I don't own Numb3rs. I miss the show greatly though. This is my pathetic attempt at a fanfic for the show. It's not exactly great but I had an inspiration. I'm still working through it too so reviews are a source of weather or not I should continue.

There won't be any pairing slash or otherwise in this. I know. I'm trying something different.

Really seriously guys, the note at the very bottom (that will ask you to review) is not a joke. I like reading them! Just adding me to story alret doesn't tell me jack.

Charlie found himself staring closely at the papers before him. He had been working nonstop on his theories and all for nothing. Someone else had beaten him to the solution and it was driving him nuts. He wanted to meet this person and ask how they did it. He really couldn't believe he was so far behind on his theories but he was beginning to realize he was and there was nothing he could do about it.

His head began to hurt again. It was the third time that day that it had happened and it was beginning to get on his nerves. With each headache, there were flashes of memories and he wasn't fully sure he wanted to have them back. He would see himself being injured and yelled at by some guy he had a feeling he knew…sort of. The face was blurred but he felt like he knew the person somewhat well and his stomach would tighten in knots. He hated gut reactions.

They tended to be correct.

Sheila wasn't present at the moment and nor was Maria. Charlie groaned and leaned his head onto the table. The memories had been getting clearer as time went on which he wasn't sure he could be glad about it. He had a feeling that he shouldn't remember what he'd been through but then again, he wanted to know. It was always helpful to know if someone was out to get you and amnesia was such a pain in the ass to deal with. He hated having to try to remember when he wasn't sure it was the greatest idea to do so.

There was a knock at the door causing Charlie to jump in fear and surprise. He shook his head with a gruff sigh. How the hell had he managed to make a knock on wood sound like a gun shot? He stood, patting his hands on his pants as he tried to wipe off the sweat that had accumulated. He moved for the door, scratching his head. The memory he'd just gotten had made no sense; he was looking at blueprints of a building…one he had a feeling he'd seen before.

"Hello?" he asked as he opened the door, keeping himself positioned behind the wood so only his eyes were visible.

"Uh hello," a slightly macho looking cop muttered as he began to look about himself. Charlie could hear his feet shuffling and his finger tapping his gun. He couldn't really blame him considering how cops weren't usually spoken to around here. "I'm Detective Gary Walker," he added as he removed his shades. "Is Maria Rodriguez here?"

Charlie stared at the man, the door opening wide to allow him to look at him completely. He was about the same height as Charlie, white as chalk save for the slight tan he sported, receding blonde hair, and was probably what some would see as a "flat foot" going off the entire appearance that gravitated about him. Charlie let the door return to a small slit as he tried to school his voice. Something about this man was familiar.

"N-no," Charlie murmured, the man sighing at the response. "She's not here at the moment. May I help you?"

"I just need to talk to her," the detective muttered as he lifted the shades from his face to rub his eyes tiredly. He placed the shades back in place and pulled a card from his pocket. "Please, have her call me. It's urgent that she speaks to us."

Charlie wrinkled his nose at the last word. "Us? Police aren't very well liked around here you understand right?"

The man gritted his teeth and whirled to face him. Charlie felt himself shrink further behind the door as the man glared at him through the sunglasses. The young man felt his knees tremble as his stomach tied itself into knots. He knew that stare. He knew this man. He… just… couldn't… remember… why.

It bothered him profoundly.

"I'm working with the FBI," the officer managed to growl out without turning scarlet with rage. Charlie would have applauded him if he weren't so busy being slightly terrified of him and busy trying to remember him. Walker continued to glare at the slit door, his eye twitching as slightly fearful brown eyes gazed back at him through the crack.

"Good for you," Charlie managed to spit out. He was surprised at how pleased he sounded, like he could actually mean what he'd said. "What does that have to do with Maria?"

"I need to speak with her," Walker replied as he straightened his back a bit more, his face softening a bit. There was something about how the corner of his mouth twitched though that told Charlie he was nowhere near being in the clear. "The FBI needs to speak with her as well. It's a matter of her safety."

