Author's note: All the usual disclaimers apply – I don't own the show or the characters, only the words on this page. This takes place in season 4, immediately after 'Primacy', with minor references to a number of earlier episodes and a foreshadowing of Charlie reading the Vanity Fair article in 'Graphic'. As always, I'd love to hear what you think.
Hidden variables
by BHP
Charlie was buzzing with energy, in perpetual motion around the kitchen as Alan tried to put a meal together for the two of them. Amita had meetings at CalSci tonight, which Alan deeply regretted. She might have been able to settle Charlie down. She appeared to be able to get Charlie to do any number of things that he wasn't prepared to do for anyone else.
Charlie kept picking things up, like the salt and pepper shakers, and then putting them down again somewhere other than where he'd found them. Making Alan's attempts to cook even more difficult. His youngest was, of course, totally oblivious to the effects of his behaviour, as he kept going over the events of the day.
Alan listened with only partial attention as Charlie rambled. He'd heard this same set of disjointed sentences and questions at least five times already. The first few times he'd just let Charlie talk, thinking that listening to this was better than watching Charlie hide out in the garage with P vs NP. Now, he wasn't as sure anymore. Which was why he planned to start answering back this time around. Whether Charlie would actually hear him remained to be seen.
"I don't know what Don was thinking today, letting Amita go and meet someone like that. Someone who'd already killed a man, tried to kill Colby. Didn't he think about what could happen?"
"Charlie, I'm sure Don thought very carefully before doing anything."
"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Charlie paused for a moment before resuming his stream of words. "I would have thought so, too. But just look at what he let happen today."
"He didn't let anything happen, Charlie."
"Okay, bad choice of words, I guess. But he didn't keep Amita safe when he could have. And I asked him what he was thinking, you know, and do you know what he said to me?"
Alan rolled his eyes slightly, glad that Charlie was behind him and unable to see. "No, Charlie. What did he say?" The long-suffering tone escaped Charlie's notice completely.
"He said, 'I know' and 'I'm sorry'. But he wouldn't even explain himself. Tell me why. Or what he was thinking when he let her go."
Alan had some idea of what Don had been thinking, but he had no intention of trying to explain it to Charlie. Even if Charlie were willing to hear the explanation from him, it would be better if it came from Don. Alan was glad that he'd taken the time to talk to Don that morning. He had to admit that the conversation hadn't started well, which was his fault. But during his talk with Don, he had made his peace with what had happened. Charlie would have to find his own way to come to terms with Don's reasons, and Alan only hoped that Don wouldn't leave it too long before trying to explain everything to Charlie. He'd made Don promise to talk to Charlie soon, and Alan knew his eldest took his promises very seriously. But for the sake of his sanity, he really hoped Don wouldn't wait too long.
"You know, I really thought we were getting it right."
"Getting what right?" This was a new tangent and Alan paid closer attention.
"The whole brother and friends thing. I thought we were getting past all the baggage. We were getting to be friends as well. But now, now I just don't know." Charlie trailed off and Alan suddenly started to see the whole picture. Charlie was angry about the danger Amita had been in, but he was also angry at what he saw as a betrayal of the friendship he believed that he and Don shared. And beyond that, Charlie was afraid that in spite of everything, in spite of all the progress he thought he'd made, he still hadn't figured out how to be friends with his brother.
"I'm sure you're still friends, Charlie." Alan aimed for matter-of-fact, suggesting that any other idea was ridiculous. "And you have the math to prove it."
"It looks that way, doesn't it?" Charlie suddenly stopped, deflated, and slumped against a cupboard. "Do you know why I really worked that math out?"
"To figure out how to make friends in high school?"
"That too." Charlie looked out the window, staring at the garden, although twilight had dimmed everything into a subtle blur of shape and colour. "I was trying to figure out how to make Don like me. How to get my brother to be my friend. And even now, he's the one person I can't get a handle on with that math. Anyone else, yeah, but not him."
"Maybe that's because he'll never just be your friend, Charlie." Alan spotted the disappointment in his youngest son's eyes, but waited until he had Charlie's full attention. "And that's not a bad thing. He'll never just be your friend, Charlie, because he will always be your brother as well."
