A new year, a new chapter! This fic is turning out to be longer than I anticipated. Not as long as Mea Culpa, but I should be able to get three more chapters or so out of it. School is starting up again soon, so I'll try to get as much of it done as possible before then.
Enjoy!
CHAPTER II
Hell had a countenance.
Something seized Don from inside—sinister tendrils of a white-hot rage, a bestial, instinctual fury. His chest went cold, and fire rushed to his limbs. Tension coalesced in his feet, and tremors raked through his veins until his body hardened, tight as a coiled spring.
Anger coursed through him, burning. But it was not an internalized anger, the sort that had crippled him after the sniper attacks months before. Instead, it was instead a seething, sentient anger. Something he could mold, fashion. It oozed from every pore of his body, drawn to McHugh like a magnet.
Charlie writhed, trying to rise. He managed only to roll onto his side, fixing his eyes on his brother yards away. His expression spoke of desperation, fear, uncertainty that he was unable to conceal.
That expression became the catalyst that ignited Don's rabid instincts.
In less than a heartbeat, he had a hand on his gun. Megan, at first startled, managed to grip his wrist before he could remove the gun from its holster. She forced her entire body weight against her partner's arm and still struggled to control him. Don's inhuman strength all but lifted her off the ground.
"Don, Don!" she gasped between clenched teeth. "Don, no. No. Think about this, Don. Don!"
Don still struggled, unhearing. She did not know. She had not been there, seen what happened to him. To them.
She could not understand.
Don had just about broken free from her grasp when Edgerton joined the fray. He wrenched Don's arm behind his back, reached down and pulled the gun free of its holster and out of Don's reach. Don bucked against him with a primal growl, writhing with strength beyond reason and measure.
"Don, Don, calm down, Don," Megan's voice was tinged in desperation. "He has a gun, too, Don. Think about this. Don't provoke him. Think about Charlie, Don."
Don's body heaved with heavy breaths. "Charlie," he gasped, speaking to no one.
"Yeah, Don." Megan sounded all but exasperated.
"Charlie."
Don's rage sputtered and faded. With a trembling breath he relaxed, bearing down on McHugh instead with his acidic glare.
"Damn," he sneered.
Edgerton tugged on Don's arm, coercing him towards the cover of the SUV. Don hesitated, not wanting to leave his brother's sight, and no amount of persuasion could break this sacred bond. He dug his heels into the ground, staring Edgerton down.
Edgerton's grip broke instantly. He recognized this unadulterated expression of loyalty, having seen it once months before.
The brothers Eppes shared a unique bond that neither distance nor mortal peril could efface. It was precious, enviable. Though it had not always been this way, this tight union being newly fostered, both brothers, whether they were aware of it or not, defended this bond, this latent power, with their lives.
"You've got to keep a level head, Don." Edgerton reached for his rifle where he had stowed it and leaned it against his shoulder. He kept Don's gun held firmly in his hand. "He's really thrown a curveball at us with this."
Don could not help a sigh. Every five seconds he glanced over his shoulder, back at his brother, assuring himself that he was still there. "Yeah … yeah, I gotcha."
"Give me a few minutes, and I can get a good shot on him."
For a fraction of a second Don's animalistic rage took over, his insides screaming in affirmation. But he fought them down, shaking his head almost violently.
"… N-No. No, not yet. Let me—let me reason with him for a minute." He ran his fingers through his hair. The tendrils of an oncoming headache thrummed against his temple. "I'd rather wait until McHugh's alone before we take any shots. It's too… too much of a risk otherwise."
Edgerton managed a grin. "How did I know you were going to say that?"
Don tried to return his smile but failed, managing only a slight curl of his lips. "Damn," he hissed under his breath as he turned back toward McHugh and took several steps forward. Megan followed him with her eyes, struggling to control her rampant thoughts.
McHugh saw Don coming and tensed. The gun found its way towards Charlie. Don stopped in mid-step and held up his hands in defense.
"McHugh, please. I'm unarmed. Put the gun down. Please."
McHugh glanced around apprehensively, searching the trees and the distance beyond Don's back.
"What do you want?" he all but sneered.
"Just—Just let me talk to him, McHugh."
McHugh eyed Don warily.
"Do it, McHugh," Charlie sputtered at his feet, his cheek pressed against the porch's wooden surface. "It can only work in your favor."
