A/N: Sorry to all- I consolidated Chapter 1 and the Prologue, and in essence created two Chapter 3's. That probably stymied anyone that wanted to review the last chapter. Just in case you missed it - go back and check Chapter 3 - it's a new chapter, and with the numbering there's a chance you didn't read it yet. If not, I guess you get two in one day! I see a lot of story alerts out there - I'd love to hear from you.

Chapter 4

Late in the afternoon, Don tooled his way through the L.A. traffic, the arson case files on the seat of his SUV. There was an odd little whistling noise near the windshield since the vehicle repair after his accident, which normally annoyed him, but today, his mind was occupied. He'd been half-hoping Charlie would be appeased by the tax fraud case; that maybe he could hold off giving him another one for a while. Feed him just enough to keep him happy, look for cases that would involve a minimum amount of fieldwork. It seemed though, as soon as he'd turned the spigot, the cases started flowing again of their own accord – now he had the arson case to pass on. In spite of his good intentions, cases just seemed to find Charlie. It made Don feel even more uneasy about the situation than he already did.

It was close to four as he strode through the hallway to Charlie's office. Close enough to call it a day – maybe he could entice Charlie into going out for a beer with him, or at least he could get himself invited over to the Craftsman. Anything but face another solitary night. As he drew closer, he could hear a raised voice coming from the office, and even through the closed door, he recognized it as Amita's. 'An argument,' he thought with wince, 'it sounds like a doozy.'

He paused, hesitating, trying to decide where to go to wait it out, and although the words were muffled, they were delivered in a tone loud enough to make their way through the door. "You can forget it! I can't go through that again! You know how I felt about it, and you did it anyway – and not only that, you lied to me!" There was an undecipherable response in a tone of entreaty, and then Amita's voice again. "No – I can't do this any more, Charlie. You need to think about what you really want here. In the meantime, I think we need to take a step back."

Don could hear Charlie's voice again, still unintelligible, and then Amita's vehement reply, now closer to the door. It burst open before Don could retreat, and Amita stormed out, tears running down her face. She spied him, sending him a look laced with fury and vitriol, and stabbed a finger at him. "How could you?!" she spat, her voice shaking, as she passed him. "I thought you were on my side. You're both idiots!" A sob escaped, and she hurried past, as Don stared at her, nonplussed.

He recovered his senses enough to move toward the office, and one word came to mind. Pitiful. Charlie had sunk into his chair at his desk, his shoulders slumped dejectedly, raising stunned eyes to Don as he appeared in the doorway; and the expression on his face was just that – pitiful.

"Hey, Buddy," said Don softly, helplessly. As if he didn't feel badly enough about his brother's consulting, now it had caused a break between him and Amita. He moved toward Charlie, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I guess I screwed that up," Charlie said, looking down at his desk, trying for sarcasm, but his voice cracked a little. "Dad and Larry both told me I should have told her from the beginning, but I didn't listen to them."

"She probably wouldn't have been happy about it either way," said Don. He hoped his voice sounded soothing, but he was afraid it came across as simply discouraging.

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't have lied to her on top of it," said Charlie. He raised heartbroken eyes to Don. "She said she couldn't trust me anymore, that we must not really have a relationship that means anything if I won't confide in her - I don't know what to do."

Don didn't either, and he thought to himself privately that he was the last person qualified to give advice to the lovelorn. There was no way to tell how this was going to work out, but he knew instinctively that whatever the outcome, only time would tell. "You need to give her a chance to digest it Buddy, that's all you can do right now. Let her have the weekend, or longer if she needs it, to think about it and calm down." Charlie had bowed his head again, and suddenly the arson case didn't seem that important.

Don cleared his throat, and gave Charlie's shoulder a squeeze. "I – uh – I could use some company myself tonight. What do you say we go out for a bite to eat, and maybe a beer? What's Dad doing tonight?"

Charlie shook his head morosely. "I don't know. I'm not sure I want to face him anyway. He's going to be upset."

"So then we'll go, just the two of us." Charlie looked up at him, with gratitude peeking through the bleakness in his eyes, and in spite of the sad situation, the expression made Don feel warm inside. He put his arm around Charlie as he rose, and gave his shoulders a squeeze, a gesture generated by a surge of love and protectiveness. After a couple of weeks of feeling needy, it was good to be needed.

99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999

William Koslowski rubbed a mechanical pencil against his head, and it ruffled his thinning hair. It was mousy brown and getting sparse on top, in spite of the fact that he was only thirty-six. That, and his decidedly unstylish glasses with Coke bottle lenses, the ratty brown vest, and his thin, stooped body, gave him the look of a man ten years older.

He knew he wasn't a 'people' person. He was a geek, a bona fide nerd, and perversely a little proud of it. Math was his world, and he was well on his way to tenure at Philadelphia University as a professor of applied mathematics. Oddly enough, in spite of his lack of social skills, he was a popular teacher. He would have been mortified to know that his social ineptness was so extreme it had somehow endeared him to his students. He was an oddity, a bit of a freak, and his students affectionately referred to him as "Wild Willy."

