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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After their musical exertions Tuesday afternoon, Charlie and Alan noted that Don appeared tired. Not wanting to completely wear him out, they had a light dinner and then spent the remainder of the evening in their pool, joined by Larry. Intermittently, Charlie and Alan would tell Don more stories about himself, even a few which involved his mother, though they continued to avoid telling him that Thompson was not the person to whom they were referring. They did not want to set back Don's progress with the anxiety that fact would cause, deciding the moment for revealing the truth should be decided upon by whatever psychotherapist Wang found for them.

They finished with the pool, Larry eventually left, and when Don started yawning, they decided to go to bed early. All three Eppes were satisfied that the day had been a success, and were exhausted from their expressions of emotional cheerfulness for once, rather than their usual stress.

At that point, Charlie pulled his father aside, both men keeping their eyes on Don as he climbed into bed. He did not want to spoil the contented mood that surrounded them, but felt a small matter needed to be addressed.

"Dad, I noticed you fell asleep this afternoon on the couch- didn't you stay up here with Don during his nap?"

Alan recalled his promise to be truthful about his feelings with his youngest son, so he quickly confessed, "Yes, but I was kept awake by my own nightmares, Charlie. For some reason, I just can't shake this ominous feeling that I'm going to lose him. Not to you- at least, I don't feel that way anymore; but to her." Alan looked to the floor and shook his head. "If you think we should discuss this further, I will, but I've gone over it in my mind about a thousand times. I'm aware of the problem and don't think talking about it is going to make it go away."

Charlie put out a hand and brushed Alan's shoulder. "We don't have to talk it to death, as long as we have it out in the open. And since we're busy expressing our concerns, I have to admit that I'm afraid sometimes, too."

"I guess we won't feel he's safe until his memory completely returns." Alan smiled as he thought about the jubilant session they'd had with the instruments earlier that afternoon. "I think your brother is finally on the road to being the man he once was- my strong, determined son. He'll handle that woman, don't you think?"

Charlie was quiet a few moments before he replied. "I don't know, Dad. Don really loves her. Even with his memory back, will he be strong enough to fight that feeling, and will he want to?"

"At least after today, I have some hope," Alan answered. Then they turned off the lights and settled into bed, wordlessly adjusting their limbs out of each other's way so that they both had a comfortable hold of Don.

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"Come on, Don," Charlie encouraged his brother, "just one more and you're finished."

It was after lunch on Wednesday, and Don was busy trying to pick up a three-inch block from a tray in front of him. He and Charlie were in the solarium, finishing up the last exercise he needed to do before he would take his nap.

The Eppes had gotten up early that morning, having had a restful night. The day had started out right because during breakfast they had received good news. Dr. Wang had called and informed them that the diuretics that Don was taking had effectively drained most of the excess cranial spinal fluid within his skull, that the resurgent increase of fluid that was typical after using the medication had been kept to a minimal, and that if his body continued to respond as well as it was currently doing, then it was sure to start self-regulating the fluid on its own; there was a distinct possibility that Don could be taken off the meds in a matter of weeks. Alan had thanked the doctor profusely, relieved that there was a good chance Don would not be on the diuretics for the rest of his life. Wang ended their conversation by giving him the name and phone number of a psychotherapist that he thought would work well with Don.

With this news and the previous day's excursion into silliness under their belts, Charlie and Alan had spent the rest of the morning gleefully playing games and working puzzles with Don, breaking in between for his gripping and tongue exercises. The only blot on their day had come when Harvey Johnson called to tell them that he had made Don an appointment for early Thursday morning, in order for him to receive a new evaluation for court. Thinking about the hearing and Thompson had put a slight damper on Charlie and Alan's mood.

Don picked up the block at last, and then carried it to its slot. Charlie allowed him to try to put it in its place for several minutes before he clicked off his stopwatch and told Don that he had done a good job, but it was time for him to rest. Don watched as Charlie took the tray and put it on the card table; he nervously sucked his thumb, trying to remember what he was supposed to do if he wanted to get Buddy back.

When he was done, Charlie told Don, "It's time for your nap. You better go-Dad's probably waiting for you."

Don remained seated and Charlie perceived that something was bothering his brother. He sat down beside him and held his hand. "What's wrong, Don?"

After pulling his thumb out of his mouth, Don quietly asked Charlie, "What's a...special...special agent?"

