Disclaimer: It's weird, but Numb3rs and its characters still don't belong to me.
Spoiler / Warning: Or rather, no warning, because I don't know if the title makes you hope or fret, but there won't be a character death in the foreseeable future.
Rating: These stories are getting much darker than I originally intended (my sadism is just getting out of hands…), so this one is another M.
Timeline: early season 3
A/N: Sorry this took so long. One reason is that I changed both the title and the general plot several times, also to avoid repetition. Still, you might notice that this is a kind of spin-off to one of the previous chapters. I also tried a bit harder to include Amita and Larry in this story, as suggested by Kasadija957. They're still not central, but it's a start.
I haven't decided on the next title yet, so if you have an idea, just PM me :)

Dead

"Hey Liz! Wouldn't have expected to see you again so soon!" Don smilingly greeted his former… well, technically you might call her 'girlfriend'. Or maybe date. Date for a couple of times. Yeah, that sounded more like it.

"Yeah well, I just couldn't get enough of all of you," she replied with a cocky little smile.

By now, David, Colby and Megan had turned around to greet her as well. "What brings you here?" Megan asked.

"Well, my boss is still on a leave of absence, and now Janet is on maternity leave as well, so they decided to split the rest of us up and put us on other teams for a couple of weeks. I guess you're stuck with me for a while."

Colby theatrically rolled his eyes. "Man, we can not catch a break!"

"Watch it, Granger," Liz said grinning and boxed him in his shoulder.

"Ouch!" Colby went on acting.

"Okay, enough with that," Don cut them off, although he too was grinning. It was nice to see the team harmonize so well even with an additional member.

"At least your being here explains why they assigned this case to us," David piped up. He and Colby had just returned from the crime scene and had been about to present their most recent case to the rest of the team. "Shall we?" he asked and pointed towards the conference room.

Once they were settled, he began to present the information they'd gathered so far. "So last night, Daniel Spencer, 31, was shot at close range in an alley behind a club downtown. The bullet nicked the heart, the damage and the blood loss caused cardiac arrest an hour later."

"Oh my G-d," Liz exclaimed, a bit shocked, when the images of their victim appeared on the screen, "he was one of our informants!"

David nodded. "That's why this is a federal case. They think it may be linked to organized crime, and luckily, we now got an expert of Spencer's connections in that field."

Liz shook his head. "I don't understand. He wasn't actually part of a syndicate or some other scheme. He was a loner, he just gave us a tip every now and then concerning prostitution."

"How did he get that info if he wasn't involved himself?" Don asked.

"Hearsay, mostly. He was involved in drugs – not selling, or so he said, just using, I think cocaine, mostly – and when trying to get his stuff he was often offered… well, other services. Or he just forwarded us what was the word on the street."

"Anything recent? Anything important enough to get him killed?"

"That's it, I mean, he gave us tips quite readily, but they were far from being big revelations, just small indications to give us an idea where and when a raid might be useful, stuff like that. I can't imagine someone would kill him over that." Her expression changed, something must have occurred to her. "But two weeks… yeah, a bit over two weeks ago he asked us for – well, he actually called it an 'advance'. He must have had money problems, and since he didn't get the money from us, maybe we should take a look at that angle."

"There was no money found on the scene," David added. "His wallet had been emptied, save for his ID and driver's license and the sort."

"Alright," Don nodded. "David, you take a look at his bank account, the rest of us go over his most recent involvements in organized crime, just to be on the safe side."

Not even an hour had elapsed when David came back to the conference room to join the others. "You won't believe this," he said, his face grim.

"What's up?" Don asked. He couldn't quite place David's behavior.

"Daniel Spencer found a way to solve his money problems. Two weeks ago, he received a cash transfer of $3000 on his bank account. When I looked for other payments from the account the money came from, I found several others over the course of several years, all between $500 and $3000."

"Sounds like blackmail," Colby asked.

David stared at him with a look the others couldn't quite interpret. "That's what I thought at first."

"But?"

"But you might wanna reconsider your assessment when you hear who owns the account."

"What is this, a quiz?" Colby asked. "Come on, what's going on? Who paid him off?"

David first looked down at the table, then directly into Don's eyes. "The payments came from Charlie."

The silence was so thick that they had almost trouble breathing.

"What?" Don asked eventually, his voice unnaturally thin. He shook his head. "Come on, you must have made a mistake –"

"I double-checked, Don. And other than these payments to our victim, I couldn't find any suspicious activity on Charlie's bank account, at least not at first glance, so misuse doesn't seem all that likely."

"So what, you think my brother killed that guy because he blackmailed him?" Don didn't know what prompted him to be so hostile towards David, he almost felt like he should just laugh it off, but even in the shocked state he was in, he realized that the situation was much too grave for that.

David crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You know I don't think that. But I think you, or someone, should talk to him."

There were some further moments of silence. "Yeah," Don then said, but suddenly felt that his limbs were too heavy to get himself up from his chair, as if that might give him an excuse to avoid the inevitable. How the hell had his brother managed to get involved in this mess? Why on earth had he given their victim that kind of money? "Megan, you and I go to CalSci to find out about the money. In the meanwhile, the three of you should cover further angles. Right now, the organized crime leads seem rather thin, so try friends and family, see if something pops up there."

He felt four pairs of eyes glued to his back as he got up from his chair with some effort and left, headed for any place where he could get some air.

"Come on, Larry, surely that's not what he meant! You must have misunderstood something."

The door was open, and Charlie's voice floated out into the corridor.

"Oh no, my friend," that was Larry, "I can assure you that my description is quite accurate, although I must say, I can understand your disbelief."

Don knocked at the open office door and he and Megan stepped in. "Disbelief about what?" he asked, trying not to let it show in his features that they'd come for a serious matter.

"Larry just returned from a conference on supergravity theory," Amita explained smiling, though hardly turning her eyes away from the laptop sitting in front of her, "and he and Charlie are a little shocked about Professor Stevenson's view on the matter."

Don nodded with raised eyebrows, decided that he did not want to hear more about that and stopped Larry short before he could delve deeper into the subject and vent on the scientific shortcomings of that Professor Stevenson. "Listen, guys, we need your help with something."

Just as always, Charlie lay down his chalk and brushed the dust off his hands at his jeans, eager to help wherever he could. "Sure, what's up?"

"Actually," Megan chimed in, "maybe we should discuss this privately with you, Charlie."

