A/N: hey all! so here's the scoop: starting this monday coming up, updates will probably just be once a week, since i'll be back at school for second semester and might not have a whole lot of time on my hands.

as for this update right here... i just want you guys to keep in mind that for the purposes of my story, i'm possibly bending what would actually happen in a hospital setting, and although i'm not trying to make Don sound like a total dunce, i need him to be a little clueless to meet my needs here...

so without further ado, read on and enjoy... and for the people who keep putting this fic on alert and not reviewing, if you have time, just drop a quick line and leave a few words to let me know what you thought - reviews fuel the muse :)

Chapter 3

He woke up in stages, first being able to feel the chill in his arms and legs, the scarce warmth in his face, and gown-covered torso. Eventually, the faint murmur of background sound became louder in his ears and he was able to distinguish the sound of a heart monitor off to his right, along with soft voices talking to his left.

At first, he was tempted to simply let his exhaustion drag him back under, but in light of the fact that he wasn't precisely sure where he was or why, he felt it was best to sort things out first, and so proceeded to drag open heavy, uncooperative eyelids. The blur that was the room gradually came into focus, and a young woman in a lab coat leaned into his line of sight, looking to be fresh from medical school.

"Hello Mr. Eppes, I'm Doctor Grennich," she said calmly as she produced a penlight that she shone annoyingly in both of his eyes. His first instinct was to flinch away and squeeze his eyes shut, but he still wanted answers, and felt as though he were tired enough that he would fall back asleep if he closed his eyes for even a second. He started to ask what hospital he was in, but the whispered words came out oddly muffled and Dr. Grennich smiled apologetically before reaching forward and carefully removing the oxygen mask that he hadn't noticed he was wearing. "Sorry - small precaution while you were unconscious. What were you trying to say?" He swallowed and gave a small cough, managing to add a little more volume to his voice this time.

"W-what hospital am I at?" The doctor whispered something to a nurse about retrieving blood test results before busying herself with checking up on the different monitors and IV lines that Charlie now noticed he was attached to.

"You're at St. Michael's, Mr. Eppes."

"Call me Charlie." She gave him another small smile.

"Alright Charlie. Now, do you know why you're here?" He fought for a moment to clear his fuzzy mind, before remembering with startling clarity the nerve-wracking events with Don at Cal Sci, and nodding slowly.

"Yes. I was with my brother, and... I got a nose-bleed... couldn't get it under control." She jotted down something on a chart she held, and spoke without looking up.

"That's right. He brought you in almost an hour ago, and you passed out in the ER waiting room. You lost a fair amount of blood, so we've put you on transfusions, and we're running blood tests to get a better idea of what might've caused -"

"You don't have to bother." His words were met with a questioning stare, and he quickly explained. "I have a pretty good idea what caused it." She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him skeptically.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Leukemia." Grennich blinked in surprise before consulting the pages contained in a folder that had been tucked securely under her arm until then. Her face creased in a slight frown.

"There's nothing about that in the paperwork your brother filled out when you were admitted." He shifted a little uncomfortably, feeling oddly ashamed, even in the presence of a perfect stranger.

"I - uh... I haven't... he doesn't exactly know." She raised a questioning brow.

"How long ago were you diagnosed?"

"A few days ago." The doctor was already making notes and adjustments to his forms, once again talking at the same time.

"Alright then, I'll leave you here for a minute while I go fill him in, then I'll get your physician's name and phone number off you so that I can have a talk with him about this little fiasco."

She was almost to the door before her words really sunk in, and he bolted upright, his vision swimming immediately as he listed to the side, unable to voice his objection through the panic that had seized his lungs. However, the immediate and large increase in the beeps on the heart monitor was enough to get the doctor's attention, and she hurried back to his side, carefully pushing him back up from where he'd been half slumped over the edge of the bed.

"Mr. Eppes... Charlie, I need you to calm down for me. Given your condition, you can't be getting too worked up just yet. Take some deep breaths, alright?" He managed to follow her directions and gradually was able to breathe normally, his heart rate slowing down soon after. While she was silencing the beeping alarm that his small panic attack had caused, he gripped her arm tightly, successfully drawing her attention.