McHugh glanced down at his hostage, chewing on his lip. His gun slowly retreated. A second later he kneeled down and yanked Charlie to his feet by the crook of his arm. Don winced as he watched a grimace cross his brother's face. He took a step forward, only to stop cold as McHugh suddenly jammed his gun against Charlie's chin.
"Don't take another step. You can talk to him from there. But make one more move and I'll blow his head off."
Don stumbled. "… Put the gun down, McHugh. I promise I won't make a move, but just put it down." He struggled to keep his voice even, and was failing miserably. "…Pl-Please."
Indignance flickered across McHugh's face. After a moment's hesitation, he pushed away from Charlie and took several steps back, his arm at his side, finger still on the trigger. Though the gun was no longer at his hostage's throat, McHugh's cold desire still flickered in his eyes.
Charlie's expression was beyond wan, almost cadaverous. Don could see his brother struggling for every breath.
Don struggled. All words save one had suddenly failed him.
"…Charlie."
"Hi, Don." Charlie's voice barely covered the distance between them. "Don't worry. I'm fine, Don."
He looked anything but fine, Don could see that. He sputtered. It was all he could do to keep from sobbing.
"Y-You hanging on, buddy?"
"Yeah." It sounded as weak as Charlie felt.
Don managed a smile. Entirely fake, but meant as a sign of reassurance to his brother yards away.
"We—We're going to get you out of this, Charlie. Hold on for me, okay?"
McHugh cleared his throat and spat, rubbing it into the porch with his shoe.
"I will, Don. I'll be fine. But—" Charlie paused, debating his next words. "His wife, she's in the—"
Suddenly, with a bestial roar, McHugh rushed forward. Grasping Charlie by the shoulder he all but threw the younger man through the threshold and out of sight. Even from a distance Don could hear his brother struggle to keep his footing and hit the floor; something else fell with him and shattered.
"That's about enough of that," McHugh sneered. "Now, I held up my end of the bargain," he continued nonchalantly. "Now it's your turn. Drop the case against me, pack up, and get the hell out."
Don was stricken dumb. Aghast. Pale. He struggled to stay upright.
"We had no such bargain. And we can't do that, McHugh."
It was Edgerton who spoke. He kept one eye on Don, his fellow agent's expression all too similar to one he wore only months before.
"Then the kid stays with me," McHugh jeered. "You can call again when you're feeling more reasonable."
Giving the agents one last steely glare, he stepped through the door and slammed it behind him.
Silence weighed heavily on the living room, save the constant thwack of McHugh's heel against the wall as he sat by the window, staring down the outside world. Despite his steely expression, this repetitive action was a nervous one. He would never admit it—not even to himself—but a seed of discomfort, of fear, was growing deep in his gut.
Charlie, his back pressed against the side of an armchair, watched Elyse from the floor. She, in turn, kept an eye on her husband at the window, and he kept a glare fixed on the agents in the distance. Don tried to see inside—wanted to see inside—but could focus on nothing but McHugh's half-hidden firearm and his equally devilish glare.
Charlie saw Elyse struggling to control her tears. Every few minutes her face would twist miserably, a testament to the sobs she fought so hard to squelch. Charlie could tell so much from her face—anger, fear, hurt all coalesced into a tumultuous expression. Since storming through the back door, McHugh had done nothing to acknowledge his wife save the occasional acidic command he spat in her direction, and this hurt her more than even his terrifying strength.
She feared for herself as much as she feared for her husband, and as much as she wanted to run away, her heart denied her that chance. It all but tore her in twain.
Suddenly McHugh snapped erect from his half-slouch and pressed his face against the window. Charlie heard the muffled sound of voices and movement outside. Taking advantage of McHugh's diverted attention, Charlie twisted himself in Elyse's direction.
"Elyse," he hissed, trying to disguise his voice in a hiss lest McHugh took notice.
But McHugh's wife understood. Checking to see that her husband was still focused on the happenings outside, she rose silently from the couch and slid into the chair Charlie rested against.
She leaned her head as close to his as possible. "Are you okay, Charlie?"
"Yes. Elyse, listen to me. We're going to get out of this."
"But— "
"Don't worry. Your husband is not going to hurt you, nor will they hurt him. I assure you. This will all work out."
