Title: How Did This Happen, The Sequel

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Chapter 7: The Plot Thickens

It didn't seem like they had traveled that long. Charlie couldn't be sure, since he had either passed out again, or – a more embarrassing possibility – let the low rumble of the road put him to sleep. All he knew with certainty, as he jerked to consciousness again, was that the vehicle was slowing dramatically.

At some point he had lost his grip on Don's shirt, and his fingers reached out to find it again. As he made contact with his brother's belly, he was heartened to hear a low moan in response. He poked a little harder, and the moan was repeated. Thrilled almost beyond all that was sane, Charlie again twisted his now-shaking hands in the shirt.

Don apparently couldn't move anything but his legs; but when he bent his knees farther and managed to bump the front of his knees into the back of Charlie's, Charlie felt as if the sun had just risen, even though the jostling re-ignited the fire in his leg. Don was not only alive, he seemed to understand that he was with Charlie.

The vehicle lurched to a stop, and Charlie heard Sophia's commanding voice. "Transfer them inside. Be sure to place the vehicle so that it cannot be seen from the road."

A voice he was not familiar with dared to challenge her. "I still think it's stupid to bring them here. We're not far enough out."

Junior charged to his mother's rescue. "It MUST be here!" he hissed. "This is where my father and my grandfather died, and this is where they will die!"

"Besides," Sophia interjected, in a much calmer voice, "it is deserted, now. Our friend continues to fight the American justice system. My sources assure me no-one has been here in months. We will be safe, as long as we use precautions." Charlie heard a door unlatch and creak open, and Sophia's voice took on new resolve. "Come. We must begin."

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The second time Alan regained consciousness, more light filtered into the laundry room from the kitchen. The sun must be up and shining through the window.

His head was throbbing and he still felt vaguely nauseous. Even lying still on the floor, once he opened his eyes, the room began to spin. He had to squeeze them shut again while he considered his options.

He had to park on the street, because Don's SUV and Charlie's car filled up the driveway. So, the boys must have been home when…whatever happened, happened. If Alan, who had not seen or heard anything, was hurt and tied up, then hidden in the back of the house – chances were good his sons had been hurt, as well. Dread took up residence in his heart as he considered that both of them would have fought; especially Don, if it looked like Charlie was in danger. Dear God, he hoped they were still alive.

He wondered what had happened. A robbery? Home invasion? Someone with a vendetta against Don — perhaps a suspect, or a perp's family, or something? He decided that the first thing he had to do was determine if they were also somewhere in the house.

The gag effectively muted all attempts he made at making noise, so he decided to try and stand up. His hands were tied behind his back, and his legs were secured at the ankles; but, maybe he could hop from room to room. To begin the process, he wiggled, somewhat like a worm, toward the dryer. He needed a way to pull himself into a sitting position.

Although the dryer was only a few feet away, Alan was exhausted by the time he reached it. The dizziness increased proportionately with every inch of ground he covered, and bile was rising in his throat, again. He swallowed it back, breathed heavily through his nose, and rested his forehead on the floor.

When he felt strong enough to continue, he aligned himself so that his head was touching the dryer, his body more or less vertical to it. He steeled himself for the inevitable result, and began to turn himself over onto his back. It took forever, and he paid for it immediately. He kept his eyes clenched shut against the rotating room, his head swam, and again the bile rose. Mostly on his back, he kept his head turned to the side so he wouldn't choke, and tried to get enough air.

He had to rest.

He just had to rest, for a moment.

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Colby and David had a witness and possible suspect in the box. The two had been partnered long enough to develop an impressive and entertaining "Good Cop/Bad Cop" routine, so Agents Martinez and Carter let them fly with it and joined Megan in the anteroom, watching the video feed.

Megan leant her interpretations to the show. She pointed to the suspect's eyes. "You see, he did it again. He always looks downward and slightly to the right, before he answers. He wants to appear cooperative, but he's hiding something."

Colleen stood slightly behind the seated FBI agent, arms crossed over her ample bosom, and tilted her head. "Everything he's saying fits with our jacket on him," she pointed out.