Charlie looked a little stunned to realise that he'd missed a variable, that there even was some sort of hidden variable. Sometimes Charlie tended to forget that a lot of things in life weren't glaringly obvious. And he always forgot that Don played everything very close to the vest. Reminding Charlie of that fact tended to set him off on new mental explorations. So Alan saw the distraction forming like a distant cloud on a summer day, as Charlie stepped away from the cupboard, renewed energy obvious in his quick movements.
"No. You're not going outside to try putting that into your theory. And before you tell me that's not what you're planning, I've seen that look on your face too many times." Alan pointed at the food he was preparing and carried on. "You're going to eat with me first and then you can go out there and cover yourself in chalk dust."
"I don't do that."
"You do. You always have. You probably always will. And you'll waste your time proving what we all already know and can see." Charlie looked vaguely mutinous at that, and Alan laughed. "But it's your time to waste, and if that's what you want to do … Just promise me that you'll get some sleep at some point."
Charlie laughed, albeit a touch embarrassed, then nodded. A smile on his face, he helped Alan finish putting their meal together.
00-01-11-10-00
The house seemed dark as he approached from down the block. Don thought that the porch light was on. He hoped it was the only light on in the house, then hated himself for the feeling of relief that filled him at the idea that he could leave now, just drive away, and put this conversation off for another day. Or never. But ignoring the issue wouldn't solve anything.
The situation with Liz was bad enough. The uncertainty of what their relationship was, and where it was heading, or not heading, nagged at him daily. He really didn't want to be in a similar situation with Charlie. If he'd learned nothing else since he'd started talking to Bradford, it was that he couldn't live his life without Charlie in it. And if that meant forcing himself to have a conversation he'd rather avoid, and probably end up saying things he'd rather leave unsaid – well, he guessed that was the price of keeping the most important relationship in his life on track. Put like that, he'd pay the price gladly.
Don eased himself out of the car, closed the door quietly and keyed the remote, waiting to hear the doors lock before moving off. His hand brushed against his holster as he slipped the keys into the pocket of his jeans. It was funny – in a very peculiar way – how he never went anywhere without his gun anymore. He didn't expect to need it tonight, but letting his guard down could be foolish. Complacency got people killed.
His sneakers made almost no sound as he strolled towards the house, changing course toward the garage when he saw a light shining from the window. At least Charlie was still awake. Hopefully, his brother was calm enough to listen rationally.
Don winced as he recalled his father's comments on today's events. Alan understood that Amita had volunteered to draw out the killer hiding behind the Primacy game. He'd even understood why Don had felt that he had no choice to accept her help, as she knew the game so well. But that didn't change how Alan felt about the ways things had gone.
"Don, Amita could have been killed."
"I know that, Dad." Don sighed heavily. "Believe me, I know. Why do you think I had Colby watching her back and tracking her?"
Don glanced around the bullpen and saw a few too many interested faces. He walked towards the unoccupied break room, leading his father out of earshot of the rest of the office. He could see a number of heads turn to watch and then focus back on their own work when he closed the door and cut off any chance of them hearing anything interesting.
"And that didn't really help things, did it?" Alan wasted no time in speaking his mind.
"I know it may not look like it to someone like you, but it did."
"To someone like me?"
"Yeah. Just like you. Someone too emotionally invested in what was going on."
"Too emotionally invested? Is that your way of saying that I don't think clearly?" Alan was building up a good head of anger. Don had seen this before, and it was never pretty.
"No." Don bit his lip hard to hold back the words that begged to be spoken. "Not really. You were thinking about Amita."
"Who else would I have been thinking of?"
The tone was acid to Don, the hidden implication that Don himself was somehow at fault for not feeling the same way. Don flinched slightly at the thought of being at odds with his father again, but sometimes, he just didn't know how to explain something that was so clear to him that it didn't need words.
"Look, I'm saying this wrong." Don dragged a hand through his hair in frustration, leaving it rumpled, before leaning heavily against the counter behind him. "You should be thinking about Amita. But you're only thinking about her now."
