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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"Gordon, my darling."

"Melinda, my client- what can I do for you?"

"Just making certain we are set for tomorrow."

"I am, as always, prepared at my end."

"Then you obtained duplicates?"

"Yes, Melinda, I have both I.D.s for your son."

"Actual duplicates?"

"Yes- perfectly legal I.D.s. You don't want the Eppes claiming you used fake ones."

"No, I want everything well within the law. That is why I hired you."

"Yes, and I am meeting those requirements."

Pause.

"What about our other affair, Gordon?"

"I'll file our own papers late Friday afternoon- it'll be too late for Johnson to obtain a copy of them before the hearing Monday. When we get to court, he won't know what hit him."

"But what if he figures out what we did before then? He'll be prepared to"-

"No, Melinda, he won't. Johnson's a good attorney, but he's never met the likes of me."

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The Tuesday after court, Charlie and Alan strapped Don into their car and drove to the institute, the anguishes caused by the hearing laid aside and all their enegies once again on the physical and mental care of their ill family member. Don was to have his therapy sessions with Olivia and Jim, and then he was going to receive another MRI to check the progress he was making from taking the diuretics.

When Alan pulled into the parking lot, he sat in the car, nervously thinking about what had occurred the last time he had been there.

"We were fine last Thursday, Dad," Charlie told him and climbed out of the car, "But I would be lying if I said being here doesn't make me a little anxious, too." He undid Don's seatbelt and helped him out of the car, snatching up the toy rabbit from the floor of the backseat. "Here you go, Don."

Don took the imposter from Charlie. He kept forgetting to hold him because he knew it wasn't really his friend and he resented having to keep him by his side. But he also knew that it was not good for him to keep leaving him behind, because Charlie and Daddy might begin to wonder why he was doing that, and recognize that it wasn't really Buddy- maybe even take a close look at him and see the message Mommy wrote in his left ear. If they read that message, then he would not be able to exchange the imposter for his friend. So, Don tried to carry it like he always did Buddy, putting his feelings of anger at the toy aside and trying to concentrate on what Mommy told him he needed to do, because he had to get Buddy back- he just had to.

The Eppes spent an hour each with Olivia and Jim, and received the good news that Don seemed to be progressing quite well, though it had only been a week. Olivia warned them to start working on Don's fluency, so that his ability to say full sentences at an even rate could develop along with his ability to swallow and grip. Charlie let Jim know that they had been floating in the pool at home, and that Don had gotten down to just his life vest and a few flotation disks, which impressed the therapist. They both hoped Don would be able to enter the institute's pool on Thursday and do his exercises.

When they went to have Don's MRI, Charlie told Alan that it would probably be better if the elder Eppes was in the room during the procedure. Alan smiled with gratitude at Charlie for letting him perform the role of comforter, and stood beside Don for the hour it took to finish. Unbeknownst to Charlie, because of his overzealous behavior during the previous MRI, the nurses had already decided to ban him from the room, and they smiled with relief when it was Alan who stood beside his son and not Charlie, glad for having avoided the confrontation that they thought would be necessary to keep the two brothers apart.

After the exam, Charlie again stepped aside and let his father enter the dressing room with Don. He had naturally come to the realization that his father's request to get Don ready for bed the previous night had not been to give his youngest son a break; it had been because his father needed to know that he still possessed the position he had always been assigned- that of parent. When they finished, Don popped out of the dressing room and ran to Charlie, pulling his jeans out in front of him with his thumb.

"Look, look, look."

Charlie did as he was told, and smiled when he saw that Don was no longer wearing his incontinency briefs.

"He's back to wearing his regular drawers," Alan said as he stepped between his sons. "Since the only problem he occasionally has is with his bladder, they said we can switch to shields."

"No more specials," Don said gleefully. He was excited because he remembered Mommy said he wasn't like Charlie and his daddy, that they didn't dress like a baby and he did. Now, he was becoming more and more like them.

One of the nurses informed them that Dr. Wang would call with the exam results the next day, and then they headed home.

While Don and his father napped, Charlie looked through the objects that he had sorted from the storage boxes he and Larry had brought in the week before. Two unopened boxes sat in the corner, but he had decided they had enough items as it was and left them untouched. Charlie thought about how Don had remembered Val by talking about an incident that was apparently still important to both of them; he was glad for the memory's appearance, but he wanted Don to focus on the people that had a more immediate relationship with him now. He remembered a game he had read about online and decided that he would give it a try.

