Title: High Society

Chapter 17: What We Do For Love

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

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It was a familiar feeling. For most of his life, Don had known this emotion, this…awe. He leaned against the door frame of the garage, watching Charlie, and let it all wash over him again.

Charlie usually worked with an iPod in his pocket and headphones encircling his head, but tonight the old portable CD player on the desk blared 80s rock at a decibel level that never would have been tolerated by Alan. It must be some kind of compilation disk; Pat Benatar had been daring Don to hit her with his best shot when he had stepped from his SUV in the driveway, and now Tom Petty and his Heartbreakers were begging him not to 'do me like that'. When Billy Idol, with his rebel yell, began demanding 'more, more, more!," there was an almost imperceptible acceleration to Charlie's motions as the expressions fairly flowed from his fingertips onto the blackboard.

When he was in the zone like this, it became difficult to tell where chalk ended and finger began. This evening's chalk of choice was a pastel blue, and the dust clouds created by the limestone and gypsum settled quickly, so Don knew that it was a hard chalk. He remembered when they were younger. Chalk was softer, and almost always white, and the debris that settled in his brother's hair and followed him all around the house always made Don think of the Charlie Brown character 'Pigpen'.

The evening was a little cool, and Don had stood in the open door for a while, mesmerized by Charlie's dance with the chalkboard. The younger man was definitely dancing the lead. It was almost a surrealistic Pasa Doble: Charlie would lunge at the old-fashioned green slate like a matador burying his sword in a bull. The board, suspended as it was from the ceiling, in one of Charlie's intricate pulley systems, would dance with him. It pulled back from the force of his movements, swung forward again when Charlie moved his hand and subtly changed pressure.

When his back began to get cold, Don fully entered the garage, still unseen by his brother. He stopped at the small dorm-sized refrigerator, which Charlie kept fully stocked with bottles of water, and grabbed one before he moved on to the somewhat-rickety desk. Settling in the chair behind it, Don sipped at his water and continued to watch. Continued to remember.

He smiled when Aerosmith began to describe some unfortunate dude who looked like a lady. The song was released in 1987 – 21 years ago. Charlie had been 12, and had loved the song. He was convinced that there was some sort of dance that went with it; he mistakenly thought the words of the chorus were, "Do the Funky Lady". Don was 17, and a little pissed off that his little brother was in the same grade he was. He had no problem at all enlisting the help of several friends. One weekend, he and his buddies taught Charlie the most ridiculous and embarrassing choreography they could think of, and almost succeeded in convincing the little twerp to audition the 'Funky Lady' for the school's talent show. Always prepared, even then, Charlie had gone out and bought the Permanent Vacation album, so that he could practice. When he saw the song's true title, the gig was up.

The memory made Don nostalgic, and he blinked rapidly a few times as he leaned forward and hit the Off button on the CD player.

The sudden silence accomplished what nothing else could, and Charlie faltered. He cocked his head, frowned, and turned toward the desk. His eyes grew almost comically wide when he saw Don sitting there. "How long have you been here?"

Don ignored the question and stood. "God, Charlie," he said instead. "It's like watching Michelangelo paint the Sistine Chapel, or seeing Baryshnikov dance Balanchine, or something." Charlie stood speechless, uncertain which surprised him more – Don's sudden appearance in his garage, or his brother's clandestine interest in the arts.

Don set the bottle of water of the corner of the desk and continued his quiet soliloquy. "It's not that I haven't missed you. That I don't want you back in the office. I know I've looked like a jerk about the whole clearance thing, and I'm sorry; that's not what I intended. Intend." He sighed and took a step away from the desk. A filled blackboard rested on the concrete floor, leaning against the wall just behind the desk chair, and Don angled slightly to touch the slate almost reverently. "I've been angry – but not so much at you. In a lot of ways, I admire what you did. I'm disgusted with myself, for letting it bother me so much. For taking it as a personal affront, and for worrying about how it will affect my clearance rate." He turned to face Charlie fully again. "But mostly, for ever letting you get involved in the first place. This is where you belong, Charlie. Your research…I'm sure it's suffered because of all the time you put in at the F.B.I."

