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.

Author's note: The decisions of the court are based on the state and federal codes I read and an interview with an advocate. The way the court is run is based on an interview with a federal attorney and an advocate. If may not be perfect, but the actual results are what are important and I believe my research backs me up.

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Gordon Fairfield looked in the mirror, trying to gauge the exact number of wrinkles that cut into the corners of his eyes. He'd lost count a long time ago, not really caring, but being around Melinda always made him think of other things, other places, other people- and he was suddenly conscious of his appearance again.

Running a thin finger down his cheek, he was surprised that it was still smooth; most signs of aging on his face were limited to the white color of his eyebrows and hair, and the crinkles that refused to leave his mouth and eyes. Some people would call them laugh lines, but since the man had barely smiled in over thirty years, they would be wrong to refer to those particular facial designs in such an affectionate way. Gordon tugged at his hair, testing its strength, proud that he still had a full shock of it on his head. True, it was no longer blond, but he had seen many men his age look at him with envious eyes, their own bald heads gleaming in the sun. Moving a hand over his suit, he adjusted it in several spots, emphasizing the areas that were threadbare and irregular.

The lawyer was standing in front of a mirror set up on a wall in his living room, a large space resplendent with antique furniture and a corner fireplace, burning logs crackling deep within. The small, thin man was seventy, and liked to keep his large apartment warm, having found his skin offered him less and less warmth the older he got. No lights were on- he depended on the sunlight that streamed in through the large windows that comprised the wall at the end of the room, a view of downtown L.A. beyond the glass.

Gordon placed his large, black glasses on, pushing them down his nose to make them appear too big for his face. He had vision that was almost perfect, but in the courtroom he appeared wise, trustworthy, and harmless- like a favorite grandpa- when he wore them. It was a trick he'd learned ten years before, when an expert in jury selection had suggested it. The man had been correct, as post interviews with courtroom watchers were more positive once he began wearing them. He gave himself a final appraisal. He knew there was really no need to worry about the way he looked; they would only be attending a hearing, and he was sure the judge had already made his unofficial decision about the Eppes petition, basing it on both sets of papers he and their attorney had filed. But his once-over before leaving his apartment was a habit he'd had for years and one he could not easily break.

The old man adjusted his tie. He thought about his client, Dr. Melinda Thompson, and the woman he had hidden away from her. For thirty-five years he had pined away for Caleb Whitehall, and seeing her again the other night had brought back his love for her in full force. She had been frightened to see him, but that was because she had not recognized the old man standing next to her. But that lack of recognition had been a momentary thing, as she was easily able to see her Alfie in the eyes hidden behind his glasses.

It hadn't taken Gordon long to convince her to leave the farm, because he hadn't been foolish enough to tell the truth and say that it was her life at risk. Cleverly, he had given a quick but effective explanation of how his life would be in danger if Melinda knew he had come to see her, and this threat against him was enough to compel Caleb to forgo her promise to Colby and flee, taking the offer of a ride to Kansas and a farm not too dissimilar from her own. After Fairfield had driven her to meet with an associate of his, he had watched longingly as the man drove away with Caleb, completely unaware that in his efforts to save her he had banished her from the world once again.

But letting Caleb testify against Melinda had not been a choice that Fairfield wanted to make, especially after the death of Jackson. Melinda had asked for his help in getting someone to take care of Jackson in jail, and he had played along, not refusing but not actually doing anything about it, either. When she asked him to check to see if anything had happened, he had been surprised to discover something had. Fairfield did not know how Melinda had gotten to the man in a federal jail and while he was with an escort, but it was enough to make him realize that the woman would take out any obstacle that she felt was a threat to the obtainment of her son. And Fairfield knew that would include Caleb.

Fairfield was aware that the feds would have offered her protection if they felt she was threatened, but he could not risk the chance that Melinda would find a way around it. In the less than two months that he had begun handling the legal aspects of Melinda's attempt to keep her son, Fairfield had seen a side of her he had never seen before- one that was cunning, obsessive, and efficient in getting what she wanted; Jackson was physical proof of that. Fairfield had come to the conclusion that the feds were no match for her.

