Chapter 13

The ER physician eventually cleared Charlie's head CT, deciding that stress and lack of nutritional input were responsible for his symptoms. He had the cafeteria send up Ensure, of all things, and personally supervised Charlie's consumption of it before he sent him up to ortho for a cast of the simple fracture of his wrist. "You may be waiting a little while," he noted, and handed Charlie a wrapped turkey sandwich that had come up with the Ensure. "Eat this while you're waiting." Seated in a wheelchair again, Charlie looked at the oblong packet, then up to the doctor. "Look, this is an order," the man began, seeing a protest in Charlie's face. "Consider it a prescription."

Charlie wondered briefly why he thought that would make a difference. He had received some Tylenol, and his headache had abated somewhat, but hovered around the edges of his brain gathering strength for a second assault. "I'm just not sure I can do that with one hand," he muttered.

"The orderly I will be sending with you will stay with you," the doctor said, all-business and looking at the orderly and not Charlie. "He can help. And he will not hand you your release papers until you hand him an empty sandwich wrapper."

Charlie had long ago sent a concerned Megan up to Larry, and David off with Colby, who was being admitted for observation. He remembered Colby's advice and paraphrased it. One bite at a time.

All told, it was dinnertime for the patients in the hospital when Charlie finally negotiated his way around carts of food trays, back to Don's room. Time for evening rounds for Dr. Charles Eppes, he thought wryly, as he pushed open the door – and stopped dead when he saw the housekeeper sanitizing the bed Don should be lying in.

Charlie only knew of one reason for the bed to be empty and sanitization to be in progress – the patient was gone. And there were only two places the patient could reasonably go: Home, or the morgue. Those thoughts shot through his brain as rapidly as fornicating bunnies, and within seconds Charlie veered to the bathroom near the door to the corridor and decorated it thoroughly with his turkey sandwich. The toilet seat, unfortunately, had been down.

After the Ensure was also disposed of, Charlie reeled to the sink and looked in the mirror. This couldn't be happening. After all this, after everything, he couldn't lose one of them. He couldn't function for everybody else, without Don. His knees buckled and he slid down to the floor, narrowly missing a puddle of Ensure. He hung his head to his chest and a great, shuddering cry escaped him.

"Oh, my. Are you all right, Mr. Eppes? The housekeeper came to get me…"

Charlie looked up, crying, and recognized one of Don's nurses. "When?" he gasped. "How?"

She looked concerned as she leaned over him and felt his forehead. "No fever… 'when' and 'how' what?"

Charlie hung his head again. "How am I…" His voice hitched. "…I going to tell Dad? My God, Donnie…"

Hands firmly grasped the sides of his face and tilted his head up. The nurse looked directly into his eyes. "No, no, no, no, no. Your brother is fine. He's fine. We moved him to another room."

Charlie threw his casted arm up so fast she had to duck a little to avoid being hit. His fingertips dug into her arm. "What? What?"

She repeated herself. "Don's fine. He's just down the hall in a double room. It was Agent Granger's idea. He's there for observation tonight, and hopefully tomorrow we can move your father up here, and you can quit running back and forth between them."

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe. He felt it when the nurse let got of his face, and heard her straighten up. He kept breathing. Don was fine. Don was alive. When Charlie thought he could stand again, he opened his eyes, and gazed at the destruction around him. "Sorry…"

The nurse smiled. "I'd tell you not to worry about it, but Anna had already sanitized the bathroom. She may be a little put out by this."

"I really am sorry," Charlie said, sounding guilty, and she reached out a hand to help him up.

"I'm just kidding," she assured him. "Anna will be fine." Charlie stood shakily, with her help, and leaned against the counter for a moment. The housekeeper in question passed by the open bathroom door, peered in with an obvious expression of disapproval, and the nurse lowered her voice to whisper to Charlie. "By the way – you got any plans for your firstborn son?"

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Five minutes later, Charlie sat in a chair between Don's and Colby's beds, one leg crossed over the other, neon green cast resting on his knee. Don was awake, although his eyes were closed most of the time, listening to Colby describe the shooting in the field. David had gone to the cafeteria to get Colby a sandwich – he refused to eat the food on the tray – and Megan was still with Larry. When he was finished, Don turned his head slowly to look at him, and spied Charlie instead. "Where's your sling?", he asked.

"I need at least one hand to push the buttons on the elevator," Charlie answered, and Don seemed to see the cast for the first time. He was still foggy.

