Title: Reach Out and Touch Someone

Author: FraidyCat

Genre: Drama, Angst

Time line: Any Time is Good For Me

Summary: One Long Night in a Convenience Store

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Drat the luck.

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Chapter 1

He almost didn't answer it.

Not that he was in the habit of ditching Charlie's calls.

But it was late. Almost midnight late, and Don was still on the drive home from work. There seemed to be some sort of conspiracy against his team, lately. Sure, they had a great solve rate — but did everything have to be solved at 4 o'clock or later, guaranteeing several more hours of paperwork?

At least tomorrow was Friday. Barring any new cases, or 4 o'clock solves on the half-dozen open ones they were working already, they might actually get out of the office at a decent hour, and have a real weekend. He knew it was the spectre of that possibility looming over them that had kept him, Megan, David and Colby dedicated to triplicate all evening.

And now, blurry eyes tried to focus on a red light as he heard Charlie's ring tone coming from his pocket. What would possess his brother to call him at midnight?

He tried to think. Was Charlie working on anything for the open cases? He couldn't remember anything. Three of them were from the Cold Case files, and the other three were about to join them there.

He felt a momentary stab of panic. Was something wrong with their father?

The light changed before he did anything about the ringing phone. Don spotted a vacancy — several, actually, at this time of night — in curbside street parking and pulled the SUV over. He was too frazzled to try to juggle driving and cell phoning. Not that it was ever a good idea…but sometimes, it just happened.

He idled the engine, brought the cell to his ear. "Hey, Charlie. It's kind-of late."

"Don." Charlie's voice sounded…Don wasn't sure how it sounded, really. Just not exactly like Charlie's voice.

"Yeah. Okay?" Don was so tired, he couldn't seem to form complete sentences anymore, and resorted to as few syllables as possible.

"I need to tell you…thank you. You've been a good brother, always. The last few years, working with you and seeing you more, they've been good. Remember them, okay? Help Dad, tell him I love him…I'm so sorry…"

Don's hand tightened on the wheel and he clutched the phone so hard he was afraid it would shatter. "Charlie, what's wrong? What're you talking about?"

He heard a shaky breath. "I'm…I'm sort-of involved in an oddly civilized robbery, right now. Hostages. We're each allowed to call one person, before…before it's over."

Don grasped at straws. "Right. And the oddly civilized perp is letting you tell me exactly where you are. Come on, Charlie, it's late. I'm tired."

Charlie's voice got steadier. "Not kidding, Don. Cops are already outside, so I guess he thinks it doesn't matter."

The fear, pushed back for only a moment, came back with a vengeance. "Charlie, it'll be okay. Where are you?"

"Convenience store. Close to home." Don heard something in the background. "Listen, I've gotta go, we only get two minutes each. Please remember what I said. Love you, D-"

The connection severed, and Don slowly lowered the cell phone to stare at it, as if he could will the text message "J– O – K- I- N- G" to appear. The brother half of his heart and brain shut down, and the FBI agent quickly dialed 9-1-1.

"Los Angeles County Dispatch. What is your emergency?"

"This is Special Agent Eppes, FBI. Do you have officers on the scene of a hostage situation? Convenience store?"

Hesitation. "I'll need to confirm your shield number, Agent."

Don swore and fumbled with his wallet, the SUV's dome light. He rattled off the numbers and waited an eternity for the dispatcher to check appropriate records. She then asked him two password questions, to make sure someone hadn't stolen his ID. Finally, "We do have officers at the scene, Agent. A hostage negotiation team and SWAT is currently enroute. We have no requests for FBI involvement at this time."

"Screw your requests," spat Don. "My brother just called me and said he's one of the hostages. The perp is allowing them one phone call each, before…before…where the hell is it?"

"Agent Eppes, I'm so sorry. 9th and Rose, Pasadena. Please report to Captain Davis, OIC at the scene. I'll radio him that you are on your way."

Don pulled back into traffic, suddenly oblivious to his own safety. "You do that," he said. "And tell him he's got FBI involvement now whether he wants it or not. I'm calling in my team, my Director, the Pope, if I have to."

Don threw the phone onto the passenger seat and used both hands to swerve around an idiot in front of him obeying the fucking speed limit. Then he almost bounced off the curb as he leaned and scrabbled for the phone again. Barely looking, he speed-dialed Megan.

"Please. Don," she groaned after several rings, during which Don was sure his heart had stopped several times — every time his mind replayed Charlie's call — "I just got home…"

"Now. Convenience store, Pasadena, 9th & Rose. Now. David, Colby, Merrick."

Megan's voice was at once alert and confused. "Merrick? Don, what…"

He found the brother half of his brain suddenly overtaking him. "Help," he choked out desperately. "Charlie needs help."

She spoke slowly and deliberately, trying to calm him. "Tell me what he needs, Don." She heard a screeching of tires, and her heart leapt into her throat. "Are you driving?"

"Need both hands," he growled, and hung up on her.

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OIC (equals) Officer In Charge