"How are you feeling?" Charlie asked Don early the next morning. His brother had been sound asleep when he and his father had arrived at the hospital, so Alan had left them alone while he went to get some breakfast. Don had woken not five minutes after the older man had left, and Charlie was trying to gauge his big brother's condition.

"No ice."

Charlie's brow furrowed. "Come again?"

"No... ice." Don frowned and waived his hand uselessly. "Ice."

"I'm sorry, bro," he said ruefully. "I really am. How about this – are you still feeling hot today?"

Don wearily nodded.

"Pain?" Slight nod. "Tired." 'What-do-you-think' look. "Let me call the nurse and see about some pain meds. Maybe something for the fever again."

"Want not here. Bad... ice."

Charlie's heart broke as he tried to decipher Don's words, but to no avail. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I don't understand."

Don weakly raised his hand and thumped the splinted wrist against Charlie's arm in an attempt to sooth his little brother. Nodding, he gave Charlie a big smile.

Charlie felt the dam holding his emotions in start to crack. No! You will be strong for your brother. You will not break down. He met Don's trusting eyes, so filled with love and gratitude, and suddenly he couldn't hold it back any longer. "Don," he whispered tearfully as he pressed his forehead against his brother's good shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"Charlie," Don hoarsely whispered. "Charlie."

The young man continued to lean into his brother, drawing comfort in the fact that Don was alive and breathing, telling himself that together they could overcome anything else – aphasia included. It was a tough argument, but Charlie made himself repeat the thought over and over until his strength returned and the tears dried up. Sitting up straight in his chair, he gave Don the most confident, assured look he could offer.

"I'm okay now, bro," he said. "Just needed a moment." Reaching out and grabbing his brother's hand, Charlie met his gaze and said with absolute certainty, "We will beat this, Don. I promise."

The injured man nodded and squeezed the hand in his, understanding his brother's words and saying the one thing he could to express his understanding: "Charlie."

--

Megan sighed and wearily rubbed her forehead. "So, let's recap," she said to her coworkers. "We know Don was taken from the gym, but we don't know why or by whom. The fact that his SUV and personal belongings are where he left them tells me that this was not some sort of robbery gone bad."

"Right," David agreed.

"We know he was attacked somewhere between the gym and Charlie's house, although we can't rule out Charlie's house as the scene of the attack."

"Well," Colby began as he fiddled with a chopstick in his hand. "I've been thinking about that. If he had been attacked at Charlie's, I think we would have seen more disturbances in the back yard and surrounding areas. The amount of blood on the back steps tells us that the head wound was inflicted there, but I'm thinking that his other injuries were sustained somewhere else. Makes more sense about the dragging pattern and the flattened grass. If he was injured, he might not have been able to walk and his attackers would have dragged him through the back gate and dropped him on the ground."

"That does make sense," Megan nodded. "But why take him to Charlie's in the first place? How would they even know to associate him with Charlie?"

"Because they knew him personally?" David suggested.

"But Don said he didn't know these guys," she countered. "I know his memory is a little vague, but he seemed certain of that much."

"What about revenge?" Colby asked. "Maybe a case he and Charlie worked on together and someone wanted to get even. They grab Don, beat him so that he can't fight back and then take him to Charlie's to wait on their other victim."

"Maybe," David replied. "But why didn't they attack Charlie and Alan when they got home?"

"They got tired of waiting? Saw something that spooked them and they took off?" Colby snapped the chopstick in frustration. "Dammit, we just don't know enough."

"Alright," Megan said calmly. "Let's skip the motive for now. Back to the evidence."

"Right," David said as he flipped to the next page of their case file. "Okay, the crime scene techs came up empty on Don's vehicle and no foreign prints or trace evidence on his personal things. There were some stains on his tee shirt – mostly grass and blood – and the blood matches that on the broken glass, so we can assume that it's Don's. The grass is the same type growing in the Eppes backyard, so that doesn't tell us anything either." He sighed and flipped the file closed. "So zilch in the physical evidence category."