Fairfield himself was no lightweight. He had been trying federal criminal cases for close to thirty years and he had experience in coldly ignoring the victims of his clients and effectively defending them no matter the charge. The old man had done so because Caleb Whitehall was his weak point, and he had vigorously worked his legal magic to earn a steady stream of money so his flower child could maintain possession of her farm, going so far as to set up a trust fund so that the money would be available to her after his demise. In a sense, Fairfield had been protecting Caleb for thirty years, and when Thompson became a threat, it was an easy decision to whisk Caleb out of her way.

However, now that she was safely put away, his weak point was covered and Fairfield was again the calculating bastard he had been for the duration of his legal career, and he was all set to win Melinda her son. Of course, he knew Don Eppes was not really hers. But that was beside the point. The attorney had kept in contact with Randy throughout the years, and had been at his bedside when he finally passed, promising his best friend to take care of his wife and do whatever she required of him to make her happy. Reflecting back, Fairfield was sure that his friend already knew of his wife's plans to take Eppes, and that was why he had secured the promise from his criminal lawyer friend. It hadn't really been a necessary step, as Fairfield thought he at least owed a little debt to Melinda for the death of her baby, and, quite frankly, she was far from the worse criminal he had ever defended.

His first contact with her about the legal aspects of keeping her son had been a little over a month before. Fairfield had been out of the country, and had flown in at her request to talk. Their original conversation at the house in Alta Sierra had been about the past in general, and when he had gotten up to leave, Melinda had shocked him by opening up a bedroom door and showing him her 'son'. The childlike room and appearance of the man had convinced him that she had brought home one of her patients. He had really believed it, too, even when she called him Donny, the name on the gravesite she had thought was her son's. Melinda quickly told him her real purpose in asking him there, and Fairfield had left with the promise to look into what she had requested, thinking it would not entail too much work. Then he had entered the outskirts of L.A. and had received an even greater shock when he saw billboards advertising reward money for one Special Agent Don Eppes, the words written next to a clear picture of the man he had just left at Melinda's. Fairfield had known from that moment on that he had a real job ahead of him.

But it didn't worry him, because he was very good at his job.

Fairfield took out his walking stick and put his hat on his head. It would not be long before the Eppes found out exactly how good he really was. He wished he could feel sorry for them, but, except when it came to Caleb, he was a practical man, not a sympathetic one. After Melinda was arrested, he had viewed the evaluations the doctors had done on Eppes and he had determined the man was ruined. So Fairfield figured it made sense to help Melinda retain him: it would take the burden off the shoulders of the Eppes that taking care of their damaged son would cause, it would give Melinda the son she had always wanted, and, because of whatever the hell she had done to him, it would also make Don Eppes a happy little boy.

In Fairfield's mind, Melinda's possession of Don Eppes would make everyone come out a winner.

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The last few days had been good ones for the Eppes. They had spent the daytime successfully completing Don's exercises and then the late afternoon relaxing in the pool. Don hadn't had any nightmares since Wednesday night, and they were all feeling refreshed and energetic because of it.

On top of that, Charlie had pulled out a portrait of Margaret Eppes and shown it to Don, who had excitedly informed his brother that she was the angel he had been seeing at night. Not wanting to push him too far, Charlie had avoided telling him who she really was but did ask him if it would be alright to put her picture on his dresser; Charlie had almost cried when Don said yes.

As promised, Saturday had been spent playing baseball, but they had been restricted to the backyard; Alan had been too anxious about the upcoming court date and refused to let Don go to a public park. Both of his sons had been satisfied to stay at home, and had spent the day chasing balls as neither one was currently effective in playing the game. While Don and Alan went to bed early Saturday night, Charlie had opened up some boxes containing new assistive devices that had arrived in the mail and set them up, including levers that attached to all the door knobs in the house. Sunday morning, he had shown Don how to push the levers down with his palm, and push or pull the door open, exciting him so much that Charlie had to wait a half hour before starting therapy, as Don had run from one room to another trying each and every door in the house.

