Finally, a new story is completed. It's a two chapter story as part of the 'Conversations' series. Next and last chapter tomorrow.

Warnings: discussion about medical scares and infectious diseases.

Tag to 'Hot shot'. The story begins after the last scene of the episode.

Part 1 - Charlie

A sharp ringing interrupted the rustling sound of shuffling papers. Charlie startled. Together they had worked on Don's shooting report and Don had watched them with a content smile and a wistful expression. But now Don's relaxed face morphed into a for Charlie unreadable mask. His hand flew to the cell phone on the table and he opened it in one smooth motion. After a hard jab on the number pad, the cell was silent once again.

"What's going on?" Alan asked, his pen remaining in the air just above the paper he had used to write down his ideas.

"Nothing," Don assured them. "I just have forgotten ..." He pointed to the door and left the sentence unfinished. "I need to ..."

Charlie put down his pen and eyed his brother. Alan frowned. But before they could say anything, Don jumped up and hurried to the door.

Looking over his shoulder, Charlie could see Don's car lighting up as he opened the doors by remote. He looked back to his father. "This is the second time, he has to go somewhere and then comes back half an hour later."

Alan also put down his pen. "What are you talking about?"

"Don," Charlie continued. "The last two evenings the same thing happened and earlier today he volunteered to go shopping. That's a pattern. Since he left the hospital, he has been acting strangely."

"You've said it - since he left the hospital. It's not so easy to come to terms with almost dying or taking another man's life." Alan nodded to himself and grabbed his pen once again.

Charlie shook his head and stood up. "I don't think so. He is hiding something." He wandered over to the window and watched his brother driving away. "It's probably an alarm that he has set to remind him at specific times to do something." He thought it over while he watched the black SUV slowly disappearing in the distance and tried to find the missing variable.

Then he turned back to his abandoned trajectory calculation on the table. "Do you think he has problems at the FBI? Because of the shooting?"

Alan paused and looked over to Charlie while he rubbed at his chin. "I don't think he needs to be at work three times a day."

"Three times?" Charlie sat down. "Why three times?"

"The timer started as we left the hospital around midday, and yesterday there was another alarm beside the grocery shopping and sudden departure in the evening."

Narrowing his eyes, Charlie took a deep breath. "So, there is a pattern. What exactly does he have to do three times a day?"

His father sighed next to him. "If it's something he wished us to know, he would tell us."

"Yes, but you know Don." Charlie looked up and tapped on the table. "He never tells us anything as long as he doesn't have to."

"Charlie," Alan said as he stood up, "don't go spying on your brother. Sometimes there is a blessing in not knowing. Your brother will tell us when he is ready."

Nodding to avoid a fight, Charlie picked up his pen to finish his calculation. "But you are as worried as I am," he had to add.

With a shrug, Alan walked the short distance to the kitchen door. "I'm always worried about my sons. But I got the call to come to the hospital, and not a visit from some agents telling me my son is dead. So, I'm willing to wait for him." He pointed his finger at Charlie in a warning motion. "And you should, too. Some secrets are revealed and not found out."

Charlie nodded again.

After the kitchen door had fallen shut behind his father, Charlie eyed his laptop. It shouldn't be too hard to find out what procedure the FBI had that required several check-ins daily. With a last glance to door where his father had disappeared, Charlie abandoned his trajectory calculation for a second time this evening and booted up his laptop.

After a first fruitless search, Charlie had continued to observe and monitor his brother. But his plan for a relaxed dinner and beer to confront his brother with his results didn't end well.

"Charlie, what did you do?" Alan glared at his son with a disapproving expression.

"Nothing," Charlie defended himself without taking his eyes off the door Don had disappeared behind.

"Then why couldn't Don keep the food down? Did you check the durability date?" Alan took a step towards the door.

Charlie grimaced in sympathy as new bout of retching sounded through the door. "Yes," he said. "Besides, I may have been distracted but I'm pretty sure that I would taste something that's inedible."

Alan sighed. "You're right, he was already looking poorly as he arrived. Maybe it was something that he ate at work. It's not healthy to keep food in a hot car and then eat it."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed but remained unconvinced. Together they waited right next to the door until Don reappeared.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you fine?"

Don made a face. He looked like he would be rather anywhere else but here facing his worried brother and father. "I'm fine. The food just didn't agree with me."

"You should lie down. Or do you need to go to the hospital? We could drive you."

Don shook his head vehemently before Alan had even finished talking. "No! I'm fine. I'm just going home."

"You shouldn't drive." Charlie sided with his father.

"Then I'm taking a taxi."

Alan froze but Charlie was just annoyed. "You'd rather pay for a taxi than staying here?"

"No. Yes." Don's forehead glistened and his finger trembled as he grabbed his keys.

