A/N: Yeah, the Epilogue did turn into two parts, and that's what's taking me so long. Don't blame me, blame Don and Charlie - they just talk, talk talk. Anyway, my LTB (Long-Time Beta) vouched this part as ready for human consumption, so here it is.

Many thanks to everyone for your patience. I have sometimes thought that this should have been broken into a number of stories instead, but in my brain all the pieces hung together as a whole, so here you are. And for those who asked if there would be another when this one was done - heck, yeah!

Epilogue: Part 1

"Easy, easy - c'mon - no need to choke it to death. The gun is your friend - what's it ever done to you?" He stood behind Charlie and put his hands over his, gently loosening his grip. "You're going to be exhausted before you get two shots off if you hold it like that - not to mention how it will throw off your aim. Yeah - that's better. Try again."

"You said to hold it firmly."

"Firmly - not white knuckles. This gun has really nice, light action - you don't have to work so hard, just let it do what it does."

Charlie eyed the gun in his hands. "It's not very - glamorous, is it? I mean, not like some others."

"Hey!" Don looked indignant, giving the handgun a loving glance. "That's a great gun! Light as a feather, practically no creep…look down those sights, isn't that…?" He broke off, frowning. "What?"

"Nothing." Charlie didn't even try to hide his grin, obediently squinting down the sights. "I'm just trying to think of the last time I heard you speak that enthusiastically about a woman."

"Some woman ever saves my neck as many times as this gun has and I'll rhapsodize too - not to mention how many other lives. It deserves a little respect. Keep both eyes open when you're sighting or it will mess up your depth perception."

Charlie made a face. "I liked the rifle scope better."

"That's for distance. When some guy with a gun is right in your face, you're happy to have something nice and maneuverable like this. Go on - both eyes."

"Like a microscope?"

Don shrugged. "Okay. Adjust your stance a little. Remember, the right arm is aiming - the left is just bracing."

The pistol gave a sharp crack, nose jerking in the air. Charlie peeled his eyes open and scowled at it. "It's not supposed to do that." His scowl turned to consternation as he looked across the course. "I think I killed a pedestrian."

"Don't worry - these pedestrians get up to die another day. You're closing your eyes again."

"It's instinct."

"Now you're thinking too much."

"Thinking is what I do. Besides," Charlie released his right hand grip and scrubbed the palm on his jeans, "I don't find the idea of someone with a loaded gun in their hand 'not thinking' encouraging."

Don chuckled. "Yeah, well, when you're running head-on into an unknown situation involving armed felons, it helps not to have too many brains. Here - let me show you - "

He reached for the gun and caught a glimpse of Charlie's expression. His face changed. "What?"

Charlie shook his head, eyes brimming.

Don pried the gun out of his grip and checked the cocking lever before setting it aside. "What did I say now? Look, Charlie, I didn't mean - "

Charlie held up a hand to stop him, his throat jerking in a swallow. "I thought you were going to die," he whispered at last.

Don put a hand on his shoulder. "Okay - okay, let's just sit on the grass for a second…" He exerted gentle pressure until Charlie sank to the ground, squatted beside him. "Do you need to put your head between your knees?"

Charlie shook his head, tipping forward until he was stretched out on the grass with his head buried in his arms.

Don kept a hand on his shoulder. After a while he ventured, "Better?"

"Yeah." Charlie rolled over onto his back.

"Want to tell me what that was all about?"

Charlie grimaced. "I don't know. Every once in a while it still…I don't know."

"Oh." Don dropped back on his butt in the grass next to him and let his forearms rest on his knees. "Look, maybe we should just forget this whole shooting thing - grab a couple of beers instead."

"No." Charlie pushed up his goggles and rubbed his palms over his eyes, shaking his head. "No. I really want to. Just - just give me a minute."

Don frowned at him, started to say something, then nodded instead. He tilted his face to the sky as if he saw something important there, then stretched out on the grass next to Charlie, eyes still on the small cluster of puffy white clouds. "So," he said after a moment of quiet, "I'll tell you mine if you'll tell me yours."