"And Rogers – the gym girl – didn't see anything," Colby added. "Sally says they have surveillance cameras, but that they've been broken for months. Nobody else was in the gym at the same time as Don, so we've got no eyewitness accounts of what happened."

"What about NCIC?" Megan asked. "No similar hits?"

"Nothing even close," David answered.

"Okay, guys. There has to be an answer somewhere and we're just overlooking it." Megan checked her watch and turned to her computer. "Let's go through every case that Don and Charlie have worked on for the past… say... six months. See if any of them are promising enough to warrant revenge and then dig a little deeper into those."

"I just had another thought," David told them. "If they were after Charlie and Don and revenge is the motive, maybe someone was out to hurt Alan – by going after both of his sons."

"Not likely," Megan said thoughtfully. "But we don't have anything else to work with. Go talk to Alan and see if he knows of anyone who might want to hurt him." As David turned to leave, Megan stopped him. "Prepare yourself, David. If you see Don... Well… it's tough."

"I'll keep that in mind," he promised.

--

"Handle," Don repeated in frustration. Why is this so damn hard? he wondered to himself. He was bored out of his wits and wanted to watch TV – more specifically, the Dodgers game. But his ability to communicate had significantly worsened and he couldn't seem to get his thoughts across at all, even to Charlie.

Charlie continued to shake his head. "I'm sorry, Don. I don't get it."

God, you stupid idiot! Don silently screamed at himself. You can't even say 'baseball'! You only played it for how many years?

"Calm down, bro. I know the fever's making it harder to talk, but that's only temporary, okay? Just calm down and keep trying it. Gestures, maybe?"

"Handle." Bat, you moron. You can't just say 'bat'? "Round."

"A round handle? Like a doorknob?"

Don closed his eyes and clenched his left hand into a fist. This is so damn frustrating!

"Please calm down, Don. It's okay. A gesture, can you do a gesture?"

Don took his right arm and swung it like he was swinging a bat, but he knew without the use of both arms the motion wasn't very clear. As Charlie studied him, Don pointed to the TV.

"I know," his younger brother nodded. "You want to watch TV." His face suddenly lit up. "Baseball! You want to watch the game!"

Don nodded eagerly.

"I should have guessed that already," he said as he turned on the TV and surfed through the channels until he landed on the Dodgers game.

"Can't." Don closed his eyes and fought back tears as, yet again, he wasn't even close to saying what he'd wanted to tell Charlie – that he shouldn't blame himself. He felt a gentle hand on his cheek and dragged his eyes open to find his little brother standing beside him.

"Hey," he said softly, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes and amusement in his voice. "I finally figure that out what you're telling me and turn the game on, and you close your eyes? How's that for gratitude?"

Don knew what he was trying to do, so he forced a short laugh from his mouth and tried to look ashamed. Not too hard to do, given how emotional I seem to be lately. Geez, Eppes, get a grip already.

"Don," his brother spoke again. "You know that I was teasing, right?"

Don nodded and pounded the bed with his right hand, wincing as the swollen wrist began to throb. "Hate. No... done, done." Charlie's hand cupped his cheek, the touch warm and soothing, and Don found himself leaning into it while cursing himself for needing to do so. "Done!" he angrily yelled.

"Shh," his little brother whispered. "You've got to stay calm. Too much stress isn't good for you. Remember – it's the fever making it worse. We were doing pretty good before that, don't you think?"

"Hate," Don mumbled. "Not before then same... always." Over the blood rushing in his ears, Don was vaguely aware of his heart monitor speeding up.

"Shh… please, Don. Stay calm. For me." Charlie's hand was moving through his hair now, a gentle massage of his scalp. Don couldn't help himself as he started to grow drowsy. "That's it, bro. I'm here for you. You're going to be okay."

"Done," he murmured again, hating the plaintive sound of his voice. "Charlie."

