Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or any character therein. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any other person- real or imagined.
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"What do you want now, Melinda?"
"What do you think, Gordon?"
Pause.
Sigh.
"Melinda, if this is in reference to our conversation last night, I'm not about to say another word."
"But I need to know if it was taken care of."
"You sound a little anxious, Melinda. Don't think you've ever sounded that way before."
"Shut up, Gordon. This is important. If he gets out again, I could lose my son."
Sigh.
"They're charging him in federal court, Melinda. I highly doubt he'll be released any time soon."
"They let me go."
"Yes, and despite your habit of discrediting my skills, I did have a lot to do with that."
"Fine, Gordon. Thank you once again- for taking my money, and for allowing me access to a son I should have had thirty-five years ago."
No response.
Concession of defeat.
"All right, Melinda. I'll find out what's happening. You should know by tomorrow morning at the latest."
Partial relief.
"And Director Donaldson, you'll be seeing him soon?"
"Yes, Friday morning. Call a few more of those political allies you are so often bragging about. We need the cards stacked in our favor."
"Gordon, you should know by now I always play with a marked deck. I would never risk losing."
"Then we should be all set to win, Melinda."
"And the papers contesting the petition?"
"I have them ready, so I've decided to file them early this morning."
"But does filing this soon give the Eppes an edge?"
"No, Melinda. I think it gives them just enough time to infer what our supposed plan of attack is, but not enough to see our assault from behind."
Silence.
Hesitation.
"Gordon, we have one other person to worry about."
Sigh.
"Who is it now, Melinda? And for Pete's sake, don't state any specifics over the phone."
"I wouldn't think of telling you how to handle your end of the business, Gordon. You know that."
Right.
"Who is it, Melinda? I don't have all day."
"One of my son's colleagues went up to Sonoma Valley, and found an old friend…"
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Don sat sullenly on the edge of his bed, dressed only in boxers and socks. Charlie was at his dresser, taking out some clothes, yawning as he did so. Their father was across the hall, taking a long, cold shower, trying to wake himself up.
It had been a rough night for the Eppes men.
Though he had taken another sedative, Don had woken up from nightmares two more times, Charlie scrambling to calm him after each occurrence. Don had clung to Charlie all night, fighting a losing battle with sleep, finding that with each loss he was terrorized once again by the monsters of his dreams. Charlie had tried to rest, but did as he supposed he would and settled for a shallow sleep, his body worn down by the fear emanating from his brother.
It had also taken a harsh toll on Alan, who refused to sleep after the second incidence, electing to stay awake instead, sitting under a blanket in the recliner. Early in the morning, Charlie had found his father succumbed to exhaustion; he had been slumped over in the chair, snoring loudly, dark circles under his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly.
Charlie had left his fitfully-sleeping family and trotted downstairs to prepare breakfast, leaving the food to warm in the oven when he finished. When he had gotten back to Don's room, he'd run into Alan, who was just exiting. At that time, Alan relayed to Charlie his conversation with Megan the night before, re-spurring the desire in Charlie to find the cause of Don's brain trauma, thoroughly convinced that Dr. Thompson would never leave his brother alone unless she was prevented to do so by the steel bars of a prison cell.
After their conversation, Charlie had woken Don and given him his bath while Alan quickly ate breakfast. Alan also felt pressed into action by his conversation with Megan; he was going to the courthouse that morning in order to file the papers necessary in obtaining a restraining order against Thompson. His lawyer had informed Alan that if he filed early enough, that sometimes the judge would have time to make a determination on the same day. So, Alan had gulped down his food and grabbed some of Don's binders, taking them upstairs to review while he waited for Don to finish his bath. When his sons finally entered the bedroom, Alan had jumped in the shower while Charlie started his routine of dressing his brother.
While Don was currently sitting on his bed, he appeared to be staring at Charlie. In actuality, his eyes were glued to the closet beyond. He knew Mommy had taken the belt, and now she was using it on him every time he went to sleep. Charlie helped make its stinging pain go away, but Don wanted to keep it from beginning in the first place. Only, he didn't know how to do that. Throughout the night, whenever his mind was clear, he thought about letting Charlie know what Mommy had done; maybe Charlie could get the belt back. But Don hadn't had the courage to say anything, because it was one of Mommy's secrets and he knew he wasn't supposed to tell. Besides, Don thought the only way for Charlie to get the belt back would be to confront Mommy, and he still didn't know if Charlie was stronger than Mommy when she was real and not in his dreams. Don didn't want Charlie getting hurt just because he was in pain; he would rather suffer than see that happen.
But then, Don wondered if Charlie could steal the belt back, without Mommy knowing- just like she had taken it in the first place, without Charlie knowing. Don knew his brother was smart and could solve a lot of problems. After all, hadn't he figured out how to chase the teeth and pain away each time they came last night? If Charlie could do that, then there was a good chance he would be able to get the belt from Mommy without getting hurt, by being like Daddy when they ate lunch yesterday: sneaky.
While Don continued to debate his options, Charlie dressed him. When he finished tying Don's shoelaces, Charlie went to the dresser and picked up three pieces of chalk. They were replacements for the ones Don's accident had ruined Monday, though Don hadn't noticed the substitution. After sliding them into Don's jeans pocket, Charlie led him downstairs to eat, Buddy tucked under Don's left arm.
