Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

Author's note: Warning- continuing angst. Want a little happiness? Look to chapter 3 as promised. : ) Thanks for the encouragement. Oh, and the Eppes' reactions are based on my interpretation of the five stages of grief, according to those identified in Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' book, "On Death and Dying". I just want to give credit where credit is due, but don't want to put words in her mouth.

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Melinda Thompson led her son into his bedroom. "See Donny- just like you left it."

Don looked around the room.

During the four-hour trip from his daddy's house, he had been wondering if anything would look different when he came home with Mommy, wondering if she would be different.

Wondering about himself.

The recliner was still in the corner, the television was playing a cartoon, and his toy chest was open and overflowing with more toys than he'd had before. He quickly checked the dresser, heaving a sigh of relief that there was no belt sitting coiled on top. Maybe everything would be alright. He knew Mommy could be very nice when she wanted to be. Don walked to his bed and sat on its edge, bouncing a couple times.

It didn't feel as soft as the one at Daddy's house.

Melinda left the room and Don could hear her moving about in the house. It did not take her long to return with his dinner. "Lie down, baby, so Mommy can feed you."

Don stared at the bottle, his stomach rebounding against itself at the thought of having to drink it. When Melinda sat on the bed next to him, he did what he was told and pulled his legs up and over, lying on his side, his face towards her but his eyes closed. He felt her body shift and then she was pulling him against her breast, feeding him. Don didn't refuse her- he did not plan to disobey anything she said. He'd made a deal so his daddy and Charlie could be happy, and he knew it was too late to back out now.

As he sucked the liquid into his mouth, he wondered what his family was eating for dinner.

Maybe they had gone out to eat, something they hadn't been able to do since he had come to them from the institute.

The thought of their freedom to do as they pleased helped ease the tension that had settled in Don's stomach, and he found himself drifting off to sleep, the sound of his mommy singing in his ears.

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"Gordon, I just wanted to thank you for everything that you did for me. I finally have my son." Melinda sat on the recliner in Don's room, unable to take her eyes off of her sleeping child.

Fairfield remained quiet. For some reason, he did not want the gratitude of the woman on the phone. It was much easier to think his behavior had been as an objective attorney, not as a man who been working to pay a debt that, in the aftermath of all they'd done, he now was forced to consider if he ever truly owed it to begin with.

"He's asleep, so beautiful. You should see his eyes, how they look at me- I just know he loves me." Melinda drew up her legs and wrapped her arms about her body, her heart warming.

Fairfield thought about the man they had picked up that afternoon. Don Eppes had looked so sad and forlorn, his entire body sagging as if weighed down with sorrow. The lawyer had turned his face aside. He knew that he had seen sadder victims over the many years that he had practiced criminal law. But somehow, this time, reminding himself of that fact hadn't worked. He found himself pitying the young man as Melinda talked to him, her high-pitched voice running up his spine like the tip of a claw. Fairfield had cursed his own weakness, for feeling sympathy for the man when he should have felt nothing.

Thinking about Don Eppes, Fairfield finally found a voice. "Yes, well whether your son loves you or not has yet to be proven."

Melinda scowled at the phone in disbelief, and then put it back to her ear. "How dare you talk to me"-

"I owe you nothing more," Fairfield told her coldly, "my debt is paid. I've provided you with a son- now it's up to you alone to keep him."

Melinda quickly modified her voice. "Gordon, darling, you know I could not have done this without you. What if I need help in the future? I don't think the Eppes are going to give up yet."

"Well, I guess you'll need to find yourself a good attorney," Fairfield sneered at her through the phone. "As for me- as of this very minute, I've retired."

"Really?" Melinda replied, "I suppose that is the reason you are flying to Kansas?"

Fairfield squeezed his phone, his palms sweaty. How the hell did she find out?

"Don't threaten me- or Caleb," Fairfield said menacingly. "I assure you I am as much a worthy foe out of the courtroom as I am within." He clicked his phone shut before Melinda could reply.

Melinda tapped her phone against her chin.

Without Gordon's help, it would be just her and Donny against the world.

Unsure of their ability to persevere, she called a friend, asking her to recommend a new lawyer.

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At first, they were in complete denial.

Within an hour after coming home from court, Charlie had walked in a stupefied state into his garage, shutting the door behind him and started work on N v. NP, pretending to himself that his brother was going to become impatient with all the time he was spending there and come pull him out- like he had when their mother died.

Like the balloons he'd seen earlier in the day, he had completely flown from reality.

Alan had shakily risen from the floor, saying a few Jewish prayers of loss, lamenting his own. He had collapsed to his couch and wearily fallen into a restless sleep, unable to go to bed without his son's body beside his own. The next day, he decided to take the same route they had been taking, and turned to the legal system for help, denying to himself that his son was permanently gone, that a simple phone call would bring him back to him again.

