Charlie walked through the front door and tossed his keys on the table, immediately looking to the living room couch where he knew he would find his brother waiting for him. "Don!" he greeted.

"Charlie," Don smiled back. "How… your day?"

"It was good. How was yours?"

"Good," Don told him. "Talked to Dad."

"Dad…" Charlie slowly grinned. "I like hearing that word. Good for you!" He dropped onto the couch next to his brother and stared at him happily. "Anything else?"

Don gave a soft laugh. "Learned patience not…" He trailed off and held up four fingers.

"Four," Charlie told him.

The older man nodded. "Not four letters. Word."

"Oh yeah," Charlie grinned. "That sounds like Dad. Where is he?"

"Cooking." His older brother's eyes twinkled. "Steak."

"I should have known." The younger man nudged his brother's arm. "It's your turn to do the dishes, you know."

"Injured," Don tried to protest.

"Right," Charlie snorted. "You've used up that card already."

"Chuck mean."

"Donald sneaky."

Don grinned at the light banter and relaxed against the couch. "Work on speaking."

"Sure," his younger brother agreed. "Hmm, what should we work on today?"

"Case stuff. Agent."

"You and Dad really did have a talk," Charlie smiled. "I'm so glad. Okay, agent. You work for the…?"

"FBI."

"That stands for?"

"Federal… Bureau… In… In…" Don cocked an eyebrow.

"Investigation," Charlie finished, making sure to speak each syllable slowly and clearly.

"Investi… gation. Federal Bureau… of… Investigation."

"You got it, bro. Now, what's your title?"

"Super Agent."

"Close," Charlie said. "It does start with an 's', but…" He stopped speaking as Don started to laugh.

"Kidding, Charlie! Joke."

The young man's eye twinkled. "A joke, Don?"

"Funny!"

"Yeah," Charlie chuckled. "Very funny and music to my ears. I've missed that."

"Me too," Don said as he grew solemn again. "Good as new soon."

"Careful, Don," the professor warned.

"What?"

"You're starting to sound a lot like Dad."

"And that's a bad thing, why?" Alan asked as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his hands on his hips as he stared at his youngest son.

"Umm..." Charlie mumbled as he tried to come up with a good answer.

"Busted," Don whispered with a wink.

"You could have told me he was standing there," Charlie whispered back.

"Not good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because…" Don casually hooked a thumb in their father's direction as the older man spoke.

"I think – just for that, smarty pants – you should do the dishes tonight."

"That why." Don grinned and stood up, playfully mussing Charlie's hair.

--

"Got the search warrant," Megan called to her coworkers as she hopped out of her vehicle.

"What took so long?" Colby groused as he nodded at the crime scene tech to open Wilcox's door.

"He ran from a Federal agent," Megan said. "But he didn't shoot at you or threaten you in anyway. You were coming to question him as a witness, remember? Not a suspect, so you didn't even have an arrest warrant."

"I think we had probable cause," David told her.

"I know, and I would tend to agree with you," she nodded. "But, do you want to take a chance that Don's attacker walks on a technicality?"

"No," David said. "Good call."

The three agents allowed the crime scene team to enter before following them inside. They glanced around the dimly lit interior, scanning for anything that looked like it could link Wilcox to their friend's attack.

"Check around for the shovel," Megan told the two men. "It has a personalized plaque from Mrs. Eppes on it."

"Now that would be a nice, strong piece of evidence to find." David looked around. "I'll check the yard and trash out back."

Colby made his way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "Guy lives off beer and pizza," he remarked as he closed the door and checked out the cabinets. "Not much in the way of dishes, either."

"And I thought all gang bangers had dinner at home every night," Megan sarcastically drawled.

"Ha ha," Colby shot back mirthlessly. "My point is that I don't think this is where Wilcox spends the majority of his time. I'm willing to bet he has another, less official residence somewhere else."

"Like a YK headquarters?"

"Yeah," he said as he joined her in the living room. "Maybe an apartment in a relative's name or something." He lifted the cushions and cocked his head. "Although it seems that he does believe in protection."

Megan peered over his shoulder and shook her head at the assortment of automatic weapons hidden in the sofa. "How original," she remarked dryly.

"Agent Reeves," the head crime scene tech called.

"What have you got, Sam?" she asked as she followed him to the bedroom.

"Lots and lots of ingredients used to cut drugs." He pointed at the assortment he and his team had collected so far. "Looks like he was expecting quite a shipment."

