Disclaimer: CBS must be swamped with requests from people willing to take over Numb3rs, because I, for my part, haven't heard back from them, so I still don't own them.
Rating: K
Timeline: season 1 (no Megan, I know, I was surprised myself)


Swamped

"Charlie?" The sound was still muffled, but the next moment, the door was opened and his dad stuck his head inside the garage. "There you are! You haven't been out here all night, have you?"

Charlie finished the expression he was writing before he turned around to face his dad. "I got up early. What's up?"

"Well, I thought we could have breakfast together before you leave for CalSci. After all, we won't be seeing each other for a whole week."

It took Charlie a second before he'd made sense of his father's words. "Right!" he then exclaimed, memory kicking in. "You're leaving today."

Alan closed his eyes in a gesture of exasperation. "You know, son, we have both known for a while now that your mind is special. I'd only wish you could make some room in there for the more mundane matters in your life."

Charlie gave him a disarming smile. "Hey, I didn't forget. I just didn't actively think of it."

"So, are you coming?"

Charlie gave the blackboard behind him a quick check-up glance. He'd come to a natural stop and after all, he did have to eat sooner or later anyway. "Yeah, why not," he therefore agreed before he followed his dad back into the house.

"So what is this secret project you're working on?" his dad asked as he brought in two steaming cups of coffee from the kitchen and set them down on the table.

Charlie, following him with a bowl of cereal for himself and a glass of peanut butter for his dad, chose to keep up the light mood. His dad would soon stop pestering him anyway, so he could endure the breakfast in a civil manner. "If I told you, it wouldn't be secret anymore, now would it?"

"I just hope you know what you're getting yourself into," Alan replied earnestly.

"I do, you know you don't have to worry about me," Charlie stated before he chose to leave the subject behind. "So are you all packed-up?"

"Of course I am, my train is leaving in three hours. Not all of us like to do things last-minute, you know."

Charlie ignored the hinted criticism. He wouldn't have to hear any of that for a week, so getting worked up over it now didn't really make a lot of sense.

"And Henry is going to pick you up at the station?" he asked instead.

His dad nodded. "So he said. I just hope I'll recognize him, I haven't seen him in almost five years."

"I told you, you should have skyped once or twice before, had a little face-time."

"That's why we're meeting. In real life. Like old friends should."

"Well, I'm happy for you," Charlie said honestly before his eyes fell on his bag by the door. He'd put it there the night before, fully-packed, which was completely unlike his usual routine. He had, however, known it to be the most efficient way to keep himself from forgetting to take next year's syllabus with him. The syllabus that, as he had completely forgotten, he was supposed to discuss with the dean in twenty minutes.

"Shoot!" he exclaimed and almost spilled the contents of his cereal bowl when he jumped up from his seat. "I'm sorry, Dad, I need to go, I totally forgot I had a meeting with the dean."

"Wait, aren't you going to clean this up?"

"Later!" Charlie called back as he slipped into his jacket. "Have a good trip!"

And he was out of the door.


Don knocked at the door, but didn't bother waiting for a response before stepping in. He still felt a little out of place here at CalSci with all those professors and aspiring scientists walking around, so being out of the corridor and inside Charlie's office actually made him feel more comfortable, even though, of course, he would never admit that.

"Hey," he greeted his brother who continued scribbling at his chalkboard. "Got a minute?"

"One second," Charlie mumbled.

Don watched him fill the board with more signs that probably only he could make sense of for a time-span that was definitely longer than a second, and was just about to remind his brother of his presence when Charlie circled the last expression he'd written and turned around to face him.

"Hey," he finally greeted him with flushed cheeks. "What brings you here?"

Don raised his eye-brows. The fact that Charlie even needed to ask didn't bode well. "I guess that means you're still not done with going through that flash drive we gave you last week", he said and it was with some satisfaction that he heard the hint of reproach in his voice.

Charlie tilted his head a little, frowning. "I thought that wasn't time-sensitive," he said.

"Yeah well, 'not time-sensitive' doesn't mean I want to wait till New Year's to get that data. I thought you'd be done by now. Anyway, it is time-sensitive now, so when will you be finished?"

"Um..." Charlie said thinking, running a hand through his hair. He took a look at his chalkboard as though he could find the answer on there, then turned back to Don. "I don't know, it might take me another couple of days."

"Another couple of days?" Don repeated, incredulous. "Charlie, we need those numbers! I relied on you to get that done! Don't tell me you haven't even started!"

"I have!" Charlie gave back defensively. "It's just that something came up and I haven't been able to take a look at It since."

"What's that supposed to mean, 'something came up'?"

"Something more important," Charlie specified, or rather, didn't specify.

"Well, Chuck, whatever that something is, this is more important now, trust me. This is no longer a simple case of tax fraud we're dealing with here. Seems like our guy is involved in human trafficking, and if our info is correct, they're planning another sale, so we need that data before that." For if we don't, Don silently added in his mind, but didn't dare to continue the thought. This case had turned big so suddenly that they were all overwhelmed with the situation, including Don's boss, and as a result, Don was getting a lot of heat. They needed results, yesterday if possible, and he'd truly set his his hopes on his brother, because in that case, he would have had at least something to show. Now, however, he wasn't sure what to do. What if all the waiting for Charlie's results wouldn't get them anywhere in the end and he'd have to explain to his boss why he had wasted valuable resources on a mathematical consult?

Charlie sighed and gave his blackboard a troubled look. "Alright, I… I'll see what I can do."

Don raised an eye-brow, knowing it would be enough.

He'd been right. "I guess if I pull an all-nighter, I should be able to get it done by Friday."

That was the day after tomorrow, which was indeed late given that Don had been hoping to be leaving CalSci with those results, but at least he now had a deadline that sounded more definite than 'a couple of days'.

"Alright, just make sure you get it done rather sooner than later," Don said. He knew he was being harsh, but he also knew that his little brother didn't always realize the stakes they were up against. So if that other project was late a day or two, worst case scenario, the results would be published one journal's issue later. When they were talking FBI cases though, they were talking about human lives. "You know, in our line of work when you accept a task, you got to be committed to it," he added for good measure. "This is not academia where you can decide to just drop a project or put it on the back-burner indefinitely."

His brother gave him a frown that was somewhere between confusion and irritation. "That's not how things work in academia either."

"Good," Don replied and turned around to leave before this would turn into a substantial argument, "then you know the drill."


Charlie yawned for about the fifth time within the past minute and, half against better judgment, gave the clock in his computer a glance. Five thirty, a.m., which meant he needed to get up in an hour if he didn't want to be late for his meeting with the NSA agents to give them an up-date on his progress and still squeeze in an hour to work on Don's case before that, like he'd planned. For a moment, he pondered whether or not to continue working on the NSA case, but it was probably best if he left that alone for tonight. He'd finished the program that had to sort through the data, which would take another half hour, and once his computer had accomplished that, Charlie would have to sort through the findings and see if there were any patterns he could spot. And that was something he should better do when his mind was at his best, not fogged by tiredness.

Just as he dragged himself upstairs towards his bedroom, he realized that his stomach was rumbling, and only then did it occur to him that he hadn't had anything to eat since he'd had breakfast with his father this morning. He felt too exhausted to go back down the stairs and eat something though. Sleep was his priority now.

