Title: High Society

Chapter 3: Invitations

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

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Alan observed his younger son with raised eyebrows the next morning. Charlie drifted downstairs with a dreamy smile, and went for his coffee with a cheerful, "Hi, Pop." Smiles on either of his sons' faces were rare these days, and he wondered what was generating it. Not that he minded. It was about time they started to get over the loss of Charlie's security clearance, and moved on with life. He didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Soooo," Charlie said, turning and leaning against the counter and taking a sip of his coffee. His eyes glinted mischievously over the rim of his mug. "I did it."

Alan eyed him curiously. "Did what?"

"I popped the question, last night. I proposed. She said yes."

Alan gaped; then whooped in delight, springing to his feet. "Are you kidding, Charlie?" He crossed the space between them with one big stride, and Charlie just managed to set his cup down before he was enveloped in a crushing hug. The old man was stronger than he looked.

"Congratulations, son! That's wonderful!" Alan laughed as he released him and clapped him on the shoulder. "I can't believe it – one of my sons finally did it."

Charlie grinned back at him. "We haven't set a date yet. Amita said we'd worry about that later. To be honest, I think she wants the idea to sink in with her parents for a while."

Alan stepped back and retrieved his coffee. "Well, I can't imagine they'd have a hard time with it. I think you won them over when there were here for their visit."

Charlie nodded and shrugged. "Yeah, we called them last night, both of us. They seemed okay with it. I think they want a traditional wedding in Delhi, though, and Amita wants to try to talk them out of that. It might take a while."

Alan smiled. "Well, you've waited this long. A little longer can't hurt."

Charlie sobered a bit. "We haven't told anyone but the parents – maybe you could keep it quiet for a few days, until we get around to everyone."

Alan grumbled with mock displeasure. "You make me wait all this time for you to act, and then you tell me I can't tell anyone?" His face split in a smile. "Of course, just let me know when it's okay to talk." He sighed happily. "Son, you just made my day."

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Tuesday afternoon, Don sat at his desk, and sighed. It was almost one, and he was contemplating grabbing lunch. The office seemed empty these days – Megan's departure had left a hole, to be sure, which Wright was working on filling, if not with another profiler, at least another agent. What was even more depressing was the absence of another person – an energetic, sometimes annoying, always stimulating being, who happened to sport a head of dark curls. Even though there were many hours, days even, when Charlie hadn't come into the office when he was consulting, there was always the expectation that he'd be back, that he'd come loping in, carting his bag along with insights on a case, or maybe just an invitation to lunch. And always, he'd brought with him a sense that the world revolved around Don – an unequivocal loyalty, an undying devotion, an undiluted admiration. Charlie had been his biggest fan in the game of life, or so Don had thought.

He was usually pretty good at reading people, and although he hadn't consciously recognized his brother's adulation until it was gone, he'd had the sense, deep down inside, that it was there. Apparently, he'd been wrong. Charlie had not only thrown away their relationship with the touch of a button, he seemed intent on moving on, ignoring Don's teasing bits of information on cases, and offering precious little about what he was working on himself. Hell, he couldn't even get a satisfactory argument out of the guy anymore.

His thoughts were broken by the ring of the phone, and he picked up the receiver with a sigh. "Eppes." He brightened a little, and straightened in his chair. "Oh, hey, Megan."

On the other end, Megan grinned at Larry, as she said, "I just thought I'd call and say hi – you told me to give you a buzz when I got situated. I've got Larry on the speaker phone – he says hi, too."

"Oh, yeah?" Don grinned, settling back in his chair. "Tell him I said hi back. How's his – what's he doing again?"

"The project at the Markam Institute – the think tank, remember? He loves it." Her voice took on a note of pride. "Georgetown University has also persuaded him to teach a class this semester; they practically begged!"

"Aww, that's great. And how about you?"

Megan smiled. "Good, Don. I miss you guys of course, but I'm enjoying myself."

