Title: High Society

Chapter 38: Choosing Sides

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

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Larry had made himself as useful to Alan as he could. He ran errands, returning to the Craftsman to feed the koi and pick up some comfortable sweats and toiletries for Charlie. Back at the hospital, he brought Alan strong coffee from the cafeteria. He sat beside his old friend at his son's bedside for hours, probably surprising them both with his new-found ability to hold his tongue and simply serve as a silent, solid support. Finally, at nearly one a.m., Larry had gently led Alan to the car and driven him home for a few hours of sleep. At first he contemplated trying to talk Alan into leaving – but in the end, he merely made the decision himself, telling Alan that it was time to go. It was a testament to the elder Eppes' state-of-mind that he allowed such a thing. Ordinarily, Alan was very much the strong patriarch of the family, not only able, but insistent upon thinking for himself and drawing his own conclusions.

These were not, however, ordinary times.

Larry himself found sleep a veritable impossibility. Every time he started to drift off, he would hear again Don's dead-pan delivery of the most unexpected and God-awful news he had heard in his entire life – Charlie was alive, but he was violated; raped – and he would start fully awake in the sterile guest room. After the third time, he rose and climbed the stairs as silently as he could. He paused for a moment at Charlie's bedroom door, then moved on to the solarium. He smiled slightly to see that the telescope was still in place. He spent some time searching the night sky for the familiar anchors that had soothed his soul for so many years, until he finally realized that what he really desired was a certain earth-bound anchor; a more recent comfort.

So he crept back down the stairs to the guest room, searched out his cell phone, and called Megan.

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Amita had driven out to UCLA early – well before visiting hours. Alan and Larry had not returned yet, and Amita was not on the short list of "family members," so she could not get much information from anyone regarding Charlie's condition. She sat for a few minutes in a small waiting area, oblivious to the multi-million dollar feng shui and new-car smell of the state-of-the-art hospital. She closed her eyes, and thought of Charlie.

His infectious excitement when he proved a new theory. The way his fingers could move so rapidly over a white board – and so agonizingly slowly over her body. His smile…and the way his face lit up whenever she entered a room. His nervous anxiety, when he gave her the ring, and asked her to be his wife.

She blinked back tears and rose stiffly to drive to CalSci and face the day's classes. Millie would probably try her best to arrange something, but Amita wasn't going to ask. She didn't understand what was happening with Dane, what had happened to Charlie; the physics of real life had quite outwitted her. But she could still teach – her footing in the academic world was sound.

Amita headed for campus as if for Shangri-La.

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Robin sat; her back straight, in the chair behind the plaintiff's table and waited for the judge to arrive.

She studied the file before her and studiously ignored the defendant – one J.T. Morrison. The courtroom was packed with reporters who had already sniffed out the story. A few had even been at Mendez's arraignment before lunch. Whether they truly knew the extent of Fantasy ties or were just covering their bases, Robin didn't know – and didn't particularly care. Tomorrow's arraignment – of Markus and Elaina Topov, would be a circus. Her office intended to seek a change-of-venue for that trial; perhaps for this one, as well.

On a personal note, she was glad that Don's boss had laid down the law and prohibited him from attending the arraignment. He had gone to the hospital, to be with his father and Charlie, which was where he belonged, anyway. She shivered when she remembered the look on his face after the raid, and rescue of Charlie. Even before sexual assault had been confirmed, he had been…inconsolable. His hatred of Morrison was palpable, on-the-surface; Don's presence in the courtroom today would have been a detriment, and with the testimony of Colby, David, Walker, Leach…she had more than enough.

She felt none of the usual satisfaction, though. Something dangerous was bubbling just below the surface with Don. It was almost as if he was blaming himself – but that was crazy. Charlie had gotten involved with this filthy piece of rich and famous shit all by himself. Maybe it was a 'Big Brother' thing; the oldest sibling was often taught that he must protect his younger siblings. In addition, Don's and Charlie's relationship had encountered some rocky ground since the Pakistani e-mail and Charlie's loss of clearance. Perhaps Don was regretting that.

