Mind Games

Chapter 42

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, all – I read every one, and I am very humbly grateful. The traffic for this story amazes me – thanks to all my readers, all over the globe.

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Colby steered his SUV through the darkening streets of Pasadena and scowled at the pavement unwinding in front of him. "D'you think I overstepped it a little, asking if Ian could come too?"

David shrugged. "Don could have said 'no.' And what were we supposed to do? We'd already invited Ian out for a beer after work. Tell him we got a better offer?"

Colby pulled to halt at a stop sign and scratched his head before stepping on the gas again. "Well, Don did hesitate a little, but then he sounded okay with it. He said it was going to be pretty casual, anyway. I let him know that Nikki had other plans."

"Did he say anything about Charlie? I wonder if they even told him yet that he's alive."

Colby shook his head as he swung around a corner, and slowed as the vehicle approached the Craftsman. "I don't know, man. I was afraid to say anything. Don said he just got back from testifying, but he didn't say anything about Charlie. I'm not even sure Charlie would have been healed up enough to testify – maybe they're doing his testimony next week. It's possible that Don and Alan don't know, yet."

David paused for a moment, looking at the Craftsman, acutely aware that the last time he'd set eyes on Don, his SAC had been holding a bloody knife. "This is some hard stuff to deal with," he said, softly.

"Tell me about it," said Colby. "I talked to Megan the other day – she said she's been avoiding Larry's calls, because she feels like she's lying every time she talks to him. Larry and Amita were never told anything about any of this – they don't even know it happened. All they know was that Don and Charlie went to D.C., and got in an accident there, and came home to recover. Megan said that Larry told her that Charlie himself has talked to them a few times – but they have no idea what happened to him."

David shook his head. "I'll tell you what, if we have to sit and lie to Don and Alan for a couple of hours… all I can say is, I'm glad Ian's coming. He'll be a distraction. What time did he say he would get here?"

"He was gonna leave about fifteen or twenty minutes after we did," said Colby as he opened the SUV door. "He said he wanted to make one more call."

They trudged up the lawn and rang the front doorbell, both of them subconsciously straightening sagging shoulders, as if preparing to step onstage. Don opened the door. "Hey guys," he said quietly. "Thanks for coming."

"Sure," said Colby easily, grasping Don's hand in a firm grip with one hand, and clasping his shoulder briefly with the other, trying to convey support through the gesture. Don looked thinner and tired, but relatively good, considering, Colby thought – just briefly, because as he stepped through the door, it registered that there were others in the room. He recognized Bill Masters and Brian Rogan, but not the other man, a tall, sandy-haired man who stepped forward with his hand extended.

"Jonathan Wilkes," he said. His eyes were keen, speculative; Colby got the impression that the man was assessing them, watching them for a reaction. He shook the man's hand, and as he turned to look into the room, he heard David's quick intake of air behind him. At the same time, he saw him – the familiar curly-haired figure seated on the sofa. Charlie was watching him, and as Colby's eyes caught his, the corner of Charlie's mouth lifted in slight smile, and he pushed himself to his feet.

Colby's mouth dropped open, then suddenly he whooped and charged forward, vaguely aware of David lumbering right behind him. "Charlie – holy shit, man!" Colby bellowed, an incredulous grin spreading over his face as he reached Charlie and grabbed him in an exuberant, awkward one-armed hug. Alan watched from behind the sofa, beaming.

David was right behind Colby, and he slapped Charlie's other shoulder, a brilliant smile of his own on his face, dark eyes dancing as he looked at Don. "When did you guys find out?"

Don's smile was muted. "Yesterday, for me, just an hour ago or so for Dad."

Alan smiled. "I'm glad you could come - I was in the mood for a celebration. Plus, I'd made enough lasagna for an army."

Charlie looked at him a little oddly. "Why did you make so much, anyway?"

Alan faltered, and a shadow passed over his face. "I figured eventually, that we would have a memorial, and people would be stopping by the house," he said quietly. "I was going to freeze it." His hand made an awkward little apologetic movement, as the odd look on Charlie's face intensified. Alan smiled, trying to break the sudden silence. "I have a much better reason for it now."

