A/N: Many thanks to all who welcomed me back – I can't believe there are any still out there, but I'm determined to finish the stories I started.

Chapter 18

Man of Inaction. Still.

He was still in a semi-doze an indeterminate passage of time later when the elevator dinged again. He mentally made a note to glance at his watch and look alert, but his eyes disobeyed him and remained stubbornly closed. Waking seemed to be a slow and gradual process lately. No point in fighting it. It was the aroma that finally made him stir. Was that…mushroom soup…? That could only mean…

"I told you, you don't have to keep doing this," he murmured.

"Said the sleeping man."

"Just resting my eyes. Besides, if a cholesterol-laden lunch is supposed to be making me more alert, I think you miscalculated." He lifted his head and swiped at his eyes.

"I was just in the neighborhood."

"Yeah. Every afternoon about this time. How likely is that?"

"So I organize my errands so I can see my son. Is that a crime? Are you planning to bring charges?"

"No, but that meal smells like it should be illegal. What did you bring? I recognize the soup."

"Your grandmother's recipe. One of you had better learn to make it – I promised her it would stay in the family."

"All I remember is about a half a tub of sour cream. You know, everybody just went out to bring back lunch. And I can promise you that it will be every bit as stuffed with calories. You don't have to keep doing this."

"It's not calories I'm aiming for – it's nutrition. Indulge me – at least until you stop looking like a shadow of your former self. A little babying won't kill you."

Don sat up straight and tried to rub some feeling back into his face. "That's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried that I'll get used to it."

"Oh, can't have that."

Boy, nobody did sarcastic quite like Dad. "Dad, I have to go back to my apartment eventually." The silence stretched as neat plastic containers appeared from the bag, one after another. Don tried to get a better look at his face. "Dad," he repeated, "You know I do."

"Fine. You do. I heard you."

Don peeled back the lid on one of the cartons and sniffed, buying time. "I appreciate it. You taking me in and looking out for me. I said that, right?"

"Repeatedly." He proffered a plastic spoon.

"So…?" Don took the spoon and poked at the soup. Smelled like heaven. But Colby was right – had to be about a trillion calories. This silence was even longer. "Dad…?"

A sandwich slapped down next to his soup. Don peeled back the bread to peek. Chicken salad. Extra mayo and walnuts. Well, he'd probably restabilize his weight, but it was doubtful he'd be doing the dash on this diet.

His father sighed, handed him a napkin. "I know you can't go back in time. I know that. But sometimes…sometimes it feels good to do your best to do what you couldn't do then in the present."

Don blew on a spoonful of soup. "You wanna parse that sentence for me?"

Alan paused in placing a plastic tub of salad next to the sandwich and glowered at him from under dark brows. "Eat your soup."

Right. When in doubt, eat. That always mollified best in the end – especially if you weren't quite sure what you'd done and whether or not it was safe to ask. The elevator dinged and he looked up hopefully. Maybe his snooze had been longer than he thought and his team was back with food. Not that he was looking for more food, but a buffer would be nice. The doors slid open. His team was nowhere to be seen, but another familiar figure spilled out and Don swallowed a spoonful of soup and raised a hand in relieved greeting. "Hey! Don't tell me you smelled the soup all the way at CalSci!"

Charlie stopped dead at the sight before him and looked a little disconcerted and sheepish. "Oh! Hey! I was going to offer to take you out to lunch, but – "

"Never mind – pull up a chair – there's plenty." Don kicked the nearest wheeled chair in Charlie's direction, narrowed his eyes at a silent exchange that passed between Charlie and his father. Man. At least I don't have to send these guys undercover. That would be homicide.

"Wanna key me in?"

Charlie widened his eyes in an attempt at innocence. "About what?"

"Yeah. That's the question." Okay – there it was – the chafe. He took a drag on his water. "I should plan a road trip to my apartment – at least air it out or something, after it's been empty so long."

