Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made. Just a short piece involving a relationship we don't see nearly enough of on the show. As always, thanks to Izhilzha for the beta.


CLADDAGH

by

V. Laike

Megan Reeves ran her fingers through her long hair, noting the time on her computer's clock—9:48 p.m. Time to call it a night, she thought. After the intense, adrenaline-filled morning she and her fellow agents had had, she was more than ready to head home to a nice relaxing bath and a good book. Having finished the report detailing her role in the Joe Santiago kidnapping case, she clicked the mouse and listened to her computer's shutdown sequence. She tossed her empty coffee cup into the trash, pushed herself to her feet, and reached around to retrieve her jacket from the back of her chair. As she dug through her purse to find her car keys, she became aware of footsteps approaching from the direction of the elevator.

"Don? What are you doing here so late?" she said as her team leader came into view.

Don Eppes made his way to the break room. Jacket and purse forgotten, Megan followed, watching as he dumped the dregs of the evening's coffee down the sink and started a new pot.

"I could ask you the same thing," Don replied evasively. "Is there something I should know about?"

"I was just getting ready to head home." Megan gave her friend an assessing look. "I thought you and Liz were going out for dinner."

Don leaned against the counter, looking at his watch as the coffee maker burbled to life. He gave a half shrug. "Yeah, well . . . she called it an early night, and I didn't really want to head back to an empty apartment."

Megan nodded noncommittally. This wasn't really like Don. If he didn't go to his apartment, he usually went to Charlie's house. Don himself admitted that he practically lived there. He looked tired and despondent, and Megan figured she should probably tread lightly.

"What about Charlie's?"

"Nah." Don shook his head as he retrieved the milk from the small fridge below the counter. An obvious attempt at avoidance, Megan observed, but she refused to be put off.

"Why not?"

"I just don't feel like playing Twenty Questions tonight." He looked at her like she was supposed to take a hint. She chose not to.

"He knew you were going out with Liz, huh."

Don sighed. "I've got some things I need to work on here anyway."

Megan eyed Don thoughtfully. "You want to come over to my place?" she offered lightly, hoping he'd accept her spontaneous invitation.

"What?" Don looked up from stirring his coffee with an expression of startled bemusement.

"Sure," Megan said. "I'll pop popcorn, we can have a glass of wine, maybe a couple of beers, and you can tell me what's wrong. Or we can watch the Alva/Ellis fight on TiVo."

"You recorded the fight?"

"Oh, yeah!" Megan gestured animatedly. "My Krav Maga guys are so excited that we worked the case. I had to see how it turned out."

Don smiled, his eyes crinkling with good humor.

"C'mon." Megan reached past Don to turn off the coffee maker, then linked her arm through his. "I'll introduce you to the melding of martial arts proficiency and testosterone-laden bravado that is UFC fighting."


Forty-five minutes later, Megan had Don ensconced on her couch with a beer in hand, shoes kicked off, feet on the coffee table, and a bowl of popcorn at his side. Megan held a glass of Merlot as she made herself comfortable.

"So, do you want to watch the fight, or would you rather watch a movie?" Megan asked as Don took a pull of his beer.

Don swallowed and wiped his lips before answering. "What have you got?"

"A little bit of everything." She sat next to him on the couch, the bowl of popcorn between them. "Film noir, psychological thriller, mystery, drama, romantic comedies—"

Don laughed in amusement. "I never would have figured you for romantic comedies."

"Let's say I've developed a new appreciation for the genre in the past several months." Her tone was evasive; her smile, flirtatious.

"Ehhhh," Don drawled, his grin growing. "Larry?"

Megan grinned. "Maybe."

" 'Maybe'," Don mimicked with a twinkle in his eye.

"You know how I feel about him." Megan briefly averted her eyes, feeling girlish from the teasing.

Don's smile relaxed. "Yeah, I do. You miss him, don't you."

"Of course I miss him," Megan said, studying Don carefully. This might be a good way to work around to the topic she suspected was bothering him this evening.

Don's gaze shifted to the dark television set as he nodded silently. "Must be nice," he muttered around another pull of beer.

"What?" Megan asked simply.

Don shook his head. "Never mind."

"You want to talk about it?" Megan prodded gently.

"About what?"

"Whatever's bothering you."

"You and Dr. Bradford would get along great."

"Dr. Bradford?"

"Yeah. That's where I was this morning—at a therapy session."

Megan's tone held calm understanding. "That's why you had your phone turned off."

"Yeah."

"So how did it go?"

"We made what you might call a breakthrough." Don took another swig of his beer.

"That's great." Megan's voice was full of encouragement. She shifted on the couch, turning to face Don as she pulled one leg up underneath the other.

"Yeah," Don said after a moment's consideration, sounding confident and pleased. "Yeah, it was."

Megan waited patiently for Don to continue.

"But you're gonna have to get me a lot more buzzed than this if you want to hear about it." He gave her a half-smile.

Taking the hint, Megan went to the kitchen and retrieved another bottle of beer. Then, placing the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, she situated herself as before, waiting for him to continue.

