When Charlie had suggested they decorate the house with Christmas lights, Alan had been thrilled. He and Margaret had been doing that ever since the boys had grown up, but the tradition had stopped right after her death – the memories associated with the festive lights too raw and painful to face. But Alan felt – and obviously Charlie did, too – that enough time had passed to give their old tradition another shot. Charlie had even insisted on buying brand new, blinking icicle lights to hang from the roof. Of course in typical Charlie fashion, the young professor had been so wrapped up in school, work, and his research, that the lights were in serious danger of spending the entire holiday season still in the box.
One cool winter day, under a cloudless Los Angeles sky, Alan decided he might as well take matters into his own hands. He carefully removed the lights from the box and climbed his trusty old ladder to the highest peak of the roof. He was just about to string the lights when he heard Don's worried voice calling from below.
"What are you doing up there?"
Biting his tongue to keep from asking, 'What does it look like I'm doing?', the older man gave a patient smile. "Your brother wanted to decorate this year. He bought the lights but he's been too busy to hang them."
"So he asked you to do it?" Don demanded angrily. "You're…"
"Too old to be up this high?" Alan finished with a hint of irritation in his voice.
"Well," Don mumbled uncertainly. "Well… yeah."
"Don Eppes I am perfectly capable of climbing a ladder and hanging Christmas lights. Besides, your brother didn't ask me – I thought I'd surprise him when he got home tonight."
"Still," Don protested, although in a much more respectful tone of voice. "You should have made sure someone was here with you in case something happened." Don shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the hood of his SUV. "Since I'm here, do you mind if I hang the lights?"
"Don-"
"I want to," the agent cut him off. Seeing his father's doubtful expression, he reluctantly admitted, "And I'd feel better if you were down here safe and sound and I was the one up there in the stratosphere. I don't want you to fall and break your neck."
Heaving a sigh, although secretly pleased to be getting out of what he was certain was going to be a backbreaking chore, Alan nodded. "Knock yourself out." He quickly descended the ladder and clapped his son on the shoulder. "Although I don't think you really know what you're getting yourself into."
"It'll be fun," Don grinned. "'Tis the season and all that."
"Right," his father chuckled. "So, you want me to get you a drink? You'll probably be out here a while."
"That would be great," Don smiled as he carefully climbed the ladder. "You know where to find me."
Alan entered the house and headed straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge and bypassing the beer – not while he's up that high, he thought. He opted for making two mugs of hot chocolate – Margaret's recipe – that no one in their family could ever turn down. A few minutes later he had poured one mug and was about to start on the second when a loud crashing noise and a dull thump sounded through the open kitchen window. He rushed outside, his heart leaping into his throat at what he saw.
"Donny!" Alan frantically called as he rushed toward his oldest son's crumpled form. "Donny, answer me!" He tugged Don's arms away from his face, his heart rising to lodge in his throat at the bloody gash he saw on his son's temple. Please let him be alright, he silently pleaded. "Donny!"
"What?" the other man finally rasped in irritation. "Why are you yelling in my ear? You're giving me a headache."
"No, son, I think the fall off the ladder did that."
"Ladder?" Don asked in bewilderment as he squinted at his surroundings. "What ladder?"
"That one," his father replied as he gestured behind his son's back. Seeing the confusion still present on Don's face, he asked with growing concern, "You don't remember?"
The younger man slowly twisted around to look at the fallen ladder behind him, his eyes widening in shock. "I was… I was on the ladder…"
Not sure if Don was asking a question or not, Alan nodded and asked, "The Christmas lights, remember? You were hanging them for me so I wouldn't 'fall and break my neck'." Trying to lighten the mood and wipe the anxious look off his son's face, he added dryly, "I didn't need a demonstration."
"Didn't break my neck," Don groused as he turned back around to look up at his father's worried features.
"No, but you nearly cracked your skull open. Can you stand up?"
"Of course," Don snapped as he tried to push himself upright, wobbling dangerously until his father grabbed him under his arms to steady him. "See?"
"Right," Alan sighed, draping his son's arm around his shoulders for support. "Let's get you inside and take a look at that."
"What?"
"Your head is bleeding, Don."
"Oh," the dazed man replied. "Okay."
Don's disorientation was setting off alarm bells in his head and he wanted nothing more to get him settled inside, check out his head, and call for an ambulance if necessary. Once they'd entered the house, Alan gently deposited his son on the couch with a firm, "Stay put." He went into the kitchen and grabbed some damp paper towels and the first aid kit, idly thinking about how handy that little investment had been throughout the years.