Don raised a hand to quiet the question he could see forming in his father's confusion. At least it looked as though he'd get to finish the explanation now.
"I was thinking about her now, too. That's why I sent Colby. But I also had to think about Amita in the future, and how to keep her safe then."
Alan took a step towards Don and leaned against the counter as well. He shook his head and sighed and Don could see a lot of the anger fade away.
"What am I missing here?"
"If we hadn't stopped him now, he might have gone after Amita tomorrow, or next month, or in three years. Maybe he wouldn't have, but maybe he would. He thought she had a million dollars and he wanted it. Amita wouldn't have been the first person he killed."
"I should have known you'd have a good reason." Alan had paled at Don's explanation and now reached out to pat Don on the shoulder. "I should have known better than to question your judgement."
"No. Don't stop." Don pushed off from the counter and faced his father. "Sometimes I wonder if I question my motives enough. It's good to have a backup."
"Well then, consider me your backup." Alan's smile was strained but determined. "I hate to add to everything you're dealing with now, Donnie, but you need to tell Charlie what you just told me."
"He doesn't want to hear it, Dad. He's angry at me right now, too angry to listen. He hasn't actually spoken to me since we arrested the guy, and I don't think he's planning on changing that any time soon."
"Well, promise me you won't leave it too long. You know your brother." Alan straightened up and waited for Don to nod, before moving to the door and heading through it, towards the elevator to the lobby.
Don sagged back against the counter and considered his options. He did know Charlie. And he knew his dad was right. The sooner he cleared the air, the better. But right now, he had other priorities – like locking up the guy who had wanted to hurt Amita. Pouring a cup of coffee, he firmly placed his attention back on the job. Charlie would have to wait until later.
Now it was later. Amazing how later could come so quickly when you were dreading it, but never soon enough when you were looking forward to it. Don shook his head, amused at the thought. He knew he was delaying when he glanced back toward the house and wished more lights were on. But it was obvious that his father had already gone to bed, leaving him with no option but to talk to the person he'd really come to see. Bracing himself for whatever reaction was going to come his way, Don stepped into the garage.
"Hey, Charlie."
"Don."
Charlie didn't turn to face him, still working on some arcane squiggle of numbers and Greek letters on the chalkboard in front of him. The only thing Don was sure of with one glance was that it wasn't P vs NP. He was no mathematician, but he'd seen that particular set of squiggles too often to mistake it. Although, taking a second look, he did think that what Charlie was currently working on looked strikingly familiar.
"How're you doing, Charlie?"
"Just fine." The hint of buried anger didn't surprise Don at all.
"It's okay if you're not, you know. You and Amita both."
Charlie's fingers tightened convulsively on the chalk he was holding, knuckles showing white. From the chalk dust in his hair, Don guessed that his brother had been out in the garage for more than a couple of hours. No doubt letting his imagination run wild with all the seemingly endless ways that things could have ended today. Every way except the reality: Amita safe in Charlie's arms.
"Why would we not be fine, Don? You clearly are."
Charlie's words sliced into Don like shards of ice, flaying little pieces of his heart open to bleed.
"Whether I am, or not, doesn't matter, Charlie." Don wasn't coping all that well with the thought of what could have happened, and he'd also spent a lot of time today thinking about it. Unlike Charlie, though, he had experience as well as imagination to fuel his thoughts, and experience was a merciless teacher. Luckily, he had more practice at hiding his emotions.
"What does matter, is that I came here to say I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what, Don? How it ended? That you sent her? That you didn't think about me, or her, before you acted?"
Don bit his lip and walked past Charlie, further into the garage. He needed to talk to Charlie, but nothing said he had to look him in the eye for every second of the conversation. He looked at his father's tools, the stacked boxes, even Charlie's chalkboards, and tried to let his mind clear. He hadn't meant to hurt Charlie, but sometimes he just didn't seem to be able to do anything right.
"I don't want to fight with you, Charlie." Don dug in his pocket for his keys. This had been a bad idea, and the best thing he could do was leave and try again when more time had passed. When everything wasn't still so raw. "I'll come back tomorrow sometime. Maybe we can talk then."
00-01-11-10-00
"Amita says you called her sweetheart."
