A/N: I usually like to use real places in my fics; I should mention, however, that in this case, the Greene Medical Center is completely fictional.

See Disclaimer, Chapter 1

Bird Flu - Chapter 37

Don went back to the office the following day. He wasn't cleared for field duty yet – he had another week before that would happen, plus Wright had dictated he schedule an evaluation with the Bureau psychologist, Dr. Bradford before he'd approve it. It was the start of a new routine – he'd show up at Charlie's room early in the morning with coffee and a bagel, spend some time talking to him while he ate his breakfast, and give him a shave. He'd take a long lunch and run back over to see him midday; then grab a quick bite after work and show up in the evening, staying until visiting hours were over, around ten p.m.

Alan too, had reluctantly started spending time at work – it wasn't fair to saddle his partner with the sole burden for so long. He was working half days at the office in the mornings, and bringing some work with him to Charlie's room in the afternoons. He would stay into the evening, and leave at around seven or so, usually around an hour or two after Don had shown up. That schedule was perfect, Dr. Raine had told them; Charlie got a lot of stimulus and interaction with the people closest to him, and Susan spent time with him in the morning while they were gone, trying different ways to get him to respond, bit by bit, to the outside world.

The progress was slow, but the first sponge bath and shave had been a breakthrough. Susan didn't say it aloud, but she felt strongly that even though Charlie was obviously close to his father, it was Don who was the key to getting Charlie to pull out of his shell. The brothers obviously elicited strong emotions in each other, not all of them positive, although she suspected that underlying them all was a deep devotion. Whether or not all the emotions were good ones were immaterial – what counted was they were strong; powerful enough to get through the barrier that Charlie had erected. Charlie's acceptance of his brother's touch and voice were the first significant sign she'd seen that they might be able to reach him, and two days later, he was spending more time with his eyes open, and his body seemed a little less rigid when he was awake.

That morning, when Don walked in, Charlie was actually sitting upright, propped against the bed, which had been adjusted to support him. His eyes were open, and although they were focused on the far wall, for a moment he looked so normal that Don faltered in mid-stride, staring. It became apparent quickly the change in position didn't mean much; Charlie still tensed as Don approached and kept his gaze locked on the wall. It was something, though, one more little step toward recovery.

Susan's voice came from behind him. "That's actually more significant than it looks. Two days ago, the rigidity was so pronounced we couldn't get him to sit upright."

Don watched as Charlie slowly closed and opened his eyes. In spite of appearing more aware, his brother still wasn't blinking normally, his gaze still far-off, fixed. He turned to look at her. "I was going to give him a shave – you still want me to do that?"

"Absolutely," she replied. "I'll let you do that; then I'll be back. There's something else I'd like to try."

Don set down his coffee and bagel, and carried the shaving kit over to Charlie's bed. There was a basin of warm water and a towel already waiting; and Don set the kit down and zipped it open. Dr. Raine had instructed them to speak as they normally would, to carry on one-sided conversations, and Don greeted him in a matter-of-fact voice. "Hey Charlie." Charlie stiffened and his lips moved slightly, but he kept his eyes open.

Don proceeded with their morning ritual, noting that, as usual, Charlie tensed even more as he began, but gradually relaxed as the grooming activity progressed. Truthfully, the idea of being his brother's barber had been uncomfortable at first, but now Don found himself looking forward to it. He was aware of a new feeling – a nurturing instinct – such as a parent might have when taking care of a small child, and he wondered if that was what it felt like to be a dad – the joy one got from selfless care for another who couldn't respond. The only difference was, kids grew up, became self-sufficient. What if Charlie couldn't get back there? That worry had been with him since they found Charlie, but he'd pushed it into the back of his mind. The longer his brother resided in that other place, however, the larger that worry grew. Like a malignancy, it occupied his thoughts; it had grown to a size he could no longer ignore. He tried hard to keep it out of his voice, however; he had to stay positive when he spoke to Charlie. He wiped Charlie's face, and pushed aside an errant curl. "Huh, it looks like they washed your hair. I bet that felt good. David, Megan, and Colby all said 'hi'…"

--

Amita paused in the doorway to Charlie's room. It was open slightly, and she could see Don sitting by Charlie's bedside. A few days ago, he'd started coming early in the morning, and it had disrupted her schedule. She, too, had been stopping by early, before she went to classes. For the last few days, Don had been there, although when she thought about it, it didn't matter much. She hadn't gotten the courage up to enter Charlie's room anyway. Instead, she just looked in from the doorway, like a child peering into a store window at a coveted toy. She kept telling herself she shouldn't approach him – that he was recovering, and her presence might not be good for him. It wasn't that she was afraid of what his reaction might be...

