A/N - With determination and sheer persistence Oughtaknowbetter will eventually get me to utilize the concept of 'show don't tell' I thank her greatly for the enhanced scenes in this chapter.
FraidyCat is gonna kill me if I change tense within the same sentence one more time and I have her to thanks for catching all those annoying grammatical errors.
Serialgal is great at helping to find a clearer or just better sounding turn of phrase.
So thanks again to all my betas.

Chapter Twenty-One

The journey to Don's apartment, regretfully, was not uneventful. The smell of the food had an adverse effect on Charlie's stomach, which became evident from Charlie's impassioned plea.

"Don, pull over!"

Don looked over at Charlie who was bobbing back and forth. "You okay, Bro?"

"Now, Don!" Charlie blurted out as his hands clamped over his mouth.

"Whoa there, Charlie... pulling over. Hang on, Buddy!" Don said as he immediately veered to the side of the road.

As soon as the vehicle came to a stop Charlie forced open the door and essentially fell from the cab. He crawled away from the truck to a short bush and spent the next five minutes retching while Don reached into the back seat rooting around.

"I'm sure there's a roll in here somewhere." he said, to himself. "Aha!" Don cried triumphantly as he extracted a somewhat squashed but still usable roll of paper towel. He tore off a few pieces and handed them to Charlie. "Dude, you are going to seriously regret this in the morning."

The comment didn't seem to register with the younger man. With some help from Don, Charlie limped and listed his way back to the SUV and climbed in resting his head back. Once they got moving again Charlie seemed to feel a little better and by the time Don parked in his assigned space at his apartment complex the mathematician had started showing some interest in the aforementioned food.

Don grabbed the bags and steered Charlie toward the door. "I'll warm some of this up for you, Bro; a bit of food would do you a whole world of good about now."

Charlie nodded wordlessly as he staggered up to the door and leaned heavily against the side of the building waiting for his brother to gain entry. Don got Charlie inside, then paused for a moment trying to decide which direction would entail the least detrimental effects while Charlie wobbled from foot to foot attempting to maintain his balance as though he were standing on the deck of a ship in 40-foot seas. If they took the elevator to the fourth floor it was possible that Charlie would throw up again because of the motion of the car, but if they took the stairs Don would have to juggle two bags of food and a very drunk mathematician while keeping him from falling down four flights of stairs and cracking his head open. Given the choice, Don opted for cleaning up the tile floor of the elevator and guided Charlie in that direction.

Much to the agent's relief they managed to make it to his apartment and inside before Charlie needed to make a porcelain deposit. Don got him down the hallway and into the bathroom just in time; all the while thinking that they were both getting a little too old for this kind of thing. With Charlie safely sitting on the floor of the bathroom, Don shifted through his drawers to find sweats, a wash cloth, and a towel for his younger brother.

"Hey, Charlie, you think you can manage taking a shower without drowning?" Don called as he stepped back into the bathroom. Charlie looked decidedly worse for the wear as he knelt in front of the toilet bowl resting his forehead on the cool surface.

"Get me through this and I swear, I'll never drink again!"

A knowing smile crept across Don's face. How many times in his own past had he uttered the very same sentiment?

"Yeah, Buddy, I know. Trust me you'll feel a hundred percent better with a hot shower and some food."

Charlie turned glassy and bloodshot eyes up to Don. He knew that Don was right, but doing as his older sibling suggested would require actually getting up from the floor. Rather than form an objection to the required movement he simply raised his hand up in the air and waited for Don to pull him to his feet.

The hot shower, as promised, helped immensely to clear Charlie's head. When he got out he saw that Don had left out a glass of water and three aspirins for him to take. Deferring to the agent's greater knowledge of what would help him more comfortably suffer the consequences of drinking far too much, Charlie simply took the aspirin without comment.

By the time he was dressed in Don's over sized sweats and a pair slippers he felt a bit better and the smell of the heated food drew him in a staggering path to the kitchen where a plate had been set out on the counter.

