A/N - Thank you for some amazing feedback (I'm justsorry I can't thank you personally since I don't have much time). I'm on a trip so I have problems typing things up. I have a few chapters on the site and I'm posting them as I go along. I'm also staying in touch with my beta since I'm writing as I go along. Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging.

Most importantly - thank you. I arrived in a new town tonight, went into my mail and saw your amazing reviews and PM. It just made me feel like writing - which is what I'm doing right now. Please keep them coming - you made my day.

Hold everything in your hands lightly - otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open

101000

Don and Colby stood in the FBI kitchen making themselves coffee. Colby watched Don's automatic movements, not knowing what to say. When Don paused, starring at his cup, Colby knew he had to say something.

"Maybe you should go home. Your dad probably needs to see you."

"I know, but he also needs me to find Charlie."

"How's he doing?" Colby sat down in one of the kitchen chairs.

"I don't think he knows how to handle it." Don looked at Colby briefly and then returned his gaze to his coffee. "Especially with Charlie."

"What do you mean?"

Don smiled sadly. "Charlie was never easy for him as a father. He wasn't exactly an average child." Don looked at Colby again. "He didn't really know how to teach him things and, considering that Charlie left for school when he was young, Dad didn't spend much time with him and didn't really get to know him as a kid. I think Dad really regrets that."

"How smart is Charlie, anyway?" Colby asked, surprised at himself.

Don laughed. "You mean you can't tell?"

Colby returned the smile. "I mean, how much of what he does is his education as a mathematician and how much is just the way he is?"

Don considered the question for a moment. He realized how someone who saw Charlie next to Larry or Amita and didn't understand their work wouldn't see the difference.

"You know, I think no-one really knows the answer to that," Don replied, realizing something for the first time. "He learned to hide it from people at a very young age."

"Hide it?"

"Don't get me wrong - he always studied at a higher level than his age, but that was school. He played it down in front of people." Don paused to try and retrieve some forgotten memories. "To this day, he has never told me what his IQ is, and I know he took the test, several times." Don sipped his coffee. "He didn't like the way people looked at him. They made him feel…" Don searched for the right word. "Not normal."

"That can be harsh for a kid."

"I didn't help matters, either," Don admitted, remembering several comments he had heard from Charlie regarding their childhood.

"You were a child."

"Yeah." Don half smiled. He knew he couldn't always use that as an excuse for mistreating his brother. Some of what he had done was just plain wrong. But Colby was right - they had been kids and they were beyond those problems now. "To answer your question, when I was in third grade, my parents had to watch me do my math homework because I often let my three year old brother do it for me."

Colby laughed at the image this story conjured up.

"Technically, he's still doing my homework." Don laughed with Colby. Calming down, he added sadly. "I just can't believe it's been four days."

"Go home." Colby's tone changed as well. "Spend some time with your father. We'll keep working here."

"Maybe you're right."

"Go." Colby took the cup from Don's hands. "Spend a couple of hours with him, get some sleep. We'll see you tomorrow."

Don sighed. He knew his friend was right. While he found himself concentrating on his work to find Charlie, he knew his father was probably going nuts alone at the house.

"Okay."

101001

"Let's see what's on TV," John said, clearing the dishes after dinner. When Charlie didn't answer, John turned away from the dishes in the sink and looked at him. "You don't feel like watching TV?"

"I don't watch much TV." Charlie wanted to avoid a repeat of the previous night.

"I can bring your notebook up here," John suggested. "Sit with me while you work." John was already half way out of the kitchen when he finished the sentence, and Charlie didn't bother answering. He didn't have much more to work on regarding his calculations without further observation of the situation with John, but he could always find something to keep his mind busy.

"Here." John handed Charlie the notebook and a pen. "Hold this."

Charlie held his things loosely in his lap, and John picked him up and carried him to the living room couch. The mathematician winced when John's hand slid over his back and touched his new cut. John took the same seat he had taken the night before, and turned the TV on. Charlie tuned the noise out as he allowed himself to sink into his math. He was in no danger of falling asleep and saying things he shouldn't say when he was working. He hadn't even noticed John was watching the news until something that the news anchor said penetrated his consciousness.

"…Professor Charles Eppes has been missing for the last four days." Charlie's eyes snapped up to the TV screen, where he saw a picture of himself, taken on happier days. "Anyone who has seen this man, please call the number at the bottom of the screen."

