Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed

Chapter Seven

Everyone was different, but there was a comfortable range of differences, a normally distributed set, and for those who fell much more than a standard deviation outside that set, on either end, were always the outcasts. And Charlie, being at least two standard deviations outside of the norm, and on the high end to boot, had always struggled. In his calculations, a student could be assigned a number, a value based on certain factors – academia, popularity, personality, economic status, and so on – and from this, the hierarchy of social statuses could be extrapolated. The interesting part about this math was that certain factors became more weighted as they reached higher levels – for instance, Charlie, though overall his integer was not far above normal, still fell far outside the norm due to his increasingly heavy academic ranking. The better you were at one thing, the more important it became. And Charlie excelled at math. And for this, he was an outcast, so far out on the bell curve he could barely see the cluster at the center.

Don, in contrast, actually ranked higher than Charlie, based on Charlie's own equation. Like he had been in baseball, Don was a utility player – decently good in almost every category, without excelling unduly in any category. Very smart but never ruined the curve, popular enough to warrant a lot of friends but not many enemies, with a personality good enough that even those who didn't know him considered him likeable. Don was above the mean of the bell curve, probably a standard deviation above, but those people were admired, not ostracized.

All this to say, Charlie was often bullied, be it verbal or physical, while Don could have skated by without ever having to deal with such things. Except he didn't. Don had come home with far more than his fair share (even if he had been exactly average) of bruises, bloody noses, and detention slips. And though Don would refuse to explain anything beyond "I got in a fight" to his parents, which often resulted in further punishment, Charlie knew the reason for those injuries. After all, math never lies.

Don had spent his entire childhood protecting Charlie. Though Charlie knew that his thoughts and his math were as much a mystery to Don as they were to the rest of the world, he also knew that Don understood something about Charlie that few others realized. Charlie's math told him a lot of things – he could explain high school hierarchy far better than anyone else ever had – but math had never helped him to navigate the world. So Don walked before him, parting the way and blocking the blows that would have been Charlie's if his brother had been any less noble, responsible, and let's just face it, heroic, than he was. And of course Don's sense of responsibility had only increased over the years and Charlie had seen what he would describe, if he was not that math prodigy that he was, as countless times Don had stepped into the line of fire to save his little brother. Often he literally stepped into the line of fire – he had shoved Charlie out of the way of bullets, placing his own body between Charlie and a gun. And other times it was simply Don protecting him from people taking advantage of him or pressuring him for results, though even Don did this at times. And for all the times that Don had yelled at Charlie, scolded him as though Charlie really was just another of his agents, he tried not to take it too personally because underneath it all, he could see that Don was afraid he had put Charlie in harm's way and that went against everything he had worked for all this time.

Charlie knew it had taken every ounce of humility Don possessed to ask Charlie for help three years ago. And he understood – Don asking for help was such a statistical anomaly it was hardly worth mentioning as a possibility if they were looking at it statistically. But he had been more than happy to do it. Ecstatic actually. He knew Don worried that he was wasting Charlie's talents when Charlie could be doing "greater things." But what he failed to realize was that sometimes, seeing his math applied to making the world a little safer for him, his father, Amita, even Don, sometimes that made the equations glow just a little brighter, sometimes that brought him more joy than his cognitive emergence theory. Much as he loved his theory and his work on that theory, there was no denying the rush of seeing his math in action. And even more than that, to finally be able to help Don, to finally begin to pay him back for all the sacrifices he had made, that made everything worth it.

It was for this same reason that Charlie was not all that disgruntled at being roused from a deep sleep at four-thirty in the morning with a call from Megan. And it was why he was content to watch the driveway from the window, listening intently for the sound of tires on pavement and probably of Don protesting.

Megan had called him first from the office after they had apprehended their terrorist, before Charlie had even gone to bed. She explained that they had caught the man, and that all that was left to do now was to verify that he had no accomplices, search his house, interrogate him, and file the paperwork. Then she told him of Don's episode in the field, explained how concerned she was. Megan also explained that Don had adamantly refused medical attention, and even more obstinately insisted he would not be leaving the office until the case was officially closed. She said Don had set up camp directing from the bull pen and that she figured as long as he stayed in that chair, where he looked quite content, he wasn't in any immediate danger. Charlie had made her promise to bring Don to his house as soon as he could be persuaded or even dragged kicking and screaming from the office, no matter what the time.

Megan's second call was to inform him that the team had a plan to force Don out the door and that she would be dropping him off within the hour. So Charlie had dragged himself out of bed, put on some tea, and settled himself to wait with a copy of Applied Mathematics.

It was after five by the time he heard Don's key in the lock, heard a car reversing from the driveway. He stood up as the door swung open, Don waveringly stepping inside, trying to be completely silent. Charlie stepped forward, bare feet making only a slight sound on the wood floor, but Don spun to face him, one hand reaching for the gun at his belt, the other clutching the doorknob for, Charlie assumed, balance, as Don wavered even more.

"What are you doing up?" Don asked, confused, hand dropping from his gun. Charlie took a moment to look his brother over. His skin was almost grey, the only colour a bit of a flush on his cheeks and the purple circles under his eyes. He was shaking gently, Charlie noted, and still seemed to be relying on the door to hold him up.

