Do you ever wish you could freeze frame a moment to your day and then look at it and say 'This is not my life.'

100101

Charlie worked for several hours before he paused. The house was quiet, and more importantly, everything felt quiet. Empty. John had mentioned that Charlie would be on the shorter leash while he was out of the house, and Charlie figured that's exactly what had happened.

He tapped his fingers nervously on the notebook in his lap. Finally having some time to himself without drugs in his system or John looming around, his mind was catching up on the situation and he didn't like where it was going. He knew what his mind was capable of. He knew he could sink into P vs. NP and never come out. That was one solution. John would probably hit him a few times and then just shoot him and get it over with. Charlie didn't want to die, but right now, life scared the hell out of him.

He hoped he could walk the fine line between reality and oblivion. He hoped he could distract himself with math; that he would be able to live with John's rules. It seemed to him that all John wanted was for him not to do anything. He figured he should be able to do that somehow, especially since John seemed to accept his math, meaning Charlie would always be able to retreat into his numbers.

He had fought this demon when his mother got sick. Conquered it after Don was shot. He wished he was surer he could beat it now.

Charlie sighed heavily, unconsciously tugging on his collar and staring at the numbers. They were his only comfort. The numbers told him there was a chance. Some method, some luck that would get him home. As long as Charlie's numbers told him there was a way, he would not give up.

He got back to work, ignoring the hunger building in him, more determined than ever to find an answer to this problem.

100110

"Agent Eppes?" A tall, well dressed man in his mid-thirties approached Don's desk.

Don rose from his chair to stand face to face with the new arrival. "Yes."

"My name is Jason Marks, I'm from the NSA," the man introduced himself, holding his hand out "You were told I'll be coming?"

"Nice to meet you, Agent Marks." Don took the outstretched hand and shook it. "What can I do for you?"

"Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

Don led Agent Marks to the conference room, shutting the door behind them. The NSA agent stood staring at Charlie's picture on the wall.

"He hasn't changed a bit," Jason Marks whispered to himself, but Don heard it.

"He doesn't change much as he ages," Don commented fondly. "So you know him?"

"We met a few years ago," Jason said. Smiling, he turned around to face Don. "Good guy. Spoke highly of you."

"Me?"

"We had to ask him all kinds of questions when he got his security clearance and I asked him some things about you. I thought you were in New Mexico."

Jason was making small talk and Don knew it. "I moved back to LA a couple of years ago." Don let a small smile cross his lips. "But you already knew that."

Both men smiled, feeling a little more comfortable.

"The agency is worried about the information Dr. Eppes has had access to and would like to stay apprised of the situation." Don knew Jason was giving him the party line. Jason seemed to reconsider his approach.

"Look," he said. "Charlie really helped me out a few years ago. I promised myself that if I ever get the chance to return the favor, I would." Jason leaned back on a desk, staring at Don a few feet away. "I just want to help any way I can, and the NSA would like to know what's happening with the case. We're not here to get in the way." Jason seemed honest about his concern, and Don found himself relaxing.

"Thank you." Don finally sat down. "To tell you the truth, I'll take all the help I can get. We don't have many leads," he admitted with some difficulty.

"How about telling me what you have? It might help to get a new perspective." Jason sat across the table from Don.

"Okay." Don let out a breath slowly. "It looks like someone abducted Charlie on the 27th, some time in the early evening. The back door to the house was broken off its hinges." Don began. "When my father couldn't find him the next morning, he called us here and talked with Agent Reeves. We received an e-mail that same morning with a picture of Charlie and a number that doesn't seem to make sense to anyone."

"A number?" Jason smiled. "Charlie's kidnapper's into numbers?"

"I know." Don returned the smile. "I don't think it's a coincidence."

"No kidding."

Don continued telling Jason about the phone call, the video tape, and everything else he could think of. It felt good to finally tell someone else about the situation, and he hoped Agent Marks would be able to help.

Finishing the story, Don stared at Jason, waiting for him to speak.

"I can't say I have ideas you haven't already thought about." Jason seemed to be mulling over something in his head. "I'm in town. If there's anything you need, please give me a call." He took a business card out of his inside pocket and laid it on the table.

Don stared at it for a second before he picked it up, wondering what Charlie had done for this man to offer his service in such a way.

"I really have to go now and debrief my boss on this." Jason got up from his seat and shook Don's hand again. "It's been a pleasure, Agent Eppes." He turned around and faced Charlie's picture once more. He let a small smile cross his lips and whispered something that Don couldn't hear, presumably to Charlie.

Don watched Agent Marks leave the bullpen and rubbed his forehead. It felt good to talk about what had happened, and for the first time Don thought that therapy might not be such a bad idea.

100111

Charlie heard a car pull into the driveway and knew John was back. He had made some progress with his work, and the first conclusion he had reached was that he had to give it time, get John to trust him and give him more freedom. In the mean time, he decided to look for a weaker link in his chain. The mathematician closed his notebook and put it aside; settling on looking at the door, imagining what was behind it. He let the images come for a few moments, and then closed his eyes, wishing for them to go away. Moving slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor, all the while watching the same spot on the door. He wasn't surprised when he heard it unlock and saw it open.

