Title: Shall We Play A Game?

Author: FraidyCat

Disclaimer: remains in effect

My Name is FraidyCat, and I'm a whump-a-holic.

A/N: The geography of L.A. is a mixture of fact and fantasy.

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Chapter Thirty-Two: Is That a Water Pipe in Your Pants or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

Colby squinted up at Liz's concerned face warily. She kneeled over him in a growing puddle of water, oblivious to the other law enforcement personnel working around the duo to clear a space in the rubble of the former bathroom. She smiled, and placed a hand on either side of his face. "Take it easy, Agent Granger. You're fine – just fine. We'll have you out of here in no time."

His brow furrowed in confusion. She was holding his head immobile with her hands, but his eyes darted hither and yon, seeking some semblance of sense. "Liz?" he croaked, finally settling his gray eyes upon her brown ones. "What the hell are you doing in Afghanistan?"

She reached for his hair, and pet him as if she were soothing a cat. "We're not in Afghanistan, Granger. Planet Green, remember? They brought the war right here to L.A." She drew her hands back and leaned back on her haunches, but maintained contact with Colby, leaving a palm to rest on his truly fine abs.

Recognition began to take hold, but Granger still looked confused. "Why am I all wet?" He tried to move and let loose with a groan. "We must be in Afghanistan," he complained, sinking back to a prone position. "There's a bayonet in my leg."

Liz smiled, an expression that did not quite reach her eyes. "It's not a bayonet, Agent. There appears to be part of a broken pipe setting up housekeeping in your calf – but we'll take care of that, don't worry. The guys are clearing a path for rescue right now."

Suddenly Colby's face blushed bright red. "Aw, geez," he moaned. "I was in the bathroom. Did I pee my pants – is that where all the water is coming from?"

This time Liz's laugh was genuine, and she tapped him lightly on the chest with her hand. "No-one would blame you if you did, but no, Colby. The water main burst."

He sighed in relief. "Just a little shrapnel? Everything's still attached?"

Liz thought of the hand she had stepped on in her frantic search for Granger and shuddered, looking again at both of his, which were still where they were supposed to be. "Yes, thank God," she breathed.

Colby misunderstood her concern and twisted a grin in her direction. "I'm as happy to hear that as you are," he winked.

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Don felt as if he had burst in on his own worst nightmare. He skidded to a halt just inside the door, but maintained his two-handed grip on the .38. The gun wavered almost imperceptibly as Cracker whipped Amita around like a rag doll, placing her in-between himself and the gun. Don breathed heavily, and willed himself to wake up. It was not possible that he was in this position. That could not be his father crumpled at Cracker's feet. He was not pointing a loaded weapon at the woman his brother loved – and their unborn child. "Let her go," he growled. "You're never making it out of here – we got cops from two agencies all the hell over the place."

Cracker sneered, pulling back on Amita's neck with a bit more force. "Yeah, and I just sent most of 'em back to their Maker!" he chortled.

Amita clawed uselessly at Cracker's forearm, her feet no longer firmly on the floor. She shot a terrified look toward Don, and everything she loved flashed before her in a kaleidoscope of images. She thought of Charlie, and how much she loved him. She thought about Alan, still and silent on the floor, and the anger began to churn inside. Finally, she thought of the baby in her womb; a baby she had not planned or anticipated, a baby whose existence had sent her head and life spinning, a baby she suddenly knew she wanted and adored more than life itself.

Don almost dropped his weapon when a guttural scream burst from Amita and her face twisted in rage. Before he could speak, the professor had buried one elbow in her assailant's ribs, and Don heard 'Cracker' earn his name from across the room when at least one rib gave way under the attack. The terrorist bellowed and involuntarily loosened his grip – just as Amita let all of her weight fall onto her knees.

Her head jerked back once, then popped underneath Cracker's hold like a cork out of a bottle. Momentum took her all the way down – her descent stopped only by Alan's still-unconscious body – and Planet Green's last man standing found himself with no hostage, no weapon, and one very pissed-off pig.

