A/N: I have no idea what Charlie's classroom look like, so I just fudged it based on the classroom I've been in.
And also, I know, there is no reference to whether Don spent any time outside of LA except for the obligatory training at Quantico, so I decided to throw a little something in during Charlie's questioning.
Don't know if the FBI has Caller ID (though I don't know why they wouldn't).
Don't know anything about LA street maps or public school system. (3/9 Except what Jelseium has sent)
Just made it all up.
If anyone can figure out why Benjamin Zander has a school named after him, you get a gold star...
Chapter Two:
For her first three days in LA, Alice saw little of LA beyond the air port, the hospital where Derick was being held, Dr. Forker's office for a nearly-inappropriately cathartic screaming match, and the walls inside her patients' home. She ran mostly on caffeine and slept while the family was off at school and work. Her night were spent listening to Derick's softly shuffling gait as he wandered around the house, peeking in momentarily on his sleeping family. Ali walked with him at times, sat with him as he flipped through magazines, hummed what songs came to her mind in order to fill the air. She spoke little, and when she did it was only after Derick had made some, however minor, indication hat he was coming up from his darkened mind.
And he was returning to the world. When she walked into his room at the hospital the boy's eyes looked so dead to the world, so empty she repressed a shudder. She wondered for the hundredth time how she could be so dense as to not recognize how deeply this boy needed help. But now, three long, sleepless, yet immensely helpful nights later, Derick was interacting with the world again, not merely responding. Last night at dinner he'd asked his mother for a second helping, rather than merely standing and dishing it up for himself, as he had been doing. Alice had even managed to get him to sleep, his head in her lap, on the couch for a few hours.
Just seeing Derick home and coming out of his shell, little by little, was enough to relieve some of the pressure Emily was under. Alice spent a few hours with her that morning, talking, counseling, even a little crying. There wasn't much being said that Ali hadn't heard a hundred and one times before, from Emily and every other parents of an extraordinarily gifted child. It was the same worries, the same there always were, just put in a harsh new light now that she was in a new town where she knew no one.
Walter, for his part, was appropriately terrified at what he'd gotten himself into, and terrified for stepsons and new wife. He felt helpless and guilty and wanted to know that no, Derick wasn't like this because they'd moved because he'd gotten a new job.
And Christopher? Chris was scared for his little brother, having never seen the boy this bad, ever. He was angry at his stepfather and mother for moving them out to "stupid California" and letting this happen to Derick. He was angry at Derick for falling apart like this, and guilty for feeling angry, and angry for feeling guilty when he had a right to feel however he felt. And he was tired, so tired of having to be the good one, never getting into trouble, always looking out for everyone, always looking after himself when he was supposed to be rebelling against overprotective parents. Christopher's too was a cycle Alice had seen a hundred and one time before; in Christopher, Don, and every brother and sister who came through her office doors, without exception.
Ali did manage to call her husband, though, as a way to keep her own sanity. He'd been less-than-enthusiastic about her need to go to LA in the middle of the night, but he'd not put up more than a three second fight before helping her pack and driving her to the airport. Ryan even managed to convince her to let him come out to LA for a few days if it looked like she'd be staying past the weekend. She said she'd probably not have the time, but knew, just as Ryan did, that if the family was falling apart as hard as it was, she'd need her own support. And even though he didn't say it, Alice knew he'd be there.
While the family Seed-Koepnick was out at work and at school on Ali's third day in LA, a Thursday, she finally managed to get out to the Cal Sci campus. After nearly an hour and a half spent wandering around the appropriately manicured grounds that identify any college campus across the US, she managed to find Charlie's classroom.
But, as had been her luck this week, Charlie was in class.
However, recognizing her luck to be piss poor as of late, Alice had brought a book she's purchased at the airport.
The class let out about twenty minutes later, and Ali made her way inside. Charlie hadn't heard her enter, his attention focused on the small gaggle of students surrounding him, and a moment of delicious mischievousness struck her.
