I awoke to my cell phone ringing.

I just huddled deeper in to my blankets and tried to pretend not to hear the damned thing. I felt like crap. Something digested, dumped on the side of the road, and run over by a couple of cars would pretty much cover it. My head had settled down to a dull, bearable ache. Half of me was still kind of numb and tingling all over.

I was going to live.

Yippee-skippy for me.

I was so tired. I didn't want to move. I was nested in my comfortable cocoon of blankets, and it was a rare treat for me. Lounging around in bed wasn't usually an indulgence I ever allowed myself. So I just buried myself a little deeper in the covers and told that ultra-responsible little voice in the back of my mind, which insisted I should answer the phone, to go to hell.

I didn't become completely aware until I heard someone's voice whisper softly, "He's sleeping right now. I'd rather not wake him." Charlie voice, some semi-aware part of my mind put a name to the voice. What was Charlie doing in my apartment?

It took me three tries to get my eyes open. My eyelids felt like two half-ton cement blocks at the moment. I answered my own questions when my eyes opened and everything came back to me. Struggling to sit up and only managing to tangle myself up in the blankets. I croaked out, "I'm awake".

Charlie ignored me, and politely replied to whoever was on the other end of my phone, "I'd be happy to take a message and give it to him when he's feeling better."

I glared at my brother.

Charlie shot me that patronizing stop-being-an-idiot look that reminded me of my father. It was that same expression my Dad tended to shoot over his reading glasses when he thought Charlie or I were being particularly dense about something. Charlie was the only one of the two of us that could really pull it off well. The ability to give that condescending gaze tended to go with inheriting the rather sharp patrician nose from the Eppes' side of the family.

"I'll be sure to pass the message on," Charlie said as he stepped out of range of my feeble attempts to reach for the phone.

Crap. Half of me still was not functioning correctly.

He closed my phone, hooked it to his belt, and looked down at me tangled up in the blankets. "I don't suppose you would actually ever ask for help?", he asked dryly raising any eyebrow.

Giving him a look that promised I was going to kick his ass for this later, I replied, "No."

I hate this.

I hate being dependent.

It was the biggest reason I hated my migraines. I hate how out of control they made me feel. I'm an athlete. I'm used to pushing my body to its limits and just a little beyond. My whole life has been about winning that contest. Except with my migraines, I've never manage to pull a win with them. Some times, I wondered if it was some higher power's way of keeping me humble, similar to how the numbers took over Charlie's brain at times.

Other times, I know repression is hell. I've buried so much bad crap, so deep, for so long, just to keep functioning day to day. To be honest, I wasn't even sure I even could feel any more. There is so much thick scar tissue covering my soul these days, that maybe my migraines were a way of breaking through that thick protective skin. My means of turning myself inside out, puking up the repressed stuff up, and taking a good revolting look at what's buried inside by the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights.

Suddenly the very slight scent of aftershave on the blankets rolled over me like a tidal wave. One of the side effects of my migraines episodes was my sense of smell could become very acute for a while. The faintest smells could simply be over powering. I needed up out of this bed right now or I was going to be sick.

Charlie managed to catch me before my struggles with the blankets sent me crashing on to the floor. "Are you going to be sick again?" he questioned gently.

Trying not to flinch from where he touched me, "Aftershave. On the blankets. I can smell it."

I was abruptly pulled in to my brother's comforting warmth and pair of very competent hands was quickly untangling me and pulling the blankets away. "Better?" he asked softly.

I nodded and was pulled closer into that warmth until I was surrounded by the scent that was uniquely Charlie. My brother always seemed to carry the scent of spicy, hot coffee and leather bound books with him.

He rubbed my back soothingly, "Dad must have forgotten. He hasn't worn anything in years because..."

Any strong scents made mom nauseous during her chemo treatments.

I finished for him silently when Charlie stopped in mid-sentence.

"Anyway," he cleared his throat, "I'll remind Dad when he wakes up. He just started wearing aftershave again since he and Millie started dating."

Deciding that it was time to change the topic, I pushed myself away from my brother's embrace and asked, "Who was on the phone?"

"I don't suppose there's any possibility you will actually do what's best for you for a change and simply let it go for right now?"

"No."

"What if I promise I'll give you the message when you feeling a little better?"

Let me think about it.

"No"

Charlie rolled his eyes in exasperation at me. "It was David. He wanted you to know that Andrews was released on bail today."

I sighed.

Let's hear it for that stunning win for the good guys.

I took a deep breath, "Help me up".

"Don."

"I need a shower."

