Thanks a lot for reading (and reviewing)! I'm always glad to learn what you think about the story! It's quite a long one, so please don't get too bored if there don't happens much during the first few chapters. We're getting somewhere, though...

4 – CHAPTER FOUR – 1.414^4

Don squinted. Even before he fully opened his eyes, he sensed every single one of his stiff muscles aching. He should really take to sleeping in a bed, he thought wryly.

It was morning. Through the curtains, careful sunrays were leaking in and above, he heard a door open. After numerous years in this house it wasn't difficult anymore to figure out that his father had just left the bathroom.

Don was abruptly awake. Geez, he had wanted to talk to Charlie! How on Earth had he been able to fall asleep then? However, by Don's guessing, now wasn't the right moment, either. If he wanted to apologize to Charlie, then he shouldn't drag him out of the bed in the morning. In addition, he had to go to work. He only needed – damn, where was this stupid file? On the table? No. Under the couch? Neither. Under the cushions? No. Don turned around looking everywhere. There weren't many possibilities here. He even lifted the carpet a bit. Nothing.

"Dad? Dad, have you seen my file anywhere?"

"What file?" Alan's voice echoed from upstairs.

Don gave in. Fortunately, it had only been a copy. He quickly shuffled into the bathroom and was just about to leave the house when he abruptly reduced his speed on the stairs from the second to the first floor. There, on the dining table, was the file. He briefly wondered how it might have gotten there before he grabbed it and left the house.

The alarm-clock rang much too early for Charlie's taste. Had he really slept? He had avoided looking at the clock when he had finally gone to bed. Otherwise, he would have automatically figured out how many hours (or maybe minutes? That was much more likely…) sleep would have been left for him. In any case it was too little.

For a few seconds, Charlie simply lay there until he managed to conquer his weaker self and to lurch out of bed. In the bathroom, he managed to wake himself up a bit, awake enough at least to notice that the file wasn't lying on the table downstairs anymore. He was completely certain he had put it there before going up to bed. That meant that Don had already left and taken it with him. Charlie had heard him sleeping on the couch last night when he, after the work having been done, had trudged his way upstairs in the dark – too tired to switch on the light.

With Norvtcharov's file he was ready, yes, but he still needed lots more data for his network analysis from uncountable other files about uncountable other cases until the job was completed.

While he was riding to CalSci – hopefully the fresh air would awaken him completely – he was wondering what he had been expecting. It had been clear that Don would take the file back to the office. But that he hadn't spoken with him at all? At least a 'thank-you' or even a simple 'Can you have a look at it?' were the least Charlie could expect, couldn't he? But nothing, not the tiniest word, not the rinkiest-dinkiest note. Apparently, Don planned to never contact Charlie again.

Only the 'math stuff' he was allowed to do; yeah, he was good enough for that. You don't get anywhere, Don, then come to me, I'll help you. I mean it's not like I don't have other things to do. Talk to me? Come on, why on Earth would you do that?

A car honked, and Charlie braked sharply. His heart jumped into his throat when he realized what he had just done: he had nearly cut off a driver's right of way. And on his bike, Charlie probably would have come off worse than the driver of the car.

Charlie breathed deeply and shakily. This is getting every better and better, he thought sarcastically. I've just nearly killed myself because of you, Don. Another voice in Charlie's mind told him that he was being unfair to his brother, but he managed to get rid of both voices and to concentrate on the traffic. Maybe he'd manage to arrive at CalSci unharmed after all.

Don was sitting in his office, opening the copy of Alex Norvtcharov's file. A mid-thirty something face looked back at him. Involuntarily the widow's distraught face came up in his mind's eye.

He scrolled on to the forensic examination – maybe they'd overlooked something after all? – when a sheet of paper slid out of the file and onto the floor. Don stooped and picked it up. He looked down at the scrawl in confusion. On the paper, there were different names. All of them seemed to be taken from the file and belonged to potential members of the mob. Beneath that, some abbreviations and signs of which he could make nor head nor tail. And everything in Charlie's handwriting.

What was the meaning of this? How did a paper with Charlie's handwriting get into this file? No way should Charlie's writing be anywhere near this file! Charlie wasn't even allowed to look at it! Not as long as their boss hadn't decided that the FBI would call in the firm's consultant – namely him! How had Charlie got around to doing that? Especially after everything Don had hurled at him yesterday…

"Geez, Charlie…," Don murmured suddenly feeling an ache in his stomach. So Charlie had continued. He had gone on to help them although Don had criticized because of him consulting for the law firm. You coward; call it as it is, Don. You shouted at him, Don rebuked himself, annoyed, and the desire to kick at something hard was rising again. But why the hell had Charlie done the calculations anyway? Had he done that for the law firm or for them, the FBI?

Don laughed listlessly and shook his head. As if Charlie would have helped him after all that. He had done it for the firm, that was obvious…

And for that he had pilfered an FBI file!

The sense of guilt inside him yielded to an anger that was much easier to bear. Charlie had taken a file, without permission! How had he got around it? He had used Don's job at the FBI and his access to the case files, and he had used Don's tiredness to literally steal it out of his hands! He had betrayed Don once again!

Betrayed. The expression tugged at something in Don's mind and increased his directionless fury.

"Don? The boss wants you."

Don's head jerked up at to the voice and his eyes found David. "What's that?" his colleague wanted to know. Don managed to let the paper disappear and only shot a bad tempered, "Not important," over his shoulder before he hurried towards Merrick's office.

