Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor

Author: FraidyCat

Chapter 5: When I Wish Upon A Star…

The release of laughter combined with the lull of the river and the fresh air to knock them all out fairly early – and made 4 a.m. arrive too quickly. Even so, when Don emerged from the tent into the darkness, he was somewhat startled to see Charlie sitting cross-legged on a square of tarp beside the recently stoked campfire, chewing on a granola bar and waiting for the pot of coffee to percolate. He had stepped over the lump of Charlie's sleeping bag in the tent assuming he was still in it.

Don could smell breakfasts cooking all over the campground. The glowing fires and the stars – actual stars! – still visible in the sky threatened to turn him around. He felt as if it was just now time to go to bed. Don pulled his coat tighter around him in the early morning coolness and started to sit on the opposite side of the fire. "Nice breakfast, Buddy. How long have you been out here?"

Charlie swallowed and moved over a little on the tarp. "Ground's damp," he warned, just as Don's rear end made that discovery itself. He jerked back up, deciding quickly to join Charlie.

He perched on the edge of the tarp, shoving at Charlie. "Make room," he ordered, and Charlie moved over a little more. Don held his hands out near the fire. "Fishing was Dad's idea. Why is he the last one up?"

Charlie murmured around his granola, and Don studied his profile. He was beginning to wonder if Charlie had spent much time in the tent at all, when his brother tilted his head to the sky and pointed with one finger. "That's around where Larry was," he observed. "I can't believe you can see the stars, here. At home I have to take the telescope out…and they manufacture them differently these days, to deal with all the light pollution."

Don followed Charlie's finger and agreed. "Hard to believe it's actually the same sky." His tone was casual and friendly, and he hoped the next statement was perceived in a non-threatenting manner. "So, you've been star-gazing all night?"

Charlie looked at him briefly, then at the fire. "Not all night," he answered. "Couple of hours, maybe." He looked back at Don and grinned. "Your snoring is a lot louder in a tent."

"Hey," Don protested. "You're the one who thought we should all use one big tent, instead of the smaller individual ones. And you could have at least have started a decent breakfast for all of us."

Charlie indicated the coffee pot on the campfire grill. "I did."

Don shrugged, not quite ready to give Charlie a hard time yet this morning. "Yeah," he finally agreed grudgingly. "If I only get one thing for breakfast at 4 in the freakin' morning, I guess it should probably be coffee."

"If you want more, there's cereal and milk in the coolers," Charlie offered.

Don glared at him, for all the good it did in the near-dark. "Any more of those?" he countered, tilting his head toward the granola bar.

Charlie shoved the last bite in his mouth. "Uh-uh," he said, chewing. "Coat pocket."

Don sighed, and watched the coffee begin to percolate. "Are the mugs over here somewhere, or do I have to get up and go get one?", he whined.

Charlie leaned over, reaching, and Don used the opportunity to push him farther off the tarp. Charlie straightened back up clutching a tin mug, grumbling, trying to reclaim his territory with his skinny butt. "I shouldn't let you have this," he sulked, and Don laughed and wrenched it out of his hand. Charlie looked at him, and Don could see the wounded eyes in the firelight. "Ow! Did you get up on the wrong side of the sleeping bag this morning?"

Don poured himself some coffee and shoved back over. "I'm just kidding around," he said, looking to see if Charlie had another mug. "Don't you want any?" Charlie shook his head and Don lowered the coffee pot back to the fire. He sipped at his coffee and regarded his brother. "Something wrong?"

Charlie actually laughed. "Well," he began, "I don't think I've slept more than four consecutive hours in seven months, and I had to work at picking that coffee pot up for over an hour. It looks just like the one Junior used on me. Just looking at it makes my leg hurt. It was no big deal last night, because Dad dealt with it; I just accepted the mug he handed me. Kind-of took me by surprise, this morning."

Don lowered his mug, surprised himself at Charlie's sudden honesty and sickened by the memory. He really didn't want coffee anymore, either.Thinking back to dinner the night before, Charlie hadn't finished the cup of coffee Alan gave him, and even circled the fire grill elaborately to get to the pan of fish. Don couldn't believe he had been so stupid. He set the mug on the ground. "Charlie. I'm…"

Charlie interrupted him. "Please. Don't say you're sorry. Let's just not talk about it." He stood up in one fluid motion that made Don's knees hurt. "I'm going to see if Dad's about ready. Something tells me Brunhilda won't suffer latecomers to her fishing fleet."

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Both of the boys seemed subdued this morning, but that could be because they were more used to staying up until 4 in the morning than they were to getting up at 4 in the morning, so Alan tried not to take it too seriously. He managed to talk them into at least chewing on some bagels and cream cheese while he wolfed down some cereal. Then he supervised the division of fishing equipment, and the fine art of getting into brand new Neoprene chest waders. They doused the campfire and grabbed their tackle and poles, and made it to the small dock in plenty of time to be assigned to one of the first drift boats going out. It was Lou's personal craft, and she was piloting. Alan was pleased that the camp owner would be taking them out herself, and he couldn't understand why Charlie didn't share his enthusiasm. Alan found Lou to be a breath of fresh air.

At least, he did, until the second time she told him in no uncertain terms to shut up. By then the sun was rising, and it was easy to see the disdain in her eyes for all of their new, unused equipment, too.

The boat held Lou and five fishermen. Charlie sat hunched and silent, as close to Don – and as far away from everyone else – as he could get. Don sat glumly beside him. Alan started to make a comment about the beautiful landscape, Lou told him to shut up, and the milk he had consumed for breakfast began to sour in his stomach.

It's only the first day, he told himself, and he held his tongue until Lou brought the boat close to shore a little ways downstream and told them all to "get the hell out and fish".

Then he began to sputter indignantly. "Now, see here, Ms. Anderson. We did not pay good money to be treated…"

She snorted loudly at him and shook her head. "Money. That's what it always comes down to with you cityfolk. 'Sides, what you paid all that 'good money' for was a slice of the authentic, ain't it? Don't get no more damn authentic than me, mister. Ya wanta fish, or not?"

Alan thought he heard another tiny giggle escape Charlie, like last night at the campfire, and he decided that maybe he would put up with the insufferable woman a little longer.