"You can't tell him!" She gave him an incredulous look.

"Charlie, the doctor treating you is kind of on a need-to-know basis here..." He shook his head, cutting her off.

"No, not him - my brother, Don. Please... don't tell him about the leukemia." Confusion showed plainly on her face.

"Given the policy on doctor-patient confidentiality, I'm obligated to comply, but... can I ask why you wouldn't want him to know about this? From all the different studies I've read and participated in, cancer patients benefit from the presence and support of loved ones, most especially close family members." He sighed deeply, staring at his nervously fidgeting fingers for a moment before fixing her with a look of sad determination that took her breath away.

"I'm sure it's written somewhere in those files of yours that there is cancer in our family - it killed our mother." He shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I don't care what your studies tell you - I will not put my brother, or my father, through that nightmare again." Struck somewhat speechless at his words, she stared into his sad eyes a long moment before once again finding her voice.

"What would you like me to do then? I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the idea of outright lying to someone like this." Charlie visibly relaxed, his gratefulness showing in his every word.

"You won't have to really lie… just let me do the talking."

"You gotta be kidding me... a mineral deficiency made you bleed like that?"

"Basically, yeah," Charlie said with a shrug. "It really isn't all that uncommon, from what I've been told." Don raised a skeptical brow at the young female doctor who hovered in the room's doorway, who in turn nodded in agreement.

"We've seen several cases like your brother's in the past month especially, with high-stress levels in countless jobs and a decline in healthy living. The dry conditions in and around the city also tend to lend a contributing factor, making nosebleeds like his more common than usual." She paused in her talking to pull a small notepad out of her breast pocket, scribbling something down before tearing the paper off and handing it to Don. "Here are a few mineral supplements that he should take for at least a few weeks, to balance things back out in his system, and keep his red blood cell count high. In the meantime, I would recommend that he stay here for at least a few more hours to finish up transfusions, after which he may return home, but only if he is willing to commit himself to some solid bed rest over the next few days. Your body endured a bit of a shock today, Mr. Eppes - it needs some time to recuperate," she added, when it looked like Charlie might protest.

Don gave the younger man a stern look, reaching over and giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"She's right Charlie. After what happened today, you can't expect to be right back on your feet," he said, waiting until Charlie visibly gave in before returning his hand to his lap. Doctor Grennich cleared her throat lightly, drawing both their gazes back to her.

"If that's all you'll be needing, I have to get back to my rounds. I'll be back later tonight with his discharge papers," she said, turning and walking back towards the door.

Before leaving completely, she cast one last look at Charlie that Don could've sworn was a combination of slightly admiring and maybe a little disapproving, and he frowned in response, glancing back to Charlie whose face was carefully blank. Slight suspicion tugged at the corner of his mind, but he pushed it aside for now; Charlie's current condition was more important than a look that may or may not have passed between his brother and some doctor.

He placed a gentle hand on Charlie's arm to draw his attention.

"So... how're you feeling?" he asked lamely, and was rewarded with a wry grin.

"I've been better..." The grin was suddenly replaced by a worried frown. "Did you call Dad?" Don shook his head.

"Nope - didn't even think to do it for the first hour that these guys had me waiting, and when I finally thought of it, I didn't think it was fair to call the guy up and get him all worried when I couldn't even tell him for sure what was wrong."

"Do you think..." He bit his lip uncertainly before continuing, his voice a little softer. "Could we maybe keep this between us?" Don was a little surprised, to say the least, and let it show.

"Any special reason why?" Charlie gave a half-shrug, not meeting his eyes.

"I suppose for the same reason why you always make me promise not to tell Dad when you get hurt on the job: I just don't want him to worry about me when he doesn't have to." There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence before Don broke it.

"Doesn't he?"

Charlie swore his heart skipped a beat, something he thought the heart monitor should've caught, and he forced himself to stay calm despite his welling unease. The diagnosis that he and Dr. Grennich had worked out before allowing Don to come see him was one that was certainly able to be the cause of at least a smaller version of what Don had witnessed, and the mineral supplements probably would help a little in some respects... he just needed Don to believe it enough that he was willing to not report on it to their father, who would be more than a little suspicious, and likely unwilling to accept such an explanation as 'mineral deficiency'.