So he called adult social services in Nevada County, and reported to them that Melinda Thompson was abusing her son. Well, no, he was calling from Los Angeles, but, uh, her neighbor was a friend of his and he had told him all about it. Yes, sir, they finally assured him, we'll check into it.

And being in a smaller county, they had the time to do so immediately, finding a smiling Melinda and a shy Don waiting for them. They felt the duty to check Don, and satisfied that he appeared in good condition, left, taking down Melinda's complaint that her son's father lived in L.A. and was just harassing her.

Of course, Melinda, I mean, Dr. Thompson, we understand. Oh, by the way are you attending the function being held by Judge Addison next week? I don't think I can, but I'll be sure to write him a check.

Alan called repeatedly throughout the day, when at last he was told that by social services that they would have to report him as a crank if he did not stop.

They had found no signs his son was being abused at his mother's house.

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Megan lifted the binoculars to her eyes and tried to focus on the house next door. She saw no signs of life and shifted her position in the lawn chair in which she sat, hidden behind the house.

There.

She adjusted the optical zoom and found herself focused on Don's face as he came outside, sporting a baseball glove and hat, Thompson behind him with a ball. The binoculars followed the path they took until they settled on the back yard, where Thompson began throwing the ball eagerly to Don- out in the sun, no shade.

Megan frowned.

He shouldn't be out in the sun while he was taking two types of diuretics- it wasn't good for him.

Unless Thompson was no longer giving them to him; Megan suspected that was probably the case and Don could now be out in the sun as much as he was allowed to be.

Megan looked at Don's face.

He did not appear happy. The laugh lines that were so often evident around his eyes had disappeared, despite the appearance of a tentative smile on his lips. He already looked pale and thin to her, causing her to form a fist in anger.

If she could only...

But she forced herself to release the fist and concentrate on just watching Don and Thompson. Making sure there were no physical signs of abuse and that he was doing okay-

-at least as well as could be expected if one were living with a monster.

Megan had been sitting outside the Eppes' home four days before, when the police escort had shown up with Thompson. She had immediately run from her car and inquired, politely, as to what the hell they thought they were doing. At Thompson's insistence, the man had handed Megan the papers that assigned Don to Thompson, and Megan had almost shot the woman right there.

Only, Megan no longer had her gun, so her hand had fallen against the light cotton of her t-shirt rather than the hard steel of her weapon.

That option not open to her, she had been forced to stand aside as that woman had been led into the Eppes' home and allowed to put her arms around Don, Larry losing his temper for the first time since she had known him, using a scathing voice and scientific terms in a vain attempt to prove to the officer that Thompson had escaped from some place deep in the bowels of the earth and made her way to the surface, appearing from under a rock- and it would be a crime against humankind to allow such a creature to possess a fellow being.

But the officer had stood looking at Larry dumbfounded, obviously weighing in his mind whether or not the scientist should be taken to a local hospital for a mental examination.

Megan thought it was the judge who'd given Don to Thompson who should have been subjected to such an exam.

Larry had finally given up, telling Thompson he would gather Don's things for her, receiving a curt no thanks- I have all he needs at home, relenting when Larry handed her Don's medication, something she dared not refuse. Don had put out his arms to Larry, wanting a last hug, and the small man had held him until Thompson demanded they had to leave. At that point, Megan became perplexed, as Don indicated to Larry that he should retrieve something from his front pocket; Larry had put two fingers inside and one by one, pulled out three pieces of chalk, Don saying, "Give to Charlie...he will know."

Megan had stood next to Larry, her arm across his shoulder, and watched as Don was escorted out the door, Thompson behind him. It was at that point Thompson had turned to Megan, her teeth glinting , telling the agent, "Now it's over," before abruptly turning away and heading out the door, towards her son.

Larry had gone up the stairs, muttering to himself. Megan had wanted to wait for the Eppes, but realized she could do them no good if she stayed.

Nothing but Don's return would help them.

So, she steeled her heart and walked out the door, walking across the damp sidewalk down to her car, climbing inside, already deciding there was at least one thing she could do.

She could watch Don.

Megan had phoned Bob Anderson, telling the old man what had happened, accepting his words of comfort and asking him if he would mind having a guest for a while.

He'd replied he always loved the company of pretty girls.

Megan had driven home for her own possessions and taken off for Alta Sierra, where she had been settled since Monday evening, because despite Thompson's boastful claim, as far as Megan was concerned-this was far from over.

