Chapter 53

Three days later, Charlie sat in the oversized armchair, facing Michaels, thinking back over the events of Saturday. The hospital had kept him a few hours for observation; then let him go, but not before Alan had showed up, in a panic. His father had arrived in the ER moments after they did, and been as furious over what had happened as Don had been. When he heard that Merrick and Tompkins had showed up at the hospital, Alan began to storm out of the room to confront them, but Charlie, and surprisingly, Don, had talked him out of it. Don commented wryly that he had already done enough damage to his career, and Alan had finally calmed down, going from furious to disgruntled, as relief that his sons were relatively unharmed set in. Charlie, somehow, felt guilty over the whole thing, and when Don had mentioned damage to his career, his heart had plummeted.

Alan finally, grudgingly agreed to try to remain civil when Merrick and Tompkins came in, and was somewhat mollified when they made it a point to apologize to Charlie. Don stepped out in the hallway with them at their request, and when he returned, to Charlie's relief, Don had a satisfied glint in his eye. Charlie surmised that the two powerful men had just eaten more than their fair share of crow.

He had just finished recounting the events to Michaels, who was making some notes. The doctor looked up and leaned back in his chair, and studied Charlie. "So tell me, what was going through your mind while this was happening?"

Charlie shook his head slightly. "I don't know – not much, it happened too fast. I was scared."

"Before, during, or after it happened?"

"All three."

Michaels leaned forward. "That's at least a healthy emotional response. How did you respond physically? Did you fight it, or did you let it happen?"

Charlie scowled. 'Not this again,' he thought. His first inclination was to close up, but as the realization of how he reacted hit him, his face turned thoughtful. He looked up at Michaels with a hint of surprise. "I fought it. The whole way – I was scared the whole time. I never felt the way that…"

"That what?"

"The way I felt at Santa Barbara, and at the river," finished Charlie, still reluctant to admit that at those moments, he had intentionally given up.

Michaels nodded approvingly. "That's good. So this time, you were fighting for your life. Why do you think that is?"

Charlie shook his head. "I have no idea." He looked down at his hands for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "My dad thinks I put too much pressure on myself."

"And what do you think?"

Charlie looked up at the ceiling. "I feel pressure, sure, to make sure my solutions are correct, to meet deadlines…" He looked at Michaels and shrugged. "I've always hated to be wrong about anything, but when it comes to cases, the stakes are higher; people's lives are involved."

"In this assignment for the NSA, millions of lives. The weight of the world as we know it was literally on your shoulders. If that's not pressure, I don't know what is. That was an extreme case, however. You were exhibiting signs that there was a problem before this happened. Why do you hold yourself so accountable?"

Charlie looked at him incredulously. "Because when they come to me for an answer, they expect it to be right and on time – and usually, something big is at stake. If I don't deliver, they fail."

"So it's okay for them to be wrong, or to make no progress, but not for you. They're getting nowhere on a case, so they call the man with the answers, and expect him to fix it – you expect yourself that you'll fix it every time."

Charlie nodded emphatically. "Of course."

Michaels smiled slightly. "That's a little conceited, don't you think?"

Charlie scowled. "What?"

"You must have God-like pretensions, to expect of yourself that you'll always be right."

"I don't expect it," Charlie retorted angrily. "That's the problem. One of these times, I'm going to be wrong when it really counts, and someone is going to die because of it."

"Maybe even someone close to you?"

Charlie said nothing; just nodded and looked away.

Michaels paused for a moment. "Charlie, what you're dealing with is something law enforcement officers everywhere struggle with every day. You think they don't feel bad, helpless, when they can't find solutions? There are hundreds of unsolved cases out there."

Charlie looked back at him. "But they haven't been given the ability that I have. I'm supposed to be better, to have the answers…"

"Better, yes, but not perfect," said Michaels gently. "You need to cut yourself a break, Charlie. You don't always have to be right – even you have to admit the statistical probability of that is small. You are human. Quit beating yourself up for that."

Charlie sat silently, but Michaels saw a flicker of something, just a hint of grudging acceptance, in his eyes.

Michaels pursed his lips. "Well, there's no question we still have work to do there, but your reaction at the plaza shows progress – very encouraging progress. How does that reaction make you feel about this – topic?"

Charlie met his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Better," he said. "Better."

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Don heard the phone ring, and reached for it almost absently, his eyes on a report. At Merrick's voice, he straightened, and focused.

"Don, glad I caught you. You were leaving a little early today, is that right?"