Alan had tried to call each of Don's colleagues, but was puzzled when they told him they would have to get back to him. Megan was the only one who took the time to talk to him, and she simply said that she would come by Monday evening. Alan did not know, but none of Don's friends wanted to cause them any more worry before the hearing, and had agreed to keep how Thompson had sabotaged their investigation to themselves until after it was over.

Keeping that court date in mind, before bed each night, Charlie and Alan had doubled their efforts to get Don to recognize Wang as his doctor and not Thompson , even going so far as showing him the picture of Thompson that Megan had faxed them and telling him she was not his doctor, but at the same time trying not to reinforce him when he vocalized that she was Mommy.

Whether or not they had gotten through to Don would only be apparent when they finally had his hearing early Monday morning.

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"What do we do now?" Charlie asked his dad, all the while keeping a tight grip on Don's hand. He adjusted the laptop carrying case on his shoulder, the weight of Don's personal care items and extra clothes making it awkward to carry.

"We wait," was Alan's reply. He led his sons, both of whom were dressed in dark suits, into the courtroom and pointed out a couple seats in the back pews, telling them to stay there. Alan left to find his lawyer, who was supposed to meet him at the front of the courthouse.

Charlie put Don in a pew to their left. Then, he sat down next to him, at the end, so he could watch the court proceedings up the aisle. The carrying case was dropped to the floor. Don placed Buddy down on the seat next to him, and put his hands under opposite arms. Charlie had told him before coming that it would not be good for him to suck his thumb, but it was awfully hard for him to keep it out of his mouth. Every time a new person came by him, or they entered a new room, he desperately wanted to stick it in his mouth, anxious about the sudden changes. But he had promised to try not to, as a compromise with Charlie, who had allowed him to bring Buddy. When Charlie had tried to give him a list of reasons for leaving the rabbit at home, Don had cried, clinging to the rabbit and attempting to hide in the corner of the room. Charlie had settled for Don's promise to try to keep his thumb sucking hidden.

The courtroom was filling quickly. Charlie kept his eyes on the alert for Dr. Thompson, surprised she hadn't come earlier. He knew his father and Johnson would be late coming in because they were going to discuss the petition one last time.

Charlie stood when the judge entered, motioning for Don to do the same. He was relieved; apparently Thompson wasn't going to show. While he listened to the bailiff talking, his concentration was interrupted when he heard a door open behind him, muffled murmurs, and then quiet footsteps moving away, down the length of his pew. Charlie tried to see over the heads of the people filling his pew, but they were too tall, their height preventing him from seeing who had come in. When he and his row sat, his heart started pounding. Coming up his aisle, pressing herself between its occupants and the pew in front of her, was Dr. Thompson herself. Tugging on Don, Charlie rose, looking for some other place to sit; but he found no empty spaces. Still wanting to move, even if it was to leave the courtroom, Charlie turned to tell Don they had to go, but before he could get him out of the pew, Thompson was suddenly squeezing herself next to his brother, placing her purse down on top of Buddy.

Don moved his left hand out from under his arm and began twisting his ear. Normally he would be glad to see his mommy, even with the fear he harbored against her; but it bothered him today because Charlie was sitting right beside him and Don was afraid Mommy might hurt him because he took her belt. Don did not know how he could protect his brother, so he tensely twisted his ear- agitated by her proximity.

Melinda saw Don's nervous gesture and gently took his hand, pulling it away and down from his head, holding it in her own. Charlie sat back down in the pew and leaned across Don. He quietly hissed, "Get the hell away from my brother!"

Melinda smiled. She raised Don's hand to her face and kissed it, then pressed it against her breasts.

Startling his brother, Charlie reached over and yanked Don's hand from Melinda's grip, wedging it between his and Don's thighs so she would not have access to it. Slyly, she twisted in her seat and faced Charlie, lying against a confused Don and leaning toward Charlie, her large purse hidden by their bodies. She held out her left hand and quietly purred to Charlie, "You must be Don's brother, the famous Charlie. He's said so much about you."