It was the presence of Charlie's chalk in his pocket that compelled Don to tell his brother about Mommy and the belt. The chalk provided Don a comforting feeling, knowing that Charlie wanted him and that he had a home. A safe home, until Mommy had taken the belt. Don decided to tell Charlie what Mommy had done because he wanted to feel safe again. Don reasoned that even if Mommy got mad, she had never done anything worse than belt him, and since she was already doing that in his dreams, his situation couldn't get any worse.
After Charlie put on his feeding glove, Don put his hand on the table and made no movement to eat. Charlie easily perceived that something was bothering him.
"What's wrong, Don? Are you unhappy with the food Dad made?"
Tentatively, Don replied, "No. It's fine."
Charlie began to rub Don's back. "Is it about your nightmares?"
Nervously, Don nodded. He kept his eyes on the plate before him, frightened that he was about to tell Charlie one of Mommy's secrets. What if Mommy did do something else to him-worse than the belt and more horrible than the teeth?
But then Charlie was talking to him reassuringly and was massaging away his fears.
"Don, we talked about being afraid. Remember, it's okay. Even though you were scared, we still made it through the night, because we stayed together. I promised I would be there when you needed me, and you see that I was, so there is no reason for you to worry. If it happens again tonight, I'll still be there for you."
Believing his brother's promise, Don swallowed several times and took a deep breath. "Mommy hit me."
Charlie increased his efforts to soothe. "I know, Don. But she can't do that to you anymore, not for real."
Don shook his head.
"Don, I locked up the belt, remember? Mommy can't hit you with it anymore."
Shaking his head a second time, Don tried to explain. "It's gone."
Misunderstanding Don and thinking he had been asked a question, Charlie answered, "Yes, I put it away. Nobody can hit you now."
Just as Don was about to tell Charlie that he meant it was gone because Mommy took it, the phone rang in the living room.
"I'll be right back, Don. Okay?" Receiving a positive reply, Charlie went to answer it. Lifting up the receiver, he was surprised to hear Amita on the other end of the line. "Hey, it's good to hear from you- finally." Listening to the soothing voice on the other end of the line, Charlie grabbed the phone and carried it into the dining room, running into his father, who was buttoning his shirt as he came down the stairs.
"Who's on the phone, Charlie?"
"Amita," came a whispered response.
"Oh. Well, let me feed Don so you two can talk."
Charlie asked, "Are you sure? You don't have much time before you have to leave for court, and Don's still upset about his nightmares. I've been trying to make him feel better."
Alan checked his watch. "I'm ready to go and it won't take more than twenty minutes to feed him, so yeah, I'll still get out of here according to schedule. Talk to her, Charlie, you deserve a little break. I'll talk to Don."
Hesitant to leave Don, Charlie told Amita to hold on. He held the receiver flat to his shoulder blade and asked his brother, "Don, can I talk to my friend for a little bit? Dad will have to help you eat. Is that alright with you?"
Reluctantly, Don told Charlie, "Yes, it's okay." Then Charlie rubbed his shoulder and walked back into the living room.
Alan sat next to Don, and put his hands in position to massage his neck. Don ate quietly, partially listening to his father's words of comfort in his ear, glancing into the living room now and then to look at Charlie. He had known one of his brother's friends was coming to visit today, but he didn't know one was going to call, too. This presented a difficulty for Don, because he had been used to Charlie spending all of his free time with Don and their father- and not with anybody else. As he listened to Charlie talk on the phone, Don tried to ignore the discomforting feeling building in the pit of his stomach, but somehow it persisted. Until Charlie had gotten on the phone and began to pay attention to his friend- ignoring me, Don thought glumly- it hadn't occurred to Don that when Charlie's friend came over, his brother would want to spend some time with him, maybe even alone. And Don was slowly becoming aware that he might not like that. After all, Charlie was his brother and nobody else's, so why should he have to share him with somebody else? The more he thought about it, the more Don was convinced he didn't want to meet Charlie's friend, and he didn't want his brother to spend any time with him.
When he finished eating, Don picked up Buddy, then went and sat on the couch next to Charlie, who smiled and patted him on the knee while he continued his conversation with Amita. Don wanted to finish telling Charlie about the belt because it was still bothering him. But he was also becoming upset about the time Charlie was spending on the phone, even though it hadn't been that long. Don decided the best way of solving both problems was to ask Charlie to check for the belt; it would not only allow Charlie to know what had happened, but would get him off the phone because he would have to go upstairs to do so. Don was sure it was a brilliant plan to get his brother's attention all to himself.
"Charlie," Don whined, giving his most imploring look, the one that Mommy always loved. He was pleased to see Charlie couldn't resist it either.
Lifting the receiver up and away from his mouth, Charlie asked worriedly, "What's wrong, Don?"
"The belt… it's gone?"
"Yes, Don it is." Charlie replied.
"Don't believe you." Don said, looking sad.
Charlie listened to Amita chatter away on the phone, not really paying attention to what she was saying; all the while his concern for Don was growing. When Don had woken the previous night, his worst dreams had been about the belt and Thompson hitting him with it. When the third nightmare had come, Charlie had absentmindedly checked Don's back for fresh belt marks; Don's belief that he was being hit again was so convincing that in the back of his mind, Charlie was afraid that maybe, by some evil trick that Thompson had come up with, Don really was being hit. Charlie had felt oddly relieved when his eyes were able to see what his mind already knew: it was impossible for Thompson to actually be hitting Don. Though this physical evidence might have been sufficient to dissipate Charlie's worries, it was apparent to him that it wasn't enough to convince Don.