Charlie offered the words hesitantly, anxious to keep Don from leaving. He was still angry at Don, angry about what his brother had done, but he couldn't ignore the defeated set to Don's shoulders. Don seldom looked as though he needed any help in coping with life and all its difficulties. But right now, his big brother looked as if he was carrying a load beyond bearing.
"I did?" The question was quiet, as Don turned back toward Charlie.
"You know you did. I can see it in your face."
"Okay, fine. I did." Don sighed, shoved the keys back in his pocket and moved back into the garage. Charlie felt relief fill him as Don walked past him to wander aimlessly in the space behind Charlie. Charlie turned to watch Don, trying to read his brother's emotions in his actions. If only his understanding of people's emotions matched Don's abilities in that area. But he'd have to resign himself to never being quite as good at some things – many things – as Don was.
"Why?"
"Why what? Why did I call her that?" Charlie nodded and saw Don's tiny smile before his brother looked away. "Because she is."
"She is, isn't she?" Charlie knew he sounded besotted, but couldn't be bothered to hide the fact. So what if everyone knew how he felt about Amita? He wanted to shout it from the top of the tallest building on campus and dare anyone to change things. He looked at Don, only to see his brother's sad eyes look away.
"You and Amita are really lucky. You've found that person, that one person who'll stand by you through anything, always take your side and love you because of, and in spite of, everything you are."
For a moment, Don's eloquence stunned Charlie. He was used to reading Don's FBI reports, which had little room for eloquence. Not to mention, his brother wasn't given to long speeches of any sort, far less emotional ones. Don felt safe enough to talk openly to Charlie, in spite of how badly Charlie had treated him that morning. That was an unexpected gift, and the sudden insight made Charlie choose his words very carefully.
"I hadn't actually thought about it like that, Don, but yeah, I guess so."
"It's rare, Charlie. Rare and special." Don rubbed his eyes and Charlie realised just how tired Don looked. "I should have known, I suppose."
"Known what?"
"That this was something else that you'd be better at than I am."
"What are you talking about? You've got Liz."
"I'm not sure I do. Maybe I never did."
"Come on, Don. That's not true." There was a sense of desperation to Charlie's thoughts now. Don seemed so lost and despairing, so unlike the strong, confident brother he admired so much.
"Maybe, maybe not. I'm just not sure. And doesn't that just say it all?"
Charlie wanted to say something, do something, to pull Don out of the depth of his thoughts, but he just wasn't sure what that something should be. And then the opportunity was gone.
00-01-11-10-00
"You know, I think Amita has been good for you. Before today, you would never have stood up to me like that." Don wasn't sure whether he was pleased, proud, or appalled. Charlie needed to be able to stand his ground better, something he'd always had trouble with as a child. But the idea that Charlie would use Don as a test case was … irritating.
"Yeah, well." Charlie ducked his head, faint embarrassment colouring his cheeks. "I was angry. Still am, actually."
"I know. That's why I came tonight. To say … to tell you … I'm sorry, Charlie. Really."
"What were you thinking, Don? How could you send her to do something so dangerous?"
"Charlie, she volunteered. You heard her say so." Don was more than willing to take the blame for most of what had happened, but that didn't mean he was going to let Charlie run roughshod over him.
"Well, why didn't you stop her, then?"
"Really? Have you ever tried to stop Amita doing something she wants to do?"
"Yeah." Charlie's reluctant answer was telling.
"I'm guessing that it didn't go well."
"You could say that."
"Besides, Charlie, it's not like I really had a choice. I had to send her."
"I find that hard to believe. You've got an office full of trained agents and you pick the civilian? It doesn't make sense, Don."
Don turned away from Charlie, wishing there was some other way to convince Charlie, but it seemed that only the unvarnished truth would work.
"She wasn't safe. She might never have been safe again." He heard Charlie's foot scrape against the floor as he came closer. He spoke quickly, eager to get the rest out before Charlie could see his face, see how difficult the decision had been for him. "He knew who she was. Who she really was. Not in the game, but in the real world."
He heard Charlie's gasp and turned to see his brother's face pale.
