Fic: P vs NP
Author: elfin
Title: P vs NP
Rating: PG
Pairing: Charlie/Don
Warnings: hints of potential incest
Spoilers: for season 1 & 2
Summary: different people, different priorities
P vs NP
by elfin
"We need Charlie." How many times had she heard that over the last twelve months? From Don, David, Colby, even from her own lips. This time, though….
"We can't ask him."
David turned from the white board where Charlie Eppes' neat scrawl plotted out the direct route from data to answer, victims to suspects. "This is the best time to ask him. He's gotta be motivated."
Megan shook her head, arms crossed, practically blocking the war room doorway. "That's not how he works."
Colby nodded. "She's right. Think of what he's been through. We should let him be with his family, they need him more than we do right now."
But David wouldn't be dissuaded. "It's gonna happen again if we don't stop it. More people are gonna get hurt, more people are gonna die."
Megan glanced from him to Colby. Colby had been with Charlie at the scene, had witnessed first-hand his immediate reaction, stopped him from running straight into the path of the gunman. She knew he'd always had a soft spot for the younger Eppes brother like David had a soft spot for the older one, but in the last 24 hours something had changed.
"We need to solve this one without his help."
"He knows the case!" David was on his feet now, closing in on her. "He told us exactly where the gunman would be hiding, he guided us through the maze and found him."
"And look what happened!"
"That doesn't mean he wasn't right; he was! He was point-blank accurate. We were the ones that lost him. Charlie found this guy once, he can do it again."
She could see Colby wanted to argue but at the same time he knew as well as she did that if Charlie would help, they'd find their shooter fast than they could ever do it alone.
"Okay. But I'm going with you. And if he says no, we don't push." She looked at Colby as she spoke, making it a vow to him even as she apologised with her eyes, glad when he nodded once, almost giving her permission.
#
The hospital was busy. Outside Don's room an LAPD officer was standing guard even though they didn't really suspect the gunman would come to finish off what he started. The attack on Don wasn't personal, just that he had happened to be in the right place at the right time. Thanks to Charlie.
Who didn't seem to be around….
Don's father was; just on his way back from the hot drinks dispenser with a plastic cup of coffee-flavoured water. Megan got a hand onto his shoulder. "Mr Eppes, how's he doing?"
To her relief, he smiled. He could have been - perhaps should have been - angry on her, at least at the FBI, for getting his son shot. "It's Alan, please. And he's doing fine. He's sleeping off the pain medication but they think he'll be home in a couple of days."
"I'm sorry about…." She couldn't help it. But he waved it off.
"This is the life he chose and I try not to worry any more. He's lucky - we've lucky - he's alive."
She squeezed his shoulder and let her hand drop. "It's not the life Charlie chose." Her way of asking where he was, why he wasn't in the one place she'd expected him to be.
"No. But as often as I remind Don of that fact, Charlie likes working with his older brother - it gets him Don's approval. He likes it when Don tells him he's doing good work. Of course, he's done good work all his life, just that usually Don doesn't understand it."
Megan watched David step through the open door of Don's room, moved so that she could see the sleeping man and smiled to herself when David brushed his fingers over one still hand, mindful of the IV line.
"We'd like to speak to Charlie," she told Alan carefully. "I thought he'd be here."
"He was, all night, until Don woke and the doctors told us he was going to be fine. Then he didn't so much leave as escape. He's not good with hospitals at the best of times, but…."
"He's blaming himself for this."
Alan nodded. "Oh, yes."
"Any idea where he'd go?"
"Try CalSci. If he's not there he'll be at home, hopefully in the solarium, more likely in the garage."
"Right. Thank you." She approached the window of Don's room, watched him for a second or two until David turned and she beckoned him out.
#
Charlie's office and his classroom were both empty. Leaving David searching the campus, Megan found Larry in his office. They'd been on a date; she liked him, maybe a lot, hoped they would go on another date sometime, but today he seemed almost hostile - not quite towards her, but definitely towards the FBI.
"Don't you think perhaps he's given enough on this one?"
"Truthfully, yes." She laced her voice with sympathy, aware of how deep his feelings ran for his young protégé. "But he found the man we were looking for and we hope he can do it again."
"As I understand it, he found the man you were looking for, directed his own brother to the exact spot and was subjected to the horror of listening to gunfire and Don's cries of pain when he was shot."
"Don's going to be fine."
"But is Charlie? His injuries aren't as obvious as a bullet wound. He can't be healed with stitches and morphine and two weeks on a couch watching daytime television and reading the papers."
The urge to reach out and physically comfort was almost overwhelming. "What will heal him?"
"Math. When he lets it. If you're looking for him I would start at his home, in the garage. If he's following routine he'll work on N vs NP until Don's well enough to talk him down. After that he'll work on his Cognitive Theory until the healing properties of Math puts him back together again."
"N vs NP? Is that the problem he worked on when their mother was ill? Don mentioned it…."
Larry laced his fingers together, leaned his mouth against them. "Did you know that their mother's illness wasn't the first time he picked up N vs NP?"
"No… Don didn't…."