Charlie attributed Don's fears to Thompson's visit and the threats that Megan conjectured the woman had made. Now, Charlie was faced with a dilemma. Because Don's nightmares were so real to him, he was having a hard time believing Charlie still had the belt. And, of course, Charlie no longer had it- the Bureau did. Briefly, Charlie wondered if Thompson had found out that he had given the belt to Megan, but realized that was not possible; no matter who the woman could influence, Charlie knew Don's friends would have kept the Bureau's possession of the belt a well-guarded secret.
Alan came into the living room, looking at his watch. "I've got to leave, Charlie, but I can't find any of Don's binders- specifically, the ones with his evaluations. Do you know where they are?"
Charlie asked Amita if she could hold on a minute, put the receiver on the couch, and then told his father, "They're upstairs in Don's room, next to the recliner- where you left them this morning."
"Oh," Alan said sheepishly, "I must be more tired than I thought. I'll just run and get them."
"Better get another tie while you're at it," Charlie pointed at Alan's chest, "that one has ground apples on it." Alan lifted up his tie, sighing when he saw that Charlie was right. "I don't have time to dig around for another one. I'll just go dab some water on it." He glanced at the time again. "Damn! If I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to get stuck in rush hour." He headed out of the living room.
Charlie followed his father. "Go wash your tie in the kitchen and I'll find the binder with the evaluations. Save you a little time."
"Okay," Alan said, "but be quick about it. I really have to leave."
Charlie ran upstairs and into Don's room; he grabbed the binders and quickly scanned them.
"Charlie! Hurry up!" Alan called up to him. Charlie kept flipping papers as he bounced down the stairs. He clipped two sections of one binder and held it out to his father.
"These are the general summaries of his condition." He pointed to the pages he had separated.
"Thanks, Charlie. Uh, you wouldn't happen to know where I put the papers we filled out last night- I can't seem to remember anything this morning?" Alan tiredly ran a finger over his eyebrow.
"It's okay. We left them near the front door, so you wouldn't forget where they were. Didn't work, huh?" Charlie grinned.
"Speaking of forgetting things, isn't Amita still on the phone?" Alan returned Charlie's grin when he saw him propel into the living room.
Charlie plopped on the couch next to Don, picking up the phone. Before he could say anything, Don inquired, "Charlie, the belt?"
"Don't worry," Charlie assured him again, "It's gone, Don. It can't hurt you anymore." He gave Don a comforting touch on his arm. "Let me say goodbye and we can talk about it some more."
Don was becoming more and more upset. He had seen Charlie go upstairs and mistakenly thought it had been to see about the belt. Then, when Charlie had returned and again stated that it was gone, Don thought Charlie meant that he had checked and the belt was still in the closet. It was a complete misunderstanding of Charlie's actions and words, but as a result, Don believed Charlie had lied to him. Don was convinced he knew why Charlie had lied: Charlie wanted to spend time talking with his friends more than he wanted to spend time doing something for Don. And because Charlie had been doing almost everything for Don since he had come home, he wondered what else Charlie would refuse to do for him when his friend came over and was actually in the house, not just on the phone.
The discomforting feeling that had earlier afflicted Don's stomach returned in full force. Angry that he hadn't been able to get Charlie to stop talking to his friend, and that he had been lied to, Don sank into the couch and sulked, sucking his now band-aide-free right thumb while he silently complained to Buddy about Charlie's stupid friends.
Charlie hung up the phone and turned to his brother. "Don, we need to talk about this belt situation." Charlie could tell that he was still upset about his nightmares and he wanted to see if he could help him understand they weren't real. But to Charlie's surprise, Don ignored his offer of comfort; instead, he turned away from him morosely.
Don was beginning to wonder if Charlie had lied to him about other things, like always being there for him. He thought about Mommy, and how she never ignored him when he lived with her. She didn't have any friends that came by and took her from him. He deliberately ignored the fact that Mommy also hit him, that he didn't feel safe with her, and that Charlie had to protect him from her just the night before. Feeling sorry for himself, Don began a whole litany of complaints, trying to justify his point of view. Charlie was mean to talk to his friends instead of feeding him. What if he had choked? And how could he do his activities if Charlie was busy with his friend? He couldn't do them alone.When Charlie's friend came over, Charlie probably planned to leave him all alone so they could do things together; the Badman was sure to get him, and then Charlie would be sorry. It made Don feel better to think how guilty Charlie would be if he got hurt or someone took him, especially because it would be all Charlie's fault- and his friends' fault, too- his stupid, stupid friends he told Buddy over and over again.
Oh, boy, Charlie thought. He could see that Don's temperament pendulum was in full swing towards moody. While he began pondering the problem, Alan called to him from the front door. "Charlie, Larry's here. And I'm leaving- come lock the front door."
"I'll be right back, Don." Charlie tried to rub his shoulder, but Don pulled it away from him, then pointedly rose from the couch and shuffled into the solarium, shoulders hunched.
Charlie was running his hand through his hair when he got to the front door.
