A/N: I fell on the ice. My arm's in a sling till the swelling goes down. Bad luck month- virus in the family (I can't seem to shake it) and now ice. : ( So, sorry Patty it took so long. : ) The pain meds they gave me stink. We'll see how it goes. No best wishes necessary. Just a little forgiveness if the next few chapters are a little off. (true meaning: stink)

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"Hey, Walker."

The lieutenant lifted his head, frowned when he saw the two men walking towards him. Walker was leaning against a squad car, overseeing the investigation of a drive-by that had taken the lives of three teenagers. Their bodies were still in place on the ground, the medical examiner kneeling in front of them, ready to declare official death.

There were no media cameras stationed nearby though the call about the murders had gone over the radio almost an hour before.

Walker had long grown cynical. He knew the reason no media was there. Three young black men in the worst area of South LA- happened all the time, nothing unusual going on here. Sometimes they were lighter-skinned, occasionally white, but they all shared the commonalities of being dirt poor and anonymous, of no concern to the greater society unless they dared to cross over into more prestigious territory.

That hadn't been the case.

Since they were shot in their own personal no-man's land, no media had appeared, the few people who would be missing them the three mothers standing behind the yellow police tape, staring at their children and wondering where did I go wrong?

What they should really be thinking, Walker thought as he stood up to greet David and Colby, is where did our society go wrong?

"Gentlemen," Walker said in a formal voice, "How may I help you?"

A glance passed between the two agents, a silent communication as to who should take the lead, their ability to agree without spoken word identifying them as longstanding partners.

David spoke first. "We came to see you about a case that you're working."

"Oh?" Walker raised his chin, daring them to ask about Don's case, for it was the obvious reason for them being there.

"Yeah," Colby replied.

The three men stared each other down until David broke the standoff with a wave of his hand. "Come on, Walker. He's our boss and our friend. You'd want to know what was going on, too, don't deny it."

And Walker couldn't. He was actually surprised this conversation hadn't come earlier. But then, the LAPD special rape unit was very efficient, their officers well-trained to keep quiet about the identity of victims if they were requested to, something not unusual when a wife or mother, or even a single college girl chose to keep their assaults to themselves. Add to that the other blockades they'd put up- limiting the number of personnel working the case, the new health laws that protected the privacy of patients, and keeping the case facts off the computer, writing them in paper files that could only be accessed by the principles involved in the investigation and their superiors- Walker supposed it made sense that they had been able to keep the assault under wraps, till now, for some reason unbeknownst to him.

The medical examiner interrupted them, calling across to Walker, who pulled away from David and Colby and headed over to the basketball court where the three victims were lying. After an intense talk, Walker motioned to the crime scene technicians that they could carry on with their work, handed over command to an immediate subordinate, stopped to say a few kind words to the victims' relatives, and then he strode away, right past the two waiting agents.

David and Colby had to jog in order to catch up with Walker.

"Hey, man," David growled at Walker, keeping pace with him on one side while Colby took the other. "We need to talk."

Not slowing down, Walker barked in response, "No, we don't."

The trio rushed halfway down the street until Walker stopped abruptly in front of an unmarked car, was pulling the door open when Colby placed an open palm against its edge.

Walker glared at him. "Move," he ordered.

"Not until we get some answers," Colby said evenly, all of his body weight against the door.

David came up behind Walker, standing close enough to hiss in his ear, "We're not leaving- me, my partner, or you. So, unless you want to stand here all night, I suggest you start talking."

Not giving an inch, Walker eyed David. "What exactly do you think we need to talk about?"

"Not what, who," Colby replied, trying to keep his frustration under control. He met David's eyes, both of them acknowledging Walker wasn't the bad guy because he had to be the one who had hidden Don's mental breakdown, an act meant to protect not hurt him. But neither one could understand why the guy wouldn't give them a moment of his time since it had to be obvious they knew Don had been committed to the mental hospital- or at the very least, that he had been assaulted.