"Don doesn't know. Charlie started working on that particular problem when his brother left for Albuquerque. We lost him for months, until he made himself ill by not eating, not sleeping…. In the end I was going round there every day, taking him his favourite things to eat; bright, colourful foods…. One day he just… he broke apart, right in front of my eyes, he… stopped what he was doing, started to tremble, and the next thing I know he was on his knees on the floor crying so hard…."
She reached out, put a hand on his arm.
"Don is Charlie's whole world. He would rather die himself than see his brother hurt. After the bank robbers… I was with him when we saw the gun fight live on the news… after that he started to stay away from the culmination of his work, he writes lectures at the same time as Don walks into highly explosive, dangerous situations and he waits for the phone call from someone to say everyone's okay or that he's needed at the hospital. He can't even contemplate the worse case scenario."
"I never thought about how what he does for us must affect him."
"Because you can't. If you did, how would you be able to do your job? Don't misunderstand me, I would never suggest he stopped his work with the FBI, for all I know his consultancy with the NSA puts him in more danger, but he doesn't worry for himself and he doesn't run to N vs NP unless the world has become so painful he can't bear to face it."
She nodded, lingered with her hand on his arm, then turned for the door.
"Megan. You're going over there, aren't you? To the house."
"I have to try." Her words sounded so apologetic.
"Be careful, please. With genius comes great fragility."
Another nod. "I promise."
#
Sure, she'd promised. But David hadn't. After a couple of long minutes trying to get Charlie to even acknowledge them, he let loose his anger. They'd found Charlie where Larry had said he'd be - writing furiously on a blackboard, one at head-height - in his garage. He looked like he hadn't slept in two days, just like they hadn't, looked like he'd barely eaten anything. There was chalk on his black T-shirt and jeans, his hair looked like it could do with a wash, hanging limply, and he hadn't responded to their initial knocking or calling of his name, or to their direct questions asked to his back.
Afterwards, she blamed herself for not stopping David. But she was angry too, and just for a single moment she felt like kicking something weaker than herself.
David crossed the garage floor in three strides, got the front of Charlie's T-shirt bunched in his fist and hauled him away from the board. Charlie gave a startled cry, dropping the chalk, hands clawing at David's as he was pushed back against a second board, head hitting the scrawl-covered surface, chalk dust rubbing off into his hair.
"We need your help," David practically growled.
Charlie shook his lowered head and something about the action finally spurred Megan forward, hands on David's shoulders, pushing him away.
"Megan, let me…."
"No! Let him go."
"He has to stop acting like a spoilt kid…."
"Let him go! How do you think Don'll react to you beating up his baby brother?!"
David's hands released and Charlie slumped, not quite going to the floor but his whole body shrinking back, terror in his wide eyes when he glanced up.
Megan ducked until she could look up into his face. "Charlie, I'm sorry. But we need you."
Again he shook his head. "I can't."
"You have to."
"No, I don’t." His answer was more forceful, his words almost shouted. He straightened just a little. "I don't have to do your jobs for you. I have a job. I didn't choose to be an FBI agent, you did. Don did. Please, just leave me alone. I can't work on your case anymore, I have to work on this. I can't even… focus on anything else." He was close to tears and no way did she want to push him that far. "Please, just… just go." Don would never, never forgive them for putting Charlie through more trauma than he'd already experienced.
"Okay." She backed off, taking David with her, a hand tight around his upper arm. "Okay, Charlie, we're going."
Closing the garage door behind them she paused, holding her breath until she heard the undeniably comforting sound of chalk on porcelain. Larry had been right, and for the whole journey back to the office she found herself hoping he'd forgive her too.
#
"Dad?"
Alan opened his eyes, sat forward and put a hand gently on his son's wrist. "It's okay, Donny, you're okay." He watched Don looked about the room, obviously fighting the drugs in his system.
"Where's Charlie?"
"He's home. He stayed until you woke up but he was exhausted."
"You sent him home?"
He nodded. "To get some sleep." It was bullshit and Don knew it. For a couple of minutes he closed his eyes and Alan thought - hoped - he'd go back to sleep. But he should have known better.
This time he tried to push himself into a seated position against the pillows, wincing, presumably pulling at the stitches in his thigh. "Was he upset?"
Alan rose half out of his chair, knowing Don wouldn't ask for his help, but wanting to be ready in case he needed it. "Don, you should rest. Let me worry about Charlie, okay?"
With a shake of his head, he insisted, "He was… was on the headset, Dad. He heard me get shot."
"I know. But he's okay and you're in the hospital so you need to take it easy."
"Dad… is he okay?"
"Yes."
"Please… it's Charlie. Tell me the truth."
He was reluctant. He knew how his eldest son was going to react to his youngest having a trauma-induced breakdown. Don didn't need any further stress but what choice did he have? If he didn't tell him, he knew he'd break out of here against the advice of his doctor and go see for himself.
"He's retreated into P vs NP."
Don slumped, carefully putting his hand to his face, pulling the IV line with it, pressing fingers into his eyes. "He blames himself."
