Mind Games

Chapter 58

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer

A/N: Thanks so much for your reviews. Twelve chapters to go…

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Don looked up as A.D. Wright and LAPD Lieutenant Gary Walker entered his exam room, and for a moment, his gut clutched in irrational fear. They were here to give them the results of the ballistics test, and he felt a sudden sensation of panic. What if it was his bullet in Charlie? What if Ian's shot had caused him to jerk so violently that he had inadvertently shot him? He felt Alan stiffen beside him, but his father kept his hand firmly on Don's uninjured shoulder. His other shoulder had been stitched and bandaged, and felt immeasurably better, at least temporarily – when the local anesthetic wore off it would be a different story. Charlie was still in surgery, and that was frightening in itself – they'd taken the bullet out over an hour ago, and Walker had a man run it immediately over to the ballistics lab. Alan and Don were now waiting for the ER staff to bring Don's release paperwork. That was whom Don expected when Wright and Walker pushed through the door.

Walker wasted no time. "You've been cleared, Don. We don't have the gun that the bullet came from yet – Masters has some men in the area, and has them looking for it. We do know, however, that the bullet definitely doesn't match the Beretta you were carrying."

Wright stepped forward with a key, released the cuffs, and handed Don a navy colored T-shirt, emblazoned with FBI letters. "I had someone run a clean shirt over from the office. Ian wanted to come in and do this himself, but I told him that I needed him to stay with Marsh. Ian sends his apologies."

Don accepted the shirt with murmured thanks, and shook his head. "He was just doing his job. I'm sure from his viewpoint, it looked pretty bad." In spite of his matter-of-fact words, he took in a deep breath of relief as the cuffs clinked free.

Alan's spoke behind him, his voice resonating with outrage. "He shot you! From what you told me, if you hadn't turned at that precise moment, he could have killed you!"

Don smiled grimly. "Dad, he never meant to do more than wing me - take out my shooting arm. If Ian wanted me dead, I would be."

To be truthful, Alan's attempt to provide support and understanding, especially in the face of his worry for Charlie, made Don feel worse. Although it had been proven that he hadn't shot Charlie, he'd vowed to his father that he would watch over him – and instead he had taken him into danger, put him face-to-face with the man who wanted him dead. Even though he knew the current in his head had affected his ability to reason, he couldn't help but feel he should have been able to overcome it. He'd let current-generated anger and hatred govern his thoughts and create an insatiable need for revenge, and Rogan and Masters hadn't been any help – they wanted the perp in custody. Wilkes had been the only voice of reason in the whole affair, and Don had ignored him. They all had ignored him, but they all weren't Charlie's brother – he was.

"Any word on Charlie?" Wright was asking, and Alan replied.

"We just got an update, about ten minutes ago," he said quietly. Don could hear the pain and worry in his voice. "No specifics, just that he's still in surgery. We're hoping to get Don's release, and then we're going to the waiting area."

Don rubbed his wrists, absently. The brief feeling of relief that came with being cleared was vanishing, was being blotted out by an impending sense of dread. They'd taken the bullet out of Charlie over an hour ago, and he wondered what could be taking so long. From the look of tension on his father's face, Alan was thinking the same thing.

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In another exam room, J. Scott Marsh sat, grimacing as the doctor bandaged his shoulder. He had placed a call for a lawyer; he'd gotten the name of a law firm in the L.A. area that was large enough to have people who understood the laws concerning the crime of treason, and expensive enough to be good. He'd asked his counsel to meet him at the L.A. FBI offices, which was where he would be escorted as soon as he was released. He was hoping that the doctor would admit him, but unfortunately, the doctor declared him releasable, with provisional instructions for wound care and restrictions on use of his arm, and then left the room.

Marsh spoke affably to the nurse, a pleasant young man who was readying his paperwork. "There was another victim of the shooting, a man who was brought in with me, named Charles Eppes. I was wondering how he was doing?"

The young man was frowning at the paperwork in his hand. "I'm missing part of your discharge instructions," he replied. "I need to get it – I'll ask about him while I'm out there."

"Thank you," said Marsh. "I've been worrying about him."

Moments later, the young man was back, bearing more paper and an answer. As the door swung open, Marsh could see the agent named Ian outside – Ian Edgerton, he'd found out, not Ian Crocker. He felt a momentary flash of discomfort; hoping that the young man hadn't mentioned his request for information on Charlie Eppes to the men outside his door.

