While they waited for the nurse to come with Don's morphine, Charlie started to pack up the few belongings he'd brought with them. "Dad, do you think Don will mind if I don't come back with you?"

Alan looked alarmed. "You're not going to lock yourself away in the garage again, are you?"

"Maybe. But not to work on P vs NP. I think I can be of more help to Don right now if I work on catching the thieves. I need to go to the FBI office and find out what new information they've gotten and I've got to get to work helping them find evidence to nail the Agincourt brothers." Charlie studied his father's expression, then hurried on, "I'll keep my cell phone on and with me at all times. You can call me if anything – and I mean anything – new happens with Don." He touched Don's shoulder gently. "But I need to do this for him."

"All right. But remember this wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't my fault, no. But if I could have done more to prevent it from happening..."

Don stirred. Without opening his eyes, he muttered, "You two aren't fighting, are you?"

"Never," Alan said.

"Of course not, Bro. We're just having a vehement discussion."

Don grinned and opened his eyes. "Good to see you're getting back to normal." He shifted slightly in the bed and grimaced.

"Donnie," Alan said, "are you in pain?"

"A little. Morphine must be wearing off."

Charlie squeezed Don's shoulder. "The nurse should be here in a few minutes with another dose. Want me to find out what's holding her up?"

"Nah. It was just a little twinge. I'll be fine."

"Listen," Charlie said, "Dr. Torre's kicking us out of here for a while. He wants the old man here to get some rest."

"Old man!" Alan said. "Who you calling an old man, baby boy?"

Charlie rolled his eyes and continued. "Anyhow, I thought I'd stop by your office and get the data from this latest robbery. Then I was going to see if I could help them put together enough evidence to nail these creeps."

Don opened his eyes and studied Charlie's face closely. "You'd better not be doing that P vs P thing..."

"NP," Charlie corrected. "I don't know why everybody thinks I'm going to freak out and try to solve that thing again. It's been nearly three years since I did that. I've grown a lot in that time."

"I know," Don said. "I'm sorry, Buddy. I ... I don't think you realize how hard that was on the rest of us."

"I know you were angry."

"Yeah. But I was angry because I was scared."

"Scared?"

"Yeah. You were blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault."

"But I should have been able to predict..."

"No!" Don struggled to sit up. "Listen," he said, giving up the struggle as Alan and Charlie held him down, "you are doing amazing work for us. But don't ever blame yourself for the actions of someone else. You're a genius, but you're not perfect."

"I never said I was."

"Not in so many words," Don grimaced again. "Damn. Where's that morphine?"

"I'll go see," Alan said. He gave Charlie a warning look. "Don't let him try to get up again. I'll be right back."

Charlie sighed. "Okay." He turned back to Don. "I think I get what you mean. Larry tried to get me to see that people are unpredictable, and that they don't always adhere to the laws of mathematics. I miss him. He always has a way of bringing me back to earth." Charlie smiled at his unintended pun. "I just wish he'd come back to earth soon." He noticed Don shifting uncomfortably in the bed. "Hang on, Don. Dad will be dragging half the staff in here any minute."

Don smiled weakly. "I know. Dad takes good care of us." He opened his eyes and scowled at Charlie. "You're trying to change the subject."

"No, I'm not. I promise I will not freak out."

"All right. That promise to kick your butt still stands."

"How is he?" Alan said as he entered the room.

"I'm okay, Dad. Hangin' in there," Don said.

Andrea appeared right behind Alan. "I'm sorry, Don," she said as she prepared to inject the morphine into Don's IV. "I got tied up with something else and lost track of time. It's a good thing your dad came and found me."

"'s okay," Don said. "It's not that bad yet."

"Don't you dare play the tough guy with me, G-Man. Dr. Torre will have my head if he finds out I neglected his prize patient."

"Prize patient?" Don asked. "What d'you mean?"

"Dr. Torre has a soft spot in his heart for law enforcement officers, especially feds. His son is an FBI agent in Sacramento. I guess he'd like to know that if, God forbid, Matt ever needs a doctor, he'll get the best possible care. There you go," she injected the morphine into the port. "Night night, Don."

"Thank you," Alan said as they watched Don drift off to sleep.

Andrea turned, hands on hips, "And you two are under orders to vamoose. If I see you back in less than four hours, I'm under strict orders to quarantine Don."

Alan raised his hands in surrender as Charlie picked up his bag. "We're going. I'll be back in four hours."

As Charlie and Alan pulled out of the hospital parking lot, Charlie used the built-in cell phone in his car to dial Liz. "Hey, Liz, we've got a change in plans. Don's doctor kicked us out of the room for at least four hours."

