Mind Games

Chapter 12

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer

A/N: I want tell you thanks so much for the alerts and reviews, and I really enjoy writing for you. Patty, you don't need to worry about running out of story, there are many chapters to come. The next post will be my usual Tuesday. Here's Chapter 12...

……………………………………………

"He did WHAT?!" Don exploded.

Ian shot a glance back toward the metal door of the garage office, hoping Don's outburst couldn't be heard outside. "Calm down," he said. "He didn't have another option. He was sitting there with Charlotte, nursing a drink, and they started doing lines of coke on the coffee table right in front of him. He was doing fine, acting like it was no big deal, but Jack Montreaux called him on it – told him to try some. Charlie tried to beg off, but Montreaux said he was 'joining the family,' and it would be an insult to refuse, and he'd call any deals off if he did. Charlie didn't have a choice."

"That's bullshit!" Don shot back. He felt sick – he'd known this was no place for Charlie, he'd known what a cesspool undercover work was, and now his brother had been sucked down into the muck. "Montreaux needs Charlie. He might have been pissed if Charlie said no, but he wouldn't have called off the deal."

"We don't know that."

"He's okay?"

"Yeah – like I said, he's pretty sick this morning, but I think it was the alcohol more than anything else. He'll be all right. He'll be in here in a minute."

Don looked at the door as if he was considering going out to find him, then paced instead, his voice tight. "In that condition, Charlie could have jeopardized the mission – God knows what he could have said while he was high. Were you with him after that?"

"I kept an eye on him. I wasn't always close enough to hear what was said, but I'm pretty sure he was okay. He was with Charlotte the whole time – they ended up getting drunk and headed off to her room at around two – or rather, she pulled him and he followed. I imagine he just passed out, by the looks of him – he was beyond trashed. No one was trying to talk to him, they left him alone with Charlotte – I think he finally put their suspicions to rest."

Don stared at him. "He spent the night with Charlotte?" The sick feeling in his gut intensified, as he thought of Charlie's relationship with Amita – it was sweet and relatively innocent, in spite of the fact they slept together – they were committed to each other, like college kids in love. Now Ian was telling him his brother had not only snorted coke last night, he had slept with another woman.

"Trust me, that was one of the safest places he could be in his condition," Ian retorted sharply. He was starting to get angry himself at Don's accusations, and his voice rose. "I couldn't drag him out of her room, it wouldn't have looked right."

"And you were supposed to be watching him – keeping him out of trouble!" Don roared back. "What happened to that?"

Ian's eyes flashed dangerously, but he bit off a retort as he heard a slight knock at the door, which had locked automatically when the latch engaged. He swore mentally – Charlie had shown up too soon. Don was far angrier than Ian had thought he would be, and he hadn't had a chance to calm him down yet. He watched silently as Don crossed the small office in two strides, and yanked open the door.

Charlie stood there wide-eyed, pale and motionless, obviously taken aback by the look on Don's face. He hesitated, and in the next instant, Don grabbed him by the front of shirt and pulled him inside, and slammed the door closed. He pushed Charlie unceremoniously against it, still holding the front of his shirt. "What in the hell were you thinking, Charlie?! Of all the goddamn, stupid, impulsive - ," He broke off sputtering, too upset to find words, and Charlie stared back up at him, with a hopeless expression.

Ian wasn't one given to sympathy, but he'd never felt sorrier for anyone in his life. It was obvious that Charlie was already miserable enough about what had happened, and it was also obvious that he was taking his brother's frustration to heart. Ian also knew that to Don's credit, his anger was generated by worry over his brother, but tension was rife in the room, and he had to smooth things over. "He was thinking like an undercover agent," he said quietly and firmly. "If he wasn't your brother, Don, would you still think he had done the wrong thing? You wouldn't, and you know it. Charlie did exactly what he was expected to do, as an agent."

The words, at least, had partial effect. Don slowly released Charlie's shirt, and stepped back. Along with calming Don, Ian had been hoping to bolster Charlie's confidence; he was going to need it in the week ahead. Charlie, however, looked just as miserable as he had on the ride there - probably more so; any of Ian's comforting words had apparently been pre-empted by his brother's reaction. "We can't stay long," Ian continued, gruffly. "Charlie needs to pack."

Don looked startled. "Pack?"

Charlie had composed himself enough to speak, but his voice sounded leaden. "I got the assignment," he said quietly, as Don turned back to look at him. "He's giving me the export job – he wants me to go out to his house in Spanish Bayou to work on it for the next few days. He said it's a quieter spot to work, but I also think he wants the privacy." He broke off, looking at Don, as if hoping for the slightest hint of approval.

"No way." Don's lips tightened; and he turned back to Ian. "We're pulling him off this, now."

Ian stared at him. "What, are you crazy? We're in – we'll never get another chance at this if you pull out now."

Don stared him down, angrily. "And I think you're crazy. You're gonna put him in there on his own, after the lack of judgment he showed last night?"

"It won't happen again," Charlie said, dully.

"Damn right, it won't," Don shot back over his shoulder. He turned back to Ian. "If we pull out, the CIA still has a shot at getting the info they want. If Charlie goes out there and screws up somehow, they won't – and he'll end up dead on top of it."

"If he pulls out now, he'll end up dead for sure," Ian said quietly. "Montreaux gave him the parameters of the assignment before he left this morning, is that not right, Charlie?" At Charlie's nod, he continued. "If I'm not mistaken, Charlie knows enough about the project that even at this point that he's a danger to them. They don't want anyone to know that they've even asked for this to be done. You think they'll let him walk away?"