Charlie went out to the garage and began going through the photos he had collected in order to make Don's friends-only keychain. Turning on his scanner and computer, he spent the rest of naptime making two copies each of 5'by 7' portrait pictures of himself, his dad, Larry, Aunt Irene and a selection of friends. Then he rummaged through boxes in the corner of the garage until he found twenty wooden frames- some used, some not- in which he could place the pictures, and carried them out to the solarium. Charlie cleared the card table of its contents, and laid the pictures out in rows four across and five deep, with the pictures lying flat and face up. He planned to play a game of memory with Don, using the pictures of family members and friends instead of the typical pictures of objects.

After setting up, Charlie heard the doorbell ring and was happy to see Larry standing in front of him.

"I thought you had classes today," he welcomed his friend into the house.

"My classes are currently occupied with a riddle I assigned each of them." Larry followed Charlie into the solarium and ran a finger along the frames lying on the table when he saw them there.

"And that would be?" Charlie asked. He sat on the couch, relaxing against its side.

"Oh, they must use a scientific theory to prove the existence of life outside our galaxy," Larry replied, then he commented on the photos."These comprise another therapy activity for Don?"

"Yes, it's almost like go-fish or memory; we'll lay the pictures facedown and let him turn them back over one at a time, then see if he remembers where its pair is and who the person actually is. We can ask him questions about each individual, and see if it helps him to dredge up any more memories. I included pictures of us because Don already knows our names, so he can at least be successful when I ask him who we are." Dipping back into Larry's class assignment, he asked, "Isn't that riddle another one of those impossible tasks you like to assign just to keep your students busy?" Charlie crossed his arms accusingly.

"Why Charles, many tasks were at one time considered impossible," Larry put a hand to his chin, "though, I must admit, if one of them actually came up with a workable theory, I might have to rethink my entire curricular philosophy."

Before Charlie could reply, they heard footsteps coming down the stairs and Don appeared in the doorway, the goofy smile of the recently wakened on his face.

"Hello, friend," Larry put out a hand, but quickly found himself in the midst of a warm hug as greeting instead.

"Hello, friend," Don replied. Then he showed off his new attire- or rather, the fact that he now lacked the old.

"Hmmm. It seems you are progressing quite superbly, Don. I do believe your efforts will be further rewarded- and soon."

Charlie set about showing Don the pictures on the table, wanting to jump right into playing the game. Don frowned when he saw the individual pictures of David, Megan, and Colby. "I don't like them," he said.

Charlie wasn't surprised at Don's response; it was the reason he had been hesitant to broach the subject before, but he had finally come to the conclusion that Don needed to understand that these three people were his friends. He had put their pictures on Don's keychain, but he had yet to explain who they were to Don because he had not wanted to cause him the emotional turmoil that talking about them could cause. However, now that they were trying to get Don to remember things about himself, Charlie could not see how they would be able to bring up recent memories without involving his team members in the process, because so much of Don's life had involved the F.B.I. before he was kidnapped. Charlie had finally concluded that the anxiety it might cause Don was worth the risk, and he would just have to be prepared to carry him through it.

"Why don't you like them, Don?" Charlie enquired, standing next to him in front of the table.

"They took me…from Mommy." Don shook his head. "They're not nice."

"Don, don't you like living here with me and Dad?" Charlie put an arm around him, wanting to know the instant he started shivering.

"Yes."

"Then it was good that they took you from her- otherwise, you wouldn't be here with us." Charlie waited for Don to digest that information. "They didn't like the way she hit you, Don. They wanted to keep her from doing it again. And then, they brought you to Dr. Wang, so that he could help you get to us."

Don studied the pictures on the table. His eyes roamed from one to another, but then he stopped and concentrated on the portrait of Megan. She looked pretty to him, like the small, fragmented picture he had left in his mind of Val. He remembered how nice she had talked to him at his old house, and how she had let Mommy walk with him out to the ambulance. He thought about how she swore when she got upset at him at the institute and how she had apologized to him for doing it- which was something Mommy never did when she got mad. Don knew he had been scared when he first met Dr. Wang, and that the woman had wanted to go with him, but Mommy had told him to make sure she didn't. At first, he thought it was because Mommy was afraid the woman might hurt him. Now, he wondered if it was because she knew the woman would want to keep Mommy from hitting him, just like Charlie said.