"Wow, this smells great," Charlie observed appreciatively as he picked up the plate. Aiming for the dinette, he staggered instead into the door-frame. Somehow, although his head sounded a solid thunk against the wood, he managed to hang onto his plate as he pin-balled off the frame. He then over-corrected his path, and barely pulled off a last-minute veer, to crash into a chair at the table where Don already sat eating, and watching with a barely concealed smile. Charlie's limp was far more pronounced with the effects of the alcohol and Don realized that the cane had been left at home, probably up in his room.

Don shook his head having a pretty good idea what Charlie was thinking and feeling as he tried to walk a straight line. They ate in silence for a few minutes thinking their own thoughts. Don's mind replayed the events of the fight from sixth grade and how that had impacted his entire mindset about himself, his heritage, his family, his father and the rest of the world. He found it mildly interesting that the person who broke up the fight was someone who had dealt with more than his own share of bigotry.

Nelson Hibbard was the first black man to buy a house in their neighborhood. He and his wife had planned to raise a family on the quiet residential street in a nice neighborhood, but things were not always what they appeared to be at face value. The Hibbards had rocks thrown through their windows from time to time over the years. Kids, usually lead by Billy or others like him, had thrown rotten eggs at the house or toilet-papered the yard on several occasions.

The Hibbards never did have children and they pretty much kept to themselves but Don found a bit of a confidant in Nelson Hibbard. The man had defended him not only to the boys who decided that three against one were fair enough odds, but to his mother and father. That day with Billy and his friends was not the last time those boys had ganged up on Don, but Nelson, who had been a semi-pro boxer in his youth, showed Don a few moves to even up the odds when they cornered him. It didn't take long for the boys to realize that Don Eppes was no easy target and they ended up backing off and resorting to verbal bullying instead.

The vicious words that the boys began hurling at him never really bothered Don, but they seemed to leave an impression on Nelson. Don made a point to always wave and say hello when he passed the Hibbards on the street and on some of the occasions when they were targeted by local kids, Don would go over and help to clean up the mess.

"Say, does Mr. Hibbard still live down the street?"

Charlie nodded around a mouthful of potato. "Uh huh." Swallowing he put his fork down and continued. "He stays inside most of the time these days, since his wife died."

"Yeah, I remember that; too bad I was in New Mexico. I would have liked to have gone to the funeral. He came to mom's. After all of this is over we should go over and see how he's doing. It's easy to lose touch and forget people, even when they live right down the street."

Charlie nodded again, but refrained from comment. The food, shower and aspirin had all gone a long way to helping him sober up a bit. He was still far from able to drive but his head felt a lot clearer and the dizziness that had made him so queasy earlier had abated. Charlie sat back in the chair looking up at the ceiling. Without consciously deciding that he wanted to talk he just began speaking.

"I know Amita loves me, and I love her but can that overcome what's been learned or perceived?"

Don picked up the dishes and placed them in the sink. "You should give her more credit than that, Charlie."

"That's not it... well maybe to some degree... although I've said the same thing to Larry... but that's not the point."

Don shook his head, eyes wide. "Okay you have me completely lost now, Chuck. What are you talking about?"

"It's not just her, or how she was raised or what her ingrained beliefs may or may not be. All of this has changed the way I look at and think about Mr. Ramanujan. Can I put aside my own feelings about him in order to be with her?"

Don looked closely at his brother. Even though he was still very drunk that statement was disturbing and something he would want to discuss with Charlie at some other time. Don grabbed two water bottles and gave one to Charlie as he moved out to the living room.

"After you left today, Amita demanded that her father tell her what he had said that upset you so much."

Charlie stopped walking and stood there a little apprehensively. "What did he tell her?" He asked as he sat down slowly on the couch.

"He didn't, he ignored her altogether. He addressed his comments to Dad who promptly kicked him out of the house."

