A/N: I know how late this is. Evidently letting a cough go for a month without seeking medical attention is a bad thing. But medication is a good thing, so I'm no longer moving quite so sloooooooooow. Special thanks to everybody who commented on the last chapter - I really struggled with that one and was very unsure about it, so I appreciate the feedback and encouragement very much.

Chapter 28

Try as he might to string the images together in a meaningful sequence of events, just the way he did with evidence at a crime scene, he could construct no timeline…it all remained a series of disconnected pictures, like a collage.

There had been a…hockey?…game…the clatter of carts and a hush of tangled voices, overridden by Angie's calm, distinctive voice and her soothing hands that seemed to know what he needed even before he could ask for it. The light, even, was fringed with fuzziness, so that the distinction between day and night remained nebulous…until he managed to focus on the figure slumped at his bedside.

Okay, now he had it - unless they had somehow gone back in time thirty years. And Dad had shrunk. So there had evidently been a changing of the guards and it was definitely morning.

Charlie was fast asleep, chair tilted back on its rear legs, head lolling on the wall above it.

Probably he should just let him sleep. Probably he should go back to sleep himself - in fact, two weeks straight of sleep sounded pretty darned good…but first…he narrowed his eye in Charlie's direction, then rubbed at it, trying to clear his vision and get a better look. Nightmares would not be a big surprise after yesterday, and he just wanted to be sure…a cart pushed past the door with a metallic rattle and Charlie jumped in his sleep, the front legs of the chair thudding against the linoleum. He blinked about as if he were as unsure of where and when he was as Don had been. He glanced toward the bed.

"Oh," he said eloquently. "Hey. Morning."

"Yeah. You don't have…a bed at home…?"

Charlie rubbed the small of his back. "Me and Dad came over early. He said you slept through the hockey game and most of the evening, so we thought you might be up by now, but, no - still sawing wood."

"I…did not…sleep through the hockey…" Don defended himself irrationally. So it HAD been hockey…

Charlie nodded. "Dad said that, when you said that? I should ask you the score."

Busted. He scrabbled for the scraps of his dignity. "…don't…have to tell…you…" Yikes. Talk about a lame defense. Maybe he HAD gone back in time thirty years.

"Or the teams." Charlie continued sweetly.

If he really concentrated, he might be able to remember who was scheduled to play…? Ouch. Too early for that, evidently. Rats. Time for a diversionary tactic…he cautiously tried to turn his head. The room rocked a little, but didn't spin. Okay, that was a little better…"…where is…Dad?"

"He went out to get you some pajamas or something. Told me to hold the fort."

"…that's what you were…doing…?"

"Ha ha."

Sleeping during the morning could indicate nightmares…or maybe they'd just all been out really late…"…Dad…went home last night…huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Met me at the door when I got in, just like I remember him doing…well, with you, I guess, after a night out - I don't actually ever remember him doing it with me."

"You were…fourteen when you went to Princeton…didn't get the chance." Charlie nodded. They were quiet a minute. "Did…Mom? Wait up for you…?"

"Drinking age is twenty-one in New Jersey."

"Wow. You waited…til it was legal…"

"I lived with Mom."

"Good…point…"

"What do you keep staring at?" Charlie blurted suddenly.

Don blinked. Man, he was slipping. "…just trying…to see if you're…hung over…" he improvised.

"I'm not hung over," Charlie answered indignantly. "I can hold my liquor."

Don chuckled. "Okay. But…tough crowd…" He touched his hairline delicately. Hm, evidently it only FELT like his head was in six or seven pieces…

The cart rattle returned, louder this time, paused outside the door. The door swung inward, and the cart rolled merrily in, jangling all the way. Don saw Charlie wince and hid a smile. Not hung over my a -

"Good morning, Mr. Eppes!" This time, they both winced. The girl behind the cart smiled with vague politeness in Charlie's direction.

"You can…call him…'Mr. Eppes', too," Don assured her.

"Oh," the girl looked a little puzzled, but nodded politely. "How do you do. Now, are you ready for a nice breakfast?"

Don kept his smile non-committal. Yeah, he knew this drill - they always acted as though enough perky bravado would distract you from the fact that whatever was on that tray was bound to be unrecognizable, unpalatable, and downright unsightly.

"Thanks," he replied without enthusiasm. "Not really…hungry."

The girl checked her instructions nervously. "Oh, but you have to EAT!" she coaxed brightly. "How do you expect to get strong again if you don't EAT?"

I expect to wait until my brother sneaks something edible and loaded with life-giving trans-fats in here - like burgers or ribs, Don thought. Thanks for asking.

Charlie was blinking at him, frowning slightly. "You should eat, Don," he agreed.

Don tried to focus his one eye into something approaching a worthwhile glare. "Not…hungry," he repeated pointedly.

Charlie's frown deepened. "But - you lost all that blood," he protested. "And for your body to replace it, you need both liquids, and solids that can be converted into liquids. I mean, the saline can only do so much. Electrolyte production and - "

Yeah. Thanks for the help, Chuck. Don looked back at the tray and made a face. He had a vague idea that Charlie was still lecturing.

The aide took this for encouragement and lifted the tin lid and set it aside. "Enjoy!" she chirped. "Just hit the call bell when you're done!"

Enjoy. And she looks much too young to be sarcastic. Don gazed dispiritedly at the tray.

"Now, see? That looks - um - " Charlie faltered. "Um - what exactly…is that?"

"Got me." Don gave the tray table a gentle push in the other direction.

Charlie grabbed it before it could roll too far. "No, no - you have to - " he reeled back a little. "That - smell is - really unique, isn't it?"

Don looked away to hide a smile at the faint green that washed Charlie's complexion. I can hold my liquor too. But that doesn't mean I don't feel it in the morning, buddy. "…want the…tea?"