"Something wrong, Charles?" Larry was in the entryway, waiting with Alan. The scientist had years of experience in observing Charlie's gestures and had long ago deciphered that any one of them having to do with his hair meant either puzzle-solving or puzzlement. In this case, Larry correctly guessed puzzlement.
Charlie smiled. Hearing his friend call him by his proper name always felt like a warm and secure hug.
"Yes," he answered, relieved to have Larry there to help; seeing his father's worried expression, Charlie added, "But nothing I can't handle." He looked at his watch and told a hesitant Alan, "You better leave. If you wait much longer, you'll be leaving the house at about the same time you're returning from the court." When Larry attempted to explain why that particular event could actually happen if one took into consideration alternate planes of reality, Alan decided it really was time for him to leave, and exited, waiting on the front porch until he heard Charlie lock the door behind him.
Once they heard Alan pull away from the house, Larry asked, "Now, where is your nonpareil brother?"
"He went into the solarium." Charlie sighed.
"Am I to assume that he is the cause of your intense perturbation?"
"Yes, your assumption is correct. He had several nightmares last night and is still upset about them. I've been trying to convince him that they weren't real." Charlie sat at the dining room table, joined by Larry. "But I also think he wasn't happy that I talked on the phone with Amita this morning. I'm the one who fed him yesterday and because I talked to her, my dad had to feed him today. Dr. Wang told us he needs to have a certain amount of consistencies in his routine, and he's had so many changes over the last five days, I think that not feeding him was one too many. Now, he seems angry at me."
"It has never been easy for you when Don's anger has swerved your way. After all the descriptions of how you and Don have bonded over the past few days, I can understand why his anger would now be more thorough in its bruising effects."
"I guess that's true." Charlie stood up, taking a deep breath of air. "But I don't think I'll persuade him to forgive me by sitting here and worrying about how it makes me feel. Come with me. I'm going to apologize and see if it does any good. If not, we'll see if we can at least convince him to meet you. We're hoping that seeing another familiar face might jog a few memories."
As they walked to the solarium, Charlie proudly started describing Don's therapy. "I want to show you everything we've been working on. Yesterday was only his first day of home therapy, but you should have seen how hard he worked on his gripping and speech exercises. If we can keep up a rate that's even half as stringent, I know he'll be better long before his doctors predict."
Larry spidered his fingers across his chin, tapping it, "I'm sure you are correct in your projections, Charles; but don't forget that humans aren't stable equations. They and their behaviors are comprised of irresolute variables that have to be taken into consideration as they appear, which can be frequent and unpredictably."
"I know," Charlie said, leading Larry to the solarium, walking backwards as he talked. "But everything is comprised of numbers, and I think that I have found the set that comprises Don's rehabilitation. Even if I take unknown variables into consideration when computing the time it will take to complete it, Don's progressive rate will still be twice that of his doctors' prognoses."
"But how do you insert variables that you do not even know exist?" Larry inquired.
"Well," Charlie ran a hand through his hair, dropping his head to his chin while he stood at the entrance to the solarium, his back to the room. "I think my algorithm covers all reasonable deviations, that's how."
"Hmmmm," Larry murmured under his breath, "does your algorithm cover this deviation?" He was looking past Charlie into the solarium.
Charlie turned around and followed Larry's eyes, which were fixated on the couch.
An empty couch.
A little bout of panic shaping his actions, Charlie strode to the garage door and pulled. It was still locked tight. Acting quickly, he went back into the living room, running his eyes over the small space, wondering how Don could have gotten by them. They had been standing in the front doorway, so they would have seen him if he attempted to walk past. Suddenly, Charlie's eyes fell on the juncture where the floor and wall met, next to the couch and below a rustling curtain. Two sneakers moved back and forth in a nervous rhythm.
Bending over, his elbows to his knees, Charlie took two deep breaths to calm down.
Larry stood next to Charlie. "Is he hiding from me?"
Unbending, Charlie responded, "Probably, but we thought this might happen," he took another deep breath, "so it was a predicted deviation."
"Ahhh, you must have momentarily forgotten that."
Charlie grunted noncommittally. Relieved, he approached his hiding brother and tenderly said, "Don, I know one of the reasons you're hiding is because you're unhappy that I talked on the phone today and didn't feed you. I'm sorry I changed your routine. Won't you forgive me and come meet our friend Larry."
Don stayed still. I don't need any friends, he thought bitterly, and if you do, then I don't need you, either.
Receiving no response, Charlie beckoned Larry to the dining room.
"I think you better stay here, Larry. He must really be upset if he won't even talk to me. There're some binders on the buffet. The one at the end contains the work I've done so far in trying to determine the initial cause of Don's brain trauma. Can you review it for me? I'm not sure if my approach is the most conducive in solving the problem."
"My pleasure to help, Charles." Larry took the indicated binder and sat at the head of the table, his back to the living room. "Now, let me take a look." Larry quickly lost himself in the research, here and there uttering quiet exclamations as positive but pondering remarks upon Charlie's work.
Charlie left the dining room and approached Don once again. Fifteen minutes later, Charlie sat down next to Larry, disappointment marring his face. "I tried apologizing, but he didn't say anything. I can't get him to come out. He always hides when he's afraid of a new situation or person. Only, he's met so many new people over the last few days, I thought it would be easier for him to meet you."
