Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Notes: Wow, guys. Thanks for the feedback; seeing so many responses was kind of overwhelming, as I'd intended to keep this a one-shot. I can see the vague outline of something more, so we'll see how it goes. I've got all break to play with this. Thank you for the support! :) Let's hope I don't disappoint.

It was five days before they took me off suicide watch. Today, Don had reluctantly signed the release forms, and Megan had wheeled me out into the Suburban. The restraints had left bruises. Don couldn't look at me, couldn't look at anything else but me, couldn't stumble past anything except "Charlie, I'm so sorry." It was only a matter of time before he got angry again, and the words would come tumbling out, demanding, "Why didn't you talk to me? Why didn't you tell anyone?"

I'd considered telling them that it had been an accident, or that someone had drugged my water. But, though the memories were sketchy, I knew that I couldn't cover up an empty pill bottle lying inches away on my bedroom floor. I couldn't escape this one. What did CalSci think? What did the Bureau think? Already, I could feel the familiar despair pervading my chest, trickling into the fragile reserves that had been coaxed into being by Megan's soft words. They were so disappointed. If I attempted again, it couldn't just be an attempt. Don's gaze hardened in the rear-view mirror, as if he sensed the direction of my thoughts.

"I'm here for you, buddy," he said quietly. "Don't look so down. Please."

Megan turned around and smiled encouragingly. "Yeah, Charlie. Colby's bringing pizza for ya, his treat."

I'd have to take meds. Real meds. My meds. I couldn't be trusted. I wished fervently that I hadn't failed so miserably. I wanted chalk, and felt the self-disgust burn my throat.

"-ordered some On Demand stuff for you, and restocked the pantry," Don was saying. He sounded more comfortable in naming everything he had done in preparation, than in directly addressing me. "I'll be staying over a while." He didn't add if you don't mind, because we both knew it wouldn't matter even if I did. "I got kicked off the team for a few weeks."

"Beat some guy to a pulp." Translated to: He's on leave because of you.

He didn't sound offhanded, as he intended. "He deserved it." I assumed that he realized it, and didn't speak the rest of the way home because of it.

Colby was waiting in the dining room with paper plates and napkins. "Hey, man, good to see you," he grinned, slapping me on the back.

I sat down heavily in the first chair I saw, the sofa, and tried to smile back at him. Glancing at the plates, I noticed they had smiley faces on them and wondered if it was staged. "Yeah, you too."

"Had us all scared there for a while." Something shifted in the atmosphere. He would be the one to bring it up, put it out there, give everyone else the go-ahead. I knew he would do it, but I still felt like he'd turned a blinding spotlight on me. What did he expect me to say, I'm sorry? "It's good to have you back."

Megan and David nodded. Don was somewhere. I felt trapped; I swallowed thickly. Couldn't retreat, or I'd be followed. Distantly, I wondered if they'd removed all the hazardous objects from the house. Shaky breath in, hold, shaky breath out. I couldn't do this. "I'll… be back," but I sounded more strangled than matter-of-fact, more like the lost sock than the patched quilt. I hurriedly locked the bathroom door behind me, but I could still hear them shuffling around in the dining room, talking in hushed voices. I didn't want to be this delicate. I… I didn't want…

Shaking my head violently, I propped myself up over the sink, refusing to look at my reflection. My skin would be pallid, my eyes haunted, my hair a tangled nest of curls. I flicked on the shower, caught between a decision and irresolution. I couldn't wash this away.

I couldn't.

I had done this to myself, and I… I couldn't… There was nowhere to step back, take a breath, stop. Someone was leaning against the door, and I could feel that pressure against my throat, still hunched as I was over the sink and before the rapidly fogging mirror. It had to be Don. With trembling hands, I unlocked the door, stepped aside, looked at him and felt for the first time since I'd been released that same drowning feeling from that night. Help me.

But he just looked troubled, worried, unsure. I watched as he sat down on the edge of the bath, and switched the tap from hot to cold. He stared at me. I sat down on the floor, the cold sweat once again frosting my face and hands. Don's expression changed to one of intense pain.

"Charlie," and he sounded hoarse. "I… You need to tell me what to do."

No, no, don't do this to me, Don. "I-I don't…"

"Charlie, you scared me so bad I can't even begin to tell you. I thought I'd lost you. I didn't know what I would do, if they came out and told me you were gone, that they-" He shook his head, his hands balled into fists. "Charlie I want to help you, I really, really do. But I don't know what's wrong. I don't know what Dad would do. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong, what there is to help you through."

"Dad-"

Don held out a hand, and I slowly got up, let him hold me against his chest. His embrace was tight, but I understood why, better than anyone else. "I thought you were dead, Charlie." Broken. Reeling. Still piecing together what I'd smashed so many days ago.

"Dad…"

We were standing, Don still holding me close, one of his hands resting on my shoulder. I could feel him rocking slightly, and the erratic pattern of his breathing. "Charlie, listen to me," he said softly, urgently. "No one blames you for what happened. You're hurting yourself for something out of your control. It hurts to see you like this, and I… This can't go on any longer. I almost lost you. I'm so sorry. Now… now let's go out and have some food – just a little," he added when he saw my protest forming. "Then you can take a shower and go to bed. I'll be here. It's okay."

It's okay. It didn't feel okay, but he offered no other choice, and because he all but decided for me, I followed him quietly back out into the living room. He handed me a towel as I flopped back onto the sofa, my eyes automatically drawn to some On Demand movie David had started. Once I'd wiped off my face and hands, Don carefully slid a piece of pizza my way with a bottle of water. I watched the movie with them. Almost felt normal. Almost. Then I fell asleep on the couch because I was too afraid of how my room might make me feel.