FBI INTERVIEW ROOM

Don's laugh crackled from the recorder. "Yeah, took it right off 'em."

Another laugh responded. "Oh, I love it. About time someone bled those rich bastards for a few drops."

"No kidding," said Don. "About time."

"Speaking of time, how long you been running this little scam?"

"Oh, about five, six months now."

"Who-eee! Easy money man, easy money. How much you taken in?"

"Roughly one and a half million. How's that for pocket change?"

"Not bad, my friend. Not bad at all. Whatcha gonna do with it all?"

"Oh, I dunno. Booze, strippers…." Don laughed. "Nah, I'm more of a good works kinda guy at heart. Probably give most of it to charity – you know, children's centers, help out crime victims, that sorta thing."

"Well, you're a better bastard than I am. I steal that kinda money, take that kinda risk, I'm all about numero uno."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I like to have fun. Gotta enjoy myself a little before this life catches up with me."

"That's what I'm talkin' about. Man if I had that kinda cash, I'd shag your brother's girlfriend. Real hottie, that one. Doe eyes, legs, dirty little lips –"

"Don't tempt me, buddy," Don laughed again. "You've got no idea how easy it'd be to cross that line. Good thing I got all my money to keep me company at night."

"Well, nice talk. You'll remember an old pal, right?"

"Oh, you won't be hurting for beer money any time soon. I gotta go back to my life of crime. Nice hearing from you."

Nychev turned the recorder off with a definitive click, and slammed it down on the table in front of him. "That is the sound of an FBI agent who's going to be doing some serious prison time. Now I know you didn't have the technical skills to pull this off on your own. You know the game. You gonna tell me who you're in this with, maybe save us having to identify your bloody corpse in a prison yard after the people you put away are done with play time?"

Don's expression was utterly blank; the face of a man who had just thrown up an unmovable wall between himself and the events around him. "What the – no." He took a deep breath. "I – think I better talk to a lawyer."

Charlie knew far too well what going into shock felt like, but he'd never known it could happen just from watching a conversation. David stood motionless, experiencing his own form of the world spinning off its axis, and it was one of the financial crimes agents who stood and put a hand gently on Charlie's arm. "Your brother's right," he said. "You don't have to watch this. I feel like a heartless bastard just letting you be in here right now."

Charlie was staring blankly at the window, and his brain took a good thirty seconds to hear and process the agent's words. "He didn't tell me to leave. I'm staying. I'll need all the data I can-" he stopped himself, feeling tears rising dangerously close to the surface and remembering David's firm instructions about not losing it. Don wasn't data. This wasn't a case. His brother couldn't be reduced to that -

"You guys need to run an analysis on that recording. It's the audio version of one of those ransom notes made out of newspaper clippings, pieced together from other conversations – the cadence is off, Don would never say those things, not like that."

The agent rubbed Charlie's arm, genuine compassion showing on his face. "Vic already had the techs do that."

"I want to do it again. I want to run it at Cal Sci."

"Okay, we'll get you a copy. I'm sure Vic'll give you copies of anything you need. Tell you what, let's step out for a few minutes and get some coffee, okay?"

"No," said Charlie, not meaning it as shortly as the word came out. He revised his answer. "Thank you. I just have to – I have to be here. If it were Don, he wouldn't leave me."

"Listen," Don snapped in the interview room. "I revoke my waiver of counsel. Put the damn cuffs back on, take your tape recorder, and go call my lawyer. I didn't do this, I didn't have that conversation, and I'm not going to give you a false confession with a bow on top."

"Oh, so we've stopped playing nice, now?"

"You stopped playing nice when you brought my brother into this, and so did I. Go get my lawyer."

BREAK ROOM, FBI OFFICE

Robin was frozen at the counter, her coffee forgotten as she thumbed through the case file. The prosecutor in her recognized a conviction when she saw it. Fragments of moments were flitting through her head. Strange looks and broken-off conversations at the office, her boss eying her with pity. Awkward silences around the financial crimes unit.

Don, the unflappable hard-ass, looking unsettled walking into a maximum security prison. Don, shocking her with compassion where she expected intolerance. Don with his head in her lap, looking up at her with pure adoration. Don, fulfilling her childish rescue fantasies in an all too real manner, hugging her after he'd saved her life.

"Your hands are shaking," said Charlie, beginning to pour himself a cup of coffee. "Are you all right?" His hideously awkward question was made even weaker by the shake in his own hands which, seconds later, resulted in copious amounts of coffee spilled on the counter.

Colby gently removed the cup from his hand and began to wipe up the coffee. "Word of advice? Don't try to take on the big brother role." He gave Charlie a comforting grin. "It's not your thing."

Charlie gave a weak laugh and turned back to Robin, attributing his discomfort in her presence to Don's rigid separation of his romantic involvements from his daily life. There had been times, he reflected, that he had been tempted to ask if they were still dating – then he would see them together, and see a rare glimpse of true joy in his brother's eyes. That alone was enough for him not to ask too many questions.

Robin stared back at him, her face blank. She tried to speak, but her voice broke and she looked away. Charlie tried again, his own heart hurting for her because he knew that place. "My lawyer's on the way, he'll arrange bail while I start analyzing these –"

Robin's eyes filled with a watery haze as she shook her head too rapidly. "They won't grant it – the judge won't grant it. Don's a flight risk." She drew her breath in sharply, almost a sob but not quite. "Don – Don's a flight risk? God Charlie – help. Help him, please." She shoved the file into his hands. "Help him. I can't –" tears were running down her cheeks, and she snatched her briefcase and marched towards the elevator.

Charlie spun towards Colby. "Are you kidding me? This is – this is white collar crime, and they won't grant bail? I've seen you guys cut murder suspects loose! Gangsters get to walk out of here and my brother the FBI agent gets held without bail?"

Colby deflected Charlie's fury with upraised hands. "Yeah. Messed up. Crap like this is why I never practiced law. But I gotta figure Robin knows what she's talking about."

FBI INTERVIEW ROOM

So this is what capture shock feels like.

Don stood and allowed Nychev to cuff his hands behind his back.

How many suspects have I done this to? How many of them were innocent just like me and scared to death? Don tried to steady himself, his heart racing in his chest the way it had during his first shootout, but this was lacking the exhilarating part of an adrenaline rush. This was pure fear. How on earth was this more unsettling than being shot at?

Nychev cuffed him lightly on the back, a compassionate gesture that snapped him out of his momentary panic. "Hey. Professional duties aside, I truly am sorry to be doing this."

Don looked back at him and swallowed hard. "I – had to shoot my ex-partner." Nychev nodded, the two of them at an understanding. He touched Don on the arm. "Let's go."

Don nodded and walked out at his side, taking a last glance around the office. It filled him with a sudden and unexpected feeling of love. A sense that if his life effectively ended now, at least he had known this.

David stepped out of the bull pen and ran up to them, and Don's heart sank. He spoke first, in an attempt to clear his throat of the choking hurt within. "Take good care of everyone for me, okay buddy?"

David nodded. "Of course. And we're looking over the case right now. You take care, okay?"

Don couldn't reply, and he looked away. Facing his own men in handcuffs was simply not something he could handle. "Let's go," he said to Nychev, his voice hard.