Charlie raised his eyebrows at that. He had never seen his father angry enough to publicly throw someone out of the house; his house.

"After her parents left, Amita still wanted to know what had happened and so did everyone else. I gotta tell you, Charlie, Dad was so angry that I even backed up a step."

Charlie nearly choked on a sip of his water when Don admitted that. He had seen his brother and father go toe-to-toe in a screaming match with neither one backing down an inch, so the image of his father so angry that Don felt intimidated was almost beyond his comprehension.

"Actually it was Dad's reaction that made me think back to the fight with Billy Rayburn and his friends. I'd seen that side of Dad before and it was just as scary then. The point is, when Dad told everyone what was Mr. Ramanujan said, Amita went white. She was humiliated and ran into the house crying. Charlie, Amita doesn't share her father's viewpoint. I saw that in her eyes when she heard what he said."

Charlie hoped desperately that Don was right and that Amita would stay by his side regardless of what her father's beliefs may be.

"I hope so," he said under his breath as he stood and pushed the coffee table back from the couch to give himself some room.

Don took the cue and went to the closet to fetch pillows and blankets for his brother. He was probably going to have a pretty good hangover the next morning but at least the food and aspirin would help negate some of the blow.

The fact that Amita had gotten little to no sleep was plainly obvious when she came downstairs. She wasn't sure whether or not she was relieved or even more upset that Charlie didn't come home the previous night. The one thing she was sure of was that she was furious with her parents and she would be having a long talk with them after she had showered and cleaned up.

Finding Alan sitting on the recliner in the living room drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper made her pause for a moment. As angry as he had been yesterday he still found it within himself to come and comfort her as she cried quietly in Charlie's room. Her feelings were torn by the circumstances in which she found herself. She loved her father dearly and had missed her parents very much over the last six months, but she realized that at the moment she felt closer to Alan than her own parents which disturbed her on a very basic level.

She knew that there had to be an explanation for what her father had said. She knew him, and he wasn't a bigot. She was more confused by what happened than anyone else and she intended on getting to the bottom of it. Charlie refused to answer or return any of her calls and that coupled with him not coming home left her feeling very insecure about her relationship with him. She was terrified that this incident had ruined their chance to be happy together.

Amita poured herself a cup of coffee first before she joined Alan in the living room. She could see the black sedan parked outside with an agent sitting in the front seat as she walked toward the sofa, reminding her that she was still under protective custody. The events of yesterday played out in front of her friends, colleagues, and the FBI made her cringe with shame which was apparent on her face when she sat down.

"Not feeling much better this morning?" Alan asked, gently.

Amita sighed and leaned against the sofa cushions allowing her head to rest on the back. "Charlie never came home last night. I'm worried that I've lost him."

Alan set the newspaper down and sat forward. The movement made Amita sit up straighter so that she was looking directly at the older man.

"Charlie loves you, Amita, and nothing will change that. He just needs time to process this situation."

A wave of anger and frustration welled up inside of the young woman and she shook her head. "I can't believe that my father said that! I know he did, but it is so far off from who and what I know him to be. I'm embarrassed; truthfully, I'm mortified, but more than that I'm furious with him. I can't stay here any longer, Alan. I'm sorry."

Alan nodded knowingly and asked her, "Where will you go?"

"I need to confront my father and it seems like everyone would be better off with a cool-down period. When you see Charlie tell him I'm sorry and that I'll call him."

"I'll talk to him when he gets home. You go ahead and shower and pack. I'll tell the agent that you want to go to the Rosewood."

Amita stood, hugged Alan, and said, "Thank you so much, Alan." before turning to go back upstairs.

Don was up by eight in the morning having received a call from David. Between the FBI and Mariette's team they had some leads to follow. Charlie was still completely passed out on the couch and snoring like a chain saw. Frankly Don was somewhat surprised that the phone call had awakened him before Charlie's snoring had.

