Chapter 25

The hours, for Don, passed in a blur of the bathroom floor and the toilet bowl and apologising over and over again. Then he was waking up in his bed with a groan and slamming his eyes shut again straight away when the light made his head throb. He felt terrible, and not just his stomach and head. The soles of his feet were sore, his knuckles felt a little raw, and his shoulder was definitely making itself known.

"You're awake."

He groaned again. "Charlie, not so loud," he whispered, covering his face with his arm.

"Oh, I'm sorry, aren't you feeling well?" Charlie asked, even louder, his tone completely unsympathetic. "I wonder why that'd be?"

Don was starting to remember exactly why that was. And deciding that he really didn't want to remember. He lowered his arm slightly and risked opening his eyes, whimpering when the light still hurt. A few seconds and his eyes had adjusted a bit, allowing him to at least see, even though it still felt like somebody was stabbing an ice pick into his brain. He looked at Charlie, sitting in a chair near his bed, and groaned again.

Charlie had a black eye. Don had given Charlie a black eye. Dad is going to kill me. The only reason why he wouldn't have the previous night would be because Don wasn't aware enough to realise why exactly his life was coming to a rather unfortunate and abrupt end. Don closed his eyes with another whimper and moved his arm back completely over his face. He was so screwed.

"Wondering whether last night was such a good idea?"

Don didn't deign to answer. The previous night had been a very bad idea. Although the actual process of getting drunk had been good. The punching Charlie, getting tackled and throwing up repeatedly had been bad.

"Dad called to push your physical therapy appointment back, and your session with Bradford."

That left him wondering how late it was. And why Charlie was still at home. Because you gave him a black eye, you idiot. "What time is it?" he mumbled.

"Eleven thirty."

Wow, it was late. He stifled another groan. It felt like the worst hangover he'd ever had.

"Here." Charlie was much closer, sounding more sympathetic, and nudging something against his hand. "Your painkillers. Might help with your head too."

He sat up enough that he'd be able to drink and took the proffered glass and pill. The water hitting his stomach was not a pleasant feeling, but he closed his eyes for a few seconds, willing it to stay there and it did.

"You taken something," he grunted, gesturing with his chin at Charlie's eye. He knew from experience that it would hurt. Not as much as his head was currently killing him, but definitely enough to require painkillers.

"Yeah."

"Sorry." Don kept his head angled down, peeking up to see Charlie's reaction.

"I got that idea last night," Charlie said dryly. "It's not okay, and I'd really rather you never did it again, but you're forgiven."

"However," Alan interrupted from the doorway, his eyebrows lowered disapprovingly, "you're not forgiven for putting the jello crystals in the koi pond when you were nine."

"Oh, man," Don whined, "I spilled about that last night?"

"No, actually, but it's nice to finally have confirmation. I was fairly certain it was you." Alan smiled at him as Don huffed out a disbelieving laugh and shook his head. Then groaned and brought his hand up to his head. His head wasn't up to being shaken. Or laughing. It felt like it was going to explode.

"I kinda remember that, you blamed me," Charlie said to Don.

"I ended up having to punish you both, as you both denied that you'd done it and I didn't have any proof either way."

"I don't think you have the moral high ground, Charlie," Don said, rubbing gingerly at his eyes. "Remember when you tried to blow them up?"

"That was an accident. What did you do, trip and accidentally dump the jello crystals into the pond?" Charlie retorted.

Don had to concede. Even if he felt like arguing, he really was not up to it. "I was a kid."

The ringtone of Charlie's phone suddenly started up elsewhere in the house. It was annoying and wasn't helping Don's head to feel any better.

"My phone," Charlie said, rushing from the room.

That left Don alone with his dad. He shifted slightly on the bed, uncomfortable. What did you say to the parent who'd made sure you didn't fall face first into the toilet?

"I don't need a lecture," Don warned him, deciding to go on the offensive.

"I wasn't going to give you one," Alan answered mildly. "Do I need to hide all the alcohol too?"

"No." Don wasn't intending to get that plastered again. He'd had his rebellion, now he'd be a good little Fed and obey what his doctor and Bradford said.

"You up to eating something?"

The mere thought of food made his stomach turn over queasily and he grimaced in distaste. "See how I am after a shower."

"Okay then," Alan said, turning to leave the room.

"Dad." Don stopped him. "Thank you."

Alan nodded seriously in reply, before leaving him alone.

