Repairing the Nest
Alan stretched his arms skyward while twisting his waist, hearing the loud pop in his back. He groaned softly, feeling his age. He looked down at his handiwork: new hinges on the back door of the garage. Alan stooped again to clean up the discarded hardware and to pack up his tools.
It had been a long week for Alan and his wife. He and Margaret had begun to feel the effects of empty nest syndrome when the call from Phoenix had changed that. Now one of the baby birds had come home, with a broken wing. Alan felt happy to mother hen his eldest chick.
Don had not willingly come back to the Craftsman home where he'd grown up in. Margaret had used her lawyer skills to destroy his arguments and petitions, and with a defeated look, the independent FBI agent had returned with them to Pasadena. Despite Don's complaining, Alan could tell he was enjoying being the center of his parents' lives for the moment.
Returning his tool box to the shelf, Alan stepped into the kitchen to get a glass of lemonade. Margaret stood the refrigerator, telephone in hand, talking softly. She turned as she heard Alan enter the kitchen and gave him a smile.
"Okay, honey. I'll have Don give you a call when he wakes up…Yes, Charlie, I'll send you a Dodger's tee-shirt…Bye, sweetie," Margaret hung up the phone. "That was Charlie."
"So I gathered," Alan answered as he retrieved two glasses from the cupboard. "How is he doing? Did he go out with that girl again? What's her name – Susan?"
"Did you want lemonade?" Margaret opened the refrigerator and took out the pitcher before continuing the discussion. "Yes: Susan. He did go out with her again; he's been spending a lot of time with her. I think he is really taken with her. Our little boy is all grown up."
"At least he has someone over there. It's hard enough to keep track of them when they're on this continent, let alone when there is an ocean between us," Alan set the glasses down while she poured the liquid into them. "One boy leaves, and the other comes home. Guess we'll have to postpone that cruise we were going to take.
Margaret chuckled as she picked up her glass and headed for a seat at the kitchen table. She took a drink before absently picking though the mail that had been left there. Alan drank most of his glass quickly before refilling it and sitting down across from Margaret.
"Alan, we need to talk," Margaret said, setting the mail back on the table and facing her husband. "We haven't had a chance to really talk yet, not with Don's injury, and coming home. But I was really hurt by your accusation that I coddled Charlie at the expense of Don. We made that decision together. At least I thought we did."
Alan breathed deeply and looked into her eyes. He knew this discussion was inevitable. "Maggie, I spoke without thinking. I know we both made that choice: that Charlie needed to be given extra attention, to be encouraged with his math. I didn't mean to place the blame entirely on you. I am just as guilty as you are. I remember telling Don he couldn't attend his middle school awards because Charlie had an interview. I remember telling him when he started to cry, that he needed to be the bigger person here, and let Charlie have this, that he'd understand when he was older. What kind of a dad tells a thirteen-year old that his accomplishments aren't good enough to be celebrated." Alan shook his head sadly as he broke eye contact with his wife.
"You think I don't know how this affected Don," she responded. "He is my baby, too. I saw the hurt in his eyes more than once. But he understood, he loved Charlie just as much as we did." Margaret watched as Alan stood up and began to pace.
"And he was born an independent person," Margaret continued. "I can't forget the day when he was only two and he managed to make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He stood right there, on that chair, butter knife in hand spreading the jelly over a piece of bread. He didn't even tell me he was hungry. I knew right then he was going to try and do things himself before he'd ask for help," she smiled at the memory. What she didn't mention to Alan was the mess the two-year old had made: jelly smeared across the table, breadcrumbs on the floor and chair, peanut butter on his hands, face and somehow, in his curly hair. He had turned to look at her with big brown eyes and smiled happily before putting the two pieces of bread together and climbing down from the chair. He hadn't been quite as happy when she'd taken him upstairs for a bath.
"I know he was independent. I just think there was a way we could have handled things differently, that wouldn't have left Don feeling…" Alan paused, searching for the right word, "…ignored."
"We were young, and there aren't any books about how to raise a genius," Margaret took another drink before continuing. "I know Don didn't have the childhood we expected to give him. I know he was often jealous…"
"He wasn't the only one," Alan interrupted, before kicking himself for saying that.
"What?" Margaret said sharply, standing up.
Alan was silent. He tried to sort through the feelings and emotions that churned in his head. He sighed before turning to face Margaret again. "Maggie, I…I just meant that Charlie seemed to take up all of your time at the expense of the family as a whole. We spent so much time focusing on Charlie that we missed opportunities to grow as a family. I missed spending time with my wife, the woman I love."
"What?" Margaret repeated.
"It sounds too terrible, saying it out loud," Alan's voice was barely a whisper. "I am sorry."
"Alan, what are you talking about? You were jealous of Charlie?" Margaret came up behind him and put her arm around his chest. "I know we had problems when I went with Charlie to Princeton, but we did finally agree that Charlie needed me there – he was only thirteen. We made a choice as a family, and one of them was that Charlie needed to explore his gifts. Don was at college as well, there was no one here but you. You choose to stay here, in this house, alone. I am not going to hash this out again, this issue has been closed for sometime now. Alan, we've moved on."
Alan leaned back into her embrace. He hated himself for giving into those childish emotions. "I know. I feel like an idiot when I even think such things. And we did work it out, I just let my worry for Don bring out old fears. Maggie, I love you and I am sorry."
"I love you too, Alan," Margaret said giving him a kiss on his shoulder.
"What's going on in here?" A sleepy voice came from the doorway. His parents turned to see their grown up boy leaning against the wall and looking pale.
