Hi, everyone!
I'm glad about everyone who lets me know that he/she likes my story. But I'm also very, very glad if someone tells me what I could do better or if he/she wants to help me to improve myself!
So thanks to Deanna! And to all those who are of the same opinion: I'll try to justify Don's reaction: he's very stressed and we know that he often shows worry/concern by anger. He could see during the drive to their prison that Charlie wasn't seriously hurt and he doesn't want to lose control, so he tries to hide his insecurity behind his fury. I hope you can accept that? I should probably have made it clearer. I'll think of things like that in the future, though, so thanks a lot! (also, Deanna, because you expressed your criticism very gently!)
And if you don't agree with my reasons – well, I think we'll come upon some Don-protectiveness that might (hopefully) satisfy you in the further course of the story.

7 – CHAPTER SEVEN – 1.320^7

When they awoke, it was already light outside. In spite of their tenuous situation, they had drifted off to sleep quite fast. Exhaustion had overwhelmed them.

Now however, they felt like they had been born anew; as if they had risen from their own ashes like phoenixes although they could have had only a few hours of sleep. They called again for help, but soon noticed that no one could hear them or they were being ignored. And they were both hoping that the latter was not the case and that their kidnappers were elsewhere.

"Lucky for you," Charlie tossed the words towards his brother with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Why for me?"

"Because I wanted to get out of here yesterday while the kidnappers were gone, but you wanted to rest. Fortunately, it seems they're still gone, so we've still got a chance."

"Oh man, Charlie! As soon as we escape there'll be no way back; that means we should plan the whole thing very well and not rush anything. And when we want to escape, we should be well rested and in shape! Or do you know how long we'll have to walk to get help? Judging from the silence and from the fact that no one reacts to our calls, we seem to be far from civilization here. And besides, our chances are much better at day than at night – considering that we have no clue where we are. And you said it yourself yesterday that we can't open the skylight as long as it's dark."

Charlie had to admit defeat. "Okay. But if you ask me it's time that we get out of here, despite everything you say."

So they got on with the task. Charlie slipped his shoes off while Don removed the straw from the wall and from under the skylight. This way, it had to be better. "And this time, walk slowly, okay?" Charlie warned his brother climbing onto his shoulders.

Within a short while, he could, if he stretched, reach the ceiling with the palms of his hands. "How is it?" Don asked, a bit pressed. Although Charlie was shorter than his brother, he wasn't exactly a lightweight. Don suspected that their dad's cooking had something to do with it.

"Couldn't be better."

"So let's go."

Slowly, Don got in motion. After every step, he paused, so that his brother on his shoulders could find his balance. They advanced – at least it felt so for them – much further than in the darkness some hours before.

"Stop!"

Don obeyed. "Can you reach it?" he asked.

"Yes, we're directly beneath it."

"Can you lever it up?"

"We'll soon see," Charlie mumbled, pressing both his palms against the skylight and pushing with all his strength.

Below him, Don noticed how his feet were trembling. His muscles were burning like fire. It wasn't easy having an adult on his shoulders even for a couple of seconds, and now that Charlie was pushing against the ceiling, Don was in trouble. Hold out, he said to himself. Hold out. Just a bit more…

With a dull sound, Don's knees made contact with the stony ground and Charlie tumbled down.

"What's up?" he asked huffily, barely having gotten up to a sitting position.

"I'm sorry," Don retorted sharply with just a hint of audible sympathy, "but if you even push against the skylight, I just can't bear the weight."

Charlie first brushed the straw off his clothes in order to let off steam a bit before answering, "There's probably a bar in front of it, anyway. It's impossible to exert the necessary pressure to lever it up with the little we have. And anyway, the skylight is solid wood. And I imagine you heard last night how it squealed and screeched. So there's also the friction to take into account."

"Great," Don retorted. "So what do we do now?"

Instead of an answer, Charlie sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. He was thinking hard; imaging possible solutions and just as quickly discarding them. They couldn't get out through the window. It was firstly much too narrow, and on top of that it had bars. However…

"What about the window?"

"What do you mean?" Don asked sceptically. "You wanna crawl through? Maybe I've missed something, but as far as I know, you're no squirrel. And even then you'd probably be too big to get through."

"But that's not what I'm talking about." Charlie was eager and a bit impatient. "But we could at least try if we can see outside, couldn't we? Maybe we can even open it somehow? In any case, we should look at it more properly."

"You just want to sniff a bit of mountain air again," Don grumbled, sighing resignedly. He knew that the following minutes wouldn't do any good to his already battered body.

Charlie noticed Don's slight reluctance, and he at once drew the right conclusion. "Hey, if you want we can swap, no problem."

"Nope, little one, forget it-"

"But yes, come on. Your eye is much more trained than mine in such things, you know, reconnoitre the area, spot any problems..."

"Okay, so gimme a boost."