Don's smile softened. "That's good, Megan, I'm glad."

"But anyway," she said, with another smile at Larry, "we didn't only call to say hi – we wanted to say congrats on your new sister-in-law. We are both thrilled." She waited for a response, unaware that Don was holding the phone to his ear with a blank look on his face, gaping.

"Don?"

Don managed, at least partially, to find his voice. "I – uh – I guess that's news to me. Thanks, I think."

Megan's eyes widened, and she looked at Larry in horror, who pursed his lips in distress, and plastered one hand against his cheek, with a murmured, "Oh, my."

Megan stammered into the phone. "Oh, my God, Don – Charlie asked us not tell anyone yet until he got around to everybody, but we didn't think – I mean, he said he asked her Friday, and we figured you and Alan - ,"

Don had recovered somewhat, and a tight smile played across his lips. "No, don't apologize, Megan – I haven't been over there since last Wednesday. I'm sure he just wanted to tell me in person."

"Oh, my God, and I've ruined it!" exclaimed Megan. "I am so sorry -,"

"That's okay," insisted Don. Actually, it wasn't; it was far from okay, but he just wanted to end the uncomfortable call. "Look, I've got to go – I'll talk to you later. Thanks for the call, and good luck to you both. Bye." He set the phone back in its cradle and stared at it for a moment, and then abruptly got to his feet. His dad hadn't called him either – what in the hell was going on here? One thing was certain; he was going to find out.

Twenty-five minutes later, he was pulling into the driveway of the Craftsman. His dad had been working from home quite a bit lately, and Don had expected to find him there; he was planning on pumping the old man for information, and maybe even giving him a hard time for not saying anything. Unfortunately, Charlie's car was there too; he must have come home for lunch. Or maybe not unfortunately – he might as well face the source of the issue.

He knocked – something he hadn't done until a few weeks ago – before entering. Charlie was standing at the dining room table looking through mail, and looked up, as Alan came out of the kitchen. "Donny," his father exclaimed happily, "what a nice surprise. I was just throwing together some sandwiches." He ducked back into the kitchen.

Don tried to read the expression on Charlie's face. He looked a bit taken aback, but not upset, not guilty, not any of the things he should be feeling. "Hey," he said, in a lighter tone than Don had heard from him in days. "I was wondering when you'd stop by. I figured you would show up for dinner one of these nights – I had something to tell you."

"So I heard," replied Don coolly. "And apparently, so has everyone else. There's a guy named Alexander Graham Bell, Charlie – he invented something called the telephone? You may have heard of it."

Charlie's face fell. "You heard already?"

Don's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Considering that you've told people in several spots on the globe, is it that surprising?"

Charlie's brows knit. "We hadn't told that many people. We called Amita's parents, I told Dad, and this morning, I happened to be talking to Larry, and I mentioned it to him, just because I wasn't sure when I'd get a chance to talk to him again." He scowled. "If you'd show up once in a while, maybe you would have heard by now. This was the first Sunday in weeks you haven't shown up for dinner. I wanted to tell you in person." He tossed an envelope down on the table angrily, and ran a hand through his hair in disgust. "So much for that."

Don suddenly felt a little foolish when it was put that way, but he wasn't going to let it go without trying to save face. "You could have stopped by the office."

Charlie's eyes flashed darkly. "Yeah," he muttered, "I'm welcome there."

"Charlie, there's nothing that says you can't stop by to see me," protested Don. "But look, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to burst your bubble. It just – well, when Megan called this morning, it just sounded like everyone knew but me. It was a little embarrassing."

Charlie's scowl faded. "He told Megan?" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Never mind, strike that – stupid question." He looked at Don ruefully. "I'm sorry – I just didn't think."

Don gazed back. There was a hint of the old Charlie there in that apologetic expression. Could this be the beginnings of a truce? He still felt a little disappointed – he would have thought that Charlie would want to share excitement like that with him as soon as it happened – but then, Charlie was a little clueless sometimes. It probably hadn't been intentional. "Hey, well, look." He crossed the floor, his hand extended. "Congratulations. I'm happy for you."

