Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or the characters therein. All characters are fictional and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.

Author's note: Love the scene between Brody and his son at the dining room table in 'Jaws', so I tried to write one in homage to it, only between Alan and Charlie, though, of course, not as good: can't do better than that perfect scene in the movie.

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Shutting the door behind him, Alan was glad his visitors had finally left. He leaned against the heavy wood of the door, hoping it was strong enough to keep the world out- a world that suddenly appeared to be after his eldest son. He was busy thinking about every wrong he had ever done in his life, wondering which bad act had propelled this evil into the bubble of safety that had previously comprised his family sphere. He knew Don's job had always been dangerous, and the Russian mob had even made a brief visit to their home, but somehow, being together, it had never seemed possible for them to be harmed. Now, there had been an outrageous increase in the number of dangers that were invading their familial safe haven, an increase that appeared to be in direct proportion to the rising closeness that was knitting his two sons together, himself a loose but attached thread in the pattern of their relationship.

While he continued to allow the door to prop him up, the sound of scraping caught Alan's attention. He looked out the front window and observed the police had already left. Debating his options, Alan thought about signaling David across the street, but he decided against it; he wanted to handle any other trouble that might arise that night, as he felt he had been neglectful in protecting Don earlier in the evening. Quietly, Alan stole into the kitchen and came back with a large knife, walking with steady purpose to the low screeching that was piercing his ears.

Alan stopped mid-stride when he heard a new noise- low rumblings, as if someone were talking. Stepping almost noiselessly, he carefully turned the knob of the door from behind which he now heard a scraping, then a soft voice whispering. Slowly, he pulled the door open, stepping around it and shutting it behind him with a soft thud. There was very little light, most of it coming from the moon shining in a far corner window. When his eyes adjusted to the dark, Alan walked forward a few steps, keeping the knife tightly in his hand, sweat starting to fall into his eyes, his facial twitch making an unwanted encore appearance…

There!

A figure moving in the corner, leaning over a small container; he could barely make out long black hair…

"Charlie! Why the hell are you standing in the garage with the lights off?"

At the sound of his father's voice from behind his back, Charlie jumped. He tried to conceal within the small container the papers he had absentmindedly been reading aloud. "I, uh, didn't want to wake you or Don." He turned to face Alan, trying to make out his father's facial expression in the dark, but the shadows had encompassed the elder man.

Alan stepped back to the door and flicked on the lights, his knife released and clanging to the floor. Charlie saw the knife and assumed his father had suspected him a burgler or Thompson- in either case, he thought a weapon would have been a good idea. He started walking toward Alan, his plan to leave, when he was stopped sharply in his tracks by his father's harsh, accusing voice.

"Where the hell were you?"

Charlie swallowed nervously. Numbers began to catapult randomly through his head as he tried to organize the new set of data his father was presenting him. Charlie was swarmed with a mixture of two feelings at the information that he was receiving from his father's strong, stern voice, from his harsh accusing words, and the hands held firmly on his hips, his eyes glaring at Charlie with an anger that had never, ever been directed at him before- a million times at Don, but not him, not Charlie. And it was this realization that his father was finally looking and talking to him as an adult, not like a fragile child who could not fend for himself, that made Charlie be overwhelmed with his first feeling, that of complete manhood, a mixture of pride and strength he had never thought himself capable of having, feeling it was an unattainable characteristic available to his father and brother, but somehow denied to him. But, now, his father was not hesitating to direct unadulterated fury at him, obviously not concerned that poor Charlie could not handle it, and oh, did it feel good, being in this position of equality with his father.

The second feeling he was wrestling with was fear, unabated fear, because- damn, his father was directing unadulterated fury at him. And Charlie did not know what to do, because, yes, he had never been the object of that anger before, and he could not ask Don what to do, as he was usually the one in this position, because his brother would not remember. Besides, even if he did remember, he wouldn't want to wake him up, and it would probably upset Dad if he talked to Don about it, and besides, there didn't seem to be any escape at this point to get to Don, as his father was standing in front of the door that led to safety, a sharp knife at his feet.