Confused, Don slumped onto the couch, drew his knees to his chest, stuck his thumb in his mouth and hid his face in the corner, his left arm over his head. Everything and everybody good around him seemed at such odds with his mommy, yet he had been happy with her for a while when it was just them two together and even though he had to be careful about everything he said and did, otherwise he knew she would slap or belt him. Don could not help the fact that he still loved his mommy, as he continued to have a misguided view of her, one that was further muddled by the good memories of his real mother that ebbed back and forth on the edges of his mind, a continuous flowing together of the horrible fear he felt for Melinda and the love he had for his real mother.

Charlie sat on the couch and turned toward Don; he pulled his legs underneath him and sat on his knees, laying his body against his brother's, feeling the tremors that rolled through him. Larry instinctively faded from the room through the doorway into the living room to wait. "I didn't mean to upset you, Don, but we really need to talk about these people and how they have tried to help you. I told you before that you had friends, and these people are three of them. Friends don't hurt each other, and I promise, when they took you from her, it was so you could be safe with me and Dad, not so you would be unhappy or scared."

His voice barely audible through his arm, Don tried to explain his agitation. "I love Mommy…but she hurts me…I want to be…with you and...with Daddy…but…I miss her."

"That's okay, Don. You don't have to apologize for loving her." Though Charlie was still pained by the words Thompson had said to him after court, the previous night he had thought long and hard about her relationship to Don and had reminded himself that since it was built on falsehood, eventually it would topple. In the meantime, he knew it would not be good to directly interfere with Don's feelings for Thompson, as he did not want to put an emotional distance between himself and Don, something that could occur if Don thought his brother was trying to keep him from the woman he thought his mother. Charlie decided to continue to address the problem by working backwards from the solution: he and his father were that solution, and they needed to help Don work back through his memories so that he could know the truth behind his current confusion- which was simply, they loved him and Thompson didn't.

Don quietly sucked his thumb, contemplating the idea that the people who had frightened him at Mommy's were actually his friends and that they cared about him. He allowed Charlie to put his arms around his waist, and shifted so he was leaning back, relaxing when he felt his brother's body covering him completely with his own.

Charlie still loved these moments with Don, where he felt that they were packaged together as one, a single entity with their spirits magically blended into an indefineable and inseparatable force. Larry checked on them, unwittingly breaking the spell between the two brothers. Don uncovered his face and sat up, Charlie uncurling from around him and asking, "Do you want to play that little game, Don? Find out more about your friends?"

Don decided to trust his brother and nodded, then he listened as Charlie explained how to play memory. He told Don the names of his friends while he pointed at their pictures-Megan, Colby, David, Amita, and then one of another friend he happened to find a picture of, Don's ex-partner in Fugitive Recovery- Billy Cooper. He said the last pictures were of their Aunt Irene and a former girlfriend, Terry.

Charlie went to get three chairs from the dining room, and while he was hauling the furniture to the solarium, he saw that his father was lying on the couch in the living room, asleep. He flicked his eyes over the still form, and wondered why he had not gotten enough rest while he was napping with Don. Charlie decided it was a matter he would ask him about later. Once the chairs were in place, Charlie, Don and Larry sat around the card table and began to play the game.

"Okay, turn over a picture and tell me who it is." Charlie directed Don.

The first picture was of Alan, and Don easily identified him as "Daddy." The next was Larry, and he answered correctly again, though they turned the pictures back over because they did not match. When Don chose the third picture, he could not remember Aunt Irene's name, so Charlie reminded him and added some information about the elderly woman, hoping to spark some memories. They spent the next hour playing the game, Don receiving 'kudos' from Larry each time he made a match, while Charlie continued to describe each person when they were turned over. When the game ended the fourth time, Charlie was disappointed with the results. Other than him, his father, and Larry, the only person Don seemed to remember was Megan, and he suspected that was because she was the person who had rescued him from Thompson, not because of the game; when Charlie asked Don to repeat some of the background he had given him about her, it seemed impossible for Don to remember anything that he had heard.

"What's wrong, Charles?" Larry could see the frustration growing in his friend the harder he ran his hand through his hair.

"I thought this would work- you know, help Don remember something about his friends and family. But it's been a complete failure. He's not even remembering their names." Charlie walked back and forth. Don was busy with the television, trying to find a baseball game but settling for some afternoon cartoons.

