Disclaimer: In case you haven't realized, I don't own Numb3rs or its characters.
Rating: M, for some violence and bad language.
Timeline: Season four? Doesn't really matter.
A/N: J was very difficult for me because I wasn't able to form any meaningful J word into a full, workable story, even though Guest's proposals sounded so promising! (Thanks for those, by the way!) In the end, I settled for this and now I hope you'll enjoy.

Jumpy

Charlie yawned as he stepped out of the university building. He shivered a little, but after the stuffy computer room, the cool nocturnal air felt fresh and invigorating. Still, he was longing for his bed. It was a little after 11 p.m., it had been a long day, and yet, he knew he should feel glad that he'd managed to snatch a more or less humane time slot to use CalSci's supercomputer. His colleague, Professor Strutt from the Physics Department, who had taken the slot after him, would get even less sleep tonight than him.

At least it was worth it. At first glance, the simulations he'd just run were looking promising and they would provide him with helpful data to get a deeper understanding of the mathematical operations behind fluid dynamics for the paper he was writing.

He was taking the shortcut over campus to get to the parking lot, thinking once again that it was a little irresponsible from CalSci's administration to still not have put up more lamps here. Yeah, okay, they might think it wouldn't pay off for the few people that were around here at night – like, right now, no one (except for Charlie) –, but still…

Just as the thought occurred to him, he had the distinct sensation that his assessment was incorrect. Someone seemed to be here, someone other than himself, he wasn't alone on campus. Now he was almost sure he could hear footsteps behind himself, but the other person seemed cautious not to make a sound.

Charlie licked his lips, they were suddenly dry. Whoever was behind him had to be able to see and hear him, so why weren't they just calling out a greeting to him? They were two academics on an almost empty university's campus, greeting someone you met wouldn't be too weird. And even if the other person thought it'd be weird, why would he or she be so careful and avoid making their presence known?

His body tensed and his steps quickened ever so slightly as he got closer to the parking lot. He could already see it and he could hear that the other person was still a couple of yards behind. He forced himself to remain calm. Whatever this was, panic wouldn't help him. Either it would make a fool of him or it would deter him from reacting properly. He just had to react properly, to be prepared, and not let the other one know that he was.

When Charlie reached the parking lot, he noticed that the steps had come closer. The other one was walking slightly faster than him – and still much more quietly. There was no doubt left in Charlie's mind: whoever this was, he or she was trying to get close to him without him noticing, and Charlie couldn't think of a reason for that which didn't mean harm for him.

He suppressed a curse when he realized how offside he'd parked his car. It could be seen neither from the street nor from the university – and the parking lot itself was empty. Yet, there was no going back now and still there was the soft glimmer of hope that maybe he'd get into his car without an incident.

Before he could do that, however, the attack came.

Charlie had just reached the door of his car when the stranger jumped him from behind. The man had taken two or three quick and large steps to close up to him and was now grabbing him firmly, one arm pressed around Charlie's left arm and chest, the other hand covering his mouth.

Charlie, however, had been waiting for something like that, and was prepared. He'd mentally gone through a series of self-defense moves he'd learned over the years during his various consulting gigs and had thought of a strategy how to get his attacker off his back, literally. Now, the moment to act was there, and Charlie didn't hesitate: he rammed his elbow into the other man's sternum and immediately heard a reassuring gasp. An instant later, he'd freed himself out of the other man's grip and reversed their roles so that it was now him holding the other man down. He had him on the ground, his arms in his back, Charlie's knees on the other man's legs and his back, and only now did he feel safe enough to try and get to the bottom of this matter.

"What was that?" Charlie hissed. He was so angry he felt like shouting, but the adrenaline pumping through his body made him so shaky that he didn't trust his voice right now. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Damn it, Charlie," the other man wheezed, trying to turn around and face him. "Stop this, it's me, Freddy!"

For a moment, Charlie was so dumbfounded that he didn't react at all. Then, when he realized he was still holding his friend down, he hastily scrambled to his feet and helped him to get up as well.

"Oh my –," he started, but the shock was making his speech less than eloquent. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?" His hands were hovering over the other man's body, afraid to inflict on him even more harm than he already had.

"Been around the feds too much, haven't you," Freddy grumbled, still gasping a little and rubbing his upper arms.

"Look, Freddy, I'm so sorry –"

Freddy waved his apology aside with a gesture of his hand. "Nah, I probably shouldn't have sneaked up on you like that. Couldn't know you've had some private lessons with Jackie Chan though." He laughed nervously, then glanced around and lowered his voice, "Seriously though, we need to talk."

Charlie swallowed and nodded, confusion now adding to the shock.

Only when they sat in Charlie's car with the doors locked did Freddy start talking. "We've got a problem," he said. "You got Amanda's email?"

Charlie shook his head. "I haven't heard from her since –"

"She sent it this afternoon, you must have gotten it."

"I haven't checked my –"

"Well, I have," Freddy interrupted him again, "I found it this evening. I went by her house, but the police was already there. Home invasion. She and her husband are dead."

The words echoed in Charlie's mind, not making any sense. This was all too fast. Just a couple of minutes ago, all his problems had revolved around Navier-Stokes equations and now… Amanda –

"I don't understand." Only when the words were out did he realize that he was whispering.

"They killed her. I'm sure of it."

Charlie shook his head. He had a feeling whom Freddy might be referring to by 'they', but he couldn't, because they wouldn't –

"Who?" he asked, his voice still raspy, still hardly audible in the quiet parking lot.

"The moles, of course!" Freddy hissed. "The moles in the FBI!"

Charlie closed his eyes. He could feel that his hands had started shaking. He'd been afraid Freddy would say that, but he'd been hoping… it just wasn't possible… They were the FBI, damn it!

He ran his trembling hands over his face and forced himself to approach this matter rationally, logically, step by step.

It had all started a couple of weeks ago, when Amanda, Freddy and him had been hired to consult on a top secret FBI case. The three of them hadn't worked together before, but had immediately gotten along well despite the age difference – both Freddy and Amanda had a good twenty years on Charlie. Amanda specialized in computers in general and specifically in operating large data flows, and Freddy, had substantial knowledge both in informatics and in mathematics and thus served as a link between Charlie and Amanda, who were responsible for the actual carrying out of the data gathering and the analyses.

The case had been a nasty one, concerning corruption – corruption by a federal agent. They had analyzed the framework data of the agent's communication – like when and how often did he call a certain number or write an email to a specific address. It had soon become apparent that the data was ambiguous, but in order to get behind the matter, they had had to analyze all the FBI's framework data. With some filter algorithms Charlie had inserted, they had managed to do that, but the result hadn't exactly been what they'd expected. They had been able to tell that the agent in question was indeed presenting with an abnormal communication pattern – but he hadn't been the only one. There had been more inconsistencies in the network, indicating that there might be other moles, maybe even outside the FBI, with other law enforcement agencies, but since aside from that one agent's data no other data had been personalized, they hadn't been able to tell which other agents showed the same communication pattern as their mole – that is, which other agents might be corrupted as well.

They had presented these more than a little troubling results to their person of contact a week ago and hadn't heard from them since. They'd said they would probably get in touch with them once they decided how to approach the matter, and when Charlie hadn't heard back from them, he had assumed that they still didn't know how to find the moles within their own organization without having the culprits know of the investigation, or that they had simply decided that they didn't need the scientists' further help to do that. By now, the initial shock of their revelation had passed for Charlie, and truth be told, he'd thought they were already handling the matter quietly and discretely.

Now, however, he wasn't so sure.

"Why would they kill Amanda?" he asked, trying not to jump to conclusions. So they didn't know how their employers had dealt with the moles and now one of their team was dead – but that could just be a coincidence.

"Well, I don't know," Freddy said, but his tone told Charlie that there was more to come. "I can tell you however that it looks as though she wanted to make further inquiries into the matter. She said in her email that the three of us should meet and besides, she called me yesterday and asked if I had heard from Jenkins or the others, and when I said that I hadn't, she told me that she was afraid they might be trying to cover this up."

"It's a current investigation," Charlie shared knowledge he'd often heard from Don, "they'll have their reasons for not telling us what they're doing to apprehend the moles."

"If they are doing anything to apprehend them."

