Summary:(Summer Alphabet Challenge 2007) Pre-series. Don tells Charlie he's joining the FBI. Don 25ish, Charlie 20ish. A kind-of companion piece to M is for Mortality.
Disclaimer:Maybe I'm not the delusional one here, eh? Numb3rs isn't mine.
Author's Note:Title taken from Audioslave song. Something about the way Chris Cornell screams 'Won't you light my way' that really inspires a girl… and too much listening to Lynard Skynard's Free Bird. Thanks a million to Lady Shelley for her website, which made it easier for me to date this.
You do not need to read M is for Mortality but this fic is a result of my writing that one and of Shaolingrrl's review for it (her exact suggestion might come soon after this. Thanks, man!)
L is for Light My Way
Don ambled up the stairs leading to the solarium. A few feet from the door, he could hear the strains of music coming through, combined with the sounds of chalk being used on a board. Pushing wider the already open door, Don slipped inside and quietly closed the door behind him. Turning around, he saw his little brother at work on one of the few boards set up in the room, his back to the entryway, immersed in his little world. A radio was situated next to the room's one sofa, and the station had just finished playing one song and the DJ came on:
"Next up on K-Billy's Super Sounds of the Seventies weekend, we have Blue Oyster Cult's 'Don't Fear the Reaper.' Released in 1976, you have not experienced the greatest hits of the mullet rock era if you haven't experienced this song."
Don plopped down onto the sofa, content to just watch his brother for a bit. With Don constantly travelling with the Stockton Rangers and Charlie busy with getting one degree or another, the brothers hardly co-existed or interacted with each other on a regular basis. As the song began, the image of mullet-haired rockers filled his mind, and for a second, Don wondered how it would have been had Charlie gone through the normal teenage phase of rebellion and grown a mullet, say. His brother's hair was already predisposed towards curls and Don had to stifle a laugh at the thought of his genius mathematician of a brother sporting a mullet hairstyle, perhaps dyed blonde for greater effect. Any fantastical images of his mullet-haired, head-banger rocker of a brother were banished as Don remembered that hardly anything about his baby brother had been normal, the 13yr old university student, who was now a 20yr old post-grad with the world of math at his feet, with more prizes, recognition and accolades just ready for the taking. Don, himself, however, was no way near as sure of himself, or of what the future held in store for him. All he knew at the moment was that the sounds of the radio were drowning out the voices of his parents as they discussed, in louder tones than normal, their first born son's apparent sudden desire to become a G-man.
Not wanting to let himself get tangled in his own thoughts, Don surveyed his brother and tried to come up with an appropriate method of capturing his attention. Childhood experience had made him a master of coming up with innovative, but mischievous, techniques but considering what Don was about to tell his brother, he decided to have a bit of mercy on the kid. Getting up and coming to a stand next to the board, Don first stretched out his hand and slightly tugged at a curl and smiled when Charlie did nothing other than swat a hand in his general direction, as though getting rid of a pesky fly. Don then decided to call out to his brother, knowing that eventually he would come in sight of his brother as he wrote on the board, and using that time as a perfect excuse to brush up on annoying nicknames:
"Charlie. Chuck. Chuckles… Chuckie… Chucklet… Chuck-licious… Charlene!" That got his attention. Don grinned as his brother jumped at the sight of him, chalk dropping from his hand in surprise.
"Don!" exclaimed Charlie, so surprised that he did nothing but stare at his brother, wide-eyed.
"Hey buddy. Forgotten that barber shops exist?" asked Don as he reached out again to pull one of the longer curls on his brother's head.
Charlie repeated his actions of waving his hand in the air, but this time followed by giving his brother a hug so brief that Don had no time to respond before Charlie pulled away, and asked: "What are you doing here? When did you get back?"
"I just got in an hour or two ago, was talking to Mom and Dad downstairs," Don knew that it was quite a lot to spring on his parents; to suddenly show up unannounced, declare that he had quit baseball, signed up for the FBI and passed the entrance exam, but he was never one to wait, especially when he had to worry about how they might react. "So… did you miss me?"
Charlie simply gave him a look and asked instead: "I thought baseball season didn't get over for another month or so. Do you have a game in L.A or nearby?"
"Nope," Don moved back to the sofa and sat down. Taking a deep breath, he decided to come clean with his brother. Charlie was going to find out eventually, no matter how high his head was in the clouds sometimes, and he deserved to hear it from his brother. "Baseball and I have decided to call to call it quits."
Charlie's eyebrows quirked in confusion and he repeated, "Quits?"
"Yeah, Charlie: quits. No more. Nada. Finite. I will no longer earn my living by playing baseball," clarified Don.
"Ok… but why? I thought you loved baseball," wondered Charlie.
"I did and I still do but… it's not something I see working for me long-term. I don't see myself becoming a better player than I am now and it's time for me to move on to other, more permanent, things," replied Don.
"You're an excellent baseball player, Don. What are the 'other things' you're moving on to?" asked Charlie.
Don paused for only a second before answering, "I'm joining the FBI, buddy. I passed the entrance test. I leave for Quantico in a few days for the training."
