Hi, here comes my first Numb3rs story. It's a missing scene from the Episode; Uncertainty Principle. I would like to thank my two wonderful beta readers; bee1387 and Alice. Thank you so very very very much, without you there would be no story ( at least not readable lol) and you deserve all the credits for this one. Thank you for sending me feedback and sticking there for me:) Okay on to the story now. Hope you guys like it and please send feedback; good or bad ;) Swenglish

The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show NUMB3RS are the property of the Tony & Ridley Scott, and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci. No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

A Fathers Touch

Alan Eppes closed the door behind him, putting the keys in the small wooden bowl that was placed on the Georgian table in the hallway. After hanging up his jacket, he went straight into the kitchen, looking for something to eat. It was lunchtime, and he'd finished his shift at the shelter for the homeless and since he didn't have bridge club until later in the evening he had the whole day to himself.

After turning on the coffee maker, he opened the refrigerator, scanning the shelves for something to eat. There, on the top shelf, was a plate with an already made turkey sandwich. It was a left over from his breakfast when his youngest son Charles had proclaimed that he wasn't hungry, and to Alan's concern, had left the house in a hurry. He frowned, not liking when Charlie "forgot" to eat since it usually meant he was in the middle of a case and it could just as easily, if they were not careful, mean that it was the beginning of a mental break down. As a math consultant for the FBI and other authorities, his son was often very much involved in difficult cases and sometimes it became too much; especially since he was something of a perfectionist.

With a sigh, Alan turned off the coffee maker and poured the java into a cup. Balancing the plate with the sandwich and the coffee he headed to the living room and sat down in the cognac colored leather chair. Stretching out his legs, he picked up the morning paper while occasionally sipping on the hot coffee and eating a piece of the sandwich. Charlie wouldn't be back until dinner and regarding his oldest son, Don, Alan never knew if he would make a visit or not. This left him with roughly five hours alone and with that, the older man let out a long sigh of contentment. Sometimes life was too good to be true.

He must have dozed off for the loud bang of the front door being slammed shut woke him with a start. He saw someone run through the room so quickly that he couldn't see who it was, and then heard the bathroom door slam shut.

"Is that you Charlie?"

When he received no answer, he stood up and walked towards the small bathroom. The door was shut and he hesitated in knocking for a moment. It couldn't be anyone else but Charlie or perhaps Don that was inside and judging from the quick entrance, he didn't want to interfere with one of his son's privacy, but the harsh sound of someone throwing up changed his mind. Knocking on the door he called out, "Is everything all right?"

Mentally, he wanted to slap his head. Of course everything wasn't all right. One of his sons was sick for crying out loud. There was loud coughing and he could hear the person inside the bathroom moan several times as if in pain. Being a dad, Alan instantly recognized the sounds and asked with a worried tone, "Charlie? Let me in."

The older man didn't expect any response, but to his surprise, saw the lock on the door turn. Opening the door, the sight that met him shook him up, but he quickly found his composure.

There on the tiled bathroom floor sat his son, head leaning against the rim on the porcelain throne as if he was just waiting to expel another bout of nausea. His complexion was pasty white, and he had his eyes closed as if it hurt too much to keep them open. Cold sweat had broken out on his forehead wetting his son's dark curly bangs in the process. With painful moves, Charlie turned around, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"Dad?" he asked, confused, as if he was having a hard time recognizing the person standing beside him.

Alan's heart skipped a beat as he sank down beside his son on the floor.

"What is it, Charlie? Are you sick?"

There was something in his son's chocolate brown eyes that told him this was more than a common bout with the stomach flu. His whole posture looked so forlorn, almost as if he'd lost all his hope.

"I failed."

The words hit the older man like a ricochet. This was not what he had expected to hear. When it came to his work, Charlie's self confidence shone through brightly, yet that same confidence was noticeably lacking in matters of real life. Math and equations were his life, and the young man rarely doubted his own ability. Hearing the words 'I failed' spoken in a cracked tone made the older man's stomach ache with sympathy...

"I couldn't do it," Charlie went on as he leaned his head into his hands. "I failed Don."

Touching his son's hands he expected to feel warmth, but was greeted with a cold, clammy moisture.

"What makes you say this?" he asked, slowly.

"It's the truth."

The voice was shaky, and once again the nausea seemed to have his son in a tight grip. He watched Charlie lean closer to the edge of the bowl, spitting into the water below.

"Because you're sick?"

"No." Charlie gagged, but he refrained from producing anything. "Because of me, four people died and one of them was on Don's team."

He sobbed silently as his stomach suddenly convulsed and Alan couldn't do much but watch his son throw up. The heaves were painful, and the only comfort he could provide was to rub his son's back in large circles as he'd done so many times in the past.

"That's it, let it out," he encouraged when Charlie coughed several times, trying to expel what little he had left in his stomach. "You'll feel better."