And Amita.

Good Lord, Amita. Just a few months ago, she and Charlie had gotten engaged. Robin was not Don's wife – as of yet, they had not really discussed marriage – but still she felt as if Amita was almost her sister-in-law. Robin was an Assistant US Attorney, a woman of the world; she had heard it all, had seen most of it – and had even perpetrated some herself. Still, she was stunned speechless when the younger woman had admitted to her on the way home last night that Larry had caught her kissing someone else. Just yesterday – while Charlie was still missing – Amita was getting some in her office at CalSci.

What the hell?

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Millie stood just inside the door of the science lecture hall and second-guessed herself. Both Larry and Amita had willingly agreed to do this impromptu presentation of their Higgs boson research thus far. She almost felt a little heartless when she had called them, but it wasn't hard to shake that off. After all, Charlie had been found, and from what she heard his injuries were not too serious. True, Alan had seemed a bit subdued when he had phoned last night, but that was no doubt due to the stress of the last week. He had catalogued a few injuries for her, but Millie had seen Charlie bounce back from more. She had no doubt that he would be back to work in a week.

Still, witnessing the stilted, awkward performance of Drs. Ramanujan and Fleinhardt, she was taken aback. This was not the natural chemistry she was used to. Neither one of them exuded the contagious excitement for the study that had made their Georgetown presentations so successful, according to her sources. In retrospect, she decided that maybe the worry over Charlie was too fresh. There was still some residual stress. She had proposed this lecture in part because Larry was here. Now that Charlie had been found, and his injuries were not too severe, Larry would probably head back to D.C. this weekend, and she had wanted to arrange a sneak preview of his anticipated spring visit to CalSci.

Millie sincerely hoped this…performance…was not a sample of what was to come. Students were restless, inattentive; a few had even left. This was almost embarrassing.

A coed brushed past her, murmuring, "excuse me" as she exited the lecture, and Millie sighed as she took a seat in the last row.

Strike that. Not "almost" embarrassing.

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Megan exited the D.C. Assistant Director's office with her shoulders squared and her head held high.

She wasn't sorry. Nor did she believe that she had acted too soon.

She loved the excitement, the importance of D.C. – and she knew the promotion, SAC of the D.C. office – was good for her career. When Larry had agreed to come with her, and found happiness of his own so soon at Georgetown, Megan knew she could make it work.

Yet from the beginning, there had been things she missed. She had left many friends behind in Los Angeles. And the weather! It was already colder than a witch's tit in D.C., and it was only October! She dreaded the snow of winter. As far as the work…she missed the fieldwork more than she thought she would. In D.C., SAC was mostly an administrative position. She was not part of one specific team, and she rarely got into the field.

What had really taken her by surprise was how much she missed Alan Eppes. Her relationship with her biological father was strained, at best; there was a lot of water under a bridge that had been washed out more times than she cared to admit. Even with Larry's encouragement and support, she found she couldn't hope for much more than civility between them. During the years she had known Alan, he had endeared himself to her so deeply; she wasn't even really aware of it until he was halfway across the country. He was so open, loving, supportive. When she had come down with the flu just six months after joining the L.A. office, he had come to her apartment every day, bearing homemade chicken soup. God, she loved that man. It hurt her now, physically, to think what this must be doing to him. Not to mention to Don, and to Charlie himself.

No, she hadn't been wrong to request the transfer, even though it meant taking a demotion. Family came first.

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Amita had noticed the disappointed expression on Millie's face before the department head slipped out of the lecture hall. A small core of loyal students had stayed to the bitter end – had even been complimentary – but there were no questions during the Q and A period. Even the freshmen hoping for some sort of elusive 'extra credit' had been anxious to leave.

