Post-ep for "Money for Nothing." Written too fast, un-beta'd, when I should be doing my last differential equations assignment, too much of me in it, would never happen on the show, yada yada.

Still wanted to write it.

Disclaimer: Read this, then watch the show. Still think I own them?

Fifty Minutes

Don Eppes sat down next to his brother Charlie and turned to Dr. Bradford. "He was eight," Don said, his grin unforced, his voice a mix of amazement and pride, and just like that, everything felt okay. Charlie relaxed into the couch and turned to them both. "I like to walk. Walking is my sport." He knew he was babbling just a bit, but he didn't care. He had spoken his piece, and Don was still here. His older brother hadn't blown up at him, hadn't ridiculed him, had really listened, really seen him for the first time in...maybe for the first time ever. He realized he was still talking, and he wasn't even sure what he'd said. "Don't you ever just go for a walk?"

"But that's not a sport. That's exercise."

"I'll take you with me next time I go geo-caching."

Don grinned. "That's hiking. You didn't say hiking." He leaned back and studied his brother. "What about Frisbee golf and snowboarding?"

"You're better at Frisbee golf."

"Doesn't matter. It's still your sport. Besides, don't sell yourself short. You're pretty good at it."

Charlie smiled a little and shrugged.

"Frisbee golf and snowboarding," Bradford mused. "Both very math- and physics-intensive sports."

Charlie felt his smile broaden into a delighted grin. "Oh, absolutely. Take Frisbee golf, for example. A Frisbee is just a cross between a wing and a gyroscope, but if you knew how much research I put into choosing my equipment--"

And Charlie was off. He talked about torque and gyroscopic stability and angular rotation. He talked about fluid dynamics and turbulence. He talked--

"Don." Bradford cut in, a little rudely Charlie thought, until he turned to look at his brother and winced. Just a moment ago, it seemed, Don had been sprawled out, relaxed, legs stretched out in front of him and arms extended along the back of the couch. Now he was drawn in tight, staring straight ahead, his face a mask. "You don't look like you're enjoying this conversation."

Charlie shot Bradford an accusing look. You set me up, he thought, but the psychiatrist was wholly focused on his brother, who shrugged a little and sighed. "No, it's fine. I'm fine."

Bradford made a quick note and laid his pen down. "Seems like you two have been pretty honest with each other so far this session, and neither of you has dropped dead. Or punched the other," he added, and Don glanced at him. "Or gotten up and walked out." Don looked away again. Charlie studied his brother's profile, watched the muscle flex in Don's jaw. Damn. He'd thought--he'd thought--

Did you really think it was going to be that easy?

Don shrugged again. "That's not it," he said softly. Bradford didn't speak, and Charlie followed his lead, suddenly realizing he was completely out of his depth. Don shifted uncomfortably. "Well, maybe it is, in a way. I just don't get something--"

Again Bradford simply waited.

Don shot Charlie a look, and Charlie could hear his brother swallow. Don turned back to Bradford. "I mean, if I was such an ass to him for so long, and he doesn't need--or even want--" Don swallowed again and closed his eyes. "I don't understand why he's here."

Charlie sucked in his breath and stared at his brother in shock. He barely heard Bradford's next words. "Don, I think that is a question you should address to Charlie."

Charlie thought he was ready when Don turned to him, but he couldn't help flinching at the sight of the tightly controlled, impassive mask that was his brother face. "Haven't you been listening?" Charlie cried, and Don flinched a little, too.

"I heard what a jerk I've been," Don said quietly.

Oh, great, something new for him to feel guilty about--

"And I know that people may be related, but that doesn't mean they have to actually--like each other--"

"You think I don't like you?" The laugh burst from Charlie before he could stop it, and he followed it, jumping up from the couch to take his own turn around the room. He finally went back to the couch to stand in front of his brother. "What the hell, Don?" he finally said, arms spread wide. He realized he was angry. Angry, and confused, and--sad. "Just--don't be an idiot."

Don had been staring up at him, wide-eyed, but at the last word he gasped and looked away, and Charlie realized he'd managed to say precisely the wrong thing. He sank down onto the couch next to Don, wanting to touch him, but afraid of what he'd feel if Don pulled away.

"That's not it, exactly." Don spoke softly, and Charlie had to strain to hear him. "It's just-- You start talking about stuff like that and I can follow you at first, but I never understand all of it. And then you get to where I don't understand you at all. I just think you'd want to be with people who--understand you."