The good thing was that tomorrow, he only had one lecture in the afternoon, so he could spend the rest of the day focusing on the NSA case and the FBI case and with a little luck, he'd get the NSA case done before the next morning when he'd have another lecture. Don's case… Well, his other laptop was still busy with that, so he'd have to squeeze that in whenever he could allow himself to take a break from the NSA case.


"Don? I think you have a visitor."

Don glanced up at David, surprised, and then turned around to follow his gaze. He frowned. Amita was here, which had to mean that Charlie had indeed finished his analysis, like he'd promised Don. And yet, he hadn't called him beforehand, like he usually did before coming here to present his findings. Had Don's phone died? He checked, but found it was all in perfect order. At least with his cell.

"Amita, hey," Don greeted her when she had reached them. He peered over her shoulder in an attempt to spot his brother, but Charlie was nowhere to be seen. The bad feeling in Don's stomach intensified even further when Amita had come close enough to see the expression on her face, for now he couldn't miss that something seemed to be wrong, and he prayed that Charlie hadn't hit some wall that he couldn't work through. As much as Don hated admitting it to himself, they were really counting on his brother's math in this case. "Everything alright?"

She cast down her eyes and before she looked up at him again, she started nervously playing with the ends of her scarf. "Actually, no. I think you should talk to Charlie."

With that, the frown was back on Don's face. "Why? What happened? Where is he anyway?"

Now, it was her time to frown in confusion. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"He's in the hospital, they brought him there this morning."

All of a sudden, the case was forgotten. In fact, most things that had still been on Don's mind only a minute ago seemed to have suddenly left. "Why?" was the only thing he was able to utter.

"He collapsed during his lecture this morning," Amita explained. "They say it's just a result of overall exhaustion, but they want to keep him there for another day or two nonetheless."

It took Don a moment to digest the news, but feeling Terry's raised eye-brows in his back, he took great care to keep up a facade of unconcern and professionalism. At least Charlie seemed okay enough and this wasn't anything serious. Everyone could bend to stress every now and then, right?

"Thanks for telling me," he went on once his mind had started working again. "I'll make sure to stop by after work."

Amita nodded, but Don could see that there was something else on her mind.

"What is it?" he prompted her.

"I'm worried about him," she burst out. "When I brought him his laptop earlier, he mentioned that they would do a psychological evaluation on him, and despite what Charlie says, I think it might not be such a bad idea. He's been working non-stop ever since your dad left town, and that was two days ago. And even before, he'd had a lot on his plate with that case he can't talk about and his obligations with CalSci. I thought getting taken to the hospital would make him change his mind about his work ethics, but it doesn't seem like it did. I'm just… I'm worried that he's going to continue running himself ragged and I thought that you might be the only one to keep him from doing that."

An uncomfortable feeling had settled in the pit of Don's stomach. "What do you mean he's been working non-stop?"

"Well, for one, there's that secret project that seems to have picked up pace a little over a week ago. I assume it was something for the NSA, but he wouldn't even tell me that."

A light bulb had lit up in Don's head. So that was the 'something' that had come up to prevent Charlie from continuing his work on Don's case.

"And then," Amita continued, "there was your case on top of that, and that in combination with his duties for CalSci… He stayed in his office last night, so I don't think he got any sleep at all, and ever since your dad left town, I don't think he's been eating properly either."

The frown was back on Don's face and he was instantly reminded of his visit in his brother's office two days earlier. True, now that he was thinking about it, he had to admit that Charlie had looked rather stressed, and not in the energetic sense that was his usual state, but in a more frantic manner. And given that the whole point of Don's visit had been to increase Charlie's workload even further, he doubted that things had improved for his little brother after that.

He swallowed nervously. He was briefly tempted to take a personal day and accompany Amita back to the hospital right away, but something stopped him. Given her statement, Charlie wasn't doing too badly, he'd even asked her to bring him his laptop, so he had to be feeling well enough to work again. No, taking a personal day would blow this whole thing completely out of proportion.

Besides, there could be no harm in having a couple of more hours to think about how to confront his little brother about his self-destructive behavior.


When he heard the door open, Charlie quickly closed his laptop and started a frantic search for a place to stash it. However, since he didn't even have a full two seconds before the newcomer had stepped far enough into the room to see him, his attempt was fruitless.

"Mister Eppes," a tall man in his forties greeted him and stretched out his hand. Charlie took it and was surprised by the firm grip of the haggard figure.

"I'm Dr. Anscombe from the psychology department," he introduced himself. "I'm here to do your evaluation."

Charlie, having been informed beforehand that something like this would happen, gave the other man a lenient smile. "Look, I appreciate you coming here, Dr. Anscombe, but I'm afraid this is a waste of your time. I am fine. I don't have an eating disorder, nor any other disorder, for that matter. I was simply stressed out, that's all."

"I see," Dr. Anscombe replied and opened the file he was holding in his hand. He seemed to be skimming the pages and when he turned back a page, Charlie could no longer feign patience.

"This is all a mere misunderstanding," he went on explaining. "I can assure you that your time would be spent much more effectively on your other patients."

"I see," Dr. Anscombe said again. Then he closed the file and looked right into Charlie's eyes, so directly in fact that Charlie had to fight hard to stand his gaze. "Just tell me one thing, Mr. Eppes. You seem to be an intelligent young man who knows perfectly well that it was the stress that brought him in this situation. Now how come that instead of granting your body some relief of this stress, you seem to be already back to working?"

He gave the laptop on Charlie's legs a meaningful glance. Charlie swallowed with sudden nervousness. He knew he should have gotten rid of exhibit A.

"I'm working on something very important. Several important projects actually," he tried to explain to the psychiatrist without stepping over the boundaries of his confidentiality agreement. He knew he needed to be convincing, for he needed to make sure to get released from the hospital today. His collapse and the ensuing transport to the hospital had been a set-back he hadn't put into consideration when planning his schedule, and neither was the fact that there had been a bug in his program that he'd had to fix before letting it run through the whole data once more. As it was, he was a day behind on the NSA case, and with Don's case and this stupid hospital stay, he was getting rather nervous about finishing everything on time – 'on time' in this case meaning 'without too much delay'.

"Projects so important that it's worth sacrificing your health for?"

Charlie had already opened his mouth to reply, but took a second before he actually spoke. He'd meant to defend himself declaring that sacrificing his health wasn't at all what he was doing, but now that he thought about it, he had to adapt his answer. "Actually, they are."

"I see," Dr. Anscombe said for the third time. He opened the file again and scribbled something inside without making any move to explain his proceedings to his patient. Eventually, he closed the file and gave Charlie a noncommittal smile. "I think it would be best for us to talk again tomorrow. Until then, you should do your best to get your strength back."

Charlie frowned, he was certain that he was just getting this wrong. "No, wait, you're not actually planning to keep me here, are you?"

"It's for your best, Mr. Eppes, believe me."

The repetition of his name was starting to get on his nerves, it almost seemed as though Dr. Anscombe was talking to a child or to someone dull. And while Charlie had never particularly cared for having a professor's rank or several doctor's degrees or put on airs in that regard, in this case, he was severely tempted to correct that condescending quack.

"Okay, let's be rational about this," he tried in his best diplomatic way. "We both know this is only a formality. You simply cannot be seriously considering keeping me here overnight. I am fine. I have no self-destructive or masochistic tendencies and I can assure you that I'm not a danger either to myself or to others, so can you just give me that signature so I can get out of here?"

"And what exactly are you going to do once you leave this facility?" Dr. Anscombe asked calmly.