The three scientists collectively raised their eye-brows. Amita and Larry were just about to get up from their seats when Don held them back. "No, wait, maybe you can tell us something as well." He still thought it was their best bet that Charlie, if he knew him at all, knew their victim from somewhere around campus, how else should he have come in such close contact with someone with such a lifestyle? And if this was so, then Larry's and Amita's additional input might be very useful.

"Do any of you know this man?"

Since she was sitting between Larry and Charlie, Don put the picture on the table before Amita. Both she and Larry, standing behind her, started shaking their heads, but when Charlie came close enough to see the picture properly, he didn't hesitate a moment before answering, "That's Daniel."

Okay, that wasn't what Don had expected. "So you know him?" On a first name basis?, he felt like adding, but held himself back. He knew he shouldn't be surprised, but until now, he had been almost certain that the connection they had found to Charlie had to be founded on some sort of misunderstanding.

Charlie stared at him as if he'd asked whether the sky was blue. "It's Daniel," he repeated. "Danny. Danny Spencer?" Apparently his face was still blank, for Charlie went on, "From down the street?"

Now the light-bulb had switched on. Still, he couldn't quite believe it. "That's Danny?" he asked and grabbed the picture to study it more intently than he'd done until now. He couldn't see it. "Are you sure?"

"That's an enlargement of the photo from his driver's license, right? So I guess you know his name by now."

Don shook his head thoughtfully, still trying to merge the two persons into one. He realized only now that he'd never known Danny's last name, and considering that the picture he was holding in his hand had absolutely nothing to do with the Danny he knew, he told himself that it was quite comprehensible that he hadn't made the connection.

"So how do you know this Danny, Charlie?" he heard Megan ask.

"They were best friends when they were kids," Don explained, still staring at the picture. He still had a hard time believing it. The haggard Daniel Spencer from the photo had little resemblance with the shy little boy from his memory. Danny had always seemed like a sweet child, and his blond curls, reminding him a little of Charlie's despite the color, used to make him look like a little angel. Now the curls were gone, as were the puffy cheeks. As was the life inside of him.

While he was still occupied with his thoughts, Charlie turned to Megan. "Why do you ask? Is he in trouble?"

He should have known that Megan wouldn't let herself be interrogated without turning the tables first. "Why would he be?"

His brother swallowed and looked back at the picture in Don's hands. "He has a tendency to mix with the wrong crowd."

"Do you know if there's anyone specific? Anyone who might have threatened him?"

Charlie shook his head and was just trying to form his next question into words when Megan interrupted him, "Maybe someone he's got debts to settle with? Is that why you gave him money?"

Another shake of the head. "No, I just helped him out – wait, how do you know that?"

He was searching Don's eyes and Don knew that look on his face, that plea for reassurance, for telling him that everything was alright because he'd just realized that it wasn't.

Don emanated a little sigh and put the picture down. He hated to have to do this. "Maybe you should sit down, buddy."

Charlie remained standing. "What happened?" His tone was demanding, even authoritative, but he couldn't ban the slight tremble from his voice.

There was no way to avoid this, and no sense in keeping him in suspense any longer. "I'm sorry, Charlie," Don said, and he was. "Danny's dead."

For a second, his brother just stared at him. Then he let himself sink in a chair and buried his face in his hands.

Don watched his brother's pitiful figure and felt his heart contract. He wanted so much to make him feel better, but he didn't think there was anything he could do. He swallowed, glancing nervously at the other people in the room, but all that the looks they gave him told him was that he needed to step up.

"Hey, buddy," he said and squatted down in front of him. His hand hovered over his brother's upper arm, unsure whether the contact would be welcome, and his mind felt like a hefty gust had just swept it empty. What was there to say in such a situation?

"How?"

Don was relieved, for the single word, even though its thick and muffled quality didn't help his heart contraction one bit, saved him from figuring out what to say.

"He was shot at close distance." He hesitated. "You have any idea who might have done that?"

Charlie shook his head. "I told you," he said, his voice a little raspy, "he had a tendency to mix with the wrong crowd, but I don't know any names of the people he hung out with."

"You knew he was using?"

At Megan's question, Charlie looked up at her and Don was a bit relieved to see that his brother's face was relatively dry. There was moisture in his eyes, but it hadn't broken free. Yet.

"Yeah, I mean, it was pretty obvious."

Don shook his head, still trying to comprehend what was going on. So Charlie was giving away money to a drug user who happened to be nobody else than little Danny from down the street? "I didn't even know you still had contact with him," he said a little bewildered. "I thought you stopped hanging out while you were still kids." Don could still recall a time when Danny would come over to their house almost every day, but he couldn't remember seeing him ever since he himself was twelve or thirteen, which would make Charlie and Danny seven or eight. He hadn't even been sure Danny was still living in the neighborhood.

"We kept in touch," Charlie said simply. "It became a bit challenging to spend time together, you know, with school and all the tutors and everything."

"Right, that was the time you started learning instead of living," Don said without thinking and a moment later, when the look in Charlie's eyes hit him, he would have liked to bite his tongue off. But his assessment was true, Danny had stopped coming over around the time when his little brother had become increasingly wrapped up in his math. He'd had so many appointments with so many different tutors that there were days when Don would see him only at dinner. He remembered that he'd even thought about talking to his parents about that, for Charlie had looked bad at that time, like it was all too much for him. But of course, Don had never said anything. After all, this was math, math was Charlie's thing and it was a part of his life that Don had – deliberately – nothing to do with. In the end, his parents must have realized they were putting to much pressure on their kid, because after a couple of weeks, things improved, Charlie didn't seem to have as much going on as before and started looking well again.

Now, however, Don wondered if he shouldn't have advocated for his brother after all, for it seemed like being so consumed by all his appointments with his tutors had cost him one of his closest friendships. Even worse, Don couldn't recall any friend from Charlie's childhood after Danny that would have been similarly close to him, and maybe Charlie's gift and its consequences were to blame for that as well. And now the only real friend he'd had was dead.

Megan stopped his train of thoughts. "So can you tell us anything about him, about his acquaintances, his job, his hobbies?"

Charlie shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can tell you he was always between jobs. He didn't like to put down roots anywhere. That's why I lent him the money, he'd quit his latest job and needed some help to pay his rent while he was looking for something else."

"$3000 is a pretty generous way to help," Megan observed.