"It's alright, Charles," Larry said gently. "Don't feel obligated to propel your brother to perform actions that may further agitate his condition. My sensitivities will not be adversely affected by his lack of interest in meeting me."
"Maybe so, but I don't understand why he's afraid of you. None of the other people he's met have been half as pleasant-looking as you."
"Charles," Larry stated matter-of-factly, "Don's standards for pleasant may not match your own. Besides, his behavior is at it should be; all creatures of distinction tend to fey from intrusions into their environments as a defense against harm."
Sitting sideways in his chair and rocking back and forth, Charlie's eyes stayed on the curtain in the living room. "I don't know, Larry. He's not crying or shaking like he usually does when he's afraid, so I think something else is wrong, only he won't tell me. But if on the off chance that he is refusing to come out because he's afraid, and I can't get him to come out, you'll have to leave. I'm sorry, but even though I could use your opinion on my work, I can't just let him stay behind that curtain all day. He needs to get started on his therapy."
Larry tapped the binder in front of him. "Oh, dear, I hadn't thought of that. Hmmmm. If you think that fear is not the cause of his behavior, than maybe the allurement you are extending is simply inadequate in trying to coax him to come forth. Do you have any other enticement at hand?"
"Actually, it's time for his tongue exercises, and he loves cherry popsicles- I can try to lure him out with those."
Charlie went to the kitchen and returned with a Popsicle. He walked into the living room and loudly tore the wrapper from the frozen treat, satisfied when two brown eyes peaked at him from behind the curtain. Since Charlie was sure that Don was not afraid of Larry, but was refusing to come out because of his anger at him, he stepped back into the dining room, hoping Don would do the same and sit at the table with them. He trusted that doing the tongue exercises would help Don relax and he could talk to him again about his nightmares, try to assure him he was safe.
Don watched Charlie. He didn't want to go meet his Larry, but the cherry Popsicles tasted so good, especially after drinking supplements for two months, that they were hard to resist. From the moment he had heard Charlie's friend was there, Don had hidden behind the curtain. At first, it was because he was afraid. When Larry had walked by, though, it was easy for him to see that the diminutive man was no threat. Don had also heard Charlie bragging about him and he had almost forgiven his brother. Then Charlie and Larry had come back into the living room, and Don listened to how their voices sounded when they talked to each other. It was obvious to him that there was a lot of affection between them, which angered him, and he remembered once again how Charlie had ignored him that morning and lied, all because he wanted to spend more time with his friend. Don's stubbornness dug in and he refused to forgive Charlie, hating it when his brother and Larry went into the dining room to sit together, like Charlie was supposed to do with him that morning, but didn't do. But he had time to sit with Larry.
When Charlie had come back and apologized a second time, Don ignored him. Charlie hadn't even said he was sorry about lying. And because Charlie didn't look for the belt and didn't know it was gone, there was no way for him to get it back. Don knew Mommy was going to come back that night and hit him, maybe harder than ever, all because Charlie cared more about his friends than he did about him.
Pitying himself, Don hadn't wanted to do what Charlie said and that included doing his exercises; he had originally planned on ignoring Charlie all day, to let him see how it felt. But when he saw Charlie walk into the dining room, he came from behind the curtain, uncertain about what to do, trying to decide if he really wanted the treat more than he wanted to be angry at his brother. But then Charlie acted as if he was going to eat the Popsicle, putting it in front of his mouth, and Don decided he was punishing himself more than Charlie if he didn't do his tongue exercises. Besides, he reasoned, he could still be mad even if he did do them.
Charlie watched as Don rambled into the room and then sat at the table with his tongue already out and moving before his bottom had touched the seat. As Don began to lick the Popsicle, he flopped Buddy down on the table. Charlie held the Popsicle in his right hand, his arm angled up from the table and his elbow resting on it.
"Remember, tongue only Don," Charlie directed. "Up and down, side to side- it has already started to melt, so you better start at the bottom." He smiled when Don did as he was told. Behind him, Larry did not bat an eye at Don's behavior, but continued to peruse the binder in front of him.
Charlie looked at Larry and smiled proudly, pleased that the Popsicle had worked in bringing Don out of hiding. He was also glad that Don appeared to be handling Larry's presence well, as he noted his usual shaking and crying continued to be absent. Charlie hoped this would be a first step in Don forgiving him about changing his routine that morning. It was apparent that his brother was still upset.
Charlie wanted the rest of the day to go well. The main reason he had, of course, was because he hated to see Don unhappy and feeling unsafe in his own home. But Charlie also had a personal reason for wanting the day to be successful. He wanted Larry to see how good he was at taking care of Don. Larry knew how Charlie had hidden in the garage while his mother was sick and dying. Charlie wanted Larry to see that he had changed from that person, had grown up and forward, was not so scared by people and relationships that all he could see were numbers when problems arose. He was aware that Larry had observed some of this growth after he had started helping Don work his cases. But, to Charlie, this was different. Because taking care of Don was personal, almost on a level akin to taking care of his mother. It was important to Charlie for Larry to know that he had become the essential opposite of the person he was before, that he had become like Don had described him the previous night- brave.
Turning back to Don, Charlie introduced Larry. "This is a good friend of ours. His name is Larry."
