Chapter 24

Alan took a swipe at the kitchen table with a rag, and turned toward the sink, his gaze automatically traveling through the doorway. His eyes brushed over his youngest son, who was seated on the sofa, scribbling something in a notebook, his dark head bent. Two months ago, Charlie had been released from the hospital, fall semester had just started, and he seemed to be transitioning well, thought Alan. Charlie had his full load of classes, but Millie had assigned his committee work, grad student mentoring, and special projects to others for the semester. He had been off the Lorazepam for three weeks, and had another month to go on the SSRI before Dr. Michaels began to pull him off that, but in general, the doctor was pleased with Charlie's progress.

Alan opened the utensil drawer, and his eyes fell on the new carving knife. He had thrown away the old one, but even the new one reminded him of the events of that horrible summer. His mind drifted back to the anxious days at the hospital, and the painful days that followed, as Charlie had tried to come to grips with the terrible events. In spite of Alan's and Don's protestations, it was clear that Charlie blamed himself entirely for what had happened. The first two days after he became aware of what had occurred, he retreated into himself, lying in a cesspool of guilt and sorrow.

As the week wore on, he became more verbal, but his conversations with Alan all centered on trying to find out what he had done while he was out, as Alan preferred to call it. It became clear that his son was engaging in some kind of self punishment, as if each new fact would reinforce the guilty perception he had of himself; and Alan refused to play. Alan had born the brunt of his son's insane rages, and he was sure that no good would come out of Charlie knowing exactly what he had done and said. In fact, no one knew most of it except Alan, and wild horses wouldn't drag it out of him. So he deferred and he dodged every time the questions came up, and eventually Charlie stopped asking.

The guilt was still there, though. Alan would catch it in unguarded moments; particularly when Charlie looked at Don, but he would sometimes catch a look directed at himself – the dark eyes filled with sorrow and remorse. Generally, though, Charlie had worked hard at getting well; in fact he was a model patient. He followed medication instructions to the letter, he meekly ate whatever Alan put in front of him; he went for his daily jog without fail.

He faithfully attended sessions with Dr. Michaels – now there was a good relationship, thought Alan. Bradford had been right; Michaels was perfect for Charlie, and the sessions had apparently been extremely helpful. Slowly, the defeated look abated, the burden of horror was lifted, and Charlie became more like himself. He was still a little on the serious side, but in the last two weeks, even that had improved. He was smiling more, there was a new calmness in his eyes; in fact, just this week he had even cracked a joke, Alan remembered with a smile.

He heard the door open, then Don's voice in the living room, and he smiled to himself. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, he was preparing dinner, and the simple evening they had planned together seemed like the most wonderful thing in the world.

Don stepped through the door, and was greeted by his brother's quiet smile. Ever since Charlie's break, each time Don looked at his brother he was hit by a wave of relief, of gratitude. He had his brother back, after weeks of looking at and dealing with a stranger, and somehow, every time he caught his brother's eyes, now normal, intelligent, and calm; the wonder of it hit him all over again.

Along with the profound feeling of relief always came an almost irresistible urge to hug him; as if he needed the reinforcement of contact to assure him that Charlie was really there. Hugs weren't something that Don had ever taken to before, and even now they usually took the form of an arm over the shoulders, and a playful squeeze, or maybe a quick pretend punch to the shoulder. In his sessions with Bradford, they had talked about the compulsive feeling that he had to protect his brother from the world in general. The events of the summer hadn't done anything to lessen that, in fact, they seemed to make it more profound. Don was aware that he was hovering, and he didn't care. He was just damn glad he still had a brother to hover over.

He smiled in return. "Hey, Chuck. How's it going?"

"Good," said Charlie. He set aside the notebook and stretched. "You're here early. I don't think Dad had dinner planned until six."

Don put on an exaggerated face, pretending to be affronted. "What, you think I only show up for food?" Charlie grinned back, and Don looked at him, his expression softening. "Actually, I was hoping you could help me with some homework."

Charlie quirked an eyebrow. "Homework? What, a case?"

"Not exactly," said Don. He pulled a folded paper from his back pocket. "Did Bradford send you something this week?"

Charlie looked back at him, with an unreadable expression on his face. "Yes," he said slowly, cautiously.

"It was a bunch of questions, right?" pressed Don.