"How? How could he know?" Charlie's agitation grew with every word and Don wondered whether he should have said anything at all. Then Charlie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Don could see him working for control and waited patiently.
"I don't know, buddy. I'm not a computer expert. All I know for sure is that he knew everything – her address, CalSci, her social security number – everything."
"Oh, crap." Charlie hardly ever swore, and even now it amused Don that he would choose such a mild word. Don had a much wider range.
"Yeah. You could say that."
Don sighed and leaned against the edge of one of Charlie's chalkboards. It was the same one he'd seen his name on a few weeks earlier, when Leah had been murdered. Now it was filled with other calculations. Don mused on that for a moment, realising that things changed, whether you wanted them to or not. People died, no matter how hard you tried to protect them. But sometimes, you got lucky. Sometimes, things went very right and everyone went home, whole and safe. Like today.
"I didn't want to send her. I know you and Dad think I'll do whatever I have to for a case, and I admit that I have been known to push the limits. But today, I really didn't want to do it."
"Okay." Charlie nodded slowly, gradual understanding filling his eyes. "I get that. I do. But Don, when Larry told me where she was … Do you have any idea … I can't lose her, Don. Can you even imagine how scared I was?"
"I don't have to imagine. I know exactly how scared you were, Charlie." Don saw the disbelief that flitted across Charlie's face. "Remember how I told you not to work on that case involving the Russian mob?"
"I still don't get what your problem was with that."
"You don't get it." Don shook his head at just how obtuse his genius brother could be. "Charlie, they showed up at CalSci. Here at the house. They knew who you were, where you lived, what you are to me."
"Yeah, so? Nothing bad happened."
"But it could have. Don't you get it, Charlie? It was the exact same situation."
Charlie stared at Don for long moments, then shuddered suddenly as if someone had just dumped ice water down his back.
"But you weren't afraid."
"Wasn't I?" How cold did Charlie think he was?
"Really?" The question was faint and somewhat shocked.
"What do you think, genius?"
"So, pulling me off the case wasn't about the math."
"Not everything is about you and your work, Charlie. Not directly. Sometimes it's about me. About what I can handle."
"You can handle anything." The faith and belief in those four words nearly broke Don.
"No, buddy, I can't. I couldn't handle losing you. Not again."
"You've never lost me, Don."
"So you didn't decide to walk home from a campsite one night when you were eight?"
"I told you, I wasn't lost."
"Yeah, but I didn't know that. So from where I'm standing, you were. And I did lose you."
Charlie's face softened at that and Don finally dared to hope that he'd managed to explain things well enough that they could finish this conversation peacefully.
"I get it now." Charlie's voice was soft and he crossed the room to lean on the board as well, close enough that his shoulder brushed against Don's arm.
"You know, you're just so complicated."
The quiet comment caught Don off guard and he swallowed a snort of laughter.
"I'm complicated?"
"Yeah. With you, there's always a reason for what you do. But then there's a reason behind that one, and then one behind that one, and then another." Charlie shook his head. "Like I said – complicated."
Now Don did laugh, amused at a description that was so far removed from how he saw himself. He was really such a simple guy.
"It's not complicated; it's really simple. Is it the right thing to do, and does someone need to do it?"
Charlie sighed dramatically and gave Don a good-natured shove.
"See, I was right. Complicated."
Don waited for a moment, wondering if Charlie had anything else to say. But the silence grew and eventually Don pushed himself away from the board and took a step towards the door.
"I'm sorry, too." Charlie sounded faintly ashamed.
"What for? You didn't do anything wrong."
"Neither did you." Charlie smiled. "I understand that now. I would have got there on my own, you know. Eventually. But I'm glad you came around tonight, I got there quicker. Which is why I have to apologise for yelling at you like that."
"It's fine."
"I shouldn't have done that in front of your team. I made you look …"
"Like a guy who put his brother's girlfriend in danger." Don's words cut off Charlie's original thought. "They get it."
"I know. But still, you deserve more respect from me than that. I know how hard your job is. I know how it wears you down sometimes, and I shouldn't have made it harder for you."
An unfamiliar swell of emotion – love, exasperation, tenderness – swamped Don for a second, and he had to wait a moment before he could speak.
