I do not own Numb3rs and I am making no money from this story.

Manipulation

Part 1

By Ecri

March 18

Special Agent Don Eppes stared at the stack of recent unsolved murders that seemed to mock him from the corner of his desk. He sighed heavily as he tossed today's addition onto the pile. The increase in murder victims had led him to consider that these were not isolated individual cases as he and the department had first assumed, but he couldn't truly find a common thread. There were similarities to the methods, but nothing identical. Two had been shot at close range, one had been shot from a distance, one had been tied up and beaten, one had been stabbednothing linked each death.

The first victim had been an elderly man on vacation in LA. The second had been a good deal younger. He was a highly decorated FBI agent from San Francisco in town for a conference. This one was the one that had ignited a lot of interest from local law enforcement. They had a cop killer on their hands. The third was a lifelong resident of LA who taught at a private school. The fourth was an elderly womanthe fifth was a younger womanhe was getting nowhere and had gone back to the theory that these were indeed individual cases.

It didn't track, though.

This many murders in less than 5 days was abnormal to say the least, but there was more to it than that. Don had learned over he years to trust his instincts, and they were screaming at him now that something bizarre was happening.

He turned to look at Terry who was going through the coroner's reports. She seemed to sense his attention and looked up at him, her face grim.

"I'm getting nothing."

Don nodded. "Me, too. We've all been through the cases. There's no reason to believe it's the work of one killer"

She sensed his hesitation. "But" she prompted, leaning forward to look him in the eye.

"Butit feels like they are."

She nodded and he could tell that she agreed. "What's the next step?"

He didn't hesitate like he knew he would have weeks ago. "Charlie."

Terry smiled and nodded. "If anyone can see a pattern in the seemingly random"

"Charlie can." They finished the sentence together, but, though Terry smiled slightly about it, Don couldn't force himself to reciprocate. Something about this case bothered him, and bringing it to his brother's attention felt like a mistake.

Mistake or not, it was the only thing he could think to do. If Charlie couldn't find a connection, he had to find another approach. He sighed again and picked up his phone, dialing Charlie's cell from memory.

Later that day

Charlie played with the factors, the variables, assigning values and assessing probabilities as he worked. The equations were complex, and he felt Don's stare going through him. Without looking up from his work, he spoke to his brother. "This might take awhile."

"Trying to get rid of me?"

Charlie looked up in surprise. "No."

Don nodded.

Charlie watched him for a moment, and wasn't surprised when Don asked him a question. "The randomness of the victims and the weapons, that indicates more than one killer, doesn't it?"

"Nothing is random." Charlie replied automatically. Don just glared at him, so Charlie tried to explain. "The pattern exists. Even when trying to chose at random, a human will have natural tendencies and will automatically return to the same point without realizing it"

"Charlie, is there more than one killer?" Don's exasperation was apparent.

"I don't know yet."

Don exhaled noisily. "He killed an officer"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, he did."

Don looked heavenward as though in supplication. "I need to know, Charlie, and I'm not comfortable bringing this to you."

Charlie blinked. "Why not?"

Don shrugged. "Somethingwrong."

Charlie blinked at the imprecise words. "Okay."

Don glared at him.

"Don, if there's a pattern, I'll find it. I promise. Look, there are already a few factors"

Charlie began to explain some of the basic mathematical premises he'd picked out of the cases. Apparently, he'd gotten a little too technical.

"Charlie, come on! I didn't understood that! I hate it when you do that!"

Charlie stared at his brother as blankly as Don had stared at him a moment ago. "Well, I" He did this with his students. He helped them understand. Why was it so difficult for him to get Don to understand? What was different? Are you kidding? He asked himself. Hero worship, a need to fit in, a wish to belong, a desire to be like every other kid, and yet unable to ignore the equations, the numbers that flooded his brain at all hours, awake and asleep. Charlie had wished that he didn't see the patterns, the tendenciesthe way a fish swims, the way a swirl of steam rises from a cup of coffee.