"Right here, Don. Just get some sleep now. I'll tell you all about the game later." Don nodded and took a couple of deep breaths as he allowed himself to slip away. The last thing he heard was Charlie's voice, full of laughter as he said, "I'll even make it a fairy tale and tell you all about how they clobbered their opponents."

--

Charlie watched Don as he fell into a deep sleep. His heart ached to see his big brother so frustrated and emotional, but Doctor Mayfield had warned them about this earlier.

"One of the hardest parts of the aphasia is the emotional aspect of it," he told Charlie and Alan. "Most patients tend to have sudden changes in mood – bouts of extreme anger or moments of intense sadness – for no apparent reason. He'll experience embarrassment at the way he talks and eventually guilt that he's putting his family through what – in his eyes – is too much. Aphasia patients tend to tire easily just from the sheer effort of communicating and I'm certain each one of you can remember a time when you were so tired that you thought you'd reached your breaking point. Now, take that feeling and pretend that you weren't capable of telling anyone – of 'talking your emotions out' – and you'll have an idea as to what Don is going through."

"Don's not really a big believer in talking about his feelings," Alan replied.

"Even so, the option – whether or not he would have chosen it before – is no longer there. It makes him feel isolated. And that's on top of the isolation he feels just because he can't ask you something as simple as, 'Can you...' or, 'I need to...'."

"I see," Alan nodded wisely.

"I think it goes without saying that Don – due to all of that stress – is in danger of becoming very depressed. We like to wait and see how he deals with it, but anti-depressants are a strong possibility in the future. Hopefully on a temporary basis only, as he either gets better or learns to cope with what could be a permanent condition."

"Permanent," Charlie repeated quietly. "I just can't wrap my brain around that."

Mayfield nodded. "That's the hard part for the family. You have to accept the possibility, because you are the only ones who can help Don accept it if and when the time comes." He pulled a notepad from his lab coat pocket and wrote something down before tearing the page off and handing it to Alan. "This is a family support group for aphasia patients. I strongly suggest that you two check it out and sooner, rather than later." He put the pad back into his pocket and continued. "I've seen how you both act around him and I've seen how he reacts to your presence. Yours is one of the closest, most supportive family bonds I've seen in a long time. I think that will be the key factor in Don's recovery, so just keep doing what you've been doing. Don't ever let him think that he's alone, even for a second."

Alan gave the doctor a wry grin. "Trust me, we err on the side of 'hovering'. At least that's what Don's griped in the past."

Mayfield let out a chuckle and grinned ear to ear. "That's what he needs now."

"Charlie?"

The professor looked up as his father entered the room. "Hey, Dad."

"How is he? Is the fever down?"

"Not really, no. His speech is still more complicated than before."

"Oh," Alan sighed as he took a seat in 'his' chair. Not knowing what to say, he opted to try and lighten the moment. "I think this chair's got a permanent impression of my rear end in it."

Charlie laughed quietly, not wanting to wake his slumbering brother. "How was lunch with Stan?"

"Good." Alan frowned. "Awkward, actually. He sincerely cares about Don, but I just hate having to go into detail over and over again with everyone that asks about him. It gets pretty tiring."

"I know. Larry's been great, fielding all of the questions and well wishes from the staff and my students so that I don't have to keep repeating it."

"He is a good friend, Charlie. Like family."

"That he is," the younger man nodded. "Speaking of..."

"Oh, that's right," Alan said. "You're meeting him for lunch today, too. Go on, Charlie. I can take care of your brother."

"Thanks, Dad," the young man responded as he stood up to leave. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You'll do no such thing," Alan informed him. "You need time away from this place just as much as I do. I can look after Don and I promise to call if anything happens." Seeing the hesitant look on his son's face, Alan stood and made a shooing motion. "Go before I push you out the door myself."

"Alright," Charlie laughed. "I know when to admit defeat. I'll see you after a while."

TBC