Charlie realized he was rambling in his own mind. Trying to stand tall, in relation to the floor if not to the towering man before him, he calmly replied- to his ears at least- "I told you, I had business to take care of. When I was finished, I decided to stop by CalSci before coming home."

Alan took two steps toward Charlie, who stepped back three, his back against the small container and papers he had been busy with. It only took a moment for Alan to see the papers, and how Charlie was trying to hide them. Angrily, Alan pushed his son aside and snatched them up, crumbling them in his fingers as he shook them in further accusation.

"While you were busy with more of your damn numbers research, your brother was almost…was almost…" Alan faltered, releasing the sheets of paper to fall loosely to the floor, his face suddenly pale as his mind was flooded with images of Perceival Jackson and Don, the words of the police officers narrating his nightmare. Charlie discarded his fear and ran to him with concern, taking a hold of his elbow and helping him sit shakily on the couch.

For the second time that night, Alan cried into his hands, Charlie putting his arms around his father's shoulders, frightened at the display. "Dad, I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

Alan rested his head on the back of the couch, wiping his eyes with his damp handkerchief, moving the tears about his face rather than drying them. "No, Charlie. I'm the one who's sorry. I insisted Don come home, that I could take care of him. I found out tonight that I made a terrible mistake- I'm too old, and…useless, stupid, I don't know what, but something's wrong with me. A simple car trip home and I managed to mess it up."

Charlie pulled his arms away from his father, anxiety peppering his eyes. "What do you mean, 'messed it up'?" Alan lowered his head again; he was shameful of what he was going to admit to his son, that he had allowed someone to put Don in his car and almost steal him away. Looking at his feet, Alan recounted the events of the evening, continuing even as he felt Charlie's body tighten next to him.

When Alan finished talking, both men sat quietly, one contemplating his worthlessness as a father, the other trying to wash his mind of images, dark images, which the name Perceival Jackson was evoking insidiously behind his eyes.

In time, Charlie was able to clear his head. He knew there was nothing that he could presently do about the horrible deeds a stranger had tried to commit against his family, but he also knew his father was emotionally hurt from the incident and needed some reassurance, which could readily be supplied.

"Dad, don't call yourself useless or stupid."

"What do you call a man who would let that happen to his child?"

"A victim, an innocent, a good man, but stupid- never. You can't blame yourself because there are bad people in the world."

"But I know there are, and still, I didn't protect my son."

"Then you have to blame every victim of a crime for every bad thing that happens to them."

"No, I don't. Because not everyone knows the dangers that are out there. I'm an old man, Charlie- don't shake your head at me, I am. Maybe not ancient, but old enough to know better than to leave my defenseless son all alone in a car."

"If you want to call yourself old, then fine- look at it from that point of view. You've had a long, tiring day- both emotionally and physically, so you were making decisions with an exhausted mind and carrying them out with an exhausted body. It's hard to make the best decisions when you're at your physical and emotional worst."

"But to leave Don all alone- you don't need to be a genius to know that was a big mistake."

"Less than three months ago, you were letting Don go out all by himself to crime scenes and gunfights."

"He was a different person then." Sad thoughts floated in Alan's mind as he fleetingly regretted the loss of his brave, strong son.

"I know that, you know that. But it will probably take some more time to change our behaviors regarding this new person we're dealing with. Don's only been home four days, and I think we're all adjusting to the changes pretty well. Still, we can't be expected to always know what's best when we're faced with a new situation; we'll learn as each one comes along. You're a great dad, but statistically speaking, you still had to have made a high number of mistakes when making decisions about me and Don when we were younger."

"If saying I screwed up a lot when you and Donny were younger is your way of cheering me up, the odds are in favor of your technique failing."