Charlie was growing more stunned by the minute, his mouth gaping open, and Don smiled sadly and came to stand just in front of his brother. He looked him in the eye for a long moment, then swiveled his head to look at the blackboard behind them. "When I see you like this…Charlie, it's the way people must have felt when they watched Babe Ruth pick up a bat. I don't want to compromise one of the most brilliant minds of my generation." His tone hardened. "I also don't want to see you get hurt. You're my brother, and I love you. You're playing with fire, and you could be seriously burned. Buddy, please don't get involved in this Fantasy thing. I've got a bad feeling about it."

As if Charlie weren't close enough to a melt-down already, Don suddenly grabbed him in a tight embrace, one hand ruffling the curly hair on the back of his head. Charlie's own arms rose of their own accord to return the almost-unprecedented hug, but he honestly could not make himself speak. "Just think about it," Don asked, breaking off the embrace all too soon. He smiled wearily and touched Charlie's stubbled cheek lightly. "Get some sleep, Chuck. It's nearly midnight. I'll call you later."

Don turned and left, disappearing from the garage so quickly that Charlie stood swaying in place and began to think he had imagined the entire thing. Then he looked at the desk, saw the half-empty bottle of water, and knew that he had not. "Donny," he whispered, finding his voice at last. Further vocabulary seemed beyond him. "Donny…"

Don had left the garage door standing open when he left, and Charlie breathed his mantra toward the dark abyss that lay beyond: "Donny."

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Don had asked Charlie to reconsider, to "think about it", and the mathematician spent most of the night doing just that. He finally fell asleep just before dawn, and it was after 10 before he reached DEA Agent Cooke at the number he had urged Charlie to memorize.

Charlie identified himself and cut right to the chase. "Agent Cooke, this is Dr. Eppes. Charlie Eppes."

Cooke responded in confusion. "Has there been a change of plans, Dr. Eppes? Agent Leach and I are on our way to a meeting with A.D. Wright at the F.B.I. – to bring him up to speed on what we've got so far."

Charlie took a deep breath. "I'm going to call J.T, and beg off the party. I've thought about this very seriously, and I'm afraid I can't help you."

Cooke's tone became icy. "This is the only way to get your clearance back, Dr. Eppes. I thought you understood that."

"I do," Charlie assured him. "I'll let that go. My brother is very concerned about this, and frankly, his opinion means a great deal more to me than yours does."

"We'll sweeten the deal," Cooke responded immediately. "Agent Leach and I will make it clear to Wright that the DEA and the NSA both urge the A.D. to call off his internal affairs hounds. We'll get the investigation into your brother stopped."

Charlie nearly choked on his quick intake of air. "What? Investigation? Don's being investigated?"

"That can't come as a surprise to you," Cooke replied. "He's had a bumpy few years. Crystal Hoyle. Granger and the Chinese. A sexual relationship with a subordinate member of his team; which looks even more suspicious when you consider that the only other woman on the team, a valued F.B.I. veteran, transferred to another jurisdiction – a location quite removed from L.A. His own brother e-mailed questionable data to Pakistan and threw away his Top Secret Clearance. Need I go on?"

Charlie began to stutter in his apprehension. "Th-that's not r-right! Col-Colby was vindicated b-by an F.B.I. investi-tigation. M-M-Megan left for a pro-promotion! D-D-D-Don had no idea w-what I was going to d-do!"

"When you add it all up, professor, your brother looks suspect. Aren't you supposed to be good at math?"

Charlie wanted to hang up on the arrogant ass – but he couldn't let Don suffer any more for his actions. "You can stop it?"

He could almost hear Cooke smiling. The DEA Agent knew that he had won. "I'm sure we can. The F.B.I. won't stand against both of us."

Charlie mumbled miserably into his cell. "I'll do it. I'll go to the party."

"You've made the right decision," Cooke answered. "We'll debrief you bright and early Sunday morning, in your brother's office." The DEA agent disconnected and glanced at Agent Leach in the passenger seat of the sedan. "That was close. He wanted to pull out; leave us high and dry."

Leach was staring at him with wide, troubled eyes. "What did you do? There's no investigation into Eppes. Is there?"

Cooke laughed out loud, and turned his attention back to the road. "Nah. Got the little genius back on our side pretty damn fast, though."