"What are you doing up? You're supposed to be off your feet for at least another week," Margaret released Alan and began ushering Don back to the couch. "I agreed to let you sleep on the couch, but only if you stayed put, young man."
"Ahhh, mom," Don said jokingly with a roll of his eyes.
"Not another word, Donnie. Back to the couch for you," she laughed as she pushed him ahead of her and down onto the sofa. "What do you want for dinner, honey?"
"Steak?" Don asked with a hopeful smile, as he allowed his mother to tuck him into the covers.
Margaret laughed, "Okay, little boy. Whatever you want, but for now, you rest." She said over her shoulder as she headed back to the kitchen.
Don closed his eyes but found he couldn't sleep. Instead he wiggled one of his hands out from the covers and reached for the remote – that was just out of reach. He didn't really want to disturb his comfortable position; his mother was still the best at tucking someone in. Just as he had resolved himself to messing up his covers, a hand pushed the remote closer.
"Thanks, dad!" Don said looking up at Alan.
"The Dodgers game is on right now, maybe we could watch it together," Alan answered, giving Don a smile.
"Sounds great. Pull up a chair, dad." Don turned to the game and settled back into the blanket.
A half hour into the game and Alan couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Donnie, I need to tell you something."
"Ohhhh, damn it, where did they get that pitcher from? He's terrible," Don said swinging his arm in frustration. "What'd you say, dad?"
"I said I need to talk with you," Alan stood up and pulled his chair in front of the Don. He took the remote from Don's hand and muted the television. "Donnie, I had an argument with your partner, Agent Cooper, while you were in the hospital. I wasn't very nice to him. It's just that, I felt like there was this canyon between us and I couldn't get to you. And Cooper was keeping you away. I know it is irrational to think like that, but I realized that we never truly fixed things between us."
"Dad," Don suddenly looked tired as he covered his face with his arm. "There is nothing to talk about. I made my choice. I'm good a fugitive recovery, and I am not willing to give it up. It does mean that I can't call you regularly – like I'm sure Charlie can. And Coop is my friend, he has my back, we look out for each other."
Alan bit back the desire to point out that Cooper had failed to look out for Don in this situation. Instead Alan pulled his chair a little closer. "Don, I still don't understand your choice to become an FBI agent. I don't think the hippie in me will ever comprehend why, but I respect you. I know you were always a good boy: you looked out for your brother when you were in school, you always did what you were asked – eventually, you even spent that week with Aunt Irene when she broke her toe and needed someone to help her get around. You rarely complained about anything, and I know you've grown into a good man."
"Charlie takes a lot of looking after, and you and mom still owe me twenty dollars for that week I spent with Aunt Irene," Don said, his dark eyes peeking out from under his arm.
Alan laughed, "I don't have any cash on me right now, but I will catch you later." Alan continued to gaze down at his son before continuing with the serious conversation. "Don, I'm most sorry and ashamed I called you a 'Nazi.' You are too good a man to be demeaned that way. I know now that there is evil in this world, and someone has to stop it. You do what you do because it is necessary. I don't want this between us anymore. I don't want to see you lying in a hospital bed and worry that I missed telling you how proud I am of you. Because I am, Donnie. I am so proud of the man you have become." Alan blew out a puff of air, as he struggled not to get teary-eyed.
Don silently watched his father fighting back the emotions for a moment before sitting up in on the couch and reaching out his hand to touch Alan on the knee. "Your sense of right and wrong continues to guide me. Thanks, dad. I'm proud to be your son." Father and son looked at each other with self-conscious smiles on their faces for a few seconds before Don broke the silence. "Dad, can you move out of the way so I can finish watching the game?"
"Okay, Donnie, I get the hint." Alan stood up and moved his chair back, and tucked his eldest son back under the blanket. With a gentle pat on Don's head, Alan left the room to help Margaret in the kitchen.
Don had to acknowledge that his dad was almost as good his mom at tucking him in.
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Alan woke with a start. Margaret slept soundly as he climbed out of their bed and headed down the hall. There was silence in Don's bedroom as he eased the door open so it wouldn't squeak. His eldest son lay sleeping soundly in his small twin bed, his room still decorated in baseball themes. Alan smiled before quietly shutting the door and heading down stairs.
When he reached the kitchen he poured himself a glass of water before checking the time on the microwave. He groaned. "Two am. I'm gonna be sorry at work tomorrow," he mumbled to himself. It took only a few seconds before he reached for the phone and dialed Charlie.
"Hello?" His youngest son's voice sounded hesitantly on the phone.
"Hey, Charlie, it's dad," Alan said quickly, just wanting to hear his voice. "How are things going over there? How are your classes? Tell me about Susan."
Charlie's laughter on the phone made him feel content and happy for the first time in long while.
The End
Feedback is appreciated.
A/N: Sequel to Empty Nest. I really appreciated your feed back. I do prefer honest reactions to sugar coating.
I love Alan! And don't want anyone to think that my Alan is mean or out of character. I personally was hearing Alan's own words from "Uncertain Principle" to Terry Lake when he accused Margaret of focusing on Charlie at the expense of Don. He immediately corrected himself to say "we," but his original impulse was to blame Margaret. In the episode "Sacrifice," Alan admits that Margaret and he had actually considered divorce, when Margaret had left with Charlie to Princeton. He admitted to jealousy (towards whom? The implication is Charlie). I think there are definitely issues in that family, and some have not been resolved or explored. But that doesn't mean that they all don't love each other.
I couldn't leave things this way. I felt compelled to heal things between Alan and each of his family members.