Before Don even registers his brother's motion, he feels the weight of Charlie's hand settle on his head. For all his spastic tendencies, Charlie could move like a cat when he wanted to.
Their mother used to do this. Long after Don had outgrown bedtime stories and lullabies, he would occasionally wake up in the night to find his mother in the chair by his bed. Her hand would be resting gently on his head as though shielding whatever his blankets didn't cover. Sometimes Dad, but Mom more often than not. Don had always pretended to be asleep, laying there quietly under her protection until pretending became real and sleep pulled him down like an undertow. For the first time, he realizes that Mom must have done the same thing with Charlie, although Don had always been the more restless sleeper. It usually took Charlie a while to wind down, but when he did, he was gone completely, like a light, like a played-out toddler. Maybe she and Dad had split the job. Dan imagined his parents sitting alone in the separate rooms of the sleeping house, linked by the dark hallway that ran between their sons' bedrooms.
Don raises his head and smiles at Charlie. "Look at us," he says with a rueful glance that takes in Charlie's arm and his own bandaged reflection, "We're a mess."
Charlie chuckles. "We have seen better days, that's for sure."
"How did this even start?"
Charlie ran his good hand over his face. "Oh, God, I don't know, " he says wearily, "What does it matter?"
It matters a lot, Don knows. Charlie really does feel betrayed, and who's to say those feelings aren't right? It would take a good long time for him to come to grips with that, with the fact that even his own little math world wasn't as safe as he'd believed it to be. As for Don, maybe it was time to take down some of the protective barriers he'd built while doing Fugitive Recovery. If Charlie had to get used to the fact that not everyone meant him well, then Don had to get used to the idea that a lot of times 'meant' didn't enter into it. Some crimes were pre-meditated and cold-blooded, but sometimes they weren't. If Don kept thinking about crimes as events he'd failed to prevent, malice he'd failed to see, he'd find himself living in a very lonely black-and-white world.
"Let's go see Dad," Don says at last, "We can talk about this another time." Both of them need a little break, now, and Don is pretty sure that everything will seem saner after talking with Alan. His father just has a way of reminding him that everything works out, eventually. Don stands up—slowly, so as not to get dizzy—and makes his way over to the door. He's already opened it before he realizes that Charlie isn't following.
"Hey, Charlie? Wanna go check on Dad?"
Charlie stays seated at the table. As far as he iss concerned, the conversation isn't over yet. "You know when you asked me about hearing voices, and I got mad at you?"
"Yeah," Don answers automatically. Wow, when was that? It feels like a million years ago, but it was really only, what--two or three days? Has Charlie been worried about that? Has he been manufacturing one of his epic apologies ever since? "Yeah, Charlie, I remember that. Look, you don't have to apologize, I started it and— "
"Well, you were right. About the voices." Charlie says in one tight breath, "I do hear them, sometimes."
"What?" Don tries to say, but his mouth has suddenly gone so dry that he doesn't think the word actually came out.
"I--sometimes, just when things get, you know...stressful. It's like I have you or Dad--sometimes even Larry--in my head, telling me what to do. It used to be Mom, a lot, but...not so much any more."
Don slumps against the wall, trying to wrap his head around this. Is this what he thinks it is, or is he about to monumentally underestimate things—again? "Charlie? Can you, uh, give me an example? Like, a time when this happened?"
His brother won't look at him; Charlie keeps his chin tucked into his chest and speaks to the tabletop. He starts drumming his fingers. "I got into an argument with Amita the other day," he begins slowly, "and I yelled at her."
"With Amita?" Don doesn't know why he latched onto this, what with everything else going on. Maybe because Charlie is usually scrupulously polite to his graduate assistants. Sure, he snapped at them when they interrupted his work, but they knew not to take that personally: Charlie got annoyed at any non-numeric form that wandered into his field of vision when he was thinking about a problem. To make up for it, though, he was doubly appreciative of their help at all other times. If he'd really let Amita get under his skin--well, that made her more than the average advisee. Which Don found didn't surprise him in the least.
"Yeah. I--well, it's not important, suffice to say she was trying to get me to talk and I was trying to scare her away. But then, right before I said…uhm, something that would have hurt her feelings, it was like Dad was there. I could practically hear him." Charlie takes a deep breath. "He took me to a lecture once—this was years ago—and during the question and answer period I got a little...demanding. I mean, the data was clearly wrong," some indignancy creeps into his voice, even years after the fact, "but I guess I didn't have to get so intense about it. Anyway, Dad hauled me out of there and in the car on the way back, he said 'Charlie, for some people it will always be easier to be smart than to be kind.' That's all he said, and he never mentioned it again, but that's what I thought of the other day."
Charlie sighs again. " I should have said something when you asked, but I didn't want you to think I was--" his voice catches on the 'c' in crazy.
"Oh, Charlie." Don is relieved, but at the same time sadder than he can say. His brother really knows so little about how much he had in common with other people. Charlie has gotten into the habit of being the anomaly in any group. He just assumes he processes things differently, and most of the time he does. But not this time.
"Charlie, that happens to me all the time. It happens to everyone."
"Really?" Charlie swivels around in his chair.
"Really. So if that makes you crazy, I guess I'm crazy, too." Don smiles. "Every time I write a report at work, it's like I can hear you reminding me not to get too detailed too quickly. I like to think of it as the voice of my better nature. And if you think you've got it tough, try having Terry stuck in your head."
Charlie closes his eyes and visibly relaxes. Until it dissipated, Don hadn't been aware of the tension that surrounded his brother like an electrical field.
"Did you think you were going crazy?" Don asks gently. Charlie nods.
"Charlie--you've--you gotta start telling us these things, instead of just thinking them and bottling them up. If you'd said something, I could have told you this days ago." Don reins himself in; he could save the lecture for another time. If the situation had been reversed, he would have done the same thing. Maybe that was something else for him to work on; maybe something he and Charlie should work on together. "So," Don says lightly, "ready to go see Dad? I bet he'd be glad to hear about your argument with Amita." Suddenly realizing how that sounded, he stammers, "I mean, not the argument, per se, but the thing..."
"Yeah," Charlie smiles, seeing right through Don's confusion, as he usually does, "I know exactly what you mean."
the end
Endquote: "Quantum physics describes 'twinned particles,' photons of energy that, even though separated by miles, behave identically when confronted with a choice of paths. It is now thought that some unseen connection binds them, defying known physical laws, acting instantaneously without reference to the speed of light or any other limit." (Greg Iles).
A/N: thanks to everyone who actually read through the whole story and encouraged me to keep posting. I know it could go on longer—so could I!—but this seemed like a natural breaking point. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed all of your comments. The following things are true, more or less: ice-cream rape theorem, law enforcement 'voices' on CD, the acoustic processes of the inner ear, the 'sad' sound of the earth, the Vienna Circle. Edited for grammar and to say: just for the record, I was talking about twinned particles long before Larry came up with quantum entanglements!