Charlie frowned. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if Jenkins is one of the moles, he'll have other interests."

Charlie stared at him. "He's not."

"That's what I told Amanda and she didn't believe me and now she's dead! Now can you give me another explanation for that other than Jenkins killing off the one person that was seeing through his scheme?!"

"Yeah, I can!" Charlie shouted back. "It was what it looks like, Freddy, a home invasion! The thing with the FBI is just a coincidence!"

Freddy snorted. "You don't actually believe that!"

Charlie was silent, still breathing hard from his outburst. He knew that what he'd said was a viable explanation, that Amanda's violent death at that point of time didn't necessarily mean foul play committed by the FBI. Too bad that Freddy was right: he didn't believe that.

He ran his hands over his face again. He was starting to feel a little clammy. He had to maintain a clear head though. If Freddy was right, if Amanda had been right, they needed to plan their course of action carefully if they didn't want to end up dead like her. The only problem was that careful planning required a clear head and he didn't have that right now.

He took a deep sigh and made a decision. "Alright, look, I'm gonna talk to my brother. Right now. You know he's with the FBI, he'll know what to do."

Freddy was silent for a second. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

Charlie frowned again and couldn't help but feel a twitch of anger. "If you're trying to insinuate he may be one of the moles –"

"I'm not," Freddy interrupted him. "I'm trying to insinuate one of his superiors may be one of the moles. I mean, let's say you tell him, what's he supposed to do? He can't make this matter official without risking alerting the wrong people, and in that case you and I can just as well start digging our graves, and him probably too."

Charlie swallowed. He hadn't thought of that. "Still…" he started, his voice thin, but didn't finish the sentence. He knew that Don might still be able to help them, they could certainly use his knowledge about the FBI, about investigating techniques and about all that legal stuff – but he also knew that he couldn't ask him. If they were right and Amanda had been killed because of her connection to this case, there was no way he could drag Don into this, nor anyone else. He and Freddy would have to do this on their own.

Just then, another thought occurred to him and his eyes widened with shock. "We need to be careful," he said, his voice only a whisper now.

There was a huffing sound beside him. "No kidding. I wasn't –"

"That's not what I mean," Charlie cut him off, a little irritated, impatient. "They didn't just kill Amanda, they also killed her husband!"

"Yeah, but only because he got in their way. He was just collateral damage."

Charlie clenched his teeth and locked eyes with Freddy. "Exactly." There was confusion in Freddy's eyes, so he went on, "They're ruthless. They don't refrain from collateral damage. So we have to make sure that…" His voice was gone and he had to clear his throat to get it back. "That if they kill us, there won't be any collateral damage. I think you shouldn't spend too much time with your wife or your son the next couple of days, nor with anyone else for that matter, and neither should I."

Now Freddy's eyes went wide as well. "Right," he nodded, and he too had to clear his throat to get his voice back. "Right." He paused. "But… what are we going to do? We can't just wait until they kill us, too."

Charlie shook his head. "They probably don't know that we're suspecting something. I mean, I wouldn't have asked further questions about that matter if you hadn't told me about Amanda, and I probably wouldn't have heard about her death so fast either."

"So what, you just want to let them get away with this?"

Charlie swallowed. That certainly would have been the easier way. They couldn't do that though. "We won't let that happen, but we need to buy time in order to figure out who the other moles are. Once we know that, we can show our results to people that we know we can trust and that have the necessary power to put the moles behind bars. I should still be able to access the data you and Amanda gathered, and maybe I can find some further clues to personalize the moles' communication data."

Freddy nodded. "Sounds like a plan," he said and Charlie was a little startled when a moment later, a heavy hand was lying on his shoulder. "You let me know if there's anything I can do to help with the analysis or with gathering the additional data you need. Until then, take good care of yourself, my friend."

Charlie nodded, not trusting his voice right now. He knew that Freddy had wanted to sound reassuring, but all Charlie had been able to hear in his voice had been fear.

Amita was a bit torn between laughing and crying when she stepped into Charlie's office the next morning. It was no news to her that he was a workaholic, but she'd thought he'd at least understood that it was sensible to separate his workspace from the place where he slept. On the other hand, he looked immensely cute with his head resting on his arms, his upper body covering all the free space of his desk plus some more. And he looked extremely funny when he jumped from his chair, awakened by her sudden appearance. She couldn't help but smile.

"Amita! Geez…" He rubbed his face with his hands and seemed to be trying to get his bearings. "You startled me."

"No kidding," she said, but that was when her smile vanished. "Did you sleep here?" she asked, concern and reproach mingling in her voice.

"Um…" he answered and apparently had to look back at his latest sleeping place to come up with the correct answer. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

She frowned. "Why? I thought you were going home after you were done with the supercomputer?"

"Yeah, um…" He cleared his throat and busied himself with getting the documents on his desk back in order. "I just had to see if I could really work with the data, you know." He made a waving gesture directed at his head. "I had that… you know, that idea in my head and I just had to see if it worked."

"And did it?"

He looked up at her, his face blank. "Huh?"

Her frown became deeper. "That idea you had. Did it work?"

"Oh." Understanding crossed his face. "Oh. Um, no. No, I guess I'll have to stick to my original approach. But the data's looking promising."

She nodded, not sure what was going on with him. All she was sure of was that something was up. If it had been anyone else but Charlie, she might even have suspected that he was cheating on her.

"Listen, I'm sorry, but I really should go over my notes for my first seminar this morning once more, so…"

Before he had to say it, she interrupted him. "I'll leave you to that, then." She waited, but there was no reaction from him, so she turned towards the door. When she'd reached it, however, she faced him again, unable to hold back any longer, "Is there something wrong, Charlie?"

Those big brown eyes were looking at her as if she'd actually asked him whether he'd cheated on her. "Why should – No, I mean… I just didn't sleep that well, that's all."

She looked at him for a second, decided that his explanation sounded reasonable enough, and forced herself to smile. "Alright. See you later, then."

Charlie hesitated for a moment before he got onto the elevator. As the doors of the cage slid shut behind him, he closed his eyes. He could feel that his whole body was being shaken by tiny tremors and it made him wonder what on earth he was doing here. This was enemy territory. If they were right, there was a good chance that Amanda's killers were currently beneath the same roof as him. This was insane. The moles had killed already, what made him think that he was safe here? On the other hand, if they didn't realize that Freddy and him knew just as much as Amanda had known, what better way was there to make them believe he had no idea of what was going on than going straight into the lion's den, the FBI headquarters?

Before he could analyze further whether his presence here was a brilliant move or just plain stupid, he'd reached the floor that housed Don's office and hurried to get out. He was prepared badly and needed a couple of more minutes to get his results into a more presentable form. If Amita hadn't asked him about Don's case earlier, he might have forgotten about it altogether. As it was, he'd rushed the analysis he'd started the day before, the analysis of the account transactions of a prominent but shady businessman, but still he was reasonably certain that it was sound.

"Hey, buddy, just set up in the conference room, we'll be there in a minute."

Charlie gave his brother a brief nod and hastened to get into the room, away from the people-filled bullpen. He'd never realized how much movement there was constantly going on here, how many agents there were going about – and how little he knew of them, how little he could trust them.

He took in a shaky breath and told himself to calm down. Nobody was going to attack him here, not with all the agents around. They were talking of a small group of moles within an organization consisting of agents that were full of integrity. No one would dare to openly commit a crime among them. Ironically, the lion's den might very well be the safest place for him to be right now.

When Don entered the conference room, Charlie was typing at his laptop with a velocity he could only describe as a breakneck speed even though Don realized that it would have been an incredibly ambitious endeavor to try and break one's neck while typing. Charlie's activity, however, came to a sudden stop as soon as Don opened the door, for he gave a violent start, which sent the papers next to his laptop flying to the ground – luckily just the papers and not the laptop.

"Hey," Don greeted and watched his little brother hastily gather the files. "Still busy? I thought you said you'd be done by now."

"Yeah," Charlie mumbled, "just some finishing touches."

Don watched for another minute, filled yet again with amazement at seeing his brother's abilities, before David entered the room. Again, Charlie's head jerked up violently at the noise, and he managed just barely not to wipe anything off the table. As he went back to work, David, with a raised eye-brow in Charlie's direction, gave Don an update. He wasn't done yet when the door opened again and Colby joined them. This time, Charlie even let loose a small cry.

