WYWH, Chapter 3: Little Brothers Come with Migraines

Don's head throbbed already, as he hurtled down the freeway toward LAX and shoved the hands-free cell phone attachment into his ear, positioning the mic near his mouth. "Office," he barked into the air, both hands clutching the wheel. He had gone almost five more miles before he managed to navigate his way through the automated system at work, and speak to the Officer of the Day. He explained that he was on his way out of town on a family emergency, and would need to use some leave time. The OD, familiar with Don's work ethic and staring at all the vacation, personal and comp time the computer was telling him was Don's due, was not hard to convince. He granted a week without an argument, told Don to call back if he needed more, promised to let his team know, and wished him luck.

He sighed, rubbed his aching head, and thought about calling Alan again. Something told him that call would not go as well. He needed to concentrate on his driving, so he decided to wait until he got to the airport. He'd have more to tell him then, anyway.

But once he reached the airport, he really didn't feel like calling, right away. His headache was threatening to expand into a full-grown migraine. He was starting to see odd rainbow-colored halos around any light he stared at for too long, and he was getting irritated. If Charlie was just playing some ridiculous prank on Oswald, he was going to make him wish he really was missing.

Crappy service didn't make his headache any better, and neither did the strangers he saw lurking at seemingly every corner. He could move from irritated to pissed, if he wanted. He could be really, easily, pissed.

He thought for certain he saw someone like Charlie, and got himself so worked up, he walked over there – all to find out it was a woman. She was standing in line at a United ticket counter, and Don figured that was as good as any. He stood behind her and rubbed his head again. "The things your eyes can do when you're stressed," he thought to himself. "It's his own damn fault. Needs to cut his hair." It was almost another 10 minutes before he finally reached first place in line at the ticket counter.

The blond at the counter, who looked slightly vapid, smiled. "Good morning. My name is Bambi, and I would be happy to help you this morning, sir."

"Donald Eppes," Don answered automatically. "I need a flight to Chicago, pronto."

"One second," she said. "Okay, most of our first-class flights are booked, so if you want to fly first class, you'll have to wait two days. Is that okay?"

"I never said it had to be first class!" Don snapped. "I need the next available flight."

"Well, one just left," she said, looking at her computer screen.

Don was sure his head would explode and blow brains all over her $200 make-up job. He almost looked forward to it. "Perhaps you could give me some details? The next available flight, maybe?" He didn't even try to keep the sarcasm from dripping from his voice.

"But I thought you didn't want to fly first class," she said, stopping her work and looking at him, confused.

Okay. So she was a natural blonde. Good to know. Don skipped over his interrogation voice and went straight for the Big Guns. "Just tell me," he growled in his best Big-Brother, Don't-Mess-With-My-Family voice, emphasizing his words with a fist on the counter, "When… The… Next… Damn… Freaking… Flight… is!"

"Okay, relax, sir," she said, in her best Let's Calm Down and Be Happy voice, the one they trained her to use at the airline academy. "I can get you on a flight in one hour. It will be in coach. Will that work?"

"Yes, book me for that flight."

"Okay, I'll need your ID and your passport."

Don reached for his wallet. As he fumbled through it, looking for his license, what she said hit him. He glanced back at her. "Passport? Since when do you need a passport to fly to Chicago?"

The woman blushed prettily and giggled. "Chicago? Geez. Could have sworn you said Cuba, for some reason. Let me start over."

Don considered the nausea that was backing up his migraine. With little effort, he could throw up all over this ditzy bitch. He was imaging the ensuing scene when she spoke again. "Okay. We've got lots of flights to Chicago. I can get you on a non-stop, business class. Flight 3732, departs in one hour. Will that work?"

Don shoved his license and a credit card at her in answer. He was suddenly without words, when she had told him the flight number: 3732. His age, and Charlie's age. How weird was that? He groaned, quietly. Until then, he hadn't really had a chance to think about his brother being missing. You know, really being missing. Where the hell are you, Buddy?

While he waited for TSA airport security to search the one carry-on bag he had brought, he checked the voice mail from Larry. The thought had suddenly occurred to him that maybe Larry had heard from Charlie, or something. Unfortunately, it turned out to be some astro-physics-dynamics crap. Don had no idea what most of it was about, but he was pretty sure Larry had hit the wrong speed dial on his phone, again. He must have thought he was calling Charlie. He laughed a little, thinking about the ditzy ticket agent, and comparing her to Larry. Maybe it wasn't because she was a blond. Maybe she was really an astro physicist.

The TSA rep waved him through the metal detector. Don felt somewhat…naked…without his service weapon and his back-up ankle piece, but he knew he'd never get them on a flight he wasn't on in his official capacity. Still, he had brought his badge. He would check out a piece from the Chicago PD. When he had collected his badge, watch, pocket change and carry-on back from TSA, he walked another 10 minutes to his gate.

He sat down wearily, checking the clock on the wall. It was already almost 11:00 a.m. Boarding would begin soon. Better yet, his Dad should be down at the shelter, helping prepare to serve lunch. Even with his consulting business picking up, Alan still made sure to make time for his volunteer work.

Don snapped open his phone, and soon reached Alan's voice mail. No sense in worrying the guy. "Dad, I had to leave town unexpectedly. I'm at the airport, now. I'm not sure when I'll be back. You take it easy, and call my cell if you need something. Love you, Dad." Don sighed. That was easy. No questions. No lies. And it was remarkable how easy it was to say the "L" word, to a machine.

He heard the boarding for his flight begin, and Don stood and walked slowly to the gate, while he left virtually the same message on the answering machine at the house. Could never be too sure Dad would check his voice mail – although he was getting better at it. Whenever he could find his phone.

Don pocketed his cell and took his place in the boarding line. He truly hoped there was some aspirin in the overnight bag he had thrown into his carry-on. He always kept a toothbrush and toothpaste in there. Some actacids. He tried to remember. Please, God, let there be aspirin.

In the aircraft, he held up the boarding line while he did a quick search of his carry-on, before loading it into the overhead compartment. Great. No friggin' aspirin. He grabbed his wallet as he sat down, and snatched a five out of it.

No aspirin?

Then he'd better had a drink in his hand before they even took off.

FraidyCat A/N: Turns out the rainbow halos and "migraines" were actually Glaucoma. Who'dve thought? (If I were you, I would look for one of the brothers to develop that in a story soon...)