"At least let your old man drive you home, alright? Charlie can pick me up later." Alan kept his eyes on his older son, secure in the knowledge that Charlie would do it.

After a few moments of silence as Don was fighting with himself, he finally agreed. "Fine. But seriously I'm fine. I just need to get a good night's sleep."

Neither Alan nor Charlie believed it for a second, too many times the last week alone he had been sick or tired or exhausted or just plain avoiding them.

But it didn't matter how badly Don felt, he still argued about what car to take. In the end, Alan agreed to take his own car to drive back home again, and tomorrow Don would send one of his agents over to get the governmental SUV.

Charlie watched them leave and his worry increased again. He had asked around but nobody had heard about any trouble because of the shooting. Besides Don wasn't the guy to be sick if he was nervous. He had nerves of steel.

But the next time Charlie used the bathroom he made a discovery that changed everything. On top of the sink, he found something Don had left behind.

Charlie stared at the prescription bottle in his hand.

"Are you still trying to find out how your brother is doing?" Larry poked his head through the door. "Or is there another reason for your closed door?"

Startled, Charlie dropped the bottle and looked up. "Larry, I ... I ..." He bent down and picked up the bottle, slipping it back into his pocket. "I needed some time to go ..." He peered around his desk trying to spot a good alibi for a lie. On the outer corner, he found his solution in a stack of ungraded papers. "I need to go over these papers without any interruption."

The professor raised his eyebrows but then he nodded. "Then I will let you continue. Please excuse the -"

"Larry wait," Charlie held up his hand as he changed his mind and beckoned him over, "come in."

Closing the door behind him, his friend came nearer. "I assume that your sudden agreement to an interruption stems from your desire to acquire my help in solving the enigma that is your brother?"

Charlie laughed out loud. "Maybe." He pulled out the prescription bottle again.

"What is this? Are you," Larry stopped to rephrase his question, "is your brother sick?"

"That's the thing - I don't know. Don is avoiding us and especially me since I've confronted him with the pattern." Charlie played with the bottle, letting the pills rattle.

"And this is your trump card? The key to unlock his reluctance in disclosing his troubles?" Larry held out his hand and accepted the bottle. Reading the label, a deep frown settled on his features. "Isn't this something against nausea?"

"Exactly. But I don't know why he would need it." Charlie leaned back in his chair.

Larry held up the bottle and let the light break through the dark plastic. On his face, the shadows from the bottle highlighted his pensive expression. "If you really want to know, you need to ask Don. He is the only one who could answer you."

"I did!" Charlie jumped up. "But he is evading my questions." He paced behind his desk until he had calmed down again.

Sitting back down, Charlie tried to solve this problem rationally. "Did Megan tell you anything?"

Slowly, Larry shook his head. "She has been asking about you but without providing any context or specific questions."

Charlie tapped with his fingers on the top of his desk as he mulled over the new information. "So she probably knows whatever is going on," Charlie murmured. He stared at the door, already planning his next move. If necessary he would go for it.

Charlie swallowed hard. It was one thing to ask Don, it was another to go behind his back and ask Megan. But he wanted, no, needed to know.

Beside the strange behavior Don was really sick. At first, they had believed his assurances but then he had started refusing to join them for dinner at all, was pale and distracted and then he even declined to eat rib-eye. Alan had joined him in his worry but was still waiting for Don to come to them. Charlie hadn't had the patience and so he was back on his mission.

His hands were damp while his heart beat faster than usually. A quick glance around the office confirmed his calculations about the best time to approach Megan. Don was nowhere to be seen, and David and Colby also were out. Only Megan's blond hair was visible above the separators.

Charlie slowed, doubting the wisdom of his intentions but before he could retreat, Megan spotted him.

"Hi Charlie!" A smile bloomed on her face. "Nice to see you. What you're doing here?"

Holding up a bag, Charlie took a deep breath and continued on his dangerous path. "I just wanted to bring this back. Don had forgotten it."

At Megan's raised eyebrow, Charlie rattled the bag. The tattletale sound of pills in a bottle let Megan's questioning gaze morph into one of understanding. "Put it on his desk."

Her answer confirmed what Charlie had already assumed - she knew. Don had told her. It couldn't be a real secret if even the FBI and his team knew it. He put the bag down on Don's desk and waited.

But she remained silent, concentrating on her work.

If Charlie had hoped that she would just tell him what he wanted to know, he was sorely disappointed. He had to be the one to ask. "Is everything okay? Don even said no to rib-eye."

Without looking up, Megan answered: "Yes, nausea is normal."

"Normal for what?" Charlie shot back.

Now Megan looked up and regarded him with an unreadable look. "Did you talk to Don?"

"Of course," Charlie lied and fixed a smile on his face. He was tempted to list all the questions he had asked and all the times had been rebuked. If he'd told her, she would also send him back to Don. With great difficulty he kept silent.

