And so, my friends, nearly seven months after its conception, Mea Culpa draws to a close. It's been quite a journey, and I've loved every minute of it—I hope you have, too.

There are so many people I must thank, for inspiration, for being a beta, for playing reality check, or for just plain kicking my butt into gear when I felt I couldn't do it any more.

BeckyS, MMarchand, and Xanthia Morgan fall into that last category. Without them, it would have all stopped by Chapter 5. And Luvspook, wherever she went off to. And Afton, my dear Beta #1!

And of course…

Storyspindler. The unsung hero of MC! I owe her more gratitude than words can express. Who knew that a simple request I made months ago could lead to something this great? A story leaps and bounds beyond what I ever thought it could be and a friendship I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. She provided far beyond the medical information she's so good at—she provided inspiration. I'm forever and ever in her debt beyond here and onto eternity. And I want everyone to know everything she's done for this story. That said, I dedicate this chapter to her. Storyspindler, you deserve it.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER X

Don shut the door behind him soundlessly and slipped into the darkness of his brother's house. Well past midnight and closer to dawn, he would not have called at this hour had his father not requested he be there. Seven days had passed since the Eppes men put the hospital behind them, and whatever time off from work Don could find he spent with his father and brother. Though work offered him a distraction, he couldn't help but keep Charlie always on his mind. Besides, with Charlie all but incapacitated in anything where two hands was concerned, his journey was not yet over. Alan requested his oldest son be there if not for moral support then to keep his youngest on a short rein. Charlie took his injury and its aftermath as well as could be expected, but the incessant workings of his mind had already healed where his body had not. Making sure his mind adhered to his body's constraints proved to be a great challenge.

Rounding the corner and nearly choking with astonishment, Don's eyes fell on Charlie stretched out on the couch, a blanket pulled up to his shoulders, leaning slightly on his right side. Don's heart leapt to his throat for a fraction of a second—the previous day had seen his father leaving Charlie with a stern warning of absolute bed rest and seeing that the youngest Eppes had strayed from such an order—though by itself not completely inconceivable—was cause for alarm all the same. Don hesitantly approached and, peering over the halo of curls, found Charlie's eyes gently closed. Swinging around the arm of the couch and slipping to his knees Don reached out and gently touched his brother's good shoulder; whether it was to berate him or to check if he was still breathing, Don could not tell.

"Charlie?" No more than a whisper, a gentle shake.

The younger Eppes gave a groan and a gentle twist of his head, much as a small child might do when disturbed. Soon two slits of dark chocolate brown peered back at Don from beneath drooping lids, Charlie's eyes glassy and nearly black in the dim light.

"Hiya, Don." More of a tired, garbled mess than coherent words, Don struggled to hear his brother even in the silence.

Whether out of relief knowing that his brother still breathed, or of sheer horror of finding him there, Don released a sigh that shook his whole body.

"Charlie, what the hell are you doing?"

The ferocity in Don's voice caused Charlie to twitch and instantly his gaze assumed the distant space over Don's right shoulder.

"Don, I-I—well I—ah…"

"What are you trying to do!"

"Don…"

"You're going to send yourself back to the hospital if you don't watch it!"

"Don!" Even with all his breath, the declaration could scarcely be heard.

A deep breath and heavy sigh. "What?"

"I just … I-I … I was w-waiting … for you."

Don's train of thought flipped end over end and a feeling of trepidation squelched his earlier anger.

"… Why?"

Charlie's wandering eyes caught Don's own for a fraction of a second; long enough speak a simple sentence.

"I-I wanted to talk to you."

A second wind of relief rushed out of Don's body. "What a hell of a time to do it, Charlie!" Composing himself with a drawn-out breath, Don added: "about what?"

Charlie took a moment to glance around the room. Suddenly lying on his back became strangely uncomfortable and the desire to see his brother face-to-face propelled him beyond the bounds of normal rational thought. In a moment of bravery—or foolishness—Charlie attempted to push himself into a sitting position, a decision he soon regretted as a torrent of white-hot agony blossomed in his injured shoulder. Hissing much like a wounded animal, Charlie sank back onto the arm of the couch, arching his back against the pain.

Momentarily stunned, Don stumbled over his brother's name before bringing one hand to rest on his brother's right shoulder and the other on his forearm.

"That … didn't work well," Charlie breathed, his face contorted as his fought to flush the pain away.