"Of course he does, Donny. But that's not something for you to blame yourself for."
"I could hear him, callin' my name, and I couldn't answer him because it hurt so damn much it took my breath away."
"He will be okay. But you need to heal too. Please. Let me look after Charlie."
#
"I need team 2's next move, Charlie!"
"Okay, okay… two streets over, three houses up from their current location."
"North, south, east and west, please."
"Sorry, sorry…. Two streets north, three houses west."
He waited. Heard the distant shouts from the FBI search and insertion teams, heard his brother taking to them over his mic by way of the headset which connected the Eppes brothers directly.
Charlie had brought them here, to this massive construction site. To him it looked like they were building an entire neighbourhood, not just a bunch of houses. Mathematically he'd predicted where their lone gunman would be hiding, mathematically he'd mapped out the area - with his Dad's help reading the site plans and architectural drawings - and now he was directing - through Don - the teams in a pincer movement to trap the guy in the centre of it.
"Team 1 move, Charlie?"
"Three streets east, two houses north from your position."
"Got it."
The shot, when it came, was so sudden, so shocking, so loud, Charlie instinctively tried to move away from it. Coming over the headset in his ear, it simply moved with him, followed by shouts, cries, and a second shot which was met by a yell of pain. Don's yell. Charlie's already racing pulse sped up, the rush of adrenaline turning his stomach.
"Don?"
Nothing, just more shots, returning gunfire the rational part of his mind told him. The irrational part was screaming. "Don? Don? Don…."
He was lost on repeat, stuck saying his brother's name over and over, waiting for a response that was more than moans of pain, shouts from a roll-call, and when one wasn't forthcoming, he pushed back his chair and hit the doors of the van hard, half-falling, half-jumping out of the back of the field unit, catching his balance, getting three running strides in before a strong arm around his waist accompanied the yelling of his name just filtering through the haze of panic in his head.
"Charlie, no! You can't go out there." Colby, holding on to him like his own life depended on it which maybe it did. If he went out and was shot, Don would never forgive…. He stopped fighting, going limp in Colby's one-armed embrace, listened to the sounds coming over the wireless headset while some absent part of his brain registered breath in his hair a second before the hold around his waist eased up.
He took a step forward, turning to assure Colby he wasn't about to run into the danger zone, then he heard interference as the paired headset was lifted from his brother's ear and Megan's voice say,
"Charlie?"
"Is he okay?" The question came out in a rush, the words merging into one.
"He's been shot in the leg, Charlie, but he's going to be okay. The ambulance is on its way. Just stay there, okay?"
"Did you get the gunman?"
"Yes."
"Then it's safe."
"We don't know that for sure. Just stay with Colby, we'll bring Don to you, okay?"
He swallowed, nodded, then for her sake confirmed it was okay, that he'd stay put. One of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do - right up there with phoning his brother to tell him Mom was dying, and telling Sue Berry that it wasn't going to work out, that he couldn't go to England with her because he didn't love her enough (which had been a lie, he just loved someone else more) - and it was the longest wait of his life.
They appeared on the periphery of his vision and he ran before Colby could stop him, skidding to a stop in the sand to walk next to David as he and Megan supported his brother between them to one of the amassed SUVs, seating him in the back seat. Charlie dropped into a crouch in the open door, the pain etched into Don's face tearing into his heart, the blood from the bullet wound - field dressed by Megan - soaking the leg of his jeans making Charlie feel sicker than the adrenaline still flooding through his system.
He found Don's hand between his hip and the hot leather of the car seat and grabbed it, holding on to it like a lifeline - whether his or his brother's he wasn't sure. Don slowly lay flat on the seat, fighting to stay conscious, muttering that it was okay, that he was okay - probably for Charlie's benefit. Megan very gently lifted Don's right foot and rested it on Charlie's shoulder, keeping it elevated, her hand resting and staying on Charlie's left shoulder, anchoring him, not that could feel much in the way of gratefulness at that moment. All he could feel was a snowballing sense of guilt and a dread that he couldn't pin-point the origin of but at the same time he couldn't shake.
#
The sight of his baby brother at a blackboard was such a familiar sight it brought tears to his eyes. Sometimes he thought he could sit and watch Charlie work all day. Yeah, when they'd been kids he'd been a pain in the ass; Christ, Charlie had been thirteen when Don was eighteen, Charlie had been kicking around a football and throwing hoops when Don was trying to have sex with as many girls (and guys) as was humanly possible. But still he'd always loved him, from the first moment he'd held him at twelve hours old, to this very second as he worked furiously on one unsolvable problem to stop himself from thinking about another. Right then, his love for his brother was almost overwhelming.
He could have watched all night. But he couldn't stand up for that long.
"Charlie?"
He started, chalk skipping from the end of a co-sign symbol to a point an inch to the right of it before dropping from his fingers to the floor. He turned, shoulder colliding with the blackboard. "Don?!" Don hadn't meant to scare him but he had, judging by the squeak of his brother's voice. "You should be… in the hospital."
