A/N: Thanks to all following and reviewing. Special thanks to imbreena and fair warning to anyone with a bloody nose – don't tilt your head back! (Let this be a message to us all: nothing is too basic to research.)

Finally, let me point out that I have only been writing fanfic for a few weeks, and this IS my 4th story, so my luck was bound to run out sometime! Carry on.

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Chapter 9

.The brothers had completed their "morning toilette", and were now back sitting on one mattress. Don had been happy to see Charlie get himself up and half-hop, half-balance against the wall, and approach the bucket. That had to be good, right? He snuck another peek at Charlie's face.

"It might not be broken. I could check, maybe pack the nostrils with some of the toilet paper…"

Charlie raised a hand. "Doh. Tank u. 'Skay."

"Well…at least you seem to have more of your voice back, today."

Charlie looked at him accusingly. "U slep all ni."

Don grew concerned. "Why? What happened?"

Charlie's eyes looked tired, Don noted. Well…why wouldn't they, really …

"Mizrabl, hot…tink fever broke."

Don smiled, leaned forward to touch his brother's forehead. Definitely cooler. Warm, but not as hot, maybe. Yeah, we'll go for definitely cooler. "Great! You should have woken we up if you were miserable."

"Tot u mite hit me 'gin."

Don's smile faded and he dropped his head, but felt Charlie's fingers brush him arm. When he looked up again, Charlie was grinning. Don felt some relief, but still didn't think the situation was all that funny. "Look," he said, "I really am…"

They both heard it at the same time. A scraping. They looked at each other. Soon a sliver of light came from the west and their attention was drawn that way. The west wall was disappearing — it looked like it was drawing back on itself. Don jumped up, started across the room.

"That's far enough."

He saw the rifle and heard the voice at the same time. He froze, looked at the woman he now remembered from the accident scene. The rifle was not pointing at him. He followed the trajectory. It was pointed directly at Charlie's head. "Don't." It was the first thing he thought to say.

"I shot the tire out on your SUV, Don, believe me, I know how to use this. Not another word, or I will fire."

She waited. The rifle was braced against one shoulder, her feet were in a shooter's stance. One hand controlled the rifle, finger resting lightly on the trigger, while her free hand supported the buttstock. Her breathing was steady, even. Don could tell from her body language, as well as her voice, that she knew how to handle the weapon.

"Now," she continued. "I have two new buckets for you. I got you everything you asked for. When you approach to make a trade, you do it slowly. You stop six inches before the groove in the floor, make the trade, step back. Not one toe farther. Not one syllable comes out of your mouth. If you so much as grunt, Don, I have enough ammunition for all of us."

The use of his name startled him, and he barely kept himself from asking. He looked at Charlie, who's eyes were wide, with fright…and recognition?

"Do it now," she stated, never taking her eye from the sight trained on Charlie. "I already have a round in the chamber."

If Charlie hadn't been there, he never would have played it her way. If the rifle were not trained on his brother, whom he couldn't even hear breathing anymore, he would have rushed her, or tried to talk to her, or…he thought…something else stupid that could have gotten him killed. But that was an acceptable risk, his own life. She knew that, too. That's why the rifle was trained on Charlie. She knew he would never risk Charlie's life.

Don measured his steps, did as he was told. He pushed the buckets just beyond the groove in the floor, leaned out awkwardly and dragged the other two in. When he was finished, he held up both hands, so that she could see out of her peripheral vision.

"All the way back, under the camera. Walk backwards. Keep those hands up."

When he felt himself hit the wall, he stopped, hoped he was somewhere near the target location. She stepped a few inches to one side, maintaining her aim, hit something with her elbow. The wall began to creak and inch its way closed.

Her face softened. "It's all right, that you don't remember me. We only met for a short time. We'll get to know each other, though." The wall/door snapped closed, but he could still hear her voice on the other side. "We'll all be a family, soon."

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Angry, Don strode back to the buckets, picked up the one that was serving as a gift basket, and carried it back to where Charlie was sitting. He dumped everything out on the mattress, but looked at Charlie before he went through it.

"Did you recognize her?"

Charlie tore confused eyes away from the wall, met Don's gaze. Nodded. "I tink so."

"From where?"

"Dad's barbecue last year, for book club."

Don remembered. It had been on a Saturday, and he had come by the house to pick up Charlie. The two of them were going to the batting cages, so that Dad could have the place for his own purposes, for a while. He had joked, when he told them about it, that he was campaigning for the presidency. Don was late, and a few people were already there when he arrived. He and Charlie had been introduced, made their excuses, and left. It was just a matter of a few seconds…

"Do you remember her name?"

Charlie closed his eyes, tried to place himself back there. He remembered that it made him think of something pretty, something in his mother's garden…his eyes snapped open.

"Rosa."