Larry returns to LA after an unexpected journey, only to discover things have changed substantially in his absence. Charlie/Amita, Don/Robin, and Larry as comic relief.

Not sure if anyone reads Numbers stories anymore, but I just finished watching the series for the first time and felt compelled to re-write it. My criteria:

1. Larry resumes the comedic role he held in the first 2 seasons (before he became a super philosophical / zen-seeking shaman or whatever).

2. Larry's spaceflight in Season 3 doesn't go as planned… but I won't spoil those details yet!

3. The Eppes brothers get their acts together by Season 3, and don't wait until Season 6 to get engaged / married.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

Six years after season 3

What went wrong during the space shuttle's reentry, none of the experts at NASA could definitively say. Everything had looked good until a couple hundred miles above ground. Footage of the craft's descent showed it splitting in half midair, as if it were a wedding cake sliced straight down the middle.

Neither crash site revealed any human remains. Yet investigators couldn't fathom any of the astronauts surviving the ordeal, and so Larry Fleinhart and his fearless crewmates were presumed dead.

Six years passed since that tragic event. Over two thousand sunrises, sunsets, and a million moments in-between. Six years of Larry being conspicuously vacant from Cal Sci's corridors, FBI cubicles, or Charlie's craftsman home.

And today, the universe decided that six years was long enough.

A pleasant June breeze rustled the trees surrounding the Eppes family home. In the distance, a chorus of children's playful screams drifted by. A small flock of mourning doves cooed overhead. One of them relived itself while passing a figure standing in the driveway.

The man slowly turned to scowl at the white blob on his shoulder. Better than on my head, he thought. Not that he really cared about his appearance right now. There were far bigger concerns that took priority. Fashion and cleanliness would have to wait.

He stared at the front door for an indeterminate amount of time. Was anyone home? It was late afternoon, at least he was fairly certain it was, based on his memory of solar position. His memory also vaguely told him that Charlie returned home around this time each day. But then, how reliable were any of his memories anyway?

Finally, he'd had enough passive waiting. He marched up the porch steps, squared his shoulders, and pushed the doorbell button. It was now or never.

Soon the latch disengaged and a wide-eyed Alan Eppes appeared, speechless.

"Hi Alan," the disheveled visitor greeted. "Is Charlie home?"

"L-LARRY?!" stammered Alan, gripping the door frame. "Is… is it really you?!"

Larry shrugged. "I've gone by many names, but Larry works."

Catching his breath, Alan rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "What are you wearing?"

"I think the official term is a 'muumuu.' Found it in a thrift store dumpster half a mile down the road."

Alan took a step back. "This isn't some prank, is it? Did Charlie hire you?"

"Speaking of Charlie, is he home?" Larry tried to peer behind Alan's shoulders.

"Uh, no… he's been away on vacation all weekend, but he gets back in about an hour," Alan explained, regaining his senses. "But who cares about Charlie… you're supposed to be dead! Did you know that?"

"Dead?" Larry patted himself in a few places. "No… definitely not dead, at least not by any standards I'm familiar with…"

"Then where on earth have you been all this time?!"

A squirrel scampered down a nearby tree trunk, causing Larry to jump and stare defensively at the animal. "That… would take quite a while to explain, Alan," he said, distracted. "First, I really need to talk to Charlie."

"Well, like I said, he and the family won't be back for another hour. I guess… you could wait inside, if you want," Alan offered half-heartedly. The prospect of entertaining such a bizarre guest for an entire hour didn't sound very appealing, but good manners dictated it.

"No thanks… I'll try Don instead," Larry abruptly turned back toward the sidewalk.

"Uh, if you're going to visit Don, you'll need his address!" Alan called out.

"I remember the way. Lockwood Apartments, right?"

"Nope," Alan laughed to himself, disbelieving he was even having this conversation. "125 Oakdale, east of town."

Thanks to some cash loaned by Alan, Larry took a cab ride out to the suburbs. LA's gritty streets soon dissolved into well-manicured lawns and rows of shuttered garages, all in compliance with an apparently strict HOA. Larry frowned in confusion as he rode through a maze of identical beige houses, finally stopping at one numbered 125.

"Are you sure this is the place?" he asked skeptically.

"Yep. GPS doesn't lie. 125 Oakdale," the cab driver replied.

Larry grimaced, taking in the scene. A pair of full-bloom hydrangeas framed the front steps. A porch swing with tufted cushions and throw pillows hung beneath the awning. A blue soccer ball sat next to a waffle ball bat in the grass. And strangest of all, a tricycle laid on its side in the driveway, surrounded by half a dozen chalk drawings.

What planet was he even on anymore?

"You gettin' out or what?" barked the driver.

"Oh… sure, yeah," Larry fumbled his way out of the back seat, smoothing down his shapeless Hawaiian-print dress. He heard the driver snort and laugh as he drove off.

This can't be right, he scratched his head. Don lives here? But… why would he leave the city, and why all these weird things on his lawn…

He didn't have much time to ponder such matters, because within minutes of the cab leaving, another car pulled up. Only this one didn't stay at the curb – it turned into the driveway, tires creeping to a suspicious halt. Larry could sense someone's eyes on him, but he was still too perplexed by the house to care. Next came the sound of a car window sliding down, yet still he didn't turn.

"Hey!" yelled a man's voice. "Hey you, what're you looking at?"

"Oh, just deciding whether or not I've been pranked," Larry responded absently.

"Wait a minute…!" the man hastily undid his seatbelt and flung open the car door. "Larry?! What the…"

Larry turned to find none other than Don Eppes staring at him, mouth agape, hands spread wide in wonder.

"Don!" Larry actually sounded as surprised as Don was. "Do you live here?"

"Wha… yeah, obviously I live here!" the FBI agent tripped over his words. "How the hell are you still alive? And what are you doing here, dressed in… that thing?"

"When you're deposited back on earth in just your birthday suit, you wear whatever you can find first," Larry casually explained.

"What do you mean, deposited? Are you saying you were kidnapped?"

"Ooh, I feel that's a harsh term for it," Larry cautioned.

Great, the guy's got Stockholm syndrome, guessed Don. "All right, why don't you come inside, I'll get you a decent change of clothes, and you can tell me all about it?"

Larry considered Don's offer for a second, accepted it with a nonchalant nod, and started up the front walk. By now, however, their conversation had wafted through open windows, and three sets of curious eyes peered at them from the porch: a four-year-old boy, a two-year-old girl, and Robin, whose apron fit snugly across her pregnant belly.

More fun in store for Chapter 2 - stay tuned!