"I should have known you'd be out here," Don chuckled as he entered his brother's garage. "You ever heard of taking it easy?"

"Says the man who is supposed to be on bed rest for two more days," Charlie shot back.

"Yeah, well I may be up but I'm not working. I don't think I can say the same thing about you, though."

"Between finals and this last case and what happened to you, I haven't had much time to put in to my Cognitive Emergence Theory," the younger man advised him as he continued studying his chalkboard.

"Oh yeah," Don smiled as he settled on the old, green sofa. "The 'how do people think' thing."

"Very simply speaking, yes."

"How's that going?"

"I'm making some fascinating discoveries. Nothing profound enough to get me published yet, but it's out there. I just have to find it."

"Well if anyone can, you can, Buddy."

Charlie turned around and studied his brother, finally setting down his chalk and clasping his hands together. "You didn't come out here to talk about my work," he said evenly.

"No, I didn't," Don agreed. "But I was a little stir-crazy and Dad's run to the store. I guess I wanted company."

"Sure," Charlie grinned ear-to-ear, knowing Don rarely just wanted to visit. He moved to the couch and dropped down next to his older brother. "How's the neck feeling?"

"Good as new," Don assured him, rolling his head side to side to prove his point and barely hiding a wince.

"Don't push yourself so hard," Charlie admonished him. "You still have a week of leave from work. Take it easy or you'll hurt yourself again."

"I guess you're right."

"You guess I'm… Did I just hear you correctly?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the agent deadpanned. "You know, Buddy, I owe you an apology."

"For what?" Charlie asked in surprise.

"For getting you involved in this whole Gardenia mess. He only hurt you to get to me."

"I'm fine," the younger man assured him.

Don reached out and lightly ran his fingertips over the scar below his brother's eye. "You call that fine?" he asked quietly.

"I'm alive and kicking, aren't I?" Seeing the look of doubt on Don's face, he covered his brother's hand with his own. "Yes, I call this fine. And I'm fine because you sent Dad and me away while you caught the bad guy. So if anything, I owe you a thank you."

"Sorry, Buddy," the agent said as he slowly shook his head. "We're going to have to disagree on that one."

"You can't help what the bad guys are going to do, you know. You're not psychic and you're not Superman, either. The best you can do is try to stop as many bad people as possible and I think you do a damn fine job of it."

His brother's use of a swear word really hammered home the conviction of his words and Don found himself smiling as he patted Charlie's shoulder. "Not me, Buddy. We do a damn fine job of it."

--

Alan maneuvered his way through the door with two heavy bags of groceries in his hands. Two sons and neither one is around to help me when I need them, he thought with a shake of his head. Typical. He kicked the door closed and shuffled into the house, glancing to his right at the sound of the television. Don was sitting in a chair, his head resting against the cushion as a football game played out on the screen before him. Alan tiptoed closer and wasn't surprised to find his oldest son lightly snoring, oblivious to the world around him.

He's been so tired lately, Alan thought sadly. And so subdued, even for him. His injury has healed nicely, though, and he's back to work after next week. I wish I knew what was going on in that head of yours, Donny.

Alan softly sighed as he continued on into the kitchen, putting the cold items in the refrigerator before going to track down his other son. He entered the garage and found Charlie scribbling away on one of his numerous chalkboards. "Any new breakthroughs?"

Charlie's writing screeched to a halt and he tapped the chalk against the board as if he could pin down his train of thought before it escaped him. "Not yet," he said as he continued to concentrate on the equations in front of him. Seemingly giving up on whatever line of thought he'd been pursuing, the professor set his chalk down and looked at his father. "Why is everyone suddenly so interested in my work?"

"Come again?" his father asked.

"Don was out here… Never mind." Charlie moved to sit on the couch and looked up at the older man. "Back from the store?" he asked conversationally.

"Yeah," Alan nodded as he wearily lowered himself to sit next to his son. "I bought some of Don's favorites. I figured maybe a good home-cooked meal might cheer him up."

