A/N: Long chapter again, but no other place to break it comfortably - just as well, since it took me a while to get it up. Just about time to bring this home.

Chapter 26

"I…um…" Charlie forced himself to pause, carefully removing the headphones and setting them aside. Better to wait, sometimes, and see how the land lay before offering any additional information. Or adding fuel to the fire. He watched Don glance at the two stacks of CDs as if trying to remember what was on each of them, then look away.

"So. Did you find out what you wanted to know?"

Probably the best answer would have been, 'nope - didn't find out a thing' but somehow, that wasn't what came out of his mouth. "Not exactly. I mean, there are bits and pieces. I know you said a gun wasn't Twilliger's MO, and these seem to indicate that asphyxiation was - not a single type, though - plastic bags, hanging, strangling mostly, even repeated - I don't quite understand how that works…?"

For a minute he thought Don wasn't going to answer, then he heaved a sigh. "He - uh - would bring them to near unconsciousness - or just - past it - then let them revive. It's possible to do it countless times, almost, before it becomes fatal. Since you're so crazy to know."

Charlie wrinkled his forehead. "I don't - understand why - "

This time Don turned to look at him. "It's erotic for him. Yeah, I know that's hard to believe. You remember the sick and crazy part, right?"

Charlie swallowed. "Yeah." He tried not to seem as though he was sneaking a peek at Don's neck. "But - he couldn't have - "

"No, Charlie. He didn't do that to me."

Charlie nodded, a little relieved. "Because someone would have just shot him."

"Maybe - we did want him alive."

"But - I mean, if it was your life or his - "

"Yeah. Yeah, of course."

Charlie mentally added the information to all he'd collected. "Other than that, the only consistent pattern I found was what you said about him burning the bodies afterward." His mind was paging rapidly backward, with almost flawless recall. "No, wait - I said that. You said - you said 'something like that'. And all the while you were out of it, you kept mumbling something about fire - so 'something like that' would mean - would mean not necessarily afterward, or -"

It was always an amazing rush, that moment when all the pieces fell together and created a full picture, everything clicking almost audibly into place. He glanced at Don for confirmation, but Don's face was stony, giving away nothing. Somehow, that only verified his conclusions, and he felt an instant of triumph and satisfaction. The implications hit him about a second later, followed hard by a completely different sensation.

He glanced at Don again, hoping for clarification, or, even better, denial, but Don's expression this time - sad and tired and a little ashamed - did nothing to allay his fears. He wanted to say something - something comforting or reassuring - but found he had to swallow hard against a reflex in his throat instead. Startled, he pressed a hand hastily over his mouth.

Without a word, Don handed him the gold painted emesis basin.

0

"You threw up all over him?" Alan looked incredulously from one son to the other.

"Naw - his aim was pretty good. Must have had time to calculate the trajectory." Don's tone was joking, but his eyes were utterly devoid of humor.

Alan frowned. "Did you pick up some kind of bug here? I tell you, hospitals are no place for sick people - you should take a break and go home." He reached out to touch Charlie's forehead, but Charlie ducked.

"I'm not - sick. I just - " He looked hopefully at Don, and Don rubbed his eyes hard.

"Probably stress," he suggested dully.

Charlie grasped that gratefully. "Yeah. Probably."

Alan leaned back so he could view them simultaneously. "You're telling me that for the last few days, when things were actually stressful, you were fine, and now that things are looking up, you're sick?"

"Sure, I see that kind of thing all the time," Don broke in. "Guys are cool under fire, then throw up all over the place once things settle down. Pretty common." He met his father's eyes blandly.

"Really," Alan's voice was ripe with skepticism.

"Happens all the time," Don repeated.

"Hm." Alan focused back on Charlie. "Still, Charlie, maybe you'd better take a break."

Charlie looked at Don, who didn't return his gaze. "I want to stay," he said bluntly. "I need to talk to Don."

This time, Don did look at him, then away again.

