan said, "but knowing what was going to happen to that perv might have been enough to convince Fairfield that Whitehall was no longer safe. So, I guess the guy at least has the semblance of a heart. I just wished he'd use it to help go after Thompson, instead of helping her. If the police had been able to find any evidence Fairfield had been at her farm, that might have gone a long way in forcing him to speak because we could have charged him with obstruction."

"Well, personally," Colby said, "I'm beginning to wonder exactly what they were smoking back then, because it seems all five of those people have acted screwy about this whole affair."

"So, where do we stand?" David asked, sliding a file around on the table. He had already relayed his interviews and found that his colleagues agreed with two of his observations: one, the mausoleum more than indicated Thompson would never give up, and two, that Thompson's obsession had been refreshed when she found her newborn's casket had been empty all those years. Most importantly, they agreed the woman had other plans in the making, because no one that smart would have allowed Don to escape her so easily.

"Nadine says it is very simple. The law does not allow for us to testify on Whitehall's behalf, but she has confidence that we have enough circumstantial evidence to prosecute - that is, with the addition of Don's testimony. And I talked to Alan this morning- Don got a tiny shard of his memory back, and he thinks they may be making progress in fighting his view of Thompson as his mom. Though, I'm afraid I had to warn them to not think he has been cured overnight. It is just good news that despite everything else that has been happening, we might be making some waves."

Megan did not tell them what else they had talked about. Specifically, the accusations Thompson had made about her signing Don into the institute against his will. Megan had explained to Alan what happened the night Don was admitted, and he had been very understanding, reassuring her that she had done what was necessary. But Megan had been left with a thick feeling of guilt because she knew she had cost Alan custody of his son.

"Well, speak of the devil," David exclaimed, and then waved at Nadine to join them. She stepped in and nodded at each of them, a frown pulling at her face.

"Look, guys, I've got to make this quick." Nadine looked around the side of the door, and then back at the puzzled agents. "Word out is Gordon Fairfield met with Donaldson today, and the director himself is currently meeting with Merrick."

The trio of agents sat upright, suddenly alarmed.

"What could he want?" Megan asked.

"I don't know, but it can't be good." Nadine sighed. "And don't bother bringing me any more information about Dr. Thompson. My boss made his own surprise visit to my office today, and gave me a fifteen minute lecture about harassing innocent citizens. Then, he told me to file away Don's case and move on to other things. And he made it very clear that he meant 'or else'."

Before any of the agents could respond, a secretary appeared behind Nadine. "I've been looking for you guys- Merrick wants to see you in his office." Then she disappeared.

Nadine shook her head as they filed past her. "I guess it's your turn next."

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Director Donaldson stood behind Merrick with his arms crossed. He'd had a long visit with Fairfield earlier in the morning, and he had not been pleased with the information he had been given. Now, the director was no fool. He was abjectly aware that Fairfield had his client's interests at heart, but Donaldson did not like trouble. He knew of Thompson Pharmaceuticals and the influence its namesake had had on the political scene in Southern California. Though long dead, he knew the man's name still held sway in many prominent circles and that power was currently being wielded by Fairfield, as the legal representative of Dr. Melinda Thompson. Donaldson wanted to avoid having the woman's allies join together and launch a public assault, so he decided that it would be much better to allow Fairfield to convince him that his client was being harassed.

Donaldson also knew that he himself had not gotten to his position by allowing those beneath him to do what they wanted as they wanted. And from what Fairfield had told him, he was sure that the behavior of the three agents nervously sitting across from Merrick's desk indicated that they felt they were entitled to do just that. So, Donaldson made a decision when Fairfield left his office. He would assert his administrative control and reign in three of his agents by overloading them with work and in the process stop the pursuit of Fairfield's client, whose case Donaldson had looked into and found extremely lacking in evidence. The action would also help Donaldson avoid the risk of the headaches Thompson's influential friends could cause him.

"It has come to my attention that you three have been letting pressing cases go cold and have instead been focusing on one that I thought we had agreed should be put to rest." Donaldson spoke low but firm. He could have been whispering, for that matter, because he definitely had the attention of everyone in the room.

Donaldson picked up a file and tossed it across Merrick's desk so it landed in front of Colby, David and Megan, all three who sat at attention in their seats. "According to this summary of overtime requests, you three spent four days alternating amongst yourselves a stakeout position that just happens to be across the street from the home of Charles Eppes, and which is also the current residence of Agent Don Eppes. Yet these overtime requests fell under five different cases. Now, exactly how many crimes is the F.B.I. investigating on this one particular street? And the answer to that better be five, or we have a serious problem."

