Title: Grand Theft Brother

Author: FraidyCat

Disclaimer: Continues...

Chapter 10: The Burp

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When Jeff wasn't at the diner by 6:45 a.m., Mark began to get a little concerned.

Over the last few days, since their return to L.A., a pattern had begun emerging. Jeff used the apartment's only bed during the night, while Mark worked; he was back at the diner a few minutes before Mark's shift ended, at 7 a.m., and they would stay at Gretta's for breakfast. They generally shared one breakfast; a free meal every shift was part of Mark's pay, and if they bought fewer groceries they could save more money. They could buy their little piece of land that much faster, so that's the decision Mark made for the both of them. Jeff wasn't a big eater anyway, so he only complained the one time. When Mark didn't let him have anything to eat for the rest of the day, Jeff had decided half of the breakfast special was more than enough. During the day, while Mark slept, Jeff busied himself by keeping the tiny apartment spotless. Sometimes, he would take a nap on the couch before he left for his own part-time gig at Gretta's. Two days ago he had used poor judgment and left the apartment while Mark slept. He had just gone as far as the complex parking lot, where he had washed the Saturn. He had intended it as a nice surprise for Mark to discover when it was time to drive Charlie to work; Mark had actually felt a little badly, when he locked Jeff in the bedroom's dark closet for half a day as punishment. Still, Jeff had to learn to respect the rules.

Now it was 7:15, and Mark sopped up greasy egg yolk with dry toast and worried. Maybe Jeff had done something stupid like that again. Perhaps he, Mark, had been too lenient. He narrowed his eyes and wondered if he should make Jeff quit his job, and handcuff him to the bed whenever he was not home. It might be the only way. By 8:00, he was getting dirty looks from the daytime crew. Gretta's was busy at breakfast, and he was taking up valuable counter space. Mark drained his coffee, shoved his plate aside and slunk out the door, where he loitered on the sidewalk for another 15 minutes, waiting for Jeff to show up with the car. It was almost ten miles back to the apartment, and Mark had worked all night, and was tired. A taxi whizzed by in the street and he thought about that for a moment, but a search of his pockets revealed only a few dollars and some loose change. Neither one of them had worked long enough for a paycheck, yet. He sighed, and headed East.

Even though he wasn't officially hitchhiking, still a young surfer picked him up. After several minutes of a pretentious monologue about the new Bing Silver Spoon(TM) mounted to the top of the vehicle, Mark wished he hadn't. He was still almost a mile from home when he claimed that he had given the wrong address, to an old apartment, and insisted the young man pull over and let him out. His head was ringing most of the remainder of the trip, as he trudged back to the apartment. He was as angry at Jeff as he had ever been by now, but when he spied the Saturn in its space in the complex's parking area, he started muttering to himself and increased his gait to a jog. "He might be sick or something," he worried, scurrying toward his door. "Maybe I should let him have a little more to eat..."

The key to the front door was on the same ring as the key to the Saturn -- inside, with Jeff -- and at first Mark panicked and pounded on the door, calling for his brother. Then he remembered the spare key he kept under the welcome mat, and he scrambled to retrieve the Schlage(TM). His hands were shaking so badly by the time he managed to find the lock, he almost broke the key off inside. Finally, the lock disengaged and Mark rushed inside, still calling for Jeff. Five minutes later, he had examined every room of the apartment twice, and he fell onto the couch in front of the still-open door, breathing heavily.

His heart pounded in time with the mantra in his head. Jeff was gone. Jeff was gone. Jeff was gone.

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"Can you tell me some of the reasons why you have chosen to no longer be Charles Eppes?"

Charlie was perched dangerously on the edge of the window seat David had abandoned in favor of a straight chair, and he pointed at Alan as if identifying a suspect in a courtroom. "He never wanted me," he answered right away. "That's why he made me spend all of my time with tutors, and sent me all the way across the country when I was only 13!" He glanced at Don, and then looked defiantly at Bradford. "He wanted a normal son, a son like Don. Popular, and athletic; tall and handsome. A son to make him proud. He forced me to pursue the path he placed me on when I was still a baby...because he could not accept me for myself. He had to have something to be brag about, to be proud of, even if he believed, deep down, that it was stupid." Alan's face was turning red, but he was holding his tongue. Charlie noted his discomfort and sneered. "What's wrong, old man, does the truth hurt?" He glared at Alan, narrowing his eyes. "Hell, he even kicked his own wife out of the house just so he could get rid of me. He forced her to take me to Princeton, and he forced us both to stay there."