David swallowed, drew back from Walker in an attempt to be less threatening. "Look, we know all about what happened to Don three weeks back. We know some gang members gave him a good going-over."

"Yeah," Colby said, removing his hand from the car door. "We just wanted to ask a few questions, that's all."

Walker stood there, mulling over their words. Their description of the crime as a "going-over" meant neither man knew that their boss had been sexually assaulted. Walker folded his arms and spread his legs, standing immovably, hoping he could convince the two agents into giving up any further inquiry so the true nature of the assault could still be contained. "All right, go ahead and ask your questions. But I don't guarantee that I'll answer them."

"Well," David stumbled over his words, not sure what to say now that he had Walker's attention, "I guess we'd like to know why the PD is handling the case instead of the feds."

"I'm not admitting that anybody in the PD is handling what would normally be a federal case. However, if that ever happened, it would be to keep the confidential facts of the case from prying eyes," Walker said. He finished his statement in his most sarcastic tone of voice, "It seems, believe it or not, that some feds have a habit of sticking their noses into cases that are none of their business."

"Our friend is our business," David assured him.

Walker snorted derisively.

Ignoring the other man's attitude, David asked, "How'd you do it? You know, get it moved to police jurisdiction."

"I'm not saying that I moved any federal case to police jurisdiction. But maybe, if special circumstances ever came up in a case, like an experienced officer was suffering from burnout and getting assaulted tipped him over the edge," Walker explained, purposely reconfirming in the agents' minds their belief that Don had only been beat up and was hospitalized from the stress of his job, "the Bureau might agree that letting an outside agency work it would keep those nosey-bodies feds I just mentioned from spreading rumors around and ruining a man's career."

David and Colby scowled at Walker. "Are you saying we can't be trusted?" Colby asked angrily. "Is that it? You really think we'd gossip around the water cooler 'bout Don burning out and being locked in a mental institute?"

Walker dropped his head and shook it in disappointment. "What if you're wrong?"

The two agents stepped back, shifting from one foot to the other, puzzled. "What do you mean?" David finally asked.

"About me," Walker snapped, hitting his palm against his chest. "About this case you're asking me about." His voice slowly rose as he continued, "You ever think maybe you're wrong and I'm not the one involved in making the case stay quiet, yet here you are telling me that your boss was physically assaulted three weeks ago and is now locked away. If I knew nothing about it before, I sure know all about it now- thanks to the two of you."

The faces of the agents dropped. "No," David quietly told Walker, "you're lying. It had to be you. Nobody else could cover up the assault on a federal agent except someone in authority."

"And we read the radio dispatches," Colby said, "so we know the gang unit was called."

"Only person in that unit who could orchestrate this whole thing would be you," David accused, "So, you already know what we're talking about."

"But if I hadn't," Walker said firmly, "I would now."

"But the fact remains that you did," Colby groused, "So you got some other point to make?"

"Yeah- I'm trying to get you to think… if I supposedly put in all this effort to protect your boss, you know, keep it under wraps that maybe he's caved under pressure of the job," Walker replied, suddenly snatching at the handle to his car door and tugging it open, dropping inside before anyone could protest, "then why, you should ask yourselves, why are you trying to unravel all of my work?"

Walker slammed the door shut, David and Colby standing there mute, unable to respond. Then they heard the engine rev, which startled them from their trance. David knocked on the car window and Walker rolled it down. "What?"

David told him, "Okay, you're right. We shouldn't be here asking all these questions. I didn't really think you'd answer them, anyway. It's just, we need to know- are they doing alright by Don?"

Walker paused before answering. "I think," he said cautiously, "that there are cases without witnesses able to tell what happened, and with forensic evidence that doesn't match anybody in the system, and where the victim does not want to discuss the details…I think that those cases are very difficult to solve, no matter how many hours or how much effort has been put into catching the culprits."

