Disclaimer: Ever since it became clear that I would never own Numb3rs or its characters, I engaged in a personal vendetta against the show that has been resulting in a lot of whumping.
Rating: M
Timeline: season 3
A/N: Alright, so this might qualify as DonWhump, but we've already established that the two usually go together, haven't we?
Thanks! I'm currently writing the last four letters simultaneously, but I'm not sure whether I'll ever finish either of them. To tell the truth, I've never thought I would come this far, and if it hadn't been for your constant support, I probably would have stopped at E or so. Therefore, I think this is the time to thank you all for your kind words and for showing your appreciation. And since I'm pretty sure I'm not the only author taking pleasure in praise, I'd like to take this opportunity for a little shout-out: If you read a story you like, just let the author know. You'll make them very happy and encourage them to write more of that stuff you like ;)
Vendetta
For the fourth time in only five minutes, Don looked at his watch. Twelve past nine. He turned around his own axis and tried to spot his brother, but he was still nowhere to be seen.
He drew in air through his nose, noticing he was trembling just slightly, and pulled out his cell to read the message once more.
st francis need your help now
He nervously licked his lips. He hadn't been able to reach Charlie since, so he had no idea why he was apparently desperate to meet with him, but he hoped to find out soon – and to be able to clear up whatever mess his kid brother had gotten himself into.
"I knew you'd come," a voice behind him said and Don whirled around. That definitely hadn't been Charlie.
Don's hand had gone to his holster, but the voice stopped him. "Don't, or your father will have to bury both his sons in one day."
Not knowing whether there was anything to the threat, but knowing he had to play this safe, Don refrained from all movements that might prompt the speaker to rash actions. He peered into the darkness, but all he could see was an outline, standing there in the shadows of the church. Judging from the voice, he was a man, and judging from the outline, he was not only tall, at least six feet, but also rather brawny, but that was all he could say about him.
"Who are you?"
"You don't recognize me? Figures. But believe me, I'll make you remember soon enough."
Something in the voice was tugging at Don's memory, but he still couldn't place it. "Where's Charlie?" he instead asked the question that was most important right now.
"Safe. For now. He's with my partner. And since he won't be safe anymore if I don't return within the hour, I suggest you do everything I ask you to do, starting with having a little drink."
"You're bluffing," Don said, the words scratching in his dry throat.
"You're willing to bet your brother's life on that?" He let the phrase hang in the volatile balance for a moment that was stretching uncomfortably before he went on, "Good for you I brought some proof."
A light appeared, obviously the screen of a mobile phone, but it still wasn't enough to let Don see more of the speaker, save that he was wearing a dark jacket over a black T-shirt.
The phone was held out towards him and he slowly came a few steps nearer, just close enough to see the picture on the screen. As soon as his eyes fell on it, he sharply drew in air through his nose. His hands clenched to fists and it was all he could do to keep himself from attacking this man that had, by all appearances, taken his brother hostage. True, as far as Don could see on the tiny screen, Charlie wasn't hurt, but he was bound to some kind of pillar or support beam, even gagged. There was a newspaper lying in his lap, and even though Don couldn't tell whether it was today's, he had no trouble recognizing Charlie's T-shirt as the same one he'd worn this morning, so the possibility for this to be nothing more than a fake picture was rather scarce.
He tore his eyes away from the screen and lifted his gaze to the face of the unknown speaker. Now that he'd come closer and his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, he could see the other man's face more clearly, and his memory clicked.
"Thorpe. Benjamin Thorpe," he said as his mind came up with more and more details he knew about that man by the second.
"Good, so you haven't forgotten me either." Thorpe put his cell back into his pocket and retrieved a small water bottle. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to speed things along, and I'd say we should start with our little celebratory drink."
Don regarded the bottle, knowing that his mistrust was justified, yet unable to see a way out of complying with Thorpe's demands, at least without risking Charlie's life. "What's in it?"
"Something to put you out for a while. You don't need to worry though, doing damage to your body is not my intention. Not yet at least."
Don clenched his teeth, hesitating to take the bottle.
"Come on," Thorpe said with a sneer, "don't act as though you have to think about it. You either drink that now or I'll give my partner the word to finish your brother off. We have some ways to do it nice and slow too, you know –"
"All right, all right, I'll drink it," Don interrupted him, knowing he had lost, but unwilling to listen to that sneering son of a bitch any longer. He grabbed the bottle and took a tentative gulp.
"Down it," Thorpe told him, and after giving him a look full of hatred, Don did as he was told.
"Now walk," Thorpe went on. All of a sudden, there was a gun in his hand, and he used it to steer Don towards a white van parked around the corner. By the time they had reached it, Don had trouble standing upright, his surroundings had started wavering and he could feel it was only a matter of time before he'd lose consciousness. He made it into the van, on the passenger's seat, but after that, he had no recollection whatsoever.
Charlie's heart was still beating fast. The man had left again, again without saying a single word, and it wasn't long before the lights were turned off, leaving it to the wan moonlight to try and dispel at least the blackest patches of the dark surrounding them. Despite everything, however, Charlie felt a little better than before, and ironically, that was because of Don's presence. True, his brother was still out, bound to a support beam about twenty feet away from him, but Charlie was telling himself that surely he'd just been drugged, like he himself had been. And even though Charlie would have never wished it on his brother to end up here with him, he couldn't deny the fact that his own chances of survival would probably benefit from his presence. Neither could he deny the feeling that Don's presence was instilling in him, that hint of security, not much, but just enough to keep him from panicking. Don would know what to do. Once he'd woken up, they would find a way to somehow get out of this mess, Charlie was sure of it.
"Don?" he asked and could hear his voice trembling. It sounded hoarse, too, probably because his throat was dried out. At least his attacker had removed the gag when he'd brought Don in, so breathing was a little easier now and he didn't feel like he was suffocating or about to vomit anymore. Yes, his situation had definitely improved since Don's arrival – while his brother's situation had worsened remarkably.
He called out for him once again, but Don showed no reaction.
Keep calm, Charlie told himself over the rapid beating of his heart. Don was merely drugged. He was going to wake up eventually.
In the meanwhile, Charlie did his best to make a mental map of his surroundings, but there wasn't much to arouse his attention, especially since he'd already gone over every little detail more times than he could remember. Once again, he tried loosening his bonds, but it was of no use. His hands seemed to be bound together with duct tape that was tightly wrapped around his wrists at least a dozen times judging from the thickness, with the effect that his hands could just as well have been joined by a steel ring (even though, Charlie had to admit, the duct tape was probably much less painful).
He shivered. There was a draft, and the temperatures had dropped since nightfall, and the immobility was getting weary. His bottom was getting sore and his shoulders were screaming with pain already. No doubt, he could never get out of here too soon.
The problem was that soon or not, it seemed as though he wasn't going to get out of here, at least not as long as it went against his captor's will. Even if he made it through his bonds somehow, he and Don still found themselves in some sort of cage, at least that was what it had looked like. Now that it was dark, he could see only its outline and couldn't tell for sure how solid it was or whether there were larger spaces somewhere, but earlier, when his captor had turned on the lights to take a picture of him and given him a first opportunity to study his surroundings, the bars had seemed solid enough. Charlie guessed that his captor had wielded the cage himself, for its sheer vastness seemed somehow custom-made. It contained both him and his brother and the two support beams, going up at least fifteen feet. But since the support beams had to go through the cage somehow, maybe they could find a weakness there, once it was day?
And, of course, once Don had woken up.
Charlie swallowed nervously. He wasn't sure how long he himself had been put out by the drug, but he knew that he didn't want to wait any longer for Don to wake up.
"Don!" he called out, trying to put a hint of urgency into his voice without sounding too panicky. He needed to preserve some calm on the outside if he didn't want to lose it. And he did definitely not want to lose it. If he lost it while being kidnapped and restrained in the dark at night at who knew what kind of run-down factory, his chances of survival that seemed slim to begin with would drop down further, so good-bye any chance of seeing anyone on the outside again.
"Don!" he called out again when he realized that his thoughts were so not going in the direction he wanted them to take.
And then, as though some higher power had decided to intervene before it was too late, he was given a glimmer of hope: Don was stirring.
"Don, wake up," Charlie said, his rising panic restrained for the time being and exchanged for anticipation.
A soft moan and Charlie felt his heart-beat quicken, and not with apprehension that was paralyzing his body, but with a new sense of alertness.
"Come on, Don, wake up. Talk to me."
Another moan, accompanied by some rustling as Don tried to move and seemed to realize that he couldn't get very far. Charlie could hear a soft murmur, but couldn't distinguish the words. Then, with a jolt, Don's head came up, peering into the darkness with an air of alarm.
"Don," Charlie said again, partly to give his brother some orientation, partly as some sort of plea for him to take over control of the situation.
And, never failing him, that was what Don did. "Charlie! Are you okay?"
His voice was still a little slow, his tongue heavy, but still Charlie could feel that his big brother was back now.
He swallowed, relief giving him new strength. "Yeah," he replied, understanding that a truthful answer to that question would have taken a considerable amount of time and wouldn't get them anywhere. "You?"
Don's reply was sober, filled with that kind of gallows humor that always made him seem so self-reliant. "Well, I wouldn't mind some Aspirin, but I guess given the circumstances, I can't complain." Then, he turned on his agent role. "Do you have any idea where we are?"
Charlie shook his head and immediately stopped when he was painfully reminded of the effects of whatever drug that guy had subdued him with. "No," he said. "Seems to be some run-down factory, but that's all I've come up with. I could hear a police siren once, but it was very distant."
"And Thorpe? Where is he? Does he have any accomplices?"
"I only saw one man," Charlie replied frowning. "You know him?"
Charlie couldn't be sure, but he thought Don hesitated for a moment before he said, "Not really, just his name." Then, he changed the subject. "Listen, we got to get out of here."
Charlie gave a joyless laugh that even sounded a little hysterical. "What do you think I've been trying to do for the past five hours?"
"That's how long you've been here?"
Charlie shrugged. "I don't know, I've completely lost track of time. Besides, he drugged me, too. I don't know for how long I was out."
"What happened?"
Charlie shuddered, despite himself, as he thought back to those events. "I'd just come home. There was a white van parked in the driveway, and I was annoyed because I had to park my car at the street. I went up to the driver's side, but there was no-one inside, and suddenly someone was grabbing me from behind and holding some cloth over my face. I tried to fight back, but whatever that cloth was soaked with, it kicked in really quickly, and next thing I know is I woke up here."
"Any chance Dad saw or heard something? Or anyone else?"
Charlie bit his lip. He'd thought about that already and didn't like the conclusion he'd reached. "Dad was at his book club. And I don't think the neighbors saw anything, the driver's side of the van was facing the house and I think the van blocked us from their views."
He hesitated. He wasn't sure how Don would take his curiosity, but could he blame him for wanting to know what on earth was going on here? "Do you know what he's planning? And why he's doing this?"