As he entered the living room, he was dismayed to find Don swaying on his feet. "Donny! I told you to stay put!"
"Gotta put the ladder up," the other man replied, completely oblivious to the bleeding gash on his head.
"Now you remember the ladder," Alan muttered. Seeing the confused look on Don's face, Alan patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. "I'll take care of that in a minute," he promised as he pushed his son to sit on the couch. "Right now I need to take care of you. Hold still while I look at your head."
"I'll be alright."
"With a head as hard as yours I'm sure you will, but humor me, okay?" Alan gently blotted away the blood until he could see a two inch gash marring his son's temple. "That might need stitches," he observed aloud.
"It's fine," Don insisted as he weakly batted at his father's hand.
"Did you lose consciousness?"
"I don't think so," the younger man replied.
"Think?" Alan repeated, barely containing his panic. "Okay, that's it. We're going to the hospital."
"No," the agent insisted. "I don't need a hospital."
"Oh," Alan replied sarcastically. "I'm sorry – you thought this matter was up for debate?"
"I'm not going," Don stated with conviction. As he saw's his father's eyes blaze with determination, he hastily added, "And you can't make me."
"Head wounds are serious, Don. You should know that."
"Dad."
"Don." Seeing that his son wasn't going to budge, the older man changed tactics. "How about I call an ambulance?"
"Whatever," Don sighed. "But I'm not going with them either."
"Do you enjoy making me worry?" Alan demanded angrily, knowing it was a cheap shot but unable to control his frustration.
"I told you not to worry – I'm fine."
"Well at least let me make you up an ice pack and get you some pain killers."
"I wouldn't argue with that at all," Don said thankfully.
Alan nodded and left Don alone while he went to the kitchen. He slipped the cordless phone from his pocket and, making sure to keep his voice low, made a single phone call.
--
So… I fell from a ladder, huh? Don wondered to himself. Odd that I don't remember it, but that's normal for a head wound… right? He reached up and probed the sore spot on his head, making a disgusted face when his fingers came away sticky. No wonder I have a killer headache. His stomach churned as he studied the red substance coating his fingers. It seems to have bled a lot, too. No wonder Dad was so upset.
"Here you go," his father said as he entered the room, his voice startling Don. Man, I must be spacey – I didn't even hear Dad coming. "Donny?"
"Thanks, Dad," he answered as he accepted the Tylenol and glass of water his father held out to him. After he swallowed the pills he closed his eyes and allowed his father to adjust the ice pack on his head, relishing the numbing relief it brought to the constant throbbing.
"Better?"
"Much, thanks." He heard his father sit in the chair beside him and sensed the hawk-like eyes watching him, waiting for something to go wrong. "I told you I'm fine."
"Yes you did," the older man replied doubtfully.
Don let out a frustrated sigh and tried to ignore the intense gaze boring a hole in him. "You going to sit there all day?" Don finally snapped, instantly regretting the harshness of his words.
"No, just until-" His father was cut off by a knock at the door and Don's eyes immediately shot open.
"You didn't."
"Call an ambulance?" Alan asked as he quirked an eyebrow. He let the question hang in the air as he walked to the front door, finally responding as he placed his hand on the knob. "No, but I should have."
The puzzled agent watched as his father swung open the door to reveal their long-time neighbor, Roger Borden – Doctor Roger Borden. "Dad," he groaned. "For the last time-"
"I know, I know," his father interrupted. "You're fine. So if you're so fine, it won't hurt for Roger to take a look at you, now will it?" Turning to his neighbor, Alan gave him a rueful smile as he gestured him inside. "I appreciate you coming over, Roger. I apologize in advance for Don's behavior."
"Not a problem, Alan," he said with a wink. "Head wounds tend to make even the most even-tempered people a little short." Crossing the living room with a few long strides, Borden took a seat on the coffee table in front of his patient. "Long time no see, Don. How have you been?"
"Busy," the agent replied with a sigh. "I'm sorry my father called you over here for this. I'm fine, really."
"You should always have any head wound checked out. You haven't learned that at the Bureau?" Don shrugged and the doctor patiently smiled. "Well, now you know. So tell me, do you remember falling off the ladder?"
"Not really," Don admitted. "Just being on the ladder with the lights and then hearing Dad yelling in my ear. The part in between is really fuzzy."