"Had to see you, Buddy." Leaning heavily on the metal walking cane he'd stolen from the ward he took a couple of steps into the garage, noticing how chilly it was this late at night. He'd have come earlier, but he'd had to wait until his Dad had left, had a chance to get home, have a drink, watch some late-night television and retire to bed. And until the nurses had finished checking his vitals of course. He'd dressed with difficulty, swallowed four pain meds and called a cab. "Had to check you were okay."
"I'm… fine." He talked like a man who hadn't said much in the last couple of days. "I'm not the one who was shot, Don."
"It's just a flesh wound." Still, he found himself leaning heavily on the narrow table in the middle of the space. "Thought you'd be working on your Cognitive Theory… stuff."
Charlie looked away from him. "I can only work on that when everything's… right. Nothing's right."
"I got shot, Charlie, that's all. I'm fine - couple of weeks rest and I'll be back at work."
"Good." His brother nodded - too fast. "That's good."
"So tell me what isn't right, tell me why you're on P vs NP and not your other work." He said it gently, not wanting Charlie to retreat any further. His leg was hurting, throbbing with pain, but it didn't matter right then.
Leaning down to pick up the chalk he'd dropped, Don watched as Charlie rubbed his thumb over the seared end of the white stick. He wasn't using a holder; his fingers would be dry as bone, rough and sore from the constant use.
His last couple of dips into his particular brand of madness Don hadn't been able to understand, but he got it this time, got why Charlie had run.
He was shaking his head now. "It… it doesn't matter. I'll work it out. I have before."
"I know you have. But this time I want to help. I know why you ran, why you're here." He looked around at the looping equations, from blackboard to blackboard, all around the walls, covering the ceiling above his head. "You told me where to go, where to find the gunman and you did good, Charlie, you found the guy."
"I got you shot!" He heard the first tremors of hysteria in the voice. He hated it, but he needed to break his brother before he had a hope of putting him back together.
"You did your job, the job I asked you to do."
"I heard you get shot. I heard you...."
"I know you did. And I'm sorry. I heard your voice in my ear and it was good to know you were there, Charlie, it was. I know you wouldn't have left me." He watched Charlie rub his face with his hand, saw him blink the first tears from his eyes. His heart ached for him. "If I could have stopped you have going through that, I would have, I swear. I don't go out of my way to hurt you even though sometimes it must feel like I do."
"No, Don…."
A couple of steps forward, he reached to touch his brother's shoulder. "I know you, Chuck, I know how much you feel, how intensely you feel it." He lowered his voice. "Especially when it comes to me. And it's okay, okay to feel like that, okay to talk to me, to yell at me for putting you through this. I'd rather that than lose you to this again."
"I'm sorry… it's all I can do."
"Charlie, Charlie… I'm not blaming you, I'm not… criticising you." Sliding his hand down a cold, wiry arm, using the touch for his own benefit as much as for Charlie's. "You're my brother and… I admire you, I'm so proud of you. Eventually I'd have been in that gunman's sights even without you telling us where to go. This isn't your fault. And I'm sorry you had to be there because it hurt you, but I'm glad you're working with me. I'm glad we've got you on our side."
Charlie swallowed, hand clutching convulsively at his chalk. "I thought you'd been killed." Don nodded. "I thought I'd heard you… and I'd sent you there. I was the one who put you in danger…."
"It's okay."
"It isn't okay."
His voice was cracking, and slowly Don eased his arm around his brother's shoulders. "Yes, it is. I'm fine. I'm alive."
"This time."
"And last time. And the time before that. And next time." There were tears now, running from his big brown eyes, over his round cheeks. One more push…. "I love you, Charlie, so much. My genius little brother…." The tears became sobs; Charlie breaking apart, shaking, falling against Don as he wrapped strong arms around him and pulled him close.
Ignoring the aching pain in his leg, Don rocked his brother gently against him, chin rested in dark curls, breathing in the scent of sweat and chalk and - oddly - burnt toast. "I've got ya, Charlie, it's okay." One of Charlie's hand clawed painlessly at his back while the other, still gripping the broken chalk, pounded ineffectually at his shoulder. It was some time before the hysteria eased, and when it did he knew he wouldn't be able to stand for much longer. "I'm sorry, Chuck, I need to sit down."
Charlie immediately tried to pull away, apologising. "Don… your leg…."
"I said, it's okay. Just…come over to the couch." He hobbled over to the battered sofa at the far end of the garage, leaning heavily on Charlie, dropping to the old cushions and pulling his brother with him. Charlie curled into his side, too wrung out and exhausted to do much else, tears still running although the hitching of his breath had lessened and the trembling had eased. With some effort, Don hooked his foot around the leg of the nearby coffee table and pulled it over, putting his feet up on it, wrapping his arms around Charlie and keeping him close as he closed his eyes.