Predicting Don's walks in a game of baseball by the way he stood at the plate

Wondering why that was infinitely more fascinating to himthat the mathematics of baseball were what drew him to the sport rather than the more visceral, the raw emotion of it that drew others

He shook off the thoughts. He had to simplify. "Okay, Don" His hands began to shape the air in front of him as though that would allow him to communicate more easily with a mind less entranced by mathematics. "Imagine"

"No," Don was having none of it. "Charlie, I'm sorry. I can't listen to anymore. I'm going to follow up some leads the old-fashioned way." He grabbed his coat. "If you have a breakthrough, call me."

"Don, wait! If you just listenwait, come on! Donny!" Charlie followed his brother out of the room and into the hallway, but gave up when he realized how quickly Don was walking. This was his 'leave me alone' walk. This was how he ran away from Charlie when Charlie's genius was getting to him.

It had been happening all Charlie's life, but he had never gotten used to it. No matter how old he got, or how many times Don ran away from him, he was still hurt by it. He somehow upset Don so much, that his brother wanted to escape him, and he did this just by being himself.

His mother had told him, when he was young, that Don's frustration was directed more at himself than at his younger brother, but Charlie had trouble grasping that thought. Don had everything. He was athletic, witty, self-possessed, the girls liked him and the boys didn't try to beat him up. What frustrations could he be dealing with?

Charlie shook his head and went over and over everything that he and Don had said to each other, trying to figure out where he'd lost Don. What had he said or not said that had so infuriated his brother? He couldn't see it, and he knew it was unlikely that he ever would.

He threw down his pen and tore the sheet of paper off the legal pad he'd been using. Don was right, it was taking too long, and the fact that he needed more variables, more factors, wasn't a pleasant one to contemplate. He hated the bloody, messy reality of Don's world crashing into the clean, ordered world of numbers.

When he stood back from the white board in the bullpen and saw the numbers not for the portions of the equations they represented but for the people, the crimes, the deathit made him tremble. It made his mouth go dry, and he wondered how Don dealt with this sort of thing day after day without going crazy or looking for an escape. It made him think of P versus NP.

It was a difficult urge to deny, but he didn't have the time to deal with it now. Don was right. Maybe he had missed some detail. He should go through the files again and look for another variable. His stomach lurched at the thought of going through the details of the cases once more. The last time he'd done it, he had imagined Don's face in place of the dead Agent, and his father's face in place of first victim. The man had, after all, resembled Alan Eppes.

That had been difficult for Charlie because his mind recoiled at the thought of Alan Eppes dying at all, let alone so violently. In the year since his mother's death, Charlie had dreaded the thought that he might one day lose his father, or his brother.

He hadn't pointed out the similarities of the victim to Alan Eppes, but he knew Don must have seen it. One of the problems he was having with the equation was that he was trying to force other factors. He was trying to find a logical way to exclude his father from the list of potential victims.

He supposed that Don had blown up just now because Charlie had tried to explain the equation to him in mathematical terms instead of in a more user-friendly method. He accepted that, but he still wondered if there wasn't more to it. It was why he reviewed the conversation over and over. He knew that Don had a hard time coming to him for help. He understood why that was. Charlie was the younger brother, by a good number of years, yet Charlie was the one who'd excelled. Graduating high school the same day Charlie did, and seeing his younger brother snag the title of Valedictorian must have been difficult. He understood–intellectually at least–that Don resented him. He even understood why. What he didn't understand was how he could make it better and yet remain true to himself.

He couldn't change who and what he was. He couldn't dumb it down for his brother's sake, though he had tried to do that once when he was eight. He'd suddenly refused to do any equations more difficult than any other eight-year-old could do. He'd purposely tried to appear stupid to his tutors. He had wanted nothing more than for Don to put an arm around his shoulder and play catch with him, or to go to the movies together.

In his mind, Don hadn't liked him very much. He remembered Don's frustration when they were growing up, but at the time, he'd interpreted it as anger, as hatred. And he'd seen himself, his 'genius', as the cause of it all.

His family had seen through that ruse. How could they not? Don had come to him and told him that he was denying himself and that it had to stop. Don had been angry then, too, and Charlie had cringed away from his brother afraid suddenly that Donny would hate him both for being who he was and for trying to be who he wasn't.

