"Time to wake up, Charlie." Don didn't bother to wait for his brother's response. He simply barged into Charlie's bedroom, fearing the worst. It was seven, it was morning, and Charlie's alarm was announcing the same fact.

Don had been up since four AM, worrying, obsessing over the case that wasn't a case, wondering how he could alter circumstances so that he could take Charlie out of the picture. Too much to do, he decided, and too much on his mind. There were three cases that he needed to finish up, the files sitting on his desk, leftovers from before his three week sojourn in San Francisco. Not only that, but Colby had a bear of a case that was eating up the junior agent's working hours as well as some of his after hours availability. Not for the first time, Don felt guilty about dragging his team in on this. It was getting too personal; had it been any other agent, Don would have yanked the agent's tail off the assignment and sent him to the department shrink for some stress relief.

But this wasn't a case, and it was personal, and it was Charlie, the little brother Don had been watching out for ever since Charlie's gifts had manifested themselves. It was second nature for Don to keep an eye out for Charlie, and those feelings had slid right back into high gear as soon as he and his brother began working together. He periodically tried to fight it—Charlie was a grown man now, and supposedly didn't need Don's protection. Dammit, the man had a higher security clearance than Don!—but erasing the habits of childhood took a lot more determination than Don possessed at the moment.

This wasn't helping. Charlie coming down with the flu last night wasn't helping, if that was what was making the man so tired. What if it was something more sinister? What if—?

"What?" Charlie snarled irritably, the bedcovers over, under, and around him in ways that a Moebius strip would find entertaining.

"Time to get up, buddy." Don couldn't begin to express the relief he felt at seeing his brother awake and breathing. All the four AM doubts vanished in an instant. "You've got class, remember? How are you feeling? Flu?"

Charlie stretched, muscles playing against one another. The covers fell away, and Don could see the bare patch where the wire taping had ripped away some of the dark hair on his chest. "Better," he admitted. "Whatever it was, a good night's rest got rid of it." Then he glared at Don, grabbing the blanket that covered most of what it was supposed to. "Do you mind?"

"I've seen everything that you've got, Chuck," Don sniggered, closing the bedroom door. There were some others things that also never changed, and teasing little brothers ranked right up there with the best of them. "I've got coffee on in the kitchen," he called in through the closed bedroom door.

"What, no wire tonight?" Charlie asked, trying to mask the relief he felt at not needing to deal with the removal of tape process.

For both Eppes men, the day had flown by. Charlie had had a busy day with classes, and Don—still catching up from his San Francisco consultation—had been able to keep himself much more focused on his FBI-approved work now that there was a plan in place to deal with Anders. He still didn't feel good about going after Anders with Charlie as bait, but it was moving forward and Don really didn't see a better way of handling this situation. It wasn't as though Anders hadn't already thrown down the gauntlet. As Megan had pointed out, Charlie was involved whether Don liked it or not. Since that was the case, Don knew, he'd better work it so that he gave his brother the best cover possible.

David grimaced. "Not tonight. Colby couldn't get off—has a suspect to watch, a stake-out—and he was the one with the connection to the motor pool and the wire van. My connection got shipped to Iraq two weeks ago," he groaned.

"I always relied on your connections," Don admitted. "Maybe I'd better start renewing some of my own. Megan?"

"Mine dumped me after I met Larry. The price of genius," she moaned. "And I wasn't even dating the guy, just stringing him along for times like these."

"You want me to go in with Charlie?" David offered.

"Yes," Don started to say.

Charlie interrupted them. "No. Don, we talked about this yesterday. Game Theory; we haven't yet established enough of a comfort zone to change things yet. Anders probably thinks that I'm still wearing a wire, and so he won't try anything. Not yet, at any rate. I should be safe." He grinned, trying to disarm the FBI trio. "Listen, if I'm not out in two hours, please come and get me. Like I said last night: Anders is a boring speaker. I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid."