This time, Charlie was sure that Don hesitated with his answer. Even in the dim moon light shining in, he could see how Don's head was bent down in concentration, slowly shaking 'no' in an apologetic gesture. "I don't, he didn't really give me any explanation either."
Charlie frowned. He couldn't be sure, he never could be with his brother, but he could have sworn that Don wasn't telling him the truth, at least not the full truth. "So who is he? How do you know him?"
Again the pause, again unmistakable. "I don't, hardly more than his name anyway. Now let's see if those bonds are really as tight as you claim."
Charlie's frown became deeper. Don had changed the subject, again.
On the other hand, Charlie realized that whether or not his brother knew more about this than he was telling him, he did have a point: what mattered most was getting out of here, they could deal with the rest later.
They'd been at jerking at their bonds for hardly more than a minute when suddenly, the room was flooded with light. After the darkness, it was so bright that they had to close their eyes tightly, but the shock about the sudden change was even worse, and it compelled them to try to see again, to take in their surroundings and figure out what had brought this change about.
"What's going on?" Charlie asked, not knowing whether he should be frightened or hopeful.
"Cameras," was Don's only reply. His voice was sharp and Charlie followed his gaze.
Don was right. Up there, on the ceiling of their cage, two cameras were directed down at them, catching the events inside from two different angles. Charlie swallowed nervously. Someone had been watching them this entire time? How come he hadn't picked up on that earlier? But then again, he'd still been rather groggy when that Thorpe guy had taken the pictures, and otherwise occupied when he'd brought in Don, and during all other intervals, he'd been living in darkness (in its most literal sense) and the cameras had apparently been hidden in the shadows.
"Do you think he can hear us, too?" Charlie whispered.
"I'm not sure, but we should assume that he can."
Charlie was about to ask Don once again what might be behind all this, but before he could, there was the screech of metal and the old rusty door that was leading inside the large hall that contained their cage was opened.
Charlie swallowed nervously when the large man slowly stepped inside. It was the first time that he had the opportunity and calm to truly study his appearance, and what he saw didn't assuage his fears one bit. The guy was dressed in a simple, yet decent manner, in jeans and a black T-shirt. He was about Don's age, with very short dark hair, very muscular and looking definitely very fit. It wouldn't have surprised Charlie a whole lot if he had stepped towards their cage and bent apart its bars with his bare hands. The thing that really worried him though was the baseball bat in his hands.
Charlie swallowed again and instinctively pulled up his legs closer to his body as if they could offer him some protection as Thorpe opened the door to their cage and stepped in. The tension in the air was so intense that it almost inhibited him from breathing, and the fact that Thorpe hadn't said a single word this entire time was unsettling Charlie to the point of making him want to scream. Before he could lose his dignity like that though, Don stepped in.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked the question Charlie so desperately wanted to know the answer to. "Let him go."
Charlie frowned. Wouldn't the more sensible thing to say have been Let us go?
He had been starting to think that Thorpe was mute, but now he spoke, and somewhat surprisingly, his voice sounded soft and rather pleasant. "You know I won't let you go, either of you."
"Look, whatever your issues with me, he's done you no harm, so let him go."
It was as though Thorpe hadn't even heard him. He was facing Charlie now, who had to swallow again, while Thorpe was coming closer and squatting down before him so that they were almost eye-to-eye.
"We both know it's not that easy," he said quietly, and Charlie got even more frightened by the tone, and more confused by the words. Was he still talking to Don, or was he talking to him? But Charlie had no idea why they were here, and how was he supposed to know? Or was he supposed to know? Should he know Thorpe, too?
"What do you want, Thorpe?" Don asked and Charlie tried to feel reassured at hearing his authoritative tone. The baseball bat in Thorpe's hands however along with his slow, menacing movements made his attempt fail.
"Why do you pretend you don't know?" Thorpe gave back, making Charlie's confusion grow further. Did Don know why they'd been kidnapped? That wouldn't make sense, for then why wouldn't he have told Charlie when he'd asked him earlier?
And yet, hadn't Don's behavior given him the impression of hiding at least some part of the truth?
Charlie shrank back then, Thorpe had swung the bat so close to his head that he'd felt the air blast. His hands were starting to sweat. Couldn't Thorpe do his baseball practice somewhere other than next to his face?
"Get away from him," Don said in that authoritative tone, but without any power to back up his words, and that fact was missed by none in the room.
"Or what?" Thorpe asked provocatively and let the bat swing around further. "You're gonna stop me?"
Then it came, out of nowhere. Charlie yelled, more with shock than with pain, for that came only half a second later, a searing burn that quickly dulled to a heavy throb, spreading from his thigh to the rest of his leg. Thorpe had hit him, he'd hit the side of his leg, and even though he hadn't put too much force into the blow, it definitely hurt.
"Stop it!" Don shouted from across the cage and Charlie was filled with a sense of surrealism. Surely he was just having a nightmare, right?
He yelled again when the second blow struck, at the side of his knee, his nightmare theory leaving his body along with the air in his lungs. That had hurt. He clenched his teeth and stretched his injured leg, trying to control the pain, but it wasn't helping. He was pulling at his bonds, dying to get his hands free and hold the hurting limb to alleviate at least a little bit of that agony, but he couldn't.
Before the pain had abated, Thorpe struck again, exploiting the opening that Charlie was showing by having stretched out his leg. This time, the blow hit him in his abdomen, and the next moment, Charlie was bending forward, dry-heaving and trying to get air into his lungs. It wasn't working. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't get any air in, there was no air, there was only pain.
"Stop it!" Don shouted again, but he hardly heard him, he wasn't really part of this world anymore, for in his world, there was only the pain and the feeling of suffocation.
Just when he'd thought that it had stopped, that he could breathe again, the next blow came, and it seemed even worse than the last. His mind was turned off. His whole existence was revolving around the feeling in his stomach, around that ball of pain and the need for oxygen. He needed to breathe, and his body knew that, it was trying to make the diaphragm work, to let old reflexes kick in, but something seemed to be broken in that chain. He was starting to feel a little light-headed, he was moving further away from this world, but just when he thought he might leave it for good, there was air again, filling his lungs with a freshness that made him feel like a new man, born again. And, like a new-born, vulnerable and defenseless.
"No!" Don shouted, and the fear in his voice made Charlie look up. It was only then that he noticed that the baseball bat was now held up high, ready to go down against his head.
His breathing stopped again, and this time, his diaphragm wasn't to blame. If he had found words on his mind, he might have shouted, or at least whimpered, but there was nothing, only fear and shock.
The scene seemed to be set in stone and at last, it was Thorpe who broke it up. Something like a smile appeared on his lips as he lowered the bat and turned around to Don.
"You seem to be distressed, Don," he said with mock innocence. "Is there anything I can do to help you with?"
"Leave him alone," Don replied, but the authority in his voice was gone now and replaced with something much more desperate.
"You know I can't do that. You know why. You do remember now, don't you? You remember everything."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Don gave back, and Charlie couldn't tell whether or not he was lying.
"Alright. I'm gonna give you a chance to make things right."
With that, he took up the bat and walked away, leaving behind nothing but pain and confusion, at least on Charlie's front.
The ringing came during such a deep phase of sleep that at first, he felt disoriented and confused. It was only after several seconds that he realized where he was and what was happening, and another few seconds before he found his phone and answered it.
"Granger."
"It's Megan," her terse voice sounded from the speakers and he buried his head in his cushion in exasperation. They'd just gone home from working late, how could he be called in again? Only one second later, however, he was alert enough to notice the error in this scene.
"Wait, we're not even on-call tonight," he said, and what had started out as a complaint now became a question, concern awakening. "What happened?"
Megan was silent for a second before answering. "I'm not sure anything happened at all. But the way things are looking right now, Don and Charlie are both missing."
With that, Colby was wide awake.
"Tell me where to go," was all he said as he jumped out of his bed and into his jeans.
"To the office. I'll call you and David back in five minutes to fill you in."
"Got it," Colby said and finished getting ready for whatever the next hours might hold in store for him.
In the meanwhile, he tried to keep the questions of what might have happened at an arm's length. What mattered now was getting ready and staying alert, but theorizing over possible scenarios wouldn't get him anywhere as long as he had no idea why Megan had considered it necessary to call them in the middle of the night. Still, knowing that it didn't make sense to make up theories was one thing, downing the queasy feeling in his stomach was something entirely different.
He was on his way to his car when Megan's call relieved him of the tension of not-knowing.
"So what happened?" he heard David ask from the other line as he picked up.
"Larry called me earlier," Megan now filled them in. "He was supposed to meet with Charlie tonight to work on a paper they're writing together, but when he came to the house, it was dark, even though Charlie's car was parked at the street. When Alan came home, they tried reaching Charlie's cell, without success, and since they figured he might be working on something for us, they tried Don, also in vain. Then Larry called me and since we both thought it strange, I went to the FBI to see if maybe Don had stayed longer. He wasn't there, but I found a note on his desk, it was dated 8:40 pm and read, 'Strange text from Charlie, going to St. Francis in Silver Lake.' I guess he suspected some trouble and wanted to make sure we investigated if he didn't show up for work tomorrow."
"Then why are we going to the office?" Colby asked.
"We're not, you are," Megan specified. "David's meeting me at the church. I did a quick check earlier, that's where Don's cell phone is located and his car, too, according to the GPS, whereas Charlie's phone was last logged-in in the vicinity of his house. David and I will see if we find any clues near the church and in the meanwhile, you should try and make a list of viable suspects, like who made threats against them when convicted or who was recently released from prison."
"Got it," Colby said, yet didn't know what to think of this. True, looking for people they'd put behind bars seemed reasonable enough, but if they were being honest with themselves, they didn't have a clue as to what was going on here. They didn't know whether this was personal, or work-related, or whether maybe Don and Charlie had been picked out randomly. Hell, they didn't even know whether this was directed against Don or against Charlie or against both of them. And yes, they did not know yet that they were actually looking at a crime, but from what Colby had learned so far, holding onto his hope that all this might turn out to be one big misunderstanding seemed almost as careless as going into a battle unarmed.
"Are you okay?"
There was no answer, and Don was afraid that it might be because his brother was considering his question too stupid to be worthy of one. He'd known that before, but it hadn't stopped him, for he needed an answer, he needed to hear his brother say that he was alright.
"Just breathe with me, okay?" Don tried again, wincing from having to hear his brother's laborious gasps. "Come on, nice and slow. In, and out. Yeah, that's it, that's much better."
He'd planned to give Charlie some more time to catch his breath and control the pain, but his impatience was getting the better of him. "So are you okay? Is anything broken?"
"Nothing, I think," Charlie said, and even though his voice still sounded pained and there was an obvious strain in it, hearing it still made Don feel more relieved than he would have imagined.
"Just keep breathing then," he told his brother. "It'll soon become better. Just try concentrating on something else."
"Why is he doing this?"
