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*"Don Eppes: I want you to know I don't take for granted what you do.

Charlie Eppes: I never thought you did."

Season 1, Episode 6: Sabotage*

Looking down at the sheet in front of him, Charlie squints hard and tilts his head to the side, but it's no good. He was just too tired from lack of sleep and then the pressure to come up with the winning equation that would point to Nick's killer to make any sense of the numbers in front of him now.

Anger and irritation churning in his gut, Charlie swallows hard and feels the familiar thirst at the back of his throat that only a cool beer could sate. He was hardly going to find one in the FBI canteen though! There would however be hot bitter coffee that tasted like ass…strangely though; Charlie had missed that coffee a lot in the past two years…

Mind made up, Charlie abandons the challenge that Nick's diary was posing, who knew the AD made that many appointments in one day let alone one week, and made his way out of the bull pen to the small canteen that was conveniently close by. "Don!" He says surprised, as he finds Don alone in the canteen pouring himself a cup of coffee, a burgundy file propped up on the counter next to him.

"Charlie," His brother acknowledges his presence with a small sad smile, until he traces the line of Charlie's vision to the thick file next to him and his face darkens as he flips the file shut and places his cup of coffee on top. "Coffee?" He adds as he lifts the pot up once more and pulls another mug down from the rack in front of him.

"Thanks," Charlie accepts gratefully as he enters the small canteen and takes a seat at the round table closest to Don. Unsure of what to say next he takes the coffee once poured and takes a small sip. It tasted like crap and Charlie couldn't help the broad smile that now split his boyish face in two.

"I've never seen the coffee here have that effect before!" Don laughs surprised as he picks up both his coffee and the file and joins Charlie at his table.

"I actually missed it," Charlie whispers conspiritably as he jokingly looks about him to make sure no one else hears the small confession. Instead of laughing though, Don just looks thoughtful.

"Is that all you've missed?" Don asks quietly, his gaze cast low as his full lips spread into a grim line.

"I've missed the work," Charlie adds reluctantly, refusing to give Don what he wanted to hear. "I miss the thrill of the chase and the satisfaction of finishing a case."

"What about your family?"

"Don," Charlie growls warningly as he feels the embers of anger he had managed to subdue earlier start to burn anew.

"Did you know that Gracie actually asked if you were dead when I told her about Nick?" Don states quietly, ignoring his brothers barely concealed resentment.

"You want to know if I miss my family?" Charlie asks bitterly, a sarcastic laugh bursting out from between his grimly set lips. "I miss my family every day! I miss dad…every day! I miss my wife…every day! Do you know what it's like living in that house? And seeing reminders of them everywhere?"

"I'm sorry ok! How many times do I have to say it before you will forgive me? I feel the weight of Dad's death every day and it's choking me Charlie…I'm suffocating under the weight of it." Don's face contorts between grief and pity.

Pity for Don that Charlie felt none for his brother, "I don't know what you want me to say," He sighs bitterly as he rubs at his pounding temples.

"I guess what I really want to know is why did you come back? If nothing has changed…why are you here?"

"Out of some kind of miss placed loyalty to Nick I guess," Charlie replies harshly, the lie burning the back of his throat as much as his need for a beer.

"That's it? That's the only reason?" Don presses but Charlie refuses to show his brother the turmoil going on in his gut. As much as he hated it there was a part of him that yearned to forgive his brother, to go back to how it had been before…before their lives had changed forever...unfortunately for Don it wasn't a big enough part. Charlie had lost everything that day...

Seeing his words are having no effect on his younger brother Don gives up and taking his coffee and file over to the open doorway hesitates as he looks back for a minute. "I know your forgiveness is too much to ask for…I know it's wrong of me to even expect it…his death is the burden I must bear for being reckless…"

"And arrogant."

"And arrogant," Don accepts sadly. "But Amita leaving you and Dylan…that's your burden to bear. I won't shoulder responsibility for that as well."

"No…I know that was all me," Charlie looks down bitterly at his coffee. He hadn't intended to have this argument with Don when he'd come…hell they were only rehashing previous fights anyway. When Don had hugged him and said thank you…Charlie had thought that maybe it was possible to go back…to forgive Don…he had also lost a brother the day his father died… but damn it! It was all just too complicated and irrelevant because Charlie wasn't even sure he had any forgiveness left to give.