"He didn't remember the lights when I first found him," Alan quickly clarified, casting a scolding look at his son. "I had to remind him."
"Well I remember it now," the injured man grumbled.
"That's normal," Doctor Borden stated to both men. "This is the important part though – did you lose consciousness at all?"
"No." "He doesn't remember." The two Eppes men spoke at the same time and both fixed the other with an exasperated look.
"I see," the doctor chuckled. "Don, be honest with me, okay?" At the agent's nod, he asked again, "Is there any possibility that you might have blacked out? Even for a second?"
"I suppose there's a slim chance, but I really don't think I did."
"Okay," Borden nodded. "Thanks for being honest. Let me check a couple of other things." He pulled a penlight from his shirt pocket and gently held Don's eyelids open, shining the light into his eyes. "That's good, very good," he quietly observed. Switching off the light, he smiled and patted Don's knee. "Your pupils are reacting well and they're both of the same, normal size."
"That's good," Alan commented ignoring the I-told-you-so look his son was giving him.
"Any nausea? Dizziness? Soreness or weakness in your limbs?"
"No, a little, and no," Don answered.
"Good," Borden grinned. "Now, let me see if this wound needs stitches." He carefully turned Don's head to the side and prodded around the edge of the bloody wound. "Not too deep or wide," he observed. "A couple of butterfly bandages should do the trick."
"Feel better, Dad?" Don wearily inquired.
"I hate to get between a father and son like this, but…" Borden waited until both men were looking at him to continue. "You do need someone to keep an eye on you, Don. Sometimes the more serious symptoms don't show up right away."
"How long before we know for sure?" Alan asked, concern filling his voice.
"Usually twenty-four hours is sufficient," Roger told them. "I'd like you to wake him say, every other hour. Make sure he's responsive and make sure he's speaking clearly, not slurring his words. If he does then you need to call an ambulance right away. Also," he began as he turned to Don, "You need to let your father know if you experience any weakness in your limbs or if you feel nauseous or if you're headache gets to the point that it's unbearable, alright?"
"Sure," Don agreed.
"I mean it, Don," Doctor Borden sternly stated. "This could turn into something very serious. You can't have that tough FBI agent mentality for this."
"I'll let Dad know," Don said sincerely. Looking at his father's worried face, he felt a pang of guilt and sought to ease his father's mind. "I promise I will, Dad." At Alan's nod, Don sighed in relief and allowed his eyes to close while Doctor Borden cleaned and bandaged the gash on his head.
"There you go," the neighbor said as he packed up his kit. "Don't hesitate to call me if you have any questions."
"You really think he would hesitate?" Don chuckled softly as he cracked his eyes open and gestured in the direction of his father.
"No, because he's a very smart man. I'll see you around, Don. Take care."
Don waved goodbye to Borden and let his eyes slide shut again, wincing as the throbbing headache started to return. He was close to dozing off, but still alert enough to hear his father and their neighbor speaking softly by the door. After a few minutes the voices stopped and the front door opened and closed. Another moment passed and Don felt his father's fingers tenderly smooth the skin just above the head wound.
"More painkillers?" Alan asked.
"Yeah, thanks."
Alan disappeared for a moment and quickly returned with two more Tylenol and a blanket and pillow. He handed the pills to Don and shook out the blanket. "You don't really look like you're up for stairs," he explained. "Or any movement, for that matter."
"Good call, Dad. This headache is for the birds." He cautiously shifted, his father's hand steadying him, until he was lying on his side on the couch. He smiled softly as Alan placed the blanket around him, carefully tucking him in. "I'm not a kid," he mumbled. "But thanks."
"Anytime, son. Go to sleep and I'll wake you in a couple of hours."
"'Kay," Don whispered. As he relaxed against the comfortable cushions he felt his father's hand smooth through his hair. "Felt that," he smiled sleepily.
"Shh," Alan soothed. "You owe me this much for worrying me to death."
"Fair enough," the agent said around a yawn. Odd, he thought sleepily. I swear Dad's touch makes the throbbing lessen. With that comforting thought, Don focused on his father's touch and slowly descended into a deep sleep.
--
"Go 'way," Don grumbled.
Alan took a deep breath, reminded himself to be patient, and tried again. "Don Eppes, wake up this minute."
"'M awake," the agent grumbled. "'Cause you won't be quiet."
"Alright then," the older man said with a slight grin. "What day is it?"