"I'm trying to point out that despite the mistakes, overall, you did a great job. Your mistakes were like corrupted data; if one allowed that data to define the overall system, then one would predict that both Don and I would have ended up corrupted ourselves. But ignore the mistakes, and stick with the positive data- all the things you did correctly-then one is led to the positive adult lives that, until recently, Don and I have truly been leading."

"In this case, though, my mistake could have shut down the system entirely, and corrupted data would have been all that was left."

"But that didn't happen. And now that we're aware of this particular flaw in our system design, or the way in which we protect Don, we can make changes to correct it. Consider it a necessary learning experience."

"I don't know, Charlie. I appreciate you trying to find something positive in all that happened, but I still think my actions were careless, to say the least."

"Don needed his eating tools and you didn't expect to be delayed- I would have gone to get them, too. And that news from Harvey about Thompson- it would upset anyone in your situation. I think I might have fainted if I had been alone when first hearing about it."

"Charlie, you're my flesh and blood- telling me you'd faint from bad news reflects poorly on me, too, you know."

Charlie looked up in surprise, allowing himself a smile when he saw his father also had one, though it was barely affixed to his face. Alan patted Charlie on the knee. "My anger was really not at you, Charlie- it was at myself, for the mistake I made, and because I've had to become so dependent on you."

Bouncing off the couch, Charlie began to pick up his papers. "Believe it or not, Dad, I like being able to help- this dependence you refer to in such a negative manner has actually caused a positive effect to occur in my life. It has allowed me to become a real part of our relational equation." Thinking about the time his father and Don had argued about him while he was standing a few feet away, neither of the angry men ackowledging the youngest Eppes, who had been standing right there next to them, Charlie explained, "Sometimes, before, I've felt like I didn't exist in this family, like I was an anomaly that no one could detect."

"I'm sorry. I know neither I nor Donny meant to make you feel that way." Alan leaned over and picked up a loose paper that had escaped Charlie's grasp. Peering at it closely, Alan frowned. "Charlie, is this an application for a mortgage?"

Averting his eyes from his father, Charlie took the paper, stacked it with the others, and placed them back into the container he had been trying to hide them in. After closing the lid, Charlie put the container on a shelf, keeping his back to his father. He then put his own hands on his hips, his chin resting on his chest as he thought, not sure if he wanted to discuss the subject with his father, but relenting in the end; his father was too stubborn to allow him to avoid the issue, and they were both too tired to debate whether they should talk about it or not.

"That's where I went tonight. The bank loan officer stayed late for me- once he looked up our house and found out its value. That, and the fact that I paid cash for it, so there are no other mortgages attached to it." Sighing, Charlie faced his father, leaning lightly against a chalkboard. "I went to CalSci when I was done getting the papers. I wanted to fill them out there." His eyes drifted. "I didn't want to bother you with them."

"You can't fool me, Charlie. You didn't want me to know."

Turning his eyes towards his father again, Charlie replied, "Yes, because I knew you wouldn't approve."

"You're right, I wouldn't and I don't. This is your house, Charlie, not ours, and I won't allow you to risk losing it because of my lack of funds."

Charlie approached Alan, stopping in front of him and asserting the new manhood he felt working its way through his bones. "First, you can't allow or disallow me this. You're right, it's my house and I can do with it what I please." Alan's eyes froze open in surprise. "Second, it's not about you having funds or not having funds. I'm doing this for Don- and for me."

Sitting down next to his father so they could face each other on an equal level, Charlie explained, "You don't know how much I enjoy spending this time with Don. And the challenge it is to be able to teach him- a challenge I am enjoying, too. Maybe it's wrong to feel good about any of this- I've thought about it, believe me- but in the end, I don't care if it's right or wrong; I just know it's what I want."

"I told you I could go back to work," Alan offered weakly.