"Don."

"I reek. Either help me up, or I'm crawling there."

Charlie got up and offered me a hand, "How is it every time I think I've actually won an argument with you, you suddenly manage to get a second wind and then beat the crap out of me with it?"

I threw my arm around his offered shoulder and replied, "It's my charm. You're too much of an egomaniac to realize you should never argue with an idiot. We drag you down to our level and beat you with experience every time."

Charlie grunted as my right leg went out from under me and he took a little more of my weight, "I'm the good looks and brains, and you're the bravado and firepower?"

"Yup."

"You know, Don? People are going to start suspecting that you not only know how to spell the big words but you have some vague clue on how to actually apply them, too."

"See what I mean about you arguing with an idiot? The deepest questions I think about are who lives in a pineapple under the sea and why can't the Dodgers win one when I go see a game."

Charlie turned the knob on the bathroom door. "Not buying it. You countered your own arguments by applying the big word 'egomaniac' in the correct context."

"I blame the big word usage on growing up with you," I retorted. "Geekdom is like a communicable disease. Once you've got it, you try to pass it on to unsuspecting people."

"Remind me again why I didn't let you crawl to the shower?"

"Because you're hoping I don't hurt you too badly for giving Dad the idea of putting me on the internet meat market with the help of his on-line 'support group'."

Charlie gave me his best big-eyed, 'who-me' little brother look, "He was looking into insights on supporting a family member in law enforcement. I just merely suggested that on-line might be a place for him to better acquire those insights. Besides, Mary's daughter Beth sounds very nice. I hear she's FBI, too."

"Just wait, Machiavelli. Yours is coming."

"Oww... Machiavelli. Another big word applied in context. Did you learn that one from watching SpongeBob, too?

"No, my 'Batman' comic books. And keep it up."

He sat me down on the edge of the tub and then gave me a serious look. "I'm going to go get you a change of clothes. You're staying put until I get back. You will not try to get in to that shower by yourself."

"Fine."

I could tell by the underlying of steel in Charlie's voice that fighting with him over this would get me no where. Besides I'm stubborn, not stupid. I knew trying to climb in to the shower by myself right now was probably not a smart idea, not with my right side still tingling and my leg still going out from under me.

"I mean it, Don. You're too unsteady on your feet right now. Promise me."

"I promise, Buddy."

That answer seemed to satisfy Charlie because he hurried off to go get that change of clothes for me.

It's startling how memories can just assault you at times. They can jump out of no where like a mugger hiding in the shadows. It's like a sucker punch out of no where. It's incredible what little things can fire up those hateful little synapses too.

Like the seemingly innocent sight of handrails in a shower.

I remember how mom cried the first time she saw them there. I could only hold her close as she sobbed about how she had always been so strong. How she had been the one that always took care of the three of us. Despite how hard I tried, I couldn't find the words to soothe her as she wept over what a burden she thought she had become.

What kind of person can't find the words to comfort his own dying mother?

A person Robin was right about being broken and disconnected.

That thought made me angry. I liked angry. It pushed back the gagging regret. I'd be damned if Robin was going to get any tears out of me. Kim Hall had ripped out the last tears I had left. Along with any last part of me that had truly believed in that true love and 'they lived happily ever after' crap. My whole life had been about people putting me aside for reasons I couldn't change.

Screw them all.

I was worn-out from trying to prove myself to people. Tried of trying to be things to people I couldn't be. I liked being broken. I liked being detached. I liked holding a little part of my heart back from everyone. My heart and soul were mine. Damn it. No one else was going to get a free shot at completely blowing them apart ever again.

Anyone that had a problem with that could go straight to Hell.

There were plenty of people that liked me for me.

Someday, I just might be one of them.

"Hey." Charlie unexpectedly materialized in the bathroom doorway, "While I was digging around for your clothes, I found some unscented soap."

I shot him an appreciative smile. A smile that I know didn't reach my eyes, and I muttered, "thanks".

Charlie studied me for a moment, "Are you still sure you want to do this? It can wait until your feeling a little better."

"Yeah," I sighed, "I stink. Let's do this before I lose my nerve."

My brother suddenly looked very sad, "You'll never lose your nerve, Don. Your life? Maybe. But never your nerve."

It was nice to know one of us thought so.

He looked me over again, "Depression is a very common after-effect of a migraine."

"I know, especially mine."

"Is it the migraines?" he asked me quietly, "Or do they simply bring to the surface what's already buried there, Don?"

I honestly didn't know the answer to that question.

I held out my hand. "Help me up."