A/N: Many thanks to you readers and reviewers, and special thanks to becky01 - thanks for your support!

"Malaria!" exclaimed Alan.

Megan nodded. "He pulled me down close and said it out loud in my ear - just that one word."

"So much for Washington, D.C.," said Colby. "That must have been a front for wherever he actually went."

Ceres said, "Well, it's good we found that out. That certainly wasn't in our testing panel, because we didn't think he was out of the States."

"So that's good, right?" asked Alan. "You can treat malaria."

"You can," said Ceres, "but this won't be a slam dunk. There are several types of malaria in various parts of the world, and they respond to different drugs. We need to find out which one he has. And we are coming late to the game - he's already very sick. I don't want to dash your hopes, but don't think we can run right in there with a cure in the next hour. I'm going to get our top infectious disease guy on the phone, and I'll instruct the nurses to get him on something for his fever in the meantime. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to get right on it." He nodded with a small smile. "That was one of the most satisfying patient discussions I've ever participated in."

He strode off. Alan turned to Megan and impulsively hugged her, which made her beam. "Nice work," he said. "Thank you."

Don nodded. "Thanks, all of you," he said to his team. "It looks like we're in for a wait. Why don't you guys head out? You've all had a long day."

"Not as long as yours," said Colby. "I can stick around for a while."

"It's okay. I'm not leaving," said Don.

"Neither am I," said Alan. "Don is right - you all have to go in and protect our fine city tomorrow. Get some rest. We'll be okay here."

The others straggled out one at a time, and Don and Alan settled down in the waiting area. Alan attempted to get Don to go home and sleep, but Don refused. There was no way he would leave the floor as long as those two vultures were in there with Charlie. He said, "Dad, I had that sandwich you brought, but you probably didn't get any dinner. Why don't you go down and grab something before everything closes up here? It's going to be a long night, and you'll need your energy. I guarantee you; It'll be taking a nap on these chairs at some point."

His father conceded, and ten minutes after he left, Don walked down to Charlie's room, pushed the door open, and went and sat beside his bed. There was a nurse there, putting something in his IV - probably the medication for fever that Ceres had ordered.

"Hey," said Robles, who looked like he was still fuming from their previous altercation. "You can't be in here." But his show of anger was just bluster; he and Vanderberg didn't bother to stand. Something had changed.

"I know," said Don. "I'll leave in a minute. Charlie, are you awake?"

Charlie looked flushed, but his eyes opened and tracked toward Don. Don reached over and grabbed his hand and said, loudly enough for the others to hear, "It's okay, buddy. The labs came back, and you've got malaria." He saw Robles and Vanderberg glance at each other. "They're going figure out which type it is, and get you on some medicine. You should start to feel better soon."

He saw a glimmer of understanding in Charlie's eyes. He gave a faint nod and squeezed Don's hand. He was too weak to muster a smile, but Don could see him relax slightly. His breathing sounded horrible, raspy, and too fast. Don saw the nurse check Charlie's pulse oximeter and frown. She made some notations in his chart and left. Don sat there for five more minutes until Charlie closed his eyes, and his hand relaxed.

Robles said, "Time to go."

Don stood and faced him. "What do you care? We know he's been out of the States now."

"Yes, but you don't know where or why. We need to keep it that way," said Robles stubbornly.

Don gestured at Charlie. "Fine - but if he's sleeping like this and not in a delirious state, my dad will be in to sit with him later."

"It's against our orders -," Robles began, but Vanderberg cut him off.

"We'll allow it under those conditions," he said firmly. Robles gave him a look but shut his mouth.

Don wondered at Vanderberg's change of heart. He went back out to the waiting room to sit. His father was gone a little longer than he expected, and when he returned, he handed Don a new prepaid phone, still in its packaging. "David called me, and I met him downstairs," said Alan. "He brought you this. And I brought you this." He handed Don a cup of coffee.

"Thanks." Don took a swig of coffee gratefully. It was hot, and after days of instant coffee, tasted like heaven. "I went in to see Charlie. Only for about five minutes, but they let me stay that long. I told Charlie that the labs had come in, and the tests showed he had malaria, and they were going to treat him."

"Good thinking," said Alan. "Now, they won't suspect that Charlie said anything."

"I told them you were going to come in and sit with him if he was quiet, and Robles objected, but Vanderberg overruled him."

Alan was already on his feet. "Now?"

Don nodded. "Whenever you want."

"I'll be back," his father muttered, already on his way down the hallway.

Don opened up the prepaid phone and punched in any numbers he knew by heart - his father, Colby, David, Megan, and A. D. Merrill. He sent a text to David thanking him for the phone and then one to A. D. Merrill letting him know he had a prepaid phone, and he could reach him at that number.

The phone rang just seconds later. A. D. Merrill said, "Well, that helped. I was just trying to figure out how to get hold of you. I have some information."

"Yes?"

"Charlie has some friends in high places. And I do mean high. I won't say specifically, but I pushed this up to our director, and he started making noise at his level in other organizations. He didn't get much out of the CIA, but one of those other department heads knew Charlie. That person must have spoken to the President, and the President directed the CIA or whoever Robles and Vanderberg are working for, to stand down. They'll be out of there shortly. Apparently, Robles and Vanderberg weren't acting according to any specific orders anyway. They had orders to keep the mission quiet and were waiting for further instructions on how to handle it. Keeping people away from Charlie was their own interpretation of those orders, and they pushed it too far."

So that was why Vanderberg had backed off, thought Don. He knew that their superiors hadn't sanctioned their overly-aggressive stance. He'd read the writing on the wall.

"Unfortunately, I still haven't found out anything about the assignment itself," said Merrill.

