A/N: Returning from my hiatus by posting something that's one of my favorites, but never saw the public eye. This is actually in my 'drabble' folder, lul. It turned out to be the longest thing I've written for the brothers Eppes to date.
I'm not tagging this as incest because, in this story, Don and Charlie aren't related. But if they squick you either way, why are you even here?
Enjoy.
Stranger
He was a beautiful stranger, with short hair and sunglasses always hiding his eyes. Charlie sits a few seats down from the man, yearning to start a conversation with him but too nervous to say a word. Every time he thinks he has the confidence, the man would be at his stop and his chance would be to the wind.
Charlie tells Amita and Larry of the stranger, secretly hoping that they would know something about him. Maybe a name. Where he lived. What he did for work. It was an illogical way to think—why would they know anything about him?—but something in Charlie's blood aches to know everything about whoever the person was.
He exudes a strong air of confidence around himself, a trait that Charlie admires because at times, he finds he lacks confidence in his abilities that didn't have to do with math. The man looks strong as well from the glances Charlie manages to sneak from time to time; muscular in all the right places, and he finds himself staring more than was polite. Sometimes, the stranger would notice and he would duck his head, hoping to the gods that he wasn't blushing.
His friends don't offer help when it comes to his questions, yet they—mostly Amita—give him a talk about how he should just go up and talk to him already. Despite the nervous feeling fluttering in his stomach, Charlie agrees, vowing to at least say hello the next time he sees the man.
X
The following day, Charlie gets on the bus and sees the stranger sitting in his usual place, seeming to be chewing gum and headphones stuck in his ears. Great. It would be harder to get his attention, but his vow to himself the day before makes him sigh and sit down next to him.
Several minutes pass and Charlie quickly realizes that he's losing the window of opportunity. His heart racing, he taps the stranger on the shoulder, blushing when he lowers his sunglasses. Brown eyes, his main weakness in a man or a woman.
"Um," Charlie says lamely, wringing his hands together. His mystery man tips his head, his eyes showing curiosity but not hostility, and it makes Charlie more confident. "I'm, uh, Charles Eppes. Most call me Charlie. Can I ask your name?"
"That's a funny coincidence," the man replies, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Donald Eppes, Don for short. Nice to meet you, Charlie."
The same last name. The probability of that was low but he doesn't let it deter him. There were thousands of people in the world who shared the same last name but no relation, but "Eppes" wasn't a popular last name to begin with-…
No. Stop that, Charlie.
"What do you do for work?" Charlie inquiries instead, knowing his face is flushed but unable to do anything to stop it.
"FBI. My SUV broke down a week ago and the government have been taking their sweet ass time fixing the damn thing," Don answers his question and unspoken one, looking out the window for a moment before turning his head. "What about you? What do you do that you're on the bus?"
"I'm a professor of mathematics at CalSci. My Prius is in the shop because I, um," embarrassment tinges Charlie's voice, "ran it into a pole."
Don laughs and Charlie smiles, finding that he loves the sound of the other man's laughter. "You remind me of when I started driving. I ran into everything."
"It wasn't my fault," Charlie is quick to defend himself, feeling his face heat up more, if that was possible. Doing some quick calculations in his head tells him that it's quite possible and he gives a mental sigh. "The pole materialized from nowhere."
"Sure," Don laughs again and grins. "Where do you get your sense of humor?"
"It's a natural talent."
The man shakes his head, his grin softening to an amused smile. He takes a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket as well as a pen, scribbling something on it and handing it to Charlie. "My number for my apartment. Call me sometime."
The bus stops and Don gets out. Charlie hides his grin behind one hand and looks at the paper in the other. That couldn't have gone better.
X
Charlie gets off work at ten p.m. and looks at the paper that he kept in his pocket all day. The bus wouldn't arrive for another twenty minutes and he guesses Don would be off work by now so he takes out his cell and dials.
Each ring makes Charlie's heart beat faster in nervous anticipation before a familiar voice answers it. "Eppes."
"Don?"
"Charlie, right? You did call. I was wondering if you would."
"I just got off work." There's a pause before Charlie says, "I was wondering if you would like to meet up sometime, not on the bus, just to talk. You can say no," he adds as an afterthought, not wanting to seem like he was demanding anything.