"You're angry; I get that but you left Charlie. You just left, and now you don't get to be pissed anymore. You miss the coffee? You miss the work? You're the one who decided to quit. It was all too much for you? What about for me? Dad was dead and I needed my brother. Now Nick is dead! They chopped him open and they displayed him like a…like a…" Don held back a strangled sob. "I just want to know if you plan on sticking around this time. Cause if you're only here because some sense of misplaced loyalty and then you plan to leave again…I'd rather you just left now…we can pretend you never came and go back to not talking…"

"I don't want that…" Charlie frowns frustrated as Don turns to face him properly and waits patiently for Charlie to continue. "I've missed you ok!" Charlie shouts angrily as a small triumphant smile flickers at the corner of Don's lips.

"I've missed you too Chuck," Don whispers affectionately.

"Don't push it," Charlie holds up a hand to stop Don before he can say anything else. "I can't just pretend that it doesn't hurt to look at you," He explains honestly, "But I also won't pretend that I haven't missed you either. I just need time."

"But we can try? And see if we can make this work again?" Don asks hopefully, a sad, eager and imploring look on his face.

"Yes," Charlie nods and strangely feels a little lighter for the decision. "Why don't we start with seeing if I can't help you with that?" Charlie offers as he points at the thick file under Don's arm.

"This?" Don looks down at the file like it was a grenade that might self-implode any moment. "This is just an old case file, nothing to worry about."

"Ok," Charlie forces a smile on his face. Don was lying, he didn't know why but Charlie would let it slide…for now.

"In fact I should really go and put it away…I'll see you here tomorrow?" Don asks tentatively and Charlie nods to say that he will. "Good…well…see you tomorrow then," And with that Don leaves.

Taking a large sip of his coffee Charlie ponders his and Don's little exchange before deciding to give up on the coffee and the diary for today in favor of the nearest bar. His and Don's little 'Chat' had left him quite thirsty for something a lot stronger than just bitter coffee.

*Later That Night*

Biting her lip in an attempt to hold back a loud aching scream of frustration, Sally reaches furiously inside her grubby apron for the cleanest rag she can find before bending down to attend to the spilt coffee that was currently staining the table top and booth seat. Why me? She asks in silent fury as she notices that the spilt coffee was now dripping down the edge of the seat onto the greasy floor.

Ah, like anyone cares, she tells herself as she only mops it up half-heartedly. It wasn't like in her last job where the area manager used to go around photographing the slightest speck of dust to belittle her with later. She was well rid of that bitch now, thank God!

Saying that…her new manager could have done with caring a little more, the small diner was a dive but then that was why they got any business at all. It was the perfect spot to go for a more…private…conversation. Ones like the one that had led to Sally getting down on her old crooked knees to clean up split coffee.

Apparently the woman who had thrown the coffee hadn't taken too kindly to being dumped because he was never going to leave his wife. Sally could have told her that; spared the woman some pain. Never get involved with a married guy. She had done that and that was how she had ended up pregnant and alone at twenty.

Grunting in pain as her knees began to stiffen up; Sally notices a crumpled newspaper in the corner of the booth seat, narrowly avoiding the still spreading coffee stain and decides to save it for her break later rather than using it as fodder to help stop the spread of coffee.

Lifting it up quickly, Sally is startled to see Benjamin's handsome boyish face grinning back at her. His name wasn't really Benjamin that was just what she had called him because of the hundred dollar tip he had given her only a couple nights before. She had used that tip to pay off the last of this month's rent. Her creepy landlord's face had been so surprised! She would have laughed had she not wanted to get out of his apartment as fast as humanly possible.

"Rickey!" She shouts to the cook at the back of the diner although 'cook' was a generous term for what he was as no one ever seemed to order any food. That was possibly because of the obvious sanitary concerns every diner must have as they open the door to a thick smog of grease and dirt. Only marginally cleaner than the alley out back, the small kitchenette was only good for coffee and even that tasted like crap.

"Rickey!" She shouts again as she forgets about the spilt coffee and rushes over to where Rickey has kicked his feet up and was snoring away loudly in the small office that also doubled as a staff room.

