Mind Games

Chapter 39

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer

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Thursday morning, the second day of the hearing, Masters and Rogan paused outside the door in another corridor of the courthouse. "It's a go?" asked Rogan, and Masters nodded.

"Yeah - I got the okay from Conaghan. Where's Wilkes?"

Jonathan Wilkes hurried down the hallway toward them, slightly breathless. "Here. Are we ready?"

Masters nodded. They looked at each other, and each of them read relief and purpose in the others' eyes. The charade had gone on long enough, and most of Charlie's testimony was out, and recorded. It was time. Masters opened the door, and they stepped inside.

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Thursday was turning out to be a long day, Don reflected, and it wasn't even half over. He'd started his testimony Wednesday morning, going over the undercover assignment, and described what Charlie had been assigned to do, as well as himself. He went into detail over how they'd worked their way into Montreaux's organization, and how he'd gotten the drug deals, and Charlie the programming assignment for the weapons deal. All the while, the Montreaux cousins sat there with their lawyer, stony-faced, expressions cold but composed. Near them with a separate lawyer sat the two Iranians, their faces nearly emotionless, shrouded.

Don's testimony took him through the morning until the lunch recess, and then, although he wasn't quite finished with his piece of the story, they allowed him to leave for the day. There had been more testimony scheduled for Wednesday afternoon, which would go into the next morning, and he hadn't been asked back to finish his part of the testimony until late Thursday morning. He wondered vaguely at the other testimony – probably computer experts expounding on the information on Charlie's flash drive, he imagined. Whatever the case, they didn't have him come back to the courthouse until ten that Thursday morning, and then he sat cooling his heels in an office – precisely what he'd spent all of Wednesday afternoon and evening doing, only in a hotel room. It wasn't until nearly eleven when they called to tell him he was due back in the courtroom.

He'd been ensconced in an office down a hallway near the courtroom with a security guard outside the door, and another inside to keep him company. The man turned out to be a Secret Service agent, and they passed the time chatting a bit, and flipping through the channels of a small television in the office. The agent controlled the remote, but Don didn't mind – any distraction was welcome. The testimony had dredged up memories of Charlie, still fresh and painful, and he was desperately trying to push them aside.

The door opened, and Bill Masters stepped in, scowling at the guard. "I thought I said to leave the TV off."

"I kept it off the courtroom channel," said the agent, but he immediately hit the 'off' button. It was the first inkling Don had that the television had a line from the courtroom. At a motion from Masters, the agent got to his feet and stepped out of the room.

Masters looked at Don. "You ready?"

It was a reference to the last piece of his testimony – the flight from the estate, and the accident. What happened after that – the brainwashing and his attack on Charlie, weren't being exposed at the hearing – the government had decided that the activity at Cypress Institute was too sensitive for a jury's ears. Don had wondered how they were explaining Charlie's absence, if they weren't bringing up what had happened afterward, but he hadn't had a chance to ask. Or maybe, he hadn't wanted to ask.

"Yeah, I'm ready," he responded, his throat tight. 'Liar,' his mind told him. Talking to a roomful of strangers about his last rational moments with his brother was going to take every ounce of control that he had.

"Okay," said Masters. He looked a little distracted, and kept glancing over his shoulder at Wilkes. "First, though, we need to tell you something." He sat down on one side of Don and pulled up a chair, and Rogan took a seat on the other side. Wilkes remained standing, and leaned up against a wall, his eyes watchful.

Don's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What is it?"

Masters shot one more glance at Rogan, and took a breath. "It's your brother. He's here."

Don stared at him; and for a moment thought wildly that Masters meant he'd brought the box of ashes with them. "What?"

"He's not dead," said Rogan, and Don jerked his head around to face him. Rogan's face twisted with sympathy. "We didn't tell you at first, because we were trying to protect him. We didn't know if anyone was going to try to get to him again, either through you or on their own, and we thought it best if everyone thought he was dead. He's been here, testifying all of yesterday afternoon, and most of this morning. He's nearly done." He leaned forward and hit a button on the remote, turning the television back on, and setting it on the live feed for the courtroom. Don stared at the screen, taking in the figure on the witness stand. He looked thin and unwell, his curly hair longer than he'd ever seen it, but it was without a doubt, Charlie. He was speaking; his low husky voice sounded tired. Rogan watched as Don's face went slack with astonishment, and then dead white.

