Mind Games

Chapter 44

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, folks. Here's my usual Friday post.

"Okay, yeah, I'll see you in a little while." Don hung up the phone, and leaned back at his desk with a sigh, Robin's warm voice still resonating in his ear.

He hadn't been sure how he would handle going back to the office, and on the elevator ride up that morning had nearly changed his mind. He still couldn't face the glass-walled conference room, although the quick glance that he had stolen as he approached his desk showed him that it had been cleaned, new carpet put in and the door repaired. In fact, it looked as though nothing had ever happened there, although every time Don looked that way, he was reminded that he'd been only a few millimeters away from being a murderer.

He heard motion behind him, and glanced sideways as Wilkes brushed past and leaned up against the desk next to him. Wilkes glanced at his watch. "Nearly four o'clock. Had enough for the day? We should probably spend a little time with Charlie, and I'd like to get a deprogramming session in before it gets too late."

Don glanced away from him, and riffled the papers on his desk. "I'm not going to Charlie's," he said, as Masters came up and stood next to Wilkes. "I'm going to Robin's for a while, and then going to my apartment."

Wilkes frowned. "I said you should limit your exposure to Charlie," he said quietly, "not eliminate it. And you haven't had a proper session with the monitoring equipment in days."

Don shrugged, a bit irritably. "I think you'd be the first one to admit I need a break," he muttered, "after last night."

Masters looked from one of them to the other. "What happened last night?"

"I'll tell you later," murmured Wilkes.

"Anyway," said Masters, "what you're proposing is complicated, protection-wise. We hadn't planned on setting up a detail at your apartment, much less your girlfriend's place."

Don stood and shot him a glare. "Well, you'd better figure it out," he said, "because I'm leaving in a half hour." Without another word, he stalked away.

"What's with him?" growled Masters, but Wilkes treated the question as rhetorical and didn't reply. The fact was, he wasn't sure he had an answer.

Instead, he sighed. "Unless you guys took them out, there are probably still cameras in his apartment. Maybe your protection detail can tie into those. It would let you monitor him from outside the building – it wouldn't be as obvious as trying to station people inside.

Masters rubbed his jaw. "Yeah – that's a good idea. We never took the cameras out of Dr. Eppes' house either – we found them there, but never got around to removing them. It might be a good idea to get them out of there – at least in the downstairs area, where we've been holding our meetings."

Wilkes nodded. "I think the only ones that were removed were the ones in the offices, here."

"We could patch into the ones that are left," Masters agreed. "It would make surveillance a little easier, especially at Don's apartment. The house is a little different story - with all the men so close by, we might not need them, and we should definitely take out the ones on the first floor."

Wilkes face darkened. "It might not hurt to leave some on the second floor – especially the camera in Don Eppes' bedroom." At that, he stalked away, leaving Masters staring after him.

Charlie's head came up at the knock at the front door, and he hurriedly shifted into a sitting posture from his prone position on the sofa. His gaze turned hopeful as Wilkes emerged in the doorway, and then fell as Wilkes shut the door behind him. "Where's Don?" he asked, as Alan pushed out of the kitchen. "It's after six – he's not still at the office?"

Wilkes looked at the two men, facing him expectantly. "He went to Robin Brooks' apartment," he said. "Bill Masters went along – they've got protection set up outside her place. He said he would probably stay a couple of hours."

He watched Charlie's face relax. "He's coming here, then, afterward." It was a statement, not a question.

Wilkes shook his head. "He wants to stay at his apartment tonight." He watched Charlie's face fall again, and couldn't help but feel professional interest. The man had been stabbed - nearly killed by his brother - and seemed to want nothing more than to have that brother around him. Even considering the brainwashing, not many people would be that forgiving, and Wilkes surmised that Charlie's reaction was prompted by one of two things – either he was a saint, or his relationship with his brother was riddled with need, or guilt, or some other less-than-healthy emotions. Wilkes personally didn't believe in saints.

"We already had dinner – would you care for something to eat?" asked Alan. He smiled, deprecatingly. "It's just lasagna leftovers, I'm afraid."

