A/N: Many thanks to you faithful reviewers who have been with me along the way. We're almost there. After this chapter, there are two more, and the next one includes yet another brother moment. But first, a little action…

Chapter 26

Ree sat up straight in her chair, an enthusiastic smile on her face, as Forbes editor Roger Phipps leaned back in his chair. "Surely you don't want that picture article assignment," he said. "That project is merely data-gathering, not writing – it's just a glorified slide show. It really is beneath you."

"No, no, this would definitely be more in depth," said Ree. "I'd like my article to spin off that picture article on your top 10 mathematics and sciences universities' rankings for this year, and see how those ten schools stack up in terms of educating women. What percentage of undergraduate and graduate students are women – and how many women on the faculty? And then maybe pick a student at one of them, maybe a grad student, and do her story in more depth. Science and technology degrees are still overwhelmingly pursued by men. How do the women feel at those schools – do they think they fit in? Are they chosen for the plum research projects? How did they make the decision to pursue the degree in the first place; to choose a degree in a male-dominated field? And then maybe add in some research on starting salaries of male and female grads after they graduate."

Roger pursed his lips. "Yes, that's not bad – and a pretty relevant topic these days. Yes, we'd be willing to sponsor that. Why don't you get started with some research and see if you can find a female grad student willing to tell her story – then get back to me with the details."

Ree stood, smiling and shook Roger's hand. "Sure," she said. "I'll get back to you in a few days."

She walked out, still smiling but with uncharacteristic butterflies cavorting around her insides. She'd already done some research, and she'd already talked to a promising grad student who was interested in being interviewed – a young woman who just happened to be at Cal Sci, under the mentorship of one Charlie Eppes. It would just be too bad, she thought as she smiled to herself, if she had to interview the girl's mentor as part of the data gathering for the story. And the piece would give her a work-based excuse to be back in L.A., and a chance to talk to him again. And to see her sister, of course, she amended hastily. It was a great idea for an article, and she would get a chance to visit with Robin while she worked on it.

She sighed happily, and thought about dark curly hair and soulful dark eyes, all the way back to her hotel.

Two days later, Charlie reached into his desk and pulled out the picture as he had so many times before, and leaned back in his chair, studying it. The frame contained two shots, both selfies, which he and Amita had taken on a trip up the California coast a short time before their marriage. It had been a glorious day and although it had been a three hour drive there and back, the time had spun by rapidly as they laughed and talked and listened to music, picking up a picnic lunch at Pismo Beach, enjoying the coastal scenery on the Pacific Coast Highway. Their destination was a secluded spot on the seaside cliffs just south of Morro Bay. Larry had heard about it from an acquaintance who hiked; virtually no one knew of it. It was a short but steep hike up the back side of a cliff, and as the trail peaked it came out on the seaward side of the hill. The hiker was awarded a beautiful view of the Pacific below, with the added attraction of a grotto behind them that featured a very small but beautiful waterfall. The selfies included both of them – one shot with the Pacific behind them and one with the waterfall in the background. They had spread a blanket among the wildflowers and had a picnic, and Amita had declared it her favorite place on Earth.

He sighed at the photo and looked at their smiling faces, eyes glinting in the sun, dark hair whipping around their faces. They had been so happy that day; Charlie thought later it was one of the happiest of his life. He'd just assumed that there would be so many more…

His eyes fell on Amita's boxes in the corner and after months of ignoring them, today they drew him, as if they were a magnet. He rose from his desk, laid the picture down and went over to them, and opening the first one, began to sort through the papers.

He knew that Don was right, that he needed to bring Amita's ashes to their final resting place, and he even knew the place – it would be there, up on the cliffs near Morro Bay. It was just so hard to take that final step, to break that last link, because he knew there would never be anyone else for him. Don and his father wanted him to move on; Amita had wanted him to move on. What his father and brother – and especially brother – didn't understand was that it would be impossible to find anyone who loved him and understood him like Amita. His only two serious relationships had been with women mathematicians, and women his age who understood mathematics at his level were in short supply. His life was numbers, and he was certain that anyone who did not understand mathematical concepts would never be interested in him – and would never understand that life with him had to mean a life with those numbers, as well.

