Chapter 15

Don helped his brother settle on the couch. The walk from the SUV in the driveway had been long and silent, Charlie leaning into him a little more with each step. They could save the trip upstairs for later. "What do you need?", he asked. "Your pillow? Would that be more comfortable? Are you cold? I could get another blanket. Maybe you should have something to eat. It's nearly lunchtime." He heard Alan laugh quietly behind him, and turned to glare at him. His father held up his hands in mock surrender.

"You're not leaving anything for me," he protested.

Don turned back to Charlie. He was smiling too. Couldn't argue with that. Don grinned.

"You should get back to work," Charlie said. "I've kept you too long already."

Don stopped grinning and sat down next to Charlie on the couch. "That's not true. Maybe I act like it, sometimes…" he looked up at his father. "Okay, I know I act like it, a lot." He looked at Charlie. "But you know I love you, right?"

He could see Charlie's eyes cloud before his brother turned away. "Still. Work is important."

Don looked at his father again, took a breath. "Actually, not so much."

Charlie turned his eyes back to him.

"I've taken a little leave time. I'll be staying here, for a while. I want to help. Drive you to appointments. Force you to watch 'Eight Men Out' again. Whatever."

Charlie's eyes flickered from Don to their father. "You don't trust me."

Don cursed under his breath. "Charlie, that's not it. You won't be cleared to drive for a while. You can barely walk on your own, yet. You still throw up on a regular basis."

Charlie looked stricken. "I'm too much for Dad."

Alan cleared his throat. "Stop that. Charles Edward. Stop that."

Charlie was a little taken aback. What was this, tough love?

"You are not 'too much' for me. But I do have my book club. When Don offered, I thought it would be nice for all of us to be together, at least for a few days."

Don offered? Charlie looked at him, noticed for the first time the jeans and t-shirt that signified a day off. The ever-present headache was clamoring for more attention, but Charlie had to do something to make things more normal. "I've been thinking," he said. "I could use someone to cut my toenails."

He heard Alan's soft snort even as he saw Don struggle with himself, look away from him. "I, uh, I, that is, Charlie, I…"

Charlie touched him on the arm. "Lighten up, Donnie."

Don hadn't heard that name from Charlie in a while. He looked back at him, saw the hint of a tease in his eyes. "Okay," he said suddenly, standing. "I'll do that. Just let me go borrow the neighbor's chain saw."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don had watched Charlie struggle through lunch, force himself to eat half of the soup, half of the sandwich. It didn't seem entirely that it was appetite; Charlie's eyes were drooping, and he could see the lines of pain and fatigue in his face. "Let me help you upstairs," he finally said. "It will be more comfortable than taking a nap in minestrone."

Charlie lowered the spoon gratefully. "Okay. This has been harder than I anticipated."

"It's only your first day home, Charlie. If we can get you through it without barfing your guts up, let's consider it a success."

Alan saw Charlie's face at Don's words. "If you want to do that," he warned, "maybe we shouldn't talk about it?"

Don grimaced. "Right. Sorry." He stood and stepped over to Charlie's chair. "Ready?"

The brothers ascended the stairs, one at a time. Alan stood at the bottom, wanting to see Charlie's reaction. The doctor had said there might be things that triggered memories. While Don waited for Charlie to use the bathroom, he walked over to open Charlie's door and turn on the light. When he turned back around, his brother was coming toward him, one hand on the wall for balance.

"Wait, I was going to help," Don said, but Charlie was even with him already, and he was looking through his bedroom door. He stood silently, for what seemed like five minutes.

"Did I redecorate?" His voice offered no clues.

Don pushed the door open further, so that they could walk through together. "Not really. We're not sure who did this, although I keep noticing glances between…well, between everybody. The team, Larry, Amita…nobody's confessing, though. I'll have to book an interrogation room."

He knew he was going to have to stop talking eventually, they were standing by the bed. This was supposed to have been the purpose of coming up here. Shut up, Don.

Charlie sagged a little against him, reached out to touch the down comforter he had never seen before.

"So. I did it here."

Don didn't say anything. He felt Charlie looking at him.

"I did it here."

"If this is too hard, we could switch rooms." It was all he could think of.

Charlie sighed. "No, it's okay. I don't remember it. It's probably harder for you."

Yeah. He hadn't been ready for that, either. Don cleared his throat. "I like the blinds. And the color on the walls. Even if I never would have picked it, myself."

Charlie looked. "A cheery choice," he said drily, and Don smiled. Charlie hated yellow.

"If you want, we can repaint it later. Paint fumes would be too much for your head right now, I think."

"This is too much for my heart," answered Charlie, and Don looked at him in concern. "That people would do this, I mean."

"Yeah. I know."

Charlie sank down on his new bed. "I feel like I'm in a hotel."

"Well, there's no maid here," said Alan from the doorway, "so I don't expect it will look this clean for long."

Charlie smiled, crawled carefully under the comforter, laid his aching head on the pillow. "No," he mused, closing his eyes, "I don't expect that it will."