I disclaim. I don't own the Eppes brothers or their father, or any of the other wonderful Numb3rs characters. I just toyed with them a very little, and plan to return them in reasonably good shape to where they belong.

Notes: This is clearly a Charlie h/c and angst story, but I split the POVs fairly equally between Charlie, Alan and Don because I love the family. It's also, I realize, unfolding slowly. I hope you bear with me, and muchas gracias for those who've let me know they're reading and liking so far!

Oh, and I don't know how Amita got selected in the character bit for the story description. I'm...not a Charlie/Amita shipper. I'm not anti, but still - not the focus of this story, even if it's mentioned. I've fixed that.

Enough yammering from me. On with the story.

The guy looked like he'd break in half if breathed on too strongly. The old adage of looks being deceiving was certainly proving true here. The refusal to name accomplices wasn't surprising so much as it was aggravating to Don Eppes. Part of his frustration, too, was how he'd started his day. He didn't even know why he'd stopped by the house, though a deep down part of him suspected it was to catch a glimpse of Charlie. It felt wrong, though, that he was relieved his brother had still been sleeping. Don knew his dad was right, but his dad didn't know that he'd actually, actively avoided hanging out there lately. Of course that was probably what made the guilt trip all the more powerful. The simple fact of the matter was that no matter how much he appreciated the help Charlie gave him…all of them…sometimes his little brother was still as much a burden as ever. He also knew thinking that probably made him a crappy brother.

"Look, Kenny. We know you were just along for the ride. You're not the one who should pay for this," Don said. "Give us the people who really did it, and we'll get you a deal."

It was the same story they'd already told Mr. Tightlips in at least three separate attempts, each attempt a slightly different variation on a theme. Don circled around the gaunt suspect, ready to test out that breathing to break him thing. Megan glanced up at him, and he could see she was almost as frustrated as he was. Usually having a beautiful woman sitting across from a male perp made him more pliable. Hell, having one in the same vicinity did the trick in most cases. This guy, this reed-thin, pale, worm of a man apparently didn't notice Megan's attributes.

"I got nothin' to say."

Now that was the same story Kenny had been telling them. Don clenched his fists as he walked behind again, raising his arms in the air in a slight stretch. He resisted the urge to smack the guy on the head. He caught Megan shake her head at him slightly. He put his arms down, but stayed where he was. He couldn't look at that uncooperative face anymore.

"Just so you remember it was your choice when cellmate after cellmate cozies up to you for the next thirty-five years. I hope you've got an open mind, because by the time you're done, you'll have a very open – "

"Kenny," Megan said quickly. She stood up. "Why don't you think for a little longer? Make sure this is really the way you want to go. We'll be back in a few minutes."

Megan didn't drag Don out of the room, but it sure felt like he was leashed to her. Don bit back the various curses he wanted to utter – at her, at Kenny, hell, at his father. He hated it when the really bad guys got away, both because they were bad guys and because it meant they were way too smart. It meant they were smarter than he was, and he had always hated anyone outsmarting him. Don slammed the door behind him.

"What the hell was that?" he said the second he was outside the interrogation room and the door was closed. "We're never going to get anywhere with us out here and him in there."

"Don, it wasn't going well," Megan told him. She pushed the sleeves of her sweater up. "You were about to lose it with a guy who wasn't even being antagonistic."

He glared at her for a couple of seconds. Rather than accusation in her expression, he saw concern. Damnit, why was he so on edge? Don shook his head slightly. If his annoyance was that obvious, he had a problem.

"This guy is the perfect patsy. He knows everything. He can get us DelMarco. He should get us DelMarco."

"It can't always work the way we want." Megan shrugged. Don glared some more, until she looked sheepish. "I know. It's bothering me, too. I can't get a solid grasp on him, and he should be easy."

"So you can understand my irritation."

"Yes, but – "

"Then we go ahead and give it a few minutes. I'm not done with this guy," Don said. He glanced at this watch. They'd wasted too much time. He started to think maybe he should see if there was some mathematical way to ferret out DelMarco, though he really hated the idea a second after thinking it. "I'll be back."