Don shook his head, a little embarrassed by his brother's behavior. "Seriously, Charlie, get a grip on yourself, or the next one coming through that door is gonna give you a heart attack."

He was distracted for a moment by David's and Colby's badly suppressed chuckles, so when he looked back at his brother, he was a bit taken aback to see the pinched expression on his face. He frowned. He knew that Charlie was usually a good sport, otherwise he would have never made such a comment, at least not in front of his coworkers. This time, however, Charlie's face could be described as anything but cheerful. Was there something wrong?

Well, he'd have to see about that later.

"So explain this again," he asked, his tone more professional now, "what is it you did?"

While he tried (with adequate success) to follow Charlie's explanations, he took in his brother's appearance more attentively than before. He noticed that Charlie, usually a bundle of good mood and hardly bearable exuberance, was much more subdued today, and very serious. His presentation of the results he'd found was dry and technical, without the analogies he usually made up for them out of thin air. The effect the lack of visualization had on the agents was worsened by Charlie's lack of the enthusiasm he normally showed whenever he tried to explain to someone the wonders of math.

When Charlie had finished presenting his results and Don had assigned tasks to his team members, he stayed a little behind as they left the conference room, stepping closer to the desk where Charlie was just packing up his laptop.

"Look, Charlie," he started and was suddenly feeling a little nervous, "you know I was just messing with you earlier, right, about your jumpiness." Charlie didn't react, so he went on, "Seriously though, are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," came the mumbled reply. He still wasn't looking up.

Don eyed him warily. Charlie looked pale, he decided, and kind of beat. Maybe that was it? Maybe it was that simple? "Something wrong? Did you have a bad night or something?"

Bingo, the thought shot through his mind, but he was surprised that it didn't fill him with more satisfaction. Charlie's head had come up, his big brown eyes looking at him widely, so that had to mean he'd guessed right, right? But the look in his eyes was still inscrutable, so Don still couldn't be sure what was wrong with him.

"Did Amita say something to you?"

Oh, shit. That was exactly why they never had those heart-to-heart talks. Knowing that his little brother had a sex life at all was perfectly sufficient for Don, he didn't need to know any details and he most certainly didn't need to get caught up in the middle of a lovers' quarrel.

"I didn't even talk to Amita today," he said quickly and turned towards the door, trying to get away from this conversation as soon as possible.

When he reached it, however, he paused, biting his lip. He did so not want to get into the middle of this, but truth be told, Charlie looked awful. Could his solution really be to turn away from him and just pretend he hadn't noticed a thing?

He sighed and turned back around. "Look, buddy, you know if you want to talk about anything, I'm here for you, right?"

Please say 'no', he silently begged, trying to get a glimpse of Charlie's face to determine his chances of getting out of this without further incident. Surely his brother would know better than to ask him of all people for advice in the love compartment?

Charlie, however, once more managed to surprise him. He didn't even consider Don's proposal, but just pulled the strap of his bag over his head and threw a mumbled "Yeah, I know" over his shoulder as he strode out of the door past him, making the words sound very much like the 'no' Don had been hoping for.

As he watched Charlie's retreating back, Don wished his brother would have said 'yes'.

It was already a little late – almost 9 p.m. – when Don arrived at his childhood home. He'd gone home after work and had tried to distract himself by watching a game on the TV. In the end, however, he'd had to realize that Charlie's strange behavior from this afternoon and his own less than optimal approach to the matter were still on his mind and just wouldn't vanish from there, not until he got to the bottom of this – even if it meant dealing with Charlie's and Amita's relationship problems.

He headed straight to the garage, then halted. When he'd turned into the driveway, he'd been almost certain that he'd seen light there, but now, the windows were dark. Had he been mistaken? Or had Charlie simply just now finished his work for the day? If the latter was the case, that was good news, for it would increase Charlie's willingness of talking about whatever was going on with him.

As he drew nearer, he noticed that there was no sound coming out of the garage, and he could feel his hackles raise just slightly. At the same time, he was aware that this was stupid, that there was no reason to be apprehensive of going into Charlie's garage.

He stepped into the dark room and that was the moment when his assessment was seriously challenged. There was a noise behind him, someone had been waiting for him behind the door, but before Don could turn around, arms were put around his upper body, a hand was covering his face, probably trying to stifle a cry Don didn't have the quickness of mind to utter, and a foot pulled his legs away from under him. Don fell, but by now, his reflexes had kicked in, and he wasn't going down alone. His attacker was going down with him, and while they were falling on the hard cement floor, Don managed to reverse their roles and come up on top. An instant later, his attacker was lying on his stomach, Don on top of him, pulling the other man's arms behind on his back hard –

Oh shit.

For a second, Don was still, like a pillar of salt, but then it broke out of him all the more forcefully. "What the hell?! What was that? What were you thinking?!"

The curly head beneath him turned sideways, trying to get into a more comfortable position, but Don wouldn't let him. His first impulse when he'd realized that he'd been fighting with none other than his own little brother had been to jump off him right away, but since he sat on him a little twisted, he hadn't managed to do so that quickly. Then, he'd changed his mind. The damage had been done, he could at least get something useful out of it now, so before he could release Charlie of his grip, his little brother had to understand that he could so not pull a stunt like that.

"I heard someone outside and thought you might be a burglar or something. Now would you please let me get up?"

The hell he would. "And your solution to surprising a burglar is jumping at him? Do you have any idea how dumb that is? What if he'd had a weapon? Or if he hadn't been alone? Huh? Did you ever stop to think about that? And they keep saying you're a genius!" His words came out harsh and angry, and he knew it. He didn't care, though, not about that.

Charlie was silent, which Don was taking as a sign that his message was getting through. He wasn't quite done yet, though. He tightened his grip a bit and leaned in closer to Charlie's ear. "Look, it's nice you know those self-defense moves, but that's what they are: defense moves. Don't you ever dare use them unless you absolutely have to. And in any case, don't you dare use them against an agent ever again, for I have to tell you, we have years of training that brings rather unfortunate reflexes with it. This could have ended a lot worse for you."

With that, he was reasonably certain that Charlie had gotten the message, and stood, carefully, trying not to inflict more pain on him than he already had.

"What's wrong with you lately?" he then asked, confusion and worry being the dominant emotions in his voice now, while he quickly checked if everything in his body was still working as it should. The only thing off he could feel was a bruise on his knee where he'd hit the ground, but that would probably be gone by the morning.

His brother's soft moan as he got back on his feet made it obvious that he too had gotten his share.

"Are you okay?"

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see that Charlie was carefully rubbing his shoulders and arms. Maybe he'd pulled them back a little too hard after all? In any case, it didn't seem like a good sign that his brother wasn't looking at him. Or talking to him.

Don bit his lip. "Charlie, are you okay?"

"Yeah," the reply came as a mumble and at the same time, Charlie was about to push his way past him.

Don wouldn't let him. He held him back, trying not to use too much force. "Look, Charlie, I didn't mean to hurt you –"

"Let go of me."

Don shuddered. Charlie's voice was quiet, technically not threatening at all – and come on, this was Charlie they were talking about. Still, there was a coldness in that voice, something dismissive that Don had hardly ever heard before, not with his gentle, warm-hearted little brother.

He shook his head. "Charlie, come on, you know I didn't hurt you on purpose. On the contrary, I only came here tonight because you seemed a little off earlier and I wanted –"

But his brother had freed himself with a jerk. "Just leave me alone."

Don was so shocked by his tone that he actually let him go, watching him enter his car and drive away. He shuddered, again. Charlie's voice had still been deliberately void of emotion, as much as Charlie's voice could be void of emotion, but it had still held… Don wasn't sure what it was. He just knew it wasn't anger, something he could have lived with after what had just happened. No, what he'd heard in that voice had been different, it had held… Charlie hadn't sounded belligerent. Don was unwilling to admit to what he thought he had heard in that voice, what his own most recent actions had caused Charlie to feel, but the two words kept coming back to him, leaving less doubt about their accuracy the more he thought about it: sad. Charlie had sounded sad. And even worse, he had sounded scared.