Charlie selected a handful of grapes, popped them in his mouth and talked around them. "Nothing to worry about – it's fine. Air's as good as it ever was. You know, for LA."

Don paused his work with the spoon and raised his eyebrows. Alan stilled mid-ladle.

Charlie heard the words play back and choked on a grape, coughed to clear his throat. "Um…" He swallowed. "Amita and I have been…looking after your place. Looking in on it, I mean…" he cleared his throat again. "You know…bringing in mail…um…dusting…"

Don held his eyes. "Dusting," he repeated. "Dusting. Thoughtful." He reached for a carrot stick and bit it. Maybe I should try them undercover – criminals might laugh themselves to death. Save on ammo. "At least change the sheets when you're done."

Alan pushed a bowl of soup in Charlie's direction. "If home is any example, I would have said you didn't even know what dusting was."

Charlie opened his mouth to protest, but Don gestured with the remaining carrot stick to stop him. "Seriously – don't embarrass yourself." He bit it in two. "I should stop by myself anyway. Power was out when I left – should see if anything died in the refrigerator, freezer…"

Charlie scoffed. "Like you HAD anything in the refrigerator and freezer. We threw out the green bread and fizzy orange juice and the ice cube trays refroze, so it's pretty much just a big, cold box again. Bon appetite."

Alan frowned. "Before you move back we should restock that."

"Re." Charlie shook his head. "That's funny."

Don glared at him. "Never mind. I'm pretty sure there was a canister of coffee in there. And there's more to do than that. I mean, even with all the helpful 'dusting'."

"Changing the locks, for instance." Alan murmured.

Don reached for his sandwich. "That's what I'm thinking."

"Hey," Charlie grabbed one of the water bottles and twisted off the top. "It's just tough to find decent privacy sometimes. And by the way, coffee is not actually one of the four food groups."

"Shows what you know."

Alan shook his head. "I'm going to side with Charlie on this one. You should at least stay at the Craftsman until your weight is back to normal."

Don shook his head. "Sounds like I'm cramping Charlie's love life."

"Sounds more like going back to your apartment would."

"Good point."

Charlie squirmed. "Could we, just, um, stop talking…I mean, change the subject?"

Don shrugged. "You brought it up."

"I didn't – I –"

"What does Charlotte have to say, Don?" Alan pushed in hastily, sensing escalation.

"What, you don't already know? Wednesday was golf day."

"Charlotte would not betray your patient privacy, now that you're well enough to make decisions. You know that."

Don stirred his soup. He did know that, actually. But he also knew how persuasive his father could be. And how sneaky. He shrugged non-committaly. "Says I'm doing okay. You know – coming along."

He had actually taken Dr. Gibbs to lunch as a thank you just a couple of days ago, where he had confessed that he could still find himself out of breath going down the stairs. "I mean, up I expected for a while – you know? But down? That's just crazy."

Charlotte had looked pensive. "It's not abnormal. Lungs take a while to heal – especially given the surface area affected. I know it's not what you want to hear, Don, but it will probably be a couple of months before everything is back in place. You're coming along fine – it's just going to take some time."

Time. Time, time, time. There was that word again. "I mean, it's not like I've never been injured before – can't remember when it's ever taken this long to bounce back."

"Your body won't be rushed or bullied. You can help things along by following instructions rigorously."

Don had smiled wryly at that. "Following orders. Guess I know how to do that."

"I hear you tend to put your own spin on it."

He had laughed out loud then. "Man. I just don't have any secrets left, do I?"

Charlotte had smiled her slow smile in return. "Oh, I'm betting you still have a few. But speaking of that, now that I have your medical records, I wouldn't mind acting as your physician of record, if you're comfortable with it. You really should have one – especially given your line of work."

He'd rumpled his bows. "Thought you were semi-retired?"

"I still have a few patients – I think I can squeeze you in."

He had been silent, thinking that over.