Charlie's eye, in turn better trained in a mathematical way, flitted along the wall up to the window. "I know I'm no Atlas carrying the world on my shoulders, but at least I can make an effort for my big brother G-man." Don chuckled. Charlie went on his knees, but Don hesitated. "Come on, don't be so difficult."

Shortly afterwards, Don was standing on Charlie's shoulders. Charlie hoped his backbone wouldn't break, and he felt his legs trembling. He stood, however, until Don finally jumped down after few seconds.

"So?" Charlie asked intently.

The answer was discouraging. "Nothing. No other houses. Just a kind of courtyard where the vehicle is standing. Our hosts are probably back. Maybe they've been just outside, or they've simply ignored our calls. Behind the courtyard, I could only see trees, but really nothing that could help us. And the grill in front of the window is very solid, as well as the glass. The pane is new."

They both looked at the ground as if their gazes were following their mood. The probability hadn't been high that the window would have been able to help them in any kind, but nevertheless, they had fostered just a spark of hope. Now, this spark, too, had extinguished.

"And what do we do now?" Don finally asked. Talking to each other, even if it might seem senseless and not really beneficial to their mood still seemed better to him than having to bear the grave-like silence.

"I don't know," Charlie sighed resignedly and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall and putting his head in his hands. "As long as the kidnappers are here, we can't escape anyway."

"Not escape," Don agreed, "but we can think up an escape route."

Charlie laughed desperately. "Great! And how is this escape route going to take form? How on Earth do you think we're going to get out of here?"

"Hey, don't hang your head!"

That was too much. "Don't hang my head?" Charlie's voice became hysterical. "Don't hang my head? So what am I supposed to do, in your opinion? We're imprisoned down here, nobody knows where we are! These guys probably won't let us go in our lifetime! They want us to kick the bucket, Don! Don't you see it? They don't care a damned shit about us!"

Don was silent. His brother had just given a quite accurate description of their situation. And even Don couldn't deny that it wasn't looking bright for them. Nevertheless – no, just because of that! – they couldn't lose their head.

"Now calm down again, Charlie! There'll be a reason why these guys have kidnapped us. Maybe they want to exchange us for someone that the FBI's probably holding."

Again Charlie laughed, and again he didn't sound very delighted. "Is that supposed to calm me down? You don't seriously believe that the FBI will make a deal with them so that we can stay alive!"

No, Don really didn't believe that. And his throat, too, went tight thinking of the consequences that might follow the refusal of the federal agency to cede to the kidnappers' demands.

"What do these guys want, anyway?" Charlie said wearily, vocalizing the question that had been floating through their minds since the appearance of the two kidnappers in their doorway.

Don shook his head. "No idea," he admitted. "Hell, we don't even know who they are."

"We don't?" Charlie asked in a low voice, his eyebrows raised. Don looked at him blankly. So Charlie had already come to the same conclusion as himself. No surprise. They had nearly nothing in common; Don was a federal agent and Charlie a mathematician, the only connection was…

Their mutual work at the FBI.

The mob case.

"Okay," Don admitted, "maybe we know the 'who', but at the moment, that doesn't really help us with the 'why'."

"Maybe ransom?" Charlie proposed, not very convinced about it himself. Nevertheless his stomach churned at the thought that the kidnappers might contact their father and threaten him if he didn't come up with the money.

Don, however, countered the idea at once: "Honestly, I don't think that anyone would kidnap a federal agent if he wanted a ransom. If they'd been out for the money, they simply could have grabbed you alone." All of a sudden, Don was quite glad that the money apparently wasn't what the mobsters wanted.

"So freeing prisoners?"

"Looks like it. Although I'm wondering why they've kidnapped you as well."

Charlie thought. "Maybe to put pressure on the law firm? Then they'd have kidnapped you for the FBI and me for the widow?"

Don still wasn't convinced. "Possible. But would the widow care enough about you to do something to free you?"

Charlie laughed without joy. "After what happened at the meeting? Rather not."

Don was staring at him. "What do you mean?"

"I was too soft. I should have attacked you more. The lawyer said so."

Don could have said many things to that, but since he couldn't decide and in addition didn't know how his brother would react, he remained silent.

"And the FBI?" Charlie got back to the topic. "Would they release prisoners in order to get you free?"

Don looked wordlessly at his brother and made a face. As if the FBI would do such a thing. Don couldn't imagine it by any stretch of the imagination. How would that work, anyway? If the agency caved in this time, releasing potential dangerous criminals back into the public, other agents would be in danger of being kidnapped to help various illegal organisations reach their objectives.

Charlie interpreted his brother's silence correctly. The mobsters seemed to have miscalculated. Their opponents would refuse to be blackmailed. Their hostages were useless. And that meant no good for the two brothers.

Charlie let his thoughts wander freely, and they immediately took their chance and wandered out of their prison and to all the people outside that were important to him. To his dad, to Larry… and of course to Amita. He would never see any of them. He wouldn't see anyone at all except for his brother.