"Yes, thanks, that would be great," said Wilkes, and he followed Alan into the kitchen with a sidelong glance at Charlie, who slumped back against the sofa with a look that was part irritation, part dejection. Jonathan really didn't want dinner so much as a chance to talk privately to Alan, although as he stepped in and caught the odor of food, his stomach rumbled. Alan wasted no time heating a chunk of lasagna the size of a small house, and Wilkes dug into it appreciatively right where he stood.

"Here, sit down," urged Alan, pulling out a chair. He got two glasses of water, and sat himself, as Wilkes lowered himself into a chair. The senior Eppes watched him for a moment. "Did you and Don get a chance for – I guess you'd call it therapy, today?"

Wilkes swallowed a mouthful and shook his head. "No. I urged him to, but he said he needed a break."

"A break!" A look of outraged consternation appeared on Alan's face. Wilkes had the feeling that venting about one of his sons to a stranger was normally the last thing that Alan Eppes would do, and that suspicion was verified as he saw the flush of embarrassment appear right after the words – Alan was clearly regretting his small outburst.

Still, he could see anger and hurt in the older man's eyes, and he hastened to say, "It's probably a good idea – he was with Charlie all day yesterday, which was much more exposure than he should have had, at this point."

Alan snorted. "You make Charlie sound like some kind of poison. I thought they did both did fine."

"You thought that because you wanted to think it," Wilkes responded quietly. "The fact was; it was more than Don could handle. He spent the entire day repressing emotions, and paid for it when he went to bed last night."

The anger faded from Alan's face, and was replaced by concern. "Yes – I meant to ask you about that. I came out to find you both in the hallway. He mumbled something about hearing Charlie, but I wondered if there was more to it. What was that about?"

"He had a very vivid, disturbing dream, which prompted him to sleep-walk. I actually woke him in the hallway."

"Sleep-walk?"

Wilkes laid down his fork and leaned forward. "Yes. I believe he was on his way to Charlie's room."

Alan frowned in confusion. "Charlie's room?" He shook his head, a little defiantly. "So what's so wrong with that? He said he thought he'd heard him – he was going to check on him."

Wilkes looked at him soberly. "He wasn't going to check on him. He was dreaming that he entered Charlie's room and choked him to death. When I woke him, he was very disoriented – it had seemed so real to him that he wasn't even sure if he'd done it or not." Alan had turned pale, stricken silent, and Wilkes continued. "Now you see why I say it's important not to push this. I doubt that would have happened if Don hadn't forced the issue and spent the entire day with Charlie yesterday. He was pretty rattled by what happened, and I guess I can't blame him if he needs some time away. On the other hand, it is important for him to get back to therapy sessions – we had just barely gotten started a week or so ago when he got called away to testify. If giving him a night off will help him get his head where it needs to be in order to continue, then that's what we need to do."

"Yes," said Alan faintly. "I suppose you're right."

"Actually," said Wilkes, digging into his lasagna again, "I really came here to talk to Charlie. I have some insights on their relationship already, but only from Don's point of view. It would probably be very helpful for me to get the other half of the picture. I get the impression that in spite of being brothers, they really don't understand each other that well."

Alan grunted softly. "And I'd say you probably hit that nail on the head." He fell silent for a moment; then looked up at Wilkes, anxiously. "He'll get there, though, won't he? Donnie? I thought you said, when you first told us about what had been done to him, that you thought the chances for reversing the programming completely were good."

"Yes," conceded Wilkes. "I did. I still do – but we won't know for sure for some time yet."

"How long?"

"I can't tell you that," Wilkes said, shaking his head. "Probably at least a month, maybe longer."

"A month," Alan repeated softly. He looked up. "Well, we'll just have to deal with it, for however long it takes."

Wilkes nodded approvingly. "If both of your boys have that attitude, we'll get there," he said, trying to look encouraging. In fact, he couldn't say himself if that last statement were true – they hadn't done many programming reversals, and had been less than consistently successful with the ones they had attempted. He wasn't about to tell the Eppes men that, at least not yet, however. Part of their chances for success depended on their belief that Don Eppes would eventually return to normal.

He found Charlie in the same position on the sofa a few moments later, abstractedly flicking the remote through television channels set on 'mute.' Wilkes pulled an armchair closer to him and sat, studying Charlie, who remained obstinately silent, pretending to focus on a soundless television. "How are you feeling? Your dad said you had a fever earlier."

