A/N: Lots of…I don't know. Alan thoughts, Charlie thoughts, before we return to Don thoughts.

Chapter 16

Alan paced outside the hospital room door, waiting for David to finish his visit. He wasn't sure what he could be doing - it wasn't as if Don was awake enough for conversation - but he felt they deserved a little privacy nonetheless.

Breakfast had taken a while. He couldn't remember what he had eaten, or even if he had eaten, all he could really remember was David's careful recounting of yesterday's events: his antiseptic, professional words meticulously selected to build distance and detachment. And maybe that worked well on the job. It didn't, however, he reflected ruefully, work particularly well for a parent - the brisk euphemisms did nothing to dilute the horrific pictures left teeming in his brain. Worst of all, he knew that David had omitted things - whether due to FBI security or because he thought they were too disturbing to share. He recognized the behavior from Don - the careful pauses, the visible weighing of words. He didn't press him to fill in the gaps.

He stopped his pacing and stared at the hospital room door, fighting the urge to push through and see with his own eyes that Don was not trapped, helpless in the hands of a homicidal maniac. Of course he wasn't. He knew that. He was safe in the hospital, receiving good care. All of the rest was past.

Except, maybe, in his own mind…and how did you shield someone from nightmares? When Don was small, he could sit with him until he fell asleep, hand him a stuffed companion, leave a light burning, methodically search the closets and corners and under the bed to expose any hypothetical monsters. What did you do when your child was an adult and the monsters were real?

The door opened and David slipped out, surprisingly light and quiet on his feet. He looked tired, but offered Alan a polite nod and smile.

"Thanks. I'll update everybody."

Alan tried an unconvincing smile of his own. "I'll let you know if there's any change. And - I don't remember if I ever said thank you. For riding with him, for getting him here. I am grateful."

David thrust his hands in his pockets. "Not a problem. It's what we do. We do look out for each other - I swear."

Alan nodded wordlessly. After a second, he held out his hand.

David took it in a bone-crushing grip. "Take care, Mr. Eppes. I'll be back."

Alan poked his head in the room before entering. All was quiet. Charlie had rolled onto his side in a more natural sleeping position, the wool hospital-issue blanket straggling half on the floor. Alan shook his head. Why was it that neither of his sons could keep covered for more than ten minutes, anyway? Didn't they know that sleep wasn't supposed to be an aerobic exercise? He scooped up the blanket and draped it back over Charlie, finishing with a light pat. Charlie didn't even stir.

He wandered slowly back to Don's bedside, moving his arms to loosen the stiffness in his shoulders, listening to his joints crack. He stood gazing down at him for a minute, trying to decide whether he looked better or worse, trying not to visualize the parade of scenes David's recounting had planted in his head. Pressing his lips together, he pulled the chair closer to the bed, as if to create a protective bulwark. He groped for Don's wrist and grasped it tightly, taking comfort in the feel of the light pulse beating against his grip. His mouth twisted in an ironic grimace.

His son wore Kevlar and carried a gun and was highly trained in combat, and he planned to protect him with a visitor's chair and a nightlight.

Right. Who was he kidding?

000

There was a rustle of stiff sheets and Charlie glanced up from the lecture he was downloading to the CalSci website just in time to see his father, eyes still on his crossword puzzle, rest a hand lightly on Don's upper arm and murmur some kind of soft assurances. Don went quiet again.

Charlie pushed back in his chair and stretched his legs. A little sleep had done him good. Then Amita and Larry had stopped by a few hours ago, bearing clean clothes and toiletries and Alan's glasses and some papers from Charlie's office, courtesy of the spare key Charlie always left with Larry. It had been a welcome distraction. Alan had shooed them, with Charlie, to the cafeteria for a bite to eat, declining to join them, but requesting a sandwich.

The cafeteria had proved unbearably bright and noisy, and Larry's and Amita's kind sympathy had made Charlie almost as restless as Don. It had been a relief to thank them and bid them good-bye and return to his vigil in the somber, darkened little room. Not that he had any clear idea what he was supposed to do there either. He kept watching his father, trying to follow his example.

His father seemed to function with deft confidence - making soothing noises, adjusting the bedding, reaching for the emesis basin at just the right moment. Charlie was mystified at the ease with which he seemed to anticipate everything. Practice, probably. Between their growing up years and Mom's cancer, he must have gotten a lot. Charlie was painfully aware that he, on the other hand, had very little - his avoidance of his mother's illness still sat like a scar on his heart. Even today he had trouble parsing out his motives.

It had seemed to make sense at the time - no, it had seemed to move beyond sense, into instinct and - maybe fear. But part of him had believed, on some primal level, that solving one unsolvable equation would prove and fix something else - open up the possibility to solving all unsolvable things - like illness. And death. And heartbreak. He couldn't remember if he had been surprised when it hadn't worked out that way at all - when he hadn't managed to solve P vs. NP, never mind impending death. He only remembered a crushing sense of sadness and failure and loss. Of having missed out on something unbearably important, no matter how unbearable. He was determined that that wouldn't happen again. So here he was. Feeling idiotically useless, but dogged.