Charlie kept staring at the TV even after the anchorman moved on to different subjects. 'They're looking' he thought to himself. He was so concentrated on surviving he forgot he had a group of very good FBI agents looking for him.

He was suddenly very aware that John was pacing, obviously upset. "You knew they'd be looking," Charlie whispered fearfully.

"I thought this would be far enough. Your pictures… our neighbors saw it… everyone saw it." John was rambling. "I'll find a way for us, Charlie. I promise." His breathing was becoming uneven.

"John?" Charlie was starting to fear John's irrational behavior.

"We'll have to do this carefully. I'll have to plan… wait till the right time." John's rambling became less and less coherent as he kept talking. "I have to think… figure it out. It's just a new problem… I knew it was coming." John seemed to suddenly realize that Charlie was in the room. "You shouldn't be here," he whispered to the young mathematician, and grabbed the chain a few feet away from the couch only to give it a hard pull, sending Charlie to the floor.

Charlie was trying to get up when John grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off his feet. "You shouldn't be here," John yelled in Charlie's face, and threw him on his back.

Charlie landed on the glass living room table, which broke on impact, embedding glass into his flesh. He tried to break his fall with his hands, only to have his left hand explode with sudden pain.

John grabbed Charlie's collar again, and dragged him into the basement.

Charlie went limp, and let John do whatever he was going to do, knowing that fighting would only cause him more pain and would accomplish nothing. He felt the cold floor beneath him, and then his hair being pulled away and the collar tighten around his neck. He barely noticed when the ankle bracelet came off and the menacing presence left the room, locking the door.

"Oh, God." Charlie lowered his head. He looked at his left hand. He thought he might've heard it crack, but with the table breaking underneath him, he just wasn't sure. Charlie shifted his eyes to the red stain that was spreading on his thighs. It took him a second to register that he was looking at his own blood.

His back hurt. Why did his back hurt? He wasn't sure. He was only lucid enough to know he was in shock and not much more. He laid down on his side, letting the cold concrete lull him into sleep.

101010

November 1st

"Morning, Dad," Don said as he walked down the stairs and saw his father in the living room, seemingly doing nothing.

"Good morning, Don." Alan kept staring at the same spot on the wall.

"Feel like breakfast?" Don tried to sound cheerful.

"No." Alan looked at his son. "Just coffee." He indicated the cup in his hands.

"I heard you walking around last night. Did you sleep?"

Alan shifted his gaze away again. "A little."

"Dad…" Don started, disapprovingly.

"Don't lecture me, son," Alan said softly. "I just don't know how to do this."

"This?"

"I once saw a TV show." The father's mind drifted. "And this woman who had lost her son - I don't remember the circumstances - said something I never quite understood before."

Realizing his father wasn't going to continue, Don prompted. "What?"

"How do you get used to living with a son who isn't there?" Alan looked at Don pointedly. "I don't know how to do that, Donnie. I don't know how to keep eating and working and living with him not being here."

"We just keep going so we'll be here when he comes back." Don's voice was shaking.

"I'm trying."

"I know, Dad." Don could see his father's distress and he didn't like the way it was making him feel. "Try to eat and get some sleep."

Alan looked at the wall again and nodded. "I'll try."

101011

Charlie woke up to pain. His instincts told him to get to the bathroom and clean up, but when he tried to get to all fours, his left arm painfully gave out from under him. He looked at his left wrist. It was unbelievingly swollen and discolored. He decided to try and move his fingers. It took a few painful attempts before he was sure he saw movement. He kept crawling to the bathroom on his right hand and leg. All he was thinking about was that he was cold.

Reaching the bathroom, Charlie noticed the blood stains on his pants for the first time. He awkwardly lowered his pants with one hand until they were below his knees. On his inner thighs, he found several very deep gashes where the glass cut through the tender flesh. From the look of his pants, he had lost a considerable amount of blood.

He took his shirt off, struggling to make his left hand cooperate with his efforts. Eventually it dangled from the chain attached to his neck. On the floor, where he had disturbed the fabric, he found pieces of broken glass. He used those pieces to cut his shirt off the chain, and shredded it into several strips. He wet two of the strips in the bathtub and worked on cleaning the blood from his legs. Once the cuts were clean, he took two more bits of fabric and dressed his wounds to protect them. Examining his work and finding it satisfactory, he put his pants back on. He leaned his head back into the tub and ran water over his hair, trying to wash away any glass that might be in his curly hair.