Charlie opened his mouth, then closed it again. He felt betrayed, that quack had lured him into a trap! "Look, I can't help it, I have to finish this, it's more important than you could ever begin to imagine. But that doesn't mean that there's something wrong with me. And frankly, I don't have time for this, so if you do indeed refuse to release me today, I'm afraid I'll have to go over your head."

There it was again, that non-committal smile. "You can try, Mr. Eppes, but I'm afraid you won't succeed. But before we get off on the wrong foot, let me be clear here: I do not think, at least not of now, that you should be admitted to the psychological ward. I do, however, think that your psychological state requires you to stay here until your physical state has improved further, and that in your case, it is not advisable to let you continue your convalescence at home."

Charlie scoffed. "You mean you're actually serious about this? Do you really consider me some mentally unstable person who's not well enough to get some rest on their own?"

The doctor made a pause then, and the look in his eyes suggested that Charlie should know the answer to that himself. Just as Charlie was about to take up his defense again, the psychiatrist went on, "Don't you think it's curious that ever since I came into this room, even before I sat down, you felt compelled to defend yourself and your actions? Now why did you do that if you do indeed believe that everything is okay and you're doing nothing wrong?"

Charlie was silent, his mouth opening and closing again.

"Think about this and we can talk about it tomorrow, and if you can give me an answer then that we are both happy with, I'll gladly sign your release papers."


Don checked the number twice when he'd reached his brother's hospital room. Not that he was particularly bad with remembering numbers (even though growing up with Charlie as his little brother had given him that impression), no, he was merely stalling for time. He still hadn't figured out how exactly he should treat his brother after what had happened. On the other hand, he had to realize that given that he hadn't been able to think of a strategy during the past six hours, a couple more minutes probably weren't going to do the trick.

He knocked, but didn't hear an answer and thought that maybe, the door was too thick to let through sound waves at a normal volume, so he stepped in.

Charlie looked up from his laptop, and when he set eyes on him, the surprise on his face was almost comical. However, even though Charlie didn't look too bad, Don found it too early to allow himself to embrace the humor of the situation.

At least, he was sitting upright, that was one thing that made the knot in Don's stomach loosen up a bit. He had his legs propped up on his bed and was apparently working on something, and Don didn't have to be a genius to guess that it was math-related. He had an IV going into his left arm, but other than that, he was looking the way he always did. Maybe his complexion was a little paler than usual, maybe his cheeks were a little more flushed, maybe the smudges under his eyes were a little darker – but maybe Don was merely imagining those things because they would make Charlie being in a hospital bed so much more understandable.

"Hey," he said and took his time to close the door.

"Hey," Charlie replied and Don felt his watchful eyes on him as he dragged up a chair a little closer to his bed-side. It took three unsettling seconds before the question came he'd been both dreading and waiting for, "What are you doing here?"

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation, even though he wasn't entirely sure why. "Amita told me you were here," he chose the diplomatic answer when he felt he couldn't bring himself to ask the confrontational ones. Like, You mean how did I find out when you didn't think of calling me? Or, I'm here looking out for my kid brother because he obviously can't look out for himself.

"I made some progress on your case," Charlie informed him and hit a few keys on his laptop, then turned it around to Don, showing him a large table filled with numbers. "That's a list of the transactions you should take a closer look at, because they might be linked to the human trafficking angle. It's not completely done yet, but I should have the full list in an hour or so. And if you give me another day, I could also try and figure out where exactly the money went."

Don felt sick. He was looking at his brother as though he was seeing him for the first time, and in a way, that was true. Of course, he'd known for years now that Charlie had a tendency to lose himself in a problem, but this… This was extreme, this was bordering on self-destruction, and the worst part was that Don too had played his part in it.

That had to end now.

"Yeah, about that," he said and had to clear his throat, seeing how husky his voice sounded, "don't you think you should take things slow for a couple of days? They did take you here for a reason, didn't they?"

True, he had hoped for some kind of objection from Charlie, for a sign that he wasn't doing too bad, but when it came, it felt so wrong that it didn't fill Don with the satisfaction and relief he'd anticipated.

"Look, it's no big deal," Charlie claimed. "I was just a little under the weather and my students overreacted and called an ambulance. I'm sorry Amita dragged you out here, I didn't know she was planning to, or I would have told her not to."

Don was silent. He knew that Charlie was playing things down. He just didn't know whether Charlie himself was aware of that.

"I was just a little stressed out, that's all," Charlie continued.

That was the cue Don had been waiting for. "You should have told me you didn't have time for our case," he said, hoping his brother would understand his words the way he'd meant them, as an apology.

A look of defensiveness entered Charlie's face. "I did. I told you something else had come up."

But you didn't tell me you had stopped eating or sleeping! Don felt like retorting, but couldn't bring himself to continue the aggression. The picture of his little brother sitting in a hospital bed and attached to an IV was still making him slightly nauseous.

"Is Dad coming back?" he asked instead, deliberately changing the subject.

Charlie frowned as though Don's question was utterly absurd. "What? No. Why would he?"

Don raised his eye-brows in surprise. "Well, he's Dad." Only a moment later, the surprise turned into mistrust. "You did tell him, didn't you?"

"Tell him what?" Charlie asked with an innocence that had to be fake. Or delusional. "There's nothing to tell."

"Nothing to tell?" Don exclaimed. "You got yourself admitted to the hospital, Charlie. You're being psychologically evaluated. You really don't think that's something Dad should know about?"

"I'm fine. They're completely overreacting, I really don't know what this whole fuss is about."

The levee broke. Without knowing what was happening, Don lifted his hand and let it fly right across is brother's face. There was a solid slap, and for a moment, the pain in Don's ears even trumped that in his hand.

Charlie was gaping at him as his cheek was slowly turning red. Don kept staring into his eyes, his mind racing, yet not coming up with anything. He knew he needed to apologize. He wanted to apologize, but the words that came out of his mouth took a different direction. "You better take this seriously, before it's too late."

He hadn't been able to remain on his seat, and as he stood there, staring into Charlie's unbelieving eyes, he felt the palm of his hand become hotter and hotter the longer he was confronted with the shocked expression on his brother's face. In the end, the tension became too much to bear and he decided he needed to get out of here.

He swallowed, ransacking his mind to find something to say, something to make this better, or at least less awkward. There was nothing, and when he felt the heat rise from his palms to his head, he knew that he couldn't afford a good-bye, not today, not without running the risk of making this even worse than it already was.

So without another word, he turned around and fled.


The TV was playing, but Don wasn't paying attention to what was on the screen. Instead, he was busy with scraping off the label of his bear bottle, while his mind was thinking deeply of today's events and his own actions and at the same time trying to keep those thoughts at an arm's length. It was a process that required the utmost attention, so when his phone rang, it took Don several seconds to return to reality and pick it up.

Terry, the display announced, and for a moment, he entertained the possibility of rejecting the call. In the end, however, he realized that talking to her was exactly what he needed right now.

"Hey," he answered the phone monosyllabically, knowing it wouldn't stop Terry from being there for him.

"Hey," Terry's voice echoed from the other end. "So how's Charlie doing?"

Don thought for a moment. "I don't know," he finally realized. "I mean, he's gonna be fine physically, they just have to get some food and fluids into him and make sure he gets some rest. I'm just not sure that will do the trick on the long run."

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know," Don said again. His mind kept thinking though, producing thoughts that had been haunting his mind for hours now and that had to be released if he wanted to keep his sanity. "I'm not sure he's the one with a problem here. Not the only one at least."

