(A/N: Fair warning — if you think this plotline is too predictable, think again.)

Chapter 2

Don had just risen the glass to his mouth, and Charlie soon found his face covered in a spray of water. Don was choking and sputtering to the point that a waiter rushed over. "Sir!" he asked with concern. "Are you all right? Do you need help?" Don waved him away as he took a few gasping breaths that actually hurt his throat. The waiter still hovered, and Charlie's wet face looked frightened. Don coughed a few more times and croaked, "Thank you, thank you…I'll be fine." He took in another breath. "See, I'm breathing, now." He smiled disarmingly at the waiter, who smiled tentatively back.

"All right," he said hesitantly. He picked up the glass. "I'll bring you some more water." He looked over at Charlie. "And napkins."

Don coughed again, a more controlled cough this time, and looked at his brother. He knew other people were still watching them, but he couldn't stop himself. "Charlie! What the hell!"

Charlie was mopping his face with a napkin, and looked miserable. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't do that well. Are you all right?"

The waiter was back with water and napkins, which the brothers gratefully received and put to immediate use. People were getting back to their own business, and after another brief cough Don said, "What did you just say?"

Charlie sighed, and pushed his plate away. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I knew this was a bad idea. I told Amita this was a bad idea. You've already done so much for me."

Don snorted, and before he knew it he answered, "Well shit, Charlie. Bone marrow last year, sperm this year — do you want to reserve next year's kidney right now?"

He heard the words come out of his own mouth, and watched the blood drain from his brother's face. "Damn," he thought. Aloud he said, "Okay, I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that. I'm just kind-of in shock, here."

Charlie looked at his watch and pushed himself out of the booth. "No, it's okay," he said quietly, grabbing a twenty out of his wallet and dropping it on the table. "You're right."

Don couldn't stand that tone, that look…whenever someone hurt his brother, it tore his heart out. When he hurt his brother, he wanted to rip his own heart out. "Charlie, I'm sorry," he said again. "I really shouldn't have said that."

Charlie offered him a tight smile, but the hurt in his eyes was still there. "I've really got to go," he said, turning to leave. "I'll see you tonight at the rehearsal."

Charlie was gone, and Don struggled out of the booth to go after him. He had to wait for someone to cross in front of him, and by the time he reached the door, he saw Charlie climbing in the back seat of a taxi.

"Crap," he muttered, running his hand over his curly head. "What the hell just happened?"