Please Don, don't make this any harder than it already is - don't make me have to lie to his face again...

"I mean, jeez Chuck... if your job is stressing you out enough that you're getting nosebleeds that are bad enough to land you in the hospital, then I think the man has a good reason to be worried about you." Charlie was barely able to hold in a relieved sigh, instead giving a placating pat on Don's hand.

"It really isn't anything serious Don, honestly; I just need to remember to take better care of myself..." Lies, lies, lies. "...especially with the increased programming Millie worked into the Math Department this year. The extra work's just got me a bit out of sorts, that's all." And more lies. Charlie gave his internal Jiminy Cricket a good, solid kick, reminding it sternly that the lies were necessary, that the weight on his conscience was more than worth it in this case, a necessary burden. Don studied him for a second before nodding.

"Alright Charlie, you win - this'll be our secret." He was quick to cut off the younger man's thanks. "But, only if you promise me that you'll actually take care of yourself from now on, and that you'll take however many supplements, or whatever, for however long you have to so that you get back to one-hundred percent." He held out his hand. "Deal?"

Charlie thought briefly about the treatment that he really was going to be undertaking, way beyond the simplicity of mineral supplements, and had to mentally gag and hog-tie Mr. Cricket as he sidestepped his guilt and gripped Don's hand in a solid handshake.

"Deal."

By the time Charlie was finally discharged from the hospital he'd been rushed to earlier that evening, it was nearing nine-o'clock at night, and Charlie felt even more exhausted than he'd been when he'd woken up in the hospital bed, if that were possible. He accepted the customary wheelchair ride to down to the main entrance, then did his best not to let on how little energy he actually had as he followed Don to where the hospital staff had parked his SUV for him.

However, as soon as he settled into the suddenly amazingly comfortable passenger seat, he was a goner. He suddenly didn't care about the blood that still stained the clothes he'd retrieved to wear home, nor did he think twice about keeping up the 'just fine' facade with Don; the second his head leant back against the headrest, his eyes were closed and he was fast asleep, breathing deeply and quietly. Smiling slightly, Don carefully leaned over his brother to snag his seatbelt, fastening it securely before clipping his own into place and pulling slowly out of the parking lot.

The drive back from the hospital was considerably slower than the drive there, seeing as Don was obeying traffic laws this time around, and he found himself relieved at the open opportunity to scrutinize his brother's current condition a little more closely. Despite the transfusions that made it safe for him to leave the care of the hospital, Charlie's face was still a disturbing shade of white against the dark frame of his curls, and as a result, Don noticed for the first time just how tired and worn he really looked; the dark circles under his eyes looked more like they'd been caused by fists than by lack of sleep, a permanent furrow wrinkling his brow, and he seemed to be sagging so far down in his seat that he probably wouldn't be able to move quickly even if his life depended on it.

Don couldn't hold back the grimace when his eyes wandered down to the once red, now brown stains that were scattered down the front of Charlie's dress shirt, his mind flashing back to the grisly appearance of those stains when they were fresh. He sighed deeply, tearing his eyes away from the stains, deciding that he'd be far better off focusing all of his attention on the road in front of him; they were so close to making it home in one piece, and the last thing he wanted was to add one more crisis to their day by ending up in a ditch somewhere along the way.

It wasn't long before Don was pulling into the driveway beside Charlie's house, and he flinched slightly when he saw their father's car already parked there as he turned off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt, turning towards his still sleeping passenger. He was once again struck by just how exhausted the younger man appeared, and almost didn't want to wake him up. Unfortunately, they did have to go inside at one point, and Don needed Charlie to be conscious if they had any hopes of keeping this whole incident a secret; it would be anything but subtle if Don ended up carrying him through the front door and up to his bedroom. Reaching over with one hand he unbuckled his seatbelt and gently gripped his shoulder, giving it a slight shake. Charlie responded with a groan, and Don grinned faintly.

"You with me there, Chuck?" Bleary eyes blinked open to stare first at him then out the windshield, only becoming a little more alert as he seemed to register where they were. To his credit, his hand only shook a little as he raised it to open his door, pausing for a second to look back at Don before getting out.

