Reality came painfully. Charlie blinked apathetically as his pupils readjusted themselves under the sudden onslaught of imagery. His surroundings began to swim into view and with a start Charlie realized he was in an office. He lay lengthwise on a black couch, across from a small kitchenette. A white-faced clock sat above a sink, hands at 3:00.
He tried blinking the swollenness from his eyelids unsuccessfully and diverted his efforts to lifting his head up. Unfortunately, he seemed to have a crick in his neck.
Charlie groaned in exasperation and closed his eyes again, alleviating the sensation of graininess that opening them brought. What the hell was wrong with him?
He was going to try moving again or die trying. This time, the mathematician tried rolling his legs off the couch and pushing up. Charlie realized a second too late that this was not the best idea – achy pain radiated over his entire body and a heavy weight pressed on him as if he had been buried in sand.
What the hell happened?
Charlie could not conjure a single thought.
Looking around the glass room, he recognized the drab grey décor of the FBI.
"Hey buddy."
Charlie's pulse jumped and tripled in rhythm.
"Jesus chri- Don, don't scare me like that!" Charlie turned to glare at his brother.
The agent blended into the darkness perfectly, his charcoal suit and black shirt obscuring him as he leaned against the fridge.
"You've been out for a while," Don observed quietly. Charlie looked at him, brows furrowed.
"You do remember how you got here?" Don asked dubiously. Charlie looked at him blankly again. Don groaned and pinched his nose with a hand. It hadn't been his brother's fault exactly, but Don hoped he never saw something like that again. It was typical, the whole working until he fell over charade that his brother performed again and again.
Charlie cleared his throat nervously, running a hand over a five o' clock shadow that traced his jawline. "I uh, take it I passed out?" he asked softly.
"Four days Charlie," Don said incredulously, "four days without sleep. What were you thinking?"
The memories came flooding back, along with a massive headache. Charlie grimaced and bent down between his knees. When he spoke his voice was muffled.
"It was the NSA Don. It was bad – nobody slept."
Don drained the last of his coffee, which had long since gone cold. "Charlie, you know you can't keep doing this to yourself."
"What do you want me to do?" Charlie re-emerged from his legs. He glared at Don with as much energy as he could muster. "We had to save those hostages, and I had to do the same thing for the NSA."
Don stared at his brother, feeling a distinct sadness settle on him as he watched his brother duck his head again.
"You should clean that up," he said eventually.
"What?"
Don gestured at his brother, and then realized Charlie had no idea what he was talking about.
"Aw "c'mon, here, let me do it."
Charlie watched in confusion as Don wet a paper towel and kneeled down in front of him. "What? No – I can –"
"Shut up Charlie."
Charlie tried to grab the wet cloth but failed as Don jerked it out of his reach.
"Don…"
"You've got blood on your mouth. Just let me wipe it for god's sake."
A nosebleed. That was probably why there was a drum beating in his head. Charlie sighed but let his brother hold his jaw and wipe the crusted remnants away. He looked towards the ceiling awkwardly but Don concentrated on methodically wiping. Charlie was surprised by his gentleness but didn't say anything. If he had to put a word to it, he would've called it tender.
Don finished and stood up to toss the damp cloth.
The sound of a thump and groan of pain made Don spin around, only to find his brother facedown on the ground.
"Goddammit Charlie," Don fell down to his knees again, this time to haul his brother up by the shoulders. "How many times have you done this?"
The guilty silence that followed told Don all he needed to know.
"Are you ready to get up now?" He asked wryly.
"Yeah."
Charlie smiled ruefully. Feeling rather like a newborn, he managed to stand up, leaning heavily on his brother as his legs stuttered beneath him.
The brothers found themselves in an unexpected hug.
"Uh, Charlie.."
"I know. My legs…"
Charlie felt strangely depressed as he pulled himself from the awkward embrace.
Don watched Charlie's face carefully, keeping a firm grip on his shoulders as they began to walk towards the door. They were a few feet away when he noticed his brother's eyes had slid shut again.
"I don't think we're going to be able to get you home buddy."
The mathematician mumbled something that sounded a lot like agreement.
"Let's get you back to the couch." Carefully, they re-tracked their movements.
Charlie fell back with a groan. He attempted to wave his brother away, but after hearing nothing, he cracked his eyes open and glared over at the armchair in the corner. "Go home. I'm fine here," he said hoarsely. "You should be the one sleeping on this couch anyway," he added.
Don looked at his brother, cracking a smile. "No way bro, I haven't been the one up four days straight. Just go to sleep already." His eyes crinkled as he watched the genius's head almost instantly loll to the side.
I don't know what he's talking about, expecting me to leave him here alone, Don thought. Like hell he would. And who the hell did the other agencies think they were, abusing him like this?
Don scowled into the darkness.
Outside of the break room, the sixth floor was illuminated only by a handful of desk lamps. The chemical aura of the fluorescent lights overhead had disappeared under the cloak of darkness and an almost empty office. It was 3 AM and only a few dedicated agents remained, pushing themselves to close unresolved cases.
Don Eppes sat with a coffee in hand and stared at the softly snoring consultant on the couch nearby. He had his own paperwork to complete and hours of sleep to catch up on but for the moment he was content to sit in the solace of silence and think. He wouldn't be able to sleep regardless; it had occurred to him that while his brother wasn't a field agent, there were other dangers that were liable to pursue him. And he would be damned if he was going to have another heart attack for any reason even remotely related to that.
His shaky breath disturbed the peaceful equilibrium that had fallen. A seasoned agent and he could still be unsettled. The FBI agent pursed his lips tightly. Don recalled his brother's body in his arms, the lightness of it. He'd heard the saying "he ain't heavy, he's my brother," but he was pretty sure that wasn't what it was supposed to mean. He felt just as insubstantial as he had when he was a kid, small and liable to slip through his fingers.
Goddamit Charlie, don't do this to me. Don't do this to me now. A deepening crease was manifesting between the agent's eyebrows.
Yeah, his brother was going to hear a few words when he woke up. But for now, Don would continue his vigil.