"I know, but I need you. You can't do this alone, and neither can I. I've looked at all the variables, I've worked the problem forward and back, and I always come up with the same solution. A mortgage will give us the money we need for any more unforeseen costs concerning Don's rehab- and lawyer costs, too. Don't forget, we don't know what that Thompson woman is up to- she might do something that requires paying Johnson more money. I would rather be prepared than have to scramble at the last minute to come up with ready cash."

Alan ran a hand down his face. "Charlie, I know you're making sense, but, what if you lose your home- our home?"

"Our house isn't home without Don. If I don't take out this mortgage and we lose him- to Thompson, or because we didn't take that extra step in therapy, this house will hold no value to me anyway. And I suspect it'll hold no value to you, either."

Alan smiled, broadly. "When did you become so smart?

Charlie stood up, offering a helping hand to his father. "Always been smart."

"Really," Alan said, putting an arm around Charlie, in fatherly support and for his own physical support, exhaustion making a repeat appearance. "Well, don't blame my side of the family- you must get it from your mother."

"I thought we agreed you wouldn't refer to yourself as stupid."

As they went through the door, they stopped while Charlie bent over and picked up the knife Alan had dropped.

"Nice choice, Dad. Wouldn't mind using this on Thompson myself."

When they continued through the door, shutting the light off after them, Alan commented, "Maybe we could use it to make rib eye out of her."

"Don't know about that- I doubt any part of her is tender."

"There you go again, showing off your smarts…"

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Melinda left her son after he had made repeated promises to do as she said, and say what she wanted him to say in court. With a frosty smile, she kissed him goodbye, obliquely carrying the lockbox under her arm as she exited the room, knowing his eyes were fixated on it until it disappeared from his line of sight. Peering over the top banister, she heard voices coming from the garage. She tip-toed down the stairs, then she fled through the dining room through the kitchen to the backdoor. There she stopped, putting on her shoes and making calculations about her chances of being caught exiting. Melinda realized she could be accused of more than trespassing- with the lockbox in her arms, she could be charged with breaking and entering. Refusing to give up her own newfound manipulative tool, she took the empty bottles out of her purse and replaced them with the lockbox, covering it with the flap.

Maliciously, she decided to flaunt her ability to enter and leave her son's life at will. She wiped the bottles inside and out, cleaning off her fingerprints. Next, she used her shirt to open the refrigerator door, leaving the two bottles sitting on the top shelf, obvious to anyone who looked inside. Then, when Melinda took her leave, she left the backdoor ajar; just a fraction of an inch, believing it a symbol of the thin space that she felt separated her and her son-

a space she could easily traverse whenever and however she desired.

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"Why don't I make us something to eat?" Charlie offered as he and Alan reentered the house.

Stifling a yawn, Alan replied, "I don't know- it's awfully late."

"Neither one of us has eaten since breakfast- nor will we be any good to Don if we start ignoring our own needs. Come on- I'll make a couple frozen dinners." Charlie headed to the kitchen before his father could protest.

"I'll go check on Donny." Alan went up the stairs to his son's bedroom door, opening it a few inches and looking in on him. Don was asleep, snoring softly around his thumb. Alan watched him sleep, thanking God that his son was safe, and that he could feel so much better and relaxed when Charlie was around and his family was together. Alan put a hand to his face and contemplated his recent facial ticks; he observed how they usually faded away when he was near his two sons. Alan assumed it was because it was impossible for his nerves to perform that unrestrained motion against the lines that defensively formed around his eyes and mouth each time he smiled hard, something he tended to do when his sons did something to make him proud- like Don's attempt at grasping earlier in the day, and Charlie's decision to obtain a mortgage in order to pay for therapy and legal costs for his brother. Thinking about what his youngest son had so selflessly planned to do, Alan decided that no matter how many awards Charlie had won or might continue to win in mathematics, as compared to the way he was caring for his brother, in his book, there would never be anything that counted as much.

"Ready to eat, Dad!" Charlie called from the dining room.

Alan plodded down the stairs, aware for the first time in hours that he was hungry.

