A/N: Yeah, I know. Evidently all the mucus from pneumonia invades your brain and your thought processes are very slow. Seriously, don't ever get this thing - it really enervates you. Not nice. I'm sorry for the nasty lag so near the end, but we're almost home free.

Chapter 33

Don sat in the battered chair by the window and stared at the hand resting on his thigh. The bandages had been removed this morning to reveal a crusting scab ringing his wrist, surrounded by an aureole of greenish yellow bruising. It looked like a particularly clumsy doll maker had tried to attach a jointed hand and had a few bad tries. He flexed it experimentally. Still, not too bad. Mostly just ugly. His left hand hadn't been so lucky.

The constriction of the handcuff had caused a severe swelling that had popped most of his stitches and cleaning it up had apparently been a messy job, so that one was still wrapped in gauze. Less gauze, but gauze nonetheless, and still supported by the tiresome sling. When he had argued for its freedom, Dr. Hannigan had only laughed. "You leave that sling alone and let your hand heal in peace. You think I want to marry a guy with only one hand?" He had laughed in spite of himself. Alone now, he touched his gauzed fingers to the scabs. The nerve endings tingled.

"Hey."

He glanced over at the door, careful to turn his head slowly. He lifted his good hand, trying it out. "Hey."

Charlie entered all the way, then stopped halfway across the room, at the end of the bed. "Two eyes, huh?"

"I guess." Don smiled a little. "I look like that old joke where somebody puts soot around an eyepiece then has you look down it."

Charlie grinned appreciatively. "Still. Compared to before."

Oh. He had forgotten that Charlie had seen it at its worst. "I'll take your word."

Charlie came a step closer. "It looked like that old Rocky movie. I kept thinking I should find a razorblade and cut it or something."

"Yeah, well, thanks for restraining that urge."

"Yeah." Charlie laughed uncomfortably. He gestured over his shoulder. "Dad's - um - with the doctor - getting your medications and instructions and all that. I'm supposed to pack your stuff."

Don flushed. "Oh, hey - don't worry about it. I'll do that."

Charlie pursed his lips and stared meaningfully at the sling before raising his brows.

Don sighed. "Okay, okay - you do it."

Charlie pulled a duffle bag out of the small wardrobe and disappeared into the bathroom with it.

Don's eyes followed him. "How're the new classes?"

"Early to tell," Charlie's voice floated back. "But so far, so good." He reappeared with a bathrobe slung over his shoulder, stuffing a shaving kit into the bag.

Don watched him roll the robe into something resembling a fold and stuff it in after the shaving kit. "How's Amita doing?"

"A little nervous, but okay. Off to a good start. You have any other clothes in here?"

"The pajamas." Don tried to keep his voice neutral. "In the drawer over there." He started to gesture with his head, remembered in time and used his hand instead. Someday his head would probably stop feeling like it weighed about two hundred pounds and housed a colony of masons, all desperate to hammer their way out.

Charlie opened the single drawer and pulled out two pairs of pajamas - no doubt, Don thought dryly, a two-for-one sale. Waste not, want not, Dad would say.

Charlie pushed them in after the robe, then crossed behind Don to the bedside table. The easiest way to get there, Don assured himself. It just looked like Charlie was giving him a wide berth.

Charlie pulled out a hard-backed novel and a couple of magazines, then paused. "You supposed to have this?" He held up a cell phone, dangling it by the antennae.

Don shrugged. "They released it as evidence." He knew damn well that that wasn't what Charlie meant, but he didn't feel like getting into it.

Charlie looked at him for a minute, then dropped it into the bag with everything else. He glanced around the room. "Anything I missed?"

Talk about a loaded question. "Naw. That's it. Not like I was moving in or anything." His attempt at lightness fell flat as Charlie shot him a look from under his brows. Well, hell. If this is how it is, the long trip home is going to be a real treat. Better just grab the bull by the horns. "What's bugging you?"

Charlie zipped the duffle with a little more vigor than necessary. "Nothing."

"Yeah, I can see that. Maybe you can crank up the thermostat, then - it seems to have gotten kind of chilly in here."

"Ha ha." Charlie dropped the duffle bag on the floor by the door. It thudded dully against the linoleum.

The sound reverberated inside Don's skull. "Look, if you're mad about something - "

"I said I wasn't mad."

"I heard what you said. Why is it I'm not convinced?"

Charlie gave him a smile that wasn't really a smile. "I have no idea."

Don was starting to get a little irritated himself. He resisted the urge to drop his head into his hands - okay, hand - and beat on his temples.C'mon, what could he have possibly done to set Charlie off? Cripes, he'd been stuck in the hospital.