David and Colby knew Walker was telling them that Don's case was at a standstill, that there was not much more they could do until Don was ready to discuss what happened, but that the PD had been working hard to solve it. They stepped back from Walker's car, nodding at him. "Thanks," David said, "that's all we really wanted to know. If you need a lending hand…" He left the offer hanging in the air.

"Won't take it," Walker said bluntly. "And you better think about why. A good case can easily be lost if the defense can present a conflict of interest. Think about that before delving too deep into any case."

Then Walker drove away, glancing in the rearview mirror. He saw David and Colby come together, their heads bowed as they discussed something no one else was privy to. Walker thought about what they had told him, about having read the radio transcripts. Positive they'd done more than that, Walker phoned his supervisor. "Look, about the Eppes case. I think we have a little problem we need to resolve right now…"

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"Dad…"

The word hung in the air between them, a plea from Charlie that almost tore Alan into bits.

Almost, but not quite.

Setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders, Alan demanded once again, "Why are you here, Charlie?"

Charlie stared at Alan, uncomprehending. Moments before he'd been sure he had the upper hand, was positive his dad would be so embarrassed about his lies that he'd spill everything about Don. Instead, here Alan was unflinching before him, the old man he had just seen suddenly gone, replaced by the formidable ox Charlie had known all his life. And Alan was clearly unconcerned about his own behavior, putting all wrongdoing on Charlie, who no longer believed he was going to win the argument.

But he had to try.

"Why do you think"- Charlie began but Alan cut in. Both of them drew closer together as they began shouting at each other.

"I can't believe you intruded in on your brother's…"

"Intruded? He's my brother for…"

"You have no right to be…"

"You had no right to keep this from…"

"If he'd wanted you to know…"

"Oh, please, we're talking about Don…"

"How the hell did you find out to…"

"A cop told David all about it."

Alan froze. The next sentence Charlie was going to say gurgled in his throat. Anxiously, Alan asked, "A cop? Are you sure Charlie?"

In a span of a few moments, the old man was back and Charlie was again shocked to see how worn his father looked. Concern for Don was quickly put aside as Charlie became worried for his father's well-being. Forgetting his well-formed arguments and feelings of betrayal, Charlie tenderly took Alan by the arm and led him to a nearby bench, directing him to sit. Charlie dropped down beside him, sat forward and rubbed his hands together, unable to look his father in the eye.

"David has been working on a case with the LAPD," Charlie said, "his partner told him that there were rumors a federal agent had been assaulted by some gang. You know, roughed up. The timeframe for when it occurred fit with the day Don was supposedly sent out of town. I guess we put two and two together, or maybe it was just our guts telling us it was him."

"Was that all he told David?" Alan was scared. Don had threatened that he'd die if Charlie knew he'd been raped; he had no idea what Don would do if he found out all of the local law enforcement agencies were privy to it, also.

"He didn't know that Don had been committed," Charlie replied, thinking his father was referring to Don's current placement and was afraid that others had found out about it. "The only ones who know Don is here are me, David, Megan, and Colby." After a second he added, "And Lieutenant Walker, of course. But I guess you already know that."

"He has been very helpful," Alan admitted. He relaxed somewhat as he was relieved that nobody appeared to know about the rape. "I'm sure he didn't tell you where Don is, so how did you find out?"

"We used my NSA security clearance to access the radio dispatches from the night of your birthday party. Once we found the ones describing a gang assault, we followed the ambulance records for the victim."

"But you didn't look at Don's hospital records?" Alan prodded.

"No, my clearance doesn't allow me access."

Alan was finally satisfied that no one knew about the rape. Still, he gave Charlie a disapproving look. "But you would have, wouldn't you? If you'd been allowed access, you would have intruded further into your brother's privacy like that?"

"I didn't mean to intrude." Charlie glanced over at Alan. "I don't know what I meant to do. When it comes to Don, sometimes I don't think at all. I just react."