Charlie shrugged. "He always paid me back."

"Fully?"

Charlie raised his head at that, and maybe for the first time that he'd ever looked at Megan, there was mistrust in his eyes. "You already checked his bank accounts. You know he was a bit behind on paying me back."

Megan decided not to tell him that they hadn't examined the victim's bank account that closely yet. Don thought that it was downright scary how she used the same tactics with Charlie that they used with their suspects. Then again, he knew she was just being professional, and to tell the truth, he was glad she was here to make sure they didn't mess up this investigation just because his brother was a witness. He wasn't sure whether he could have done that without her.

She went on, "But nevertheless, when he asked for more money, you gave it to him?"

"He was a friend!" Now Charlie was agitated, enough so to be unable to remain seated, and Megan had definitely lost some of the sympathy points she had with him.

She, however, didn't lose her calm. "And he told you he needed it to pay his rent?"

There was definitely some defiance in his voice when he answered. "I don't know, that's what he usually said, but I didn't ask him what he needed it for! But I know he only asked when he was in trouble and couldn't find another way out, so I helped him! Is that so bad?"

"Well, you know he might have used the money to buy drugs, Charlie," Don chimed in, trying to be the voice of reason.

Now, the angry stare was directed at him. "And if he did, who am I to reproach him?"

Don felt his jaw drop. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Charlie, you do realize those drugs could have killed him? Not only by OD'ing, but also because it got him into a dangerous crowd, so it's still a possibility that it's the drugs that got him killed! You should have known that being a friend would have meant not to tolerate his behavior, but to help get him away from this shit!"

In an instant, Charlie had taken the step that had separated them and was now standing directly before him, so that their noses almost touched. In any case it was close enough for Charlie's finger to poke his brother's chest. "Don't you dare judging our friendship, and don't you dare judging how I treated him!" His voice had become a dangerously low hiss. "You have no idea how hard I tried to get him away from this stuff, and you have no idea how hard it was to see him struggle all the time!"

He was breathing hard and Don was so shocked by his outburst that he was stunned to silence.

"Sorry that's all I can tell you," Charlie eventually said. His words came out quickly and his voice was flat, he was obviously having a hard time keeping it calm. "If there's anything else you need my help with, you know you just have to ask."

Before anyone could say another word, he strode out of his office, belying his words a little. Don stared after him, wondering what the hell had just happened.

When Charlie stepped back into his office, he was relieved to see that his brother and Megan were gone. Only two left to deal with.

"Sorry about that," he mumbled, avoiding to look at them.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see Larry shake his head. "Nonsense." His voice was very quiet, almost soothing. "Life and death are things the human mind is still unable to understand properly. Events that concern this matter… well, let's just say they tend to upset any one of us."

Charlie nodded, feeling that his throat was constricted too tightly for him to reply.

There was a moment of silence before Amita spoke up, still a bit hesitantly, "The two of you were close?"

He didn't answer at once. "We didn't see each other often," he finally admitted. "But when we did, we never had a problem understanding each other, even without words being necessary."

"So how come we haven't met this friend of yours? I don't think you ever even mentioned him."

Charlie shrugged. "I didn't think you would mingle too well. There wasn't much you had in common."

Amita raised her eye-brows. "But you had?"

Her question gave her another shrug. "We grew up together. You know how it is, sharing those early experiences somehow makes you closer." His next words came out a bit more croakily, "It builds a certain connection you can't find with anyone else."

Amita touched his forearm softly. "I'm sorry, Charlie."

"Yeah, everyone's sorry," he said a little gruffly. The hand on his arm drew back and he felt compelled to add, "Listen guys, I appreciate you trying to comfort me, but I'd really rather be alone right now."

Larry and Amita exchanged a glance, but surrendered.

"So, you've been awfully quiet ever since we left CalSci."

Don shot her a quick glance. She couldn't actually expect him to open up about how he felt about what had just happened, right?

There was a ping and the elevator doors opened, which Don saw as a good opportunity to ignore Megan's comment.

"Listen," she started again as they stepped in to go up and join the rest of their team, "I know you're worried about Charlie and I know that's none of my business. But I'm wondering if I should be worried about you, too. You seemed a little shocked when you found out you knew the victim, and maybe it would be a good idea to hand off the case to someone else."

"That's what you're worried about?" Okay then, that was something he could deal with. "Look, that's nice of you, but I'm good. It's just that there's not much resemblance between the boy I knew and the man that was shot in that alley. I just…" He hesitated, but Megan wouldn't let it go anyway, so he should just get it over with. "He was a good kid, you know? Lived in a good neighborhood, went to a good school, had a nice home, a nice family… I just don't understand why he would throw that all away and lead the kind of life he had."

"Some people just don't want the opportunities that are offered to them because they wouldn't let them become who they are," Megan remarked wisely.

Don gave her another side-glance. "Talking from personal experience there?"

They'd reached their floor and the elevator doors opened, so she was let off easily. "We all get our share in life," she said smiling and quite cryptically. Apparently she and Larry were spending a little too much time together.

When they got nearer to their cubicles, Liz, Colby and David stood from their desks and presented what seemed like a pretty grim welcoming committee.

Don frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Let's go in there," David said quietly and led them into the conference room.

Megan and Don looked at each other with confusion and some trepidation, but followed them without a word.

"So?" Don asked when nobody said anything. "I assume you found something?"

Liz looked back and forth between Colby and David, David looked at Colby, and Colby bit the bullet. "We did," he said, sighing heavily. "And it's bad."

Don raised his eyebrows. "I guess it won't get better if you stall telling us."

Colby nodded, looking a bit beaten. "So we checked his family background," he started. "And we found out that Daniel's father, Randell Spencer, spent most of the past 25 years in prison."

Don frowned. "What? That can't be right." Danny's dad had always seemed like a nice guy. And 25 years ago, Danny and Charlie had still been friends, so surely he would have heard about Mr. Spencer going to prison.

"A bit over 23 years ago," Colby continued without paying much attention to Don's objection, "he was sentenced to 13 years of prison. Apparently he had some problems getting re-acclimated in society when he got released, for after that, he was more back in than out. First he got three years for armed robbery on a gas station, and only a year after he got out again, he got another five years for armed robbery on a jewelry store, where one of his accomplices shot and injured their victim."

"That can't be right," Don repeated. "You got a picture of your Mr. Spencer?"

