Title: High Society

Chapter 20: He Couldn't Know

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

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Very few passengers were on the semi that returned Charlie and J.T. to Safeway®. According to Charlie's watch, it was nearly one a.m. already; but something told him that Fantasy would be going strong until almost dawn. Charlie's stomach churned every time he thought of the child in the Dreamscape room, and he initiated a conversation with J.T., as much to distract himself from the image, as to smooth any ruffled waters that might exist between them. "I'm sorry, J.T. I don't know why you put up with me. Every time you do something kind, and generous, I reward you by becoming ill."

Morrison regarded his current target, and could see that the young man was clearly upset, in addition to not feeling well. The fine lines of pain that crinkled around his eyes, the way his hand absently rubbed at his flat stomach – it was really quite adorable, and J.T. felt himself melting once again. "Nonsense," he reassured, tempted almost beyond reason to pull Charlie into a full embrace of comfort. With effort, he kept his hands to himself – although the one holding the martini shook a little. "It's probably my own fault. You've told me time and again that you don't usually drink to excess, and yet I keep plying you with liquor until I make you ill. I should apologize to you!"

Charlie attempted a smile, but was pretty sure it presented more as a grimace. "I'm a grown man, J.T. I'm capable of saying 'No'." J.T. almost shuddered when he imagined how often he would hear that word from Charlie – and soon, if he had anything to say about it. He missed part of what Charlie was saying, he was so excited. "…unfortunate timing," Eppes was whining. "I worry about my father when he's away on business, and things aren't really as solid as I'd like them to be with Amita right now. Then there's Don, of course." He sighed. "I'm afraid I don't handle stress very well."

J.T. smiled fondly. "Perhaps you could write a sequel to The Attraction Equation," he suggested. "This time focus on family relationship dynamics."

Charlie snorted. "Not even I have enough math to get a handle on that," he groused, and J.T. laughed.

He raised a hand to summon the attendant. "You should have a ginger ale," he fussed. "I'll ask them to dim the lighting, as well. You can rest until we get back."

Charlie was touched again by his host's thoughtfulness. Surely J.T. had no idea what went on at Fantasy. "Thank-you," he murmured, waiting until J.T. related his requests to the girl before he continued. "Have you ever had a silver pass? Or gold?" He thought that J.T. stiffened, and hurried on. "I mean, I just can't imagine what else could go on at that party. The rooms we were allowed to access were unbelievable."

J.T. took a sip of his drink before he answered, almost pensively. "You know, I've wondered that myself. I guess I've never pushed for the next level because I want to believe I could have something more if I wanted it. I need for something to stay just out of reach." He winked at Charlie, and smiled self-depreciatively. "Face it, Charlie; I'm a wealthy, powerful man. I can have whatever I want, at the snap of my fingers." He sighed dramatically. "Sometimes, all I want is a little mystery. A little challenge. For things not to be so easy." He chuckled, feigning embarrassment, and looked away. "Does that make any sense?"

Charlie relaxed just a tad into the comfortable leather, and gratefully accepted the cool ginger ale being pressed into his hand. "Of course it does," he murmured, and allowed himself to feel a modicum of relief. J.T. didn't know.

He couldn't know.

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A little over five flight-hours away, Amita lay wide-awake in Larry and Megan's guest room and remembered her bedtime confession to her friend. "Charlie doesn't know," she had confided at the end. "He can't know."

A strange expression of disbelief mingled with sadness and sympathy had come over Megan's face. "Are you sure?" she had asked gently. "The Charlie I know is not exactly stupid."

Amita had bristled. "There is nothing for him to know," she protested hotly. "Nothing inappropriate ever happened between Dane and me."

Megan's response was not unkind; nor was it uninformed. "Yet you just sat here, an hour after showing off your engagement ring, and told me that you find yourself almost obsessed with Dr. Rastenbaum."

Amita buried her face in her hands. "I never said 'obsessed'", she mumbled. "I didn't mean to imply that; I'm tired…nervous about my teaching responsibilities here."

She looked up in time to see Megan sigh. "You've spent more time talking about Dane and describing his…physical attributes…than you have talking about Charlie, Amita. Larry practically had to drag information out of you about his best friend; your fiancé. Obsessed might be my word, but I stand by its accuracy."

Tears of regret and despair sprang to Amita's eyes and she lowered her head again. "I'll fix it," she whispered to her feet. "Charlie doesn't know. He couldn't know."

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Don virtually ignored Agents Cooke and Leach, and tapped his fingers impatiently on the conference room table.

It was 3 a.m., and whatever happened at the mysterious party had freaked Charlie out so much that he couldn't wait a few hours for the planned Sunday-morning debriefing. He had gotten in touch with Cooke, and Cooke had called Don: The debriefing had to be now. Tonight.

