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35 – CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE – 1,107^35

A hand was laid upon his upper arm and his head jerked upwards, as if the touch had pulled a secret trigger.

"Dad."

The sound came out of his throat, hoarse and suffocated. He stood heavily and returned his father's strong embrace, seeking support. After some seconds' silence they separated again.

"How are you?"

Don's answer had already left his mouth. "Bad," he had intended to say because he had thought his father was asking about Charlie. Now he'd said it nevertheless and even had to realize that it was true. He indeed felt like crap. "But not half as bad as Charlie."

The sounds came out of his mouth strained and without him really having intended to speak them out loud. Alan looked at him closely, his face filled with worry and not only because of one of his son's condition. "What are they saying?"

Don shook his head. "Nothing." The doctors wouldn't tell him anything, not a single word. Yet, when he thought about what they might say if they said something, he wondered if he shouldn't be glad about their silence after all.

"Don –"

"I don't know more than that, Dad!"

It was only now that he noticed Amita, Megan and Larry who were watching him tensely. On their faces, especially in Amita's and Larry's, there was an expression that made shudders run through Don's body: fear. They had to know that Charlie was here, had to know that he was still alive, but they were realistic enough, so they were filled with fear.

Don slowly turned his head when his father tried once more to get something out of him, and with a queasy feeling in his stomach he realized that there was that very same expression on his father's face.

"But how... I mean... what... what exactly happened, Donnie? Did you see him? How is he?"

Don shook his head, a useless attempt to get rid of the images that, at Alan's words, had pushed themselves into the foreground of his mind again.

"We... he was lying –"

Don broke off. He couldn't do that to his father. He couldn't describe to him the horror scene in all its tormenting details.

"He was unconscious," he said instead and saw Charlie's pale, marble-like face again in front of his eyes. Saw how it didn't even so much as flinch when his own hands had desperately tried to raise him back to life. "And he had a bandage round his leg." Again he saw Charlie's knee with his shirt knotted around it. Saw himself cautiously tear away Charlie's jacket from under the injury and laying it over his brother. Saw himself taking off his own jacket and laying it over the first one then taking Charlie's much too light body into his arms so that they could be pulled out with the rope...

"What kind of injury, Donnie? Did he lose any blood? Is he going to make it, Donnie?"

"I don't know!"

Abruptly, Don turned away, tearing his shoulders out of his father's hands.

That was followed by a tense silence. Nobody dared making a sound. Megan watched the others with her sharp, silent gaze. Larry stared without interruption at the door to the emergency admission. Alan stared at Don. Don strode restlessly up and down the sterile corridor. Out of the corners of his eyes he could see Amita trembling. Eventually it was she who couldn't bear the tension any longer.

"What will happen now?" she whispered nervously, looking from one to the other.

"Well, nothing at the moment, as far as we're concerned," Megan answered, and her calm, steady voice trembled only a tiny bit. "We simply have to wait."

Again waiting. Alan didn't know how the others could bear it. He, in any case, was sure he was going to be torn apart from the inside. Simply wait? Megan had to be very confused right now. But who would hold it against her.

In any case this was one of the most difficult things Alan had ever done in his life. Or rather make that not done. For it didn't elude him, by any means, how useless he was. There was simply nothing he could do. He couldn't go in there and bring Charlie back to life, he couldn't perform miracles. He couldn't complain at the doctors so that they would do their job faster.

He couldn't even be there for Donnie.

His eldest son looked terrible. His eyes were still reddened and Alan wondered dimly when was the last time he had seen Don cry? He couldn't remember. That, however, could also be due to the fact that he momentarily couldn't think straight.

Please, Charlie, please come back to us, keep fighting, please...

With abrupt panic the question crossed Alan's mind of what would happen if the unthinkable happened. If Charlie in there lost his fight...

He was strongly tempted to put that thought aside, but he couldn't manage to anymore. The answer was just there. If Charlie didn't make it, it was clear that Alan would never again be happy in his life. Maybe he would manage to return to something like an everyday life at sometime. Maybe he would be able to pretend to others that everything was all right. Maybe he would be able to laugh again in some distant point in the future. But he'd never be happy again.

It was even worse than with Margaret. Not only had he been able to say goodbye to her, even though he'd expected to die before his wife, some mostly latent fears of being left alone had prepared him for her death at least a little bit. It hadn't been much, but at least enough to be able to consider also his life after her death liveable.

But now...