Cracker's bravado fell faster than Amita had, and he jerked one hand over his head even as he started for his pocket with the other. "Don't shoot!" he yelled in distraction, angling slightly and feeling around for the remote. Another explosion should take care of all of them, he decided, and he was ready to be a martyr for his cause. "Don't shoo…"

The rest of the sentence was silenced by the sudden report of gunfire. Cracker thudded into the same wall into which he had thrown Alan. Legs turning into jelly, he slithered into oblivion as Amita screamed and tried to crawl on top of Alan, and Don jerked and looked at his gun; he could have sworn he had been lowering the .38 to his side.

"That there guy just pissed me off no end," drawled a voice, and Don jerked his head around again, stunned to see Lt. Gary Walker and Assistant Director Norman Wright standing on the outside of the shattered window. Don wasn't even sure which man had fired – both had their weapons in position. Walker worked his jaw and elbowed Wright. "I saw a knife. Didn't you?"

Wright let his eyes wander to his Agent, and then back to the carcass on the floor. "Damn sure going after something," he agreed. He glanced at Don, again. "Don't just stand there, Eppes – help the lady up!"

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Lee Havercamp secured another layer of guaze to Don's forearm with paper tape and reached for yet another roll.

Don tried to pull his arm back, but had virtually no range-of-motion. "Come on, Doc," he begged. "I feel like the Sta-puf® man already!"

She smirked a little, but kept on applying the bandage. "Your arm looks much better, but you've only been on the antibiotics 24 hours; by all rights, I should make you wait at least two more days before I expose your brother to the potential hazard of staph." She taped off the last layer and frowned, reaching into her lab coat pocket and withdrawing a surgical mask. "Remember, you must wear this the entire time you're in the room. And no touching."

Don accepted the mask and tried to appear grateful. "I understand the risks, Lee; I do. Believe me, I'm the last one who wants to see Charlie have another relapse, or develop any more complications."

Havercamp relented somewhat. "I'm sure that's true." She glanced down the corridor toward Charlie's room. "He needs to see you. When I stopped by to visit earlier, he had just been sedated. Agent Edgarton told me how upset Charlie became; his physicians are concerned that he could hurt himself, but it's not good to keep him sedated all the time, either. We're all hoping this visit will help him calm down."

"I'll do my best," Don promised, tying on the mask.

Havercamp smiled. "Of course," she agreed. "I'll walk you as far as the elevator. I need to move on to the next hospital on my list – Cedars-Sinai, I think – but tell Charlie I'll see him later this evening, or perhaps in the morning." Don made a muffled sound of affirmation and the two walked in silence for a few more feet. They reached the elevator, and Don waited politely for the lift to open before he took off down the hall. Stepping into the car, Havercamp raised her eyebrows at the agent and began speaking again as the door started to slide closed. "No hugging," she amended, "and if you must touch, use your unaffected side. Wash your hands!"

Don smiled behind his mask and lifted the arm he could still move in a salute good-bye. He walked quickly to Charlie and Ian's room, pushed inside quietly and stopped at the sink just inside the door to use the antimicrobial hand foam. Curtains were drawn around both beds, and the room felt claustrophobic.

Don peaked behind the corner of one curtain, and spied Ian, sleeping. The unit of blood was gone, but Edgarton was still on an IV drip, and was frowning slightly in his sleep, one hand resting over his abdomen. Don looked at him for a moment or two before he backed away from the curtain and headed for the other side of the room.

He stepped behind the other curtain and gazed over the mask at Charlie. He found himself drinking in the sight of his brother. There was an IV drip here, as well, but the drainage bag connected to Charlie's chest tube was definitely smaller. It had either been changed recently, or Charlie had less need for it, and it was nearly empty. The bed had been lowered from a 45-degree to a 30-degree angle, and Charlie lay on his back, his brow furrowed in worry. Don felt himself smiling at him fondly, and quietly moved the visitor's chair as close to the bed as he could.

He sat down, and reached his good arm through the bed rail to lightly touch Charlie's fingers with his own. "Hey, Chuck," he greeted softly, and Charlie's fingers curled on the sheet. Don laid his hand full on Charlie's arm, then, leaning forward a little. "Charlie? Dude, I didn't get all dressed up for nothing, here."

Charlie's eyes moved behind his lids, which eventually cracked open. He made a noise of distress and tried to pull back in the bed when he focused on the apparition at his bedside. Don's eyes crinkled over the mask and he laughed. "Calm down, Buddy, it's just me. Havercamp got me in to see you, but she insisted on all of this."