There was a pause on the other end. "Should I come over?" Terry then asked, and the concern in her voice had deepened.

Don shook his head and when he realized that it was the answer he knew was right spoke it aloud. "No." What he needed right now was to talk to somebody, they could do that over the phone. And they couldn't do that now if Terry bothered to get into her car and drive to his place.

She was silent, and he knew he had to give her something to work with, he needed to let her in if he wanted to embrace her help.

"I think it's my fault," he eventually confessed and felt his throat tighten uncomfortably. He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face, but it didn't make things better, his soul was still being torn by those feelings, he felt the urge of getting out of here, of getting away from himself, even though he knew that he couldn't.

"Why would it be your fault?" Terry asked, her voice compassionate, yet her words being the voice of reason, once again representing that mix that Don so much appreciated her for.

He swallowed, trying to bring his thoughts in order. "He was stressed out. He told me that when I stopped by his office to ask him about the tax fraud case, but I… I don't know, I didn't listen. I didn't want to listen."

"You were under a lot of stress yourself, Don, don't forget that. You still are. I mean, true, you can be a slavedriver sometimes, but there's nobody you're harder on than yourself. Charlie knows that, and he also knows that he can tell you when it's indeed too much for him. But he accepted to help us on this case, and he's old enough to make such decisions for himself."

Don was supporting his head in his hand, listening to her words and rerunning them in his mind. He was pressing his lips together, for there was an answer on the tip of his tongue, one that he wasn't willing to utter out loud. For he wanted to believe Terry's words, he wanted to accept them as the truth, but his mind had been trained for too long to separate truth, half-truth and lies as though he could have been successful at that.

"It's not that easy," he said eventually, allowing the truth to unfold, half-hoping it would set him free in the end. "He's my brother, I've known him forever. I know..." He hesitated, but truth was truth. "I know which buttons to push with him. I could tell he was stressed, but I also knew how to change his mind, and I only thought about how we needed those results for the case."

There was some silence on the other end and Don bit his lower lip. The truth hadn't set him free, it had closed the door shut when his misdoings had come to light, and he had a bad feeling how things were going to evolve from here. Terry would retract her former verdict, she would agree with him and have no longer doubts about his culpability, thereby turning the key in the lock to his dungeon.

"I don't think you're giving him enough credit," she eventually said and Don frowned with surprise, carefully allowing himself to hope. He still wasn't locked in, there still seemed to be a way out of this dark place. "Charlie knows you just as well as you know him, and I don't think you're being fair to him when you portray him as being so easily manipulated." It seemed as though the door to his dungeon was creaking open, letting in light, but he knew it was too early to be relieved, there was still a far way to go to get out of here. Now, however, he could allow himself to hope, for he had someone at his side showing him the way. "I think you two should talk, Don. There are obviously some things you need to work out if you don't want a repetition of this."

Don swallowed and closed his eyes. Yes, Terry had shown him the right way, but it was still on him to actually tread on it, and he wasn't sure whether he could do that. Instead of facing his enemies, of overthrowing the guards, the path that Terry had shown him seemed so much more difficult, for it entailed exploring his own innermost feelings.


It was early in the morning and yet so late that Charlie knew it didn't make sense to try and get some more sleep, especially since he had an early appointment with Dr. Anscombe. He'd had a restless night. True, he had finished the NSA case the afternoon before and had even been able to hand over his findings to the agents in charge so that he probably wouldn't hear from them again for a day or two. Now that he'd cracked the encryption, there would be nothing to do for him until they had come up with a strategy on how to proceed in this case.

Don's case was a different story, though. After his conversations with both him and Dr. Anscombe, Charlie had tried to get some rest and sleep through the night, but with his laptop sitting right there next to him on his night-stand, that had been anything but easy. It had seemed as though his laptop was luring him to come and play, to make some further progress on the case, to finish the analysis he'd promised Don. After all, he was already behind on schedule, he'd promised Don to have that on Friday, and now, Saturday had dawned. And after what had happened the day before, Charlie thought it couldn't hurt to try and get on his brother's good side again.

There was a knock at the door, and a second later, Dr. Anscombe was standing at his bedside again.

This time, Charlie stood to greet the psychiatrist, most of all because he wanted to be taken seriously by the older man. His physician hadn't made any promises last night, but he had let it shine through that Charlie would probably get released today, so he was eager not to do anything that might hinder that. And he was well again. Sure, he still wasn't back to full health yet, but he was definitely feeling much stronger than yesterday when they'd brought him here.

"Dr. Anscombe," he greeted the other man, deliberately initiating the conversation.

"Dr. Eppes," the psychiatrist greeted him back and it was with some satisfaction that Charlie noticed him use his degree. "How are you feeling today?"

"Much better," Charlie replied and couldn't ban a certain hawkishness from his voice.

Anscombe might have picked up on that, but if he did, he didn't let it show. "Have you been thinking about what we were talking about yesterday?"

Charlie hesitated. "I have," he admitted eventually.

Dr. Anscombe smiled encouragingly and sat down on the chair he'd occupied the day before. Charlie suppressed a sigh. Seemed like he wouldn't get rid of the psychiatrist too easily, so he resigned himself to his fate and sat down on his bed.

"My work is important," he then explained to the other man, still feeling he had to defend himself and at the same time finding that utterly unjust. "I can't just stop whenever I feel like taking a break, the stakes are simply too high."

He'd half expected another 'I see' and was actually a little disappointed when Dr. Anscombe chose to reply, "I'm sure that's true." Somehow, it felt as though being annoyed with the psychiatrist and hating him for his condescension and narrow-mindedness would have been so much easier.

"I'm curious though," Anscombe continued, "if the stakes are so high, how come you found yourself in a place of having to commit to more than one project of such importance?"

Charlie frowned, not liking the hinted criticism he heard in those words. "It just happened this way. I'd already been working on that other project when my brother asked me to take a look at a case for him as well. He's with the FBI, I work with him often, so it would have been weird not to help him out."

"I see," Dr. Anscombe said and part of Charlie was glad he had reason to be annoyed with him again. What was there to be seen anyway? He couldn't dwell on the question for long though, because Dr. Anscombe continued, "I'm just wondering why you didn't tell your brother you were too busy to take on his job for you on top of that other project?"

Charlie opened his mouth, then, when he realized he had no answer to that, closed it again. Just as his lips had made contact with each other though, the answer was flashing up in his mind, like a lighthouse showing him a safe haven. "It was important, too. I just told you, he's with the FBI, there are usually lives at stake when he comes to me with a problem."

"And you took on that assignment knowing that you didn't have time to fully commit to it?"

Now, the criticism that had merely been hinted at earlier was out in the open, and Charlie couldn't help but acting a little defiantly. "No, I…" He swallowed and nervously licked his lips before he'd found the right answer. "There weren't really lives at stake with this case, not in the beginning when I accepted."

Anscombe gave him another lenient smile, like a prosecutor realizing he'd just won the delinquent's cross-examination. "Which brings me back to my first question: why did you take on the assignment?"

Charlie, feeling more and more like the defendant in a masterly planned conspiracy, swallowed again, but this time, there was no right answer, no light house showing him to the shore and rescuing him from these deep waters. "I don't understand the question," he said eventually. "He asked for my help, so I accepted to help him. I can't see anything weird about that."

"Do you always do what people expect you to?"