"Looks good, Charlie. And you're quick, too." Alan watched as Charlie set the dinner trays on the table amidst a couple forks and napkins.

"Give credit to the microwave."

Alan headed into the kitchen. "I will as soon as I'm done thanking the refrigerator for our nice cold tea." When he walked into the kitchen, Alan grabbed a couple glasses from a cabinet and went to get a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator. When he opened the door, he frowned. Two bottles appeared to frown back at him. He took them out and threw them in the trash, then filled the two cups with tea and exited into the dining room.

"Thanks, Dad. See, together we make a pretty good team."

Alan sat down, smiling at Charlie. "If we're the team, what does that make Donny?"

"The coach of course- his rehab decides every move we make."

"I think your brother would like knowing you made him coach."

The two men ate in silence, both wanting to bring up a topic that was different from one another, but both afraid what they had to say would hurt or offend the other. Finally, Alan and Charlie pushed away their food trays and said in unison, "I think we need to talk about…" They leaned back in their chairs, grinning at each other.

"Well, I guess we both have something to say," Alan started, tossing his napkin in his empty food tray.

"Yeah, I think we do." Charlie imitated his father, tossing his napkin at his tray, but missing by an inch. After putting it in the tray, he sat back again, not wanting to avoid his chosen topic but afraid that bringing it up would make his father feel guilty again for having left Don alone in the car. "Why don't you go first?"

"No, Charlie, I insist- you first."

"All right." Charlie leaned on his arms, choosing his words carefully. "Since this incident happened tonight, I was thinking- uh, maybe we are a little careless sometimes. I mean, we're not used to these kinds of, uh, assaults?"

Alan leaned on his arms, too, directly across from his youngest, each man a similar but not exact reflection of the other. "I think you're right, Charlie. I- we- need to be more careful about everything we do concerning Don." Charlie nodded, glad his father seemed to be thinking the same way as he was. "That includes what the doctor tells us to do."

Charlie frowned. His father wasn't thinking along the same lines as he was after all.

"I agree, Dad. But I also think we need to be more careful about other things- like, maybe we should be more careful about locking up the house, you know, checking the doors at night and when we leave."

Alan clasped his hands together. "Agreed. And when the doctor says we should make changes, like getting rid of those bottles, I think we have to agree that it's best for Donny- even if it's something he might not be too crazy about doing."

Charlie clasped his own hands, glad that they understood each other. "So, from now on, when one of us leaves the house, or comes home, we'll make sure to lock up."

"Yes, Charlie. I'll keep doing that. And for your part, you'll have to promise me no more bottles."

"Promise. Uh, and you'll have to promise not to leave the back door open again." Before Alan could reply, Charlie added, "And I threw away Don's last bottles at the institute this afternoon- I even made sure we don't have any more supplement in the house."

Alan sat up rigidly. "Charlie, why do you want me to promise not to leave the doors unlocked? When I got home tonight, I locked every outside door; I even locked all the windows on the lower floor."

Charlie began to sweat. "But, the back door- when I went to get our dinners, it was open. Only a little bit, but it wasn't locked." Seeing the fear swirling in his father's eyes, Charlie asked him, "Why did you ask about the bottles?"

Alan thickly replied, "Because there were two empty ones in the refrigerator."

Both of them thought of Dr. Thompson at the same time. And as one, they pushed back their chairs and raced up the stairs to Don's room, Charlie skidding into the room and landing against the recliner with a loud thud. Alan was right behind him, stopping long enough to turn on the lights. He and Charlie clamored to Don's bed, catching their breath when they saw that, despite their ruckus and the glare of the light, that he was sound asleep, his energy having been completely sucked dried.

Alan bent down and looked under the bed. Finding no one, he shut off the light, pointing Charlie to the hallway. When they were both outside again, Alan told his son, "Stay here and watch your brother. I'm going to check this house from top to bottom."

