A/N: There will only be one more chapter for this piece, I believe, although it will probably be a long one. I have been given another challenge by Roth, and I must confess - the idea intrigues me.

Chapter 9:

Charlie didn't reveal his plans for Emma until the following day. He was pleasantly surprised at the way Don and Emma were getting along, so his big brother's cold attitude – coupled with his father's occasional disapproving stare – came as quite a shock. Not one for subtle hints, it took an outright inquiry from Alan before Charlie finally realized what his family was so tense about.

"Didn't I tell you?" he asked. Don merely rolled his eyes at his younger brother's absent-mindedness.

Alan stared at him, open-mouthed. "No, Charlie," he replied flatly. "You didn't." Shaking his head, he added, "You really have to work on that memory of yours."

In the middle of grading papers, Charlie merely shrugged. "What can I say? I got distracted." He fell silent as he flipped through pages.

Don groaned. "Charlie!"

"Oh!" The mathematician set his work aside and folded his hands in his lap. "Well," he began, "I called Wainwright yesterday afternoon." Seeing the other men's expectant faces, he hurried on. "I told him he could go back to England – without Emma." Alan and Don exchanged triumphant grins. Charlie added, "I thought about what you said, Dad… and you were right."

Alan thought back. "You mean about Barty showing up here?"

"Yeah," Charlie agreed softly. "I know it's probably a bad idea to make such an important decision so fast, but…" He shook his head. "When I pictured him walking to his car with her, I…" He broke off, the look on his face begging his father to understand.

Alan nodded. "I see," he replied. "It hurt, did it?" Charlie nodded as well. "Then you probably made the right decision."

"I hope so."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Over the next few days the Eppes family spent more time together than they had in ages. Don slowly improved, progressing from soup to his all-time favorite: steak. Larry and Megan stopped by a couple of times to see how they were doing, although Don suspected Megan of surreptitiously watching to see if he was looking after himself.

Emma had taken to calling Alan 'Grampa Alan', much to his delight. He would spend hours entertaining the little girl with stories and games, sometimes making himself late to appointments for his consulting business.

Charlie attempted to teach her how to play chess – which she hated – and to read – which she loved. Don put his foot down when his brother announced his intention to teach Emma how to write. Spelling was not Charlie's forte.Don would take on that task himself. Amita stopped by occasionally whenever she had the opportunity, which wasn't often, but Emma always greeted her arrival enthusiastically and dragged her off to look at something new.

Life gradually settled into a pattern around the little girl. Charlie arranged for a close neighbor to look after Emma whenever both he and Alan would be out of the house. Don went back to work eventually but made time at least once a week to visit his 'niece'. Things were looking up.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was about four months later when Don walked through the front door of his brother's house to find Charlie sitting on the couch staring off into space. This in itself wasn't unusual, given the young genius' proclivity to slip into a trance when his mind went into overdrive, but there wasn't any evidence of a current project nearby. He walked over to one of the living room chairs and dropped into it, studying his brother's face carefully. Charlie looked… unhappy.

"What's up, bro?" he asked. He wasn't surprised when he received no response. Leaning over, Don set his hand on Charlie's knee.

Charlie came to with a jerk. "Hey, Don," he said softly. "I didn't hear you come in."

Don smiled. "No kidding. What's wrong?"

"What? Oh," Charlie waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing, Don – don't worry about it."

Leaning back in the chair and tapping his chin with a finger, Don replied, "I won't. I tend not to worry over things I know nothing about." Don put his elbow on the armrest and propped his head against his closed fist. "So… what's wrong?"

Charlie shook his head. "I'm probably being paranoid…" he trailed off.

"But?"

Grinning sheepishly, Charlie admitted, "It's probably not worth fussing about. It's just…" He turned to face his brother fully. "Emma won't call me 'Uncle' anymore."

"Is that it?" Don laughed. "Charlie – I have to tell you… I told her a while ago she didn't have to call you anything she didn't want to." He shook his head. "Did you ask her about it?"

"No." Charlie shrugged. "Let's face it – she's only four."

"Doesn't mean she's stupid. Ask her," Don stood and made for the kitchen. "She'll tell you."

Charlie waited until after lunch to take his brother's advice. Suddenly announcing he had to go to CalSci had the intended effect of sending Emma into squeals of excitement. She pleaded with him to bring her along, and Charlie made a token show of indecisiveness before finally giving in. Emma raced up the stairs to her room – Don's old bedroom – to grab a sweater.

Alan got up from the table and headed for the kitchen with a stack of dirty dishes, effectively leaving Charlie alone with his brother.

Don smiled. "You gonna take my suggestion?" he asked. Charlie nodded. "Good. Let me know what you find out."