It'd simply be too unsupportable, a too cruel perversion of fate. Children weren't supposed to die before their parents. That was not the way nature was organized. Nature hadn't provided parents with the strength to bear such a loss.

It was clear, Charlie couldn't die. It was just a fact. And Charlie knew that and nature knew that. And nature worked logically; Charlie had tried to explain that to him often enough. Charlie wouldn't die, simply because it wasn't possible.

Now it was only necessary to hope that Alan wasn't mistaken. Hope and pray. At some point all this would have an end, and it would be a happy end. Hopefully, they would make it, they just had to be patient, just have patience...

"Oh God, I can't do this anymore!"

Amita's words sounded with a small sob and were difficult to understand. However, everyone could understand her when she hastily rushed down the white corridor to the outside, the back of her hand pressed over her trembling lips.

The four who remained stared after her.

"I guess I'd better follow her," Larry stammered; he had already turned away from them as if he couldn't escape fast enough from the sterile and impersonal waiting-area.

Don heard Megan sigh in a low voice. He could tell from her face that she was struggling with herself. Should she follow the two of them? Eventually, she stayed. Probably it's better this way, Don thought to himself. If they got bad news, she'd probably be the only one who'd be able to pass it on to the others.

Now stop that, damn! There wouldn't be any bad news! Charlie would make it, he'd make it, damn it!

But if not...

All of a sudden Don was so tired and weak that he could hardly support himself on his trembling legs. He shuffled back to the chairs in the waiting-area and lowered himself down on to one of them. He just couldn't go on, already for such a long time it had been too much. And now that they'd finally made it, now that they'd finally found Charlie, he still couldn't rest. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Charlie's expressionless, stony face, lifeless and cold and motionless and dead...

Please, please don't let him die, please don't... I couldn't bear that... please keep him alive... he's done nothing bad...

But Charlie himself was responsible for the situation. If he hadn't insisted on going on working on the case, if he'd gone with their father to Baltimore... It was Charlie's own fault.

It was Don's fault, totally Don's fault, and he knew it. He should have insisted more strictly that Charlie quit the case. He shouldn't have allowed him to again mess with the mafia, he should have protected him, he shouldn't have let it come to that.

He should never ever have let it happen. He should have protected Charlie. He shouldn't have taken his eyes off him, not for a second. All this was his fault, completely his fault. And maybe Charlie would never have the opportunity of forgiving him because he wouldn't survive Don's mistake.

Don's heart contracted. He couldn't imagine it. He just couldn't imagine a world without his brother. Charlie had to live, anything other than that was not possible. It couldn't be that Charlie simply wouldn't be there anymore, only Alan and Don, the only surviving dependants of a once happy family. And Charlie wouldn't be there anymore, he just wouldn't be there anymore, never again. If Charlie died... Please, please don't let him die, please don't... I can't take that, please... he has to live, please... he's done nothing bad...

But it was Charlie's own responsibility. It was Charlie's fault, Charlie's...

It was Don's fault, only Don's fault...

"Donnie."

Don jerked up. He must have fallen asleep. The image of an old man came into his blurry field of view. Don wiped his fingers over his eyes – he could feel the salt in the corners – and recognized the old man as his father.

"Donnie, the doctor's got Charlie's medical report." Alan's voice was trembling. Only now Don noticed the second man, younger than Alan in blue scrubs. "I wanted you to hear it at once," Alan continued and his voice was just about to break. "I don't believe I could tell you if he –"

Don pressed his father's hand strongly and Alan fell silent. Expectantly the younger Eppes looked into the doctor's eyes, trying to decipher his expression. "How is he?" he finally asked when he couldn't bear the tension any longer. His own voice frightened him; it sounded hoarse, cold. As if it already knew the answer.

"Well, good news first: he's alive. I don't want any misconceptions however. Your son and brother was brought to us in a very weak condition. He is very undernourished and dehydrated. We're trying to remedy that by putting him on a respirator and giving him nourishment and especially fluids to, but I'm afraid I have to tell you that for the moment we don't know if he's going to make it."

The doctor waited for a moment to let the sentence take its effect. As if from far away Don could feel the information trickling into his brain, but he resisted against thinking about it any further. "What else?" he urged with a rough voice.

The doctor looked at the two pale men standing in front of him and then briefly to the ground before he went on. "The problem is that his organism has been weakened further by the pneumonia which has placed a severe stress on his heart. However, due to his fragile constitution, we can't administer antibiotics yet. We're doing what we're able to, though." He looked again into the file in his hand. His voice became more objective, "Aside from that, we've got some grazes, hematomas and a clean transversal fracture of his patella which, however, will with all probability heal without permanent damage."