"I didn't say I was still having - "

"Yeah, right. That's why we've got a baby gate up at the head of the stairs."

Charlie made a face. "Yeah." He sighed. "When there hasn't been a baby in the house for more than thirty years."

"Oh, I don't know - " Don's hand shot out before Charlie could duck and roughly mussed his hair. "You'll always be our baby."

"Cut that out!" Charlie twisted his head away, wrapping his arms around his hair to protect it. "You're so annoying."

Don grinned. "Thanks."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"And yet, I'm flattered."

Charlie pushed Don's arm as hard as he could from that angle, but Don just laughed at him, so he let his head thud back on the ground in frustration. "You really have them too?" he asked in a different voice.

Don nodded, realized Charlie probably couldn't see that and said, "Sure."

"What are yours about?"

"I asked you first."

Charlie grumbled. "You're so - "

"Annoying. I know. You don't have to tell me."

"Would you still tell me yours?"

"No way."

Charlie clucked his tongue in disgust and Don gave him a quick, furtive glance.

"It's always the same," Charlie said slowly, after a swallow. "Well, almost. I'm - waiting in the hall. And I hear what Soames - what he's doing to you. And I hear the - shotgun. And I try - I try to get to you - to get to you on time, but I'm moving so slow. Or I can't find the way. Or the sounds keep moving farther and farther away…"

"That's why you're walking around in your sleep?"

"I guess so."

Don turned his head to study him. "You did get there on time, you know. Not that it was your job to, but you did. And I'm right here. Everything's okay. Soames is in prison - unless Coop really did stop by and kick his butt."

"I know, I know - at least, my head knows. Until the lights go out, anyway."

"And that shrink isn't any help at all?"

"Yeah - he's good. It just takes - time, I guess."

"Cause you can see somebody else, if he's not helping."

"No, I - I think I have an algorithm worked out that will balance the actual outcome against the various potential outcomes…my theory is that if I can see it in facts, in numbers, it will throw it into perspective."

"Yeah. That was gonna be my next suggestion."

Charlie snorted. "So, what's yours?"

Don was silent for so long that Charlie pushed up on his elbows to look at him. "You said."

"I know, I know. It's not - it's pretty much what you'd figure." He rested a forearm over his eyes to dampen down the sun. "Pretty much what happened. You, with a gun - only the gun's about as big as your head…" he tried to laugh, but it fell short. "Anyway. You keep…looking at me. Like you want me to tell you what to do. All the time holding that big, big gun… Oh, yeah, and you're…" His hand hovered about three feet off the ground. "…like, eight or something."

"What happens then?"

"I don't know. I wake up."

"So, maybe if you show me how to shoot the gun, you won't worry about it in your sleep."

Don almost smiled. "Yeah. Maybe." He slapped Charlie lightly on the leg. "You ready to give it another try?"

Charlie sat up and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." He climbed to his feet.

Don followed suit more cautiously, one hand bracing his ribcage. He picked up the gun and examined it. "Want to try reloading?"

Charlie eyed the row of bullet clips. "Um - okay."

Don ejected the empty clip and handed him the gun, then a fresh clip.

Charlie held them gingerly. "So…I just, um…?"

"Use the heel of your palm to slam it in there - but listen to make sure it catches. One thing about that gun - sometimes it seems like the clip is engaged when it isn't quite. You need to check."

Charlie shoved the clip into the opening, then pushed at it again. "I can't tell…"

"Here." Don took the gun back, checked it. "Yeah - you're good."

"What happens if it doesn't engage?"

Don glanced at him from under his brows. "Bullets don't feed."

"Really?" Charlie accepted the gun, turning it this way and that. "That can't be good."

Don laughed.

"I never realized so many things could go wrong."

"Naw - not really. It's a good gun. You just need to know your equipment, that's all."

"You were going to show me." And when Don looked at him questioningly, "Before. You were just about to."

"Oh." Don took the gun back, checked it again, balanced it in his palm. "You want to keep your legs relaxed…" He lifted the gun in front of him, made a face. Things were better - much better - but this was a movement that still pulled on his ribcage, and his left hand grip was still a little awkward. "Everything should line up. Now - "

"You really think about this? I mean, in a firefight, with somebody shooting at you, you really think about all these things?"

