Disclaimer; No ownership claimed – no infringement intended – no lawsuit, please.

No spoilers

Warning; Dark, with the discussion of a child's death - just discussion, though, nothing explicit. I did, however, give it a T rating, just in case.

Summary; "...we lost more than our trust that day. We lost our innocence."

A Loss of Innocence

by MsGrahamCracker

He sat in the back, in the shadow of one of the large white marble columns that stood as silent sentinels over the hushed somber crowd. The immeasurable sadness in his dark eyes was hidden behind dark glasses and his hair, usually spiked, was combed forward in a solemn stark manner. He wore the same black suit he had worn to his mother's funeral five years before – it had seemed appropriate, somehow.

The church was packed, as he knew it would be. The boy's kidnapping and murder had been front page news – his funeral would be no less news worthy.

He was neither related nor known to this boy's family and if they noticed him at all behind the column they would merely assume he was one of the throngs of people who had been touched by this tragedy. He, himself, wasn't exactly sure why he had felt compelled to attend the service – to take a rare personal day from work and drive over four hours away to attend the funeral of someone he had never met.

He sat quietly and watched the long line of people as they filed past the open casket. Several bereaved family members lingered, saying a tearful final goodbye. In contrast, the boy's school friends hurried past the still form of their school mate, crying or murmuring softly to each other. Family friends and acquaintances joined the morbidly curious that crawled out of the woodwork in these situations and moved with the flow.

He remained seated. He'd seen enough death in his lifetime - he didn't need to see it's final hold on this young boy who had held such promise.

Jeff Berkshire had been a science/math prodigy - fourteen years old and already being courted by the top colleges in the country. He had been the youngest of two sons in a family with five children.

Don Eppes watched the family with interest as they greeted the mourners who stopped to offer comfort and condolences. As an FBI agent he couldn't help but look for telltale signs of complicity or quilt. He saw none of that here. They were close – a cohesive family unit that clung to each other for support, struggling for stability against the mind numbing wave of panic and loss, and Don's heart ached for them.

Jeff's parents, Adam and Lucille Berkshire appeared shell shocked. Adam stood, pale and trembling, with his arm around his wife while Lucille dabbed at her eyes with a damp handkerchief. The four remaining Berkshire children encircled their parents in an oddly transposed show of protection.

There were twin girls, ten years old according to the news reports. They hovered near their mother, wide-eyed and quiet. Another daughter, seventeen, stood beside her father, thanking each person in a monotone and controlled voice as they filed past. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy but she held her tears at bay.

It was the oldest son, Jeff's older brother, that held Don's attention. He knew from the same news reports that Lance was nineteen and a student at UCLA. He stood behind his parents, towering over his mother, appearing as firm and unbreakable as the marble column near Don. Even from where he was sitting Don could see the tight lips, the clenched jawline and his cold, vacant eyes, staring straight ahead. He neither spoke to nor acknowledged the line of people who hugged his parents and sisters.

As stoic as he appeared, Don knew what was lying beneath the surface; he knew of the despair, the hopelessness, and the guilt that plagued the young man. Lance Berkshire was dealing with the reality of not only the loss of a loved one, but one he had been responsible for - for Don knew on a level few others would understand, that Lance had been Jeff's guardian, his protector, his safety net. From the moment he had stepped into the church and saw him, hiding his fragile emotions behind a stern facade, Don had been empathic. He resisted the untimely and inappropriate urge to go to him now and tell him it wasn't his fault, that sometimes things happen that are beyond your control, that sometimes, no matter how hard you try - sometimes, dammit, your best is just not good enough.

Growing up with his younger brother, Charlie, had given Don a weary been there, done that insight that very few people could match. He had grown up vigilant, watchful and protective of Charlie because his little brother had only seen the math - not the way other people could use it in order to use him, to exploit him, to hurt him. Charlie was special – and everyone wanted special. As the older brother their parents had infused in him the fear for Charlie's safety much as this family had must have for Jeff's. But Jeff's family had failed and a shining star in the world of science and math had been extinguished.

