Chapter 3

Alan was waiting in the driveway. He had wanted to go with Don — he didn't now how his son had talked him out of it — and he knew he was being rude, leaving Cecile alone in the house. As if thinking her name somehow summoned her, he sensed her presence beside him and looked at her guiltily. "I'm sorry."

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. "For what, Alan?"

He shrugged under her embrace. "I shouldn't have left you alone in there."

"He's all right. Colby wouldn't send him home if he wasn't."

"He aggravated his injury, Don had to take the crutches…" He felt Cecile stiffen beside him. Headlights were headed their way. Alan sagged a little as a car continued past the driveway.

"I made a fresh pot of coffee," Cecile offered, lamely. Alan nodded silently.

Seven more pair of headlights passed the house before one slowed upon approach, and Alan recognized Don's SUV. "Thank God," he breathed, and he moved with Cecile to the sidewalk, out of the way. Before the SUV had come to a complete stop, though, he was headed for the passenger's side. The driver's door opened as he reached the middle of the front of the car, and he heard Don's voice, but couldn't focus on what he was saying. He hurried on, and the passenger door was opening when he got there.

Alan jerked it all the way open, nearly pulling Charlie out with it, as he still had his hand on the interior handle. "Charlie! What happened? Are you sure you're all right?" Charlie seemed to shrink away from him back into the vehicle. Alan was going in after him, if he had to — if he could, but someone had a hand on his shoulder, and was pulling him back. He whipped his head around to bark at whoever it was, and recognized Don.

"Dad. Give him some space."

Alan finally understood the words and looked at Don in confusion. He started to turn back toward the SUV, but Don pulled at him again. "Seriously, Dad. He's all right, physically."

The way Don added that last word — 'physically' — managed to sink into Alan's muddled brain. "Physically?"

Don pulled Alan away from the car. "Please go with Cecile, back into the house. I can get Charlie inside."

Alan still resisted, tried to look over his shoulder again, but Don was still pushing him, and now Cecile was dragging at him. "But…"

"Dad. We'll be right there, okay?"

Reluctantly, Alan finally let himself be led into the house, and he stood in the living room with his hands on his hips, staring at the door. Presently, Charlie entered, putting weight on his injured knee but leaning heavily on his crutches. Cecile left Alan's side — he hadn't even realized she was there — and approached Charlie, the nurse in her taking control. "Sit on the couch," she ordered, "let me…"

Charlie interrupted her. "I'm fine. Everybody. The paramedics said I'm fine, I should just see my orthopedist tomorrow. I want to go to bed. Please."

Cecile met Don's eyes, and forced herself to back away. "Of course…"

Alan started forward then. "Please, Charlie, let me at least look at you. You were in a fire…"

Charlie met his father's eyes, and Alan felt a physical blow, as if he had been slapped. He stopped walking, but he was close enough that Charlie could reach out a hand, and touch his arm. "See? Warm. Alive. It's okay, Dad." Reassuring words, but Charlie's exhausted tone belied them. Alan didn't care what anyone else did or said — he leaned in and embraced Charlie, careful not to let himself put too much desperation into it, careful to pull away before he really wanted to. He forced himself to smile at Charlie, who wouldn't meet his eyes again, but was staring at the floor. "You're right, son, you should get some rest, now."

He backed away, a moment that was going on the list of the 10 hardest things he'd ever done in his life. He looked at Don, who nodded in approval and smiled tightly. "Come on, Charlie," his eldest son said, a hand lightly on his brother's back. "I'll help you upstairs."

Charlie stiffened a little at the touch, and everyone in the room knew he wanted to deny Don any further access. But Charlie was truly exhausted, and in pain, and he wasn't at all sure he could conquer the stairs by himself, so he nodded silently and let Don help.

Once at the top of the stairs, Don started to angle toward Charlie's room, but Charlie aimed for the bathroom. Don, who had been to the side and slightly behind Charlie, moved around in front and looked at him questionably. Charlie immediately dropped his eyes. "I smell like smoke. I want to take a shower. I've got it from here, thanks."

Don crossed his arms. "Charlie, I want you to tell me what you were doing at that club."

Charlie sighed, still regarding his tennis shoes. "I gave my statement to Colby and David."

Don shook his head. "I'm not asking as an FBI agent. I'm asking as your brother."

Charlie finally looked at him, and his gaze was defiant. "What do people usually do at bars, Don? I was having a drink."

Don raised his eyebrows. "On a Thursday night."

Charlie became defensive. "You know I'm not carrying a full load at Cal Sci this semester, I don't have any classes tomorrow. Besides, I knew the house would be…full, tonight."

Don frowned. "Charlie, this is your house. Of course you're always welcome…"

Charlie sneered. "Right. At a double date. You and Cecile, Dad and his broccoli discovery, and me. Pathetic, alone, broken, pissed off and generally just the life of the party."

Don, confronted with Charlie's uncharacteristic and unexpected sarcasm, actually took a step back. "Charlie…I…we never…"

Charlie took another step toward the bathroom. "Just…forget it. I'm not…myself."

That was probably the most honest thing he'd said all night, Don found himself thinking, as he stepped aside to allow Charlie room to pass. "I'm not through with this conversation," he warned his brother's back.

Charlie stopped his progress, but he didn't address what Don had just said. Instead, his voice once again adopted the polite, detached tone that had become all-too-familiar over the last few months. "Thank-you for coming to get me." He started his slow walk again, his shoulders slumped over the crutches, and Don watched him. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, if Charlie would ever be himself again.