He'd never told Amita just how much he loved her. Never. He'd never been able to find words strong enough. There were moments when he thought about founding a family with her. He couldn't make up his mind how to talk to her about it, though. The right moment would certainly come, he'd thought. He couldn't believe that he'd been that silly.

Now it was too late. It was over. He wouldn't have the opportunity to ask Amita if she wanted to marry him. And his father would always have to renounce his hope of having grandchildren. Nothing would remain of the family Alan had founded. He would live like Larry had before he'd got to know Megan… lonesome… deserted…

"There has to be a way!" Charlie flared up, standing up from the floor with a jump.

Don jerked slightly due to the sudden movement looking at him resignedly. "And which?"

Charlie didn't answer, but walked up and down impatiently. There had to be an opportunity, something they'd overlooked…

"The skylight!" Charlie suddenly shouted.

Don didn't let himself react to Charlie's sudden activity. "Charlie, we've already tried that. It doesn't work, you've seen that."

"We can't pry the skylight open," Charlie countered eagerly. His cheeks were glowing. "But we could try it the other way round."

Confused, Don looked up at him from his position on the floor. "What do you mean, the other way round? From the outside? Well, that could be a bit difficult."

"Not from the outside. We'll try to pull the skylight towards us by hanging onto it with our weight. There's a chance it'll give way."

New hope flamed up in Don. "You're right! That could work!"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. And now stand up, old guy."

Don followed the request. Then the two brothers were standing next to each other under the skylight, looking up at it.

"And now, how do you intend doing it?"

"Over there in the corner are the ropes. We'll have to undo the knots and tie the bits together. One of us will thread the ring, so that we can reach both ends of it from the floor," Charlie explained his plan and they immediately put it into action.

"A little further… yeah… stop!"

Don stood. Charlie looped the rope through the ring. Then he took care that the ends hanging down had approximately the same length. Finally, he jumped down.

"Okay. Then let's go," Don gave the start signal. When the Eppes brothers stretched, they could barely reach enough of the rope to wind it around their hands, but it worked. "At three. One – two – three!"

They lifted their feet from the ground. The skylight above creaked. But it resisted.

Close to half a minute later Don and Charlie stood with their feet solidly on the ground again, rubbing their hands where the rope had cut in. "It's not working," Don glumly noted.

His brother shook his head with rising desperation. "There has to be a chance, even if it's slim! Didn't you hear it? It sounded like it could give."

"Well. 'Chance' should be seen relatively in this case."

"Stop talking like Larry," Charlie murmured, then immediately continued with the analysis of their situation. "At least the rope didn't tear apart, and also the knots lasted. That means that it's probably strong enough to pull the skylight open."

"If you think so. But as far as I know we can't increase our weight without appliances."

Don had to exert himself to understand Charlie's following words. "Not without appliances, no. But if…" He didn't finish his sentence, but drew with his finger things in the air that could nobody see but him – although his gaze was directed into the void. Don was eager to get to know what idea his little brother was thinking about again, but he didn't want to interrupt him with annoying questions.

"It… well, slim could be the word here," Charlie finally mumbled.

Don considered it safe to talk again. "What? What do you wanna do?"

"We could build a pulley," Charlie answered hesitantly. He still looked somewhat out of it as if he didn't want to return at all from the world of mathematics. In their current surroundings Don couldn't really resent him for it. "We can create an interaction of about one point five kilo Newton with our weight. If we had enough of that rope that's strong enough… or if we could prepare the straw so that it's strong enough… Do you have a pen?"

Surprised by the question, Don started. "What? Uh, no, quite sure I don't. Why?"

Instead of answering Charlie turned towards the floor until after few seconds he had eventually found what he had been looking for. He bent and picked up a little stone that must have crumbled away from the wall. Then he turned towards one side of their prison and began scribbling formulas on the wall.

Don watched him with a hint of admiration and then stretched out on the straw. If he couldn't help Charlie in any way then he didn't want to interrupt him. He dozed a little, but his gnawing hunger prevented a real rest and nearly pushed him into insanity. And he was thirsty, so thirsty... He wanted to distract himself, but the only thing that was suitable for distraction down here were the scratching sounds Charlie was producing at the wall. He concentrated on the scratch sound of stone on stone. Sometimes the sounds stopped for a while. Afterwards, the scribbling went on furiously, or multiple signs were crossed out in annoyance over a large area.

Before the scratching stopped, it always slowed down a bit. Don could hear from the sound how his brother was advancing. And he heard that his brother often crossed something out.

If he could only make it! Gradually, Don wondered how long they could stand it down here. Certainly not for long. Their kidnappers didn't seem to their best interests at heart. Charlie seemed to be right – they didn't give a damn whether their hostages lived or died.

Don thought about his father. It had to be hard on him. First his wife had died, and now both of his sons… No, Don ordered himself, stop it. We're not dead yet. We'll get out of here. Charlie's gonna make it somehow.

Suddenly, Don heard something that intruded. A sound disturbing Charlie's scratch concert. A crackling noise.

And then he smelled it.

Smoke.

Fire!