A/N: Many thanks to all for your comments. I had some notes with the last chapter, but they didn't save for some reason. That chapter was part personal experience (long overseas flights that I have taken for work) and part research (Hindu funeral customs), but mostly focused on an attempt to depict personal loss. Anyway, again thanks to all of you who have been kind enough to review. The remaining chapters, including this one, will take some sizable jumps in the timeline.

Chapter 25

The next two days passed in a blur. Charlie spent much of it in the Ramanujans' courtyard; he couldn't seem to muster energy to do much of anything. He forced himself to eat at mealtimes; food had no appeal. Thankfully, the Ramanujans seemed to understand his need for solitude; they were apparently in need of some of that themselves. Nights were his only escape; fitful as his sleep was, he was at least unconscious for part of it. On the second day, he made flight reservations for his trip home.

The fourth day after Amita's death, they made the trip to the river Yamuna. It was brief and uneventful – the family was all there again, including Suresh, but although glowering, he kept his mouth shut. The ceremony was simple, and at the end of it, Sanjay and Tapti sprinkled Amita's ashes into the river. Charlie felt a little pang at not being included in that piece of it; he'd been relegated to the status of an outsider. He knew better than to ask, however; he understood that he should keep a low profile.

That evening, he sought out Tapti and Sanjay, who had retired to a sitting room after dinner. "I wanted you to know that I am leaving tomorrow evening," he said quietly, as he faced them. "My flight leaves at two in the afternoon. I already spoke to Vijay; he is going to take me to the airport. I wanted to thank you for – for everything."

"You are not staying for the feast of the departed?" asked Tapti.

Charlie tried to read her face. Was she disappointed? Relieved? "No," he said softly. "I think my presence would just be upsetting to some of your family."

"Pah!" Sanjay scoffed. "You don't need to worry about them; Suresh is an intolerant fool." He looked at Charlie, searchingly. "You have had enough, though, I think," he said gently. "And the feast of the departed is several days away yet. We understand. But then there is something we need to talk about. Please come in and sit."

Charlie sat, and Sanjay promptly rose and disappeared, and there was an odd uncomfortable moment while they waited for him to come back. Tapti was smiling at him, a sad gentle smile as she said, "Charlie, I know this has been difficult for you. I realize from the plans that you had made to come here to India that you had hopes for her recovery, and I think Amita did, too. The doctors told us they found her a few days before she died, crying in a conference room. She had managed to find her video tapes and the doctor's notes, and when she read them, she realized how sick she was, and that her illness was progressing. She was not going to recover, Charlie; you need to understand that. Sanjay and I came to that realization already, and the knowledge makes her loss somewhat more bearable. She gave us a gift with her life but also with her departure, and she would want you to move on and live your life. You are very young, yet."

Charlie nodded quietly. "She said that – she wrote me a letter. It arrived the day she died. It was why I called the hospital; why I tried to call you when I did."

Sanjay came back into the room then, with an ornate, carved box. He stood in front of Charlie, and Charlie rose from the chair.

"These are Amita's remains," said Sanjay, quietly, holding out the box.

Charlie stared at him, and took the box from him slowly. "I don't understand. We scattered her ashes in the Yamuna today."

Sanjay shook his head. "That was to placate the family. Those ashes were remains of the flowers, incense and sandalwood from the ceremony. Amita was from California. That was the place she loved, and the person she loved most was you. It is our fond wish that you will take her back with you, and decide where the proper place is that her ashes should be. Decide where the place was that she loved most. That she be cremated according to Hindu custom was enough for us. You were her husband, you should be allowed to make this decision. And you will know, better than us, what her last wishes might have been. Our daughter was beautiful, and intelligent, and strong-minded." He smiled. "She would not want her remains in the Yamuna River. We want to honor her memory properly."

Charlie felt his eyes stinging, and he bowed his head, staring down at the beautifully carved wooden box. "Thank you," he whispered. He looked up. "I will make sure to carry out your wish."

Tapti rose and came over to him, and hugged him. "At first, we were not sure of you, because you were not Hindu," she said. "But as time went on, we realized that we were foolish. We could not ask for a better son, and a better husband for our daughter. God-speed, Charlie. Remember what I told you."

Don pulled his vehicle to the curb, opened the door and stood, scanning the LAX crowd. He spotted Charlie's dark curly hair, and waved. "Charlie! Over here!"

Charlie saw him and moved toward him and Don rounded the front of his vehicle, taking the long way to the back, so he could head off Charlie on the other side and take his bag for him. He looked pale, gaunt and exhausted, and in spite of his initial surge of relief at seeing him, Don's heart dropped. Charlie was carrying two bags, his suitcase and a small cardboard box with a handle, and Don grabbed the larger one from him. "Here, let me take that." He swung around the back of the SUV and put the bag in the back, and started back around to give his brother a hug, but Charlie was already climbing into the SUV with the box, so he headed back for the driver's seat.