"A little better," Charlie conceded, without taking his eyes from the television. "I think the antibiotic is working." Silence descended for a moment; then he looked at Wilkes. "So, do you think he'll be over tomorrow? What is it you have to do, yet, anyway, some kind of therapy? And when are they going to take those wires out of his head?"

"They'll take them out, eventually," said Wilkes. "They're dormant right now – there is no current being applied. They're not impeding his deprogramming, if that's what you're worried about."

Charlie scowled. "I'm not worried about his deprogramming; I'm worried about his health."

Wilkes raised an eyebrow. "So you don't care if he gets deprogrammed or not?"

The scowl deepened, and Charlie looked away. "I didn't say that."

"Maybe you don't care because your relationship wasn't all that hot to begin with."

Charlie's eyes flashed, and he glared at Wilkes. "It was fine. He was probably kind of pissed at me over the undercover assignment, but once we have a chance to talk, I'm sure we'll straighten it out."

Wilkes pursed his lips. "Pissed at you?"

"I talked him into it," said Charlie grudgingly. "He didn't want to take it, and I did. I told him he didn't have to go, but he wouldn't let me go alone." His face softened, his eyes, tinged with regret, wandered away. "I have to admit, I wanted him along."

"Why?"

The eyes wandered back, and Charlie sighed. "You're right; we didn't have a great relationship. We were never very close as kids, and then we spent years apart after high school. By the time he moved back here, we were nearly strangers. We've been working together for the past five years, though, and it's been getting better."

"And you wanted that relationship."

Charlie shrugged silently.

"That's why you wanted him along, didn't you? It was a big adventure for the two of you, a chance for you to bond. You've looked up to him all your life – you need him to recognize you, to reciprocate that affection, at least a little." Wilkes' voice rose slightly, laced with conviction, as he saw his guess hit home. Charlie looked surprised; then shifted uncomfortably.

Wilkes smiled wryly. "You don't need to look astonished – I'm not a mind reader. That's a classic sibling relationship; it's common for the younger one to idolize the elder, either overtly or subconsciously. Don't forget, Don and I spent several hours discussing you; it was impossible not to learn something. Knowing what I already know about Don, and hearing what you just said, and above all looking at how you're reacting to this situation, it wasn't much of a stretch."

Charlie frowned. "How I'm reacting? I think I'm reacting just fine."

"Oh, yeah, just fine," retorted Wilkes, sardonically. "He nearly kills you; and you all but fall over your feet to let him know you're not in the least bit upset. Now that's some healthy behavior."

"You're a fine one to talk!" Charlie retorted heatedly. "You did that to him, and you're lecturing me on healthy behavior?"

Wilkes hitched his chair a little closer, and leaned forward, a gleam in his yes. He was finally seeing some anger from the younger Eppes, and he pushed a little harder. "Oh, so it's okay to be angry with me, but not with him."

"Why not?" snapped Charlie. His dark eyes were blazing in his pale face, and his breath was coming faster. "It's not like it was his fault – you said so yourself."

Wilkes rose. He had to remember Dr. Eppes wasn't all that well, and he'd already upset him more than he should. He'd gotten some insight, though, and a reaction – now he'd leave him something to ponder. He jabbed a finger at Charlie. "You're submerging all your feelings because you don't want to rock the boat. You're upset, and let's face it, you're still afraid of him - you're afraid that if you're anything but pleasant or compliant, you'll set him off again. And you know what – at this point, you're probably right. I'm good with that – we certainly shouldn't try to provoke him. What bothers me about you, Charlie, is that I don't see any signs of normal emotions on your part, like fear or anger, even though both of them are there, underneath. You keep trying to act as if it never happened. I agree that it's not his fault, but it's not yours either. Self-blame isn't healthy, and neither is neediness, desperation, or denial. If you're going to help him – and yourself – you need to deal with your own feelings, not bury them." He nodded, curtly. "Something to think about. I'll let myself out."

He closed the door behind him with a last glance at the morose figure on the sofa, scowling at the soundless television set.

