Chapter 21

By the time the tears had stopped, Don felt nauseous and dizzy. He still shook like a petrified chihuahua. Then the heaving started. Bradford had seemed to have anticipated it, putting the trash can from the room in front of him at the first gag. There wasn't much in his stomach to bring up, but his body kept on insisting that he still try to part ways with it. It only added to the dizziness and spots dancing in his vision, making him worry that he was going to pass out and fall face first into his vomit. Finally his stomach started to calm, other than for the twinges being caused by the smell. Don pushed the trash can away from him and Bradford got the hint, starting to pull it away before apparently reconsidering.

"You might want to rinse, first." Bradford indicated the glass of water still sitting beside Don. The glass that he'd intended to use to help down the pills.

Don picked it up, feeling the wetness slosh over his hand as he shook. He rinsed and spat twice, before taking some small sips as Bradford left the room with the trash can. He heard Bradford calling for the agent guarding Don, to ask him to dispose of it.

Sucks to be you. The humour was fleeting, but at least it was there. Don looked around for the bottle of pain killers, realising that he must have dropped it at some point after the flashback. It was nowhere to be seen; Bradford had to have pocketed it. He no longer had the option. There was an initial flash of disappointment and then he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Bradford came back into the room and pulled a blanket off the bed, placing it beside Don.

"Thanks," Don said, pulling the blanket over himself. The warmth was nice.

"You're welcome."

"I threw up, before I left Robin's house that night," Don remembered, his voice still rough. "He made me lick her neck and that was the final straw." Don realised something. "I guess he didn't want Liz to know, because he insisted that I chew some of the gum I keep in my SUV."

"Probably," Bradford agreed. "From the sound of it, he had everything planned, he knew what he was going to force you to do. The smell of vomit on your breath might have made Liz question what was going on." He pulled the bottle out of his pocket. "Do you want these back?" The question was matter of fact.

Don sucked in a breath. It had to be a trick, there was no way Bradford would take the risk. Don shook his head and found that he actually did mean it. "No."

"The only things that are going to help this are time and talking. You and Robin need to see each other, sooner rather than later."

His heart started to race at the thought, and not in an 'I'm in love' good way. "No, I can't, not yet," Don protested.

"The longer you leave it, the harder it'll be. You've got a lot of fear about seeing Robin again, which is understandable, but if you leave it, that fear will get worse. If you don't start to replace the images and sounds in your head they'll stick around for longer. I'm not talking about you going on a date or anything, first meeting we're probably talking five minutes at maximum, because it's going to freak you both out. It'll be hard, but you both need to start working past this as soon as possible."

"Getting back on the horse and all that, huh?" Don murmured, rubbing his thumb over his lip. He knew that what Bradford had said made sense, but it still scared the shit out of him. There were too many what ifs and he knew that, no matter what, it was going to hurt. Not just him, but Robin too. He still didn't think it was going to be possible for him to get over it. Another wave of despair washed over him, threatening to pull him under deep. Deep enough that he wanted those pills back.

"What are you thinking about?" Bradford asked, eagle-eyed as ever.

"I'm never going to be able to move beyond this," Don whispered, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Even now, he could still hear what he really didn't want to hear.

"Maybe you won't."

What...? Don stared at Bradford, frowning.

"It's always a possibility," Bradford continued. "A month from now, you could be sitting in your apartment contemplating eating your gun, because it hasn't gotten any better. And maybe you'll do it, leaving your body with brains and blood splattered everywhere for your dad or Charlie or one of your team to find."

The words hurt. Bradford shouldn't be saying them. "Why are you saying this?"

"Because it's a possibility, one that you're dwelling on. Me, I prefer to think that a month from now you and Robin will be sitting down in a nice restaurant, having a romantic dinner. And arguing over who's going to pay. I'm betting she's the sort of woman who won't let you pay all the time."

