Hello, lovely readers! Thank you all for reading. I hope you are ready for Chapter 3, and I do so very much hope you enjoy it! As always, leave a review . . . I love love LOVE hearing what people think!

Chapter 3 (Charlie)

For as much as it had been raining ten days ago when everything changed, it sure was ridiculously hot now. Even the air-conditioning wasn't quite masking the sun that was shining so brightly through the solarium windows. He would have preferred to be working in the nice, cool garage, but the garage had been turned into a small guest house where his father now lived. Although it was a perfect setup for everyone, Charlie sometimes found that he missed the garage. He'd accomplished most of his best work there—the Eppes Convergence, most of his work thus far on his Cognitive Emergence Theory, and he'd uncovered countless interesting new leads on many FBI cases, before he'd gone to England. Since his return, he hadn't been working with the FBI quite as much, but still was occasionally.

He rubbed at the beads of sweat on his forehead. He could feel a slight headache coming on, but he didn't care. He took a deep breath and continued to write on the blackboard. He was like a man possessed, scribbling madly. It was a good thing he knew what he was writing; he was a little afraid he might not be able to read his chicken-scratch handwriting later.

Oh well. He shrugged a little to himself. Keep moving. Can't let this get away from you.

His grip on the chalk was becoming slippery. He absently wiped his hand off his shirt, paying more attention to reading his most recent line of work.

Shaking his head and growling softly to himself, Charlie picked up the eraser and rubbed it furiously over the bottom of the board. No, no, no, that doesn't make sense . . . pay attention to what you're writing, you idiot. His thoughts were completely disjointed and unsupported, as if he was thinking about something else. But he couldn't recall actually thinking about anything other than his current task any time in the last hour—he checked his watch, whoops, three hours—that he'd been in here working. Gah! What was wrong with his concentration today?

He supposed it could have still been an after-effect of falling out of a moving car and practically landing on his head, but he felt like it should have been long enough now that his concentration levels shouldn't be affected. He didn't know; he didn't know enough about head injuries to make that judgment.

Oh, there he was, drifting again, ironically drifting off about drifting off this time. He heaved a big sigh and wiped more sweat off his forehead. Maybe he needed a quick break. He supposed his new line of thought on his Cognitive Emergence theory was currently too underdeveloped to make any headway on at the moment. A few minutes of resting on the couch here wouldn't hurt, he figured.

He didn't even need a nap—just to sit for a few minutes. He didn't even want a nap. Sleeping hadn't worked out too well for Charlie lately. He'd been really tired, so it didn't take much for him to fall asleep—so it seemed like all he had to do anymore was shut his eyes and there it would be—more images of his Prius tumbling off the side of the road, throwing him and Don out with it, and landing on Don, pinning him helplessly to the ground.

Pulling both his legs up onto to the small sofa, Charlie found himself staring at his feet.

It was so unfair.

A part of him so fervently wished that he could trade places with his brother. He wished the car had landed on him, not Don. For one reason, mainly. He deserved it. It was his fault they'd wrecked, anyways. He'd been driving the car. He should have to suffer the consequences of his own actions, or rather, inaction. He should have been the one to be punished for his erroneous driving, not Don.

Everything would change for Don—everything. It just wasn't fair; it wasn't fair at all. Things should not have worked out this way.

He leaned his head over to the side of the couch and drew his knees to his chest.

It literally made him sick to think of the situation Don now found himself in. His stomach twisted and turned every time it threatened to even enter his mind.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Things had been going so well for all of them. Don had been happier than Charlie had ever seen him before. How could something this bad have happened?

The worst part was that Charlie knew he'd never be able to make it up to his brother. How could one go about making something like that up to someone? He'd made a mistake while driving-he must have-and it had changed his brother's life. What was he supposed to do about that? It just was so awful, and Charlie just wished he could turn back time so this whole thing wouldn't have happened and he could just—

His head jerked forward. Wait, what was I just thinking about?

And he drifted off, just like that, on the solarium couch.

The wet was back, and Charlie noticed it more this time. It soaked him to the bone and chilled him, causing him to shiver violently. Thankfully, he could feel himself becoming numb, but as of yet, he could still hardly stand how cold he was. It pierced him through to his very core.

Damn. He was becoming distracted from his current task. Damn the cold, the cold was consuming his mind. What was he supposed to be doing again?

Oh yeah, his brother. He had to find his brother. He knew Don was in trouble somewhere.

Charlie walked along for awhile; it was dark, and he didn't know where he was exactly. He just knew he was wet and that it was dark.

What was that? Did he just hear someone calling his name? Damn. He broke out into a run. The air flow from his increasing speed only served to chill him further—something he hadn't been sure was possible. But he shoved his discomfort aside, with a Herculean effort. His brother needed him. He could vaguely hear his name being called somewhere off to . . . was it his left? He paused, listening.

Charlie shuffled his feet slowly to the left and the sound was indeed getting louder. It was becoming obvious now, that his name was being called by a voice that was clearly his brother's. Charlie became nervous; it sounded like Don was distressed.

"Charlie," Don called and suddenly the word was being breathed into Charlie's ear. He whipped his head around and suddenly, his nose was practically touching his brother's.

He pulled his head back a little in surprise. "Don," he breathed. He stepped back, taking in the sight of his brother standing there. Charlie was slightly confused. Nothing looked too odd about his brother, except for the fact that his face was contorted as if he were in pain—or more accurately, he looked betrayed.