Alan smiled gently at Charlie, patted him on the arm, easily forgiving him. "I know that. So does Don. I'm sorry for yelling at you."

Moving closer to him, Charlie told Alan, "I'm sorry for showing up like this, out of the blue." He grabbed at Alan's hand and held it. "But I meant what I said. I want to help."

Alan gazed at the hand holding his own. It would be so nice to let someone else take the lead, carry away all of the heaviness that was beginning to crush his chest and so often made it difficult to breathe. For a few moments, Alan let that thought relieve some of the worry that had been his alone for three weeks. He could let Charlie sit with Don, talk with him, take him to the therapist, help him bathe and eat and simply survive. How much easier it would be to let the younger man take over…

Only, Alan knew he couldn't.

It had been so long ago, but he remembered it like his own personal flashback- the moment that Don had been placed in his arms for the first time and Alan had become a father. The position was not one he had a right to give away nor would he ever choose to. Exhausted, anxious, sorrowful, completely depleted- Alan had not felt this way since his wife had been dying and he was helpless to intercede.

But he wasn't helpless to save his loved one this time and he would be damned if he didn't intercede.

"Charlie, I'm sorry. But there is nothing you can do."

"I don't believe that."

"Maybe you don't, but it's still the truth."

"Dad, I know what you're thinking."

"You do, huh?" Alan peered into Charlie's eyes, tried to glean from them what thoughts were going through his mind.

"Yes." Charlie sat forward, gripped Alan's hand tighter. "It's not like that. Not like before w-when mom was dying. I promise I won't bail on you. That's what you're worried about, right? It's why you didn't trust me the last three weeks. You thought I'd go hide in the garage when I found out Don was in trouble."

"No," Alan said slowly. "That's not it at all."

"It has to be." Charlie insisted. "Nothing else makes sense."

"None of this makes any sense," Alan whispered. Not my son lying in a hospital bed with his arms in restraints, not the fact that he's trained in defending people and yet was unable to prevent himself from being raped, not the monsters that stalk him morning to night and are peeling apart his brain, not the anguish that seems to be sucking him dry of life.

"Nothing makes sense anymore," Alan reiterated. He pulled his hand from Charlie's, signifying the end of any ideas they had entertained of Charlie taking his place, of Charlie alleviating Alan from some of his responsibilities.

"Dad, please don't shut me out like this."

Alan turned away, his back to Charlie. "I have no choice."

"But I promise…"

Shaking his head, Alan stopped him from further protests. "This isn't about you, Charlie. It's all about Don."

"I know that."

"No, you don't."

"Dad, I'm here because of him, not me."

"I know, Charlie, I know."

"So why can't I help?"

"Charlie…" Alan twisted to face Charlie, patted him on the arm again. "I don't mean you can't help. If it were up to me, I'd have you by my side because I know you'd let me lean on you."

"So, why…"

"Don doesn't want you here," Alan blurted. His face creased with a frown when he saw the pain that crossed Charlie's face.

"No, that's not true." Dampness glossed the bottom lids of Charlie's eyes.

"I'm afraid it is."

"That's…that's impossible. Let me talk to him, I'm sure he'll change his mind."

"I can't do that, Charlie. It's too risky."

"You think I might hurt Don?"

"Yes."

Tears fell down Charlie's face. How could anyone- especially his family- believe he could ever harm Don? Charlie lowered his head away from Alan and searched his pockets for Kleenex, failed to find any, so without thinking he tugged up the bottom of his t-shirt and wiped at his face, his lower lip trembling.

The childlike expression Charlie wore reminded Alan how young and innocent his son could be, how fragile Charlie was when it came to anyone thinking poorly of him, especially if that person was his older brother. As Charlie ran a sleeve over his face and tried to compose himself, Alan wondered if that was why Don refused to see Charlie, wondered if Don saw that small child every time he was around his brother. Even though the two worked together, Alan knew Don tried to keep Charlie an arm's length away from the worst horrors of his job. Maybe Don was trying to shield Charlie from the horrors of what had happened to him more than he was ashamed to let Charlie know that it had occurred.

