Whoop, I got a day behind. I really, really hope to post every other day. Some chapters are taking more TLC than I had anticipated (jeez, it's embarrassing to look back at a story I wrote a while ago), but I think I can stick to it.

Hugs for the reviews, because they are loved, squeezed, hugged and named George the instant I get them. Even if it takes me a few days to respond to them. ;)

In the first few moments after opening his eyes, Charlie thought he had gone blind. The blackness all around him was unexpected, and might well have been a thick blanket he was trapped in, robbing him of light and air. It pressed down on him, squeezing the air from his lungs. He took shallow, rapid breaths until he was dizzy and his skin prickled from the rush of fearful adrenaline. In the next few moments after opening his eyes, he realized he could see shapes, outlines in the dark, which should have made him feel better but didn't. He could make out a large rectangle in the middle of the wall, a tall cylinder in the corner. He was pretty sure he wasn't in his room.

He was really pretty sure he didn't know where he was. His panic continued to mount, and he struggled to rein it in. Wherever he was and however he got here…panicking would not help. Charlie slowed his breathing and started cataloguing what facts he could. There weren't many.

He was on something soft. A bed, maybe. For lack of a clearer option, he decided to call it a bed. Charlie lifted his head. The movement brought pain. Not splitting, brain-numbing pain, but a low, dull ache. He put his head back down and felt a little bit better. Think. He had to think for a while before he moved again. He tried to remember…anything. The back of his neck itched. Hair tickled at his collar. Hair. Haircut. He definitely remembered getting a trim. He moved his right arm to scratch at the irritation, but could only raise it about an inch and a half off of the bed.

"What?" he said stupidly. Charlie didn't recognize his own voice. It sounded as though he had laryngitis, but he couldn't recall having a cold or sore throat. "What's going on?"

He tugged at the restraints holding his arm – both of his arms, he discovered with again-increasing panic – but they were tight. His pulse increased; he could tell by how it felt like his heart was going to burst through his sternum at any moment. He got a haircut and then…he woke up here. Wherever here was. Why couldn't he remember?

"Help." The instinct to cry for assistance was there, but his voice still wasn't. Charlie took several deep breaths, or tried to. That was difficult to do while hyperventilating for the second time in three minutes. "Help…help me!"

He didn't know exactly what outcome he'd expected. No help came. No harm came, either, which he supposed was some good fortune at least. He suspected whomever had him wasn't about to come and let him go. He kept fighting against his binds. His legs wouldn't move, either. He might as well be naked, lying on his back in the dark like this. He stopped struggling, out of air. He counted to ten. He didn't know why that was supposed to be calming; it was a kindergarten tactic. Charlie stared at the shadowy ceiling, the vague shape of the unlit overhead light staring back at him. It was like a giant eye. He looked around to see where the scant light was coming from. There, behind the big rectangle along the wall, a window, heavily draped.

The visual surveillance did him no good. He couldn't do anything to help himself, and he had no idea what had transpired to land him in this situation – he wasn't working any sensitive FBI cases. He didn't know, then, who would help him out of this mess. No, he thought a second later, that wasn't true. Dad would notice he was gone and Don would help him. Don would find him and get him out of there. Hot tears welled up in his eyes, and he hated them. Even in the dark he was embarrassed by them.

"Don't be a baby, Charlie. Everything's going to be fine. Just fine."

Then he heard noise coming from outside the room, and he was in all-out panic mode again. He twisted on the bed, arching his back and pretending his wrists didn't hurt from straining against the ties. Every rapid beat of his heart brought another throb of pain to his head. It was no use. He was still going nowhere on his own. Charlie sagged back down against the mattress. The noise outside became distinguishable as footsteps. He didn't think they were those of a rescuer. He couldn't let his captor see him so agitated. He knew next to nothing about being a prisoner (who did, really?), but it seemed to make sense to him that he should keep himself pulled together in front of the bad guy. The footfalls stopped somewhere behind him, at the door. He heard metal jangling, something scraping on wood. The room suddenly flooded with bright light.

"Oh, good. You're finally awake," a voice said.

He squinted and twisted his neck around, trying to see. The light was too bright. The person was more like a silhouette than a real form. Charlie opened his mouth, but then realized he didn't know what he could say, or even if he should say anything.

"You were asleep longer than I thought you would be, but I suppose that's okay," she said. It was definitely a she. "I had to go out anyway."

"Who are you?" he said at last. The raspy dryness of his voice disguised its tremulous quality, he thought. He hoped. "What do you want with me?"

