Disclaimer and beta thanks in part 1. Thank you so much for the reviews, everyone; more, please!

Note: This is the part where you need to forget that you've seen "Bones of Contention"…

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Chapter 4
Friday, November 18, 2005
7:30 P.M.
Eppes house

After three days, Don's team hadn't made a whole lot of progress. They had examined every second of videotape from all of the surveillance cameras in and around Union Station, but their quarry seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Further communication with MI-5, the FBI's counterpart in Great Britain, had been both fruitful and disturbing. Apparently the Brits had been looking for Tomas Ataud and Abraham Ferza for several months now in connection with the subway bombings in London last summer. Don had notified the MTA, and the transit police would be keeping a special watch out for their two suspects. In the meantime, they had brainstormed a list of potential contacts for the two men in Los Angeles, and were slowly working their way through that list. Nothing so far, though.

In the meantime, Don had decided that taking a short break from the case, at least for the evening, would probably clear his head and do him some good. So here he was at the house in order to finally start going through the stuff in the attic.

The front door swung open at his touch, and he paused for a moment, his instincts suddenly coming alert. "Charlie?" he called out cautiously.

"In the kitchen," came the response.

After firmly shutting the front door behind him, he followed his brother's voice back through the house. "Is there some reason the front door was open?" he asked, gesturing back in that direction.

Alan spoke from where he was seated at the table, his fork sinking into a slice of what looked like lemon meringue pie. "Oh, I just ran out to make sure the sprinklers had come on," he said, taking a bite of the pie. "I think you need to take a look at the door, Charlie. It doesn't swing shut as easily as it used to."

"I need to take a look at the door." Charlie looked over from where he was loading the dishwasher. "Dad, you're much better at that sort of thing than I am."

"Oho, a few weeks ago it was my responsibility to do all the planning after volunteering your house for the wedding." He loaded his fork with another bite of pie. "Besides, you should be learning how to do 'that sort of thing.' I'm not going to be around forever to do it for you, you know."

"He's got a point, Charlie," Don said, folding his arms and leaning against the doorway. "It is your house."

Charlie pointed a spatula at him. "You stay out of this," he said firmly before he dropped the utensil into the silverware holder.

Don spread his hands wide. "Just making an observation," he said. Before Charlie could respond, he went on, "Besides, whoever's responsibility it is, you need to make sure the front door is at least shut, if not always locked. This isn't Mayberry, you know."

"Are you ever off-duty?" Alan asked, using his fork to scoop up the last crumbs of graham cracker crust on his plate. "And do you want a piece of pie? I think there's still some in the fridge."

"No thanks, I'm good. And yeah, I'm off-duty; I'm here, right? But you still gotta lock your door, Dad. I know you'd like to think it's still the fifties, but you never know who's out there."

"You're right, Don," Charlie said, closing the dishwasher.

"Good." He turned back to his father. "So, Dad, Charlie told me you've got a big client?"

"Not that big, just the biggest so far." Alan rose to his feet and crossed the kitchen, re-opening the dishwasher to put his plate and fork inside. "Some environmental group concerned with possible contamination in the LA River. I was over at City Hall earlier this week, trying to get some information, but apparently they don't release that information to the public anymore."

"Yeah? What kind of information?"

"Oh, something to do with JPL and the perchlorate plume up there." Alan had a slight scowl on his face. "And I know for a fact that that information used to be in the public domain. I guess I can understand why they aren't willing to hand it out to just anyone, but someone who worked there for thirty years isn't just anyone, you know?"

"What's this environmental group called?" Don asked idly.

"Oh, let me see." Alan thought for a moment. "It wasn't Friends of the LA River, it was some smaller group. The River Protectors, I think."

"Sounds kind of militant," Charlie teased. "You sure you aren't consulting for some eco-terrorists without knowing it?"

Alan waved a dismissive hand. "That's what Ron Northrop said down at the planning office. Well, not in so many words, but it was his explanation for why he couldn't give me the report."