Not knowing about Charlie's shattered cell, and having no idea that his little brother had called Cooke from a roadside pay phone, Don was a little miffed that he hadn't gotten his own call. Once Don had rolled Robin over and told her to go back to sleep, he had grabbed his clothes off the chair near the bed and slipped out of the dark room as quietly as possible. He had dressed hurriedly in the bathroom, and when he had felt the bulk of his cell phone in the pocket of his jeans, Don had called Charlie for a more personalized update. When the call had gone directly to voice mail, he had sworn so loudly he undid all of his good intentions, and woke Robin.

He and the other agents had arrived at the Bureau at the same time, just a few minutes before, and now they ignored each other while they waited for Charlie to join them.

Cooke sipped at the insipid coffee he had purchased from a machine in the break room and surreptitiously studied the fuming Eppes. Leach was probably right; if this man ever found out that he had blackmailed his little brother into this little undercover assignment, Cooke would be history. He shivered slightly and reassured himself that Eppes didn't know.

He couldn't know.

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Charlie stepped off the elevator nearly twenty minutes after everyone else. Cooke, Leach, and Don were milling around the conference table, checking their watches, when Don finally heard running footsteps approaching the conference room. He looked toward the door in time to see it burst open. The appearance of his disheveled brother literally knocked Don off his feet, and he sank into the nearest chair, eyes glued on Charlie – pale, eyes wide and dilated, hair a wild halo around his head. "I'm sorry it took me so long," Charlie gasped, breathing hard. "I had some trouble finding another cab; the first one wouldn't wait for me at the pay phone."

Don was walking around the end of the table before he realized he was on his feet. "Cab? You didn't drive yourself? And what pay phone?" He latched onto Charlie's forearm, needing to feel the solidity of his brother's body. "Did they hurt you? Are you all right?"

If Charlie was surprised at Don's concern, considering their last conversation, he didn't show it. Instead, he used his free hand to push at his unruly hair and looked with frantic eyes over Don's shoulder, at Agent Cooke. "You've got to get someone out there, now! The party is still going on, I know it is. If you, if you send someone to the pick-up point, you can, you can, arrest the driver. Force - force him to take you there. It's somewhere in the desert, I think. Hurry!"

Don pulled and pushed at Charlie until he was sitting in a chair. The F.B.I. agent had been nursing a bottle of water while he waited, and now he reached across the table and grabbed it. He pulled another chair around until he could sit next to his brother, and put the bottle physically into Charlie's hand. "Take a breath, Buddy. Calm down, drink some water."

Leach started walking, heading for the door, and was stopped by Cooke's voice. "Where do you think you're going?"

Leach stopped; turned. "To request back-up?"

Cooke shook his head. "Everybody just slow it down! We've been investigating this for almost six months, and we're not going to screw it up now by acting before we have all the information!" He sat down opposite Charlie and leaned forward over the table. "What kind of security is there? Will they see us coming? Is there a high-level communications system, so that a lookout could notify everybody else before we even go to the pick-up point?"

The bottle of water dropped from Charlie's nerveless fingers, and rolled under the table. He looked desperately at Don. "There are children! Don…"

Don frowned, unhappy to be placed in a position that required agreement with Agent Cooke. "He's right, Charlie," he finally mumbled. "This isn't the movies, we can't just charge over the hilltops like the Cavalry. You have to tell us what happened. All of it."

Charlie groaned as if in physical pain and leaned over, his head almost hitting the top of the table. Don's big brother instincts took over again. "Are you sure you're all right? Why didn't you drive yourself here?"

To his dismay, Charlie banged his forehead twice on the table before he whipped his head up and looked at him again, his eyes glistening with tears. "I tried," he moaned, "but I dropped my keys somewhere in the yard, and I broke my cell phone, so I had to go back into the house to call for a cab, and the door was locked, so I broke into the garage to get the spare, but then I remembered that we disconnected the landline last month and, and I had to walk until I could hail a taxi at 2 in the fucking morning, and…"

The pitch of his voice and the speed of his delivery were both rising in intensity – not to mention certain uncharacteristic vocabulary. Don reached out to grip the back of Charlie's neck in a firm grasp. "Okay," he assured calmly, "it's okay. I'll take you home, and we'll find the keys." He began to massage Charlie's neck gently, afraid that his brother was going to hyperventilate. "Take a breath, Charlie," he soothed, and then he summoned the agent inside again. "Take a breath – and then tell us everything that happened tonight. All of it."

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"I'm sure J.T. doesn't know about the back rooms," Charlie concluded. "He couldn't know."

Don sat grimly beside his brother. What Charlie had described was horrible – he would have a hard time witnessing that, and he was an experienced agent. He was also an experienced brother, and it bothered him to no end knowing what Cooke was about to suggest. They were going to send Charlie in again, he just knew it. Belatedly, he caught the reluctant quality of Charlie's voice.

Cooke started to say something, but Don interrupted him, leaning forward in his chair a little. "Who are you trying to convince?" he asked. "Us, or yourself?"