Masters eyed him. "We're sorry, Eppes, we know this has been hard -,"

The remainder of his statement was cut off by an unexpected left hook. He went over, chair and all, as Don shot to his feet, his eyes blazing. "You son of a bitch! All of you!" Rogan grabbed his arm, and Don turned with lightening speed and pulled him, dragging Rogan's jaw right into an oncoming uppercut.

Rogan staggered backwards, as Wilkes moved from his corner, speaking sharply. "Don! Get a grip!"

Don stood, his legs apart, panting with fury, then slowly drew himself up to his full height, pointing a finger at Masters, who was scrambling up from the floor. His voice shook. "You let us believe – for how many days – that he was dead. I went through hell – my father went through hell -,"

Wilkes interrupted him, quietly. "You tried to kill him, and nearly succeeded. The knife slid between his heart and his lung, by some miracle – if it had been off by a matter of millimeters, he wouldn't be here now – that's how close it was. If it had been someone else who had stabbed him, rather than you, would you have wanted that person to know he was still alive?"

Don stared at him, a stricken expression creeping to his face. "No," he whispered.

Wilkes continued, as Masters and Rogan stood, collecting themselves, gingerly touching bruised faces. "The fact is, Eppes, I'm still not sure we can trust you around him. You've made progress, but you're not back to your original state. We wanted you to know, however, as soon as we got the go-ahead from Conaghan."

Don wrenched his eyes away from him, and looked back at the screen. Charlie was rising to his feet, his testimony concluded, and Don drank in the sight. He was alive – God… He could feel his throat closing, filling with emotion. He watched as Charlie moved out of sight, toward a side doorway in the courtroom, and then suddenly, overcome, Don swung blindly away toward the far wall, and leaned against it. A silence descended in the room as the other three watched him stand there for a moment, supported by a stiff arm, head down, chest rising and falling as he attempted to control his emotions.

Masters touched the bruise on his cheekbone and winced. "All right," he said gruffly. "Your brother's out of there. If you're done slugging, maybe we can head toward the courtroom now."

The first thing Don noticed when he walked back in was the expressions on the Montreaux cousins' faces. Their lawyer looked grim, and Pierre looked scared. Jack was better at hiding his feelings, but his dark eyes glittered with something – a mixture of anger and fear, Don decided. It was a far cry from their smug expressions from the day before, and Don was certain that Charlie's testimony had scored a direct hit.

He sat and looked at the jury, each of whom had been sworn to secrecy for an indeterminate period of years, due to the sensitive nature of the information. The magistrate swore him in, and at a prompt from the prosecutor, he took a deep breath, and began.

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Masters, Rogan and Wilkes made sure that Don was seated and his testimony underway, and quietly left the courtroom, convening just outside the door to the office where Charlie Eppes was sequestered. It was in a different hallway, perpendicular to the hall where Don had been kept; they'd taken care to make sure the brothers' paths didn't cross.

Masters looked at Wilkes. "Are you going to let them see each other?"

Wilkes shook his head. "I don't think so, after Don's reaction. He might just have been pissed at us, but the fact that he looked at Charlie and his immediate response was aggression and rage, was a bit worrisome." He looked at the purple swellings on their faces – Masters' cheekbone and Rogan's jaw, and smirked. "Looks like your reaction time isn't what it used to be, huh guys?"

They scowled at him, and Masters opened the door. "After you, wise ass."

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Charlie looked up from his seat in the courthouse office as Rogan and Masters entered, along with another man whom he couldn't place. His testimony was complete, and he hoped he would be allowed to go back to the hotel. He was exhausted, frankly, and his head was swimming with fatigue. He didn't bother to stand; he had run out of strength.

