A/N: We'll see how far this goes. My muse is whining and frankly I'm becoming rather tired of the noise. If my tolerance lapses, there may be a brief hiatus between chapters.
Chapter 4:
Later that same day:
"Who is it?"
Charlie pounded on the door again. "Don!" he called. "It's me. Open up!"
His older brother's voice sounded from just inside the door, but it didn't open. "Charlie? What are you doing here?"
"What do you…" Charlie ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Don, just… Just open the door. Please?" There was a long moment of silence before he heard the sound of the deadbolt being turned. The door opened slowly and Charlie stepped through. He barely stifled a gasp of surprise at his brother's appearance. The word 'dishevelled' didn't even come close. Don looked like he'd been through hell.
"That bad, huh?" Don chuckled mirthlessly. "Well… come on in." He turned and padded down the short hallway to the living room and kitchen. Charlie closed the door before following. He found Don at the refrigerator. "You want something to drink?" he asked.
"No thanks," Charlie replied quietly. He glanced around at the almost sterile décor of the apartment. Don stood, kicked the fridge door shut and asked, "So… who sent you?" He took a sip from the open beer bottle in his hand. Cocking his head to one side, he looked at Charlie expectantly.
"No one." At Don's expression of disbelief, he amended, "Well… Dad's worried about you, naturally. Megan didn't know what had happened to you… You never call…" he trailed off.
"Yeah, well," Don shrugged. "There've been some things… It's complicated," he finished lamely.
Charlie snorted. "I think I'm more than capable of handling a complicated thought, Don. Why couldn't you have at least phoned?" He watched as his brother brushed past and headed for the couch. Dropping heavily onto the dark leather, Don put his feet up on the coffee table and took another pull of his beer. Charlie walked in and sat in the armchair. "What is it, Don? What happened?" When no answer seemed forthcoming, he continued, "David told me about… that you…" he trailed off, unable to speak the words.
Don just stared at the blank television screen opposite, sipping his drink. They sat in silence for a few minutes and then Charlie ventured "Don? You know you can talk to me, right?"
Picking at the label on the bottle, Don nodded once. "Not about this, buddy. Sorry." He drank the remnants of his beer and then stood. "How's Dad?" he asked, heading back to the kitchen. Charlie turned in his chair to face him. He watched as Don put the empty bottle away in the broom closet, then reached into the fridge for another. Twisting the cap off, he threw it in the garbage before ambling back in and resuming his seat. He glanced at Charlie as he took a sip.
Disbelief was rapidly being replaced by anger. Charlie leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "Don," he began in a low voice. When his brother looked at him, he continued. "I have no idea what's going on. Not only are you ignoring people – people who care about you – but now I hear you're being investigated for something I…" he shook his head. "…I just don't believe you'd be capable of doing." He paused. "What's happening, Don?"
Don looked down at the bottle in his hands. After a few seconds, he said, "I can't tell you that."
"That's fine, then," Charlie replied. Don looked up in surprise. Leaning back in the chair and lacing his fingers behind his head, Charlie continued, "I'm a mathematician. Mathematicians love solving puzzles. If you won't tell me, I'll figure it out for myself."
Don went back to his drink. "Not this time."
Charlie stood and headed for the door. "Yes, Don," he said firmly. "This time, too." He was reaching for the doorknob when Don suddenly called out "Wait!" He turned to see Don quickly set the bottle on the coffee table before rising and walking toward him.
"Charlie," he said, coming to a halt a few steps away. Charlie looked into his brother's eyes and was startled to see something akin to fear in their darkness. It was something he rarely saw in Don, and that alone made him pause long enough to listen to what he had to say. "Don't, Charlie. Don't try to figure this one out. Don't try to help me. Please."
Charlie stepped toward him. "Then tell me what's going on. I won't interfere, I promise."
Don hung his head. "I wish I could." He turned away.
"Don…" Charlie began, but Don cut him off. "No, Charlie. Don't ask me to. I can't." His brother headed back into the living room. Charlie took a few more steps as if to follow, then suddenly spun on his heel and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
Don sat down on the couch. He stared blindly at the beer bottle for a few seconds before suddenly picking it up and hurling it across the room. It hit the cd cabinet and shattered, spraying foamy liquid all over the wood and surrounding walls. Sighing, he leaned back into the cushions and whispered, "I can't do this."