"Or he believes in being prepared," Colby said as he let out a low whistle.

"Bag it all and send LAPD a heads up," Megan told Sam. "Chances are they already know about this guy, but a little interdepartmental sharing never hurts." She motioned Colby to follow her and they headed outside, where they met David on the sidewalk. "Find anything?"

"Lots of pizza boxes," he grumbled. "No sign of a shovel, though."

"He probably tossed it, if that was even what they used on Don," Colby suggested.

"I know," she sighed. "Let's get Wilcox's name and description out to the locals as a 'person of interest'. If the gang unit is on to him, maybe they'll know where his other hangout is."

--

The next two days were hectic for all of the Eppes men. Charlie was busy teaching his classes and speaking with Lieutenant Walker on the phone almost every hour, trying to help him get his operation lined up. Friday morning Charlie gave up, sent his students home to start on an early weekend and went down to police headquarters because that was easier than answering his cell every five minutes.

Alan's days were filled with meetings with Stan and their latest client, a condo developer who wanted to see something 'original and breathtaking'. Alan and Stan would draw up a plan, fax it to the customer and then have him call back to say that it looked good, but there was 'just something missing'. One of them would go to the client's office, take notes and then come back weary and frustrated so that the two men could practically start over. As much as Alan didn't want to leave his son alone, he found himself having to just that as the client got increasingly demanding.

Don enjoyed the solitude at first but it slowly became unwelcome. He desperately wanted to work on his speech, but with his family so busy and his team working on his case, he was left with no one to talk to. He once again started to feel that a complete recovery was just a dream that he would never be able to attain, which sent him back down the path toward depression. Had his family been home they undoubtedly would have seen the signs but Don had a lot of time alone to practice covering it up. He'd put on a cheerful face until his father and brother left the house and then drag himself upstairs where he would spend the day lying in bed.

Late Friday night found Don alone in the house, digging through the fridge as he looked for supper.

"Hello!" he heard his brother's voice call out. "Anybody home?"

Yeah, like I can really leave the house on my own, Don thought bitterly. Some cop would probably pick me up and throw me in the drunk-tank or loony bin.

"There you are," his little brother said as he joined him in the kitchen. "You cooking?"

"Looking."

"Let me know if I can help," he offered. "I'm starving."

Don ignored him as he rifled through the vegetable drawer. He gave a sigh and decided that vegetable soup was the only thing he felt like making. He started placing the ingredients on the counter and rolled his eyes as his brother spoke.

"Vegetable soup? Sounds good. Can I help?"

Don shook his head. Believe it or not, I can do some things myself. May not ever talk normally again, or get to be a field agent again, but I can cook by myself.

"Don?" Charlie asked, his voice full of concern. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Don said shortly.

"You seem tense."

"Not." Don began chopping the vegetables on the cutting board and dumping them into a pot. A few minutes later he had the soup cooking and a pleasant aroma filled the house.

"Smells good," Charlie remarked as he took an exaggerated whiff.

"Can cook," Don snapped, instantly hating himself for giving in to his emotions.

"I know," Charlie said soothingly. "I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't." He stood and moved to lean next to Don against the counter. "What's going on, Don?"

Don shook his head and started to leave but Charlie grabbed his arm.

"Please… talk to me."

"No." Don yanked his arm loose and tried to move but his little brother stepped in front of him and pinned him against the counter.

"Talk to me," he pleaded.

"Now?" Don snapped. "No."

"What's wrong? Did I do something to hurt you?" The younger man placed his hands on his brother's shoulders and gently squeezed. "Talk to me. Whatever it is, I want to help."

Feelings of guilt suddenly sprang into his head. Of course you want to help, Buddy. You and Dad both, but you've got your own lives that you need to live. And my being here and being so needy is only going to hold you back. I should just face that fact and move on with my life – just go back to my apartment and face my future, or lack of one.

"Don?" Charlie's worried voice broke into his thoughts. "Don, you're scaring me."

"Sorry," Don mumbled. "Bad… Sorry."

"What's bad? You're not bad. Talk to me."

Don gently removed Charlie's hands and gave his brother a stern look, deciding that it was time to let his family move on. "No. No more." He stepped around Charlie and moved to the doorway.

"Don?"

But the older man would not stop – just kept walking away from his brother – until he was upstairs, locked away in the solitude of his bedroom.

TBC