Masters motioned to the two guards in the room, and they left without a word. He stepped forward. "Charlie, there's something we need to talk to you about. This is Jonathan Wilkes, from Cypress Institute – he wants to go over something with you."

Wilkes looked at Charlie, who sat staring at him with a puzzled expression. "Charlie, we need to talk about what happened with Don." He studied the young man's face with interest, until now, he'd only seen him on camera. Charlie's expression had clouded at the last statement, and he lowered his gaze to floor.

Wilkes pulled a chair up beside him, and hunched forward to look into his face. "Charlie, I work at Cypress Institute, where your brother was taken after the accident. We specialize in neurological sciences there, and a group of us has a sub-specialty – mind control, known by some as brainwashing. We believe Joe Bishop, your handler, was dirty. He gave our supervisor orders – orders that we thought were sanctioned by the CIA, to brainwash your brother."

Charlie's face had come up, and he was staring at him now with an incredulous expression, but he remained silent, so Wilkes went on. "Our procedure allows us to accomplish that in a relatively short period of time. We place electrodes in the head in the emotional and decision-making centers, and provide electrical stimulus to the brain to induce the reactions we want. We also put in a receptor attached to the auditory nerve, so we can speak to the subjects without others hearing – we can give them orders. In this case, we had been instructed to program Don to kill you." He paused for a second, concern in his eyes; Charlie had gone white and his eyes had flickered slightly, losing focus as if he was about to pass out. "Are you okay?"

Charlie dragged glazed eyes to his face, and nodded slowly. Watching him carefully, Wilkes went on. "It wasn't something he could control, Charlie, even if he'd known we were doing it – which he didn't."

"You put wires in his head?" Charlie finally spoke, his voice cracking a little on the last word.

Wilkes nodded somberly. Even though he was looking straight at the professor, he was completely unprepared for the fist that shot lightening-fast for his face, and connected with his nose with a crack. "Ahhgg!" he exclaimed, doubling over with both hands covering his nose.

Charlie had risen to his feet, dark eyes blazing, arm raised for another punch, and Masters and Rogan were immediately at his side, Masters with a restraining hand on his arm. "Dr. Eppes," he chided, "it wasn't Wilkes' fault – he was only doing what he was instructed to do. Don is testifying right now – why don't you watch? I think it would be reassuring for you to listen to him – to see that he's rational."

Charlie looked from him to Wilkes; panting, then slowly sank into the chair again. Masters could see that he was trembling, from emotion or fatigue, or both, and he hastily switched on the television and tuned it to the courtroom feed. Wilkes' nose was bleeding; Rogan had found some tissues on the desk and Wilkes staggered over to a chair in the corner, sat and tilted his head back, tissues wadded against his nose.

Charlie was already oblivious to him, or anyone else in the room, for that matter; he was glued to figure on the screen, drinking in the sight of his brother, the sound of his voice. Both the cocky undercover persona and the raving maniac were gone – this was Don, calm, rational – himself again. Charlie felt a surge of relief, and tears stung his eyes. "It – it wasn't my fault."

The words were low, almost a whisper, but the sound was turned down on the television, and his statement was clearly heard. Wilkes, Rogan, and Masters looked at each other, bewildered, and then Wilkes, with a swipe at his nose, spoke. "Charlie – no – this wasn't your fault. It wasn't Don's, either. This form of mind control is very powerful – no one has ever overcome it, although your brother came closer to doing that than anyone had before. We manipulated him – and you – got you to run to the FBI offices, where we could stage the – attempt – in front of witnesses. Fortunately for all of us, luck - or perhaps something more profound - stepped in."

Masters added, "Your brother has not been charged with any crime – we had the case placed in front of the Attorney General, who has the clearance to be filled in on the details. He elected not to file charges."

They fell silent; Charlie had dropped his head, covering his face with his hand, visibly overcome. They sat there for a moment, as Don's clear voice floated out from the television set, describing their flight to the airport. Charlie's head came up suddenly, and he looked at the three of them, blinking back moisture in his eyes. "I want to see him – I can see him, right, as soon as he's done?"