Agent Carter, standing next to her, leaned over and peered at the screen. "He's scared," he stated, straightening up. A small smile twisted his lips. "Not just of Granger – although that guy is starting to freak me out, a little. Even when he looks at David. And the story never changes. Not a word."

Megan nodded. "Right. He learned his part well, but it sounds just a little too much like a script to me."

Colleen raised one hand to cup her chin and wandered around the perimeter of the room, thinking out loud. "If he's frightened of the Trenton organization, then he should be thrilled to be here. He should be spilling his guts, giving us all we can handle. He's safe here. Between two major federal agencies, he's safer in our custody than he is out on the street. According to his jacket, he's a well-educated man, he's got to realize that." She stood near the door, facing Megan and Agent Carter. "So what is he afraid of?"

Megan watched him a little longer, then glanced over at Colleen. "I think he could be protecting someone. Maybe they're holding a family member, or something."

Colleen started to agree, but was cut off when her cell phone sounded. "Excuse me," she said, ripping it off her belt and opening the door of the anteroom so she could step into the corridor to take the call. As she flipped the phone open, she recognized the name of one of her old NSA coworkers, and frowned. "Sandra? What's up? How have you been?"

As she listened, Colleen placed one hand in the pocket of her pants and clenched her fist. She walked a few feet farther down the corridor, away from the anteroom. "What? Are you sure? How good is the intel?" At the end of the hallway, she leaned against the wall and tilted her head back. "Shit," she said tiredly. "I so did not want to hear this." She listened for a little longer and sighed, shaking her head. "No. Thanks, but I'm actually in L.A. right now on assignment. I'm here, so I might as well do it." She ended the conversation fervently. "Sandra, thanks for this. I appreciate it. Talk to you soon."

Colleen lowered the phone and stared at it for a few moments. She began to scroll through the address book, and wasn't surprised when the names started cropping up. She knew they were there. For some reason, she had never been able to take them out, when the job was over. She took a deep breath a bit the bullet, starting with "A". When she reached only voice mail, she moved on to "C". After a repeat performance, she tried "D" – the call she dreaded the most, and the voice she most wanted to hear. She closed her eyes for a moment, indulging herself in the low and sexy sound of him on his voice mail message, then shook herself out of it and flipped the phone shut.

Colleen strode down the hall back to the anteroom. She opened the door and stuck her head inside. "Megan? Can I see you for a moment, please?"

Megan, nonplussed, glanced at Agent Carter before answering. "S..Sure. Andy, I'll be right back." She stood and soon joined Colleen in the hall. As the anteroom door swung shut behind her, the two women walked a few feet away. "What is it?"

Colleen looked at her with a strange mix of guilt and concern. "Listen. That was a contact of mine at the NSA. Intel shows movement in the remnants of the Martinez organization. His daughter and grandson have left the compound at the same time, and some rumblings are being heard in stateside contacts." Megan's eyes widened a little, and Colleen continued. "It could be nothing. The organization is all-but quashed. Maybe the mourning period is over and she needs a new wardrobe, or something."

"But you're worried," Megan pointed out.

Colleen stared at her feet. "I just think the Eppes should know to be a little more alert until we find out more about this. I… I tried to call them, just now. I tried Charlie, and, and Don…even Alan. All I'm getting is voice mail."

Megan relaxed visibly and smiled in relief. "That's good, it means they're probably on a plane to Maui."

Colleen stared at her. "What?"

Megan spoke gently. "I spoke to Don yesterday afternoon, and he said he and Charlie were taking a real vacation together. They must have talked Alan into going along. Unless you hear that Martinez' daughter is headed for the islands, this is the best possible scenario, having all of them off the mainland for a while."

Colleen tried to smile back, although it was probably a little wobbly. "Oh. Oh. That's good, you're right. That's a load off my mind."

Megan steered them back toward the anteroom. "Well, keep an eye on it," she suggested, not unkindly. "Better safe… well, you know. Now let's get back before we miss Colby's big finish."

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A/N Glaucoma laser surgery updates: Well, that hurt. Here is a chapter I wrote for you BEFORE they started throwing ice picks in my eye...wanted you to have something to remember me by! (thanks for all the well wishes and concern -- I appreciate it :)