But Megan just waited. She probably knew that he wouldn't hold out for long. Just as he opened his mouth to explain his reasoning and need to know, Colby arrived with a file in his hand.

"Hi Charlie," Colby said distracted and interrupted the standoff between Megan and Charlie. "Great news for our forgery case." He handed the file to Megan. "This is going to be the last nail in their coffin."

Megan aborted the discussion with Charlie, grabbed the file and scanned the pages. She started to grin. "I'm going to bring this to Don. Let's see what he says."

Colby raised his hand in agreement and sat down at his desk. "So," he glanced to Charlie, "how's Don? I heard the stuff makes you so sick that it's almost not worth the trouble."

"What stuff?" Charlie asked.

With his chin, Colby pointed to bag on Don's desk. The bottle has rolled out of the bag and was now visible on the surface. "The post exposure prophylaxis therapy - you know in case the needle was unclean. Needle stick injuries are a real danger for HIV and hepatitis. I know these things ..."

Charlie's whole world was swallowed in a dark abyss with these words: post-exposure prophylaxis therapy. He had been worried about long term consequences from the overdose, trouble with the DA because of the shooting and all the while they had feared that Don had been infected with HIV or hepatitis. They had more than enough reason to worry – the man, Chandler, had never bothered to even ask the women he dated, he had drugged them. He hadn't practiced a safe lifestyle and probably didn't use clean needles.

He couldn't hear Colby over the noise in his ears anymore. It was as if somebody had tuned up the sound, drowning out every word. Only the echos of post-exposure prophylaxis, HIV and hepatitis played in his head over and over again.

Suddenly the piece fell together. Don's inability to shake it off as nothing, the alarm timer on his cell phone, his pale complexion even days after he had left the hospital, his non-existing appetite, his refusal to talk about it. He had to deal with the fear of a possible infection.

In Charlie's mind the image of his dying mother morphed into Don's. He had seen enough pictures of sick men dying as AIDS had taken hold on them. Having analyzed pattern of passing on and rates of virulence, he knew the facts, he knew the statics.

"Charlie?" Megan was back and touched his shoulder. "What's going on? Do you feel sick?"

He shook his head. He wasn't sick. His brother ... his brother ... he couldn't finish the thought.

"What happened?" Megan asked but her glare was fixed on Colby.

"I've only asked him about Don," Colby justified his question.

Megan cursed. Then she rolled her eyes and muttered Don's name, adding something that sounded like 'stupid'.

"Charlie," she leaned forward and raised his chin with her index finger until he had to look at her. "It's prophylaxis. It is standard procedure if you get nicked with an unclean needle of unknown origin. We're still checking, but none of the women we have already identified was ill or HIV positive. It's a precaution because it works best -"

"Two to twelve hours after a possible exposure," Charlie finished with a monotone voice. "But you don't know where Chandler has gotten the syringe from and who else could have touched it." Her warm hand left his shoulder. The cold crept back into his bones.

Slowly, with a smile fixed firmly on her face, she shook her head. "No, that's the reason for the prophylaxis. But the hospital had already started the first dose before we had secured the syringe. Everything worked well. It's going to be okay. Nothing happened and if something has happened, it will work."

Mechanically, Charlie nodded. Behind Megan, he spotted his brother.

Charlie had known that Don had been hiding something but he couldn't believe that he had neither thought about PEP nor had found it in his research. It wasn't a law enforcement protocol but a medical protocol unrelated to an overdose. Not a technical problem or problems with the rich mother of the murderer, were causing Don's behavior. It was something so small it wasn't even visible to the naked eye, and yet it could and did kill people.

Unwanted knowledge about rates of infection entered his mind and the high risk of a deep needle stick. There was only one disease that had a hundred percent killing rate, and maybe it was one step away from claiming his brother.

Don raised his head and looked to Charlie. Confusion settled on his face. Charlie didn't know how he looked or acted, he only knew one thing - he had to get out. He needed new numbers, better numbers. Numbers that promised him healing and security.

"Charlie?"

Ignoring his brother call, he stumbled to the elevator.

"Charlie?" Don called again. His brother, the one who had done it again - hiding his fear, hiding it from his family. And suddenly fear Charlie only seldom felt, shook him from within.

"Charlie, wait!"

HIV prophylaxis. Charlie couldn't think about anything else. The elevator doors closed before Don could reach him. A hundred percent rate of death in case of AIDS. Lifelong medication if he had been infected with HIV.

Charlie closed his eyes, trying desperately to stop the numbers.

TBC

A/N Tomorrow, it's Don's turn; then Charlie and Don are going to have to talk.

Thank you for reading.

07/02/2018 Minor grammar and spelling corrections.