"Sure thing. How about the local park? I get off at six tomorrow so any time after that is ideal."
"I should be done by seven at the latest, so I'll call you when I'm off?"
"I'll be waiting for it."
X
"Aren't you glad you have friends like us?"
Charlie nudges Amita playfully, shaking his head at his friend. "Yes, as I told you several times, I'm glad that you two convinced me to talk to him."
"Tell us all that happens tonight," Larry says. "You know the code, so call one of us if something goes wrong."
"I'll do that, but Don's in the FBI. I don't think anything can happen."
"Sometimes agents can be corrupt," Amita interrupts, resting a hand on her friend's arm.
"He seems sincere," Charlie's quick to defend, a little surprised at himself for defending Don that fast. He shrugs it off, deciding that it was because he was nice enough on the bus to warrant it.
"We want you to be cautious, Charles, and we also want things to go well with this Don character. It just doesn't hurt to be prepared in case things happen," Larry reassures, standing up from the chair in Charlie's office. "I have a class to teach, so if you two will excuse me." Patting his friend on the shoulder and giving him a smile, the physics professor leaves.
"Do you want to sit in on one of my lectures?" Charlie asks Amita, giving her a small smile.
"Sure," she replies, returning the smile with one of her own. "Lead the way."
X
Charlie finishes at 7:30 and digs his phone out of his pocket, dialing what's quickly becoming one of his favorite sequences of numbers.
It takes a few seconds, but a familiar voice answers. "Charlie?"
"Check the caller ID?" Charlie says, his tone full of humor. He hears a chuckle on the other end of the line and can't help the grin that settles on his face. "I take that as a yes."
"I take your phone call means you're off work," Don replies, his tone echoing Charlie's. "I'll meet you at CalSci's parking lot in ten minutes."
The call disconnects and Charlie stares at his phone for a moment before pocketing it.
Exactly ten minutes later, a SUV pulls in the parking lot and the windows roll down, revealing Don's face. "Hey Charlie, get in. The park's not too far from here."
Charlie does as he's asked, shutting the door and putting his seatbelt on. Silence passes between them for a few minutes before he breaks it with, "How does it feel to be driving again?"
"It's better than the bus, that's for damn sure." Eyes flick over and Charlie feels his face heat up. "Despite the fact the bus introduced me to you."
Is he flirting with me?
He decides to ignore the voice in his head and plays along. "You're lucky. My car is still in the shop and there's apparently a million things wrong with it besides the dent."
Don snickers. "Yeah? You must have bad luck with cars. You don't look a car person anyway; more like an attractive nerd."
"Attractive nerd?" Charlie snorts. "You look like a bad boy muscle man yourself."
"There's a new one," Don says with amusement and they both laugh at each other and their name calling. The drive passes in casual conversation; asking how the other person's day was, their colleagues, and so on, until Don asks, "How old are you?"
Charlie blinks. He wasn't expecting that question. "25."
"You're a teacher at 25? Impressive."
"How old are you?" Charlie throws back, a teasing edge to his voice. He was a bit nervous about the answer; things were going so well between them, he didn't want it to be ruined by something like a huge age gap. He guesses Don was at least in his thirties, but the exact age, he was unsure.
"30. I know, I look older than that. Everyone always comments on it."
Charlie breathes a sigh of relief. Five years was ideal. He guessed an older age, but according to the older man, that was a popular thing. He sounds a little irritated by that, so he doesn't comment, instead saying, "I'm always mistaken for younger. Now that's annoying."
Don chuckles, and with that hurdle overcome, they settle back to easy conversation until the park comes in view. "There it is. How do you want to take this?" Don questions, head tipped to the side. His eyes scream curiosity, the same way they did on the bus, and Charlie can't help but smile. Don was endearing when he was like that.
"We could take a walk, get to know each other better," Charlie suggests, his smile widening. "Or we could sit down and chat. I'm open for either suggestions."
"I'd rather walk. This latest case is, well, let's say it's hard on everyone."
Charlie nods, not asking because it's not his place to, and they walk, settling in a comfortable rhythm. For a while they do that, not saying anything, just enjoying the other person's company, until Don asks, "I noticed you looked at me a lot on the bus but never did anything. How did you get the courage to sit next to me?"