"What you screaming about woman?" Her manager, who was sat as his desk opposite Rickey, looks up angrily from his phone; she was clearly imposing on his candy crush time.

"This," She stabs her finger at the paper as Louis scrutinizes the front page.

"That?" He asks incredulously. "That's old news."

"Old news?" She splutters disbelievingly at Lou's look of scorn before he goes back to swiping furiously at his phone. "He was only in here the other night…" But Lou doesn't hear her mumble the last bit as she stumbles away and moves over to one of the back booths where she begins to scour the paper word for word for answers.

"So your name is Nick Callaghan," She whispers to herself as she finishes with the front page and moves on to the double page spread inside. "The assistant director of the FBI!" She says a little too loudly as a couple of shifty looking diners glare angrily in her direction. Flashing them a quick smile, Sally continues to scour the article in front of her…

What would the assistant director of the FBI doing in a dive like this? She wonders silently to herself as she scans the small diner's rough clientele. He had stuck out like a sore thumb that night and he had definitely been waiting for someone…someone that hadn't shown up. Did that person kill him? Was I the last person to see him alive aside from the killer? She wonders nervously as she gets up from where she was sitting and moves back over to the booth with the now dry coffee stain.

What if she was the last person to see him alive? The diner wasn't the sort of place you chose to come if you could help it…who was he supposed to be meeting…

"Try this," Rickey, back from his break now, smiles kindly as he holds out a damp rag for her to take, it was only then that she realized that her hands were shaking. Rickey must have noticed too as he asks, "You alright?" Before gently steering her to the closest chair and pushing her into it. "Let me get you a coffee," He offers kindly as he leaves her there to go make the coffee and brings it back in her mug…the one her son Harvey had made her for mother's day when he was ten. "Bien?" He asks once she had taken a couple tentative sips of the coffee and smiles when she recognizes the taste of Lou's own personal brand of coffee, not to be used for customers or staff…well anyone aside from Lou and his shady friends.

"Yes, thank you!" She smiles back fondly as Rickey takes a seat opposite and just stares at her till she elaborates. "I was just reading about the assistant director Nick Callaghan," She replies earnestly but decides to leave out the part about him visiting the diner only two nights previously.

"Sí, muy malo! Not good at all!" Rickey nods vigorously as he scratches lazily at the thick layer of stubble covering the underside of his thick jaw and chin. "I heard they found pieces of 'im scattered around t' car park."

"Really?" She asks horrified as she looks thoughtfully out the large window at the front of the shop…well at the large window…the thing was too filthy to actually look out of. "Do they have any leads?"

"Hard to tell, fuckin' Federales," Rickey replies disgustedly as he spits on the floor next to him.

"Ricardo!" She frowns disapprovingly, using his full name to berate him.

"Triste…sorry Sal, back in Mexico the Federales…well least said bout them t' better. If they have leads they not tellin' us."

"Oi!" Lou shouts angrily making both Rickey and Sally jump in unison. "Get back to work! I don't pay you to sit around gossiping!"

"Pendejo," Rickey mutters under his breath as he gets up and moves back to the sanctuary of the small kitchenette, whilst Sally goes back to cleaning up the coffee stain with the damp cloth Rickey had given her earlier.

What if they have no leads? She still found herself wondering later that night when her shift finally ends and she begins to make the long walk to her bus stop to take her home to the valley.

What if the murder goes free?

Face flushed with indecision she stops and looks about her as memories of Benjamin's…Nick's handsome face smiles politely at her as he slips her the hundred dollar bill…he'd done her a massive favour that night…it was only right that she now did the same for him!

Turning around Sally makes her way back past the diner to the nearest train station. The FBI building was in downtown LA…there probably wouldn't be anyone there this late…but she was willing to wait until there was, even if that meant waiting all night. She owed Nick that much!

Mind made up, and feeling better for the decision, Sally sits and waits patiently in the quiet darkness of the station's open platform. It had already been a long night and Sally was ridiculously tired…which was probably why she ended up falling asleep on the hard bench, head resting comfortably, nestled securely in the crook of her folded arms.

*Meanwhile, Elsewhere*

Turning off the ignition to his Black Chevy Suburban, Don lets the darkness envelope him like a thick blanket until he finally feels safe and secure enough to reach over and grab out the contents of the small Walmart bag that he had unceremoniously dumped on the passenger seat earlier that night.