Don was drumming his fingers impatiently. They were about to start the briefing, but they still weren't complete. However, Don had the nagging suspicion that they were as complete as they would get today, for ever since last night, he'd been afraid that Charlie would choose to avoid him.

He sighed heavily, trying to ignore the feeling of sadness that was descending upon him. It was no use, Charlie wasn't going to come, they should just get started instead of wasting time waiting for him.

"Alright guys, let's –" He hadn't finished the sentence yet when the door whooshed open.

"Sorry I'm late," a slightly disheveled Charlie mumbled and instantly started to set up his laptop.

Don was sitting upright in his chair by now, trying to mute the feeling of relief for the moment, trying to get a good look at Charlie's face first, to establish eye-contact with him, to find out whether things between them were okay again. His attempt was futile.

"Alright," he said and had to clear his throat before he could go on, "so David, what did you find out about that ex-wife?"

He was having a hard time concentrating on the reports his team members gave him, because he was still trying to wordlessly communicate with Charlie. His brother, however, continued avoiding making eye-contact with him. Not a good sign.

The premonition was confirmed when it was Charlie's turn to present his newest results, and Don felt his heart sink. Charlie's explanation was as technical as the day before, only briefer. He knew that his team members had noticed by now that something was off as well, he could feel it in the looks they gave both Charlie and himself. Charlie, on the other hand, seemed completely unaware of that, either that or he just didn't care.

"So do you have any questions or was that it?" he ended his presentation. Without giving them time to reply, he added, "I should really get back to CalSci."

A bit stupefied by the sudden change of topic, Don nodded. "Yeah, sure. Thanks, Charlie," he added, trying one last time to get a glimpse of his brother's expressive eyes. In vain. So not a good sign.

Don sighed, forcing his mind back to work and trying to remember certain details of the presentation Charlie had just given them. He couldn't. He only remembered the main ideas.

He sighed again, more heavily. There was no more denying it, something was wrong, and something was broken between him and his brother, and they couldn't just continue to pretend that there wasn't. They had to fix this, whatever this was.

Too bad Don had no idea how to do that.

Charlie stepped out of the university's building and shivered. The night air was cool, but instead of the vigor that it had made him feel only two nights earlier, all that it made him feel now was vulnerable. He didn't feel empowered, but rather impotent, and he didn't feel alive, but rather like a dead man walking.

He'd been working on the analysis of the communication data and a network analysis to determine the moles' identities in every spare minute, and now he was beat. He'd caught himself wandering off with his thoughts and making stupid mistakes he wouldn't even tolerate if his sophomores made them. There was no more denying it, he needed a break. Yet he was reluctant to leave. He knew he almost had it. He only needed some further information, some key pieces in the puzzle, and he'd have it, he could see it. However, it was just as clear to him that he wouldn't find those key pieces tonight, certainly not given the state his mind was in right now. Going home was the right decision.

The thought of home filled him with such longing that it made it difficult for him to breathe, and for a moment, he felt so much relief that he'd be able to spend the night at home tonight that he almost felt bad about it. For his father's sake, he'd spent the past two nights in his office, afraid someone might attack them both in their house at night otherwise, similar to what they'd done to Amanda. However, since this afternoon his dad had left to visit his sister in San Francisco and would stay there for a couple of days, he'd finally be able to sleep in his own bed again tonight. That was the thought that gave him the strength he needed to keep his eyes open and to get to his car.

This time, he'd parked a little offside on purpose, trying to avoid collateral damage in case they decided to put a bomb on his car. He shuddered at the thought, but by now, the fear had become constant. At this point, there was no more shocking him. Or so he'd thought.

It came without warning. Suddenly, there were strong arms around him, holding him firm. He wanted to scream, to make himself noticed, to do something, but a hand was covering his mouth, keeping his head as firmly in place as the rest of his body.

Save for his legs. When that realization hit him, he didn't hesitate. The first two kicks were futile, but before his aggressor could really react, Charlie had started thinking again. He had to do this right, he couldn't fight headless, he needed to work with both force and precision. Don had told him that countless times.

By now he'd become aware that there were two of them, one holding his arms in place, the other one covering his mouth. That was the one that would be the target of his counter-attack. So with the third kick, Charlie made sure to gather as much momentum as he could, and to aim his kick where he hoped it would hurt most, at the side of his aggressor's knee. An instant later, his move was rewarded. There was a howl and the hold of his head was relinquished. Without hesitating, Charlie put his head forward as far as he could and swiftly swung it backwards, against the face of his second attacker. Another howl told him he'd landed a hit, but he couldn't cherish it. The arms were still keeping him firmly in place, but right now, that probably wasn't such a bad idea, for after the heavy blow against the back of his head, he'd started to feel a little dizzy.

"You little piece of shit!" a muffled voice behind him cursed and before Charlie knew what was happening, he was lying on his back. His arms were free now, his attacker had released his grip, but before Charlie could use his new-found freedom, his head exploded with white light, and before he realized what was happening, another blow hit him and another –

"Stop that!" he heard someone say, although it sounded strangely far away.

"That son of a bitch broke my nose!"

"Stop it, now!" the first voice repeated and the world around Charlie cleared a little. His head still didn't feel quite right, and by now his face had started burning as well. His thoughts however had cleared up enough for him to realize that his second aggressor, the one that had been holding his arms in place, had taken revenge for the blow against his nose with a couple of fist blows to Charlie's own face. He could taste blood, a metallic taste that made him feel nauseous, and he had to fight hard the urge to just let himself float away into oblivion. He had to keep fighting, though. He had to get away from them, there was no way he could let them –

He heard a soft moan and only a second later realized that he had emanated it himself. He was trying to roll on his side, to get up and run away, but he couldn't. It took him a little while to notice that someone was sitting on him, pressing his arms against his own body once more, this time using his legs for that.

"Stop that," the second voice hissed, the angry one, and Charlie choked when an arm was pressed hard against his throat. He gasped, or he wanted to, but he couldn't, there was no air, he was going to suffocate –

"What are you doing?" the first voice sounded again, though it didn't seem real somehow, and the pressure was taken away. Charlie coughed, spitting out some blood in the process, and finally gave up the fight against oblivion.

He awoke from a bang the volume of which made him think of a nuclear disaster. It took him a while to get his bearings, also because this place didn't seem familiar at all. Then, however, when another bang split his head, he realized that it was a car door. His car door, to be exact. He was lying on the back seat of his own car while his two aggressors had made themselves comfortable on the front seats.

"I think he's waking up," someone said. It was the first voice, the one that had stopped the other one from beating him up. The one that may have very well saved his life.

"Then make sure he doesn't try anything hinky again," the second voice growled.

The next moment, something stabbed Charlie's side. He tried getting away, but he couldn't move, he tried to fend the thing off, but he couldn't, he couldn't move his arms.

He was bound.

The second he realized that, panic set in and he fought against his bonds vehemently. The sting in his side became more vicious and then there was that first voice again, though ice cold now. "Stop it, or I'll pull the trigger. At this angle the bullet will rip apart your guts and you'll bleed to death, so I'd think twice about putting up a fight if I were you."

Only when the words registered in his brain did Charlie realize what the stinging thing in his side was, and he froze. A gun. Someone was pointing a gun at him, and that someone wasn't afraid of using it.

He shuddered, at the same time berating himself for that. He shouldn't move now. He shouldn't make a move, he shouldn't do anything to irritate his aggressors.

"There. That's so much better this way."

"Which doesn't mean he can't still shoot you, you little brat," the second voice growled.

"Just shut up, will you."

"He broke my nose."

"He didn't. It's not even bleeding."

"Still –"

"Quiet," the first voice said in a tone that didn't leave any room for negotiation.

Charlie had listened to the dispute silently, his heart racing in his chest, his head still swimming. He was starting to feel sick again and wondered if there was something he could do to get himself in a more comfortable position, but he couldn't find a way that wouldn't turn his aggressors' attention and thus the gun back towards him, so he just lay there silently, taking shallow breaths and waiting for a miracle to happen.