Oh, Charlie thought, he wants to understand some of the things we told him. He was glad that Don had asked the question. Most of the things that Don had remembered the day before had been recitations of the information that Charlie told him during their unique version of memory; Don had only been able to come up with a few snapshot memories on his own, which was a big enough improvement for them to justify their celebration, but it wasn't enough for anyone to positively state he was getting his entire memory back. Bits and pieces didn't add up to a whole, and Charlie did not want to fall prey to laziness because of the prior day's success. He knew there was still a lot of work ahead of them, and he was glad for opportunities like these, where he could help stimulate Don's memory without worrying about draining his energy, which playing the game had done.

"Well, a special agent is someone who solves mysteries, and saves people when they are in danger. They're brave, just like you told me I was. Only, a special agent has to be especially brave, because sometimes he puts his life in danger."

"That's what I did?" Don asked, amazed with himself.

"Yes, you sure did. A few times, you even saved me. I remember a badman was shooting at us and you pulled me down and covered me with your body. I was safe because of you." Charlie knew Don needed to understand that he was brave; otherwise, he would never have the emotional strength to force Thompson- with all her threats- out of his life.

"So, I protect...people?" Don needed to know. He was planning to do something that he knew would make Charlie and his daddy unhappy and it bothered him that he would be the cause of their sadness. He needed to know if what he was thinking of doing was something that was expected of him; if it was his job. If so, then he felt certain that his family would understand his actions and not be mad at him.

"Yes, Don, you sure do." Charlie hoped Don was asking because he was starting to shed, if only a tiny bit, the image that Thompson had planted in his mind that he was a child, not a man.

"My friends, too?" Don leaned towards Charlie in anticipation of his answer. "I would protect...my friends?"

Charlie nodded, thinking Don was talking about his team members. "You would always be there for them. You would do whatever you had to do in order to save them, even if you were afraid. That's the type of person you were and still are."

Don sat back, his question answered. All morning, Don had wondered if he was doing the right thing, that maybe he should tell his brother what had happened and depend on him to get Buddy. But he had remembered the day before, when Charlie said he was a special agent, and that brought up pictures in Don's mind of a dapper man in a black suit, carrying a gun and with gorgeous women all around him. Don knew that man was brave, and would do anything to save the world. So, he had asked Charlie if he was a special agent like the man he saw in his mind, if people depended on him to save them- including his friends. And Charlie had answered that question for him. He, Don Eppes, was a special agent, and it was up to him alone to save Buddy.

Charlie noticed that Don appeared relieved when he answered this last question, and he wondered why. He thought that maybe the information that he and his father had given Don was confusing him, because the image it gave him of the person he was had to be a stellar opposite of the one Thompson had portrayed him as being. But when Charlie looked Don over, he did not see the tell-tale signs of fear or anxiety that the suspected confusion would be causing. He noted that his brother seemed lost in thought instead and Charlie was interested in what he was thinking about. He let go of Don's hand and gently poked him in the side. Don let loose a slight giggle and pulled away. "Stop it," he said.

"What are you thinking about, Don?" Charlie asked, trying to playfully draw him out. He poked Don again.

Don gave a little laugh and held his hand over his side. "Don't Charlie."

"Then tell me what's really bothering you," Charlie said, poking him in several spots so Don could not protect himself. "I think you're holding out on me."

Don giggled while trying to brush Charlie's hands away. "Just tired," he lied.

Charlie gave up when he saw that Don appeared relaxed and no longer distant; he also kept in mind that he did not want to tire him any further. "Well, you better get to bed. But," he warned, "the first thing when you wake up, we're going to have a long talk."

Don nodded and then licked his lips, plunging right into his role of special agent when he heard Charlie mention naptime once again. "Kool-aide thirsty," he said. "Please."

"Well, let me see how much liquid you've had today. I think you might be able to have half a cup." Charlie rose and headed for the kitchen.

Working as fast as he could, Don hid the imposter rabbit, poking it up in the small space between the back of the couch and the wall. Then he left the room, heading for the stairs, where his father sat waiting for him at the bottom.

"Ready to sleep?" Alan asked him. Don nodded.

Charlie appeared with his sippy cup. "So the mountain decided to come to Mohammed for once," he smiled. "Well, I was right- you can have a half cup." He handed Don's drink to him and watched as he slurped it down. After Don gave it back to him, Charlie started to return to the kitchen, but then impulsively stopped and gave his brother a peck on the cheek.

Don rubbed his palm across the spot. "What's that for?" he asked.

"Just because I love you, I guess," Charlie replied. Then he turned on his heels and left, Don staring after him.