The guard, an LAPD officer, was used to her by now. It was always the same one, and after curious glances for the first two days, he ignored her. She heard footsteps at the end of the hall, and shot a glance sideways. Dr. Raine. It was time to go. She put hand up and gently touched the doorframe as if it could somehow transmit the caress to Charlie; then put her head down, and walked away.

--

Susan Raine shot a curious glance at Amita's departing back as she entered the room. Now there was an odd situation, she thought to herself, as she approached Charlie's bedside.

Don rose, looking at his watch. "I'm finished," he said. "I'll be back at lunchtime."

He glanced at the blank pad of paper in her hands, but the casual look turned to a stare as she placed the tablet on Charlie's lap, and laid a pen on top of it. "What's that for?"

She took a step back, and motioned for him to do the same. "What does it look like?" She looked at Charlie, and spoke in a louder tone. "Charlie, I gave you some paper. Why don't you write down what you're thinking about?"

Charlie sat there, staring at the wall, motionless except for the mechanical breathing, the slow open-and-close of his eyelids. Don watched him skeptically, and as the seconds turned into minutes, he shot the doctor an irritated glance. He was beginning to think she wasn't as good as she was reported to be. He opened his mouth to tell her he was leaving, when she said, "That's good, Charlie, now write down what you're thinking."

Don jerked his head back around so fast, he got a spasm in his neck. Charlie had picked up the pen with his good hand, which was luckily his dominant one, and had lowered his blank gaze to the tablet on his lap. Don stared, his mouth open, and absently rubbed at his neck. For a long moment, nothing happened, and then suddenly, Charlie started to write, slowly at first, then faster. Don and Dr. Raine exchanged a glance, and then moved quietly closer, trying to see what he was writing without disturbing him. They could have charged up and tackled the bed, for all the attention they got from Charlie; he was completely immersed now, scribbling furiously, his arm transmitting the frenetic motions all the way to his curls, which vibrated with each jerk of his hand.

He ripped off the top page and cast it aside, moving on to the next as Susan snagged the paper, holding it so both she and Don could read it, and as Don looked at it, he wasn't sure whether he should be comforted by this new turn of events, or not. The page was covered with Charlie's familiar scrawl, but it meant nothing to them.

Susan frowned. "What is this?"

Don shook his head. "Beats me." They stared at the paper. Numbers, letters, and symbols littered it, arranged in strings of equations that spread across the page. It reminded him of Charlie's retreat into P vs. NP, and for all he knew, it could be. He looked at her. "Is this a good thing, or not?"

She looked at him, and then at Charlie, who was still frantically regurgitating the contents of his brain onto the page. "I don't know," she admitted, her eyes still on her patient. "We'll have to see."

9999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999

It had taken Ryan Morgan several days to find out where Charles Eppes was. He was aware that the father had returned home, but Ryan's new job had kept him from being able to follow him during the day. He was still training, still with another employee all day, so he couldn't sneak away during working hours. He would park the black van with its landscaping signs down the street each evening, but the senior Eppes was never departing during those hours – he was always returning, at first late at night, the last few days around seven-thirty or eight. Ryan had to keep his distance – there was an LAPD car parked in front of the Eppes house in the evenings with an officer on watch; Don Eppes was apparently done with taking chances.

Morgan knew the father must have been coming from wherever Eppes was being treated, but Ryan was always tied up during the times when the father left the house. It wasn't until Sunday that he'd been free to follow him.

That day, he'd used the Mediclean van; if he were spotted, it would be easy for the old man to rationalize that it made sense for a medical cleaning van to be at a hospital. As the elder Eppes pulled into the entrance for the Greene Medical Center, Morgan had swung into a service entrance. There, he pulled to the side, and contemplated the property.

The Greene Medical Center sprawled over several acres, and was composed of a handful of buildings. One, set off from the others, was an exclusive private rehab center often used by celebrities, and was on gated grounds, with its own security. The main building was divided into three sub-buildings; Ryan would learn later that one of them was specifically for psychiatric care. Another sub-building was for drug and alcohol rehabilitation for the general population, and the third was for rehabilitation for those recovering from stroke or those battling neurological injury or illness. Eppes, he figured, was more than likely in the first one. The center specified in neurological and cognitive diseases and issues, and although it had a staff of surgeons and emergency specialists, including a crash team, which was necessary when dealing with older patients, it primarily dealt with rehabilitation. Ryan was certain he'd seen the facility listed on the Mediclean roster of customers; unfortunately, it wasn't one of the locations where he was training.

He had watched as Alan Eppes made his way toward the main entrance, and breathed a small sigh of relief. At least the patient wasn't in the more secure rehab center. He had sat there for a few moments more, then had put the van into the gear, and driven to a cyber café, and done some research on the facility. Then he'd driven to his apartment, a place he'd found in the paper.

