Author's Note: Wow, I totally abandoned this story for a good long while. Then again, I did the same thing with TGS…oops. Anyways, good news for this story. I have several chapters already written, and almost ready for posting. The bad news is, those chapters are Chapters 2, 3, 5, and 6. I'm missing a chapter 4. It needs a bit of work cough hasn't been written at all cough . Guess I should work on that, huh? Anyways, enjoy! And oh yeah, reviews are lovely!

Disclaimer: If you had one thing in the world, if you could choose any one thing, anything at all, what would it be? Well, some people here might disagree with me, but for me, that thing would not be the cast of Numb3rs. And even if I did own them, they'd probably rebel against my rule, for I am the evil queen Control Freak!! Mwahahahahaha...ahem. Nothing to see here, folks, move along...right.

Chapter 1: Careless

He shouldn't have been so careless with that photo…

Of all the photos, all the keepsakes, all the memories in physical form that belonged to Don Eppes and only Don Eppes, that photograph was the most precious. He carried it with him, although it certainly wasn't a wallet photo. It didn't really fit in his briefcase—but he stuffed it in there anyway, cramming it between wads of paperwork that served as padding, oceans of Styrofoam nuggets protecting the treasure hidden deep within the dark leather case. Those nuggets were needed for the picture's protection: for all that he carried it with him everywhere, he never even bothered to take the thing out of its frame.

A part of him always wondered if that picture even could come out of its frame. The stiff paper had been embraced by the lovely, hand carved wooden casing for so long, it was as if frame and photo had grown together. He couldn't imagine them apart, and he never wanted to lose hold of the feeling that his mother was with him, so he carried the entire package with him always, unseen support from beyond the grave.

If frames and photos could only talk…that picture had seen everything.

Whenever he traveled, either for business or pleasure, the photo went with him. In fact, it was often the first thing he unpacked, just to reassure himself that the journey had not damaged it.

Whenever he arrived at the office, the photo remained nestled in his briefcase, emerging only when he felt the need to see a familiar face that couldn't frustrate him with foolish words. But even though it went unseen most of the time, he could always feel it there. It was as though the frame was a portal to Heaven, and if he but reached out his hand, his fingertips would be met by those of his mother, warm and alive, a spirit whose smile never faded.

But if anyone else was there—even Charlie—the photo stayed hidden. It belonged to Don, and Don alone. It was his secret, his memory. Besides, he didn't want to appear foolish or weak before his coworkers, and least of all his brother.

At home, the photo often remained in his brief case, just because current life often pushed old memories, no matter how beloved, aside in favor of new joys and sorrows, laughter and tears. But when pain and aggravation followed him home from work, the photo watched over him as he slept, perched safely atop his nightstand.

So, silly as it might sound, Don carried that picture with him everywhere. And it meant almost as much to him as his mother.