The question seemed to be coming out of nowhere, so it took Charlie a second before he was relatively sure he'd understood. "Are you saying I'm trying to be some everybody's darling or something?"

"I wouldn't put it quite that way," Anscombe said. "But you have to admit, you accepted quite some serious disadvantages just in order to live up to your brother's expectations."

Charlie, still frowning, shook his head. "You don't understand," he explained to the psychiatrist and at the same time tried to make some sense of his actions himself. "I'm… Well, I'm pretty good at math. More than that, actually. I was a child prodigy and my whole life has basically been set out to take me to where I am today, which is a world-renowned mathematician. I don't mean to sound arrogant, but it's just a fact that there aren't too many people around who can do what I can do, and I can use my abilities to help people. And Don… well, while we were growing up, he had to make a lot of sacrifices because of my… my gift, if you can call it that. So it's only fair that I now return the favor."

"By making sacrifices concerning your health? Is that what your brother wants you to do?"

Charlie could feel himself blush. "Well, he doesn't put it exactly that way."

"But in your opinion, that's what he thinks?"

Charlie was silent. He didn't like where this was going, but he couldn't find an outright error to the doctor's logic either.

"What makes you think he'd want you to suffer for some greater good?"

Charlie bit his lip. He didn't like the sound of that question, but much less did he like the answer that had popped up in his mind. And yet, he knew it had to be the truth. "I told you," he replied, realizing his voice had become much softer and more raucous. "Don had to make a lot of sacrifices while we were growing up, so it makes sense that he's not exactly my biggest fan."

"And you hope that by helping him out with your gift, you can change that?"

Charlie felt the blush deepen, an uncomfortable heat. He swallowed and was busy watching his fingernails when he gave his mumbled reply, "It certainly can't hurt."

Dr. Anscombe was silent for a long time then, for so long in fact that Charlie had to lift his gaze again. When he did, he was met with that serious, gentle pair of eyes looking directly back at him.

"I don't think I'll have to explain this to you, Dr. Eppes," Dr. Anscombe said affably, "but I think we have established that part of the reason that makes you take on as much as you do is rooted in your desire to be liked by others, most notably by your brother. And I also don't think I have to explain to you that trying to exchange favors for sympathy is not a plan that is likely to work on the long run."

Charlie could feel that his throat had closed up, but now that they had come this far, he wanted, he needed to hear Dr. Anscombe's full opinion. "It's not like I have a whole lot of options," he admitted in a low voice. "I'm… I'm not exactly great with people. I'm awkward around them, so math… well, it's the best way to make others accept me, in fact, the only way I've found so far."

"There is more to your identity than your mathematical gift," Dr. Anscombe observed.

Charlie's lips twitched to a cynical smile. "Right, like my charming manners with picking up girls, or my worldly witticisms when it comes to making friends. The problem is that you seem to assume that people would like me even without my math."

The look in Anscombe's eyes had grown more serious, but it was still gentle. "You seem to assume that they wouldn't."

Charlie was silent.

Before either of them could say another word, there was a knock at the door and it opened.

"Don?" Charlie asked frowning, wondering if maybe his brother had just opened the door to a parallel universe. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh," Don said as he took in the scene before him, and the look of surprise and confusion on his face had to be mirroring the one on Charlie's. "I'm sorry, I thought you were ready to go."

"No problem at all," Anscombe said amiably. "I think we're done here for the day." Charlie had opened his mouth to protest, but Anscombe immediately went on, "I suggest you do some thinking on what we discussed today so we can explore that further next week. And you're his brother Don?" he turned to the newcomer. "Maybe you would like to join us for that session?"

"What? I'm… what?" Don stammered, obviously taken utterly by surprise by the proposal, as was Charlie. He could see the wheels turning behind his big brother's forehead as he seemed to realize what exactly it was Dr. Anscombe was asking him to do. "Yeah, you know, no, I don't think so."

"Oh!" Dr. Anscombe exclaimed with a rather convincing display of disappointment. "That's a pity. I truly thought it would be beneficial to your brother, to both of you probably."

Don gave him a doubtful frown. "You do?"

"I'm almost certain," Anscombe replied with confidence. "And I have to say, I was certain you would be willing to help your brother find a solution to the problem that brought about this unpleasant incident."

"Well, I am –"

"Wonderful," Dr. Anscombe interrupted him. "So Monday at 8?" When there was no backtalk in the second's interval he'd allotted, he declared the matter settled. "Terrific. I'll see you then, bright and early, in my office. Have a good weekend!"


They had made the walk to Don's car in perfect silence, neither of them knowing how to initiate a conversation. Ever since they'd left Charlie's hospital room, Don had been nervously licking his lips, each time about to say something, but every time losing his courage at the last moment.

In the end, it was Charlie who made the first ground. "How come you're the one picking me up anyway?" he asked just as Don opened the car.

Don had to admit, he was relieved. The silence had become pretty thick and talking about such mundane things seemed like the perfect way out. "I called Amita to ask her when you were going to be released and offered to pick you up in her place," he explained. He hesitated, for now, he was about to leave the mundane ground. "I figured I owed you one for… you know yesterday."

He made a vague gesture towards Charlie's cheek which, as he'd noticed earlier with some relief, didn't show any marks of the slap.

He hadn't dared looking directly at his brother during what he hoped Charlie would understand as an apology, but still he noticed the deep blush that was entering his kid brother's face.

"I've been planning on telling Dad eventually," Charlie said after a pause of several seconds and seemingly without context, but Don had no trouble understanding that this was Charlie's way of justifying his own behavior the day before. "I was just going to wait until he comes back. You know how he gets."

There was some more silence, then Charlie went on, "Look, I know I didn't really pick a good time for showing you my results, and I'm not an idiot, I know I have to take care of my bodily needs, and I've learned my lesson. Believe me, it's no fun waking up on a classroom floor with your students bending over you, so I'll make sure not to have a repetition of that."

He cleared his throat, apparently trying to get rid of the husky quality of his voice, and indeed, he succeeded, for when he continued, he was back to his mathematical self. "But," he said, "since my analysis is already done anyway, it would be irrational not to use it now, wouldn't it?"

Don thought for a moment. "Yeah," he then agreed and decided that it would probably be better to postpone having the talk he knew his brother and he should have to a later date and focus on the case for the time being. The fact that thinking about the case was so much easier than talking about his emotions was just a bonus. "Let me just take you home first, then you can show me what you found out."

He turned on the ignition and made his way towards the entrance of the parking garage. He could sense that Charlie was about to say something and even had a feeling what it was. He half hoped his brother would keep his tongue, but he wasn't at all surprised when he didn't.

"You're working on it through the week-end, aren't you?" Charlie said, but knew him too well to wait for an actual answer. "I was thinking, I could just accompany you to the FBI, explain my findings and maybe do some follow-up work if necessary."

Don gripped the steering-wheel more tightly, trying to control his annoyance with his stubborn little brother. And indeed, he managed to keep himself from shouting. His choice of words, however, was more than a little confrontational. "Okay," he agreed with dripping sarcasm. "I'll just take you back here tonight then after you've had another mental breakdown."

"I didn't have a mental breakdown," Charlie objected, thereby completely sidestepping Don's point.

"How about we call Dad and ask him for his opinion on the matter?" Don gave back and could feel that he was losing his calm.