As his father took off down the stairs, Charlie went back to sit a vigil with his brother, continuously running his fingers through his hair in worry, waiting for his father's return. When Alan re-entered the room a half-hour later, Charlie bolted from his seat. They whispered in the light from the door.

"Any signs of her?"

"No, Charlie. Nothing but those bottles- and that door." Alan was carrying the knife again. When Charlie stared at it, Alan put it in the nightstand next to the bed. Returning to Charlie, he said, "She wanted us to know she was here. But when, and why, leave those empty bottles?"

"Do you think she could have made it up here to Don?"

"If she came in while we were at the institute and was hiding in one of our bedrooms- yeah, I think so. Once I left Don, I was only downstairs for a little while. After that, I spent the better part of an hour outside with David and those officers."

"Since she's not here now, she must have snuck out while we were in the garage." Charlie clenched his fists. "I bet she made Don drink those bottles; she's trying to ruin the progress he's going to make with his therapy and medicine."

Alan slapped a hand to his head. "Oh, no! I completely forgot." He walked quickly to the bed and pulled up a corner of the blanket, patting the bedding underneath. Charlie came up behind him and stared over his shoulder.

"Is there anything wrong? She didn't hurt him?"

Alan removed his hand and sighed tiredly. "No, not directly. Dammit. Turn on the light, Charlie, and start a bath for your brother."

Charlie immediately understood the problem- the diuretics and the excess liquid had not made an equitable combination. He went and started bath water, returning to find Don sitting on the edge of the bed, swaying back and forth, hardly awake. Alan was holding his shoulder, trying to steady him. "Charlie, keep an eye on him while I go get some cleaners and new sheets, blankets…I guess everything." Switching places with his father, Charlie gripped Don's shoulder firmly, watching his father walk with growing frustration from the room.

Don leaned toward Charlie, who saw the top blanket was dry and sat down as close as he could to his brother. Don's bleary eyes looked at Charlie, and then down at his jeans. A small flush appeared on his cheeks, and he turned his face away.

"Sworry, sworry," Don mumbled.

"It's okay, Don. We'll have you cleaned up in no time."

Charlie felt Don's shoulder fall beneath his hand; his brother's eyes were on the ruined chalk and chart of stars peaking out from the corner of his pocket. "Nuh good, Char'," Don whispered ashamedly.

"No, don't say that. I'll take care of your chalk- and tomorrow, you'll earn some more stars, lots more." When Charlie got no response, he gently pulled Don's face towards his own. "It was an accident. An accident is a mistake- something bad happens, but you didn't mean for it to happen. Right now, your body made a mistake- it didn't want it to happen, you didn't want it to happen, but it did anyway. You understand?"

After a few minutes of hesitation, Don answered, "Think suh." Charlie released his face, glad when Don didn't turn away from him. But when their father appeared a few minutes later, Don fell against Charlie and hid his face in his brother's large collection of curls.

"He embarrassed?" Alan mouthed, having seen Don's movement.

"Yes." Charlie mouthed back. He pointed through the door, indicating the bathroom. "Let us get in there." Alan nodded, resigning himself to his bedroom until he heard his sons scuffing across the hall and the sound of a door shutting. Then, he went to work. He wryly thought that taking care of this type of problem was not one he was likely to screw up, as he had prior experience handling it- with both of his sons.

In the bathroom, Charlie cleaned Don from head to toe, taking the time to wash his hair. Beginning to lose a little of the energy that usually abounded within his body, Charlie still added the creature comforts that helped Don relax during bath time: his boats, his bubble bath, and the baby powder afterward that gave him that nice clean smell. As Don was not quite awake, Charlie found himself straining more than ever to get him in and out of the tub, and in getting him dressed. To his surprise, Don let him put on the incontinency briefs with no further sign of embarrassment. Charlie hoped that his explanation had been enough to help quall the shame Don felt in needing them.

"There, see, good as new."