On top of dealing with a very limited female population, there were his own social inadequacies. He did not walk into a room and automatically attract every woman in it, like Don. His brother had no clue what it felt like to be socially awkward, to always be on the outside looking in. Among his other social shortcomings, Charlie had a tendency to draw into himself and immerse himself in his numbers for long periods of time; that was an integral and necessary part of life for him. He knew that was difficult for anyone to put up with. The fact that he had found, somehow attracted, and finally married Amita was an anomaly; a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. So for him, saying good-bye to her was not moving on to some other future; it was the relinquishment and abandonment of his one hope to have a normal relationship – married life the way normal people knew it. The end of together and the beginning of alone. Period. And although he was desperately happy for his brother and Robin, their togetherness just underscored his own lonely fate.

That sense of isolation had him clinging to the people he had left – his father, Larry, and especially Don. He knew that his father and Larry would never abandon him willingly; he had that at least. But Don was another matter. Their relationship had become closer in the past few years, and that closeness was something that Charlie had chased his whole life – and he also knew that because of where they had come from, that closeness was not a given. Don had been suspicious of how willing Charlie had been to forgive after he saw him kissing Amita, and a piece of Charlie knew he was right. He had readily forgiven Don – hell, forgiveness for him was a foregone conclusion, so obvious that he never thought to say it aloud until Don had asked him for it. Of course he would forgive, because after all, it had not been Don's fault, and really not Amita's either, because she hadn't been in her right mind. But even if it had been a real transgression, even if the two of them had been unfaithful, Charlie had the uncomfortable feeling that he might have tried to overlook it, to forgive, at least if he thought it had been a temporary lapse and not an ongoing affair. He knew that others might not understand that, but he also knew how it felt to lose both of them. He had experienced that after the kiss and he never wanted to go there again; it hurt too badly. He could barely handle losing one; losing Amita and Don was unfathomable. Maybe if he were stronger emotionally right now, he'd feel differently, but he wasn't.

He stopped his musings short as he came upon a folder that, by the date on the tab, held some of Amita's last notes. He frowned as he read, a spear of sadness hitting him at the familiar handwriting. Toward the end she had apparently been working on a project somewhat similar to his, concerning trying to use the cameras stationed around L.A. to record activity in gang areas, in the hopes of coming up with some predictors that would help prevent violence. Charlie himself had hit a wall in his efforts – the manpower it took to analyze all of the footage in real time and try to read purpose into it was well over what the budget could support. Plus there was human error in the reading of it… He frowned again, trying to make sense out of Amita's rambling notes. Clearly she had been struggling with this – struggling to even stay on topic in her addled mental state, but there was something she was driving at, something she had been trying to put into words…

And then it hit him, and he gasped and smiled an incredulous smile, even as tears formed in his eyes. "Of course," he whispered to himself, as it became obvious to him what the answer was. "A.I." Artificial intelligence – still in its inception but being researched and used in many places in the world already. If they could get funding to develop the complex programming, they could use A.I. to examine the video footage and make predictions, instead of an army of technicians. It would be much more efficient and the resulting analysis more consistent. Amita had felt the presence of the solution – had known it was out there somewhere, and in spite of her severely handicapped thought processes had posed the correct questions to lead him to the answer. "You did it, Amita," he whispered, beaming through his tears. Somehow, through all of her muddled thoughts, her brilliance had shown through, even at the end. It felt as though her old self was there, reaching out to him, delivering one last gift.

He sighed and held the precious folder to his chest for a moment in folded arms, and his thoughts strayed back to his conversation with his brother.

Yes, Don was right; Charlie knew he had to make the trip to Morro Bay, and soon. Because he owed it to Amita; primarily – he couldn't argue with that, and because his brother thought it was the right thing to do for Charlie, himself. In an odd reversal of that sentiment, however, Charlie knew that he was doing this for Don and his father – so that they could have the comfort of thinking he was moving on – even though that that notion was just a dream, a fiction. However, if acquiescing somehow solidified his few remaining relationships, then he would do it. Certainly, he did not want to rock the boat, or make his father or Don upset with him by not behaving how they thought he should – right now he needed them too badly. And of course, above all, he added hastily – it was the right thing to do for Amita.