Her voice came over the car's speaker. "What happened? Is Don okay?"

"He's fine. Apparently Dr. Torre is worried that Dad and I are overtaxing ourselves. If we come back before four hours, he's threatened to put Don in quarantine."

Liz laughed. "Sounds like exactly the kind of take-no-crap doctor Don needs. Okay, so are you heading home?"

"Just to drop Dad off and pick up my laptop. Then I'd like to stop by and see what new data you have for me."

"You don't have to do that, Charlie..."

"Yes, I do. Listen, I just let a doctor push me around, I'm not going to let you do the same."

"All right. We're in the office now. I'll call you if that changes."

"Great. See you later."

His next call was to Amita. "Oh, hey, Charlie! I'm just on the way to your house to pick up your stuff."

"Good thing I caught you then. Don's doctor has forbidden us from coming back to the hospital for at least four hours. I'm dropping Dad off at home and then going to meet with Don's team at the FBI office."

"I'll wait for you then. Okay if I come along with you?"

"That would be great. I'm hoping they've got the data from this... latest crime."

"All right. I'll call Millie and let her know what's going on."

"Thanks. And would you tell her I'm planning on keeping up my regular schedule tomorrow?"

Alan peered at Charlie. "You're not planning on visiting Donnie in the hospital?"

"I'll talk to you later, Amita. And thanks for everything. I love you."

"I love you too. Good luck dealing with your dad."

"He's got you on speakerphone, you know," Alan said.

Amita laughed. "I know, Alan. I just wanted to hear your reaction."

"Great, now even you're getting into the act," Alan said, grinning. "You three are going to give me gray hair."

"You mean more gray hair," Charlie chuckled. "Gotta run, Amita. I think I'm going to be grounded." Charlie hung up the phone and glanced at Alan. "I'll be there for you and Don, Dad. Tomorrow's a light day at school."

Alan leaned back in the seat and rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I know you have your responsibilities."

Charlie patted Alan's knee. "My family is my biggest responsibility, Dad. But from what Dr. Torre said, Don will be out of it tomorrow anyway. If I keep up with my school obligations while Don's doped up, I won't feel as bad about missing classes when he comes home."

Alan nodded. "Makes sense."

"Dad? Don will be fine."

"I know. It's just hard when your kids get hurt. You'll understand when you have kids of your own. Speaking of which, how are you feeling? Any headaches?"

"No. You're not going to start mother-henning me, are you?" He glanced at his father, and noticed his stricken expression. "I'm sorry, Dad. Listen, for the next four hours you can come with me to the FBI office and mother hen me all you want, okay?"

--

Once they arrived at home, Alan fixed a pot of coffee. He set out a box of Pepperidge Farm cookies when the coffee was ready. "You two kids help yourselves. I think I'll just lie down until I can go back to the hospital," he said. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all, Dad. You can mother hen me later."

"One of these days, that smart mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble, Son," Alan said with a weary smile. "Amita, I delegate the mother henning of this ungrateful wretch to you." To take the sting out of his words, he took Charlie by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. "You're sure you're okay?

"I'm fine." Charlie pulled Alan into a hug. "Thanks for worrying about me," he murmured. "I really do appreciate it."

Once Charlie had retrieved his laptop, he and Amita got back into his car. As he was backing out of the driveway, she said, "Your Dad's sweet."

"In a crusty sort of way, yeah, he is."

"Someone told me once that if I wanted to see what kind of a husband a guy would make, I should take a look at his father."

"Really? And what have you determined?"

Amita laughed. "Oh, no. I'm not going to fall into that trap."

"Trap? What trap?"

"Discussing the 'm' word. That's a sure way to make a guy take off."

Charlie touched her cheek. "You'd have to do a lot more than that to make me take off. So tell me. What do you think when you see my father? Would I be good husband material?"

"Seriously? You would make an excellent husband."

"Uh oh." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Note to self: Find a way to dump Amita while there's still time."

Laughing, she punched his arm. "Your dad is right. Your smart mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days." She studied his face quietly for a long moment. "Listen, Charlie, I don't want to be a nag – or a mother hen – but are you okay?"

Charlie sighed. "I'm fine. Why is everybody so worried about me?"

Amita reached over and pushed a lock of hair back from his forehead. "We care about you, Charlie. And this case has become personal for you. It's not just an intellectual exercise this time. You've been beaten up, shot at, and your brother's been injured. It's only natural that you'd get upset."

