Don sat in a chair, feet propped up on the end of his brother's bed, reading Colby's preliminary report. He scribbled something in the margin, then turned the page.
Charlie sat cross-legged on top of the bed, working on his PC lap top. Before he had left for his book club half-an-hour ago, Alan had tried to make him stop.
"You need your rest, son!"
"Dad, I could be released as early as tomorrow, I'm fine!" He jerked back as his father felt his forehead.
"You know they won't release you until you've had a normal temperature for 24 hours."
"And?"
"All-right, so it still seems normal to me…but you're only halfway there, Charlie, still 12 hours to go. You'll work yourself sick."
Don arrived in the middle of the argument and brokered a compromise. He swore to his father that he would make sure Charlie closed up shop soon, and Alan reluctantly left. Now the two of them worked in a companionable silence, until Charlie, still looking at the screen, suddenly blurted, "Katie came to see me today."
Don looked up. "Oh yeah? How's she doing?"
Charlie seemed nervous. "Don, I don't know how to say this."
Don closed the folder, gave his brother his complete attention. He spoke softly. "Just say it, Charlie. I won't hurt you…too badly. After all, you're in the hospital already."
Charlie grinned at that and seemed to relax a little. "I just wanted to say that…that you don't need to worry about me, you know, if you wanted to start dating…someone. I won't feel bad because you have a social life and I don't anymore. I mean, you're here almost every night. You must have something better to do."
"Charlie." Don knew what his brother was trying to say. "Can I use a direct Charlie Eppes quote here?"
Charlie looked apprehensive. "I guess so…"
Don lowered his legs from the bed and leaned forward. "It's not all about you, asshole."
Charlie started, and Don grinned. "Look," he continued, "I like Katie. I really do. I may even ask her out sometime. I'm thinking about it. But I gotta tell ya, Buddy, one of the things I'm thinking is that I will not be bullied into it. Not by her, not by Dad – not even by you."
Charlie's shoulders slumped a little. "You're right, I'm sorry. This is none of my business. I shouldn't have asked."
"That's okay, bro," Don was opening the folder again to get back to work. "You can always ask. I just can't guarantee you're going to like the answer."
Charlie shot him a small grin and focused on the lap top again. Some time later, after Don had finished scribbling on Colby's report, he closed the folder and stretched. It occurred to him that he hadn't heard any keyboard strikes lately, and he looked over at Charlie. The lap top had been closed and placed on the bedside table. Charlie's feet were under the covers, now, but he was still sitting cross-legged on the bed. He was turned slightly toward the window, although there was nothing to see but the brick wall of the next part of the building. Don wondered how long he had been like that. He stood and approached the bed.
"Charlie." No response. He touched his brother's shoulder, gave it a gentle shake. "Earth to Charlie."
Charlie whipped his head around then. "What? Sorry. What?"
Don laughed, but sobered quickly. "Hey, I just called you 'asshole' because it was part of the direct quote. I wanted to be accurate."
Charlie smiled, but it didn't seem to reach his eyes. "I know that, don't worry. I won't tell Dad."
Don crossed him arms, leaned back on his heels a little. "Is something else wrong?"
He was pretty sure Charlie wouldn't answer. Getting stuff out of him required a lot of work, sometimes. He was actually surprised when Charlie ran his hand through his hair, dropped it to the bed and said, "I miss her. I mean, not just in a 'I-thought-we'd-be-married-by-now' kind of way. She was my good friend for almost four years before we…before we messed everything up with romance. Now I don't have that anymore, either."
It was a long speech, for Charlie, and Don had sat on the end of the bed during it.
"Have you heard from her again?"
Charlie's eyes were back to the window. "No." It was almost a whisper.
"Did you reply to her e-mail?"
A shake of the head. A solitary tear escaped, slowly descended Charlie's cheek and fell off his chin. He didn't seem to notice. Don rubbed his face with one hand, waiting for Charlie to turn his head and face him again. He knew that there was nothing to say, nothing to do here, except the hardest thing he had ever done. He had to let Charlie go through this. But somehow, he had to make sure Charlie knew that he wasn't going through it alone.
Finally Charlie looked at him again, offered a brief smile. "Thanks."
Don was surprised. "For what?"
"For being my brother," Charlie said, and he slipped down under the covers, leaned his head back on the pillow, and closed his eyes.
