A/N: Dear readers - thank you so much for your support during the writing of this story - Happy Holidays to you all! And now for the conclusion...

Charlie came off the oxygen the next day. It took him three more days before he could tolerate any food due to his medication and the disease itself. His lungs began to clear, and his breathing was better. He was alert for several hours each day, although he was frail and did a lot of sleeping. Even so, he progressed, day by day. Don was on vacation anyway that week, and he finally went home for a shower and some much-needed sleep after Charlie's improvement, the day after he'd arrived at the hospital. After that, though, he was there every day, all day, as was Alan. Two days after the turnaround, they moved Charlie to a regular room, and Colby, David, and Megan stopped by to visit. Charlie asked that no one at Cal Sci be told that he was there - he was supposedly on vacation in the mountains, so no one would ask. Telling them that he was in the hospital would only invite questions that he couldn't answer anyway.

His fourth day in the hospital was a Thursday, and Don was there that morning when they brought Charlie his first real food - a small bowl of oatmeal and some toast. Charlie nibbled at it gingerly.

Don frowned at him. "You aren't going to get stronger if you don't eat."

"I'm eating," Charlie retorted. "I'm just taking it slow. I don't want it to come back up."

"So what are you going to do next week? You're supposed to be back at school."

Charlie chewed on a bite of toast and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Then I'll be back at school. I might ask for an extra day or two. Any more than that, and they'll want to know why. Classes haven't started yet. I can go into my office and work and not have to move around much."

Don looked skeptical. "And how are you going to get to your office? You haven't even tried to walk yet. They're saying you'll need physical therapy to get moving again."

"I start therapy today. I'll make it work. I'll have to."

"I don't think you should push it. You need to make sure you get over this stuff this time. You don't need another relapse."

Charlie sighed. "I don't know what you want me to do about it."

"Lie," suggested Don. "Tell them you contracted some bug in the mountains. Your water purifier didn't work, something like that."

"Maybe that would work," Charlie said doubtfully. "I could probably ask to work from home."

"There you go," Don said, briskly. "That wasn't so hard."

"Hmmph," said Charlie, through another bite of oatmeal.

Therapy, on the other hand, was hard. Harder than Charlie would have liked to admit. It consisted of a walk out into the hallway and back into the room. By the time he finished that, he was trembling and sweating and his legs were ready to give way. The therapist had planned additional strength exercises, but he nixed those. He got Charlie back into bed with a quick stop for the bathroom and just did some simple stretching and manipulation. Charlie figured that if he was getting a grade for the session, he had probably flunked it, and by the look on his father's and brother's faces, they thought so, too. Less than a week ago, he'd been climbing mountains, and now he couldn't even make it to the bathroom by himself. And Charlie knew he looked terrible. He'd gotten a look at his legs as he got out of bed, and they resembled matchsticks. He didn't even recognize the gaunt creature with the scruffy beard in the bathroom mirror. Don was right. It was going to be a long road back. And it was about then that he finally got angry. Angry at his own weakness, angry for what they'd put him through. Angry at missing out on the trip of a lifetime with his brother. He was just downright pissed.

…..

Four days later, on Sunday afternoon, Charlie was released. Don came with Alan to the hospital to help bring him home. He hovered nearby as Charlie stepped out of the wheelchair and slid into the passenger seat, but Charlie needed no help. Don had to admit, he didn't think there was the remotest chance of Charlie getting released so soon, but on the second day of therapy, Charlie surprised them all, including the therapist, and attacked his set of exercises, then demanded more. He was sore and tired the next day, but he went at it just as hard. And the next after that. He'd ensured that he could walk without help, which was one of the most significant determining factors for release. He was keeping food down, and his appetite was improving. His fever was gone, and his regimen of medication ended Sunday. So the doctors released him. Don didn't know whether to be worried over Charlie or admire his grit. He did both.

Charlie had finally admitted to the University that he had been hospitalized, saying only that he had caught a 'bug' on his trip. Which bug and which trip he neglected to specify, letting them think he'd gotten sick on his camping trip. He asked to prepare for his fall classes from home, and they agreed. His close friend and colleague, Larry Fleinhardt, showed up at the house as soon as he heard the news and fussed over Charlie's gaunt appearance. With Alan there, and Larry making frequent visits, Don decided it was safe to go back to work. Monday morning, A. D. Merrill called Don, David, Colby, and Megan into his office. He informed them that they were being sworn to secrecy concerning Charlie's diagnosis and the raid on the pot farm in the mountains - orders from the FBI Director. Don did not doubt that the Director had gotten his orders from someone even higher.

