US HWY 10, SANTA MONICA FREEWAY

"Wait," said Charlie suddenly. "This isn't the way to the detention center."

"Nope, it isn't," admitted Colby. He glanced over at Charlie. "I'm kidnapping you for a few hours. Just trust me, okay?"

"Okay," said Charlie finally, too exhausted physically and emotionally to argue.

"Lean the seat back, try to catch a nap," suggested Colby. "It'll help."

EARLY MORNING, EPPES RESIDENCE

"Well – I appreciate the visit," said Alan. "I have to admit I'm going to be a little jumpy around official visitors from now on, considering that twice now I've had one of my very law-abiding sons hauled off in handcuffs."

David chuckled. "You're just in denial that you've raised a couple of felons."

Alan looked over at David, and after a long, reflective moment asked, "How is Charlie handling this?"

David sighed and leaned back in his chair, meeting Alan's gaze with his own forthright look. "It's Charlie in full-blown panic mode. He's – he's dealing with his emotions by trying to be Don."

Alan raised his eyebrows. "I'll bet that's a bundle of joy and delight."

David couldn't resist a small, conspiratorial smile. "It's somewhere between endearing and infuriating," he admitted. "But – if putting himself in charge of the investigation, demanding Iron-Mountain sized stacks of files, and playing big brother to Robin keeps him from breaking down completely, I'll take it."

"Are you sure you're not a father?" asked Alan.

"Sometimes when Don's away, I start to feel like one," said David with a wry look.

"Where is Charlie now? I'd better bring Donny junior some food, it's not like he'll remember on his own."

"Sometime around five-thirty this morning, he announced his intention to march into the detention center to see his brother. Colby took him for a drive." David grinned. "He may or may not remember to feed him, it is Colby after all."

VENICE PIER, MORNING AFTER DON'S ARREST

Charlie followed Colby out of the car and over to a sloping bluff that overlooked the coastline. "We went surfing here. All of us and – Don."

"Yup," said Colby, looking out across the water. "And a couple years ago, I was out there on a boat with my whole team having written me off as a traitor."

Charlie gulped. He turned away from the FBI agent, rubbing his forehead and pacing.

"I've had a lot of shrinks and a lot of friends talk to me about what happened out there. But what nobody asks me about is what it felt like to be hauled in by my own team."

Charlie stopped dead and turned to face him. The generally stoic Colby wore a uniquely vulnerable, unguarded expression on his face that cut through Charlie's racing thoughts and emotions.

Colby met his eyes squarely despite the pain on his face. "I'd gotten assigned to investigate these guys, and they turned into my family. I had to let them cuff me, haul me into my own damn interrogation room, and think I was a traitor. I'd rather be beaten to death than go through that again and have to see the expressions on their faces."

"I'm so sorry," said Charlie, now hurting almost as much for Colby as he was for Don. "We should have believed in you more, I can't imagine –"

Colby cut him off. "You all believed in me enough to ignore evidence, betrayal and a confession and come save my life. Point is, I know Don's in misery right now whether he's guilty or not. When it's your own outfit, it hurts. But he also knows how hard we'll be fighting for him." Colby gave Charlie a sheepish smile. "This is a really long way to say I understand, and that I'm going to do everything in my power to get Don out of there."

"Thanks – I guess," said Charlie, a frown coming unbidden to his forehead. "I'm sensing a 'but' here."

"Don't hate me when I say this, okay? I get your need to try and control this situation. Problem is, you're gonna end up stepping on some toes if you act like the FBI is at your beck and call on this one. And I'd think twice about barging into the detention center at five in the morning like you own the place."

Charlie frowned. "I don't think that!"

"You're acting like it," said Colby.

"Look – David made it abundantly clear to me – Nychev too – that if we want to maintain access to Don's case, I have to keep it together and be professional. That's what I'm doing. Or – trying to, anyway. I know that's not traditionally my strongest point when people I care about are involved, and if I screw this up, I – I could never forgive myself."

Charlie sighed and started pacing, prowling the small bluff several times before coming up with a coherent admission "Every time something terrible has happened in our family, and during every single case, Don's been there." He stopped pacing and faced Colby with his own moment of truth. "I don't know – how to do this without him."

Colby gave him a look of sympathy. "You don't have to. By the time we get back to LA, it'll be a halfway decent hour and you can go see him."

"Okay," said Charlie. He ventured an apologetic glance at Colby. "I – didn't mean to step out of line."

US DOJ METROPOLITAIN DETENTION CENTER

"This – this isn't like a Colby thing, is it?" asked Charlie, his desperate hope transparent. "Are you doing something undercover?"

Don shook his head, speaking gently. "No, buddy. I'm afraid this is for real."

Charlie looked away and rubbed his eyes, trying to cover the sudden impulse to cry.

"Listen, buddy, can you do me a favor?" asked Don, his voice unusually quiet. Charlie nodded. "Robin can't have anything to do with me or my case, since it's her office that – that'll be prosecuting me. Just get in touch, tell her I understand and it's okay? Maybe give her a hug for me?"