Alan chastised himself.

He hadn't wanted to share this pain with Charlie, had tried himself to shield him from it by not telling him about Don's commitment in the hospital. But it had been inevitable; Charlie was too engrossed in Don's life to have his whereabouts hidden from him forever. It would also be true about the rape. Still, Don wasn't ready for Charlie to know. Alan didn't know how Charlie would react once that deceit was revealed. As Charlie appeared to stop crying, Alan reminded himself that despite current appearances to the contrary, his youngest son was not a child any more. Though Charlie did not believe it, Alan had faith in him; he knew that working with Don had made Charlie into a man who was as strong as his brother- at the current moment, stronger, and he would be able to cope with Don's rejection for a little while longer. With this in mind, Alan stood firm on his decision to not discuss the rape. However, he knew Charlie deserved to know something.

"Charlie," Alan tried to comfort, "I don't think you'd hurt him on purpose. But Don's not doing very well and there's a chance you might set back his recovery."

"Just by talking to him?" Charlie sniffed.

"Yes, Charlie. Just by talking to him."

"He's that bad?"

"Yes," Alan said, "yes, he's that bad."

If he'd been frightened about Don's well-being before, Charlie was petrified now. "He hasn't," Charlie stammered, "he hasn't, uh, tried to…you know?"

"Tried to?" It only took a few seconds for Alan to catch on to what Charlie was asking. Hurriedly, he assured, "No, Charlie. No, he hasn't tried to harm himself. At least, not on purpose."

"Not on purpose?" The entire situation was beginning to perplex Charlie. He had come to the hospital with the desire to see Don, with the belief that he would be able to help solve whatever ailed him. Apparently, he had been naive in his thinking; the situation was more complex than a simple assault, appeared more than burnout, and he was embarassed that he'd come charging at his father as if he could single-handedly save Don from...what? That was the entire problem. Charlie had no idea what was exactly wrong with Don. Seeing him was not going to happen. Charlie was now certain of that. So he knew he needed to find out why Don was committed so he could at least understand what was happening to him. The need for information, the need to know- it was simply innate in Charlie. Sitting upright, Charlie reigned in his emotions and redirected the purpose of the conversation from persuasion to one that would garner him as much data as he could obtain.

"Look," Charlie said, "I'm not understanding you at all. Is Don suicidal or not?"

Alan wasn't sure if he could give Charlie a truthful answer, because he wasn't convinced one way or the other as to whether or not Don wanted to die. "Charlie, I'm not going to lie. Sometimes, I think Don is trying to kill himself by wasting away. If I wasn't with him everyday, I think he might."

"What does the doctor say?"

Alan looked across the parking lot towards the setting sun. He had promised Don he wouldn't tell Charlie about the rape, but he didn't feel as if he could keep everything from him now that he knew Don was hospitalized. "Dr. Saunders, his psychologist," Alan said, carefully choosing how much he would reveal to Charlie, "says Don is heading into a depressive state. He's lethargic, doesn't want to do anything. Much of the time he's non-responsive. It seems like he sits for hours, just staring into space."

"So what are they doing to help him?" Charlie demanded to know. "Why let him sit there like that?"

"We're trying," Alan said, though he had been silently questioning if they were doing enough. "Don is scheduled for individual therapy twice a day, group therapy once a day. But he has to choose on his own to participate- we can't make him. So far, he won't talk with Dr. Saunders and I can't even get him to go to group."

Charlie thought about this for a few minutes before echoing his father's earlier exclamation, "None of this makes sense."

"We're doing the best we can."

"No," Charlie shook his head, "Not the treatment- I'm talking about Don's behavior. Why is he depressed? Just because he was physically assaulted? That's happened to him before- quite a bit, actually, when you consider the time he spent in fugitive recovery. I don't understand why this time was different from the others."