The ride seemed endless, but judging from where it ended, Charlie realized they couldn't have gone for more than ten minutes. Still his arms had started to go numb and were tingling uncomfortably, resisting against the tight bounds. By now Charlie had realized they had used a lashing strap which they had tied firmly around his whole upper torso, including his arms. At least it didn't cut into his flesh. He should probably start being grateful for small things like that.

As the thought occurred, the fear was back with a vengeance. He still didn't know what they were planning to do with him, but it was fairly obvious that their intentions weren't good ones. Neither was it hard to guess what their motive was. But if they were the same people who had killed Amanda, then why wasn't he dead already? What were they planning to do with him?

And how on earth was he supposed to stop them?

Before he could dwell longer on that question, the car doors were jerked open and he was pulled roughly to his feet. Stars were dancing in front of his eyes, and the dizziness didn't get better from the rough handling he got as they pulled him forwards.

He shivered. He was cold, they were on a bridge, and the wind was freezing. For a moment, he considered crying out for help, but then he remembered the gun. It would have been useless anyway. He knew that bridge, it had been declared liable to collapse a couple of years ago and ever since then, the whole stretch of the road had been abandoned. The only people that still came here were hikers and suicides.

"Finally," a voice greeted them, and Charlie felt his blood run cold. Jenkins. Freddy had been right, Jenkins, their go-to-man on finding that first mole, had been one of them.

He lifted his head a little, trying to look at him, still hoping that he was mistaken, or better yet, that this was all just a bad, really bad dream. If it had been a dream, however, Jenkins' angry voice would have surely woken him up.

"Are you out of your minds? Which of you idiots did that?!"

"He was fighting back! What was I supposed to do, let him run?"

"He's a math professor! How hard can it be to overpower a math professor!"

"I told you he was fighting back! You would have done the same thing!"

"I certainly would have made sure not to bash up his face! What are we supposed to do now? Doesn't make a suicide that plausible a scenario, don't you think?"

"It could have happened when he landed –"

"It couldn't, and you know it! The bruises already formed and you know just as well as I do that if anything points to foul play, Eppes won't stop looking until he's got it all figured out!"

Charlie was shivering more violently now, but knew that it had little to do with the wind, just as he knew that the queasy feeling in his stomach had little to do with the blows he'd taken earlier. They hadn't come to Suicide Bridge by accident. They had come here because they'd been planning on throwing him down there. They had wanted to kill him.

Probably still wanted to do that.

Panic set in and before he knew it, he was running, headless, not knowing which direction he should –

Ouch.

The blow from behind hit him hard in his back, taking his breath away, and an instant later, he was hitting the floor even harder. The weight of the body on top of him was pressing him down, cutting off his air supply, and he tried to get away, tried to get somewhere else, but he couldn't, there was no way out –

"Nice try," Jenkins said. Even turning his head, Charlie still couldn't see his face, all he could see was that he was kneeling next to him. "Got almost three yards. Think that was worth it?"

Yes!, Charlie wanted to shout at him, because at this point, every attempt to get away from them was worth it.

As the thought crossed his mind, he couldn't hold the tears back. There was no more denying it, this was it. They would kill him, if not by throwing him over the bridge, they'd find another method. They still had the gun. But they couldn't do that, they just couldn't, and something inside him kept fighting against the idea that this should really be the end.

"Let him up," Jenkins said, the weight was lifted from Charlie and he was pulled to his feet. Strong hands were gripping his arms so tightly that it hurt. They weren't taking any risks now, he realized that. That also meant that he'd blown the one chance he'd had. He bit his lip, fighting the tears again.

Jenkins approached him slowly, and even though Charlie knew it was stupid, that he was choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea, he shrank back from him, stumbling against the man that was holding him.

"There, there," Jenkins said, grasping Charlie's chin. He tried to turn his head, tried to get away from him, but he knew it was hopeless. "I'm sorry about the inconvenience my friends caused you, Professor," he taunted, a false smile on his lips. "Actually, we'd just like to have a little chat with you." Charlie turned his head, looking Jenkins directly in the eye now. If they really wanted to have a 'chat', if they wanted information, all wasn't lost yet, there was still hope, albeit a slim one.

"We'd like to know whom you told about the little project you're working on."

Charlie's heart was beating in his chest wildly and maybe it was those quakes that rendered his voice so tremulous. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do know what we're talking about. Don't try to trick us, Professor, you can rest assured that we watched you closely enough to know what you've been doing. By the way, I wouldn't have thought it'd be that easy to get access to your office."

Charlie swallowed. If that was true, if they'd been inside his office, if they'd seen his work, they knew he was onto them, and especially Jenkins knew that he was on the top of his list of suspects. He still couldn't place the other two, but now that he'd seen their faces, finding out their names and then putting the rest of the puzzle pieces in place would be easy.

Not that it mattered now.

Stop it, he told himself. All isn't lost yet. Keep fighting. Don't give up hope.

Easier said than done, another voice argued, a very rational sounding one. Charlie told it to shut up and tried concentrating on the other voice, the more optimistic one. Which was easer said than done.

"I'm still waiting, Professor," Jenkins said, emphasizing his words by the sound of his gun being cocked.

For a moment, Charlie thought he was going to pass out there and then, but his mind hadn't stopped working yet. "You can't shoot me," he said and was surprised at how firm his voice sounded. It was low and raspy, but it hardly revealed anything of the fear that was paralyzing his entire body.

"Trust me, Professor, I'm very confident I can shoot you, certainly from this distance."

"You said it yourself," Charlie argued and so hoped they still hadn't changed their plans. He stopped himself short before going on, keeping himself from mentioning Don's name, trying not to make this about him. One never knew. "They're going to investigate if it doesn't look like a clean-cut suicide. You can't risk that."

Jenkins made a sound that almost resembled a laugh. "Not that stupid, are you?" He paused. "You're right. But fortunately for us, we don't have to try to make this look like a suicide, not in your special case. You already did all the work for us by making a lot of enemies among the criminal lot. We can always make it look like it was one of them that tortured you, be it to get some information or simply to take revenge."

Charlie felt hot, feeling like he was going to pass out again. Something was wrong with his ears, too, and he'd stopped hearing anything after the word 'tortured'.

"Take him a couple of yards inside the forest and bind him to a tree," was the next thing he heard Jenkins say, the words still sounding as they were travelling to him through a dark, long tunnel. "We're going to meet back here at six and we're all going to do some research until then. We need to find someone who'd torture and kill him, and we need to find out as much about their methods as we can. And don't forget any equipment we might need for that. This has to look convincing, you know Eppes."

It was as though Charlie had stopped being a part of this world. He could still hear the words, he could feel the hands on his body, the moss and the twigs under his feet, but he'd stopped being able to take part in anything that was going on. He realized that it was the fear paralyzing him, but there still wasn't anything he could do to change that.

It was only when he heard the doors of Jenkins' car slam that his mind started working again and the fog of panic started to lift a little. He started shaking now under the lashing strap, and despite everything, it felt good to feel again.

"I have to do something," he whispered, not caring that he was talking to himself. He had bigger problems at hand. "I need to get away."

We're going to meet back here at six, Jenkins' voice reverberated in his mind, and panic almost took hold of him again. He couldn't let it, though. If they were back at six, that still gave him almost seven hours. He just had to use that time wisely, and he couldn't afford to lose a second.

Nervously and hastily, he extended his fingers so they could touch the forest floor. He just needed a stone, no matter how small, all he needed was something sharp –

There. He'd found it, but in his agitation, his fingers fumbled uselessly and he lost it again.

"Damn it!" he cursed and almost let himself be overcome by the tears again. He couldn't do that though.

"Get a grip on yourself," he said, then heard Don say the words, his tone a mixture of teasing and exasperation. "Get a grip on yourself," he repeated, his voice only a whisper now, the words becoming the mantra he needed to keep himself from losing his mind.

He found the stone again, it was back in his fingers, and before he got busy with the next step in his plan, he paused. "You gotta do this right," he told himself. He was back to Don's fighting rules again, equal amounts of force and precision. The stone in his hand was small, but still he thought he could work through the strap if he only did this right, if he continuously weakened the material in one spot until it would tear apart. Little strokes felled big oaks.