Wilkes shook his head, regretfully. "Charlie – he's still undergoing a reversal of the brainwashing. He's made a lot of progress, so much that at this point, I can say that I have high hopes that he's going to recover fully. However, I've only been working with him for a week, and then only a few hours each day – other things have intruded on the time. We still can't predict how he'll behave around you."

Charlie was staring at him. "What do you mean?" he asked faintly.

Wilkes hesitated. "There's always a chance with the electrical stimulation that the brain can become hardwired, permanently, to its new state. Add to that the fact that you and your brother apparently had – issues – to begin with; well let's just say I'm not entirely comfortable that he's safe for you to be around just yet."

Charlie's eyes flared. "How do you know that?" he demanded. "How could you possibly know how he'll react unless you tried it?"

"We will try it," Wilkes responded reasonably. "When you are both home in L.A., we'll set up some controlled situations where you can see each other again, and interact. This is not the time or the place. Please, I'm asking you for your own good – and Don's. He's really been beating himself up over this, and if he slips somehow – even if he merely says something sharply, the guilt that would engender could hamper his recovery. You don't want that to happen."

"No," Charlie admitted quietly. He turned his gaze to the screen again, and let out a shaky sigh, wincing as his rib cage expanded.

"You look exhausted, Professor," said Rogan. "Why don't you finish watching your brother's testimony, and then we'll get you back to the hotel?"

Charlie merely nodded, his attention already recaptured by the figure on the screen. Masters, Rogan, and Wilkes rose, and stepped out quietly, and at Master's motion, one of the guards re-entered the office to sit with Charlie. Out in the hallway, Wilkes cautiously touched his nose, which was red and beginning to swell. "Damn. I think he broke it."

Masters grinned wickedly, wincing a little as the movement involved his swollen cheekbone. "Guess your reaction time isn't what used to be, is it?"

Wilkes shot him a sour glance. "I expected it out of Don – not the professor. Frankly, he doesn't look strong enough to tie his own shoes right now."

Rogan grinned. "Maybe it's genetic." He sobered at little. "Come to think of it, based on that, maybe Don's reaction wasn't out of line. Maybe you could let them see each other."

"Let's just wait, okay?" Wilkes sounded sharp, impatient. "I've got enough on my conscience with these two – if you don't mind, I'd like to play it safe. And I still say, Don's not predictable right now. Of course, you assholes don't care, now – you've got the professor's testimony on tape – you don't really give a shit what happens to him at this point, do you?"

"Now wait a minute," growled Masters, turning red.

"Hold up," said Rogan, warningly, trying to circumvent an argument. "Look who's coming."

They glanced down the hall to see CIA Director Conaghan striding toward them, beaming, accompanied by Assistant Director Mark Lewis. "Agents – good to see you. I'd say the hearing went as well as it could go, wouldn't you?" Conaghan broke off as he stopped in front of them, and got a closer look at their faces. "What in the hell happened to you three?"

They looked at each other sheepishly, and Rogan shuffled his feet, uncomfortably. "Don't ask, sir. Don't ask."

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The secret service agent stuck his head through the office door, and looked at Don. "Time to go, agent," he said cheerfully. Don could imagine that the man was glad to be done – sitting for hours trying to make conversation with a man who was not exactly in a chatty mood had to wear on one's patience. Don was glad to be done, too – his part of the testimony was over, and they'd put him back in his office for several minutes afterward. Keeping him from Charlie.

That, he reasoned, was the main purpose for the wait. Oh, sure, they had to get the vehicles ready, but things got a little more complex when they were trying to move two of them out of the building - especially when they didn't want the two to run into each other.

As things worked out, however, that was exactly what happened. Well, not exactly, Don thought later. But close enough.

His two guards walked him down the hallway, and at the far end near the exit door, he could see Wilkes and Rogan standing there, waiting for him. He obstinately took his time, glancing at doorways as he passed. Was Charlie behind one of them? The initial shock of the news and then the testimony had kept Don's mind from absorbing the fact that his brother was here, in the same building, but as he sat in the office waiting afterwards, the realization had sunk in, along with a deep need to see him. Strange conflicting emotions ran through him, love and sorrow, guilt and frustration; he could feel them, boiling underneath the surface, as he walked down the hall. Charlie was alive…

He figured later that Charlie's guards must have assumed that Don had already left the building. Otherwise, they wouldn't have left the door open.

