Title: The Sound of Silence
Author: FraidyCat
Disclaimer: It is a far, far better (wo)man who owns the Brothers Eppes (et al).
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Chapter Seven: Tell Me Why You Love Me
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At this point, Don's presence was probably extraneous, but he hung around the house anyway. As an FBI agent, he always slept with the cell by his bed, but since Alan's early-morning call on Monday, it seemed like a living thing with the power to crush his world, and he slept warily at night, waking often, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He still needed to spend a good portion of the day convincing himself that Charlie was all right; it had nearly killed him to stay away as long as he had on Thursday. He knew he couldn't just sit in the Craftsman and stare at Charlie forever, though. Eventually all the flower beds would be weeded, the koi pond would be cleaned, the lawn would be mowed, and his PTO would be over; he'd have to go back to work. It was a thought he found both welcoming and repulsive. Part of him itched to get back into the sheer normalcy of it, while a larger part protested at the thought of leaving Charlie to his own devices.
He told himself that it wasn't as if he was abandoning Charlie. For one thing, he was doing exceptionally well, physically. His doctor had insisted on a six-month suspension on his driver's license, which Charlie was less than happy about, but that was the worst physical ramification of the stroke. A freakin' stroke! For another, both Amita and his father would be available. Amita carried a light load during this Summer Session, and it was due to end in two weeks anyway. After Charlie had gone to bed Thursday night, Amita informed Don and Alan that she had called Millie and begged off the second set of summer classes; she intended to concentrate on helping Charlie for the rest of the summer.
Even now, at almost noon on Friday, she and Charlie sat at the dining room table with a set of 2nd grade math flashcards; which was another thing Don found completely out of kilter. Two days ago, Charlie could not add 2 plus 2 and was understandably upset about it. Since last night's paper boy incident, though, he was plowing his way through the cards, over and over. The occasional stumble seemed to make him that much more determined. It really shouldn't have surprised Don. After all, his brother's brain may have suffered a short-circuit – but it was still his brother's brain.
Alan was in the kitchen, no doubt working on lunch, and Don was channel surfing through the sports stations, listening to the somewhat bizarre sound of a completely adult Charlie trying to work his way around 7 plus 3. He wondered somewhat idly if maybe they should add some spelling flashcards to the mix. It was about time he learned enough to hold his own at a Scrabble® board. The door to the kitchen swung open and he glanced up, startled to see Megan and Colby passing through.
"Hey!" Don automatically checked his watch and jumped off the couch, headed in their direction. "Don't you guys have a raid, or something?"
Charlie and Amita looked up from the dining room table, and soon Charlie was on his feet as well, grinning like there was no tomorrow. "Colby! Megan, it's great to see you!"
Megan smiled and rounded the table to clutch him in a hug. "We stayed away as long as we could, but enough is enough." She paused while pulling out of the hug long enough to peck him on the cheek. "The hug is from Larry," she said.
Charlie reddened. "Thank God," he said drily, and Colby laughed from behind Megan.
He stuck out a hand. "I'll settle for a handshake, Whiz Kid. You look good, really good!" He winked at Don. "Are you sure your brother didn't make this whole thing up just to get out of working with Garibaldi?"
Charlie laughed and took Colby's hand in his own, squeezing firmly and releasing. Amita had stood behind him, and he draped an arm automatically over her shoulder, drawing her closer. "Believe me, I wish he had, Colby."
Don wedged his way into the conversation, arching an eyebrow. "Isn't it interesting that you show up here, at the kitchen door no less, just in time for lunch?"
Megan laughed and exchanged a look with Colby. "Just a case of good timing. We were hoping to get by today anyway, since some people cannot be bothered to make a simple phone call…"
Don twisted his mouth and Colby took up the narrative. "Just luck of the draw that the bust went sour this close to lunchtime."
Don frowned immediately, narrowing his eyes and looking from one of his team to the other. "Sour? Everybody ok?"