"All right, my son, let's get going." Alan led Don upstairs, stopping outside his bedroom and asking him if he needed to use the bathroom first. Don gave a negative response, so Alan led the way into the room. Once they were inside, Alan noticed Don was tugging at his left ear instead of Buddy's, who was nowhere to be seen. "Hey, where's your friend?"

"I left him down," Don said.

"Well, let me go get him. Can't have a proper nap without your best friend by your side." Alan started to move around Don, but stopped when his son said, "I can do it."

Alan raised two eyebrows. "You want to get him by yourself?"

Don's tongue moved out between his lips. "Yes...not a baby." He didn't know what else to say. When he had complained that he was being treated like a baby before, Daddy had listened to him and eaten the same food as he did. Don hoped that saying it again would convince his father to let him get the rabbit.

Alan was surprised that Don wanted to get Buddy on his own; usually, Don let his brother or father get everything for him. Thinking over the events of the previous day, Alan assumed Don had gotten a taste of his old self and wanted to establish a little independence. This seemed apparent to him because of Don's request, and because his son had forgotten the rabbit to begin with; Alan hoped it was a sign that Don was growing out of his need to have the toy with him at all times.

This should be a good thing, Alan thought to himself, but I can't help feeling antsy about it.

He noted that what Don was asking for permission to do was a simple task: he would walk downstairs, pick up his stuffed toy, and then come back upstairs with it, which was not exactly equivalent to asking for permission to drive a car. It seemed silly to Alan to even debate whether he should let him go on his own- the house was locked up and Charlie would be downstairs with him, and besides, Don had been left alone in different rooms in the house plenty of times, ever since they had started making sure the house was impregnable, from the time that Thompson had made her unwanted visit. Still, for some reason Alan couldn't put his finger on, the request was bothering him and he was hesitant to say yes.

Alan finally settled his dilemma by deciding that Don could go on his own, but he would check on him if he didn't return in what he considered reasonable time.

"Where did you leave him, Donny?" Alan asked, wanting to know where he would be.

"The TV room," Don answered, tugging at his ear again. It sounded like Daddy was going to look.

"All right, go ahead. But come right back." Alan said firmly. When he saw the frown that formed on Don's face, Alan modified his tone to one of apology, "It's not that I don't trust you, Donny. I know you're not a baby. But I'm tired and really want to get some sleep, so you need to hurry back."

Don nodded and then fled the room. Hearing how his father trusted him made Don feel bad. He knew he needed to get Buddy back, but he hated that he had to lie to Charlie and Daddy to do it, especially after he had gotten so mad when he thought Charlie had lied to him. He hoped they would eventually forgive him for what he was about to do.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Don ran into Charlie, who was exiting the kitchen. "Where are you off to?" Charlie asked.

"Left Buddy," Don lied.

"Oh, he must be in the solarium," Charlie said. "You go back upstairs. I'll get him."

"Okay," Don said. He waited for Charlie to leave, but was frustrated to see his brother stood there looking at him.

"Go upstairs, Don. I'll bring him to you."

Not having a choice, Don began to slowly walk up the stairs. When he saw Charlie turn, walk through the living room, and enter the solarium, he carefully snuck back down and headed into the kitchen. Once there, he used his left thumb and index finger to push and tug at the deadbolt till it unlocked; by using the new lever handle that Charlie had installed a few days earlier, he turned the knob and pulled the door open. Then, he was outside and heading towards the driveway, where Melinda suddenly appeared between the hedges that ran along its border.

"Hurry, baby, we have to go."

"Buddy," Don said when he got to her.

"Yes, he's in the car." Melinda took his hand and pulled him with her, both of them disappearing through the hedge to the other side where her car sat with its engine running.

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Charlie checked the solarium, but he couldn't seem to find Buddy. But he has to be here, he thought, tugging at a lock of hair. He had seen the rabbit next to Don when he left to get the kool-aide, and Don didn't have him in his arms when standing next to their dad at the bottom of the stairs. Charlie hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but now he began thinking along the same lines as his father: Don was growing away from his attachment to the toy, and it was a good indication of his emotional development. If he reviewed Don's behavior over the last two days, it did seem as if his brother hadn't been as affectionate with the toy as he usually was. He hoped that Don had started to believe them, that he was a man, which would mean he did not need to rely on a stuffed toy for protection. But Don had apparently decided that being without Buddy during naptime was too hard, so Charlie needed to find him. Otherwise, he was afraid that Don would not be able to sleep.

