15 – CHAPTER FIFTEEN – 1.197^15

In a knee-jerk reation, Don crouched, pressing his painful arm against his stomach. An instant later he realized that he mustn't give himself away so unprotected, that he had to fight. He was just about to straighten up and confront his attacker when the person was already on him. A human body hit him hard from the side and Don landed on the floor even harder.

Now, however, Don was back again: he rolled sideways and he managed to ignore the pain in his ankle as well as the pain caused when his head banged against the chair leg. He saw the shadow of the attacker, only a silhouette in the dark room. The shadow threw itself upon him, but this time Don managed to tuck up his legs and to push the attacker away. The rumble disturbing the night silence told him that his opponent had gone down on the floor as well, a meter from him.

Don immediately picked himself up and kept his opponent in this disadvantageous situation, on his stomach on the floor, Don's knee in his back. The other reared up under Don's weight, thrashed about wildly and tried to get free, but Don was stronger and in a more favorable position. His training as a federal agent paid off fully when he, against his silent opponent's desperate resistance, grabbed his arms and pulled them on his back ready to cuff the guy. He heard the vanquished man hiss when his arms were forced behind and just to make sure he knew what he was dealing with, Don tightened his grip.

His opponent was still trying to get free when Don pulled his handcuffs from his belt and fastened them on the intruder's wrists with a final and satisfying clunk.

Don inhaled deeply. It was done. While the surplus adrenaline gradually made itself felt, Don bent his head down, near his prisoner's ear. "Not a sound, got me?" he whispered. "Is there anybody else in here?"

Don hoped imploringly that the guy would say 'no', although he knew that he couldn't trust his word. However, if the guy had an accomplice with him, it was very possible that they had heard the sounds of their struggle and were already on their way to them. And depending on their number, Don had a serious problem. Although… if he could get to his weapon, he would be able to use this one as a hostage. The only problem was that his gun was somewhere in the dark of the kitchen.

Don's question was followed by multiple seconds of silence and a quick gasp before a trembling voice whispered, "Don?"

Don fell from the body backwards. He had to be mistaken. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. And still, still he had recognized the voice!

"Charlie?" he asked incredulously, already some decibels louder than he had just before.

The other person uttered a groan in which you could definitely hear the relief. "What the hell is going on?" he asked under his breath. There was no possible doubt anymore; Don had just been fighting with his little brother.

In order to be completely sure and, above all, to fish for time for an answer, Don struggled to his feet, hobbled quickly through the room and turned the light on. He had to squint his eyes at first – after the darkness the light was much too bright – but his eyes didn't take too long to adjust and the image in front of him that would probably have made him laugh in another situation was revealed: there he lay, his little brother, outstretched on the floor in the kitchen, his hands cuffed behind him, his head twisting trying to find the figure of his big brother.

It wasn't until Charlie's moaning attempt to turn on to his stomach that Don jolted out of his freeze the grotesque sight had forced him into. "Shit, man… sorry, Charlie, I'm sorry…," he stammered and hurried to help his brother. He first fumbled at his pocket, drew out the key for the handcuffs and then dropped it as his hands were shaking. When he had picked it up again, he first couldn't manage to open the lock, but eventually he managed and Charlie pushed himself into a sitting position from which he could stare at his brother. He moaned slightly when the pain reminded him of where Don's knee had been shortly before.

"What the hell is going on?" Charlie repeated his earlier question, calmer, but no less dumbfounded. "What are you doing here, after all?"

"I –" Don began and immediately asked himself the question. Why the hell had he come over here? To look after the house, because his dad and Charlie had gone away because… Wait a sec! "I could ask you the same thing!" Don retorted, his voice suddenly sharp. What the hell was Charlie doing here? Why wasn't he in Baltimore?

"Now wait, listen, this is my house, after all, or did I miss something here?" Charlie bristled at his tone, and unfortunately that did nothing to calm Don down.

"Damn well possible that you missed something, for example your flight to Baltimore!"

"And that justifies you assaulting and cuffing me?"

Despite himself the feeling of guilt came back with all its power at Charlie's words. "Listen, I've already said that I'm sorry…" he tried to apologize. He hesitated, letting his gaze wander across his brother's figure. "… Are you alright?" he eventually asked worriedly, the anger dissipating all of a sudden.

" 'Course." Of course his arms were still hurting a bit, and he had detected that the kitchen floor was extremely hard (particularly if one fell on his hip where he already had a bruise from some hair-raising escape attempts from a dungeon in the mountains), but that was no reason to complain. "And you?" now it was Charlie's turn to inquire. Even if the he still felt the shock in each of his limbs (he was still shaking like a jelly!), even if he wanted to know what Don was doing here and even if he was afraid of Don's reproaches, this question was of priority.

"Big boys don't cry," Don shook it off, rubbing casually the penetratingly pulsating lump on his head. Before his next fight, he would carry away any chairs and other danger zones first, he resolved. He pushed himself onto his feet, grimaced slightly when he put weight on the hurt ankle, and stretched a hand out for his brother. "And now get on your feet again, buddy. You can't make me believe that you're so out of it you'd rather stay on the ground."

Charlie dared an agonized grin and let himself be pulled onto his feet. Without a word, the brothers left the fight site and sat down at the dining table. They both knew that they had to talk – even though neither of them was looking forward to that conversation. Maybe that was the reason why Don started talking, but tried to postpone the interesting part.

"You really alright?"

"Certain. But maybe you could check next time who you're gonna beat up."

Don was looking down at the table in front of him, but he wasn't going to take the blame alone. "And why didn't you just make some noise?"

"Did I know if there were more of you strolling about the house? And anyway, I could ask you the same question."