Presuming that Charlie survives, Don added silently while the doctor left them. It wasn't until they had shaken hands that Don realized how much his were trembling.

His eyes were two lost windows to his soul, he looked at his father. "What... what does that mean?"

Alan was silent.

Don didn't give up. "Is it good or bad?" His own voice sounded strange to his ears. Where did this sudden insecurity come from? Why didn't he know anymore what to do? Why wasn't he able to encourage the others anymore? Why was he so afraid...

"I don't know."

Don had to sit down. His knees buckled. I don't know. That wasn't the answer he had been hoping for. More something like, 'It is good, Charlie's gonna be fine, Donnie, you'll see.' But no, 'I don't know.' Right into his face. Like he'd been punched with a fist. Why on Earth had his father done that to him?

Don knew that there was only one explanation: it was the truth. His father couldn't bring himself to lie to him, because a lie would show itself soon nevertheless. Namely, exactly the moment when Charlie died.

It would have been better if you'd given me hope, Don thought with something like desperate defiance. If Charlie dies, I probably won't care if you lied to me or not.

"I guess I'll tell the others," Megan murmured, and if Don had cared, he would have probably pricked up his ears in order to understand her. The way things were, however, he hardly perceived her disappearing towards Larry and Amita, leaving his father and him alone.

The two men remained silent and waited – waited for something to happen, anything. Time didn't pass. It had turned into a glutinous mass that stuck persistently to the present and, hardly noticeable, went on flowing past inch by inch. It was unstoppable, but moved much too slowly. That substantial change made it impossible for Don to find out how much of this time had passed. His inner clock was completely in a mess. When Megan came back, she could've been gone ten minutes as well as ten months according to Don's inner clock. The only thing he could be certain of was that she had come back with Larry and Amita, and Don couldn't keep himself from thinking that they were probably there in case that the worst might happen.

Don hardly took notice of the three of them until Megan spoke to him, "I've called David," she informed him. She waited until he had tiredly lifted his head before she went on, "He, Colby and O'Connagh's team are currently closing the case. Sanchez is making a statement against members of the mafia, including Ivanov, because of his abduction. Thanks to Sanchez' statement Ivanov will also probably be charged with Charlie's abduction."

Don didn't know exactly why, but all of a sudden he felt anger surging up inside him. And Megan's calmness only increased the burning sensation. "Charlie can equally make a statement against Ivanov," he replied sharply.

Megan was silent and Don didn't have to be psychic to know what she was thinking. Nevertheless, the rising fury made him want her to say it. "What?"

Megan breathed deeply. She had to know what Don was doing right now, but she was trying to maintain her composure. "I also hope that Charlie will be able to make a statement against Ivanov. But for the moment he isn't able to do so and apart from that we don't know... how much he saw."

"And if he's gonna make it, am I right? Is that what you're thinking?" Don had to control himself in order not to attack her. "You're only afraid that if he dies you'll have one less witness against Ivanov; you're only interested in the case! David and Colby also have nothing better to do than close the case! You don't care a damn that it's Charlie who's lying in there!"

Megan was a strong woman, but you could tell from her face that she was close to tears. It was just too much...

Still, she might probably have defended her behavior and her colleagues' if Alan hadn't got in ahead of her: "Don, Megan came here from Washington to help Charlie and you. And if I'm not mistaken your colleagues are doing exactly what you would normally do, too."

Don stared at his father as if he came from another planet. He would have expected to hear these words from almost anybody, but not from his father, not from Charlie's father. Don had always thought that at least Alan understood.

"But this isn't 'normally', Dad." The forced calmness made his voice sound pressed. "Don't you see what's happening here? They've already given up on Charlie! They don't care –"

"They do, Don, and you know that," Alan interrupted him.

Also Megan had finally found her voice again; it was low, but determined. "When I spoke to David, his first question was 'how's Charlie?'. The two of them would be here if they could be of any use, and you know that. And as soon as O'Connagh doesn't need them anymore, they'll come here."

Don wouldn't have needed anything more in order to realize how inadequate his words had been, and when Amita spoke he would have loved it if the Earth could open up and swallow him whole.

"We haven't given up on Charlie. And –" she had to swallow. Yet Don realized that his reproaches had apparently hurt her enough to make her go on. "And – and we do care for him."