"The last day I ever do a favor for you or Charlie."
That's my boy, Alan smiled inwardly. "Where are you?"
"On a comfortable couch wishing I had a universal mute button."
"I bet," his father chuckled, his concern easing as Don not only answered his questions, but did so with a sense of humor. "What do you want for supper?"
"Let's not talk about food."
"Are you nauseous?" Alan demanded, worry instantly returning to gripping his heart.
"No," Don quickly replied as if he knew where his father's thoughts were headed. "Don't worry, I'm just not hungry." He wearily dragged his eyes open and fixed his father with a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Dad. Honest."
"Okay, Don. I trust you." Alan reached out and gently patted his shoulder. "Go back to sleep now."
"My pleasure," Don sighed as he sank even further into the couch.
Alan stood and watched for a few minutes until Don's breathing had evened out and he was sure his son was resting comfortably. Setting his watch alarm for exactly two hours, he made his way into the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets and refrigerator as he tried to figure out what to make for supper. Although Don had said he wasn't hungry, Alan wanted him to have something to eat that would be easy on his stomach if he changed his mind. His decision made, he gathered the ingredients and began to prepare homemade chicken soup.
--
Charlie strolled into his Craftsman house, glad to be out of the office and home for the night. He was looking forward to the upcoming weekend and had actually made plans to take some time off to decorate the house with his newly purchased lights. He couldn't suppress a grin as he thought of the look of joy that would be on his father's face once the lights were shining from the roof of the house.
Slipping out of his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack by the front door, Charlie sniffed the air and smelled the pleasant aroma of his father's chicken soup. Dad only makes that soup when one of us is sick, Charlie thought to himself. I hope he's okay.
As he headed toward the kitchen a lump on the couch caught his eye. He walked closer and was able to make out his brother's prone form under a blanket. Oh, I guess Don's the one that's sick. Wanting to make sure his brother was okay, Charlie quietly crept to the couch and peered down at his older brother. His eyes widened at the gash that marred the other man's head. "Don?" he asked with concern. "You okay, bro?" Don remained silent and still, oblivious to his brother's words. "Don?" Charlie repeated as he lightly shook his brother's shoulder. "Don?"
His worry grew and Charlie hastily made his way into the kitchen. "Dad!"
Alan looked up from his position over the stove and smiled. "I didn't know you were home."
"What's wrong with Don?"
"Oh, he fell and hit his head today. I was making him some soup for when he wakes up."
"Is he okay?" Charlie demanded. "I was just in there and he slept through me calling his name."
"What?" Alan exclaimed as he abandoned the pot on the stove and flew past Charlie. The professor followed him to Don's side and watched as Alan knelt in front of the couch and began lightly slapping his brother's cheek.
"Donny! Son, wake up!" Charlie watched as his father pulled the blanket away and lifted Don to sit upright, wincing as his head limply lolled to the side. "Donny! Open your eyes this minute!"
"Hur's," the injured man slurred.
Charlie had to strain to hear the one word that slipped from his brother's lips and he immediately felt fear churning in his stomach. Don never admits when he's in pain. "Dad? Should I-"
"Call for an ambulance," his father said as he continued to work with the unresponsive agent, patting his cheek and shaking his shoulders. "Come on, son. Wake up for me."
Charlie stood rooted to the spot as his mind swirled in a million different directions. He had just come home on a Friday night with a nice, relaxing weekend planned, but somehow he'd wound up in the middle of a nightmare. Dad said he hurt his head but he didn't tell me how. If Don had gotten hurt at work surely someone would have called me, right? So what-
"Charlie!"
His father's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he nodded, scrambling for the phone and dialing nine-one-one. "I need an ambulance," he told the operator. "My brother hit his head and he's not responding to us."
"Is he conscious or completely unresponsive?"
"My dad's managed to wake him up but he's not really lucid."
"Okay," the operator said. "I've got an ambulance on the way. Try to keep him awake and try to get him to respond to you. I'll stay on the line in case you need me."
"Thanks," Charlie told her as he returned to his brother's side, setting the phone down on the end table. "Dad?"
"He's completely out of it," Alan worried as he cradled Don's face in his hands. "I can't get him to say anything except that it hurts."
"There's an ambulance on its way," the professor told his father. "The operator said we should keep trying to get him to talk."
"I am trying, Charlie," the older man snapped. "You want to give it a shot?"