Don didn't know what Jeff's kidnappers had wanted. Occurring far outside the L.A. jurisdiction, it hadn't been his case. He could only watch the details unfold in the nightly news, sitting quietly beside his father - neither one of them willing to speak and revisit their own fears, their own nightmares, their own failures.

No ransom had been demanded for Jeff and no contact had been made with his parents or authorities. Experience taught Don that any kidnapper who didn't demand ransom or a service in exchange for the victim's safe return needed something from the victim themselves. A cold shiver sliced down Don's spine as he imagined what these men could have wanted from a fourteen year old genius. Whether Jeff had complied or refused, things had happened fast. He had disappeared on his way to a friends house and his body was found 10 hours later in a ditch just outside of the city limits. There had been no sexual assault or physical trauma except the small chest wound from the single bullet that had stopped his heart.

As a large group of high school students gathered at the casket, Don's thoughts turned to Jeff's older sister. Had she resented her younger brother attending the same high school the way he had resented it when Charlie had invaded his private teenage life? Maybe not – surely Jeff had had no interest in hanging out with her and her friends as Charlie had his. By the looks of the amount of high school students there, Don surmised Jeff had been popular on his own. A number of small banners and logos adorned the inside of the casket showing that Jeff had been a member of several clubs and organizations.

Don knew it had been very hard for Charlie to make friends when he was growing up. He had been younger than Jeff when he started high school and admittedly self-absorbed. He wondered, would his brother have been more open, more socially adept if he had had other siblings? Would he be different if he had another brother or sister closer to his own age to talk to - someone other than an older brother who was too often resentful of him? Would things have been different for Charlie if he, himself, had been an older brother - if he had been responsible for someone as Don had been responsible for him?

Don suddenly felt uncomfortable, out of place. He didn't know this family and he felt inexplicably like an intruder. He wondered again what had compelled him to come here. He saw the line thinning out and thought about slipping out the door quietly, unobtrusively, before the service began, when he noticed them and his already fragile emotions imploded.

Doctor Larry Fleinhardt stood at the casket, his hand rubbing absently through his hair, his head moving side to side in counterpart. From his position Don could see his friend's face and he could see the bewilderment and dismay on it. He knew this gentle man would be appalled at the insanity and utter madness of this crime. Amita Ramanajan stood beside him, her lovely features drawn with sadness. Charlie stood next to her, his natural exuberant energy stilled and quiet. Don could only see a partial profile of his brother but he recognized the signs they had known since he was three that indicated he was upset and troubled; the hunched shoulders, the downward tilt of the head, the fluttering spastic movements of his hands which were now clenching and unclenching at his side. Don didn't need to see his brother's eyes to know that they would be filled with pain.

They had been at a symposium in Montreal the last few days. Don didn't even know how they knew what had happened, but the math community was admittedly tight and obviously word had spread though it's ranks. He guessed, from their appearance, they had driven directly here from the airport.

Don didn't know if Charlie had known Jeff, but as head of the Ph. D admissions committee it's possible he may have spoken with the young scientist in an effort to encourage him to attend CalSci.

Don watched as they moved from the casket towards Jeff's family. Uncharacteristically, Charlie leaned forward immediately, embracing Lucille. Larry and Amita followed suit and after Charlie shook hands with Adam, his left hand lightly squeezing the man's upper arm, they moved to an empty area in the pews and sat down.

The service was long – filled with testimonials from several friends and family members. At the end the casket was taken into another room where Jeff's family could say their final goodbyes in private before it was closed and loaded into the hearse to be taken for burial.

Don stood and turned towards the door, joining the others who had come to pay their respects but didn't plan to follow the hearse to the cemetery. He moved in tandem with them, heading for the double doors of the church that stood open. Sunlight beckoned them to a brighter place, but Don's heart lurched back into darkness at the sight of the familiar gray hair and slumped shoulders of his father, exiting the church alone several feet in front of him.