"Okay, look," Charlie said with held-up hands. He too must have picked up on the growing aggression in Don's voice. "I told you I've learned my lesson. I'm not planning on working through the whole week-end without ever taking a break. But I'm much better now, I'm not exhausted at all, in fact, I'd be bored out of my mind if I spent the week-end cooped-up at the house. I have no other responsibilities till Monday, because I already told the N… the other project I had health issues, so they're prepared to be ask someone else if they need some follow-up work to be done. And it's not like I'm hiding from any problems I might be having. You heard Dr. Anscombe, we'll be doing another session first thing Monday morning."

Don had listened to his brother's little speech with some disgruntlement, but unable to find an actual flaw in his brother's reasoning. Damn mathematicians with their damn logic. "Yeah, about that," he instead chose to talk about that Pandora's Box waiting for him, "what exactly am I supposed to do there?"

Charlie shrugged and looked out of the window. "I don't know," he said, suddenly mumbling the words a little. "You didn't have to consent, you know."

Don frowned, but decided he had enough on his mind as it was, he could think about that session when he'd have to, Monday morning at 8.

He sighed and was just about to make a decision whether he should stay on the lane heading straight forward to the FBI or making a left turn to drop off his brother at the house when he realized that he'd already made up his mind. Whether or not he wanted to face it, the fact was that they were desperate, they needed all the help they could get, and that included Charlie's. And if Charlie said he was fine, if he was fit to work again… Besides, it was probably best for Charlie's well-being if Don could keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't over-exert himself. Who knew what his little brother would do to his body when he'd find himself cooped-up in his garage for an entire week-end.

"Alright," he consented, yet with an uncomfortable tingling in his stomach. "We'll have to set some ground rules, though," he decided in an attempt to drown that tingling. Before his brother could think about protesting, he went on, "You'll make sure to eat and drink enough. Actually, we'll both make sure of that. And every two hours of work have to be followed by at least half an hour of taking a break, and in eight hours, no matter how far we've come, you're going home and rest for the night."

He could tell from the way Charlie opened his mouth that he was about to raise objections, but he wouldn't let him. "Those are the terms, Chuck, accept them or I'm taking you home right away."

It took Charlie three seconds to grudgingly realize he wouldn't get a better offer. "Alright," he agreed. "But I have some further conditions to add."

Don's mistrust was awakened, but he could at least hear his brother out. "I'm listening."

"No kid gloves," Charlie demanded. "I'm serious, Don, I know what I can handle, and I'm fine."

Don thought for a second. "Alright. I think I can do slavedriver," he said, knowing fully well that after what had happened, criticizing his brother or pushing him in any way, even if it was justified, was not going to be easy. "Any further conditions?"

"One," Charlie dead-panned. "Stop calling me Chuck."


In the end, the case had gone much more smoothly than Don would have ever expected. Charlie had held up his end of the bargain and gone home at the allotted hour (though maybe just because his day's work had been done by then anyway). He had returned Sunday for a couple of hours and Don had to admit that without his help, they probably wouldn't be at this point now: not only had they prevented the sale, they had actually managed to smash the whole cartel.

After the work-filled week-end, the free day, Monday, was more than welcome, and when his alarm went off, Don wondered what on earth had gotten into him when he'd consented accompanying Charlie to that session of his. On the other hand, he'd never really agreed to going there, had he? So nobody could accuse him of not being true to his word if he didn't go, right?

He groaned into the cushion and got up before he found more reasons to stay in bed. He knew they had to talk this out, and given all the history between Charlie and him, maybe a session with a psychiatrist was the only way to have this talk and avoid the fall-out that would be bound to destroy both their lives.

When he arrived at the doctor's office, he thought at first that his brother, who really couldn't be said to be known for his punctuality, wasn't there yet, so he was filled with the utmost surprise when he was led right away into the consulting room where Charlie and Dr. Anscombe were already waiting for him.

During the first few minutes that were spent with a little small-talk and some more technical questions, Don managed to loosen up a little and reconcile with the situation. Then, however, he was brutally reminded why he'd been dreading this session so much.

"So Don, would you mind describing your working relationship with your brother to me?" Dr. Anscombe asked innocently as though it was just a normal question.

"Well," Don started and told himself not to be paranoid. It was a normal question after all, wasn't it? "It started out with tax fraud cases. I happened to mention some difficulties we had on such a case over dinner, and Charlie immediately started throwing around ideas how to fix them. I have to admit, I was skeptical at first, but our dad pointed out that it couldn't hurt to let him take a look at it, and in hindsight I'm awfully glad we did. Charlie's been invaluable in those cases. And then, with time, we found that he could help out on other cases as well."

"So how exactly does this work? I mean, it must be awkward, you being his boss and his big brother at the same time."

Don was rolled over by a wave of resentment against the psychiatrist. The man had to know that 'awkward' didn't even begin to describe their working relationship, and yet, he just had to rub it in.

"We've been making it work, I'd say." When he realized how unbelievable those words sounded even to his own ears, he added, "I mean sure, every now and then he gives me some back-talk and in those instances, I feel like launching him into outer space, but that's just something that comes with the package."

He'd made sure not to look at his brother during those words, knowing it would have made him feel even more uncomfortable, but now found that he was being nagged by the question just how much damage he'd caused with his words.

"I see," Dr. Anscombe said. "So you're saying that Charlie has some difficulty accepting you as his boss?" Don opened his mouth to protest, but then found that the paraphrase was accurate enough, so he stayed silent.

"How about the other way round?" Anscombe continued. "Do you treat Charlie like any other people that you work with?"

"Well," Don started, knowing that the correct answer was no, yet feeling he needed to elaborate on that. "I mean, he's my little brother. It would be weird to act as if he weren't." Dr. Anscombe stayed silent, for so long in fact that Don felt himself compelled to elaborate further. "Yeah okay, so maybe I'm being harder on him than on the rest of my team."

"And why is that?" Anscombe asked.

Don opened his mouth, but found that he didn't know what to reply. To tell the truth, he didn't even know what had made him confess to that last revelation in the first place. It was true, no doubt, but it was also something he hadn't planned on admitting. He should have known that coming to this session would have been a mistake.

"Are you afraid your brother might not do his best performance if you don't keep him on track?"

"No," Don said immediately, shaking his head, and ran his hand through his hair as he tried to figure out a way to explain himself without losing his dignity. "Look," he then started, "my brother has always been special. I don't know when they started calling him a genius, but it sure feels like forever."

"And that's something that's hard to compete with," Anscombe tried to help when Don didn't go on immediately.

Don sighed. "Something like that," he admitted. "I mean, you should see him in action. He can do things with those numbers of his that make you think he lost his mind for good, and then he presents his results and everything just falls right into place, it's like watching a magician doing his performance over and over again and never being able to figure out his tricks."

"You're speaking very highly of your brother," Anscombe observed.

Don felt himself blush. He could feel Charlie's eyes on him, but unlike his usual habits, this morning Charlie seemed to be fine with keeping his silence and just observing. "Well, he is a certified genius, I can hardly deny that."

"Which must come with some kind of arrogance," Anscombe assumed, "why else the need to keep him in his place?"

Don shook his head, again. "He's not arrogant. That's the thing." He bent forward, staring at his folded hands, yet carefully eyeing his brother from the side. He couldn't say this, could he? On the other hand, wasn't this exactly the reason why they were here today?

He took a deep breath, then said, "While we were growing up, he used to look up at me," he said, feeling his jaw tense up.

"You're using the past-tense," Anscombe remarked. "He's not looking up at you anymore?"

I don't know, Don felt like retorting, but he's sitting right there, ask him!

