A/N: Warning. I cried writing this thing.

You all know Michael prepares for everything. A spy prepares for everything. If a pale spy needs to go undercover in the Middle East, he might start artificially tanning months in advance to darken his skin. That kind of thing.

And you know Michael has fallen in love with Google for all his child care questions. He can now easily ignore the crap and hone in on the useful information.

So it should come as no surprise that Michael has been Googling extensively to prepare for when Charlie asks about Nate. The only thing Michael dreads more than having to talk to Charlie about it is not knowing what to say about it. The two times Charlie sort of raised the subject with Madeline, she immediately deflected and redirected. Nobody blamed her. It's hard to imagine anything crueler than making a mother who's lost her child try to explain it to her child's child.

Michael figures he owes it to his mom, and to Nate, and to Ruth, and of course to Charlie to figure out some way to help Charlie through this however he can. So he reads and thinks and reads some more and thinks some more. He dreads that day, but he knows it'll come.

And it came today.

Michael and Charlie were in the backyard after dinner. They'd hooked up the sprinkler, and Charlie was beside himself with joy as he ran in and out of its streams. Michael may or may not have run a few times, too. Now he was sitting on the edge of the deck, his feet on the grass. Fi was out for the evening with a friend of hers, Lisa. Lisa didn't sell guns, own guns, use guns, or even know how guns work, so Michael was thrilled when Fiona spent time with her. Normal is good every once in a while. Lisa had a real passport and everything.

Good and soaked, Charlie launched himself into Michael. That was their new game. Or at least Charlie's new game. The grown-ups would sit and pretend not to know Charlie was there, then Charlie would come out of "hiding" and run full speed at them, crashing into them and usually knocking them down. Hours of entertainment. Hours. Michael and Fiona had both been beaten up plenty worse than that by people plenty more dangerous than Charlie, so they didn't mind. Too much.

"Ooooof," grunted Michael as Charlie's rock-hard little skull linebackered into his ribs. "Wow, Charlie. What've you been feeding your head to make it so strong? Have you been eating rocks again?" he teased.

"No wocks!" Charlie laughed hysterically. That's the thing about a two-year-old kid. They have two speeds when it comes to laughter: not laughing and laughing hysterically.

"Well, maybe your head's been sucking up all your hair. Hair has lots of protein, you know," Michael told him.

"My head doesn't eat my heh-uh! Yuh being silly!"

"I am being silly, Charlie. You're right. You wanna go inside now? It's getting pretty late."

"Noooooooo," Charlie whined.

"Tell you what. We'll stay out for five more minutes, and then we'll go inside."

"Yayyyyyy!" shrieked Charlie, which caused a few dogs on the street to start barking. He ran around a bit more in the sprinklers, examined some piles of dirt near where Michael and Fiona had meant to start something resembling landscaping, and then came back to Michael and crawled up on him.

"Yuh naw my daddy," Charlie said, out of the blue. Not out of the blue for him, of course, because everything a two-year-old says makes sense to him. But out of the blue for everybody else.

"That's right, Charlie. I'm not your daddy. I'm your uncle," said Michael cautiously, trying to hide his nervousness.

"Is Teefee my mommy?"

"No, Auntie Fi is your aunt. An aunt is like an uncle who's a lady."

"Why you my uncuh?" Charlie asked. Michael could see his little brain trying to make sense of his world.

"I'm your uncle because I'm your daddy's brother. An uncle is the brother of your mom or your dad. So you have an Uncle Matt, too, and he's your mommy's brother."

"Weh-uh is Uncuh Matt?"

"He lives in Las Vegas, just like your mommy."

"Weh-uh do I live?" Charlie asked, his brows furrowed.

"Well," Michael said, adjusting himself and getting Charlie more securely nestled in the Indian-style legs of his lap, "right now you live in a city called Miami. That's where we are now. That's where Grandma Maddie and Auntie Fi and I all live. But you used to live in Las Vegas with your mommy, and you might live there again later."

"Tuhmahwoh?"

"No, not tomorrow. I don't know when."

"Weh-uh does my daddy live?"

And then Michael's stomach dropped out from under him. All his reading, all his thinking, all his preparing was for how to answer questions about death – what it means to die, what it means to be dead. He didn't consider Charlie might have different questions, more concrete questions. Like where does his dad live.

Michael wrapped his arms around Charlie from the back, shielding him from the world. "Your dad used to live here in Miami with me and Grandma Maddie and Grandpa Frank. And then when he got to be a grown-up, he lived in a different house in Miami. And then he lived in Las Vegas with your mommy," he said, hoping against hope that was the end of the conversation, then feeling guilty for hoping it was finished. All Michael had to do was talk about it, probably a bunch of times, but just talk about it. Charlie had to live it. And re-live it. Over and over, for the rest of his life.

"Weh-uh is his housh now?"

A knife. Straight through Michael's heart.

"Charlie, your dad doesn't have a house now. He died when you were little. Do you remember talking to your mommy about that?" he asked, calm on the outside but desperately wanting to disappear on the inside.

