Chapter 20

Don drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Impatiently he waited for someone to pull out of passenger pick-up, so that he could pull in, and replayed Saturday's phone call in his mind.

"Eppes."

"Hi."

"Charlie? Charlie? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Don, I'm good. You?"

"I'm okay. I'm at my place now, if you're looking for Dad…"

"No, actually, I was looking for you."

Don waited.

"Do you think you could pick me up at the airport Monday morning? I know it's a Monday, so if you can't, I can…"

"No! I mean, yes! Yes, Charlie, I'll pick you up! It's not a problem. We just tied up a case, so I'll take a personal day, have Megan head up the team."

"You're sure?"

"Of course. Where are you coming from?"

"I'll fly from Medford. I'll be there tomorrow night, in a hotel near the airport. I couldn't get a flight until early Monday morning." Charlie laughed a little. "Early. I have to be at the airport at 3:30."

"You didn't used to go to bed before then."

"Just start circling pick-up at United around 7."

"Do you want me to bring Dad?"

"No, don't tell him. Let's surprise him. Besides," Charlie's voice had changed a little, then, become more distant. "You and I should talk, first. Maybe go out to breakfast?"

"Yeah, ok. 7, then."

And now here he was, stuck in line at the airport, searching the sidewalks for his brother. He should be able to see his pack, at least…

Someone was knocking on the passenger window. Don looked over. Shit. Charlie. He hadn't cut his hair since he left, and it was pulled in a loose ponytail at his neck. He hadn't shaved in at least a week. He was only carrying some small pack Don had never seen before. Where was his gear? Charlie knocked again, smiled, and Don pulled himself together enough to unlock the door. Charlie climbed in, put the pack between them, buckled up.

"Thanks for coming," he said, sincerely.

Someone was honking at Don now, and he had to shift into gear and move. "No problem," he said. "Thanks for asking me to." He looked sideways at his brother, wearing khakis and a sweatshirt and hiking boots. Looking tanned, healthy. Relaxed. He looked back at the road. He didn't think he had ever seen Charlie relaxed before. His movement was always frenetic, constant. Just before he left, he had managed to somehow remove the fitted mattress pad from the bed during his sleep, while still leaving the fitted bottom sheet intact, like some kind of weird magician's trick. He neared the airport exit, and heard Charlie talking.

"Can we stay on I-5, find a truck stop? I feel like a real breakfast."

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Don looked in awe at the plate of food before him. This was for one person? He had always thought his father tried to push too much food on him, but…this was for one neighborhood?

He looked at Charlie. His brother had pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, prepared to do some real work, and it looked like his plate was half empty, already.

"What happened to your arms?", Don asked, noticing the fresh scars when Charlie pushed up his sleeves.

His brother glanced down, fork halfway to his mouth. "I'm not sure you'd believe me," he finally answered.

"How about all your gear, then? You spent a lot of time collecting that stuff."

"I know," Charlie said, a little sadly. "It's…" his eyes flickered at Don, back down to his plate. "It's gone, now."

Don finally gave up on his breakfast, drank some coffee. He had to admit, this was really good coffee. Strong. "You look good," he offered.

Charlie was satisfied with the condition of his plate, considering his first experience with a truck stop. He leaned back in the booth, looked at Don full in the face for the first time.

"I feel good. I feel…different."

Don raised his eyebrows and waited.

"I'm excited to get back to full time research, full time teaching, full time consulting…but things are going to change, a little. I want them to. I want you to help hold me to it."

"What things?"

"I'm going to take more risks," Charlie said. "Spend more time with people. Appreciate more." He lifted his glass of water, smiled through it at Don. "I'm going to get my license tomorrow."

"What? You haven't had your permit, this time at least, all that long…"

Charlie placed the glass back on the table. "It's okay," he said, almost nonchalantly, his lack of tension surprising Don again. "I've been practicing a little." He grinned. "You want to help me buy a car next Saturday?"

Don smiled back. "Sure. If you want me to."

A waitress came and removed their plates, filled up Don's coffee. She left, and he took another swig for courage.

"Charlie," he finally said, "if I had been messing around with my gun, say, handling it with the wrong attitude and a little alcohol, and it had gone off accidentally, and shot you…I couldn't take that bullet back. I would want to. I would do anything I could to help you heal, afterwards. But that scar would still be there."

Charlie was playing with his glass, listening.

"That's what I did with my mouth," Don continued. "I lost control, I shot off some words, and I can't take them back. Even though I want to. I can't make it so it never happened."

After turning the glass around a few times, Charlie answered. "Some of what you said, about me being pampered in my intellectual world all my life, it hit so hard because I've often wondered the same things, myself. Could I do anything else? Was I too secluded, too protected?"

Don tried to encourage him. "And?"

"And," Charlie said firmly, letting go of the glass and looking him in the eye, "I think I've been very blessed, to have learned so early what I love, and to have been able to make that my life. It's nice to know I can take care of myself, if I have to, but it's also nice to fully appreciate what was always there."

Don smiled, but Charlie continued. "What you said about Dad, about Mom…those things weren't true. They weren't accurate, and you're right, you can't take those words back in once they're out."

Don felt his heart sink. Still his brother continued. "The last six weeks, though, that's on me. That time is lost, the time between me and you. I was wrong to let that happen. To make that happen…and I can't get that time back, either. It was an important six weeks for me, an incredible six weeks for me. But it will always be a lost six weeks for us. That's on me."

Don looked for a ray of hope. "Then we're even?"

"No," Charlie said, and Don felt his world collapse again. But Charlie was smiling, a slow smile that started as a grin, expanded to his eyes. "We're better than even," Charlie said. "We're in a game that doesn't keep score. We're brothers."

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Don turned his key in the lock, opened the door of his brother's house. He could see his father in the living room, in the chair, the paper held up in front of him. "Hey, Dad," he called.

Alan turned a page, but didn't turn around. "Donnie. No work, today?. I'm still checking the sports section, but there's a game on the Sports Channel you'd enjoy in…" he tipped one wrist toward him to check his watch, "a couple of hours." He turned another page. "Why don't you get a deck of cards out? We've got time for some poker, first."

Charlie dropped his pack in the doorway of the kitchen, walked quietly through to the living room. He stood between the raised paper and the couch. "Hey, Dad," he said.

"Charlie, hey, stop and play some poker with us," Alan said, and then his own voice echoed back to him, the paper dropped and he saw his youngest son beside him. He dropped the paper and rose from the chair as if in a dream, took his boy in his arms as if he would never let go, murmuring his name over and over, frantically clutching at his hair.

"Dad, ease up on him," Don finally said, trying to pry his father away a bit. Alan took a step back, and looked from son to son. "You two are all right?", he asked, and they both smiled.

"Yeah," Charlie answered for them both. "Yeah, we're good."

Alan couldn't help it, he hugged him again. Then he cleared his throat, stepped back and picked up the paper. "Okay," he said. He looked at his watch again. "Two hours before the game. You have time for Donnie to drive you to a barbershop."

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A/N: Not quite over yet…