"Megan called me," Charlie said. Don shook his head as he closed the door behind him.

"She shouldn't have done that," he said. "I'm okay. Just need a little sleep before I head back in –"

"You're not going in tomorrow," Charlie said, surprised. "Megan didn't tell you? She talked to the ADIC. You're taking at least three days off."

Don frowned. "Does everyone think they can just go over my head?" he grumbled. "It's just a touch of flu, I'll be fine once I get some sleep."

"She told me what happened," Charlie broke in. "How you couldn't stop coughing, how you almost passed out."

"It wasn't that bad," Don insisted.

"Colby was ready to carry you back to the car and take you to the hospital, if he hadn't been holding onto Reynolds," Charlie stated. "And you know he doesn't scare easily."

Don grunted noncommittally. "We can argue later," he said finally. "I can barely think –" Abruptly, his words cut off as his breath hitched, and then he was coughing, a rough, wet rattling from his lungs, unable to stop long enough to inhale at all. Charlie ran to his side, supporting him as Don doubled over. Charlie patted his back, already seeing Colby's point. If he had more upper body strength, he would be considering the same thing.

"What's going on?" Alan demanded from the stairs, but quickly deduced on his own as he reached the entryway. "Donnie!"

"'m fine," Don gasped, attempting to straighten up, even as his knees buckled, and Charlie barely managed to keep both of them from collapsing to the floor. Alan rushed forward, catching Don by his shoulders and helping Charlie to half-carry him over to the couch. Once there, Don slumped, clearly exhausted. And no wonder, Charlie thought, since according to his calculations, Don had been up more than twenty-four hours after only a few hours sleep, plus he had the flu. It was a testament to Don's sheer obstinacy that he was still awake and somewhat functioning.

Alan sat next to Don, reaching to wrap a blanket around his shoulders, and Charlie suddenly realized Don was shivering. Alan then reached up and brushed a few short strands of hair from Don's face, resting his fingers lightly on his forehead. "Donnie, you're burning up," he said softly. Charlie noted that, though Don was clearly running a fever, he was not sweating anymore – and he remembered Don forcing himself to sip water, that Don had mentioned not being able to keep anything down. He rushed to the kitchen, returning moments later with a bottle of water, which he offered to Don, who shook his head.

"C'mon, you're clearly dehydrated. If you get much worse, we really will have to take you to the hospital," Charlie persuaded. Don met his eyes, the utter misery there almost more than Charlie could bear, but nonetheless he took the proffered water and took a small sip. Another shiver wracked his body, and Alan rubbed his back gently. After a few long moments and a couple more sips, Alan asked "Do you think you can make it upstairs?"

Don nodded silently, pulling himself to his feet unsteadily. He swayed, but waved Charlie away when he stepped forward to help. It was a slow journey up the stairs, but when they finally made it to Don's room, he slowly removed his gun, phone and badge from his belt and placed them on the nightstand, stepped out of his shoes and kicked off his socks. Then he glanced over at Charlie and Alan who hovered within easy reach of him, should they be needed. "You mind?" he gestured at the door. "I'd like to change."

"Oh, oh, yes," Alan stammered, stepping out into the hall with Charlie. They hovered there a few moments, exchanged concerned looks and peering at the closed door. Finally, it opened and Don stood there in a t-shirt and pajama pants, looking not at all surprised.

"I think I'm going to get some sleep now," he said.

"Okay," Charlie agreed.

"I thought I should tell you so you two don't spend all morning standing here watching my door," Don said.

"We'll just be downstairs if you need us," Alan said. Don nodded, clearly restraining himself from pointing out what Charlie was sure would be an argument containing at least one of the phrases "I'm a grown man," "I'm okay," and "please don't worry." He instead turned back to go inside his room.

"Don?" Don stopped and turned back to look at Charlie. "Good work today. I know it can't have been easy and just…you saved a lot of lives today."

A ghost of a smile graced Don's lips. "Thanks, Chuck," he said softly, before disappearing into his room.

Both Alan and Charlie stared at the door for a long moment, before Alan motioned Charlie downstairs, saying "So would you like to explain what happened today?"

Charlie sketched out a response, filling his father in on the poisonings, the imminent attack, Don's adamant refusal to rest until he knew they were all safe. The facts were straightforward.

It was when he got to Don himself, to explaining his brother's deterioration, that they were not so simple. When he realized that he could not pinpoint the origin of Don's issues, that when he thought about it, his brother had been exhausted, grouchy, and borderline ill for a few weeks now, he realized that even in all his best efforts to repay Don, he would never measure up. He had no doubt that had he been struggling as Don clearly had been, Don would've not only noticed but taken care of the problem on day one, not day whatever this was when it was as obvious as a junior high math problem. Don would've deduced what was wrong, offered some brotherly advice and support, made sure Charlie got some rest and a fresh perspective, made him take some time to relax.

When it came down to it, Charlie realized, it was simply a pattern. Don repeatedly proved himself to be the capable agent and brother, to not only understand people but consistently care for them and put them before himself. And Charlie, despite his best efforts to break his own pattern, still found himself, at every turn, getting lost in the numbers and forgetting that the whole was sometimes more than just the sum of its parts, no matter what the math may say.