They had and Don had to admit that the two Mr. Spencers that seemed to be there were indeed only one person. True, prison had changed his looks, he had lost some of his once handsome features and seemed to have aged more than the time span would account for, but it was unmistakably Danny's dad from down the street. It only now occurred to him that after Danny stopped coming over, he had hardly seen Mr. Spencer anymore, actually, he couldn't recall even one time he had, and now that made sense.

"Alright," Don said and ran his hands over his face, trying to take it all in, "so what about that first sentence? 13 years for what?"

Colby licked his lips. "Child abuse," he finally said, very quietly.

Don gaped, shocked. "Danny was abused?" he said, almost in a whisper. He would have never expected that. Sweet little Danny, abused? But now that he thought about it, he wondered why he was so surprised. Danny had always been extremely shy, extremely uncomfortable with physical touch. And extremely often over at their house.

"Shit," Don muttered, supporting his head with his hands. The signs had all been there, he just hadn't seen them.

"Ongoing abuse for almost two years," Colby continued, his voice sounding a bit hollow. "Apparently the mother never knew, or so she said. It only came before the court in 1983, when your mom stepped in."

Don's head came up. "My mom? She never told me that." Then again, it made sense. Danny and Charlie had been friends, at least until 1983, which was the year when Charlie had turned eight, so if Mrs. Spencer started suspecting something, if she started suspecting her husband of something like that, it made sense that she would turn to a lawyer she knew and trusted. Enter Margaret Eppes, the attorney for the weak and helpless.

When Don realized that nobody had said a word for a while, he looked around, confused. "What?"

He noticed that none of them was looking at him, except for Megan, who, as he realized with shock, had tears in her eyes. "What is it?" he repeated, anger, fueled by fear, rising inside him. What were they all so upset about? What was he missing?

Colby cleared his throat and went on. "Don, the reason your mom stepped in was that in the summer of 1983, Mr. Spencer molested another child."

Colby was looking up now, right into Don's eyes, and the pain and regret Don saw in them made his chest contract. He started shaking his head, he knew that Colby was trying to tell him something, that he was trying to convey the information as gently as he could, but he couldn't be trying to say… no, that was just not possible.

"Don – Charlie was the other child that was molested."

No.

Don was still shaking his head, trying to make Colby and his words disappear, trying to wake up, for this had to be a bad dream.

"No," he heard someone say, and a second later realized that the croaky sound must have come from himself. "That… No. I would have known."

When nobody answered, he looked around, feeling suddenly hot and dizzy, waiting for somebody to tell him that they'd made a mistake, that it wasn't true.

"I'm sorry, Don."

Don looked into Colby's face and felt an inconceivable urge to punch him. There was nothing to be sorry about, there couldn't be anything to be sorry about, Colby should just shut his mouth and tend to his own business, for Charlie wasn't… he couldn't…

Before Don lost control, he shot up from his chair and strode out of the room, away from them. They had to be mistaken. Don would have known if something like that had happened. Hell, they were talking about something that had happened more than twenty years ago, there was no way that Charlie could hide something from him for this long, especially not something like that. And his mother, she would have been keeping it a secret from him as well, and if she knew, his dad must have known, too. There was just no way…

Don bit his lip and knew he was fighting a lost battle. He knew he was in denial, and he knew it was true, even though it couldn't be.

The moment the realization hit, he felt a tearing sensation in his chest that made it difficult for him to breathe. He was suddenly filled both with a feeling of loss that he couldn't quite explain and with an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. He hadn't known, he'd been living most of his life unaware of what had happened right under his nose, of what that pervert had done to his little brother, he'd had no idea that there was a big black secret lying underneath each family dinner, each morning goodbye, each trip to the park.

Suddenly, his cell phone was in his hands and he watched his fingers trying to call his brother. He needed to hear his voice, he needed to see him, he needed to feel him close. Before the call connected, though, he hung up, suddenly scared beyond measure. What should he say? What was there to say?

He took some deep breaths, leaning heavily against the balustrade outside the FBI building, dimly wondering how exactly he'd gotten here. He had to get his head back together. He couldn't afford to lose it. He had to get his wits back together. That thing had happened a long time ago, there was nothing he could change about that now. In the meanwhile, real life continued and he had a murder to solve. For Danny. For Charlie.

He was still feeling a little shaky when he returned to the bullpen. He could sense his team's concerned looks upon him, and it made him feel uncomfortable. They had stepped over a boundary. They had entered into his private life, into a part that should have been dealt with within the immediate family.

Technically within the whole family.

"Let's just not talk about it, alright?" he muttered without looking at any of them. Since he wasn't looking at them, he wasn't sure how they reacted, but in any event, they did what they were told and returned to their desks. "Megan and I are going to continue with following leads connected to organized crime, the three of you go on looking into his private life."

It worked for a while. But Don should have known that as soon as he went for a coffee, he was followed by a second shadow.

"You should talk to him, you know," Megan said quietly when they were alone in the break room.

Don put down the teaspoon with more force than was necessary. "And what should I say, according to you? 'Hey pal, sorry you got raped'?!"

Her calm was an antipole to his irritation. "He wasn't raped, he was molested."

That was enough. "Oh right, thanks Megan!" he shouted at her. "Now that helps! I just tell him how glad I am that he only got molested!"

Megan's mouth was only a thin line. "You know that's not what I meant."

He forced himself to breathe before he answered. "That's exactly why I don't wanna talk to him." There was still a healthy amount of irritation in his voice, but at least he wasn't shouting anymore. "There's no upside. I could only say the wrong things." And hurt him even more, he silently added.

"So what, you just want to pretend you don't know? You know that's not going to work."

He was silent.

Before he could say anything, David stormed into the room. "Ballistics came back, they matched the bullet to the weapon used in the armed robbery on the jewelry store five years ago, where Daniel's father was one of the robbers."

"His father shot him?" Megan asked, confused.

Don didn't care. If that was where the evidence pointed them, he'd find the guy first and ask for his motives later. "Alright, grab Colby and check his home, Liz and I will go to his workplace; Megan, you stay here and find out everything you can about him. And David, keep me posted, if he's not at either of those two places, we put an APB out on him."

Charlie was staring at the desk in front of him, seeing nothing. He was still filled with a feeling of utter emptiness which he didn't know how to make disappear. Danny… He'd always been afraid that something like this would happen. Danny hadn't lived a life that could go smoothly for long. Actually, things had never gone smoothly for him.