Deciding he could beat Melinda at her own game, Charlie gripped her hand and pulled her to him, their faces inches apart, politely whispering with hard emphasis, "Funny, he has never, ever said a solitary word about you."

Melinda jerked her hand away from Charlie and slammed back in her seat, anger flashing in her eyes. But Charlie knew he could handle the storm brewing under her calm exterior, his own determination built sturdily enough to withstand her tempest.

A case was called, leaving seats open at the front of the courtroom. Melinda took up her bag and made her way back down the aisle, ignoring the fact that Charlie's smirk was chasing her.

Releasing Don's hand, Charlie felt he had won that particular battle. But then Don was poking him. Charlie turned to him and asked what was wrong, thinking Don might need to use the restroom.

"Buddy's gone," Don whined, tears already making preparations to run.

Charlie looked around the pew, under it, behind it: no rabbit.

"Where did you have him last, Don?" he asked, a sinking feeling already taking control of his stomach.

"Right here," Don answered. He pointed to the spot where Melinda had sat.

Damn!Damn!Damn!

Sitting up and stretching his neck to its limits, Charlie tried to find her, but found it difficult to see amongst all the people packed into the room. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally caught sight of her entering a pew at the front. Trying not to make any noise, Charlie dodged to the back of the courtroom and around the next set of pews, heading up front to the one where Melinda sat at the end. Charlie snuck up to her, angrily watching as she held the flap of her purse open in one hand and Buddy in the other. He snatched the rabbit from her hand, and before she could turn to stop him, had already rushed back up the rows of seating, across the back of the courtroom, and landed next to Don, plopping the rabbit into his brother's lap.

"Thanks, Charlie," Don said, kissing the rabbit on the head.

A court officer stopped next to Charlie and informed him that he would be asked to leave if he could not stay in his seat. Nodding, Charlie sank down, slipping his hand into Don's.

At that time, Alan and Harvey entered, looking for a spot to sit. But their case was called before they could find one, so they headed up to the front of the courtroom, Alan snagging his two sons along the way and then sitting next to them at the table, Don between Alan and Charlie. They all kept their eyes off the woman and her lawyer who sat at the table next to theirs. The bailiff swore everyone in. Then the judge began the proceedings.

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Judge Winston Salem- yes, I was named after the city… by a southern father I never knew- swore he weighed no more than 378 pounds, but most people agreed he had to tip the scale at a midpoint between four and five hundred. In either case, the obese man had several thick chins, hooded eyes, fat lips, and three hairs combed across his almost-bald head, sweat gleaming on his face while his robe hung on him more tent than clothing, never pressed because he was nearing retirement and really didn't give a damn anymore.

His body spread whenever he sat behind the bench. Its heavy weight sank onto his knees and caused him considerable pain. But the worst problem he was experiencing was a continuous case of heartburn, for which he refused to seek medical attention and tried to keep under control with a steady diet of antacids. While his assistant handed him the notes he had made about Alan Eppes' petition, he clung to a large bottle of fruit-favored and chalky circles, trying to pry the lid open with a clammy palm. The bailiff stepped over and offered his services. Salem popped three antacids in his mouth when he saw he finally had access to them.

Salem reviewed his notes while the bailiff called the court to order and the clerk handed over the case papers. Then Salem looked across at Harvey Johnson.

He really hated Johnson.

The judge closed his eyes and wiped the sweat from his brow, willing his stomach's contents to stay away from his throat. Then he informed Alan Eppes of the decision he had made regarding the petition.

"This hearing is in regards to the petition for permanent conservatorship of Agent Don Eppes by his father, Alan Eppes." Salem closed his eyes again, breathing heavily. His assistant brought him a cup of water, but one sip and he realized it had only made matters worse. He popped two more antacids into his mouth and opened his eyes to continue.