The door drifted shut, thankfully, before the nurse spoke. "Apparently he's still in surgery." He looked at Marsh sympathetically. "I guess he's in critical condition."

"Oh, that's too bad," murmured Marsh. He could feel a flicker of hope. "Thanks for the update." He glanced at his watch. One-thirty. His sister would need another hour yet to get to Three Points and leave his car. Between the trip to the FBI offices and time to confer with his lawyer, he could easily stall that long.

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David accompanied Don and Alan up to the waiting area; Colby had already gone ahead. It wasn't difficult to see how concerned Granger was about Charlie; Don reflected, and David, too. David had risked his life more than once to protect Charlie, and Don knew that Charlie had confided in Colby when he was dealing with residual anxiety after an attempt on his life. That had hurt then, and it still did; Don had always felt that Charlie should have come to him – both before and after that incident. He had always assumed that Charlie didn't need people for that – Charlie had a tendency to dive into his numbers for therapy - but that incident had proved him wrong. It wasn't that Charlie wouldn't open up and confide in someone – he'd obviously done that with Colby. Charlie simply wouldn't confide in him.

As Don rounded the corner from the elevator and saw Colby pacing the surgery waiting area, nervously, and Amita and Larry sitting huddled in chairs, he had to admit that the reason for that probably wasn't entirely Charlie's fault. It wasn't as if Don himself had ever promoted meaningful conversation between them. And now, after everything that had happened, there might never be an opportunity – their relationship might be irrevocably damaged. Even if he managed to get his own head straight and finish his deprogramming, would Charlie ever look at him the same way again? Expecting someone to overcome memories of being threatened, assaulted and nearly killed was a lot to ask – it would take a deep sense of love and commitment for a relationship to survive that, and Don wasn't sure that Charlie had ever felt that way, to begin with. True, Charlie was not a savant when it came to relationships and people skills, but Don himself had never encouraged that kind of connection, he thought sadly. Why should he expect Charlie to see their relationship in that light?

If he was brutally honest with himself, there had been a time when he really hadn't cared if they had a real relationship. He'd moved back to L.A. when their mother was sick to be with her, and to support his father – his return then had nothing to do with Charlie. At that point in their lives, he and Charlie didn't have much of a relationship of any kind, other than a tenuous one based on old memories, some good, some not so good. Years of being apart had made them strangers, and Don hadn't been impressed with the brother he'd seen then – during their mother's illness Charlie had withdrawn into the garage like some crazy number-obsessed hermit. Don had seen it as selfish, and it had taken awhile for him to understand that it was Charlie's only way to cope with the pain of losing her; that his brother's psyche, in spite of his intellectual prowess, or maybe because of it, was somewhat fragile. Yes, he thought regretfully, he had started life in L.A. not really knowing Charlie, or caring if he got to know him.

That had changed over the past five years, as they began to work together. Don knew he felt very differently about Charlie now; as if they'd gone backward in time and rediscovered a deep affection that they had held in childhood, when things were simpler. The problem was; Don had never really acknowledged the change in his feelings to Charlie. He'd hoped that Charlie felt the same way, but he had to admit, he hadn't bothered to ask him. Perhaps it was simply pride that had gotten in the way; as long as he didn't admit his feelings, didn't put them out there to face possible rejection, he held control of the situation. Perhaps he'd just assumed that Charlie felt as he did, and no words were needed. The question lay unresolved, and now after everything that had happened, Don was afraid that not only would they not be able to get back to where they were, he was afraid their past lack of communication, their failure to acknowledge what they did have, would make it as if it had never been.

A movement down the hallway caught his eye and he looked up to see Jonathan Wilkes striding toward them, concern on his face. Don fully expected an 'I told you so,' but as Wilkes sat down beside him, looking anxiously into his face, all he said was, "How are you doing?"

Yet more concern that he didn't deserve. Don shrugged, the brief gesture a flash of impatient misery, and Wilkes looked at him and Alan, who, after stopping to speak quietly to Larry and Amita, had seated himself on the other side of Don. "I heard about the incident with the malfunctioning device in your collarbone," Wilkes said softly. "They put the control vest in evidence at the FBI office, and I stopped there to check it. There's a diagnostic screen in it – you need a code for it, and I'll bet Marsh didn't even know how to get to it. Among other things, you can check the last several current settings. Considering what happened out there, I wanted to make sure there was no potential for damage."

