Megan spotted Charlie waiting for her in the hallway and frowned as he rushed to meet her.
"Charlie?" she asked with concern. "Is everything alright? Don didn't take a turn for the worse, did he?"
"No," he quickly assured her. "I just wanted to go over some things with you before you talk to him."
"Oh," she sighed in relief. "Sure thing, Charlie. What's up?"
"I just wanted to make sure that you understand – I mean, really understand – that most of what he says isn't going to make any sense. I've gotten kind of good at interpreting what he's saying, but even I only get about half of it right. Whenever possible, yes or no questions are better."
"Okay, I'll keep that in mind."
"He tires very quickly and even more so as he gets frustrated." He looked at her and waited until she indicated that she understood. "He doesn't seem to remember anything about what happened, so he's bound to get frustrated because he knows how important this is."
"Got it. So no pushing him, right?"
Charlie gave her a thankful grin. "Yes, exactly. The most important thing, in my opinion, is to keep in mind that he does understand what you're saying. So please – no matter what – please don't talk about him like he's a child or like he's not there."
"Never," Megan swore to him.
"Good," Charlie nodded in approval. "Oh, and when I say he's had enough... I mean it – the interview is over."
"Of course."
"Then come with me." Charlie led her down the hallway and lightly tapped on Don's door.
"Come in," Alan called.
The young man led Megan into the room and took his seat at the head of the hospital bed. She stood and looked at Don, her heart aching at the numerous bandages, wires, and tubing sprouting from his body. Oh, Don, she thought sadly. What happened to you?
"Hey, Don," she beamed as she took a seat in the empty chair at the foot of the bed – placed there just for her, she suspected. She glanced back and forth between Don and his family, each one sitting on either side of him. "Are you doing okay?"
Don shrugged. "Maybe."
"Well, I know Charlie and your father are taking good care of you."
"Charlie," Don repeated with a smile on his face. He concentrated and slowly formed the next words, "Alan. Good."
"Yes, they are," Megan agreed. "Well, as much as I'd love to chitchat, I do have some stuff I need to ask you. Is that okay, Don?"
The injured man darted a quick glance to Charlie, almost as if to make sure he was ready, too, and then nodded to Megan.
"Do you remember being attacked?" she asked softly.
Don nodded and shook his head, finally shrugging. "Pain. House Charlie... pain hurt."
"So you remember being hurt at Charlie's house? Do you know if that was where someone hurt you, or if that's just where you remember winding up?"
Don gave her a nervous, confused expression. "Pain, house Charlie," he repeated again, more slowly.
Megan glanced at Charlie who was intently studying Don's face. "So you're not sure?" he prodded.
"Charlie," Don nodded.
The younger man glanced at Megan and smiled. "That's his way of saying, 'You got it'."
"Appropriate," she teased the young genius. "Don, did you go to Charlie's house?"
Don hesitated. "There." He frowned and shook his head. "Was... there."
"Did someone take you there?" Megan dug for more information.
"Men," he said. "Men... house pain. Pain Don... bad."
"Some men took you there?" she clarified.
"Maybe," Don nodded.
"And hurt you there?"
"Pain house," he sighed, looking at Charlie for help in clarifying his response.
"Sorry, bro," Charlie whispered as he soothingly rubbed Don's shoulder. "I'm not sure of that one."
"That's okay," Megan assured them both. "Did you know these men before they hurt you?" Don shook his head. "How many were there?"
"One." Don quickly shook his head. "Twenty-two. Seventeen." He turned to Charlie with a complete look of despair on his face.
Megan held back a sigh and smiled encouragingly. "Hey, Don, try this for me." At his nod she continued. "See if you can picture it in your head and point to the men. Can you do that?"
Don nodded and obediently closed his eyes. His face tensed and he raised his right hand. He jabbed it once toward his right, again toward his right, once toward the foot of the bed, again, again... He opened his eyes and looked hopefully at Megan.
"Five," she told him. "That was great, Don – very helpful. Now, do you remember where you went that day, after you talked to Charlie about the movie?"
"Alone," Don whispered. "Alone... movie not."
"Right," Charlie encouraged him. "You didn't go because you said you wanted some alone time."
Don smiled, pleased that he seemed to have communicated that point efficiently.
"Don," Megan called, waiting until he was looking at her again. "Do you know where you went?"