"It doesn't matter," Charlie said quietly to Ian. "You don't have to convince him. I'm the one who needs to decide here, and I've made up my mind." He turned for the door, pointedly ignoring Don, although instead of looking defiant, his shoulders were slumped, his expression defeated, resigned. "I'm going to go pack now."

"Charlie -," Don started forward.

Ian grabbed his arm, and stepped quickly between Don and the door, which had drifted shut behind Charlie. "Wait a minute, Don. Just calm down. You need to slow down and think. Last night rattled him pretty bad, and now he's getting ready to spend a week on his own with some of Montreaux's goons. He needs to have his head on straight, and you're not helping. You need to set aside the fact that he's your brother, and look at him like an agent."

"He's not an agent," Don protested. "He's not even like you or me, Ian. No one can justify the slightest risk of screwing up a mind like that – they don't come along that often."

"It was one hit of cocaine, Don, that's all he did. I know it wasn't the greatest situation, but one hit is not going to kill him. You aren't going to stand there and tell me you never got in a situation undercover where you didn't have to take a hit, to do some kind of narcotic to fit in, or to keep from blowing your cover. I know I have."

Don's jaw worked, and he looked away, then back at Ian. "And how did it make you feel, afterward? I felt like shit – like I was worth less as a person. This is why I didn't want him to take this assignment – this is exactly why. Even if you make it out alive, it eats away at you, at who you are. He had a good life – he didn't need this crap – I didn't need this crap again."

"Well, we're here now, and we have to make the best of it," Ian said quietly. "He'll listen to you. You need to take him aside, and tell him that he's doing okay – help him get his head on straight before he goes under for a week. At least do it for the sake of the mission, if nothing else."

Don closed his eyes, and an expression of resigned pain flitted across his face, then he opened them, and sighed. "Yeah, all right. I'll talk to him."

999999999999999999999999999999999999999

Charlie had made it halfway down the hall toward the door that led to the outside street when he realized that he didn't have a hotel key – it was in the bag in Ian's vehicle, the bag he had brought to Montreaux's estate the night before with his change of clothes. He turned and headed back down the hall, toward the door the led to the first floor of the garage, and as he passed the doorway to the small office, he realized the door hadn't latched behind him. It was open the tiniest crack, and he could hear Don and Ian talking.

The conversation was indistinct in the hallway, but if he put his ear near the crack, he could make out the words. He told himself he was just going to shut it for safety's sake, but as he reached for the knob, he found himself listening, craning to hear. He picked up Don's voice first: "– I didn't need this crap again," and then Ian's: "Well, we're here now, and we have to make the best of it. He'll listen to you. You need to take him aside, and tell him that he's doing okay – help him get his head on straight before he goes under for a week. At least do it for the sake of the mission, if nothing else."

Charlie winced. He'd suspected that Don had been secretly angry with him for insisting on taking this assignment, and apparently he'd been right. The knowledge was like a knife twisting in his gut – how much else was Don hiding? He'd come to a realization from the beginning of this that he really didn't know his brother; he had found Don to be a consummate actor, and skilled at hiding his true feelings. From what he'd just heard, any hope that his brother really cared about him was slim, and Charlie's shameful actions the night before surely hadn't helped. He heard Don's reluctant agreement to talk to him, but he was already backing away from the door, then turning and half-running, half-walking down the hall, back to the outside door. He didn't want them to know he'd been listening – he was already a drug user and someone who slept with strange women – he didn't need to them to know he was a sneak and an eavesdropper in addition. He pushed outside, ran the block down to the hotel, and pushed through the door, catching a glimpse of Don and Ian as they came out of the garage, a block away, just as he went inside. He ignored the clerk in the lobby, it was all he could do to breathe – the run had made him feel ill again, and he dragged down the hallway to the room. There, he leaned his back against the wall, slid down it to a sitting position, still breathing heavily, and put his head on his knees.

99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999

Don turned down the hotel hallway with Ian, and saw the figure sitting hunched against the wall at the end of the hall, outside the door to their room. Charlie had pulled his knees up and folded his arms over them, and was resting his head on his arms, the picture of abject misery. Don felt his heart contract; Ian was right, Charlie was taking this hard, and he, Don, hadn't helped the situation by exploding. Granted, Charlie was the one who had gotten them into this, but Don couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

Charlie raised his head as they approached, but he didn't keep eye contact, even when Don held out a hand to help him to his feet.

"I didn't have a key," Charlie said, as he stood, reluctantly taking Don's outstretched hand. His voice sounded lifeless. He looked at Ian. "It's in your SUV, in the duffel I brought. I think you locked it."

Ian nodded. "I did. I'll go back and get it while you start getting your things together." He shot a glance at Don, and headed back down the hallway.

Don took his cue. Now was his chance, before they went into the room and had to stifle their conversation because of the listening device. He put an arm around Charlie, and gave his shoulders a squeeze. "I'm sorry I yelled," he said softly. "You did what you had to do last night, Charlie. It's okay." He released his grip and slid the key card in the door. The green light flashed, and he grabbed the latch.

Charlie looked up at him, then away. He looked so down, so defeated, that Don's heart twisted. Don had turned the latch to open the door, but paused as Charlie said quietly, "It's all right, you can save your speech; you didn't mean it anyway."

He pushed the door open and went inside, leaving Don staring, open-mouthed, after him.

9999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999

End Chapter 12