He should try to catch up to him, he knew, but it was all too real, too raw with far too many emotions. Alan hadn't told him he was coming to the service just as Don had not told him he planned on attending. Maybe, instinctively, they both knew they had to do this alone – that they each had their own demons to face. In the end he slipped out the door quietly and hurried to his vehicle, not acknowledging either Alan or Charlie.

He drove back to Pasadena, windows down on the Suburban, letting the rush of the warm air clear his thoughts. He stopped by at his apartment first to change clothes then drove across town to his brother's house.

Alan was home, working in the garden when Don arrived. He joined his father and they worked together, weeding and planting and talking without mentioning Jeff Berkshire's death or the funeral. Don's gut told him that somehow his father knew he had attended – maybe he had seen him in the crowd, as well – but they worked side by side without speaking of it, neither one of them ready to admit they had been there.

Charlie, Amita and Larry came in an hour or so later. Silently, Amita and Alan went through the motions of fixing something to eat even though no one was hungry. After a dismal twenty minutes where everyone push the food around on their plates pretending to eat, they moved to the family room and pretended to watch television.

Larry and Amita left soon after that and Don and Charlie helped their father clear the table and load the dishwasher. Afterwards they settled in the living room with a few beers - Charlie on the sofa, both Alan and Don in the chairs facing it. As he tilted the amber bottle to his lips Don noticed they had fallen into the same unconscious pattern they had applied, without thought, for nearly thirty years now; he and Alan both positioning themselves in a direct line of sight with Charlie.

Conversation was lackadaisical – casual discourse rather than substance. It was during a discussion of last week's less than stellar hockey game that they lost Charlie. A week's worth of speeches, the long flight home and the emotion of the funeral had been exhausting and he drifted off to sleep, curled on his side on the sofa. At the sound of his congested wheezy breaths, Alan and Don stopped talking and glanced at each other, grinning.

"Happens every time he flies." Alan said with affection. Don nodded, knowing Charlie's sinuses never reacted well to the pressure in an airplane cabin.

For a few minutes the only sound in the room was Charlie's attempts to get enough oxygen through his plugged sinus cavities. Don studied his brother; the dark stubble, the unruly hair, one arm bent and curled under his cheek forcing the skin to poof up under his eye. His forehead was furrowed with frown lines, telling Don his brother's sleep was not peaceful.

Peeling at the label on the beer bottle, Don spoke softly to his father, not sure he wanted to initiate the conversation they had been avoiding all evening, but knowing it was inevitable. His eyes stayed on Charlie as said, "He was there today, you know."

Alan sighed deeply as though acknowledging the fact that they were really going to have this discussion. He turned to Don, his eyes sad and dark. "Yeah, I...I saw him."

"I'm not sure how he found out about it in Montreal. I didn't know..."

"Do you think he remembers?" Alan blurted out, startling Don who raised his eyes in alarm. He couldn't remember his father ever interrupting him before. Unaware, Alan pressed on, speaking in rapid, desperate fragments. "I wasn't sure . . . after all these years, if he . . . He was only five and I hoped, you know. . .."

Don could only nod slowly and whisper, "Yeah. Me too."

"I mean we never brought it up again. Your mother couldn't . . ." Alan stopped, shaking his head slowly at the memory and Don was dismayed to see his father wipe away a stray tear.

It had been late August, 1979. Don had just turned nine and Charlie so close to five Margaret had already wrapped the presents and bought the supplies for the cake. Don had been excited because Charlie's new tutor, Mr. Denton, had asked Alan and Margaret if he could take the young scholar to the UCLA campus to tour some of the science and math wing - which meant both his parents could come to his little league game. Ordinarily, one of them would have had to remain at home until Charlie's lessons were through. They had all liked this new tutor and Alan and Margaret, delighted to see his apparent interest in his young charge, had given their permission. One hour after they had left the house and Don and his parents were preparing to leave for the game, there had been a knock on the door. Don had been the one who opened it to find Charlie standing there in front of two policemen and a man in a dark suit. Charlie had looked so small, so frightened with his dark eyes wide and teary, and his small frame trembling.