"Hey, Don!" Charlie called loudly as he sat next to his brother on the couch. "Look at me, Don!" The agent's head rolled in the direction of the professor's voice, but he made no attempt to speak. "Don, wake up!" Charlie roughly grabbed the other man's chin and leaned in until their noses were practically touching. "If you don't wake up right now, I'll dig up my copy of your initiation photo for your college baseball team and give it to Colby and David. Remember? The one of you in that nice, slinky red dress?"
Don's eyes blinked and he seemed to be trying to focus on his brother. "…Wouldn't."
"I most certainly will if you don't start talking to me right now." Easing his grip on the injured man's chin and lowering his voice, Charlie added, "It's important that you stay awake and talk to us, bro. I know you can do it."
Don's face creased in pain as he tried to lift a hand to his head. "Really hur's."
"I know it does, Don," Charlie whispered, seizing his brother's hand to prevent him from messing with the gash on his head. "Help's on the way so you just need to hang in there for me, okay?"
"'Kay," Don nodded, swallowing deeply against the wave a dizziness that accompanied the movement. "Dad's… mad?"
"Mad?" Alan asked as he perched on the edge of the coffee table. "Why would I be mad?"
"Didn't put… ladder… up."
"I told you I'd take care of that," the worried father soothed as he grasped his oldest son's hand and gently squeezed. "You just focus on getting better."
Before Don could respond they three were interrupted by a loud siren accompanied by flashing lights drifting through the living room window. Charlie met the paramedics at the door and escorted them to the living room sofa, horrified to find that Don had lapsed back into unconsciousness.
"He hit his head?" one of the medics asked, gently probing the area around the gash.
"Yes," Alan replied. "He fell off of a ladder this afternoon."
He what? Charlie exclaimed to himself.
"He seemed okay?" the medic doubtfully asked.
"He was responsive and lucid," the oldest Eppes assured him. "I had a neighbor who is a doctor come over and check him out. He said he seemed fine but gave me a list of symptoms to watch out for. When I had a hard time waking him up we called you."
"That was the right thing to do," the other man assured him. "We're going to transport him in to the hospital for a closer examination and run some tests. One of you can ride with us and the other might want to grab an overnight bag because the doctors will probably want to admit him for observation."
"I'll ride," Alan told his youngest son. "Since I know more about his situation. You can swing by his apartment and grab some of his things?"
"Sure," Charlie said flatly, his mind running over every worse case scenario that might happen to his brother. His father's hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts.
"He'll be okay, Charlie. You know that, right?"
No, I don't, the younger man thought angrily. I don't know that at all. Just like I didn't know he was hurt in the first place or even what he was doing up on that stupid ladder! But somehow he found himself saying, "Of course I know that. It's Don we're talking about."
"That's right," his father smiled brightly. "I'll meet you at the hospital after a while. I have my cell if you need me." And with those last words, Charlie watched as the two medics, his brother and his father disappeared out the front door, leaving him alone with less than comforting thoughts.
--
Alan nervously eyed the waiting room clock for at least the tenth time in as many minutes. He'd been sitting in the uncomfortable chair for more than two hours and he was starting to lose his patience. What was going on with Don? Where was a doctor or nurse who could update him? And where was Charlie? Did it really take that long to run by Don's apartment and grab some of his things?
I need to keep busy, Alan told himself. Then I won't notice how long this is taking and I won't focus on everything that could be going wrong.
He flung himself off the couch and stalked to the waiting room's vending area, feeding a ridiculous amount of change into the drink machine. He made his selection and scowled when no can appeared. Of course that would go wrong, he sighed inwardly. Everything else has – why not this, too?
His frustration with all of the events of the day boiled over and Alan found himself banging on the vending machine as if it were the reason he was here and his son was lying somewhere in God knows what condition. "Give me my drink," he growled softly, his anger growing as the machine refused to give up its treasure. "I need… I need…"
"Sir?"
Alan turned to find a security guard beside him, no doubt sent by the nervous looking nurse behind the admitting desk. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just worried about my sons. One's here and I don't know how he is and the other's kind of missing at the moment."
"I understand, sir," the uniformed man nodded in sympathy. "But you can't be damaging hospital property like that." Giving him a very sympathetic look, the young guard held out his hand. "My name is George. Is there someone I can call for you…" He quirked his eyebrow in question.
"Alan Eppes," the weary father informed him as he shook his hand. "And yes, if you can wave a magic wand and make my youngest son appear, I'd really appreciate it."