The heaving was painful, and between the bouts Charlie mumbled something about Heisenberg's Principle and being the only one who could have stopped the killings if only he hadn't made a mistake. When the worst eased up, Alan patted his son's shoulder, trying to provide some more comfort.

"Son, that wasn't your fault and you only did..."

He was instantly cut short. "No, Dad. Don't you see? I'm the one that killed that agent, and three," the voice was nothing but a whisper, " three innocent people died just because my equations were wrong." He swallowed hard before continuing. "I'm the one responsible. I'm the one that failed." His eyes were filled with tears, and Alan didn't know if it was because his son was sick, or because the emotions he kept inside were getting to him.

"No, Charlie, that doesn't make you the one who killed those people. It was the bank robbers who did that. You only did your job and tried to stop them the best you could."

His son opened his mouth to object when another bout of heaving made itself known. All he could do was watch his son's body twist in convulsions as if it were trying to expel all the feelings making him sick.

"I have to go back," he gasped. "Need to help those people."

Charlie tried to stand up when Alan put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "No, you're exhausted and need to rest." He fetched a white towel, wet it with cold water and then placed it on the back of his son's neck. "Feel any better?" he asked, when he felt his son relax under his touch. His shoulder's sagged if he was accepting the defeat.

Suddenly, he tensed up again. "I need to go. They're counting on me." The older man shook his head. "No, Charlie, they can manage without you. You're sick and in no condition to think about those kinds of things right now."

"I'm not sick," the young man mumbled closing his eyes. "I just can't stand the truth."

The words were spat out like venom, and before he had a chance to respond, his son gagged and spit into the bowl. It was as if the dry heaving wouldn't stop and his heart ached when he heard the whimpers that were let out as the cramps continued to wrack his body.

"That's it," Alan said, when the dry heaving had gone on long enough. "I'm calling Jack."

Jack Stevens was their family doctor and he was a good friend to Alan. The best thing about his old friend was that he could make a house call any time of the day and it had come in handy in the past.

Both Don and Charlie had experienced their fair share of accidents and diseases. Don was the more accident prone and he was winning the lead in broken bones in his class. Charlie on the other hand was more prone to sickness, and if there was a bug within miles, they could be sure he would be the first in the Eppes household to get it.

"No...No doctor. I'm fine." The young man swallowed hard as he tried to stand on shaky legs with the support of the wall and his father's shoulder. "I guess it all became too much. I just need to sleep and then I'll be up and at it again in no time." Talking seemed to be a hard task to perform, and the sweat on his forehead told that he was feeling worse than he let on.

Alan didn't look too convinced. "I don't know..." he said slowly. "It could be something serious and..."

"No, Dad, I said it's nothing," Charlie interrupted. "You know Terry told me that it's common to feel like this after you've witnessed a crime scene. This is just the after effect...even Don said the same thing when he found out I threw up… then he told me to go home and get some rest."

"You threw up?"

Alan's satisfaction over the fact that Don had showed he cared for his younger brother was instantly clouded when he heard that Charlie had gotten sick back at the crime scene, and by the looks of it, the nausea was no where near close to easing up. He didn't like where this story was going. If there was one thing he was most afraid of, it was that one of his sons would end up in a body bag. He didn't like it when they were going through hard times; it made him feel so helpless.

"Yeah a little," Charlie admitted, blushing as if he was embarrassed. Then he suddenly changed his approach. "You don't need to worry, Dad. Everything will be all right and I'm already starting to feel much better now that I got whatever's been bothering me out of my system." He paused, talking more to himself than Alan. "Maybe my breakfast didn't sit well with me." A weak smile crept upon his pale face.

The older man sighed. He could tell that his son was doing everything in his power to act as if nothing was bothering him, when in fact he could see how upset Charlie was over it all.

"Maybe so, but that would have to mean that you actually ate breakfast!"

Alan shook his head, wishing that Charlie would stop pretending that everything was fine, when in reality he could see how close his son was from a nervous breakdown. The days events seemed to have hit him harder than anything before and somehow he figured out that the dead agent and Don had something to do with this. As soon as his oldest son came home he would ask him what had happened that could've made the young man so shook up.

"I think I'll go and take a nap on the sofa."

Charlie's pain filled voice cut through his mind. "You do that, son," he responded, as he gave a helping hand that was shrugged away immediately.

"I told you I was fine, didn't I?"

"Yes you did, but I don't believe you."

"Dad I'm not five anymore...I can take care of myself."

The older man watched how his son walked on shaky legs towards the sofa and then lay down with a sigh. He didn't look very comfortable and the green tinge on his cheeks told him that nausea was still lurking and it would be a wise decision to go and fetch a bucket. With that in mind Alan walked out to the kitchen. When he returned he found Charlie sitting up on the sofa, looking very pale.

"You feel sick again?"

There was barely a nod and Alan was just in time with the bucket before his son started emptying into it. There was not much left but green yellow bile and he winced in sympathy at the pain it seemed to produce. Once Charlie was done, he lay back down on the pillows again.