Don shook his head. "You don't have time to think about them at all."

Charlie scowled. "Back to the shooting but not thinking. Just - doesn't make sense to me."

"It's not - you think. You make judgment calls all the time, but they happen - I don't know - almost before thought." He lowered the gun. "You know what it's like? Remember Mary Lou Retton, the gymnast? I read this article about her once. She said that a gymnast should know her routine so well that, if someone woke her up in the middle of the night, drove her to a strange location and put her in a strange room, she could still perform it perfectly in her pajamas. It's like that. Your body has to move ahead of part of your mind, or I'll tell you, half the time you'd just be standing there, frozen, trying not to wet your - what the heck are you grinning about now?"

"Nothing." Charlie ducked his head, but the grin didn't lessen.

"Yeah, right - come on, what did I say?"

Charlie's grin stretched. "You used a little analogy to teach me." And when Don just stared blankly at him, "That's what I do."

Don's eyelids dropped to half-mast. "Yeah, so?" he challenged.

Charlie shrugged elaborately. "I thought maybe you picked that up from me."

Don made a scoffing sound, but his eyes held a discreet twinkle. "Right. Dream on." He adjusted his ear protectors and re-set his stance.

"I think you did," Charlie insisted. "All those lectures at the FBI…"

"Sheer coincidence." Don's tone was dismissive, but one corner of his mouth curled up.

Charlie saw it and looked smug, then fumbled quickly with his ear muffs, just before the pistol barked, four times in rapid succession, the barrel rock-steady.

Don lowered the gun and glanced at him. "Sorry. I thought you were ready."

Charlie tried to squint at the targets, to see how many were down. "When you taught me to fire a rifle, you said that it was different with a paper target. I thought - I thought you meant because a paper target just waited for you and didn't move."

Don studied the weapon. "I did mean that." He hesitated. "Partly."

"Okay. But - what I didn't get - until - you know - was…that it would be so hard to aim at a living person. I mean, even a person doing something really bad. Knowing you had the power - to kill them."

Don kept his gaze on the gun, running rapidly through a series of checks. "Yeah," he said at last.

"Does it - do you - "

"Charlie - " Don's eyes were on the targets now. "…don't."

Charlie fell silent.

After a minute, Don gestured to the gun. "So, were you watching at all, or were you just blabbing?"

"I wasn't - I didn't - " Charlie sputtered indignantly. "I - can do both."

Don laughed. "Good thing. Let's see." He handed him the gun.

Charlie looked out over the course, then sideways at Don. "So - are you a really good shot?"

Don frowned in surprise, then shrugged warily. "I do okay."

"Edgerton said that that shot you made - the Hoyle shooting - was impressive. Not in his class, he said, but still - "

Don's mouth quirked. "Sounds like Edgerton."

"Yeah. Moving vehicle, direct hit, mid-forehead, he said. Even turned the car off course. Coming from him, I thought - "

Don scratched at his ear, his expression bleak. "Yeah. I guess so."

"So. You are?"

Don stared out across the course, away from him. "You know me," he said at last. "All about hand/eye coordination." He reached for the ear protectors around his neck.

Charlie still held the gun carefully in front of him, arms lax, making no move to shoot. "So, do you have, like, awards or something?"

Don glanced at him, his face expressionless. "We say 'decorated', Charlie. What's this all about, anyway?"

"I just - I - want to know. I feel like I should know."

Don gripped the ear protectors tightly in both hands, then shrugged. "Yeah. Yeah, okay - sure. I do."

"So, can I see them?"

Don half-laughed, a little bewildered. "They're in a box in my spare room - certificates and stuff, mostly. Not much to look at."

"I want to see."

Don tilted his head at him, then shook it. "Whatever you say." He pointed to the gun. "You wanna keep blabbing, or you gonna shoot that thing?"

Charlie looked down at the gun, shifted his feet into a comfortable position. "How's that?"