Colby was watching Charlie, trying to reconcile the image of him - standing there in the Craftsman - with the prone bloody figure in the ambulance. With a pang, he realized that he never expected Charlie to survive that; he'd been saddened but not the least bit surprised to hear Rogan tell him he was dead. For some reason, the recognition of that made him feel guilty. He'd given up on Charlie – too easily. He was keenly aware of Wilkes' eyes on him – and on everyone else in the room - studying, assessing.

The doorbell sounded again, and Masters, who was closest to the door, turned quickly, a bit defensively, as it opened and Ian Edgerton stuck his head through the gap. Ian's quick eyes scanned the men near the door before he pushed through. "You ought to tell your men in the shrubs to stay away from the windows," he said. "I could see their silhouettes-," he broke off suddenly as his eyes fell on Charlie, and characteristically, his surprise was barely evident, showing only as a single raised eyebrow, and the faint curl of a lip.

"Charlie Eppes," he said. "Welcome back. I always thought you were tougher than you looked."

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Alan pulled some kitchen chairs into the dining room and the group gathered around the table. Two steaming pans of lasagna sat in front of them, and Alan dished out hearty portions on plates. "There's plenty here," he said, bustling around, and the familiar sight of him in an apron, setting a plate in front of his younger brother, nearly brought tears to Don's eyes. He concentrated on separating a bite of lasagna from the mound on his plate, acutely aware of barely veiled scrutiny from Ian Edgerton, sitting beside him.

Don chewed and swallowed. "So why are you still here? You make up your mind to move to L.A?"

Ian deftly cut a bite with one side of his fork. "I'm working the Bishop case. They decided to put me on it – I was out here, and this was the last place they know he was."

Don shot him a sideways glance. "They're still assuming he killed Agent Tate? Do they have evidence that it was Bishop?"

Ian shook his head. "No – not for certain. Bishop seems to be covering his tracks, though – going after anyone he communicated with directly, associated with this case. First Dr. Allman, then Agent Tate."

Don shrugged. "So, if it was Bishop, he's more than likely long gone by now. You're probably spinning your wheels."

Ian eyed him speculatively; then his gaze shifted toward Charlie. "Not necessarily."

Don's eyes followed his; then swung away. It was still hard to be so close to Charlie. He felt as though he had ants crawling up his insides, and it had been a long day, filled with Charlie – Charlie at the hotel, Charlie on the plane, Charlie at the Craftsman, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie…

He was abruptly aware of Ian's eyes on him, and Don shifted his gaze to his plate quickly, wondering what had just been showing on his face. Ian's last phrase reverberated in his mind. They were assuming, of course, that Bishop might make a try for them – for him, and for Charlie. It didn't make sense, though, Don thought to himself. Neither he nor Charlie had ever seen Bishop; they'd only communicated with him by phone. The mystery man at Montreaux's estate couldn't have been Bishop, although that man could be working for Bishop, or with him – Bishop had been on the phone with them at the same time, calling the shots that day from his command post. It made sense that Bishop was involved somehow, but it didn't make sense that he would still be after them. The Montreaux cousins and the Iranian suspects were dead – they were the only ones who Charlie could link to the scheme. There was no way to link Bishop – so the man had no motive to kill them.

"What's on your mind?" Ian said softly, and Don realized he'd been staring into his lasagna as if it were an oracle.

Don sighed and shook his head. As he replied, he kept his voice down, under the conversation between Charlie, David and his father across the table. "I just don't see it. I don't think Bishop will come after us – why would he, with Jack and Pierre and the Iranians all dead? Neither Charlie or I ever saw him – and he couldn't have been the mystery man at the estate."

Ian chewed thoughtfully as Bill Masters, who had been listening to the last bit of conversation, spoke. "Maybe there's a connection between him and the mystery man that we don't understand. Charlie can still ID that person, whoever he is. Of course, the guy might have been a nobody – maybe just a bit player. If he was someone important, though, and had a connection to Bishop somehow…," Master's voice trailed off, as his gaze shifted to Charlie. "I don't know. We have to talk to Conaghan about what comes next. We were planning on keeping you two under surveillance until the trial, but now there won't be a trial - unless we catch Bishop and link him to all this somehow."