Megan nodded. "Yeah, we're good. Seems Garibaldi's man inside may have been made. When we got to the warehouse, expecting a large shipment from the target, all we found was empty space. Completely. Not even dust."
Colby snorted. "Well, there was that one index finger lying in the middle of the warehouse, next to the dead pig." Amita paled and buried her head in Charlie's shoulder, and Colby apologized profusely. "Aw, geez, I'm sorry Amita. I was just kiddin' – gallows humor."
She peeked up at him. "No finger? No pig?"
Megan smiled gently, after first sparing a glare for Colby. "No, Amita. Granger's just being…Granger." She sighed, and looked again at Don. "Garibaldi is concerned about his man; he missed his last two check-ins."
"Which brings us to our ulterior motive," interrupted Colby. "We brought everything Garibaldi's got from his guy. Transcripts of every check-in." He smiled ingratiatingly at Charlie. "We were hoping to find Amita here – we checked the campus already, and we thought maybe after lunch, the two of you could do one of those magic search algorithims for us, so we could get some idea where to look for this guy."
Megan started speaking before Colby was even finished, seeing Don tense. "We really were hoping Amita could help us, Charlie. You're looking great, but we don't want to compromise your recovery."
"Well, yeah," Colby shrugged. "Goes without saying."
Don looked at Charlie, who was looking back, but he couldn't really read the expression on his face. Charlie looked down at Amita, who smiled, and then he looked at the two visiting agents. "Umm…" he started, obviously at a temporary loss for words.
"Seriously, Whiz Kid, I didn't mean you should do this," Colby said nervously, picking up on a strange vibe in the room. "My day for bad jokes, I guess. I'm sure it'll be at least a couple of weeks before you're back consulting, right?" He smiled hesitantly.
Charlie tried to smile back, and then looked directly at Megan. "You'll find out about this soon enough," he started, looking again at Colby. "Everybody will. And it's not like I have anything to be embarrassed about."
"Of course you don't!" Amita said hotly, rubbing a hand in circles over Charlie's back. Don knew that Charlie was right, on both counts. Megan dated Larry, and Charlie's predicament would soon become common knowledge. And if anything, he should be proud of his recovery, not embarrassed by any temporary consequences! Still, it was his brother's tale to tell; one he would have to repeat several times, no doubt. So Don held his tongue and let his brother handle it.
Charlie looked down at Amita quickly, took a deep breath and lifted his head. "The thing…the thing is," he began, smiling almost apologetically at Megan and Colby, "is that there's been a slight complication to the stroke. The brain is…well, it's a wild card. No-one is prepared to say exactly how long-lasting or extensive my…impairment…will be…."
Colby looked at Don, whose expression was probably intended to be unreadable, but in actuality screamed "Don't even think about touching my brother" so loudly he thought he had missed the last part of Charlie's stumbling explanation. He saw Megan's mouth gape and looked back to Charlie. "What did you say?"
"Arithmetic," Charlie answered sympathetically. He shrugged, looking Colby in the eye. "I said, I can't seem to complete simple mathematical problems right now."
Colby frowned, sure there was a punch line coming. "Well, define simple," he finally said. "I mean, simple for you and simple for me are definitely two different things when it comes to math."
Charlie took a step to the dining room table and picked up one of the addition flash cards. He held it up for Colby to see. He saw Colby's eyes widen as they focused on 6 plus 6. "Amita has been helping me," he continued. "The studies, the doctors, they say I can re-train the part of my brain that wasn't affected by the stroke." He shrugged again. "They just don't say how far."
Megan cleared her throat. "Charlie, I'm sure that even if there was a finite border and timeline, you'd overshoot it." She waited until he looked at her and smiled at him genuinely. "I don't want you to think I don't understand that this particular consequence must be extremely frustrating and not a little frightening for you. But I admire you so much. I mean, look at you – already studying!"