"Yeah, something we did weeks ago. Why?"

"Well, I have a list of my own, and he gave me an assignment." Don shrugged. "He said it's really just a recommendation, and it's okay if you aren't up for it yet, but he wants us to go over them together. I thought maybe we could do that, or just sit and talk, you know…" he broke off, trying to sound noncommittal.

Charlie felt a little twinge of nervousness, but he matched his brother's nonchalant look. "Sure."

"Good," said Don. "So, I thought maybe we could go to the park." He sent a meaningful glance toward the kitchen, where he knew that Alan was preparing dinner.

Charlie followed his gaze. "Good idea. I'll get my paper."

He rose as Don poked his head in the kitchen. "Hi Dad, - hey, Charlie and I are going for a walk."

Alan raised his eyebrows, and shot him a bemused look; smiling. "Good, you can work up an appetite. And take out the trash while you're at it."

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It was a glorious afternoon; the heavens were as clear as an L.A. sky could get, and a balmy breeze ruffled the trees over the park bench. Charlie drank in the peaceful scene and the sunlight. When he had first come back from Los Padres, he couldn't jog in this area of the park; the wooded sections reminded him too much of the forest. Now, though, as he listened to the wind soughing in the branches, it seemed beautiful, soothing. He sighed, with a small smile, and caught his brother watching him. "What?"

Don shook his head smiling. "Nothing."

Charlie regarded him, and a sly grin crept over his face. "You aren't going to get all mushy on me with this stuff, are you?"

Don's heart sang at the glint of humor in his brother's eyes. Damn, it was good to have him back. "Not a chance. You're the mushy one."

"Since when have numbers been anything but logical? There's no mush in math," Charlie shot back grinning.

They both were well aware that they were stalling. An awkward silence descended, and Don rubbed the back of his head, a little nervously. "Okay, well. What did you put for the first one?" He stopped and snorted. "I feel like I'm asking for the answers to a biology test. I always used to ask you what you had put down after we took a test, to see how well I did."

Charlie smiled. "I remember." Silence fell again, and they each eyed the paper in the other's hands. Charlie took a breath and spoke first. "Okay, well, the first one was pretty easy. 'Do you consider yourself successful in your field?' I said true."

"Yeah, me too," agreed Don. He read the next question. "'You are more successful in your field than your brother is in his.' "I said false."

Charlie eyed him. "Really?"

"Yeah, what, are you kidding me Charlie? What did you put?"

Charlie frowned at his paper, and Don craned his neck trying to see what was on it. Charlie sighed. "Well, Bradford and I kind of argued about this one. He finally asked who had more recognition, and ended up putting true for me, when I agreed that I did."

"Charlie, what's to argue? For Pete's sake, you're a phenomenon."

"Well, think about it. Sure, I'm well known in the math community, but you're just as successful at your job. Just because the FBI doesn't give out awards or give you the opportunity to write books doesn't mean you aren't successful. If you put both of us in lecture halls and had each of us give a talk on our jobs, how many people would pick your talk over mine? Most of them."

Don rolled his eyes, but he grinned. "I think you're selling yourself short. If you can explain complicated math to Colby and keep him from falling asleep, you can keep anyone entertained."

Charlie smile wryly. "Whatever. What's the next one?"

"'Your brother is better with people than you are.' I said false." Don looked at Charlie a little guiltily.

"Well, we agree on that one. I said true. There's no contest there."

"You know, you've gotten a lot better at it," Don said hastily. "At reading people. And God knows, you handle a roomful of students better than I ever could."

"That's okay, Don, you don't have to qualify your answer. That's one of the reasons you're so good at your job."

"Yeah, maybe," conceded Don.

"No, not maybe. I said you are, and I'm always right." Charlie grinned at him, his eyes glinting with humor.

Don smirked back. "Says who?" he shot back, but he felt unbridled happiness inside. This was the brother he had missed. To have him smiling and teasing again was priceless. Maybe this exercise wasn't so bad. "Okay, next. 'Your brother has more success with women than you do.'" He paused.

"I said true," interjected Charlie.

"Well, maybe it was, once. I'm not so sure anymore."

"Oh come on. You're a lot smoother with women than I am." Charlie sighed. "I still get nervous around them; I even had a hard time making small talk with Amita. Starting a relationship just seems easier for you."