They needed to talk some more, but it would wait. In the morning they could both get some food and some proper sleep. And if he had to insinuate himself in his brother's bed to make sure he slept, so be it. Life was tough sometimes, a person had to make sacrifices. Sure, like he'd admitted earlier, Charlie could be a pain in the ass. But he was Don's pain in the ass, and that made him very, very precious.
fin
Title: P vs NP
Rating: PG
Pairing: Charlie/Don
Warnings: hints of potential incest
Spoilers: for season 1 & 2
Summary: different people, different priorities
P vs NP
by elfin
"We need Charlie." How many times had she heard that over the last twelve months? From Don, David, Colby, even from her own lips. This time, though….
"We can't ask him."
David turned from the white board where Charlie Eppes' neat scrawl plotted out the direct route from data to answer, victims to suspects. "This is the best time to ask him. He's gotta be motivated."
Megan shook her head, arms crossed, practically blocking the war room doorway. "That's not how he works."
Colby nodded. "She's right. Think of what he's been through. We should let him be with his family, they need him more than we do right now."
But David wouldn't be dissuaded. "It's gonna happen again if we don't stop it. More people are gonna get hurt, more people are gonna die."
Megan glanced from him to Colby. Colby had been with Charlie at the scene, had witnessed first-hand his immediate reaction, stopped him from running straight into the path of the gunman. She knew he'd always had a soft spot for the younger Eppes brother like David had a soft spot for the older one, but in the last 24 hours something had changed.
"We need to solve this one without his help."
"He knows the case!" David was on his feet now, closing in on her. "He told us exactly where the gunman would be hiding, he guided us through the maze and found him."
"And look what happened!"
"That doesn't mean he wasn't right; he was! He was point-blank accurate. We were the ones that lost him. Charlie found this guy once, he can do it again."
She could see Colby wanted to argue but at the same time he knew as well as she did that if Charlie would help, they'd find their shooter fast than they could ever do it alone.
"Okay. But I'm going with you. And if he says no, we don't push." She looked at Colby as she spoke, making it a vow to him even as she apologised with her eyes, glad when he nodded once, almost giving her permission.
#
The hospital was busy. Outside Don's room an LAPD officer was standing guard even though they didn't really suspect the gunman would come to finish off what he started. The attack on Don wasn't personal, just that he had happened to be in the right place at the right time. Thanks to Charlie.
Who didn't seem to be around….
Don's father was; just on his way back from the hot drinks dispenser with a plastic cup of coffee-flavoured water. Megan got a hand onto his shoulder. "Mr Eppes, how's he doing?"
To her relief, he smiled. He could have been - perhaps should have been - angry on her, at least at the FBI, for getting his son shot. "It's Alan, please. And he's doing fine. He's sleeping off the pain medication but they think he'll be home in a couple of days."
"I'm sorry about…." She couldn't help it. But he waved it off.
"This is the life he chose and I try not to worry any more. He's lucky - we've lucky - he's alive."
She squeezed his shoulder and let her hand drop. "It's not the life Charlie chose." Her way of asking where he was, why he wasn't in the one place she'd expected him to be.
"No. But as often as I remind Don of that fact, Charlie likes working with his older brother - it gets him Don's approval. He likes it when Don tells him he's doing good work. Of course, he's done good work all his life, just that usually Don doesn't understand it."
Megan watched David step through the open door of Don's room, moved so that she could see the sleeping man and smiled to herself when David brushed his fingers over one still hand, mindful of the IV line.
"We'd like to speak to Charlie," she told Alan carefully. "I thought he'd be here."
"He was, all night, until Don woke and the doctors told us he was going to be fine. Then he didn't so much leave as escape. He's not good with hospitals at the best of times, but…."
"He's blaming himself for this."
Alan nodded. "Oh, yes."
"Any idea where he'd go?"
"Try CalSci. If he's not there he'll be at home, hopefully in the solarium, more likely in the garage."
"Right. Thank you." She approached the window of Don's room, watched him for a second or two until David turned and she beckoned him out.
#
Charlie's office and his classroom were both empty. Leaving David searching the campus, Megan found Larry in his office. They'd been on a date; she liked him, maybe a lot, hoped they would go on another date sometime, but today he seemed almost hostile - not quite towards her, but definitely towards the FBI.
"Don't you think perhaps he's given enough on this one?"
"Truthfully, yes." She laced her voice with sympathy, aware of how deep his feelings ran for his young protégé. "But he found the man we were looking for and we hope he can do it again."
"As I understand it, he found the man you were looking for, directed his own brother to the exact spot and was subjected to the horror of listening to gunfire and Don's cries of pain when he was shot."
"Don's going to be fine."
"But is Charlie? His injuries aren't as obvious as a bullet wound. He can't be healed with stitches and morphine and two weeks on a couch watching daytime television and reading the papers."
The urge to reach out and physically comfort was almost overwhelming. "What will heal him?"
"Math. When he lets it. If you're looking for him I would start at his home, in the garage. If he's following routine he'll work on N vs NP until Don's well enough to talk him down. After that he'll work on his Cognitive Theory until the healing properties of Math puts him back together again."
"N vs NP? Is that the problem he worked on when their mother was ill? Don mentioned it…."
Larry laced his fingers together, leaned his mouth against them. "Did you know that their mother's illness wasn't the first time he picked up N vs NP?"
"No… Don didn't…."