"He might have a point, Dad," Don said slowly, straightening from where he had been leaning against the doorway. "What do you know about this group?"

"Oh, not you, too. It's a group of people concerned about contamination of the river, not trying to poison our water supply. I'm sure Stan has checked them out."

Don gave him a level stare. Stan Carter had been a good friend of their father's for many years, and he was a great guy. But he was just as naïve as Alan was about people's capacity for evil. In some respects, that pleased Don: if his job consisted of protecting people like his father, it was nice to know that he and his colleagues did such a good job of it that Alan Eppes didn't have the suspicious nature of his older son. But it also made him a little frustrated at times at his father's naïveté.

He was starting to wonder how long it would take to run a quick background check, at least for his own peace of mind, when Alan said, "If it would make you feel better, why don't you take a look and see if they're in any of your databases."

Don hid a smile. "Sure, Dad, it won't take long. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."

Charlie had been largely staying silent throughout the conversation, but now he stepped forward. "So, ready for the attic? We haven't started yet, you know. We were waiting for you."

"Oh, you didn't have to do that." Don had been secretly hoping that they had gotten a head start over the past couple of days. He really wasn't looking forward to doing this, and if it weren't for his supervisor telling him to go home and take a break, he would much rather be in the office, trying to track down Ataud and Ferza.

Then it struck him how odd that thought was. Would he really rather be out searching for terrorists than spending time with his family?

Charlie started the dishwasher, and then rubbed his hands together. "Well, we might as well go get started, huh?"

"You sure you don't want a piece of pie, Don? Or a beer?" Alan had one hand on the handle of the fridge, looking at him expectantly.

"No, really, I'm fine. Charlie's right, we should get started."

Charlie led the way as they trooped up the stairs to the attic. It wasn't a very large space; Charlie was the only one who could stand up completely, and that only in the very middle, where the eaves peaked overhead. It was as musty-smelling as Don remembered. The last time he had been up here, he was bringing up some boxes of stuff from Albuquerque that weren't going to fit into his new, smaller apartment. Funny how after three years, he hadn't missed any of that stuff. Maybe that meant it was time to throw it out.

He looked over at Charlie, who hadn't moved after pulling on the long string to turn on the bare light bulb overhead. He, too, looked lost in thought, and Don wondered exactly what memories were being evoked for him by the sights and sounds of the attic. Alan was the last one up the stairs, and he had paused on the next-to-last step, looking around as if he hadn't seen the place before.

Don wondered for at least the fourth time that day how much of the stuff Charlie wanted to go through had to do with their mother, and whether the three of them were going to be able to handle it.

"Well, there certainly is a lot to pick from, isn't there?" Alan's voice was overly cheerful as he looked around at the white bankers' boxes piled four and five deep around them. "Any preference as to where we should start, Charlie?"

Charlie looked lost for a second. "Well, I suppose the stuff on the top is the newest, right? Why don't we start there?"

"What about the older stuff?" Don asked. "I mean, if it's something that's been up here for years, it's more likely that it's something we can get rid of, right? If we haven't looked at it lately, it's less likely that it's important."

Charlie exchanged a glance with Alan, who shrugged. "Sure, Don, if that's what you want."

After half an hour, Don had sneezed at least a dozen times from the dusty boxes. His best find so far had been one of Charlie's old stuffed animals: a worn-out raccoon who'd obviously seen a lot of love in his time. He'd taken great delight in teasing his brother about it, until Alan had had to cut in and tell them to knock it off. They'd shared a conspiratorial smile, the gleam in Charlie's eye telling Don that he understood the irony of enjoying the scolding from their father for the behavior that had been all too typical of their years growing up together.

When Don found his own old teddy bear, he quietly put it in his "to keep" pile without saying a word.

After another half hour or so, he realized he hadn't heard any movement from his father's direction for several minutes. When he looked over to where he'd seen him last, he saw the top of his head as he sat on the floor, bent over a large box. He was holding a manila envelope in his hands, but he hadn't opened the clasp.