"Wait. That's new…isn't it?"

Charlie nodded.

"You broke your arm?"

"Wrist," Charlie supplied. Colby listened with interest. He never had heard how that happened.

"When?", Don wondered. "How?" It was an eerie repetition of the questions Charlie himself had been asking just a few minutes earlier.

"This afternoon. I…fell."

"Here? At the hospital?" Don closed his eyes again. "Sue."

Charlie sighed, embarrassed now. "It wasn't their fault. I may have passed out."

"Hmmm?" Don was getting sleepy, but he wanted details and forced his eyes open. "You sick?"

Charlie looked at his knee. "No. I- When you went for your MRI, I got scared, and I turned on the television to distract myself. I saw Colby get shot. Some local station got footage from a tourist's video camera. As the announcer promised, it was 'dramatic footage'. I saw a shotgun come out of the truck window, I saw Colby fly backwards out of camera range – and the next thing I saw was Dr. Headson, and you. You woke up in the middle of the MRI, and you were being a little difficult."

Colby was touched. "You passed out for me? Thanks, kid, nobody's ever done that before. I wonder if I can get my hands on that footage."

Don tried to summon the facial muscles required to glare at him. "It's not funny, Colby. You could have been killed. When I get back the entire team is taking a refresher course on self-defense. If we can't get Merrick to send us to Quantico, we'll set something up at the LAPD police academy."

Colby wiped the smile off his face. "I know, boss, I know. Believe me…" His voice became serious, even grave. "I know." He looked at Charlie. "So you must have tried to stop yourself with your hand," he prompted.

"I guess," Charlie shrugged. "That's what everybody is guessing, anyway."

Don shifted in the bed and Charlie looked up to see his eyes open wider and more clearly than they had yet. "That it? Did they check you out good?"

Charlie smiled. "Oh yeah. I got to the ER while Colby was still there. Agents all over. I was talking to David and Megan, and somebody ran into me…anyway, I passed out again, in the ER. You were unconscious last night, but it was the same doctor who admitted you. He put me through a head CT and everything." He held up his cast. "This is it."

David came back into the room then. He crossed to Colby's bed and put a familiar oblong packet on the rolling table. "Turkey," he said, and Charlie's stomach rolled. He didn't want to see turkey again anytime soon.

He stood. "I'll go check on Dad," he said, and was surprised to see Don pale. "Are you all right?", he asked anxiously.

Don looked at him. "Check on Dad? What does that mean? Is he okay?" He suddenly made a connection he should have made a long time ago -- he hadn't seen his father all day.

Charlie hesitated. Of course Don didn't remember the phone call, he should have anticipated that. Not really any way out now, though, short of out-and-out lying – and Don could always tell when he was lying. "He's got septicemcia," he finally said. "He was admitted last night, too."

Don looked like he was going to try and get up. "Blood poisoning! How did he – help me up, I'm going to see him!"

Charlie easily restrained him with one injured arm. "Not tonight, Don. I'll take you tomorrow, okay?" Don continued to struggle, and David casually wandered closer to his bed.

"Don! Stop struggling, you can't get up tonight. I'll tell Dad you asked after him…" Charlie gave up on diplomacy, reaching the end of his rope a lot quicker than usual. "Look, if you don't stop I'll have the nurse sedate you. Not that it's necessary. Right now I think Larry's 4-year-old niece could take you."

The mention of Larry seemed to make Don think of something, and he suddenly reached up and touched Charlie's fingers below the cast. "Let me get this straight," he said tiredly, "I'm still a little slow…"

"What?"

"Larry has pneumonia and has been here since yesterday morning. I'm here. Dad's here. You saw Colby get shot and you broke your wrist. Does that cover it?"

Charlie started to nod, then stopped himself. "Yes. No. Wait. I also threw up all over your old bathroom when I found the room empty and thought you had died."

He'd been trying to make a joke, but Don's eyes went tender and he rubbed Charlie's fingers. "You okay, Buddy? How have you been coping with this all day?"

At his brother's gentle tone Charlie felt himself swing toward the edge again. He also felt eyes boring into his back, and he turned his head to meet Colby's gaze. Colby was smiling at him, and Charlie reeled himself back in by the time he rotated back to Don. He smiled at his brother, deeply, genuinely. "I'm okay, Donnie. I'm good. All it takes is one foot after the other."