A quarter of an hour later, Colby looked up from his computer screen hearing something cleaving noisily through the FBI bullpen – Don. Colby wasn't sure what drove him to ask. It wasn't as if he was weary of life, but he couldn't resist it.

"And… what did Merrick want?" he asked with a certain precaution.

Don gave him a brief glare before he answered. "Not hard to guess, is it?" he snarled. "He wanted Charlie to help us with the investigations. He was quite pissed because we're not getting on."

"And with both the widow and the press putting so much pressure on him he wants that to change," Colby speculated.

"So what?" Don snapped at him. "We'll make it without him as well! We don't need Charlie!"

"For what don't we need Charlie?"

David joined them, a file in his hand. By now, Don was getting fed up with his own mood. It just didn't stop! With every minute, he grew more aggressive. And why did David ask what they didn't need Charlie for rather than ask what they needed Charlie for?

"For quite a lot," Don therefore retorted quite snottily, "and even less for this crackbrained case about Norvtcharov!"

"Oh," David said and understanding bloomed on his face. He barely couldn't hold off a 'That's how the land lies'. Sure, Colby and he had been angry that Charlie hadn't only switched sides, but had also betrayed and defamed his friends, but their irritation was nothing against Don's resentful fury. Indeed, David didn't want to fall victim to it, however, he gradually wondered if he preferred having a ticking bomb as an SAC or an immediate explosion. At least, it would be over and Don then would only smolder a bit.

David cleared his throat before he carefully, but determinedly sparked the fuse: "Actually, why are you so grumpy?"

Don didn't answer. He didn't exactly know it himself. Sure, Charlie's betrayal had added its part to it as well as Merrick's readiness to forget this betrayal and the FBI's own mistakes in the past. But could that already be everything?

In any case, it was certain that Don hated the case. One of their agents had been killed. He hadn't known him that well, yeah, but it could have been as easily one of his own team or himself. Norvtcharov had died during an assignment for the FBI, an agency dismissing people due to their attempts to give aid to underdeveloped countries. However, it was even worse that Don liked working for the agency and that he was good at it. Then there was still Norvtcharov's widow adding pressure to them (how on Earth Norvtcharov had managed to find a wife in spite of his job?). The mob was behind it. And now Charlie was taking a hand in it, too; Charlie who used him. No, you couldn't name a singlereason for Don's frustration.

"Don?"

David had waited for the blowout, but it had stayed away. The spark must have been extinguished somewhere on its way. Should he really ignite it anew? "If you don't talk to us, we can't help you. I mean, we all think that Charlie's been a bit stupid here–"

"CHARLIE'S BEEN A BIT STUPID?"

And wham. You should never give up hope. However, instead of subsiding, the explosion seemed to increase in intensity. "And then what has the FBI done, please? What have we done? What are we doing here every fucking day? What has Norvtcharov done? Crap, and damned crap! Each time, we just scrape the bodies off the asphalt! We don't make any difference, not a bit! Every day we peg away, and do whatever they want us to, and for the rest, we don't give a shit! And if someone wants to do something, if someone really wants to make a difference, he's kicked out, just like Charlie!"

Maybe he should have waited until the fuse had had a chance to go out, David wondered dimly, standing next to Colby and staring at his SAC with his mouth open. Okay, Don wasn't fine. At least that was clear.

"Oh, just get off my back," Don murmured, turning his gaze away from their shocked features and disappearing into the break room.

He hadn't been there long when he heard the door open behind him. Without turning he knew that it was Colby and that he wanted to talk to him about what he had said – or better shouted. Weird. Earlier, such things would have been Megan's part. But Colby? Besides, Don didn't know if he was capable of having a crisis talk right at that moment.

"You wanna talk about anything?" Colby inquired, his voice calm, but at the same time brisk.

Don didn't answer. Yes? No? Who the hell should be able to decide that! Colby however didn't seem to be bothered by Don's singular behavior, and went on digging. "Is it just because of the case or is there something else? Something with Charlie?" Really, just like Megan. Although in the beginning, Colby had rather smiled at the 'psycho stuff'.

"Oh, don't start talking about Charlie," Don grumbled. If he already wanted to force him to talk, he just shouldn't start with the biggest chunk. He didn't even know himself how he thought about Charlie at the moment.

Don was lost in his thoughts and didn't even notice as his colleague left the kitchen. He had found it brave that Charlie had sent this E-Mail. Brave – and unbelievably silly. Charlie must have known that this would have consequences! He would have had to have known that it could lead to having his security clearance revoked and thus the possibility of working together with his brother. And yet he had done it. Without hesitating. As if he couldn't have waited any longer to set an end to his consulting.

And as if that hadn't been enough, he then had also to attack the FBI like this! And not only the FBI, but above all his own brother and his team! Charlie had betrayed him without even doing so much as batting an eye. He couldn't have made it more obvious that he didn't like to have dealings with Don any longer.

No dealings any longer. But Don's job as a federal agent at least had been very convenient for Charlie in order to suck up to his new bosses. Don wondered if he would ever forgive his brother that he had pilfered the file, that he had used Don. Or had Charlie simply done that as an act of revenge, because Don had used him?

But I didn't want that, Don thought sadly and desperately, and he jerked when something clinked. He looked down at his cup and saw that he'd been clutching his coffee mug so tightly that he'd broken the handle.

The desperate anger was rising again, and Don threw the two parts of the handle into the cup and pushed it into a corner on the counter. Why was everything falling apart?