"Or catch the mystery man," Ian reminded him. "Even if he's a nobody, he was in the room while they were discussing the deal with the Iranians. He knows the details, and he might know what the connection was to Bishop." He eyed Don. "My guess is, if the guy was a nobody this will all die down. Bishop won't try to save the skin of someone insignificant by trying to kill you – he'll just go after the guy himself, tie off the last loose end, and disappear. If, however, the nobody was a big player – say, someone more powerful than Bishop himself, we've still got problems. At the very least, he'll want Charlie out of the way, and he very well could use Bishop to do it."

Masters added softly, looking at Don. "Or he might try to use you."

Don's eyes flashed. "Like hell he will."

Masters raised a conciliatory hand. "I'm not saying he'd be successful. But think about it – Bishop thinks we don't know that those wires are still in your head, remember? He thinks that you, and us, all believe that the surgeon took them out. And he doesn't realize we added devices to tone down any signals he might send you. If time goes by and he doesn't try to contact you or make some other play, I think you and Charlie are probably safe. If he does contact you, however, I'd bet Ian's correct – there's a big player still out there, and Charlie would be the last obstacle that would keep him from completely covering his tracks."

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After dinner, the group reconvened, for the most part, in the living room. Alan retreated to the kitchen long enough to load plates in the dishwasher, but he made it back into the room as soon as possible; loathe to give up any time in the same room with his sons. He kept pinching himself, afraid deep inside that he would wake, and it would all go away. It didn't, although Agent Wilkes kept reminding him of the uncomfortable fact that much of this was unsettled yet.

He found himself gazing at Charlie. His youngest was still recovering; it was apparent. He was thinner than Alan had ever seen him, and looked pale, tired, and glassy-eyed – in fact, he looked ready to collapse, Alan thought. He had a mind to shoo him up to bed, but Charlie was sitting – sitting was resting, after all - and face it, he told himself, he couldn't bear to let him go, just yet. He watched as Charlie's eyes traveled toward Don – he'd been doing that all evening. Some of the glances were furtive, a bit apprehensive. Some of them, however, were purposeful, as if Charlie was trying to encourage Don, to send him a message that things were okay.

A few times, Charlie's glances were reciprocated; Don looked back at him with a softness that Alan had never seen before, but more often, Don looked away, and a veil dropped over his face. When that happened he would fidget, or stand and pace a bit, and Alan surmised that Don was still working through what they had done to him. Or possibly, something worried or concerned him - Alan couldn't determine which. Either option was a little unsettling. The shock of losing both his boys – one to death and one to prison – was fresh in Alan's mind, and the idea that this might not be over sent his gut into a tailspin of apprehension.

He got up to get coffee – Colby and David were each drinking a celebratory beer, but the rest of them had refused alcohol. When he returned, he could hear Wilkes speaking to a small group, which included Masters, Rogan, and Don, who was scowling. Alan recognized that look from more than one teen argument. "We need to figure out where to put Don tonight," Wilkes was saying.

"That's easy," Charlie said flatly from the sofa. "He's staying in his room, here."

Wilkes started to shake his head, but Masters interceded. "It would be much easier to keep watch on them both here," he said. "It would be tough to keep good surveillance on his apartment unit without alerting his neighbors."

Wilkes made an expression of disapproval. "I don't like it. He's had far too much -," he paused and looked at Charlie, "exposure - today already. If he has to stay here, he should at least stay downstairs."

Don looked as though he were about to agree, but Charlie's eyes flashed. "That's ridiculous," he said, and the sharp intake of breath made him cough, briefly. "He has a room at the top of the stairs," he looked at Don steadily, "it's always been his. He's staying there."

Don looked at Charlie with gratitude, although Alan noticed that Colby and David were shifting uncomfortably. Clearly, the topic, and the insinuation that Don still couldn't be trusted, didn't sit well with them. Alan couldn't blame them – it didn't sit well with him, either. He was torn between the desire to trust Don, to have things as they used to be, and the need to be sure that Charlie was safe. He had to admit, he didn't know what the right thing was, any more than the rest of them – except for Charlie. Charlie seemed sure – more sure than Don was, which was a bit disturbing.

