--
Talking to Charlie proved to be harder than he'd hoped, but not any harder than he expected. Charlie was hiding something, and while Don wanted very much to get to the bottom of it, another part of him didn't want hear exactly what Laine was capable of.
"He stopped by Larry's room. Said he'd heard about Larry on the news and wanted to see if he was all right. I didn't think much about it. Derek took the expulsion rather well and he was studying physics..." Charlie shifted and hissed. Don immediately started to get out of the chair he was sitting in, but Charlie held up a hand.
"I'm fine, really. He apologized, Don. Thanked me, even, for exposing him. Said it was best thing that had ever happened to him. Larry was asleep again and a nurse came in. She had gone into the bathroom when Derek offered to buy me a cup of coffee. We were three steps outside the room when he said he must have dropped his wallet and want back in for it. About a minute later he came out. He wanted to take the stairs, said he hated elevators."
Don frowned. He didn't like where this was heading. "What happened?"
Charlie looked down the blanket. "As I told Megan, I'm not sure. I think he stuck me with something, because it all got blurry. It was dark..." He looked up, but didn't meet Don's eyes. "I don't really remember a lot, Don."
He was lying. "Not even how you got to CalSci?"
Charlie shook his head slowly. "No. He was angry, that I remember. A complete 180." He started picking at the tape holding down his IV.
"Stop that," Don told him and Charlie moved his hand away from the IV. There was much, much more to his story. There had to be. Why else would Megan be so insistent that he talk to him? Had Charlie told her more than he was willing to tell him?
"Charlie," he started, but Charlie interrupted him.
"There isn't any more. The doctors tell me I was tortured, the FBI tells me I was tortured, but I don't remember it. All I remember is CalSci and realizing that the second someone opened that door..." Charlie swallowed. "Did you find him?"
"No yet," Don admitted. "We're working on it, though."
"Good," Charlie responded. "How are you? Dad said you collapsed. I was a little out of it this morning."
"You had a fever of 103, you were allowed to be a little out of it, Charlie. I'm fine. Doctor signed my discharge papers two hours ago."
"Then why are you still here?" Charlie asked.
Don was a bit taken aback by the question. "You're still here," he answered. If he couldn't get his hands on Laine, then he'd stay by Charlie and make sure Laine wouldn't come back to get his hands on Charlie. Because this time, Laine'd have to get through him first.
"Oh," Charlie said, his eyes falling back down the sheets. "I'm tired."
Don frowned. "You just woke up. You feeling okay?" An overprotective hand reached up to Charlie's forehead. "Okay, I think your fever's back up." Don reached over for the call button and pushed it.
Charlie turned into the pillow. "It's fine. You don't need to call someone."
"Too late. You have a fever. Dad'll have my hide if I let something like that slide past me. It's bad enough I'm in the doghouse with him."
Charlie sighed. "Where is Dad, by the way?"
"Downstairs getting coffee. Do you know how long he's been here?"
"Too long, I'm sure," Charlie answered, closing his eyes. "I'm just tired," Charlie reiterated slowly.
"Uh huh," Don said, not believing him for a second. He was relieved when a nurse finally showed up.
"I think his fever's up again," Don told her immediately.
Charlie cracked an eye open and glared at Don. Don ignored it.
"Well, let's see if that's true," the nurse commented and turned to get a thermometer. She stuck it in Charlie's ear. Charlie squirmed slightly, and grimaced, the movement obviously aggravating one of his countless cuts and bruises.
"You in pain?" the nurse asked while she waited for the thermometer to beep. "I'll have to double check, but I think you're just about due for some more pain medication."
"No," Charlie responded. "Makes me sleepy."
"You're tired anyway," Don pointed out.
Charlie glared again and thermometer beeped.