Charlie contemplated where he should concentrate his search. Don had last had the rabbit on the couch and somewhere between it and the stairs the toy had magically disappeared. Because he hadn't seen it lying along the path he took to get to the room, he figured it had to be somewhere around the couch. Charlie looked underneath it, but did not find the rabbit. He did find his flute, however, dropped on the floor after their impromptu concert the day before. Smiling, he picked it up and placed it on the table, thinking it would be fun if they could play the game again sometime in the next few days, once Don had plenty of energy.

Charlie turned back to the couch and wondered if the rabbit had fallen behind it. With a grunt, he pulled it away from the wall, and then grinned when he saw the lumpy bundle plop to the ground.

"There you are, you rascally rabbit," he said in his best imitation of Elmer Fudd, and then grabbed it by a leg. He swung it back and forth as he headed to the stairs, his eyes on the rabbit's balding ear as it moved, wondering if it would be possible to replace the missing hairs. Without conscious thought or effort, his mind calculated how many strings were in each centimeter of the fabric and determined quickly that the left ear was down to three-hundred and forty-two hairs.

Charlie stopped.

That couldn't be right. When he had held Buddy the previous week, after his tiff with Don, he had calculated the ear had only two-hundred and eighty-seven hairs left. They were only estimates, but there was no way he was off by fifty. And since stuffed toys didn't grow hair, he knew there could be only one reason for the difference between his first calculation and second.

This rabbit wasn't Buddy.

Charlie held the toy out in front of him. It looked worn, just like Buddy, only now that he took a really good look at it, maybe it did seem different. Doing as his brother had two days prior, Charlie started turning the rabbit over in his hands. When he also noticed the absence of the stitches on the toy's bottom, a sudden chill ran up from his toes through his spine to his head, making his shoulders involuntarily jerk.

Charlie knew exactly when the exchange had to have taken place. In court, Thompson must have known he would come looking for Buddy and had purposely been holding the fake one in her hand for him to nab. He began to pace angrily. No wonder Don had been less than loving with the toy. His brother had obviously been aware of the difference two days before, and that was why he had sped after Thompson when court was over. Charlie was positive that Thompson stole the stuffed toy as leverage for Don to do something in case she failed in court, which had occurred as Don had refused to name her as his physician. But what exactly was it that she told Don to do? Charlie knew that a court investigator would need to come to their house before he was given conservatorship. Was it possible she wanted Don to lie and say that he and his father were hitting him? Or, was it something else? How could he find out what she wanted his brother to do?

He started swinging the rabbit again, his finger across his lips as he thought. Thompson was smart. Whatever she had told Don on Monday had to be important, because she had made sure that nobody could hear what she said. And she was smart. She had to know that giving Don verbal directions was an iffy thing to do, even if she did have Buddy as a captive; with Don's thought processes messed up, it could be difficult for him to remember what was expected of him, especially if he was supposed to obey her days after receiving his orders. Again, this had to have been evident to her during the hearing, when Don had not followed what they supposed were her previous directions for him to say that she was his doctor. So, if she wanted to make sure that Don obeyed her this time, she would have wanted to be absolutely certain that he remembered what he had to do.

Charlie stopped and looked at the rabbit. He realized the best way for Thompson to remind Don would be to communicate her wishes in a permanent way, like writing them on the only thing that she'd had in her possession and knew she could give to Don without anyone being suspicious. And that was the toy he held in his hand. Quickly, Charlie began a thorough inspection of the rabbit, looking for any hidden messages or even a recording device that might have been implanted in the toy. It did not take him long to find the black marks deep inside the rabbit's left ear.

The writing was faded and hard to read, so Charlie stepped over to the light in the dining room, and bent the ear back; he pulled it flat so that he could more clearly see what was written there.

Driv ay nap We nsday

Charlie's mouth went dry and he found that he could not breathe, the world around him spinning and fading in and out of his conscious mind as he inferred what Thompson meant for Don to do. The air was suddenly thick and he felt like he was drowning, every last inch of his body held down by an unseen force. Thompson's taunting from Monday rang in his ears, that he had lost Don in the courtroom. Only, he now believed she hadn't been referring to the court proceedings, she had been talking about stealing Buddy and the power it gave her to get his brother to come to her, making the doors and windows they had bolted worthless in defense against her.

When Charlie's lungs finally forced him to take in a ragged breath, he was free; he dropped the rabbit and ran. Through the dining room, into the kitchen, slamming through the open back door, and out, down the driveway, his eyes searching desperately in every direction, then to the sidewalk, where he saw a small, white car screeching around the far corner, instinctively knowing that it was carrying his brother away from him.

And then Charlie couldn't breathe again, so he collapsed to his knees and sat back on his bottom, silent sobs raking deep rifts into his soul.