"A lot can happen in two hours," Don grumbled. He glanced around; they were some ten blocks away from Anders' building, refusing to take the chance that Anders would recognize Don's Suburban and somehow back off. "You ready for this?"

"I've been ready for a while. You'll stay here?"

"Pretty long for us to sit in the Suburban." Don spotted an all-night diner down the block. "We'll wait there. My cell will be in front of me, Chuck."

"Don't worry, Don. Nothing's going to happen. Not tonight. Not for several nights, most likely. That's what the statistics say and that's what your analysis from the San Francisco case says. Besides, you have a better idea?"

There was no choice, and Charlie was right. It was very likely that Anders wouldn't try anything, Don reflected. Anders' goal was to make fools of the FBI and intelligent people, and that meant outwitting them. A direct attack wasn't the man's style. Charlie would be safe, at least until Anders felt confident enough to move onto the next part of his scheme, the part where he persuaded his marks to kill themselves. Reluctantly, Don allowed Charlie to exit the Suburban and walk toward the building where Wesley Anders had set up his 'business'.

As if Don had much choice in the matter.

Maybe this time I should stay awake? Charlie admonished himself. The first time he had merely zoned out; the resultant advance on Cognitive Emergence had worked out nicely, and Charlie had transferred the equations in his head to the whiteboard in his garage that was saved for such details. The second time? Charlie had to be honest; he had all but fallen asleep during Anders second 'seminar'. The power nap had been refreshing but inadequate, and Charlie had been lucky that Don and the others had recorded it through the wire that Charlie had worn. Without that, Charlie wouldn't have been able to recall a single thing that Wesley Anders had said beyond, "I'm glad you could make it, Professor Eppes."

The number of people, Charlie was pleased to note, had receded. There was now only five—no, six of them left, a mere pittance of the original three hundred who had come out to gawk at the carnival. Charlie only recognized Lavoiseaux's grad student, Erin something-or-other. None of the rest were professors. Professor Lavoiseaux had emailed Charlie just last week, he suddenly remembered, asking if Charlie might have time to discuss statistical analyses with the student, and Charlie had offered to explore getting the student to shadow Megan Reeves for a day. Note to self: have to remember to do that. Now Charlie really wished that he was wearing a wire—he could have asked Megan while walking down the block to Anders' business. Wouldn't that have driven his older brother wild, not concentrating on the operation ahead? Charlie grinned just thinking about it.

Hah: seven. One more person walked in after Charlie, greeting Anders with a shake of the hand and then moving on to an older woman in the group. Charlie frowned; he didn't remember seeing that woman in yesterday's group. A new member? No, now Charlie remembered her. It was that Frank woman that the grad student had pointed out, the one who ran some non-profit or other. Didn't matter; she was simply one more person that Charlie was protecting, helping Don with this case.

Awake. Have to stay awake for this one. Charlie grabbed a cup of coffee from the refreshments table, making it as black and as hot as he could stand it, hoping that it would help him last through the 'seminar'. He wasn't particularly tired despite the full day of work but that wasn't the point. Preventing Don from yelling at him was an equally reasonable desire.

He took another swig, gulping the last dregs and feeling them burn their way down his esophagus as Anders ushered them into the grand auditorium.

"Down in front, down in front," he instructed them. "There aren't many of you tonight but I believe that most of you will emerge from these sessions empowered to shine your light upon all mankind. You are the chosen few, the ones who will be empowered to succeed." Anders arranged the seven of them in the front row of the auditorium, ignoring the remaining two hundred or so empty seats behind them.

"Take up the headphones," he said. "Tonight, we move forward. We are moving toward the shining light that is each of you. The headphones will help you to concentrate, will help you to focus on the light within. There's an outlet in each handle to the right—no, your other right, Gerald—so that you can plug in right there. Headphones, everyone," he finished, making his way up to the stage.

"Let your light shine forth," Wesley Anders soothed through the mike on the stage. Charlie could hear the man's voice clearly through the headphones. Nice brand; Charlie resolved to look at the name and possibly invest in a pair as a spare for his office. Headphones were wonderful for blocking out the world as needed.

