A/N: Yeah, Alan surprised me too. Never underestimate the instinct to protect your young.

Chapter 30

Alan entered his son's hospital room quietly, a little self conscious about the ice pack wrapped around his right fist and the questions it would no doubt provoke. He needn't have worried. He paused on the threshold, then, moving quietly, stowed the duffle he carried in his unbruised hand by the wardrobe.

Asleep. Figures.

Don's medication had been reduced, but it was still pretty intense…he shuddered. There was something about the sight of the IV coming out of his back rather than his arm that he couldn't quite get used to. It looked…creepy. Frightening. And Charlie…Charlie had had a rough night. He smiled at Charlie's chair pulled close to the bed, his head tilted onto the pillow. And if your brother catches you sharing his pillow, he'll have some pretty smart words for you, too.

He rummaged in the wardrobe for a spare blanket and draped it over Charlie, let a hand rest on his head for a minute. They didn't even have the television on. Of course, they had to be pretty worn out. He wondered if sleep made it better or worse.

He moved to the larger chair on the other side of the bed and made himself comfortable, reaching for a magazine. No nightmares yet, anyway. Probably just a matter of time, though. The doctor had given a prescription, just in case.

It had been a revelation when Charlie had finally come home last night, somewhere around 2 am. He'd realized, with some surprise, that he had never actually seen his younger son drunk, unless you counted some youthful indiscretions with the dinner wine. He'd sighed a little. So many of the typical rites of passage were off-kilter with Charlie.

Colby had appeared at the door with Charlie in tow, looking apologetic, but Alan had just laughed and thanked him for everything. Charlie had explained, with great care and dignity, that he didn't need any help, thank you very much, but that he thought he might go to bed now. Alan had caught him under the arms just in time.

Charlie had mumbled into his chest that he could walk just fine, and Alan had suppressed another laugh, pulling one arm over his shoulders and shifting him off to the side. "That's good," he'd encouraged. "Then let's try the stairs." Probably he should have settled for the sofa. Charlie was deceptively heavy - not at all the little boy he used to heft so effortlessly onto his shoulder. By the time they'd reached the top of the stairs, he wasn't sure which one of them needed to sit down more.

"Dad - I've been thinking - " Charlie slurred, peeling away to start down the hall.

"Not exactly a novelty…no, Charlie, your room is this way - " He used Charlie's sleeve to pull him back.

Charlie blinked at him, eyes wide. "This - ?"

"That's right…" He gripped Charlie's shoulders to steer him into the bedroom, nudging some stacks of papers and a few things he couldn't quite identify out of the way with his foot. Despite all Margaret's efforts, neither of the boys were what you could call tidy. He couldn't imagine where…he winced. Okay, maybe from him. He reached around Charlie to pull down the covers. "Have a seat." He followed the words with action by pressing down on his shoulders. Charlie's knees seemed to dissolve under him and he landed on the edge of the bed with a thump.

Charlie blinked again, staring down at the area between his knees. "My shoes!" he announced suddenly, in a tone that heralded a discovery the weight of the Eppes Convergence. He started to lean forward, but Alan caught him by his tee shirt.

"All right - I'll get them. You just - sit still."

Charlie nodded solemnly, and Alan bent to remove the left shoe and toss it aside. He heard the mattress springs creak as Charlie teetered backward and landed sprawled across it with a splat.

"Dad. I've - been thinking…" he repeated to the ceiling.

"So you said, Charlie." Alan carefully removed the right shoe and tossed it next to the other, getting to his feet to examine Charlie's jeans. He could probably get those off - much more comfortable than sleeping in them. He unbuttoned and unzipped them. Charlie didn't seem to notice, so he tugged at the hems. How many years had it been since he'd done this?

"I've been thinking…Larry's wrong."

"Really." Alan lifted the covers high and nudged Charlie's legs. Charlie seemed puzzled for a minute, then drew them up, curling into a ball. "What exactly is Larry wrong about?" He tucked the covers around Charlie, leaving only his head free, let one hand linger on his shoulder.