He leaned his head back against the tree and started carving. His fingers started cramping up only after minutes, but he knew he couldn't stop. He had to get this done, he had to, he just had to…

Don awoke from the sound of gravel scrunching in the driveway. That had to be Charlie coming home. He rubbed his face, trying to wake up more fully, and silently cursed himself for falling asleep in the first place. His initial plan had been to wait for Charlie to come home so he could finally confront him about what was going on with him, but apparently, the couch had been a little too comfortable for that plan. When he hit the light button of his wristwatch, however, he realized that the couch wasn't the only one to blame, his brother was just as culpable. What sane person returned home from work at three in the morning?

While Don was still digesting the news that it was the middle of the night, he heard a key turn in the lock. He sat himself upright, preparing for battle.

"Do you always work so late?" he said as a greeting when the door had fallen shut.

There was a gasp coming from the entrance and a bang as though someone had stumbled backwards against the door, and it was then that Don realized that he had no reason to think that Charlie had just returned from work. Given their most recent talk about Amita, wasn't it at least conceivable that he hadn't been working but rather… doing something more fun?

Don mentally shook his head. Charlie wouldn't do that. Right? Or would he? After all, what did he know about his brother? Not much, apparently. All he knew was that he had become an enigma lately, an enigma, on top of it, that was apparently mortally afraid of him, and he didn't like it one bit.

Consequently, he couldn't disguise his irritation when he said, "Damn it, Charlie, you'll have to stop that stupid habit of jumping at every noise, especially at your own house." He paused, but then, the words came out of his mouth on their own account. "Or are you suddenly afraid of me?"

He was waiting, tense, afraid to know the answer and unwilling to hear him confirm it. There was no sound coming from his brother though except for his shallow, rapid breathing, and Don was getting enough of this. "Charlie, come on –" he started as he switched the light on and then stopped abruptly.

For a moment, he was so shocked he couldn't say anything. He just stared at his brother, taking in the sight that was making him sick, yet unable to avert his eyes.

His brother looked awful. The left side of his face was swollen and there was dried blood under his nose and at the corner of his mouth. There even seemed to be bruises forming on his neck. His appearance was disheveled, his clothes were dirty and there was a tear in the sleeve of his jacket. The jacket was dark, but still Don thought he could see a stain upon it, just around the tear, so the most natural explanation for that stain was blood, Charlie's blood. The worst part, however, was the haunted look in Charlie's eyes.

"Charlie, what the…" Don started, but only got the words out when he tried a second time. "What happened to you?"

He could see his brother's Adam's apple bounce when he swallowed, just as he could see the heavy rising and falling of his ribcage as he breathed. His voice was thin when he answered, small. "Nothing."

"Nothing?!" It burst out of Don. "Charlie…" He almost choked on his brother's name. He didn't know what to say, he only knew that this definitely wasn't 'nothing'. "Who did this to you?"

The Adam's apple bounced again and Charlie cast down his eyes. "Please Don, just… You need to leave me alone. Please."

That plea was too much for him to take. "I think we can safely say that I have left you alone far too long already!" He realized that his voice sounded hysterical, and that he was shouting, but he didn't manage to feel regret about that. All he could really feel right now was pain from seeing his little brother like this.

"Look", Charlie said and had to clear his throat, but even when his voice came back, it was thin and tremulous. "I can't do this with you right now. I can't tell you what's going on and I can't tell you why I can't tell you, but you just have to trust me. Please." Those big brown eyes were staring at him, imploring him, still holding that panic that also manifested itself in that desperate tone of his voice, in those rapid, shallow breaths, in the trembling of his hands… "I really need to do this on my own, I can't tell you why or what this is about, but if I don't –"

He was rambling, his voice getting more broken with every word he said, and Don could take it no longer. "It's okay, Charlie," he said quietly, making that last step forward that separated them and taking his brother in his arms, holding him tight. For an anxious moment he waited, wondering how Charlie would react, and was filled with relief when he felt his brother's fingers gripping his back as though his life depended on it. He let out the breath he was holding and put a hand in Charlie's curls, guiding his little brother's head against his own shoulder and listening to his shallow breaths, waiting for his breathing to calm down.

"It's okay," he whispered in his brother's curls, soothing him, just talking, saying words he didn't know where they were coming from. "I'm here. It's okay now. I won't let anything happen to you."

The breathing against his chest had become slower, but Don didn't relinquish his hold. Only when Charlie eventually freed himself did he let go of him.

He let his arms hang loosely at his side, fighting the urge to put his hands back on his brother's shoulders, to be there for him, to make sure he was alright. When Charlie looked up at him, however, he almost stumbled backwards, the firm look on his brother's face hitting him completely unexpected.

"I need to figure something out," he said, his voice still not quite as firm as the look in his eyes, and Don frowned. Charlie couldn't mean what he thought he meant, right? "Maybe I can tell you then. But first, I need to… I need to get something done. And you can't be here while I'm doing that."

Don shook his head. "You can't be serious."

His brother was silent.

He couldn't help it, he was angry. "Are you actually trying to suggest that I leave you alone so you can work?"

"It's just –"

"You must be out of your mind!" Don interrupted him, not wanting to hear his brother's reasons. "What I should be doing is getting you to a hospital, or at least making sure that you get some sleep! I sure as hell won't let you work in the state you're in!"

Charlie seemed completely unperturbed by his anger. The look in his eyes was still firm, his jaw was set. His voice, while still low, was hard when he said, "Then leave."

For a moment, it was so quiet they could have heard a pin drop. Maybe that was it. Maybe something was wrong with Don's ears.

"What?"

"Leave," his brother repeated, and now there could be no doubt he had heard right. "Get out of my house."

Don was back to shaking his head. "Forget it," he said, still dumbfounded. Charlie couldn't be serious.

Or maybe he could. "This is my house," he said. His voice was still trembling, but his tone was firm enough. "If I tell you to leave, you have to leave, otherwise you're trespassing."

"Charlie –"

"I need to work. I need to get this done. Now."

He was still shaking his head as though that could make the weird things that were happening in his mind go away. "No way." He saw Charlie open his mouth, but he wouldn't let him continue uttering such non-sense. "There's no way I can leave you alone right now. You're hurt. You just…" He hesitated, then realized he didn't know what to say. "Well, I don't know what just happened to you, which is bad enough, but the fact is I can't leave you alone. You may even have inner injuries that just haven't presented with symptoms yet. Or a head injury." In fact, that seems to be a given seeing the way you're acting, he felt like adding, but swallowed the words down.

"I'm fine," Charlie claimed. "Just leave. Please."

So Charlie was resorting to begging now. Wouldn't change Don's mind either though, not this time. "Or what? You're gonna call the cops?" He was fairly certain his brother wouldn't do that to him. Fairly. Tonight, however, anything seemed possible.

For the first time since they'd started their argument, Charlie averted his eyes. Don saw him biting his lip and told himself not to feel pity for him. He couldn't give in to him, not with this, for Charlie's own sake.

"I don't have time for this," Charlie said, his voice lower now, less firm, more desperate. "Please, Don. Maybe when I'm done I can tell you, but right now, I really need to do this –"

"You know I won't leave."

Charlie looked at him closely, obviously making a decision. "A compromise, then. You can stay, but you need to stay upstairs while I'm doing what I have to get done."

Don opened his mouth, but Charlie's resolve was back. "All I need is thirty minutes, Don. That's all I'm asking." Don's resolve was wavering, and Charlie inflicted the final blow on it: that pleading look with his dark, expressive eyes. "Please."

Don felt himself nod, against better judgment. "You call me if you need my help or if you start feeling worse," he heard himself say, telling himself that after all, it was just thirty minutes. He could leave his brother alone for thirty minutes. He could do that. Charlie would be much more willing to get himself checked out by a doctor once he'd let him do that.

Charlie nodded and Don was confronted with the feeling that for the first time in a very long while, he'd lost an argument against his brother.

He had been listening closely to every noise he heard from downstairs, so when the typing stopped and he thought he could hear a deep sigh, he decided that it was time to get back down, even though he'd been waiting for just short of eighteen minutes instead of thirty. Still, it was only when he was on the stairs that he dared making a sound, and it was then that Charlie's head jerked around towards him. The next moment, his brother closed his eyes and put his hands against the couch he was sitting on, obviously having a hard time to keep himself upright.