Don bit his lip. Why did Charlie have to choose to concentrate on that of all things?
"I'm not sure," he said, suddenly being acutely aware of the cameras and the possible microphones.
"Your best guess?"
He hesitated, unsure how much to tell him. "I was on the team that arrested him once, a couple of years ago. It was before I became an SAC, I was on Barton's team then, it was still in Albuquerque."
"What was he arrested for?"
"Armed robbery. It turned into a hostage situation, it was pretty intense."
He could see Charlie frown and he knew that the pain was no longer the main reason for that. "Sounds big. I don't remember you ever mentioning that."
"It was a long time ago," Don evaded the question. "I guess he was just released from prison and decided to go after me."
"Why you? Why not Barton, or the other members on your team?"
Don shrugged, acting as though he didn't know the answer. "Maybe he did and I just haven't heard of it yet, or he's planning to, or he's leaving them to the rest of the group."
"How many are there?"
"They were six," Don said quietly and decided it was high time to change the subject. "Your breathing seems to be getting better."
Charlie grimaced. "Yeah, thanks for reminding me of that. I didn't know something as simple as breathing could hurt that much."
"And your knee?" Don went on and tried not to feel too guilty for turning his brother's attention back to his injuries. After all, it was for his own good, somehow.
"Throbbing," Charlie replied. "But I'm pretty sure it's only bruised. I can bend it and everything. At least in theory."
"Good," Don decided, but it was premature, because at that moment, the door opened again. Apparently Thorpe wasn't willing to let them build up too much hope.
The instant that he had closed the door to the hall behind him and turned around to face them, Don caught his breath. True, the fact that the baseball bat was gone was technically a good thing. In this case, however, Don would have done almost anything to make Thorpe switch back from what he'd exchanged the bat for, for that was a gun.
"Don't," he said when Thorpe opened the door to their cage. His voice was low, his strength leaving him.
"You know, I think I still haven't made myself clear," Thorpe said in such a nonchalant manner that it seemed grotesque. Don wanted to say something, to stop him, but he didn't dare to, for Thorpe was acting so carelessly with the deadly object in his hand that the tiniest change in the atmosphere might bring a catastrophe about. "I think you still haven't realized how far I'm willing to go."
"I have," Don quickly contradicted, interrupting Thorpe's speech, trying to stop him from going through with his plan, for now he realized, he knew that Thorpe's carelessness wasn't what he had to fear, it was the plan he'd laid out for them.
A grin appeared on Thorpe's face, starting very slow and spreading wider. "If you really have," he said and his voice seemed to be dripping with smug complacency, "then you know that there's nothing in this world that can stop me from going through with it."
"No, don't," Don tried again, jerking at his bonds, but in vain.
Thorpe went on, completely unperturbed. "And all the while, I can enjoy your pitiful attempts at keeping your brother in the dark about the whole thing. You get it now, don't you? I can tell from how desperately you always try to change the subject whenever we're getting too close to the truth. But we've started uncovering it already, don't you see? He knows now. He knows that you're the whole reason that both of you are here with me. If it hadn't been for you, your brother wouldn't have been drugged and kidnapped and he still wouldn't know how it feels getting beaten up with a baseball bat. And even though you've been trying to keep him from connecting the dots, we all know that he realized the brutal truth by now, that if it wasn't for the simple fact that he was your brother, he would be home now safe and sound, probably sleeping peacefully next to his girl."
Don wanted to say something, to object to the accusations, but his throat was closed up. He looked over to Charlie, yearning for his forgiveness, yet knowing that he didn't deserve it, so he cast down his eyes again, clenching his jaw and trying to deal with the pain.
"This, however," Thorpe said in a voice that sent shivers down Don's spine. It was still soft, still calm, and yet, there was a menace in that voice that was kind of elusive and still so very real, and if the menace in his voice wouldn't have shown Thorpe's earnestness to Don, holding up the gun certainly would have done the trick. "This is a whole new level of deceit, of betrayal. I mean, you're already the reason for his suffering, and he knows it. But are you really willing to keep the full truth from him now? Are you actually planning to keep lying to him in these last moments of his?"
Thorpe turned around then, stepping towards Charlie, aiming his gun at him.
Don thought his heart had stopped. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't.
"So you are a coward," Thorpe went on.
"Don't," Don meant to shout, but all that came out was a whisper.
"And you're not only a coward, you're also cruel, and that to your own flesh and blood. Because after everything you brought on him, you won't even tell him why, you won't even explain to him why he has to die."
"No!" Don cried, but it was too late, for the shot rang out at the same time.
Larry was watching Alan and desperately tried finding something else to do, something that wouldn't bring this catastrophe so close to home and make him feel as though he couldn't breathe.
"Here," Amita said in a whisper.
Alan flinched and turned around, accepting the steaming cup of tea from her hands as though he was waking up from a long, deep dream.
Make that nightmare.
"Thanks," he said and looked around as though he was becoming aware of his guests only now. "I'm sorry, I should have –"
"Don't bother," Amita cut him off before he could embarrass them all and sat down on the edge of the other chair in Charlie's living-room.
For a moment, Larry was glad for the distraction, but it wasn't long until he realized that regarding Amita's distress was not one bit better. He needed to do something. They needed to do something. That was why they were here, wasn't it? They needed to figure out how to find Don and Charles, and they needed to figure it out now. They just didn't have a choice, they had to find a solution to this problem.
But how?
"We need to figure out where they went from that church."
Larry nodded. They knew that, as a matter of fact, Amita had used the exact same words a mere twenty minutes ago. But they hadn't made any progress since, and the thought that Charles, if he were here, might be already up and running with a ton of ideas in his head, only made Larry feel so much worse for his own short-comings.
"Let's take a closer look at the map again," he suggested, though mainly so he would finally have something to do, something other than to ponder the question of what bleak situation Don and Charles might be finding themselves in.
Don felt as though his ears were bleeding, just like his heart, and he tried to stop both of them by shouting, by drowning everything in the real world and pouring his soul out of his body, wishing nothing more than oblivion.
The echo of the shot was still hanging in the air somewhere, but it was hardly noticeable now, not with Charlie's screams on top of it. And even though Don kept shouting, not even realizing the words that accompanied the cries, even though he was doing his best to drown the rest of the world, he knew that he would never forget his brother's screams for as long as he lived.
The bullet had gone into his thigh, and Charlie was writhing, squirming in his bonds in a futile attempt to relieve at least part of the pain. He couldn't, so he kept screaming and groaning, and since Don couldn't cover his ears, he kept shouting as well.
After few seconds that felt like ages to Don, Charlie calmed down, first moaning, then gasping and panting with an occasional whimper when he was apparently rolled over by a particularly vicious wave of pain.
"Why did you do that?" Don asked feebly, as though the shouting had made his voice weak and tired. Yet, he knew that the true reason was lying in the emotions tightening his chest.
"You know why. You just don't have the guts to tell your brother. But as I said earlier, I'll give you another chance. And I'll even give you some time to think about everything quietly and without any disturbance." He turned around to Charlie, who was still breathing heavily. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. "What do you say, Charlie? How about we give Don some quiet to think? Yeah, I knew you wouldn't mind."
He went back to Charlie's side, but instead of lifting his hand with the gun, he lifted his foot.
"Leave him alone!" Don tried, but even his protest was weak.
Thorpe lowered his foot, stepping on Charlie's shot-through leg and pressing down.
"Stop it!" Don shouted, despair giving him new strength, but even so he couldn't be heard against Charlie's screams. If Don had thought earlier that those agonized sounds would follow him to his nightmares, he didn't know how to ever forget these. It was as though someone was sawing at his own spine, making his vertebrae squeal, paralyzing him and at the same time making a pain go out to every fiber of his body that he didn't know how to bear.
And then, it stopped.
Charlie's screams died out and his head lolled on his chest.
"Shut up, Eppes," Thorpe told him coldly, and it was only then that Don became aware of the fact that he was still shouting, still trying to drown his brother's pain. A moment later, Thorpe had left the cage, leaving Don's view on his broken little brother unhindered, and it was then that he became aware of the tears that were running down his cheeks.
As the sun was coming up, the bad feeling in David's stomach intensified. Things were looking bad. As of now, they didn't have a clue as to what might have happened to Don and Charlie or where they had gone. Granted, they'd only been at this for a couple of hours, but already David felt that they were running out of leads. They knew that Don had gone missing from somewhere around this church, but there were no security cameras to be seen. They'd already started knocking on doors, but so far had come up empty. But maybe, if they were lucky, they would eventually find a witness who could give them some pointers as to where they were supposed to look for the brothers. And if they weren't lucky here, they still had the chance of finding witnesses for Charlie's abduction that must have happened somewhere in the vicinity of the house, at least that was what they were assuming at this time.
David ran a hand over his head and pressed his lips together. They sure had to count on luck on this one.
"Charlie! Come on, wake up, buddy."
Don blinked, but the moisture just wouldn't leave from his eyes. By now, dawn had broken, but Charlie was still out, as he had been for who knew how long, despite Don's desperate attempts to wake him up.
But how was he supposed to wake him up, how was he supposed to take care of him, if he was still stuck to this stupid beam?
"G-ddammit!" he cursed, jerking at his bonds once again with as much force as he could, but getting nowhere. His wrists were hurting already, but he knew that it was nothing compared to Charlie's pain, so he went on, and if he had to rip out his hands in the process, he would do that if there was even the slightest chance that it might benefit his brother.
"Mmh."
Don looked up at the sound, momentarily interrupting his futile attempts of gaining more freedom.
"Charlie?"
He could see a frown on Charlie's face and then, there was another moan.
"Charlie, talk to me."
Charlie did no such thing, but his breathing was getting more laborious again, his rib-cage heaving, and the first signs of squirming came back. So this was where they stood then. Charlie still wasn't fully conscious, but he was already tormented by a world of pain.
The door to the hall opened again and Don would have almost cried for real. Why couldn't that son-of-a-bitch leave them alone even for one second?
"Stay away from him," Don warned him up front, not even realizing that he had nothing whatsoever to keep Thorpe from doing whatever he liked.
This time, Thorpe didn't say a single word. All he did was round the cage and throw in something in Don's direction that was clattering and landing, judging from the sound, two or three feet from his hands..
"What's that?" Don asked, half expecting a hand grenade was about to go off in his back.
It seemed as though Thorpe was adamant to keep his silence, but when he was already standing in the door, he turned around again and said, "I got you a present. If you're committed enough, you can cut through your bonds and go help your brother." He'd already started closing the door when he stopped the movement and added with the ghost of a smile on his face, "Though evidence suggests that nothing good will come out of it anyway."
"So these are the most likely routes he took from the church?" Megan asked while looking over the scientists' shoulders.
Amita nodded. "Assuming that he left by car, and assuming that his destination was outside a one-mile-radius of that church."
She didn't know what to think about the fact that Megan didn't even question their assumptions. Instead, she asked, "Any of these standing out?"