He yawned; couldn't help it. Gotta stay awake, he told himself sternly, biting his lip and hoping that the pain would wake him up.

Another yawn. Crap. Don was gonna kill him. Charlie stretched his eyelids open desperately, fighting to hear what Anders was saying.

It didn't help when Anders turned down the lights, leaving only a small spotlight on himself. Charlie felt his eyes closing despite his resolution.

"You are one with the world. You are the world."

This is bull.

"The world owes you success. Success is yours. Reach out and take it."

Ow. Something jabbed him in the leg, under the seat. Damn cushions. Spring came loose, most likely. Charlie shifted in his chair until he found a spot away from the spring.

"You must strive, strive with weary arms, for only then will you be worthy."

That's supposed…to be…uplifting?...

"Let your light shine forth…"

"Let your light shine forth."

"Huh?" Damn. It happened again. Charlie had fallen asleep. What was it with this place? Now he was going to have to tell Don what had happened, and Don was not going to be a happy camper. Charlie remembered some of it, Anders whispering 'let your light shine forth' and similar nonsense. There hadn't seemed to be much substance to what he was saying.

That was it. Charlie couldn't remember what Anders had said, because Wesley Anders hadn't said anything worth remembering. Just the usual platitudes that he'd always come up with, lights shining and something about being one with the world. Larry would have liked that phrase.

On the positive side, Charlie could honestly say that the nap did him a world of good. He felt refreshed, and eager to take on the world. Now he really wished that he'd stayed awake during at least some of Anders' speech, because tying the man into verbal knots worthy of Dr. Fleinhardt would have been an awfully amusing way to spend the rest of the evening. Too bad that Don and the others were waiting anxiously for him outside. Charlie pulled off the headphones, dumping them carelessly onto the seat behind him. He cracked his knuckles, stretching his arms to the tall ceiling of the auditorium, wishing that rushing off wasn't the wisest course of action.

Or was it? Who died and made Don boss? Why shouldn't Charlie stick around for just another five or ten minutes, needling Anders about his lack of imagination in his lectures? Charlie gave exciting demos, and his subject was a topic well-known for being more arid than Death Valley.

He sighed, and the impulse floated away on the wings of desire. No, Don was right. Charlie was all alone in the room with Anders and six other potential suicides, and none of the FBI team knew how Anders was managing to persuade his victims to kill themselves. Until they had that piece figured out, it was best to stick to the plan. Charlie would leave with Anders' other 'clients' and meet up with Don and the others, waiting for him in a diner not twelve blocks from here.

Anders shook Charlie's hand on the way out. "I'm very glad to see you so interested, Dr. Eppes. It gladdens my heart." He pumped Charlie's hand once more. "Let your light shine forth."

"Uh, you too," Charlie stammered. A tiny sliver of a headache was now trying to push out from behind his eyes, Charlie realized. Maybe he was coming down with the flu again? Maybe he'd just ignored it all day long with all the work he'd been doing—had to be honest, it wouldn't be the first time that Charlie had ignored getting sick until an interesting problem had been solved—and now it was rearing its ugly head one more time. No matter; the day was over, and Charlie could go home and go to bed as soon as he got past Don.

Better not mention the flu to Don. His older brother would panic, and take Megan and David with him.

"Good night, Mr. Anders," Charlie said firmly, disengaging his hand.

"Shall I see you tomorrow night, Professor Eppes?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Charlie assured him. Because things should start to move after this…

Charlie walked outside into the cool of the night. The streetlamps did a more than adequate job of illuminating the street, showing every crack in the pavement, every weed that was trying to emerge from beyond the sidewalk. The street was lined with cars, several belonging to his fellow attendees, and most coming and going from the various eateries that catered to the late night crowd. There was an upscale restaurant on that corner, one he remembered taking Amita to and the two of them deciding that it wasn't worth the return visit, and he walked past it, his head beginning to throb with more than just an I'm tired sort of ache.