"Charlie," Don whispered. "How could you let this happen? This should have been you."

Don's brown eyes gazed piercingly into Charlie's. Charlie had to look away. "Don," he squeaked out.

"Charlie!" Don had resumed his loud calling. "Charlie!"

"Charlie!"

The cold suddenly vanished, replaced by hot. He was sweating again—a lot.

"Charlie!"

Suddenly, Charlie realized his eyes were shut. Huh. He opened them, expecting to see Don still staring at him, and was surprised to find Amita's concerned gaze directed down to him.

"Hey, Charlie," she said. "Are you okay? You seemed like you were having quite the nightmare there."

Charlie sat up. He was still on the couch in the solarium. Man oh man. He hadn't had a dream quite like that one before. They'd always featured Don being trapped under the Prius, just like it had happened in real life. But this one—it was already fleeting away from Charlie's mind. He already couldn't quite recall where he and Don had been or what had been happening during the dream.

"I'm fine," he mumbled. He tried to give Amita a small smile. He stood up, brushing past her, and moved towards the chalkboard.

"Charlie, what were you doing in here?" Amita wondered.

"Oh . . . um, I . . . sorry . . . um, what?" Charlie stuttered. He'd already forgotten what she'd asked.

Amita was looking at him incredulously, and he sighed impatiently. She could always just answer his question, he argued to himself, instead of wasting both their time staring at him like he was an idiot.

Okay, that was pretty unfair, he had to admit.

"I just don't understand why you've shut yourself up here in this hot room," she elaborated. "I understand that you might be wanting to get some work done with not much else to do right now, but do you have to do it here? You should have asked me, we could have moved the chalkboard down to the living room, where it's cooler—"

Charlie cut her off. "I like the solarium. Even if it's hot." He wished she would leave him alone now.

Amita sighed, seemingly unsure of how to respond. "Okay. Well. Um, maybe since you've been feeling a lot better the last couple days I thought maybe you'd like to get out of the house."

That was the last thing Charlie wanted to do. Even though he wasn't medically cleared to and therefore had yet to drive since the accident, he wasn't too keen on riding in cars either.

"Um, no thanks," he told her, trying to muster up a smile. "I was really getting in the zone here."

Amita chanced a sly glance over towards the couch that Charlie had just been napping on. "Yep, I can tell." She smiled up at him.

Charlie had to admit, he was glad the mood was lightening up. He let out a small, exasperated laugh. "No, really! I had a whole new line of thought going, I just—before I was . . . well, I got a little, um—"

"Uh-huh, sure." Amita was laughing. "Well, anyways, are you sure? I thought maybe we could go to the store, pick up something to make for dinner, and you know, maybe we could stop by the hospital and see how your brother's doing. I know he wants to see you."

Charlie's stomach did a full somersault, but he felt he hid all outward signs fairly well. "No. I'm serious. I just was feeling tired earlier, I thought maybe a quick break would help me focus better. I didn't even mean to fall asleep. Seriously. Now, I'm just ready to keep going on this line of thought. I'm really heading off down a significant new direction for my Cognitive Emergence theory. Really, I'm actually quite excited about it."

Amita narrowed her eyes slightly, as if trying to read his mind. It made him shift uncomfortably, like a child under his parents' knowing scrutiny.

He flashed her a small smile. "If you'd like, I can help you decide what we want for dinner, but then I really have to get back to work. Really." He hoped that by providing that small peace offering, she'd leave him alone.

She sighed heavily. "Charlie. You do know that Don doesn't blame you for what happened, right? None of us do. And I'm serious. Your dad says Don really does wish you'd come and see him."

Charlie flinched, her words feeling like a cosmically sardonic slap in the face. "I'm sure that's what he says."

"What do you mean by that?" Amita's face was a portrait of confusion. "Of course Don says he wants to see you."

"Yeah, well, we all know Don," Charlie started to explain. "He always says things are okay and acts like he's just peachy, but there's usually something else going on inside that he doesn't let anyone else see."

Amita did little more than stare at him for nearly ten seconds. Charlie, by that point, was worked up enough to stare back. Of course Don's just keeping it inside. That's what Charlie had been trying to do all along, after all. And of course, Don was always better at it than he was.

Which must be why everyone believed it when Don said he was fine and that he wanted Charlie to come by. Either that or they were just so desperate to believe that Don was fine. But Charlie wasn't fooled.

"Well, you certainly wouldn't know, would you," Amita eventually shot back, her voice quiet and threatening. "You haven't been there."

Charlie shut his eyes, her words stinging. "Maybe not, but I do know my brother. He hides things, we all know that."

"I don't even know how to respond to that," Amita told him, frowning.

"Then maybe you should just go off and run your errands," Charlie suggested, his voice taking on a pleading quality. "I really do need to get back to work."

"If that's what you really want," Amita conceded. With that, she turned and left Charlie alone in the hot solarium. He watched her go, not bothering to try and stop her.

Of course Don would tell everyone that he didn't blame Charlie. Don was mostly the type to avoid trouble, so of course he would feel like if everyone else thought he was okay, then they'd be okay too and there'd be no trouble. And obviously, it wasn't even a possibility that Amita was correct. Why would it be?

It was clearly all Charlie's fault. Don would have to be a fool not to know that, and Don was no fool.

TBC