"And I could give the same answer. I mean, I come in and see that someone has broken in." With the following words, his voice became gradually more bitter, as if to show that they were slowly approaching the more explosive part of their conversation. "After all, I couldn't know that it was you because you were supposed to be on your way to Baltimore."

Charlie shifted uneasily on his chair. Oh no, he didn't like that at all. He felt as if he'd been backed into a wall, threatened by an agitated lion who was becoming more and more irritated. "I told you it'd be better if I stayed."

"Yeah, and then you told me you were going with dad."

"Because you've been so insistent! I didn't want to lie to you, but you didn't give me a choice!"

"I didn't give you a choice? So now you're saying that it's my fault that you lied to me?"

"No, of course not, but…"

"But what?"

"What was I supposed to do!" Charlie flared up. "I couldn't just leave, you should be the one to understand that best! But you just didn't want to leave me alone! I tried the truth, but you wouldn't accept it!"

"And you wouldn't accept that you had to leave!" Don jumped up from his chair. Charlie winced when his brother's hand slapped down on the table loudly.

While Charlie was silent, Don strode – no, hobbled – speedily and sharply up and down by the dining table; that was currently the only opportunity he had to vent his anger. Gradually, the realization of what had been happening here hit him. Charlie was still here. He hadn't left for Baltimore although he had promised Don. Charlie had told him he'd accompany their father and he hadn't done it. Charlie had… he had lied to him! He had lied to him!

Dark, heavy disappointment weighed down on him. His little brother had lied to him. He hadn't trusted him. After everything that had happened between them he'd told him one lie after the other. Don felt like beating something up, like running away, shouting; but his wanderings along the table remained the only way of calming down. But it wasn't enough. His anger threatened to suffocate him, and his sub-consciousness found the only possibility for salvation in giving him the omnipresent mask of fury.

"Why did you do that," he demanded to know.

"I've already told you," Charlie answered calmly although his voice was trembling. Despite his anger he was by now far too intimidated to start the counter attack.

Don shook his head. "How the hell could you possibly have done this?"

"Don't believe it's been easy for me," Charlie mumbled. Don's marching up and down just enforced the similarity of his situation with the lion's den. His brother behaved just the way Charlie had feared. Okay, in his fears Don had been louder, but his day might still come. And the main aspect remained unchanged: Don didn't understand him. And yet his brother did the same as he did, because he too was staying and anyway… Wait a sec! "Do you remember the last time that we – that you had to deal with the Russian Mafia?"

Don uttered a grunt that Charlie classified as acknowledgement. "How could I forget that," his brother growled.

"You lied to me, then."

Don stared at him. "I did?"

"You lied to me. You claimed you weren't working on the case anymore, and you forbad me to continue working on it. But that wasn't true, you were still in charge."

For an instant, Don didn't know what to say. The memory became vivid again: yes, he had lied to his brother then, and he had felt bad about the situation. It had been necessary, though.

"To protect you."

"What?"

"I only lied to you in order to protect you so that you'd finally keep away from the case. But as it turned out you didn't listen to me back then either.

"It was useful, though, wasn't it? My analysis contributed to solving the case, or am I mistaken?" Charlie knew exactly that he was not mistaken. The feeling of triumph inside him seemed inappropriate to him, but it did him made him feel better. Don had just trapped himself.

Only Don didn't seem to agree with that. "Just because the advantages outweighed the risks then, that doesn't mean that they will now. And believe it or not, we're no idiots. We'd have found out sooner or later, too, what had been behind the mafia then. Just let us do our jobs and stay out of it."

Charlie was gradually reaching the end of his tether. Don found a new counter argument every time; he just didn't want to surrender. Oh, this stubborn sod! Why couldn't he just let others help him?

"It's not that I don't believe that you would also have found it out; there's just the question of the 'when'. Or, for example, for this case have you already found out that the mafia is in reality two mafias?"

"So that's what you've found out? Interesting." Don was looking at him coolly. He really could try anything he wanted – Charlie didn't give a damn about his opinion. Again and again he came with some details to another case in order to distract Don from his indisputably bad behavior. However, this time it wouldn't work. He paused briefly, but then the words lying on his tongue left his mouth. "Is that true or are you just lying again to be on site and to experience some excitement?"

Is that starting again. Charlie inhaled sharply, although trembling. "Listen to me. Please." He dared a look in his brother's face. Yep, he had his attention. Though that didn't mean that this became easier for him. "I really didn't want to lie to you, Don. But I just couldn't put up accept the thought of leaving for Baltimore and waiting to see what will happen. And I'm still of the opinion that we'll have a bigger chance of solving the case if I stay."

Don paused his pacing and looked steadily in his brother's eyes for a long moment. He took in everything: Charlie's nervousness, the pallor of his face, his exhaustion. Nothing escaped him, not even that his brother held out against his gaze and not even the determination behind the tiredness. Charlie wouldn't leave. No matter what Don might say, no matter how much he'd shout at him – it would be of no use. Charlie had gotten it into his head and he wouldn't go back on his decision. And now he was arguing from a stronger position; after all, Don couldn't simply kidnap him and haul him off to Baltimore.

Although, that thought wasn't completely without its attractions.

Don turned away from his brother, sighing heavily and severely. Okay. Okay, so that's the way it was going to be. Charlie had won. Don surrendered. He couldn't go on. He was tired of all the arguing, the eternal, useless attempts to convince his brother. He wouldn't pester Charlie anymore. "Okay. So stay. But don't tell me later I didn't warn you."

Don knew that he now couldn't do anything anymore, and left the house without a further word. If he couldn't bring his brother to his senses, he washed his hands of any responsibility for him at least. He had nothing to do with this whole thing anymore. Let Charlie do what he wanted; Don didn't care.