"Maybe," Charlie muttered noncommittally.

Sensing that his youngest son had some insight into Don's mood, Alan leaned forward and asked, point blank, "What do you think is bugging him?"

"What makes you think I know?"

"Because I've come to realize something throughout all my years of parenting."

"Yeah?" the professor inquired when his father fell silent. "What's that?"

"The younger brother always knows more about what's going on in his big brother's life than a parent could ever hope to know."

"Sometimes I'm clueless about him, too."

"I don't doubt that," Alan agreed. "But this time, I think you do know what's going on with him." When the professor remained silent his father shifted closer, placing a hand on his arm. "Talk to me, Charlie. You and I both know Don's hurting, but I can't help unless I know what's going on."

"I tried talking to him about it right before we went to Philadelphia," the younger man confided. "But he shut me out."

"So talk to me about it," his father prodded.

"I don't know much," Charlie replied as he met his father's gaze. "But the agent that was killed in the first raid used to work with Don in Albuquerque. It was his first day on the job out here."

"Oh no."

"Yeah. And after doing some research and talking with Don, I found out that he personally recommended the agent for the LA office."

"So Don thinks he's the reason this agent died?" Alan finished. "That's just… It's ridiculous, is what it is."

"I don't think it's his fault either, but you know how protective Don is. I understand why he feels the way he does, but not how to prove to him that he's wrong."

"You know what, Charlie?" his father asked as he stood up from the couch. "You can leave that last part to me."

--

After supper that night, Don felt restless. He made his way to the backyard and stretched out on the old bench that his father had given his mother when he and Charlie were small. Leaning back, he studied the stars for a while before allowing his eyes to close so he could enjoy the peaceful evening silence.

Silence, however, was not his friend as it allowed too many disturbing thoughts to play in his head. Don quickly opened his eyes and sat up straight, covering his face in his hands and trying to banish the most recent images from his mind. Rustling footsteps across the grass drew his attention back to the house and he saw his father approaching him, his frame backlit by the stoop light.

"Mind some company?" Alan asked quietly, standing in front of Don and offering him a beer as he waited for his permission.

Caught off-guard by the other man's hesitance, Don nodded and accepted the bottle. "Sure, Dad. How can I say no when you bring refreshments?"

Alan joined him on the bench and looked up at the stars, unknowingly copying his son's earlier actions. "Nice clear night."

"Yep." Don twisted the cap off and took a swallow of the cold beverage.

"Not too cool."

"Not at all." Don studied his father's profile, knowing there was a reason for his visit and waiting for him to make his move. Instead, Alan remained quiet to the point where Don grew uncomfortable and felt the need to break the silence. "I think Megan mentioned Larry would be overhead sometime tomorrow evening."

"Oh? I suppose Charlie will stay at CalSci tomorrow so he can use the telescope."

"I know Megan's got one all lined up for her." Don smiled. "She really does miss him."

"Charlie does, too," Alan sighed. "It's been hard on him to be without his best friend."

"I know."

"You know what's helped him a lot, though?" Alan asked as he turned to look at his oldest son.

"What's that?" the agent asked as he took another sip from his bottle.

"You."

Don choked in surprise. "Me?"

"Don't give me that," Alan scolded. "Charlie's looked up to you since they day he first learned to say your name. You were – whether you wanted to be or not – his original best friend. So with Larry gone, it's only natural he look to you for friendship."

"Huh," Don mumbled thoughtfully. "I suppose that's true."

"Only now…"

"What?" Don asked when his father didn't continue.

"Now he's worried about you," the older man confided. "I am too, actually."

"You two worry too much." Don grinned as he gestured to the small piece of gauze covering the wound in his neck. "I'm fine. Back to work in a week. Good as new, okay?"

"Yes, you've healed quite nicely," Alan nodded as he boldly tapped his son's forehead. "But I'm more concerned about what's going on in here."

"Nothing new," the agent mumbled. "And nothing worth talking about."