"Don, Larry and Amita and Millie understand the words, the concepts behind what I'm talking about. They don't understand me. Not like you do."

"Well, apparently I don't." Don's words were clipped and bitter.

Charlie flung himself back on the couch and looked at Bradford helplessly. Don's confession that he felt like he was using Charlie had filled Charlie with desperation and sadness, and the same paralyzing mix was flooding through him again.

"Charlie, is there anything you'd like to say to Don?"

Charlie glared at Bradford. There are a few things I'd like to say to you--

He froze, mind racing. Then, looking steadily at Don all the while, he pitched his voice a little louder, a little lighter. "Dr. Bradford. Have I ever told you about my brother Don?"

Don glanced at him.

"I don't believe you have, Charlie, but I'd be interested to hear."

Don gave a tiny shake of his head, and the look he shot Charlie was full of fear. Charlie took a deep breath.

"My brother, Don Eppes, is the bravest, toughest, fastest, strongest, most tenacious guy I know," Charlie said. "He is honorable, and--fierce. He's a warrior."

Don didn't look fierce. He didn't look like a warrior. He'd drawn his knees up until he could wrap his arms around them, and he huddled there, face white, like Charlie's words were making him physically ill. "Charlie, don't," he whispered.

"He's a natural athlete. He's a baseball god and a hockey hero. Once he ran down a track star who was trying to escape."

Don cleared his throat, tried to speak normally. "He was long-distance. I'm a sprinter."

"A track star. He's got a great sense of humor and he knows how to have fun. What's that saying? All the women want him and all the men want to be him? He's even good with kids." Charlie grinned at Bradford, surprised by how much fun this was, how good he felt to say it, how real. Don obviously wasn't having any fun, but tough. He needed to hear this.

"He's got this horrible, dangerous job where he puts his life on the line every day, because he wants to protect people. He wants to help people. You need something, he's there. Sometimes even if you don't need something--"

Don winced.

Charlie rushed on. "Doesn't that sound like somebody you might want to hang out with? You might like?"

Bradford nodded slowly, but he, too, was watching Don, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"Of course, he's not perfect," Charlie said. "He's got a wicked temper and he's not afraid to use it. And I get really frustrated when I see how much weight he's always carrying around."

"Weight?"

Charlie shrugged. "The weight of all the responsibility he takes on. The weight of the world. The weight of the chip he carries on his shoulder. I just wish he'd put all that weight down."

Don let his feet slide back to the floor and sat motionless, staring at his hands in his lap. He looked--stricken, and Charlie swallowed against the tightness in his throat, suddenly realizing how much more was at stake than even their relationship.

"Sometimes, when I watch him, I feel so sad," Charlie said quietly. Don turned at that and looked at him, eyebrows drawn down in a faint, surprised frown.

"What makes you sad, Charlie?"

Charlie glanced at Bradford before turning back to Don. "You know how I said he's the bravest guy I know? It's not just physical bravery, though he's got plenty of that--enough to terrify me sometimes--"

Don looked away.

"But he's also got the kind of bravery you need to walk into a situation where you know the odds are against you, you know you're pretty much doomed to failure, but you still give it everything you've got. And that's what makes me sad."

Charlie kept his eyes locked on his brother. "It makes me sad because I can't count the number of times I've watched him being brave when he doesn't have to be. He isn't failing. He only thinks he is."

Don sucked in his breath and turned back to Charlie as the color drained from his face. He choked, eyes huge and dark in his white face, and his gaze turned inward as he raised a hand to his chest. Charlie could see him shuddering with the effort to draw breath. "Don? Don!"

"I--can't--"

Charlie lunged for his brother but Don was already off the couch and past him, headed for the door. Charlie stood but Bradford stopped him with a word, and he watched the office door slam shut while every instinct screamed at him to follow.

"He can't breathe."

"Bronchial spasms. He'll be all right, Charlie. He just needs to collect himself and he can't do it when people are watching him. It's happened before."

"It's happened be--" Charlie spun around. "What did I do?"

Surprisingly, Bradford chuckled. "As much in fifteen minutes as I've been able to do in four months of sessions."

Charlie's knees buckled and he sank down onto the couch. "I'm an idiot," he whispered.

"How so?"

"Don comes to you because he hurts." Charlie squeezed his eyes shut. "Not because he only wants somebody to bitch to about me."

"True."

"And I just told him to get over himself, and then turned his feelings into a joke."