"It was an unusual situation. And you know, usually, buddy, you make things better. Not worse."
Charlie ducked his head and stared at the piece of chalk he was still holding. He turned it over a few times, then leaned to the side to set it down on the ledge at the front of the board. Don thought it odd how Charlie was always happy to be the centre of attention when it came to math, but looked as if he wanted to run and hide when things got personal. It was one of those odd little quirks they actually shared. Don didn't want to be the focus of too much attention either, unless he was dealing with a criminal about to get his just desserts. Then, he wanted to be the focus of their world, just so that they were very clear on what their future was going to hold.
He yawned and rolled his shoulders. Now that he'd sorted things out with Charlie, the long day was starting to tell on him.
"Are we good now, buddy?"
"Yeah." Charlie's smile was sweet and forgiving. "We're definitely good. Better than good, even."
"Glad to hear it." Another yawn escaped and Don pulled his keys out of his pocket. "I'm going to head out, then."
"You're not too tired to drive?" Charlie's voice followed Don to the door.
"I'm fine, Charlie." Don paused in the doorway. "Would you and Amita be able to spare us some time tomorrow?"
"Loose ends?" Charlie's voice carried a trace of something that sounded a lot like amusement. "We did the statements today, but we've already booked out a couple of hours for you. Afternoon okay?"
"Great."
Don headed across the lawn, then turned and smiled at the sight of Charlie silhouetted in the doorway. "I'll look forward to it. Now go get some sleep, Chuck."
"I'm an adult, Donald."
"True. But I'll always be your big brother – it's my job to look after you."
Don walked away then, laughing when he heard Charlie deliberately step into the garage and close the door. Charlie would play with more math now, for just long enough to make his point.
Don headed for the driveway, keys already in hand, before he noticed that the kitchen light was now burning. He detoured that way, slipping the keys back into his pocket. Another few minutes wouldn't hurt, and he could tell his father that he'd talked to Charlie, just as he'd promised he would.
00-01-11-10-00
Alan stared out of the kitchen window at the lighted garage. His copy of Charlie's book lay on the table behind him. After what Charlie had said about his reasons for working out the math in the first place, Alan had decided to read the book again. This time, he could see how a deeper understanding of Charlie's motivation actually changed his perception of the book. But it was a private insight, and he would never share it with anyone.
He'd heard Don arrive earlier and had deliberately stayed out of sight. His sons needed to sort things out between themselves, without any outside influences – including him. He was sorry that he'd taken Don to task that morning about his decisions and choices, and he was very glad that his eldest could be so forgiving.
Today had been unusual, for want of a better word. Perhaps interesting was a good word too, but only if you were thinking about the ancient Chinese saying. It had, however, given him a much clearer insight into some of the thinking that went into Don's work, and he was only too ready to admit that his son's world was definitely not for him.
The choices a parent made were difficult, especially when raising a child with needs as all-consuming and special as Charlie's had been. He knew that some of his decisions had been the wrong ones, especially when it came to what Don had needed, but at the time he and Margaret had done the best they could. And both their sons had grown into good men and reasonably well-adjusted adults. But even now, Alan still sometimes second-guessed his choices.
How much worse must it be for Don? He had the interests and fates of many more people to consider every time he set foot in the FBI building. He had to try to do the right thing for all of them, and still somehow reconcile his actions with his own beliefs and conscience. No. Alan shook his head. Don's life was not for him.
Voices broke into his thoughts and he focused on the source. Don was heading out of the garage, laughing at something Charlie had said or done. Well, that was promising. Alan stretched, more relaxed now, and decided to head off to bed. He stopped when he saw Don angle towards the kitchen door. His eldest stepped inside and shook his head in mock despair.
"Spying on your children?"
"Not at all. Just … contemplating."
"Is that like the 'meditating' you all did in the seventies?"
"You laugh, Don, but we had a lot of things right. Focus on the family, the good stuff, not just the money and the fame."
"Okay, I'll give you that one." Don grinned at Alan, and Alan wished he saw that expression more often. "And since we're talking about family, I just wanted to let you know that I talked to Charlie."