Damn. If there was a worse time to come down with some sort of virus, then Charlie didn't know what it was. Charlie took a deep breath, willing his headache to leave with the exhalation.

Better: he was walking past an all-night stop-and-rob, one with a small assortment of non-prescription medications designed for two purposes: to relieve minor symptoms and to relieve the casual passerby of the contents of his or her wallet, both to the greatest extent possible. Charlie met both qualifications, and moments later he was dry-swallowing something large and bitter, hoping that it would take effect before he reached his brother and the others.

Speaking of which…Charlie dragged out his cell and hit the appropriate buttons. "Don?"

"Charlie! Are you all right? Where are you?"

"Ten blocks away, Don. I'm out. I'm okay," Charlie added swiftly, to forestall any further exclamations.

"Good. We're coming to get you. David, get the check," Don ordered, his mouth away from the cell. "Catch up with us later. We'll wait with Charlie."

Charlie could still hear his brother easily. "Take your time, Don," he said. Really. Don't rush on my account. Give me time for the pills to kick in. A thought hit him. "You're not making David foot the bill for this, are you? Don, tell him—"

"I gave him some money to cover it, Charlie." Don rode swiftly over Charlie's objections. "Stay where you are. We're coming to get you."

"Right," Charlie muttered, seeing the little 'call ended' sign pop up in the window of the cell. He sighed. His headache was now moving past the jackhammer stage into something akin to two tanks ramming each other head on. To make matters worse, he'd begun to shake. Fever, he thought dolefully. When it rains, it pours. Drugs, do your thing. He leaned against the lamp post, waiting for the trio of FBI agents to surround him.

It happened faster than he thought. Charlie closed his eyes for one short moment and when he pried them open again, there were Don and Megan, hustling toward him, with David making long strides to catch up from a block behind the pair. Charlie took a deep breath. Yes, he was starting to feel better. Back down to jackhammers again, and the feverish shaking had gone from nine on the Richter scale to a mere three.

Don grabbed Charlie by the arm, as much to reassure himself that his brother was all right as anything else.

Time for an act worthy of Professor Eppes in front of his honors level Advanced Statistical Analysis class with no prep time on his lecture. Charlie pulled himself upright, pretending that he had been holding up the lamp post and not the other way around.

"You're letting yourself get panicked over nothing," he scolded Don. "Nothing happened. This seminar was even more boring than the last. How does this guy make any money at it? He's not any good at it."

"Not the point, buddy." Don stared at Charlie as if afraid that his brother was going to suddenly grab Don's gun out of its holster and shoot himself in the head. "You sure you're okay? What did Anders do? What did he say?"

Distraction time, which meant 'fessing up to something that Charlie didn't want to 'fess up to in order to keep Don away from worse things. "Hate to say this, Don, but I fell asleep during the lecture," Charlie said with a shrug. "I woke up just in time to keep Anders from guessing what happened. Now that I think about it," he mused, "some of the others did the same thing."

"Fell asleep?" Megan jumped on him as well. "Everyone fell asleep?"

"No, not everyone," Charlie hastened to assure her. "I have to be honest: I didn't pay that much attention to everyone else. I was concentrating on Anders. I was trying to remember what he was saying, so that I could report back to you guys."

"And you fell asleep." Don remained unconvinced of Charlie's well-being.

"It was a long day," Charlie defended himself. Time for an escape from the real menace: my brother! "And I've got an early class tomorrow," he lied. "Where'd you leave the Suburban, Don?"

"This way." His brother continued to stare at him. "You sure you're okay?"

Charlie plastered a smirk onto his face, hiding the effort that it took. "I'd offer to race you to the car, but it might look a little strange for two grown men on a busy L.A. street at ten o'clock at night," he said.

It worked. Don looked properly abashed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. C'mon, Chuck. We'll drop Megan and David off at their cars, and I'll take you home. I'm staying the night again," he added.

Charlie sighed dramatically. "Yes, Dad."