Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs.

UFO

Creepy

Ratio

Underfoot

Parasite

Consider Yourself Adopted – Epilogue

"I don't have any bones to pick with Charlie," Carlisle said, leaning back in the chair. The cold interrogation room was paradise compared to the shithole Carlisle had spent his last month imprisoned in. "I told you—he's a good son. He did everything I asked."

"I'm not here to talk about Charlie," Don replied. He tossed a report on the table. It slid to a stop before Carlisle. "I'm here to find out where the money you stole went."

Carlisle gave him a green-eyed grin. "You mean the cash Charlie stole."

Don didn't take the bait. "You're looking at some serious charges. Over thirty counts of homicide, two counts of domestic terrorism, first degree kidnapping, top that off with drug and human trafficking, not to mention a slew of other crimes you've been linked to. Cooperating now can only help you."

"Let me guess, all my accounts read zero. The money's gone, Agent. Surely Charlie mentioned the family having some debts to pay? Well, thanks to him, we're square. You won't find any leftover cash. The fact that you're in here askin' me about it tells me it's safe and waiting for me," Carlisle assured.

"You're delusional if you think you've got a chance in hell of being on the outside again," Don said, letting his irritation at the man's smug attitude slip through. "You're going down for life. Odds are, you're on a fast ride to death row."

Carlisle leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his large, calloused hands clasped together. He gazed up at Don through his square-cut glasses. "Let me try to explain to you the way I see our situation, Agent."

Don scoffed. Was this guy for serious?

"You've taken nothing from me that isn't replaceable," Carlisle began, his tone venomous, his eyes hardening.

"Oh yeah?" Don couldn't help himself. "Your own son died because you refused to surrender. You calling your son nothing?"

"When you live by the sword you eventually die from it. Greg knew that—He gave his life for me," Carlisle shot back, a fist hammering down on the table. "What greater expression of love and loyalty can a son give his father? He was a good kid."

"You know usually it's the other way around," Don said with a particularly mean edge. "I mean what kind of father stands by and just lets his kid take the bullet for him?"

"You're breakin' my heart, Don," Carlisle said, dismissive. "Look, it's a fact that you can't—and won't—find my money. I can tell by our little conversation here that it's outta your reach. Here's another fact—you won't be able to keep me in prison. Just watch. I'm gonna catch a deal and walk. My daughter's gonna walk. And then the family'll disappear just like all that money."

"Why don't you do me a favor?" Carlisle asked. "You tell Charlie to sit tight. We won't forget him. I don't ever forget family. Tell him to be lookin' over his shoulder—cause I promise you, if I can't be there yet to pick him up personally, I know plenty of other people who can. Tell him to be practicin' his French."

Don ripped the table out of the way. He wanted to kill the man, but Colby and David spilled into the room and held him back. He knew it was the wrong move. It was stupid to show Carlisle how much threatening to take Charlie away again got under his skin, but Don couldn't help it. Everything in him wanted to beat the syndicate leader into the wall.

"He's one of mine, Eppes," Carlisle said, laughing as the agent got it together and walked out of the room. "Give him my regards, Don!"

The sky was a dark steel gray when Don pulled into the driveway of his brother's house. It was breezy outside. The trees rustled.

The surgery on his brother's ankle had gone great. As far as Don knew, there were screws or wires or something holding the pieces together so they could heal properly. Charlie was still on crutches, and would probably be stuck with them for another month, possibly two.

He found Charlie and Amita in the living room, watching a journalist's exclusive interview of Margo Sumner. They were so engrossed in the TV that neither Charlie nor Amita seemed to hear Don close the door. The agent hung back, watching and listening to the TV with them as Margo spoke.

"Charlie and I have a special connection," the recording of Margo Sumner said to the journalist interviewing her. Margo was dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit. "No one understands him the way I do. He's going to visit me in jail. He's my soul mate. We have a bond that even distance won't be able to break, you'll see. I bet you he'll watch this. Charlie, if you're watching, I love you!"

Amita glanced at Charlie and saw his eyes widen fractionally. She tugged on his arm. "Come on. Let's help your dad set the table."

(Don slipped into the kitchen.)

"I wish they'd stop showing pictures of me," Charlie grumbled, eyes still on the screen. "And now she's telling everyone everything. It's embarrassing…"

"Is this the same journalist who asked you for an interview?" Amita asked.

"Yeah. Well actually she called Dad since I've changed my number. Get this—she wanted my side of the story," Charlie said, shaking his curly head. "Of course Dad told her no thanks, but we didn't think about the pictures. Those are from articles, faculty photos… It's all public domain."