Don inclined his head, feeling himself smile slightly. "You're right, there." He let out a small laugh. There'd been one memorable time when it almost did turn into a fight, before sanity had prevailed and they'd both calmed down—and Don had given in. After that they'd started taking turns paying, unless it was a special event. At least she'd never objected to him opening the car door for her. The first time he'd done it she'd given him this surprised and flattered grin that made her eyes dance and he'd hammed it up, bows and flourishes and all. He suddenly realised that not once had the terrible memories intruded on the happy ones he was thinking about. Of course, once he'd realised that, it started. But it gave him something new to think about, that maybe Bradford was right. Maybe he could get past what had happened.

"What are you thinking about now?" Bradford asked.

"That I'm not going to get past it, get back with Robin, unless I try." Don still wasn't sure whether he was strong enough, but maybe he could find out.

Don stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hands in the pockets of his sweat pants, head hanging slightly. He was nervous and scared. Two hours after he'd arrived, Bradford had finally left. The last thing he'd done before leaving the house was given Don back the bottle of pills. Don hadn't wanted to take them, but he had...and he was going to give them back to his dad, after taking his morning dose. If he could ever get up the courage to get his dad's attention.

The kitchen smelt surprisingly good and Don's stomach rumbled in agreement, despite the throwing up he'd done that morning. He'd been awake for hours yet hadn't eaten since the previous night, and even then, his appetite wasn't what it normally was.

"You feeding agents again?" Don tried to give the words a light tone, but he still saw Alan's back stiffen. Agent Leo Howard, who Don had met a few times before, was sitting out in the living room happily eating pancakes. Don hoped it made up for having to deal with his vomit.

"Well, I know from my son that they often don't eat well or regularly." Alan was pissed off and upset, but he was trying to hide it. "Do you want some?"

"Yeah, thanks," Don said, finally moving out of the doorway. He got a new glass for water, he'd forgotten to bring down the old one from upstairs, noticing as he did so the bare patch where the medications had been sitting early that morning. Alan had hidden them somewhere else. Don filled the glass halfway with water from the tap and pulled his pills out of his pocket. He shook one out and swallowed it with the water before placing the bottle on the sliver of bench between Alan and the stove.

Don was fairly certain he wasn't going to seriously contemplate suicide again, at least not to the degree that he'd be moments away from it, but having an easy option out of reach would at least give his dad some comfort.

Alan glanced down at the bottle before going back to tending the pancakes.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Don murmured, unable to stand the silence any more. He didn't really know what else to say—it felt like all he'd been saying lately. Don knew he wasn't 'fixed' by any stretch of the imagination, but he did feel a little calmer than he had in the previous week.

Alan dropped his spatula with a clatter and turned around. The look on his face made Don back up a step: grief and anger all rolled into one. Alan was moving abruptly and, despite another unconscious step back from Don, he was soon pulled into his father's tight embrace. They'd never been a touchy-feely, huggy family, so it initially shocked Don, before he relaxed his tightened muscles and returned it, resting his head on his dad's shoulder.

"Nothing is so bad that that's the answer, you hear me?" Alan whispered harshly, squeezing him a little for emphasis. "I cannot lose you."

Don nodded against his dad's shoulder, feeling the slight sting of tears again. He hadn't dared to look at himself in the mirror upstairs, knowing that his eyes would be reddened and his skin pale. Trying to get past it: the only way he knew how was to start putting his walls back in place. Sure, talk to Bradford, but falling this completely and openly apart wasn't him. And it hurt the people around him. Don restrained the tears with a conscious effort and loosened his grip on his dad, pulling slightly away. Alan deliberately held him for a moment longer before giving him the space he wanted.

"The pancakes," Alan said with slight alarm, hurrying back to the stove to rescue them. "I'm not asking you to talk to me, if you can't," Alan said, probably finding it easier to speak without actually having to face Don. "But I'm here. I want to help, anyway I can."