According to the man in the dark suit, Special Agent Barrows of the FBI, Jarrod Denton had been under suspicion as a person of interest in a previous kidnapping. His position as private tutor would often place him in homes with gifted children. One of those children had been taken the previous year. Denton had been questioned by the FBI, along with others who had interacted with the family, but none of the evidence pointed to him, preventing the agents from doing much more than interrogate him. The student or the kidnappers were never found, but, Barrows, being a particularly astute federal agent, had seen beyond the evidence and kept the man under personal surveillance.

That was nearly 30 years ago, before Amber Alerts and criminal networking and the National Sex Offender Registry. Barrows was acting alone, on years of experience and personal insight.

Denton, it turned out, was a broker – a middle man, who "arranged" for the students to be in the wrong place at the wrong time for the actual kidnappers to grab them. Such an arrangement was made that day for Charlie. Alerted by Agent Barrows, who saw Denton leave the house with the boy, police and FBI followed them to the campus and stopped them as Denton was handing the frightened child over.

"We trusted him, Donnie." Alan said, rising from the chair, his expression filled with anguish. "God help us, we trusted him with Charlie and he betrayed that." Alan paced away, seething with indignation, only to stop and look back at Don. "We were never that naive or open again. We couldn't let ourselves be. We couldn't trust anyone, you understand? He took that from us. And I'll tell you something else, we lost more than our trust that day, we lost our innocence."

The anger suddenly dissipated and Alan settled once more in the chair. "Until that day, Donnie, our lives were full with promise and expectation. We were young and excited and everything was within our grasps. We were so proud of both of you. You were already showing yourself in baseball and I admit I was already practicing the my son, the pro ball player spiel. Then we found out what Charlie could do with math and your mother and I only saw all the possibilities. We imagined him solving unsolvable problems, developing equations for medical research, calculating drag coefficient numbers for NASA and just simply blinding people with his brilliance."

Alan turned to Don, his voice dripping with regret and apology. "We never once considered that someone would see the other side of that and want Charlie for . . ." He trailed off, spent, and slumped once again in the chair, his face reflecting the guilt and remorse that continued to haunt him. Shaking his head, he murmured, "We were so lucky."

Don knew all too well how lucky they had been that day. He knew the only reason Charlie was with them today was that Special Agent Barrows had seen the signs and had decided another child would not be taken on his watch.

Don also knew his father was referring to the Berkshires and the fact that luck had not played a part in their tragedy.

What if Charlie had been taken and killed that day, like Jeff, before he had had a chance to contribute to society? Only Charlie and the government agencies he worked for knew what good he had done in his consulting, but Don knew what his brother had done for him with the cases he worked on; the encrypted codes he'd unscrambled, the patterns of crime he had been able to detect, the search patterns he developed, analysis of the crime scenes – the lives his work had saved.

Don went to great pains to keep Charlie's involvement with the FBI as quiet as possible and his excursions to crime scenes as few as possible. He knew the more people who knew about Charlie and what he did, the greater the danger. Any large crime syndicate or individual crime lord could decide that Charlie's particular talents would be beneficial to them – or that life would just be easier without the risk of him helping the FBI. Don knew the watch had passed to him and he took it very seriously.

Charlie's work on the Eppes Convergence, his continuing multitude of published work, the brilliance of his current studies in Cognitive Emergence put him at the very top of the international math community, but it was his work as tenured professor at CalSci that kept him grounded. Consistently one the college's favorite and most effective professors, Charlie was able to infuse his boundless enthusiasm for math and all it entails in the students who were lucky enough to get into his classes. His down to earth applications of math in everyday terms and the wildly popular hands-on visual demonstrations he often employed reached many students who normally would have given up. How many of those students would have failed or been lost in the mire of numbers and equations without his help and guidance?

The plethora of government agencies, FBI consultation, academia, students and friends would all have suffered if things had turned out differently that day. It was his family, however, who would have endured the greatest pain. Don could not imagine life at the Craftsman without him. He would have lost a brother and his parents would have lost a son – and there was no greater loss than that of a loved and adored family member; no greater burden of guilt than that of a protector and guardian who had failed.