Although technically closed for the day, the school's picturesque campus was teeming with students and faculty alike. Charlie took Emma around as he visited various colleagues and departments, finally ending their excursion with a leisurely walk across the grounds to the café a few buildings down from the math department. Charlie treated the little girl to chocolate milk and a strawberry danish – her favorite pastry – while he ordered lemon tea. After she was happily munching on her treat he casually introduced the subject. "I was talking to Uncle Don today," he began. When she nodded, licking frosting from her fingers, Charlie continued. "And he told me I should ask you a question." He paused. "Wanna hear it?"

Emma shrugged. "Okay."

"It's just that I've noticed you don't call me 'Uncle Charlie' anymore." Charlie laced his fingers together on the tabletop and leaned toward her conspiratorially. "Uncle Don said you didn't have to, I know. And you don't. I just wondered why."

The little shoulders lifted in another shrug. She reached for the milk. "I don't know."

"Okay," Charlie conceded. "Fair enough. You don't want to call me that, that's fine by me." He leaned back and dropped his hands in his lap. "Do you have any idea what you do want to call me?"

"Nope." Emma shook her head vigorously and popped the last bit of danish in her mouth. "May I have another one?"

"We-ell…" Charlie teased. "I suppose you could… I guess…" Emma gave him a withering glance. "Didn't you forget something?"

She grinned. "Please?"

-x-x-x-x-x-

"What's up, Charlie?" Don asked as he seated himself at the table. "The message you left didn't really explain." He looked to Alan for help, but the older man just shrugged. He didn't know any more than Don. "What did you want us for?"

Charlie replied, "I was thinking about something, and I wanted to get your opinions on it." He studied his fingers, clearly nervous. "Emma's been here for almost a year…" he began. Suddenly he stood and started pacing.

"Son, what…?" Alan asked, but Don held up a hand. "Wait," he whispered. It was clear the FBI agent had a small idea of what was going on, but wanted to let Charlie tell it.

"Last week, at her birthday party," he continued as if Alan hadn't spoken, "When she blew out the candles?" Alan nodded but Charlie didn't see him. "She made a wish. She told Amita." His staccato sentences were beginning to grate on Alan's nerves, but he remained silent. Charlie turned abruptly and faced his father. "Emma wished for us to be a real family," he finally blurted.

Alan nodded thoughtfully. He glanced at Don, who was trying unsuccessfully to hide a broad grin. "And so what was it you wanted to tell us, Charlie?" he asked.

Charlie stepped toward them and grabbed the back of a chair as if needing its support. "I thought… I mean…" He stood up straight. "I'm going to adopt Emma," he announced firmly. He looked from Alan to Don and back again. "What do you think?" he asked, uncertainty creeping into his features.

"I think," Don replied, glancing at his father and he slowly rose from his chair. "It's about time." He clapped Charlie on the shoulder and gave it a little shake. "Congratulations buddy!" His brother grinned back weakly.

Alan also stood, pulling out a chair. "You look like you'd better sit down," he said with a smile. Charlie dropped into the seat with relief. "I'm proud of you, son," Alan added, patting the top of his head. "Very proud."

-x-x-x-x-x-

After supper that evening while Charlie was preparing Emma for bed, he decided to run the idea by her and gauge her reaction.

"Emma," he said carefully. They were seated on her bed and Charlie was brushing her hair, damp from the bath.

"Yes, Charlie?" The name still sounded odd coming from her five-year-old mouth, but he was learning to live with it.

"Would you like it if we were a real family?" He drew the brush down slowly, mindful of tangles. He knew only too well what it felt like to pull on a knot accidentally. He waited for her response.

"I guess," she replied noncommittally. "Would I have to call you daddy?"

Charlie paused briefly and then resumed brushing. "Not if you don't want to, honey. You know that."

She nodded. "Okay."

Setting the brush down Charlie picked up an elastic band, separated her hair into three parts and began to plait the strands together. "You know that means, don't you?"

"No."

"Well," he said slowly. "It means your name would be different."

She turned quickly and Charlie let go of the braid, watching in mild irritation as the honey gold tresses quickly unravelled. "I wouldn't be Emma anymore?" she asked.

"No, no," Charlie sighed, turning her gently and starting over with her hair. "You'd still be 'Emma', sweetie. You just wouldn't be 'Emma Langhorne' anymore."

"Who would I be, then?"

"'Emma Eppes'," Charlie replied. He fastened the elastic into place and leaned back to examine his handiwork. "There – all done." She turned around to face him. "What d'you think?"

She pulled the braid over her shoulder and looked at it critically. "It looks like it always does."

Charlie laughed. "No, silly. About the name." He sobered slightly. "What do you think?" he repeated.

Emma seemed to be mulling it over. "Emma Eppes… Emma Eppes…" she murmured. Finally, she lifted her head. "I can remember that. It's not hard."

He wrapped his arms around her small body and hugged her tightly. "No, sweetie," he agreed. "It wasn't hard at all."