"Hi, Charlie." John was smiling. "How was your day?"

"My day?" Charlie contemplated John's statement. 'Could it really have been a day?' "Umm… fine. Yours?"

"It was good. I'm sorry about yesterday," John started, walking into the room and standing in front of Charlie. "I didn't mean to leave both chains on you. There's no point in that." John kneeled to look at Charlie from the same height. "I hope you learned your lesson."

Charlie nodded. He had no idea what the lesson was, and didn't think he should ask.

"Good. Are you hungry? I can make some dinner." John sat on the bed next to Charlie.

"Yeah, I am hungry, actually." Charlie was surprised to find that he wanted to eat. He had completely forgotten about food.

John smiled broadly. "You can take a shower while I make us something."

Stretching his arms and back, Charlie replied, "I can't with these chains on."

"I know. I'll let you out of them, but I'll lock the door. I'm carrying a gun; I wouldn't try anything, if I were you." John warned, as if Charlie would try and make a break for it when he couldn't even make it up the stairs.

Charlie nodded again.

"Good." John grinned. "Don't move for a second," he said, reaching for the collar.

Charlie held his breath as he felt the cold hands at his neck. He closed his eyes, trying to bury the uneasy feeling he had whenever John touched him.

Charlie felt the weight lifting from his neck and breathed out a sigh of relief.

"There you go," John announced cheerfully. "I left the other key upstairs, I'll be right back. You can go to the bathroom in the meantime."

Charlie smiled gratefully and reached for the wheelchair. Seeing this, John walked back and brought the chair over to Charlie. "Let me help," John said tenderly and reached for Charlie. He put his arms behind Charlie's back, and pulled most of his weight into an upright position, then he lowered the young man back into the chair. Charlie didn't try to use any of his pain-filled limbs to help with the movement. He came to the conclusion that he really didn't like being carried.

"I thought you'd be able to walk by now."

"I hurt my leg last night when I fell down the stairs." Charlie did his best not to sound accusing.

"Where does it hurt?" John asked, concerned.

"Left leg." Charlie looked rather stunned at his captor, who gently lifted Charlie's pants cuff to look at his injury. "It's nothing."

John lifted Charlie's leg and moved his foot around to test it. "Let me know when this hurts."

"Now," Charlie said almost immediately, alarmed.

John shook his head. "It's not broken, but I don't like its color."

"I know. It's nothing." Charlie's ankle had taken on an ugly shade of purple and was swollen. He knew it wasn't good but had no way to determine how bad it really was.

"It's not nothing, Charlie. If you're in pain, you should say something," John berated his prisoner.

"It's just a sprain or something." Charlie wanted John away from his sore limb.

"Yeah. I'll get you an ice pack and something for the pain." John got up and started towards the door.

"The ice pack would be great, but John." Charlie waited for John to turn back and look at him. "It really doesn't hurt that bad. I didn't even notice it all day. I don't need to take anything." Charlie hesitated to resist John, but he really didn't want any drugs in his system.

"Okay." John smiled. "I'll be back in a second."

He left the room, and Charlie wheeled himself into the bathroom, finding it much easier to move without the collar.

John returned holding duct tape. Charlie, who knew exactly what John had in mind, put his hands on the armrests. He just wanted John to get it over with. He had hated the shaving process yesterday and he wasn't enjoying it today. Charlie leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The blade felt foreign and cold and it lasted forever.

"Thank you," Charlie stammered once John was done. He starred at John's image in the mirror.

"You're welcome." John smiled broadly. He turned Charlie's chair away from the sink, and kneeled down in front of him. "I got the keys," he said happily, and got the ankle bracelet off.

Charlie tried to smile in response. He didn't think he was pulling it off. His only restraint was the duct tape. John pulled out a gun he had in his belt. "Don't get any ideas, buddy. I don't want to hurt you."

Charlie nodded once.

"Good."

John pulled a pocket knife and cut the duct tape in one swift motion.

The feeling of not being tied or chained to anything would have been almost exhilarating if it hadn't been for the gun pointed at Charlie's face.

He heard the door lock as John left him alone and he breathed a sigh of relief. He stretched his muscles, feeling much better without the weight of the metal chains, and slowly took his clothes off. The whole day had passed without him noticing it. He hadn't even realized he hadn't eaten in about 24 hours. It didn't feel real.

He enjoyed the feeling of warm water over his skin, and he felt the chill that had engulfed him all day fade away.

Even though he knew he'd be tied again the moment he got out of the bath, he didn't allow himself to indulge in a long soak. He just didn't know how John would react to things.

Charlie turned the water off and clumsily climbed onto the chair on one leg. He managed to put some pants on before John walked into the room again.

John leaned on the doorframe, holding Charlie's shirt and socks. "Before you get dressed, there's something I need to do," John said apologetically.