Leach shook his head. "If Eppes ever finds out you did that…I've heard things about him."

Cooke snorted. "Then maybe he should be investigated." He glanced sideways at Leach again. "Relax. Little Bro is never gonna spill the beans – and now he'll be a lot easier to handle. Trust me."

Leach just sighed, and fogged up the passenger door's window.

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"Did you think about what I said?"

Charlie tried to scoot further into the corner of the couch and squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes. Yes, Don, I did."

The older brother waited for the younger to offer more information. When none was forthcoming, his heart fell, and he knew what the answer to his next question would be. "You're going through with it anyway, aren't you?"

For you, Charlie thought. Aloud, he tried to ease Don's mind. "I'll be careful, Don. I promise."

The words were accepted with a sigh. "Your clearance means that much to you?"

You do, Charlie's mind answered. He swallowed thickly. "Yes."

He wished Don would get angry, would yell at him, would rail. Anything but what he actually did.

"Watch your back," Don advised softly; sadly. Then he disconnected without saying good-bye.

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Ramon, the evening's limo driver, negotiated the empty shopping carts carefully. When he braked to allow right-of-way to a pedestrian, Charlie forced another smile onto his face and arched an eyebrow in Morrison's direction. "Pretty elaborate practical joke, J.T. We're going grocery shopping?"

His host's teeth gleamed white in the dark interior of the vehicle. "Mr. X has arranged transportation. This week's meeting point is Safeway® -- Ramon will take us around to the loading dock truck-parking area."

Charlie peered nervously through the window. It was almost completely dark already,but he thought he might be able to see something in the lights from the store. "I thought you were kidding about that. How much farther do we have to go in the back of that…thing?"

Morrison chuckled fondly. "I don't really know. The exact location is a secret, after all!" He took pity on his beautiful young friend. "Don't worry, Charlie – it's like a lounge on wheels. There's even a bartender. Of course, the wine selection is not on a par with my own wine cellar – but it will serve as a distraction."

Ramon stopped the limo, and Charlie could see a short line of people surrounding a semi that was parked at the far edge of the lot. They were giving up their cell phones, showing their passes, and being assisted into the trailer of the truck. His heart began to pound, and his palms were growing sweaty. "I'm a little claustrophobic," he confessed. "I'm not sure I want to take even a short trip in a windowless, airless box." He turned his head away from the window, back in J.T.'s direction. "Can't you just explain to your…friend? Maybe we could drive in the car. Just this once."

Morrison shook his head. "I'm sorry. That's simply not allowed. Besides, once we get there, I'm sure you'll have such a good time that you will come with me again."

Charlie continued to fret. "What's the big secret, anyway? Is there something illegal going on at this party?"

J.T. stiffened. "You hurt my feelings, Charlie. Would I subject you to something like that? Mr. X simply keeps his identity, and the location of the parties, under wraps because he serves a very exclusive clientele. The acts are professionals, mostly from other countries – but brought here quite legally, I assure you. Mr. X pays them quite handsomely to perform at his parties for a few months. The performers acquire a green card and a free trip to America, plus the money in a fund for their education. He even pays for their lodging, and food – and the menu is quite a cut beyond bagels for breakfast."

Morrison shut his mouth quickly; afraid he'd given away too much already. Charlie was looking out the window again, so he couldn't tell from his face if the 'bagels for breakfast' crack had hit a nerve. "I didn't realize you were claustrophobic," he finally said, changing the subject. "If the truck is too much for you, we can skip the party."

Now the ball was in Charlie's court. He took a deep breath and faced J.T. with a smile. "Nonsense. It sounds amazing, and I'm sure you're right. I'm sorry for sounding unappreciative, J.T. Thank-you again for the invitation. If you'll just talk to me during the trip, I'm sure I'll forget I'm in a moving coffin."

Morrison laughed, genuinely amused – and relieved that he had not been caught in his faux pas. Ramon opened the door of the limo from outside, and J.T, leaned forward and tapped Charlie on the knee. Even that innocent contact sent an electric current through him, and he suppressed a shiver of delight. "After you, my friend. After you."

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End, Chapter 17