After setting up at Bob's, Megan had found the perfect spot to keep watch without being seen herself, but it had felt a fruitless endeavor. Neither Don nor Thompson had made an appearance outside until now. Megan had tried to see into the windows of the house next door, but had been prevented from doing so by heavy curtains and blinds covering each one. Sometime in the afternoon on Tuesday, a person had come to the front door, invited in by Thompson, and then had left within an hour. From the way the person held herself, Megan thought the woman looked like she came from an agency and wondered if it was possible the Eppes had called someone to look in on Don.

Smart move, Megan had thought.

She and Bob had tried calling Alan and Charlie on several occasions, but no one had answered the phone. The only sign they still had service was the sound of their answering machine over the line, their cheerful voices requesting that the caller leave a message.

They hadn't, because there was nothing to say.

Megan made sure she stayed out of sight, sitting in her seat, her eyes on the man next door playing catch with his mother. She did not want Thompson to be aware of her presence; both because she did not want the woman to file a restraining order against her, and because Megan knew that some time in the future she would have to do something to get Don away from her.

But so far, she didn't have any idea what that would be.

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The next thing they did was become angry.

Alan did not attempt to eat anything substantial until Wednesday morning. His mouth felt dry and his stomach ached from the lack of attention it had been given. When he set two plates on the dining room table, he ripped the carousal holding Don's tools from its corner, throwing them across the room. Then he calmly went into the garage, where Charlie continued to work, surrounded by his own inflexible bubble, chalkboards and the remnants of deflated balloons.

Alan told him he had to eat.

Charlie ignored him.

Alan demanded he pay attention to him, he couldn't hide out in the garage forever.

Charlie wrote another number on the board, his hand shaky from lack of sleep and adequate nourishment, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, stubble on his sweaty, dirty face.

Alan walked to him, pulling his shoulder.

Charlie turned and screamed at his father, telling him to leave him alone.

Alan shouted at Charlie, pushing him against a board and forcing the chalk from his hand.

Anger flared between the two men. They reared at each other, standing inches apart, a challenge in their stances.

The wind picked up outside and blew through the cracks in the walls, stirring the air and fragments of balloons, circling Charlie and carrying him away again.

Charlie picked up another piece of chalk and began writing in short, sharp strokes, no longer aware of anything but the board in front of him and the numbers, his father storming out of the garage and back into the house, slamming out the front door to sit on the porch, unconscious of the rain that pounded down at an angle towards him and the house.

Angry.

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The morning of his fifth day with Melinda, Don hadn't argued when his mommy bathed him. He knew he couldn't do it on his own.

And when she powdered him, slipping his special briefs and his regular ones on afterwards, he may have been a little embarrassed, but he hadn't said a word.

He had sat watching television, ignoring the empty feeling in his stomach, blaming it on the fact that he'd only been fed liquids and nothing solid for almost four full days.

When Mommy had said they were going to the park, he had even given her a smile, pulling Buddy close, trying to keep down the hope Charlie would show up there, somehow knowing he wouldn't.

But when Mommy had laid out his clothes, he had stiffened and refused to let her put them on.

"Look like baby," Don complained, moving his arms away from her so she couldn't get him dressed.

Melinda sighed in frustration.

She had been avoiding his lessons, aware the Eppes might call social services on her again. Though the social worker who had called on her had promised to ignore the complaints, having determined they were being placed out of vindictiveness, Melinda felt is was an unnecessary risk at this time to use the belt or the back of her hand to get her son to obey, as she could not avoid leaving marks.

So, she tried to get him to comply with words instead. "Donny, I thought you wanted to go to the park."

"I do, Mommy," he told her. "But not wear that." He carefully used his left finger to point at the clothes.

Melinda sighed again. She had picked out the clothes especially for him to wear, wanting him to look his cutest when she was finally able to take him outside and show him off to the world. It was beginning to anger her that he didn't understand that he had to look just right. Melinda wanted her baby boy to be the center of attention.

"Donny, if you don't let me dress you in the next few minutes, not only will we stay home today, but I'm going to have to take Buddy away, too." She smiled when Don pouted, gripping his friend in his arms. "Well, are we going or not?"

Don stared at the clothes. Other than his special briefs, he had never thought about the way he dressed before. But he had been with Charlie and Daddy for two weeks and he had always worn the t-shirt and jeans his mommy had always dressed him in, nothing else. And that's the way they dressed, so he was sure that was what he should be wearing if he wanted to be a man.

He had never stopped wanting to be one, only he had to keep it secret from Mommy.

Now she wanted to put him in those clothes and he knew he'd look like a baby, because he had never seen Charlie and Daddy wear clothes like that, just some of the little boys he'd seen at the park the other day. Besides, he was sure that everything else Mommy had done for him and given him had been to keep him a baby.