A side hallway opened up to Don's left, and as he passed, he automatically looked down it. About three quarters of the way down, a door was open on the right side, and as Don glanced that way he saw a familiar figure, moving in front of it. Charlie – his brother had apparently just entered the hallway when a voice called him back, and he disappeared back through the open door. It had been just a glimpse – Charlie had stepped out, then back in. A split second later and Don wouldn't have seen him at all. Charlie was right there, so close… He stopped dead, and fumbled for an excuse.

"I need to get a drink," he told the guard, motioning toward a water fountain at the end of the side hallway, past Charlie's room. He took off at a trot down the hall, before they could respond.

Down the end of the main hall, around the corner, he could hear Wilkes shout, "Hey!"

"He needs a drink!" one of his guards yelled back, and Don picked up speed, moving from a trot to a sprint. He was going to see him, God damn it – unless he got a bullet in his back.

He could hear feet pounding down the hallways behind him as Rogan yelled to the guards, "His brother's down there!" and just as Don reached the door to Charlie's office, Masters stepped out with a guard behind him, and Don slid to halt in front of them, catching a glimpse of Charlie, his back turned, in the office beyond.

"Charlie!" he yelled, as Masters and the guard grabbed at his arms, holding him firmly in place.

Charlie whirled, his face going white, and for a sickening moment, Don could see the fear in his eyes. Fear of him.

For a second or two they stared at each other through the doorway; then Masters growled, "C'mon Eppes, you'll see him later." He and the guard began to muscle him away from the door, as Wilkes, Rogan and the other guards came up, panting.

"Please," Don pleaded, resisting their attempts to move him. Seeing Charlie so near had made him even more desperate. "I just want to see him – just for a second." Another guard came up from behind, grabbing his shoulders, pushing, and the struggle began to escalate into a tussle.

"Wait!"

The sound of Charlie's voice cut through the air, and the group froze.

Don looked through the doorway, Charlie was standing there alone in the office, pale, resolute. His suit was far too large and it hung on his thin frame; if it weren't for the situation and the determined look in his eye, his appearance might have prompted a smile.

"Let him go." Charlie's voice was thick with emotion.

Wilkes looked past Don at Charlie, misgiving in his face. "I don't recommend this, Dr. Eppes."

A flare of anger appeared in Charlie's eyes. "I don't care. If anything happens, it's my responsibility. Just – let him go."

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Charlie watched as the men's hands relinquished their grip, and Don straightened and turned, his heart catching as Don's eyes met his. Charlie stared, trying to read the expression in them, fear warring with the need to see Don, to talk to him, to know that he was all right… He had been startled at first to see him in the doorway – face it, he'd told himself, he'd felt a surge of panic, but as he watched Don struggle he knew suddenly that it didn't matter. It didn't matter because if Don attacked him again, Charlie wouldn't care if he lived anyway. There was something else, too – a gut feel, a sense that somehow, this was going to be okay.

Still, when Don suddenly rushed through the doorway towards him, it was all he could do not to flinch. He saw the others, startled by Don's sudden movement, begin to charge in after him, but they halted as it became clear that his brother wasn't going to hurt him – as Don's arms came around him, in a close, needy embrace, holding him so tight he could scarcely breathe. "I'm sorry," Don was whispering brokenly in his ear, his head down, nearly buried in Charlie's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry…"

He was shaking, and Charlie put trembling arms of his own around him, hugging him as tightly as he could manage, and closed his eyes, as a weight lifted from his soul. "It's okay," he whispered back. "It's okay – it's going to be okay."

And as they stood there, they felt time roll back, just a little, and let in a glimmer of hope.

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End Chapter 39

A/N: And now everything will sweetness and light, right? Not! Ah, Charlie, you are so wrong…