She moved, as out-of-sight as possible, up to the second row of seats, the fourth seat in from the aisle; a perfectly random spot to her, if forced Charlie could probably make an argument to the contrary, but for the purposes of juvenile humor, it worked. Alice pulled up the foldaway half-desk that all the chairs in classroom had, and put her purse on the desk, in the closest approximation to a student ready to leave as she could manage. And then she waited. When the last students surrounding Charlie made their way towards the door and he turned to the blackboard, oblivious to her presence.
Adopting her best Brooklyn accent, Alice raised her hand and spoke. "Professor Eppes, I had a question about the homework."
Charlie, bless his sensitive little genius heart, tried to disguise his jump as he turned around. But it took only a split second to recognize her, eyes widening visibly over the fifteen feet between them, and started laughing. "Please tell me you haven't been there the whole time!"
"If I have to answer that, you really need to pay closer attention in class!" Alice said, laughing still as she made her way down to him, wrapping him in swaying, smiling hug of friends reunited after too many years separating them. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Ali remembered the last few times she saw Charlie as his mother's funeral, her wedding, and his and her respective graduation ceremony. That same part was highly disappointed in the fact that she hadn't gotten out to see him more often; but a larger, and more importantly, louder part of her brain was still laughing at his good humor.
It'd been too long.
"Ali, what're you doing in LA?" he asked when he pulled away. "When'd you get here? Where're you staying? Do you need to stay at the house? Does Dad know you're here? Don? He's back in LA, you know. Is Ryan with you?"
"My God, you are your mother's son!" Alice laughed. "There's a patient of mine here I had to take care of."
"A patient? You work in New York." Charlie looked confused, as he often did with a quick reference that made little sense to him. Unlike most people Alice ever met, but like many of her young patients, Charlie's confusion, rare as it was, always came through clearly on his face. And Charlie, like those kids, would run it around in his head a hundred times until they figured it out or killed enough brain cells to make them forget.
"Excellent deduction," she teased. But then she explained, "His family just moved here a few weeks ago; they haven't been able to find a new psychiatrist and the kid took the move hard, so here I am. I've been here a few days now, but business before pleasure."
Charlie nodded, sobering up. He knew of the patients Alice treated, the geniuses, and it was still an uncomfortable subject for him. Ali didn't blame him, it had to be odd to know that a friend chose their profession not because they were inspired by what you did, but merely by you. Uncomfortable and yet oddly honored.
Alice plunged ahead, knowing through both personal and professional experience there was a silence coming where Charlie would ponder the source of his discomfort. "So how have you been doing? I talked to your dad a few weeks, he said you were working with Don?"
Charlie's face brightened at that, as Alice had been hoping it would. The brothers Eppes have always had a chip on their respective shoulders where the other played into their lives. Thankfully for all who knew and cared for them, the mutual resentment had come to a head only once, but unfortunately, it had been while Mrs. Eppes lay wasting away from cancer. Neither brother had forgiven the other for things said and done during those months. The psychiatrist in Alice knew that when they did finally talk about it, it would take years before either would understand, much less forgive. But the part of Alice which considered Don and Charlie brothers wanted to skip all that, choosing instead to grab and twist their ears until they said they were sorry.
Alice and Charlie fell into the easy pattern they'd had for years, speaking as they always had. The moments of silence that did fall between them were few, but comfortable, and when Charlie had to teach another class, she waited patiently in his office, flipping through magazines as patently erudite as those that littered Ali's own office. When Charlie came back into his office Alice was on his computer, it's screen tilted away from the door and out of sight. The same mischievousness that hit her earlier while waiting for Charlie had struck again while he was away, and she'd made up an elaborate plan for watching Charlie's reaction when she "discovered" his fictitious personal porn archive. Knowing him, he'd make a rather clumsy dash to look at the screen only to find her looking at lecture notes from a conference a month or so ago. Hilarity would ensure, Charlie would call a cease fire, and Alice's mind, satisfied for now, would obey.
But unfortunately Ali was just getting to the punch line when another head stuck itself into the office.
"Do you have a minute, Professor Eppes?" the woman asked.
An incredibly attractive woman who should be thankful I'm straight and married, Alice thought.