"Don doesn't know. Charlie started working on that particular problem when his brother left for Albuquerque. We lost him for months, until he made himself ill by not eating, not sleeping…. In the end I was going round there every day, taking him his favourite things to eat; bright, colourful foods…. One day he just… he broke apart, right in front of my eyes, he… stopped what he was doing, started to tremble, and the next thing I know he was on his knees on the floor crying so hard…."
She reached out, put a hand on his arm.
"Don is Charlie's whole world. He would rather die himself than see his brother hurt. After the bank robbers… I was with him when we saw the gun fight live on the news… after that he started to stay away from the culmination of his work, he writes lectures at the same time as Don walks into highly explosive, dangerous situations and he waits for the phone call from someone to say everyone's okay or that he's needed at the hospital. He can't even contemplate the worse case scenario."
"I never thought about how what he does for us must affect him."
"Because you can't. If you did, how would you be able to do your job? Don't misunderstand me, I would never suggest he stopped his work with the FBI, for all I know his consultancy with the NSA puts him in more danger, but he doesn't worry for himself and he doesn't run to N vs NP unless the world has become so painful he can't bear to face it."
She nodded, lingered with her hand on his arm, then turned for the door.
"Megan. You're going over there, aren't you? To the house."
"I have to try." Her words sounded so apologetic.
"Be careful, please. With genius comes great fragility."
Another nod. "I promise."
#
Sure, she'd promised. But David hadn't. After a couple of long minutes trying to get Charlie to even acknowledge them, he let loose his anger. They'd found Charlie where Larry had said he'd be - writing furiously on a blackboard, one at head-height - in his garage. He looked like he hadn't slept in two days, just like they hadn't, looked like he'd barely eaten anything. There was chalk on his black T-shirt and jeans, his hair looked like it could do with a wash, hanging limply, and he hadn't responded to their initial knocking or calling of his name, or to their direct questions asked to his back.
Afterwards, she blamed herself for not stopping David. But she was angry too, and just for a single moment she felt like kicking something weaker than herself.
David crossed the garage floor in three strides, got the front of Charlie's T-shirt bunched in his fist and hauled him away from the board. Charlie gave a startled cry, dropping the chalk, hands clawing at David's as he was pushed back against a second board, head hitting the scrawl-covered surface, chalk dust rubbing off into his hair.
"We need your help," David practically growled.
Charlie shook his lowered head and something about the action finally spurred Megan forward, hands on David's shoulders, pushing him away.
"Megan, let me…."
"No! Let him go."
"He has to stop acting like a spoilt kid…."
"Let him go! How do you think Don'll react to you beating up his baby brother?!"
David's hands released and Charlie slumped, not quite going to the floor but his whole body shrinking back, terror in his wide eyes when he glanced up.
Megan ducked until she could look up into his face. "Charlie, I'm sorry. But we need you."
Again he shook his head. "I can't."
"You have to."
"No, I don’t." His answer was more forceful, his words almost shouted. He straightened just a little. "I don't have to do your jobs for you. I have a job. I didn't choose to be an FBI agent, you did. Don did. Please, just leave me alone. I can't work on your case anymore, I have to work on this. I can't even… focus on anything else." He was close to tears and no way did she want to push him that far. "Please, just… just go." Don would never, never forgive them for putting Charlie through more trauma than he'd already experienced.
"Okay." She backed off, taking David with her, a hand tight around his upper arm. "Okay, Charlie, we're going."
Closing the garage door behind them she paused, holding her breath until she heard the undeniably comforting sound of chalk on porcelain. Larry had been right, and for the whole journey back to the office she found herself hoping he'd forgive her too.
#
"Dad?"
Alan opened his eyes, sat forward and put a hand gently on his son's wrist. "It's okay, Donny, you're okay." He watched Don looked about the room, obviously fighting the drugs in his system.
"Where's Charlie?"
"He's home. He stayed until you woke up but he was exhausted."
"You sent him home?"
He nodded. "To get some sleep." It was bullshit and Don knew it. For a couple of minutes he closed his eyes and Alan thought - hoped - he'd go back to sleep. But he should have known better.
This time he tried to push himself into a seated position against the pillows, wincing, presumably pulling at the stitches in his thigh. "Was he upset?"
Alan rose half out of his chair, knowing Don wouldn't ask for his help, but wanting to be ready in case he needed it. "Don, you should rest. Let me worry about Charlie, okay?"
With a shake of his head, he insisted, "He was… was on the headset, Dad. He heard me get shot."
"I know. But he's okay and you're in the hospital so you need to take it easy."
"Dad… is he okay?"
"Yes."
"Please… it's Charlie. Tell me the truth."
He was reluctant. He knew how his eldest son was going to react to his youngest having a trauma-induced breakdown. Don didn't need any further stress but what choice did he have? If he didn't tell him, he knew he'd break out of here against the advice of his doctor and go see for himself.
"He's retreated into P vs NP."
Don slumped, carefully putting his hand to his face, pulling the IV line with it, pressing fingers into his eyes. "He blames himself."