He'd just headed downstairs after his shower, feeling marginally more alive and his head throbbing less, when there was a knock at the door. Seeing as he was nearby, he answered it, having to squint at the brightness of the sunlight. Colby and Nikki were standing on the doorstep. Don opened the door wide enough for them to come in and left them to it. He needed coffee.

"Hey, Boss..." Nikki started, trailing off when he turned his back on them. "Guess we'll just let ourselves in." He didn't need to see them to know that Nikki was probably giving Colby a 'what's up with him' look and gesture and Colby was probably shrugging in reply.

Charlie appeared. "Oh, hey, they're here. I was going to tell you that they were coming...they're a bit earlier than I expected."

Don rubbed at a tight muscle in the back of his neck. "Whatever."

"Hey, Charlie," Colby said. His voice suddenly rose in pitch. "What happened to your face?"

Oh, shit. Don had kind of forgotten about that, although how he'd been able to with Charlie standing right in front of him, he didn't know. He blamed the hangover.

"Did someone hit you?" Nikki asked, sounding outraged.

"Yeah, I did."

Don's calm reply had both Colby and Nikki boggling at him.

"You gave your brother a black eye?" Nikki clearly couldn't believe it.

Charlie put a hand up in a calming gesture. "Not on purpose."

There had been nothing unintentional about the punch Don had thrown at Charlie. Don found himself kind of enjoying how freaked out Colby and Nikki both looked. "Yeah, Charlie. I did hit you on purpose."

"You hit Charlie on purpose?" Nikki's voice couldn't get any higher.

"You're making it sound worse than it is," Charlie accused Don. He looked at the other two agents and continued hurriedly, "No, he didn't. Well, he wouldn't have if he'd realised it was me."

"Will one of you just explain what the hell is going on?" Colby finally exploded.

Don pointed his thumb in Charlie's direction. "He can. I'm getting coffee."

"Thanks, Don," Charlie said sarcastically as Don abandoned him for the kitchen.

After Don had pushed through the swinging door, he allowed a small grin to develop. Messing with his team's minds, that never got old. It wasn't something he did very often, but it was fun when he did.

The first sip of coffee almost made him moan in ecstasy. He could still hear the conversation going on in the other room. Colby said something that Don hadn't wanted to say but was true: Charlie had been stupid to grab his arm like that with no real warning and where Don couldn't see him. Particularly right after Don had called Claymore out. Charlie was lucky that Don hadn't reacted worse, and in one way lucky that Don had been drunk. There hadn't been quite as much force and aim behind the punch as there would have been if he'd been sober.

Nikki looked at him with a smirk when he walked back into the room. "Don't say a word, Betancourt," Don warned her with a raised finger.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Boss."

He gave her a sour look. The fact that she hadn't stopped smirking belied her words. He sank down in the chair he'd sat in the previous night, feet back up on the table, and rested his forehead on his hand. There were small scrapes on the soles of his feet from the driveway and bruises on his knees from when he had been tackled. The bruises he'd only discovered in the shower. He did his best to ignore the other agents and Charlie as he continued drinking his coffee. While he wasn't looking, he could almost feel the concerned glances that Charlie was throwing him.

"Why don't we continue this in the garage?" Charlie finally said. They moved on, leaving him in peace.

"David, you're not going to believe this," Colby said with a grin, leaning on the edge of David's cubicle.

"Really not believe this," Nikki agreed as she went to her desk and hung her jacket over the back of her chair.

David turned away from his computer screen with a bemused smile, wondering what had them both so amused. They'd only been to Charlie's to drop off some files that they hoped that Charlie could work with. "Okay. You've got me intrigued."

"We get to Charlie's," Nikki started, "and Don answered the door. He was seriously Mr Grumpy, didn't say a single word to us, just opened the door and turned away."

"Okay," David prodded.

"Then we see Charlie," Colby continued. "And he has a black eye."

David's eyes widened. "Charlie has a black eye? How the hell did he get a black eye? Did someone hit him?" He got more outraged the more questions he asked, forgetting that Colby and Nikki had both been amused. This was not what he needed.

"That was pretty much our reaction," Nikki said. She paused for dramatic effect. "Apparently Don did it."

David rubbed his forehead, feeling a tension headache start to develop. Sometimes he thought that the entire Eppes family was going to drive him insane. "Don hit Charlie."

Colby re-told the tale, seeming to take great delight in it.