"Yeah," said Don, hoping fervently that Merrick wasn't going to ask him to cancel his plans. He'd been waiting weeks for this afternoon.

"That's fine," replied Merrick, "I just got a call from Tompkins – they picked up the last man in Paulson's group – Avilar. He was holed up in a rural parish outside of New Orleans. When they found him, he had a case on him, with a single syringe. They sent it off to Bethesda for analysis, but they're pretty sure they know what it is. I just thought you'd like to know – that's the last of them, except for Kafa and Mahir, who we believe are out of the country."

"Yeah, yeah, I did want to know – thank you," said Don. He felt a sudden wave of relief. "I can tell Charlie?"

"Yes, actually, I was hoping you would."

"Thanks for letting me know."

"No problem, agent. No problem at all." Don could almost see the wry smile on the A.D.'s face. It was followed by one of his own, as he hung up the phone.

The expression slowly faded as he thought of the afternoon ahead, and his mouth went dry. He took a swig of coffee, trying to ignore the twinge of nervousness, and went back to the report.

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Mashud Kafa sat languidly in the wrought iron café chair, his gaze on the pretty model in front of him. The warm glow of a Paris sunset lit the scene, and the spring air was unusually balmy. "Where are you from, my dear?" he purred, and listened as she prattled on about life in the Alsace region. She was brainless and uneducated, but beautiful, and Kafa's lips curled in anticipation of what the night would bring. It was amazing what money could buy.

Ian Edgerton looked out of the window of the darkened hotel room, and fit the scope to his rifle. The sunset was on the other side of the building, and his side of the building was in shadow, the rooms dark unless they were lit from within. He got into position, and took a few deep breaths. The Paris air was a personification of the city itself. The spring breeze was fresh, and spoke of the beauty of the blossoming thoroughfares, but underneath was the hint of death, emanating from the city's ancient history, from the battles that had been fought there, from the catacombs under the streets. Somehow, death and beauty mingled together, in a scent that was uniquely Paris.

Ian sighted through the scope, finding his target, and took one more deep breath. As he released it, he whispered, "This is for Charlie," and then steadily pulled the trigger. He watched in satisfaction as Kafa's head jerked back, a black hole in his forehead. Death slumped over the café table, and beauty rose from it, shrieking, backing away in horror.

Edgerton stood, and began packing away his rifle. He wasn't registered at the hotel; he had broken into the room, and would be gone before the gendarmes arrived. Kafa had been ridiculously easy to find, his conceit and arrogance making him careless. Wasseen Mahir would be more difficult; he was somewhere in Iran, which would be more of a challenge to infiltrate. Ian had been there before, however, and he knew it was just a matter of time and effort before Mahir was framed by his scope. He had another month off, after all. He smiled to himself. Vacations really were satisfying. He would have to take them more often.

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"He's coming!" Amita was gazing out of Charlie's office window, her voice brimming with excitement, and Larry grinned.

Don stepped over to the window, trying to calm the fluttering in his stomach, and watched as the slight figure made his way down the walk. It was the first time in many weeks that Charlie had been back on campus, and students were stopping and greeting him, slowing his progress. Millie had never had to make an official announcement of Charlie's "death" - he had woken up and was debriefed before she had a chance to communicate it. The pretend memorial at the crematorium had been private, and none of them had known about it. However, several of the students had seen the fake obituary, and Millie had responded by pretending it was a prank, and sent out a stern message through the teachers that such a stunt was not to be tolerated in the future. As far as his students knew, Charlie had been called off suddenly on an assignment for NASA.

Don watched him until he went around the corner of the building, playing with the card in his hands, restlessly. He had never been this nervous; not even before a raid. Bradford's words were playing in his head. 'You realize; you very likely have hurt him pretty badly. You may not get the response you want. You need to be prepared to deal with that… for anyone who is not sure about the other person's intentions, it's difficult to say those three words. When you do, you put yourself completely at the mercy of the other person. As soon as those words leave your lips, the other person has the power. They can respond back in kind, or they can reject you. It's a scary thing…' He took a deep breath as Charlie appeared in the doorway. It was time to give up control.

Charlie took in the three of them with a puzzled expression. He had expected to see Larry and Amita; they were the ones who had called him to come in and help them with a sticky set of derivations for a complex heat transfer model. Don was another story – Charlie had no idea why he would be there. "What's going on?" he asked, and as he did, he noticed the large bookcase behind his brother.

