A/N: Thank you to everyone for your reviews!

Chapter 6

Looking around the table, a lump rose in Alan's throat. His entire family was seated. Charlie and Amita, and of course his unborn grandchild, and Don and Robin. Sure, Don was still in a cast, his other hand swollen and scraped, and he still needed to put on weight, but he was there.

"I forgot the serving spoon," Alan hurriedly said, quickly getting up and heading for the door to the kitchen.

"There's one here," Amita called, but he ignored her, reaching the safety of the kitchen.

He took a few deep breaths, getting his emotions back under control. His son was sitting at the dinner table and that hadn't happened in over four months. Sure, Don was quieter than normal, but he was there, and that was all that mattered. Time would see to everything else. Alan's family was complete again. Knowing if he was much longer, someone would investigate, he got a serving spoon, bringing it back out with him.

His gaze automatically went to Don, confirming that yes, he was there, Alan hadn't dreamed it. Robin was putting food onto Don's plate, quietly asking whether he wanted a particular dish before responding to the shake or nod in reply, Don's lips moving silently. She finished as Alan seated himself, and he wished that there was more food in front of Don. It was going to take time for him to be able to eat normally again, after being partially starved. The sadness and anger welled up again, and he forced it back down, determined to enjoy his family's presence. Alan served himself and they all started eating. The conversation started out awkwardly and quickly died off to leave them in silence, unsure as to how to deal with Don again, and a non-talkative version of him in particular.

"Talk."

Alan looked up at Don, his brain catching up to what it had already interpreted. It was Don that had spoken. The word wasn't loud and his voice was rough and hoarse, but he'd spoken. There was a clear look of annoyance on Don's face as he repeated it, using his left hand to gesture in the air as emphasis.

It left them all speechless, staring at him slack-jawed, except for Robin. She just gazed at him proudly. Alan had no idea that Don was starting to speak again.

"How can we refuse that order?" Alan finally managed to say.

Conversation picked up again, and Alan was grateful to see that Don was relaxing, nodding or shaking his head at times, attempting to say words, even if they weren't audible yet, even laughing quietly a couple of times, the sound rusty.

Alan was even able to forget, until he was scraping off the plates later, that Don had only eaten half of what was on his.

Don had gone to the bathroom, giving Alan a chance to talk to Robin without him there.

"How is he?" Alan asked anxiously. Robin saw Don the most, being the person who lived with him. They'd all tried to spend time with him whenever possible, swapping work hours around as much as they could to try to not leave him alone much. As she'd worked so hard in the preceding months and hadn't taken the vacation that she'd scheduled, Robin had been able to get a lot of time off to spend with him, other than the hours that she had to spend on the cases that she'd already had.

"Up and down," Robin said with a sigh. "He's still zoning out, although only for short amounts of time, and his mood is all over the place. But he's starting to speak again and the psychologist is happy with his progress. He's eating more, too, although he hasn't put on much weight yet. He's getting there, Alan."

"How are you?" Alan asked, knowing that it wasn't easy for her. There was a tiredness that didn't leave her eyes.

"I'm okay," she lied.

Don appeared again and Alan left it at that. They didn't talk about how this was a strain on all of them if Don was there. Don looked between the two of them and grimaced for a second, probably figuring that he was the topic of conversation.

"Yes, we were talking about you," Alan said. "We're your family, it's what happens when you leave the room."

It got a pout in reply.

All too soon they were leaving, Don hugging him before they left. It had been one surprising thing to come out of the ordeal—the normally physically standoffish Don, at least in terms of large displays of affection to his brother and dad, embraced them each time he saw them. He'd been starved of more than just food in his captivity.

"I love you," Alan whispered in Don's ear, before letting him go, Don giving him a fond smile in reply.

Charlie and Amita settled in to watch some TV and Alan retreated to his 'man cave' as Charlie still insisted on calling it, to read a little before bed. He looked at one of the framed photos of his family, taken before Margaret had to leave them, before they'd even known that she was ill. He and Margaret were sitting down, arms around each other, Don and Charlie standing behind them. They were all smiling, Charlie's head slightly turned towards Don, after Don had said something both funny and insulting. Alan couldn't remember exactly what it was, but he knew that was what had happened. Don had already grown away from them at that time; phone calls to home had been few and far between, but when he visited they still had some good moments in amongst the distance and awkwardness.

Margaret's illness had brought him back into the family fold, and Alan knew that even though she was so sick and then dying, Margaret had been grateful for one good thing to come out of it. Truth to tell, so had Alan, even if at the time he couldn't agree with Margaret or admit it to himself. It all hurt too much to be able to.

But now, he had a daughter-in-law and a grandchild on the way, and a woman who was his daughter-in-law in all but name. Charlie and Don's relationship was good; well, mostly, they were still brothers and all that entailed, and strong, forceful personalities with strong beliefs that were sometimes completely diametric. But they always found a way to move forward, now, without moving apart.