He walked away before she could say anything else. Don stalked by David and Colby, all too aware they stared at him as he did so. Damnit. He needed some air. He reached for his cell as he entered the elevator, flipping it open to see he'd missed twenty-some calls. Great, just what he needed, grief from the bosses. He pushed the lobby button. Scrolling down the numbers, he winced and then his eyebrows shot up when he read that most of them had come from his father.

"Sorry, Dad, I am just not in the mood," he grumbled to himself. "Whatever it is, it's going to have to wait."

Of course, the second he said it he felt guilty. Again. His father could produce that feeling without even being in the same place as he was. Don checked his messages, relieved that of the twenty calls only five left voicemail. He skimmed the ones from the higher ups, knowing before their words hit his ears what they were going to say. He didn't need the reminder of his failure to break Kenny, nor did he feel it necessary to call them back just yet. He also figured he knew what his dad wanted, but he sighed to himself and listened anyway.

"Don, when you get this message, please call me right away."

He frowned. There was a sense of urgency in his dad's tone that set him instantly on edge. He deleted and listened to the next.

"Don, I really need you to call me. I'm at home."

The urgency upped to something more in the second message. The elevator door opened. Don stood in the cab and let the door slide shut again. He had a very bad feeling that his prediction of his father's intent behind the phone calls was wrong, and suddenly he wanted to hear some chastisement and cajoling about visiting more often. He headed back up to the office.

"I know you're probably in the middle of something very important," his dad's somewhat frantic voice said into his ear in the final message, "but I'm going a little out of my mind here. I'm still at home."

Don thought he should have got off the elevator in the lobby, so he could make the call right away. His index finger circled the speed dial. It wasn't like Dad to get worked up over nothing, which meant this was something, capital S. The last he'd heard this kind of desperation in his father's voice, it had been when he'd learned of his mom's illness. His brain started connecting dots before the dots were even in place, and the picture it created was not a good one.

The ride back up the elevator seemed to take longer than the one down had. He decided that reduced reception in the elevator wasn't a big deal. Don pressed speed dial number one and lifted the phone to his ear. It rang and rang. The gut ache he had from Kenny's stonewalling increased with every ring, same ache with a different cause. The elevator door opened, his floor this time. He stepped off, and nearly ran into Colby.

"Hey, Don. I was just coming to track you down. I've got your dad on the phone. He sounds upset."

That explained him not getting an answer…and if Dad didn't switch over for call waiting, then he knew it was bad. He clicked his phone shut and made for his desk. "What line?"

"Two."

"Dad," he said, before the phone had even really reached his ear. "What's going on?"

"I've been trying to get you all afternoon." His dad paused, short bursts of air whooshing against the receiver and transmitting right though to Don. He pictured Dad pacing back and forth. "Don't you ever answer the phone?"

"I'm on a case, Dad, I had it off."

"I know, I figured." Another pause. "I'm sorry, I'm just going out of my head here."

"So are you going to tell me what's up?"

"It's your brother."

"Charlie?" he said, as if Dad didn't know the name. "What…what's wro…is something wrong with Charlie?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his team's attention turn to him. Don sat down and turned toward the wall. He didn't need anyone watching him while he got bad news. He couldn't lose it like this in front of people. He never lost it. He couldn't. He didn't know why he was now.

"Don, no one's seen Charlie for over twenty-four hours."

Strange relief filled him for a brief moment. Not sick, not cancer like his mom, not hurt, not dead. Then the actual message hit his synapses.

"What? You said this morning that he was sleeping."

"Well, apparently I was wrong."

"What about Larry, maybe Larry's seen him?"

"Larry hasn't seen him, he's the one who called me. Amita hasn't seen him. No one has seen him," his father said quickly, and then continued on in the same rapid-fire manner. "It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth. He missed all of his classes today. He's…not in any nearby hospitals or…morgues. I called the police. They don't think it warrants investigation yet – he is, after all, a grown man. But I'm telling you, something is not right."

"Breathe for a second, Dad," Don said with a lot more calm than he truly felt. His insides actually seemed to be made of gelatin, both because of the knowledge that his father wasn't one to overreact and the information that he'd just gotten. It wasn't like Charlie to go anywhere without letting someone know, intentionally or by chance. "I'm glad you called. I'll be over as soon as I can."

"Thanks, Donnie."

"Just sit tight, Dad, there's probably a reasonable explanation."