He nodded decidedly, set down the folder carefully in its box and resolutely wiped away tears, and walked over to his desk and began to write.

About an hour or two later there was delicate rap at his door, and Ree Brooks poked her head in. Charlie had almost forgotten that he'd made an appointment with her that afternoon to talk about an article she was writing. He felt a quiet surge of pleasure at the sight of her; he'd enjoyed talking to her at the barbeque at his house, months ago. And what wasn't to like? She was beautiful, funny, vivacious, and obviously very kind, to have put up with his morose behavior that evening.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said back, and then she smiled.

They stared at each other, smiling, for just split second longer than appropriate, then Charlie said hastily, "Have a seat. Tell me about your article."

Don and his team and Charlie met the next afternoon at the FBI offices on the poisoning case. They finished somewhat late, and as Don moved to his desk to close up for the day, he felt Charlie hovering. It felt oddly like the evening months ago, when Charlie had stopped by his desk and asked him to stop for a drink, and Don had declined because he was meeting Robin and Ree for dinner. And then the next evening, Amita had shown up at his apartment and all hell had broken loose. Yeah, it felt like that.

He stopped gathering papers and said, "Hey, Buddy. Need something?"

Charlie hesitated, shifting back and forth on his feet, and then said quietly, "I'm going to go do what you suggested, on Saturday." At Don's quizzical look, he hastened to explain. "You know, the ashes. I'm driving up to a spot by Morro Bay that Amita really liked. I, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to come along." Before Don could say anything he hurried on. "It's pretty far – it's three or four hours to get up there – it's okay if you can't make it. I just thought I'd ask, if you, uh, you know…"

Don had been afraid that Charlie wanted to ask him to go out that very night, and he already had plans with Robin. He was free, though, on Saturday, and he almost stumbled over his words trying to accept. "Sure, yeah, Charlie, I'd like to go with you. Is Dad going too?"

A look of relief crossed Charlie's face, and Don felt a surge of relief himself, at the sight. Charlie really had wanted him there. It made him feel good. "No," said Charlie. "I mean, I didn't want to ask him – he has that big golf tournament this weekend – the one he looks forward to every year. They're all staying at a resort overnight and he already has reservations. If I asked him, he might feel obligated to go with me – or us. And I think I need to do it this weekend, before I change my mind."

He regarded Don earnestly, and Don read the subliminal message. This wasn't just a request for support – Charlie apparently wanted to spend this time – and share this very important task – with him. He felt the starting of a lump in his throat, and he spoke a little huskily as he clapped a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "I'd be honored to go, Buddy. Let me know what time you want to leave – I can be there early."

Charlie smiled, and although it didn't quite erase the sadness in his eyes, it was the closest thing to a real smile Don had seen in months. "Thanks," he said simply.

And then a few moments later, all hell broke loose.

As luck and timing would have it, they all headed down to the garage together – Don, Charlie, Colby, David and Nikki. They all parked on the same level, and there were others already on that floor when they got there; later Don remembered the sound of cars doors shutting, and then a couple of cars drove off, down the ramp to the exit, normal quitting-time traffic. They all exchanged good-byes at the elevator and headed down the aisle toward their respective vehicles – Don's and Charlie's and Nikki's towards the left, David's and Colby's toward the right. Colby was asking Charlie something as they stepped off the elevators and the two of them stopped in the middle of the aisle to chat before they separated to go to their cars.

Don and Nikki headed down the aisle to the left. She was closer to the elevator by a few cars, parked on the left side of the aisle, and as she split off, Don gave her a wave and a 'good night', and headed toward his SUV, which was parked just a bit further down on the right side of the aisle. He was just coming around the back side of the SUV and starting toward the driver's side door when the shooting began.