Don smiled, and Charlie tried to place the expression. Don looked – awkward, nervous, Charlie decided - which was an expression he had rarely seen, at least on his brother. Don stepped back and indicated the bookcase. "Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, or whatever," he said a bit sheepishly. "I know it's a few months late…"

Charlie stepped forward to look at it. They had put it where his old bookcase had been, but the positioning was the only resemblance. The new bookcase was two feet taller, much wider, and had a glass front. It was very ornate, and looked expensive. "Wow, it's – beautiful," said Charlie, staring at it.

"It's not the bookcase itself that's significant, Charles; it's what's in it," said Larry, smiling.

Don looked at his brother, trying to gage his reaction. "Larry helped me with a lot of it. We tracked down every book or paper either that you have written, or that someone else has written that references your work, and had the authors write something in them and sign them. The big bound volumes contain papers. It took a lot longer than I thought it would, and at the end I was holding out for just a few professors that had promised to send their books, but hadn't yet. That's why I didn't have it at Christmas, and then, well, with everything that happened…" He paused for a minute. "We started back at it a few weeks ago and finally enlisted Amita. She sweet-talked them into moving it along."

Don watched as Charlie glanced at Amita, who smiled shyly at him. "You should see what some of them wrote, Charlie," she said, "It's pretty awesome."

Charlie's eyes drifted back to the bookcase, and Don studied him anxiously. He still wasn't sure how Charlie was taking this. His brother looked bewildered. He stared at the bookcase again, and moved forward so he could see the volumes through the glass. "This is – I don't know what to say," said Charlie, gazing at the books. His brother must have put hours of work into this.

"Every national hero needs a library," said Don, smiling. "I realize it's not quite a library yet, but it's a start." He took a deep breath, and held out the card in his hand. Time to give him control. Let go.

"Remember," Amita whispered to Larry, "Don wanted to talk to him privately after this."

Charlie turned, and if Don hadn't been suddenly so terrified, he would have laughed at the odd expression on his brother's face. Charlie looked at him searchingly for a moment, then took the card, and opened it slowly.

A folded paper fell out, and Charlie opened it. "That's confirmation of two roundtrip tickets to Calgary, in August," said Don. "I thought maybe we could take a trip together, you know, do some hiking. I have to break in that backpack you gave me." Charlie stared at the paper wordlessly.

Don's heart was pounding; Charlie looked stunned, but the longer his brother went without smiling, the more Don worried whether stunned was good, or bad. Was his brother bowled over by the gift, or by the audacity Don exhibited by giving it to him five months late? Maybe the last thing Charlie wanted to do was go on a trip with him. Maybe it was too much, too personal. Maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe he had hurt him too much…it was too late…

His heart made its way into his throat as Charlie opened the card. This was it.

As Charlie read it, he froze for a moment. He set the card quietly down a table with a shaking hand, then turned and left the room without a word.

Don stood, motionless. It was his turn to look stunned, and a silence settled on the room. Larry frowned and began to open his mouth, but before he could speak, Don spun suddenly and strode out of the door, after his brother.

Amita looked after them with chagrin, wondering what had gone wrong. The card was lying open on the table, and she drifted over to it. What she read brought a soft smile to her face. The words, in Don's bold handwriting, leapt off the card, which was otherwise blank inside.

"IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING – I LOVE YOU – DON."

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Don went only a few doors down the hallway before he spotted his brother in an empty room. The lights were turned out, and Charlie's figure was dark against the sunlight streaming through the windows. He was leaning on a desk with one hand, and the other was lifted to his face. As Don stepped quietly through the door, he saw Charlie wipe at his eyes. "Charlie," he said quietly.

Charlie didn't turn. "I'm sorry," came his voice, cracking with suppressed tears. "I had to leave – I knew I was going to make a fool out of myself. I was just so sure I would never hear that, and when I read it…" His voice trailed off, stolen by a wave of emotion.

Don's eyes misted with tears of his own, and he smiled. He felt the knot of tension unraveling in his gut, and he moved next to Charlie and put an arm around him. "You know, you don't always have to be right," he said gently, and Charlie looked up at him sideways, his face full of emotion, dark lashes glinting with moisture in the reflected sunlight. Don continued, a little awkwardly, "I want to take a shot at this brother thing – I know I haven't always been very good at it, but I want to change that – we could hang out, do stuff, you know…"

Charlie's voice was deep and husky with emotion. "I'd like that." His eyes held Don's.

Don's voice was soft, and he looked at Charlie with a hint of sadness. "I really let you down, Buddy."