In the same manner the world will surely suffer from Jeff Berkshire's death. By all account his abilities would have rivaled Charlie's by the time he was a graduate student. He had already shown exceptional work in DNA studies and had been preparing a paper on the subject for publication.

Don knew, however, the Berkshires will suffer the brunt of Jeff's death. A son, a brother, an intricate part of their family had been ripped away, leaving a void that could never be filled – leaving a family to live with "what ifs", and an older brother to bear with unbearable guilt.

Alan's voice, tired and aged, interrupted his thoughts.

"I spoke with Adam and Lucille Berkshire last evening. I'm going to their house this Tuesday. I just felt I might be able to help in some way." He paused briefly and Don looked up at him. Alan added, "I think maybe you should join me, Don."

Don scrubbed his face, frustrated and uncertain. "I don't know, Dad. I mean, what can we do?"

"Nothing. And everything. We'll listen, Donnie. If they want to talk about him, how special he was and how he didn't like green beans or Jackie Chan movies. Or, if they need to rail and scream about the horrible injustice of their child's death – well, then, we'll listen to that, too."

Don remained quiet, recalling the haunted look in Lance Berkshire's eyes, and Alan let the silence settle. They watched a few minutes of the news, then Alan announced he was going up to bed. "You know you have a bed upstairs if you want it." Alan said as he started for the staircase. "Let me know about Tuesday. Goodnight, Donnie."

Don thought about the long drive back to his apartment and sighed. His old room beckoned with the promise of immediate and deep comforting sleep and he suddenly felt very tired. He gathered the empty beer bottles and took them to the kitchen. He threw the bottles in the recycle bin then locked the back door and turned out the lights. He checked and locked the front door then turned back to the living room to get Charlie. His steps faltered when he noticed his brother had rolled onto his back. He laid now, slightly elevated with a sofa cushion behind his head, his hands resting together on his chest. For just an instant the image of Jeff Berkshire, lying reposed in his casket, flashed through his mind and Don hurried to the couch, unsettled.

"Charlie. Wake up." Don touched his brother's arm and shook it, remembering how deep Charlie could sleep when he finally shut down. "Come on, sleepyhead, wake up." When he got no response, Don shook his brother harder. "Chuck! Come on. You'll thank me in the morning."

Charlie groaned, trying to brush off his brother's hand, but dragged himself to a sitting position, his eyes still closed. Smiling, Don took an arm and pulled Charlie to his feet. "Work with me here, buddy. Time for bed."

They started for the staircase, Charlie's steps uneven and sluggish, but Don guided him with a hand on the back of his neck. At the bottom step he put Charlie in front of him and pushed him forward.

As he followed Charlie up the stairs his fathers words, spoken earlier in anguish, came back to him. We lost our innocence that day. He remembered watching his parents fuss over Charlie that night. His brother had been confused, knowing something had happened, just not sure what he had done to create all this commotion.

At nine Don had been old enough to know what kidnapping was and how it usually ended. He had never said anything to his parents but that was the day he realized life was more than school and baseball and Saturday morning cartoons and brisket on Fridays.

He remembered laying in bed that night, hearing the moment Alan and Margaret had finally left Charlie's room. He feigned sleep when they opened his door to check on him. It was sometime later that his door opened again and Charlie stepped in quietly. No words were needed. Don nodded once and Charlie hurried across the room and slipped under the covers.

Innocence, Don thought grimly; not just blameless or guilt free, but guileless, candid, open, unaware. Innocence is not being conscious of the harsh realities of life, the dangers that hide in the shadows, the people who will use you, without remorse, for their own benefit.

It was true they had all lost their innocence that day. In losing it, though, Don had learned to anticipate the danger and expect the unexpected. That awareness had kept his family, his team and himself safe.

The world was full of innocents, just as it was full of those who, like him and his team, do what they can to save them.