He winced. Okay, there was that little thing about putting Charlie's life in danger…now that he'd had some time to reflect on it, he might be a little miffed about that. He took a deep breath, felt the motion ache against his ribs. "Look, Charlie…"

"Would you stop doing that?!"

His voice was so sharp that Don froze, uncertain. He followed Charlie's gaze to his hands, noticed that he was still unconsciously rubbing at the scabs on his wrist. He tried to catch Charlie's eyes questioningly, but he had turned away, massaging the back of his neck.

"I - um - I didn't mean - " Charlie took a turn around the room, dropped down onto the edge of the bed, facing Don. For the first time since he'd entered, he was almost close enough for Don to reach out and touch. He managed an uncertain smile. "I think I liked those better covered."

Don looked down at his wrist, turning it this way and that in the light from the window. "It's doing good."

Charlie barked a short laugh.

"What?"

Charlie stood up again and took another turn about the room, idly opening and closing drawers to check for anything he'd missed. "How are your ribs?" he asked at last.

Don watched him, mystified. "Better, I guess. I mean, I won't be doing any push ups for a while…" He grinned. The smile Charlie returned was perfunctory at best.

So, it's going to be like that, huh? Okay - in for a penny… "Dad says you're sleepwalking."

Charlie shoved the drawer he had his hand on back in place with something suspiciously like a slam. "I - I just happened to be…" He broke off and tried again. "I - I have a lot on my mind."

"Yeah, I can imagine. Does the trauma guy help? The shrink?"

"He's - he's fine. I mean, yeah - I guess. Things just - stick in your head sometimes. They don't just - go away - because you talk about them."

"No kidding."

Charlie frowned at Don's dry tone. "I had this idea - " his voice dropped. "This idea that - if, next time I saw you, all the - signs were gone…" He lifted his hands and let them fall. "I know how stupid that sounds."

"Naw - it doesn't." Don tugged restlessly at one ear. "I - coping is - you know - you do what you need to do." He took another deep breath, coughed before he could stop it. "Look, Charlie, I - I never meant for you to see anything like that. I don't - really blame you for being mad, but - "

"I said I wasn't mad!" The roar of his outburst seemed to startle Charlie even more than it did Don. They stared at each other in the silence that followed. After a minute, Charlie almost smiled. "Okay, so maybe I am mad…a little." He dropped down on the bed again and rested his elbows on his knees.

Damn. Don rubbed a hand over his mouth."Okay. So…you know…" He felt like he should apologize, but it wasn't like it was anything he'd planned. For the life of him, he couldn't think of what he might have done differently. "Maybe - maybe it would be better if you took a break from the FBI stuff for a while."

Charlie's forehead creased. "What?"

"If this stuff is - sticking in your head, maybe it would be better not to have to look at it for a while. You know - get some distance."

Charlie's frown deepened. "I don't see what you think - oh!" Charlie was on his feet again, pacing the small space, his hands in motion. "You think - ? Don, I'm not mad about - being there, I'm glad I was there! Grateful, even!"

Don followed his movements, found it made him a little dizzy. "Then I don't get it."

Charlie stopped abruptly, swung around to face him. "You - call me all the time to help. All the time. So why not this time…? This time, when maybe I could have - could have figured out something before - before he could beat the crap out of you. I mean, really, it's just dumb luck that I showed up at all and - and totally dumb luck that you're not - I mean, the odds, I have to tell you, are astronomical - " His arms dropped and he turned away, suddenly still.

Don stared at his back, speechless. "I did call you," he said at last. "I brought you the stuff."

That seemed to set Charlie off again. He spun back and took a step toward Don that almost made him flinch.

"YOU. LEFT. OUT. DATA," he clipped. "A lot of data. Important data."

"Not important," Don objected.

"You don't know that!" Charlie punched his finger at the air for emphasis. "I don't even know that until I start working with it! I can't believe you - you - trust me with these - these critical cases, this 'save the world' stuff, but when it comes to saving you, well, that's another story! All bets are off!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" Don held up a hand to stop the tirade. So THAT'S what this is all about? "Back up. It wasn't like that."

Charlie crossed his arms. "No?" His voice dripped with doubt.

"No." Don kneaded the bridge of his nose where a faint throbbing had settled. How did you explain the decisions you made when you were used to having to make them at a second's notice - almost before you thought? "I was going to tell you - I started to tell you - that night, at dinner. Then Dad walked in, and - I didn't want to freak him out for nothing until I knew a little more. Then I went to that crime scene and there I was again, a real trip down memory lane, and I thought - well - my team's objectivity is shot, the FBI's is compromised in general - I sure as hell don't have any left - I thought that maybe if you could stay objective for a little longer it might help shake something loose - something we'd missed."

Charlie's expression was a shade less skeptical. "For real?"

"Yeah." Don was emphatic. "Then - that thing with - " he winced. "J.D. And I knew it really was about me. I was going to tell you then."

