A/N: I started this one a long time ago - some time in season five - and hoped to have it done in time for All Souls Day this year. Clearly that did not happen, so now I'm posting it in honor of the new year, which I hope will be much more productive for me, fic-wise. It should post in two parts - maybe three.

I have two huge projects finished as well as the month that ate my life over, so I hope to finish Carousel shortly. From there, I have a number of open projects I am working on putting to bed. A happy new year to one and all.

Yizkor

One

Charlie Eppes punched the "End" button on his cell phone with more force than was actually necessary.

It was ridiculous, really, how someone could practically live with their cell phone attached to their ear on the one hand, and then suddenly drop out of sight as if they had never even owned one on the other. It created opposing poles in a single small circumference, defying logic. And he hated defying logic. Worse, he told himself indignantly, it was inconsiderate. Having a cell phone implied a certain level of availability - wearing it on your waist implied an even higher level - and ignoring it was - well, it was akin to lying.

Almost, he amended mentally.

Okay, maybe that was a little harsh.

He folded the small phone and tucked it away.

But if somebody carried a phone, then they should have the good manners to answer it, like other civilized beings. Like - well - like he did, for instance. Like he did most of the time, anyway.

Or meant to.

Okay, he might miss the occasional message. Or forget to recharge every once in a while. Or, every now and then he might forget to return a call. But only when he was in a particularly absorbing patch of time and afterwards he always…well, maybe not always…where had he been going with this again?

Oh, yeah.

He shouldered his way through the door and fumbled for the name tag hanging around his neck, flashing it at the security desk guard who nodded a greeting.

Manners. Civilization. Logical consistency of action. He punched the button to call the elevator. That people should recognize. And follow. Or suffer the wrath of their more civilized, logical, well mannered…brothers.

The ding of the elevator interrupted his catalog of virtues and he stepped through the doors and selected a floor.

In the broader spectrum - as in the brotherhood of human kind, of course.

The elevator rebounded slightly and the doors slid open. Charlie stepped forward with a purpose, determined that his resolution would not be diluted or distracted by any of the tantalizing remnants of the case puzzles floating around him. He kept his eyes straight ahead, firmly fixed in the direction of his brother's cubicle, finger lifted and mouth open and ready to expostulate. He took a deep breath, then swallowed it on a groan of frustration as he spotted the empty swivel chair. Damn him, anyway.

"Where is he?" he burst out.

He was vaguely aware of a familiar slender figure bearing a file that stopped just behind his left shoulder. "Hello, Charlie - always nice to see you too."

Charlie waved his hands in frustration. "Hi, Liz - I was just - where is he?"

"Emergency?" Liz sounded amused, but not unsympathetic.

"I've been trying to reach him for two days! It's like he just drops off the earth!"

"Ah." Liz moved herself until she was facing him. "Well, I'm sorry to tell you, but he's not here."

Of course. Damn him. How did he manage to stay one step ahead of him, even when he didn't know he was? He sighed. "When will he be back?" He tried to pretend that he didn't notice Liz's thoughtful head tilt in his direction. "Is it worth it to wait?"

"Not unless you brought meals and a change of clothes. He took the rest of the day off."

"Off?" Charlie blinked. "You mean like - a vacation day?"

Liz smiled. "I think more like a personal day but, yeah - a day off. He wasn't here more than an hour when he up and announced he was taking the day and would be back tomorrow. Left some instructions, grabbed his jacket, and was out of here."

Charlie opened his mouth, then closed it. Defying logic again. Double damn him. "He didn't say why?"

Liz chuckled. "Your brother isn't exactly chatty about his personal life."

"My brother isn't exactly chatty, period," Charlie retorted. He dropped into the swivel chair and ran his hands through his hair.

"Anything I can do for you?"

Charlie opened his mouth again, indistinct images involving handcuffs and guns and physical force drifting through his brain, then he snapped it shut and shook his head slightly to dispel them. Probably not really an answer anyway - even if he could get Liz to go along with it, which he doubted. "He drives me crazy," he complained plaintively.

"I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear it."

"I know." He frowned darkly. "He does it to make me crazy."

"Oh, I don't think so." He watched Liz slide into her own swivel chair. "I think that's just a happy by-product." Her phone buzzed and she reached for it.

Charlie slumped more deeply into the desk chair. What should he do now? He could swing by Don's place.

"Sorry, Charlie – I'm going to have to go." He glanced up to see Liz slipping into her jacket. "Anything you want me to tell him in case I see him first?"

"No. Yes – tell him to turn on his cell phone so people can reach him."

She grabbed her purse and gave his shoulder a light slap as she passed. "I wouldn't take it personally. When you're a slave to it so much of the time, sometimes turning it off is the only way to get some peace."

Charlie wanted to tell her that that was a terrible excuse, but the truth was, it was a pretty good one. He had lost track of the number of dinners and plans Don's cell phone had interrupted – and odds were it interrupted even more sensitive moments. He flushed a little as he watched Liz's retreating back. Guess she would know. He averted his eyes quickly, as though she could hear his thoughts, let them slide aimlessly over the stacks of files and papers cluttering Don's desk. There was a printout on top bearing the FBI insignia and he absently picked up a few words, then paused and re-read more carefully. After a moment, he picked it up and read in earnest.