And again, just like he always did when thinking about Danny, he wondered if there wasn't something he could have done differently, if he'd really tried everything to help his friend. Of course he'd tried to convince him to get away from the drugs, to settle down, to talk to his mother again, to get help, accept help… all in vain. But maybe his real fault lay way back, maybe he should have realized sooner what was going on with Danny and his dad. Sure, rationally Charlie knew that he'd only been a kid himself, that there was probably no way he could have known – hell, even Danny's mom hadn't known. Rationality, however, did nothing to assuage his feeling of guilt.

Charlie sighed and stood from his chair a bit shakily. He shouldn't sit here alone in his dark office all evening, he shouldn't let the dark thoughts drown him. That was no healthy behavior, and he knew it. He knew that shutting people out wouldn't make this better, but only worse. Besides, there was nothing he needed more right now than his father's hug.

With his heart still heavy, but his mind eased a bit by the prospect of returning to a warm and welcoming home, he walked toward his car. The parking lot was empty, it was Friday evening and most people seemed to have better things to do than hanging around campus. Therefore, Charlie was quite surprised when he heard someone call out his name.

He turned around and in the waning light of dusk, his eyes took a moment until they enabled him to recognize the man coming towards him. Even when he did, he was sure he was mistaken. This couldn't be happening.

"Hey, Charlie," the man said again, now being only a couple of yards away from him. "Nice to see you again."

Charlie was rooted on the spot, unable to move, unable to form any coherent thought. "What are you doing here," he said and wouldn't have recognized his voice himself, it was low and raspy and shaky. Filled with fear.

"I want my due," Mr. Spencer said and was suddenly holding a gun in his hand. "You're going to help me out, Charlie, financially. It's only fair."

Charlie was shaking his head, confused, scared, unable to react properly or to even understand what was happening.

"Now get into your car. We're going to find an ATM. I'm happy to hear that you're a professor now, you must make quite a decent salary."

Charlie was still shaking his head, but had found his voice again. "You must be out of your mind." Or at least he had found a voice again, for this certainly wasn't his.

"I can assure you, I'm not," Mr. Spencer said in something that had much resemblance with the charming, soothing tone he'd once had. "I'm merely asking you to correct what you did to me."

Now anger made him speak. "What I did to you? What I did to you?! You…" Charlie wanted to go on in his venting, wanted to shout at that man for as long as he could, but there were no words in his head.

"You ruined my life," Mr. Spencer said and all of a sudden his voice was ice cold. "You ratted me out to the police, and after that, I was an outcast. Even after I did my time, who would hire a child molester, huh? I got no job, I got no money, and I had to find other ways to stay alive. There was no coming back to society, what they really gave me was a life sentence, and it's your fault, yours and Danny's."

Charlie was shaking his head again, his mind empty, filled with only one voice, one that sounded strangely like Danny's and that kept shouting at him, He did it! He did it!

"You killed him, didn't you?" Charlie whispered, wondering dimly if his voice could be heard over the painfully rapid beating of his heart.

"It was an accident," Mr. Spencer said and try as he might, Charlie couldn't discern one bit of regret in his voice. His blood began boiling. "I asked him to help me out, I'm his father, for G-d's sake! He should have had more respect for me! But he just told me to fuck off." He had talked himself into a rage, but a moment later, he was calm and his voice as cold as ice again when he added, "The gun went off when we fought, there was nothing I could do."

"You killed him," Charlie whispered again and suddenly lost all his fear and qualms and rationality. "You killed him!" he shouted and pushed hard against the other man's chest so that he stumbled backwards. "You raped him and abused him and ruined his life and then you killed him!"

He was still trying to push him away, regardless of the gun in his hand, but the other man wouldn't go down that easily. Without knowing where it came from, Charlie's head suddenly exploded with white light and he stumbled backwards against his car. When he realized that Mr. Spencer had just punched him in the face, he wanted to get up, to start fighting back, but the other man was already on top of him, and the cold muzzle of his gun was pressed against his temple.

"You little piece of shit," he hissed and Charlie winced when the gun was pressed harder against the side of his head. "You –"

Suddenly, he was gone, and it took Charlie the fracture of a second to realize that a third party had entered their fight.

"Get away from him!" Don shouted, quite unnecessarily since he'd already pulled him off of Charlie. "Leave him alone, you pervert, or I swear to you, I'm gonna kill you!"

Charlie shuddered. He'd never heard Don shout in that tone, with that kind of rage. He seemed to be beyond reason. By now he'd managed to bring Mr. Spencer down on the ground and started hitting him in the face and torso.

"Don," Charlie said, trying to get to his feet, but Don didn't seem to hear him.

"Don!"

Mr. Spencer's nose and lips were bloody and Charlie wasn't sure if he was even conscious. He grabbed his brother's arm.

"Stop it," he said, but Don jerked out of his grip, and Charlie made a decision, moved by fear. Whatever happened, Don couldn't end up killing this man.

With all the force and momentum he could muster, he pushed Don off Mr. Spencer's motionless body until they lay there on the ground beside him. But only a second later, Charlie could feel Don's struggles start anew, and he hastened to get to look into his eyes, for he knew that now, without an element of surprise, he wouldn't have another chance of holding Don back by using physical strength.

"Don," he said fiercely, intently staring into his eyes, "don't."

He was still grabbing Don's arms, trying to hold him back, but when he stared into his big brother's eyes, there was a pain there he'd hardly ever seen before, and he realized: Don knew. He'd gone berserk, he'd hit that man half unconscious, he'd called him a 'pervert'. He knew.

"Don't move! What's going on here?"

Charlie flinched and both he and Don turned around to the owner of the voice who, in the growing darkness, was flashing a light at them.

"Professor Eppes was attacked by this man," Don explained as he stood with deliberately slow movements. His voice still didn't sound like him, it was too breathless, too flat. "I happened to witness the attack and pulled him off him. I'm with the FBI, I'm going to show you my badge now, alright?"

By now, Charlie too had recognized the newcomer by his uniform as one of CalSci's security guards and, a bit relieved, struggled to get up as well.

"Oh, it's you, Professor?" the guard said and now Charlie recognized the voice. By now his eyes had become accustomed to the bright light so that he could see his face, too. He didn't know his name, but they'd met frequently enough when he'd stayed at his office to work for long into the night. In any case, the guard knew him well enough not to consider him a threat and so he took a second to inspect Don's badge. "Are you alright?" he then asked Charlie.