"Hmph." Charlie returned to his seat on the bed and leaned towards him. "So why didn't you tell me when you stopped by that night? We were alone. Perfect opportunity."

Good question. Don pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, willing the masons to take their union mandated break. "I was - pretty freaked out," he admitted reluctantly. "Needed some space to process it."

Charlie straightened slowly. "So I'm supposed to believe that you weren't just doing some editing because it was me?"

Don sank back in his chair and closed his eyes. "I don't know, Charlie - maybe - partly. Your picture was on the other side of my High School yearbook photo and I wasn't really sure what was going on - whether the photos were meant as a - a threat or an assist, whether they involved me or somebody close to me. I have to make decisions pretty fast - there's not a lot of time to analyze how I'm making them. Some days you do better than others."

"Why didn't you take yourself off it then?"

Right. Like that was gonna happen. Like Charlie hadn't noticed the whole control freak thing. He opened his eyes far enough to squint at him."I was afraid the next photo was going to be that dorky one from junior high. Wanted to get to it before anybody else saw it."

"That's not funny, Don."

Oh, come on - sure it is. Maybe not my best, but pretty funny. "I think we gotta work on your sense of humor."

"I was just thinking the same thing about yours."

Don didn't quite stop a grin. "So, we okay? Truce?"

"I'll talk to my shrink about it."

Don groaned.

Charlie smiled. "I'd better go rescue the doctor from Dad or he'll have her cornered all day, squeezing out details."

"No need."

"Dad!" Charlie hopped to his feet like a comedy take, first backing up as if he was going to take refuge behind Don's chair, then moving forward to the end of the bed instead. "Uh - how long you been here?"

"Oh, not long." Alan left the doorway and came all the way into the room, folding his arms over his chest. "Just long enough to hear your very flattering description."

"Oh, that, um -" Charlie bared his teeth in a hopeful grin. "I have to say, I did think I'd have to pry you away from Dr. Hannigan."

"And you might have." Alan's expression was a little too polite. "If one of the nurses hadn't come looking for me and asked me to come here. Seems there was a lot of…yelling? And she thought I might be needed to break it up."

"Yelling?" Charlie blinked rapidly, his face a study in thoughtful innocence.

"Mm hm." Alan was clearly not impressed. "I found it interesting, considering I was given a lecture on that very thing not so long ago. From…let me see. Why, that was you, wasn't it Charlie?"

Charlie cleared his throat. "I - uh - I don't seem to recall…"

"No?" Alan's tone was dangerously sweet.

"And - besides - " Charlie interrupted hastily. "I wasn't yelling - I was…speaking. With vigor. I spend a great deal of time lecturing, and no doubt I - used my lecture voice, which the nurse - "

Alan rolled his eyes, then looked sternly past Charlie to Don. "And you stop laughing - that can't be good for your ribs."

Don held up a helpless hand, then used it to blot his eyes. "Sorry," he gasped. "I think maybe you better drop me at my place. Being around two yellers can't be good for my concussion."

Alan snorted. "Nice try. I don't know which one of you is more full of it."

Don braced his ribs with his sling to fight down another gasp of laughter. "Yeah, well, you know what they say, Dad - like father, like sons."

Charlie looked at him approvingly. "Now that - " he said with certainty, "is funny."

"Yeah, you should both take it on the road - preferably far away from me." Alan spotted the bag next to the door and hefted it in his hand. "This everything?"

Don nodded wordlessly, struggling for composure.

"Charlie." Alan tossed the bag lightly underhand and Charlie caught it. "I'll go find that nice nurse's aide with the wheelchair. You two try and behave until I get back. I don't want anybody else asking me to break up a fight between you."

"We weren't fighting!" Charlie called after him.

Don smirked. "We're in trouble," he sing-songed.

"Yeah," said Charlie glumly. "And you'll get off easy because you're damaged."

"Well, you started it."

"Nuh-uh."

"Hey, I was just sitting here admiring my scabs. You're the one who was yelling."

"I wasn't - I don't - I - " Charlie sighed. "…might have raised my voice a little."

Don chuckled. Maybe they were going to be okay after all. He closed his eyes to enjoy the sun until his ride arrived.

"Hey, Don?"

He didn't even try to peel back his lids. "Mm?"

"Speaking of those…scabs. Something I've been wanting to ask you."

Uh oh. More warily, he ventured, "…yeah?"

There was a laden pause. "Why is it that, of all places, you keep your spare handcuffs in your nightstand drawer?"

Don grinned inwardly. For a moment he could have sworn that they were seventeen and twelve again. He half-opened his eyes at Charlie and gave him a slow smile. "Shut up, Charlie."

Oh, yeah. They were going to be just fine.

TBC