"Yeah, but have they gone anywhere? The relationships you did have lasted a lot longer than most of mine."

Charlie regarded him ruefully. "I think we both let work get in the way."

Don looked at his paper with a sardonic expression. "Yeah, well, that's not a question here."

"Here either. I mean when you think about the women I had serious relationships with – they were both from academia. I guess I kind of took for granted that work comes first, and since they were in similar careers, that they thought so too." A look of regret passed over Charlie's face. "Maybe if I hadn't taken Amita for granted, she wouldn't have gone looking for someone else."

Don grunted. "Don't blame yourself for that one. I think Amita just didn't know what she wanted."

"Yeah, I'm not so sure I did either," said Charlie, pensively. "You know, this is kind of related to the next question."

"'Your brother is more likely to get married than you.''" Don grimaced. "I don't think either one of us is looking good there, at the moment."

Charlie smiled wryly and nodded. "That's what I said." He shook his head. "Poor Dad. He wants grandkids in the worst way."

Don grinned. "You first." He looked down at his paper, sobering. "Speaking of Dad, the next questions are about him and Mom. Oh, no, wait, there's another one before that. 'You are smarter than your brother.'"

They both looked at their papers, and Charlie spoke quietly. "Well, while we're on the subject, let's talk about Mom and Dad and then go back to that one."

"Okay," Don agreed. "'Your father cares about you.'"

"No question there. Dad's – incredible." Charlie fell silent for a moment, and his expression darkened. "There's no way I would have made it through all of that without him." He looked up at Don. "Or without you."

Don looked back at him, softness in his eyes. "That's what family's for, Chuck."

Charlie looked down and shook his head. "Family shouldn't have to go through that."

Don looked at his brother earnestly. He was well aware that Charlie continued to blame himself for what happened. "And neither should you. It happened, Charlie – there was nothing you could do about it."

Charlie grimaced. "I could have followed instructions."

"You didn't know what would happen," insisted Don. "Now you do. Not that you'll ever be in that situation again."

Charlie smiled sadly. "Actually, I might. In fact, both Dr. Bradford and Dr. Michaels said it will probably happen again." At Don's startled look, he jumped to explain. "Not the psychotic break. That was induced by the medicine. No, I mean the anxiety, the panic-attacks - my tendency to retreat into my numbers when I'm stressed."

He looked away, his face filled with sad acceptance, and Don was suddenly seized with the perception that his brother carried a burden that he didn't understand. "Why; because it happened before? Charlie, they can't know that for sure."

Charlie shrugged. "They don't, they admit it. They just say it's likely. Dr. Michaels says if it happens again, he won't be putting me on Lorazepam." He tried to smile, but it came out twisted. "Apparently, my brain is extremely sensitive to chemical stimuli." He cast a sideways glance at Don. "It means I'm easily addicted."

Don's brows drew together in concern, and Charlie looked away with a shrug, trying to look indifferent. "I guess that's why I've never been a big drinker. When I do drink, I get drunk easily. I imagine that I knew somehow, subconsciously, that it was something I should stay away from." He straightened, trying to lighten his expression. "Anyhoo, how did we get on this topic? We were talking about Dad."

"Yeah," said Don quietly. "Let's see, 'Your father cares about you more than your brother.'"

They looked at each other and spoke at the same time. "I said he cares about us equally." "I said false, we're equal." They smiled at each other.

"Dad's awesome," said Charlie softly. He looked at Don as his brother scanned his paper. They were just scratching the surface with these questions, and he wondered if Don realized it. Even if he did, thought Charlie, this baring of thoughts about relationships wasn't exactly his brother's cup of tea. He probably wanted to get the assignment finished and be done with it. Even this much was good, though. He had to give Bradford credit.

Don glanced at him. "Now, Mom. There are three questions there. Why don't you go first?"

Charlie looked at his paper, scanning the questions, reading them silently to himself. 'Your mother loved you more than your brother.' 'Your mother spent more time with you than your brother.' 'No one has ever understood you as well as your mother.' He looked up, and his eyes met Don's. "I said false for the first one, but true for the second one."

Don's eyes reflected just a hint of pain before a veil dropped over his face, and he looked off into the trees. "I said the same thing. I had a bit of discussion with Bradford over this, but in the end I came to the same conclusion."

