A/N: I know - finals week. Finally over and back on track. I'm not sure how many chapters left, because I'm never sure how they're going to break down until I fuss around. Maybe four? One way or another, I'll never be able to figure out how this story got so much longer than I originally intended. Every time I tried to finish, I would see a big hole that needed filling. Hate that.

Chapter 22

"Well. Good morning."

He blinked heavily. These disjunctures in time were beginning to make him a little crazy. But it was still the rough fabric of the couch under his cheek, even though the light in the alcove had changed, spilling brightly over everything. He was almost convinced he had dreamed his encounter with Charlie, until he spotted a battered Styrofoam cup on the coffee table. He fisted his eyes, which felt gummy with sleep. "Dad?"

"That's right. If Mohammed won't come to the mountain…"

He blinked again. "Huh?"

"Never mind. It's good to see you with your eyes actually open."

He sniffed. "Part way, anyway." He was trying to figure out why he was still sitting here, and exactly how much trouble he was in. "How'd…? Um…?"

"Charlie."

"Tattletale."

Alan smiled. "Well, that's what younger brothers are for."

"Tell me about it."

"Besides, he had no idea how to get you back to bed. I think his exact words were along the lines that 'he ain't heavy, he's my brother' was obviously meant strictly metaphorically."

Don snorted a gust of amusement, reached up to massage a crick in his neck. "Still don't know how he tracked me down. Just like when we were kids - I used to wonder sometimes if he had me implanted with some kind of radioactive tracking device - it was uncanny how he could always find me."

Alan nodded wisely, turning a page of his book. "With Charlie, you never know." He scanned the page without glancing up. "So, are you going to tell me what you are doing out here?"

Here we go. He decided to try for offhand. "Just - a little exercise. After abdominal surgery, they like to get you up and on your feet as soon as possible."

"Hm. That sounds like the voice of experience."

Don almost swore at his carelessness, cast an accusing glare at the IV bag. "Pretty common knowledge, right?"

"If you say so. I can't pretend to be familiar with it. What about leg injuries? Do they like to get you up and on those as soon as possible, too?"

Don felt the heat of a flush build in his ears. "Uh…"

"Because they just worked on that leg again yesterday. If you messed it up, the one that's going to be sorriest for it is you. There's such a thing as being your own worst enemy."

No kidding. He rested a hand on his leg, trying to gauge the muted pain under the stiffness there.

Alan noticed. "A nurse stopped by to refresh your IV. The doctor decided it would be better to let you sleep a little before moving you - then he'll want to do a more thorough examination - see if you've damaged anything."

Oh. This was…he didn't even remember going to sleep.

"Might have avoided that if you'd just woken me up and asked me to lend a hand in the first place."

Well, looked like there was going to be no way around eating a little crow here. Might as well suck it up and take it like a man. "You looked pretty tired. I didn't want to disturb you."

"I see. Well, next time you're being considerate, try taking a minute to think about the minor heart attack it'll give me to wake up and see your bed empty. You don't even want to know what went through my head."

Don frowned questioningly.

"You know - another surgery…the hospital morgue…"

Don blinked. "Oh, come on. You didn't really think…"

"Don't look so surprised. I've spent the last couple of days wondering which way over that line you were going to tilt - it was my first and most natural conclusion."

Oh. Ouch. Don ground his fingers into his eyes. "Sorry," he said meekly.

"Oh, I caught on about a heartbeat later. Should have realized first thing, I guess. Seems like ever since you figured out how to walk without holding onto the furniture, I've been turning around to find you've run off somewhere."

Don's mouth curved into a tentative smile. "Yeah, well, then here's good news - looks like I'm back to walking holding onto the furniture."

"Mm. If that's your idea of good news, then I think you're due for a mental overhaul."

Yeah, okay. Wasn't going to make this easy. "Look, I'm sorry if I upset you. And I'm sorry if I - you know - created a fuss." No point in saying that he was sorry he'd tried his hand at walking - he knew himself well enough to know that, given the chance, he'd do it again. Wouldn't fool his father anyway.

Still, this was only the start - the number of sorrys he owed seemed to stretch from here to the moon. "Um - " he hesitated painfully. Might as well get this one out of the way. "Same hospital, huh?"

This time the look Alan gave him was sharper and more probing. "That's right."

"Sorry." If you said that enough, did it help, or did it just become meaningless?

"Don't be ridiculous." Alan's voice was gruff this time. "They have an excellent trauma unit here - it was the best place to bring you. I wouldn't have had it any other way." Don tried to nod, but he suspected it lacked conviction, because Alan continued, "Besides, there's something to be said for knowing my way around. And you're recovering - I wouldn't mind having a few good memories of the place."