It was going to take time, but Don would recover. And then Alan would get another photograph taken of his whole family to put next to this one. He brushed his finger against Margaret's face.

"It'll be okay," he reassured her.

It was dark and quiet and Don wasn't really thinking about anything. Thinking was hard, too hard since he'd been sick. All he could do was lean against the wall and wait for his captor to come. Suddenly white light burst from the ceiling, blinding him with its intensity. He lowered his head and blinked away the afterimages, jerking back up when he heard the door open.

His captor was standing in the doorway, his face a mask of anger.

"You spoke," his captor accused, furious.

Don shook his head. No. He hadn't spoken. He knew better than to speak. Panic and dread started flowing through him, pooling in his gut and fighting gravity to rise and drown him. He shook his head more frantically.

"You did, I know you did," his captor sneered. "Now it's time for you to die."

No.

The door was abruptly slammed shut, the sound as final as a tombstone being dropped into position, the light disappeared in the space of one blink, and he was left in absolute darkness.

To starve and die of thirst.

No.

There was a gentle glow, coming from just beside him, a soft surface beneath his body, and a person lying beside him as Don bolted upright, wheezing. It took a moment to realise that it had just been a dream, that this was real.

This is real.

He pulled back the covers, amazed that he hadn't woken Robin, and climbed clumsily out of bed, his legs feeling rubbery. Sometimes Robin woke after or during his nightmares, but not always, particularly as the broken sleep was leaving her more tired. He walked into their en-suite bathroom, flicked on the light and grimaced. It was too bright initially for his eyes. He splashed some water on his face at the sink, feeling the droplets cool and soothe him, pulled the pale green hand towel off its rail and rubbed his face dry. When he moved the towel away, it wasn't just his reflection in the mirror. He whirled around, dropping the forgotten towel to the floor, panicked, his hand moving to his hip—half-forgotten reflexes kicking in.

No, no, no, no.

There was no one there. The person he saw couldn't even be there. Tyson was dead. Don may still not remember killing him, and probably never would, but he knew that Tyson was dead. Tyson was dead.

He'd imagined it.

His breathing was loud and rapid in the stillness, his heart dancing a ten-mile jig in his chest. He'd broken out into a cold sweat and he ran a shaky hand over his face, clamping it over his mouth to stop the yell or scream that wanted to break free. Only when the urge died down did he let his hand fall.

This isn't real.

The thought was insidious, always there, but now only ever able to come out to play when he was alone or at night.

"This is real." He ground the words out, his voice still unpracticed and hoarse, needing to hear them, needing to show himself that he could talk and nobody was going to kill him if he did. He wasn't back there. He wasn't. "This is real."

He rushed back into the bedroom, desperate to see Robin, to know that she was there, that he wasn't alone.

You saw her while you were in that room. It was just a dream and it still is now.

"No," Don denied, finding it hard to fight against what his mind was trying to convince him of. "This is real."

"Don?" Robin sleepily called, starting to sit up. "You okay?"

"Tell me this is real," Don whispered, sinking to the floor beside the bed, driven down by the weight of all his fears. "Tell me I'm not back there."

"This is real," Robin said, conviction in her tone, as she climbed out of bed and crouched beside him. The bottom of her face was shadowed by the bed, the lamp that he needed to be able to sleep on the opposite side, the light from the bathroom too far away to illuminate more than her outline. "You're not back there, you're here, in our home. I'm here. I'm real." She put her hand on his face, warm against his stubbled skin. "This is real."

"I—" His voice wouldn't come and he started again. "I dreamed so many times of escaping and if felt so real. And—and each time I'd wake up and I still was there."

"You're not there," Robin said again. "You're here, with me. This is real."

"I'm—" It took everything he had to say it. "I'm so scared that it isn't. I'm so scared that I've gone crazy and I'm still back there, making all this up. Dreaming it."

He could see his vulnerability reflected in her eyes, his fear and just how broken he was. How much he was scaring her.

She leaned closer to him, the shadows on her face rising to cover it further, whispered against his mouth, "This is real," before pressing her lips against his. Suddenly his arms were around her, hers around him, and they only broke apart for quick gasps of air. Her hand was under his shirt, against his bare skin, brushing against his nipple, and this time the arousal was there, like a white hot flash.

"Bed," he murmured in between kisses, pushing up from the floor, Robin following him.

She pulled away from him long enough to ask, "Are you sure?" and he answered by pressing her up against him again, knowing that she'd be able to feel just how sure he was, and kissing along her neck, hand pushing her night gown up.

Later, his eyes closed, his body spooned against Robin's and trying to fall back asleep, he heard Robin's soft sobs. She was having to cope with so much, to be strong for him. He wasn't the same as when he left her, he knew that. He put his arm around her stomach and kissed her shoulder, hating that this was his fault, that she was crying because of him. Again.