Charlie looked at Don's profile, at the set jaw. "She loved you just as much, you know. I know she spent a lot of time with me, but she really did. She really missed you when we went away to Princeton."

Don shrugged. "She would have missed me anyway. I was going off to school myself. It really wasn't much of an issue." 'Except when I came home to visit; and she wasn't there.' He had gotten over that, pretty much, after the first year. It was the years away from home after that, and the knowledge that he couldn't get them back, that was hard to take. Not to mention the amount of time she had spent with Charlie during the years when they were growing up. Charlie had gotten so much more time with her than he had.

Don had fallen silent, and Charlie looked down at the paper, sadly. "I cheated you out of time with her. All of my – needs, my tutoring, got in the way. I imagine that you resent that." He looked up. "Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if Mom and Dad had just let me go through school like any other kid?"

Don shook his head. "Never. Did I resent the time Mom spent with you when I was younger? Yeah, actually I did, but I was a kid, and I didn't realize then what your gift really meant. Mom and Dad did, and they felt it was their job to make sure that it wouldn't go to waste." He looked at Charlie, intently. "I admit, I was jealous, there were times when I wished it was me that was the genius. It wasn't until I came back and we started working together that I understood that this was bigger than that, bigger than me, bigger even than you."

"I came to realize that your gift was something that was given to all of us. You happen to be the one that carries it, but it's all of our responsibility, not just yours, not just Mom and Dad's, but mine too, to deal with it. The world doesn't get a mind like yours very often, Charlie. Mom said once that we couldn't squander it, even if it meant making sacrifices. I know what she meant now."

He looked at Charlie intently. "I know that now that we're adults, that job falls mostly to you. I didn't realize until recently that it's not that easy; that maybe your gift is sometimes more of a curse." He paused as Charlie looked away, his face working with emotion, and then continued, "I just want you to know that I understand it a lot better now, and I'm here to support you. You're not alone with it."

He paused and looked at Charlie, who appeared to be struggling to keep his emotions in check. "So, I guess the situation with Mom, I understand it now. I realize why she did what she did. And I know she didn't love me any less for it." Charlie still hadn't spoken, and Don gently tried to prompt the conversation. "So, I imagine you said true to Mom understanding you best."

Charlie nodded, and Don regarded his brother's profile. "You still miss her."

Charlie's voice was husky with emotion. "Yes."

"Yeah, me too," admitted Don, softly. He cleared his throat. "I actually said false for that one. I said Dad probably understood me best. He spent a lot more time with me, running me to practices, games…. They kind of tag-teamed us, when you think about it. Mom with you, Dad with me." He smiled. "I think he still has a pretty good bead on me. Not much gets by him."

He looked back down at the questions. "So, we need to drop back to the question we skipped. 'You are smarter than your brother.' Now there's a no-brainer. I said false. Well, first I looked at Bradford like he was an idiot for even asking the question, then I said false."

Charlie pulled himself together with an effort. "There's more than one kind of smart," he said. "You have more street smarts, you're smarter socially. That counts too."

"Not on tests, it didn't."

"But in the real world? Sometimes I think it counts more than academic intelligence."

Don looked at him, exasperated. "Charlie, you're a genius. I've got that, I can handle it. You don't need to make me feel better."

Charlie frowned. "I'm not. I mean, I really feel that way. I could never compete with you in that area. In school, it was – well it was painful. Getting A's on your tests doesn't mean a whole lot when nobody talks to you. You – you were like a king in school. Everyone looked up to you. They still do. Social intelligence gives you a lot of power."

Don shook his head. "Charlie-," he began, and then stopped. It was ridiculous to even argue this point, although he had to admit, it was a nice feeling to know his brother felt that way. "Let's just agree to disagree on this one."

They both stared at the remaining questions. They were getting tougher, a little more pointed. Don read from his page. "'You look up to your brother.'" He cast a sideways look at Charlie. "I said true."

Charlie's eyebrows rose as he heard Don's response, and he eyed his response to the next question. "Uh, yeah, I said true also."

"'Your brother looks up to you,'" Don continued. He hoped so. "I said true."

"Uh, I wasn't too sure about this one," hedged Charlie. He looked at Don cautiously. "I said false."