"I know you do, Dad," Don replied. "I'm just...he really fucked with my head. It's going to take time, that's all."

"To unfuck your head?" Alan asked dryly.

"As much as it ever is," Don muttered under his breath. "Yeah," he said louder. "Are you going to tell Charlie, about this morning?" The fewer people who knew, the better, as far as Don was concerned. He'd rather that Charlie didn't know, it would hit him hard.

"No," Alan said, to his relief. "You are."

"Dad—" Don started objecting.

"No," Alan replied forcefully, "listen to me. You don't have to go into the detail, you don't even have to tell him that you were thinking about..." He couldn't say the words. "—doing what you were thinking you were going to do this morning, but you will tell him that you had a bad morning. Charlie is not unaware as to how this has hurt you, and he's holding it together for now. Let him help you, be your support."

Don bit his lip and shook his head. "I dunno, Dad, when it starts getting too close to home..."

"Just give him a chance, Don. Now go and sit out at the table, your pancakes will be ready in a minute. And we're going to the store later on. You are going to help me pick out what you will actually eat over the next few days, rather than just move around on your plate."

Don sighed and then pushed open the swinging door, doing as he was told.

"You asleep?"

"If I am, my foot is awake." Don opened his eyes to see Charlie sitting across from him, rocking the slightly mad professor vibe. Untucked shirt, jacket complete with patches on the elbows, tie and slightly baggy pants with trainers. It was a fashion disaster. "I was just resting my eyes."

"You know, I've seen dogs' feet move like that when they're asleep." There was a twinkle in Charlie's eyes and a smile curved his mouth.

"Oh, yeah, you calling me a dog?" Don forced the humour, even though he didn't quite feel it. He'd tried hard over the day, and now he was exhausted from trying to be more positive and keeping from showing his real feelings.

"Maybe."

"At least I don't get distracted by squirrels and tennis balls." He hadn't particularly wanted to watch Up, but Robin had conned him into it. And he might not admit it to the rest of his team, but he'd loved it. An image of Robin, eyes swollen from tears, staring at him in terror made it past his defences, lingering in his mind and bringing it all crashing back down on him again.

"Hey, bro, where did you go?"

Charlie's face was just inches from his own, concern causing frown lines. "You're shaking." Charlie pulled the blanket in Don's lap up to cover him further and Don batted his hands away, suddenly angry at being coddled.

"Just back off, Chuck."

Charlie raised his hands in surrender. "It's just a blanket, Donald."

That deflated Don. Charlie was just trying to help and Don had snapped at him. Don pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, I didn't have a very good morning. Or rest of the day, really."

"Yeah? That why the bottles of pills have moved again? And why there are no knives in the kitchen?"

The second question surprised Don. "No knives? I didn't know that Dad had done that." He decided against mentioning that forks and anything that could be broken to give a sharp edge could be dangerous. If he really wanted to kill himself, there was always a way.

Charlie looked at him seriously and spoke, his voice soft. "I can't even imagine how you're feeling right now—"

Don snorted slightly, no humour in the sound. "I'd say it's like hitting rock bottom."

Charlie's eyebrows moved as he realised that they were having a conversation that they'd had before.

"No, actually," Don amended, "that was this morning. Now I'm about a foot above and whenever I look down I can see rock bottom."

"Well, don't look down," Charlie replied quickly. "What I was trying to say was that I'm here for you." Charlie scratched at the side of his nose, ruining a little the seriousness of his words. "I'm not going anywhere."

Don was grateful for the sentiment, but he couldn't trust it. Past performance indicated that Charlie was going to check out at some point. And that was okay. They all dealt with things differently and Don wouldn't change how much Charlie felt and cared, not for the world. "Not even to hole yourself up in the garage?"

"Not even. I'm not saying that there hasn't been a few bad moments, but I'm still here."

Don had to laugh.

"What?" Charlie asked with bemusement.