Amita shook her head. "Not as long as we don't know anything about his destination. And without knowing what vehicle we're looking for, I don't know how these routes might help you." She realized that she was painting a gloomy picture, but dark colors was all she could offer at this point, and the realization made her eyes well up with tears, which she wiped away with impatience.
"But we did let the same program run for Charlie's house," Larry pointed out the silver lining. "And we're hoping that by comparing the data of all the traffic cameras, we'll find overlaps that might lead us to the vehicle he used."
Amita found his optimism admirable, but she couldn't stop herself from bringing his silver lining in line with the dark clouds by adding, "Assuming that the same vehicle was used for both abductions. We don't even know at how many kidnappers we're looking at, never mind at how many vehicles."
Megan gave her a tight-lipped smile that probably should have been encouraging. "Just let us know when you find something."
"I think I almost got it," Don said and actually felt some excitement.
It lasted for about half a second.
"Good," Charlie mumbled, making Don pause in his efforts and look over at him. His face was white and showing clear signs of the distress the gun-shot wound was causing him. His eyes were closed and his head leaned back against the support beam. In fact, if it hadn't been for the mumble, Don wouldn't have known if he was still conscious.
He'd half opened his mouth to ask him how he was holding up, but he could see that the answer was 'barely', so he concentrated on improving both their situation as best as he could, and for that, he first had to get through his bonds.
The knife that Thorpe had dropped for him wasn't very sharp, but eventually, it did the trick. As it seemed, there were only a few fibers missing, but to tell the truth, it was about time, for Don was exhausted. Getting the knife into his hands had been difficult enough and had asked more flexibility of him than he'd known to possess, but sawing through the duct tape had made his arms and shoulders scream with fatigue – on both sides, since he'd had to switch hands several times if he hadn't wanted them to fall off.
Suddenly, there was a snap, and Don was so surprised by the sudden end of his exertions that he wasn't sure whether he could truly believe this. When, however, he could bring his arms forward, there was no longer room for doubt, it was time to act.
In an instant, he was next to his brother and trying to get his attention.
"I'm free, I'm going to cut you loose now," he explained and immediately put his plan into action. It still took a while with the blunt knife, but now that his own hands were free, he was much faster than before. Still, it was taking him long enough to notice just how lethargic his brother was.
"So how's it going, buddy?" Don asked as he was working through his bonds. He could see that the muscles in Charlie's arms were tense, he was obviously contracting them to get some relief from the pain, but judging from the agonized frown on his forehead, it wasn't working very well. Maybe talking would work better.
"Great," came Charlie's reply, and Don was relieved to hear that he hadn't lost his sense of humor yet. Still, there was no denying that Charlie was anything but fine. His voice was as tense as his muscles, his breathing was flat, and there was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.
Half against better judgment, Don glanced at the culprit for his brother's poor state, the hole in his jeans and thigh that was still oozing blood, albeit at a very low rate. He swallowed thickly. He had no idea what to do about that, but first he needed to complete his task of cutting through the duct tape anyway, for –
Snap. The bond was through.
Don swallowed again, trying to face up to the fact that the time during which he did not have to think about his brother's gunshot wound had just become a thing of the past. He took a closer look, but it didn't give him new information. He couldn't see the bullet, only blood, and neither could he determine how deep the bullet had gone.
Suddenly, there was movement next to him, and when he became aware of its source, he hastened to stop it.
"Whoa!" he exclaimed, half in an attempt to make his brother come to his senses as he caught his upper body that had used its newly found freedom to tilt towards the floor. "No time for napping, buddy," he tried to keep the mood light, but couldn't deny that Charlie's state was deteriorating again.
"Sorry," he murmured while Don made sure to prop him against the beam a little more stably than before. It occurred to him that it probably would have been better to tend to Charlie's leg first and only cut his bonds then, this way he would have one thing less to worry about now. No use crying over spilled milk though.
"We'll have to find something to bandage your leg with," Don said and was already going through the possible items that might serve as a bandage. The list wasn't very long.
"Do we have to?" Charlie was asking, and while his words came out a little clearer, Don was dismayed to hear the amount of fear in them.
"It's still bleeding. Besides, the bone might be injured as well."
"You don't say," Charlie replied, his voice husky. "I think it's broken."
Don bit his lip and for once was glad that Charlie still had his eyes closed. He waited until his voice was back, then said, "If it is, that's all the more reason to give your leg some stability."
Charlie's eyes shot open then, and the fear that had been in his voice could now be seen in his eyes.
Don swallowed and averted his gaze, busying himself with taking off the shirt he was wearing underneath his jacket. He would have liked to use his wallet to make a pressure dressing, but of course Thorpe had taken away all of their belongings, so he just had to do without. Maybe a tight knot would work just as well.
"I'll just tie it around your leg real tightly," he explained to his brother, trying not to show how insecure he felt about whether he was doing the right thing. Staunching the bleeding and keeping possible bone fractures from moving around freely seemed like a sensible idea though.
"Please don't," Charlie whispered, his voice choked, a plea in his eyes that Don couldn't bear to see, so he pretended to examine the item for his soon-to-be makeshift bandage.
"It'll just hurt for a moment and then you'll feel a lot better," he promised, feeling like he was lying to his brother. After all, he had no idea whether or not this would improve things for him. In the end, he decided to call upon Charlie's voice of reason. "You know we need to stop the bleeding."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie nod, giving in to his fate, and Don told himself to hurry before either of them changed their mind.
"Here, bite this down," he told his brother and put the sleeve of his jacket into his mouth, for both their sake. He'd heard enough of his brother's screaming for a lifetime.
Don brought his shirt under Charlie's leg then, and even that couldn't be done without a stab of pain and a sharp intake of breath that made Don's hackles raise. However, he knew that things would get much worse than that, and the only way he saw to make it better was to make it quick.
In the moment before he pulled at the sleeves of his shirt, making the knot as tight as he dared, he caught a glimpse of Charlie's eyes, and what he saw almost made him lose his strength. He kept pulling though, and he kept pulling through Charlie's screams and convulsing, and he kept pulling when Charlie's screams died out and his body went limp
Since he'd fallen towards him, Don had been able to keep him from hitting the floor, but he himself was rolled over by a sudden wave of weakness as he was sitting there on the cold concrete, holding his unresponsive brother in his arms. He felt the corners of his eyes start burning, but fought to kept the moisture down inside.
"Come on, buddy, wake up," he whispered as he was gently wiping the sweat from his brother's forehead, knowing that it was of no use. Charlie was out, and if his leg was indeed broken, it was probably better this way.
Don swallowed thickly and told himself not to panic. Charlie was going to wake up eventually, and when he did, Don had to make sure he would be as comfortable as possible.
He shuddered, feeling the draft that went through the hall and decided he needed to get his brother away from here. Once he woke up, he would surely be cold, given the blood-loss, so they shouldn't stay in this draft, and he should definitely make sure to keep most of his body off the floor, and for that, he needed more stability to prop Charlie up against than a single support beam.
He looked around and finally found the right spot, a corner of the cage that was not in the line of the draft and that also was illuminated by sun-light. Granted, it wasn't what he would call nice and cozy, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.
He hesitated briefly before he put his plan into action, afraid he might cause Charlie even more pain than he already had. However, he realized that it was all the more reason to act out his plan now that Charlie was still unconscious, so he carefully took him up and carried him over into the light and warmth. When he sat him down, he made sure to leave enough room for himself to get behind Charlie, which would keep them both warm, especially at night.
For now, however, he just made sure that Charlie was leaning against the walls of their cage more or less comfortably and stood again, intending to examine their surroundings. He was well aware that they were probably still being watched, so even if he found some flaw in the cage's structure, there was hardly a chance they would be able to escape from Thorpe's grip. However, he also knew that especially as long as his brother was still unresponsive, he had to do something to keep himself occupied if he didn't want to go insane in here.
Megan tried to hide the tremble of her hands by picking up a pen when David put down the phone and was now also ready for their little briefing.
"So what did they have to say?" she asked him and clung to the hope that Larry and Amita might have come up with something that would get them one step further.
David did not shatter her hope. Instead, he compressed it to a size that, as Megan had to admit, was much more adequate given the circumstances. "Their program is still running. Forty-five hits so far. They're sending us the list."
"Forty-five suspects?" Colby exclaimed.
"Forty-five cars that were on both sets of routes during the relevant time frames. Now we need to compare them with our databases, see if one of them had a reason to hurt Don or Charlie."
"But it's forty-five cars. I mean, sure, we can check if the keeper did time, but that's only one possibility of a connection. They could be otherwise involved in a case, or maybe it has nothing to do with the FBI, or with Don, and maybe Charlie was the real target. Plus, the driver might not always be the registered owner of the vehicle."
David nodded. "Not to mention rental cars. And as I said, their program is still running. The list is likely to get longer before the day runs out."
Megan had heard enough doubts and pessimism for now. Yes, they were facing a lot of work, and yes, they couldn't be sure that this was going to get them anywhere, but up until now, this was the best they had. They had to start somewhere.
"Look guys, I know it's a lot, but that's all the more reason why we had better go through that list rather sooner than later."
Neither one objected.
Something was pulling at his leg, like a fishhook that had somehow been caught between the muscle and the bone in his thigh. He was trying to give into the pull, to release the tension, but it wasn't working, he was only making matters worse.
"You're with me, buddy? How are you feeling?"
"Weird," he replied without thinking. It was true, though, there was that fishhook that somehow seemed out of place, and there was the weird feeling in his stomach, a twinge of nausea. Plus, his head was hurting, and he didn't really know where he was. Who was he talking to anyway?
The next moment, it all came back. The cage, the shot, Don…
His eyes shot open. Don!
He sat up straighter and immediately regretted the movement when the fishhook seemed to slice through his leg top to bottom and back.
"Easy," Don said with some sternness. "So you're with me again?"
Charlie nodded while still taking in his surroundings. Something had changed. He wasn't leaning against the support beam anymore, and he wasn't bound. He was sitting in the corner of the cage, leaning against something soft, and now he realized that this something was none other than Don.
"What happened?" he asked and had to fight down his rising panic. He couldn't remember getting here. To the cage, yes, but not into this corner, definitely not into the arms of his big brother.
"Thorpe gave me a knife and I cut us loose. You passed out when I bandaged your leg and then I brought you here. I thought it might be warmer and more comfortable on the long run."
As the memory of at least the first part of Don's narrative kicked in, he swallowed nervously, trying to figure out if that explained all the changes he was experiencing. Just then, he became acutely aware of how dry his throat was, and the question shot through his mind how long it might have been since he'd last drunk something. It was broad daylight outside, so it had to have been at least fifteen hours, probably longer. That, however, wasn't the reason why his throat was suddenly so dry, and he knew it. His memory was back, alright, and so was his awareness, but all of a sudden, Charlie would have given a lot if he could return to oblivion.