Using the bathtub and the sink, Charlie managed to stand up on his good leg and turned as much as he could to see his back in the mirror. He could feel more than see small fragments of glass embedded into his back and quickly realized he had no possibility to get them out.

He used what was left of his shirt to wrap his left wrist and hold it in place. Charlie wobbled back to the bed and let himself fall into a sitting position. He pulled the blanket up to try and warm up but it wasn't doing the job.

He lay down on his stomach. He wouldn't get any work done today.

101100

"Agent Reeves." A young woman approached the female agent. "We just got another message from John and I can't find agent Eppes."

"He's interviewing a suspect," Megan answered the woman, curious. "What did forensics say?"

"No finger prints, same blood type as before."

"Blood?" Megan feared the answer the woman would give her.

"The number '7920' was written in blood, like last time."

"Okay, give us the note, and I'll talk to Don. How was it delivered?"

"By courier. He's waiting for someone to talk to him."

Megan smiled, realizing they finally had a potential lead. "Bring him here."

101101

"Don," Megan practically ran to Don as soon as she saw him and Colby enter the bullpen. "We got another note from John."

"And?" Don stared at her impatiently.

"Another number." Megan hesitated before continuing. "Written in blood."

Don looked away for a second. Bringing his hand up to cover his mouth, he fought to compose himself.

Megan continued, "We have the courier in the investigation room."

Don smiled. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go talk to him." He added after he started walking. "And get the number to Larry and Amita."

"Already done." Megan followed him to the investigation room.

101110

"Mr. Benson," Megan said as she and Don entered the interrogation room. William Benson was tapping his fingers on the table in a very nervous manner.

"Yes, ma'am." He looked up at the two agents. "Why am I here?" he sounded terrified.

"You delivered a letter. We'd like to know who sent it." Megan sat across the table from her witness. Don remained pacing behind him.

"Right now, so do I," he tried to joke but neither of the agents were in a joking mood. "I get my assignments. I do what I'm told. I don't know who sent it."

"Get your assignment from who?" Don spoke for the first time, startling the young messenger.

"Melissa." Will looked from one agent to the other. "She gives the messengers their packages, but I doubt she'll know who sent it. There are several clerks who receive the packages and process the data."

Megan slid a pad of paper and a pen his way, and he took the hint and started writing the details.

101111

Don looked at the piece of paper in his hands. It was wrapped in the plastic evidence bag. It was Charlie's blood, which meant that somewhere out there, his baby brother was bleeding. Don rubbed at his face.

He and Megan had reached the delivery company several minutes ago and were now waiting for someone in an empty office. Don couldn't get past the fact that the delivery company delivered his brother's blood as if it was some meaningless note.

"Hello." An upbeat, middle-aged man entered the office. "I'm Malcolm Fish, what can I do for you today? Malcolm sat behind the desk. Don and Megan sat as well, introducing themselves.

"One of your employees delivered this to our offices today." Don put the plastic bag on the table, annoyed by the man's good mood. "We want to know who sent it."

"Well, let me check." He accessed his computer and searched for the data. "Here we go." Don glanced at Megan, trying to get her to stop watching him so closely. She gave him a non-committal look in return. "It was paid in cash by Mr. John Eppes."

Don was about to jump out of his seat when Megan put her hand on his arm and spoke calmly. "Can you tell us when it was sent?"

"Nine AM, today. It wasn't processed through this branch, though." He looked up from his computer for a second, avoiding Don's eyes.

"Then where?" Megan's voice had some urgency in it.

"It doesn't say. It was processed by one of our smaller branches within California." Don wanted to strangle an answer out of this man. He felt like he was so close to an answer and this guy wasn't giving it to him.

"Are you sure there's nothing more you can tell us?" Don leaned forward in a threatening manner. Megan reacted by very visibly holding him back from the desk.

"I'll… I'll make a few calls; see if any of my colleagues in the other branches remember anything." Malcolm stuttered, clearly intimidated.

Megan pulled her friend back a bit and replied kindly, "Thank you. That would be appreciated. I'll leave you my number." Megan pulled out her business card and handed it to Malcolm. "Please hurry. A man's life is at stake."

Malcolm nodded. "I'll do what I can."

"Thank you," Don said, taking the plastic bag again.

110000