Charlie sighed, and met Don's eyes with his own for a moment before he pushed his chair back from the table and stood, somewhat shakily. "He said something," he admitted, so quietly that it was difficult to hear. "He made a comment about 'bagels for breakfast'. The Saturday morning I was at his house, I didn't have any breakfast, and that's the only time we've been together early in the day – so at first I didn't think it was a personal jab. How could he know what I eat for breakfast? I didn't remember until the cab ride tonight – I came here this week, with a bag of bagels to share with Don for breakfast." He swallowed, refusing to look at anyone, and lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "I think maybe he has someone watching me. Or an informant here in the Bureau."

Silence greeted his statement. The two halves of Don's personality fought it out internally – he wanted to defend the integrity of the office, yet at the same time wanted to kill everyone in it himself, if one of them was endangering his brother; even if it was Colby, or David. He stood; mind made up, and crossed his arms over his chest. "That's it," he stated unequivocally. "Charlie's out. He went to your damn party, and got you some more to work with – take what you can get," He turned to face Charlie, who was looking at him a tad strangely. "Chuck, you're not going to see this guy again. That's it."

A myriad of emotions, not all of which Don could read, passed over Charlie's face before he looked at Agent Cooke. Cooke spread his hands and shrugged, narrowing his eyes a little. "Your brother appears to be an adult, Agent Eppes. I would hope he is a man who honors his commitments…and I strongly suspect he makes his own decisions. He sent that e-mail to Pakistan, after all." The ghost of a smile played at his lips as he looked up to regard Don. "Unless, of course, you knew about it?" Leach was quietly studying his shoes, not saying a word – but he seemed to wince when Cooke made his thinly-veiled accusation.

A low sound remarkably akin to a growl came from Don, and Charlie jumped in before his brother had time to get his hands around Cooke's neck. "Stop it!" he shouted, leaning to bang his fist on the table. Cooke's languid eyes slid in his direction and Charlie repeated himself. "Stop. It." He straightened, shaking his hand slightly – he had hit the tabletop harder than he intended – and swiveled his head to look at Don. "Both of you." Don's eyes were still flashing in anger, and Charlie gentled his voice, unconsciously wheedling his brother. "Donny, we don't even know that it will be an issue. There's no guarantee that J.T. will go out of his way to get me another pass – I practically threw up all over him, and I seem to end up doing that every time he includes me in one of his parties."

"That should be a sign that this life doesn't agree with you," mumbled Don, and Charlie just swallowed and kept his mouth shut.

Nearly everyone was surprised when Leach suddenly joined the conversation; it was easy to forget he was in the room. "Dr. Eppes is correct. He may not get another invitation. I think he should work with one of our sketch artist programs, maybe look at the missing persons database; try to identify some of the people he saw there tonight. Either the performers, or the audience."

Cooke was not prepared to acquiesce entirely. "That makes sense," he admitted grudgingly. "Tomorrow is a school holiday, correct? You can devote some time to those tasks?"

Charlie nodded. "Yes. I just have to go to the store and get a new phone, sometime."

Cooke nodded; then rose to his feet with an air of authority. "I think we should deal with the potential threat, just in case. If someone in this office is reporting back to your 'Mr. X', we need to set up some sort of public disagreement between you two."

"Are you sure that's necessary?" Charlie asked. "We've pretty much been publicly disagreeing for months." Don's head whipped around, and Charlie lowered his eyes to the table, embarrassed. He couldn't believe he had said that out loud.

Cooke suppressed a sneer and drove his point home. "It's a good idea to put on a show, even if the audience isn't here. We're still not sure if you were tailed or if there's a Bureau leak. Leach and I will bring some sketch software to your home tomorrow. We can use one of our passwords to get you into the MP database; that way you won't be seen going into any of our offices." He glanced at Don, matching Eppes' steely glare with one of his own. "You two cook something up…say, mid-day on Wednesday, or Thursday. An altercation in the bullpen."

Charlie was still staring at the table, refusing to look at Don. "I have a tentative lunch set up with Colby on Thursday," he offered. "I have a couple of hours between classes."

"Perfect," smiled Cooke. "You set up your cover before you even knew you'd need one. Perfect."

"Just peachy," grumbled Don, spinning on his heel and starting for the door. "We'll talk about it on the way home. Come on, Charlie."

Charlie started to follow, but his feet were stayed by Agent Cooke. "Better not," he warned. "Someone could be watching the house." He unclipped a cell phone from the waistband of his jeans. "I know you have no phone, Professor; I'll call you a cab. You should stop briefly and pick something up -- anything -- so it looks like you had a reason to go out at this time of night."

Don stopped in the doorway, incredulous. 'I wonder if that asshole knows just how badly I want to wipe that smirk right off his face?' he thought, staring daggers at Agent Cooke. Charlie raised his eyes briefly to shrug apologetically at Don, looking about as miserable as Don had ever seen him. Don's gut clenched and he made a decision when he looked at Cooke again. Nah, he thought, he doesn't know.

He couldn't know.

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End, Chapter 20