Charlie frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but Don held up a hand, and continued. "No – I did, in a lot of ways, and I know I can't fix it overnight, but I want you to know I'm committed to this. I'm sorry it took me so long to say it. I guess I thought you knew, but I've found out that sometimes you need to say what you feel out loud. I know I wrote it, but I'll say it too – I love you, Charlie – and I've come to realize that I always have."

"I love you, too, " Charlie whispered, and he leaned his head against Don's shoulder. He smiled, and made a small choking laugh through his tears. "And I've never been so glad to be wrong in my life."

Amita and Larry had come down the hallway, and they paused at the door as they caught sight of the two figures.

Larry looked distressed, and placed his fingertips on his chin as he murmured, "I'm afraid this didn't go as planned."

Amita smiled. "Actually, Larry, I think it went very well." At his puzzled look, she added, "Come on, I'll buy you a cup of coffee, and we'll talk." Larry shook his head, as if it was all too much for him to fathom, and began to trudge toward the main hallway.

Amita took one last glance at the figures silhouetted against the window, Charlie still leaning against Don. The glow that enveloped them from the afternoon sun looked like a halo, as if it was emanating from the figures themselves. Although she didn't know the complete significance of the message in the card, she felt instinctively that they had crossed a threshold, somehow. She smiled to herself, and walked quietly down the hall.

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Two months later…

Alan grabbed an ear of corn and began to shuck it, grinning to himself at the voices outside the door. The thump-thump of the basketball had stopped, and he could hear Charlie and Don teasing each other as they approached the back door.

"It all comes down to speed and agility." Charlie's voice was slightly breathless, and Alan could hear a note of triumph in it.

"It comes down to the fact that you're a runt, and you got lucky." Don's voice shot back good-naturedly.

"I am not a runt – you're just too big and slow, face it."

"Runt."

"Behemoth."

The screen door opened and they clumped in, both grinning, Charlie trying to duck as Don reached out a hand to ruffle his hair. Alan watched them out of the corner of his eye, his heart full.

Charlie was positively glowing, and not just with perspiration. His smile was back, the spark in his eyes was back – Charlie was back. Alan could say the same about Don - or maybe not. Don was more that just "back" – he was happier, more relaxed than Alan had ever seen him, at least since he had returned to L.A. years ago. Something had happened between them, and Alan knew that it had started with Don's gift to Charlie several weeks earlier. He was smart enough to know that it was more than a bookcase and some books that had caused this metamorphosis, although he had no idea what else had transpired during the exchange. Alan was content to let that remain their secret; whatever it had been; the change in how they treated each other had been profound.

Alan wasn't sure if it was what had happened that day, or if it was the promise of a trip to Calgary with his brother, but Charlie had thrown himself into physical therapy with a passion the next day, and had started eating as if he was preparing for a famine. He had upped his exercise schedule, and as a result burned off much of what he ate, but still he had managed to put some weight back on, most of it in the form of wiry muscle. He was quite likely in better shape than he had ever been in, and Alan could see, with a smile at Amita's admiring glances, that she thought so too. The aftershocks were finally gone, and Charlie had been given a clean bill of health from the neurologists. Don, too, was looking stronger, healthier, than he had in a long time – both in mind and body.

He had joined his brother in the exercise regimen; the story was that they were preparing for their upcoming trip, but Alan suspected it was another excuse to spend time together. They were doing a lot of that these days, much of it was on their own, but to Alan's delight quite a bit of it included him, especially when it came to golf and bowling.

It hadn't all been easy, Alan had to admit. As Charlie had gotten deeper into his sessions with Michaels and started releasing the chokehold he had placed on his emotions, he experienced unexpected surges of feeling. One night, a relatively innocent comment from Don brought on a sudden outpouring of repressed feelings from Charlie – years of submerged frustration and anger bubbled to the surface and exploded in a vitriolic attack, directed at his brother. Don took it stoically, and as Charlie began to calm down, he quietly steered him outside to the koi pond. Alan sat inside, stewing for an hour and a half, as the sun set, wondering if the progress they'd made had just been derailed.

He felt a little better when Don came back in, snagged four beers from the refrigerator, and went right back outside. He felt better yet, when they both came back in, another hour and a half later, with Don's arm around Charlie's shoulders. Later, after Charlie had gone to bed, Don told Alan quietly that he'd been expecting that outburst – Bradford had told him it would probably come, and to welcome it. Bradford suspected that Charlie, as emotional as he appeared, was actually better at suppressing his deepest feelings than Don was, and had gone so far as to say that if Charlie didn't recognize them, they would have problems in the future.