His brow furrowed as he tried to remember. "Pretty... quiet... alone. Hard... heavy." He gritted his teeth in frustration and finally curled his right arm upwards to flex his bicep. "Hard."
"Muscles? Hard muscles?" Megan thought for a minute. "A gym? You went to a gym?"
Don nodded and sank into his pillows, panting for breath.
"Do you remember what happened there?" Megan pressed, much to Charlie's displeasure.
"Empty," Don said quietly. He weakly raised his right arm and awkwardly tapped his temple. "Empty."
"That's all he remembers, Megan," Charlie translated. He gave her a look that she wanted to ignore, but she had made a deal with him.
"Thanks, Don," she smiled, rising from the chair. "You did great. Oh, and Colby and David said to tell you hi and to get better soon. There's going to be a knock-down drag-out over who gets your desk if you don't hurry up and get back."
He laughed at her words, his eyes holding that familiar twinkle for the first time since Megan had entered the room. He raised a hand to say goodbye and was fast asleep before she left. Once outside Megan leaned against the wall and covered her face in her hands as the truth slammed into her – that Don might never be returning to the FBI.
--
"That didn't go too badly," Charlie whispered over Don's sleeping form to his father.
"I know," Alan agreed as he watched the rise and fall of his oldest son's chest. "I just hate seeing how tough this is on him."
"Yeah," the younger man whispered. He sat in silence as he studied his brother's body. The dislocated shoulder had been set and bound and Mayfield had reported that it was healing nicely. Don's right wrist was also healing quite well, which was why Charlie had to continuously remind Don not to scratch at the thick, white bandaging. The bruising on the kidneys was still deep and painful, but not severe enough to affect his renal function or have any long term effects. The broken ribs were mending as well, but still caused Don a great deal of pain. It was hard to watch his brother's face when the medications started to wear off, because the agony from the bruising and the broken ribs would make him restlessly shift in the bed, silently imploring his family to make it stop.
Charlie reached out and placed a hand on Don's hip, lightly rubbing his thumb across the rough material of the hospital gown in a soothing movement. He allowed his gaze to travel to Don's face, and closed his eyes as he took in the layers of gauze cocooning Don's head. Charlie was confident that his brother would bounce back from all of his injuries except this one. And he couldn't bear to think what life would be like for his strong, intelligent, always in control big brother if he didn't regain the ability to communicate. He might not always read people accurately, but the young genius had noticed the look of hopelessness in Megan's eyes right before she left, which had scared him almost more than anything else about the whole, horrible situation.
"Charlie?"
The young man looked up at the sound of his father's voice. "Sorry," he responded. "Just thinking."
"Yeah," Alan nodded wearily. "I've been doing a lot of that, too." He lightly rubbed Don's upper arm, smiling as Don let out a contented sigh. "I want to know who did this to your brother," he whispered, his voice hard and cold. "And I want them to pay."
"Megan will catch them, Dad. She wants them as badly as we do."
"Do you think..." Alan trailed off and shook his head. "Never mind."
"What?" Charlie insisted as he leaned forward in the chair.
"Nothing, Charlie."
"Talk to me, Dad." The young genius stared intently at his father until the older man reluctantly met his gaze. "Please."
"Do you think maybe he got hurt and..." Alan's voice broke with emotion and he took a deep breath to calm himself. "And that maybe he instinctively came to the house looking for us to help?"
"We don't know that's what happened," Charlie quietly reminded him.
"Still... The thought of your brother needing help so badly that he tried to break in and we weren't there for him..." The older man swiped a hand across his face. "That's a lot of guilt to live with."
"What?" Charlie asked in shock. "He knew we weren't home, Dad. He knew about the movie, remember?"
"Of course," Alan snapped. "But I'm talking about instinct, son. Pure instinct that drove him to seek us out and we weren't there for him."
"You can't think like that," Charlie begged. "Especially considering we don't know what happened."
"I suppose," the older man sighed in defeat.
"You know what is important, Dad? That we're here for him now – and he knows it. Just keep telling yourself that and everything else will fall into place." In a gesture reminiscent of his brother, Charlie stretched his hand over Don and wiggled his fingers, silently asking his father to reach out to him. Alan slipped his hand into his youngest son's and held on for dear life. "See?" the young professor asked, pointedly looking at their joined hands where they lightly rested on Don's stomach. "We're together now – and that's all that matters."
TBC