"Of course he does, Donny. But that's not something for you to blame yourself for."
"I could hear him, callin' my name, and I couldn't answer him because it hurt so damn much it took my breath away."
"He will be okay. But you need to heal too. Please. Let me look after Charlie."
#
"I need team 2's next move, Charlie!"
"Okay, okay… two streets over, three houses up from their current location."
"North, south, east and west, please."
"Sorry, sorry…. Two streets north, three houses west."
He waited. Heard the distant shouts from the FBI search and insertion teams, heard his brother taking to them over his mic by way of the headset which connected the Eppes brothers directly.
Charlie had brought them here, to this massive construction site. To him it looked like they were building an entire neighbourhood, not just a bunch of houses. Mathematically he'd predicted where their lone gunman would be hiding, mathematically he'd mapped out the area - with his Dad's help reading the site plans and architectural drawings - and now he was directing - through Don - the teams in a pincer movement to trap the guy in the centre of it.
"Team 1 move, Charlie?"
"Three streets east, two houses north from your position."
"Got it."
The shot, when it came, was so sudden, so shocking, so loud, Charlie instinctively tried to move away from it. Coming over the headset in his ear, it simply moved with him, followed by shouts, cries, and a second shot which was met by a yell of pain. Don's yell. Charlie's already racing pulse sped up, the rush of adrenaline turning his stomach.
"Don?"
Nothing, just more shots, returning gunfire the rational part of his mind told him. The irrational part was screaming. "Don? Don? Don…."
He was lost on repeat, stuck saying his brother's name over and over, waiting for a response that was more than moans of pain, shouts from a roll-call, and when one wasn't forthcoming, he pushed back his chair and hit the doors of the van hard, half-falling, half-jumping out of the back of the field unit, catching his balance, getting three running strides in before a strong arm around his waist accompanied the yelling of his name just filtering through the haze of panic in his head.
"Charlie, no! You can't go out there." Colby, holding on to him like his own life depended on it which maybe it did. If he went out and was shot, Don would never forgive…. He stopped fighting, going limp in Colby's one-armed embrace, listened to the sounds coming over the wireless headset while some absent part of his brain registered breath in his hair a second before the hold around his waist eased up.
He took a step forward, turning to assure Colby he wasn't about to run into the danger zone, then he heard interference as the paired headset was lifted from his brother's ear and Megan's voice say,
"Charlie?"
"Is he okay?" The question came out in a rush, the words merging into one.
"He's been shot in the leg, Charlie, but he's going to be okay. The ambulance is on its way. Just stay there, okay?"
"Did you get the gunman?"
"Yes."
"Then it's safe."
"We don't know that for sure. Just stay with Colby, we'll bring Don to you, okay?"
He swallowed, nodded, then for her sake confirmed it was okay, that he'd stay put. One of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do - right up there with phoning his brother to tell him Mom was dying, and telling Sue Berry that it wasn't going to work out, that he couldn't go to England with her because he didn't love her enough (which had been a lie, he just loved someone else more) - and it was the longest wait of his life.
They appeared on the periphery of his vision and he ran before Colby could stop him, skidding to a stop in the sand to walk next to David as he and Megan supported his brother between them to one of the amassed SUVs, seating him in the back seat. Charlie dropped into a crouch in the open door, the pain etched into Don's face tearing into his heart, the blood from the bullet wound - field dressed by Megan - soaking the leg of his jeans making Charlie feel sicker than the adrenaline still flooding through his system.
He found Don's hand between his hip and the hot leather of the car seat and grabbed it, holding on to it like a lifeline - whether his or his brother's he wasn't sure. Don slowly lay flat on the seat, fighting to stay conscious, muttering that it was okay, that he was okay - probably for Charlie's benefit. Megan very gently lifted Don's right foot and rested it on Charlie's shoulder, keeping it elevated, her hand resting and staying on Charlie's left shoulder, anchoring him, not that could feel much in the way of gratefulness at that moment. All he could feel was a snowballing sense of guilt and a dread that he couldn't pin-point the origin of but at the same time he couldn't shake.
#
The sight of his baby brother at a blackboard was such a familiar sight it brought tears to his eyes. Sometimes he thought he could sit and watch Charlie work all day. Yeah, when they'd been kids he'd been a pain in the ass; Christ, Charlie had been thirteen when Don was eighteen, Charlie had been kicking around a football and throwing hoops when Don was trying to have sex with as many girls (and guys) as was humanly possible. But still he'd always loved him, from the first moment he'd held him at twelve hours old, to this very second as he worked furiously on one unsolvable problem to stop himself from thinking about another. Right then, his love for his brother was almost overwhelming.
He could have watched all night. But he couldn't stand up for that long.
"Charlie?"
He started, chalk skipping from the end of a co-sign symbol to a point an inch to the right of it before dropping from his fingers to the floor. He turned, shoulder colliding with the blackboard. "Don?!" Don hadn't meant to scare him but he had, judging by the squeak of his brother's voice. "You should be… in the hospital."