Alan shot off the couch, shaking off Don's restraining hand, and shot daggers at Bradford as he all-but-ran past the doctor, and out the front door of the cabin. Don started to get up and follow him, but thought he saw Bradford shake his head slightly, so he hesitated, and sat in miserable and stunned silence with the rest of them.

"If Mark accepts you for who you are," began Bradford, and Charlie interrupted.

"He does! I told you, Mark loves me!"

Bradford continued as if Charlie hadn't spoken. "If he accepts you for who you are," he continued, "why does he make you become someone else? Why does he call you 'Jeff'?"

"It's a matter of respect," Charlie answered automatically. His voice took on the tone of one reciting a memorized script. "It shows respect for his first brother Jeff, who was viciously murdered while following the instructions of Agent Don Eppes. In turn, it speaks of a great respect for me. Mark feels that I am good enough, special enough, to fill the vacancy left by Jeff. He has even made me remember a childhood we spent happily together. A childhood in which my brother chose to play with me, and be my friend. A childhood in which I was treasured, and wanted, and not an embarrassment."

Don didn't care at this point if Bradford had tried to discourage him or not. It was damn well time he followed his father outside.

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Mark was crying a little, now.

He had searched everywhere. There was no activity at all at the Eppes' Craftsman; nor at Agent Eppes' apartment. The slut was not on campus -- the operator claimed she was out sick -- but there was no-one at her place, either. At first, Mark thought she was there, when he saw her car parked outside. But it had been a simple matter to jimmy the lock, and conduct a thorough search. Neither professor was there.

A call to the his brother's ex-offices had revealed that the entire team was out. He had requested Agents Eppes, Sinclair and Granger, and he had been denied them all. They were temporarily off the duty roster, he was informed, and he was offered another contact. He hung up before an Agent Parker picked up the line.

They were all gone, then.

The father, the brother and his team, the girlfriend...and Jeff. Mark had underestimated his opponent. He had been so sure that Eppes would not circumvent the law he was paid to uphold. It had always been part of the plan to take the small risk; to come back to L.A. and punish Eppes for taking his first Jeff, by making him watch while Mark took his brother in return.

Now, he banged his fist in frustration on the steering wheel and sobbed. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Eppes had taken both of his Jeffs, and Mark was alone. He ignored the passersby who glanced into the vehicle, his gut-wrenching cries floating out the open windows, and felt his heart break. He wanted Jeff. If he could just find Jeff, they'd take off for the hills and they would never come back. It didn't matter anymore, it wasn't important that he see Eppes suffer.

All that mattered was that he and Jeff be together.

Forever.

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Don found Alan at the edge of the lake, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his face a dark study of anger and misery. "Dad?" he whispered reverently.

Alan didn't look at him, but kept gazing across the lake. "I did not 'kick your mother out'," he ground out between clenched teeth. "We decided together that Charlie was too vulnerable to go all that way alone. We did it for him, dammit." He whirled, suddenly, and his eyes flashed darkly. "Did you know that we flipped a coin?"

Don shook his head. "What?"

Alan nodded. "When we decided that one of us had to go. We both had good jobs, we both wanted to stay here for you and we both wanted to be there for him -- even though he was adamant that he could go by himself. In the end, we flipped a coin."

Don expelled a long breath. Wow. For years, he had resented Charlie for taking his mother away during a particularly vulnerable time in his own life; would he have been any happier, if it had been his dad? And now that he was an adult, looking back, what would he think if the two parents faced with that decision had abandoned a child that way, sent him alone across the country to fend for himself? "I know you did the best you could," he finally said lamely. "I'm sorry if I gave you a hard time."