"Don..." He paused. He didn't know how to say this. Yet, if Don had cut him loose, if he'd tended to his leg, if he had brought him over here, there was no way he could have missed it. And still, he had to say it, he needed to come clean about this.
"When he shot me..." He cleared his throat and tried again, but his voice still didn't work properly, it still sounded husky. "I don't know how, it just happened."
He heard Don sigh behind him and he knew that he was being stupid, he knew that they had bigger problems to deal with than this, but somehow, he couldn't take his mind off it. He'd peed his pants. More than three decades of time to practice, and he'd peed his pants, and that was how they would find him eventually.
"Don't worry about that," Don's quiet voice came to his ear, but somehow, its soothing effect was lost on Charlie.
He closed his eyes tightly and bit down his lip hard, desperately trying to think of something else, to escape this place at least in his thoughts. He couldn't, though. He couldn't stop thinking about all the things he'd lost, all the things that Thorpe had taken from him, his freedom, his sense of security, and now even the control over his body.
It's okay, he tried telling himself, tried taking deeper breaths. It's nothing to be embarrassed about, it's simple biology. Besides, no-one will ever know.
But that wasn't quite true, was it? They would learn eventually, just that Charlie would be saved the embarrassment then, and it was that thought that made it all even worse. So now he finally did manage to direct his thoughts towards the world outside, but it didn't make things any better, for all he could think about was how things would evolve afterwards, how they would find them here like animals in a cage, how they would have to tell their dad, how he would stand there all alone, having lost his entire family.
"Why is he doing all this?" he asked, and he hated himself for his choked voice. He knew he needed to calm down. Panicking and thinking of all the worst case scenarios wouldn't do them any good, he needed to stay positive.
He just didn't know how.
"I don't know, buddy," Don said. His voice was toneless, like it had been earlier, like it often was when he was lying. And all of a sudden, Charlie was angry. They were in this together. They were both stuck in here with a lunatic without knowing how to get out of here, and still Don was lying to him.
He waited for his breathing to calm down, to wait for the despondency to abate and his anger to build up further and renew his strength. It worked somehow, but only to the point where his emotions were canceling each other out, where there was nothing but exhaustion and a feeling of floating in some volatile balance, in a bastion of sanity.
The process had taken several minutes during which neither of them had said a word, but now, Charlie knew he just had to ask, not even so much because he was angry, but... he just had to, he needed to know.
"Why is he doing this, Don?"
His voice was much calmer now, sober, and somehow strict, and he knew that his big brother couldn't miss the change in the atmosphere. However, and to his utmost dismay, the atmosphere was changed on Don's side as well.
"I'm so sorry, buddy," he could hear a broken whisper in his ear that hardly sounded like his big brother. And yet, there was no room for an alternative solution. "Thorpe was right. If it weren't for me..."
He broke off and Charlie swallowed uneasily. True, he had wanted Don to finally talk to him, to stop acting as though he didn't know what was going on. This, however, rendering Don into a guilt-stricken shadow of his former self, had not been his intention. And he knew he had to stop Don from blaming himself, he just didn't know how, not as long as he didn't know what all this was about. He needed to get his facts straight first.
"What's his plan?"
Don was silent, but Charlie wouldn't let him close himself up into his shell again. They were in this together, so they needed to deal with this together.
"Don, please… You know what he's planning. Just please… tell me." He hesitated. "Please, Don. I need to know."
He could hear Don sigh, actually he could feel it, too, and so he waited, he waited for almost a full minute before Don finally broke his silence.
"Something went wrong during that case," he started to explain. His voice was low, but trembling a little, as Charlie realized uneasily. "There were six of them, all still young, in their twenties, and inexperienced. We had already caught the driver of their getaway car and were asking the rest of the group, who were still inside the bank, to surrender. That was when they opened fire. We shot back, but had to retreat because we couldn't risk hitting the civilians that were still inside the bank. Yet, one of the robbers had been hit, and that was our most promising bargaining tool. After the gunfight, the five robbers had barricaded up and taken the people inside hostage, but we convinced them to let them go one by one until in the end, it was only the five robbers and four hostages. And then… they had a fallout. Three of them wanted to take the money and run, taking the hostages with them as leverage, while Thorpe and the injured one were ready to turn themselves in, provided they would get immediate medical attention in exchange. The problem was that the two of them couldn't get out of the bank without help, the guy was too badly injured."
Don paused and Charlie, who had been holding his breath without realizing it, felt compelled to ask further questions. "What did you do then?"
"We made it clear we wouldn't send anyone in before they would have let the hostages go and surrendered. The other three of the group were still against it though, and then, the decision was taken from their hands."
"The guy died?"
He felt Don nod behind him, but it took a while before his voice came back, and when it did, it still wasn't very stable. "In the meanwhile, we had found a way in and could arrest them without anyone else getting hurt."
Charlie frowned. Don seemed to have finished his narrative, but it still didn't explain Thorpe's actions – but it might, if Charlie filled in the blanks. "Did you..." He paused. He wasn't sure how to ask, but if they were to do this right, this was a key piece of information. "Were you the one who shot the robber? Is that why Thorpe chose you for his vendetta?"
Don took a second to reply, and when the answer came, it was nothing more but a soft "Yeah," like an exhausted exhale.
"So that robber who died and Thorpe… they were close?"
Don's reply was so low and soft that Charlie wouldn't have heard him if they hadn't been so close in that moment. "His name was Jacob. Apparently Thorpe was the one who had introduced him to their group." He could hear Don swallow before he added, his voice even more husky than before, "He was Thorpe's younger brother."
Charlie's throat felt suddenly dry and he felt heat rise to his head. So that was why Don had been so reluctant to tell him the whole truth. He'd realized from the very beginning what Thorpe was planning, and he'd also realized that the revelation of his plan would shatter any hope Charlie might still have had of getting out of here alive. It was all clear now, and if he was being honest with himself, the what had been clear all along, it was just the why that had been missing. Their fate, however, had been sealed and declared hours ago: Don was to go through the same experience that Thorpe had gone through. He was sentenced to watch his younger brother die a slow, painful death with the knowledge that it was all his fault. Charlie's role in this whole plan – well, it was simply that of a prop, one that was not going to come through the show unscathed.
In fact, one that wasn't going to come through at all.
He realized that he'd started trembling and he could feel the corners of his eyes become moist. He was scared, but he was also unwilling to accept this as his fate. This couldn't be the end, right?
He swallowed thickly, and when his darting eyes took in their surroundings, he shuddered. From his point of view, his fate seemed pretty solid.
"I guess there's no way out of here?" he asked and shuddered again when he registered the hollow sound of his voice.
He felt Don shaking his head. He had strengthened the hold of his arms and his voice still didn't sound like his. Apparently, he was about as distressed about the truth having come to light as Charlie was. "I examined the cage while you were out. I couldn't find a damn thing."
Charlie felt that his voice was gone, but he wouldn't have found anything to say anyway, so even though hearing that new, unstable voice of his brother was still disconcerting, he was kind of glad when Don went on whispering into his ear, "We're gonna get out of here, you hear me? His plan's not going to work, we'll come out of this, both of us."
How?, Charlie meant to ask, but his throat had closed up, inhibiting his speech, and somehow, he was glad that his body was protecting him from himself.
He felt Don's mouth come even closer to his ear, and in so low a voice that he wouldn't have heard him in any other situation, he continued, "The team will be looking for us now. I left them a note, they know where I went, they'll be following our tracks as we speak. We just can't let Thorpe know that they're already onto him, and then everything will be alright, you'll see."
Charlie's throat was still closed up, so he limited his reaction to a slight nod that wouldn't give Thorpe any indication as to what they were talking about. And anyway, would it really make a difference? Maybe Don actually felt the hope he'd been trying to convey with his words, maybe he was still succeeding to shut his eyes from the truth even now that it had come out in the open, but Charlie himself wasn't fooled. Even if Don had somehow led his team to wherever Thorpe had abducted him from, what would be the use of that? Thorpe had evidently planned all this, he'd built a giant cage, for G-d's sake, so chances were he'd made sure that whatever place he'd lured Don into, there wasn't much evidence left behind.
So how was the team supposed to find them? True, if they didn't stop looking, if they combed the city, they might find them eventually, but Charlie had substantial doubts he would live to see that. Sure, Thorpe wanted to see Don suffer, so he had some interest to keep Charlie alive for a while. But more than anything, Thorpe wanted Don to mourn his brother's death, so if they didn't find a way to thwart his plans, Charlie's fate was sealed.
No, looking at it soberly, Charlie had no illusions. Thorpe was going to make sure that he died, and if the gunshot wound didn't do the trick, he'd simply think of something else.
"Charlie?"
"Mmh?"
"I'll have to take care of something, okay? You just go back to sleep."
Charlie's soft reply that wasn't even a word told him that going 'back' to his dozing state wasn't exactly what was necessary, he just hoped that Charlie would remain in the more pleasant realm of sleep while Don was carefully leaning his upper body against the bars and getting up on his feet.
He winced when he stretched his muscles. After several hours, serving as Charlie's pillow was making him cramped-up, but he knew it was the least he could do for his brother. There was, however, something else he needed to do.
In the waning light of the evening, he gave Charlie a worried glance and pressed his lips together. He could see that the shirt that was serving as Charlie's bandage, while not soaked completely, had become bloody, but that was just one sign of how his life force was slowly leaving his brother, and he knew he had to stop it. Who knew if and when his team was going to show up? He needed to help his brother now, no matter the cost.
"Benjamin," he said in a low voice, deliberately using Thorpe's first name. He had positioned himself directly in front of the camera, hoping fervently that it was transmitting sound as well – and that the sound-waves wouldn't travel to his brother. He didn't want Charlie to become aware of this, not just because it would wake him from a badly needed rest. He knew he needed to keep his brother's optimism alive, and that couldn't be done if he realized how desperate Don felt.
"Please stop this," Don continued and had to swallow down a lump. "Please. You've made your point. I know you want me to suffer, but please leave Charlie out of this. He never hurt you. In fact, he's never hurt a soul in his life. You can do whatever you like to me, just please, let him go."
With that, he returned to his brother, giving into his fate of waiting and hoping for the good to be restored in mankind.
Charlie was shivering, praying for the sun to go up faster, to finally dispel the darkness fully and fill this place with its warming energy.
Day two then.
His shivering intensified, his body acting beyond his control. He tried pulling Don's jacket, that Don had spread out over them, closer to his body, but it was of no use, and he just couldn't stop the tremors that went through him.
He felt Don stir behind him. Apparently his movements had jerked him out of oblivion and back into the hell they were living in. Great.
"Hey, how're you feeling?" Don murmured while he was sitting himself up a little straighter.
Charlie didn't reply at once. He was getting a little tired of the question, and he didn't know how to respond anymore. He was feeling sick, he was thirsty, he was cold, even though his head felt hot and was hurting a little, and he didn't even want to get started on the pain spreading from his leg. At least, the feeling of hunger had apparently decided it wasn't going to be satisfied anytime soon and had abated.