Colby and David exchanged a glance; then David said, "I think we're going to be heading out – you guys had a long day already." He glanced at Charlie when he said that; Charlie was coughing again, and his pallor appeared more pronounced. David's eyes flicked to Alan Eppes. "Thanks for dinner – and," a grin spread across his face as he looked back and Don and Charlie, "welcome back to you both."

Charlie wiped his eyes and struggled to his feet to bid them good-bye, and Don and Alan stepped forward as Colby set his empty beer down on the coffee table. Just as he turned, Charlie swayed dangerously, and Colby shot out a hand to support him. Don darted to Charlie's other side, and for a moment he and Colby faced each other, their gaze meeting over the top of Charlie's head. Colby could have sworn there was an ugly look in Don's eyes, but it was gone in a flash, the expression gone so fast that he couldn't really even put a name on it, and his attention was captured by Charlie, who had sagged against him.

"Whoa there, Whiz Kid," he said, grabbing him with both arms. Don reluctantly released his grip as Colby eased Charlie back onto the sofa, feeling oddly protective. 'Now that's a weird thought,' Colby thought to himself. 'Protecting him from what?' As he straightened, he caught a glimpse of Wilkes, standing in the corner, studying them.

Colby looked at Don, who now was looking down at Charlie with nothing but concern on his face. 'Whew, you're imagining things here, Granger,' Colby thought, as Don and Alan helped Charlie to his feet, and steered him toward the stairs. 'It's that Wilkes guy – he's got everyone freaked out.'

"Excuse us for a minute," Alan called over his shoulder. "We're going to get him up to bed."

"I can walk myself," Charlie was saying irritably, but neither Alan nor Don relinquished their grips, keeping a tight hold as they guided him up the stairs. Colby watched the three of them go, with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.

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Charlie just barely made it to his bed; by the time he got there Alan and Don were holding most of his weight, nearly dragging him, and just as they reached the edge of the bed, Charlie collapsed completely, his eyes rolling back in his head. Don grabbed him under the shoulders and Alan took his legs, and they swiftly deposited him on the bed – it was easier than Don would have expected – too easy. He could feel Charlie's ribs under his hands; it was painfully obvious, in spite of the oversized T-shirt, how much weight his brother had lost.

Alan hovered over his youngest with a panicked expression. "I'm calling the doctor," he said, but even as he spoke, Charlie's eyelids fluttered open. His breathing was rapid and shallow, but it was already beginning to modulate, and Alan grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and dabbed gently at Charlie's forehead, which was covered with beads of sweat. Alan looked up at Don. "Do they have a doctor on call for him, or do I need to find one?"

"I don't know," murmured Don, backing toward the doorway. "I'll find out."

"I'm fine," croaked Charlie, but his weak voice made him into a prevaricator. "Wait."

Don paused, but didn't approach the bedside; he was looking uncomfortable again, uncertain. Charlie looked at him steadily, his chest still rising and falling in an effort to catch his breath. "I don't care what Wilkes says," he said. "You're doing fine – just stay in your own room tonight, okay?"

It wasn't a command – it was almost a plea, and Don nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay." He turned abruptly and headed out the door, and Charlie watched him go with a slight frown on his face.

Alan sank on to the bed beside him, his own face creased with worry as he laid a hand on Charlie's forehead. "You feel warm. I'm still going to call a doctor."

"I'm fine, Dad," Charlie said quietly. "It was just a long day – I'm tired." He coughed a bit again and winced, and then his expression cleared. "I'm just glad to be home – glad that Don's here with us."

Alan's face softened. "Amen to that. There were a few days there where I thought the world had ended. It was a shock to find out about what they had done to Don – but a relief, too, to know he hadn't done it of his own will, to know he hadn't gone insane. That was only half the story, however – the other half came home to me tonight." He smiled gently, and caressed Charlie's forehead, pretending to push aside a nonexistent curl, just to touch him.

Charlie closed his eyes at the touch, relaxing into it, and suddenly, the realization hit him hard, in the gut. He was home, Don was here; everything was going to be okay…before he could stop it, a tear of gratitude slipped out of his eye.

"Are you okay, son?" he heard Alan ask softly, and he opened his eyes to see his father's face, shining with tears of his own.

"Yeah," Charlie said, smiling wearily. "I'm okay, now."

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End Chapter 42

A/N: Things are getting back to normal, or are they...