"Charlie—here," as gently as he could manage—and with the least amount of complaining from his brother, given the circumstances—Don eased his brother into a sitting position. Seeing Charlie's rigid expression and the glassy glare in his eyes, Don gave his brother's arm a reassuring squeeze and silently padded his way into the kitchen. Several moments later he returned bearing a chalky white pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Settling next to Charlie on the couch, he offered both these to his brother and watched the younger man with an almost paternal glance as he downed the medication.

"You need anything else?" Don offered.

"No." The frail edge on Charlie's voice was testament to how much his traveling stunt had drained him. "I—thanks, Don."

"No problem, buddy." After a moment he added, "now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about so badly?"

"I—I want to talk to you—about consulting again." The delivery was slow, deliberate.

Don couldn't check a wince of surprise. "How did you know about that?"

He wanted to talk to Charlie about that, but not now.

"…Dad told me."

Don sucked in a lungful of air through his teeth, not from anger at his father, but rather in realization of his own foolishness. He recalled his past actions at the hospital, the conversations with his father Charlie had surely overheard, the promises he had made that he vowed would never be broken.

"Well … boy… did Dad tell you… everything?"

Charlie nodded his head sluggishly.

Don pinched his eyes shut, all he could do to keep from cursing out loud.

"I want to keep consulting, Don."

Don couldn't help shaking his head.

"Why, Charlie? Haven't you had enough of it? I mean, not very many people have the nerve to return to their job after something like what you've been through."

Charlie paused and looked away, calculating his thoughts as thoroughly as he would a math equation. Without warning he suddenly turned back to Don and rushed out in a flurry of words: "For—you. For you, Don."

The stunned silence that followed nearly tore Charlie's heart in twain. He watched his brother's expression change from one of muted concern to a mask of almost disbelief.

"Well—a-and of course, for—for myself too. But—I mean, w-who else would you go to, if not your own brother?" The question's deliverance was as pathetic as it sounded in Charlie's mind.

Don was stunned. If ever he had any doubt of Charlie's good intentions, it was erased in that moment. Never had he been more proud of his brother than in that darkened room in his father's—no, his brother's—house, sitting side by side on the same couch they had traded places on continually for the greater part of their lives.

A rare smile lit up Don's entire face, the first of its kind to grace his presence in several weeks.

"To tell you the truth, Charlie—dad and I did some talking. Not to say I over-reacted or anything—because I didn't—but hell, you're almost thirty and though you might need some reminding every once and awhile, you can take care of yourself." Don suddenly felt as if it was no longer just himself speaking, but almost as if his someone else's voice channeled through his ears, guiding his every word. "We've decided—actually, I've decided—to let you start consulting again. It's not like I could ever keep you from it in the first place."

Don's earlier grin spread infectiously, if sluggishly, to Charlie's tired face.

"But, but—" Don hastened to control his brother's quicksilver emotions, "I've decided to keep you out of the field, at least for awhile. You won't even be up and around for a few weeks and I'm still going to go easy on you. You've done enough for me already, buddy."

"But—"

"I know what you're going to say. Don't worry about your subject matter. You'll do just fine. After awhile I'll let you go out into the field again—but the first sign of any gunfire and you're out of there, understand? Right now you're an anomaly and I sure as heck want to keep you that way."

The oblique reference conjured a small laugh in Charlie's gut, the tremors of which caused small bits of pain to flare again against his shoulder. He resorted instead to a smile, as wide and bright as he could manage through his now tired and otherwise incoherent brain.

"Don—I—I don't know what to say…"

"Well you can think about it and tell me in the morning, but for right now, you're heading back where you belong, buddy."

Charlie nodded, the pain medication by now taking effect and making his world spin in a drugged haze.

Don clasped his brother's good hand and, placing his other arm against Charlie's back, helped him to his feet. Looping Charlie's right arm across his neck and reaching with his own free arm across the small of his brother's back, Don supported the bulk of Charlie's weight and they moved as one toward the stairs.

"Hey, Charlie."

Taking a moment to clear his mind, Charlie mumbled in return, "yeah, Don?"

"I just have one suggestion for you, you hear?"

"Hmmmm?"

One foot on the bottom-most stair, his brother in his arms and the slowly rising sun peeking through the windows at his back, Don could not have felt more content. Drawing a deep breath, the brothers Eppes began their slow ascent—a journey that would take them far beyond the room located at the top of that staircase, but rather to a summit of understanding and unconditional love no longer shadowed by clouds of uncertainty and regret.

"Next time use a phone or something, okay?"

FIN.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa...
Non mea culpa est.