Instead, he said, "I think he still might be."

Dr. Anscombe was silent for a moment, but when Don didn't go on, he prompted, "But that's a good thing, isn't it?"

Don's lip twitched to a smile, but there was a cynical side to it, caused by the knowledge that happiness was a very fleeting feeling. "It is," he said.

"But?"

He sighed, then finally let it out. "But I'm afraid that won't hold for much longer. You know, when we were little, he seemed to kind of see me as some far-off role-model. I'm five years older than him, that's a big difference growing up. And then, over the last couple of years, we were pretty distant, so I guess he didn't have that much reason to change his views on me. But now that we're working together and he can see up close who I really am… I don't know, I just think he'll soon find that he doesn't really have a reason to admire me."

He was intently staring at his hands, feeling his brother's gaze on him and unable to return it. This was probably it. They'd kept this up for a long time, but if Don was being honest with himself, it had already been longer than he should have dared hoping for. And so what if he wasn't his brother's hero anymore? They all needed to grow up sometime, they couldn't live in the past and lose themselves in illusions forever.

"So you've been trying to maintain your authority for as long as possible by bossing him around," Anscombe drew the conclusion from his confession.

"Yeah, I guess," Don said. He was tired all of a sudden and longing to get out of here. He'd done what Terry had advised him to do, what their dad had been urging them to do for years now, and now it was done. Done and over.

"So what do you think of your working relationship with your brother, Charlie?"

It was only then that Don dared peeking at his brother and what he saw… well, he didn't quite know what to think about it. Charlie was staring at him with big eyes as though Don had just revealed the world's secret. And he had to admit to himself, he felt as though that was exactly what he'd just done, he'd revealed the key to his life's happiness, at least what life with his brother was concerned.

"Charlie?"

"Yeah, um, I'm sorry." Don saw his brother swallow nervously and trying to clear his mind. After a few seconds, it seemed to be clear and Don smiled sadly. There was no doubt it was now rid of any form of admiration Charlie might still have felt for him.

"I'm..." Charlie tried again, but had to start anew. "I never thought that Don was particularly hard on me," he said eventually. He turned towards him then, speaking to him rather than about him, and Don felt even more inadequate. Even at expressing his feelings, his brother seemed to be better than him, or at least less scared. "I mean, sure, your tone is a little harsh sometimes, but I know that's just because… well, because we never got along very well."

The comment made Don frown. "What do you mean?"

Charlie gave him a shrug as though they both knew what he was talking about and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Come on, Don, it's okay. You can keep coming to me whenever there's a problem with one of your cases, that doesn't have to change."

Don nodded. "I see," he said and a moment later would have liked to bite his tongue off. That stupid psychiatrist was rubbing off.

So he'd been right. Charlie had finally realized that he'd outgrown his attempts of being close to his big brother, but in his need to show Don that being the big brother didn't necessarily entail being the bigger man, of course he graciously offered his help nonetheless. How great.

Dr. Anscombe cleared his throat, making both brothers flinch. "Charlie… I'm not sure you heard your brother there. Truthfully, I'm not sure I heard him right either, but I think there was a message in all that which I think still hasn't reached you."

Charlie frowned. He hadn't looked so clueless ever since he'd been six and the girl from across the street had put a kiss on his cheek. "What message?"

"Well, Don, how do you feel about your brother?"

Don raised his eye-brows with some indignation. "I already told you." And it certainly had been painful enough not to make him want to repeat that.

It seemed as though Anscombe was winning the contest of who could raise his eye-brows higher. "I see," he claimed, although he more looked like he couldn't see anything. "In that case, would you mind repeating that to me, Charlie? How does your brother feel about you?"

Don saw his brother shrug and sigh with impatience, obviously not seeing the point in Anscombe's question either. "He just told you. He's come to realize that I'm pretty good at math and that I can help him on his job."

Dr. Anscombe was looking at Charlie expectantly, but when there was nothing else, he decided, "We'll circle back to that later. Did you hear Don when he said he was concerned about losing your admiration?"

Charlie shook his head, staring at a spot on the carpet as though he could read the answer from there. "It's nonsense. If anything, working with him has made me admire him even more. You should see him in action, he's so confident, and everyone respects the hell out of him because they know that even though he's hard on them, he's willing to put himself out there on the front line on any given day."

"He sounds like a superhero."

Don strained his ears, for he didn't want to miss this for the world, but when he heard his brother's soft reply, he still wasn't sure he'd heard him right. "He is."

"So how does it make you feel that your superhero seems to respect the hell out of you as well? That after all those years of grovelling for his attention, he finally finds you worthy of his time?"

Don opened his mouth to protest, the wording of that question didn't seem right at all. Before he'd found a way to express that thought, however, Charlie shrugged again. "It's great."

"You don't sound like it is," Anscombe remarked in what had to be the understatement of the day.

Charlie sighed and was silent for almost half a minute before he spoke. "This is exactly what we talked about Saturday," he said in a low voice. "I told you. Being a math genius is all I have. And it's all he's interested in. Anything that goes beyond that… Well, there's no relationship beyond that."

Without commenting on the disturbing parts in Charlie's answer, Anscombe turned to Don. "What do you say to that, Don?"

"Um…," Don started and couldn't help but realize what a bad start that was. The silver lining was that from here, things could only get better, but it seemed as though he was wrong about that. "Well, he's my brother. I'd say there is a relationship right there."

"Meaning?" Anscombe prompted, and as much as Don disliked having to elaborate on his answer, he also felt he had to be thankful somehow for getting a second chance.

He sighed, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. "Meaning we grew up together and everything. He's family, and we've been looking out for each other ever since we could walk, so… I mean, I don't know what my life will look like ten years from now, and if I got a wife and kids and everything, I assume that's about to change, but right now, he's the most important person in my life."

There, it was out, and if he was lucky, he wasn't going to pass out from the rapid beating of his heart.

"Is there something you'd like to say to your brother, Charlie?"

His heart-rate was slowly decreasing, but passing out still seemed to be a possibility if those stabs kept coming, and they would if he had to endure watching that cold look on his brother's face.

"Well, it's great," Charlie said. Neither Anscombe nor Don replied anything to that, and when Charlie saw the expressions on their faces, he turned to Don, "Come on, me being the most important person to you, you actually expect me to buy that?"

Don opened his mouth, but was too dismayed to find anything to say, so he was actually glad when Anscombe took over. "Why wouldn't you?" the psychiatrist asked.

"Because it doesn't add up," Charlie told him as though someone had condemned him to teach the 101 to a bored high schooler. "You don't know how he treats me. He just expects me to always be at his beck and call and every time he can't think of something I can do for him, he pushes me away."

Don was shaking his head. That wasn't true, was it? Why did Charlie describe their relationship as though Don was exploiting him?

Unless, of course, he was feeling exploited?

"I never meant to hurt you, buddy," Don said, his voice almost a whisper.

His brother had talked himself warm though. With a roll of his eyes, he replied, "When will you get it? This is not about us working together, I can help you out on your cases even when you hate me, I'd just like some honesty."

Don felt his mouth was open, but his mind had stopped working. Maybe his ears had stopped working as well? That would have been the only explanation why he'd heard what he thought he'd heard. Or maybe his mind had shut down because it was so overwhelmed with all the things wrong about Charlie's statement.

"What makes you think he's not being honest, Charlie?" Anscombe took over and for once, Don was thankful for it.