Alan sighed, and looked back out over the water. "I know Dr. Bradford told us to be prepared for things like that, and I was doing okay -- until he brought your mother into it." He glanced sideways at his eldest. "Did you just come after me, or did he move on to you?"

Don shrugged. "Got tired of hearing how much better Mark Danielson is at being his brother than I ever was," he admitted.

Alan nodded, somewhat sadly. "I want to tell you that none of this matters, that Charlie doesn't really believe these awful things...but what was it Bradford said? 'Long-term issues will be discovered'. Maybe he does."

The stood silently for a moment, shoulder-to-shoulder, before Don responded, firmly. "I don't believe that," he said. "I mean, even if Danielson somehow tapped into some deeply buried insecurities, he twisted everything around and made it worse." He squared his shoulders and turned around, prepared to lead the way back to the cabin. "I won't believe it," he repeated. "I grew up in the same house Charlie did." He grinned at his father. "Okay, so it wasn't perfect all the time. But it wasn't hell, either. In fact, most of it was pretty good. We just have to find the Charlie who remembers that."

Alan smiled, and reached up to ruffle his son's hair. "I'm ready if you are."

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"Given your explanations, let's say that I can understand your desire to distance yourself from your father and brother. Can you explain to me why you can't just do that? Why is it important to stay in L.A. and cause them pain every chance you get?"

Charlie opened his mouth, looking at Bradford and away from Don and Alan, who had returned to the couch. He remembered begging Mark to stay up in the woods, pleading that they not come back. Why couldn't they do that, again? "I...we..." He blinked, and it started to come back to him. "Mark says we need money. We're here to earn money."

Bradford arched an eyebrow, but Larry beat him to the punch. "I was given to understand that Mark is a cook, at a diner," he pointed out. "Surely those exist in places other than L.A. Places much less expensive to live, no doubt."

Charlie looked out the window, frowning. What was wrong with that logic? There must be something wrong with that logic.

Amita interrupted his train of thought. "It wasn't as if he was returning to an existing job," she pointed out. "Didn't he get a new job, when you returned to L.A.?"

Larry chimed in again. "Not to mention, you have considerable assets you could pass on, correct?"

Well, that part Charlie remembered. He looked back triumphantly. "It's all evil money," he declared. "Mark wants us to live honestly, without ties to a world that is reprehensible, and wrong."

Colby stood from his wing chair near the fireplace and stretched, changing the subject. "Did Mark tell you he did time?"

Charlie turned his head toward Granger and frowned. "What? You're wrong."

Colby shook his head. "The brig, actually -- he used to be in the Navy, stationed at Guantanamo in Cuba. His unit was helping to build the military prison there, in '01 and '02." He was walking toward the coffee table in front of the couch. When he reached it, he leaned and lifted a folder. "Record's sealed, so I don't know exactly what he did. But he served 90 days in the brig, and then was dishonorably discharged. Probably why he can't get a decent job now."

Charlie stood. "You're crazy," he stated calmly."My brother was never in the military."

"Here," Colby responded, tossing the folder a few feet to Charlie, who automatically caught it. "It's all in there. Pictures of him in uniform. Copy of the Discharge." Hands empty now, he placed them on his hips. "I'm thinking that's where he learned military brainwashing techniques. Did he use restraint, Charlie? Unrelenting noise? I'll bet he denied you food, and water. Basic hygiene."

Charlie paled, and the weight of the manila folder pulled him all the way to the floor, and then fell out of his hand. He leaned against the window seat and looked dully at the photographs that had spilled out of the file, onto the floor surrounding him. In dress blues, Mark smiled back at him in a boot camp graduation photo; in khakis, clutching an MR-16, Mark squatted in the front line of his unit, staring unsmiling at the camera.

Charlie sought out William Bradford's kind and impassive face across the room. "I don't understand," he said in a voice full of fear, and confusion. "I don't understand," he repeated, scrambling awkwardly to his feet. "I don't feel well. Can I go lie down for a while?"

"We can take a break," Bradford agreed. "You rest in your room, We'll see about scrounging up some lunch."

"I get to eat again?" Charlie asked, surprised, and Alan felt his heart break. Again.

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End, Chapter 10