"Had to see you, Buddy." Leaning heavily on the metal walking cane he'd stolen from the ward he took a couple of steps into the garage, noticing how chilly it was this late at night. He'd have come earlier, but he'd had to wait until his Dad had left, had a chance to get home, have a drink, watch some late-night television and retire to bed. And until the nurses had finished checking his vitals of course. He'd dressed with difficulty, swallowed four pain meds and called a cab. "Had to check you were okay."
"I'm… fine." He talked like a man who hadn't said much in the last couple of days. "I'm not the one who was shot, Don."
"It's just a flesh wound." Still, he found himself leaning heavily on the narrow table in the middle of the space. "Thought you'd be working on your Cognitive Theory… stuff."
Charlie looked away from him. "I can only work on that when everything's… right. Nothing's right."
"I got shot, Charlie, that's all. I'm fine - couple of weeks rest and I'll be back at work."
"Good." His brother nodded - too fast. "That's good."
"So tell me what isn't right, tell me why you're on P vs NP and not your other work." He said it gently, not wanting Charlie to retreat any further. His leg was hurting, throbbing with pain, but it didn't matter right then.
Leaning down to pick up the chalk he'd dropped, Don watched as Charlie rubbed his thumb over the seared end of the white stick. He wasn't using a holder; his fingers would be dry as bone, rough and sore from the constant use.
His last couple of dips into his particular brand of madness Don hadn't been able to understand, but he got it this time, got why Charlie had run.
He was shaking his head now. "It… it doesn't matter. I'll work it out. I have before."
"I know you have. But this time I want to help. I know why you ran, why you're here." He looked around at the looping equations, from blackboard to blackboard, all around the walls, covering the ceiling above his head. "You told me where to go, where to find the gunman and you did good, Charlie, you found the guy."
"I got you shot!" He heard the first tremors of hysteria in the voice. He hated it, but he needed to break his brother before he had a hope of putting him back together.
"You did your job, the job I asked you to do."
"I heard you get shot. I heard you...."
"I know you did. And I'm sorry. I heard your voice in my ear and it was good to know you were there, Charlie, it was. I know you wouldn't have left me." He watched Charlie rub his face with his hand, saw him blink the first tears from his eyes. His heart ached for him. "If I could have stopped you have going through that, I would have, I swear. I don't go out of my way to hurt you even though sometimes it must feel like I do."
"No, Don…."
A couple of steps forward, he reached to touch his brother's shoulder. "I know you, Chuck, I know how much you feel, how intensely you feel it." He lowered his voice. "Especially when it comes to me. And it's okay, okay to feel like that, okay to talk to me, to yell at me for putting you through this. I'd rather that than lose you to this again."
"I'm sorry… it's all I can do."
"Charlie, Charlie… I'm not blaming you, I'm not… criticising you." Sliding his hand down a cold, wiry arm, using the touch for his own benefit as much as for Charlie's. "You're my brother and… I admire you, I'm so proud of you. Eventually I'd have been in that gunman's sights even without you telling us where to go. This isn't your fault. And I'm sorry you had to be there because it hurt you, but I'm glad you're working with me. I'm glad we've got you on our side."
Charlie swallowed, hand clutching convulsively at his chalk. "I thought you'd been killed." Don nodded. "I thought I'd heard you… and I'd sent you there. I was the one who put you in danger…."
"It's okay."
"It isn't okay."
His voice was cracking, and slowly Don eased his arm around his brother's shoulders. "Yes, it is. I'm fine. I'm alive."
"This time."
"And last time. And the time before that. And next time." There were tears now, running from his big brown eyes, over his round cheeks. One more push…. "I love you, Charlie, so much. My genius little brother…." The tears became sobs; Charlie breaking apart, shaking, falling against Don as he wrapped strong arms around him and pulled him close.
Ignoring the aching pain in his leg, Don rocked his brother gently against him, chin rested in dark curls, breathing in the scent of sweat and chalk and - oddly - burnt toast. "I've got ya, Charlie, it's okay." One of Charlie's hand clawed painlessly at his back while the other, still gripping the broken chalk, pounded ineffectually at his shoulder. It was some time before the hysteria eased, and when it did he knew he wouldn't be able to stand for much longer. "I'm sorry, Chuck, I need to sit down."
Charlie immediately tried to pull away, apologising. "Don… your leg…."
"I said, it's okay. Just…come over to the couch." He hobbled over to the battered sofa at the far end of the garage, leaning heavily on Charlie, dropping to the old cushions and pulling his brother with him. Charlie curled into his side, too wrung out and exhausted to do much else, tears still running although the hitching of his breath had lessened and the trembling had eased. With some effort, Don hooked his foot around the leg of the nearby coffee table and pulled it over, putting his feet up on it, wrapping his arms around Charlie and keeping him close as he closed his eyes.
They needed to talk some more, but it would wait. In the morning they could both get some food and some proper sleep. And if he had to insinuate himself in his brother's bed to make sure he slept, so be it. Life was tough sometimes, a person had to make sacrifices. Sure, like he'd admitted earlier, Charlie could be a pain in the ass. But he was Don's pain in the ass, and that made him very, very precious.
fin