David felt a laugh bubble up through him. He shook his head and let the laugh out. "Uneventful."

"Excuse me?" Nikki said, giving him an odd look.

"Uneventful. That was what McNamara and the other agents who were watching the house last night reported. It was an uneventful night." He laughed again and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Unbelievable." Somebody had covered for Don. And David had a feeling it was McNamara, even though Don had puked on her.

"For what it's worth, it looked like he was suffering for it. Charlie said that he'd only been up for about half an hour and he'd fallen back asleep again before we left."

"He may have been hung over, but he was still messing with us," Nikki said with a roll of her eyes. "We're trying to find out what happened, Charlie's trying to explain and Don kept on interrupting and correcting Charlie and making it sound worse than it was. Then he left Charlie to actually explain what did happen."

"Oh, yeah," Colby agreed. "He definitely was messing with us. Anyway, Charlie was going to look through the data and let us know."

David nodded in acknowledgement as Colby headed off to the break-room, rapidly followed by Nikki. He looked up at the ceiling. It might have been funny, but it also worried him. Colby and Nikki didn't know that less than a week before, Don had tried to kill himself. Or tried to try to kill himself. David hadn't been able to come up with a satisfactory descriptor for what had happened.

Alan had let David know what had happened then, so he was one person who did have all the facts and somebody completely in Don's corner for when Don did come back to work. It had scared the shit out of David. Don had seemed to be doing a bit better after, even doing two amended statements. One to fill in the gaps of his assault on Robin and the assault that Claymore had put him through with the laptop and the other to add in that he remembered seeing Claymore at Robin's house and he could identify him. The first had been hard, Don had clearly struggled with telling him what had happened and David had felt sick hearing it. All three, Liz, Robin and Don, had been subjected to a sexual assault by Claymore, even if Claymore had not performed most of it personally. And Don's had arguably gone the furthest, both with the laptop and being Claymore's instrument for the other assaults.

He'd go to see Don later, reassure himself that Don wasn't slipping backwards.

"Hey, Don, wake up."

Don opened his eyes with a wide, jaw-cracking yawn. His head was at an angle and he straightened up, rotating his neck and shoulders to loosen them. He yawned again and rubbed his eyes. The sleep, although unexpected, had done him some good. His headache was down to a dull roar and his stomach felt calmer. He pulled his feet down off the table and gave his attention to Charlie. He had to smile slightly when he realised that Charlie was standing a respectful distance away and hadn't tried to shake him awake.

"Yeah, Charlie?"

"Lunch is almost ready. You feeling any better?"

"A lot, actually," Don admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. The sore muscle he'd discovered earlier was complaining more from the way his neck had been inclined.

"That's good." Charlie nodded, and shoved his hands in his pockets, shuffling slightly on the spot. Don had a bad feeling that a question he wasn't going to like was coming. "Why did you get drunk last night?" Charlie rushed the words out, like Don was more likely to answer it if his brain didn't have time to process it.

Don decided to go with the simple answer. "I had a nightmare. Claymore got into the house." He shrugged, his lips a thin line. "He'd killed you and Dad. Then he killed Robin in front of me."

"Ah," Charlie said unintelligently.

Don decided to clear the air on his proposal to Robin, knowing that Charlie probably wasn't ever going to actually ask about it. "While we're at it, I hadn't told you about proposing to Robin because you and Amita were so busy and happy planning your wedding, and then we'd sorted it out. I thought I'd wait until the real thing happened, then tell you when she'd actually said yes." His lips quirked when he thought of doing it properly. After everything, he still had hope that it would happen eventually and it still gave his stomach butterflies.

"Okay, right," Charlie said, looking at him like he didn't know what to do with him now that he'd actually volunteered information. Despite what his family thought, he did actually talk sometimes. "Well, Dad wanted me to set the table, so I better do that."

Don stood up and put his arm around Charlie's shoulders, squeezing slightly, before letting go. "I'll help." They walked over to the table. Considering the previous night, Don had to ask, "Think he'll let me have a beer?"

Charlie gave a startled laugh and Don grinned.

It felt a little like he was slinking late into class. Any minute now he'd be asked why he was late and told what his punishment was. Bradford let him settle into a seat before starting.

"How are you feeling?"