First there were the bottles. Don had known he'd have to drink them when he agreed to come here, but somehow it wasn't like the last time he had lived here. At that time, he had thought he couldn't eat anything else or in any other way; but since then, Charlie had showed him different. So, on the evening of the second day he had been with her, Don had tried to tell Mommy he could eat real food, only she had to put on his special glove and make the food just right. When she'd shaken her head that he'd choke, he had tried to show her how Charlie rubbed his throat.

Mommy had only frowned at him, making him drink two extra bottles, telling him if he was really that hungry, she would provide him with as many of them as he wanted. His stomach had hurt afterward, and he'd lain in bed, tears of frustration forming in his eyes. Later, he had woken up in the middle of the night after having an accident, calling Mommy for help- but she had been angry and did not come, so he had been wet and cold all night. The next morning, she had cleaned up after him, but punished him by taking Buddy away all day, now his only friend once again.

He had spent the day curled up in bed, crying from loneliness, telling himself you can do it, Donny, for Charlie and Daddy.

You're a special agent, doing everything you can for your family and friends.

It was his fault anyway. He was lucky that all she'd done was take Buddy away, as he knew he shouldn't have tried to tell Mommy what to do.

Don stared at the clothes, his arms still around Buddy, silently telling his friend he no longer cared if they went to the park or not. It wouldn't be the same without Charlie and Larry. But Mommy was insistent they had to go and he knew he wouldn't be able to change her mind. His lower lip quivering, not wanting to cry, Don finally gave in and let go of Buddy, carefully sitting on the rabbit so Mommy could not take him away again. He raised his hands above his head and let her start dressing him. Don swallowed twice, trying to cheer himself up by thinking of all the things Charlie and Daddy were probably doing, and all the friends they had coming over so that they could do everything they used to do before they had to take care of him. When Mommy started tying his shoes, Don realized it was not very easy this time to be happy about the freedom Charlie and Daddy had now that he was gone; they had never mentioned wanting to do anything but take care of him, and he found that he could not picture them doing anything else-not even going out to dinner, which would have eased his unhappiness for having left them.

Now that he was no longer concentrating on his exercises and he was not focused on doing activities with his daddy and Charlie, Don's mind had the time to think about that fact.

For the first time, he wondered why his family had never mentioned wanting to do other things.

Before he could go further with that idea, Mommy helped him to his feet, telling him it was time to go. She sent him ahead to the front door, and he stood there sullenly, sucking his thumb. When she appeared with a large bag slung over her arm, Don shrunk inside himself. He didn't know why, but he was sure Mommy was set on showing everyone he was a baby.

But he didn't want anyone to think that.

He was a special agent man, doing what he had to for his family.

Mommy stood outside the door, trying to coax him to come out. Don refused to leave the house, planting his feet so he did not move, ignoring her as she implored him to come out. Don didn't want to leave. He moved back several feet into the house, wondering why, not so long ago, he had wanted to come back here so badly, and now that he was back, why it was he wanted to leave when it had only been a little over four days; but his confused mind couldn't sort it all out. Then Mommy took his hand and pulled him out the door into the sunshine, putting a hat over his head.

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Megan rose that morning with a crick in her neck. Bob had offered her the only bed in the house, but she had refused to take it from the old man. But every morning since then, she had regretted not taking him up on her offer, his old couch comfortable but lumpy, causing her body and limbs to lie at odd angles every night.

She stretched, splashed water on her face and slipped into some shorts and a tank top, pouring a traveler's cup full of hot coffee, her sleepy body thankful he had made it thick and strong.

"Hello, dear," Bob came into the kitchen, "up at your usual time."

"Yeah, I guess that couch is its own alarm clock." Megan smiled at him across her cup.

"You should take the bed; you'd sleep in a more comfortable position..."

"No, definitely no. I've been in worse positions."

Bob smiled at her slyly. "Suspect a pretty girl like you has been in better ones, too."

Megan blew all of her coffee from her mouth. She grabbed a towel and wiped the liquid she'd spat onto the counter, apologizing. Bob just grinned at her.

"I had a daughter long time ago- it may surprise you, but the stork didn't bring her. Was known to be frisky in my day."

"You're a little too frisky for me now, Bob," Megan told him. She topped off her coffee and went outside, sitting at her post. She brought her binoculars to her eyes and stared at the house across the way. It was nearly two hours before she saw movement.

Megan watched as the front door opened, and Thompson appeared. She was talking to someone just inside the door, Megan assuming it was Don. Thompson was beckoning with her hand for almost ten minutes before she gave up and just reached inside, pulling Don after her.

Megan shot to her feet, dropping her binoculars and coffee to the ground. She scrambled to pick the binoculars up and had to turn them over three times until she was positive they were upright. Bob came behind her as she gave a small groan, shaking her head.

Bob asked her what was wrong, but Megan could not answer.

All she could think was, "What the hell is that bitch trying to do to you?"