"If it feels right, it's probably okay. Trust your body, Charlie - you know, that thing that carries your brain around. It knows a couple of things of its own."

Charlie harrumphed, then raised the gun. "Eyes open…eyes open…" he muttered under his breath. He resisted the urge to yank on the trigger and pressed gently instead. The gun bucked in his hands and he wondered how anybody ever got used to that feeling. He lowered it cautiously. "How'd I do?"

Don nodded. "Not bad. You winged him."

"That all?" Charlie frowned in disappointment.

"What? You getting blood thirsty?"

"No - I - I know that's not what you do."

Don dangled his ear protectors from one hand. "Thanks for reminding me. You're not in training, Charlie - I thought you just wanted to get a feel for it."

"I do." Charlie peered at the slide stop that had caused him so much trouble last time. "But I want it to feel authentic."

"Trust me. You don't." Don held out a hand for the gun. "You done? I'll show you how to break it down."

Charlie watched him. "So why don't you? You know - aim to wound? Wouldn't it be better to have a suspect alive?"

Don didn't look up from the gun. "Too risky. A wounded guy can still shoot back - or shoot somebody else." He ejected the clip. "I was on a call once - the guy was on PCP or something - we hit him over twenty times, and he was still standing, still firing back. Couple incidents like that and they finally upgraded standard ammo from 9mm anyway."

He caught a glimpse of Charlie's face. "I didn't mean to freak you out."

Charlie shook his head. "No, I - I just - " he sighed. "Every time I think the variables are looking pretty good, I find out something like that."

"Nothing's a sure thing, Charlie. But I know what I'm doing. You just need to trust that."

"Yeah, well, then show me the awards. Decorations. Whatever you call them."

Don gave a short laugh. "Come on. I'll buy you a beer."

Charlie pulled the ear protectors from around his neck. "You know what I'd really like to do?"

"What's that?"

"Shots."

Don's brows soared. "It's - like - three o'clock in the afternoon."

"You telling me you've never done it at three in the afternoon?"

"I wasn't looking to set a precedent. My team giving you bad habits?"

"It's not - I wouldn't call a second time a habit - "

"Yeah? I'm bettin' Dad would. Donnie - " Don changed his voice to mimic Alan's. "Do you really think it's wise to introduce your brother to firearms and hard liquor? You know he's more at home with a piece of chalk in his hand…"

Charlie laughed. "He wouldn't."

"Wanna bet?"

Now Charlie was nettled. "It's not like you introduced me to hard liquor. That wasn't exactly the first time I've done shots."

"Tell him."

"Is that a yes?"

Don bent stiffly to collect the rest of their gear. "I thought you said that worked out great last time. Why do you need to do it again?"

"I don't know." Charlie shrugged self-consciously. "You weren't there, I guess."

Don stared at him, then shook his head, a smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. "Just - watch your intake. Remember, my ribs aren't one hundred percent yet, so I can't be hauling you back into the house. You're on your own there."

"Yeah? Well, my ribs are one hundred percent and I still won't be able to haul you, so you watch yours!"

Don thrust the ear protectors and goggles into Charlie's hands. "Carry some of the gear for your poor, broken brother."

Charlie accepted the equipment and arranged it neatly over his arm. "So we're going?"

"Yeah, yeah - why not. I could use a shot myself, now that prohibition is over."

Charlie paused, his expression changing. "You aren't still taking…?"

Don held up a hand. "Just 'as needed'. As long as we don't do anything stupid, I shouldn't need it."

"I don't do stupid things." Don's responding laugh was a little too hearty for Charlie's liking. "I don't," he insisted.

"What do you call bursting into a room where you don't know what's going on with a gun you don't know how to use when you know an armed felon is waiting?"

"I call that - " Charlie hesitated. "brave," he defended himself.

"Yeah," Don flung a free arm over his shoulders, wincing a little at the motion. "Me too." He patted Charlie on the chest with his other hand. "Just don't kid yourself that the two things are mutually exclusive."

Charlie looked pleased despite himself. "Well, you should know," he grumbled.

"Yep," Don agreed cheerfully, "I'd say I'm an expert."

TBC