Charlie's eyes travelled to Don's wounded arm, and he immediately became upset. "You're hurt," he croaked. "Oh, God, you're hurt. I knew it, I knew it…"

Don started rubbing circles on Charlie's arm with his thumb. "It's nothing, Charlie, really. Havercamp used all the gauze in the hospital to make sure my nasty little staph infection didn't get all over you. Honest, on the outside, I've just been using a Band-Aid®; it's a scratch."

To his surprise, Charlie didn't look very relieved. On the contrary, his little brother looked ready to cry. Charlie leveled Don with his best 'wounded puppy'. "Please don't lie to me, Donny. I've…I've been in here for days without being able to see you, or Dad…Amita…" Charlie's dejected voice took on a nasal tone, as if his throat was closing. "I can't take any lies," he trailed off in a whisper.

Don hastened to reassure him. "Hey, hey, Buddy…I'm not lying. It's an infected scratch, and it's under control. I'm on antibiotics and everything."

Charlie took a deep, shuddering breath, wincing just a little. He regarded Don for a moment, and the serious expression on his face did not wane. "You were in trouble today," he finally said. "Dad and 'Mita, too – everybody. I felt it. Don't belittle that."

Don sighed behind the mask and stopped the motion of his thumb on Charlie's arm, but left his hand there. "All-right," he said. "I will tell you the truth, and I want you to believe all of it – not just the bad part." Charlie's stare barely wavered. "You're right," Don informed his brother quietly. "Almost everybody you know – certainly everyone you love – was in some serious danger, today. I was scared, Charlie. Things went from 0 to 60 in less than a blink – and kept getting worse." The only change in Charlie's expression was a widening of his eyes, and Don gripped his forearm tightly and leaned as far over the rail as he could. "Look at my eyes, Charlie. I promise you, we're all okay."

Charlie looked a little doubtful. "Really?"

Don nodded. "Affirmative. Amita is fine, apart from a few bruises." He smiled, and his eyes crinkled over the mask again. "As a matter of fact, I'm thinking about sponsoring her if she chooses to change careers and enroll at Quantico." Before Charlie could interrupt, he continued down his list. "Dad has a mild concussion." He lifted his good hand from Charlie's arm to indicate the side of his face. "I took a few splinters." He settled his hand again, absently petting Charlie's arm. "Colby is downstairs; he probably got the worst of it – a piece of metal was impaled through the fleshly part of his calf. The docs are debriding the wound and stitching him up – if the hospital wasn't so full, both he and Dad would probably have to stay overnight. Amita and I will take them back to the house – we'll keep an eye or two on them." He smiled again, and shook his head in wonder. "Hell, maybe we'll bring Liz along. Apparently she and Colby are an item, now. Do you think Robin would understand if I spent the night with my ex-girlfriend? Under the circumstances?"

Charlie wasn't playing. "Is it over?" he asked instead. "Planet Green?"

The smile slipped from Don's face, and his eyes became solemn. "I hope so," he answered. "We've…eliminated…everyone we can, one way or the other. There are PG chapters all over California – I'm sure there are more members right here in L.A. But unless and until someone breaks the law, we can't just arbitrarily round 'em all up and ship them to Central America." His eyes grew dark with barely-controlled fury. "Much as I'd like to."

Charlie moved his arm under Don's hand, arranging it so that their fingers could touch, but didn't say anything. Don tried to change the subject. "So, look at you," he said. "Lee tells me your chest tube will be removed in the morning. If the day goes okay, you'll be released day-after-tomorrow! By that time, Dad and Colby and I will be safe for you to be around. Larry may have to wait another day," he mused. "He started antibiotics later than Dad and Colby…"

Charlie interrupted, his voice at once hopeful and terrified. "What about Amita?" he asked. "When can I see Amita?"

"Soon," Don hedged, standing. "If I help you, can you get up? Should I call a nurse?"

Charlie didn't know what his brother had in mind, but there was no hesitation on his part. Bottom line, he trusted Don. He grasped the hospital rail and started to pull himself to a seated position. "I've got it," he panted. At last he summoned a tiny grin. "Are you busting me outta here?"

Don laughed, and held out his good hand. "Let go of the rail and hang on," he ordered. "When you're steady, I'll let the rail down; somehow, between the two of us, we'll stagger all the way over to the window." Don glanced at it, glad again that it was on Charlie's side of the room, and not that far away. Charlie should be able to stretch his IV line that far.

