A/N: I've read many different takes on the age difference between Charlie and Don. I'm going with a 5-6 year age gap, depending on how their birthdays fall.

Hector Gardenia hummed to himself as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, aware that his two men were right behind him with a nonresistant Eppes in tow. He was only mildly disappointed that he hadn't managed to break the agent by physical punishment alone, but that was why he'd chosen this particular house to begin with. He knew that, if all else failed, the mere hint of harming the old man and professor across the street would break Eppes' powerful will.

Of course that's not the only reason I chose this location, Hector grinned as he led the other men into the master bedroom and to the walk-in closet. The crime boss reached out and felt along the back wall until his hand bumped into a well-concealed flap in the paneling, which he lifted to reveal a handle and combination lock. He spun the dial to the correct positions and then pulled the heavy door open, revealing hidden vault just large enough for a grown man to stand in. It was three feet deep and ran the width of the closet – about five feet – although a lot of that space was filled with sturdy metal shelving.

"What do you think of it, Eppes?" Hector asked as he turned to face the injured man. "The previous owner was some sort of collector – coins, I think. He had this vault installed and customized – airtight to protect his valuables and hidden in the back half of his closet, invisible to the naked eye. I only found out about it when the realtor mentioned it and even then I had a hard time locating it." He placed his hands on the agent's shoulders and looked him square in the eye. "They won't find your body for years, if ever."

He gave a nod and watched as Roberto and Jacob crammed Eppes into the small space, his smile widening as the agent remained resigned to his fate. When the two men stepped back, Gardenia gestured to the shelves along the walls of the makeshift tomb. "I didn't want you to feel all alone so I took the liberty of making sure you're reminded of me while your lungs are slowly starved for oxygen. You like?"

The bound man looked around him, frowning at the countless number of large, heavily scented gardenias that filled the shelves, in some places sticking out so much that the leaves brushed against his skin. He closed his eyes and let his head thump against the wall in resignation as Gardenia took a picture of him, wanting to capture the sweet moment of victory on film.

"There's only a few hours of air in here, probably four or five as bad of shape as you're in," Hector informed his captive, his voice parodying concern. "But don't worry – we'll stay nearby until we're sure you've passed." Hector placed one hand on the heavy door, waving with the other. "Good bye, Special Agent Eppes."

Gardenia swung the door closed and gave the dial a couple of good spins before turning to his men and smiling cheerfully. "Let's enjoy breakfast while we wait. Tonight we'll stop on our way back to Miami and have that steak dinner I've promised you both."

"Sounds great, Mister G," Roberto nodded as he and Jacob followed their boss from the room.

--

"Wow," Alan remarked as he looked at his son's empty plate. "You ate it all."

"I guess I was hungrier than I thought."

"Obviously," the older man chuckled. "But what I meant was that you don't even like pancakes. I was surprised you wanted me to fix them."

"Don's favorite," Charlie replied softly. "Somehow it seemed right that we have them for breakfast."

"I guess so," his father agreed as he carried the empty plates to the kitchen. "Say, did I ever tell you just how much Don likes pancakes?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's see," Alan thought aloud as he returned to the dining room. "I guess you were two so he would have been around eight. He adored you, he really did, but he was having a difficult time adjusting to life with a new baby brother. After you've been the only child it's hard to watch your parents spend so much time with another child."

"Especially as much time as I took," the professor mumbled.

"No, Charlie," Alan stated firmly. "You're brother never held that against you. Maybe against your mother and me for a while, but never you. Besides, this was before we knew we had a genius on our hands. No, he was just tired of sharing the spotlight and, in his typical Don fashion, he decided he could tough it out on his own."

"At eight years old?" the younger man shook his head. "That does sound like Don."

"Yes, he was dead set on it. Your mother and I found him sneaking down the stairs with his prized possessions packed in his baseball bag. I was beyond upset and about to start yelling when your mother placed her hand on my arm, shook her head and winked. 'Let me,' she whispered. So I stepped back and watched as she proceeded to tell him he could run away if he wanted to-"

"What?"

"That's what I was thinking, but I loved and trusted your mother, so I kept my mouth shut. Anyway, after she told him that, she tells him it's a shame he's leaving because she's just cooked a whole stack of pancakes and now she'll have to throw them away. His little face crumpled at the thought of trashing his favorite breakfast food so Don sets his bag down and tells her he'll stay long enough to eat."

