Four days.
It had been four days since the raid on the auto shop.
Four days since they'd found Don, beaten and bloody, but alive and in one piece, thank God.
Four days since his broken nose had been packed, fractured jaw wired, ribs taped, fingers splinted, and his system pumped full of antibiotics and pain killers.
Four days since he'd been able to do much more than blink sleepily and smile lazily as he lay propped up in the bed. "Those must be some damn fine drugs," Granger had drawled good-naturedly while David displayed the first genuine smile Megan had seen in weeks.
He would lose a lot of weight before this was over, she knew. Living on IV drips and protein shakes for four days was already starting to show. But he was alive, he was healing, and when he was up to it, they were going to have one of the most memorable celebrations in recent Eppes memory, complete with all manner of exotically flavored Jell-O, mashed potatoes, and real ice cream—anything he felt up to digesting.
"Thank you." His voice was a rough, tired rasp, nasal, almost unrecognizable, but the dark eyes, surrounded though they were by various shades of bruising, were more alert than they had been in four days. She offered him the straw in his cup of water, and he sipped gingerly through cracked but healing lips. A slow blink and a soft sigh indicated when he'd had enough, and she set the cup aside.
His wrist, propped on pillows, twitched beneath her hand, and she slid her fingers under the splints that held his own strong digits in place.
"It's Charlie you should be thanking. He really came through."
"Already haff," Don replied. "Got m' own variation now." His eyes crinkled with mischief.
Megan choked a laugh. "I'll just bet you do."
" 'ank you," he said again.
They hadn't been wrong. Don had been right to make the exchange before the Yakuza could carry through on its threats. The team had been right to let Charlie work this very personal case. And Charlie's math and instincts had been right; he'd found his brother.
Being wrong was never an option.
Megan smiled and lightly brushed the top of her finger across his smooth shaven jaw.
"You're welcome."
finis
Author's Notes: No FBI agents were permanently damaged in the writing of this story. Though not directly connected to any of my previous works, this is definitely a variation on a theme. (In fact, I'm considering starting a series entitled "Variations on a Theme.") It is a theme that I will no doubt revisit from time to time until TPTB give me proper Don-peril/Charlie angst, with a side of Edgerton and a healthy dose of teamy goodness. Cheryl Heuton whetted my appetite for such a thing in one of the DVD commentaries, and I'm still waiting patiently.