"Uh, yeah, sure," Charlie said, throwing a glance Alice's way. "Amita, this is an old friend of mine from high school, Alice Guinyard; Ali, Amita Ramanujan. I'm her thesis advisor."
"Ali," Alice said. She shook hands with Amita, who was smiling almost broader than was humanly possible. The deeply buried smart ass in Alice made itself known again, wondering if Amita's cheeks ever started cramping, and once again Alice was thankful she rarely spoke such thoughts aloud. "Please, don't mind me," she said instead, "you've got more important things to do than entertain me."
"It'll only take a minute," Amita said again.
"You'll be okay?" Charlie asked.
If there was a moment to bring up the personal porn stash again, this would be it, but Alice nodded and said, "I'll try to limit my destructive nature to the things I've brought with me."
As Alice watched them work, huddled close over the papers between them, leaning into each other, almost-but-almost-quite touching. Alice knew that it was only a matter of time. Charlie, you dirty dog, she thought, amused, Boning a student, are we? My, my how we've grown.
Soon enough the little conference was over and gathered up her papers to leave; unable to resist the urge to dig up a little dirt, Alice said, "So Amita, Charlie says you worked with him and Don on somethings for the FBI?"
"Oh, yeah, well, Charlie did most of it, I just ran through it afterwards," Amita said, looking more at Charlie than Alice as she spoke. "So you and Charlie went to school together? You used to live in LA?"
"I'm based out of New York now, but yeah, Charlie, Don, and I graduated the same year."
"Ali and her friends were pretty much the only students in the entire school who didn't ignore me or try to beat me up," Charlie said, softly, smiling with self-consciousness.
But he spoke of those years, something he rarely does with anyone. Interesting, Alice thought, then felt guilty for studying her friend's behavior. "It was pretty worthwhile agreement," she smiled. "We walked him to class, he made sure we don't fail math, everyone went home happy."
"Well, I'm glad Charlie had you all then," Amita said, smiling at Alice, then Charlie. Again. "So were you close to Don, as well?"
"Not so much, but we've been known to have a conversation or two." Ali broke eye contact with Amita and caught sight of the phone. She smirked devilishly as her mood of mischievousness flared up again as a thought of Don, a mere phone call away.
"Uh oh," Charlie said, recognizing it instantly.
"What?" Amita asked, confused.
He pointed to Ali and smiled. "The whole gang were masters of the practical joke, especially Ali, and that smile means an idea has struck her fancy."
"Oh, we Freudians are the best jokers in the world," Alice agreed, perhaps a bit more smug than she should have been. "We wiggle our way into the minds of victims without much effort, and from there, anywhere."
"What do you have in mind?" Amita asked, smiling, again.
"Does Don have caller ID?" she asked Charlie.
"Uh, yeah, I think," Charlie said, grin growing as he understood where this was headed.
Alice grabbed Charlie's phone, turned it onto speaker, and handed it to Charlie. "Dial, please."
Charlie, eager as always to have fun at his brother's expense, dialed, barely looking where his fingers landed.
A few moments passed as the phone rang, then finally, when it looked like Amita might start giggling in anticipation, Don's voice came through. "Yeah, Charlie, what is it?"
"Uh, not Charlie, Don, it's Alice," she said, doing her best to sound as if she were thrown off-center. In her humble and egocentric opinion, she succeeded. "Why'd you think I was Charlie?"
"Must be having problems with the caller ID. Sorry. So what's up? Is everything okay?" Don sounded confused, but working through it. Alice could practically see him flicking at the little plastic screen.
Amita started giggling into her hand.
"Oh, nothing really. I'd just got done with a patient who got me thinking of you guys, thought I'd drop a line, see how everyone's doing. It's been a while since we caught up." Alice said, smiling. "I hope this isn't a bad time. If it is, I can talk to Charlie, or your father."
"No, nope. Slow day, paper work."
"Ugh, been there. You have my sympathies."
"A slow day for an FBI agent?"
"Right, great thing, never mind. Any ways, how are you?"