"How thoughtful of him," Charlie grinned.

"So she loads up a plate full of pancakes, sets out the butter and syrup for him, and the turns to feed you your cold cereal. He asks her why you're not eating pancakes too, so she gives him that dazzling smile of hers and says, 'Charlie doesn't like pancakes, Donny. I made them just for you.'"

"Go Mom."

"Yeah," Alan smiled sadly. "She could always get inside his head better than I could. It's exactly what the doctor ordered too, because Don flung himself into her arms and started telling her how much he loved her and how he didn't really want to run away. The part that really got to me was when he asked her, his little voice trembling with uncertainty, if he could still stay at home with us."

"Oh, Don," the professor breathed. "He thought you'd make him go?"

"Apparently," his father replied, his voice thick with emotion. "But then Margaret told him that he could always stay with his family, no matter how old or how far from home he'd traveled. He never ran away from home again after that."

"Until college," Charlie remarked.

"I suppose so," the older man responded. "But the lesson must have stuck with him, because he did come home again. And, if his almost nightly visits are any indication, he truly understands that this is his home." Alan sighed as the two men lapsed into a pensive silence, shaking his head in frustration as the disturbing images of what might be happening to his missing son returned to plague his thoughts. "How about that walk?" he asked suddenly, cringing at how loud his voice sounded in the quiet of the house.

"Sure. I think the fresh air could do us both a world of good."

"Absolutely," his father nodded. Although nothing is going to help if we don't find your brother soon. Please Donny, find your way home this time, too.

--

I should never have let myself get caught, Don told himself as he blinked in the darkness of his surroundings. If I had just paid more attention to what was going on around me… insisted we follow up on that card I got ten months ago… things could be different right now. But no, I had to be a tough guy and look where it got me. Not to mention Charlie and Dad were in danger again all because of me. At least that won't happen now.

He shifted his weight, trying to find a position where his blistered back didn't press against the wall of his prison and the plant leaves didn't irritate his sensitive skin. The longer he sat cramped on the floor, the worse his body seemed to throb all over. He had an intense desire to look at his watch but his captors had relieved him of that sometime between grabbing him and letting him wake up. For some reason he had the insane notion that this might be easier if he could keep track of the seconds as they slowly ticked away.

Dying like this is hard – too much time to think, to wonder 'what if', to realize how much more you wanted to do with your life. I always thought it would be a bullet or on-the-job attack that took me out. Nice and quick. No muss, no fuss. Not like this – alone in the dark, drowning in the sickening scent of those horrible flowers, waiting for the pain to fade as my air supply is used up.

Don bit back a sudden sob, knowing the he needed to breathe as calmly as possible in order to fend off death for just a little while longer…

For what? he despaired. No one's coming. No one in a million years – not even a genius like Charlie – would think to look for me in a house across the street from my family. I just hope Charlie and Dad will be okay when I'm gone.

Images of his family warmed Don's heart and he clung to the thought of seeing them again – no matter how slim it was – like a drowning man to a life preserver. He could see it now – they would envelop him in their loving embrace, soothing away his fear and pain in any way they could. His father would stay by his side, reading the paper, talking to him and holding his hand against whatever nightmares assaulted him in his sleep. Charlie would be there, too, a little less certain in his vigil but keenly attuned to his big brother's every sound and move in order to detect and eliminate any hint of discomfort before it became too bad.

Of course I'd have to make it out of here first, the agent mused as he remained alone in the silent, dark interior of his makeshift tomb. With his vision impaired by the total darkness, his other senses were heightened to nearly unbearable levels. He could smell the cloying scent of gardenia; taste it on the air when he breathed; hear the sound of his heart pounding in his own ears; feel the ache of every bruise, burn, and broken bone in his body. Don idly wondered if this – waiting to die – wasn't the cruelest act of the many that Gardenia had committed against him.

No matter, he thought dejectedly. Cruelest or not, it's going to be the last thing he ever does to me. That thought broke through the dam holding Don's grief at bay and tears formed in his eyes. As the first one rolled down his cheek, Don realized he was too weak, exhausted, and depressed to wipe it away, choosing instead to close his eyes and surrender himself to his fate.

TBC