Charlie had by now managed to scramble to his feet and nodded. "I'm okay, but you should probably call an ambulance for him." With a nod of his head, he indicated Mr. Spencer who was still lying on the floor wincing. He was a bit curled up, apparently Don had effectively hit his liver.

"And the LAPD, I presume," he said, but Don cut him off, "That won't be necessary. My team's going to handle it; he's a suspect in a murder investigation."

The guard had his eyes widened, but set to his task of calling an ambulance while tending to the man on the ground, which gave the brothers a moment of privacy.

"Are you okay?" Don asked in so low a voice that Charlie had difficulty understanding him. He wouldn't have needed his words though, the look in Don's eyes belied his worry, and the emotion Charlie could see there told him beyond a doubt what his brother was hinting at.

He nodded. "You should call your team," he said quietly and still had difficulty recognizing his own voice. This was surreal. Mr. Spencer, the monster of the nightmares of his childhood, the man he'd been avoiding thinking about for years, was lying on the ground before him, and soon Megan and David and Colby and Liz would be here to arrest him for the murder of his own son, for Daniel's murder, because Daniel was gone and now there was no one who could really understand him, but suddenly everyone seemed to know about what had happened.

Charlie could feel that his knees were starting to tremble and knew he needed to give himself a break. "I'm just gonna sit in my car for a while," he informed Don as he was already on his way to the safety of his car, luckily a few yards away from Mr. Spencer.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he was sitting down. His head was heavy all of a sudden and as he supported it with his hands, he was glad to see how cool they were. He felt suddenly hot, the cheek where Mr. Spencer had hit him started burning and his head didn't feel quite right. He could feel a headache coming.

"Charlie."

He looked up and was confronted with his brother's eyes and, which was worse, with the emotion they held.

He looked away. He couldn't do this. Not now, not with the team here in a few minutes, not with the guard overhearing them and certainly not with Mr. Spencer being around.

"Can you just let me sit here until they come?"

He could feel Don's uneasiness and he could hear it in his tone. "Sure," he said and Charlie tried to ignore the sadness in his voice. He knew that this had to be hard for Don, he could feel that his big brother was lost and struggling to regain control over something that had never been in his hands to change. In his mind, he promised him they would talk. Just not right now.

Don swallowed hard as he turned away from his brother. It physically hurt him to do that, but it hurt him just as much to see Charlie in such a state and to know what he'd gone through. He knew he needed to help him, to do something, anything, to make him feel better, but what could he do if Charlie wouldn't even let him talk to him?

For Don, it felt like eternity until his team finally arrived, although it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes. He was set on keeping them away from him, on protecting Charlie from their invasive questions, but he wouldn't have needed to worry. With few words it was soon agreed that the four of them would take care of the situation and wait until the next day to take Charlie's statement. There was no hurry, after all, they already had enough evidence to detain Mr. Spencer for the night. Don was more than satisfied with that arrangement, for it enabled him to take care of his brother, just like he'd planned when he'd decided to come here. He shuddered at the thought of how differently things might have turned out if he had postponed trying to talk to him for another bit, as he'd initially intended to do.

"Hey buddy," he said quietly. He was squatting down before Charlie who was still sitting in his car, head bent down. He refrained from touching him, not sure how his brother might take it, and had to fight hard to adhere to his restraint. "Hey… what do you say about some pizza and beer at my place?"

Charlie's head came up and Don was relieved to see that his eyes were dry and the swelling in his face hadn't increased. "Don't you need to stay?"

He shook his head. "The team's going to handle everything," he said. "Come on, I'll give you a ride."

He wasn't sure whether he should be glad or concerned that his brother consented without arguing, but decided that it didn't really matter. Charlie was coming with him, he was going to help him, and they would be fine.

They would, wouldn't they?

He'd just started the engine when he was surprised to hear Charlie speak, "Are you going to get into trouble for beating him up?"

Don shook his head, a little bewildered that Charlie would decide to talk about something as relatively trivial as that. "I was acting in defense," he then replied. "The parking lot's security cameras will show that. Besides, it didn't look like he's seriously hurt." Even though he should be, he added, silently, because he knew how strictly his brother was opposed to violence. But hell, when he thought about what that little piece of shit had done to two little boys, to his own little brother… Not to mention having first shot and then robbed his own son instead of trying to save his life.

Charlie nodded and fell silent again, and since Don had still no idea how to start the conversation they needed to have, the rest of the ride was spent in silence.

They'd hardly entered Don's apartment when Charlie asked if he could take a shower. Don frowned, a bit surprised by the request. "Sure," he then said.

"And maybe I could borrow a change of clothes? Mine got a bit muddy in the fight."

Don nodded. "No problem, I'll get you something."

Thirty minutes later, the pizza was there, but Charlie was still in the shower. Don bit his lip. What was Charlie doing in there? Trying to drown himself?

Not sure whether he was doing the right thing or putting too much pressure on his brother, he knocked on the door. "Charlie? Pizza's here. You almost done?"

He could hear the water being turned off. "Yeah, sure. I'll be there in a minute."

Don gave a small sigh of relief, but the weight on his chest hadn't completely left. Even now, this was beyond awkward, and they hadn't even begun talking yet. Maybe this whole idea was one big mistake.

Charlie stepped out of the bathroom one minute later, fully clothed, though still drying his hair with a towel. "Sorry about that," he said without looking at Don and sat down on the couch beside him. Or rather, at the other end of the couch. "It's just… It was like I could still feel where his hands touched me during the fight. Sorry."

Don's mouth was hanging open. Shit. How the hell was he supposed to react to that? This was a mistake, he couldn't do this, there was no way he could deal with this, there was no way he would be able to help Charlie.

"It's okay," he finally managed, wanting to slap himself in the face with every meaningless syllable that came out of his mouth. "Don't apologize."

Charlie nodded. "You haven't started yet?" he asked with a glance at the closed pizza box.

Don thought he was going to cry. How could his brother jump from talking about a traumatic experience to meaningless chitchat in a matter of seconds? "No," he said and could feel that his throat had become rather tight.

"You said something about beer?"

"Sure." He hastily stood and practically bolted to the fridge as though it held a life-saving antidote.