"Dr. Saunders believes Don's state of mind prior to the assault is the reason he's reacting so badly," Alan said truthfully. "I told her Don was already upset about that last case he'd worked- the one where those children were kidnapped and murdered. She thinks maybe he hasn't gotten over that yet."

"He was in a bad mood that Friday." Charlie hung his head guiltily. "I left too much to chance that night. I should have gone to the Bureau and picked Don up, made him come home with me. Then none of this would have happened."

"No, Charlie," Alan put his arm around his shoulders and drew him near. "We can't blame ourselves. Don's been heading down this dark path for a long time. We've tried to keep him from it, but fate intervened and hurtled him down it despite our best efforts. Try to believe it's not your fault."

"I guess," Charlie shrugged his shoulders.

"Good."

"Dad." Charlie knew it was pointless, but he wanted to make one last effort to see Don. "If Don's not making any progress, then maybe I won't make him worse…maybe I can only make things better."

"I want to believe that, Charlie. But Don has made it clear that he doesn't want to see you."

"So you asked?"

"Of course I did. A long time ago, when he first went into the hospital, I brought you up then. I wanted you here with me…I needed you here with me. Everything that Don is going through…it's tearing me apart."

"But you won't let me…"

"No, Charlie. It would make things easier on me but I don't know what your presence will do to Don. And I can't take the chance that you'll only make matters worse, especially after he's already made it clear that he doesn't want you to know he is here."

Alan pulled away, stood up, noted the time on his watch. "Charlie, I won't shut you out completely. I'll call you everyday and let you know how he's progressing." Taking in Charlie's depressed appearance, he added, "and I'll ask him again if he'll see you."

Nodding his head in final acceptance that he couldn't see Don, Charlie told Alan, "If I can't help Don, I want to at least help you. Promise me you'll come home sometime this week and take a break. You look like you're about to collapse."

"I'll see if I can, Charlie, but I can't make any promises. Look, we'll talk about this tomorrow. Right now, I have to leave. If I don't sign in by eight, I won't be able to spend the night."

Suddenly raising his face, Charlie asked, "You're spending the night with Don? He's actually letting you?"

"Charlie, I've spent every night of the past week with Don. I don't even have a hotel room anymore."

"But Don doesn't allow people to keep an eye on him like that," Charlie said, astounded.

"I know, Charlie. Your brother isn't the same person he was before. Honestly, right now I don't know who he is."

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After signing in for the night, Alan shuffled down the hospital corridor, everyone and everything around him a blur as he thought about what he'd just done. He hated sending Charlie away, wanted desperately to have his comforting body by his side. The further he went into the depth of the hospital, the harder it was for him to walk, to breath, to move, the air pressing down on him thickly, making his actions tired and slow.

"Excuse me," a voice sounded as Alan bumped into a figure. Shaking his head to refocus on his surroundings, Alan apologized.

"Didn't see you there."

"That's quite alright."

It took a moment for Alan to realize a hand was being held out to him. "Sorry," he said again and then shook the man's hand. "I'm a little tired."

"A little?" the man remarked. "I think you underestimate your condition."

Alan smiled, wiped a hand over his forehead. "You're probably right. I have a son who could quantify by exactly how much."

The other man laughed. Alan leaned against the hospital wall, glad to have a few minutes break before returning to Don's room. It seemed the other man might be thinking the same thing as he took up position on the wall opposite Alan, shook his head while reaching towards an inside pocket of his jacket, seemed to think twice about it before withdrawing his hand, empty.

With a sigh, he introduced himself to Alan. "I'm Dr. Miller," he said. "Jody to my friends."

"Alan Eppes- just Alan will do."

"Been coming here long?"

"Just a couple weeks. My son's on the second floor. I don't remember seeing you before. Do you work in this wing?"

"Don't work at this hospital at all- I'm a pediatrician over at St. Mary's. I have a son on the second floor, too. He's been in placement since he was fifteen- been about five years now. Of course, he's only been in this adult section since he turned eighteen. Before that, it was the children's wing."