Alan's frown deepened as he studied both of them. "I don't suppose anybody wants to tell me what's going on?" And, when no one answered, "I didn't think so. All right, I can tell when I'm de trop - I need to return some calls for the business anyway." He spoke over his shoulder as he moved toward the door, "Somebody come get me when I'm allowed back?"

Don rubbed a hand over his hair.

Charlie watched the door swing closed behind Alan. Now that they were alone, he actually had no idea what he wanted to say. He needn't have worried.

Don dropped his hand. "Okay, so you found out what you wanted to know - can we just - move on? Oh, and by the way, you don't have to worry about returning that emesis basin - that's yours to keep. I'll tell Colby you won hands down for style - the stuff actually came out of your nose."

Charlie perched on the edge of the bed. "That's not funny," he objected without any real rancor. "It hurt. Don't tell me it didn't come out of your nose."

"Me? Nah." Don considered. "Though I had you beat for distance, I guess. Didn't even make it to the stall. Granger, on the other hand, still holds the medal for sheer volume."

Charlie smiled slightly, then sobered. "Don - I - " Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Don stiffen.

"What? You had to know and now you do and two of us can wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat instead of just one. Mazel tov. I don't get you, man, I really don't."

"Yeah, well, I don't get you either - " Charlie retorted. "Why everything has to be such a big secret. You don't want to tell Dad, okay, that I understand, but I - I don't see why you can't tell me. I thought we were working together - "

"We are working together. That doesn't mean - you don't have to know everything, Charlie. You just think you do."

"And you don't have to hide everything - "

"Right. Come on - are you really glad to know about that? The truth!"

Charlie opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. "Yeah…" he managed unconvincingly at last. "And - no…"

"Right." Don clawed at the covers draping the bed. "You should lie down and relax for a while after all that hurling."

"Like you did, I'm sure."

"I was in the middle of a job."

"Of course you were - what - what are you doing?"

Don had both hands on his bad leg and was trying to lever it up off the raised support. "I need a walk."

"A walk! A - what are you talking about? You can't walk!"

He saw Don wince and close his eyes for a second, paling a shade as his leg dropped from the support to the mattress, then grope for the IV stand anyway.

"Watch me," he ground out.

Charlie crossed his arms to stop them from doing what they wanted to do. Shaking someone with an extensive collection of stitches inside and out was probably a bad idea, no matter how tempting, and he was almost certain he would be sorry for it afterward. Almost. "Just because you say it," he insisted, " - doesn't mean you can. There are - there are basic laws of physics involved here - not to mention biology - "

Don had his good leg over the side of the bed now and he paused to catch his breath. "Yeah, well, lucky thing I always sucked at physics then."

"Just - just because you don't know the laws, doesn't mean you aren't bound by - would you ?- All right - !" Charlie was on his feet and around the bed, grabbing the fabric of Don's hospital gown as he showed an alarming tendency to reel forward toward the floor. "All right. You are going to take a little walk. With my help. A short one."

Don gripped the wrist of the hand Charlie was using to keep him upright, breathing hard. "I wasn't going to fall, you know," he muttered crossly.

Charlie snorted. "Yeah - right."

"I wasn't." He obediently pushed his arm into the bathrobe sleeve Charlie was held for him, looked more dubiously at the arm with the IV. "Be nice if somebody could bring me some pajamas or something."

"Maybe they're afraid you'll get out of bed before you're supposed to," Charlie retorted dryly. "Don't move." He unhooked the IV bag and maneuvered it down the sleeve, pushing Don's arm after it before re-suspending it on the pole. "There. Let me get your leg down - no, let me - " He winced himself as he carefully lowered the damaged leg over the side of the bed, comforting himself that it still had to be better than Don slamming it around, then positioned his shoulder under Don's arm. "Okay, up - " He wrapped his free arm around Don's waist, trying to remember exactly where the dressing was. "Man, you're heavy - " he groaned as they stood. "What do you weigh, anyway?"