Charlie yawned, burrowing into the blankets. "'Bout…time…"

"Oh?" Alan snagged the desk chair and wheeled it next to the bed.

"Mm." Charlie nestled his cheek deep into the pillows. "We don't…all have the exact same amount of time…every minute." He fell silent, and for a moment Alan thought he was asleep, but then he added, "…sometimes? We don't have any time at all."

Well, he certainly knew that feeling. "I see." He saw Charlie wrinkle his forehead. "Head hurt? Hang on - I'll get you a washcloth."

He left the bedroom door open and made a quick trip to the bathroom, running a face cloth under the faucet and wringing it out, then folding it into a neat square. When he returned, Charlie really did look asleep, so he lay the washcloth over his eyes as carefully as he could, hoping not to disturb him. Charlie turned his head slightly and sighed. No such luck. Charlie was evidently as hyped up drunk as he was sober.

Charlie's face creased in a frown, one hand wandering from under the covers to grope in front of him. "Dad…?"

Alan made himself comfortable in the chair. "Yes, Charlie?"

Charlie's frown deepened. "I can't…see."

Alan sighed inwardly. Genius, evidently, was not impervious to alcohol. "It's the washcloth, Charlie - over you eyes."

Charlie's groping hand fumbled for his eyes - didn't even come close. Alan bent over and pressed the washcloth gently against his eyelids, then blotted at his forehead. "See?" He held it up in front of him. "Washcloth."

Charlie blinked at it as if this discovery put the Eppes Convergence to shame. "Oh."

"Why don't you go to sleep, Charlie? You'll feel better."

Charlie nodded delicately and turned his face back into the pillow. Alan was just thinking of reaching for one of the magazines scattered on the floor when a small voice piped, "Thirteen and a half minutes."

He turned his head back to his son. "What's that?"

Charlie snuggled deeper under the covers. "Thirteen and a half minutes. Too, too long…"

Alan waited. He had a hard enough time following Charlie's train of thought when he was sober.

"…I couldn't wait. I couldn't. Then…one second…to decide…not long enough. I…figured out the odds…later, I mean - not - not then. The odds that I'd hit Soames…the odds that I'd - hit Don by accident…I could have hit Don by accident. What was I doing, Dad? I had no business with a gun…" Alan watched as two tears streaked from under the washcloth and used it to gently pat them away. Then he silently refolded the cloth and replaced it. "When it comes to math, I can think so fast - and then - when it really mattered - I couldn't think at all." Charlie's groping hands found the cloth this time and folded over it, pushing it against his eyes.

Alan touched his hair. "I have an idea, Charlie," he said quietly. "In the morning, I'd like you to figure some odds for me. I'd like you to figure what the odds are that Don would be alive now if you hadn't done what you did. Can you do that for me?" Charlie made a move to sit up and Alan pushed him back down. "Not right now, Charlie. In the morning."

Charlie stayed still, and Alan was trying to decide whether he was asleep at last or just thinking.

"A lot of variables," Charlie murmured after a minute.

Alan nodded. "Life is full of variables, Charlie," he said quietly. "But there are a few constants, too."

"Mm." Charlie rolled back onto his side and curled up tightly again. This time Alan was sure he was asleep when he said, "Dad?"

Alan smiled a little. Well, he knew this routine. Just like when Charlie was three. Some things never changed. "Yes, Charlie?"

"Don's gonna really be all right, right?"

Alan dusted a hand lightly over Charlie's hair. "We're all going to be all right, Charlie - given time." He heard Charlie's breathing change and leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him. "And luckily, we all have the exact same amount of time, at all times."

Alan jumped as the door swung inward, realized he'd been dozing over his memories himself. He saw Charlie sit up with a start too, rubbing at his eyes, looked past him to the door, where a slender girl in red scrubs was entering with a tray.

She smiled at him as she deposited the tray on Don's wheeled table. "Jell-O," she explained. "For the man who didn't eat his breakfast."