"Uh, good. We're good," Don said, the shock in his voice. Alice did admit, the whole story was a bit preposterous; in truth, if she were to call someone it'd be Charlie first, or Alan. She'd not call Don, especially at work. She didn't even know Don's work number. "Dad's doing good, he's started dating again."
"Well that's... good, it's about time," Alice said, trying to sound the professional psychiatrist. "Is he happy?"
"Seems to be. He's, uh, technically living with Charlie now."
Ali didn't have to play confusion as she turned towards Charlie. "Living with Charlie? Did they move? Don't tell me they sold the house."
Charlie shook his head, but he grinned.
Don explained. "Nah, Dad was going to sell it, Charlie bought it."
"Great," Alice said, clapping silently at Charlie, who executed a half bow. Amita snorted into her hand.
"You okay?" Don asked as Amita got up and ran from the room. Charlie and Alice could hear her laughing as she walked.
"Oh, yeah. One of the downsides of working in an office, the cold is running rampant, just about everyone's sick." Charlie, to help prove the point, turned away from the phone and coughed quietly.
"Sounds like it. How are you doing?"
"Me? Healthy as a horse."
"I meant you and Ryan. How're you guys doing?"
"Oh, well, we're"
"Charles, is everything okay, I just saw Amita running down the hallway. She looked like she was crying!" a man said, walking into the room. Larry something; Alice had met him before, at Charlie's graduation and at Mrs. Eppes' funeral.
"Larry?" Don asked.
Charlie rolled his eyes and spoke. "We're fine, Larry."
"Charlie?" Don asked, his voice riddled with confusion. Alice could practically hear the pieces falling into place. "You're in LA? You're in LA! Why didn't you call me?"
"Kinda just did, Donny," Alice laughed. She stood up and leaned over the desk, holding out her hand to Larry whomever. "Alice Guinyard, I think we've met once or twice. Call me Ali."
"Larry Fleinhardt, and yes, now that you mention it, you do look familiar. Alice Guinyard, ah, yes, Ali! Yes, yes, yes, Charles has always spoken highly of you." The professor bobbled his head, nodding at the memories. The smart ass wondered if it was to somehow shake loose extra memories, but Alice shook head to stop that thought in it's track.
"We were just having a little fun at Don's expense, weren't we, Donny?" Alice jabbed at the man on the other end of the phone, smiling.
"Larry, I hope you weren't in on this."
"No, no, Don, I had little to do with this childish endeavor, fun as it might have been, I had a class to teach." Larry said.
Before Alice could get any further with the conversation her cellphone rang. It was Emily.
"I... I don't know what happened, Alice," she said, stammering. "Derick was just doing so much better this morning. But now, he's barely looking at me when I call his name."
They'd agreed to let Derick go to school this morning to try and get him socializing with other kids his own age.
"What happen?"
"From what the principal told me, there was a fight. Some kid was teasing Derick about his... stay and then Christopher saw Derick was getting bad and tried to make them stop. And then someone pushed Derick and Christopher hit the boy. Derick really needs you."
"Are you at home?" Alice asked. Out of the corner of her eye Alice saw look at her, worried, but she turned away.
"No, we're at the school right now. Benjamin Zander Middle School. Do you know it?"
"No, what's the address? Hang on," Alice asked, turning back to Charlie's desk. Finding a pen was easy enough, but paper... usable paper... that was harder. Finally Alice abandoned the search and settled for her arm. "Go ahead."
"1300 Middlebrook Rd., just past the freeway."
"Okay, I'll be there soon." Alice said, hanging up. She turned back to Charlie, Larry, and Don on the phone, saying, "I've gotta go."
Charlie asked, "What's wrong?"
"The kid I came for, he had trouble," she added flippantly for Larry, "I'm a child psychiatrist. Charlie can tell you." Alice motioned to the computer. "Does this have internet access?"
"Yeah," Charlie said, ducking behind the desk and pulling up a search engine.
Two minutes later Alice had directions to Benjamin Zander Middle School, and five after that she was pulling out of the Cal Sci parking lot.