He'd intended a brief shake, and to pull his brother into a hug, but the outstretched hand apparently completely threw Charlie, who seemed to be expecting something more. He stared at the hand, and then took it stiffly, formally, jettisoning any chance for an impromptu hug. The handshake felt as awkward as it looked, and Don could see a flash of disappointment in Charlie's face before he turned back to the table – more than likely the same look he had on his own face.

"Well, I might as well go through this over lunch," Charlie said as he gathered the mail and trudged toward the kitchen. He held the door open for Don with a tight smile. "After you."

Lunch was just a little more comfortable, and that was only because Alan babbled on happily about the engagement, filling Don in on how Charlie had proposed. Don had to admit, it sounded as though his socially challenged brother had done a heck of a job. Charlie concentrated on his mail, frowning as he came to a square, expensive-looking envelope, and grunting in surprise as he looked at the single, heavy card inside. "Look at this -," he looked up at Alan. "Remember me telling you about meeting J. T. Morrison?"

Alan shot a conspiratorial grin toward Don. "Considering the fact that I was telling your brother about that just now, yes."

Charlie shot them a slightly embarrassed look. "Oh. Well anyway, he sent me an invitation to one of his parties."

Alan stared at him. "Are you serious? Charlie, those parties are legendary. Politicians, actors, writers, anyone famous – there are stories about them all the time. Half of the famous people in Hollywood would die to be invited."

"Some of them have," remarked Don darkly. "There was drug overdose at a party he held last month – a young actress died."

"Well, it's a cutting edge crowd," conceded Alan. "I imagine he can't control what his guests bring with them, or what they take before they get there."

Charlie looked at Alan. "How do you know all this?"

Alan shrugged. "I watch the entertainment channel, read the stories on the internet. You know, those little gossip panel pop-ups."

Don shook his head. "You don't know the half of it. That's a wild crowd, Charlie – that's not for you."

Charlie had come to that conclusion himself; he really hadn't intended on going, but Don's words made his temper flare. His brother still apparently thought he could waltz into Charlie's own house and order him around. He smiled, with thinly veiled anger. "I think I'll make that decision on my own, thanks." He stood, and gathered up the mail with deliberate movements.

Don scowled. "Come on, Charlie, don't be an idiot. You don't need to get involved with that bunch."

Charlie snapped. "What bunch, Don? Famous people? Did it ever occur to you that this might be a good business move, maybe help sell more copies of my book? I don't need your advice when it comes to my publications, thanks." He almost added sarcastically, 'Oh, and thanks for your heartfelt congratulations, too,' but managed to bite his tongue. He turned and pushed through the kitchen door. "Thanks for lunch, Dad. I've got to get back to campus." The door swung shut behind him.

"He's an idiot," Don repeated, in a growl.

Alan was looking at him sternly. "Don, it's a party – people go to the man's house all the time. The governor's been there, for God's sakes. What's with you, lately?"

Don stood impatiently. "Look, Dad, I'm sure some of his parties are fine. There are just rumors that some of that same crowd is involved in some nasty stuff. Charlie's not a jetsetter. Why in the hell would he even bother with that?"

Alan raised an eyebrow. "I think you're jealous."

"I am not," retorted Don. "I've got better things to do. Thanks for lunch." He turned and strode out the back door, purposely avoiding the dining room, and Charlie. The fact was, he was jealous, a little. Not of the invitation – he was jealous of his brother's time. Charlie was being pulled slowly, inexorably away by a new life, and soon, a new wife. Hell, he hadn't even taken the time to pick up the phone and call him about his engagement.

His attempt to avoid Charlie, his tactical maneuvering failed; he got out to the driveway, only to see Charlie heading for his Prius. They glared at each other, climbed into their vehicles, and drove away.

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End Chapter 3