"The F-FBI?" stuttered Charlie in surprise.
"Yes Charlie, the FBI. The Federal Bureau of Investigation. Ring a bell?" asked Don a bit impatiently. Why was his brother suddenly looking as though somebody had shown him proof that 2+2 did not equal 4?
"How do you go from being a baseball player to chasing criminals and wearing a gun at your hip?" asked Charlie, in a voice slightly higher pitched than normal.
Good question, thought Don. "Stranger things have happened, buddy. But it feels like I'm doing the right thing, like I'll be good at it," Don watched his forever rational and logical brother just barely suppress a scoff at the thought of inexplicable feelings deciding your life's course for you, "Look at the bright side; I didn't break a sweat fulfilling the physical fitness requirements."
Charlie ignored this and turned back to the blackboard, first bending down to pick up the piece of chalk that had fallen onto the floor when he had jumped upon noticing his brother in the room. Fiddling with it in his hand, Charlie muttered, "Law enforcement officers have a significantly shorter life expectancy than those in many other professions."
Don heard his brother despite the fact that Charlie was seemingly speaking to the chalkboard, "True, but who says I'm not gonna die in a car accident or… from getting bonked on the head very hard by a renegade baseball bat?" Had it been any other situation, Don would have resented the fact that his genius younger brother automatically expected him to fail, or be unsuccessful in any endeavour he might undertake, but this was slightly different, they were talking life and death, "And besides, buddy, not all FBI agents end their careers by dying or receiving life-altering injuries. Quite a few go on to retire and spend the rest of their days fishing and annoying their little brothers, if they have any."
Don saw the side of Charlie's mouth quirk a bit at that, and heard his brother ask quietly, "Quantico, you said?"
Recognizing his brother's need to know as much as he could, get all the information he could gather, Don acquiesced: "Yes, in Virginia. About 18 to 21 weeks of training and teaching and if I get through that, my first posting is anyone's guess."
"So I take it your visits aren't going to be very regular or predictable or frequent anymore?" asked Charlie, turning his head a bit to look at his one and only sibling.
Don hesitated a bit before answering, "Like I said, Charlie, I might be anywhere, and who knows for how long. Maybe I'll eventually work in the Los Angeles office, you never know."
Charlie wandered to the little side table beside one of the large windows and began gathering a few of the notebooks there and placing them in a backpack. "Have you told Mom and Dad?"
"Yeah, I just did. You might be able to hear them if you ignore the music. That was one fun conversation to have, let me tell you that," snorted Don a little bitterly. His father's anti-war protestor past had come up in his background check and Don had suddenly remembered the few sit-ins he'd been taken to as a kid, as well as the one time he'd seen his Dad get arrested. Alan Eppes had parented a G-Man. I bet his first thought was where he went wrong with me, Don thought.
Charlie turned around and leaning against the table, looked his brother straight in the eye for the first time and asked, "Are you sure about this?"
Don couldn't figure out the look in his baby brother's eyes, which was a surprise since Charlie had always been very easy to read, "Yes, buddy."
Charlie nodded once, "Ok. Ah… is there anything else? I have to go to CalSci soon, my friend Larry is going to need these set of equations I've just done for him."
Realising that he'd said all that needed to be said and the question and answer session could now come to an end; Don nodded, before taking a look outside the windows and offered, "I'll drive you over and I'll pick you up when you're done. It looks like it's about to rain in a bit; I don't think Mom would appreciate it if you came home a drowned rat. Just let me take a quick shower and we'll go." At Charlie's nod of agreement, Don got up and left the room.
Charlie stayed behind in the solarium, watching the spot his brother had been. Shaking his head to get rid of the daze he seemed to be in, he took a look outside and noted that his brother was right about the rain. While it was still sunny, rain clouds could be seen in the distance and Charlie would have gotten soaked while riding his bicycle on the way back home.
Turning back to the table behind him, Charlie picked up the letter that had been laying there for the better part of a week, hidden amongst a plethora of notebooks, somewhere nobody would come across it unless they'd been specifically been looking for it. It bore the Oxford crest, and the letter was a request for one Charles Edward Eppes to come to the prestigious university in the heart of the United Kingdom for his PhD, all at the expense of the school.
Don would be in Virginia, and then Gods knows elsewhere. Instead of a continent separating them, why not an ocean?
His hero was going to be other people's hero now…
…but the numbers would eventually prevail.
Khatum (The End)
Technically, it's just the beginning. Did any of you spot the huge ref to my fav film, Reservoir Dogs?
All the FBI applying info I got from the FBI jobs official webiste, let me know if you want the link. I have no idea what Charlie went to Oxford for, though. And I was born way after the mullet-rock era, not sure if BOC count as mullet rock.
Would you guys prefer to see a present day fic where Don asks Charlie how he felt, or would you rather have a second chapter, with Charlie's POV of this? I have a half-formed bunny for both, you guys can nudge it in one direction.
Now be a good girl (have you noticed the overwhelming majority of fan-ficcers are girls? What is up with that?) and review. Night night :-)