Amita flipped the TV off. "Well, the bad news is the whole world knows your business."

She set the remote aside and turned to Charlie.

Her smile and the confidence in her eyes made him feel better. Her brown eyes were so striking, not just for the spark of intelligence they carried, but also because Amita had the most sincere, caring eyes that Charlie had ever seen. To him, she was the most beautiful woman on earth.

"The good news is you don't have to listen to her anymore. Charlie, she can't force you to pay attention, no matter how much she gets on TV," Amita said logically. "The truth is she's in prison and you're here with me."

"I like being with you," Charlie replied, and she thought his smile was a little goofy, but cute. He met her eyes before leaning in to share a kiss. Amita smiled against his lips. Her smile grew as he pulled her into his arms.

Amita put her arms around his waist. Drawing back a little, she caught his gaze again, and softly asked, "Promise me that you won't let her get inside your head?"

Charlie ran his hand tenderly through Amita's hair and smiled again. "I promise."

The aroma of dinner brought everyone together. The table was set. The food was placed, and the Eppes plus Amita took their seats and their forks.

"So I'm thinking about working out in the morning. Want to come, Chuck?" Don asked. "You gotta be going crazy hanging around the house like this. You can put some muscle on those sticks you call arms."

Charlie snorted, munching his steak. "Hey I'm not the one who let some psychotic 120lb girl beat me up," he pointed out, recalling how he'd found Don seconds from having his windpipe crushed under Margo's foot. "I was there. She had you on the ground, Bro."

Don laughed. "Well I guess it's a good thing you came charging up the hall. You must've hit that girl like a train. That's probably why you've got all those screws in your foot."

Charlie nodded. "It definitely hurt."

"You ran with a broken ankle?" Alan asked. "Well no wonder your bones looked like a shattered mirror on the x-ray. And what's this about you being on the ground, Don? I haven't heard this part before."

"Quantico must not train for taking out small, unarmed women," Charlie replied, grinning at his brother.

Don scoffed. "That's right, Charlie, keep it up. For your information she was armed, but you keep it up and I'm telling Dad about that little showdown you had with a pit bull last spring."

"The what?" Alan imagined a vicious dog attacking his youngest son. He zeroed in on Charlie. "What were you doing? You're not supposed to go out on the field with Don. Were you hurt?"

Charlie paused in his munching, looking from Alan to Don. He pointed his fork towards his older brother. "That's nothing, Dad. During the same case Don jumped across two rooftops. If he had fallen, there's a sixty-five percent likelihood his body would have plummeted at forty-four feet per second. He'd be human goulash."

"Those roofs were barely a foot apart. Wait a sec, you're trying to distract Dad," Don accused. The agent shared a look with Amita, who was smiling and cutting her fish. "He used to do this all the time when we were kids."

Don popped one of his little crispy red potatoes into his mouth and gave his dad an exasperated face. "Don't tell me you still fall for it."

"Distracting, possibly," Alan conceded, waving his own fork around as he spoke. "What I'm curious about is if he's lying. Don, you could have gotten yourself killed! How could you do something so reckless? I mean did you even consider using the staircase? I know it's not as macho as leaping across rooftops, but it doesn't take a genius to know it's smarter."

Charlie smirked and shoveled another forkful of steak into his mouth. Then a thought occurred to him, and he looked to his brother. "Hey, Don, how is that 'Eastside Eyesnatcher' case going? I just realized I never asked if you guys caught the guy."

"Not good," Don admitted. "Megan thinks the guy might've moved on to a new area, but it's possible he's just in a cooling period, too. He could be inactive for weeks, months, even years. He stopped after victim twenty-four a couple of weeks ago."

"Well I could look at it for you," Charlie offered, reaching for his wine glass. "I'm off this semester at CalSci anyway except for special lectures, and besides, if there are twenty-four victims then that means there've been nine more since I last had a chance to look at the map."

"If a pattern's emerged, then I might be able to help you find where your killer is, or where he'll strike next," Charlie said. He glanced at Amita and she nodded, supportive.

"Yeah Charlie, that'd be great." Don was nodding, too. "You know, I think I still have some of the case files out in my car..."

"How about you two finish supper first, hm?" Alan suggested, sawing at his steak. He glanced up and noticed his sons were eating a little faster, getting through the meal so they could get to the case. Alan smiled privately. Getting to work would be a good step into the future for both of his boys.

The end. Thanks for reading!