"What if I disagree?" his father asked, staring unblinkingly at his son.

"It's none of your business, really." Don winced as the words came out, sounding harsh even to his ears. Oh well, he thought. Can't take them back now.

Alan spoke in a low but firm voice as he seized his son's chin. "You, Special Agent Don Eppes, are my son, and therefore my business. Do you understand me?"

"No," Don said, his voice close to breaking. "No, I don't. And I don't know why you and Charlie can't seem to understand me. You want me to talk about what's going on in my head but did it ever occur to you that I'm trying to protect both of you from the horrors I see on a daily basis?"

"Like having an agent you were friends with in New Mexico die at the hand of this madman?"

"That's a cheap shot," Don growled in warning.

"No more of a cheap shot than you blaming yourself for what happened to him." Alan held his son's gaze, both men's stares harsh and unyielding.

"I think I've had enough company for tonight," the agent spat as he moved to stand. Much to his shock, his father roughly grabbed his wrist and forced him to remain seated. "Dad? What the hell?"

"I've been watching your mood grow worse and worse these past few months," Alan whispered. "I kept telling myself you were just on a rough case – that things would get better soon. But they haven't. And now this mess is pulling you down even further. I won't let you go, Donny. Not until we talk." He leaned so close to his son's face that Don could make out moisture in his eyes. "I almost lost you to a bullet, son. I'm not willing to lose you to the darkness of your job. Talk to me. Please."

Don regarded his father for a moment before sagging against the bench, exhaustion lining his features. "What do you want to know?"

"Why do you think this is your fault?"

"I brought him here," the agent told him. "He died on his first day on the job. How is that not my fault?"

"You recruited him for an opening in your office?"

"Well… no."

"You called him up and bragged about how great LA is?"

"He called me."

"So you kept in touch over the years since you moved out here?"

Don shook his head. "No. When he called it was actually the first time we'd spoken since I left Albuquerque."

"Why did he call you?" Alan inquired.

"He was bored in New Mexico. He and his wife wanted a change of scenery." Don smiled briefly. "She thought LA would be a wonderful place to raise a family."

"It is," his father said with a loving smile. "So… he was asking you to tell him about LA?"

"No. He'd already checked real estate listings, cost of living, school systems… the whole nine yards."

"So what did he want?"

"He wanted…" Don trailed off as his father's interrogation began to wear him down. "He wanted to know if I'd make an official recommendation for him."

"And if you had said no?"

"Why would I-"

Alan cut him off. "Just answer the question."

"I guess he still would have applied," Don said with a shrug. "But I really doubt he would have made it."

"You're certain about that?"

"No, of course not. But…" Don picked at the label on his beer bottle. "I let him go into the field with us that day. I should have said no."

"He'd never been in the field before?" Alan inquired.

"Of course he had. He was a seasoned agent. A good one, too."

"I see. So you ordered him to go into the field with you?"

"Dad," the agent sighed. "I appreciate what you're trying to do-"

"You're the trained investigator, son. Look at the facts and then convince me it's your fault."

Don shook his head as he realized his father had laid out a foolproof argument. "Then why do I feel like it's my fault?"

"Because you are who you are." Alan leaned back against the bench and draped his arm over Don's shoulders. "You're a protector at heart – you said it yourself earlier. You want to protect me, your brother, your team… Heck, you joined the FBI so you could protect as many people as possible."

"And that's a bad thing?" Don asked wearily.

"Of course not," his father said as he squeezed his shoulders. "But you have to walk a very fine line between protecting people and taking responsibility for them."

"I suppose you're right."

"Your father's always right," Alan laughed. "When are you going to realize that?"

"Probably the same day I understand one of Charlie's math theorems," the younger man teased.

"Right," his father groaned as he tousled Don's hair. "Let's go back inside and see if we can't find a game on somewhere."

"Sure," the agent agreed. "I bet you're dying to know how much you owe your bookie."

TBC