His computer informed him that his lecture had successfully downloaded and he turned it off and set it aside.

It hadn't been pretty, the vigil so far. He hadn't expected it to be, really, but…

The first time Don had thrown up, he had been horrified. Dad, that looks like…did he just throw up…? Charlie, he's had surgery. You throw up all kinds of nasty things afterwards. It's no reason for alarm. Charlie had swallowed hard. Yeah, but…how much blood could one person lose? And was that really the truth, or was it one more 'don't upset Charlie, you know how he gets…?' He had scrunched down in his chair, determined that comforting him would not become the focus of this exercise, had tried to step up and restrain Don when he'd endangered his IV, was stunned and a little comforted at the way he had fought back, at how strong he was, despite everything. He had remained silent during the ensuing argument between his father and the medical staff about how to handle Don's restlessness - about head injuries and medication and blown stitches and infection - that had finally resulted in an uneasy truce and putting Don under deeper sedation. He hadn't had an opinion at the time - didn't feel he was entitled to one, really - but now he found it disturbing to see Don so still, even in contrast to his earlier distress - as if they had somehow snuffed out an important part of who he was. Is. Is, is, is. Don Is.

He leaned forward on his elbows, studying Don's face. He looked so pale. Okay, not that he was very dark at the best of times, but…it was the stillness, really, that was bothering him. It didn't look peaceful, it just looked - absent. Uninhabited. As if Don had gone away and left a shell behind. Just like Mom had.

He asked Don from time to time for details on that period of their mother's illness. Was she in pain? Was she alert? Was she afraid? Don's answers were always glib and reassuring. Charlie could never quite decide how much was fact, how much was Don protecting him, and how much was Don just not wanting to relive it himself. Charlie never pried for too long. He had no right to open up Don's wounds for his own information - he was the one who had chosen not to be there. But he couldn't help wondering.

Don's hand jumped and Charlie jumped too in surprise. He glanced sheepishly at his father to see if he'd noticed, but he seemed to be deep in his crossword puzzle. Relieved, he looked back at Don, saw the hand, wrapped in white bandages, try to curl, as if grasping at something, his eyelids quivering. Charlie smiled.

Okay, so you are in there. What are you trying to do? Solve a case? Win an argument? Swing a bat? Maybe that's it - bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, Donnie Eppes at bat. Yeah, that's a good one. I hope that's it. Hit it out of the park, Don.

Don kicked and the blanket slithered half off. Charlie grabbed it before it could fall, clumsily straightened it, tugging it smooth. He glanced at his father again, but he was tapping his pencil against his lower lip, eyes on his puzzle, forehead wrinkled in a frown of concentration.

Charlie cleared his throat. "So. What do you suppose he's thinking about?"

Alan glanced up and removed his glasses, hesitating. "I have no idea," he said at last. He smiled a little. "Of course, I pretty much feel that way when he's well and whole, too."

"Yeah." Charlie laughed faintly. "Just seems like - seems like he has something on his mind."

He reached out a cautious hand and curled it around Don's forearm, careful to avoid the IV line. "Hey, bro. How you feeling?" To his surprise, Don stirred again, breathed some kind of wordless sigh that might have been an answer. Charlie blinked, stomped down the impulse to recoil in surprise. He looked up to see his father eyeing him thoughtfully and straightened, a little embarrassed, his grip sliding lower until it grasped Don's hand. It felt dry and hot, even under the wrapping of bandages. He cleared his throat again. "So - um - I was reworking those odds…you know, tightening the data using Don's characteristics…"

Alan perched his glasses back on his nose, snapping out the paper that held his crossword puzzle. "And you decided that they're not all that bad - all things considered."

"Well - yeah." Charlie sat back in surprise. "How did you know that?"

Alan counted spaces, tidily filled in a word. "Because I decided that hours ago - that you were right."

"You did?" Charlie blinked. "I mean, I am, but - what did you - ? I mean, what variables - ?"

Alan crossed off a clue, a slow smile stretching his lips. "Just what you said - Don himself." He glanced at Charlie over the paper and his smile broadened. "Don't look so astonished - your old man might still know a few things. Maybe not mathematically, but I know my sons. And one thing I know is that Donnie has never gone down without a fight. Why should that be different now? Any chance he has, he'll fight for it."

Charlie nodded. "Analysis of Variance."

"I knew you'd have a fancy name for it." He lowered the paper and eyed Charlie narrowly. "So. Think you'd be okay alone here if I got up to stretch my legs?"

Charlie's heart skittered in his chest. "Sure - I'd be - sure. Go ahead." He bobbed his head in a decisive nod. "I've got it covered."

Alan looked at him a moment longer, then rose, massaging Charlie's scalp in a rough caress as he passed. "I think you do. Who knows? Keep it up and you may get a chance to have him throw up all over you."

TBC