Don watched, holding his breath almost without realizing it, as his father slowly opened the envelope and slid out a stack of photographs. He couldn't see what they were pictures of, but he did notice that Alan only looked at a couple of them before his hands stilled around the pile. He briefly looked over at Charlie, who was engrossed in what looked like a box of old papers from their school days. "Hey, Don, look at this," he said, waving a stack at him. "Perfect score on my third grade spelling test. Probably the last time that happened."

Don held up a hand, his eyes remaining on their father, who still hadn't moved. He was about to say something when Alan spoke. "I, uh – " he broke off and dropped the envelope back in the box. "I think I hear the dishwasher making a noise downstairs. I'd better go check and see what it is." He abruptly stood up and clattered down the stairs, leaving the two brothers staring at each other.

"Was it something I said?" Charlie joked weakly.

Don gave him a brief glance, then walked over to look in the box that Alan had been sorting through, his footsteps creaking on the old floorboards. The box looked like it contained unsorted photographs that had never been put in an album. He reached down and picked up a couple, slowly leafing through them. He didn't remember seeing them before, although most of the people were familiar as either close or distant relatives.

He passed the photos on to Charlie as he finished looking at them, and soon heard a chuckle from his brother. "Nice hair Dad's got here, huh?"

"Yeah, I think he looks better now with less of it than he did when it was styled like that," Don agreed, casting a brief glance at the photo Charlie held. Then he turned his attention back to the pile that he held, including the manila envelope that his father had dropped just before leaving the room. He opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of photographs, and instantly closed his eyes. "Oh, man," he breathed.

"What is it?" Charlie's voice was sharp.

Wordlessly, Don handed over the stack of photographs, the one on top showing a beaming Alan in a tuxedo next to the newly-christened Margaret Eppes in her simple white wedding dress. When Charlie saw them, his face fell. "Is that what he — "

Don nodded. "That's what he was looking at." He spread his hands helplessly. "Has he even been up here since..."

Charlie lowered his hands, still clutching the pile of pictures. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I never even thought to ask. He never said anything when I suggested going through the attic, and so it never occurred to me that it might bother him." He slid the photographs back in the envelope and dropped it in the box, clearly upset with himself. "How stupid was that?"

Don briefly laid a hand on his shoulder. "You didn't know. I mean, it's always hard to tell with Dad, right? Whether or not something bothers him about Mom?" Of course, it was hard to tell with all of them, he added to himself. As forthright as the three Eppes men were with their emotions at times, they also knew how to keep their cards close to their chests. Charlie had always had a harder time with that, wearing his heart on his sleeve as much as their mother had. Don had perfected his stoic exterior as part of his job, but then he had always kept things to himself a little more, a trait he had definitely inherited from their father.

"I feel like I should go apologize to him," Charlie said quietly. "Except I don't know if that would make it worse."

"Just let him be for now," Don advised. "He wants a moment to himself. I wouldn't be surprised if he was back up here in half an hour, pretending it never happened."

Except Alan never did come back upstairs. When Don and Charlie finally called it a night a couple of hours later, tired of sneezing at the dust on everything, there was a note on the table telling them he had gone to bed, and he would see them later.

"Isn't it kinda early for Dad to be in bed?" Don asked, noting that it was still before ten.

Charlie shrugged. "Kind of, yeah. I'm often still out in my office or the garage, though, so I don't really know."

Somehow, he wasn't surprised to hear that. "Well, I should be heading home. Call me tomorrow if there's anything wrong, okay?"

Charlie nodded, still looking a little haunted. "I should have known this was a dumb idea."

"Hey, it's not your fault." Don looked him in the eye. "Dad'll be fine, okay? And we came up with a pile of stuff to give to Goodwill, so it was a good use of an evening. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"I guess," his brother reluctantly assented.

Don clapped him on the shoulder and asked, "You all right, buddy?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said heavily. "I'm just going to take a shower and go to bed."

"All right. Talk to you later, then." He let himself out the front door, closing it firmly behind him, and waited until he heard Charlie turn the lock before heading out to his car.