Don was sandwiched between his vehicle and a car next to him, and as he heard the pop-pop of the gun and the thunk-thunk of bullets burying themselves in vehicles around him, he reacted instinctively. The shots were coming from further down the aisle, from a larger parking area – someone on Nikki's side of the aisle but well down from both of them was shooting. Don dove behind the car next to his SUV, darting down to the right front corner of the car, and popped up over the hood and fired a few answering rounds, yelling "Shooter!" As he did that, he was hearing exclamations behind him and the sound of running feet as the others scrambled for cover, and then he heard some answering shots from his team as he caught a glimpse of the shooter, an unidentifiable figure in a dark hoodie, tucked among some vehicles at the other end of the garage. Almost as soon as Don shot, an answering stream of bullets came back at him, and he lurched, ducking, going down behind the car, squatting behind the front tire for cover. He was the closest one to the shooter and was pinned down – he was going to need support from his team to get out of there.

As he went down, he heard Charlie call out his name, screaming, and then Colby and David were yelling; Colby: "Charlie, no!" and David: "Cover him!" The gunfire intensified; bullets flying from both directions.

Don's heart gave an uncomfortable lurch and he scrambled toward the back tire of the car so he could see around the back side of his SUV. He caught his breath in terror – Charlie was running full tilt toward him, a hail of bullets around him as he ran. Charlie reached the SUV and threw himself past it to land at Don's side, still calling out Don's name, his trembling hands reaching for him.

Don grabbed his arms and yanked him down behind the car, and he tightened his grip and shook him hard, yelling, "Charlie, what in the hell are you doing?!" He scanned him anxiously; miraculously, Charlie hadn't been hit.

Charlie had tears in his eyes; he was shaking and stammering. "I th-thought you were hit!" Don stopped shaking him, staring – it looked as though Charlie was disintegrating in front of him, shuddering with unreasonable terror. "I s-saw you go d-down," he managed, and then Don understood. When the shots had come through Don had thrown himself down and his SUV had blocked his brother's line of sight; without a clear view, Charlie thought he'd gone down because he'd been shot.

He pulled Charlie next to him, putting his free arm around him, and said, "I'm okay, Charlie – I'm not hit, I just ducked. I'm not going anywhere." The words themselves were gentle but they came out through clenched teeth; adrenaline was still rocking him, and he wanted to shake him again, but they were still under fire. He shot a glance around the back of the SUV, back down the aisle at David and Nikki, who had taken up positions on either side of the aisle and were firing back past him at their assailant. From his position, he could see that Colby was going back for the elevators, and Don grunted in approval. There were stairs on the far side of the garage – if Colby went down a floor on the elevator, he could run across it and take the stairs back up and get behind the man. The elevator doors were hidden behind cars and were at an angle slightly away from the shooter – the man couldn't see Colby or the elevator doors from where he was.

Colby wasted no time; in only moments, Don heard him calling from the far side of the garage, yelling at the shooter to drop his weapon. Instead, there was a barrage of gunfire, then silence, then Colby's voice calling, "Clear!"

Don let David and Nikki run past him, then, still shaking with residual terror and anger, turned to Charlie and grabbed his arms again, pulling his face right up to his. "Don't you EVER do that again," he hissed. "You could have been killed. Do you understand me?"

He gave him another little shake for emphasis, and Charlie whispered, "Yes." His face was tear-stained and he looked miserable, but he was starting to look a little more rational, at least.

Don released him and took in a deep breath and ran a hand down his face, and then got to his feet to join his team. "Stay there," he ordered curtly, and Charlie nodded mutely, put his arms on his knees and lowered his head down onto them, still leaning against the back of the car.

Sirens were already sounding, and a few of the agents who were left upstairs came running out of the elevator as Don approached the group, clustered between some cars, looking down at the would-be assassin, who had a darker stain blossoming on the front of his dark hoodie. Colby had hit center mass; the man was obviously dead. Don knelt and surveyed the motionless figure on the ground; he looked familiar. "Jamar Anderson," he said, as he rose to his feet. The bust had been years ago, but Don remembered it. Marcus Anderson, Jamar's brother had been killed, and Jamar had gone away for six years for drug trafficking. Both of them were part of one of the gangs that Charlie had been studying for his project.

David nodded. "He just got out last week."

Nikki raised an eyebrow. "Is Charlie okay?"

"Yeah," said Don wearily. "He's okay – he scared the freakin' hell out of me, but he's fine." An ambulance pulled up and they stepped back out of the way as the medics rushed in, but they all knew that there wasn't much reason to hurry. Jamar would be going back to the hospital in a body bag.

End, Chapter 26