Don quickened his steps and was down in the living room in an instant. "You okay?" he asked and was sitting next to him a moment later. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just a little dizzy," his brother said, and Don didn't like his mumbling tone at all. He was even slurring the words a little. "Just turned my head too quickly, I guess."

He still had his eyes closed and Don grasped the opportunity to study his face more closely. The bruises had become more prominent, or at least so it seemed to Don, and the lines of pain on his forehead seemed to have become deeper. In any case, Charlie was looking the worse for the wear.

"We should really get you to a hospital," he said quietly while at the same time he was wondering if he shouldn't just let him sleep.

Charlie, once more, had ideas of his own. "We can't do that," he said, his eyes open now, the lines on his forehead deeper than ever. "We need to go to the FBI."

Okay, that was enough. "Just stop it now, would you!"

When Charlie flinched, closing his eyes again, Don knew he'd gone too far, but hell, why was his brother insisting on being so pig-headed!

He ran his hand over his face, walking off his anger, realizing only now that he was standing. He was just about to explain to Charlie that there was no way he would let him have his way further when he heard him say, "There are moles in the FBI."

Don felt as though someone had ducked his head in ice water. "What?"

"They keep forwarding information, to drug lords, to the mob… I just put together the last pieces. We need to go to the A.D. I just finished the analysis, he's not compromised."

Don shook his head again. It seemed to be more and more often the appropriate reaction to his brother's words. "Charlie… you're not thinking straight, buddy. You should probably just lie down for a while."

"Fine," his brother said, his language a bit clearer now, accentuated by irritation. "I'm gong alone then."

He stood, swaying badly. Don was next to him in an instant, grabbing both his upper arms firmly and fighting the urge to shake him. "Okay, Charlie, listen to me, you're –"

"You listen to me! They killed a colleague of mine! They tried to kill me, too! They're still trying to kill me!"

Once the words were out, he closed his eyes again, leaning against Don more heavily. "Woah, Charlie, slow down," Don said, his voice low, not sure what he should think of this and deciding that he first had to make sure his brother wasn't going to pass out before he could get to the bottom of this.

"Easy there, buddy," he said quietly, guiding his brother back down to a sitting position on the couch. "Just breathe, okay? In, and out." Charlie nodded slightly, which Don was taking as a good sign. He gave him some more seconds, fighting hard to keep his agitation at bay. "Better now?" he then asked.

Charlie nodded. "Just felt a little dizzy for a moment. I'm fine now, and we should really get going –"

"Slow down," Don cut him off. "Explain this to me first. What were you saying? What colleague of yours? And who tried to kill you?" Surely his brother had been exaggerating with that point… right? There was no way someone had just tried to kill him. No way.

"Look, I can't explain everything right now, but we need to get –"

"Just explain to me why I can't just take you to a hospital and we can call the A.D. from there," Don said, considering his solution a compromise they could both very well live with.

Charlie, however, once more seemed to be of a different opinion. "Because they're still trying to do away with me," he said, and Don started getting an uneasy feeling that maybe, he hadn't just chosen his words lightly earlier. Still he had a hard time imagining it. Someone had tried… they had tried to kill Charlie? "They said they would come back at six and when they do and realize I'm not there, they're going to come here and if we're still here, they might try again and if you get in their way they won't refrain from hurting you too, and I can't –"

This was still going much too fast for Don, but by now he'd realized that Charlie was serious, that this situation was serious, deadly serious. "Shh, Charlie, calm down, just calm down," he interrupted him again, afraid his brother might hyperventilate. "I got it, alright? I get it now. I'll…" He stopped short. He'd been meaning to tell Charlie to let him sort this out, to let him take him to the hospital and just wait there until Don had notified his superiors. Now, however, he realized he couldn't do that. If what Charlie was telling him was true, and he had no intention of taking his words lightly, there was no way he could leave him alone, not for a minute. They still had to tell the right people though, and as long as this matter wasn't dealt with, he needed to ensure Charlie's safety. The place he could do that best, in fact the only place where he felt confident he could do that, was the place Charlie had been wanting to go all along.

He took a deep breath. "We're going to the FBI. Right now, okay?" He gave his brother's arms a tight squeeze. "Don't you worry. I'm gonna take care of everything."

One of the merits of Don's boss, A.D. Jeremy Woods, was his timing for when it was better to ask further questions and when a matter was so serious that there was no time to lose. Accordingly, he'd agreed to seeing them instantly, and thus it was four thirty in the morning when the three of them sat in Woods' office and Don heard the whole story for the first time. He fought hard not to constantly stare at his little brother, or to blurt out asking him why on earth he hadn't considered it necessary to tell him that for the past few days he'd been living in constant fear of being liquidated by Don's coworkers.

Woods, while no expert in data flows or network analyses, was competent enough to understand the data itself that Charlie's work pinpointed, the evidence of the corrupted agents' clandestine behavior. After he'd viewed it, he was silent for almost a full minute.

"You're sure –" he then started to ask, but stopped himself short. There was no reason to ask. He'd seen the evidence. "And you're confident there aren't any others?" he asked instead, as though five moles in one organization wouldn't have been bad enough.

Charlie nodded slowly. "Speaking for this office: yes. I was able to match all the inconsistencies we found in the data to one of the five agents I designated. But of course I can't say if they're connected to corrupted agents in other FBI offices, or in other agencies."

Woods sighed. "Of course not," he said, sounding very tired, and Don suspected that the early hour had little to do with that. "But we have to take one step at a time." He looked at his watch. It was almost five now, so there wasn't a minute to lose. "I'm going to send a team to that bridge you said they left you right now. Let's hope they didn't change their plans. In the meanwhile, we're going to try and pick up the other two at their respective homes." He turned towards Don. "I'm assuming you want to be part of one of these operations, but I can only consent to that if I'm confident you'll be able to keep your personal feelings in check."

Don swallowed. It was true he would have loved to make sure that those traitors got what they deserved, but he had other priorities right now. "Actually, Sir, I was thinking that as long as this matter isn't cleared up, we shouldn't take any risks concerning my brother's safety." He could feel two pairs of eyes scrutinizing him, but he didn't care. Someone had tried to kill Charlie tonight, and as long as there was still someone out there with that agenda on his mind, Don sure as hell wouldn't let him out of his sight.

"Of course," Woods said. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm going to stay with him in one of the conference rooms for now, until they're apprehended. If something goes wrong during the arrests though and they manage to escape, we should try to get him to a safe house. In that case we'll also need to contact one of the hospitals to get a doctor there. He needs medical attention."

"Don –"

Don, however, had had enough arguing for one morning. "He seems to be having a concussion," he therefore passed over his brother's protest, directing his words more at him than at his supervisor, "which shouldn't be taken lightly."

Woods nodded. "Of course not." He gave Charlie an appraising look. "Are you okay with that course of action, Dr. Eppes? Or do you need medical attention right away?"

"I'm fine, Sir."

Woods nodded again. "Alright. Thank you for your work, Dr. Eppes, Agent Eppes." As he shook their hands, he added towards Don, "I'll keep you informed."

The two brothers made their way downstairs to the conference room in silence. There was hardly anyone here at this hour and Don was grateful for that. Charlie probably too: less people meant less noise, and he'd meant what he'd said earlier. He was fairly certain Charlie had a concussion, the dizziness being just as obvious an indicator as the headache and the nausea he'd admitted to having when they'd driven here.

Another indicator for how badly Charlie was feeling was the lack of protest as Don helped him settle in the most comfortable office chair he could find, bringing him into a leaning back position with his legs raised upon another chair. Charlie had his eyes closed and Don was watching him attentively, thinking with a sick feeling in his stomach of how close he'd come to losing him tonight.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

Charlie nodded slightly, keeping his eyes closed. "It's a lot better this way, lying down."

Don bit his lip. In fact, he'd meant more Charlie's mental state than his physical one, but now that Charlie had dodged the question, inadvertently or not, he didn't dare asking a second time. After all, Charlie knew that if he wanted to talk, Don was there for him, right?

So why had he been silent about this matter for two whole days?