"Maybe your approach is not adequate in stimulating and maintaining his interest," Larry offered. "Are you applying the appropriate teaching techniques?"

"Well, Don is a multi-sensory learner. He touched the photos, which is kinetic; he saw the pictures, which is visual; and he listened while I explained the background of each person, which is auditory. I think I'm covered." Charlie sat down in a chair and stared at the pictures. "If he can't even remember their names, how is he going to remember anything else about them?"

"Hmm. That does seem to pose a problem. Well, I think your techniques do address each of three senses, and on the face of it, should be helping Don remember these friends and family members. Since the fault does not appear to be in your approach, then it may lie in the objects that you are utilizing. We did gather together all of those items from the storage boxes. Are any of those things associated with the people before us? Maybe we could use them in conjunction with the pictures."

"Maybe." Charlie stepped quietly into the living room, scanned the items on the coffee table that they had organized there. Nothing. He walked back into the solarium, crossing to the garage. "All that stuff has to do with Don and our mom- nobody else in the pictures. Maybe I can find something in here." Larry waited in the solarium and listened as Charlie worked his way through the garage, cringing a couple times when he heard something fall to the ground. A short time later, Charlie emerged, balancing three boxes in front of him. He dropped them to the floor at Larry's feet.

"We can give Don a little break and run through these boxes. Not sure if we're wasting our time, but what the heck? If nothing else, I can get rid of them if the stuff inside is worthless. My way of saying I've been cleaning the garage."

While Charlie dug into one box, Larry chose another. Charlie was halfway through what seemed a collection of old shoes and ties when Larry held up an item from his box and peered at it closely. "What in heaven's name is this contraption?"

Charlie looked up, paused while he thought about the odd object in his friend's hand, then he realized what Larry was holding. Smiling, he said, "That is one of my instruments. Remember, I told you my mom made me promise that I would keep music in my life if she allowed me to quit piano lessons, and I made up a whole bunch of those. I must have come up with twelve, thirteen instruments. That, I believe, was my version of pan pipes." Charlie took the strange-looking device from Larry's hand, turning it over and over. It was made up of four pipes of varying lengths welded next to each other in a line, with a hole at each tip that a finger could be placed over to change the sound that came out when one blew into the different pipes. Charlie put his mouth onto the instrument and blew, a strange lilting music wafting into the air. He played with it a few minutes, alternately covering one hole or another, blowing into one pipe and then another, eliciting different tones of the same flute-like music.

After he was finished fooling around, Charlie went to hand the instrument to Larry but paused when he realized that Don was at his side, seemingly entranced with his playing. "Did you like my song?" Charlie smiled.

Don nodded. He slipped his thumb in his mouth, patiently waiting for more.

Charlie thought about what Larry had said about the stimulation he had been providing Don not being enough to capture his attention, something that he had apparently done by simply playing a few notes on his instrument. It came to Charlie that music must be a big part of Don's life, more than he had ever known. When Don was upset, he responded well to Charlie singing or humming lullabyes in his ear. And playing their mother's music had obliterated his nightmares; even after seeing Thompson, it had kept them to a minimum the night before. With Don's interest now tweaked by his playing a random melody, Charlie wondered if he could use music to help Don remember the people he wanted him to, and if so, how?

Larry watched as Charlie puzzled over a problem that only he was privy to. Deciding he could not help, Larry began taking the rest of Charlie's instruments out of the box and laying them out on the table, wondering at the strange shapes and materials that had been combined to make them. If he had not thought his young friend a genius before, the care, craftmanship, and attention to detail of each object would have been enough to convince him. Putting aside the box, Larry attempted to play a couple of them. Though they appeared to be unique versions of instruments he was familiar with, Larry was stymied as to exactly how some of them would sound.

Charlie and Larry both noticed Don kept his eyes on whatever instrument Larry handled and tried to play. When the scientist held up and blew into a long, flute-like contraption with four two-inch bars crossing through it, a loud screech sounded in the room and all three men jolted, as if nails had been scratched down a chalkboard.

"Ew," Charlie laughed, "that's almost as bad as listening to Aunt Irene!"

He took the flute from Larry and was putting it away when he saw a frown had appeared on Don's face. "What's wrong? You don't want me to play this, do you?"

Don shook his head. Taking his thumb from his mouth, he asked with wide eyes, "Does she really?"

