Title: Mistaken Identity

Chapter 3: It's Never Simple

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

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Megan perched on the edge of the couch at Casa Eppes, anxious to do something. Alan was in the kitchen fetching Charlie a light lunch of soup, and a ginger ale sparkled on the side table. It seemed her only remaining option was to visit with the patient. "Are you sure you're warm enough, Charlie? I could get you another blanket." She half-stood. "Or if you want to lie down for a while, I can move…."

Charlie chuckled softly, careful not to put too much force behind it and crack his head open. "Megan, I'm fine. I've been home for two days and Dad is hovering like a vulture. Don shows up at 5:01 p.m. and stays all evening – did after-hours crime take a holiday?"

She smiled and relaxed a little. "Not exactly. Don's not on call this week. He was off the roster while he was training at Quantico of course, and he asked Merrick to extend that another week."

Charlie raised his eyebrows, shocked. "What? Why would he do that?"

Megan shook her head. "You guys. I've never seen two brothers who care more about each other and are more afraid to admit it."

Charlie looked away, embarrassed. "He still hasn't told me about Quantico," he said, changing the direction of the conversation. "I keep falling asleep before I can ask. What sort of class was it?"

Megan frowned slightly. "Charlie, are you still having problems with your memory? You know, it's the one Marshall Penfield helped design. Don said you were too busy? Something about mathematical principles in field investigations. He'll be going over it in the staff meeting next week, so I'll learn more about it then."

Something flashed in Charlie's eyes and he leaned his head gently against the back of the couch. It was true that he still couldn't remember clearly what had happened in his office, but nothing else was missing. Charlie clearly remembered last year when the Bureau had asked him to develop such a course – it was a time when he truly had been too busy. But Penfield? He never would have recommended Penfield; and, he knew that he was never approached about this latest class, either. But obviously, Don was. Don had chosen not to talk to him about this; not to ask for his participation or even his advice. A stab of pain mixed with jealousy pierced his heart, and he squeezed his eyes closed.

"Charlie?" Megan's voice was soft. "Is this becoming too much for you? I know you were out this morning at the doctor. You must be tired. Larry was planning on dropping by this afternoon, but I'll call him and tell him to wait."

Charlie forced his eyes open and his head off the back of the couch. "I'm fine," he said weakly, hating himself for wanting to cry.

He tried to smile, and was relieved beyond words when his father pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen. Alan smiled brightly. "Megan dear, I heated up a little bit of soup for you, too!"

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"You are an idiot. Did you think I wouldn't hear about this? I should make you pay me."

MacPhee gritted his teeth and fairly spat into the phone. "My organization guarantees its work. We will find another way to plant the product. It will not be an issue for us to obtain more."

His employer was not mollified. He merely spat disdainfully back. "You had your chance. You will do this my way, now. I know just the opportunity. It's perfect."

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Larry viewed the repast in rapture. "Alan. You've gone to too much trouble again."

Alan smiled and reached for the mashed potatoes. "Nonsense, Larry. We were having the potatoes tonight anyway."

"Perhaps," Larry murmured, spooning cauliflower onto his plate. "But white meat chicken Alfredo, these lovely steamed florets and white chocolate sauce on blonde brownies?" He chuckled. "Don't think I haven't noticed your efforts to please my somewhat peculiar tastes."

Alan acquiesced and nodded. "Well, you're quite welcome, Larry. Charlie's been in such a sour mood all afternoon I was more than happy to spend it in the kitchen."

Charlie glared at his father and Don carefully regarded his plate. He couldn't agree more. He felt a little badly about it, but he was losing patience with his brother. Charlie had been alternately sulking and sniping all evening long, in a worse mood than usual. "Hmphf," he grunted. "Maybe you shouldn't go to the funeral tomorrow. People would understand. You're not up to it, yet."

Charlie's fork clattered on the table and he pushed back his chair. "I'm fine," he stated argumentatively, standing. "The doctor said I would be good to go to LACOST next week, as planned. If I can fly to Chile for a week-long conference, I can sure as hell go to a student's funeral, first."

