A/N: Here's your offering for the day. Mixing work and birthday today, so make this last a while! Thanks for reading.
Chapter 5
Charlie agreed to wait until morning to leave, and Don was back early on Saturday to help him load up his car. Lifting Charlie's duffle into the trunk, he spied a new cane, there, and for some reason almost felt as if it were hitting him. Logically, he knew that Charlie would need that within the week, and that a week wasn't that long, but still...Charlie would leave with crutches, and not come back until he could walk with the cane again. It made it seem more permanent, somehow.
"I'll go get your laptop," he said. "Where is it?"
Charlie had already placed his crutches in the back seat of the car, and now he leaned against the driver's door. "I'm not taking it," he answered.
Don looked at him in surprise. "Really?"
"Really," Charlie confirmed. "No cell, either."
Now, that was just too much. Don started to speak firmly. "Charlieā¦"
"I'll call," Charlie interrupted. "Every Sunday evening, while you're here having dinner with Dad anyway. So I can talk to you both." He could tell Don wasn't really happy with that arrangement. "I promise," he added.
Don sighed. "So is there more in the house?"
Charlie shook his head at the same time that Alan appeared, dragging a cooler down the kitchen steps behind him. "Oh, shit..." Charlie intoned, and Don quickly moved to his father and picked up the cooler. He added it to Charlie's trunk, then slammed the lid.
"There's plenty of ice in there, so it should be fine for at least a few days," Alan was saying to his youngest. "A few yogurts, and protein bars, a couple of sandwiches from leftover meatloaf...you know you need to eat frequently. Oh, and a 6-pack of water."
Charlie decided not to mention that he'd never be able to get the cooler out of the trunk again. Even the cane required one hand. Instead he tried to smile - he hoped he was succeeding; he could barely remember what it felt like, anymore. "Thanks, Dad. Really." He looked from the sad face of his father to the concerned face of his brother, and didn't understand the anger he could feel building again. He had to get out of here fast. "Guys. Lighten up. It's a vacation."
Alan flashed a brief smile, then. "You'll be careful. Especially the first few days, with your leg."
Charlie opened the driver's door. "I will."
The door slammed shut again when Don pushed into it to wrap Charlie in an embrace. Charlie tried to keep himself from screaming. He had to leave. He had to leave. At least Don kept it short and sweet, and then his father did the same. When he let go of Charlie he opened the door and held it open for him.
Charlie lowered himself carefully inside. Don took the door from his father and closed it, then leaned into the open window. "Every Sunday night, Chuck. And whenever you want. You can call me anytime, okay?"
Charlie nodded, not looking at him, and started the engine.
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Despite his assurances to Alan that he could drive, the hours he had spent in the car yesterday had cost Charlie dearly. His knee was still so swollen after a night's rest that he was afraid at first he wouldn't be able to get his jeans on; then, once he had, that either his Dad or Don would notice and physically restrain him from leaving.
Now, even as the house still faded in his rear-view mirror, he knew he would be heeding his father's caution about not going too far, at first. Besides his knee, he was just...tired. He hadn't slept well the night of the fire, or last night. Thinking about it, he realized he hadn't slept well for two months, which was when the doctor had stopped his sleeping pill prescription. Charlie had asked him to - returning to work even part-time was proving too difficult. He couldn't keep his mind on his lectures, he couldn't seem to care when a student came to him during office hours with a problem. He had been hoping that the pills were responsible, hoping that if he stopped taking them, it would get easier.
Instead, within a month, tired of lying awake all night and too disinterested to get up and actually work on something, he had started his tour of L.A. bars. Look where that had led. He should have kept taking the damn pills.
He gave up less than 75 miles later. He was still on the outskirts of L.A. He spotted a small, roadside motel that dated from the 70s sprawled around a convenience store, and he stopped. He grew increasingly sleepy as he paid in advance for two nights in a kitchenette unit, and talked the manager into taking the cooler and his duffle inside. It was almost more than he could do, transferring the food into the refrigerator.
It was more than he could do to take his clothes off.
Less than three hours after Charlie had left the house, he was sprawled, fully clothed and in a dead sleep, across the sagging double bed.
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When he awoke, Charlie was disoriented and sweaty, the room hot and stuffy. He could reach the window air conditioning unit from the bed, and he turned it on full blast, then lay and stared at the clock radio on the nightstand. He was certain, from the heaviness of his limbs and the cotton in his head, that he had been asleep for more than four hours. The other option, however, was 28, and that couldn't be right either. He slithered off the bed like a drunken, boneless person, lurched into the bathroom and swayed over the toilet. Finished, he washed his hands, splashed cold water on his face and stumbled to the kitchenette, where he ate both of Alan's meatloaf sandwiches standing over the tiny refrigerator.
Draining a bottle of water, it occurred to him that he was using neither crutches nor a cane. As if the realization itself was some sort of curse, he felt his knee buckle, and he barely made it the few feet back to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress and looked around the room for the crutches. He leaned over and felt under the edge of the bed, and found one. Sitting back up, he finally spied the other, leaning against the wall in a corner of the kitchenette. How did it get there? The logical explanation was a resurrection of the somnambulism that had plagued him in early childhood, and again in late adolescence. He sighed. Great. Sleep-crutching. Just what he needed.
Charlie stood again, gathered his crutches and left the room, walking slowly to the motel manager's office. Once there, he found out for sure that it was Sunday and paid for another night's lodging. He could imagine how he appeared - unsure of the day, hair wild around his head, two days' growth of beard, clothes looking like he'd slept in them - but as long as his credit card cleared, it didn't seem to phase the manager any.
He left the office and made his way back to his room, noticing for the first time the "Do No Disturb" door hanger. He had no memory of putting that out, but it was fine with him. He was exhausted again, already.
He settled at the head of the bed, near the phone. It was early - not yet 5 - but he called Don's cell anyway.
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Don recognized the ring tone and answered his cell immediately. "Charlie! How's it going?"
His brother sounded...more than tired. Weary. "Okay."
"Where are you? How far did you get?"
"Not far. Got tired and stopped."
"That's good...smart. Not like you're on a deadline or anything, right?"
Charlie ignored that. "Are you at Dad's yet?"
"Yeah, here he is - about ready to rip the cell out of my hand. Take it easy, Bro. And Charlie - call me anytime, okay?"
When Charlie didn't respond, he handed the phone to Alan. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes...I just promised to call."
Alan sighed in relief. "Good, good...thank-you, Charlie."
"Ate your sandwiches, Dad. They were..." Charlie was interrupted by a yawn. "...sorry. Great."
Alan smiled. "Sounds like you should turn in early."
"Plan to."
"Don's right, son, you can call anytime. Be safe. We love you."
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Charlie managed a small "You, too," before he hung up the phone. He had been exhausted before the phone call, and now he was as tired as he had been before his 28-hour nap.
He didn't want to hear about love.
Love cost too much.
His father's love was like the tentacles of an octopus, pulling at him, no matter where he was. His brother's love was solid, but intense, almost frightening. Charlie's love for them, that was the worst part. It was more than he could bear. To know he was responsible for the disappointment and worry etched on Alan's face; to know Don's escape from death, when he was blown off that roof, was an anomaly not likely to be repeatedā¦to know that the next time, he would lose him...
Love had fooled him. Trusting that love would survive if it was meant to, he had let Amita go.
He slid down onto the bed, curling up as tightly as his knee would allow, and for the second time in as many days, fell asleep with his clothes on.