"Buddy, you sound just like Dad."

Don wrote him a quick note saying to call him when he woke up and left it under a cold glass of orange juice and a bottle of aspirin that he set out on the coffee table. He had to hold his breath as he got close due to the rank odor of stale booze that permeated each breath as it fluttered the end of a mass of tangled curls laying across Charlie's face.

It was almost nine by the time Don arrived at the federal building. Mariette had asked to meet there because she was concerned about a leak somewhere within her own department.

Martin Prig was quiet and it was obvious that he felt out of his element standing in the middle of the bullpen at the federal building on a Sunday morning. The Pasadena police department was pretty quiet on the weekends but the federal building seemed to be teeming with activity as though it were a regular business day. Don brought everyone into the war room so that they could compile all of the evidence they had so far. The media center was impressive and intimidating to the local law enforcement officer. Don didn't go out of his way to make Prig uncomfortable, but he hastily passed his hand over his mouth, hiding the smirk that threatened to damage three years of making nice with the locals. Prig was now on his turf and if that was intimidating to the local police officer then so be it.

"What do we have to further our suspicion that we have some sort of leak?" Don asked right away.

"Well, let's take a look at the evidence we have so far. Using blood and hair analysis we know that Rory Denton had never used heroin previously. As a matter of fact it looked like he only used marijuana occasionally. We already know that he had enough heroin in his system to take out a much larger man. We didn't find Denton's fingerprints anywhere on the kit or the needle and I don't know how anyone can shoot up without leaving fingerprints behind."

Don raised his eyebrows. This was conclusive proof that Denton's death was not an accidental overdose.

David piped in with his report next. "I ran a phone trace on Denton's cell."

Don turned to look at his senior agent. "Did we recovered Denton's cell phone?"

"No, but the phone records show that the last call that he made was to 911, and that the call was made at same time the coroner approximated the TOD."

Mariette stepped forward. "I don't know that there is a leak but it seems a little too convenient that Rory Denton is the victim of murder by overdose right before we can question him about the identity of the man who returned the white van seen fleeing the scene of Professor Ramanujan's attack. I firmly believe that Agent Reeves is correct in positing that this man is still in LA and has an agenda yet to fulfill. I think that the protection of Professor Ramanujan needs to be stepped up. A very real concern for us is how he is getting his information."

Don pinched his nose in frustration. "So, thus far we have no solid leads pointing us in the direction of Amita's attacker who is somehow getting intel about this case, and we have lost the only witness who could pick him out of a line-up."

To the surprise of the FBI team Officer Prig spoke up next.

"I wouldn't say that. I contacted the Avis office and spoke with the manager yesterday afternoon. Apparently a man fitting the description of our attacker showed up at the office late yesterday morning asking about Rory Denton. He claimed to be an officer of the court and was trying to serve a subpoena. He told them that he had attempted to deliver the subpoena to Denton's home in Palm Beach."

"Denton doesn't live in Palm Beach." Megan said.

Prig continued, "That is correct, and that is exactly what the manager told the man who was looking for Denton. I checked the phone book. There are only two R. Dentons listed; one in Palm Beach, and the other is our witness in the valley. We can easily verify that there are no active subpoenas for Denton tomorrow when city hall opens. This was obviously a way for the perp to verify the address of the witness. Based on the time that the perp was at the Avis office and the time that Rory Denton was found dead, we must have only missed him by minutes."

Don was duly impressed. Prig was a major pain in the ass but he was a damn good police officer. "We need to get to that manager and anyone else who came into contact with this man. If he is cleaning up loose ends and covering his tracks, then their lives are in danger."

"That has already been taken care of. Two of my team are bringing them here as we speak."

Just as Prig said that, Don looked out through the glass wall of the war room and saw two Pasadena Police officers and two civilians being escorted through the bullpen toward them.

"Outstanding work, Officer Prig."

TBC