"Hey, that's all muscle, kid - don't knock it…"

Charlie guided them through the hospital room door, reflecting that it was a lot like gaining an extra pair of legs - with a mind of their own. Still he managed to get them into the hall. "Your job is to hang onto the IV pole and stay upright," he instructed. "I'll do the rest."

"You know, I did this all by myself yesterday."

"Yeah, and that was a big success, wasn't it? If this goes wrong, Dad is going to blame me."

Don gasped a chuckle. "Well, that would be a new twist."

Charlie steered them down the left arm of the hallway, intentionally avoiding the nurse's station. They moved at a snail's pace, but Charlie thought they might make the alcove when Don suddenly gasped, "Charlie - wall - just - just for a minute - "

Charlie stopped, letting Don prop his shoulder against the wall, then helped him turn until he was leaning full on his back. Don had his eyes closed and seemed to be focusing on regulating his breathing, so Charlie leaned next to him to wait. He flinched as Don's head dropped back against the wall with a dull thud.

"You okay?"

Don nodded without opening his eyes. "Yeah," he breathed. "I'm good."

In spite of himself, Charlie laughed. "Then you've got a pretty loose definition of that word." He closed his own eyes as well, listening to Don's breathing even out, reflecting idly that just standing here with his brother leaning on him wasn't the worst feeling in the world.

He had no idea how long they stood there before he heard Don say, "It's just - I get kinda tired of feeling like the dark cloud over the House of Eppes, you know?"

Charlie digested that, then shook his head. "I don't follow." He felt Don slump a little more into him, ribcage heaving in a sigh, and he tightened his grip around his waist.

"Seems like it used to be - you working as a college professor - published - lots of acclaim, lots of honors, lots of awards, Mom and Dad proud, everybody happy…I come back to LA and all of a sudden you're throwing up at crime scenes, getting shot at by snipers, Russian Mafia showing up at your classroom, showing up at the house, everybody yelling…" Don petered off, but Charlie didn't speak, afraid that if he did, that would end the conversation. After a minute, his patience was rewarded when Don continued, "Point is, Charlie, I'm walking a line here. And half the time I can't even see where it is until it's too late."

Charlie cleared his throat. "It's not all up to you."

"No?" Don still didn't open his eyes. "Try telling Dad that the next time he asks how a math professor ends up involved with the Russian Mafia, or what a math professor's doing at a crime scene. Those are rhetorical questions, by the way - I think we're all pretty clear on how that happens."

"I pushed to go to a crime scene," Charlie protested. "I mean, one minute he says I'm my own man and free to make my own decisions, the next he's talking about me in the third person while I'm standing right there - as if I have no responsibility at all in what happens to me. Hate it when he does that."

"You and me both."

They were quiet, then Charlie offered, "So. Now that we've decided it's all Dad's fault, are you ready to head back?"

Don smiled faintly. "Yeah."

Charlie tried to pick up the pace on the trip back; Don seemed to be leaning more heavily on him with every step, and he was a little afraid they'd find themselves collapsed in a heap before they could make it back to the safety of the room.

He heaved a silent sigh of relief when they finally pushed through the door. "Let me help you up - I said, let me help - " He led Don to the side of the bed and got him perched on the edge. "Now, let me get your bad leg up first…" Don was silent, but Charlie could tell by the way his hand clenched and released on the IV pole that the process wasn't pain free. By the time he had Don settled, Charlie was perspiring himself and more than a little exasperated. "There," he panted at last. "Wasn't that fun?"

Don's eyes were closed again, but he answered, "Yeah - that was good. Thanks."

Charlie looked at him to see if he was serious, decided that he was and dropped down onto the other side of the bed, propping himself comfortably against the headboard. Don didn't seem to object. After he'd caught his breath, Charlie tried, "You know, it wasn't all quite as idyllic as you paint it."

"No?" Don shifted his leg, trying to re-settle it on the prop. "The way I hear it, there were cartoon birds and everything. Singing happy forest songs."