As he had done for most of his life, Charlie willingly followed Don's orders. It was more difficult than either had anticipated; Charlie was slightly hung-over from his earlier sedation, and Don only had one good hand. A frightening amount of grunting and swearing was involved – from both men. Finally, though, they stood side-by-side at the window. Charlie stood on Don's good side, so that the older man could steady the younger if he started to weaken.

Don clumsily lifted his marshmallow-arm toward the glass, frowning slightly. "It'll be dark soon – I should have brought you over here sooner. Look down, and to your right – about 3 o'clock. She's standing under the front entrance awning."

Despite the glare on the window from the room's interior lights, Charlie had no trouble spotting the waving woman in the well-lit entryway. For the first time that evening, a genuinely delighted smile relaxed his features. He raised a hand to wave back. "I can't believe you guys figured out which room I'm in," he praised gratefully.

Don shrugged, and reached into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve his cell phone. "Actually, Havercamp and Sinclair worked all of that out while you were counting sheep earlier." He nudged Charlie gently, so as not to knock his brother off-balance, and offered him the phone. "This part is all me," he bragged. "Special dispensation for you to use a cell phone. Speed-dial '1'."

Charlie grabbed the phone as if he were a drowning man and it was a life raft, sparing a suspicious glance for Don. "Why is my girlfriend number 1 on your speed dial?"

Don laughed. "Because I just programmed it for you, you idiot!" He ruffled the back of Charlie's curly head fondly. "For a genius, you can be clueless, sometimes, ya know?"

Charlie depressed the '1', followed by the 'Send' button, and nodded somberly, looking out the window again. "I know," he surprised Don by agreeing, "but that's gonna stop now."

Don raised an eyebrow in question, but Charlie didn't see him. He wouldn't have had time to respond anyway – Amita answered her cell before the first ring was complete. "Charlie? Oh my God, Charlie! I can see you!" She had told herself she wouldn't cry, but of course it was the first thing she did.

Charlie moved closer to the window and held up his palm flat against the pane in a gesture that made Don slightly uncomfortable; it reminded him of people conversing in a prison visiting area. "Amita! 'Mita, baby, are you all right?"

She nodded and tears flew from her face into the night. "I miss you," she sniffed. "I wish I could hold you."

Charlie smiled, a soft and intimate smile that Don was almost embarrassed to witness. "Me, too," he whispered, and the two lovers listened to each other breathe for a long moment. Charlie suddenly straightened and Don saw a look of determination come over his face. "Amita. You are my life. My love. My past, my present and my future. Marry me." He heard her intake of breath and hurried on. "We've wasted too much time already; we'll never have all the data. I don't want to live another day without you as my wife."

Amita's knees went weak and she almost collapsed on the sidewalk in full view of Charlie and everyone else. Charlie wanted to marry her – and not just because he felt trapped by fatherhood. He didn't even know about the baby! Or did he? She narrowed her eyes, wishing she could see Don's face clearly. "What did Don tell you?" she asked.

Charlie had tried to think of every possible response she might come up with, so he would be prepared, but that had not even made the list. He shot a confused look at his brother. "Huh?"

"What. Did. Don. Tell. You." Amita repeated.

"When?" Charlie asked, truly trying to establish some parameters. "I mean, lots of stuff. Don told me how to sneak out of the house using the tree outside my window, and what to do for a hangover, and to wear hearing protection when he taught me how to shoot…" He was starting to sound a little frantic, and Don had no idea what was going on until Charlie practically whined into the phone. "I don't know what you want…tell me what you want…" Charlie closed his eyes and leaned his head onto the glass. "This isn't going at all well," he moaned.

Amita almost laughed at him, delighted to determine that it was unlikely Don had spilled the news. She bit her lip. "Just give the phone to your brother," she instructed.

Charlie groaned in distress and thrust the cell blindly in Don's direction. Surprised, Don almost dropped it before he managed to raise the phone to his ear. "Amita?"

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Don, you've always been there for Charlie. He's learned everything important from you. I've got one more thing for you to tell him: Repeat after me – 'Amita says 'yes'."

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Oh, Yes! Coming Soon to a Fanfic Near You: The Epilogue