"I will be happy to tell her that you stopped by Officer," Charlie stated calmly. He flexed his fingers around the door frame and gave the officer a pleading look. "Please leave now. These streets aren't the safest place for people in your line of work."

"Think I don't know that?" Walker muttered slightly bitter at the reminder. Charlie however saw him backing up slowly. "Tell Sheila I said hello will you then?"

"Alright," was the soft reply before the door shut and he heard locks being put back into place.

Walker glanced up and down the door at the locks that he knew were rarely all used at the same time. He remembered when Valdez and Michael had been around – when Sheila was barely walking – and the locks were always all locked. Valdez died, Michael added a few more locks and kept his little sister on a very short, protective leash. Michael died and Maria had locked herself and her remaining child away from the streets for a few days until she suddenly turned the locks and kicked the door open, eyes ablaze.

"You all," she'd shouted from her porch, finger pointing accusingly, chidingly, and annoyed at all the young men who'd gathered about like guards or sentinels. They tumbled off their cars, eye wide, apologetic, and…fearful. She glared t them all before continuing on.

"You all hear me good! I've lost my father, my mother, my brothers, my husband, and now my son to your idiocy. I forbid you to drag my daughter – the only thing I have left worth living for in this world – into that same absurdity! Do you hear me?"

The men had nodded and scattered quickly as she bustled down the steps, a pan in one hand and a ladle in the other, brandishing them like weapons. All the while, a seven or eight-year-old Sheila stood at the door, her emerald eyes wide with what Gary had always thought was fear.

Looking back, he now knew it was astonishment at her mother's speech. He couldn't say he and his partner at that time hadn't been much less than bemused at the sight. He glared at the locks, remembering how Maria hadn't taken them out but had saved the keys just in case. He also remembered when little Sheila started to be seen as what she was; a force of brilliance to be reckoned with.

Carlos was biting off more than he could chew courting her. That much was clear.

He shuffled off the porch, his thoughts straying between the thought of the little girl he'd once watched play in the street with her brother and his – admittedly overprotective – friends, Charlie, and the man he'd just met at the door.

Those eyes were familiar to him, the voice as well.

He could have sworn they were almost pleading him to tell the youth more about him, his job, his friends, his family…everything. At his car he stopped to look back at the door only to have his eyes drift to the slight bend in the curtains. Brown eyes locked with his again. The contact lasted for a mere moment before he saw a somewhat calloused hand drop the curtain and ruffle it back into place.

He could have sworn he'd seen a mop of black curls silhouetted as the person moved back into the house. He threw the driver's side door open and fell into his seat. He slammed the door shut and lifted the radio to his mouth.

"Walker to Eppes, please respond," he droned. There was a pause.

"Don's a little busy," Sinclair's voice chimed on the other end, his words slightly garbled by static. Gary snorted softly. "What's up?"

"I think I've met the house guest while both women were – are – out," Gary replied. "Something about him made me twitch."

"That can't be good," David murmured after a moment.

"What about him made you 'twitch'?" Granger asked suddenly.

"Something about his eyes and his voice. They sounded familiar but I'm not sure how so." HE paused for a moment as he tried to digest it again. He could almost see Granger and Sinclair exchanging worried looks. "I'm going to head over to CalSci," he added quickly, hoping he wasn't timing it badly. "I want to check up on Sheila."

"Alright," Colby replied. "We'll see if we can get eyes in the area ASAP."

Walker understood the translation of the statement's tone; don't expect much to happen. He gave an understanding and placed the receiver back into its hold before turning his keys and gripping the steering wheel. He swerved away slowly and moved out of the neighborhood as calmly as he could make himself go.

All the while, he was glancing back at the house with his rearview mirror, noticing the curtains move to reveal a soft face covered with suspicion and fear. He didn't see more than half of the man's face but even that made him want to race out of the neighborhood as fast as possible. That face, those eyes, that voice…something was familiar about that man.

He didn't like the feeling that twisted in his stomach as he thought about it. He knew the man, he was sure of it. Something in his gut told him it wasn't a bad thing he knew him. However, that same feeling was telling him the man should have known him as well.

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