A/N: I just want to take this time to thank my reviewers... you guys honestly make my day. You are the reason I keep writing All of you were SO supportive and so enthusiastic... it just made me want to post immediately!
I especially want to thank Dreamboat. You left one of the most honest reviews I've ever seen, and it meant the world to me. It really snapped me back into the world of writing and made me realize what I'm trying to achieve with this story. Thank you so much
I love all my reviewers!
Chapter 3
Why?
That was all Don could think. It was a question that had consumed his mind and forced him into an endless loop of despair. He felt betrayed, lost, hollow... but more than anything, he felt like he had failed. He had failed to protect his little brother from reality.
It felt like Charlie had been there forever. Yes, of course, they had always been brothers... but they were complete opposites. Charlie was the little brother that made the parents smile. Don was the older brother who had to learn to make it on his own. Charlie had it made, but Don had to find his way by himself. He had to make a name for himself...
For years, even the sight of his brother made him cringe. Did he love Charlie? Of course... they were brothers. But did he like Charlie? No.
"Hey! What's goin on? What're you doing here?"
"Making sure you don't take complete and total advantage of Dad!"
Why had he tried so hard to make his brother feel inferior? Why had he wanted to prove himself to be better than Charlie? Why... why did he waste all those years competing?
Because when the competition finally faded, he found his best friend.
Charlie was everything to him. Charlie was his friend, his partner, and above all else, his little brother. He had wasted so many years of being a big brother... he never let Charlie play baseball with him and his friends. He never let Charlie come in his room. He never let Charlie into his life... but Charlie always wanted to be a part of his life. His little brother just wanted to help.
So many years of shielding a naive, curious, brilliant little mind from the world, he had wasted. Why hadn't he seen it before?
Don let his head fall against the window, the glass cool against his skin from the rain outside. Perfect... it was raining. The dark skies mirrored his sorrow, his very soul drowning in a rain of memories. Memories of Charlie...
"Merrick just feels threatened because you ran your own office," Terry's voice played in his mind. It didn't make him feel any better, though... even from the beginning, it was only Charlie that could brighten his day.
"You know, I don't know a lot about mathematics, but this doesn't make any sense to me..." Merrick had tried to tell Charlie, but the bright-eyed genius would not be challenged.
"Makes more sense than this," he snapped back, pulling a lottery ticket from Merrick's shirt-pocket. Despite Merrick's haughty retort, Charlie continued to smirk triumphantly. As the young genius went on to explain that the odds of Merrick's winning, Don felt himself suddenly overwhelmed with pride... That was his little brother standing up to the office jerk (and winning, no less). For the first time in his life, Don felt proud that Charlie was his brother.
And from there, the affection had only grown.
But Charlie had grown too, hadn't he? For the first time in his life, he was faced with reality, and it was as if he finally grew up. Charlie had gone from the small, timid mathematician to a normal human-being. At first, all it took was for Don to be grazed by a bullet because he was at the scene Charlie had predicted and the young genius had gone into reclusion. He wasn't able to face reality...
And yet, just a short tim later, Charlie was the one who was almost shot. A sniper had aimed at Charlie's head and pulled the trigger. Statistically, Charlie was dead. Statistically, they were both dead. And yet... they returned to the crime scenes together again and again.
Charlie was no longer a child living in his father's house with no perception of reality. Charlie was a regular in the FBI office, browsing through files and telling Don what he could and could not help them with.
"...right, but with Chaos, there's no telling where a case will lead... and there could be mathematical applications I can't detect yet," Charlie had explained to Don one night, a gleam of pride in his eyes. It was slight, but Don caught it. It was not Charlie's pride from his math... it was Charlie's pride from being able to help his older brother with his math.
"I love that about you," Don stated quite simply. He had meant it though... for the first time in his life, he loved his brother as a friend, too. Charlie had been so confused... and yet, he looked so happy. He was proud of himself. And Don was proud of him too. For the first time in their lives, their worlds had intertwined.