"Cold," Charlie eventually settled on the most obvious thing. "Sorry if that woke you up."
He was dismayed to hear his own voice, it was raucous, as though he had been partying the whole night.
Never in his life had he been longing so much for a hangover.
"Let's get you warm then," Don decided and started rubbing his arms, but only for a couple of seconds. "Was Thorpe here?" he asked.
"What? No. Why?"
Instead of giving him an answer, Don got up, leaving Charlie leaning against the cold bars of their cage, without his warm body in his back. He lifted his head to follow his brother's movements, and then he saw it, too. Just a couple of feet away, there was a six-pack of small bottles containing something that looked a lot like water.
"Maybe he's afraid we might not be enjoying our stay," Charlie said, and while he couldn't laugh at his own attempt at a joke, talking about something that didn't directly involve his imminent death was quite liberating.
"It might be drugged, maybe even poisoned," his ever-pessimistic brother pointed out while he was opening one of the bottles and carefully sniffed at its content.
"I'll take that chance," Charlie said without hesitation. He was going to die anyway, and he wasn't sure whether he wouldn't prefer poison to bleeding out or getting beaten to death.
"There's nothing to suggest these bottles have been tampered with," Don admitted. "It smells like regular water." He took a small gulp, then said, "Tastes like it, too. You sure you wanna have some?"
"Definitely. My throat's on fire."
Don was kneeling down next to him, but when Charlie wanted to take the bottle from his hands, he had to realize that he couldn't. He was shivering too badly.
"We should probably get you moving somehow," Don said thoughtfully as he helped him take a few gulps from the water that seemed to be the most delicious thing that Charlie had ever tasted in his life.
Far too soon, however, Don stopped and put a hand on Charlie's forehead, and Charlie was surprised at how cool it was. Don never had cold hands.
"Are you having a fever?" Don asked with concern evident in his voice.
Charlie thought. It certainly would explain a lot of his symptoms. "I guess the wound got infected," he stated the obvious and only a second later became aware of the death warrant he'd just signed for himself.
From the pause Don made he could tell that his big brother knew just as well that in their current situation, an infected wound was definitely not something to be taken lightly, and yet, that was exactly what Don did as he got behind him again. "My hand's probably just cold from the water, and you're still cold from the night and from not moving around. The shivering should get better now that the sun's come up."
"Yeah," Charlie concurred, thereby agreeing to the rules of this new game, one of hide-and-seek. Their new goal was to hide from the truth and seek ways to keep up the will to persevere. For what? Who knew. Don was maybe still trying to persevere until the team would arrive, but Charlie knew that for him, a different set of rules applied. He just needed to persevere till death, and until then, all he needed to do was to make things easier for Don by playing along, by keeping up the illusion that they were both going to make it out of here alive.
"It is better, by the way," he said, mostly to keep that conviction his mind had formed at an arm's length, and it was only then that he realized that it wasn't only for Don's sake that he was playing along.
"What is?"
"The leg. It's still throbbing, but it's much better ever since you bandaged it, the pain's much duller now."
"Good," Don decided. They were silent for a while before he asked, "Are you still cold?"
When he realized what the answer was, a shudder ran down Charlie's spine, but he couldn't fool himself that it was a sensation of cold. "Actually, I'm feeling hot now," he admitted in a low voice. "Probably the sun."
"Yeah, probably," Don agreed, but Charlie could feel that he'd tightened his grip around him. As though he was trying to hold onto him while they both knew he was slipping away.
He swallowed. Maybe it was time. True, he didn't feel like dying yet, but given how fast his bodily state had deteriorated ever since the gunshot, there was no telling as to how much longer he was going to hold out against those gruesome forces of death. And now that fever was entering the mix, who could tell how much longer he would be in his right mind?
No, he needed to break this game off, at least for a moment.
"Don," he started, not knowing how to go on. His throat was burning, but he guessed that the fever was only partly to blame.
"Yeah, buddy?"
From his voice, he could tell that Don was expecting a continuation of the game, which was making it even harder for him to say what he needed to say. He knew that he had to, though. If he was truly about to die, if Thorpe's plan was going to work, he needed to set the record straight before it was too late.
"This is not your fault."
He could feel that Don froze, but he didn't say anything, and maybe it was better this way, when Charlie could get this over with as long as he still had the necessary strength, in every regard.
"Thorpe is responsible for this, and no-one else," he continued, fighting to see this through. "And no matter how this is going to end..." His voice was gone, and he could feel tears in the corners of his eyes. He swallowed down the lump that had risen to his throat and went on, "I just want you to go on living your life. And most importantly… most importantly, I don't want you to blame yourself."
Don's hold had become tighter still, and he was pressing his nose into Charlie's hair.
Charlie bit down his lip to maintain control over his emotions, and he felt his chin tremble. He couldn't imagine to stop being a part of this world, but as much as the thought was frightening him and depressing him, the thought of Don going through that world the way he had been acting ever since yesterday was paining him even more. "Please, Don…" he forced himself to go on, trying to ignore the instability of his voice. "Please promise me that you won't blame yourself."
The grip tightened further and was accompanied by a slight, ever so soft rocking movement. If Charlie hadn't known any better, he might have thought that Don was crying.
It took almost a minute before the whispered reply reached his ear, "I promise."
The afternoon sun was filling the garage, making the chalk-dust visible in the air. Both the dust and the sunlight were lost on the two scientists though, as they were immersed in a heap of files, both digital and analog.
Alan felt his throat constrict as he entered the garage. He'd thought that the feeling of his sons' absence would abate once he wasn't alone in the living-room anymore, or sitting by himself at the dining-room table. However, here, in Charlie's garage, with Amita and Larry working together on their own, he realized that the feeling had grown worse than ever.
He regarded the photos of the six men and two women that had been stuck to the blackboard, covering Charlie's Cognitive Emergence Theory.
"They all want to hurt my sons?" he asked.
Amita and Larry whirled around towards him, and part of him was feeling guilty for keeping them from doing the work they needed to do to find them, but another part, one whose needs could no longer be ignored, was demanding some answers, some orientation as to how much more his heart would have to take.
"They're the ones recently released from prison," Amita explained. "All from cases Don and Charlie have been working on together. Megan, David and Colby are currently investigating them."
"And what is it that you are doing?" Alan asked, desperate for some news. Good news, if at all possible.
Amita glanced at Larry and he took the hint. "We, uh… We're compiling a list of further suspects by going through the databases with a search algorithm we created that fits exactly our purposes."
"More suspects?" Alan couldn't keep himself from asking. Eight wasn't enough?
"Well…" Larry started uneasily, "there are also those cases that Don had been working on without Charlie, and cases that Charlie consulted on outside his work for Don's team. Besides, these are only the cases of people having been released within the past six months, we might have to go back further than that."
"I see," Alan said and decided he had heard enough for now. True, having been out of the loop had been bad, but at least it had allowed him to lose himself in a deceptive, yet more bearable enclave of hope. He needed to return to that enclave, and therefore, he refrained from asking the question how long they were expecting to be taking for going through all these suspects. His sons had been gone for almost forty-eight hours now, and who knew whatever they had to endure. And yet, Alan knew he needed to allow himself to feel hope. He knew that his sons were strong, and no matter how bleak the outlook, at least they were together. And as long as they were together, Alan trusted that everything would turn out fine.
It just had to.
In the darkness, Don was regarding the back of his brother's head with a despondency that made it hard for him to breathe. Charlie was sleeping again, or what qualified as sleeping in his weakened, feverish state. Ever since his wound had become infected, he was sleeping a lot, and every time he woke up, he seemed to have gotten worse. With each awakening, the time he needed to get his bearings and make his speech coherent was getting longer. The last time he'd woken up, he hadn't even become lucid at all, he'd remained in that world his fever was creating until he'd slipped back into that restless slumber. Therefore, Don was tempted to keep him awake, but on the other hand, every time he was awake, hearing his slurring voice or, even worse, seeing his glassy eyes was getting too much even for him.
And so, he chose what had to be the worst possible solution, by finding ways to 'accidentally' wake Charlie up whenever he felt his brother had been out long enough, and that was what he chose to do now.
Or tried to do.
When he felt Charlie's forehead, having to realize that his temperature had gone up further was one thing. Even worse, however, was the fact that contrary to earlier, the touch didn't wake him up.
"Come on, buddy, wake up," Don murmured and started shaking him, but only got a soft moan in return. He could feel that Charlie's arms were warm, too, and that even though he'd not only put his own jacket aside long ago, but had also helped his brother to get out of his own jacket two, maybe three hours ago. Still, Charlie was burning up, and if Don could trust his senses, his fever had been steadily increasing instead of ever going down.
The lights went on then, and Don instinctively tightened his grip around his brother. It had to be the middle of the night, if Thorpe was making an appearance now, it didn't bode well.
And to be sure, there was a plastic bag in his hand when he entered few seconds later.
"How's he doing?"
Don felt his hatred against this man spike. "Are you blind? You're killing him, damn it! Can't you see he needs help?"
He knew it was futile, for he knew that this was exactly the situation that Thorpe had wanted to bring about.
"That's why I brought him this," he said as he held up the plastic bag, thereby awakening Don's mistrust. Thorpe's voice was still calm and soft, but Don knew that especially in his case, appearances were more than misleading.
"What's in the bag?"
"I went to the drugstore earlier," Thorpe said and opened the bag to retrieve a pack of Aspirin. "I thought it might help him with the pain, and also to bring the fever down."
"You son of a bitch!" Don exclaimed, his anger almost bringing tears to his eyes. "Isn't he dying fast enough for you, you really need to speed things along?"
"What are you talking about?" Thorpe asked, playing innocent.
"They're blood-thinning! You really think he needs something blood-thinning when he's got a hole in his leg?"
"I'm sorry," Thorpe replied. "I didn't think of that."
Don scoffed and decided not to let himself get manipulated anymore by participating in Thorpe's sick little psycho-games.
"What's going on?" Charlie's mumbling voice turned his direction towards him then.
"Nothing," he quickly reassured him while Thorpe retreated again, taking the Aspirin with him.
Don hardly gave him a glance. But if he'd cared to look, to really look at him, he might have registered the haunted look in Thorpe's eyes even then.
Megan sighed when Don's phone rang. They had just arrived in the office after a far too short night, and the day could have definitely started out better. Since they had arranged for Don's phone to be taken off duty, the ringing meant that someone didn't just want the FBI, they wanted him, and that, with all probability, meant that Alan was hoping to get an update on the search of his sons. The problem was that they were no step closer to finding them than they had been last time they'd talked to him.
"Reeves," she answered the phone, wondering how to phrase their lack of progress.
"Are you working with Don Eppes?"
Megan frowned. "I am, this is his phone, but he's not here at the moment. Can I take a message?"