It was in the back of a pawnshop in a marginal part of town. It had originally been a small bakery, and the owners had lived in the apartment in back. As the area had declined, they'd moved out, walled off the apartment from the front of the store, and leased the storefront and the apartment separately. The pawnshop had taken over the front, and the back had sat idle until Morgan had rented it. It suited him perfectly – it was dirt cheap, and was surrounded by seedy little shops, which were all closed at night, and there were very few people around after dark. That meant less chance of anyone seeing him bringing in an unconscious victim, and carting out a body later.

The need was now a constant part of his life, and he'd been settling for cutting homeless people and drunks to relieve it. Most of them were not in good shape, and the skin quality was lacking, but no one missed them when they were gone. Until he took care of Eppes, he didn't dare try for more desirable quarry. When he did, it would be elsewhere, he'd decided. A victim here, a victim there, the bodies buried or submerged where they'd never be found. He'd make his way across the country, and eventually return to Denver to take care of Allison. In the meantime, though, there was Eppes.

He did have to take one legitimate citizen before the professor, however. That person was one of the Mediclean employees who were assigned to the Greene Medical Center – there were two of them, and Ryan had drawn one of them into conversation, and figured out which one worked on Eppes' wing. It was a man named William Carter, and he worked nights; Ryan had followed him home the morning after he'd trailed Eppes' father to the medical center. There he'd shot Carter, stealing some cash and some video games from the man's apartment, making it look like a robbery. The next day, he had put in for Carter's job – after all, he was nearly done with training and ready to be assigned.

Now, it was two days after he'd found the facility, and Ryan was to start the job that evening – the Greene Medical Center preferred that their janitorial work be done during evening hours. Once he was on Eppes' floor, he would figure out how to get to him; maybe if he was really fortunate, really smart, figure out how to cut him. He closed his eyes, almost moaning in pleasure, as he remembered the feel of the scalpel as it sliced through Eppes' skin…

99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999

The day turned out to be hellacious. Don got to office, and found Wright was waiting with the details on a dual bank robbery, which had occurred that morning, just as the banks opened. The M.O.'s were exactly the same, two banks hit simultaneously. Don and his team spent the morning and the early afternoon on the case – the team running down leads and Don coordinating from the office, researching many tips himself by phone. A description from a pedestrian of one of the getaway vehicles resulted in the apprehension of a man who they suspected was part of the team. He wasn't talking – yet. They'd spent a little quality time with him in the interrogation room until he'd lawyered up, and then charged him and put him in a holding cell, to give him some time to think about the wisdom of protecting his partners.

By the time Don came up for air, it was 3:00 p.m. It was the first day he'd missed visiting Charlie at lunchtime, and he was consumed with curiosity over what his brother had done with his pad of paper during the day. He gathered up his files from the conference room table as he glanced at his watch. Megan and David were filing out, and Colby was rising to his feet as Megan asked him, "How's Charlie?"

Don looked up at their concerned faces. They'd been visiting off and on; David had stopped by, and Megan had come by with Larry at least twice. It was Colby, however, who had visited the most often, usually later in the evening, and so far, every other night. It made Don wonder about the depth of their conversations after the Parks case – apparently a friendship of sorts had begun then. Or maybe even before that, Don reflected. It made him wonder how much he really knew about his brother, but their concern also warmed his heart. He wished Charlie knew how many people were thinking about him.

"Okay," he said, with a slight shrug that said, 'well, as okay as can be expected.' "He's sitting up – still not responsive, but she gave him a pad of paper today, and he started writing on it."

Colby's eyebrows rose. "Wow – that's a lot of progress since I was there the other night. He's actually writing?"

Don grimaced, ruefully. "Nothing that makes sense to us. It was a bunch of equations."

"Still," said Megan, "he's expressing himself. Maybe getting it out on paper will help him work through it, get to the point where he can communicate other things."

"Maybe," Don said. He looked down at his notebook, and then up. "I almost forgot – Walker called today, said there are rumors on the street that homeless people are going missing. LAPD is trying to verify it, but it's tough – it's hard to track down either the people who are supposed to be missing, or the people who are creating the rumors. He didn't want our involvement yet until he can get some more facts, but we might get called in on that one. Just wanted to give you a heads up."

"What about McKelvey?" asked David. "Didn't he call you today?"

"Yeah," Don replied, his face darkening. "They're running into a dead end. They went through anything the killer left behind, including a scalpel he'd handled – they found no prints on it; he must have been wearing gloves. There were some prints in the bathroom on the tap handles, but they were all smudged – no good ones. There was some hair in the bathtub drain, but without DNA in the system to match against, that was pretty much useless. No word on a blue van; or any van with the plates they saw in the garage video. They're thinking he left the area, headed off for another location. Wright does too – although it doesn't sound like he'll pull Charlie's protection any time soon."

Colby scowled. "He'd better not." He shook his head. "I just can't shake the feeling that the guy's still around, somewhere."

"I know," said Don softly. "Me neither."

999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999

End Chapter 37