Charlie shook his head. "No cartoon birds. I definitely would have remembered cartoon birds."

"Yeah, well, close enough."

Don seemed to be teetering toward sleep, so Charlie decided to just push on. "And academia's not as tame as you might think - all that jockeying for funding and the best offices - it can get vicious. Downright devious."

Don smiled. "Office politics - I hear you there. Give me a good firefight any day."

"But I love what I do. I mean, there's nothing like it - it's like - flying. And I think I still have some important contributions to make to the mathematics field - to other mathematicians."

"I have no doubt."

"And teaching - that's rewarding - over the long term, anyway. I really enjoy it. I have no desire to stop."

Don nodded, settling deep into the pillows. "Sure. That's what I meant."

"But - " He hesitated for so long that Don opened one eye to regard him.

"But?"

"But - I - um - well, it's not like I don't consult for other agencies, you know."

"Hm." Don swallowed a yawn. "Like that ever takes you out of the office and to crime scenes."

"No," Charlie admitted. "It's mostly - theoretical."

Don smiled slightly. "But not enough empirical data?"

Charlie grinned. "You were listening."

"Said I was."

"The empirical data makes - a big difference, I find. Or rather - hands on experience does." Don didn't say anything, but he turned his head curiously to study Charlie's face. "It has a way of…sort of…bursting my bubble." He saw Don's expression change and added mildly, "That wasn't - a criticism." Don stayed wary and Charlie closed his eyes, hunting for words. "Do you remember that counterfeiting case we worked on?"

"Sure. That was one of the good ones. Well, mostly…" Don's face saddened.

"I'll never forget that husband, so afraid for his wife, and that young woman in danger, and knowing that my work had - well - helped saved her life, helped repair his. It was so - immediate. I don't often get to see such a direct, dramatic result in my work, right before my eyes. It was - heady. Maybe even a little addictive."

Don puffed a breath. "Sure can be."

"It's messy, of course, and it can be heartbreaking and it's so intensely - real…" Charlie looked at his hands. "I find doing the FBI work actually informs my other work - adds a dimension. I think it's good for me. Grounding." Don was looking intently at him, the same look Charlie recognized from interrogations when Don was trying to decide whether or not a suspect was telling him the truth. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, as much as I love the flying, I've discovered that there's something to be said for occasionally landing, too."

Don must have found what he was looking for, because this time he said cautiously, "Yeah?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah."

"Huh." Don turned his gaze back to the ceiling and got comfortable. "Do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Tell Dad?"

Charlie huffed. "Like he'd listen."

They reclined in comfortable silence, and just as Charlie decided that Don was out for the count, he startled him by murmuring, "Know what?"

Charlie had just been thinking that a nap didn't sound like a half bad idea on his own account. "What?" he asked drowsily.

"I'd about kill for a beer."

"Yeah?" Charlie leaned over and flicked Don's IV line significantly. "Know what? You're gonna have to."

Don smiled coaxingly. "Oh, come on - a little morphine, a little beer - how bad could it be?"

Charlie stood up and stretched, hunting for the call button. "You really want a chemistry lecture?" He found the button and pushed.

Don studied the IV. "This could come out. I'm about ready to be done with it anyway."

Charlie rolled his eyes. When the nurse appeared, he gave her his best smile. "Do you have any beverage you can bring my pain-in-the neck brother? Something other than water?"

Don eyed her uncertainly. "Nothing with any of those weird additives you guys put in…" he demurred.

The nurse smiled, bending over to adjust his pillows. "Oh, now, you want to get well, don't you?" she prodded gently. "Those are there to help you get strong again." She smoothed the covers. "You just sit tight. I'll bet I can find something you'll like. You leave it to me." She gave him another smile and a light pat on the shoulder before heading for the door.

Don raised his brows in surprise, then tucked one arm behind his head and watched her go, broke into a grin when she turned at the door and gave him a wink.

He turned to Charlie with a look of sly satisfaction. "I knew you were lying about the nurses."

TBC