Charlie accepted the beer and the first slice of pizza and started eating without saying anything else. Don was lost. On any given day, figuring out how Charlie's mind worked was a challenge, although Don thought he was generally doing a pretty good job at it. Today, however… Having discovered that his brother and for that matter his entire family had managed to hide a life-altering experience from him had either made him lose all confidence in his abilities, or he'd just lost the abilities themselves because their object wasn't his little brother Charlie anymore, but that poor little boy that had been molested by a family friend.

"Non-alcoholic," Charlie read with raised eye-brows, eyeing the bottle thoughtfully and still not looking at him. "You're sure you're my brother?"

No!, Don wanted to scream, for he was almost certain that the man sitting next to him couldn't be his. How could Charlie sit here, like nothing had happened, eating pizza when Don was sick only from looking at it?

"Makes sense on the days I'm on call," Don said eventually and decided he had to do something, for who knew what was going on in Charlie's head, but he, Don, certainly couldn't go on doing this. "So… do you wanna talk about it?"

There was a moment of silence and Don was sure he'd blown it. He'd pushed Charlie too hard. He'd broached a subject for which his brother wasn't ready.

"I don't know," Charlie said and Don was relieved to hear that he was still calm and the question apparently hadn't upset him further. He brother was silent for a moment, but eventually asked, "Do you wanna hear about it?"

Don gave him a crooked smile. "I don't know." Did he really want to hear what that pervert had done to his brother? Could he hear about that? On the other hand, how could he live with not knowing, worse, with knowing that something had happened, but not knowing what? "Actually I do. I do wanna hear about it."

Charlie nodded. "Alright," he said and seemed rather business-like. But if that helped him dealing with it, Don would roll with it. Or try. "So it was the first week of summer holidays," he started and Don wasn't sure if he wasn't already regretting this. What if having to talk about this would make Charlie fall apart? What the hell was he supposed to do then? Right now, his brother emanated an amount of composure that was almost eerie, for it had to consume away his entire strength so that soon, there might be nothing left of his intelligent, rational little brother. But now that Charlie had started, Don just didn't have the heart to stop him, and neither was he sure he'd be able to talk, so he forced himself to sit there and listen to his brother's story. "You were in summer camp then, remember? You hadn't been talking about anything else for weeks before going, and I was so jealous because I was too young to go too. Anyway, one day when Mr. Spencer came by to pick up Danny, they started talking about a camping trip they would go on over the weekend, and Danny invited me to come with them. I guess he hoped that if I came with them, his dad would leave him alone."

He was silent for a moment, obviously caught up in his memory, in the thrill of anticipation he must have felt about the trip. "Anyway," he said and had to clear his throat, "you can imagine that Mom and Dad were pretty excited at the prospect of having me do something normal and spend some time outside, so I had no trouble getting them to agree. In hindsight, I'm not sure how Mr. Spencer thought about his son's idea, but I guess there was nothing he could do to get out of taking me with them."

When he didn't go on, Don gave his brother a side-glance. Charlie was staring at his beer bottle and seemed to be far away with his thoughts. Don shuddered at the sight, at the earnestness Charlie emanated, and wondered if he should tell him to stop. Before he could find something to say, however, his brother went on.

"We drove up into the mountains Saturday morning. It was a wonderful day, one of the best in my life. There was a beautiful lake and we were in the water for hours. I remember I thought Mr. Spencer was pretty cool, you know, he was in the water with us, fooling around with us and everything."

He swallowed hard and Don felt nausea rise inside him, thinking of that pervert watching his brother's and Danny's little bodies in the water, appraising them, touching them…

"Then, when evening came, we made a campfire. For me, it was all pretty exciting. We pretended being cowboys, out alone in the middle of the prairie. It was… really nice. And then… then we would all go into the tent."

He paused again and Don could see he had his eyes closed. "At first I didn't understand. He was helping me to change into another T-shirt for the night. I told him I could do it on my own, but he… He wouldn't stop. Then he… he pulled down my boxers and… touched me. I told him to stop, I was shouting at him, but he would just hold me down and go on… doing that. Danny started shouting at him too, but Mr. Spencer just pushed him away and went on. When he was finished, he bent down so close to me that our cheeks touched and whispered into my ear, 'If you tell anyone, you'll pay. I'm gonna kill your mom first, then your dad, and then your brother.' I was so scared I couldn't say anything, but I can still hear the words in my head as if he was sitting right here between us."

He was silent and Don tried to wipe his eyes without Charlie noticing. Until now, Charlie's voice had been scarily calm, a little raspy and hesitant sometimes, but from his voice alone, Don wouldn't have been sure whether or not there were tears in his brother's eyes too. When he went on, however, the calmness made way to a more trembling tone.

"He was done with me then," Charlie continued. "He just pushed me away into a corner of the tent and said, 'Now look how it's done properly.' And then… then he continued with Danny." At that, Charlie ran his hands over his face, and now there was no doubt that there were tears in his eyes. "At first I didn't do anything, but then I shouted at him and told him to stop and tried to get him off of Daniel. But he was stronger and he hit me and then… I was just too scared, Don. I didn't do anything. I was lying curled up with my eyes closed tightly as far away from them as I could and listened to Danny being raped."

Don didn't even think. He laid his arm around Charlie's shoulders and pulled him close. His curls were still a little wet and the water mingled with their tears.

"When it was over," Charlie continued, his voice hoarse, "we just lay there in the dark, waiting for the morning. And then…" He swallowed. "It was scary. He acted as if nothing ever happened. He was making jokes and fooling around with Danny… I was so confused. I couldn't stop crying, but he came towards me and repeated his threats from the night before and said that there was nothing to tell and that I should just stop acting out and behave normally. Eventually I stopped crying, but I still felt… I don't know. Wrong. Like it wasn't really me who was there at the lake pretending that everything was fine, or like it had never really happened. It was weird, it was like there were suddenly two distinct persons inside me. Anyway, in the evening, he brought me home. I thought I would cry again as soon as I saw Mom, but I found that I couldn't. I was just empty inside. Of course Mom and Dad wanted to know about the split lip I'd gotten when he'd hit me that night, but he just said me and Danny had gotten into a fight. You should have heard him talking, it was amazing how he could use his charm to get away with everything. Then he and Danny went home and… I guess Mom had suspected something right from the moment I came home. No way fooling her. They had hardly left the house when she asked me what was wrong and… well, I crumbled. I told her everything and from that moment onward, she wouldn't stop fighting until he was behind bars."