"Does who really what?" Charlie was puzzled.

"Sound like that?" Don pointed at the instrument. "Aunt Irene."

Chuckling, Charlie told him, "Well, maybe not as bad, but close." An idea suddenly hit Charlie in the head and he grabbed the picture of Aunt Irene off the table, handing it to Don. "Why don't you see if you remember if she really does? Concentrate on her face," Charlie blew a few more shrill notes, "now- can you picture her sounding like that?"

Don stared at the woman's face, trying to make her mouth move with the screeches coming out as words. He couldn't see her sounding like that. "I don't know," he said, licking his lips, "but…but…Aunt Irene…sounds scary."

Charlie and Larry were pleased. Don had remembered her name. Charlie placed all the pictures facedown again, and then turned a single one over- a picture of Larry. "What do you think he sounds like?" he asked. Then, he went through his array of instruments, until Don picked out the humming sounds that came from a harmonica-like one.

"That's what he does… when he thinks…hmmmmmmmm," Don said about Larry, who did just that before informing Don he had made a wise choice. Going through the pictures one at a time, Charlie let Don match an instrument to each person, allowing him to guess which sound would represent which individual. Charlie and Larry laughed when he chose a deep, booming gong sound for Alan, and had to take a small break when he decided upon a loud trumpet-like instrument for Colby. "That really is just like him," Charlie explained their amusement to Don while trying to catch his breath, "always tooting his own horn."

Megan elicited an exotic-sounding clarinet, David a thickly-strung miniature guitar that emitted a deep and solid pitch, Amita the tinkling of various homemade bells strung in a circle on a wire, Terry a ukulele, Billy Cooper the pitter-patter sound of a short and strange-looking drum, and finally, the appealing sound of the pan pipes that Larry first took from the box was assigned to Charlie. "It sounds nicest," Don told his brother, who couldn't help but be flattered.

"Now what do you have in mind?" Larry asked.

Charlie looked at the table and realized all of the instruments and their photos would not fit neatly on the table. So, he picked up the small guitar and gong then stuck them on the TV. Next, he took the drum and told Don to put it between his knees. He gave Larry the harmonica. The bells he hung from the chart hook on the wall behind him, and the trumpet he put next to Don on the couch. That left him with the shrill flute, the pan pipes, the ukulele, and clarinet on the table immediately in front of him. Charlie discarded the duplicate portraits and both of the ones of him and Larry, then he lined up the remaining eight photos, placing them upright in a semi-circle on the table, all at the front edge and facing Don.

"Okay, let's see what we can see," Charlie announced. He stood to the side of the table and then picked up the flute. When its shrill noise entered the air, he quickly asked Don, "Who's that?"

"Aunt Irene," Don immediately responded.

"Which picture is hers?"

Don looked at the portraits. He knew she had to be one of the four women. He recognized Megan's picture, which left him with three choices; he decided Amita and Terry were too pretty to sound like that. "Her," Don pointed at Aunt Irene.

"That's right!" Charlie exclaimed. "She's eighty years old, and we went to her birthday party last year. Sometimes she gives Dad a hard time, but she loves us so we don't mind. All right, let's try another one."

Charlie picked up the trumpet and gave it a blow. "Who likes to toot his own horn?" he asked.

Don tried, but he couldn't remember. Charlie pointed to the portrait of Colby. "Okay, that's your friend Colby. See how cocky he looks. He's the youngest person on your team."

"Baseball?" Don asked; being on a baseball team sounded right in his ears.

"No, though you used to be on a baseball team." This excited Don, and he sat up proudly in his seat. "When you were younger, you played on the Stockton Rangers, a minor league team. Right now you work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Your full name is Special Agent Don Eppes and there is a group of three people who work with you. They're your team members and your friends. Colby is one of them. He used to be in the military. I think he went to Afghanistan and Iraq."

Wanting Don to have another success, Charlie nodded toward Larry, who obliged them by humming into the harmonica. "Who's that?"

"Larry, of course," Don responded, smiling. "He's our friend."

"That's right!" Charlie said, "But what else do you know about him?"

Don remained silent.

"Okay, Larry is a scientist. He works with me at CalSci and teaches physics. He used to eat only white food, but he gave that up about six months ago. Sometimes, he would help you solve your cases at the F.B.I. At one time, he and Megan dated."

Don looked at the picture of Megan, then over at Larry, who blushed when Don said incredulously, "Really?"

