Chapter 12
Don frowned. "Absolutely not,"
Charlie may have been sleeping when their father left, but by the time Don got there, he was leaning on a pair of crutches, staring out the window. Don had convinced him to at least sit down, and had dragged a chair over for himself.
"Absolutely not," he repeated.
Charlie looked at him. "Don. You know as soon as people hear I'm at home, they're coming anyway. And these are the same people who were coming for your birthday. It makes a certain sense."
"How can people hear you're at home, when you're not?"
"Semantics. He promised to release me before noon tomorrow."
"Two things. Who promised? And Dad said you had a fever."
Charlie sighed. "That doctor. I can't make myself say his name. Who gets named after a television show? And I had a fever, this afternoon, when you were here. I've been normal for hours."
"That's debateable. And it's not what Dad just told me."
Charlie sighed again. "Virtually normal. Normal enough to go home. I just have to come back, if it spikes. Which it won't."
Don was rather enjoying this. "Which it will, if you don't take care of yourself. Relax, eat, sleep, all the things you find a challenge in your everyday life." He waited for Charlie to at least grin, got nothing.
"Stop changing the subject," Charlie finally said. "We're not talking a formal reception. Dad thought he'd just order pizza, and have cake and ice cream available, run the whole thing like a combination 'buffet/open house'."
Don lifted an eyebrow. "Dad thinks this is a good idea?"
Charlie nodded.
Don cast around his mind for something else, grabbed a straw. "So, 'no formal reception'. Is that your way of saying 'let's just get this over with'?"
Charlie looked stricken, and Don immediately regretted his words. "I'm just kidding," he said hurriedly, "I just don't want you to push yourself."
Charlie was looking out the window, again. "We…we only thought, people would show up anyway…you're right. It's insulting. You should have your own night. I'm sorry."
Don leaned forward in his chair, physically turned Charlie's head so that he was looking at him. "Hey," he said softly. "Don't do that. I don't care about some stupid birthday. If you and Dad think you'll be up for this…"
"It was actually his idea. He thinks if he calls and invites people over tomorrow night, there won't be a crowd in the afternoon, and he can make me sleep when I get home from the hospital."
Don leaned back. "I knew there was an ulterior motive, on his part."
Charlie suddenly grinned. "He doesn't know about the lap top in my room. I just got it last week, so I can stop dragging one back-and-forth to the office. I still need to do some configurations…"
Don relaxed a little. He could put up with it, he'd be there anyway. But, geez. Cake and ice cream.
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Charlie was right. Even though he still had a low-grade fever, Dr. Kildaire released him, with a fistful of antibiotics and warnings. Still, it was just after noon before they got him settled on the couch, a destination Don insisted on until he could sneak upstairs and hide the new lap top. "Just sit down here for lunch," he bartered. "Then I'll help you up."
Charlie did look uncomfortable, so Don helped his Dad in the kitchen, heating the soup Alan had probably been up all night making. Alan, ever the optimist, threw together a sandwich as well. "Is this enough for you? Or should I make something else later?"
Don smiled into the soup. "This is plenty. You're only making Charlie half, right? I don't want to end up eating his, too."
Alan leaned to retrieve the tray from the cupboard, and saw the cake tin. He straightened.
"Don, could you stay here for just a while this afternoon, while I go to the market?"
Don looked at him, surprised. "Well…yeah. I was planning on staying all day. After I help Charlie upstairs, I'll take the couch. I could deal with a nap, myself. Or watch the game…if that's okay?"
Alan smiled. "Of course it is, I just wanted to make sure. And you can't come in the kitchen, so take a 6-pack out there with you."
Don was insulted. "I will not drink an entire 6-pack during the game. Anyway, I thought you were just ordering pizza?"
"I am. And you will drink an entire 6-pack during the game, especially if you're not driving — you'll stay here, tonight?"
Don laughed. "First you're not sure if I'll stay the afternoon, then you're assuming I'll stay the night…don't worry, Dad. If you see the entire 6-pack disappear, take my keys."
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Charlie managed most of the bowl of soup. Don wrapped the half-sandwich and carried it up with him while he shadowed his brother up the stairs. Charlie's eyes were half closed, but he insisted on hopping up by himself. Halfway up, he stopped. "All right," he panted, head hanging. "Maybe the first time, you should help."
Don smiled and shook his head. "Indomnitable spirit". Ever since the first time he had encountered that term — probably somewhere in a book he had to read for school — it made him think of Charlie. He moved up a step, took his brother's crutches and grasped him around the waist. He felt a grim satisfaction. They had wounded him, truly "terrorized" him, scarred him. But those bastards would not crush Charlie's spirit.
He helped Charlie the rest of the way up the stairs, into his room. As Charlie carefully lowered to the bed, his eyes wandered, first to the desk, then around the bed and the stacks of books on the floor, each of which made perfect sense to him. Finally, he looked up at Don, confusion and suspicion mixed in those expressive brown eyes. "I don't see my new lap top. Did you move it?"