"I take it from your hesitation that it could turn into a fulltime job?"

Yikes. He had actually flushed. She read his mind almost as well as his mom had. "No, naw – of course not…it's just…well, sure." Probably not a bad idea.

"Good," she had nodded. "Now. Tell me about the caribou."

He smiled as he remembered. A great memory for details – a good quality to have in a physician.

"She offered to be my physician of record."

"She did." Alan perked up. "What did you say?"

Don gave him a guarded look. "I said 'okay'. Don't make a big deal."

"No, no – of course not." Alan tried to swallow a smile without notable success. "It'll just be an improvement over those residents."

"He was a real – why am I bothering?"

"Good question." Charlie gulped a spoonful of soup. "You actually have a consistent pattern of pushing against the inevitable." He paused, eyes distant. "I could put together an expression…"

"NO!" Okay, BIG chafe – definitely time to create some space for himself again. "Thanks…" he added belatedly. The elevator sounded and familiar voices seeped through the parting doors. He blew out a breath. Saved by the bell.

"We bring chalupas and rice and beans…" Megan paused at the sight before her. "Oh. Hi, Alan. Charlie."

"Told you," Colby muttered.

Megan shot him a sideways glance but kept her smile. "We have enough for everybody, I think."

"We have enough for everybody right here. And maybe for a couple of other teams."

Colby inhaled deeply, then shook his head. "No. We don't. Trust me. Just for us."

"Remember, Granger, we all have to be able to run…" Megan murmured, but Colby was already filling a bowl.

"Man, this is awesome…" he muttered around a mouthful of soup. "Mr. Eppes, you're the real hero."

"I concur," David took a bite of sandwich, then dipped the next bite in the soup. "Big time. Like, Congressional Medal of Honor level."

Megan shook her head. "Seriously, guys – on top of the Mexican…?"

Alan patted Megan's shoulder. "I brought some plastic containers, so nobody has to try to eat everything in one sitting."

Megan laughed at that. "Okay, so you're my hero too. But I don't think they actually have to try to eat everything – I think it just happens."

"I raised two boys. You're not telling me anything I don't know."

Feeling a little smug to have the attention tidily shifted from himself, Don reached for his water, then jumped a little when his phone rang. He fumbled for it, absently raised it to his ear. "Eppes." A second later he was on his feet, gesturing for quiet. "Yeah. Yeah. Okay – be there in ten." He dropped the receiver back in its cradle. "Looks like we're going to need those plastic containers. Sorry, Dad, Charlie – we have a situation downtown. Everybody grab your vests and I'll brief you on the way – " He had his keys in one hand and his jacket in the other when his forearm brushed his belt. His empty belt. At the same moment, he caught a glimpse of Megan's face.

Oh. Oh. He felt suspended in midair, his body suddenly stopped in a movement as automatic as breathing, the discomfort and awkwardness radiating from everyone around him palpable. He glanced from face to face, then took as deep a breath as his healing lungs would allow. Well, this was…Okay, he'd sort through whatever the hell he was feeling later, but right now, this was taking far too long…

"Go! MOVE! I'll get patched through and brief you that way, but get going, now!"

And don't you the hell dare feel sorry for me!

He watched as his agents rushed for the exit, doing hurried equipment checks as they went. He could sense his dad's and Charlie's discomfort and purposely avoided their eyes, punching a few keys on his phone. "Control, this is Agent Eppes, 3695. Patch me through to Agent Reeves' ride?"

He waited – they were probably just climbing in about now – and felt a firm grip on his shoulder. Uh uh. None of that. Better head this off at the pass.

"Dad, I appreciate whatever it is you're going to say, but for right now, I'm working. I just – I just forgot for a minute. Everything's fine."

"I'm sure it is." Alan's calm voice told him that he wasn't buying it for a minute, and that the subject wasn't dropped.

"But that's beside the point. What I was going to say was…there's dessert."

TBC