Charlie can feel blood rush to color his cheeks. So much for him not noticing. "I told my friends about you and they told me to go for it, in simple terms."
"You told your friends about me, huh?"
"Yeah. That's, um, that's okay, isn't it?"
"It's fine. I'm just surprised."
Surprised, not turned off or repulsed. Charlie takes it as a good thing. "There was something about you," he continues, feeling momentarily confident, "that made me want to know and talk about you. Man, I sound stupid, don't I?"
"No, Charlie. You don't," Don is quick to reassure and his hand reaches out to squeeze the younger man's shoulder. "Some people might find it weird but being in the FBI, I've seen my share of weird things and this doesn't score high on my list."
A smile pulls at Charlie's lips and he can't help but duck his head. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a nice person?" he asks, genuinely curious.
"My Dad mentioned it a few times. My team says it from time to time. People I bust, not so much," the older man jokes, grinning when Charlie laughs. "You're more sweet than anything. It's charming."
"Sweet? C'mon man, men aren't supposed to be sweet."
"It's not a bad thing. I just hope you haven't been taken advantage of because of it."
Charlie thinks back to his girlfriends and boyfriends that used him and grins bitterly. "Maybe, but I was young and stupid. It's taught me a lot of things."
The rest of their conversation passes easily and when Charlie looks at his watch, he notices it's past nine. "Do you mind driving me back to my apartment?"
Don looks confused, but one look at his watch causes his eyes to widen. "Shit, I didn't realize how late it was. Sure, I don't mind. Just give me the directions."
Charlie does so once they reach the SUV and they chat more until his apartment comes into view. "I had an amazing time, thank you," he says once he gets out of the vehicle. "Can we do it again sometime?"
"Yeah, definitely. I'll call you when I'm free again."
Charlie waves and Don waves back before he winds up the windows and leaves.
X
Three weeks later, Charlie receives a call that Don wants him to visit at his family house. Despite not being able to see each other physically, they kept texting—Don gave him his cell number a week ago—and calling from time to time to the point Charlie thinks that Don considers him one of his friends.
He has to if he's inviting you to his family house.
Charlie arrives at seven p.m., noticing that Don's SUV wasn't in the driveway. He must be working still.
Licking his lips, he gets out of his Prius and locks it, making his way towards the door. He doesn't even knock before it opens and an older looking man greets his eyes. "Ah, you must be Charlie," he says, moving out of the entryway. "Come on in, son."
Charlie blinks but enters the old building, eyes taking in the furniture, television, and a glass shelf containing trophies and family pictures. "This place seems homely," he thinks aloud, throwing himself in the nearest chair.
"This house has been in our family since Donnie was born," the man pipes up, sitting on the chair opposite Charlie. "I'm Alan, by the way. My son's told me you two met under unique circumstances but won't go in more detail besides that. Will you satisfy an old man's curiosity?"
Alan leans forward and Charlie smiles a little, feeling a strange sense of comfort around him. "Both of our vehicles were broken down so we had to take the bus to and from work. I sat next to him after a week and the rest, as they say, is history."
"Sounds like one of those love stories out of a romance novel," Alan comments. "My wife, Margaret, used to love those."
"Used?"
"She passed away from cancer about three months ago."
"I'm sorry." Charlie looks down at his hands, not able to stand the look of pain on Don's father's face. "My Dad was killed by a hit and run driver six years ago. My mother… She left my life after that happened but she wasn't the model parent either."
"You don't look that old," Alan says, the look of pain replaced with one of confusion. "You're in your twenties, at least, aren't you?"
"I'm 25," Charlie reassures, knowing that Alan might be freaked out if his son was expressing interest in someone who was under twenty. Wait, expressing interest? Who said that he was?
He was flirting with you in the car and at the park, remember?
Oh.
The door opens and stops Charlie's internal conflict when a voice yells, "Hey, anyone home?"
"In here, Donnie!" Alan yells back and Don appears from the entryway a few seconds later. "I was chatting with your new friend about some things."
"Hey Chuck," Don greets him with a small grin. "I brought beer. Anyone want one?"