It was late on a Friday night, and he wasn't expecting visitors, so when the bell rang at his modest suburban home, he peered out through window in the door side panel cautiously. Two men in suits stood on his front porch, and as they caught movement in the window, one of them flashed a badge. Even under the porch light, it was apparent that it said, "FBI." Willy opened the door and blinked at the men myopically. "Can I help you?"

"We hope so, Dr. Koslowski," said one of them, extending his hand. "I'm Agent Pete Wilhelm, this is Agent Brad Decker. May we come in?"

Willy shook his hand and blinked again, and then stood back, with a sweep of his hand. "Certainly. Come in."

999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999

Charlie took a long swig of his draft beer and set the mug down with thunk, and poked at his plate half-heartedly. They'd opted for a little place near Don's apartment that was first and foremost a bar, but was renowned for its burgers. An immense sandwich covered half of Charlie's plate with a towering pile of fries next to it – an 'in-your-face' greasy taunt to the more chic, trendy eateries that catered to the Hollywood crowd and their hangers-on.

Don took a healthy bite of his sandwich and a drink of his own beer. He was matching Charlie, easily – they were both on their third, and the mugs were large. The difference was, Don was soaking some of his up with food, and Charlie appeared to be on a liquid diet. He was already slurring his words a little, and Don was barely feeling the effects. "You'd better eat something, Buddy," he advised.

Charlie sighed and picked up a French fry, waving it around a little before taking a listless bite. He chased it down with another swig of beer. "I ham sso screwed," he said. He picked up another extra long fry, and waved it back and forth. "If thiss was long enough, I could generate a ssine wave."

Don hid a grin behind his sandwich, took a bite and swallowed. "Look, you'd better eat some of that. When I called Dad, I told him we were going out to grab a bite. He'll have my head if I take you home drunk and without some dinner in you."

Charlie picked up his sandwich and grimaced. "I don't wanta go home," he grumbled around a bite of burger. He managed to get the bite down, and looked at Don. "Can I ssstay at your place tonight? The lass thing I need is a buncha queshtions from Dad."

Don felt an odd rush of relief at the request. The last thing he needed was another night alone- and Charlie needed him, he reminded himself. He felt a wave of happiness at the thought that surprised him with its intensity. After the weeks of arguing and the horrible experience of thinking he'd lost Charlie, and the sting of knowing that Charlie had chosen to confide in one of his agents instead of him, here they were – hanging out, Charlie finally leaning on him – him. Big brother.

Big brother looked across the table and grinned, as he watched Charlie dutifully trying to manage another bite, a wad of burger in his cheek. Charlie's gaze was focused on the table, and Don's expression softened a little at the desolation in his brother's eyes. "Yeah, sure, Charlie. We can hang out at my place. I'll call Dad again and tell him."

Charlie sighed with relief, and the grateful look he sent across the table suddenly made Don feel like a traitor. After all, it was consulting for him that had caused the rift between Charlie and Amita to begin with. Everything bad that had happened in his brother's life lately all seemed to come back to that.

The little food that Charlie did have seemed to give him some equilibrium, and they made it up the stairs to Don's apartment without incident. He got them each another beer; and they plopped on the sofa. Charlie still looked miserable, and Don turned the TV on, but left the sound off, along with the lights except for the one in the kitchen, and the only illumination came from there, and the silver radiation emanating from the TV screen. It played across Charlie's features, and made his dark eyes black, unreadable. He had half his beer down already, Don noted, with raised eyebrows. Apparently his little brother could give him a run for his money.

He liked this, Don decided. In spite of Charlie's obvious distress over Amita, it still felt good to be together, and a thought suddenly occurred to Don as to how to prolong it through the next day. "The permit for your gun came in," he said.

Charlie made a face, and shrugged. Several days ago, Don had talked him into applying for a permit for a handgun. Charlie had argued at first; he wasn't crazy about the idea of having a firearm, but Don convinced him it would be good to have for self-defense. Even then, it was only the promise of getting to spend time with Don at the firing range that made Charlie concede. Don had helped him apply, and managed the communication with the gun shop.

At his silence, Don pressed, "Maybe we can pick it up tomorrow, and go out to the range."

Charlie shrugged again, and sighed, then shot a rueful look at Don. He didn't want to seem ungrateful. "Yeah, okay."

Don studied him. "You think anymore about the courses at Quantico?" He had been pressing Charlie to take some courses in self-defense, and possibly some others to improve his situational observation skills.

"Yeah," Charlie replied quietly. "I think if I'm going to go, I'd better do it before the end of this semester. I pick up my full load of classes again next term."

"Maybe I'll go with you, depending on how busy we are. There are a couple of courses I've been looking at, a new one and a refresher. I think David was looking at some too. We can fly out together."

Charlie nodded. "That would be good."