Alan stared at Wilkes. "Brain damage?" Don felt his gut shift uncomfortably. Brain damage. That was all he needed. Or maybe what he deserved.

Wilkes nodded. "Looking at the settings, I don't think there was – the current was dialed up to full strength, but within ordinary range. There is a 'kill' setting available, but again, you can only get to it via the diagnostic screen, and the setting history showed that it hadn't been activated. Still, to be safe, we should get an EEG, and we should also schedule you to get the wiring removed as soon as possible. Now that we have our man in custody, even Masters or Conaghan can't argue that you should keep it in place."

"We'll talk about it later," said Don brusquely. "We have other issues right now."

Wilkes looked hesitant. "I know you probably feel secure now that we have the vest, and it is true that there are no other vests unaccounted for out of Cypress Institute, but we need to consider the fact that it was held by someone else for nearly a month. There is the possibility that someone could have cloned the technology during that time. Plus, one of your dampening devices were damaged – as you well know, it is now possible to feed current at full strength to at least one side of your head. We need to get the wiring out as soon as possible."

"Not until I'm sure Charlie's okay," retorted Don stubbornly.

Wilkes sighed with resignation, and nodded. "I can understand that. Just keep in mind we need to do this soon." He paused. "How is Charlie doing?"

"We don't know," Don responded in a leaden tone. "We're waiting for an update." 'What in the hell is taking them so long?' he asked himself, and as if on cue, a man pushed out through the double doors that led to the operating rooms.

"Charles Eppes?" he asked, and his eyebrows lifted as all seven people in the area rose from their seats. "Is there family here?"

Alan stepped forward. "I'm his father."

The man nodded, a bit wearily. "I'm doctor Johanssen. I did the surgery to repair the bullet wound. We had a hard time getting him stabilized. It wasn't apparent externally, but he'd lost an awful lot of blood – most of it in his abdominal cavity. We kept thinking we'd gotten all the damage, but his pressure kept dropping, and there was still blood in the area – we finally found a nick we had missed." Amita swayed a little on her feet, and Larry grabbed her elbow to steady her, and eased her back into her seat. Don felt a twinge of pain at the terrified look on her face.

"We had to remove two small parts of his bowel that were too damaged to reconstruct. The bullet came to rest against his pelvic bone, which sustained a small fracture that should heal on its own. That part of the surgery is complete, but there is a neurosurgeon and an orthopedic doctor now working on his leg. The break was very bad; both bones in his lower left leg had completely snapped, and the smaller one actually broke into three sections."

Don had a sudden, crazy, sick recollection of sitting across from Charlie at the office, and his brother grinning at him, showing him that a piece of raw spaghetti held on either end would always snap into three pieces, never two. He could feel a surge of nausea, which intensified as the doctor went on.

"Normally we would not deal with a broken leg immediately in someone who is in as serious condition as he is, but with a fracture this bad, they had to go in and check to make sure no major arteries or veins were severed, and check for nerve damage, so that he doesn't lose the leg. He will need more surgery on it later – without a doubt, they will need to put in pins and plates. In the meantime, he needs a chance to recover. His condition is critical, and he will be placed in the ICU after the surgery. We'll need to watch him closely – the bowel was perforated, and that can cause serious infection. There are also complications that can occur with such massive transfusions of blood, and he will be heavily sedated to mitigate the pain – for all of these reasons, he needs to recover in the ICU. It will be awhile yet, but we'll let you know when we take him up."

He scanned their downcast faces, with sympathy. "Do you have any questions?"

Alan spoke, haltingly. "So, what is the outlook? You think he will recover fully?"

Johanssen hesitated. "It's too early to tell right now," he said finally. "He didn't appear to be in the best condition to begin with. I understand that he was recovering from some stab wounds in his chest, and he appears to be somewhat malnourished – he's obviously not strong." He paused again. "The next twenty-four hours will be critical. After that, his chances should improve." He nodded at them. "Check at the ICU desk in about an hour – they should be able to tell you when they expect him, and help you with the visiting arrangements."

He strode off, leaving a stunned and silent group behind him.

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End Chapter 58