She despondently gathered together some papers, shoving them haphazardly into a briefcase, while Larry cleaned the white board. They were alone now in the lecture hall, and she spoke without turning to look at him. "That was a train wreck," she said, unknowingly echoing Dr. Shaw.

Larry didn't seem to have a response to that, other than a mild "Hmmm."

She sighed and turned to face the white boards, leaning on the desk. "You embarrassed me in front of the Eppes."

He turned around at that, lifting an eyebrow. "It's unfortunate you feel that way. I rather thought you did that yourself when you were inhaling Dr. Rastenbaum's tongue."

Amita blushed, and blinked back angry tears. "I thought you and I were friends, Larry. Can you only be friends with people who make no mistakes, experience no confusion?"

He hesitated, then gently laid his eraser in the tray of the white board before crossing the distance between them. "I'm sure you're correct," he said gently. "An apology is no doubt in order." Amita opened her mouth to speak, but Larry held up a hand to stop her. "I need for you to understand something, Amita. When Charles came to Princeton as a young prodigy of 13, I was only in my second year of teaching there." He lifted his mouth in a wry smile. "It may not surprise you to learn that I was somewhat socially backward, myself; in addition, I was 10 to 15 years younger than most of my colleagues – as Charles is, now. I assure you, Margaret Eppes was a formidable woman. Even 20 years ago, in the late 80s, she was suspect of a 23-year-old man befriending her underage son. I respected that. Much of my time with Charles was spent in Margaret's presence, or with large groups of students. In the beginning, his mind fascinated me. He coauthored his first research paper with me when he was only 14; during his years at Princeton, we published three different papers together. When he graduated, I encouraged him to accept the fellowship at MIT, and later, at Oxford. Eventually we were reunited here at CalSci, as colleagues. His mind still fascinates me, Amita – but over the last ten years, I have grown to admire his heart even more. Charles is one of my oldest and dearest friends. He is truly one of the most gentle souls I know." Here, Larry's expression hardened. "He is also one of the most vulnerable. In the best of times, he feels things very deeply. He is easily wounded. He loves with difficulty, but commits completely when he does. You agreed to marry him. Your 'mistake' is a betrayal, and I cannot look the other way. At the very least you must tell him, and I worry that hearing such news at this point in time could be too much." He grunted with a certain sarcasm. "Who knows what cost will be exacted by the betrayal of Morrison, a man he considered a friend. Charles has never needed the support of those who claim to love him more than he does now."

Amita allowed a hot tear to escape, and it ran unchecked down her cheek and dripped off her chin. "It was never my intention to hurt him," she whispered.

Larry's face softened. "I see that it was not," he finally allowed. "It is easier for me to express anger toward you than to feel yet another friend's pain. I sincerely apologize for my behavior." He swallowed and hardened his voice – and his heart – again. "That does not mean that I will not choose sides, if I am forced," he informed her. "Please do not put me in that position. You must tell Charles, and soon, regardless of the difficulty."

A sound at the door distracted them both. Larry looked up, and Amita twisted her head around to look over her shoulder. Dane Rastenbaum was smiling directly at her, and she hated herself when she felt the tiny leap her heavy heart managed. "I was hoping you'd take time for an early dinner before you head back to the hospital, Dr. Ramanujan." Even across the room, she could see the glint in his eyes. "Perhaps we could get a little deeper into that…project…we discussed in your office yesterday. I'm not sure I made my position clear."

Amita slid off the desk and turned to face him, noting as she did the disgust on Larry's face – as if he had stepped in something extremely unpleasant. "I don't think so," she answered somewhat primly. "I haven't seen my fiancé all day, and one of his doctors is staying late this afternoon to speak with me. I'm sure you understand."

Dane accepted her refusal gracefully, shooting a triumphant and arrogant look in Larry's direction before he backed out of door.

Oh, yeah. He was pretty sure every one in the room understood.

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End, Chapter 38