Charlie blinked and looked away in embarrassment, but she wasn't ready to let him off the hook yet. "Just don't forget to take care of yourself, Charlie. Don't get so focused on regaining what you've lost that everything else falls to the side. If you never help me balance my checkbook again, I'm okay with that. On the other hand, if you have another stroke and something really serious happens, I'll have to kick your butt."
Don smiled and Amita stifled a giggle against Charlie's shoulder. "What?" Colby asked the room at large. "You think she's kidding? Trust me, she can do it!"
Charlie smiled shyly but seemed to be out of words for the time-being. Amita rose on her toes to kiss him quickly on the cheek and then stepped up to take Colby by the arm and turn him back to the kitchen door he had come through in the first place. "Let's go get the papers," she offered. "Alan's making those incredible turkey sandwiches, but if we bring everything in now, I can get started right after lunch."
Megan turned to follow them through the kitchen, and Don watched Charlie; the quality of his silence was a little disturbing. "You okay?" he asked quietly.
Charlie watched the door swing shut after the trio and sighed. "I don't know," he said, surprising Don a little. He had been expecting the token 'I'm fine' that was every male Eppes' favorite two words. He stood and waited, and Charlie looked at him for a moment before he dropped his eyes. "It was the only way I could help people," he whispered. "It was the only thing that made me matter."
Don felt the words in his heart, and opened his mouth to deny them. Before he could speak, the swinging door to the kitchen blew open again and Alan stuck his head through. "Boys," he said, "We seem to have guests for lunch. Would you help me set the table, Don?" He looked quickly at the stack of flashcards on the table and then at Charlie. "Can we move the cards until after lunch, son?"
"Sure," Charlie answered, moving to gather the cards.
"Donnie?" prodded Alan. "I think Colby and Megan have to get back to work; I could use some help in here."
Don nodded and started to brush past Charlie. The sudden motion caused a flashcard to blow off the table, and he leaned to pick it up. As he turned to hand it to his brother, he let his fingers rest for a moment on Charlie's arm. "What you're thinking isn't true," he said in a quiet voice. "We're gonna talk about this later."
Charlie took the card and added it to the stack he was making on the sideboard. "I'm okay," he said in a voice that clearly indicated he wasn't. He turned more fully away from Don. "I need to go get my pills, now. I'll be in soon, okay?"
Alan bustled through the door again, a stack of plates in his hand, hearing the last part of the sentence. He thrust the plates at Don and started to backtrack into the kitchen. "Good idea, son," he said as he was turning. "Don't forget the Aggrenox®!"
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Charlie stood in the bathroom and regarded his image in the mirror. He looked a little tired, he thought, which was disconcerting since he still slept 12 to 16 hours a day. Still, for the most part he looked normal. He could walk down any street in America, and no-one would know.
Strangers would walk right by him, and never realize that a chunk of his soul was missing.
Amita knew. Amita knew, and she was trying so hard to help him get it back. Part of him appreciated that she didn't waste his time with empty platitudes, telling him that he would find something else to fill the space. Most of him appreciated the fact that she was trying to catch the numbers for him because she knew how important they were.
Yet there was a fragment, a tiny sliver of resentment…or was it fear? He had heard all the stories, the ones where she read Charles Eppes' work in high school and came to CalSci partly to study under him. Before, he had been oddly flattered; but the girl she was describing, by the time she got around to telling him those things, was long gone and bore little resemblance to the woman she had become. Now, in unguarded moments, or when he would lie awake in the dark night, he would wonder.
Could she love a man without numbers?
Maybe she was trying so hard to help him because his mind had been all she had ever seen in him. He hoped that wasn't true. Even if it all came back, he did not want that to be true.
He heard the tinkle of her laugh and the timbre of Colby's low voice as they set up her laptop in the solarium, and he leaned his head against the mirror and closed his eyes.
Tell me, he thought, a wave of despair washing over him. Please…tell me why you love me.