Don grinned. "Go ahead. Tell Dad. I dare you."
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He had to admit, it was relaxing.
Maybe it was the six beers he had before everybody got here.
Maybe it was the slightly-less strained look Charlie had, the slightly-more-believeable smiles.
Maybe it was spending time with his team in a high glucose atmosphere. Bonding. Healing. Whatever-ing.
Maybe it was the look in his father's eye, the twinkle that said, "I've got a secret".
Maybe it was watching Megan's face brighten while Larry talked to her about something astronomical. (What was he promising her was astronomical?)
Maybe it was Colby's face, falling when Alan teased him that he'd gotten vegetarian pizza just for him.
Maybe it was seeing David with his wife, comfortable and happy, making it look possible to have both a life and a career with the FBI.
Maybe it was the lack of the awkwardness he had noticed for a while between Charlie and Amita. Not as close as his father had been hoping for, but at least not afraid of each other, anymore.
Maybe it was all of that.
He had to admit, it was relaxing.
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Later, after Larry finally left, the three Eppes men sat at the kitchen table, Charlie perching awkwardly on the edge of his chair.
Don looked at him with concern. "What is it, Dad? Can't we do this in the living room, so Charlie can sit on the couch or something?"
Alan had his back to him, working over something on the counter. "This won't take long. Charlie and I just want to give you our presents."
"Guys, that's ridiculous," he protested. "I have everything I want, really."
"Well, we didn't tell each other what we were doing, so I'm curious, even it you're not." Alan turned, then, placed the baseball mitt cake in front of Don. His second attempt at decorating had gone a little better. "Look what I found."
Tears sprung to Don's eyes, and with effort, he pushed them back. "G-d. Dad." He looked up. "My cake. I didn't know you still had that."
"I found it, a few months ago," Alan smiled, a little hesitantly. "Is it all right? That I made it, and not your mother?"
"Come on, Dad." Don was smiling. "I know you both made it." He looked at the cake again. "Chocolate inside?"
"Of course. Your favorite."
Don looked at Charlie, who was staring at the cake with a strange look on his face. Maybe his Dad should have warned him, first… "You okay, Buddy?"
"What?" Charlie shook himself, looked up at Don. "Yes, yes. That's…" He looked back at the cake again, then to his father. "That's incredible. I can actually tell what it's supposed to be,"
Alan raised an eyebrow. "So what's your big surprise?"
"I didn't have time to wrap it," Charlie began, and Don snorted.
"You never wrap them."
Charlie leveled him with a look. "Can you hand me my backpack?"
Don started to push himself up, but Alan held up a hand. "I've got it." He walked to the corner near the door, retrieved the pack and sat it beside Charlie's chair.
"Table, please. I'm afraid I'll fall off the chair if I lean over."
Alan moved the pack. "Of course. Sorry." He stood between his two sons as Charlie reached into the back and withdrew a book, handing it to Don.
"You got me a book? Dad, don't we have some sort of family rule about giving me books?" Don looked up at his father, who was standing in his "this is too much for me" pose, hand pressed to his mouth. With his other hand, he indicated the book, and Don looked back at it.
Patterns of Cognitive Emergence:
Interactions, Computations and Experiences
By Dr. Charles Eppes
Don's eyes widened. "You wrote another book? When?"
Charlie smiled. "Whenever. Look, that's not the present. Open it."
Don opened the cover, turned a few pages. Then, he saw it. A dedication page.
For Don, who has proven himself a good student, a fine teacher, and an excellent brother
He couldn't stop looking at it.
"It's only a textbook, I know you'd probably prefer a novel…"
"I'm not a teacher."
Charlie sounded surprised. "Of course you are. You teach me things all the time. You're a team leader, other agents learn from you. You're the best kind of teacher — you don't even realize you are one."
"It's not done." Don pushed the book back at Charlie. "Autograph it."
Charlie laughed, but Alan moved to the counter and found a pen, brought it back to Charlie. "You heard him."
Charlie scribbled his name below the dedication, handed the book back to Don. "Are you going to read it?"
Don hesitated. "The whole book?"
Charlie laughed again, and Don knew he could never hear that sound enough.
"Take your time. I'll help you with the big words."
Alan tried to take the book, but Don wasn't letting go. "Get your own," he growled, and smiling, Charlie reached into his pack and brought another one out for his father. He watched them both. Alan was actually reading, Don, just smelling the fresh ink. He shifted on the chair. "Um…" No-one looked at him, and he eyed his crutches, which Don had put near the dining room, out of the way. He tried to push himself up and see if he could walk that far, quickly decided against it. "Guys…" Alan was sitting at the table now, still reading. He dragged the cake his way, and Don's hand shot out to grab his arm.
"Stop that. I'm taking that home."
Charlie sighed. "I think I'm toast," he said. "I need a little help?"
Don started. "Oh! Right, sorry…" He stood to retrieve the crutches, and he and Charlie made the slow trek upstairs. They stopped at the bathroom, and Don leaned against the wall outside to wait.
He was on page 7.
