A/N: Language warning. One very bad word. Bad Charlie, Bad.

Chapter 16

The next time Charlie woke up, several hours later, he seemed to have no memory of his early-morning confession, and he appeared convinced that they were all still alive. He was frightened, asking to hear the details of Don's condition several times, and almost unaccountably upset that Don couldn't move from his bed until the weeks of traction came to a close.

The longer he stayed awake, the more apprehensive he became, anxious to see Larry so he could know for himself that his friend was all right. He started every time the door opened — which, with Don's hourly traction sessions in addition to monitoring the condition of both men — was fairly often. He grew steadily more quiet, and tense. He was reluctant to close his eyes and go back to sleep, even though his body continued to fight the infection in his arm and everyone kept telling him to. Finally, his doctor ordered a mild sedative, and Charlie was out again by the time Larry arrived late that afternoon, when his classes were over.

Larry spoke quietly with Alan and Don for a while. By the time Charlie was awake again, fuzzy from the sedative, Don had a headache from Larry's long-winded version of the thumb drives. He kept trying to get him to move on to the exciting stuff — he wanted to hear about his old man taking down a seasoned FBI agent with a frying pan — but Larry seemed to find the application Charlie had designed on a moment's notice infinitely more exciting. When Larry turned his attention to Charlie, Don was more than ready for another shot of Demerol and was actually looking forward to his next experience with traction.

Larry approached Charlie's bed with a smile. He had taken in the battered appearance of his friend when he had first arrived, and by now he could look at him without cringing. "Charles. It's good to see you."

Charlie looked at him silently for a moment. He saw his father hovering over Larry. "Je me sens malade, le Papa," he suddenly whispered, closing his eyes again. "Pouvez-vous garer mon chevai…"

Larry's smile broadened and Alan poked him in the back. "What was that?"

Larry turned to Alan. "French. I don't believe Charles is quite ready for us, yet."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "French? What did he say?"

"My own French is a bit rusty, and rudimentary at best," answered Larry, still smiling, "but I believe he told you that he's not feeling well, and asked if you could park his horse."

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Don and Charlie's room soon became Grand Central, with the arrival of Megan, Colby and David just as Larry was leaving for a faculty meeting. Charlie slept through their visit, and they kept it brief with Don, telling him and Alan that Max and Nicky were dealing, with the information they had on Merrick. Massachusetts, where Amita was killed, was a non death-penalty state; but California, where the other murders had occurred, was not, and the state's attorney was already talking capital punishment. The team left when Don's dinner arrived, but Alan noted Don's lack of enthusiasm as he picked at it.

"Can I get you something else? Maybe something from the cafeteria?"

Don offered his Dad a sheepish grin. "It's stupid, I know — the guy was going to kill all of us, he is responsible for the death of…" Don cleared his throat and pushed the tray aside. "Anyway. Then there's all the financial stuff, all those people he ripped off. It's just weird. He's my boss. The Director. I can't wrap my head around it."

Alan nodded and was about to speak when the door opened again, this time allowing Cecile entry. She rushed to Don's bed. "I'm sorry, I meant to check on you earlier, the floor has been crazy today, I didn't even get a lunch break and I've only stolen 15 minutes for dinner…"

Both Alan and Don laughed, and the noise roused Charlie again, but just enough to roll his head to the other side of the pillow, protesting quietly in his sleep.

Cecile looked at him. "Sorry. Is he still out?"

"He was a little…tense. Doctor finally gave him a sedative." Alan rose and offered his chair to Cecile. "Sweetheart, why don't you sit here and finish Don's dinner."

She looked at the tray of hospital food, then back at Alan. "You're kidding, right?"

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By the time Cecile was ready to leave — promising to be back in a few hours when her shift was over — Don talked Alan into leaving and getting some dinner himself in the cafeteria. Don heaved a sigh of relief as the door swung shut behind them. For days he was virtually alone, save for whichever nurse happened to be there whenever he woke up, and now he couldn't seem to get a moment to himself. He sighed happily and shifted a bit in the bed. Too much family. Too many friends. Wonderful problems to have.

Presently, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie lift a hand and scratch his forehead. Don was surprised. He hadn't known that Charlie was awake. He turned his head to look more fully at him, but the bed rails and the splinted, bandaged nose kept Don from getting much detail. Maybe he had done that in his sleep?

"Charlie?"

Enough time went by that Don had just about given up and turned away, deciding that Charlie had scratched his head in his sleep, when he heard a quiet, "Yes."

Don found himself scrambling for conversation. "Um…Larry was here. I don't know if you remember…you were speaking French at the time. Anyway. He had to leave — faculty meeting — but he left you a note. It's on that rolling table, I think." Charlie didn't say anything, so Don pressed. "Can you reach it? It's almost time for my traction again, the nurse will be in soon."

"I saw it. Thank you."

Charlie sounded like he was ordering a cheeseburger at the McDonald's drive-thru. Polite, detached. It worried Don a little, but he didn't know what else he should say. Sorry about that whole kidnap-torture thing? Really upsetting, how my boss drove you to attempt suicide? Hope you're not too bummed about one of your best friends being murdered? What's life like without a patella?

He finally settled for the briefest rendition of truth he could think of. "Sorry…about…everything."

Charlie didn't respond for a while, and Don almost gave up again. Then, so quiet he almost didn't hear it: "Not your fault."

"No, Charlie…but I can still be sorry." He waited in the silence for a moment, and then added something. "It wasn't your fault either, you know."

Don heard a tremendous, heartbreaking sigh, and knew he had hit a nerve. "I called you to Cal Sci."

Don wished he could get out of the damn bed. He wanted to see Charlie's face. "Buddy. You told me to wait in your office. And even if you hadn't, calling me doesn't make any of this your fault."

"I let her help me. When she was here. Brought her into the office. Introduced her to that…that…fucking pig."

Don physically jerked at Charlie's uncharacteristic language, and quietly swore as his leg reacted to the movement. He hoped Charlie hadn't heard that. He gave himself a moment to think of what he should say next, and get the pain under control. "It wasn't you, Charlie. It was him. He's the only one to blame."

"I…I don't feel well."

Don felt an edge of panic on the black weight he was beginning to feel in his chest. His leg already hurt. Maybe he should just get up. He started to reach for the call button. "What is it? I'll call for someone."

Charlie's voice rose, started to sound angry. "No!" He took a breath, and Don could tell he was trying to calm himself down. His voice was softer again when he spoke next. "No, please, I don't need anyone. I just don't want to talk anymore."

Don hesitated and looked at the clock. The dominatrix known as the traction nurse was due in two minutes. "Really? You're…all right?"

"Yes." Charlie's voice was even softer, now. It sounded like he was falling asleep. "Thank-you."

Don tapped his fingers on the bed and was about to call for someone anyway when the nurse finally came through the door. She headed for his leg, but he called out to her. "My brother said he didn't feel well. Could you check on him?"

She veered to Charlie, standing between the beds with her back to Don, so he couldn't see what she was doing. Only a few seconds later, though, she turned around, smiling. She headed for Don's leg, again. "He's fine. Temp is normal, all vitals are good. He's just sleeping."

Don wished again that he could get up and see Charlie's face.

For some reason, he was sure his brother was faking it.