The next morning, in a quiet aside over coffee, Charlie admitted to Alan that until that night, in spite of appearances, he'd still had doubts about Don's level of commitment. In the past, Charlie had said, when faced with an attack like that, Don would have lashed back, or stormed out. The fact that he did neither, and the long talk they'd had afterward, was a revelation. To Charlie, his brother's actions that night made it real – he knew then that Don was truly dedicated to making the relationship work.

There was still work ahead, but they both were committed, Alan thought, and to his great joy and relief, they really did seem to be succeeding. He gave a tug to the corn husk, and smiled to himself as they passed him.

"I still say," came Charlie's voice as he pushed through the kitchen door into the other room, "you can take any sport, and speed and agility will matter more than size and strength."

"Oh, yeah?" Don's response floated back. The door swung shut behind them. "I don't think so. What about football?"

"Still holds."

"Does not. I tell you what, let's prove it. When everyone comes over tonight, after dinner, we'll have a football game."

"You're on. I get first shower."

"No way." There was the sound of footsteps bounding up the stairs, and laughter.

The barbecue was a success. Don's team had joined them, along with Millie, Larry, and Amita. The only one that had declined the invitation was Liz, who was attending the wedding of a friend that weekend. Alan suspected that Don had been asked to go with her, but he didn't press for details when his oldest had told him he would be home for the party. Alan wasn't quite sure how that relationship was going; Don and Liz still seemed a little unsure of each other, but he kept his mouth shut. Obviously, Don had figured out how to manage his relationship with his brother, and it gave Alan hope that he would also in time, determine what he was looking for in a romantic partnership.

Charlie's relationship with Amita on the other hand, had done nothing but blossom, and Alan smiled as he watched Charlie put an arm around her and whisper in her ear. Amita smiled back and murmured something back to him, and they both laughed as they stood in the yard, waiting for the others to congregate for the football game.

Alan, Larry, and Millie had begged off the game, and they sat in lawn chairs nursing beers, and full stomachs, as Megan, David, Colby, Amita, Don and Charlie gathered to pick teams, with Don and David as captains.

Don won the coin toss and got first pick, and Charlie looked at Colby expectantly, waiting for Don to call his name. His head swiveled in surprise when he heard his own, and he walked over Don's side with a bemused expression. Don had never picked him for a team for anything; for that matter, no one had, in Charlie's childhood. He had always been the little kid, a hindrance, instead of an asset, the last pick, at least when it came to physical endeavors.

Don grinned at the expression on his face. "I had to get Mr. Speed and Agility on my side," he said, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

David picked Colby, accordingly, and Don's next pick was Amita.

"No you can't," objected Charlie, and the others looked at him, surprised. Charlie grinned, a little wickedly. "How am I supposed to tackle her if she's on our team?"

"Ohhh," came the chorus of voices, accompanied by laughter, and Amita blushed.

"We'll have none of that, now," said Colby grinning, waving a finger. "This is supposed to be a clean game."

Alan smiled as he listened to the laughter and banter waft across the yard in the twilight. The game barely resembled football – there were more fumbles than catches, and at times they were all so convulsed with laughter they could scarcely move. He watched as Don threw an arm around Charlie after a successful play, and his heart filled nearly to bursting as he watched them smile at each other, their affection for each other plain in their eyes. What constitutes brothers, he wondered? Real brothers, not just acquaintances, as Charlie had put it just weeks ago. There was an essence there, something that couldn't be named, more than love, more than friendship.

He thought back over the previous year, the horrible events of Los Padres, Charlie's struggle with post-traumatic stress, the terrible incidents surrounding the failed terrorist attack. As wonderful as his sons' newfound relationship was, Alan knew that he would forfeit it, give it all up in a heartbeat, if it meant that his sons would never have to go through something like that again. He had the impression that Don, out of concern for Charlie, would feel the same way, but Charlie, who had borne the worst of it, was a different story. Alan suspected that his youngest, if he knew that this relationship with his brother was waiting for him on the other side, would go through the whole year over again, and consider it more than worth it. He smiled, a bit misty eyed, as Don gave his younger brother an affectionate squeeze.

'Ah, Margaret,' he thought, 'if only you could see this. They've found it – they were searching for so long, and they've finally found it.' He sat back in his chair, smiling as the next play started, and laughter erupted again. And as he listened, he heard her; her laughter floating with theirs in the soft evening air.

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The End