"What?" There was obvious fear in Charlie's voice, since he'd discovered he didn't like John's surprises.

"Lean forward and put your head on your knees." The look on Charlie's face was quizzical, and it didn't get better when he saw John was holding a knife. "It won't be deep; I just need some blood, like before."

Charlie looked at his cut forearm for a split second with increasing trepidation and then leaned forward in his wheelchair. While he was waiting for the torture to begin, he wondered when exactly it had become his wheelchair.

John was telling the truth about not cutting too deep, but the back, and especially the spine region, didn't need the cut to be too deep to bleed or scar.

Charlie tried not to move as the knife cut into him. He allowed the tears to fall onto his legs and floor. He knew it wasn't the pain that was causing the tears, he could handle that. What was causing him to tear up was the helplessness of the situation. The life he'd had only five days ago seemed so alien now, and in some odd way, his previous existence felt completely irrelevant. Maybe life without pain, free of chains and duct tape, was only an illusion.

He felt some burning in his back and knew John was cleaning the cut and then covering it with gauze.

"All done," John announced.

Charlie sat up stiffly, trying not to test his new injury. He looked at the mirror and saw John standing behind him, smiling. Seeing the tears on Charlie's face, John's smile disappeared and his voice took on a tender tone. "I'm sorry, buddy."

"Why?" Charlie turned around to look directly at John. "Why take blood?" he knew he would hate the answer, but he didn't care.

"I need to send him a note."

Charlie knew exactly who 'he' was - Don.

"This way, with the DNA, he knows it's from me, and that you're alive."

Charlie didn't blink. The note was sadistic, and he knew his brother would be tortured by it. He swallowed hard.

"Get dressed." John handed Charlie the shirt cheerfully. "I'll help you with the socks."

Charlie put the shirt on as fast as his aching shoulder allowed him to. John repeated yesterday's ritual of putting Charlie' socks on and then closing the ankle bracelet on his right leg.

"You shouldn't walk on that," John said, staring at Charlie's left leg.

"I haven't."

"Let me take you." Charlie looked at John, perplexed. "I enjoy helping you." John held Charlie's face affectionately. "Let me."

Charlie nodded, biting his lip. He preferred to limp around, but he knew John would prefer to carry him, and it would probably be better for his leg.

John lifted him easily. The young mathematician put his arms around his captor's neck out of reflex, unknowingly pleasing John. "Hold on." John smiled and walked up the stairs.

"I hope you like Italian food."

"Yeah, sure," Charlie answered absentmindedly. The darkness outside the windows in the living room reminded him once again that another day had passed.

John put Charlie down on a chair next to the kitchen table, which was set for two. He dragged another chair to Charlie's left. "Put your leg up here." John set Charlie's left leg on the chair and then got the young man an ice pack. "This should help." Charlie flinched at the contact with the cold material, but eventually relaxed his muscles. "Thank you."

"May I ask you something?" Charlie asked as John served.

"Sure." John was beaming. "Let me know what you think."

"What happened last night?" Charlie took a bite from his food.

"You said his name while we were watching the game. I told you not to do that." There was no need to say who he was.

"I did?" Charlie was genuinely surprised. To his knowledge, he never talked in his sleep. He figured his new situation may have affected him.

"It's okay." John smiled kindly. "I understand, and I'm sorry I lost my temper. Just don't do it again." Charlie really didn't like that smile.

Charlie nodded, knowing full well that he couldn't promise not to talk in his sleep.

"May I ask you something else?" Charlie bit his lip, nervous.

"How's the food?"

"Umm… fine," Charlie stammered. He really wasn't paying much attention to what he was eating.

"What's your question?"

John was obviously in a good mood and Charlie was taking advantage of it. "Where were you all day?"

"Work."

Charlie starred at John. Somehow he didn't imagine John as a nine-to-five kind of a guy. "What do you do?"

"I'm an electrical engineer."

"Can I ask where we are?" Charlie hesitated. "We're not in L.A."

"I guess it's okay to tell you." John leaned forward as if he was whispering a secret. "San Francisco."

"Really?" Charlie was genuinely surprised.

John laughed. "You'll like it here."

Charlie smiled in relief and kept eating, trying not to push his luck with any more questions.

"It's okay to ask questions, buddy," John said with affection. "I'll just let you know if I don't want to answer."

Charlie hesitated until John finally spoke. "Just ask, I won't get mad."

"Your brother." Charlie whispered. He knew that whatever was happening to him had a lot to do with what had happened to John's brother.

"Brandon. He was a good boy." John drifted to his memories. "But he got mixed up with the wrong crowd and I couldn't seem to get him away from it. Eventually, they got into some trouble and the Feds came after Brandon. He sent him to jail even though he knew it was the others. I told him Brandon wouldn't survive prison, but he insisted. They started beating him up the first week he was there.

"Eventually, they beat him to death. He didn't belong there." John looked like he was about the cry.

Charlie was shocked by the story and just couldn't find the right words to say.

They finished their meal in silence.

101000