"For the last time: don't call me 'Chuck'," he muttered, easing himself out of his seat to stand and stretch beside the vehicle. "The only reason you got away with it at the hospital was 'cause of blood-loss - I wasn't lucid enough to call you on it." Don's grin widened at that as they walked side by side up to the front door.

"Sure thing bro, whatever you say." He was halfway through opening the door before he sobered and looked back at Charlie who raised a questioning brow. "I'll head in first to keep him distracted for a few minutes while you slip upstairs."

The look on the other's face was blank until Don lowered a pointed glance to his stained shirt, after which he received a quick nod and a grateful look. Taking that as consent to his plan, he led the way inside, immediately heading for the living room where he could hear the quiet crinkling of a newspaper being read, while Charlie slipped up the stairs as quickly and quietly as he could manage.

Trying to appear as casual as possible, Don approached his father who sat in his favorite easy chair, and claimed a spot on the couch beside him, sighing contentedly as he sank into the comfortable cushions. He let his eyes drift closed for a moment, and listened to the newspaper being set aside, waiting for the automatic greeting. He got a question instead.

"What happened?" A tinge of alarm, with a healthy side of confusion made his eyes snap open as he wondered how in the world their father could tell so easily.

What tipped him off? Did he hear Charlie sneaking upstairs? Did the hospital call here without telling us? Just as quickly, he wondered if that would be such a bad thing, questioning for the millionth time whether or not the events of that day should really be kept a secret, even as he plastered on a clueless expression that he relayed to the eldest Eppes.

"What do you mean, 'what happened'?" With a perfected frown, Alan gestured towards Don's stained T-shirt sleeve, and Don shoved aside his uncertainties and fell into 'cover-up' mode, one he'd perfected for his own use after years of working in, and being injured because of law enforcement. "Oh, that. That's just from when I was practicing with a few of the guys at the gym downtown - we were working on some hand-to-hand, and I accidentally caught a guy in the nose with a left hook." He threw in a sheepish laugh for good measure before finishing the rapidly spun tale. "Knocked him off balance pretty good, and well, he kinda fell into me. Guess I just forgot that was there."

A small flash of guilt lit in his chest at the sympathetic frown his words earned, especially at the trust he saw on their father's face - he trusted him to be telling the truth, while he sat there lying to him about what was one of the most nerve-wracking afternoons of his life. There'd just been so much blood... and the fear in Charlie's eyes, the panic... Don swore he'd much rather deal with being shot at than ever have to see those things in Charlie's eyes ever again.

Giving himself a mental shake, Don brought himself out of his thoughts only to start as he realized that Alan was staring right at him, doing an excellent impression of Larry in how intently he was studying him... like he was part of some test that he was anxiously awaiting the result of. He swallowed down his instinctive nervousness, feeling much like he had when he was a teenager, and was trying to hide the fact that he'd been out sneaking beers with his friends at the ballpark.

"What?" This time it was Alan who shook himself, forcing himself to look away as he picked his newspaper back up, pretending to read its cover.

"It's nothing, really." He paused a moment, looking thoughtful. "It's just that... I swear, your brother had that exact same look on his face this morning, before he left for Cal Sci." After a moment, he chuckled quietly, and shaking his head at his habit of reading too far into things, Alan missed the frown that flitted across Don's features, looking up a second after it'd disappeared. "So, are you hungry? I've got some leftovers from supper tonight - I set aside some for Charlie already, but you can help yourself to whatever's left."

Don smiled and got up from the couch, headed for the kitchen, glad for the opportunity to walk off the built-up nerves from the encounter, as well as to shake off the fringes of guilt. After all, the lie wasn't an unforgivable one, nor was it anything entirely life-threatening either - sure, it had been scary as hell when it was actually happening, but it was over now, and the problem had been quickly and easily dealt with, with Charlie on the road to a full, and risk-free recovery... so long as he followed the doctor's orders, which Don fully intended to see to it that he did.

"Thanks Dad, I'm starved - didn't really get much of a chance to stop for lunch today," he called over his shoulder, before pushing open the kitchen door and heading right for the fridge. Alan joined him a moment later, opening the fridge a second after he'd closed it.