Charlie couldn't breathe. He struggled, closing his eyes and fighting the physical pain of trying to deny his emotions. His eyes were stinging and something was squeezing his heart and his gut like a vise. Somewhere in the background, he heard his brother stand, and seconds later he was enveloped in Don's arms, gasping as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"It's okay, buddy, it's okay." Charlie felt his big brother kiss him briefly on the top of the head moments before strong hands jerked him away and restrained him.

A second guard grabbed Don's arm, twisting it and slamming him down hard on the table. The side of his face hit the metal surface with a crack that made Charlie instantly sick to his stomach. The guard handcuffed him and jerked him upright, and Charlie struggled in rage that was fueled by a devastating fear for his brother. "Stop! Stop! He didn't do anything."

The guard holding Charlie was gentler and considerably stronger, and simply maintained a firm grip on the younger Eppes as Don was marched out of the room.

The metal door closed behind Don and his escort, and Charlie felt himself go limp. The guard released him and guided him to a chair, surprising Charlie with a calming pat on the shoulder. "We're going to have to search you before you leave, to make sure he didn't slip you anything."

Charlie nodded, barely comprehending. He was acutely aware of the warmth of tears covering his cheeks, and he found it odd that he wasn't sobbing, wasn't feeling anything, and – where were all these tears coming from then? Thoughts spun in his head, assaulting him, defying quantification and analysis. "Is Don in trouble? Did – did I get Donny in trouble?" His voice was almost inaudible.

"Nah," said the guard, giving him an understanding glance. "It's not like things don't get pretty intense in here, every day. It's really helpful for people on the inside to know they have people that care about them, you know."

"Social – social networks strengthen the bonds between –" Charlie closed his eyes, fighting himself. He knew this tipping point, and could feel his ability to grasp and cope with what was around him slipping away. "Can I have a pen?" There was a set theory string that Amita had mentioned that could fit into the P vs. NP problem, if only he could figure out –

"No." The guard's voice was gentle. "Let's get you out of here, okay?"

Charlie nodded, blindly obeying the officer's steady grip on his arm as he was helped up and guided down the hall. The geometric pattern of the bars on one of the doors caught his attention, the same pattern that had fascinated him when he was the prisoner and a guard was guiding him through a different series of doors.

There was a white wall in front of his face, and somewhere in the background of his consciousness he was aware of obeying an order to put his palms on the wall for a search. The wall spun, and he blinked, trying to clear his vision of that same white wall in a hospital.

You mother is dying, Charlie.

Charlie pressed his forehead against the wall as hard as he could, his eyes clenched tightly shut.

Don Eppes, you're under arrest for fraud. Please place your hands behind your back.

Pain ripped through his forehead, burning and stinging as he struggled to stand, nauseated and unable to move as Amita was dragged away from him into a van. Flames and bodies and – why couldn't he breathe?

"His brother's the FBI agent being held here, they had a pretty emotional meeting and he just went into shock."

Wait. Wait. That voice was real.

Charlie opened his eyes, hoping he wasn't about to vomit. "How'd I get on the floor?" He blinked, recognizing the man who had just entered as one of the guards he'd interacted with during his own brief stay. "Anderson?"

"Hey, kiddo." The guard smiled in greeting and knelt down next to him. "You came to visit your brother." It wasn't a question, and Charlie nodded. "He's fine, you know. He's coping really well."

Charlie focused on breathing and chasing away ghosts, trying not to be utterly humiliated by the fact that he'd managed a total meltdown in front of a bunch of federal detention officers, or by the fact that he'd somehow wound up on the floor with his head on fire when he knew nobody had hit him.

"You're -?"

"Yeah, I'm working his unit. He just asked me to come check on you."

"Is he okay?" asked Charlie, trying to sit up and finding that the room swung around, tempting him once again to throw up. Anderson helped him sit with surprising gentleness.

"Easy, kiddo. I know what you just saw was pretty violent, but someone like your brother – it just doesn't faze him. He's back upstairs with a bloody nose, cracking jokes and worrying about you."

"Look – he's innocent. I don't know how I'm going to prove it, but just –"

Anderson cut him off with an understanding look. "Hey. Mixed in with all the gangsters and killers and general scumbags we get through here, there's a fair number of guys who're innocent, end up with dropped charges, even stray math prodigies trying to right the wrongs of the world. None of us like dirty cops, but your brother deserves the benefit of the doubt until a jury says otherwise, okay? I reckon society at least owes him that for everything he's put on the line, and we're gonna make sure he's safe and sound."

Charlie felt a portion of the all-encompassing tension leave his body, and his heart began to take its rightful spot back down in his chest. Anderson gave him a brief smile and helped him to his feet, sparing Charlie the need to reply.

"Seems you two spend more effort worrying about each other than you do yourselves. Come on, I'll walk you out."