Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor

Author: FraidyCat

Chapter 9: Winner Takes All

From the light that seeped into the tent, Charlie could tell he hadn't been sleeping that long, and he was surprised he felt so stiff. He sniffled and then sneezed, and decided he must be feeling the after-affects of that morning's drenching. It was disheartening, since it really wasn't that big a deal. Finally managing to shrug out of the sleeping bag and creak to a stand, Charlie was disgruntled at the idea that he was getting old.

He was only 33, he thought, staggering a little on his trek to the flap of the tent. Figures he would turn out to be a wuss at aging, just like everything else.

When he poked his head out of the tent he felt even worse. From the position of the sun in the sky, he had not been asleep any time at all. Don and Alan sat at the picnic table, engaged in a game of checkers. Don refused to pay chess with either Alan or Charlie, claiming they were too competitive, but he would give his Dad an occasional game of checkers.

"Hey," Charlie greeted, stepping onto the ground from the tent. At least, that's what he had intended to say. Even to his own ears, the sound he made hardly qualified as a word.

He cleared his throat to try again as Don smiled at him over the checkerboard. "Hey, Buddy. I've been going crazy trying to keep Dad from calling an ambulance."

Alan had whipped around from his position facing Don and stood to approach Charlie. Now he tossed a quick look back at his eldest. "That's not true,", he said, at the same time that Charlie demanded to know what was wrong, and who needed an ambulance. Alan refocused his attention on Charlie, and stopped moving a few feet from him. "I was just concerned. You seemed to have a fever, last night."

Charlie yawned and looked even more confused. "Last night? When?"

"When your brother and I went to bed. You seemed a bit congested, and I thought you felt a little warm. You were sleeping so well, though…. How are you feeling today?"

Charlie almost looked for the rabbit hole he had apparently fallen into. "We all went to bed at the same time last night…", he began. He looked toward the table when he heard a chuckle from Don.

"Dude, you've been sleeping almost 24 hours," the older man informed him. "Hair looks it, too."

Charlie's mouth gaped open. He had no memory of the frequent awakenings and sporadic nightmares that had marked his sleep for months. He looked back at his father. "What? It's tomorrow?"

Alan laughed at the look on his face. "In a manner of speaking. Although I prefer to refer to it as 'today'." Alan checked his watch. "Don's right. Almost 24 hours on the dot – it's almost noon."

Charlie shifted, the knowledge suddenly hitting his bladder like a ton of bricks. Still, he divided his attention between them. "But why aren't you fishing?"

Alan rolled his eyes. "Right. We were going to take off and leave you unconscious and alone in a tent all morning." He watched Charlie fidget and felt the spear of a memory, from when Charlie was just a toddler and had to go to the bathroom. It was unexpected, and it almost made him cry. To cover up, he walked quickly into the tent and came out with a rolled towel and Charlie's backpack. "Here. Why don't you go shower and change, while Don helps me get lunch ready?"

Don's eyes raised from the board he had been studying. "Hey! It's his turn! I helped you all day yesterday, and you made me move the table four times!"

"The table is in exactly the position it started in," Charlie pointed out on his way past Don and into the general campground.

Charlie smiled as he heard Don still complaining. "No kidding, genius."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

After his shower, Charlie wandered back into the campsite bearing fish. He approached the fire grill where Alan was squatting to check on a pot of stew that he had made and frozen at home to bring along. His sons had teased him that the last thing they would want on a fishing trip that promised weather into the 100-degree mark would be stew, but Charlie's stomach growled loudly as soon as he caught the familiar smell.

Alan stirred, replaced the lid and stood, smiling at Charlie. "Changed your mind about the stew, didn't you? Nothing like fresh air and outdoor life to make a man hungry."

Don, still at the table, grunted and frowned at the checkerboard. "Outdoor life? How about unconscious life?"

Charlie refused to look at or acknowledge him, and instead lifted his hand to show Alan the plastic bag of fish. "I passed some folks packing up to leave, and they didn't want to smell fish all the way home. These are filleted already and everything."

Alan looked at the bag appreciatively. "What a nice gesture. This way we can still have fish for dinner. Go ahead and put them in the…red…no, the green cooler. I think there's still some room and a lot of ice in that one."

Charlie stopped at the doorway of the tent long enough to toss his backpack inside, then did as he was instructed. Once the fish were settled into their new home, he sat down opposite Don and looked at the board. "Dad is kicking your ass," he observed.

Don looked up with a snarl and protested. "I could still take this game, Chuck!" His eyes took on an evil gleam. "Since those fish are already filleted, how can you be sure it's not really somebody's pet koi?"

Charlie's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward a little. "Care for a little arm wrestling match, G-man? Or are you afraid your little brother can pin you to this table faster than you can forfeit that game of checkers?"

Don was more than up for the challenge. Without a word he dumped the checkers into the nearby empty box, and placed the folded board on top. He moved forward a little himself, planting his elbow firmly on the table and flexing the bicep under his t-shirt. "You're on, Chalk-Boy. Loser does dishes."

Alan was standing at the end of the table now, doing his best to suppress his happy dance. Now this…this was a family vacation. "Just so we all understand," he commented drily, "you're both doing dishes, since no-one is helping me get lunch."

Charlie tilted his head sideways towards Alan, but didn't move his eyes from Don's. "Fair," he noted. "New bet."

Don didn't blink, but continued to flex his bicep intimidatingly. "What?"

Charlie smiled slowly. "Loser TPs Lou's cabin at midnight."

Don blanched, but he didn't back down. He flexed his fingers and found his most menacing witness-interrogation voice. "Lock-and-load, Mutant. Lock-and-load."