Don tried to see whether there was any underlying motive for Bradford's question—how much did he know? While Don had managed to avoid a lecture at home, he had a feeling that Bradford would be quite happy to give him one once he knew what had happened. But like so many things with Bradford, he just couldn't tell what Bradford knew. The man was always too composed, in his neat suits and with his pen and notebook, sitting calmly in his chair. He was somebody that Don found very hard to read.

"What did my dad tell you?"

"Just that you weren't feeling well."

Don made a 'hmm' sound. It surprised him that Alan hadn't let slip that he'd done it to himself.

"We need to talk about why you weren't feeling well?" Bradford asked astutely.

"I got drunk last night," Don admitted, no hint of shame in his voice or on his face. Instead, he had a small smile that challenged Bradford to tell him that what he did was wrong. "I went outside and yelled for Claymore to come and get me, punched Charlie in the face when he grabbed my arm, puked on Agent McNamara after she tackled me when I tried to run and then spent the rest of the night puking."

"And you're thinking I'm going to condemn you for it," Bradford said, still serious. "Don, you're an adult. I can tell you that it's probably not a good idea to drink, but ultimately it's your decision whether you do or not. And you who has to deal with the consequences."

Don rubbed at his lip, surprised that there hadn't been a lecture. "Yeah, I guess."

"Why did you get drunk?"

Don started out with the simple answer. "A nightmare. Claymore broke into the house, and he'd killed Dad and Charlie. Then he killed Robin in front of me."

"Was that when you woke up?"

The next part of the dream would probably just confirm what Bradford already suspected: Don was still semi-suicidal. Even if he didn't really feel it most of the time. He hopped out of his chair, agitated, and moved to the window, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "No. I told him to shoot me, then I woke up."

"Are you worried about that?"

"I think—i-if it happened, it's what I'd want," Don admitted quietly.

"Losing everybody you love, I can't honestly say that I probably wouldn't have the same reaction."

That got Don to turn and look at him, his brow furrowed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Don mulled it over as he leaned against the wall beside the window, one leg bent to rest his foot against the wall. Maybe it wasn't an unreasonable reaction after all. Maybe it didn't say anything about how badly or well he was really doing. Bradford let him stew in silence.

"It wasn't just the dream," Don said seriously, deciding to tackle the bigger issue. "Ever since—ever since that night everything's been...different."

"Different how?"

"I can't do my job," Don pulled one hand out of his pocket, gesturing around him, "I can't drive—well, I can now, but I can't drive without somebody following me, I can't drive my bike, I shouldn't drink, I should do my PT, I should talk about how I feel, what I went through." He huffed out a laugh, no humour in the sound, and ran his hand over the back of his head. That pesky word was back again. "I don't have any control over my life. Everybody's telling me what I can and can't do. I get no choice. I don't get to make the decisions." He shut his eyes and chewed slightly on the inside of his lip. "Claymore's still making the decisions for me."

"So you got drunk. You made a choice."

Don sighed and let his foot fall back to the floor. "Yeah."

"That's good, Don."

Don's eyebrows raised as he gave Bradford a disbelieving look. "Seriously?"

"You're not being passive any more, you're making your own decisions." Bradford angled his head to the side. "Not necessarily good decisions, but still decisions. The only decision you were prepared to make four days ago was to die."

The bluntness was something that Don was used to from Bradford, but it still made him wince.

"Changing the subject slightly, how did it feel to hit Charlie?"

Don felt his jaw drop. "Wha—how did it feel to hit Charlie?"

"Yeah, Eppes, that's what I asked. Come on, you can't tell me that you haven't wanted to hit him once or twice, and I'm not talking about when you were kids."

"Sure," Don said, still shocked by the question. "He drives me insane sometimes..."

"He's your brother, that's what they do. So how did it feel?"

"What do you want from me?" Don exploded, moving away from the wall and standing squarely in front of Bradford.

"For you to answer the question," Bradford asked calmly. "How did it feel?"

"Li-like I'd hit Robin, or my dad, or Amita," Don said angrily. "I felt bad, okay. There was nothing good or-or satisfying about it." He sank down onto the edge of the chair opposite Bradford as he realised what he'd said. Punching Charlie, how he'd felt, it was something he'd tried to avoid thinking about other than apologising for, and now he realised he'd been afraid of how he felt. That maybe some part of him had taken satisfaction in doing it. That maybe some part of him had realised it was Charlie before he'd taken the swing.

Don sprawled back into the chair, still reeling from the revelation.

TBC...