A/N: Your reviews are kind indeed. I haven't yet gotten the one I was expecting. For the person asking me to avoid a stereotypical or alluded character - have no fear. That isn't how I write. Some may note the changed font of this entry - that will be remedied as soon as I return to my home and my personal computer.

Chapter 2:

Alan looked at Barty for a long moment, mouth agape. "Legal guardian?" he asked. Turning to his youngest son, he said, "Charlie... Please tell me you didn't..."

Charlie shook his head rapidly. "We were just talking about this last night, Dad. Remember? I was there six years ago. This... girl... is four."

"No indeed," the solicitor replied. "Emma was born shortly after Cassandra's divorce. She reverted to her maiden name when the proceedings were finalized." Lacing his fingers together around his knees, he added, "Cassandra experienced many unhappy events in her short life."

Don scanned the page again. "It makes no mention here of Emma's father. Hasn't he put in a bid for custody?"

Barty pursed his lips. "No," he replied. "Cassandra didn't divorce her husband because they didn't love each other, Agent Eppes..."

"Don," he corrected absentmindedly.

"Don," Barty conceded. "She filed for divorce on grounds of infidelity." He spread his hands out, palms up. "It would seem Cassandra's husband loved two women. Shortly after the divorce was granted, he remarried. He and his new wife drowned a year ago in a boating mishap." To Charlie he added, "So you see, Professor Eppes. You're the only one left to care for this little girl."

Alan took the page from Don and read it carefully. "She must've rewritten her will shortly after his death, then," he surmised. Lifting his gaze to Barty's face, he asked, "What about family members?"

The question seemed to deflate Charlie. "She didn't have any," he replied before Barty could answer. "She told me."

"Unfortunately Emma seems fated to share in her mother's experiences," Barty agreed. "Cassandra was orphaned at the age of eight. Her parents left a tidy sum in trust for when she came of age, the interest of which was used for her upbringing."

"Who looked after her?" Alan asked.

Again, it was Charlie who replied. "Foster parents, mostly. From what she told me they treated her pretty good, but no one wanted to take the plunge and go for full-out adoption." Silence fell as the three Eppes men considered the implications. It was several minutes before Charlie spoke again. "Nine fifteen, huh?"

Barty nodded. "I am truly sorry to... what's the vernacular? 'Dump this in your lap', Professor. I realize this is extremely short notice..."

"No kidding," Don muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Gazing at him sadly, Barty said, "Believe me Don, if I had the luxury of time, I would have lent it you." Turning back to Charlie, he continued. "But Emma must be placed in an orphanage or foster care - or with you - as soon as possible. For her own sake."

"'For her own sake'?" Charlie echoed.

"A child cannot be left adrift, Professor Eppes. She must be placed somewhere, so she may form a semblance of stability. After all that has happened," Barty leaned toward Charlie, his elbows braced on his thin knees. "Don't you think that would be best?"

Charlie nodded mutely. He stood suddenly and headed for the kitchen.

Alan caught Don's eye, indicating with his head that he should follow his brother. Don nodded and rose. Once the door had swung shut behind them, Alan turned to the older man. "I'm terribly sorry about this, but... it's going to take Charlie a minute to get used to the idea."

"Do you think he might?" Barty asked, genuinely concerned. "She's really a delightful little girl. A shade quiet, perhaps, but given the circumstances..."

Alan frowned. "I'm not sure what he's thinking right now, to be honest. It's quite a thing to ask." Lowering himself into Charlie's vacated seat, he added, "What'll happen to her if he doesn't take her?"

Barty lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug. "She will become a ward of the court. Her trust will be made property of the crown, to care for her as is seen fit until she comes of age."

"I see." Leaning forward, Alan explained. "Charlie's a kind person. He'll want to do what's right - for Cassandra's sake, and Emma's." He shook his head. "He just has to figure out what that is."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Don stood watching his brother pace the length of the kitchen, hands wringing together incessantly. After a few minutes, he stepped forward and caught Charlie by the forearms on a return pass. "Charlie," he said. His brother continued the hand-wringing, staring at the floor. "Charlie!" The increase in volume, coupled with additional pressure on his arms, served to snap Charlie out of his catatonia. "Listen to me, buddy. You've been tossed into a hell of a situation here. You need to make a decision."

Gazing at his brother helplessly, Charlie whispered, "What am I going to do, Don?"

Wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders, Don pulled him close. "You're going to make a choice, Charlie," he replied. "This isn't set in stone, you know. Nobody's going to think any less of you if you say you don't want to do this."

Charlie stood quietly, finding solace in his brother's embrace. A moment later, Don heard a faint murmur. "What was that buddy?"

Clearing his throat, the young mathematician repeated, "I will."