"But Charlie! Look what he's done to you! He's in a standoff again. They'll be another shootout, I just know it." She shook involuntarily. "Oh Charlie, I'm … I'm scared."
Charlie craned his neck to look directly into her soggy eyes. "Elyse, I swear to you." He paused, heaving a breath both to stave off the headache that thundered at his temples and to steady his uneven voice. "D-Don Eppes, the FBI agent? Remember him? Well, Don Eppes is my brother. And I know my brother, he won't let anything happen to us, and he won't touch your husband, either. He knows McHugh is innocent as much as I do. He wouldn't hurt an innocent man."
Little did either of them realize that Charlie's whisper had grown louder as his sentences progressed. Though still not loud enough for McHugh to comprehend the words, he could still discern the muddy sound, and whipped away from the window to face them. When he saw his wife leaning over Charlie his eyes narrowed both in suspicion and in rage.
"Elyse," he began. His tone was like black ice, hiding a malicious nature beneath its cold and smooth exterior. "What are you doing?"
Elyse whipped up, her face reddening. "I—n-nothing, Bob."
McHugh took a step forward. "What were you talking about?" He focused dark eyes on Charlie. "Now tell me you weren't implanting these ridiculous FBI notions into my wife's head, were you?"
"B-Bob!" Elyse stammered. "No, Bob!—"
He held up one hand, and she stopped instantly. His interrogation turned to his hostage again. "Convincing her that I'm a killer? That's what you were doing here in the first place, wasn't it? Convert my wife and then I'll come quietly, you think?" he sneered, taking hold of his wife's arm. "You're out of your damn mind. All of you are."
He yanked Elyse to her feet and whipped her across the room, back to the couch. Reaching for his gun, he pointed it at Charlie again.
"You know what you're going to do? You're going to get up, march your happy ass out there, and tell every single one of them to pack up and leave. And you're going to tell them to drop this case against me, to leave me be, and to forget that I ever existed. And you better be pretty damn convincing," he pulled back the hammer, "or it'll be the last thing you ever say."
Color drained from Charlie's face, but somewhere deep inside, a fire burned. He knew that Edgerton was out there, and he knew that if McHugh even tried a shot, the older man was as good as dead. Charlie could not let that happen. He had made that promise to Elyse. And he had sworn to himself that he would not have another person die by a bullet because of him. Someone else had already suffered that fate. . .
When he spoke it was no more than a whisper and hardly strong enough to be considered defiant.
"No."
McHugh sat stunned for a moment before breaking down in nothing short of a cackle. "No? You can't be serious!"
Charlie tried his best to stare McHugh down., but the older man's gun held more precedence than Charlie's passion ever could.
Suddenly McHugh aimed and pulled the trigger.
But this bullet was not meant to be fatal. It rushed just inches above Charlie's head, so close he could feel the rush of air tousle his curls, and embedded itself into the chair at his back. A plume of upholstery mushroomed onto Charlie's head.
"Get up," McHugh sneered, reaching down to snag his hostage's arm.
Nearly an hour had passed with no activity from the house. Don could scarcely contain himself, his desire to raid the house battling hard with his need to see his brother safe. When McHugh suddenly vanished from his position at the window, terror seized Don with fiery fingertips. He jumped to his feet, rushing forward as far as he dared, craning his neck and straining his eyes to see what he could not. Megan kept close behind him.
Suddenly, a single gunshot ricocheted across the mountainside, and Don felt his insides shatter.
All activity between the FBI agents suddenly ceased. The sound echoed as loudly as a supernova. Don's face had long since drained of color and, upon hearing this noise, he suddenly resembled more of a corpse than any of them wished to admit.
Megan stifled a gasp and, pushing the sudden morbid thoughts from her mind, reached out for Don's arm. Her feeble support was the only thing keeping the other agent on his feet.
He could handle gunshots at himself. At his fellow agents. In just about any situation. But his brother—it seemed that he would never again be able to place Charlie and guns in the same situation without terrifying thoughts invading his consciousness.
It was as if the gunshot hit him. He recoiled; Megan could feel the very tremor surge through his body.
He was only thinking one thing now. Charlie had been shot. Charlie was bleeding. He could not get to him. Charlie was dead.
To Be Continued.