Don was sitting on the toilet lid. He looked at the clean boxers and t-shirt Charlie had put on him. He ran his fingers up and down his arms, feeling the velvety smoothness the baby powder had given his skin. Feeling refreshed, he gave Charlie a shy smile. "Thanks, Charlie."

"No problem, bro." When Don looked away, Charlie dropped to his knees in front of him. "Hey, it really is no problem. Look, if this happens again, you don't have to tell anyone else- not even Dad." Don turned his face back to Charlie, uncertainty marring it. "I mean it," Charlie stated with certainty. "Whenever your body makes a mistake, or if you make a mistake- just let me know. I will always come and take care of you. I'll make it better. I promise."

By the time their father came knocking at the door, Don and Charlie were smiling confidently at each other; Charlie was sure his brother had believed him, and Don was sure his brother was worth believing. Charlie helped Don back to bed, impressed that it looked the same as usual, except there were now cartoon rabbits on the sheets and blankets.

While Don climbed into bed, Charlie praised his father, "Nice job. Almost looks brand new."

"Kinda is," Alan beamed back. "As difficult as it was, and, oy, the pain I am going to feel in the morning, I switched Donny's mattress for yours."

"Didn't think of using your own?"

"Nah- your room is closer."

"Sure. By mere inches."

"At my age, inches translate into feet."

Charlie noticed Don had fallen asleep on a top sheet during their light banter, clutching his favorite toy. "At least Buddy came out unscathed."

"Yeah- lucky rabbit was hiding under the bed." Alan yawned loudly. "I've had more than I can take- I don't think I can keep my eyes open another minute." He went to the bed and took the edge of the top sheet that Don was lying on, folding it over him and laying it on his own side of the bed. Alan slowly dropped onto the doubled-over sheet, lying down on his side, facing Don's back, effectively mummifying his son underneath the sheet. He then wrapped his leg and arm around him, careful of his head, burying his temple against Don's upper back. Halfway waking from the new sensation of warmth around him, Don wriggled underneath, but found he was limited in his ability to move. Alan whispered in his ear, "I'm never going to let you go again, you hear me?" The stirring under Alan's arms stopped as Don fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

"Do me a favor and get the light, Charlie."

Charlie was concerned when he saw Alan wrap Don so tightly in his arms; previously, it had been his brother clinging to his father. He understood his father's need to make sure Don was safe for the night. However, he was worried about the other methods his father might want to utilize in protecting Don when they were no longer in their home, or even in Don's bedroom. They needed to find a balance between overprotectiveness and carelessness, but, after the events of that day, Charlie no longer knew where the median lay. Hitting the lights, Charlie climbed into bed and pulled the blankets over his family. He was lying on his back for several minutes, with his head resting on his arm, when he heard the soft sound of his father's voice thrown across his brother. "I was thinking earlier, how when we are together, it has never seemed possible for any of us to be harmed."

"I guess that's why we continue to stick together like this."

Charlie was sure he heard his father grinning in the dark. "This has been one hell of a day, Charlie. But when we're together like this, it's like all the bad stuff has gone away."

"Let's hope it stays away tomorrow, when the sun is up."

"I plan to do one thing to keep one aspect of that bad stuff away, Charlie. First chance I get, I'm filing a restraining order."

"Do you really think it will keep that particular aspect away?"

"Don't know, but I have to try."

"Tomorrow, I think we need to discuss a few more things about what happened today."

"When I feel up to it, Charlie. As of now, my emotions are all worn out. The only way to rejuvenate them will be to spend some quality time with my two boys- some good time with them."

Charlie did not reply, the events of the day still contained within his mind.

"You okay, Charlie."

"Yeah, Dad. Just tired. Goodnight."

"Night, Charlie." Soon, the sound of snoring filled the room. Charlie slid down in bed, resting his head against the sheet that encased his brother's chest. He was aware that there was one other person he needed to talk to in the morning- Don. But Charlie knew there was little chance that he would obtain the information he wanted to know- the purpose behind Dr. Thompson's visit to his brother.

And her ultimate plan.