Chapter 18

After two more days of accepting IV pain medication, Charlie's fever finally broke, and he switched thankfully back to oral medications. On Day 11, Charlie came back from a session in physical therapy to find Don waiting in his room.

"I'm fine from here, thanks," he said to the orderly who had pushed him back in the wheelchair, and then looked excitedly at Don. "I thought we agreed no-one would show up before four because I'm never here anyway but I'm glad you came look isn't this great?"

Don smiled, taking Charlie's chair from the orderly. "Slow down, Charlie. Take a breath. What?"

Charlie waved his arm in the air. His blessedly free arm. "No more IV ! Normal for 12 hours and counting!"

Don parked him near the window and dragged a chair over to sit facing him. He grinned. "That's great, Charlie! About your fever being gone — that's great, but I'm not sure I'm ready to call you 'normal'."

Charlie just smiled, too happy to have a word fight. "So…bored?"

Don ran a hand through his hair in his familiar nervous gesture, and Charlie stopped smiling. "What?"

"I just wanted to talk to you, before the others got here."

Charlie waited.

Don stood up, looked out the window. "I had lunch with Director Merrick."

Charlie waited some more.

"Assistant Director Lewis has been terminated. Failing to extricate Archie and I immediately, when you were shot and it didn't look like you…well, anyway, it was the last in a long line of mistakes."

Charlie kept waiting…because he thought maybe that's what he was supposed to do, and he wasn't sure where this was going anyway.

Don sat down again, and looked at Charlie.

"He offered me the job."

Charlie's eyes widened. "Assistant Director of the L.A. office? Don, that's…that's great!" He noticed that Don didn't seem to share his enthusiasm. He frowned. "You don't look like it's great."

"No, no, it is. It's great. I know it's an honor, a promotion, more money, more power…"

"Then what?"

Don shrugged. "I wouldn't get out in the field, much. Hardly ever, actually."

Charlie relaxed. "Don't you get it? That's what's great."

Don smiled. He couldn't blame his brother and father for worrying.

"But I have some ideas," he began tentatively. "For instance. My first task would be some restructuring. David would become a team leader, with Megan as his profiler. I could transfer Archie back to the team, add one more member…" Don noticed that now Charlie's enthusiasm had waned. "What?"

This time Charlie shrugged. "I just don't like the idea of Archimedes out there without you for back-up. She told me she wants to open an agency."

Don frowned. "Charlie. Megan and David are good to have at your back. They're at mine, so I know what I'm talking about. And if Archie starts her own agency, becomes a private detective — she won't have any back-up. Have you thought about that?"

Charlie paled and shook his head. He looked away and swallowed. Then he looked back at Don. "Okay. This is…this is good. This is what I want, what I asked for. You're sharing with me. So let's not make it about how I feel about your job, or 'Meda's job, or how I feel about anything. Being out of the field — is that your main objection?"

Don stood and looked out of the window again. "Yeah. Well, the whole thing, really. What takes an Agent into the field to begin with? Following leads, putting together a case." He turned and grinned at Charlie. "Solving crime. I have a superhero complex."

Charlie smiled back, but didn't say anything.

Don started to wander in a circle around Charlie's wheelchair. "The thing is, Buddy…I'm closer to 40 than I care to admit. Maybe it's time to get out of the field."

"40 isn't old." Charlie countered. "It used to be, when I was 20. Now that I'm 32, 40 is not old, anymore." He heard Don's chuckle from somewhere behind him. He waited for him to come around the circle again, because trying to follow him made him dizzy. "What exactly does the Assistant Director do?"

Don plopped into the chair again. "Administrative stuff. I'd hate that part. And training, of the others, I mean. Keeps the office running, manages the personnel, definitely more hands-on than the Director. One thing I would do is move the A.D.'s office to the same floor as the working agents — might even remodel one of the conference rooms, so I would be right off the bullpen. The A.D. should be the go-to guy when you hit a wall in an investigation, and it shouldn't be as difficult to go-to him as it is, now."

"So you would find a way to occasionally hit the field."

Don just grinned.

"It sounds like," Charlie began thoughtfully, "it sounds like you would be a teacher. A coach. A mentor. The ultimate team leader."

Don looked at him. "Yeah, I guess that's one way to look at it."