Don snorted. "If this is your idea of good memories, then you need a mental overhaul more than I do." He ran his fingers over the bandage on his side. "Still smells the same, huh?"

Alan smiled a little. "I think they all smell like that."

"I guess." He noticed for the first time that someone had thrown a blanket over him at some point and slid a little further under it. "Sticks with you, though, doesn't it?"

Alan's gaze narrowed and Don found something very interesting to look at on the blanket's surface. "Well, it certainly seems to have stuck with one of us." He leaned over and rested a hand against Don's neck. "Not feeling very well, are you? I can't say that I'm surprised."

Don twisted away. "Oh, come on - it was bad enough when Charlie did that - "

"Did he?" Alan chuckled. "He's turning into a regular little Florence Nightingale."

"I noticed."

"You know Charlie - everything he does, he likes to do - all the way."

"Oh, yeah."

"Can be a little - much - sometimes. Feel like - pressure."

Don shot him a look. "Smooth," he offered dryly. "I could use you in the interrogation room." He dropped his head back and traced the outline of the window with his eyes. "What exactly did Charlie say?"

Alan set his book aside. "That you had an argument."

Good old full-disclosure Charlie. "It wasn't exactly an argument…more of a - philosophical disagreement on the appropriate dissemination of information."

"Really." Alan nodded. "You know, between Charlie's math and your bureaucrat-ese, I figure it's only a matter of time before I don't understand a word either one of you says."

Don tried to smile, tested giving his leg a stretch, winced instead. "He wanted more information on - what happened. Man, I don't know why he wants all the gory details - it's like he thinks it's a - a rite of passage or something. It's not - it's just a lot of crummy baggage."

Alan smiled. "Charlie's a little like the Press sometimes - has trouble distinguishing the right to know from the desire to know. On the other hand, maybe he thought talking about it would lighten your 'crummy baggage'. Did you tell him what he wanted to know?"

"I told him - what I thought was plenty, and what he didn't think was enough. You know how that goes. I don't - I'm not all that proud of what happened, Dad."

Alan eyed him thoughtfully. "Did you want to talk about it now?"

"No!"

Don sighed. Yelling with the remnants of a concussion - never a good idea. "No," he repeated more quietly.

"Fine with me. I find that David's cliff notes version was fully adequate, myself. More than enough, really. I don't need any new images in my mind every time that phone of yours rings and you run out the door."

"Sor - " he bit back on the word. Enough of that. What did it mean, anyway? Nothing. Didn't fix anything. Didn't bring back any of the dead victims, didn't heal any of the surviving families, didn't change that there could have been even more, if…and this was ridiculous, because they couldn't repair the past, could only do their best with the present, and he knew that: knew it - would say it to any of his team in the same position, without hesitation and with total conviction. So why was he having so much trouble making it seem real now?

"Do you remember once you told me that you didn't look in my file because you knew that ultimately you would respect anything your mother and I were involved in?"

Don looked over at Alan then, trying to read his expression. After a minute, he gave a perfunctory nod.

"Well, the feeling is mutual. Whatever it is you think you've done or didn't do - I don't need to know about it. Whatever decision you made, I know I would ultimately respect it. So how about lightening up on yourself?"

Lightening up. We're not talking about clerical errors here, Dad - decisions I make have far-reaching, life-altering consequences for a lot of people. But to say it out loud seemed ungrateful, so he swallowed it down instead.

"And at the risk of sounding callous - " Alan continued calmly. " - you're alive. Right now I'm having trouble giving a damn about anything else. It's a lot to be thankful for. Maybe you should try it."

Don was silent. He was remembering someone else saying, 'we brought everybody home safe, and sometimes that's about all you can hope for.' True enough. The tight knot around his heart loosened a little. He cleared his throat. "So, where is Chuck anyway?"

"Said he had to make a phone call."

Suddenly on the alert, Don narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "A phone call? To who?"

Alan raised his brows. "I didn't ask. Probably Amita or the university, but unlike my sons, I don't feel I'm entitled to pry into what's none of my business."

Don choked. " Yeah - since when?"

Alan's smile broadened into a grin. "So, hot shot, you ready to go back to your bed?"

Don opened his mouth to answer, then huffed a rueful laugh. "You know I can't move, right?"

Alan's grin grew wider. He reached over and gave Don's good knee a pat. "Just wanted to hear you say it."