Don had instead explained to his genius brother that denying yourself was the worst kind of lying. Then, as if he'd sensed somehow what it was that Charlie needed, he'd draped an arm over Charlie's shoulders and had taken him out in the yard and taught him how to hit a baseball.

The bittersweet memories of his childhood aside, Charlie's current frustrations with his brother would not be so easily healed. Don wanted an answer, and the mathematics of this particular case seemed to preclude an easy one. Complexities arose at every turn, and this case was easily the most intriguing and the most terrifying Charlie had seen.

He felt he was missing something vital, but had a desperate feeling that he would need more data to figure that out. More data, however, meant more victims, and Charlie fought against the idea that haunted him in such instances that needing more data was like waiting for the killer to kill again. At times it made him feel like a ghoul. If only he could find a way to avoid that need.

March 21

Don stared at the photos from the eighth crime scene. This one was particularly disturbing, for somehow, this victim looked so much like his father, that Don had nearly lost his lunch when he'd seen it. He knew it would shake Charlie, and, rather than risk another retreat into P versus NP, Don had not let Charlie see it.

It had been hard enough that the first victim had looked so much like Alan Eppes. That the eighth victim did as well was mind boggling. He would have to mention it to Charlie if this case didn't shed enough light on Charlie's equations. For some reason, they weren't coming together this time. Don didn't know why, and Don was beginning to think it had been a mistake even to ask for Charlie's help on this one.

Sometimes, Charlie forgot that not everyone he spoke to was a mathematician. And what he couldn't seem to get Charlie to understand was that he couldn't take all the time in the world over this. Don's supervisor was demanding answers. The Press was doing the same. There had to be an arrest and soon, or Don would be removed from the case.

Putting that aside, Don wasn't entirely certain they needed Charlie's help on this case. He'd doubled the agents doing legwork on it, and Terry had given him a number of good leads. Why then, was something about this case still gnawing at the back of his mind?

It couldn't be just that two of the victims seemed to resemble his father. There had to be more to it. Don's anger with his brother was really frustration over his own inability to fix this one on his own. At Quantico, he'd been a star pupil. On the opposite coast from his brother, Don had finally found out what it meant to excel. He'd been told, by more than one instructor, that he had the instincts of a man with forty years on the job. Tests had been devised and revamped because, each time, no matter how difficult or twisted the facts became, Don was able to solve whatever riddle lay at the heart of each case.

Now, he felt that he–and his team–had begun to depend too much on Charlie. How many times had he heard agents talking about how they were waiting on Charlie to give them a lead? Charlie's brilliance was leading to laziness for Don and for the agents under him. He couldn't let it continue, and maybe this perceived failure of Charlie's to nail down a potential suspect would be his ticket.

He had thought about submitting a report that Charlie's consultation with the department was no longer viable and then Charlie's participation in his career would be over. He tried not to consider the fact that this might hurt Charlie. After all, it was partially for Charlie that he was doing this. Charlie was seeing too much. His Ivory Tower of Academia was being stained a blood red, and Don didn't want to see the innocence in his brother's eyes whittle away to nothing. Not only that, but, as involved as Charlie was in FBI work, it was really only a matter of time before he got hurt. Not that he'd allow Charlie on a crime scene, but things had a way of happening. Of course, Charlie was also, apparently, consulting on cases for the NSA, and who knew how many other organizations. He would have to do a lot to isolate Charlie from all of these agencies, but there had to be a way. Even considering this felt vaguely like a betrayal, but Don needed to keep Charlie safe.

March 22

Charlie watched his brother, unnoticed, as the elder Eppes issued orders to the other agents. He had always liked seeing Don work. He was so confident and self-assured, competent no matter what the situation.

He waited until Don was finished, then approached his brother.

Don looked up at him from where he sat and nodded in greeting. No smile, no questions, Charlie could tell Don wasn't quite ready to talk to him again.

Still, he had to explain

"Don, I need to tell you something"

Don sighed heavily, and Charlie didn't know if he should just talk very fast or give up and leave. He didn't have time to consider this as Don stood, his anger and abruptness pushing Charlie backward like a physical blow.