"Well, I'd think that was pretty obvious," she said. He couldn't recognize her voice. "I have what I want, mostly. You. It didn't go the way I wanted it to. You did go and cut your hair, though, and I'm terribly disappointed about that. You gave me little choice."

She sounded like they'd already had the conversation, like he was supposed to understand what was going on in her head. He didn't even know who she was, yet she knew him enough to know he'd had a haircut…yesterday?

"It was just a trim," Charlie said, feeling absurd for defending the haircut and not even knowing why. "Half an inch."

"A trim you didn't need." The calm, lilting tone she'd had before developed a hard, frightening edge. A second later, it was gone and he couldn't be sure if it had really been there. "Let's not talk about that now. Oh…your wrists. You shouldn't struggle."

Shouldn't? It was impossible not to. He closed his eyes, the strain of looking up and back causing a burning sensation. Tears filled up his eyes again, his body's way of easing pain. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting her to think he was actually crying.

"I woke up in a strange, dark room. What else would you expect me to do? Simple logic…"

"Ooh, are you going to talk math to me?"

Charlie shut his mouth. He opened his eyes again, searching into the light for a glimpse of the shadowy figure. Her method of elusion was flawless. All he continued to see was white light and a vague black shape amid it. She stayed just behind him, so he could never get a decent look. He couldn't even determine accurate height, though he could tell she was smaller than he was. He was no egoist about physical stature, but that bothered him.

"No," he said.

"Another disappointment. I hope you'll come around soon." She shifted slightly. "I'm sorry to keep you in the dark like this, but I just can't bear to look at you. Not yet."

His mind swirled with confusion. She seemed so cheerful and talked as though holding someone tied up was a completely routine activity in daily life. For all he knew, it was all part of her routine. He could be the tenth person she'd kidnapped. She seemed skilled at it. He had no idea how she'd managed this, what with an apparent gaping hole in his memory. He wasn't sure he wanted to know how she'd done it or why he couldn't remember.

"You plan on keeping me?"

"Well, now that I have you I'm not letting you go, silly," she said pleasantly. She leaned down, and as she did so an even brighter light shone directly in his eyes. He had to look away. "I brought you something to eat. I'm sure you must be starving."

Actually, now that she mentioned it, he realized he was. He also couldn't remember when he'd last eaten, which might account for some of his headache. He didn't think lack of food was entirely responsible. It made sense to him that he'd somehow been slipped a drug or something, the only way he could justify someone her stature getting him in the position he was in. It might also explain the memory issues. Or maybe she'd hit him, but he thought he'd remember feeling that.

"I can't eat when I'm tied up," he pointed out.

"You can drink." She tapped him on the shoulder. He looked and went cross-eyed as he saw a straw being thrust at him. "I have to keep you healthy. It's chocolate Ensure. I have vanilla if you'd like that more."

"How long to do expect me to live on this?"

He lifted his head slightly. He closed his eyes halfway, unable to stand the intensity of the light. Charlie felt vulnerable enough already, and the indignity of feeling around for the straw just made it all the worse. Vulnerable or not, though, he was alive and if being completely dependent on this person was necessary for him to stay that way, then he'd endure. He finally got the straw into his mouth. He sucked a mouthful of chalky chocolate Ensure and tried not to grimace too much. Wouldn't want to upset his slightly unstable host.

"I know it's not ideal," she said. The hand not holding the can stroked his hair. She sighed. "But it'd be too hard for you to chew solid food lying down like that."

"There's a very easy solution to that problem."

She moved away. Or he thought she did. The straw pulled out of his mouth. The hand in his hair abandoned its task as she ran a finger along his sore left wrist. He flinched away reflexively. Some of the Ensure sloshed out, splashing against his face, as she jerked away as well.

"Oh, I don't think so. I wish you would have seen while we were out there in the world, seen that we'll be so good together." She didn't sound cheerful anymore, nor did she sound hard. She sounded sad. Charlie stared at the dark form, hoping she'd slip and reveal her identity. At least if he knew who she was he might not be at a total disadvantage. He didn't know how to employ the famous Eppes' charm on someone he didn't know, let alone someone who held him captive. He sucked at Eppes' charm. That was Don's forte, at least with women. "Like I said, I didn't plan for this, not so soon. I'm kind of glad it happened this way, though."