Larry smiled and softly said hello. Don glanced at him briefly. He's not my friend, he thought. Then Don set his eyes back onto the Popsicle, licking his lips first, and then the treat.
Charlie talked to Don, quietly telling him what a good job he was doing. Behind him, Larry made a small exclamation. Tilting his head towards his friend , Charlie asked, "What do you think?"
"I think that I'm not surprised they are having difficulty in finding a point of origin."
"I know. I would have never guessed that there were so many variables in determining a brain injury, and so many different solutions, even when the combination of variables remains the same. If the same is true for all severe damage to the human body, how can a doctor be sure what route to take in any medical situation, especially when he doesn't know his starting position?"
"Well, Charles, I do believe that is why they sagely opine that a doctor is practicing the art of medicine. And as with all skilled artisans, they must rely on their natural talents and penetrating senses to supplement their knowledge and extensive training."
"You mean they have to go with their gut feelings sometimes."
"Yeah, eh," Larry bobbed his head side to side, "that would be an accurate interpretation of my thoughts."
"So, what does your"- Charlie stopped mid-sentence. He felt a weight on his hand that was making it slowly drop to the table. Turning his attention to Don, he saw his brother had put his mouth over the Popsicle and was sucking on it, his head too heavy for Charlie's hand to hold up. "Don." Two doe-like eyes looked up at him. "Tongue only." Slowly, Don pulled his mouth from around the Popsicle and began to lick it with his tongue again, up and down, side to side. Charlie watched, telling Don he was doing a great job.
Then Larry asked a question and Charlie turned his face towards him again.
"All of these effects from the trauma- you're giving them weights that are of equal value?"
"Yes, because they are all just as likely no matter the initial cause."
"But surely some occur more often, even if their likelihood of occurrence is the same. Could you rework their values to take into consideration how often they actually occur, not just their possibility of occurring?" Larry flipped a page and held the binder out for Charlie to see.
Charlie was just about to take the binder when his right hand was weighted to the table again. Shifting in his seat, Charlie looked at Don, who had his mouth over the top half of the Popsicle once more, making loud sucking noises. Charlie lowered his chin till it rested on the upper portion of his extended arm, and so that his face was level with Don's.
Don became conscious of Charlie's disapproving presence, and slowly raised his eyes, locking them onto his brother's eyes mere inches away, but he continued to suck on the Popsicle.
"Don," Charlie used the sternest teacher's voice he had ever possessed, "tongue only. You don't need to practice sucking things."
When Don ignored him and kept sucking, his eyes now staring obstinately, Charlie decided to forego his plans to work with Larry; it was obvious that Don was still upset and needed his full attention. Switching hands so that his left was holding the Popsicle, Charlie reached out with his right hand and patted Don on the back. "Come on, Don. Don't you want to earn some stars?"
At the question, Don's eyes flitted to Larry and back again to Charlie. Don was not happy that Charlie's friend was sitting with them. He didn't even want him in the house. And, he thought, why should he listen to Charlie? Hadn't he tried to talk to Charlie that morning, and hadn't Charlie just ignored him?
His eyes continuing to be on Charlie's, Don began to slowly lift his head, allowing the Popsicle to start a languid slide from his mouth, as if he was going to return to his exercises. But before the cold treat left his mouth, more than an inch from the top, Don bent his head down; then he proceeded to pull his head into an upright position, his mouth no longer covering the Popsicle and his lips shut tight.
His chin still resting on his arm, Charlie stared at the Popsicle directly in front of him. Or rather, he stared at the remains of it. Don had managed to break off the top fourth of the Popsicle when he bent his head, a clear act of defiance.
It took a moment, but then Charlie realized the top of the Popsicle was in Don's mouth, so he hurriedly began to massage Don's throat, fearing he would try to swallow it all at once. To his relief, it became apparent from the twitching movement of Don's lips that he was allowing the Popsicle to melt before swallowing the liquid.
Charlie wondered at his brother's anger towards him. Surely he couldn't still be that upset about the change in his daily routine? Like he had told Larry, he knew that Don had been forced into a lot of new situations after returning home, and had been forced to meet many new people- some of them not even friendly. Yet he had never reacted with anger. Charlie fleetingly wondered if Don was afraid of Larry, and had wanted the Popsicle so badly he was willing to come out of hiding despite that fear; but then, he again noted that Don hadn't cried or shivered, so he had a hard time believing that Larry was the root of the problem.
Besides, Charlie thought, Don was already upset before Larry came over. He felt Don's nightmares had to be the major cause of his anger. After all, Don had nodded when Charlie asked him if he was upset about them. It was clear that they had affected Don so much that he continued to be anxious about them. Maybe, Charlie thought, Don was mad at him for not keeping Thompson away. He seemed to rely on him for so much, Charlie reasoned, it might be hard for him to accept that he couldn't keep Thompson from attacking him in his dreams; which had, he thought ruefully, prevented any of them from getting a decent night's sleep. Charlie decided that the change in routine, along with the combination of the nightmares and the lack of a decent night's sleep, were the reasons for Don's anger towards him.
Feeling bad for the change in routine and for having talked to Amita, Charlie tried to make amends to Don. "Well, you tried, so I'm going to give you a star anyway, does that sound good?"
But Don refused to respond.