They lapsed into silence for a while, and the recent events rose like specters in Don's mind; in the quiet and the gloom he couldn't keep them away. Like a rat returning though a maze, his thoughts kept wandering back to the construction company, where Charlie had spent what were nearly the last days of his life. His mind shied away from the awful recollection of finding Charlie in a makeshift grave, and he backtracked, turning over what had happened before that point, and settled on a question that had bothered him since it happened. "Why did you lie?" he asked quietly.

Charlie blinked, but kept his brooding eyes on the television screen. His words weren't as slurred as before, but it was apparent that he had to corral his tongue before speaking, to keep from stumbling over it. "Because she'd made it clear she didn't want me consulting anymore. I wanted to wait until I'd gotten though a couple of cases without a problem – I thought maybe she'd take it better."

"No, I mean to me - at the construction office, when Sean Moran put you on the phone. Why did you say you didn't know where you were?"

Charlie shot him a glance. "You really need to ask that?"

Don shook his head. "Charlie, we could have been there so much sooner. You should have told us."

Charlie looked back at the screen. "I couldn't take the chance. Knowing you, you'd go all Superman on me or something, and show up by yourself. That's what he wanted."

Don stared at him. "But you had no way of knowing whether someone else would come. How could you count on that?"

Charlie took another long swallow of beer. "I wasn't," he said quietly. He glanced quickly at Don, then away again. "I figured that was it. I didn't think I was getting out of there."

Don stared at him, his throat tightening. The corner of Charlie's mouth quirked, and he gazed at his beer bottle as he continued. "I wondered, at the time, if you knew. I knew that Dad knew, and Amita – at least I thought she did at the time – I guess I don't know about now - but I didn't know if you did." He turned his eyes toward Don, huge and serious.

Don stared back in confusion, trying to process the ramble. "Buddy, you completely lost me there. Knew what?"

"That I love you," said Charlie simply. "I never said it, but I hoped you did – knew it, I mean. I don't know if brothers say that to each other much, but I figured when I got the chance, I should tell you sometime."

Don's eyes stung with tears, and he covered quickly by taking another swig of beer, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. When he found his voice again, it was husky. "I love you too, Buddy," he said, and chanced a glance sideways. The look in Charlie's eyes suddenly made the world right again. Don smiled, stuck out his bottle, and they clinked the necks together. "Here's to brothers."

9999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999

That conversation was the highlight of the evening. In fact, when Don thought about it later, it was one of the highlights of his life. Unfortunately, things went downhill from there. Every dark-haired beauty that came on the television screen reminded Charlie of Amita, and sent him in to the kitchen for another beer, and, as Don realized after the third trip, a slug of the tequila on the counter. At one point, Charlie called her – Don could hear his voice from the kitchen, pleading with her on the phone, and although he'd been keeping Charlie company in the drinking department, he still had enough brain cells left to know that any conversation with Amita at that point was probably not a good idea.

She apparently had the same thought; the discussion didn't last very long. Don hustled out to the kitchen in time to see Charlie frantically redialing her, and he wrestled the phone away, muttering a warning about harassment that he hoped was intelligible. As he peered at the phone to make sure the call hadn't connected, Charlie had staggered over for another shot of tequila, which proved to be his last. A short time later he had passed out on the sofa, face down. Don pulled his shoes off, put a blanket over him and staggered off to bed himself.

Two hours later, Don found himself sitting upright in bed, bathed in sweat. That wasn't an uncommon occurrence lately, but this time, it wasn't a nightmare that had disturbed his sleep. As he sat there trying to figure what had wakened him, he heard it again – a low cry of distress from the living room. He was out of bed in a flash, and stumbled into the next room, where he stopped for a minute, trying to get his bearings. Even in the dark, he could see that the sofa was unoccupied, and as he stepped forward cautiously, he spied a dark form huddled on its side on the floor. As he bent over Charlie, his heart contracting, he realized his brother was shaking, and obviously still asleep.

He put out a hand and touched his arm. "Charlie. Buddy."

The reaction was immediate; Charlie jerked upright, still shivering. His eyes were open wide, but staring at nothing, unfocused, and he was breathing heavily, as if terrified. Don sank down next to him, and put his arms around him, trying to calm him. "Shh. It's okay, Buddy, it's just a dream." Charlie tensed; then slowly began to relax as awareness came back into his eyes.

A final shudder ran through him, and his eyes drooped slightly as he leaned against Don. "Sssorry," he slurred.

"It's okay. Why don't you get back up on the sofa?"

Charlie shook his head, groggily. "No, s'okay, floor's good." He pulled away from Don, and laid back down in a fetal position on the floor, batting away the blanket as Don tried to cover him.

Don sat there for a moment, then shook his head sadly, and got up and bumped up the thermostat a few degrees. He grabbed the blanket and lay down on the sofa himself, with one arm trailing, his hand resting on Charlie's shoulder, and drifted off to sleep.

99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999

End Chapter 4