Author's Note: Here's the next chapter, a little brighter note I hope I'm taking a brief break – but I'll be back to finish, I promise. I just have to study for a grad final, finish packing my house, go on my honeymoon and immediately move into my new house upon getting home. I don't foresee much writing time mixed in there…so look for an update around Christmas. Please, let me know what you think!
Charlie leaned against the window sill in the hospital room and watched as the orderlies wheeled his brother's bed away. He glanced at his father. Alan had a pinched look on his face. Charlie could see worry and fear there, but also hope. He tried to grab hold of that. Tried to grab hold of the eternal hope his father seemed to have.
Alan looked up and caught Charlie's gaze. "It's just another test Charlie," Alan said hopefully.
Charlie nodded. Yes, another test. A test that so far, Don had continued to fail. A simple brain scan to see if there was any brain activity. Yesterday, there had been minimal brain activity still – far too low for the comfort of both Don's doctors and his family and friends. But dutifully, the orderlies had arrived at 9am to take Don for yet another scan.
So, all Charlie and Alan could do was wait. It seemed like they had been doing a lot of waiting the past week.
Charlie forced a smile, reminding himself of the conversation he and his father had had the previous day. Alan had pulled him out of Don's room, and once out of earshot of Don's team and Amita, apologies had come tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall. Charlie, struck with the deep feeling of guilt he'd had since they moment he'd accused Alan of being responsible for… well, for just about everything, found himself unable to speak.
He'd felt tears spring to his eyes as Alan apologized, over and over, obviously grieving and obviously completely convinced that everything that Charlie had said was true. Charlie wanted to stop him, but there was a lump in his throat and he couldn't swallow. Finally, he'd found words.
"No…Dad… Please, don't. I only said all of that – blamed you – because I didn't want to blame myself." It was true. Every word he'd directed at his father had really been meant for himself. "I was responsible. I got him shot. I couldn't stop it in time. I'm the reason he even joined the FBI – he left because of me. If it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't feel the need to…to…try to prove himself by putting himself in harm's way every day…" The words came out in a rush, then he was wrapped in his father's arms, like he was four years old again, crying because Donnie didn't want to play with him.
"Charlie… Oh Charlie… You are not to blame. Please, don't say such things."
They'd stood there, in a quiet corner of a hospital wing for some time, completely unobserved as they both wrestled with their inner feelings of guilt and anger.
Finally, Alan had stepped back, his hands on Charlie's shoulders.
"You know how angry Don would be at us for acting like this? For saying any of those things? You know, he'd probably shout and wave his arms around. He'd be very upset with us."
Charlie had paused, considering his father's words, then couldn't help but smile. The smile turned into an anxious laugh. "You know, you're probably right. He, of course, would take all of this on himself, and possibly even tell us it was his own fault he got shot."
Alan smiled back, a nervous ghost of a laugh coming from him as well. "That's the problem with your brother – he's a stubborn fool. If he ever caught us blaming ourselves because he went and became an FBI agent, he'd probably burst a blood vessel."
Charlie laughed again, and this time, he thought it sounded more normal. "Yeah – the big, tough, FBI agent." He sobered after a moment. "I can't tell you how many times I've rehearsed a speech in my head…begging him to quit."
Alan blinked, then nodded. "I know. But I already said those words…and far worse regarding his chosen profession. It's not worth the heartache you'll get from it. I can't tell you the hurt… The rift…" Alan choked up. Charlie reached up and squeezed his father's hand.
"It's only because we love him dad. And I know, somewhere inside, Don knows that too."
Alan smiled softly. "When did you become so wise?"
Charlie had blushed. "I just learned it all from you Dad. And some from Don," he said, adding the last part grudgingly.
"The doctor yelled at me earlier," Alan said. The sudden confession had surprised Charlie.
"Yelled at you? About what?" Charlie asked worriedly.
"She said that our arguments and disagreements weren't good for Don. She said that if he sensed the discord between us, he might not want to…come back."
Charlie had been stunned. He'd heard of such things before. The mind was a powerful thing. Even if nothing was wrong with the body, a person could stay in a coma for years based on purely psychological issues.
"That's ridiculous!" he said. "I mean…I understand what she's saying, but, and you must agree with me, don't you think that if Don realized we were fighting he'd be more likely to wake up to set us both straight?"
Alan blinked at him. "You know, I had the same thought. Which disturbs me." They were both thinking the same thing suddenly. Did they rely on Don so much? That they just assumed he would fix their issues?
"Yes, but I think it's true," Charlie replied. "I think I could probably work up a probability process to show that he's more likely to want to come back if he thinks we need his help."
"You could be right, but the doctor was quite insistent – and Charlie, I don't enjoy being at odds with you. So lets make a deal, ok? No more blaming ourselves, or each other – and we both try to keep a positive attitude."