"Charlie!" Don frowned in puzzlement, tinged with annoyance. "Why wouldn't you think I look up to you?"

"I don't know," said Charlie defensively. "I guess I figured that you did, as far as my math knowledge went. Sometimes, though, I get the feeling that you get irritated with me, that you think I'm, well, clueless."

"Why would you think that?" asked Don, a little irritably.

"You get a little bossy sometimes, demanding, when you think I'm not moving fast enough on a case. And sometimes when I'm presenting things, you get impatient or critical when you don't think it fits the investigation. Or occasionally you take the work that I did, and put it on the back burner."

Don stared at him a minute, scowling. "Well, sometimes you can be a little annoying that way. You come in full of some theory, and get pushy when we don't drop everything and jump right on it. We have to balance a lot of things in an investigation, and you don't always see that. Maybe I get a little irked, but it doesn't mean I don't look up to you."

Charlie pondered that for a moment. "I guess I didn't realize I did that. It is pretty exciting when you come up with a solution – maybe sometimes I do get a little overly enthusiastic."

"Pushy."

"Whatever." Charlie looked sideways at him, his brows drawn, and caught the glint of humor in his brother's eyes, and his scowl twisted into a grudging smile, as he realized he was being baited. He looked at the paper. "'Your brother uses you.' And the next one is similar. 'Your brother takes advantage of you.'" He paused, and waited.

"False, and false," said Don.

"False, and, uh, true," said Charlie, with a wary look sideways.

Don frowned. "You think I take advantage of you?"

"Sometimes," admitted Charlie. "You push me to take cases I don't have time for, to drop other things when you need something for an investigation."

Don sighed. "Yeah, I guess I can see that. It's just that, when people's lives are at stake, nothing else seems quite as important. I suppose I get a little demanding sometimes."

"Pushy," said Charlie, smirking.

"Smartass," Don shot, back. They grinned at each other. "Okay," he continued. "Next two – 'You would do anything for your brother.' 'Your brother would do anything for you.' I answered true for both."

"So did I," said Charlie, softly. Their eyes held for a moment. He wasn't about to bring up the fact that for the second question he had said true for anything major, but that he wasn't sure about the little things. After everything that had happened, and the fact that his brother had been around a lot more lately, sharing some of the little things, that answer seemed no longer pertinent. He looked down and read. "'You can never measure up to your brother.'"

"You skipped a couple," Don said quietly.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably and looked away. "They're probably not relevant, anymore."

Don sent him a stern glance; then read. "'Your brother has always treated you kindly.' 'You bear a grudge against your brother for how he treated you when you were young.'"

He looked at Charlie, his brows knit. "You think I didn't always treat you kindly?"

Charlie twisted his hands together. "You blew me off a lot. You had your own world, and you didn't really want me in it. I was the annoying little brother."

Don's forehead furrowed in concentration. He supposed that Charlie was right; in fact, he could remember trying to ditch his younger brother on numerous occasions. He didn't realize though, that it had made such an impact. "Well, you were quite a bit younger than me. A lot of older siblings don't want their younger ones tagging along." He looked at Charlie apologetically. "I guess I didn't know it bothered you so much."

"It is understandable," said Charlie. "It's just that… oh, just forget it; it's over. I don't bear a grudge, if you want the answer to the second question."

He looked away, but not before Don caught the look of sadness in his eyes. This really bothers him, he thought, with a sudden revelation; that brought with it a pang of regret. "No, we shouldn't forget it. We should talk about it. We've brought it up before, but we never really got into it. That's what we're here for."

Charlie sighed; then looked at Don earnestly. "It's just that most younger siblings have their own friends. I didn't. I was in your grade – I didn't really have friends my own age. You were it for me; if you didn't include me, there was nothing else." He looked away. "It got pretty lonely sometimes." A lot of the time, he added silently.

Don stared. Had he really been that selfish? "Charlie, I'm sorry, I guess I didn't realize – you always seemed so sure of yourself. You were never afraid to jump into conversations with anyone; you seemed to socialize okay at school– I guess I just didn't think…" He trailed off. Charlie never did bring friends home, and rarely went out with friends either, now that he thought about it. He had just assumed his brother was too busy with his extra studies. His heart sank as he studied Charlie, taking in the hurt that had been suppressed for so long.