"Opposing forces in the universe often attract each other." Don assumed Larry meant yes.

Addressing Charlie, Larry asked, "Is it really necessary to bring up all aspects of our lives- including embarassing failures?"

"Of, course," Charlie stated matter-of-factly, "He needs to remember everything. Besides, it's not like he doesn't already know- he just forgot."

Unable to find a flaw in Charlie's statement, Larry decided not to argue.

Charlie stepped back and shook the bells. "Okay, who's this?"

Don couldn't say, so he waited while Charlie pointed to Amita's picture and told him her name. "She's the person I talked with on the phone last week- my friend and yours."

"Uh, hm." Larry coughed. "I think you might want to be a little more honest about your own failures, Charles."

Charlie puffed up his chest. "She is not a failure- at least, not yet." When Don looked at him and indicated he wanted further explanation, Charlie sighed. "Okay, I was"- Larry coughed again- "Am," Charlie said loudly, folding his arms and frowning at Larry, "I am in love with her, and her response to my feelings was to take off to India to do a research project." Charlie avoided further discussion of his relationship with Amita by telling Don some general information about her. "She is Indian- not American. Her grandparents came from the country of India. I was Amita's academic advisor while she did her thesis in math at CalSci. She has helped on some of your cases, too."

Stepping over to the TV, Charlie hit the gong. "Who's that?"

"Daddy," Don laughed.

"Do you remember anything about him?" Charlie asked quietly, hoping there was something in his brother's mind about their father.

"Hmmm." Don imitated Larry, cupping his chin with his hand, which made the other two men laugh. "He built things, right?"

"Right, Don. He was an engineer for the city." Charlie was relieved that he had at least a little knowledge of their father.

"Anything else?"

Don closed his eyes for a few minutes, and then opened them suddenly, smiling at Charlie. "We beat you."

"Huh?"

"At chess…we beat you." Don was beaming with pride. "Me and daddy…we tricked you."

Larry and Charlie laughed. "You remember that, Don? That's great!" But Charlie couldn't help lamenting, "I hope he doesn't just recall the times he got the better of me, otherwise he'll end up thinking he had the upper hand in our relationship."

"Ah, Charles- but didn't he?" Larry pointed out. Charlie opened his mouth and then clamped it shut again. How could he dispute the truth?

Moving on, Charlie took Don's hands and placed them over the drum, patting them up and down. "Who's this?"

"Don't know," Don said. He kept playing the instrument while Charlie told him it was Billy Cooper and pointed to his picture. "You worked in Fugitive Recovery with him- he was your partner. He said you were very good at your job. Last year, he came to Los Angeles and worked with us to find a man who escaped from jail. You and he captured the guy."

Charlie finished up with Megan, Terry, and David, playing the clarinet, ukelele, and guitar in turn while explaining their relationship to him. Don seemed embarrassed when Charlie discussed what he knew about his former girlfriend and partner, Terry. "She makes me...feel silly," Don told his brother. Charlie finally played the pan pipes, and asked Don what he remembered about him.

"Always…with me." Don frowned. "I think office…white and lots of…lights and people."

"Good, that's where you work, at the F.B.I." Charlie was pleased that Don seemed to be remembering bits and pieces of recent events in their lives. Not much, but enough to give him hope that things were really getting better.

"Okay, let's pick up the pace. Get ready with your harmonica, Larry, and you get ready with your drums, Don." Charlie took one last glance around the room, noting the position of the instruments. "Maestro, please."

Then Charlie was a flurry of motion. He grabbed the guitar and strummed it-

"Who's that?"

"Um," Don responded.

"Not quick enough!" Charlie said, "David Sinclair, your friend and team member."

Jumping back to the bells, Charlie shook them. "Who's that?"

"Uh, she's"- Don hesitated, but Charlie didn't.

"She's Amita, my love and your friend."

Charlie strode to the table and played the flute. Before he could ask the question, Don pointed at the correct picture and blurted, "Aunt Irene!"

"How old is she?"

"Eighty!"

"And who does she give a hard time?"

"Daddy!"

"That's right!"

Charlie blew into the trumpet.

"That's Colby," Don said, pointing at the correct portrait once again while starting to bob up and down on the couch. "He blows his horn."

"Right! Who does he work for?"

"The F.B.I."

"Who do you work for?"