"Dad!" Charlie called as he scampered through the ER's automatic doors.
"Wow, George, that's some power you've got."
"All in a day's work, Mister Eppes," he winked. "Now that you're in good hands, I'll leave you two alone. Try not to assault any more vending machines though, okay?"
"You have my word." Alan waved as the guard walked away and then turned on his son. "Where have you been? I'm already worried sick about Don and then you disappear on me? Do I need to tell you what kind of thoughts were running through my head?"
"I'm sorry, Dad," Charlie said contritely. "Traffic was horrible."
"Didn't I tell you I'd have my cell? You couldn't call and ease my mind?"
"I'm sorry," Charlie snapped. "I'm a little off my game today, too. You're not the only one worried about Don."
The accusation slammed into Alan like a ton of bricks and he felt the anger go out of him as he tiredly sank into a nearby chair. "Of course you are, Charlie. I'm sorry I was being insensitive."
"No problem, Dad," the professor assured him as he took a seat beside him. "Any word on Don?"
"No," the older man sighed. "I just want to know that he's okay, see him, and then go about getting him home with us."
"Me too."
The two men lapsed into silence and tried to fight back the suffocating thoughts of what might be happening – might be going wrong – behind the ER entrance. Neither one could bring themselves to look in that direction and both made sure to keep their eyes off the clock. A lifetime later, a nurse strolled through the doors and made a beeline for the Eppes. "Don Eppes' family?"
"Yes!" they exclaimed in unison. "How is he?"
"He's still undergoing some tests right now – a CT scan and an MRI," she explained. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting for so long but we've been slammed today. I did want to let you know that Don is awake and talking to us, albeit very groggily. Still, that's a great sign."
"Thank God," Alan breathed.
"He's definitely got a concussion and we're currently trying to ascertain how severe it is. I'll go ahead and warn you, unless those tests some back completely normal, we're going to keep him overnight for observation."
"I'd feel better if you did," Alan informed her. "I don't want to go through him not waking up again. That scared quite a few years off my life."
"I have children, Mr. Eppes. I can imagine. I have to get back in there but I just wanted to let you know not to worry about Don. I'll be back to bring you to see him as soon as it's feasible, alright?"
"Yes," the older man nodded. "Thank you so much."
She nodded and disappeared through the doors separating Alan from his oldest son. "See, Charlie?" he asked shakily. "I told you he would be okay."
"Never doubted it," the young professor replied. "Now that we have a minute, will you please tell me what happened? Why was Don on a ladder to begin with?"
"Have a seat, Charlie," his father said as he plopped back into the uncomfortable chair. "I'll tell you all about my morning."
--
"Agent Eppes?" a soft, kind voice asked. "You didn't fall asleep on me, did you?"
How could I with you talking to me every five seconds? he groused to himself. Maybe if I ignore her…
"Agent Eppes!" Louder, more harsh, and accompanied by an insistent shaking on his shoulder.
Maybe not. "I'm awake," he mumbled.
"I need you to open your eyes for me, okay?"
Don begrudgingly obeyed, scowling at the young, pretty nurse leaning over him. "Happy now?"
"Almost," she grinned. "Answer a few questions for me and I will be. What's my name?"
Don stealthily slid his gaze to the name tag on her shirt. "Andrea."
Realizing what he'd done, she playfully slapped him on the shoulder. "No cheating. What hospital are you in?"
Heaving a weary sigh, Don muttered, "UCLA."
"Very good," Andrea beamed in approval. "And why are you here?"
"Because no good deed goes unpunished." At her worried look, he couldn't help but chuckle. "Sorry, little joke there. I fell off a ladder while trying to hang Christmas lights at my brother's house. Hit my head and the rest is history."
"Very good, Agent Eppes."
"Don," he corrected her as he glanced down at the gown he was wearing. "Considering you've probably seen me in my altogether, you don't need to be so formal."
"Okay, Don," she nodded. "Well, you answered the questions correctly, you're not slurring your words, and you seem to be in less pain. Am I correct?"
"Yeah," he nodded slowly. "Just a little throbbing, but nothing too bad."
"Excellent! Your doctor will be in to see you very shortly and I suspect he'll be keeping you here overnight."
"I'm fine," Don argued, wincing at the somewhat whiny nature of his voice.
"I'm sure you are, but this is just a precaution." She winked at him and patted his hand. "Besides, having some eye candy like you around the hospital will certainly brighten my Christmas."