Charlie could sense Don's mood was stuck in its current position. He took the remains of the Popsicle to the kitchen, coming back to the dining room with two wipes, one to clean the table and one to clean Don's fingers and face. When Charlie finished, he sat next to Don and apologized for not feeding him that morning. Don sucked his thumb and listened to what Charlie had to say, but he stubbornly refused to respond to his brother, angry that Charlie had turned away from him while he did his exercises, ones he hadn't really wanted to do in the first place.
Getting no response from Don, Charlie decided it was best that they spend some time alone. He said, "Let's go in the solarium and practice your gripping exercises. Would you mind staying here, Larry, and continue to review my notes?"
"Of course, Charles. Do not let my presence prevent you from attending to Don." With that, the professor took out a pencil and began making notes in the margin of the page before him.
Don reluctantly followed Charlie into the solarium. He sank into the couch, his eyes droopy.
Charlie sat near Don, trying to get him to play with the gripping clay. He tried to sound excited like Jim, talked about soldiers, gave positive verbal reinforcement, and kept patting Don on the arm. But nothing seemed to work. Offering Don other activities, Charlie was disappointed when Don sank further into the the couch, refusing to look at him and half-heartedly playing with Buddy.
As the morning wore on, Charlie refused to give up. He continually attempted to get Don to do just one therapeutic activity, but he failed every time. Larry spent the morning unobtrusively sitting in the dining room, making notes and conjectures about Charlie's work thus far.
When it was lunch time, Charlie sighed. "Don, I don't know what else to do. I've apologized for this morning. I can't go back in time and change things. And if you're still anxious about your nightmares, you need to talk to me about them. Things won't get better if you refuse to talk to me." Greeted with silence, Charlie decided to take a different route. He informed Don, "Okay, if you want to sulk, that's your choice. But remember, if you keep this stubborn behavior up, not only will you not earn enough stars to play baseball this Saturday, you won't even have enough stars for a sucker today. I hope you think about that, because I thought we were going to have a lot of fun at the park."
Charlie left behind a suddenly interested Don.
He had forgotten about baseball and the park. Before they started his therapy the previous day, Charlie had promised that if he earned fifty stars, they would get to go. Don hadn't been thinking about it, because he had already earned twenty stars, and had thought he was going to easily earn the rest. But Charlie was right. He had to earn a lot more stars to go to the park, and he had only earned one today; chances were he wasn't going to get to go.
Don had also forgotten about his sucker. He stared across the room at the jar sitting invitingly on the table. He shoved his thumb deep into his mouth, angry that he wasn't going to get one. If the Popsicles tasted good, the suckers were even better. They lasted longer and tasted sweeter, better than anything else he got to eat, even the food Daddy made for him. But he was really angry because he didn't think it was his fault he wasn't going to get one. Don reasoned it was Charlie's fault; if his brother hadn't ignored him and made him angry, Don never would have had to treat him so badly.
A part of Don acknowledged he had been mistreating his brother, something he really didn't deserve. He knew Charlie had done many things for him, and he was amazed at his ability to chase away the bad things in his dreams. Though he knew it was wrong to behave that way, Don couldn't help it. He didn't want Charlie to have his friend over, he didn't like being lied to, and most of all, he didn't want to share his brother.
As he passed through the dining room, Charlie told Larry he had to make lunch. He didn't bother to ask Larry if he would want something to eat that was different from what he was preparing for Don and himself; Charlie knew his friend well enough to know that Larry wouldn't want Charlie to take the extra time to do so, and would be grateful to be offered the bland ground food, to boot.
"Can you kinda keep an eye on Don?" Charlie asked as he stood in the doorway to the kitchen, "Dad doesn't like me to leave him alone too long. I'm sure he's not afraid of you, so if you can handle him giving you the brush-off, I think it should be okay. But if he starts crying or anything else that indicates he's anxious, come get me."
"Unfortunately, I have an extensive history of handling brush-offs," Larry lamented. He was pleased to see Charlie grin for the first time in hours.
Larry approached the solarium cautiously. As Charlie had given him a thorough overview of Don's condition, Larry was perplexed by Don's behavior, too. He shyly walked into the room, taking tiny steps with a watchful eye on Don's reaction, only proceeding forward when he did not detect any tears or shaking. The gentle professor would have broken down himself if he thought he caused so much as a mist to appear in the corner of his friend's eye.
Though his progression had been slow, Larry did make it to the recliner and sat down, pulling to the back of the chair, his feet not quite reaching the floor. He chanced a look in Don's direction and noticed he was staring at the table.
"Uh, hem," Larry cleared his throat. Don glanced at him and then back at the table.
Though nonjudgmental about Don, Larry felt a lump in his throat as he watched him suck his thumb and pet Buddy. He knew that uniqueness was an exhilarating aspect of being a human being, but that God, the mind, and nature should be responsible for individualizing characteristics in each and every person. He was sadly convinced that he was witnessing the desecration of the universe and its laws, as he knew that God, Don, and nature had nothing to do with the childlike expressions that the man before him was exhibiting now.
Larry slipped out of the recliner and tentatively stood next to the table. "Did you want something from here?" he asked. He picked up a book and showed Don its cover.
Don swallowed. Guardedly taking his thumb from his mouth, he slowly shook his head.
Relieved that he hadn't frightened Don, Larry picked up a video game.