So why... why hadn't he seen this coming? Why hadn't Charlie talked to him? Why...?
Was it because Charlie faced so many years alone? Was it because the mathematician had grown up with no older brother to talk to? Was it because the reality was just too much?
He hadn't trusted Don. He had a reason not to trust Don. Don wouldn't let Charlie trust him for almost thirty years. Who could blame him for not trusting Don now?
"Charlie... I'm so sorry..." Don spoke quietly, opening his eyes to the stormy world beyond the window. The rain splashed against the window, mirroring the tears that ran down his face... the despair overflowing his body and spilling down his cheeks... the regret that threatened to consume his entirety... the pain...
The world was spinning. Spots were dancing before Don's eyes. Before he knew, he was on his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps and then rushing from his lungs in choked sobs. He let his body fall against the wall, a shaky hand covering his mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut.
"I'm so sorry... Charlie... Why...?"
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"Charles? Are you all right? You're not working on P vs. NP again, are you?" Larry asked cautiously, gazing around the garage. Charlie jumped nearly three feet in the air before turning to face his colleague. He sighed in relief--why, Larry had no idea--before setting his chalk down.
"No, I'm working on a case for Don..." he said softly. Larry peered around the side of his friend and discovered equations written again and again... variables circles again and again, each of them equaling a value. Papers were scattered across the floor when red circles on them, and some were taped to blackboards where letters and variables rested.
"It looks a bit more... complex, might I say? Mathematical?"
"It's the murderer," Charlie replied softly. "Mike Curzon. He was good at math. Now he's using it in his murders... mathematically discovering random spots for his murders and leaving clues and codes in equations on corpses..."
"Well that certainly doesn't sound very pleasant," Larry stated, shaking his head and squinting at the blackboards. He had found the pictures of the equations on the corpses, and it made him want to vomit. "Charles, are you sure it's a good idea to be working on this? You've been staring at the mutilated flesh of dead people for two days. That's not healthy."
"But the time I spend doing something else is time Mike can use to kill his next victim," Charlie responded as his voice escalated to just short of panic. He had turned to face his colleague, his eyes wild and expression desperate. Larry sighed, rubbing his forehead; he knew Charlie was at his wit's end. The genius had turned back to the board and was occasionally scribbling random numbers and variables, but mostly, his chalk was simply hovering tensely over the surface of the board. Larry recognized instantly that this was the sign of a dead end for Charlie. He could go no farther, but something in his young mind was screaming that he could. Larry knew the genius had to stop, or he would go out of his mind.
"Charles, I hope you remember that you have a class to teach tomorrow. You cannot neglect your responsibilities because of this... Until the FBI specifically hires you, at least," he explained, resting a hand on Charlie's shoulder. For a moment, a loaded silence hung in the air... but then, Charlie's shoulders dropped, his tension released. He smiled at Larry, and the elder man knew he had won. "Now how about you sit down. I brought us some dinner... When was the last time you ate, anyway? Wait, never mind... I don't think I want to know the answer."
But by the time Larry returned, however, Charlie was fast asleep in his chair. Larry shook his head in disbelief of the young mathematician, but he could not help smiling. Charlie really was a one-of-a-kind.
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Alan had tried to cook dinner for them, but he had not the heart... and what he did make, the two Eppes simply pushed around their plates. The room was filled with an eery silence, empty and hollow without Charlie's usual ramblings. The deep despair in Alan's eyes seemed to burn through Don, reminding him of how much he had let his family down. Alan and Charlie had been so close...
Don couldn't take it anymore. Alan didn't blame him. The younger Eppes murmured his thanks, rinsed the uneaten food from his plate, then headed for his room. His mind was not with him as he climbed the stairs. He did not feel anything as he twisted the doorknob and walked into the room he had always had in the Eppes's family home. He did not think as he walked to the mirror and slowly began to look up.