"We're quite a pair. I'm trying not to kill myself and you're trying not to get lost inside your head and math." Don finally noticed how Charlie was looking at him, the kicked puppy expression on his face indicating that what Don had said had hurt. He shrugged with a sad smile. "It is what is is, Charlie. Sugar coating it and avoiding those words aren't going to change it."

"It just makes it seem more real when you say it," Charlie said sadly. "I guess if you don't say it, I know it's there, but it's not as bad, somehow."

Don picked at a piece of fluff on the blanket, eyes cast down. "It is real."

"I wish it wasn't."

"So do I, buddy. So do I. But, hey, that's why I'm going to be seeing Bradford for an hour most days for the foreseeable future."

There was an uncomfortable silence in which Don continued to remove the little balls of fluff from the blanket. He was building up quite a collection.

"I hear you got out of the house," Charlie said with false enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I went shopping with Dad. It's amazing how many people actually watch the news."

Charlie winced. "Ah. You got recognised?"

"Yep, a few times."

By the third time it had happened, Don had had enough. He'd taken a deliberate and sudden step forward in the woman's direction, a scowl on his face, causing her to scuttle off like a cockroach after you'd turned on the light. If nothing else, it had amused the two agents who were shadowing him. Then there had been the cashier, who knew both Don and Alan a little, and had proceeded to go on and on about how he hadn't believed what he'd heard on the news and how he was so happy to see that Don was okay. At that point, getting more and more anxious and uncomfortable, Don had made up a story about getting something from another store and left with his escort, before waiting outside for his father. It had been both exhausting and frustrating. Alan's 'normal' experience had turned into anything but, although it had always been doomed by the attendance of Don's protectors. Don had also not being able to shake the feeling that he was being watched, that whoever had forced him to hurt Robin and Liz was around, ready to ruin his life in some other way.

"Tell me about your day," Don said, wanting to change the subject, get it off him.

"My day?" Charlie said, sounding surprised. "I taught some classes, got another chapter of thesis to read—oh, that reminds me." Charlie put his hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a folded sheet of paper and handing it to Don. "This was stuck to my office door this morning."

"PhD comics?" Don read, immediately looking for something that identified what it was. "There's a comic for PhD students?"

"Yeah. Just read it."

It was divided into two halves: Meeting Agenda and Meeting Reality. The meeting agenda half looked reasonable, a meeting at 9:30 am that finished at 10:30 am, discussing the student's progress. The meeting reality, on the other hand, made Don laugh at the first line.

"Wait for advisor to show up. Keep waiting. Ah, there he is. Do you do that to your students, Charlie, show up a half hour late?"

"Keep reading."

Don grinned at the next line. "Remind Professor who you are and what you do."

Then it was Review goals from last we—, followed by one that really made Don chortle.

"Professor's—" Someone had crossed out 'Admin. assistant' and replaced it. "—fiancée interrupts. Uncomfortable silence." Then there was another bit that had been edited. "Phone call from someone more important from the FBI. Man, your students must hate you." Don grinned.

"The next line is especially true."

"Hah! Present plot you made an hour ago. Your students really that bad?"

"Oh, yeah," Charlie said.

"Were you that bad?" Don gave him a speculative look.

"No, of course not."

"Right, I believe you."

Don finished reading. Advisor tells you what to d— Oops! He's late for another meeting!

"Do you know who put it up?"

"I've got a pretty good idea," Charlie replied. "Probably the one who keeps on bombarding me with thesis chapters."

"Nah, it's always the ones you never expect," Don said. "Why did you take it down?"

Charlie shrugged. "It doesn't look very professional, if I leave it on my door."

"Oh, come on, can't you leave it up, even for a week? Somebody went to the effort, you should at least acknowledge the joke."

"Okay," Charlie said, "you've convinced me." He held out his hand and Don gave him back the piece of paper. "Mmm." Charlie inhaled deeply. "I think dinner might be ready. You coming?"

"Yeah."

TBC...