The expression on Charlie's face became softer then, his eyes finally showing what was going on underneath. "Why else would he keep pushing me away?"

"He told you earlier," Anscombe reminded him.

"But it doesn't make any sense!" Charlie tried to hold onto his theory, even though Don could see in his eyes that his conviction was crumbling. "He's not insecure like that!"

Don couldn't hold himself back any longer, if he had to fight for his brother, he wasn't going to leave that in the hands of that psychiatrist. "Has it never occurred to you that you can be pretty intimidating?" he asked him point blank, not caring anymore about his dignity. He'd thrown that out of the window long ago, there was no more reason to be cautious. "You're a freaking genius! How am I supposed to keep up with that? So maybe you haven't gotten it by now, but sooner or later, you're gonna realize that I'm just not worth your time."

Charlie was staring at him, and there was something in his eyes that… Don had thought he'd lost that, but it was obviously still there, for all the world to see.

"You're my brother," Charlie argued. He seemed confused and rendered uncertain, but there was no doubt to be found in his voice. "You'll always be worth my time. Nothing will ever change that."

Don was hit by the searching look in his eyes, by Charlie's plea to confirm his words, just like he'd always had. That still hadn't changed. Despite everything, despite all the things Don had revealed today, Charlie was still looking at him the way he always had.

"No," he agreed with his brother, trying to give him, to give them both some reassurance. Whatever life decided throwing at them, Charlie would always be his little brother, no matter whether Don was a fed or Charlie a freaking math genius. "That's never going to change."

The insecurity in Charlie's eyes made way then for something else, and his mouth twitched towards a tentative smile. Don regarded that smile with almost something like awe. Had it really been him and his words to put that there? Was that really what coming out with the truth had been able to do?

He let himself be infected by that smile. Maybe this talk hadn't been such a bad idea after all.


Six weeks later...

He heard that someone had entered the garage, but he was far too deep in the zone to allow himself to care about that. He knew he'd soon have it, he could feel it –

"Charlie."

"One second," he told the disturber without taking his eyes from the expressions in front of his eyes. He knew this had to be it, for if he rewrote that expression and inserted the right values for rho and tau – yes! That was it!

With a grin on his face and suddenly feeling utterly exhausted, he turned around and was faced with his brother. "Hey," he said. "What is it?"

It didn't take even a second for his euphoria to fade and the smile on his face to dim out. The look on Don's face was not a happy one, something was definitely wrong.

"We've been assigned a new case," Don immediately confirmed his suspicions, "and it's bad. We could really use your help, would you mind taking a look at it?"

"Um," Charlie said and gave the blackboard behind him a troubled glance. True, he'd just made a breakthrough in this case for the CDC, but with that breakthrough, the real work had only just started. Besides, he'd planned to finally sit down to finish that paper whose final version was due in a mere four days.

"It's an arsonist, Charlie, a serial offender. Five people have already died in those fires, we really don't want the body count to go up any further."

Charlie bit his lip, but forced himself to withstand the temptation. He knew that things were never easy with arson cases, there were so many variables to be taken into account, which made analyzing them incredibly time-consuming. Besides, he didn't really have the background that he needed to adapt all the variables correctly, so before he'd be able to be of any help, he'd first have to make himself an expert, which meant having to do a lot of reading.

"Look, I really shouldn't," he told his brother, yet was unable to ban the guilty conscience from his guts. "I'm busy enough as it is, I'm sorry."

He could tell that Don was about to say something, to try and convince him, but in the end, he closed his mouth again and nodded. "Alright," he said instead. "I better head back then and… leave you to your work."

With that, he turned around, making for a retreat.

Charlie watched him go, watched his tired movements and remembered the troubled look on his face.

"Wait!"

Don turned around, his eye-brows raised not so much expectantly as surprised.

"I think I can squeeze that in if you give me the data I need," he started, but the look on Don's face prevented him from going on.

"You'll be doing no such thing," Don told him in no uncertain ways. "You just told me you were busy, so just stop piling up even more stuff on your plate!"

Charlie could tell that his brother was upset, so he tried to make his point calmly. However, his efforts were somehow hindered by that burning feeling of injustice in his guts that Don just wouldn't trust him to make the right decisions for himself.

"You just need to trust me when I say that I can get it done –"

"Two seconds after you told me you were too busy, so which part am I supposed to believe?" He shook his head and when he went on, his voice was calmer, or at least so it seemed because he'd dropped its volume. "I shouldn't have come here, I'm sorry. I never meant to manipulate you into helping me."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "You're not manipulating me!"

"How would you know if I did? Look, Charlie, this is exactly what we talked about!"

"It's not," Charlie argued and forced himself to calm down again. "It's not. I'm talking about a compromise here. It's true I don't really have time to help you build a profile on your arsonist, but I'm not even sure that would be of much value to you. What I can do though is doing a hot zone analysis, like we did with that serial rapist, remember? That should give you an opportunity to better use your resources and catch him much faster."

"Forget it, Charlie, I'm sorry I asked. You're busy, so we'll have to do this without your help, that's okay."

Don turned around to leave again, so Charlie felt compelled to hold him back at his sleeve. "It's not okay," he said seriously. "I can help you, Don, and I can do that without going through any great lengths. I'd be halfway done already if we had just skipped this argument." He paused, assembling the words in his mind. "This is not about you and me, Don, it's about doing the right thing. Just imagine how I would feel if I learned there had been more deaths just because I couldn't spend an hour of my time working on your case?"

Don gave a deep sigh, but he still didn't look happy.

"I know what you're thinking," Charlie went for the final blow, "but I'm not being ignorant of my bodily needs, and I'm not becoming hyper-vigilant. I am going through some stressful days, but that's just a phase. By tomorrow, I'll be done with that other project I'm working on, and then all I'll have to do is finish writing a paper, and after that, my calendar is so clear that I even decided to go out on a concert with Amita – on a week-night."

Don gave another deep sigh, but apart from that stayed silent for several seconds. Charlie could almost see the wheels turning behind his forehead and now, if he wasn't mistaken, they had reached a destination.

"I'll send you over what we have." He locked eyes with him. "Just make sure you stop before it gets too much."

Charlie gave him a radiant smile. "I will."

Don nodded. "Thanks, buddy. I really appreciate it." Charlie was about to waive his thanks, but Don wasn't finished yet. "One more thing."

A twinge of worry settled in Charlie's stomach, but only few seconds later, he chastised himself for that. He knew the teasing glimmer in Don's eyes should have set him off.

"Amita then, huh?"

Charlie felt himself blush deeply. It was only now that he noticed the mischievous twitch around his brother's lips. "Shut up."

As if. "So what's the deal with the two of you?"

Charlie felt his face get even hotter, which somehow seemed to be causing his throat to become as dry as the desert. "I told you before, she's my doctoral student, nothing more, nothing less."

"Sure, as indicated by the blush on your face." Don let the facade fall then: the teasing glimmer in his eyes became a spark and the twitch around his lips a full-grown grin. "Seriously, Chuck, judging from all the red, you're either having a heart attack or your heart's been attacked by the L-word."

Charlie knew he would never win this argument, so he had to resort to extortion. "And here I thought you wanted my help."

Don shrugged, the grin still there. "I do. But before being an agent, I'm your big brother, so teasing you is my foremost obligation."

As he said the words, he put an arm around his brother's neck and ruffled his hair. Charlie tried to fend him off and duck away, but couldn't ban the smile from his face. He wouldn't have it any other way.

- finis -