"Before I forget, I'm going to put his plate on a tray in the oven, for him to heat up when he gets back, however late that may be. Don't ask me why, but for some reason that boy's got it in his head that it's better for you to use the microwave as little as possible... I'm sure he must've explained it at one point, but I can't for the life of me remember what he said."

Having just popped his own food into said microwave, Don shrugged and started up the heat before realizing it might be a good idea to fill the other man in on the fact that Charlie was in reality already there.

Just gotta do a little rephrasing for how he got here... Choose your words carefully, Eppes.

"Actually, speaking of Charlie, I, uh... gave him a ride home already. He was pretty beat... I think he went straight upstairs to grab a shower, or something, to unwind a little." Alan glanced over at him in mild surprise.

"Oh? Why did he need a ride home? His car didn't get stolen, did it?"

"Nah, nothing like that - I just dropped by his office to say 'hi', and I offered him a lift, seeing as I was heading back here anyways."

The small lie came easily, and seemed to be accepted without question as a smile lit up Alan's face, obvious pleasure showing through at the prospect of his sons' relationship continuing on its upward slope.

"In that case, I'll heat this up for him right away so that he can have it when he's finished," he said lightly, sliding the plate-holding tray into the oven, and turning the dial to the lowest setting.

"I'll go let him know," Don said, already headed for the stairs. It wasn't as though it was pertinent for him to tell Charlie about his dinner right away - rather, it was rather important for Charlie to know the small details of the story he'd cooked up for their father, should the topic come up at some point that night.

Jogging up the steps, it wasn't long before he was in front of his brother's half-closed door, and he knocked lightly before pushing it the rest of the way open. By the dim light of the small lamp on Charlie's night stand, Don saw that Charlie was sitting at the end of his bed, slightly bent at the waist with one hand braced on his knee and the other pressed against the side of his head, his eyes closed. Not wanting to let on that the sight had his stomach flipping after what happened earlier, he strode calmly over to his brother's side, laying his hand gently on his shoulder.

"Hey, you okay? Charlie?" Slowly Charlie nodded, one eye cracking open to look up at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine - just got a small dose of some heavy-duty head rush, that's all." Glancing between both of Charlie's hands, and his hunched posture, Don raised a brow, his voice sharing his skepticism.

"Uh-huh, sure, you're fine." He waited until Charlie seemed a little steadier before continuing. "You think you can make it back downstairs for a little while? As soon as Dad found out you were here, he started heating up some supper for you." This earned him a sharp look, and he was quick to answer the unspoken demand. "Don't worry, he doesn't know anything. I just told him I stopped by your office, and offered you a ride home, simple as that."

Clearly relieved, Charlie accepted the hand up that he was offered, pulling himself carefully up to his feet, and not objecting to the steadying, protective arm that Don kept draped over his shoulders, all the way until right before they wandered into the kitchen. Both were hustled into seats at the table, where full plates were set down in front of them both, and Charlie was careful to smile thankfully, and eat almost all of the food on the plate, despite the fact that he had virtually no appetite whatsoever. Though it was hard to ignore the not-so-subtle glances that Don kept tossing his way, Charlie simply wasn't up for trying to work the words 'Knock it off, I'm fine' into a glare, and so kept his eyes either on his father or on his plate the entire time.

After the short meal, he said his goodnights and retreated back upstairs to his room, all but collapsing onto his bed once he'd closed the door, already dressed in the clean T-shirt and sweats he'd changed into from his blood-dotted clothes. Snagging his shirt, which he had dropped on the foot of his bed, he studied the dark spatters for a long moment by lamplight, brushing his fingers over the grisly reminders of the terrifying moment he already wished he could forget.

What he remembered most was the thought that had jumped immediately into his mind when the bleeding had worsened, rapidly draining all of his energy: The doctor was wrong... I hardly have any time left at all - I really am dying, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

He realized now that it had been a totally irrational thought, that bleeding that excessively, while not a good sign, was simply another symptom of his disease, and that he had to come to terms with the fact that it would not be the last of its kind, not by a long shot.

With that thought unfortunately solid in his mind, he tossed the shirt into the corner of his room with the intentions of throwing it away the next day, and he turned off his lamp, letting his exhaustion pull him back under once more.