Charlie had hesitated. He'd been wallowing in his fear – wallowing in percentages and statistics that said Don was unlikely to wake up. He'd been going over and over his own words – that Don was statistically dead. He'd had a gun pointed at him – not just once, but at least half a dozen times during their ordeal – and that gun had been fired. This was Charlie's coping mechanism. He wasn't going to run off to the garage and immerse himself in unsolvable mathematics – no – this time he wanted to face the worse case scenario head on. He hadn't wanted to believe that his mother was dying, but now, he couldn't bring himself to believe that his brother would live. It was a strange paradox he found himself in.
But he had agreed. Shook his father's hand, said all the right things… Promised that he would no longer talk so darkly about Don's future. There could be no more mention of taking Don off the ventilator, or the risk of infection in his healing lung, or the idea of a permanent vegetative state. At least not aloud. Those thoughts promised not to leave his mind, no matter what. But for his father's sake – and for Don's – he would play the part and at least try to pretend that he wasn't already rehearsing his dream of Don's funeral – that he hadn't looked in his closet the other night, wondering if he should wear the same suit he'd warn to his mom's funeral.
Charlie shook the thoughts – the memories – away. He and his father had made peace – and it felt exceptionally good. That feeling of warmth – of family – that must be enough to rouse Don from his coma. Charlie wanted to believe it.
It seemed too hard though – too hard to hope that this scan would be any different from the rest. Every day since Don had arrived they had taken him for a brain scan. At first, the doctors has assured him that not only was the limited brain activity normal, it was a good sign. It meant that the mind had taken over and was protecting itself. But as the days passed, he could tell they were becoming more and more worried, though they still remained guardedly positive.
So, watching them wheel Don out again felt like a disappointment waiting to happen.
Silence stretched between Charlie and his dad. They were alone in the room. Even though Don was in a coma, the rest of the world still turned, and his team had been forced to return to the office, though Megan had said she doubted they'd be seeing any live cases without their special agent in charge. Most likely, the director would use Don's time in the hospital to make sure that every sheet of paperwork was finally finished. Charlie grinned unexpectedly as he remembered Colby and David grousing about the work, then squabbling in the hall about who got to steal Don's chair. Megan had looked very much the frazzled mother as she'd stared after them. It had reminded Charlie how much like family they had all become. Amita had taken her leave as well – she had been forced to return to CalSci to teach Charlie's classes for him, and for that, Charlie truly felt bad. He had to figure out a way to make it up to her.
Charlie huffed out a sigh, toying with the black box he'd sat on the windowsill with his free hand. His father watched him carefully. Charlie pulled his arm that was tucked in the sling closer to his body.
"I meant to ask you yesterday what that was. You were carrying it around like it was made of gold."
Charlie blinked in surprise. He hadn't realized.
"Oh…uh, it's a gift for Don. For when he wakes up." He uttered the words and saw pleased look on his father's face.
"Just what did you get for your brother? He doesn't strike me as the gift type – and imagine his reaction when he sees all these flowers," Alan said, his hand reaching out to sweep the room where there were indeed flower arrangements piled everywhere. If there was any doubt before that Don was well liked and well respected at the Bureau, that idea was gone now.
"It's nothing. Well, not nothing. Just something silly – stupid really. He probably has another pair…" Charlie trailed off, suddenly feeling uncertain. He looked down at the black box. It contained an outrageously expensive pair of Oakley aviators. He'd found a $5 pair in the gift shop, but they had seemed so flimsy – so fragile – just like Don did at the moment. Charlie had put them back and had fled outside. The hospital adjoined a fairly affluent area – and not a block away were the kind of designer stores that Charlie always fell ill at ease in. Don seemed to do just fine, and he regularly gifted Charlie with expensive clothing that somehow was always just right.
Wandering through the stores, he'd searched for any place that sold sunglasses until he came across an Oakley store. He hadn't meant to spend so much money – not that Don wasn't worth it – but after all, they were just a pair of sunglasses. Still, when he'd picked up the sturdy carbon fiber frame and gotten a speech about how they were virtually indestructible, which seemed to be just what an FBI agent would need, Charlie had found himself at the cash register shelling out an unreasonable amount of money for such a small object. The funny thing was that he didn't regret it. Not one bit. Not, of course, that money was a problem. He certainly did well for himself, but Margaret Eppes had taught both the boys to be frugal – it was as if she was attempting to pass their father's Jewish heritage down to them. Don had always appreciated that. Charlie had always just wanted to go spend his allowance.
"A pair of what?" Alan asked, now genuinely interested, moving towards Charlie.
