A/N: I don't know what to tell you - the characters do whatever they want - they never ask me what I think.

Chapter 21

The problem with hospitals…scratch that, there were a lot of things he didn't like about hospitals - ONE of the problems with hospitals, was that they involved too much down time, too much quiet, too much space to think. He found his mind toying favorably with the image of armed assailants rappelling through the arched window before him and giving him something else to focus on. Of course, he wasn't armed, and he didn't have back up, and he wasn't exactly set up for evasive action, so it was probably just as well that wasn't likely to happen, but dwelling on it gave his traitorous thoughts a diversion. Probably the smart thing to do would be to return to his room, but having come this far, he found himself curiously unable to move. Besides, it was just too embarrassing to admit that he hadn't thought to note the room number. Man, he really needed to get free of these drugs.

He watched the sky as rose tinted the greyness. He could try to get up. Or he could just sit here until somebody stopped by to offer a blood transfusion. First rule of tactical planning - never go in without a plan on how to get out. Of course, he'd thought that he did have a plan - but he'd badly miscalculated. They flunk you for that, rookie. Better come up with a new plan. A nap sounded like a good one. Maybe a little rest would bring inspiration. He slumped deeper into the sofa and let his eyes close. Of course, he'd been napping already for…he had no idea how long. Days, maybe. They needed to post more calendars around here.

The faint sounds of the hospital in motion dimmed. Maybe he really was going to sleep. Too bad, he had kind of wanted to see the sun rise. He had no idea how much time passed before he felt the cushions sink next to him.

Busted.

He didn't have to open his eyes to know who it was, even though he hadn't been dogged by that particular shadow for about twenty years.

After a minute, a hand slid under his heel, lifted and deposited it on the coffee table. Better. "Thanks." There was no response, so a second later he added, "You know, a really good brother would have brought coffee."

There was a pause, then a slightly disgruntled voice grumbled, "Coffee's dehydrating."

Ha. Knew you couldn't stay silent. Not without a piece of chalk in your hand. But instead he murmured, "That's gratitude. Who snuk you ice cream that time you got grounded for writing that Reimann thing all over the dining room wall?"

There was a longer pause, then he felt a curve of warm Styrofoam bump his knuckles. Too easy. He opened his palm and accepted the cup, guided it awkwardly to his lips. He recognized the aroma immediately, but took a sip anyway before remarking uncomplainingly, "That's not coffee."

"In your line of work, we call that 'cutting a deal'."

Don chuckled, handing the cup back.

"And it was the Goldbach Conjecture, not the Reimann Hypothesis."

"Yeah, I always get those two mixed up."

This time, it was Charlie who gave a reluctant laugh. He took a sip and handed the Styrofoam cup back to Don. "I was gone for twenty, maybe thirty minutes. You couldn't wait twenty, thirty minutes?"

Wow. Pretty inexact figures, for Charlie. He must be really upset. "I didn't know that," Don pointed out, taking a drink and returning the cup.

"Okay," Charlie conceded. "Okay, but - why - ?"

Don closed his eyes with a sigh. "To see if I could, I guess?" That was mostly the truth, anyway. He tried to push himself a little more erect. "Look, Charlie, I know for you it's over and everything - to me, it's not so clear cut. It's like I'm stuck there in my head. I'm just trying to - figure out where I am."

Charlie nudged his arm and he automatically reached for the cup.

"You couldn't just ask?"

"Not that simple, buddy."

"Too much theory, not enough empirical data."

"Something like that."

"You could have really hurt yourself."

"Didn't." Knock wood.

"Dad's gonna be - seriously ticked."

"So don't tell him."

"Now, that's going to be simple. How do you expect to get back?"

"Same way I got here." Brave words, Eppes. Let's see if you can live up to them.

Charlie's skeptical snort echoed his own thoughts.

Don smiled faintly in response. "Just give me a couple of minutes and I'll be ready." The sky was streaked with salmon now. One thing about the LA smog - made for a pretty sunrise. He took another sip and passed the cup back to Charlie.

"Yeah. You keep telling yourself that."

"You probably didn't think I could get this far, either."

"I've got some pretty strong thoughts on whether or not you should have even tried."

"Okay, okay." That was another thing he hated about hospitals - they sucked away the smallest sense of personal privacy: every inch of your body was fair game, every sound you made, and thanks to the drugs, every thought. "I wanted - like - five minutes to myself. You can understand that, right?"

Charlie sighed.

Don took the sigh as assent. "I'm just working on putting myself back together. Sometimes that involves tearing some things apart again first. I think I heard you say that, huh?"

This time Charlie clicked his tongue in disgust. "Now you listen to what I say."

"Hey, I always listen."

"Could have fooled me."

"Can't have you getting a big head."

"Yeah," Charlie tooka swallow from the cup. "Smart words might work with me, but if one of the things you 'tore apart to put yourself together again' is your stitches, I don't think Dad is going to be so easy to appease."

Don sighed silently. True. Maybe he had just wanted to feel like he had some say in where he went and what he did. Fact was, he didn't. "Yeah, yeah…" he agreed dispiritedly.