"I'm sorry 'bout that." His voice was shaky and filled with exhaustion as he nodded towards the bucket in his father's hand. "You shouldn't be the one that has to take care of my mess. I'm an adult. I can handle it.".

"I'm sure you can, but for now this is my job as a father." Alan smiled gently at him. "I'm just going to rinse this out; meanwhile you try and get some rest."

Exhausted, the young man nodded, closing his eyes.

Once back from the bathroom he let out a breath of relief when he saw that his son had finally fallen asleep. Placing the bucket beside the sofa, just in case, he picked up the green and red plaid wool blanket placing it on his son's bony shoulders. He didn't like that Charlie lost weight, and being sick like this was not a good sign either. Ever since the success of his first work with Don on an FBI case the Bureau had called upon the young mathematician often. This, in Alan's mind, had resulted in his youngest being essentially over worked and on the verge of exhaustion all of the time.

Today, it looked like he'd hit a sore spot.

Sitting down in his favorite armchair, Alan watched the young man's even breaths. Charlie had finally succumbed to the lure of sleep, and Alan genuinely hoped that he would feel much better when he woke up. But he had another nagging feeling that this was much deeper than Charlie was letting on. He didn't like the dull expression in his son's eyes, almost as if they were lifeless and staring into another time or space. Sighing, he ran his hand over his face in a tired gesture.

His son stirred slightly in his sleep, moaning about equations, and even though he was worried Alan couldn't help but smile. None other than Charlie would have his brain running at full speed even when sleeping. There were times when he wished he knew what was hiding inside his son's head, but then on the other hand he didn't know if he really wanted to know. Being a genius was like walking a thin line that bridged the boarder of sanity and there were times when Alan was so worried about his youngest that he wanted to protect him from all the evil in the world.

Don, on the other hand, was a person that could take care of himself. He had a fragile side too, but not at all like his brother. Charlie had always been a dreamer and even though he'd tried to figure him out, Alan knew he'd never succeed. There were times when he felt like he had to twist his mind around just to follow the calculations and equations his son was engrossed in at the time. It was so much easier with Don. He was down to earth and didn't complicate things in the same fashion his youngest did, who was more sensitive and over reactive.

Shaking his head, Alan did his best to dispel the nasty thoughts. He didn't want to think about it, and an impending headache made him close his eyes. He let himself drift off with the hope that Charlie just had a bug and not something more serious; something that medication couldn't fix….

Two hours later, Alan woke up with a jerk. It was dusk in the room, and looking around his eyes instantly fell on the empty couch where his son had been sleeping. The blanket was carelessly thrown onto the wooden floor and Charlie was no where in sight. His first thought was to check in the bathroom, so he hurried over only to discover the room to be empty with his son's clothes thrown in a messy heap on the floor. This at least meant he'd been well enough to change.

"Charlie?" he called out as he searched through the house. A hint of worry crossed his mind when he thought that maybe he'd left to go to work, and judging from how ill the young man had been before, he was in no condition to do so. Suddenly, he looked outside only to see that there was a light on in the garage. With a sigh, the older man knew what was going on without having to spell it out. He'd seen it in his son's lifeless eyes.

Charlie was working on that math problem that couldn't be solved: P versus NP.

It was a strange, almost autistic spell that came on whenever Charlie was under great stress. He'd seen it several times, but only two times had been so bad that he'd actually considered getting psychological help. The first time it occurred very badly was when Don had left the family for the FBI academy at Quantico. To Charlie, his older brother meant the world and losing him felt like his life was shattered into thousands of pieces. The second time was when their mother had fallen ill with cancer. It hurt him to watch his son withdraw into his own world; not reachable by anyone or anything outside of that world.

He hoped and prayed that this time wouldn't be just as bad, and that Charlie would be able to slip out of the funk that seemed to have him in it's tight grip.

His first thought was to call Don, but then he remembered that his oldest was in the middle of a hard case and the last thing he needed was to get worried over his little brother. Don had never been good at dealing with Charlie when he went into these fits either, and would probably only make it worse.

Picking up the phone, he debated who to call when suddenly Charlie's friend Larry came into his mind. The professor was his son's closest friend and if there was one person on earth who could help them, it would be him. He was grateful for Larry, who seemed to be the one that could follow every thought the young man was aiming for.

With that in mind, he dialed the number and didn't have to wait long before Dr. Larry Fleinhardt answered. Alan didn't waste any time in telling Larry what he had in mind, and when he uttered the words, "I need your help. It's Charlie," he was told that the professor would come right away. As soon as he hung up he let out a deep breath that he hadn't even been aware he was holding. He needed to get Charlie to stop hiding in his numbers; the longer it took the harder it would be for him to come out of his own "little world."

Relieved that there would be backup, Alan opened the door and walked out to talk with his son, to try and convince him that it wasn't his fault and if Charlie would only let him into his mind, everything would work for the best. The last thing he wanted was to loose his son to insanity…