"Now, I sat at the first hearing and decided that Agent Eppes needed to be assigned an emergency conservator based upon medical opinions written by a"- he checked his notes, -"Wang, Dr. Wang. Because his opinion is also used for this petition, I was ready to rule in favor of assigning permanent conservatorship papers to Mr. Eppes. Until I received court documents contesting the petition, submitted by a,"- again, he had to look at his notes, -"Dr. Thompson, psychiatrist." He briefly looked at Thompson and Fairfield, who nodded.

Salem flipped a page, briefly wondering why Fairfield, a man prominent in federal criminal cases, was 'slumming it' in his probate court. The judge scanned the page before him and continued talking when he found the part he wanted. "These documents show there is reason to believe an Agent Megan Reeves, in conjunction with Alan Eppes, conspired to have Agent Don Eppes institutionalized against his will, going so far as to have Agent Reeves sign his name to his admittance papers. This was witnessed by Marta Kincaid, night nurse at the institute, according to her sworn statement. Thompson also protests that she should have been contacted as a person of interest for this hearing because her advice had previously been sought as concerns Agent Eppes' well-being, and that Alan Eppes did not contact her because he knew she would contest the petition."

Though he had been forewarned by Johnson as to what Thompson alleged in her papers, it did not make it easier for Alan to hear the judge formally say the accusations aloud and in public. He felt as if everyone in the room had their eyes on him, judging.

Harvey Johnson stood up. "Your honor, we did not contact Dr. Thompson as she had federal charges filed against her for kidnapping and containing Agent Eppes against his will."

Salem sighed and dropped his chins down several inches. He looked to Fairfield, who stood and explained, "All charges against my client were dismissed before this petition was filed."

As Johnson started to protest, Salem waved a hand at him to sit down.

"This is a hearing, not a trial. If you want to battle it out in front of a jury, take it to civil court. In the meantime, based on the evidence before me, I can not issue permanent papers of conservatorship to Alan Eppes, I am revoking the temporary ones that I previously issued, and would personally urge Agent Don Eppes to file charges against his father and co-worker for violating his civil rights- maybe even the institute that admitted him."

Harvey Johnson stood up again, ignoring the eyes that Salem rolled at him. "Your honor, as you stated, based on Dr. Wang's assessment, it is clear that Agent Eppes needs a conservator. Can we amend our papers and request that his brother, Professor Charles Eppes, be named as conservator instead?"

Salem gave a groan and laid his head down on the bench before him. He swallowed several times, turned his head to the side, and tossed two more antacids into his mouth. When he finished chewing them, he raised his head and fairly shouted at Johnson.

"No, you can not! Your petition is based solely on the recommendations of Dr. Wang, whose institute Agent Eppes was admitted into without his permission, and who may have evaluated him without his consent. This court made a mistake in issuing the first papers, and I am completely reversing my first decision, as it was based on ill-gotten information. If you have the gall to file a new petition on behalf of Agent Eppes' brother, I guarantee you that I will be the one conducting the hearing and will expect an evaluation from a physician other than Wang. One, preferably, of Agent Eppes' own choosing."

Gordon Fairfield stood, politely covering his mouth while he coughed for attention. Here we go, thought Salem. He knew there had to be some purpose in Fairfield showing up that day. "I think it would be in the court's best interest if we clarified the exact nature of the relationship between my client and Agent Eppes- specifically in regards to her being his physician."

"Your honor," Johnson quickly stated. He knew he was angering the judge with the time he was taking, but, as he had informed Alan, he could not allow the court to believe Don's kidnapper was his physician and risk Salem basing the next petition on what she said. "Dr. Thompson may be an acquaintance of Agent Eppes, but there is no reason to believe she is his physician."

Gordon Fairfield spoke. "Your honor, I suggest we ask Agent Eppes who his physician is, so that we can avoid taking up any more of the court's valuable and limited time."