"The F.B.I." Don shouted.

"Play your drum," Charlie ordered. Don obeyed, patting it. "Who's that?"

"Hmm, he's, uh," Don faltered.

"Too long," Charlie exclaimed, "Billy Cooper. He was your"-

"Partner," Don interrupted and then he pointed at Billy. "We worked in fug…fugitive…recovery...caught a badman."

"Yes!" Charlie pointed at Larry, who quickly played his harmonica.

"Larry," Don said, continuing to hit his drum. "CalSci…physics…and Megan but…no more."

Getting in on the action, Larry kept buzzing into his instrument, enjoying how Don's eyes shimmered with exuberance and his hands thump-thumped approval of the nonsensical tune Larry was playing. Charlie grabbed the bells from the wall, holding them out towards Don and shaking them, fairly shouting, "Who's this?"

"Amita," Don called, emphasizing his answer with a double-beat, then, "You love her…math major…your student…my friend."

"Yes, yes, yes," Charlie laughed. He kept hitting the bells against his hip in a steady beat while he grabbed the clarinet up from the table, giving it a long blow. "Who's this?"

"Megan!" Don started hitting the drum and moving back and forth on the couch in time to Charlie's beat, "team member…F.B.I…psycholo…psychology…my friend…kicks ass."

Charlie moved to the TV. He attached the bells to a loop on his jeans and shook his hips while he picked up the small guitar, strumming it as loud as he could. "Who's this?"

"David Sinclair," Don answered and pointed to his picture, no hesitation. "Friend…team member…F.B.I."

Charlie played the guitar back to the table, shaking the bells at his side the best he could. His frenzied energy had no end as he picked up the ukulele and stood plucking at it strings. "Who's this?"

"Terry," Don started laughing. He was having too much fun. "Partner… academy... girlfriend pizza…Laundromat…lots of kisses…" Don hit the drum one time for each letter he yelled out, "F...thump…B…thump…I...thump."

"Right!" Charlie dropped the ukelele and point two fingers at Don. "Who are you?"

"Special...Agent...Don...Eppes."

"Louder." Charlie demanded.

"Special...Agent...Don...Eppes!" Charlie yelped happily and Don pounded on his drum over and over in triumph.

Charlie hopped about the room, having as much fun as his brother. He dove from one instrument to the next, demanding Don identify the person who went with each, shaking his bells louder and louder as his excitement grew because Don was getting every single one correct and was adding a few tidbits about each person, facts that had not come from Charlie.

Soon, the room was a blur of strange music and ecstatic men- Don pounding on his drum and bouncing on the couch while shouting out the names and small background pieces of his family and friends; Charlie shaking his hips as he darted about the room, bells tinkling continuously while he sent the unique sounds of his homemade instruments throughout the air and dusted the atmosphere with the loud and quick questions he tossed at Don; and Larry, who got up from his seat while continuing to play the harmonica, dancing a light gig, something that very few of his friends knew he was well-practiced in doing.

Amidst this chaos, Charlie finally banged the gong one more time, and asked Don who it was. When he responded, "Daddy" at the top of his voice, another, louder one put a stop to their jubilee and they were all still, their eyes turning to the entryway that led into the solarium.

Alan stood there, his mouth in a frown, contemplating the spectacle that had woken him up. The elder Eppes hadn't been able to sleep when he had napped with Don because he kept waking up, convinced that his son had been taken from him. Eventually, he had just given up and settled for holding his son, reassuring himself of Don's presence by running his hands over his resting body. When he had come downstairs, Alan had had no choice but to fall asleep on the couch, the emotional stress having exhausted him. Until he heard the laughing and music coming from the solarium, the sounds so inviting he had put aside his anxiety and allowed himself to be lured to the comfort that they offered. Now, he stood in front of those guilty of luring him in, silently musing that the three men in front of him looked like deer caught in the glare of headlights. Stepping into the room, he allowed a large smile to capture his face. Then Alan lowered his voice as deep as he could, and bellowed, "I do not sound like that."

Charlie, Don, and Larry laughed. They put aside their instruments and all at once tried to tell Alan how well Don had remembered the faces and names of the people on the table, and the few memories he had recovered about them. Alan sat down next to Don and gave him a kiss on the head. "Things getting better, Donny?" he asked.

"I think so," Don answered.

"Well, now," Alan looked about the room. "What do I get to play?"

And the concert was on.