A/N: There is one 'bad' word here. I usually abstain from using them, but it seems to be a common phrase. I left it in, despite my misgivings. I have not changed the rating for this fic, although I will if it is deemed appropriate.

Chapter 14:

Present

The droning was back. He listened, hoping to hear his brother's or his father's voice, but it was different this time. It came from inside his head. Easier to cope with than actually concentrating. He allowed himself to relax and let the sounds and images flow into his mind.

-x-

McKesson met them in the hallway, an indecipherable expression on his face. "Any problems?" he asked Travers.

The burly agent nodded in Don's direction. "He was asking all sorts of questions about the other agents we brought along."

"And what did you say?" McKesson's gaze never left Don's face. There was something calculating in that look.

Travers barked a short laugh. "Payback's a bitch."

Nodding, McKesson spoke at last to Don. "So you know why they're here, and of course you know about our operation." It wasn't a question, so Don didn't answer. "Now I suppose you're wondering why you're here?"

Travers stepped back against the wall and gestured for Don to precede him into the next room. Obligingly, he walked into what must have been a living room, except there was no furniture. Only the curtains remained. Standard issue flood lamps illuminated the room. In their harsh glare, Don saw five people – one woman and four men. They were standing together, more or less huddled in one corner of the room. One of the men glanced up and, seeing Don, strode toward him.

"Agent Eppes," he greeted, concern in his voice. "Agent Verona. We met on that smuggling operation a few months ago, remember?"

Don shook his hand briefly and nodded. "How have you been?" he asked.

"Fine, thanks." Glancing over Don's shoulder at Travers and McKesson, Verona lowered his voice slightly. "Do you know what's going on? I got a memo saying to report to MC for an op tonight at this address. What are they doing here?"

Also dropping his tone, Don asked, "Who signed the memo?"

The other agent thought for a moment and then shrugged. "I don't remember, really."

"Go ask the others," Don commanded. "See if one of them knows." He watched as Verona turned back to the group and began questioning them quietly.

McKesson strode to his side. "What did you say to him, Eppes?" he demanded.

Don shrugged. "Nothing much. He wanted to say hello." Glancing at the group, he added softly, "What are you going to do to them?"

"That's not your concern, Eppes," McKesson replied. "You're not here to baby-sit.'

Don rounded on him. "Just why am I here, then?" he asked.

The look that passed over the older man's face caused Don to rapidly reconsider the wisdom of putting himself in this position.

-x-

Charlie looked at his brother with concern. For the past ten minutes Don had seemed different. Almost… tense. He studied the smooth brow – the slight furrowing that came and went so quickly Charlie could almost believe he imagined it. Then the corners of his brother's mouth would twitch downward momentarily, and he knew he was right.

"Excuse me, nurse?" He addressed the pretty young woman who was pushing buttons on the monitor next to Don's bed. She turned immediately. "Yes?" Instead of responding, Charlie nodded in Don's direction.

She watched him briefly and then reached for an aural thermometer. Holding to Don's ear, she waited until it beeped before examining the readout.

"What is it?" Charlie asked.

She looked at him sympathetically. "It's a little high, but nothing to worry about." She made a small notation on Don's chart and left.

Charlie gazed at his brother's face for a long time, watching for some sign – of what, he didn't know – before finally getting up from his chair and grabbing the chart. A quick scan, and he was out the door, looking for the doctor.

-x-

Don stood to one side of the room, watching. McKesson and Travers seemed to be having some sort of private argument. Travers probably wants to shoot me, he thought. He held onto the hope that he could somehow find a way out – for himself and the others. Verona walked across the room.

"No one remembers," he said softly. "Keeler thinks it might have been signed by Merrick, though."

Don nodded. "This is going to get bad." He glanced at Verona's face to see if he understood. "You need to be ready to move."

Verona met Don's eyes squarely. "You can count on us," he replied.

"Don't get heroic on me. This could go sour in a heartbeat."

The other man nodded once and rejoined his comrades on the opposite side of the room. Don stiffened as Travers approached, his pace just short of running.

"I've had just about enough of you!" he hissed. "What are you up to?"

"What's the matter?" Don sneered. "Are you outnumbered?"

Travers looked at the agents, who were now casting furtive glances in their direction. "Them?" He shook his head. "They'll get what's coming to them." He turned back to Don, jabbing a beefy finger in his solar plexus. "And so will you."

He resisted the urge to rub the sore spot. "You're sure about that, are you?"

Travers glanced back at McKesson, who nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure," he replied, grabbing Don by the upper arm. Across the room, the group of agents tensed, and Don shot Verona a warning look. Wrenching his arm out of Travers' grasp, he said, "You won't get two feet with a roomful of armed agents, you moron."

"Oh but you see, Agent Eppes," McKesson called from his position by the door. "This is what I was talking about before." Don looked at him, puzzled. Travers reattached his hand to Don's arm, his grip like iron. McKesson continued. "You don't actually think we would have gathered a group of our enemies together in one room and allowed them to bring weapons, do you?"

Don looked at Verona and the others, bile rising in his throat. After one panicky look at McKesson, Verona reached for his shoulder holster. Drawing out his pistol, he popped the clip and checked the ammunition. Don could tell from the expression on the other man's face that it was less than satisfactory. He quickly glanced at the other agents, who were also checking their weapons. They had the same result.

McKesson's laugh drew Don's attention. "Well, if I was going to go to the trouble of getting them all here, then I might as well look after the details, don't you think? They were all ordered to draw fresh ammunition."

"You…" Don fought to keep his temper in check. "What did you do?"

Travers began dragging Don out of the room. "Not much," he grinned. "Just gave them all damp ammo."