"Five years…that's a long time."

"Yes, it is." Jody stared down the hall, lost in his thoughts for a few moments.

"It must be hard," Alan continued, "having to come see him for so many years."

"It was at first."

"I understand," Alan agreed.

"I can tell," Jody grinned wanly. "Nothing personal, but you look like death warmed over."

"It's how I feel," Alan admitted.

"And I understand that. But you can't let it eat you alive. You'll be no good for your son if you let that happen." Noting that Alan had been heading into the hospital, not out, Jody asked, "Are you planning to stay the night here?"

"Yes."

"That's not really a good idea. Trust me-you're going to get burnt out and then it will be impossible to come here at all. It happened to me- I haven't been here for almost two years. It's much better to set up a visitation schedule and try to live a normal life around it. That way, you don't have that feeling of suffocation on you all the time."

Alan thanked him for the advice and lifted away from the wall. As he headed towards the elevator, Jody called after him. "Think hard about what I said."

"I will," Alan promised.

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When Alan entered the hospital room, he was surprised to see Jane pulling the covers down on an empty bed. Quickly, he glanced about the room and was relieved to see Don was bundled up in the recliner, a robe loosely about his body, his eyes closed.

"Another nightmare," Jane explained as she walked to Alan. "He insisted on getting up to use the washroom and then wouldn't get back in bed. I think he's been waiting for you."

"I'll get him back in bed," Alan assured her.

"I bet you will," Jane smiled. "But you'll need to call me when you do." She lowered her voice, "those restraints were the only things keeping him from clawing his skin. Push the call button when you're ready."

Alan watched her leave, then he checked on Don. Solid breathing from Don's mouth indicated he was probably asleep, so Alan left him and put his jacket away, stretched and walked across to the window, thought about his conversation with Charlie. Ten minutes later Alan heard movement behind him: the sound of Don stirring from sleep, of springs creaking from him adjusting his position on the chair, of lighter breathing, and finally a ghostly, hesitant voice fogged in the air.

"I know what you're thinking."

Alan stayed near the window, waiting for further words that never arrived. He turned and went to Don, noting he had fallen back asleep.

Two sons, Alan thought as he leaned over and checked the bandage on Don's temple, two sons. Neither one has children yet they think they can possibly know what I'm thinking.

It was impossible.

Until they were fathers themselves, they would have no clue that each time he saw any sadness, anxiety, hurt on their faces, suddenly he was no longer dealing with two adult men but with the two little boys who used to come running to him, wide-eyed and tearful, holding out scrapes and boo-boos to be kissed, bowing down wild-haired heads to be ruffled and assured, slipping into his lap to be held.

Reflexively, Alan kissed Don on the head and ran a hand through his hair. Then he returned to the window, gazing at the growing night.

The sound of a waking child came once again.

"I know what you're thinking," Don murmured.

Alan kept his eyes on the window.

"What am I thinking?"

"Each time," Don rasped, "each time you look at me, when you see what…w-what I let them do to me…and w-when I lose all…all control."

Yes? Donny.

"You're thinking, just…just like when I…I entered the Academy…"

No...

"Y-your wondering to…to yourself…"

No, Donny, no.

"You're wondering…where did I go wrong?"

The words sliced through to Alan's core, deep into the pit of his stomach. Every thought and emotion that had come to his mind ever since he'd first laid eyes on his damaged son, he'd coiled them there and packed them down tight, put a thick latch over them. But Don's words sprung them loose, and thus freed, they raged through him.

Alan began to shake.

Three weeks spent by Don's side trying to support him when he could barely stand himself. Yet, somehow, some action, maybe a slip of the tongue, a momentary look- Alan had no idea what it could have been, but he had, must have, done something that conveyed the idea that he blamed Don for the rape and all the pain that had come forth from it.