Don was rousing too, more slowly, as if it was taking him a minute to find all his limbs. "Ate…the toast," he protested sleepily.

"Some of the toast," Charlie corrected.

The look Don gave him was groggily exasperated. "…and the juice."

Alan moved the tray table within Don's reach. "Why didn't you eat your breakfast?"

"Couldn't…identify it. You just get here…?"

"A few minutes ago. I brought you some things. Maybe I should have brought you something to eat, too."

Don looked as if he was trying to bring him into focus. "What you do…to your hand…?"

Alan pulled the offending appendage back into his lap, shrugging awkwardly. "Oh - you know - 'something stupid'."

Don gave him a sharp look.

Charlie craned his neck to see. "Did you slam it in the car door?" he asked sympathetically. "You know, you shouldn't be driving when you're that distracted."

"I did not slam it in the car door." Alan could see Don watching him intently. He met his gaze briefly. "I - well, let's just say there weren't any mirrors handy."

Don tried to pull up straight, was stopped by a cough. "You - " he swallowed and caught at his breath. " - slugged somebody…???"

"No." Charlie smiled at him and shook his head indulgently, turned the smile to include Alan. "Don't be silly. Of course he…" He trailed off at the sight of Alan's face, brows pushing together. "I mean, he would never…um…he - " He stopped. "You did?"

Alan scowled and rattled his magazine, made a big show of turning the page. "I'm not myself. I've had a very rough couple of days."

Charlie looked nonplussed. "But, Dad - "

" - Who?" Don choked.

"Does it matter?"

Don stared at him. "Yeah."

Alan closed his magazine. "Your friend Soames."

"What - !?" Don groped for the bed rail and did pull himself up this time. "Where - ?"

Alan rose and palmed his shoulder back into the pillows. "Where do you think you're going? Do you have any idea how much equipment has to move with you?"

" - Dad - " Don collapsed against the pillows and a curled a hand over his eyes. "You - you can't - " he dropped his hand. " - How did you…find Soames…?"

"I didn't find him." Alan watched to be sure he was settled, then reseated himself. "I didn't go looking for him. It was just a chance meeting at the elevator, with one of your cohorts. An impulse. I'm not proud of it." He hesitated, then made a face. "All right, I am proud of it - but I'm not - proud that I'm proud of it."

Charlie raised his brows painfully. "Wow. Dad. My head was so not ready for that sentence."

Don watched him urgently. "Did you - bring my cell?"

"How could I bring your cell?" Alan asked reasonably. "You didn't want me to go near your apartment."

"I think I saw somebody putting it in an evidence bag anyway," Charlie said apologetically.

Don groaned. "…No. My gun…my bat…my cuffs…now my cell…" He glanced at the phone on the bedside table. "Does that work…?"

"How do I know?" Alan picked it up and moved it out of his reach. "It doesn't matter anyway - you're not going to work. I only damaged him a little - one punch. I wasn't fast enough for two," he added under his breath.

Don groaned louder. "…who was the agent…?"

"We didn't have time for formal introductions."

"Dad…you could be…in trouble - " Don stared at the phone as though that would make it shift closer.

"The agent said he didn't see a thing."

"Then he could be in trouble…" Don started to reach for the phone, then hugged his sling against his chest instead. "I need… to do…damage control…"

"Sorry, Donnie - I think that's going to be up to somebody else this time. Somehow I think it will all work out all right. Anything good on TV?" Alan reached for the remote.

Charlie watched him admiringly. "You really hit him? Where?"

"The nose, I think."

Charlie leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Wow. I really wanted to do that."

Don cradled his head in his hand. "Where is my…civilized…peace loving…family…?" he moaned. "Suddenly, they're Ma Barker's…vigilante tribe…"

Alan patted his leg under the blankets. "Don't get yourself all worked up - that can't be good for you. Eat your Jell-O."

Don let his hand fall and sank back into the pillows. "…what…were you thinking…?"

Alan fixed him with a meaningful stare. "What can I say. There was this kid." He let his gaze travel to Charlie. "Two kids, in fact."

TBC