"Charlie!"

He was just finishing reading it for a second time when the sound of his name made him start. He lowered the paper guiltily, glanced over his shoulder. Liz stood there, arms folded, looking reproachful.

"You know better than this! Didn't your mother ever teach you not to go through other people's things?"

She tried. "I thought you were out on a call?" Evasive action had served him well in these situations in the past.

Liz didn't smile. "I came back for a file I'd forgotten." She gestured with the file. "Put that down."

Charlie feigned deafness, another strategy that had worked for him before, and instead lifted the paper in her direction. "What's this, a newsletter?"

She leaned into one hip, her expression mulish.

"Oh, come on, Liz – it doesn't look like anything confidential. What's the harm?"

Liz took a step forward and yanked it neatly from his fingers. "It doesn't matter what it is – it isn't yours. I'll tell Don you were looking for him."

Charlie leaned back in the swivel chair, nowhere near budging. "I mean, it looks like promotions, weddings, births, stuff like that. Transfers. And…deaths. One of them – it looked like he might have been in Don's Quantico class. One of the deaths, I mean."

Liz had been stuffing the newsletter in her file, but she paused at that. "Which one?"

"Jackson Bowers. I mean, it only gives a year, but – "

Liz was staring at the sheet now, her expression pensive. "Could be a different class, same year."

"Could be."

Her eyes stayed on the newsletter. "We lost an agent yesterday - had an agent involved shooting - it was a mess. Probably why you couldn't reach Don - those always mean conference after conference, contacting the families…tons of paperwork."

Charlie remained silent. A few years ago, he would have found the comment on paperwork cold - now he knew better. It was containment, a way to contain feelings when they were too big to deal with and things still needed to be taken care of right now. Liz was still frowning at the paper, so Charlie ventured, "The agent. Who…?"

"Mariana Sanchez. I don't think you know her. Knew, I guess."

"Was Don…?"

"His raid."

Charlie swallowed. God. He really didn't want to ask the next question, but his brain was already calculating likelihoods, so he couldn't stop himself. "And…the shooting. Who…?"

Liz glanced up from the paper and met his eyes. "Don took out the perp. Just a little too late for Mariana. It was clean - nothing anybody could have done, really."

Charlie pressed his lips together hard. "What - " he finally burst out, clenched his teeth and tried to sound more reasonable. "What was he doing here today then in the first place? Doesn't that kind of thing merit a day off?"

Liz tossed her hair over her shoulder and shrugged. "Yes. But some people find it easier to just keep moving. And you know Don."

Yeah. I know Don. Feelings can't hit a moving target.

Liz's cell trilled and she swore softly. "Charlie, I've gotta go. Look, if you see Don, tell him – " The little phone sounded again and she thumbed the button, "Yeah – on my way – just stopped to grab the file – " She shut the phone and shoved it back on her belt. "Tell him – sometimes your best is all you can do. And sometimes it just won't feel like enough."

Charlie smiled a little. "Pretty smart for someone who hasn't been an agent that long. Where'd you learn that?"

She tucked the file under her arm, her eyes glinting with wry humor. "Don. But even if you know it, sometimes you need to hear it." She lifted the file in a wave, moved towards the elevators. "Oh! And, Charlie?"

He spun the chair to keep her in view.

"Stop rifling through your brother's desk!"

Yes, Mom. He eyed the stack of papers reproachfully. And I wasn't rifling. It was lying on top. He moved his gaze dutifully away from the papers and stopped on the monitor instead. Hum. That page had looked like a download. Maybe…no. No. Liz was right, he shouldn't…

On the other hand….sounded like Don had had a rough time. Maybe he could use some company. Or a little help. Heaven knew he'd never ask for it. But if he could track him down…he rocked the swivel chair gently back and forth, contemplating the screen. It wasn't his fault, really, that Don made it so hard to help him. And that's all he had in mind. It was the brotherly thing to do. And if he had to do a few…slightly covert things…to do that, well, whose fault was that? Not his. Not really. He'd just as soon come right out and ask, but you couldn't ask somebody with their cell phone turned off – you had to track them down instead. You had to put in extra effort. Really, when you thought about it, Don's attempts to be low maintenance made him downright high maintenance. Not that Charlie begrudged the effort. Don was his only brother after all.

Feeling a pleasant glow of righteous virtue, he eyed the computer screen again. How much trouble would somebody get into for hacking into a federal computer? Or just overriding the password? Or maybe he should use deductive reasoning…let's see…where would Don go? The shooting range? Probably not, since it was on FBI property. And after what Liz said happened yesterday…no. Not the shooting range. Batting cages? Apartment? Both good possibilities. Bar? There were a couple nearby where FBI agents hung out. Of course…he glanced at his watch and frowned. Kind of early for a bar. It wasn't impossible, but…he hoped not a bar. Apartment would be a good place to start. He stood up slowly, casting an eye over the mounds of paper piled on the desk in front of him, trying to look without looking. Though he wasn't exactly sure who he was trying to hide it from since Liz was gone. Himself, maybe? Mom? He smiled a little, remembering Liz's remark, then the smile faded as something hit home. Mom.

Suddenly he was pretty sure he knew exactly where Don was.

TBC