"Charlie, you said some things today that Don needed to hear. And I think he heard them. That doesn't mean he's going to have an easy time assimilating them." Bradford shook his head. "If you'd tried to say any of this to him when he first started coming here you two would probably still not be speaking to each other. Believe it or not, Don's getting better."

Charlie cast an unbelieving look at the door his brother had just escaped through, and Bradford laughed again. "Perhaps he hasn't made as much progress on a few issues as I'd thought, but you're a special case."

Bradford leaned back in his chair with a sigh and closed his notebook. "Go. Find your brother. Bring him back in here if you can, but if not, that's okay. We're almost out of time, anyway."

Charlie nodded, eager to see Don, see for himself that his brother was all right.

"And Charlie?"

He paused, hand on the doorknob.

Bradford grinned at him. "You're welcome back any time. Bring your dad, too."

Charlie snorted. Like Don would ever want him back after today, he thought as he slipped from the office. The receptionist smiled at him sympathetically and pointed toward the men's restroom.

Charlie hesitated at the door. He could hear the sound of running water. He rapped lightly, then again, harder, and the water shut off, but Don didn't respond.

Charlie tried the knob and it turned easily in his hand. It wasn't locked. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Don was standing at the sink, both arms braced against it, head hanging low. Water dripped from his face and his breathing sounded harsh in the enclosed space.

Charlie leaned against the wall and watched him. "You okay?"

Don swallowed, his throat working, and nodded. "Yeah. You?" He pushed himself up and looked over at Charlie, and something about his raspy voice and bloodshot, watering eyes--

"Did you throw up, too?"

Don looked down at the floor.

"Jesus." Charlie pushed himself away from the wall and cranked out a fistful of paper towels. He handed them to his brother, who accepted them silently and wiped his face. "I meant every word I said, Don, but I didn't mean them to affect you like this. I just wanted to say that yeah, I like you, and this is why."

Don flinched and his breathing grew more ragged. "I have trouble listening to that kind of stuff," he said quietly. "It makes me feel like--like there's something crawling under my skin."

"Maybe we aren't brothers," Charlie said. "I would have been eating that up for breakfast."

A corner of Don's mouth twitched up.

"Was it the f-word that really got to you?"

Don peered at him questioningly over the paper towels.

"Failure."

Two hands clenched into fists and Don turned away. "Maybe some of my therapy should stay my therapy." He tossed the wadded-up paper towels in the trash and turned toward the door, but Charlie was there first, back braced against it, arms folded. Don stopped, then turned away with a sigh.

Charlie waited in silence. He'd have to thank Bradford for this particular trick next time.

Finally Don slumped back against the wall and closed his eyes. He looked completely wrung out. "You may not have been lost, Charlie, but we didn't know that."

Charlie started. "Back to your birthday?"

"Yeah. I just--like a flashback, or something. It was--weird."

Charlie frowned. "What about it? Mom and Dad? I didn't think you got punished that bad."

Don shook his head. "That wasn't it," he said, voice tight with anger. Charlie pushed himself away from the wall and stood directly in front of Don, who refused to look at him. Charlie pressed gently on Don's shoulder. His brother sighed, the tension sliding out of him on that soft, voiceless exhalation. "Bradford asked me what I felt when you were still there. That wasn't the right question."

"What should he have asked you?"

"What I felt when I knew you were gone."

"Oh." A strange combination of hot and cold flooded through Charlie, and he blinked. "Oh. Wow." He studied Don, who was finally looking at him and making no attempt to protect Charlie from the hurt in his eyes. "I'm an ass too sometimes, huh," said Charlie.

Don finally smiled. "Yeah. Sometimes."

"No wonder you thought it was all about me. I sure didn't think about anyone else when I did it."

"Maybe," said Don, his voice soft and careful, "maybe because back then other people weren't good at--letting you know they were there."

Charlie smiled at the careful emphasis on "back then." "But times change--"

"--and we need to change with them."

Charlie grinned. "Do you suppose there's time for a round of Frisbee golf before dinner?"

"Maybe. If you don't start lecturing me about fluid dynamics."

"Deal." Charlie tugged Don away from the wall and turned him toward the door.

"Does Bradford want to see me again before we go?"

"Naw." Charlie's grin turned wicked. "He did say we should bring Dad next time."

Don groaned as Charlie steered him out of the restroom. "Hey. What do you mean 'we'?"

Charlie's only response was laughter.