After his little 'chat' with Charlie, Don had securely locked himself away in his office to finish reading the rest of the contents of Nick's file without interruptions. No small feat considering how thick the thing was! It had taken hours, but eventually Don had managed to finish reading the thing from page to page, word for word until it had become very clear that his secure, safe office was anything but. In fact it had left him almost more than certain that he needed to get himself and the file out of the building immediately.

That was when the phone had rung…

Picking it up with the same care that he would use when putting the pin back into a live grenade, Don had been relived and unsettled to hear Robin on the other end of the line. What if his phone was being tapped…? What if his office was bugged? What if they already knew about the file because they had heard Robin give it to him earlier?

"Rob?" He had rudely cut across her as he transferred the phone from his hand to the crook of his neck as he slammed the file shut and began stuffing it into his solid briefcase, spinning the lock. "I'm sorry love, I'm really tied up at the moment…can this wait till I get home?" He had asked placatingly, practically pleadingly as he fought to keep his voice calm.

"I guess," She had replied huffily, knowing that he would probably be hours yet and whatever she was griping about now would more than likely have to wait till the morning.

He'd felt bad, but it was necessary…in fact whilst he was at it…as a precaution he had added, "Also that file you gave me earlier…was just an old case file of Nick's. Don't know why he would give it to you…anyway I'm going to put it back in his cabinet and let the next AD worry about it. Bye!" And quickly put the phone down like it had suddenly scolded him.

That was when he had left and driven to Walmart…

Looking down at the box for his new burner phone, Don silently wonders if he's being too paranoid, Charlie would probably say that he was…then again Larry would probably say he wasn't being paranoid enough…Don just didn't know anymore. Ever since he had read Nick's file…everything was a jumble and too many unsavory thoughts were flashing through his head.

Like who he could trust…that was the problem with conspiracies, it got lonely pretty damn fast as everyone who was once a friend suddenly becomes a potential enemy.

There was one name, however, that had stood out to him as he had devoured the contents of the burgundy file, one name that had been like a beacon anchoring him in the sudden storm of emotion flooding his tired and nervous brain.

Taking the phone out of the packaging, Don tossed the box away as he switched the phone on and quickly punched in a number that he prayed was safe.

"Edgerton," A deep voice answered after a few rings, he sounded surprisingly alert considering it was after midnight.

"Ian!" Don replied relieved to hear the achingly familiar voice. "It's Don."

"Don? I didn't recognize the number…"

"It's…complicated…"

"What's wrong?" Ian askes worriedly, ever astute as he picks up on the tense tone of Don's clipped voice. What if Ian's phone wasn't secure…?

"Not on the phone…how fast can you get to LA?"

"I'm almost done here…so probably the end of the week?"

"I don't think you understand," Don whispers quickly; though he was sat in a small layby off a twisted road that overlooked Downtown LA where no one else was even close enough to hear his soft words. "Nick's dead."

"I heard…I'm really sorry Don…"

"I know, everyone is sorry," Don hisses angrily as his free hand grips the steering wheel till his knuckles turn white. "Sorry…I know you mean well…"

"Don…you're worrying me ok…what's going on?"

"I told you…not over the phone…it's not…safe…and I don't know who else I can trust with this…"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"Sorry?"

"The earliest I can be there."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Don heaves a massive sigh of relief as he loosens his grip on the steering wheel and watches the colour slowly creep back in.

"Any toys I should bring with me?"

"I'm not sure yet…" Don replies hesitantly as he thinks on the mini arsenal that Ian usually keeps in the trunk of his green jeep. "Bring everything…and Ian…you can't tell anyone that you're coming."

"Understood. Where do you want to meet?"

"There is a little place I know, out of the way," Don whispers conspiritably as he looks around him at the emptiness surrounding him. "I'll text you the coordinates."

"Until tomorrow then…"

"Until tomorrow," Don nods, though Ian can't see him. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Ian replies reassuringly, his deep voice soothing Don's racing heart. "And Don…be safe."

With Ian's words still ringing in his ears, Don hangs up and pockets the small phone before switching the ignition of the Chevy Suburban back on and driving home to an inevitably pissed off wife.