Tuesday evening, Don stopped at the house for dinner. As he stepped into the doorway, the smell of his father's lasagne ̶ award-winning, in Don's opinion ̶ wafted through the house. Charlie was on the sofa, feet propped on an ottoman, his laptop in his lap. He looked up and smiled. "Hey there. Just in time for dinner."

Don smiled back. "Is there any other time to visit?"

"How's your arm?"

"Good. I get the stitches out tomorrow. Can't wait ̶ it's itchy as heck." Charlie looked good, relatively speaking, Don thought. He was still far too thin, but he'd shaved, his curls were washed and tamed, and he looked relaxed, upbeat. Much closer to the same old Charlie, although Don would never look at him in quite the same way again. Don still had a hard time reconciling his mental image of an innocent nerdy head-in-the-clouds mathematician with someone who worked top-secret missions for the government. Or, for that matter, someone who loved the outdoors and was well-versed in the demands and planning of long-distance hiking. There was a lot about Charlie that he had missed during the years they'd been apart.

Alan came into the room, and Charlie set aside his laptop and motioned them both over to the sofa. "Here," Charlie said, "Look at this." He had the Sunday paper flipped open to page three, which featured international news. The headline read, "U.S. Agrees to Infrasture Deal in Africa."

Charlie allowed them a moment to read the article, which stated that a U.S. coalition of companies had agreed to a comprehensive infrastructure agreement with several African nations, including the building of roads and bridges and hospitals. "China has been doing infrastructure projects in Africa for some time," he said. "The U.S. is also trying to participate, partially to offset Chinese influence on the continent, and partly because it provides lucrative work for some of our contractors. We had to bid competitively to beat the Chinese prices. This was the first project I worked on when I went to D.C. At the time, they wanted to keep it secret because they didn't want the Chinese to know we were bidding on it. I can tell you about it now because we won the project, and it's obviously public knowledge."

He continued. "I was only supposed to go to D.C., but the plans changed. We got the project ready in about a week. I did volume and flow analyses for the highways, including projected increases in population and the number of vehicles on the roads to plan for size. At the end of the week, word came in that the prime minister of one of the key countries, his cabinet, and his technical advisors wanted to meet in person, so they charted a plane and flew us over there. Some of the group had been traveling back and forth there already, and they had already received vaccinations and preventative anti-malarial drugs. I was one of the few that hadn't, but the plan was for us to fly over one day, be in a conference room in a large city the next, and fly back the following day. It was low-risk for encountering mosquitos, so they deemed it safe for us to go. I tried to tell them that they didn't need me for the conference and that I had something that required my attention back at home, but they wouldn't budge."

He took a breath. "While I was over there, another group, working on something else entirely, decided that they needed a mathematical analysis done, and they heard that I was over there. As soon as the first project ended, I ended up in another part of the continent, stationed in a military outpost in the bush. It happened so fast that no one thought about vaccines or anti-malarial medicine, including me. I felt I'd been shanghaied, was irritated about the whole situation, and just wanted to get them what they needed as quickly as possible so I could get home. I can't tell you what that second assignment was about - it is highly classified and probably will be for a long time."

He paused and looked at Don directly. "I did my best to get home to help you, but once I was out there, they weren't letting me go until they had gotten what they wanted. I should have told them 'no' in D.C. while I was still on U.S. soil and could make my own travel arrangements. But at the time, I had no inkling that another group would ask me to work on a second project, and I thought it was just going to be an extra three days. The two weeks allotted for the first project wasn't even over yet. So, I went." He made a face. "Bad decision on my part."

Don didn't respond; he was still having a hard time thinking of Charlie in a "military outpost in the bush," but Alan said, "It's perfectly understandable, Charlie. You were supporting your country."

Don finally found his voice. "I can't fault you for that - supporting our country is my job. But I do fault them. Ensuring your safety should have been considered first, and they completely dropped the ball."

"Agreed," said Alan, heartily.

Dinner was delicious - salad, fresh Italian bread, lasagne, and Alan opened a nice red wine. Don noted with satisfaction that Charlie did an excellent job with his plate, although he apologetically turned down the wine. "I'm not supposed to drink for a month or so," he said. "The doctors said that malaria is hard on the liver."

