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New Mexico was hot and dry.
And dangerous. Don was as green as they got, but he was a fast learner. Twelve to eighteen hour days became second nature and solving the puzzle gave him such a thrill that he never really thought about the possibility of not living through the next bust. But most rookies didn't think about such things.
It was a routine cornering of a gang. Tips had let them to a warehouse. The gang's MO, oddly enough, wasn't one of outrageous violence. He should have known better. Nothing tricks someone more than a false sense of security.
The bullet grazed the top his head and sent him careening to the ground and he blacked out a minute. Next thing he knew, there was paramedics staring down at him and two other agents were dead. Don would later learn that the bullet that hit him was one of three fired, which meant his was the only one that missed its mark.
Death and close calls were a learning experience, to say the least, and while some newbies might have been frightened away, Don found himself even more determined.
He didn't tell his mother when she called the next day to say hello. When he found himself on the receiving end of a knife fight six months later, he also kept that to himself.
Until he got a call from home.
Charlie was in the hospital. His appendix had burst, and Charlie being Charlie, he had been so busy putting the final touches on his PhD thesis he'd ignored the physical symptoms until he had passed out from the pain.
"Is he all right?" Don said into the phone. He had to be; his father's voice had been fairly calm.
"He'll be fine," Dad said. "Your mother, on the other hand, probably lost ten years of her life last night. He'll be in the hospital for a week. Out of school for another two after that."
"He must be loving that," Don said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. He fingered the bandage across his arm. The timing was almost comical - his latest brush with death happened at almost the same time of Charlie's collapse. He thought of his own close call and suddenly had a need to see his brother.
"Oh, yes. I think we'll need to take away his bike. Anyway, Donnie, I just wanted to let you know. You don't have to come home-"
"I could come home," Don put in. He was a medical leave for a couple of days because of the arm. He could catch a flight out that evening, see Charlie for himself, and be back in Albuquerque by Monday morning.
"You don't need to," Dad insisted.
"I want to." He'd missed Thanksgiving because of a case. He could remember the disappointment in his mother's voice when he called to tell her. He'd have to figure out how to hide the knife wound, of course, but a button-down long sleeve shirt should do the trick. "Let me see if I can get a flight. I'll call you back."
Two hours later, he packed a duffle and left for the airport.
--
Visiting hours were almost over when Don made his way into the hospital's hallway. His father had picked him up directly from the airport and he was exhausted. But he had to see Charlie before he could sleep.
He'd spent the short flight thinking. Thinking about the case files sitting on his desk, the very case that earned him his own brush with death not even a day ago.
It was a serial murderer case. The latest victim had been a twenty-two year old male, a senior at the University of New Mexico. The suspect had been caught, the evidence was rock-solid, but he couldn't help but think about Charlie.
Charlie, nearly the same age, had almost died at nearly the same time. Okay, that wasn't exactly true. Charlie was fine, but he couldn't help worrying. Charlie was his little brother and he hadn't had an actual conversation with him in almost four months.
That bothered him, yet he wasn't exactly sure why. After all, his family seemed to understand. He was busy; his precious free time was spent with some guys from the Bureau. They had a basketball team and rarely talked about deep personal matters. Because, really, most of their lives were work and nothing else. Don hadn't had a true romance since Terry had left for Washington.
Had he forgotten about his family? Was FBI work already getting to him?
It hadn't before, or at least he thought it hadn't. Detaching himself wasn't easy, but it had to be done. The first time he saw a dead body at a crime scene, he nearly threw up. Thankfully, he was able to compose himself enough to make it back to the office and the semi-privacy of the men's room. He hadn't reacted in such a way since.
"It's room 112," his father said. "I think your mother's in there. Do you want something from the cafeteria? I told her I'd bring coffee. I could use some myself."
"Tea," he answered. "With sugar." Dad walked off and Don headed down the hall. He paused a moment at the door, then pushed his way in.
The TV was on low. Mom was sitting in a chair next to the bed. She smiled at him.
"Hi Donnie," she said. "It's good to see you."
"I know," he said, lowering his bag. He finally took a look at the bed. "Hi, Charlie."
Charlie was pale, with the exception of two dots of red on his cheeks. His eyes were barely open, and there were more tubes than Don would have liked to see. But Charlie was intact and Don was sure he probably looked better than he had earlier. Charlie's eyes opened wider at Don's greeting and he gave Don a small grin.
"Don," he muttered. "You're supposed to be in New Mexico." Or at least that what Don thought Charlie said. His words were a bit slurred and soft.
He raised an eyebrow. "Someone's had a few painkillers, I think."
"The nurse was just in a few minutes ago," Mom said.
"That explains it." Don lowered himself into another chair next to Mom.
"How was your flight?" she asked.
"Fine. Dad says Charlie will be out of commission for a few weeks."
"No way." Charlie waved a sluggish hand in the air a moment before it fell back to the bed. "Tell Mom I need a notebook."
"What you need, Charlie is rest. The thesis can wait a little while."
Charlie moved his head. "The numbers can't."
Don got up to meet Charlie's eyes. "They'll have to," Don ordered. "Your only responsibility now is just get some sleep."
Brown, heavily drugged eyes blinked at him. "Okay," Charlie whispered, and his eyes slid shut.
"He always listens to you," Mom said softly. "More than he ever did to your father or Ime
"Does he?" Dad had told him Charlie viewed him as a role model, but he'd never stopped to think his brother listened to him so intently. Charlie always seemed to know all the answers, he certainly didn't need Don, or anyone really, to supply them.
"Yes. Thank you." She patted the chair next to her. "Sit. Tell me about New Mexico. The FBI."
He sat down again. "I can't really talk about work, Mom. I've told you that."
"I know. I'm not looking for details. Besides, if I knew details, I don't think I would let you go back. So tell me about your personal life. Is there anyone special?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Donnie, you haven't dated anyone since...what was her name? Terry, I think?"
"Yeah, Terry. I don't have a lot of free time, to be honest. Some of guys started a basketball league. I joined that."
"And how many single women are there in this league?"
"Well, none."
She shook her head. "I don't think I'm ever getting grandchildren."
"Mom, I'm twenty-seven. I have time. Besides, you have Charlie. Maybe he'll meet someone."
She sighed. "His priorities are in a different place. Come to think of it, maybe both your priorities are in different places."
"Maybe," Don said, his gaze falling back to Charlie. Charlie had different priorities all right, but Don could hardly compare them to his. He and his brother couldn't be more different. "He looks so pale."
"I know," Mom agreed. "At least the fever is finally coming down. I almost called you during his surgery, but your father convinced me to wait."
Don frowned and turned his eyes back to her. "Why didn't you call?"
"He said you have your own life and we didn't have any concrete news. Anyway, Charlie's going to be fine and you're here. That's all that matters to me." She patted his arm and Don hissed. She released her hand. "Don?"
He rubbed his arm. "I'm okay. Just had an accident a few days ago."
"Accident?"
He sighed. "Slight run-in with a suspect. I got a few stitches. It'll be fine."
She didn't look as if she believed him. "That hiss didn't sound like a few."
"It's not serious, Mom. Trust me."
She nodded. "Fine. But I don't like it."
"I know," he said, looking down at Charlie. "I know."