Merrick spoke up in their defense. "I am the one who told the agents to sit outside Agent Eppes' home, and I am the one who filed for their overtime. They themselves did not ask for the extra pay."

Donaldson glared at Merrick. He did not want the assistant director to take any of the blame; he thought it less complicated if it were all laid at the feet of their underlings.

"But their signatures are also on the reports, so they are just as responsible for their falsification. I want a mark put against each of them in their work files, and I expect that they will not make any submissions requesting overtime during the next week." The expression on Donaldson's face made it clear he wanted no further interruptions. "I have also checked your current case logs, and none of you have made any progress on even a single case within the past two weeks. This is not surprising in regards to you, Granger, especially considering you called off sick three days just this week. May I ask if the doctors are really that much better in wine country?"

Colby refused to meet the director's eyes.

"I also took the liberty of reviewing your work from the past two months. I am perturbed to see that though I gave specific orders that you were to be responsible for your own cases, and that any further work on Agent Eppes' would have to be after they were addressed, I can clearly see that my orders were disobeyed. According to all the paperwork filed for these cases, none of you three filled out any of their forms. For some reason, your fellow agents filled them out for you, instead." Donaldson had checked the files following a gut feeling that had clearly paid off. A part of him had actually thought that it had been a clever ruse by the agents, a way that had allowed them to work the one case while not being backed up on their others. However, that part of Donaldson was not speaking to them now. "I am ordering those files to be delivered back to you, and then I want each and every one of them rechecked and signed by you that there were no mistakes made in any of the paperwork. And I want that done within the next two weeks."

The team members knew that the assignment was a punishment and not a necessity. If anything had been wrong with the paperwork, they would have run into problems a long time before, and had been notified by the appropriate people. But they were stuck, their little scheme backfiring on them.

"Of course," Donaldson added, "I also expect you to catch up and start making progress on your current cases. In a little over a week, Agent Jerry Atwater will be returning as your team leader, and I want you ready to start working full-force again. That is all for now-Granger and Sinclair, you are dismissed."

Colby and David stood to leave, concerned that Megan was staying behind. When they were gone, Donaldson addressed the topic she had been speaking with Alan about earlier that morning.

"Reeves, it seems that someone is filing a document in court claiming you forged the signature of Agent Eppes, which committed him to an institute against his will."

For the first time since entering the room, Megan defended herself. "Sir, those accusations are false."

"Yes, well, my sources say they have a sworn statement attesting to it as fact."

Megan began to sweat. She hadn't counted on Fairfield telling her boss about the situation, and for the first time she realized the trouble she could be in if charges were brought against her for violating Don's civil rights. At the very least, her job could be at stake. It was suddenly important to her own personal well-being that Don get his memory back, because she was confident that he would never agree that she had done such a thing.

"That may be so, sir, but that does not make the accusation any truer."

"I also hear you assaulted a suspect the other day, and two of your fellow agents were required to pull you off of him."

Megan couldn't argue with that accusation, so she remained silent.

"If the suspect had not subsequently died in jail, I do believe you and the Bureau would be facing a lawsuit. It seems to me that you have become too emotionally embroiled with Agent Eppes' case and the events surrounding it. I noticed you have some vacation time coming, and I believe it would be in your best interest if you put some distance between yourself and his case for a while, at least until the whole matter with the forged signature is cleared."

Megan angrily gripped the arms of her chair. She understood what Donaldson really meant- stop her investigation into Thompson and in so doing, hope Thompson let the accusations of forgery drop.

"And if I choose not to take that time off?"

"Then I might insist that the Bureau look into these accusations themselves and that throughout the duration of the investigation you should be suspended without pay."

Megan released the arms of the chair and stood up. "When should I start my vacation time?"

"Apply for it today with a starting time of tomorrow." Donaldson gave Merrick a hard look. "I am sure your boss will push the request through in record time."

When Megan got back to her desk, she began filling out the required forms, her anger switching to herself when tears started to form in her eyes.

"What happened?" Colby and David stood nearby, nervously waiting for her answer.

Getting her emotions under control, she gave them a quick synopsis of her conversation with Alan that morning, and what Donaldson had decided to do about it.

"So, now we're down from the four musketeers to only two," Colby complained. "How the hell are we going to get that woman when she keeps knocking us off one by one?"

Megan shook her head. "I don't think we're ever going to get her, Colby. I think this fight has come to a showdown between the Eppes and Thompson. If Charlie and Alan can help Don get back his memory, it won't matter what she does to us or our investigation; it will be Don's ability to confront Thompson that will finally bring her down."