The face that looked back at Don was ghastly pale, but the eyes were red and puffy. His hair stood at odd ends, and his clothes hung sluggishly on his body. Don watched himself, watched as his chest rose and fell…
He was breathing. He was living. He was still here…
But Charlie… Charlie was barely alive. Charlie was lying in a hospital bed, unmoving, unable to even exist on his own. The bright-eyed genius with a heart big enough to fit everyone had suddenly been torn from their lives, and no one knew if he would ever come back. Why was it that this happened to him? Why did he want to leave? Why didn't Don see it? Charlie had only just found the happiness in his life, and he'd been torn away. Why? Why wasn't he allowed to finally live in his newfound world behind his numbers?
Don watched his chest rise and fall again. Then, he watched as his face twisted in anger and confusion, and his fist slammed into the mirror. Don made no attempt to move as the broken glass fell around him, slicing his bare skin open. The pain… it felt good. It felt relieving, because for a minute, he did not feel the mental pain. he only felt hurt on the outside, and it gave Don a wild sort of relief. He stepped away, almost laughing as his bare feet met the broken glass. As he fell onto the bed, he could feel small, red rivers running onto the covers, and it allowed a wild grin to creep onto his face as he crawled forward.
Moments later, Don's distorted joy had faded, and as he let my head fall into the pillow, he began to scream. Don screamed like he never had before, filling his lungs with emotion and then letting them burn through his throat. Even when it stung, Don continued, because again, physical pain helped take away the mental pain. Yet no matter how much he hurt, or what he did, Don could not force Charlie's smiling face from his mind...
A smile he had only just learned to love.
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Amita let her eyes rest on the solemn figure of Charlie, and instantly, she could feel her eyes brimming with tears. It was nothing new; they were red from days upon days of crying. Her face was gaunt, her appearance disheveled, but she found she could care less.
Why did it matter if Charlie wasn't there?
"Charlie... I'm so sorry!" she choked, collapsing into the chair beside his bed. "You told me... but I was too scared. I thought you were making it up... or that you had done your calculations wrong..." Amita let her head drop, her body racked with sobs as her face twisted in pain. "But you were right... Charlie, you were right! Why did you only tell me? Why..."
Dry heaves took over her small frame; she had not eaten in days. Her vision was always spinning, regret and terror eating away at her mentality. No matter what she did, all she could think of was Charlie. She could not talk to anyone... her guilt was too great. Charlie had warned her, but she had been to afraid to break her promise and tell Don.
And now, Charlie was almost dead.
"Please Charlie... please hang on!" she pleaded before a shaky hand covered her mouth. Tears were spilling down her cheeks, draining her body of its last resources. For days, she had not talked to anyone, or even been back to her apartment... she had slept in CalSci, wherever her despair took over and forced her to the ground. She knew she was not safe...
"No matter what, Amita... if something happens, I want you to run, and you can't look back."
"I'm running, Charlie," she choked, barely opening her glassy eyes to gaze at his unmoving figure. "I'm running, just like you made me promise... but I don't want to run anymore. I'm tired of being alive..."
His calculations, the cut-off phone call with him the night it happened, his warnings... She knew there was no place she was safe.
"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be here... but I had to see you. You're all I have left, Charlie... until someone else knows what I do, I can't face them. You're all I have... and I'm sorry..."
Softly, gracefully, she pressed her lips to his forehead, her tears splashing onto his face and running as if they were his own. They could have been... tears of a sorrow that had consumed him from the moment he heard her voice. It was a sorrow awoken by her apologies... the apologies that came from guilt and regret so great that it spilled from her eyes and onto his face, or from her mouth and upon his ears. He heard her...
And from somewhere beneath the fog of impending death, Charlie had forgiven her.
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A/N: Wohoo! Finally, more posted... I hope this chapter was better than the last. I really tried to put as much emotion into is as I could. I hope it's evident This was an everyone-else's perspective chapter... next chapter will be very focused on Charlie. I just needed the mystery to develop a bit more.
Please review. Reviews are what motivate me to keep going.
