When the line went dead, Megan stared at her cell phone for several seconds before closing it. As soon as she shut the phone, she was up and moving. She had called from her apartment, only about a fifteen minute drive from Don's. She thought she knew what he was about to do, and she wanted to stop him before he went too far.

Deciding that there was a possibility Don was going to kill himself, intentionally or not, she flipped on her lights and siren to move traffic out of her way. Without the added time for traffic, Megan managed to arrive at Don's apartment in nine minutes flat. She sprinted up the stairs and pounded on his door.

After closing his phone, Don stumbled to his couch and dropped it there. His hands were shaking from the renewed feelings of failure and inadequacy. His t-shirt was now damp with sweat from the mix of emotions he'd gone through all morning. Pulling a wet shirt off with trembling hands was proving to be more difficult than he expected. He picked up his knife; it was still tinged with blood from the previous night's cutting session. Looking up and down both arms, Don tried to decide where to cut. Both shoulders were lined with relatively fresh cuts. Despite that, he didn't think the pain he was feeling would be released with such a shallow cut.

Finally, he chose a point close to the middle of his forearm, on the inside. There were a couple veins there that he could see, but that was okay for now. Maybe more blood would help ease the pain inside. Hand still trembling, Don positioned the knife across his left arm. As he started to dig the tip of the knife into the beginning of the line he wanted to make, someone started beating on his door.

Staying silent, Don hoped that the visitor would think he wasn't home. The pounding continued for half a minute before the knocker called out. "Don, it's Megan! I know you're in there. Open the door!"

Changing strategies, Don hollered back. "Go away!"

"I can't do that, Don. Now open the door or I'll kick it in!" Don wondered if she was bluffing. Surely she wouldn't kick in his apartment door. "I'm not playing with you, Don. Open the damn door!" she repeated when it was evident Don wasn't going to comply. "Final warning. I'm kicking it open in five seconds!"

Don took another second to decide. Knife still in hand, he swung the door open enough to poke his head out just as Megan was stepping back so she would have the range to kick. "What?" he demanded.

"Let me in, Don."

"No." Don started to slam the door shut, but Megan slid her foot across the threshold. Her shoe took the force of the door, which then rebounded several inches. She slid in through the opening before Don had a chance to try to close it again.

The team leader turned away from her quickly, but not before she had seen the eight new lines on his shoulders. Megan closed her hand around his bicep, forcing him to turn back to face her. He was too broken to resist other than giving her a death-glare. Only when he had turned did she see the bloody knife in his right hand. She reached as if to take it from him, but Don found the energy to hold on to it with a steely grip. Megan let go of his arm and withdrew her hand from her attempt to take the knife. She quickly took note of all the new injuries he had inflicted upon himself. Two new lines on the right shoulder… obvious cause. Six on the left shoulder… who knows why? One bead of blood forming on his forearm. Trying not to let anger show on her face, Megan lightly grasped his left wrist. When he tried to pull away, her grip tightened. The two stared at each other for a moment before Megan looked between his arm and the knife. It had dried blood on it, but the tip was glistening. Apparently he wasn't as careful as he had assured her.

Before she could try to help, she needed to figure out what had driven him to cutting last night, other than the kidnapping. "Don," she started quietly, still holding his wrist. "I understand what those two lines are for," she indicated the eleventh and twelfth lines on his right shoulder. "But I don't understand what these are for," she pointed to his left shoulder.

Don wouldn't look her in the eye, but responded in a whisper, "Personal failings."

Megan wasn't sure quite what he meant, but she wasn't sure if more probing would help. She decided to try one more time, but if he didn't answer, she wouldn't keep pushing. "What sort of personal failings?"

Don continued to look at the floor. "I'm sorry," he whispered, but wouldn't say anything else.

She had a theory, but wasn't sure if it was right. She didn't want to keep pressing the issue and risk pushing him further into despair. Deciding to act on her theory, Megan tried to provide some comfort. "You haven't failed me, or the team. Charlie's a grown man… he'll be okay." She let go of his arm and watched it fall limply to his side. Walking further into the apartment, she found his discarded t-shirt and tossed it to him. As much as she wanted him to confront his issues and recognize that his behavior was destructive, she knew this wasn't the right time. She sat down at his kitchen table and waited for him to join her.

Don pulled on the still-damp shirt awkwardly, all the while maintaining his death grip on his knife. He knew that Megan was determined to make him stop cutting. She'd already gone to such lengths that there was really no way that he could refuse her deal, unless he wanted to give up his job. But he still had his knife, and he didn't have to give his decision until Monday. He still had a little control, for thirty-six more hours. No matter what Megan did or said, he would not give up his knife.

Sitting down across from Megan, Don started to drum his fingers on the table. She had interrupted him before he could finish cutting. Without completing the cut, there could be no release. Without release… he didn't even want to finish that thought.

"You want lunch?" Megan asked. Still drumming on the table, Don looked up at her.

"I want you to leave. I need to be alone," he responded.

Glancing at the knife in his hand, Megan shook her head slowly. "I'm not leaving," she stated.

After a long stare-off between the two agents, Don played his best card. He really wanted to wait to use it, but the pain in his chest was too intense. He needed to get rid of it, but he could only do that if Megan left. Taking a deep breath, he hoped it would work. "I'm going to take your deal. I just need the rest of the weekend to really come to grips with it. Please, just let me stay alone until Monday."

Megan was surprised at Don's admission. To be honest, she thought he would have held off until the last minute to announce his decision, in typical stubborn-Eppes fashion. Yet, even if he was going to get help starting Monday, she didn't want to leave him alone to hurt himself over the weekend. It looked like she had just stopped him from slashing his forearm and a number of veins. She didn't want to risk Don cutting excessively and bleeding out just because this was his last opportunity.

Abruptly standing, Megan reached for her cell phone and walked away from the table. Don got excited for a moment, thinking she was leaving, but was severely disappointed when she walked into his bedroom, shutting the door behind her. When she reemerged after a couple minutes, Don was curious as to whom she called.

"I've got to go, but I'll be back really soon." Megan wasn't really interested in leaving, but she needed to go, just for a while. When Don's eyes lit up at the prospect of her leaving, she added, "Don't hurt yourself while I'm gone."

Don didn't respond, but watched as his partner reluctantly walked out of his apartment.