000

Charlie dropped onto a bench in the small courtyard and tucked his legs under it, phone snugged against his ear. It was one of the only areas of the hospital where cell phone use was permitted, and it had the double advantage of offering a little privacy and a lot of sunshine. The call was picked up on the second ring and he sat up straight, unconsciously schooling his voice. "Megan? It's Charlie."

"Hi, Charlie." Megan sounded bright and cheerful. "Nice to hear from you. How's Don?"

"He's - well, he's better, I guess. He was up and walking."

"Hey, that's great. The doctor let him up already?"

Charlie hesitated. "Um - well - not - not exactly."

Megan laughed. "Yeah, that sounds about right. So, aside from making trouble, he's doing good?"

"Yeah - he's conscious longer - sounds more like himself." He hesitated again, not quite sure how he wanted to broach this. Talking to a psychologist was always a little like walking in a minefield. "Look, I was wondering if you could answer a couple of questions for me - "

"Sure, Charlie, what about?"

Megan sounded so normal that Charlie's confidence grew. "Well, I've read all the news reports about the incident, but there seems to be - a lot of missing information. I was hoping you could fill me in."

There was a brief pause. "Well, sure, Charlie, but if Don's conscious and talking, why don't you just ask him?"

Damn. "Well, I, um - " He was a bad liar, everyone always said he was a bad liar and he could even hear it in his own voice. "I don't want to - stress him out. You know, while he's - uh - "

"Already asked him, huh?"

Charlie pinched his eyebrows upward and together. Psychologists. He made a face. "My timing was, maybe, not ideal."

"Uh-huh." There was a pause, during which Charlie tried to imagine what Megan might be thinking. "Exactly what kind of information were you looking for? You're not going to get me in trouble, are you?"

Charlie paused. He hadn't thought of that. He wasn't, was he? Megan's tone was light and she didn't sound truly concerned, but Don was her partner and boss - and maybe more importantly, her friend. "I'm just trying to - " Okay, cards on the table. Maybe that was better. He took a deep breath. "Don gets this whole protective vibe going on - like he still has to hold my hand to make sure I cross on the green. So he does this "need to know" thing with information. Now I have this scenario stuck in my head with big holes in it and it'll drive me crazy until I can make some sense of it. I hate puzzles with missing pieces."

"Yeah, I'll bet you're a lot of fun to do jigsaws with."

There was another pause, but thoughtful, not tense, so Charlie just waited. After a minute he coaxed, "It can't be good for him to keep this stuff festering inside, right? He seems sort of - depressed."

"It's normal to be a little depressed - he hasn't really had time to process anything…look, Charlie, here's what I'll do. There's something I've been wanting to bring by for Don anyway, something I think will cheer him up. If you say he's up for visitors, I'll drop by with it later today. And I wouldn't worry about any festering - he's not getting out of this one without a few visits to a Bureau shrink."

But that won't answer my questions, Charlie thought, then felt guilty for even thinking it.

Megan must have read his mind, because she continued, "As for the rest…why don't you just give him a little time? Maybe he's just not ready to talk about it yet."

Right. Because, given a few days, Don is likely to suddenly turn into a font of non-cryptic information. But he figured he'd run this particular source down about as far as he could, so he nodded resignedly, remembered that Megan couldn't hear his nod and added, "Okay. I know you wouldn't - I mean, you wouldn't try to protect me too?"

"Me?" He could hear the smile in her voice. "Not me - I'm trying to protect your brother - he signs my performance reviews. You're on your own."

Charlie laughed. "Thanks."

"And Charlie? It's possible it's not you Don's trying to protect either. Just something to think about."

That caught Charlie up short. "I - I don't - ?"

"Himself, Charlie. Maybe Don's trying to protect himself."

"But - from what?" More mysteries. Charlie could hardly contain his exasperation. "All the news reports talk like he's a big hero - he shot that guy - stopped him - even though he was trapped and - and injured - "

"Yeah, well, the media spin on it and the Don Eppes spin on it may not be exactly the same. Just try to keep in mind that, odds are, it's really likely that it's not about you anyway. I'll see you later."

Charlie stared at the phone as the display went dark. He sighed silently. Trouble was, none of this was making him any less curious.

TBC

A/N: Oh, just for the record - someone asked about Alan calling Don "Donnie". That is taken directly from the show. Alan doesn't use it all the time, but he uses it often, and he seems to be the only one who does. I'm not sure whether it's his personal nickname for Don, or a leftover childhood nickname that he clings to long after everyone else has let go of it. I know my father is the only person left to call us by our childhood names, so it always makes me smile to hear it. I do try to keep everything as close as possible to the language, syntax and characterizations of the characters on the show though, out of respect for both the creators and the actors. And because that's what I like to read in fic myself.