Don shook his head again. Then he moved his head with deliberate motion, settling his eyes on a specific object.
Larry saw where Don's eyes had landed and picked up the jar full of suckers. "Would you like one of these?"
Don hesitated. He looked past Larry to see if Charlie was coming. One part of him knew he didn't deserve the sucker, but the stronger stubborn part was more certain it wasn't his fault that he wouldn't be able to earn one.
Don nodded to Larry.
Effectively duped, Larry opened the jar and pulled them out one by one, until Don nodded at a red one. When Larry offered Don the sucker, Don held out his right hand. Larry put it on his fingers and stepped back, pleased that he had been able to communicate with Don and maybe entreat him from his shell. He left the jar of suckers opened on the table, in case Don wanted another one when he finished his first.
Unbeknownst to Larry, Charlie stepped into the room behind him.
"What are you doing?" Charlie demanded.
Larry jumped. "Why Charles, I wasn't cognizant of your approach." Smiling, he noted, "I think your brother's ready to do more tongue exercises."
Charlie wasn't looking at Larry. He had been talking to Don, who smugly sat on the couch, eating his sucker. Charlie ran both his hands through his hair. "Larry," he said through gritted teeth, "he only gets a sucker when he has earned ten stars. So far, he has only earned one, and he really didn't deserve it."
"Oh, I do apologize, Charles," Larry replied, embarrassed.
Charlie blew a stream of air through his nostrils. After the long unproductive morning, Charlie was finally becoming frustrated. He stepped to the couch and stood over Don. "I don't know what to do about your attitude, but I'm afraid I do know what I have to do about this behavior." Charlie carefully pulled Don's hand from his mouth and twisted the sucker from his fingers. Then he tossed the candy into the garbage. "If you're hungry, I have lunch ready. If you want a sucker, you have to do your exercises."
Larry was a scientist, and so he was very observant. And fortunately, he had an extensive history of experiences in dealing with the Eppes brothers. He recognized a showdown between the two when he saw one.
"Excuse me," he said quietly, and then he politely removed himself from the room, deciding that lunch sounded much better than standing in the line of fire.
Don glared at Charlie. He knew he shouldn't have taken the sucker, but Larry had given it to him. Why wasn't Charlie mad at Larry? Feeling unfairly treated, Don got up from the couch and went to the table, audaciously trying to get another sucker from the jar.
Charlie wasn't mad at Don. He was frustrated; not with his brother, but with the situation and his inability to make it better. Since he and Don had bonded, it seemed that no matter what happened he had been able to fix things. And now, Charlie couldn't make things better for Don, because he didn't even know what was wrong. Charlie had tried saying sorry for everything he had thought he'd done wrong that day, but Don kept refusing to accept his apologies.
But when Don tried to get another sucker, Charlie decided that no matter what the problem was, no matter what he had done wrong, his brother's obstinate behavior was only aggravating the situation and was unacceptable. Charlie walked over to Don and removed his hand from the jar of suckers. He then put the lid back on, tightened it and put the jar in the garage, shutting the door behind him.
"Look, if you really want a sucker," Charlie tried again, having given up on lunch for the time being. "I'll give you one if you do five exercises for me. That's half as many as you're supposed to do." He walked over to Don, who stood next to the table, the picture of insolence. Charlie picked up the gripping clay. "Come on, let's try this again. You liked it yesterday."
Though Don was limited in his capacity to make adult decisions, his stubbornness was so ingrained in him that it granted him the ability to behave at odds to the desires of those around him; to do so was not an actual decision on his part, but more a natural, unbidden method of expressing displeasure at a situation. At the Bureau, people would say he had a temper. While he was in his current condition, people would say he was throwing a temper.
In either case, the results of this expressive behavior were never productive.
Don took his left finger and knocked one container of clay to the ground. Go have Larry squeeze it, he thought. When Charlie bent to pick it up, Don knocked another container to the floor.
"Stop that," Charlie ordered, then covered his head as another container fell over the edge, bopping him in the head. He leapt back, straightening. "Don, this is getting ridiculous. Can't you just tell me what's wrong?"
Don answered by knocking a book off the table. Go ask your Larry, Don thought, and pushed a stack of puzzles to the ground. Charlie dodged around Don reaching for them, but he was too slow. Several hundred pieces scattered on the floor. Charlie had dropped to his knees and was trying to separate them, get them back in their boxes, when Don sent two video games heading his way. Charlie backed away from the table, resignedly sitting on the couch, deciding it would be best to allow Don to let off the steam.
But when Don moved around the corner of the table, he tripped on some loose puzzle pieces and fell to one knee. Charlie jumped up, grabbing Don's upper arm. "Come on, Don. You better stop. You're going to hurt yourself."
Don scowled at Charlie. He stood back up and knocked another book to the ground. Charlie was no longer concerned about Don's mood; he was now worried that he was going to hurt himself. Charlie tried to hold Don still, but he realized that when Don wasn't being compliant, or lying on the bed so he could put his weight on him, it was impossible for him to physically stop him, as Charlie was not as strong and was much smaller.
When Don tripped a second time, Charlie was transformed from a concerned brother with no control over his big brother to a professional teacher who assessed the inappropriate behavior with a skilled eye, and so he reacted as he would have with any other unruly student.
That is, if Charlie was teaching first graders.