Charlie rolls his eyes. A week prior, Don resorted to calling him that annoying nickname and although he wasn't too fond of it, the older man seemed to be, so he let the matter drop. Then again, he hadn't put up much of an argument to begin with. "I'll take one."
"I'll pass," the eldest Eppes gets up and goes to where keys hang off a rack. "I'm going bowling with an old friend and I don't think she'd appreciate it if I showed up drunk."
"She?" Don smirks. "Good going, Pop."
Alan shakes his head at his son. "She's a friend, Don. Nothing more." With that said, he turns towards Charlie, giving him a smile. "Stay as long as you want, Charlie, and feel free to crash here if my son gets you drunk."
"I'm not going to get him drunk," Don mutters just as Alan leaves. "Do you watch baseball or hockey?" he asks after a beat of silence passes between them.
"Not religiously, but I turn it on if there's nothing else to watch," Charlie replies, scooting over on the couch so the older man can sit next to him. Don takes the invitation and sprawls out beside him, his arm resting on the back of the couch, and Charlie can't help but blush a little. "Is there one on?"
"Yep," Don flicks through the channels for a minute before settling on a baseball game. "I used to play baseball when I was a kid, you know."
"Really?"
"I did. I stopped once I realized that the FBI was more what I wanted to do with my life but those trophies there?" He points towards some on the glass shelves. "Those were from my glory days as a utility player."
"I never played sports. I was more interested in getting my PhD than anything else," Charlie comments as he looks at the trophies.
"Ah, now that doesn't surprise me. Always the nerd, huh?"
"I guess you could say that."
They chat easily through the night and when Charlie looks at the clock, he sees it's almost ten. "I guess I should let you go. It's getting late."
"Time seems to go faster when you're around," Don says with a lightness that Charlie's sure is a little forced, but he doesn't know why it would be. "I might be busy for a while, but I'll text you whenever I can so you know I'm not dead, okay?"
Charlie nods, moving off the couch and giving a small wave. "Good night, Don."
"Night, Chuck."
X
Days turn to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. Charlie moves up in the math community to the point he consults for various law enforcement agencies, and when he's near his 27th birthday, he begins consulting for Don's team.
He's had almost two years to realize he's in love with the agent, but he doesn't know how to bring it up. They've hung out whenever their schedules would allow and he's sure that Don's noticed his red face whenever they're in close proximity. Maybe. He could be a bad study of people like Charlie is, but he doubts it.
They tackle various cases together and the love he feels does nothing but intensify. The day comes when he feels ready to confess, so he finds the older man at the shooting range, wincing at the noise of guns. He was always sensitive to noises and never liked guns much to begin with.
Charlie taps Don's shoulder, smiling a little as the agent turns around, takes off his soundproof headphones, and gives him one of his heartwarming smiles. "Are you free after this?"
"I'm free now if you want to talk," Don replies. He puts the gun back on his holster and tilts his head. "Something wrong, Chuck?"
"Um." The confidence Charlie felt seconds before deflates and he turns away, feeling his face heat up. "Nothing. Go back to what you were doing."
"Charlie," Don says seriously and rests his hands on Charlie's shoulders to turn him around. Charlie's eyes flick upwards to stare into the older man's concerned ones and he tries to look away but Don doesn't let him. "What's going on?"
"It's nothing to be worried about," Charlie is quick to reassure, "but-… Oh, what the hell."
He leans forward, slowly, giving Don plenty of time to escape if this isn't what he wants. He sees conflicting emotions on the agent's face; curiosity, confusion, realization, acceptance.
Then, his eyes close, their lips meet, and Charlie thinks yes, this is everything I've ever wanted.
The kiss continues until it's interrupted by Don's cellphone ringing. A groan of annoyance escapes him and he pulls away from Charlie, tilting his head to the side when the younger man begins to suck on his neck. "Eppes."
Charlie feels the tension in his friend's—maybe lover's?—body and pulls away, seeing a look of pain on Don's face. "What's going on?" he asks, letting all the concern he feels bleed in his voice.
"I have to go," Don says in lieu of a reply, moving away and giving Charlie a look of apology. "This is important."
"Can I—can I come?"
The agent seems to consider it for a moment before he nods. "Sure," he replies, his voice taking on something of a bleak tone.