All three of the other men at the table recognized the dangerous tone in Charlie's voice. It was not one they had heard often, but it was one not easily forgotten. Larry glanced nervously between Don and Alan, and then pushed bravely ahead. "How I wish I could attend the Latin American Conference on Systems Theory as well, Charles. Control theory is such as important area of applied mathematics. It connects two core mathematical areas, such as dynamic systems and geometry…. Well, it's exciting, that's all."

Don made a noise of derision. "I'll say. So why aren't you going, Larry?"

Larry completely missed the slight sarcasm and went on. "Sit down, Charles. To answer your question, Don, both Charles and Amita will go to represent CalSci. Millie cannot afford for more of us to be gone, I'm afraid. Someone has to get Summer Session underway! I'm sure she would love to go herself. Although she seems happy enough that Charles was invited to participate in the forum to establish critical mass. Publicity, you know."

Alan's eyebrows knit in concern, and he decided to risk Charlie's further anger. "I don't know, son. I know the doctor said it was all right, but a flight to Santiago followed by another to…wherever…and then a 2-hour bus ride?"

Don spoke on top of his father. "I don't know either, Charlie. It's a lot of pressure, a conference like this, isn't it? Can't you let Larry go in your place?"

Larry demurred. "Indeed I would enjoy the conference, Don, but applied mathematics is really Charles' field. He was…positively wooed."

"Well, what about this Penfield guy? Maybe he can do the forum thing. Or is he already going?"

Charlie had been rubbing his forehead, but now his hand dropped and he jerked his head around to fully face Don. His eyes shot fire and burned suspiciously bright. "Oh, you'd just love that, wouldn't you? You want to give Marshall everything that's mine! I worked for it, dammit Don! Do you want to give him my brother, too, is that where it really stands?"

Don's mouth gaped in surprise. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Charlie stepped away from the table and turned to leave the dining room and head for the stairs. "I know about the class, Don. I know you wanted Marshall, and not me. I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment to you."

Larry and Alan had put down their own utensils and were observing the brothers' conversation as if at a tennis match. Don pushed back his own chair and stood. His barely-suppressed frustration bubbled over into defensive anger. "Don't be an ass, Charlie," he called after his brother. "That's not what happened!"

Charlie swung around, his eyes blazing. "Do you realize that I've spend more hours working with the FBI on mathematical solutions than I have on Cognitive Emergence, or even the Eppes Convergence? Certainly more than any other mathematician – did you stop to think that maybe this was something that I cared about, that I would want to be involved in?"

Don groaned in exasperation, and pushed back his chair. "Goddamn it, Charlie…"

Charlie turned back around, heading for the stairs, and his shoulders were hunched so that they nearly touched his ears. "Leave me alone!" he shouted. "Just leave me the hell alone!"

Alan made a noise of distress and Don's already simmering blood reached the boiling point. He threw his napkin onto the table and started off in pursuit of Charlie. "Listen you little twerp! I'm sorry you had such a horrible experience, but I WILL NOT be the bad guy here! You turned the Bureau down when they asked about this just last year! They went after Penfield – I wasn't asked my opinion as to who was the best second choice!" Once Don got going, he almost managed to forget the truth himself. But in the end, when Charlie hesitated and turned his head to look at him…. When Don saw the shimmering tears in Charlie's eyes, he remembered the conversation with Quantico, and it was like a knife twisting in his gut. "No, I'm sure he wouldn't be interested," he had said. He had shut them down before he had bothered to talk to his brother, not even sure at the time why he did it. Now, he was afraid that old jealousies had spoken for them both. He was afraid that he was becoming resentful of Charlie's growing influence on his turf. Watching a single tear fall before Charlie turned again and continued up the stairs, Don was truly afraid. He was afraid that he had broken something precious, and irreparable.

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End, Chapter 3