"Charlie, I really can't do this right now."

"But"

"Is the equation ready?"

"No, but"

"Charlie, go home, or to class, or whatever" He looked down briefly, then looked Charlie in the eye, his voice dropping so that only Charlie could hear him. "I really can't do this right now."

Charlie nodded, unable to hide his hurt. "We'll talk later?" He waited for an answer but one never came, so he spoke the words again, changing them from a question to a certainty with a hopeful tone of voice. "We'll talk later."

He headed for the door, but couldn't keep from glancing back at his brother as Don began to speak with Terry, the two of them leaning over a stack of files.

"Little rough on him, weren't you?"

Don looked up at Terry. "I should have guessed you'd take his side."

She held up her hands even as her eyebrows rose. "I can't take sides if I don't know what you're arguing about. I'm just sayinghe looked upset."

"He is. I am"

"But I should butt out, right?"

Don smiled. "I knew there was a reason you joined the FBI."

Don kept it light, but he knew Terry was right. Charlie had no way of knowing the pressure he'd been facing recently. He couldn't know that the department was on him for results. Charlie never considered such things. His own supervisors were remarkably patient with him, and Charlie had never had to consider things like finding results fast. It was one reasons Don had been wary about agreeing to let Charlie consult for the FBI. The term deadline took on an entirely different meaning for law enforcement officers.

David Sinclair called his name and, from the excited look on his face, Don guessed, hoped, that he'd found a break in the case.

"What is it?" He asked the question in a deliberately even tone afraid to show too much excitement in case this too turned out to go nowhere.

"We've got another."

Don frowned. "Where was this one?"

David consulted his notes. "Just found the body at homeneighbor called it in when the man didn't answer his phone or his door for two days and his car was sitting in his driveway. The neighbor says he knew the man was supposed to be going on vacation and used the spare key he'd been given so he could water the plants when he couldn't reach him."

Don nodded. "Let's go."

The team assembled and darted out of the office.

Later that day

Charlie stared at the equation he'd reworked in his notebook. It wasn't adding up, and he really needed to talk to Don about it all. He needed to go over the case files again. His cell rang and he scowled until he saw from the caller ID that it was Don.

"Don"

"Charlie, I need you at the office. We've got another case. Ninth one. Maybe there'll be enough to kick start your equation."

Charlie nodded, forgetting Don couldn't see him for a moment. "Okay. Do I meet you there?"

"Yeah, I'm in my car now." He paused and Charlie had the notion that Don had something to say, but didn't know how to say it. "This onethis one was grisly, Charlie."

Charlie hadn't expected the warning. It must have been horrifying for Don to have said that much. "Okay. I'll be there soon."

"Charlie"

Charlie heard his brother's hesitation, and the emotion behind it. He smiled. "Forget it, Don. I wasirritating and I know it. We're good."

Don told him to get straight to Don's desk, though he knew that that's where Charlie would go anyway. His brother was almost predictablealmost.

Terry turned and smiled as Charlie entered the room. "Hey, Charlie."

"Hey." Charlie's reply was immediate, though his eyes were already scanning the room for his brother.

Terry gestured to a chair. "You can have a seat. He'll be back in a minute."

Charlie nodded and sat by his brother's desk. Terry moved back to her own, but she continued to watch Charlie. She'd been worried about both him and Don on this case. Don seemed impatient to get answers, and pushing Charlie rarely got any. Usually, it slowed the process. Terry wondered, not for the first time, how two brothers could be at the same time, so alike and so different.

When she'd first met Don at Quantico, it had taken him some time even to mention he had a brother. He didn't really talk about his home life back then unless forced into it. Then one night, on their first date, he'd asked about her, so she'd returned the favor. Hearing about Charlie had been astonishing, but she'd been more interested in how Don had handled it. From her own observations, she'd have said he'd done well. It had to have been difficult living with a genius little brother all that time, even graduating high school on the same day, and then to have that brother, barely into his teens and finishing up his freshman year at CalSci.

Don's reticence about his family didn't surprise Terry. After getting to know him, she'd assumed it was largely because Don was so protective of his brother, though she was sure that he was also happy to be out from under little brother's shadow and clear across the country.