Don tasted the new bottle before speaking. "The gist of the session boiled down to trust," he said. "Learning to trust . . ." He sighed and leaned his head back on the back of the couch. "Man, I don't know . . . to trust my team, to trust that I make a difference. To trust . . ." He trailed off uncertainly. "Oh, man," he whispered, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose before his hand dropped to his lap.

Megan smiled bemusedly. "Of course you make a difference."

Don didn't open his eyes. "Well, thanks," he said simply, but she heard the sincerity in the words.

Megan realized that this was a breakthrough that would take time for Don to absorb, that there would be more for him to work out in the weeks to come. She went with her earlier hunch that this was not what had brought him to the Federal Building at almost ten-o'clock at night.

"So, what happened with Liz?" she asked casually.

Don opened his eyes but did not meet her gaze. He rubbed absently behind his ear. "We went out for dinner. She asked me where I was this morning, and I figured I'd give her a little of my trust. I mean, I trust her with the job, no problem. But I've got this reputation, right?"

"What reputation is that?"

Don looked compulsively at his watch, a maneuver Megan was all too familiar with.

Without a word, Megan reached over and covered the watch face, gently pressing Don's hand back down to his lap. She hoped he would understand the gesture, that there were no time constraints and no threats here.

Don took a deep breath before continuing. "So I figure I'd show her a little bit of trust with my personal life. I told her I had a therapy session."

"How did she react?"

"Not well," Don said wryly. "She's got this thing about keeping it low-key between us. Don't let anyone know."

Megan gave him a small smile. "Well," she said, "that's kind of hard to do when she asks Charlie about you at a crime scene."

"She what?" Don crinkled his brow in displeasure as he met Megan's eye.

"Just something Charlie mentioned a while back. When he and Liz were at the scene looking for Officer Everett's body, she asked him if you'd said anything about her."

"Great," Don said dryly. "And what did he tell her?"

"He told her to talk to you."

Don nodded. "Good."

"So what happened?"

"Well, she asked me if her name came up during the session."

"What did you tell her?"

Don shrugged. "What was I supposed to tell her? This is about trust, right? So I told her the truth—yes, her name came up, but she wasn't a topic of conversation."

Megan nodded, taking a sip of her wine, savoring the fruity tingle and allowing Don the opportunity to continue at his own pace.

"She got a little upset," he said. "Said she'd wanted to keep things quiet, that she didn't want our dating to get out. Said that maybe it was all a mistake, our seeing each other. Then she left."

Megan remained silent.

Don sighed. "Right between the salad and the entrée." He downed another pull from his bottle.

"So where does that leave the two of you?" Megan asked.

Don opened his mouth as if to say something, but he had no reply. He simply shook his head and shrugged dejectedly.

Megan shifted closer to him so they were seated side by side and placed a comforting hand on his leg. "Don't write it off just yet."

Don looked at her sitting next to him. She was sitting close enough that he had to stretch his arm across the back of the couch and lean back slightly to face her comfortably. "What's that?"

"Love. When the right person comes along, it's worth the wait."

Don smiled slowly. "If you say so."

She returned the comfortable smile. Someday. Someday some woman would be wise enough to realize what a catch this man was.

"So, what are we watching?" Megan asked, slapping Don lightly where her hand had rested on his leg. She reached for the remote as he reached for the popcorn.

"Let's watch David's friend pound that Alva guy into the mat," Don said enthusiastically, shifting himself on the couch so that he could comfortably and effectively shout back at the television set when needed.

"You got it." Megan turned on the DVR.


By 12:30 a.m., Ellis had gone four and a half rounds with Alva, and though Alva had won by submission, Ellis's endurance guaranteed that his career as a fighter would be picking up quickly.

Don, however, had missed it. By the second round, his energy had obviously been flagging; by round three, he'd closed his eyes "just to rest them;" and by round four, he'd maneuvered himself into a semi-prone position stretched across three-quarters of the couch. Megan was sure he'd have stayed awake if she'd kept the volume turned up to its initial decibel, but as Don sank into each new level of exhaustion, she'd turned down the volume to accommodate him. She was sure he didn't even realize he'd stretched his feet across her lap; she knew this because of the deep breathing that turned into soft snores when he commandeered the last few inches of the sofa.

Carefully, Megan lifted her friend's feet off her lap and slid out from underneath. She reached for the afghan hanging on the back of the recliner and gently draped it over the exhausted agent. Clicking off the lamp on the end table, she froze in place as Don's breath hitched and he shifted slightly, frowning in his sleep as he tried to gain a more comfortable position. Through the dim glow of the hallway light, she saw his sleepy eyes open.

Megan bent over Don, blocking the light and placing her lips close to his ear. "Shhh. It's okay, Don," she whispered.

"What's wrong?" he slurred. Then, lifting his head, he realized where he was and mumbled blearily, "I should leave." But his head dropped back down as his heavy lids slid closed.

"Nothing's wrong. You're fine. Go back to sleep." She stroked his arm soothingly.

With a deep sigh, he did just that, sinking further into the couch.

Megan shifted her touch and with two fingers gently caressed Don's brow, watching with satisfaction as the frown lines relaxed.

"I'm just taking care of my own."

finis