Charlie hesitated, then decided that holding back wasn't worth it. "It's a pair of sunglasses. Don lost his… They…they were broken at the bank when they fell off his head," when Don was falling, Charlie added silently. "I know it's kind of silly, but he always has them, and it just doesn't seem right that they got broke…" He knew he was babbling, but couldn't stop. Alan smiled and reached out to touch the box. Charlie felt a sudden panic that they would fall and break, just like Don, but Alan merely touched the box, then withdrew his hand.
"I think it's a very nice gift Charlie and I'm fairly certain Don's going to love them."
Charlie smiled at his father. "I hope so."
They sat in companionable silence for a while until Alan launched into a story about the time Don had gotten into their mother's make up. Charlie listened with rapt attention. He hardly ever got to hear stories about Don when he was little. He couldn't really picture his brother with blush everywhere and lipstick on his hands and arms like war paint. The story made Charlie long for Don – long for his older brother's protest about such an embarrassing childhood moment being shared – rolled eyes, frustrated sigh, and eventual acquiescence at Charlie's pleading. Somewhere inside, Don was a big softie.
Both Charlie and his father laughed at the image Alan had painted and Charlie watched his father carefully. The older man's face had a soft look of fond rememberance, clearly recalling Don as a boy.
"He was always into something," Alan mused. "Always trying to fix things…" the words seemed to catch in his father's throat, and Charlie turned, worried.
His father's face had transformed from warm and bemused to afraid and hurt.
"I… I don't mind admitting I'm a little frightened Charlie. I…don't know if I could lose one of you boys."
Charlie was shocked by his father's admission.
"Dad! I thought we agreed to be positive!" he said, trying to turn his father's words back on him. It wasn't supposed to be like this – him trying to convince his own father that Don was going to be ok. Charlie was the one that wanted to wallow in disbelief and despair.
"I'm sorry, son," his father said, trying to pull it together. "That was a moment of weakness."
Charlie was silent for a moment. "Dad, I think its ok if we sometimes admit that we need Don. I mean, don't get me wrong, we don't need that going to his head, but I guess it's the truth. We need him, and whether he likes it or not, he needs us."
"Of course we need Don," his father said. "And you're right, but maybe we don't tell him that enough."
Charlie was about to say something when the door to the room opened again and the orderlies appeared, wheeling Don in. Uncharacteristicly, they seemed pleased about something, but before either Charlie or Alan had a chance to ask what they were smiling about, Dr. Wild breezed in, a huge grin on her face.
Charlie knew at that moment that life was about to get better.
"I have wonderful news," she said, slightly breathless with excitement. In her arms was a large folder that she was holding protectively and she put it down on the small table and flipped it open with flourish. "Look!"
Charlie nearly raced to her side, but his father was a bit slower to respond, hesitant, looking almost afraid.
"It's ok, Alan," Dr. Wild said, seeing his cautious approach. "I promise this isn't a dream. You just have to see this brain activity!"
Charlie couldn't take her word for it and nearly shouldered her out of the way. In the last week he'd become suddenly very familiar with what brain scans looked like. There, underneath his fingertips was something he'd convinced himself wasn't going to happen. Brain activity. Lots of it.
"Is this…Don's?" Charlie asked, suddenly afraid like his father that this must be some trick.
"Of course it's Don's," Dr. Wild said with a laugh. It was suddenly clear that she had somehow emotionally tangled herself in Don's case and that she had clearly been very worried. "To be honest, some of the doctors are saying it's nothing short of a miracle. We thought that he'd gone too long without any activity – we were beginning to think he might be brain dead – but they were wrong! Look at all of this! It's low level, but it's definitely part of his brain waking up, and I can't see any sign of damage. The swelling is almost all gone from his concussion, at least enough to allow this. He's in there. Those are semi-conscious thoughts you're seeing."
Alan muttered something under his breath that sounded like a thank you to a higher power to Charlie. Charlie turned to show his father the scans, but Alan was by Don's side, holding his son's good hand.
"That's a good boy, Donnie. I never doubted you for a moment."
Charlie felt tears prick his eyes, hearing his father speak to Don in such an intimate manner. Dr. Wild also sensed the change and smiled softly.
"That's what I meant about Don needing the two of you. He's still going to need you now. This activity is a wonderful sign – what we need to do now is convince Don that he's safe and he can wake up. We need to get him out of that coma – so he's going to need as much encouragement as possible."
"Encouragement we can do," Alan said, not turning fully, still clutching Don's slightly chilled hand. He reached out and tenderly touched Don's forehead as if he were a child.
Charlie felt hope swell within him – hope that this nightmare might be coming to some sort of conclusion. The emotion was overpowering and almost painful in consideration with all the doom and gloom he'd been harboring lately. But it was there, and it felt good – almost like the rush he got from solving a particularly difficult math mystery. He locked eyes with his father, and they both smiled.