Charlie, she'd come to realize, loved his brother intensely, but without the mathematics that so ruled his life, he didn't seem sure how to express that. She'd spoken to Alan Eppes on more than one occasion about his two boys. He'd seemed glad that they were self-reliant, but also expressed concern that they didn't interact well sometimes. He'd been worried about them working together claiming that brotherly competitiveness, not to say sibling rivalry, could easily ruin their fragile relationship. When last she'd seen Alan Eppes, he'd confided in her that he was thrilled to see that his boys were finally growing closer.

She could see it, too. There was less thought to leaving Charlie out of the loop in almost all aspects of his life. At work, unless something seemed pertinent to the equations Charlie came up with, Don didn't bother to tell him about it. In his home life, because Charlie seemed always unaware of things that didn't relate directly to whatever project he was working on, Don didn't always tell Charlie what was going on. Not that much went on in the private life of a workaholic FBI agent.

Don walked in then, and she watched Charlie straighten in his chair.

"Hey, Charlie." He tossed a case folder in front of his brother, and Charlie wasted no time opening it. Terry could see that all the photos had been removed.

"Male, 39" Charlie stopped reading through the vitals. He held out a hand expectantly. "Can I see the file on victim number 2?"

Don nodded and took the file from his current box and handed it to Charlie. Charlie got excited for a moment. "These two victims, there are a lot of similarities,"

Don nodded again. "I noticed that, but that doesn't explain anything. Why don't the others don't have any of these characteristics?"

Charlie looked up from the files. "They don't need to. This one nailed it, Don. We're definitely dealing with one killer. This is a serial case."

Don shook his head. "How do you know?"

Charlie held up a hand and counted on his fingers. "Victims one and eight and two and nine are alike. Your next victim, number ten, will share characteristics of victim number three."

Don grabbed the folders and compared one and seven and two and eight. Then he took out number three. "Next victim will be younger than the second"

Charlie stood, and Terry could see the restlessness that accompanied his movements whenever he wanted to work with numbers. "Can I have the files? I have some ideas for the equation"

Don picked up the folders and handed them to Charlie.

Terry watched the easy interaction as Don forgot the pressures from above and began the arduous task of reading through the similarities and differences of the victims for Charlie's benefit. It was true. As problem solvers, the Eppes brothers worked wonders together.

Don watched his brother leave. Charlie had said mumbled vaguely about an appointment and had promised to call when he had the equation worked out, but Don could tell that something about the equation, or maybe about the case, troubled him. That Charlie couldn't talk about yet sent alarms ringing in Don's head. Charlie's instinct was as good as Don's, and, sometimes, Don felt it might just be better. Backed up by applied mathematics, Charlie seemed able to see around corners. If what he saw around this particular corner made him lose the ability to articulate what he saw, then Don was certain his own vague misgivings were likely justified. But what did any of that mean?

He turned to Terry who had looked up as Charlie had left. "He seems distracted."

"He does." Don admitted. "How about you? Any leads?"

Terry shook her head. "We did find a connection between a few of the victims but no common thread links them all."

David came running into the room then, and Don and Terry looked at him expectantly. David walked to Don's desk and spoke very softly. "Don, there's word that Kraft brought in a new consultant on this a couple of days ago."

"What? I'm handling this case!"

David nodded. "There have been too many murders and, since the second victim was an agent, there's pressure from Washington to solve this. Kraft isn't convinced that we're not depending too much on Charlie" David hesitated, but Don just nodded.

"Go on."

"There's a rumor that someone high up pulled Charlie's file."

Don looked at Terry, then back at David, surprise and anger warring on his face. "Charlie's file?"

Terry tried to calm Don. "Everyone has an FBI file, Don, especially consultants and the families of agents."

"I know that, but why would someone want to read Charlie's?" Abruptly, he stood. His anger at the perceived slight against his brother, as well as the idea that his competence as an Agent in charge of this investigation was being questioned, propelled him from his seat.

"I've got to get to the bottom of this."

Terry nodded and stood. "I'm going with you."

To Be Continued