Charlie doesn't know what's caused Don to act this way but whatever it was, he knows he'll do his best to help him through it.
X
"She had cancer."
Charlie stops in the doorway, eyes widening a little. He doesn't have to guess to know who Don's talking about—the ATF agent who committed suicide. Or maybe not. That's what he was investigating in, to see if the woman did end her own life or were there other means that brought it to a close.
Father and son talk for a few minutes before Charlie knocks on the wood. "Can I come in?"
"Charlie, you don't have to sneak around here," Alan chides him and Charlie smiles a little. "You're welcome whenever you like."
Don's eyes look far away and the mathematician wishes he could take the pain he sees hiding there. "Thanks," Charlie says after a few seconds of silence, crouching next to his friend. "Are you okay?"
"I'm as okay as I can be," the agent offers in response, standing up, Charlie following soon after. "I'm gonna take off. See you later."
With a pat on his Dad's shoulder and a ruffle of Charlie's hair, Don's gone as quickly as he came.
X
They find out Nikki's death wasn't a suicide, that it was a pre-planned murder, and they catch the fellow ATF agent who was responsible for her death. Afterwards, Don and Charlie sit on the couch in Don's apartment, beers in their hands and a game playing on the television. For a while they sit in silence, not saying a word, until Charlie says, "That kiss, um—"
"We never had time to discuss that," Don finishes and a smile pulls at his lips. "It's okay. With everything that was going on, I barely had time to eat, let alone think of what it meant to me."
"What it… meant to you?"
"Yeah." The older man leans closer, turning Charlie's head so their foreheads press together. "I've, this is embarrassing to admit, but I've been attracted to you since you had the courage to sit next to me on the bus a couple years ago. Without realizing it, it grew to something more, which I ignored because I have a terrible track record when it comes to relationships.
But then you kissed me and I realized that I wanted to try. I want us to stay friends, no matter what the consequences are or what happens. If you can promise me that, I want to be with you, in every sense of the phrase."
A goofy grin forms on Charlie's face and he leans forward, closing the distance between them with a (rather forward) kiss. Hands roam and explore, tongues slide together, and they make sweet, tender love there on the couch.
Shuddering through the aftershocks, Charlie leans forward and whispers in his newfound lover's ear, "I love you."
Don grins and pulls him back for another kiss. "I love you too, Chuck."
X
The aftermath of the next few cases leave the lovers with scars that could only be healed by the other person. The bullpen shooting left Charlie traumatized in a way he never admitted to anyone but Don. The Russian mafia showed Don how far he was willing to go to protect Charlie. Crystal Hoyle left them realizing how fragile love was, how quick your significant other could be taken from you.
Charlie sympathized with Buck Winters. Despite what he and Crystal did, they truly loved each other, and the mathematician momentarily wonders if that's what he and Don could be like if they weren't what they were. Shuddering at the thoughts, Charlie shakes himself. No. They wouldn't be criminals. They were both too honorable for that.
As he sits on the floor of the old house, playing virtual golf—a sport he was terrible at but he tried to learn, even with his streak of giving up on things he couldn't learn right away—the thoughts eat away at him until the door opens and a voice comes seconds later. Charlie smiles and looks over, coming eye to eye with his lover.
"Get her?" he asks, knowing the answer, but asking anyway.
"Yeah."
"Bad?"
"Yep."
Charlie knows what's going on—Don giving monosyllabic answers meant he was tired and didn't want to talk. Setting the controller down, he reaches up, tugging on the older man's arm until he sits next to him. "Are you going to be okay?"
"Maybe."
Charlie nods, leaning his head on the agent's supportive shoulder. They sit in silence for a while until the door opens again and Alan's voice echoes through the old house. "There you boys are," he says, giving his son a concerned look. "Is everything all right?"
"Tough case," the younger man replies when Don doesn't say anything. Alan nods in understanding and picks up the abandoned controller. "You play video games?"
"I'm not the greatest," Alan admits, unpausing the game and lining up the shot, "but this is golf. I may as well attempt it."
The solid frame supporting Charlie vibrates with a chuckle and he can't help but laugh a little as well. It was nice to hear Don's laughter, especially with everything that happened recently.
Maybe, just maybe, things would be okay again.