Charlie eyed it longingly. "No - you should, um - "

Don shrugged, feeling for the bed controls. "Might as well. I…don't want it."

"Well - " Charlie hesitated. "I - " he shook his head. "I don't think - "

"Just gonna…throw it away…" Don chewed his lip warily as the head of the bed started to rise.

Charlie crumbled. "Okay, but - then - you have to drink all the juice."

Don sputtered. "Yes…Mom."

Charlie juggled the plastic tea cup as Don picked up the spoon. His grip still wasn't perfect, but it was better. He poked at the grayish paste in the bottom of the bowl. "Didn't we used to use this stuff as kids…to glue things together…?"

Charlie peered over the bowl rim and shuddered. "I'm sure it's - um - nourishing."

"Right." Spoken as one who doesn't have to eat it. Don lifted a spoonful and frowned. Huh. New problem. Which one of those spoons was the real one…? He moved the spoon tentatively back and forth, but the mystery didn't become any clearer, and the spoons stubbornly stayed twins. Now he just had to get it all the way to his mouth…without leaning forward…or trying to put it in his eye by mistake…he tossed the spoon unceremoniously back into the bowl. To heck with aerobic eating. He'd stick with the juice.

Charlie was watching him, taking a long sip of tea. "You want some help? I could feed you."

Don closed his eye, already a little tired from the exertion. Or the drugs. Or something. "Touch that spoon…and you're a dead man…"

Charlie raised his brows. "You know, that kind of talk is a lot scarier when you can actually lift more than a spoon."

"Oh, maybe not…today…" Don maneuvered the glass cautiously toward his mouth, was reassured when the brim bumped against his teeth.

"You know - " Charlie picked up half a piece of toast and bit it. "It's hard to think of anything dumber than starving to death out of sheer pride."

Don aimed the glass back at the tray. It thumped a little harder than expected when he misjudged the distance, but didn't spill. "How about…suffering with a hangover…rather than admitting to it…?"

Charlie stopped chewing. "I don't - "

Don raised his brows.

Charlie grimaced. "Maybe - maybe just a little - " He noticed the piece of toast in his hand and looked flustered. "Oh - sorry."

Don waved it away and picked up the other half. At least this he couldn't drop all over himself. "…could ask the nurse…for some aspirin…"

Charlie sighed and stirred his tea. "Yeah," he agreed, reaching for the call bell.

"What'd…Dad say…when you came home…drunk…?"

Charlie cleared his throat. "I - don't remember. I think he just put me to bed. And when I ask him if I said or did anything? He just laughs."

Don chuckled, pressing his sling against his ribs. "And I…missed it…"

"Yeah, really funny. It's kind of an evil laugh, too." Charlie pointed to the abandoned bowl. "You're not going to eat that?"

"…saving it…to patch that new hole…in my bedroom wall…" He saw Charlie's face change and cursed himself inwardly. Too soon for that kind of joke, maybe - for him, too. Better change the subject. "So…the night out…did it help…?"

Charlie's chewing slowed thoughtfully. "Yeah," he said at last. "It really did. But - I don't think it was really the drinking. More like - "

"Being with people…who understood what you went through."

"Yeah." Charlie nodded. "It really made a big difference." He stirred his tea and watched it swirl in the cup. "Is that why you don't like to talk to me and Dad about it? You figure we can't understand?"

Here we go. "I - " Don studied his toast. "A little, I guess…but - " He hesitated. This was hard enough to explain when his head wasn't all fuzzy with drugs and concussion. "…sometimes…I just want to…stop talking about it, you know? Walk away from it…for a little while. You and Dad are…away from it."

"Oh." Charlie reached for another piece of toast with a questioning glance at Don. Don brushed it aside dismissively. Charlie took a bite. "So, I've been thinking…"

Don frowned at his toast. Hurts to chew. He wondered if he'd taken a pop to the jaw, or if that was just from clenching his teeth so hard.

"When you have more - working body parts - I want you to take me to the range and show me how to shoot again. A handgun this time."

Don's toast dropped back to the tray. Not this again. "Charlie - " He shoved the tray table away. "C'mon - you don't have…anything to prove. You know that…right…?"

"I know that. I just want a - sense of how it works."

Don sighed, a motion that pulled vaguely on his chest, even through the haze of drugs. "It's not - you don't just - pick up a gun - and that's it. At the Academy…I had to qualify twice…with a handgun, then with a…shotgun…then a…submachine gun. Shot about….5,000 rounds before I…graduated. And I don't even…know how many…since."

"I didn't say I wanted to be Wyatt Earp."

"Then…what? You trying to understand…Soames, this time…? Cause I gotta tell you…I think that'll take a lot more…than shooting…a gun."

"I don't care about understanding Soames." Charlie ducked to sip his tea. "I thought it might - um - actually - " he raised his head, eyes skittering around the room, across the window, then back to his cup. "- help me to understand - uh - " he seemed to steel himself, then fixed his gaze self-consciously on Don. " - you."

Don blinked, then turned his face to the ceiling, hoping the heat he felt rising in his cheeks didn't show. Oh.

It took him a minute to find his voice, then another minute to make sure it wouldn't betray him. "Tell you…what…" Damn. He paused to clear a sudden fog from his throat. "If you still…feel the same…once I…'have more working…body parts…' I'll…set it up." He turned his head questioningly toward Charlie.

Charlie grinned. "Good." He picked up Don's abandoned toast and handed it back to him.

Don accepted it and took a bite, then stopped, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "Just - don't - "

"Tell Dad." Charlie interjected with a nod. "I won't."

Don half-smiled his thanks. Then, lacking anything more festive and alcoholic, to seal the pact, they ceremoniously bumped toast.

TBC