And yet, the signs had all been there. Now, in hindsight, Charlie's weird behavior made sense, so perfectly in fact that Don wondered why he hadn't realized sooner what was going on. How on earth was it possible that he hadn't realized that his little brother had been afraid for his life all this time?

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly, but got no answer. Charlie had fallen asleep.

He leaned back with a sigh, watching him sleep and praying that the arrests would go smoothly so that they could start to clear up everything those bastards had messed up, starting with Charlie's physical and mental well-being. One thing was certain: once the moles stopped presenting a risk to Charlie, there wasn't anything or anybody that could stop Don from driving him straight to the hospital.

It was seven o'clock in the morning when he got the call from Woods that initiated the decline of the tension that had been building up inside him, "We got them."

Don swallowed before he carefully opened the door to his brother's room. He'd just spoken with his doctor and wasn't sure whether he should be worried or relieved by his report. True, he'd said that they expected no further complications, that they were keeping Charlie here only for observation, but on the other hand, they were planning on keeping him not only for the whole remainder of the day, but also overnight. And when Don thought back to his own concussion, a few years back… well, let's just say it was something he'd rather do without.

The room was darkened and quiet, Charlie being the only patient in there, his health insurance finally paying off. Don knew that his brother needed rest – the doctor had been quite adamant about that point – but he also knew that there was no way he could leave him alone, not after what he'd been through last night.

He'd thought that Charlie was sleeping, but as he closed the door, the curly head turned in his direction. For a moment, Don just stood there, feeling a little as if he'd been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. "Hey," he eventually found his voice again.

"Hey," came the soft answer from the bed, sounding tired.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, keeping his voice low.

"Okay," Charlie said. "Better," he added, still much softer and slower than he normally spoke. "Still got the headache though."

Don gave him a commiserating smile. "I'm afraid that's probably not going to go away for quite a while."

"Thanks for lifting my spirits."

Don bit his lip. Why did he always have to make matters worse? "Charlie, I'm –"

"Relax," his brother interrupted him. "Just kidding."

Oh. Okay. Things couldn't be too bad then.

However, there was still one thing he had to say that probably wouldn't lift Charlie's spirits either. "Listen," he began, dragging a chair to Charlie's bed without making a noise and sitting down, "I couldn't reach Dad so far. I'm going to try again later and I'm sure he'll come at once as soon as he learns about what happened, but I guess he and Aunt Sarah went out this morning and he didn't take his cell with him and I… well, I just didn't want to explain this in a voice mail."

Charlie frowned. "Do we really have to tell him? I mean now? Can't we just wait until he comes back? It's only two more days and you know how he's going to freak out if you call him to tell him about… well, this."

Now, it was Don's turn to frown. "I just thought… Well, I thought you might want him here. You know…" He trailed off, not knowing how to say this. He only knew that Charlie had just gone through a traumatic experience and that he himself always drew comfort from being with his dad and Charlie whenever the world seemed to be crushing down upon him. He'd thought Charlie would need their dad's support now a hundred times worse.

"Oh. Right," his brother said, his words coming out a bit clearer now, although he still sounded a little tired. "I forgot you have to get back to work. I'm sorry, I guess I'm still not thinking straight." He tried for a little smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe you could see if you can get a hold of Amita, or Larry? Just… I mean, it just would be nice not to be stuck in here alone all day."

Don looked at his brother closely, noticing the fear in his eyes, and let out a small sigh. "You really think I would leave you alone after what happened last night?"

Charlie didn't say anything and just looked back at him, the fear still there in his eyes, mingling with hope now. Don suppressed the urge of biting his lip, trying to keep the question of how his brother could think he would do that at an arm's length. "Well, I guess that conclusively proves that those blows actually made you a little soft in the head, for otherwise you would have known that the probability for that to happen is practically non-existent, as you would say."

He could see that Charlie was fighting the urge to smile. Well, that was at least something. "I would never say that."

"Oh yeah, you would. You know what, I don't even know why I'm arguing with you about this, seeing that you're not even legally sane right now."

"Jerk."

"Yup, legally insane, thanks for proving my point."

Charlie gave him a smile now, but it was obvious that he was still in pain. He was supposed to sleep, and Don knew it. Why couldn't he just shut up and let his brother have the rest he needed?

He gave his leg a squeeze. "You know what, you just try and get some rest now, okay? You look like you need it."

"And you?"

"I'm gonna stay right here." In the moment before Charlie cast down his eyes, Don could detect a glimmer of pure gratitude in them that told him he'd finally done something right. Still, it was obvious that Charlie was embarrassed by the situation, so he tried going two for two. "After all, someone needs to chat up your nurses. And to fend off the reporters."

The eyes were back, as was the smile. "Right."

Don paused. True, he'd been saying that in jest, but actually he thought that reporters were a very real possibility in Charlie's immediate future. "Sorry to break this to you, buddy, but I didn't say that ironically. At least not the part with the reporters." He gave his brother a fond look, who still didn't seem convinced. "I mean, you do realize what you did there, right? You single-handedly found five moles in one of the most powerful agencies of this country, if not the world."

"Amanda –" Charlie tried to argue, but Don wouldn't let him.

"Or almost single-handedly," he corrected himself. "Still, I hope you realize that this is pretty big. This is a good thing you did there Charlie, and it required a damn lot of guts." He saw the corners of Charlie's mouth twitch and he thought he even reddened a bit. There was still something he had to say, though, he just didn't know how. Now that he'd apparently managed to make Charlie feel a little better, he didn't want to dampen the mood again. He didn't want him to think that he was angry, for he wasn't, not really, so he delivered his next words with a teasing tone, "Next time you decide to uncover one of the biggest scandals of the year though, just talk to me first, okay?"

Charlie gave him a look that was completely inscrutable. Then he said, "No."

Don's eye-brows had gone up. Teasing or not, this was still serious, so Charlie had better not be messing with him. "I beg your pardon?"

That serious look was still there when he explained, "It wasn't like I just forgot to tell you, Don. I made a choice. I chose not to endanger you and I don't think that I'm going to decide differently if a problem like that ever presents itself again."

"But –"

"No 'buts'," Charlie interrupted him, his voice more determined now than tired. "Just imagine you would have been in my place. Are you really trying to tell me you would have acted differently?"

Don almost laughed. If the situation hadn't been so serious, he might very well have called it ridiculous. "Come on, you can't compare that, I'm an agent –"

"That's irrelevant," Charlie interrupted him, again. "You're my brother, that's all that matters in this case." He paused. When he spoke again, his tone was even more serious. "I couldn't have borne if anything had happened to you, especially if something had happened to you because of me." He looked his brother directly in the eye, almost solemn. "Do you understand that?"

No, because you're not making any sense! Don meant to shout at him, but something held him back. Charlie couldn't be serious. He had decided to go through all this on his own just because he'd been worried about him? That was… there was something not right about this. It wasn't supposed to be this way round. After all, Don could name dozens of instances off the top of his head when he'd been wondering whether he could really ask his little brother for his help, afraid his work might put him in harm's way. Charlie was the one having been put at risk by Don, by his job and by the fact that he'd pulled him into that. Don's only consolation with this situation was that Charlie hadn't been hurt so far, not seriously, not while working for him. For this time he'd put himself in harm's way very much on his own account, and it made Don feel so relieved it almost made him sick, for if this had been a case for Don, if Charlie had been attacked that way trying to help him, he knew he couldn't have borne –

Well, shit. That was exactly what Charlie had been talking about.

He ran his hands over his face and sighed before looking back at his brother who was still waiting for an answer. Then he nodded. "Yeah, Charlie. I think I understand that."

"Good," Charlie said. "So I guess you won't ask me again to act in a way that might bring harm to you."

Don hesitated. He knew that what his brother was asking of him was only fair, but he also knew he had to be truthful with him. "I can't promise that," he said. "I mean, I understand what you're saying. I do." He locked eyes with his brother, seeing the same emotion in them he could feel in his heart. "I really do, Charlie." He let the words sink in before he went on, "But I… well, this works just as well the other way round, you know? I don't want… I don't want you to get hurt. And when I'm busy trying to… well, to look out for you, if you can call it that, I might forget that you worry about me just as much as I worry about you."

Charlie was looking up at him, a thin smile appearing on his face. "Don't you worry. I'll remind you of that."

- finis -