Charlie bit his lower lip and nodded. "It is personal. But I'm not falling apart this time. I'm angry. I want to get these guys, and I want to do it before anyone else gets hurt."

The bullpen was empty, so Charlie led the way to the conference room where Don's team lived so much of their lives. Sure enough, Liz, David and Colby were there, poring over files. Charlie was surprised to see Ben and Maggie sitting with the agents. Maggie stood and rushed to embrace him. "Charlie! I was so sorry to hear about Don. Is he okay? Are you okay?"

Charlie returned Maggie's hug and pulled back with a smile. "Don's going to be fine. He woke up and talked to us for a while. And I'll be fine once I help solve this case for him. What are you guys doing here?"

"David called us and asked us to help the rest of you figure out where the thieves will strike next. Ben has some ideas that might be helpful."

Ben had stood to greet the newcomers, and he stepped forward to shake Charlie's hand and nod to Amita. "Perhaps you and the agents could figure out the probability of this happening, but I thought perhaps the thieves might go back to the Hammer to steal the DaVinci."

David and Colby exchanged glances, and Colby whistled. "Now that would take balls."

Charlie and Amita had taken seats, and Charlie was in the process of pulling his computer from its bag. "Well, that's something these thieves seem to have in abundance." He turned to David. "What are the chances the museum will increase its security after this incident?"

"The director did say they were going to beef up the security. But if the DaVinci is still the best target..." He glanced at Charlie, who nodded. "...then I would think it's still a possibility."

"How soon are they going to reopen the show?" Liz asked.

"Believe it or not, they want to reopen tomorrow," David said.

Charlie looked up from his computer and shuddered. "I don't think I'd be able to go there after... after what happened."

Amita squeezed his hand. "I don't blame you."

"All right," David said, "for now, let's consider the DaVinci to be the prime target. If we eliminate the Hammer, can you guys figure out what would be next?"

"We can do that," Charlie said, "But I'm also going to need the data from this morning." He leaned back and rubbed his face. "It seems like it's been days since..."

David handed Charlie a folder. "Here's what we've got so far. Some of the interviews are still being transcribed."

"Thanks." Before he could open the folder, Charlie's cell phone rang. He opened it and looked as the display. "Charles Eppes," he said.

"Charles?" The voice crackled with static.

"Larry?"

"Charles! Yes, it's me. Or it is I. Millie contacted me, and I felt I should call you. How is Don doing?"

Charlie smiled. "He's doing better, Larry. Thank you for calling." He remembered he was sitting in a room full of people. "Would you guys excuse me?" He glanced around the table, then stood and left the room. Don's team's section of the bullpen was empty, of course. After a moment's hesitation he sat in Don's chair. "Okay, Larry. Sorry about that."

"If this is a bad time, I could call back later."

Charlie laughed, then clapped his hand over his mouth as heads turned in his direction. "No, please. It's fine. I... I've been wishing I could talk to you..."

"I wish I could be there for you, Charles. But the only way home won't be available for some time yet. So tell me, what have you been wishing you could say to me?"

"It's not so much what I want to say. I just wanted... I needed... you have a way of bringing me down to earth, you know?"

Larry's laugh crackled through the static filled line. "Oh, Charles, that was funny. Listen, I don't have long to talk. So if you don't mind, I'll cut to the chase. I imagine now you're upset, worried, and stressed. You're blaming yourself. Am I right?"

"You're right," Charlie said softly.

"It's okay to feel what you're feeling. But don't let those emotions cloud your judgment. And most of all, don't let those emotions interfere with your mathematics. There is nobody on that little blue ball who can do more with numbers than you, my friend. Let them do what they're meant to do, and don't twist them into something they're not. If the numbers point toward Mother Teresa, they're just as right as if they pointed to Attila the Hun. If you've let them be what they are." Larry paused. "I'm going to have to hang up in another minute or so. Was that at all helpful? Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Charlie blinked back tears. "Come home soon? I know, I know. You can't. And, yes, talking with you has helped me regain my focus. If Mother Teresa were still alive, she'd have something to worry about, but we're all hoping it's Attila the Hun. But I'll go wherever the numbers lead me. Hey, before you go, you've got to tell me what it's like up there."

"Charles, it defies description. The beauty is breathtaking. I've been taking photographs, but I'm sure they won't even begin to do it justice. I've been given the opportunity to live my dream. An opportunity I wouldn't have had if you hadn't made that phone call. But I would give it all up if I could have been there when you needed me."

The tears that had been threatening finally overflowed. Charlie fought to control his voice. "Thank you," he whispered.