"Oh Charlie." Don turned him so they were face-to-face. "Don't do this to yourself. Don't beat yourself up like this. This is a huge thing you have to deal with."

Charlie shook his head, dark curls falling over his eyes. "I just wish I had more time, Don. I need..." He took a breath to steady himself. "I need to think."

Don nodded. "Maybe there's something we can do about that," he said. Charlie looked up at him hopefully. "Maybe we can buy some time." Dropping his arm from its comfortable position, Don turned and re-entered the living room. "Barty," he called. The elderly man rose from his chair immediately. "Is there some way you can contact whoever's bringing Emma over?"

"Of course," the lawyer replied, his confusion plain. "What's the problem?"

Don glanced at his watch. "Let's face it. Twenty five minutes isn't long enough to wrap your head around parenthood. Most guys get at least a few months for it to sink in. Can you call your people and ask them to take Emma to another place?"

Barty nodded. "You have something in mind?"

"Someone," Don corrected. "A couple of them, actually."

-x-x-x-x-x-

"You want me to do what?" Megan Reeves said into the phone. She looked at David Sinclair seated nearby, an amused expression on his face. "Don, I'm an FBI agent, not a babysitter."

"Megan," Don replied, a hint of exasperation in his tone. "I'm asking you to do this as a favor - not for me, for Charlie."

Megan's brow wrinkled in perplexion. "'For Charlie'?" she repeated. "What's going on, Don?" When no response came, she added, "Is Charlie in some kind of trouble?"

"No... yes... maybe. Look, Megan. All I'm asking is for you to occupy her for a little while. Just until we come and get her."

Megan rubbed her forehead. A headache had begun to throb lightly. "Don," she tried again in a more controlled tone. "I don't know what you're up to, and I'm flattered that you feel confident enough in our friendship to ask, but let's face it - I'm still pretty new here." She shook her head, forgetting for a moment that Don wouldn't be able to see it. "I could get in a ton of trouble having a kid hanging around the office." She looked up, startled, as the phone receiver suddenly left her hand.

"Don," David said. "It'sme - what's the problem?" His eyes met Megan's and his brows shot up as Don spoke. After a moment or two, David said, "Okay. Send her over." He leaned around Megan and dropped the receiver back in its cradle.

"Sinclair," she admonished. "What the hell did you just do?"

David grinned. "After your last statement, I decided if anyone should be sticking their neck out for Don, it ought to be me - I owe him a couple of favors."

"You do realize that this one might cost you your job? Or, at the very least, a written reprimand?"

He nodded. "Yes, Megan. I do."

Megan shook her head and turned back to her computer screen. "Men."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Don flipped his phone shut and resecured it to his belt. "All set," he annonced shortly. Turning to the aging solicitor, he asked, "How do we reach you?"

"I'm staying in a suite at the Biltmore," Barty replied. "Just ask for me by name." He paused. "I take it I may expect a call sometime today?"

Glancing back over his shoulder at the kitchen door, Don replied, "I certainly hope so."

Barty nodded. "Very well then. I leave the matter in your capable hands, Agent Eppes." The return to formality wasn't lost on Don. "I will await your call at my hotel. Good day, gentlemen." He picked up his hat and headed for the front door, Don and Alan following. Don reached for the knob, but didn't turn it immediately. "Please understand," he said to Barty quietly. "My brother needs time to adjust, and for him that means he needs space." When the lawyer's expression didn't change, he added, "Emma's in good hands, Barty. David Sinclair and Megan Reeves are more than just my coworkers - they're my friends. Good people." He paused. "The best."

Barty's frown softened somewhat. "I believe you, Don," he replied. "It's simply that that little girl had been through so much in the last week or so..."

"I understand," Don interrupted. "She's not being shuffled off onto someone else, trust me. In fact," he added with a smile, "When all is said and done, Emma will probably be seeing a lot of them."

Alan cut in. "Megan, David, Colby - they're almost family." He reached over and shook Barty's hand. "Don't worry about her - she's in good hands."

Don opened the door. "Really," he assured the older man.

"Very well," Barty nodded. "I will 'stop worrying', as you say, about the little girl. I must admit, she has claimed a spot in this old heart as her own." He turned briskly to Don. "I will be expecting your call," he finished. Nodding once to both men, he stepped outside and strode to the waiting car.

Don and Alan watched the expensive automobile glide out of sight. "Real old softy, isn't he?" Don asked.

"Mmm," Alan replied. "A chauffeur-driven car, did you see?"

Don laughed as he shut the door. "You're not jealous, are you Pops?"

"Me? Not at all!" Alan protested, heading for his usual armchair and the newspaper. "I have the perfect life right here." He snapped open the paper and began to read, effectively ending the conversation.

Don shook his head and went back into the kitchen to talk to his brother.

"Still," Alan added in an undertone. "A chauffeur would be nice."