Don smiled at the FBI shrink, his most charming smile. "So of course," he tried to make his voice convincing, "it's been very trying for us all. Especially my father and Charlie."
"Why especially them?"
"I've seen this sort of thing before," Don explained. "I've been an agent for several years. I know the kind of sicknesses that are out there, seen the kind of damage people can cause."
"But you have never been the victim, before, Agent Eppes."
Don tried to maintain his smile, lost it when the doctor added, "...or your family."
He shifted uncomfortably, didn't answer.
"In fact," the doctor was scribbling something on the paper in front of him. "I think that might make it even more difficult for you. You assume your status as an FBI agent somehow insulates you, or at least places you in a position to fight back. The helplessness of those two days must have been quite overwhelming."
"42 hours."
The doctor looked up. "Excuse me?"
"42 hours," Don repeated. "That's as close as we can narrow it down, anyway."
The doctor put down his pen, leaned back in his chair. "So you've thought about this."
"Of course I've thought about this! My brother is still in the hospital, my father is afraid of every woman who smiles at him, I'm..." Don stopped himself. This sort of behavior was not going to get him back on the job.
"You're what?", the doctor pressed.
Screw it. Maybe he didn't belong back on the job. "I'm questioning...everything. What kind of son am I? What kind of brother? What kind of agent?"
The doctor picked up his pen again, began to tap it gently on the desk. "And have you found any answers?"
Don looked past him, over his shoulder. "I have only found more questions," he admitted.
Several moments passed in silence. The doctor leaned forward, started scribbling again. "Your father and brother are receiving counseling?"
"Not officially. My Dad has been talking with his rabbi a lot, some with the profiler on my team...she's a friend of the family."
"And your brother?"
Don shifted again. "I don't think so. The hospital sent someone in, but he's still in a lot of pain. My Dad said Charlie doesn't want to talk, much."
"Have the two of you spoken of your ordeal?"
Don looked at the floor. "Not really. I, uh, that is..." He ran his hand through his hair, picked imaginary lint from his jeans. "I haven't really seen him in two days."
The doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"
"I've been there," Don hastened to point out. "He sleeps a lot. I leave him notes, but I can't just stay there and watch him sleep, not like..."
"Not like you had to before, when you were abducted?"
Don nodded his head, miserable. "I feel badly about that. My Dad feels like he has to divide his time between us."
"And you're responsible for how your father feels?"
Don sighed. "I'm just responsible. Period."
"Agent. Most people are dealing with something personal. It begins to become a danger on the job when you depersonalize it...when every female suspect, for instance, becomes this woman."
"Not much chance of that," Don said. "I think she was pretty unique. Even by my experience."
The doctor smiled slightly. "I'm going to allow you back on the job, because I haven't heard anything I wouldn't expect to hear after a situation like this."
Don started to smile, but the doctor held his hand up.
"Which is not - I repeat, not - to say you're ready for field action yet. You can work support, and I am going to recommend weekly counseling with someone in my department during that time, with a re-evaluation in one month."
Don frowned.
"It's the best offer you're getting, Agent Eppes."
Don thought. Considering how honest he'd been, he was probably getting off lucky. He stood to leave, shook the doctor's hand - and his luck ran out.
"One more thing. It's in writing," the doctor indicated the paper he'd been scribbling on. "You and your brother talk. Until you can report that you have done that, I will not consider field duty."