"He and his brother are being held in the former depot of Baker and Smith's. They're in a cage on the second floor, you'll find the key in the porter's lodge near the entrance."
"Who is this?" Megan asked. As soon as she had realized what this was, she had signaled David to retrace the call and turned on the speakers so that her colleagues could hear the man as well.
"Doesn't matter. Baker and Smith's," he repeated, "and make sure you call an ambulance, they're gonna need one as soon as possible."
Before Megan could say or ask anything else, the caller had ended the conversation.
"Not enough time to trace it. You think it's a trap?" David asked frowning.
Colby had already grabbed his jacket. "There's only one way to find out."
Don had laid a hand on his brother's chest and was feeling his heartbeat while his left hand was absent-mindedly stroking Charlie's hair that had become damp by now. His heart was still beating, alright, but at a rate that seemed much higher than Don's own. He'd thought about checking Charlie's wound again, but where was the sense in that? What if he found that the infection had gotten worse? There wasn't anything he could do. He couldn't do a damn thing to help his brother, and by now, they had both come to realize that.
Charlie was dying.
He felt his eyes well up with tears. He tried to stop them, even though he didn't know why. Thorpe had won. They all knew it, and if Don now also lost his pride to him, who cared? If his brother was gone, what other loss could matter at all?
Up until few hours ago, Don had urged Charlie to keep on fighting, to hold on until help would arrive, and Charlie had acted as though he was willing to do Don that favor by being lucid every once in a while and hanging onto what remained of his life. That, however, was over now. Charlie's state had been deteriorating, he hadn't even woken up ever since dawn had broken.
He'd given up, and now, so had Don.
There were sounds outside, the squeal of a door, but Don took no notice of that. So let Thorpe come in, who cared? What else could there possible be he could do to them? Charlie seemed to be gone too far to even experience pain, so what did it matter?
The door was thrust open and for a moment, Don was sure he was dreaming, or maybe hallucinating. Maybe he was losing his mind, that wouldn't have come as a surprise to him.
The surprising part was to see Colby rush into the room, with David and Megan closely behind him.
"Don, Charlie, are you okay?" Megan asked as she was hurrying towards the cage to open it. "Is there anyone else in this building?"
Don was shaking his head, trying to make sense of the situation. "Thorpe," was his reply as he watched Colby make sure that this room didn't have any further exits or entrances. In the meanwhile, David was guarding the door to the hall and Megan had opened the cage.
"We couldn't find him, you know where he went?"
Don shook his head, still shell-shocked, still not knowing whether this was really happening. He watched Megan's face change color when her eyes landed on his brother, and that was the moment he decided that this was real, and if this was real, they needed to do something.
"Charlie needs help," he said, trying to sit up straighter while Megan knelt down and felt Charlie's pulse. "You need to call an ambulance."
In the meanwhile, Colby had entered the now open cage as well. "How are they doing?"
"Are you hurt too, Don?" Megan forwarded the question.
Don shook his head and this time, fought to keep the tears from spilling and to make his voice work. "Just Charlie."
"Help's on the way," Megan promised. "Though we told them to stay outside. We should probably get Charlie out of here and down to them."
She didn't say it, but still Don heard the silent warning, Every second counts.
Which meant, by implication, that all wasn't lost yet.
"We need to get him out of here," he said, not realizing he was merely repeating Megan's orders, while Colby was one step ahead of them, kneeling down to take Charlie up in his arms.
"Careful," Don warned when he watched his makeshift bandage slip slightly out of position, revealing some of the pus that was protruding from the wound.
"Let me take him," he said as he scrambled to his feet, but had to find that he himself needed the bars of the cage for support, at least for a second or two until his body had become used to standing upright again.
"Take it easy, Don," Megan warned him and put an arm around him as they followed their team members outside into the bright morning sun.
When Alan entered the waiting area of the emergency room, his body was torn in two directions. A part of him wanted to rush forward to take his son in his arms. The other part, the one who was quick to analyze, was repelled by his rigid posture that induced a kind of fear in him he'd never felt before. It was as though someone had built a statue of Don, it was as though he didn't even notice the arm that Megan had put around him. To tell the truth, Alan wasn't even sure whether Don was aware of where he was.
The statue turned its head then, and when Alan took in the expression in Don's eyes, when he saw the grief in their depths, his mind decided to leave. He couldn't take this. He needed to get away from here, he needed to find a place where things were okay, where his sons were both alive and well.
For once, however, his mind was defeated by his body that was acting on sheer fatherly instincts and closed the gap between him and his eldest son. Don had gotten up from his seat to face him, but even in a situation like this, Alan wasn't sure whether he would also accept his embrace.
Don did more than that. He was clinging to his father with a strength that took Alan's breath away, but if he was being honest with himself, if he stopped shutting his eyes from the truth, he knew that it wasn't the grip that was cutting off his air supply.
"I'm so sorry," Don's broken whisper reached his ear, and Alan felt that his knees were about to buckle.
He wanted to ask, he needed to know what had happened, he needed to see Charlie, but he couldn't seem to make his voice work. And it made sense, really. Where there was no air, there was no voice, it was a simple scientific fact, that's what Charlie would have told him.
"It's all my fault," Don's broken whisper continued, and with that, Alan's breaking point had been reached. The tears came to his eyes, but still, his mind refused to accept –
"He's still in surgery," Megan's voice reached him then, and for a moment, he felt something like hope, just enough to keep him in that unbearable state of insecurity.
"He was in pretty bad shape when we found him, but they're doing everything they can," she continued, and Alan felt that his breathing had set in again. It was still shallow, it was laborious past the lump in his throat, it was inefficient enough to make him feel light-headed, but it was back. And maybe, just maybe, his youngest son would come back to life as well.
"What happened?" he asked, desperate to gain some orientation. Don was freeing himself from the embrace then, but made no attempt to answer the question as Alan led them to two adjoining seats, hiding his face in his hands instead while he let Megan handle the talking.
Alan was listening to her report, or tried to, but whatever she was saying, the story that was proclaiming the truth louder than everything else was Don's posture that was bespeaking an amount of despair and pain that only left him with one conclusion that was as clichéd and simple as it was brutal: Charlie was fighting for his life.
The doctor came then, his face grim, and if Alan could have made it possible, he would have stopped the flow of time. As bad as this was, as torn and broken as this state of insecurity and not-knowing was making him feel, he knew that his real destruction would only come with the surgeon's words.
And yet, it didn't.
He wasn't sure whether he was understanding everything, he wasn't even sure he was hearing everything. From what he put together later, it seemed as though the bullet that had led to his son's femur to be broken had also caused an infection that they'd been able to treat just in time before it would have turned into a sepsis. As of now, Charlie's state was critical, but despite appearances, his chances of survival weren't too bad. He just needed to fight the infection and then, he'd be as good as new in a couple of days.
Provided he survived the next couple of hours.
To say it was the longest day and night in Alan's life wouldn't have done justice to his glimpse at an experience of pure hell. For the first hour or so, he managed to busy himself with taking care of Don, with making sure he was getting treatment and being hydrated again. The rest, however, was a long, agonizing succession of moments in waiting. In his mind, he was alternating between sitting at Charlie's hospital bed and standing at his grave, while in real life, he just forced himself to get through each moment, to breathe in and out as though the usual routines of this world had never been disrupted.
Amita and Larry were staying with them, and while neither of them was saying much, going through this hell together was the only way Alan could keep a more or less sane mind. And then, after hours and hours of waiting, they finally found release.
"The fever's going down," the nurse said with a reassuring smile on her lips. "You can go see him now."
"You know, we should probably all sign your cast to avoid a repetition of that," his dad said with a humorous glimmer in his eyes.
"There was no paper!" Charlie justified his former actions. "What was I supposed to do?"
"Well, let's see. Answer A," Larry enumerated, "ask the nurses for some paper, B, memorize your thoughts until morning when we'd be back, or C, not start working in the first place. I'll give you a little hint: all answers are correct."
"It's a shame, really," Amita joined in. "It totally destroys the girly-themed design I had planned for your cast. You know, bright flowers, little hearts… You would have been a real looker on campus."
"Go ahead, mock me," Charlie good-humoredly accepted his fate and decided to play along. "I'm telling you, I'm gonna keep the cast when it comes off, and you'll see, once I'll have published my Cognitive Emergence Theory and won the Fields Medal, the ground-breaking notes on this little piece of plaster will be worth a fortune."
"Oh, so my son's a future Fields medalist now," Alan teased him, but in his eyes, there was only fondness and pride.
Charlie had already opened his mouth to reply when a knock at the door diverted his attention. It opened, and a second later, Don was peeking inside.
"Hey," he said quietly. "Can I come in?"
"You know, I was thinking of getting some coffee," Alan said and stood while Charlie tried to sit up a little straighter. "And maybe some pastries. I could bring them up to you later. Amita, Larry, would you like to join me?"
"Yeah, sure," Amita said and with some reluctance let go of Charlie's hand.
Larry took a second longer to get the hint, but then he too jumped up from his seat. "Right, of course. Yes, that sounds… yes."
"See you later, son. Pain au chocolat?"
Charlie smiled. "Sounds good. Thanks, Dad," he said, knowing his father would understand he didn't just mean the pastry.
"What was that all about?" Don asked when the three of them had left the room.
Charlie shrugged, but told himself he needed to take this opportunity while it lasted, no matter how awkward it was making him feel. "I guess they just wanted to give us a few moments alone." He hesitated. He didn't want to make it sound like reproach, but he wasn't willing to further bury the truth either. "After all, this is the first time that you've come to see me." In six days, he felt like adding, but then decided that at least that would have sounded too reproachful. And even if he generously discarded the first two or three days when he'd still been fighting the infection and the fever and hadn't really been staying on top of what was happening around him, that still left three to four days during which his brother had chosen to avoid him.
"Yeah, we've been really busy at the office," Don said, but Charlie could see that his face was starting to adopt a reddish tint of embarrassment that he was not used to seeing there.
He was silent, unsure of whether to say what was on his mind. He knew that Don had been keeping himself busy at the office, but he'd gone a rather long way to accept his absence. At first, he'd been afraid that his dad and the others were merely hiding the ugly truth from him while he'd been convalescing, he'd been scared that maybe, Thorpe had hurt Don after all. Learning that Don didn't want to see him hadn't really made things better though, at least not until his dad had explained the situation to him.
"We're still trying to catch Thorpe, you know," Don tried to fill the thick silence.
Charlie nodded. "Yeah, I know. Megan told me when she came by two days ago. As David and Colby did yesterday."
He let the phrase hang in the air and waited for a reaction, knowing that his words had hit their mark. He could see that Don was uncomfortable with this situation and damn it, so was he, but that didn't mean they should continue their silence on this matter and just pretend that everything was okay.
Don, hesitant as though he was ready to stop his movements as soon as Charlie told him to, took the seat next to Charlie's bed that their father had occupied before. He looked at his hands in concentration, obviously laying out the words before him in his mind, and only when he had, his head came up and he looked him in the eye. "Listen… I'm sorry. I know I should have come to visit you earlier. But… well, to tell the truth, I wasn't sure you even wanted to see me."