Don thought of the Berkshires, facing life now without the comforting benefit of rose colored glasses and decided he would go with his dad. Maybe, as Alan had said, they could help them find their way through the sorrow and the guilt.

They reached the top of the stairs and they both turned towards Charlie's room. Charlie opened the door and Don pushed it in all the way, breathing easier when nothing prevented it from hitting the door stop on the floor. He reached forward and ruffled Charlie's hair.

"Don't." Charlie grumbled irritably, batting Don's hand away. Don grinned and did it again even as his eyes scanned the room, taking in the disarray of books and clothes and papers strewn about – the locked window, the open closet door showing only clothes and storage boxes, and the shadows where he determined to his satisfaction nothing or no one was lurking.

Charlie yawned, not even bothering to cover it and smiled, a tired lopsided grin and murmured, "Your staying, right?"

"Yeah, I'm staying." He indicated the rumpled bed sitting along the opposite wall with a jerk of his head. "Go to bed," he said, teasing. "You look like crap."

Something in Don's manner made Charlie hesitate. Studying his brother's face Charlie asked uncertainly, "Don?"

Not always comfortable with sharing his emotions, Don just shrugged his shoulders. The similarities between Jeff Berkshire and Charlie had affected him on several levels and he found himself struggling to separate them.

The jury was still out on whether Charlie's abilities with math could be considered a gift or a curse. He had grown up in a world where he had been loved and protected by his family, teased and misunderstood by other children, and heralded, shunned or used by adults. Consequently, he became a gentle, caring and passionate man, one who was both insecure and arrogant, with a big ego and an even bigger heart.

The Berkshires will never know the type of man Jeff would have grown into and Don knew there was nothing any of them could do to change that. The least they could do was give them a small amount of closure. They could find his murderers - he and his team and Charlie. A few things would have to fall into place before they could do that – but that would wait until morning.

Charlie was still watching him, waiting for an answer. Don shot him a reassuring smile and said, "Get some sleep, Charlie. I'll be here in the morning. We'll talk about it then."

Charlie still hesitated, then offered, "I just need a few...if you need something..." Don reached forward and gently squeezed the area between his brother's neck and shoulder. "Get some sleep, Charlie," he repeated. His voice was soft with affection and understanding, knowing all he had to do was say the word and Charlie would be at the blackboards in the garage tonight until he found the answers they needed. "We'll work on it in the morning."

Satisfied, Charlie nodded through another yawn and waved his hand in a vague agreeable gesture. "Alright. Goodnight."

Don stood in the achingly familiar hallway, listening to the sound of his father's soft snores and the creak of Charlie's bed as he got settled. He imagined Lance Berkshire standing in a similar hallway tonight, taking comfort in the familiar sounds of his family and vowing to do whatever he had to do to protect them. He remembered doing the same thing nearly thirty years ago. Nine or nineteen, Don knew the intensity and intent of the vow was one and the same; that no harm would come to them – not tonight, not ever, not on his watch.

Tomorrow he would see the assistant director and offer his and Charlie's help on finding Jeff's murderers. Wright would have to pull some strings - being that it was out of their jurisdiction, but Don knew if he and Charlie could convince the director they were the bureau's best chance of apprehending these kidnappers, he would be willing to pull whatever he had to. The fact that the kidnapping and subsequent murder had happened so quickly with virtually no evidence told them, at best, it had been well planned, at worst, it had been done before. If it had been done before, there would be data and Don knew, from experience, if they pulled all the data on similar kidnappings Charlie could use reverse decision theory on known kidnappers to calculate the probability that Jeff's kidnapping might be connected to some of them.

The irony didn't slip past him; one math genius using the magic of numbers to solve the murder of another.

One thing was for sure. It would happen again and he was determined to do whatever he could to stop it.

Don crossed the hallway and opened the door to his childhood room. Flipping on the overhead light, he walked in, closing the door softly behind him. Let the innocent sleep, he thought; Charlie and I have the watch.

The End

A/N: I was stretching myself here – trying different things. This was a little darker, a little different from any of my other stories. I hope you liked it.

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