Chapter 12

He was surprised how easily it all came out.

This was not the first time in his career he had been required to receive a psychiatric clearance before he was returned to field duty, but it was the first time he could remember feeling as if he needed one.

He quickly told the story: his annoyance with Charlie when he had to pull over; his confusion when the blast tossed his SUV into the air and down again; his need to get to his brother when comprehension finally dawned on him and his absolute terror when he found him. At the doctor's request, he described the scene in detail, and when he had finished he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I can't stop seeing it, and it doesn't make any sense to me. I've been an Agent over 12 years. I have seen shit. I have seen bodies, in conditions you can't even imagine. Children…People knifed, shot, bludgeoned, drowned, poisoned, starved…" He leaned forward in his chair earnestly. "Even bombing victims. I've seen bombing vics before."

The doctor tilted her head a little. "You've seen dismembered bodies?"

"Of course." Don's face closed and he settled back in the chair. "My first damn case in Albuquerque literally came to me in pieces. Delivered by the U.S. Postal Service."

Her eyebrows raised. "That must have been horrific."

Don nodded briefly. "Look," he said, a little frustrated, "I've done my time on the couch on that one already."

She looked down briefly at his file, before her on the desk. "Yes, I see that you had six months of sessions with a Bureau psychiatrist. Still, what happened to your brother must have brought back terrible memories."

Don shook his head. "I…don't think that's it. I mean sure, yeah, it's flashed into my mind once or twice…but I'm not…" He sighed. "I really don't think that's it."

The doctor nodded. "Not entirely, maybe. A contributing factor in your inability to move on."

"Contributing." Don considered that. "Fine. Whatever. What else?"

The hint of a smile played at her mouth. "You sound as if you're checking things off a list, Agent."

Don was here willingly, but he was not in the mood to stay here forever — or to keep coming back for months. "I just want to figure out what's going on," he stated, staring at her levelly.

The doctor stood and crossed her arms, paced a little near the window behind her desk. Then she moved to the front of the desk, joining Don in the grouping of chairs he had chosen when he had first entered, and picked one that largely faced him.

"Agent Eppes." Her voice was quiet. "In all that you have seen…have you ever been confronted with your brother as the victim, before?"

Don started to protest immediately. "It can't be that simple. Don't you think I thought of that?"

"It can be that simple, Don. As Agents, a certain detachment in trained into us. Even then, there are cases that get to us along the way – such as the one in Albuquerque – and those cases toughen us more. However -- no training exists to prepare us to see someone we love as the victim." She let Don sit with that a moment, then continued. "You've told me you have increasing difficulty looking at his bandaged arm. What do you see when you look at it?"

"Baseball," Don answered, and she lifted a brow again. "I played in the minors for a while, and I loved baseball as a kid. Played all the time, and throwing balls around with Charlie was one of the only things I didn't resent my parents asking me to do with him. One of them would say 'Go play catch with your brother', and I was gone. And I think of his bike. Charlie just got his driver's license last year – he didn't feel any pressure, because he loves riding his bike. Even though he has a car now, he still rides his bike at least half the time in good weather…but bikes have hand brakes….Oh. I remembered fishing, once. It just flashed through my mind, this picture of him standing hip deep in a river, reeling in a Salmon." His voice had been increasing in volume and anger as he spoke. "It's not right, that he may not be able to do any of that again. He does not deserve that. He's a good person."

"So you dwell on his potential losses. And your potential loss?"

Don looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Ten people were killed in that blast, Agent. You told me that Charlie escaped major head injury by landing on one of the bodies. Are you going to sit there and tell me that thinking about what Charlie may have lost doesn't remind you of what you may have lost that day? There is no justification for your brother's injury. Nor is there any good reason he was not one of the fatalities."

Don paled, but didn't respond. The doctor looked at the clock on the desk. "I have another appointment, Agent. I'd like you to consider what I've said. I would like to see you a few more times, and discuss exposure therapy with you."

Don was still reeling, and didn't even care that he was not being immediately returned to field duty. He looked at her a little frantically. "Can I call your secretary later, to schedule the appointments? I have to go see my brother."

She smiled. "I think that's a very good idea, Agent."

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