After dinner, Don and Alan both shooed Charlie out of the kitchen, and Don helped Alan clean up. Charlie let them, saying with a mischievous grin, "I'm milking this as long as I can," and he disappeared out into the garage. The screen door slammed shut behind him. It was the same old wooden door that Don had grown up with, and the dry 'thwack' sounded comfortable and familiar. The sound of two car doors slamming outside was another matter. Don stepped to the screen door, in time to see Charlie disappear into the garage, and then two men in suits strode by, after him. Alan peered over his shoulder. "What are they up to?"

Don tossed him the kitchen towel and pushed out through the door. "Hopefully, to give him a commendation," he said, but he had his doubts. The men looked grim, and they had an air about them that said 'agents.' For whom, was anybody's guess. Don flung over his shoulder, "I'm going to check it out."

He approached the garage door, intending to go inside and help Charlie face them; they were intimidating. But at the door, he heard Charlie's raised voice, and he stopped. "You guys really know how to beat something to death," Charlie growled. "I already swore to secrecy. I didn't say anything in the hospital to give anyone any idea of the subject of the project."

One of the men said, "We're just following protocol. A situation like that calls for a debriefing, and the other two agents were pulled out before they could do that. It's simply attention to detail and following procedure."

"Attention to detail, like the attention you paid to getting me the proper preventive drugs for the assignment," Charlie shot back.

"Atta boy," grinned Don. Charlie was far from intimidated; he was angry, and he was letting them have it.

"That was an oversight," said the other man stiffly. "You were already over there; we thought you probably already had taken them."

"An oversight? I thought you guys didn't make mistakes," Charlie snapped. "Your oversight nearly cost me my life. I'm a civilian who is committed enough to almost give his life for his country, and you have the gall to come to my house and question my commitment to secrecy?"

The two men were starting to look angry, and Don thought to himself, "Okay, buddy, enough is enough. You don't want to piss them off." One of the men took a menacing step closer. Charlie was facing them, trembling with anger. Don had a mental image of a cartoon that someone had floated around the office, showing a furious little mouse giving the finger to a ferocious eagle bearing down on him, and despite his trepidation, he had to grin.

The first man said, "I'd be a little more civil if I were you. Granted, you have support now, but Presidents come and go. We'll be around long after he's out of office."

"Consider your debriefing finished. I just verified that I said nothing about the mission. Now get off my property," said Charlie coldly.

The men turned to go, and all of them, including Charlie, finally noticed Don in the doorway. Don gave them his best smile as the two men stalked past him with sour faces. "Evening, gentlemen," he said, pleasantly.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Don said, still grinning, "I came out here to see if you needed any help. Apparently not."

Charlie finally smiled, a little shakily. "Yeah, well, I was a little torqued." He ran a hand through his hair and let out his breath.

Don said, "You really are familiar with the President?"

"Not exactly," said Charlie. "I know the head of the NSA. I'm guessing he heard about it and let the President know what was going on. Although how the NSA heard about it to begin with, I don't know."

"I think that was A. D. Merrill and the FBI," said Don. "I told him what was happening, and he ran it up the flagpole. I suspect that the FBI Director ran it past the other agency heads."

"Ah," said Charlie. Their eyes met, and he smiled. "Thank you."

"No problem. Hey, about that hiking trip -,"

Charlie's shoulders sagged. "I don't see how we can reschedule it now. I won't be in any shape for it for another month or two, and by then, there's snow in the mountains. It's pretty much impassible in the winter unless you have hardcore equipment - ice picks, crampons - and a lot of know-how for hiking in the ice and snow. Plus, school is starting. We had that one window, and I blew it."

Don shrugged. "Well, there's always next year. When does the season start?"

He saw Charlie's face brighten. "The best time is June through August. Really? You'd want to try it again?"

Don threw an arm around his shoulders. "Damn right. Those two days up there before you got sick were the best two I've had since I've been back home. Pick a week, and I'll make sure to get time off."

Charlie looked surprised - enough to render him speechless - but his huge grin was all the response Don needed. As soon as Charlie found his voice, he ran for his computer, babbling excitedly about when they should go and why, and the importance of getting a hiking permit early. Don stood there and listened and watched him type, and smiled.

End