He started the SUV and pulled out into the stream of traffic creeping past LAX, and glanced over at Charlie. "Welcome home," he said softly.

"Thanks." Charlie's voice was soft and raspy, and he leaned against the door and shut his eyes. "Thanks for picking me up."

"No problem," said Don. "I worked Sunday – had a gang shooting to cover. I had some time off coming." He glanced at Charlie again. He looked emaciated – he had surely lost that five pounds he had gained back after his surgery, if not more. "Didn't they feed you over there?"

Charlie shot him an irritated look. "Yes, they did, and I ate. Cut me a break. You sound like Dad." He straightened up in his seat, still holding the box carefully, a frown on his face.

'Uh-oh, cranky,' thought Don. 'Although he has every right to be.' He decided to change the subject. "What's in the box?"

Charlie gave him an odd look, the frown left his face, and his shoulders slumped a little. He'd gone from irritated to sad in the space of a breath. He mumbled something, and Don said, "What?"

"Amita."

"What about Am- ," Don began, and then his eyes widened, and he looked back at the box, and then at the road. "Oh."

He decided to shut up then, and a couple of miles later, he glanced over to see Charlie leaning against the door again, fast asleep. Don reached over and gently picked up the box by its handle, and set it safely in the rear foot well behind Charlie's seat. He looked over at Charlie from time to time during the remainder of the trip, studying him, and it brought a frown to his face. Charlie didn't appear well, at all. He was frighteningly thin, and apparently exhausted. Don didn't have to speculate about his emotional state; he was pretty sure it was dismal.

About forty-five minutes later he pulled up to the Craftsman, and Charlie woke, looking dazed, then jerked upright with a start. "Relax," Don said, "It's behind you."

He let Charlie get the precious box from behind the seat, and he brought his larger bag into the house. Charlie walked into the living room, blinking, still trying to shake off sleep. He set the box on the coffee table and opened it, and carefully pulled out an ornately carved wooden container, and then, seemingly at a loss, looked around him. He finally settled on an empty spot on a shelf – a safe spot up out of reach, and carefully set the box there, next to Don's picture - the one that Amita had taken. It just happened to be the spot where Charlie's picture had once stood – the picture that Amita had apparently smashed. Sanjay and Tapti had returned the picture of Don before they left for India, which now sat next to the box of ashes. The proximity of the two objects made Don feel oddly uncomfortable. Then finally, Charlie seemed to notice that their father wasn't home. "Where's dad?"

"He had a doctor's appointment – a routine physical," Don hastened to add, as he saw Charlie's eyes widen. "He said he's had the appointment for a long time, and it takes them a long time to reschedule a physical. I told him to go ahead and go and get it done – that I'd get you. Just sit down and rest; I'll make you a sandwich."

"I've been sitting for hours," Charlie grumbled. Back to irritated again. Don pushed through the kitchen door, and started poking around for sandwich fixings.

He managed to prepare what looked like a couple of decent turkey and cheese sandwiches. He wasn't in the kitchen long, but when he went out to get Charlie he found him fast asleep on the sofa, his upper body lying sideways on the cushions. He had apparently sat down and just leaned over and went to sleep. Don hesitated a moment, wondering if he should let him nap, but then decided that from the looks of him, food was more important. He could nap afterward. He leaned over the back of the sofa and shook his shoulder, gently. 'Charlie – come in and get a sandwich, Bud, and then you can sleep."

Charlie sat up slowly and rubbed his face, and was so unsteady as he got to his feet that Don decided to wait for him, watching as he rounded the sofa. He was just about to turn and fall in beside him, when Charlie stopped in front of him and mumbled, "Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

He looked utterly defeated, and Don pulled him into his arms and just held him, and Charlie leaned into him, limply, and hugged back. God he was thin; he was just bones under his loose button down shirt – he was even thinner than he looked, Don realized with a pang. "It's okay, Buddy; I know it's tough."

There was a stifled sob and Don tightened his grip just slightly, his own eyes tearing up a little, and just held him, waiting two full minutes until Charlie straightened before he relinquished his grip. Then he stepped back but put an arm around him, walking him to the kitchen door, as Charlie ran a hand over his face.

They ate in silence, Charlie slumped over his plate, clearly not interested in the food, but Don wouldn't let him up until he was done and Charlie didn't fight him, dutifully getting the sandwich down, although it seemed to take forever.

Then Don walked him upstairs to his room and Charlie crawled onto his bed and collapsed face down, not even noticing that while he was gone, Don and their father had re-arranged the room, changing the position of the bed back to the way Charlie used to have it before Amita started sharing it with him. Don pulled off his shoes and tossed a blanket over him, and then quietly let himself out.