Charlie's upper lip twitched to something like a half-smile. Yes, he'd expected an excuse of that kind, and maybe Don had been believing it himself in the beginning. But not now.
"I'm sure that Dad told you I've been asking about you," he stated as clearly as his slightly trembling voice allowed. "Besides..." He swallowed, trying to keep his voice stable. "Besides, I told you before. None of this is your fault."
Don cast down his eyes. Charlie watched him bite his lip and try to control his facial expressions. Obviously, Don was inundated by the same memories as himself.
"So..." Charlie said and cleared his throat. "Any luck on finding Thorpe?"
Don shook his head. He swallowed visibly, and after that, his voice sounded almost normal, even though he was keeping its volume rather low. "No. But I promise you, we won't rest until we find him."
Charlie nodded, slowly. Yes, he knew that this was Don's plan. But he also knew that he couldn't let him continue to go down that path.
"Why is this so important to you?" he asked quietly, a little afraid of his brother's reaction, but knowing he needed to see this through, for Don's sake.
"Why?" Don's voice was high, hysterical, and when he continued, it seemed as though it was about to fail him. "Charlie, that guy kidnapped you – us – and he almost got you killed!"
"I know," Charlie said quietly. "And I agree he should be punished for what he did. I'm just wondering… I'm just wondering how far you're willing to go to see him punished."
Don was frowning. "What are you saying?"
Charlie regarded his bedclothes, debating on whether he should say what was on his mind. Then again, he'd come to the conclusion that they needed to talk about this honestly, so the truth, the full truth, seemed to be a prerequisite for that.
"Your team told me that you've been calling in favors at the office. That you seem to be adamant to hunt Thorpe down, no matter what it takes."
Don's mouth had become thin. "You make it sound as though there was something wrong with that."
"I'm just saying… he's not the only bad guy out there. Sooner or later, you'll have to let it go and set other priorities. That is, if your main goal is what it should be as an agent, that is keeping the streets safe. And not making sure to make someone pay who hurt you personally."
"Look, this isn't about me, this is about all of us, it's about protecting our system. He didn't just hurt me or you, Charlie, he attacked an officer of the law, we need to send out a message that we won't let anyone get away with something like that."
Charlie shook his head. "But does that really justify a manhunt of this proportion? For he only hurt you and me. And from what we know, he's not a danger to anyone else, and judging by everything he did lately, I think it's also safe to assume that he's no longer a threat to us, he repents his crimes. And at the same time, there are a lot of other criminals out there and a lot of other crimes that could be stopped if you stopped concentrating on Thorpe. So all I'm asking you is how far you're willing to take this manhunt."
"As far as it takes!" Don replied with some heat. "And if you have a problem with that, I suggest you seek some counseling for your Stockholm syndrome!"
Also Charlie was getting upset now. "It's not Thorpe that I'm not worried about, I'm worried about you!"
"About me? Why would you be worried about me?"
Charlie sighed and stared at the ceiling, as though the solution to this problem would somehow appear there by magic. However, he knew the solution already, it was just that he also knew that getting there would be rather difficult, especially given Don's rigid attitude towards Thorpe and his actions.
"Thorpe wrote me a letter," he eventually admitted. "It was in the mail two days ago."
As expected, the outburst came. "He what?! You should have told me about this! Maybe there are prints on there we can use, or any other clues that might lead us on his track! And anyway, you should have told me so we could have made sure to increase the security measures for you, who knows what he's planning!"
"Relax, okay? I gave the letter to Megan and she made sure to let it get examined by your people."
"Still, you should have told me!"
"Why? You're not even allowed to officially work this case, remember? Besides, he didn't write that letter to threaten me, he only wanted to apologize."
"Apologize? Charlie, that scumbag –"
"I know what he did, okay?" Charlie interrupted him, getting more and more upset by his big brother's tendencies to tell him what he should and shouldn't do. Granted, Charlie was pursuing a very similar strategy today, but at least he wasn't alone with his views on his brother's new way of life. "I know he deserves to be punished. But Don… he lost his brother, and that during a really traumatic experience."
"So what, that gives him the right to do the same to us?"
"It doesn't, but –"
"You know, Charlie, I don't know what Thorpe wrote to you, but I do know that he almost got you killed, and I also know that there's nothing he could say or do to make me think it was okay what he did. Actually, the fact that he's now going behind my back to get to you and tries to play on your emotions only shows that he still wants to torture us, he's just trying to manipulate you so you'll feel bad for him, and you just fall for that and make it easy for him to do whatever he's planning to do to hurt you next!"
It was taking Charlie all he had to control his anger. "You're done?" he asked as calmly as he could. Don didn't respond, so he decided to start the counter-attack. "Okay, so ignoring your insult by insinuating I'm just blindly believing everything that Thorpe tells me and that I'm letting him manipulate me, I'd just like to remind you of what I said earlier, whether or not you cared to listen: this isn't about Thorpe, this is about you. And if you weren't so fixated on seeing him punished, you would see the man underneath. He lost his brother, Don. He was hurting and he was blaming himself, and then he directed all his bad feelings against you and made you the target of his personal vendetta. Remind you of anyone?"
"Oh, I see," Don replied with some sharpness. "So you're saying I'm just as bad as him?"
Charlie rolled his eyes, feeling his desperation grow. With forced calmness, he went on explaining, "That's not what I'm saying. But Thorpe is really sorry for what he did. In his letter, he explained that when he saw us together, he was thrown right back to that time in the bank, and he realized that it was still hurting just as much as it had then. Taking revenge hadn't made anything better, only worse, and he realized that he needed to stop, because Jacob would have never wanted him to turn into the monster he'd become. He wrote that he would like to turn back time and stop himself from obsessing over you, because now he can see it cost him six years of his life. In the end, he understood that he needed to let it go, and you and I both know that he saved my life in the process by calling your team, but everything he did for his vendetta before that, everything he loaded on his conscience, is all something he has to deal with now. And I… I just don't want to see that happen to you."
Don was silent for a moment, and Charlie nourished some hope that maybe, he was getting through to him. However, for the time being Don still wasn't convinced.
"You're saying he saved your life, but don't you see how twisted that sounds? He's the one –"
"Who tried to kill me in the first place," Charlie took over, "I know, but don't you see? It doesn't matter. This is not about whether Thorpe is really sorry for what he did, but I know that you're going to be sorry if you go down that road. Because this isn't you, Don. For if we're being honest here, you don't want to arrest Thorpe to see justice being done, you want to catch him because you want him to pay for what he did to us."
Don was frowning, as though he was failing to see what was wrong with that, but in his eyes, Charlie could see that at bottom, he too had come to the same conclusion as him. "I do, I want him to pay for that, so what?"
"The problem is that you've been taking it to a point where nothing else matters. Like, for instance, making the time to visit me here."
Don shrugged, but there was an uneasiness in the gesture that couldn't go unnoticed, by either of them. "I'm here now, am I not?"
"Because eventually, you bowed to public pressure, but you're still dying to get back to hunting down Thorpe," Charlie observed. "But it won't work, Don. Catching him won't make you feel better."
"Oh, so you're an expert in psychology now," Don said, but didn't quite strike the sarcastic tone he was going for.
"I'm not," Charlie admitted, but only to bring home his last and crucial point, "but Megan is. She agrees with me. As a matter of fact, we all agree on this. There's only one way to make this better, Don, and Thorpe's not a part of that. You won't stop hurting if you don't forgive yourself."
He saw Don bite down his lip. His face was twitching, he was obviously struggling to control his emotions. He managed, but the despair in his voice was something that he couldn't get rid of that easily. "But I can't."
Charlie was hurting too from seeing his brother like this and frankly, he didn't know what else to do. He'd shot his last arrow, and he'd succeeded somehow, Don had realized that he had to stop this.
But how?
"You promised me," Charlie said in a low voice. He too bit down his lip, remembering those moments in the cage, and he felt that fervent wish again, this need for Don to come through this alright. "Look," he went on and had to clear his throat, "I understand why you think you're responsible for this, but you're simply not. It was Thorpe's doing. It was his actions that brought this situation about, not yours."
"But if I hadn't –" Don tried to protest, but Charlie wouldn't let him.
"No, Don, you only did your job. What happened at the bank was tragic, but you did nothing wrong."
Don was shaking his head and when he looked up at him, his eyes were shining brightly. "But what if that's not enough? What if doing my job, even if I'm doing everything right, brings you or Dad in harm's way? I mean, don't you see what the alternative is here? I can't just keep on doing that and pretend as though nothing happened, so if I can't hunt down Thorpe, I… I mean, it's the sensible solution anyway, it's just that I've been trying to find ways out of it. But if that's what happens when I do my job, and if I can't make it right again, then I… then it means I'll have to leave the FBI."
Now, it was Charlie's turn to shake his head. "It doesn't. So maybe this one time, the bad guy managed to take revenge, but that's an absolute exception. The system is designed in a way that prevents such cases. This was an anomaly, one that you couldn't have foreseen, and thus one you're not responsible for."
Don looked at Charlie then, and when Charlie saw the emotions his eyes were holding, he felt thrown right back into that cage, though not to the pain and fear, but to the feelings of trust and strength he'd been drawing from his big brother.
"I'm just so scared something like this might happen again," Don whispered, having taken Charlie's hand in an uncharacteristic show of his inner battles.
"I'm not," Charlie replied and gave his brother an encouraging smile, knowing he had the most powerful ally on his side – the force of math and logic. "Don – an event like this… it's so unlikely that you can't even calculate the probability for it, since there aren't any statistics to base your assumptions on. A singularity like that to occur twice – the odds for that are simply not reasonably calculable."
"But I was responsible, I should at least have looked out for you."
This time, Charlie almost laughed, even though the anguish on Don's face rather made him feel like crying. "What are you talking about? Don, you did look out for me. You did everything in your power to protect me and make sure I was doing okay. Hell, you even let yourself get kidnapped! So yeah, if it hadn't been for Thorpe and your connection to him, I would have never been in this situation. But if it hadn't been for you, I would have never come out of it alive."
Don was silent. Apparently, he'd finally run out of 'buts'.
"Don, please," Charlie begged, desperate to bring this agonizing conversation to an end. "This is what he originally wanted, he wanted to destroy you by making you blame yourself. Please. Don't let him win, especially now that he doesn't even want that anymore. In fact, neither of you would be winning, so it's the worst possible solution for everybody."
Don had been softly chuckling towards the end of Charlie's talk, but had patiently waited for him to reach his conclusion. When he looked up at him, there was a fond smile on his lips, tentative still, but it was the start that Charlie had been waiting for. "You have an answer to everything, don't you? How can I argue with a logic like that?"
Charlie grinned. They'd won, both of them. "You can't."
- finis -