Charlie didn't know what to say. If he antagonized her, she might do something truly scary. He wasn't in a position to refute her delusion, but he didn't want to play into it either. He was as trapped in options as he was simply trapped. She kept rubbing at his wrist, and as creepy as it was, he couldn't help but be grateful she wasn't being abusive. If he was careful, he would be just fine until Don came for him. Don, Megan, Larry, his father…someone would figure out what had happened, even though he himself had no idea. He had to believe that, because not believing that was too terrible.

"I'd appreciate it if you turned off the light," he said. "It's hurting my eyes."

"I'll be gone in a minute, then your eyes can rest again." She squeezed his wrist gently and then wrapped her fingers with his. He had to use all of his strength not to pull away. "I have to go out again. I'd like to spend all of my time with you, but I have obligations to attend to."

While he wasn't crazy about this, he wasn't sure he wanted to be left in the dark again. He'd only been there for a few minutes, conscious minutes, anyway, and he didn't know if he could take the suffocating darkness any more than he could withstand the light.

"You're going to leave me alone?"

Damnit. He didn't mean to say that out loud.

"Aw, poor sweetie," she said. Her thumb traced a circular path on the back of his hand. "You'll miss me when I'm gone. I knew it. That makes me so happy to hear, but I can't just disappear from my daily life. People might finally take notice, and for once I don't want that."

"No, that's not what I…" He paused when the grip on his hand tightened. "I mean, I'm still hungry. What if I need more while you're gone? What if I need to do other normal things, like go to the bathroom?"

The light flickered a little bit, then finally went out. He opened his eyes all the way again, but all he saw were residual bursts of light, like fluorescent puffs of dandelions seeds floating across his vision. After a few moments, he realized the light was still on but she had moved directly in front of it. She let go of his hand, reaching instead for his belt.

"Oh, do you need to now?"

"No! No, I was just…no. I'm fine. Thank you."

Somewhere during his panicked reply, Charlie realized the whole situation was almost as absurd as it was frightening. The only thing keeping the absurdity from tipping the scale was that even the absurdity had a terrifying feel to it. She was apparently wholly comfortable helping him with rather embarrassing bodily functions, speaking of intimacy he knew was absolutely not possible for them to have shared. He hadn't been that intimate with anyone for a long while. He would rather make a mess of himself than let her touch him. A flash of this faceless shape giving him a sponge bath before his eyes made him want to cry with utter sincerity.

"If you're sure," she said. Her hand lingered in regions he'd really like if she never became intimate with. His right hand jerked to brush her away, even though he knew it was restrained. She sighed again, a sad sound. "Okay, but promise me you'll tell me if you need anything."

He needed only one thing, and unfortunately it was the one thing she didn't seem willing to give. He didn't want explanations. He didn't care to solve this particular problem. He only wanted to be let go. Charlie said nothing, which seemed about the only safe reply to anything she put forth.

"I'll be back as soon as I can then."

She left without attempting to molest him again. The bright light returned for a second, and then darkness swallowed him. The bursts of light continued to float across his vision. Closing his eyes to ward them off did nothing. Charlie started doing calculations, to find the pattern in what most would consider a random visual aberration. He got most of the way through, but then the spots finally started to fade. He could only do so much of the math in his head, and he didn't have access to his chalkboard. He wanted his chalkboard desperately, like a baby longed for a security blanket. He didn't think math would solve his bigger problem, though, and so it was a temporary and unsatisfactory distraction. Numbers couldn't untie knots.

So he tried to figure out if she had told him anything besides what she had told him. Unfortunately, he couldn't really recall anything of value. It was all crazy to him. She seemed to think they were meant to be, and that they had actually been together in some place that was not her own mind. Anything beyond that did not matter all that much – if it was real to her, she'd make it real to him, one way or another. That was about the only thing he did know. He looked up into the blackness, toward a ceiling he knew was there, and felt it seep into him. It might swallow him whole, leave him as nothing.

Charlie wondered where she had gone, and when she'd be back. People might finally take notice. He didn't suppose a mathematician had any qualification to interpret a statement like that, but it kept playing in his mind and he thought he understood it. She felt invisible. She felt like he had throughout high school, and to some degree, college. Oh, many people saw his skill at math…but very few saw him. Don didn't even see him, and his father only saw part of him. His mother was the only one who'd known him at all.

"Okay, you need to stop thinking," he told himself. His thoughts of Mom and the intense need for his chalkboard made him feel worse. "Stop thinking like that."

Only Charlie had no idea what could think about in this cold place that wouldn't leave him feeling small, and very, very alone.

TBC!