"Well, we found out what he has, and that he was out of the States, but not specifically where. He has malaria. He had it while he was away, and he's going through a relapse."

"Well, it's good they have a diagnosis. Are they treating him?"

"Not yet. There are different strains in different parts of the world, and they have specific treatments for each. They're trying to figure out which strain Charlie has."

"So, it would still be helpful to know where he's been."

"Yes, it might be, depending on how fast their tests are."

"That might be tougher to get, but I'll see what I can do."

"We would appreciate that. Thank you, sir, I mean it."

"Don't mention it. I always enjoy a scrap with my brethren in the CIA."

He hung up, and not fifteen minutes later, Robles and Vanderberg came trudging down the hallway, heads down, on their way out.

Don grinned cheerfully and saluted them with his cup of coffee. "Good-bye!" he called loudly. "Thank you!" Or at least, 'thank you' was what he meant to say. He might have said something not quite so nice.

…..

A minute later, Don walked into Charlie's room to see Alan leaning over him. "What was that, Charlie?" He glanced up at Don. "Charlie's trying to tell me something."

Don eyed him dubiously. "Maybe you'd better make sure it's something you want to know."

"No, he's not delirious," said Alan. "He's looking right at me - he knows what he wants to say."

He was right - Charlie's eyes weren't all the way open, but they were focused. Charlie waved his hand - the slightest of movements - toward a bedside table. "Water?" asked Alan. "He wants water."

He grabbed the plastic container of water and put the straw to Charlie's lips. Charlie took a sip and stopped to catch his breath. He took another, just as Dr. Ceres and another man walked into the room. Alan nodded at Ceres. "You keep some hours."

Don saw Charlie move his mouth again, but what he was trying to say was inaudible. Alan gave him another quick sip of water, but his attention was on the doctors. Ceres said, "This is Dr. Amid, our infectious disease expert. We have been conferring. We're still waiting for lab work to come back to type his malaria."

Amid said, "Malaria is caused by the plasmodium parasite, and there are five different species. The most common are P. falciparum, P. vivax, and P. ovale. Each of them responds best to different medications. The fact that Dr. Eppes believes that he had this once and it has now returned could mean one of two things. Either it is a recrudescence, which means that it was not eradicated with the first treatment and in the absence of medicine has returned, or it is a relapse, which occurs when the parasites are removed from the blood, but they have left behind dormant particles that cause symptoms. Recrudescence could happen with any of the three, but relapse is more likely with P. vivax or P. ovale." He spoke directly to Charlie. "Dr. Eppes, since some of these types occur most commonly in certain areas of the world, it would be helpful to know where you have been."

Charlie looked distressed. His shoulders sank, and he closed his eyes and shook his head. There was a collective sigh from the group. "I hate to wait," said Amid, in a low voice, to the rest of them. "He is very ill. Malaria can present in many ways and attack different organs, including the spleen and liver, but it can also attack the lungs, which is happening here. His oxygen levels are dropping, and we are preparing to switch him from low flow oxygen to high flow oxygen. The next step is a ventilator."

Don was watching Charlie. His eyes had opened, and he was moving his mouth. "He's trying to say something."

Amid and Alan were the closest to him, and they both bent to listen. "'P' - he said 'P,'" Alan said.

Amid said, "Dr. Eppes, do you remember which type you had?"

Charlie nodded, a single weak nod, but it was a nod. Amid said, "Which one?"

They all watched Charlie's lips as he tried again. "He's saying 'F' or 'V'" Don said. "Not 'O.'"

Amid straightened. "It's falciparum. Is that correct, Dr. Eppes?"

Charlie nodded again, and Don let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. "Very good," said Amid briskly. "I will start treatment immediately, but we will follow up with lab tests. If it turns out to be something else, we will switch the medication. Can I speak to the family outside?"

Don and Alan exchanged a glance, and Alan patted Charlie's hand. "We'll be right back, son."

Amid led them down the hallway and stopped to face them, with Ceres by his side. "It is good news that we have some idea of what this is, as long as it was diagnosed correctly the first time. Unfortunately, P. falciparum is typically the most dangerous type of malaria. It is found predominantly in sub-Saharan Africa."

"Africa!" exclaimed Alan.

Amid nodded. "There are also some P. falciparum strains that have become resistant to the more common malaria drugs. I am going straight to some medications that are newer and more substantial. I'm afraid they have some unpleasant side effects, including nausea and vomiting. Dr. Eppes is in for a rough time. I don't think we have a choice, however. He is sick enough that we will only have one shot at this. That is also why I am starting treatment based on his word, which generally would not be done - although we will confirm with testing as soon as we can. We need to get him started on medicine as soon as possible."

He paused. "I worked several years in Africa, battling this and other diseases, and I know P. falciparum well. The parasites are in his bloodstream and are multiplying fast. If they get too numerous, the drug will not work quickly enough to save him. I didn't want to say this in front of him because we need him to fight, but there is a genuine chance he may not make it."

There was complete silence in the hallway. Amid said, "I am sorry to make you worry, but I think you have been lied to enough today by others. I want you to understand so that you can make the most of your time."

Don's throat constricted; he couldn't speak. After all that he and Charlie had gone through, after everything they had done to get him here and find out what was wrong, the man was saying it was too late?

Alan finally found his voice. "We understand. We aren't going to give up on him, but we will use our time wisely."

Both doctors nodded. Ceres said, "I have told the staff that I have waived ICU visitor restrictions for the two of you. You may spend as much time with him as you like."

"No, we can't," Don thought miserably. "Not if he's going to leave us." The doctor's last statement held particular irony in his case. He had just gotten to a point in his life where he actually wanted to spend time with his brother, and now there was the possibility that they might not get that chance.