"Good to know." Alan looked at the lighted garage. "Does he understand now?"
"He does. He'd have figured it out for himself, you know. He is a genius, after all." Don's smile was just a little sly.
"I know. But even a genius can use a little help now and then." Alan saw the flash of uncertainty on Don's face. "Don't sell yourself short, Donnie. It's usually your help he needs. Or looks for."
"Sometimes, I don't know why."
"You know, you and Charlie are just the same. With him, it's also all about the 'why' all the time."
Alan heard the disbelief in Don's laugh. Then his eldest spotted Charlie's book on the table and crossed the room to pick it up. Don stared at the back and tilted his head slightly.
"Good photo."
"It is, isn't it?" Alan agreed. "I was just reading it again …"
"Again?" Don cut him off. "I haven't even read it once yet."
Charlie had given them both a copy, but Alan hadn't actually expected Don to read it. Don had much more important things to worry about, and along with the frankly ridiculous hours he worked, Alan was sure Don had little time to read.
"I'm pretty sure Charlie doesn't expect us to read it." Alan meant the comment to be helpful, but Don's reaction stunned him.
"Of course I'm going to read it! I know the math will probably still go right over my head, but he's my brother. Come on, Dad, there's never been any doubt that I'm going to read it."
"I didn't mean you weren't going to bother, Donnie." Alan started on the damage control. "But we all know how busy you are. All I meant was that I don't think Charlie gave you a copy to make you feel obligated. I think he just wanted to share it with you, with all of us."
"I know." Don sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "But, honestly, what chance do I have? I couldn't understand it when I was eighteen, why would I suddenly get it now?"
"I remember you reading Charlie's paper then. I was surprised, to be honest." Alan had an idea of why Don had tried to read the paper all those years ago, but he'd much rather Don admitted it himself. After all, Don thought he was a closed book to everyone. But Alan had always been able to get glimpses behind the façade and he would prefer to keep those insights to himself. A parent liked to know what his children were thinking; just enough to let them believe that you were wise enough to have at least some of the answers they were seeking.
"You were surprised. Why? You thought I didn't care what Charlie thought, or did?"
"Oh, no. You always cared, Don. You could never hide that from me." Alan saw the way Don ducked his head to try to hide his smile. "Parents know these things. No, I just always wondered why you picked that paper to read, and not one of his others."
"It was …" Alan waited until Don looked up at, and saw the moment when realisation dawned. Don shook his head. "You're not going to buy the line about picking up girls, are you?"
Alan shook his head, then settled himself against a cupboard. He was prepared to wait for this explanation.
"I just … you know, I could never understand how his mind worked. I wanted to know. I wanted to be able to tell people that my little brother wasn't just some weird little kid." Don laughed quietly as he shook his head slowly. "Okay, yeah, he was a bit weird for a little kid. And granted, he could be really annoying. But still … I wanted to be his friend. I figured if I could find out what he was looking for in a friend, then maybe I could be one. Maybe we could be friends."
Alan congratulated himself on pegging that reasoning exactly right. Don would hate to know just how transparent he could be.
"So, why not just tell him that?"
"Sure. And how, exactly, should I do that? Just walk up to him and say, 'By the way, Charlie, I tried to read your paper in high school so we could be friends.'? I don't think that's quite the way to do it."
"Maybe not quite so blunt." Alan was amused. "But it wouldn't hurt to tell him that you see him as a friend now, as well as a brother."
Don mulled that over for a while, then nodded once.
"Okay. I'll do that. Sometime."
"That's a very definite commitment." Alan couldn't hide the dry tone, and expected the exasperated look it gained him.
"I know.' Don smiled widely. "But when the time is right, I'll tell him."
"When the time is right."
"Yeah. Trust me, I'll know when and how to tell him."
Don pulled his keys out of his pocket again and opened the kitchen door, slipping out quietly.
"Right now, I'm going to get some sleep."
As Don walked to his car, Alan pitched his voice just loud enough to be heard by his eldest, but not by Charlie in the garage. He saw from the momentary hitch in Don's gait that the words had carried clearly.
"Trust you? Always, Donnie."