"I thought you were asleep," she said, the tears obvious in her voice. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he reassured her, and she turned to him, burying her wet face against his neck, both of them clinging to each other, needing the other's strength and comfort. Once the tears were done and her breathing had evened out into sleep, he whispered, "I'm sorry I missed our wedding. I'm sorry for all of this."

And I'm sorry that I can't always believe. Right now, right this second, he believed it was real. Maybe that was enough for now.

The look of wonder on Don's face as he held his nephew made Robin smile. The baby was so tiny, with curly black hair, beautiful skin that was between Charlie and Amita's in colour, and his father's nose that was a bit too large for his tiny face. He stretched, tiny fists pumping in the air, opened his eyes slightly, and made a mewl of protest before settling back into sleep.

"He's beautiful," Don said, reverence in his voice.

Amita and Charlie grinned in reply, Charlie pulling Amita closer against his side on the hospital bed. They looked so incredibly happy.

"That he is," Alan agreed huskily.

"How are you feeling?" Robin asked Amita.

"Tired, but okay." She grinned. "I think I coped with it better than Charlie did."

"Hey," he protested, "I did just fine."

"Yeah, you did," Amita said, kissing him gently.

Robin looked back at Don, marvelling at the look of concentration on his face. One of his fingers had been trapped by the tiny hand.

"His nails are so tiny," Don said quietly, before grinning sheepishly at them all. "Robin, you want to hold him?"

She was nervous, it had been quite a while since she'd held a baby, but she did want to. Don awkwardly transferred him to her arms, to a comment from Charlie about not dropping him. He was heavier than she'd thought and didn't stir at the new arms supporting him.

"Robin," Alan said, and she looked up, smiling for the camera.

Her smile softened as she looked back down into the baby's face. The tiny eyebrows were dark well-defined lines, the eyelashes dark sweeps on his cheeks, the mouth pursed slightly. His hair was curly, even though it was short. His nose did look out of place, but he'd grow into it. The tiny fingers and nails were almost impossible to believe, miniature and perfect. She gave into the feeling that holding him, and seeing him in Don's arms, had evoked—she wanted a baby of her own—knowing that the real test of the desire would be later, when there was uncontrollable crying, feeding and diaper changes. She'd see how she felt after she'd been in the room and had to deal with those. Plus, there was still the other issues to take into consideration, they hadn't just suddenly disappeared.

His eyes opened and she smiled again.

"Hello there, I'm your Aunty Robin," she said softly.

His face scrunched up slightly and he started crying.

"Oh, no." She wasn't ready to deal with a crying baby quite yet. Alan stepped in, taking him out of her arms, jiggling slightly and making a shooshing sound as he took the little boy back to his parents.

"I think maybe he's hungry," Amita said.

There was a slight look of terror on Don's face and he abruptly stood up. Robin didn't think he'd been around many breastfeeding mothers. "We'll leave you to it, then."

"You don't have to go," Amita said, but she sounded and looked unsure. It was all new to her, as well.

"It's okay," Robin said, "we probably should."

They said goodbye, to the baby's increasingly loud cry, and Robin, Don and Alan all left. Don's arm was around Robin's waist and she grinned when they heard the crying behind them suddenly stop when they were halfway down the corridor.

"Make you want one?" Don whispered in her ear.

"Maybe," she whispered back with a secretive grin.

When they reached the car, before Don opened the door, he kissed her. It had been a good week, after a rocky one. Don had only had one night with nightmares and he was almost talking normally again. The last time he'd zoned out had been three weeks before. He'd even mentioned the idea of going back to work. And now he had a nephew to focus on.

Robin knew that the nightmares and flashbacks might haunt Don for the rest of his life, but things were getting back to normal, as much as they could.

Epilogue

Wearing the ring didn't feel weird, Don had decided. It felt right. Everything about the day had been right. A bit over a year and a half after Robin and he were supposed to get married, they finally were.

Lying on the hotel bed, right arm propped behind his head, left resting on his stomach, watching Robin get ready for bed—it was perfect. She'd looked perfect, today, still did. He grinned at the memory and Robin smiled back at him in the mirror that she was seated in front of, brushing out her hair.

Finally done, she walked silently over to him, sitting on the edge beside him.

"Come here," he said softly, pulling her down so that she was resting against his chest, stroking his fingers along her arm. He couldn't resist adding, "Mrs Eppes."

She lifted her head, giving him a mock glare. "Don," she warned as he grinned widely, skin around his eyes crinkling. She couldn't help but grin back in reply, even as she spoke, trying to sound serious. "We talked about this."

They had, but he just grinned further to tease her and she hit him softly on the chest before catching his grinning lips in a kiss. She pulled back, long hair falling around his face like a curtain, blocking out everything but her.

"Everything you imagined?" Don asked, hand resting on her cheek, his voice husky.

She smiled, love in her entire expression. "Everything and more."

Her lips met his again, and everything else faded away.

-FIN-

A/N2: Thank you in advance to the anons who review. Hope to see you all again sometime soon.