"Hey, this is Charlie we're talking about, right?" his dad said, with a laugh that wasn't real. "Knowing him, he decided to find Descartes' grave to pay homage and just forgot to tell us about it."

"You might be right," he said, feeding the weak attempt to deter complete fear.

He disconnected the call, then stood up. A glance around the office revealed that everyone was still looking at him, now with concern very apparent in their expressions. They'd heard everything…and why wouldn't they be concerned?

"Megan, I need you to wrap up with Kenny for me," he said, tugging on his suit coat. "Something's come up that I need to take care of."

"Yeah, man, we heard," David said. "What's going on?"

Part of him wanted to bring at least one of his team along, but explaining to the higher-ups that he'd used agency people on something – a very personal something – that might be wrong would be too much of a headache if said something turned out to be nothing. He gathered some of his things, in case the might-be-wrong turned into an actual wrong and he didn't make it back in. Megan and Colby walked over and stood near his desk.

"I don't know yet. Dad's pretty upset."

"Want some help?" Colby said. "I mean, Charlie's like our kid brother, too."

"No." Don brushed by Colby, who he was sure was actually a tad younger than Charlie. "I need you guys to stay on this DelMarco thing. I'm sure I can clear this in a couple of hours, maybe less. I'll check in with you."

He didn't wait for acknowledgement; they'd do what he asked. Don rolled his shoulders as he walked, and while he waited for the elevator, he tilted his head from side to side. It produced a satisfying, if slightly painful, crack. Charlie. Missing. He wanted to believe it was just his brother's flakiness coming into play, but even Charlie wasn't so absentminded he'd take off and let Dad worry like that. He regretted his recent thoughts about what a burden his little brother could be. A sharp throb of pain started from the back of his head, wrapping around to just behind his right eye. Just what he needed.

"Don."

He turned. The elevator dinged and the door opened. He put his hand out to prevent it from shutting without him in it.

"Megan."

"Are you sure you don't want help?"

"Yeah, it's probably nothing."

"It's enough for you to leave an interrogation that only a few minutes ago had you all hot and bothered," she said.

He stared at her for a moment. The case itself remained on his radar, but he'd actually forgotten how pissed he was about Kenny's lack of cooperation.

"Yeah," he said and got into the elevator, "it is. Just…let me do this on my own for the moment. I know you can handle Kenny."

Megan watched him until the door closed. He could just about see her brain working, trying to figure him out. He hadn't done a very effective job convincing her he didn't think things were bad with Charlie. He did think they were bad. Admitting that made him feel just a little bit better. Not much. Not enough. Over the years, Don had seen enough missing persons cases to have a whole bevy of concerns. He tried not to think about them. Considering he hadn't gathered that much solid information yet, it was better to assume neither the best nor the worst.

He fidgeted slightly at every stop of the elevator on its way down to the parking garage. If Dad was right and it had been about twenty-four hours since anyone had seen Charlie, every single moment counted. The fact that no one had noticed for that long was not a good sign…and so much for not projecting about it. The elevator finally landed on his level. As soon as he got out on the streets, he saw rush hour traffic had already started to hit. Don looked at his watch. Three o'clock. This traffic mess seemed to happen earlier and earlier every year. He reached into his pocket for his phone. An oncoming car, almost ran into him.

"Hey," he said, though it was pointless. "Watch it."

He flipped the phone open, keeping an eye on the road and a hand firmly on the wheel. If the ancillary streets were this busy, it was going to take him a while to get there. He pressed Dad's number, then thought a second and disconnected. Instead, he pressed speed dial two. It rang. That was a good thing.

"Don?"

The voice was familiar, but not the one he'd hoped for.

"Hey, Dad."

"His phone was here. I saw your name on caller ID."

"It was worth a try," he said. Damnit. One route of tracking down his kid brother was closed. "Since I've got you, I wanted to tell you I'm probably going to be a while. Traffic."

"Can't you flash your sirens or something?"

"I'm not a cop, Dad."

"I know." Dad sighed in his ear. It sounded like hope deflating. "I'll be here."

Don hung up. The one hundred and one questions he had to ask would wait until he could do it in person. He pushed his foot on the gas pedal, as if doing so would make all the other drivers on the road cooperate more.