"I dohn no he is died," Charlie replied. "What is died?"

Michael's eyes welled with tears. "When a person dies, it means their body stops working. They don't see or talk or hear or anything anymore."

"When will his body wuk?"

The tears were falling now. Michael lifted his head to the sky, hoping gravity would stop what he couldn't. "His body isn't going to work anymore, Charlie. When a person dies, he's dead forever. He stays dead."

Charlie looked terrified. "How will he come live wif us when he is died?"

Michael just hugged him tighter and didn't say anything for a few moments. "Charlie, buddy, your daddy can't come live with us. I would love for him to come live with us. But he can't. People who are dead don't live in houses with people like us who are still alive."

"Why he doesn't wanna live wif us?" he asked, wide-eyed.

"Oh, Charlie," Michael said quietly, his voice cracking. "Charlie, he would want to live with you if he could. He would love to live with you and be with you and see you all the time. He just can't. Dead people can't do that."

"Weh-uh does he live?" Charlie asked, coming full circle. "Weh-uh is he died?"

This time Michael didn't bother trying to stop crying. He just tried to control his breathing and his voice so he wouldn't scare Charlie. "He lives in a special box, a nice, big box that has a kind of bed inside. It's very comfortable. It's not scary at all. Remember he can't hear or see or feel things anymore, so he doesn't feel scared or sad or anything. And then," Michael said, anticipating Charlie's next question, "some special people put the box inside the ground and covered it up nice and safe so it won't get rained on or bumped into or anything."

Charlie started to cry. Real, fat tears. "Is my mommy died?"

"No, no, no, no, no," Michael assured him, kissing his head. "Your mommy is fine. Her body still works all the way. She's not dead. She's alive and she loves you very, very much. She got a little sick. You remember how Auntie Fi got a cold last week and felt really yucky? Well, your mommy was sick in a different way, but just like Auntie Fi felt better, your mommy will feel better, too. And while your mommy feels sick, she thought you'd have more fun if you came to live in Grandma Maddie's house, because Grandma Maddie wasn't sick. Except then Grandma Maddie got sick. That was pretty weird, wasn't it? Remember when Auntie Fi and I came to pick you up? Grandma Maddie has a virus that makes her feel really bad, but she's getting better just like your mommy is getting better. Right? You've been talking with her on the phone. So then everyone thought you'd have more fun if you came to live with us because we're not sick."

"Why is my daddy died?" Charlie asked, still crying.

Michael hugged him again, harder, and stayed quiet again, for longer. "Buddy, I wish I had a good answer for you, but I don't. Everybody dies when their body is all finished living. Usually we die when we're really, really old, like 90 years old. But sometimes people die when they're younger, like your dad. It's always sad when someone dies. We're sad because we love that person so much and it makes us sad to think we can't see them or talk to them anymore. And it feels kind of extra sad when someone dies who's not a very old person.

"I'm really sad that I can't see your dad or talk to him anymore. He's your dad and he's my brother, and brothers love each other a lot. It's okay for you to be sad, too. It just means you love your dad," Michael said, hoping he was giving the kid even a little comfort.

"Evwybody dies? Aw you gonna die?" Charlie asked, now crying harder.

Michael was squeezing this kid so hard already, but somehow he managed to hug him even tighter. "Yeah, Charlie, I'm gonna die." His voice choked up, and he had to force himself to breathe. "But Charlie, look at me for a minute." Michael waited until their eyes met. "I'm probably not gonna die for a really, really, really long time." Michael stopped as he heard himself. In a million years he didn't think he would make it to 70. Probably not to 60. And he had made his peace with that. He was stunned at how easily he said he wouldn't die for a very long time. For Michael, that was the biggest lie of them all. "Nobody knows when they're going to die, Charlie. For most people, it's not until they're very, very old. So I probably won't die until I'm very, very old. Same with you. Same with Auntie Fi and Grandma Maddie and your mommy and your Uncle Matt. Same with everybody."

"I wanna be died wif my daddy," Charlie wailed.

More, tighter, longer hugging. That's all Michael could do.

"I know how much you want to be with him. But we all want you to stay here with us. In this house, or with your mommy, or with Grandma Maddie. You've got people in three houses who love you so much and want you to be with them. We'd all be so sad if you died.

"And I know you don't remember him very well, but I know your daddy loved you more than anything or anybody in the whole world. He wouldn't want you to die. He'd want you to stay here with your family who loves you and go to your school and play with all your trains and go swimming and do all the stuff you love to do. He wouldn't want you to die," Michael said haltingly. It was still hard for him to talk.

Charlie kept crying, but he was calming down. He finally stopped to yawn.

"Let's go over to the chair, okay? I think we'll be more comfortable," Michael suggested. He stood up, still holding Charlie, and walked to one of their deck chairs. He carefully lay down. Charlie wiggled around to get comfortable in the safe nook of his uncle's body.

That's where Fiona found them an hour later, sleeping.