Charlie frowned, then pressed the back of his fingers against Don's cheek.

"Hey!" Don pulled away. "What's that for?"

"You gave in pretty easy."

"Yeah, well - it's not like I've got any real choices here."

Charlie's face softened. "Here. I'll let you finish the hot chocolate."

Don took the cup wordlessly, threw it back like a shot of tequila and closed his eyes. After a minute, he felt Charlie trying to pry the Styrofoam cup out of his grip and released it.

"Say, Don - you asleep?" Charlie's voice had dropped to a whisper.

Man, that brought back memories. If he opened his eyes, would Charlie be three feet tall and dragging a stuffed animal? He made a non-committal noise in his throat.

"Something I've been wondering."

Yeah, great. Long as it doesn't involve that Goldbach Conjecture….

"I read everything I could about the arrest - Twilliger didn't have a gun, right?"

This was definitely not three-foot Charlie with the stuffed animal riding shotgun. Kind of a pity. Don shook his head. "Not his MO."

"But you had a gun."

He thumbed the bandages that bound his fingers. "Yeah. Wasn't very accessible, though."

"But you shot him. All the news reports said so."

"Yeah, well, that - " Don's brow furrowed a little as his leg suggested that the walking had been a premature idea at best. "That was probably the damned luckiest shot of my career. Wouldn't want to have to try it twice."

"And Megan and David and the LAPD - they must have had guns."

Don opened his eyes. He suddenly had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew where this was going. He rubbed at a pounding that had started up in his forehead. "Not - they were disarmed at that point."

"I guess I just can't figure out - why? What would make them put down their guns?"

Don tried to ignore the ice spreading in the pit of his stomach. "Let's just say - he got the upper hand. Let's put it that way."

"I - just can't imagine - "

"Yeah, well, that's the thing, Charlie - maybe you don't want to. Just - just leave it, okay?" He tried to move his leg, to lower it from the coffee table. It slid an inch, but that was all. He stared. There was no way he was going to be able to get it down without help. He was as trapped as if he was still pinned by the car. Didn't that just figure. He ran his hands over his face. "You know how we hold stuff back from the press sometimes? There's a good reason for it."

"You're saying I don't have clearance…?"

The note of hurt and skepticism in Charlie's voice made him groan inwardly. "No. I'm saying - once you have pictures in your head, you can't always get them out just because you want to, okay? So just - leave it."

"You don't think I can handle it."

"I don't think you should have to - that's not the same thing!" To hell with this - he was getting that leg down and getting out of here if it killed him. He tried giving the leg a push with his hand. A warning stab lit across his thigh. Great.

"Maybe I should get to make that choice for myself!" Charlie shot back. "I've seen some pretty gruesome things now, and guess what, big brother, I survived!"

Don set his jaw and gripped his leg to settle it down. How the heck had things gone downhill so fast? To make it worse, he was stuck here, well and truly - he was going nowhere. The only thing he'd accomplished in trying was to drench himself in sweat.

"Yeah, well, this gruesome thing involved me - I thought that might make it a little different - forgive me if I was wrong." He let out a breath. "Jesus, Charlie, I'd forget it if I could - I wish that you'd just - trust me for once." He dragged an arm across his forehead to clear the sweat from his eyes, breathing slow to try and chase away a sudden giddiness.

There was a silence, then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and something pushed into his fingers. He squinted to find a handkerchief there, gratefully pressed his face into it.

"You want some water?"

He shook his head.

"You should. You're supposed to stay hydrated."

"Fine, good - whatever makes you happy…" he mumbled through the handkerchief. He felt the return of the Styrofoam cup to his palm a short time later, cool this time. He sipped slowly, mused that he was dry, now that Charlie mentioned it. After he finished, he handed the cup to Charlie and sank back into the couch.

"You okay?" He didn't answer - didn't know where the hell to start, even. "I guess this is what you mean by 'collateral damage'."

That got his attention. "What, me?" He caught Charlie's nod just barely, suddenly so tired he could hardly see straight. "Naw - I'm more - a casualty or something. I'm a volunteer. Collateral damage is…the innocents. The victims. People damaged in the crossfire…like you and Dad, I guess." He winced as he thought it, and not entirely from the returning awareness of his varied pains.

"I don't feel damaged."

"Right. How many classes you missed already, hanging out here?"

Charlie paused. "You'd be amazed how much teaching you can actually perform right online," he said at last.

"Right." Don rubbed restlessly at his ear.

They sat in awkward silence, then, "It's not - I do trust you."

Don sighed through his nose, running a thumb moodily along his lower lip.

"I do," Charlie insisted. "I just can't - help trying to make sense of things. Wanting to know."

This time, Don's sigh was heavier and more resigned.

"I mean, figuring puzzles is what I do. I - I just can't help trying to work out the answers: why a bunch of trained law enforcement officers would give up their weapons - to a killer who had no weapon."

Don looked at the handkercief in his hands, scrubbed his palms with it. "Sure he did," he said wearily. "He had me."

TBC