Don's words flew in front of Alan's face, a strong swarm that left a buzzing in his ears and blackened the window before him. Alan gripped the edge of the window to keep from dropping to the floor, the turmoil of the words gouging a hole in his chest, taking the breath from his lungs and he was suffocating again. More than ever Alan wished he hadn't sent Charlie away. But it was too late to correct that, too late for any repairs. Don was sitting behind him, lost, miserable, and ashamed. If there was anyone who was responsible for that, anyone who should heft that blame, it was Alan, the only person Don had relied upon and Alan had failed him.

Failed him as a father.

The sobs came quickly. Sticking a fist in his mouth, Alan sucked hard, tried to stem their flow, and was horrified that Don would see him, would completely crumble from the additional guilt of his father's misery. Alan knew it would be impossible to keep Don from knowing what his words had done to him, the pain they had caused- not if he stayed where he was. Though Alan's face was away from Don, his body betrayed his emotions- it was twisted and wrecked, wavering on its feet. Alan took a step backwards, tried to think where the door was so he could flee.

But he was blocked from behind, a warm form suddenly lying across his back.

Two arms serpentine around his waist.

Two hands loosely weaved in front of him.

A soft cheek rested on his left shoulder blade.

Alan pulled the fist from his mouth, let out a short, harsh cry before dropping his hands to his stomach and entwining his fingers with Don's, leaning against the heat of his son's body, enveloped by it.

No words were necessary. Alan knew an apology when he felt one.

They stood there, Alan supporting Don's weight as he had since the rape. Yet never had the elder man felt stronger. The tears dried on Alan's face and he closed his eyes, relished the moment while he could.

"Dad." The word floated into Alan's ear.

"It's okay Donny." Alan massaged Don's hand, rubbed his knuckles.

"Dad," Don said again, his lips moving against the fabric of Alan's shirt. "I think I'm going crazy, Dad."

"No, Donny," Alan assured him, "Don't think that."

Don remained silent, his breathing becoming heavier. Alan was afraid Don was falling asleep, so he carefully maneuvered around and slipped an arm under Don's, hefted his weight then helped him over and into a sitting position on the bed. Alan took off Don's robe, pulled him forward so he could slip it fully off before shifting him under the covers and drawing them up.

He put a hand around Don's neck and lightly rubbed.

"Dad."

"I'm here, Donny."

Don licked his lips and cleared his throat. "I think I'm going crazy."

Alan pinched the bridge of his nose, cleared away the last of his tears. "They're flashbacks, Donny. They'll go away in time."

"It's…it's more than that. Other things."

"Donny, I don't understand what you're talking about."

"I don't either. I'm…I'm all confused."

"Maybe," Alan gently suggested, "maybe you should talk to Dr. Saunders. I bet she'll understand."

"What if she says I am going crazy?"

"She won't Donny. I promise she won't."

With the ensuing silence, Alan was satisfied Don had fallen asleep. Alan went to the bathroom and got ready for bed, decided to keep on his t-shirt and jeans, pressed the call button for the nurse to come strap in Don, readied the recliner so he could lie on it, and then dropped into it with a grunt. He was just starting to snore when Don whispered to him across the room.

"Dad?"

Alan blinked his eyes to wake. "I'm here, Donny," he said groggily.

"I think…I think maybe I'm afraid."

"I know, Donny. But I'm here if you need me."

Alan waited patiently for a reply.

"Dad."

"I'm here, Donny."

"I'll try, Dad. If it makes you feel better, I'll talk to Dr. Saunders."

Alan sat up on his side, leaning on his elbow. "Donny…" Alan tried to protest.

"Its okay, Dad."

"Donny, you need to talk to Dr. Saunders so you can get better, not because you feel guilty about me."

"I know, Dad." Don's voice sounded strained. "But I can't. Not…not right now. I can't do it for myself. But for you…I can do it for you."

Don's final words were spoken so quietly they were almost absorbed by the night.

"At least, I promise I'll try."