"One oh one point eight," the nursed said. "That is a bit up from a few hours ago." She laid the thermometer aside and attached a blood pressure cuff around Charlie's right arm. Charlie winced at the pressure. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "This may be uncomfortable, but I'll be done in a minute." She was, but Don was sure that didn't matter much to Charlie. She didn't announce the reading, but from the look on her face, Don could tell it wasn't something she was overjoyed with. She undid the Velcro and proceeded to check Charlie's pulse. Finally she laid his hand back down and gave both of them a small smile. "I'll be right back." She disappeared out the door.
Charlie sighed. "Great. She's going to get the doctor."
"Why is that a bad thing?" Don asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. Yesterday, the doctor had said Charlie would be discharged today if he continued to improve. Don certainly didn't call a fever an improvement.
"Because I want to go home," Charlie said. "Or at least be able to go down and see how Larry's doing. But I haven't even been able to get out of this bed."
Don studied his brother a moment, once again taking in the various bandages and bruising. "I think when you get out of bed, you'll be in a world of pain, buddy."
"Not with all the drugs they keep giving me. Though Larry could probably beat me in a game of chess if we tried to play right now."
"Even with a head injury? Does that mean your father has a shot?"
Don looked up. Alan had entered without him even noticing. In one hand was a cup of coffee. In the other was a bottle of orange juice. He handed the orange juice to Don.
"I'd prefer the coffee," he told Alan.
"And I say you'll drink the orange juice." Don opened his mouth to protest, but Alan just pointed to the bottle. "You won't go home, so you will drink the juice."
Don relented, twisted the top off, and took a long sip.
"Thank you," Alan said, taking a seat on the other side of Charlie. He frowned when he got a good look at his youngest son. "You look feverish."
Charlie rolled his eyes. "I'm-"
"He is feverish," Don cut in. "Almost 102. The nurse just took it."
"Is she getting a doctor?"
"Could we not talk about me as if I'm not here," Charlie insisted. "And I'm sure she went to get a doctor because that seems to be all that happens around here. Try to sleep, get woken up, pumped full of medication that makes me spacey, and get asked a million times about what happened when I don't know."
Alan raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with Don. "All right, Charlie. I just asked."
Oh yeah, Don knew, Charlie hadn't told him the whole story. He was lucky they weren't near any blackboards. In that vein, Don made a mental note not to let Charlie con anyone into giving him a notebook and pencil. If he started writing equations, he'd never talk.
Charlie needed to talk. Charlie needed to do a lot of things. It never meant Charlie listened.
Don's thoughts were interrupted when the doctor came in, chart in hand. He, like the nurse before, didn't look pleased and it didn't take long to find out why.
"Your white cell count is up," the doctor told Charlie. Don knew what that meant: infection.
Charlie just closed his eyes. "So I'm not going home, huh?"
The doctor shook his head and scribbled something across Charlie's. "We've going to run another blood panel. In the meantime, we'll change your antibiotic."
"Fine. Whatever," Charlie responded.
Don traded another glance with Alan. Charlie gave in too easily. That was definitely not good.
The problem was Don had no clue how to fix it. He didn't even know where to start. A moment later, the doctor left, Charlie pleaded fatigue, and he was no closer to getting to the truth.
--
"We got him."
The second Don had heard Megan say those words, he was combing through the key rack in the kitchen for the keys to his mother's old car. His father had dropped him off at home with explicit instructions to take it easy and get some sleep, but he'd been jittery since he heard Alan drive away. His own car was still at CalSci, if he remembered and medical leave be damned, there was no way Don wasn't going to get his own moment with Derek Laine.
David met up with him when he entered the office.
"Megan and Colby are talking to him," David volunteered. "We're going to need a positive ID from Charlie, though."
"That's easy," Don answered. "How'd you find him?"
"We got lucky," David answered. "Gas station attendant in Malibu recognized him from the photo the media's been showing."
"Malibu, huh? He didn't get very far, then." He turned and looked into the integration room, getting his first glimpse of the man that had almost killed his brother.
He wasn't sure what he was expected, but Laine wasn't it. He was a big guy, yes, easily over two hundred pounds, but he had the height to match it. He stared straight ahead, showing absolutely no emotion nor reaction to what Megan was saying. He had to know he had no way out. He didn't seem to care.