Don buried his face in Robin's hair, and inhaled. It was the first moment of his day that felt truly normal, and the realization made his eyes sting a little. He held her there, closely, until he collected himself, and then pulled away, but not too far. They were still nestled together on her sofa.

She was still looking at him with wonder in her eyes, the same amazed look that had been on her face before she'd flung her arms around him. "He's alive? No one told me! Don, that's – it's wonderful!"

"Yeah," he said, mustering a smile. Freakin' wonderful. His brother had risen from the dead, and he couldn't bring himself to be in the same room with him. "I just found out the day before yesterday, in D.C., myself."

"How?" she said, shaking her head bemusedly.

"It was pretty easy, actually. They lied to everyone, sent him off to a safe house after he was well enough to leave the hospital." His face twisted abruptly; his voice was light, but dripping with sarcasm. "Not that I didn't try to take him out – I almost got him. The blade passed between his heart and his lung. Lucky break."

She stared at him, taken aback by the words and his tone. "Don -,"

He jerked away from her, his face contorted. "It's not like I didn't try, Robin. The fact that he's alive, by some miracle, doesn't change the fact that I tried my damnedest to kill him. And it's still not safe for me to be around him."

She frowned at that and gave a shake of her head that made her sleek ponytail flip. "Says who?"

"My therapist – deprogrammer – Wilkes, for one, if I bothered to listen to him." His shoulders slumped suddenly and he sighed, and ran a hand over his face. "He told me that I needed to take it slow until the deprogramming was done. I didn't listen to him – I had to see him. I spent all day with him yesterday, starting out in D.C. in the morning and traveling with him, and then I stayed at his house last night." He raised his head and looked at her, and the expression in his eyes nearly broke her heart. "It was both the best thing and the worst thing in the world, being with him. I was crawling inside, but I could control it, I thought. And I was so happy he was there, you know?"

"But -," she prompting him as he fell silent.

He glanced sideways at her, abruptly wishing he hadn't said so much. What would she think if he told her? "I went to bed, and had horrible dreams," he finished lamely. She cocked her had at him, and he knew he wasn't fooling her. His voice dropped even further. "I dreamed I killed him."

"That's it? You had a bad dream?"

He stared at her. "It was so real, I wasn't sure I hadn't done it. I woke up standing in the hallway, still not knowing."

"But you didn't," she said, matter-of-factly. "Everything considered, I don't think it's surprising at all."

He shook his head. "You don't understand. It's not safe for him to be around me, and I'm not sure if it ever will be." His voice shook a little. "I don't know if we can go back."

"Is that what Wilkes says?"

Don groaned softly and ran a hand through his hair. "No. He keeps saying there's a good chance that the deprogramming will be successful. He doesn't know, though – how can he know? If he knows so much, he wouldn't have let me upstairs last night."

"Why did you wake up?"

"Wilkes woke me. He spoke to me in the hallway."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "It sounds like this Wilkes guy is pretty well on top of things."

Don sighed. "He did warn me – he told me I was spending too much time with him yesterday, and he tried to talk me out of sleeping upstairs."

Her lip curled wryly. "And you listened meekly, like you always do."

She almost got a smile at that, a slight rueful twist of the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, I guess I should give him a little more credit."

"So what did he say you should be doing now?"

Don's eyes strayed to the floor. "Seeing Charlie for a little while each day, and going to my deprogramming sessions."

"And is that what you did today?"

He shot to his feet, and paced away from her. "No. Hell, no. I left. I was freaked out – I wasn't sure what I would do when I saw him."

Her voice was calm, but he could see still see that stubborn matter-of-fact set to her jaw. "Wilkes knows what he's doing. I think you should listen to him. He's going to try to control the situation – he won't let you alone with Charlie, right? So you shouldn't worry about it. Listen to yourself for a moment – you're agonizing over this, and why?"

He looked at her as if she was a bit slow. "Because I'm worried I'm going to do something to hurt him."

"Exactly," she said, smiling triumphantly. "You're worried about him. Doesn't that tell you something? If you really wanted to hurt him, you wouldn't be so worried. So relax a little. Do what Wilkes says, and it will all turn out all right." She stood and took his hand, pulling him gently toward the bedroom. "It will be all right - come on – I'll prove it to you."

End Chapter 44