Downstairs, he stopped in the middle of the living room, indecisively, and his eyes traveled to the wooden box on the shelf. He ran a hand though his hair and let rest it on top of his head, his other hand on his hip, just standing there for a moment. This was going to be tough, and he wasn't sure what he could do to make it better.

It was a long, slow slog, just as Don had feared. Charlie was back at school in a week, way too early in Don's opinion, and back at the FBI offices three months later, helping out on cases again. He would have been there sooner, except Don had refused to ask him to consult until then. Yes, mentally, Charlie was back, but even now, a full six months later, he was a shadow of his former self, physically and emotionally. He was still way too thin, way too quiet; his usually bright and energetic demeanor dimmed.

Don had done his best to be there for him, and he would continue to be – just as he was today, as he carried takeout burgers from Pie and Burger from his SUV to Charlie's office. They had lunch once a week, no matter what – sometimes at Charlie's office, sometimes downtown near Don's offices. Plus they got together at least one evening a week, often two, if one of the nights included their father. Alan had moved back into Charlie's house for the time being – mostly to keep the house from seeming so lonely, but he also kept an eye on Charlie, to make sure he ate and slept properly. On a personal level, it seemed as though Charlie had regressed back to his pre-Amita bachelorhood, living at home with his father. More disturbingly, it didn't seem to bother him. Don didn't bring it up, though – their father living with Charlie was the best thing for him, right now, without a doubt.

There was one thing that he did feel that Charlie needed to do, however, and that was to finish saying good-bye to Amita. He still had boxes of her files in his office, moved there when another teacher had been hired and transferred into her office. And he still had the wooden box containing her ashes, sitting where he'd left it months ago, on the shelf in the living room.

He had reached Charlie's office, and Don gave a quick knock and pushed the door open. Charlie was seated at his desk, scribbling on paper, and he glanced up as Don said, "Hey, Chuck."

"Hey." Charlie's voice was quiet, as he looked back down, still scribbling, with no apparent reaction to the hated nickname. "I'm almost done here."

Don shot a look at the corner as he set the burgers on the desk; the boxes of files still sat there, unopened. He began pulling burgers and fries out of the bag. Charlie glanced at the contents of the bag and Don was glad to see he looked at least slightly interested in lunch.

They settled back in their chairs and talked about cases for a while as they ate. Don was starving; he wolfed down his burger as his brother talked. Charlie had been working on a project since before everything had happened with Amita – using footage from video cameras based in high gang-activity areas in downtown L.A. to predict when violent activity might occur, and where. It was slow-going; Charlie said the algorithm would be extremely complex, and he wasn't even sure he had all the right variables captured, and how data entry would occur. Gathering data would be tedious; it would rely on technicians scanning video footage and trying to observe multiple visual events, categorizing them and inputting them into the program. He talked about that briefly, but it had taken a back burner to his work at school and the more pressing cases that had come up since he started working with Don again. The latest one involved the poisoning of two people at a prestigious cosmetics lab and that monopolized the conversation.

Charlie took a bite of his sandwich, and Don studied him. He'd gained back some of the weight he had lost in India, but not nearly enough. He pushed some fries toward Charlie. "Have some fries with that. You've been eating okay?"

Charlie made a face. "Yes, Dad." He sighed, trying to temper it with a smile. "I eat, okay? You and dad are just going to have to get used to the fact that I've gained the weight that I can, and that's just how it is."

Don nodded, picked up a fry, and chewed. He wasn't entirely convinced, but he decided to pick his battles. "And those files?" He inclined his head toward the boxes in the corner.

He could see Charlie retreat, draw in on himself. "What about them?"

"Charlie," said Don, gently. "It's not just her files; it's her ashes. It's been six months, Buddy. You need to let go sometime. And you told me about what her parents did – they broke with tradition and their four-day rule for scattering her ashes so they could give them to you. What do you think they would say if they knew you still had them?"

Charlie said stiffly, "They said I could do whatever I thought she would want with them."

"Yeah, Buddy, I know – but, six months? Do you think Amita would want that?"

Charlie set down his half-eaten sandwich and Don mentally cursed himself. He should have waited another minute or two to bring this up, until Charlie had finished his lunch. But then Charlie straightened in his chair, picked his sandwich back up and took a bite – but he directed his eyes down at his desk and started writing again. The whole sequence of movement said, 'Look at me, I'm fine. I'm eating, so I'm fine – and I'm busy, so please eat your lunch and leave.'

Don said nothing more, instead he rose, coming around Charlie's side of the desk. He laid a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Sorry, didn't mean to push. I have to get going. See you later."

Charlie mumbled his thanks for the lunch, and that he'd see Don at the FBI offices the next day. He kept his head down as he spoke, but Don could feel his eyes on his back as he walked out of the office.

End, Chapter 25