Charlie smiled at him. "I can see that. I think you would excel at that. This isn't about me, really, but why do you think I'm a teacher? I could have chosen research, or a full-time developmental position at the one of the agencies I have consulted for…"

"You could have done anything," Don said simply. "And you do so much…I guess I just thought you became a teacher because it means you can stay on the cutting edge — and because it allows you time to do some of the other things?"

Charlie started to shake his head, but stopped. "To be fair, I'm sure that's all part of it. And there are other reasons, like the incredible teachers I have had the privilege of knowing, over the years. But another reason was you."

Don raised an eyebrow. "Me? I never taught you anything. You were helping me with my homework."

Charlie looked serious. "You've taught me a lot. Always. Still. Every day. How to be a man of your word. How to be a good son, a good brother. How to find balance." He grinned. "Sometimes you teach me things because you're so bad at it yourself, and I want to show you up. The whole balance thing, for instance." His smiled immediately faded. "And sometimes you show me things I'm not so good at. Like…like how to see something through to the end." He looked away quickly, took a deep breath and looked back. "Anyway. I didn't get a little brother — although I remember asking, a few times. So, I thought that if I became a teacher, maybe I could influence someone younger in a positive way, like you do with me."

Don stared at Charlie for a long moment. "You never cease to amaze me," he finally said, and stood up yet again. "I'm still on leave for a few weeks, Merrick said I should take that time to think."

Charlie nodded. "Sounds like a good idea."

Don checked his watch. "I know you have another PT session in a couple of hours. I'll let you rest for awhile. I'll be back later, okay?"

Charlie nodded again, and Don started to walk toward the door, but when he got behind Charlie's wheelchair he suddenly stopped. He turned so that he was facing the back of the chair and put both his hands on Charlie's shoulders, gave a gentle squeeze. "Thanks," he said softly. "You're pretty good at this brother thing." Before Charlie could answer or turn around, in five quick steps, he was out the door.

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The next evening, while the three Eppes were in Charlie's room, Larry and Megan came to visit. Charlie was both strong enough and bored enough to walk with the group to an outdoor visiting area, although Alan was too nervous to let him stay there for very long. After 15 minutes, Don and Archie decided to go with Larry and Megan back to their apartment, and help Megan empty some more of Larry's boxes and rearrange their separate lives into one. With his injured shoulder, Larry hadn't been able to do much except boss Megan around. After a few days of that, they agreed that their relationship was being redefined in a direction neither of them wanted, and decided to put off any more unpacking until Larry could help. That morning, in a rush to get to work, Megan had tripped over several boxes and then careened into an extra chair she wasn't expecting yet, with the results being a jammed toe and a black eye. The black eye led to an explanation to the Eppes, and Don and Archie leapt to the rescue.

After the four of them left, Alan walked slowly back to the room with Charlie, who settled carefully on the bed. "You don't have to stay, Dad," he said, turning on the television. He channel surfed long enough to be disgusted at his choices, turned it back off and picked up the novel Megan had brought him instead.

Alan settled in a chair with a crossword puzzle. "I have nowhere to go but an empty house," he said.

The two were silent for several minutes, the only sound being the pages of the novel as they turned. Alan looked up at the sound of the book hitting the bedside table and saw that Charlie was staring at the ceiling.

He looked carefully back at his puzzle. "The dietician gave me some recipes for smoothies we can make in the blender for your supplemental drinks," he started casually. "I was wondering. Would you prefer peaches, or nectarines?"

Charlie started to answer automatically. "I don't care, Dad, whatever…" Suddenly he tore his gaze away from the ceiling and looked at his father. "What?"

Alan peered at him over his glasses. "Well, it says I can use any fruit, but really, wouldn't a banana be just a little too obvious?"

Charlie blushed a deep red. "She told you," he croaked. "I can't believe she told you."

Alan dropped the puzzle to his lap. "You can't believe it? My word, Charlie, I can't even shop the produce aisle anymore."

Charlie started giggling, his casted arm cradling his stomach and his other hand pressing against his healing sternum. "Dad," he choked, "don't. Hurts when I laugh."

Alan smiled indulgently and waited until Charlie's breathing became even and his arms relaxed at his sides again.

Then, he let him have it.

"Your mother," he said, picking up the crossword again, "used to call me 'Mr. Potato Head'. Something about me being a spud."

The arms were back on duty, the legs drawn up this time, as Charlie took off in another giggling fit.