Charlie shrugged, with a wan smile. "We both made sacrifices in those days. That was one of mine." He looked down, and spoke, trying to get the focus of off himself. "So what did you put down?"

"You always treated me kindly," Don said softly. Maybe too kindly. He remembered the eager offers to check his homework, to help him study. 'Charlie had been doing the only thing he could think of to get me to pay attention to him,' he thought sadly. 'How could I have not seen that?'

He swallowed. "My second question was a little different than yours. 'You bear a grudge against your brother for all the attention he got from your parents.' We already talked about that one, when we talked about Mom and Dad." He gazed at Charlie, his face filled with regret. "I'm sorry Charlie, I didn't know-"

Charlie held up his hand, stopping him, and looked at him, with a wistful smile. "I think we've come past all of that."

Don sighed and looked at his paper. This had turned out to be more difficult than he thought it would. It was good though, in spite of being painful. He couldn't believe that they had never discussed these things before. "'You can never measure up to your brother.'"

"True," they both said at once.

Don shook his head. "Well, my response is understandable. It's pretty tough to measure up to a genius. We talked about that already."

Charlie smiled. "We talked about mine too. I told you how I looked up to you in school." His expression turned suddenly serious, and he held his brother's eyes. "I still do. I always will."

Don returned Charlie's gaze, and fought to control the wave of emotion than ran through him. He looked down and cleared his throat. "I guess there's just one more." He scanned the paper. "'You love your brother more than he loves you.' I actually said false, I said we cared about each other equally."

"That's what I answered, too," answered Charlie hastily. He stretched and rose from the bench. "Wow, look at the time. We'd better get back."

Don looked at him suspiciously. One thing hadn't changed – his brother was still a horrible liar. Without warning, he stood and snatched Charlie's papers from his hand. 'True,' he read in Bradford's handwriting. 'It's always been that way.'

He looked up from the page at Charlie, accusation and hurt on his face. "Charlie – first, I can't believe you said that, and second, you lied about your answer. Why?" Charlie looked down, and Don spoke impatiently. "You at least owe me an explanation."

Charlie shifted from one foot to another, uncomfortably. "It doesn't apply any more. I changed my mind since I answered it."

"That's no explanation, that's an excuse. Why did you say that to begin with?"

Charlie looked at him earnestly. "We talked about some of this already. Don, when we were kids, I adored you. We both know you didn't feel that way about me."

"The question wasn't asking about when we were kids."

"I know. When you came back and we started working together, I guess I liked to think that the situation had changed, that maybe you felt differently about it, but I was never sure." He looked at Don apologetically. "You're a pretty tough person to read."

Don frowned. "Charlie, I know I don't do a good job at communicating stuff like that, but-"

"Wait." Charlie stopped him. There was a plea in his voice. "You don't have to. Not anymore. Don, after the last few months, you don't have to talk about how you feel for me to know. Look, I was a mess after Los Padres. I was moody, anxious, unpredictable; I wasn't thinking straight. After the break I was downright dangerous. You were always there – through all of it. You found me when I ran off, you were there to pull me out of the surf; you were there to take the knife away from me. I stabbed you; I could have killed you – and you never left me. I know now. You don't have to say it." His passionate rush of words ended suddenly, and they stared at each other in silence. The sound of the breeze in the trees seemed to voice the surge and swirl of their feelings, the almost unbearable flow of emotion inside.

Don's heart was full, but somehow he found his voice. "No wonder you're always right. When you're not, you change your mind."

He smiled, and Charlie smiled back. "I'm not stupid."

They turned and fell into step beside each other, still smiling, and Don glanced at him. "Well, that wasn't bad for a first session."

Charlie looked back at him, eyebrows raised. "First session?"

"Heck yeah," said Don, teasingly, throwing an arm around his brother's shoulders. "We have issues to talk about. We're just getting started." He looked at his brother, his expression turning serious. "Really. This was good."

Charlie looked at him, grinning. "Now you're getting mushy on me."

"No way."

"Mushy."

"I'll show you mushy," growled Don, and he pulled in Charlie in tightly with his arm, in an exaggerated embrace. They both staggered, and Charlie laughed as they stumbled, then found their footing again. The sound mingled with the soft sigh of the breeze in the trees, as their branches swayed, waving and whispering peacefully against the soft blue of the sky.

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Finis