Don turned a deep shade of red as he floundered for a suitable comeback. Stupid drugs are throwing me off my game.
"While we're waiting, I think there are a couple of people who want to see you. Is it okay if I bring them in?"
"Please do." He watched as Andrea disappeared from his room and steeled himself for the third degree his father was about to subject him to. He heard footsteps approaching and pasted a reassuring grin on his face just as his father and brother walked through the door.
"Donny!" Alan cried joyfully as he rushed to the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better," the agent told him. "Just a little headache, but that's it."
"Thank God," his father breathed in relief as he laid his hand on Don's brow, his fingers tracing the outline of the fresh bandage on his son's temple.
"You had us both worried sick," Charlie told him.
"Sorry about that. Wait a minute – you weren't even home."
"I came home and found you on the couch, dead to the world." His face paled as he realized his poor choice of words. "I mean…"
"It's okay, Buddy. I know what you mean." Don reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go.
"Dad told me about what happened this morning. You really made him get down because he was too old to be up on that ladder?"
"I was worried," Don shrugged as he gestured at his head. "As you can see, accidents do happen."
"True," Charlie nodded as a mischievous grin crept onto his face. "Say, Don, does this mean that you're too old to be up on a ladder?"
"Hey!" Don yelled in protest. "No kicking a man when he's down."
"I'm sorry," Charlie apologized without even a trace of sincerity. "But that gets me to thinking."
"About?" Don asked, a wary look in his eyes.
"I should take back the gift I got you and get you something more useful." He cautiously stepped just out of Don's reach before adding, "I hear they make canes in all sorts of festive designs these days."
--
It was a surprisingly cool Christmas night and the lights adorning all of the neighborhood houses twinkled in the crisp air. Don smiled at the brilliantly lit street – dozens of reindeer and giant inflatable Christmas icons filling yards and walkways. As he turned back to his brother's house and lifted his gaze he couldn't help but think their house was the best. The brightly colored lights twinkled as the strands drifted in the breeze. The mood was made all the more special as the faint sounds of Christmas carols drifted through the Eppes' front door, surrounding Don with a magical feeling he hadn't really experienced since childhood.
"They look very nice, don't they?" Alan asked as he quietly slipped from the house to join Don in the front yard.
"Very," Don agreed. With a wry grin, he noted, "I see Charlie has the ladder climbing skills in the family."
"So it would appear," his father chuckled. "Here," he said as he handed Don a mug. "Eggnog – your mother's recipe."
"Thanks." Don sipped the thick, creamy drink and the let the accompanying memories wash over him. "She'd have been happy to see the lights up this year."
"Yes, she would." Alan stepped closer to his son. "You know what would make her even happier?"
"What's that?"
"That we're all here together for the Holidays. In fact, I think she was planning on us spending the time together."
"Oh?"
"Yes," his father nodded wisely. "I don't think it was coincidence you made it through that fall as well as you did. I think someone up there had an eye on you."
A warm feeling of love and security surrounded Don's heart and he smiled at his father. "I think you're right." Looking at the front window, Don couldn't help but burst into laughter at Charlie's eager form beckoning them into the house. "I think Chuck wants to exchange gifts."
"Right," Alan sighed. "You boys never did buy into my explanation that you would have gotten more gifts if we celebrated Hanukah instead."
Don playfully elbowed his father. "That's because between you and mom and Santa we always had a ton more than eight gifts."
"Well, this is one year that I'm grateful to have received my present."
"We haven't exchanged gifts yet," Don said in confusion.
"My gift is right in front of me, healthy and whole and home with his family."
Don choked up at the intense, unconditional love in his father's voice. "Dad," he whispered, not saying anything more because he knew his voice would crack with emotion.
Alan stepped closer and wrapped his arms around his oldest son's frame, smiling when Don's arms slipped around him and returned the embrace. "I love you, Donny. Don't ever forget that."
"I won't, Dad. Happy Belated Hanukah."
"And Merry Christmas, too."
"Can you guys not see me?" Charlie's voice interrupted the moment as he poked his head out the front door. "It's gift time!"
"We're coming," Alan sighed in mock annoyance.
"Good," the professor grinned. "I can't wait to see how you like yours, Don."
"I'm sure I'll love it," Don said good naturedly. "But Charlie?"
"Yeah?"
"If it's a cane you'll be the one needing it – not me."
The End