Alan and Charlie looked at Don, who seemed preoccupied playing with Buddy. But he wasn't playing with him. Don had been listening to what the judge said, not quite understanding the proceedings. Becoming nervous, he had started tugging Buddy's ear and realized that something about the rabbit did not feel right. Don had started turning the rabbit around into different positions; he ran his fingers over his friend and squeezed his limbs, inspecting them, trying to figure out what was wrong. One part of his thorough inspection was to lift the rabbit's ears and look at them. Confused, he peered at them; it was then that he was able to make out something written in tiny, light letters, deep in the well of the left ear.

Don frowned.

While Fairfield talked to the judge, Don turned the toy over on its head. It was then that he became positive he was not holding Buddy; he remembered the rabbit had been torn when he got pictures at the institute, and Debra had fixed him up. But those stitches were ominously missing from Buddy's bottom.

Don turned the stuffed toy back over and stared at its face, knowing he was holding an imposter. He left it on the table in front of him and dropped his arms at his sides, fear billowing in his stomach for his friend.

"Johnson?" Salem was barking at the attorney.

Charlie and Alan spoke to Don, urging him to pay attention to the big man in front of him. But Don didn't want to. Mommy kidnapped Buddy.

"Don, please," Charlie pleaded from his right.

Salem was getting impatient. As he shifted in his seat, his eyes suddenly fell upon the stuffed toy sitting in front of Don. Oh, lord, Salem thought, that's what's left of a federal agent? He had, of course, read about the brain injury, but seeing the results in person made them more horrendous. He decided to revert to a kinder tone, "Agent Eppes, you were already sworn in, so I'll let you answer from your seat. Is Dr. Thompson your psychiatrist?"

"Your honor, he only answers to Don or Donny," Johnson stood and explained.

"All right, Donny," Salem said as pleasantly as he could, "Is this woman," he pointed to Dr. Thompson, "your doctor?"

Alan took Don's hand under the table, rubbing it gently for reassurance. Don leaned forward and looked at the other table, seeing his mommy with her head bent toward him and a smile on her face. He remembered what she had made him promise to say and the threats she had made against Charlie; Don still wanted to protect his brother. And he also remembered what Charlie wanted him to say, and he did not want to disappoint him.

Don looked over to his mommy again. She had stolen Buddy. She didn't have to do it. He already knew what he was going to say, and taking his friend wasn't going to change that. But how was he going to get him back? He thought about the message she had left him in Buddy Imposter's ear. Don decided Mommy would give Buddy back if he made her happy and did what she requested.

"Donny, can you tell me, is Dr. Thompson your doctor?" Salem requested again. He wiped some more sweat from his brow and checked the time. He knew they needed to end, but he did not want to waste his time with another hearing if it turned out Thompson was Agent Eppes' doctor and Johnson filed a petition without so much as a statement from her included in the evaluation.

Don's tongue darted out, trying to moisten his lips. "Yeh, uh," he felt Charlie's hand slip through his arm. "Nuh."

Salem asked, "Was that a yes or a no?"

His mouth dry, Don croaked, "No."

His father and brother squeezed his hand and arm in support as they shared a smile and thought- Thompson is finally losing her grip on Don.

"Are you sure?" Salem probed, "She never took care of you while you were at her home?"

Trying to get some saliva going, Don moved his tongue loosely in his mouth. "Fed me."

Salem smiled for the first time that day. "She fed you, huh? Agent Eppes, did Dr. Thompson treat you like a friend or a doctor?"

"Not a doctor." Don stated.

"Okay, now that we're clear about that, tell me- do you have any personal doctor?"

To Charlie and Alan's disappointment, Don replied no. They had hoped he would say Wang like they had practiced.

Fairfield stood, "So, this court does not acknowledge a patient/client relationship between my client, Dr. Thompson, and Agent Don Eppes?"

Salem barked at Fairfield. "It can not acknowledge something that Agent Eppes states is not there. Now, sit down."

Addressing Alan's attorney, Salem snapped, "I hope I don't need to tell you your job, Johnson, but I will anyway- find a court-approved physician and have him evaluate Agent Eppes before you file another petition." The judge leaned back in his seat and directed his assistant to give him another set of notes while the bailiff called the next case.