That pissed off Don more than anything and he had to look away.
"It's not a good idea," David commented.
"What isn't?" he asked. He knew exactly what David meant, but wasn't sure if he'd actually say it.
"You talking to him," David said without a beat. "With Charlie's statement, the kidnapping case is solid."
"Yes," Don agreed. "But not the two murders. And not the attack on Larry."
"He did it," David said. "And we got him. Guess it's up to the prosecution to fill in the blanks, unless we get a confession. And I've been in there - that ain't happening."
"He denying everything?"
David shook his head. "Not everything. He knows we got him on Charlie. That was the only time he reacted."
Don was a bit surprised. The way Laine was holding himself, it didn't seem like he'd had cracked. "Reacted how?"
"He seemed disappointed that Charlie was still alive. Won't utter a word about any of the other victims and we've been at it over an hour."
Don mulled that over as his gaze went back towards Laine.
It was then that he saw Laine staring right back at him. Laine blinked and then his lips curled into a smile that Don could only describe as pure evil. It sent a shiver down his spine and a surge of anger straight to his brain.
He didn't realize he'd taken a step towards the room until he felt a hand on his back.
"It's not worth it," David said.
Don looked down at his hands, and noticed they'd curled into fists. He let out a breath. David was right. Seeing Laine convicted would just have to be enough and he'd have to settle for during whatever he could do to make sure that happened.
Don had other things to worry about and slugging Laine wouldn't help Charlie cope with what happened, especially if he lost his job because he had been unable to keep his temper with a suspect.
--
When Don returned to the hospital, he found Charlie sleeping, Alan still present, and Larry visiting. Larry and Alan were playing chess on Charlie's tray table and Larry was seated in a wheelchair, still looking as if his head was bothering him.
"Hi Dad. Larry."
"Hi Don," Alan responded, taking Larry's castle.
"I was not well prepared for that," Larry muttered, then looked up in Don's direction. "Don."
"You winning, Dad?" Don asked, taking a look at the chessboard.
"He is," Larry admitted, reaching a hand up to gently rub a temple. "I'm afraid I'm not at my peak." He moved a pawn.
"He's doing much better than Charlie was," Alan said. "He lost two games before he fell asleep."
"Two games?" Don repeated, stealing another glance at Charlie. Charlie shifted slightly in his sleep, and a slight frown crossed his lips for a moment before he settled.
"Pain medication. The fever's the same." Alan studied the board a minute before moving his bishop. "Check."
"Check?" Larry said, surprised. "That can't be...actually, I suppose it is." He moved his king out of danger.
"You headed back to the office, didn't you?" Alan asked. "Even after I dropped you off at the house and told you to stay put. I should have remembered to hide your mother's old keys."
"I had to," Don insisted. "We got Laine."
Alan looked away from the game and up at Don. "You did?"
He nodded. "In Malibu, thanks to the media coverage, of all things. We have him on Charlie's kidnapping, so we're trying to get him to link himself back to Larry and the other two professors."
"I'm afraid I can't offer any assistance," Larry said. "I can't recall seeing-"
"I know," Don cut in. "And what we've got is actually circumstantial, but I'm convinced that there's a good enough case for a jury to convict him across the board, even without a confession." Don sighed and took another look at Charlie before turning back to his father and Larry.
"He wasn't even sorry. The son-of-a-bitch looked at me and smiled." Don could hear the anger surface in his voice and tried to hold it back. He didn't want to wake Charlie.
"You didn't do anything you'd regret, did you?" Alan asked.
"No, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to. Dad, you should have seen him. It was..." He ran a hand through his hair. "It was tough."
"I'm sure. If I'd seen him, I'm not sure I've have been able to do the same."
Don almost grinned at that. "What about violence not being the answer?"
Alan raised an eyebrow. "I've never met someone responsible for harming either of my sons." His eyes turned serious, showcasing something Don hadn't seen before and didn't even know existed in his father. "And I hope I never do."