When he realized that it was over, that Charlie was done, Don swallowed hard. He'd actually managed to make it through it. He hadn't lost himself in a crying fit, just spilled a few tears, and he hadn't emptied his stomach, just felt like doing it. Now it was over, he knew what had happened, so now he could… do what? Help Charlie? But how? How was he supposed to be there for his brother when he himself didn't know how to feel, when he felt just like his little brother had all those years ago, empty inside?

It was only then that he realized what he was doing. He still had his arm around Charlie's shoulders. He was making physical contact with Charlie, he was establishing a physical relationship with someone who'd suffered child abuse. Not just someone, but his own little brother. Dismayed, he shrank back and pulled his arm away, searching for words that might make it better again.

"Look, Charlie, if there's anything…" Those weren't the words. They were meaningless, hollow. "I mean –"

"Relax, Don," his brother cut him off. "You don't have to walk on eggshells around me. I'm okay, I'm not going to fall apart now. You're not the first person I'm telling this."

The worry must still have been evident in his eyes, for Charlie continued, "Look, it's true that talking about it brings back bad memories, but I can deal with that. I worked hard to learn to deal with that, believe me. Or do you really think Mom would have stopped dragging me to psychotherapy if she thought I wasn't better?"

Don frowned. "You went to psychotherapy?"

"Of course. For several months. In hindsight, I guess it was a bit much, especially in the beginning, with the court dates on top of it. And when you came home from summer camp, it became another challenge to keep those appointments a secret from you."

"Why?" Don asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Charlie shrugged. "I… I couldn't. It was hard enough already being your little brother and trying to get your appreciation or at least being accepted, not just by you. Everyone was already seeing me as small and weak and vulnerable. I guess I just didn't want to give them something to strengthen their beliefs."

Don shook his head. "I don't think you're weak. Hell, you –"

"I was talking about when you were twelve, Don. I know you saw me as inadequate then. And I was, I was usually the youngest and smallest in any group, of course I wasn't as apt physically."

"Still. You should have told me. I could have helped you."

Charlie sighed. "You were twelve, Don. Even Mom and Dad agreed that there was no sense in telling you. It would have just upset you, so we kept it between us. I'm not sorry we did that, Don. I'm just sorry you had to learn about it now."

Don was silent for a moment. True, he could understand his family's motives for keeping this from him, and maybe they were right in not wanting to burden a twelve-year-old with that kind of knowledge. But he wasn't twelve anymore. They could have told him later. They might not have seen a reason to do so, not when Charlie was apparently coping well with what had happened, but it still felt wrong being the only one in his family not knowing something like that.

"I'm not," he therefore said and was silent for another second to repeat with even more conviction, "I'm not sorry you finally told me." He paused. "So when you told me you were having an appointment with one of your tutors, you actually went to psychotherapy or to court?"

"Sometimes," Charlie nodded. "I still had the appointments with the tutors as well, even though Mom wanted to cut them back. I still can't believe I actually managed to make her change her mind, but you know me," he gave Don a sheepish grin, "there's no better way to ease my mind than solving math puzzles."

Don tried hard to grin back, but had to realize it turned out more like a grimace. He for one had no trouble understanding how his stubborn little brother could have managed to change the mind of his equally stubborn mother. He imagined that after what had happened, she would have consented to almost anything he demanded.

"I tried to convince Daniel to get some help, too," Charlie continued, more serious again. And sadder, Don noticed with a stab at his heart. "You know, to talk to someone, a professional or a self-help group or something. I mean, the two of us talked, but we didn't really talk about it, more… around it. I don't know, it was weird after it happened. I guess we were both feeling a little guilty, he for unknowingly dragging me into this, and me… well, you know. But on the other hand, it felt good to be together, to be there for each other, because we both felt there was nobody else who could really understand what it was like, because nobody else had been there. Now… I don't know. I know it's stupid, but I just feel like… I feel like with Daniel dead, some part of me has gone as well. I don't know, I guess it was just really important for us both to know that we had someone we could talk to with complete openness, that we were not alone, so we never strayed too far from each other." He swallowed. "It was hard to see him struggle and to see what he did to his body, but I didn't feel like there was any more I could do for him. I tried to convince him to go to therapy, I told him how much it helped me, how much my mom helped me and that he should think about trying to forgive his, but… He didn't want that. He always thanked me for caring, but told me I couldn't understand and that what had worked for me couldn't work for him."

"Why not?" Don asked and was a bit startled himself. He'd been silent for so long that he was hesitant to talk and interrupt his brother. But now that he'd started, he couldn't stop himself from going on, "Who could understand him better than you? You went through the same ordeal –"

"Are you kidding?!" Don flinched at his brother's upset tone. "What happened to us was by no means comparable! Do you have any idea what Daniel went through? He was abused by his father for two years. Two years, Don! Two years during which he was not only molested, but raped, several times! And he was abused by his own father! His own father, can you imagine that? Can you imagine Dad doing something like that to us? And Danny had to live with that for two years, he had no one to go to, and he had no place to feel safe." Charlie's summation started losing some of his force as his voice became more tearful. "Can you imagine that, being home and not feeling safe? Having no place to go to where your parents protect you from everything bad? Having no place on earth where you feel safe?"

Now, for the first time that evening, Charlie lost his composure. The tears were streaming down his face and he was unable to go on talking. But he tried. It took him a minute to catch his breath, but he was determined to see this through. "I'm sorry," he managed, "it's just that… Daniel didn't deserve that. He was a good man. Even after… He was a good man. He would have deserved a better life."

"I know, buddy," Don said as softly as he could, afraid he might do more harm than good with his voice.

His brother took a deep breath, but his voice was still a little shaky. "I'm sorry," he repeated as he wiped away the tears and actually managed a smile. "I didn't mean to get all emotional on you." Don's arm returned to its spot around Charlie's shoulders and he forced himself to smile back, wanting to cry. "It's just… It was a really long day for me, I guess, and I… I'm really tired and drained and… Could we… maybe…" He swallowed and gave Don an imploring look. "Can we just go home?"

Don nodded, that look giving him a hard time to find his voice again. "Of course, buddy," he was finally able to say. He gave his brother's shoulders a tight squeeze. "I'm gonna take you home."

- finis -