H/C in Fanfiction and on TV: My Obsession

FIC: Fine (Numb3rs)

2006-08-06T22:23:54Z

Title: Fine
Disclaimer: The characters belong to C. Heuton and N. Falacci. I am making no money from this.
Rating: T
Setting/Season: Early season 2
Spoilers: Big ones for Sniper Zero
Warnings: Some disturbing images, mild language
Summary: Charlie says he's find. Don doesn't believe him.
Author's Note: This story is in a different style from what I usually write. There is loads of Charlie angst and a little h/c. This is my attempt at something 'artsy'. Due to the style, I felt it necessary to overlook some of the punctuation in order to not interrrupt the story's flow. I hope you enjoy it.

Thanks to Swenglish for encouraging me to finish this story in a timely fashion.

"You ask me why I do not write something... I think one's feelings waste themselves in words, they ought all to be distilled into actions and into actions which bring results."
-Florence Nightingale (1820-1910)

I take the stairs to the upstairs bathroom two at a time because I know dad still hasn't fixed the downstairs one. One of Charlie's experiments had taken a turn for the worse and lord only knew what he did to that toilet to screw it up so badly. I wish he could be more like a normal kid and build model cars instead of doing his best to demolish the house.

Today was his first day of high school, and oddly enough, I didn't even see him there. Not that I'm too upset over that. Hanging out with your younger genius brother isn't what gets you friends.

Once at the top of the stairs, my stomach sinks when I see the bathroom door closed. Knowing it can only be one person, I bang on the door hoping to scare the crap out him, literally and figuratively, so I can get in there before I'm forced to do something embarrassing or drastic; whichever comes first.

"Charlie! Get the hell outta there, I gotta go!" I yelled as loudly as possible, starting to dance on the balls of my feet.

No answer.

"Charlie! I know you're in there!"

"In a minute, Don."

His voice is soft, quiet. If I didn't have to go so badly I might have thought something was wrong, but seeing as how my eyeballs must be yellow by now, there could be an air strike and I wouldn't care. My bladder is practically exploding and I'm really jumping up and down now and what the hell is taking him so long?

"Charlie! If you're not out of there in three seconds I'll never let you look at my baseball cards again!"

Silence. Great. So now he's ignoring me. Left with two options, one of which is less than sanitary, I make a decision. It's not like I have anything he hasn't seen before.

Throwing open the door, what I saw actually made me forget about my bladder.

Charlie is standing in front of the mirror, his shirt haphazardly thrown on the floor. What catches my attention is the deep purple bruise over his ribs, and the dried blood contrasting horribly with the pink washcloth he'd used to dab his nose with. He's looking directly at me, his brown eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Charlie! What the hell happened?" And just like that, he closes off from me. He looks at the floor. If his shoulders slumped anymore they'd be down around his knees.

"I had an accident."

"What kind of accident?"

"I tripped on the stairs. Landed awkwardly on my side."

The tear stains on his face tell me he's lying. I walk around him heading towards the toilet, trying to hide the fact I'm looking for other bruises. He must be more perceptive then he lets on because he knows exactly what I'm doing.

"I'm fine, Don," he quietly says as he moves to put his shirt back on.

Charlie is back into his stubborn mode. The one that says, 'I'm old enough to take care of myself'. I just hope that one day this stubbornness of his doesn't get him killed.

Charlie says he's fine. I don't believe him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Mom has cancer. I don't now whether to scream or cry. How can everything be going so right and then suddenly something horrible has to invade just to remind you that as good as you have it, you're just as unlucky as Joe Shmoe who sits on the street corner panhandling? The one thing that equalizes us all is fate.

Or death.

I shudder at that thought. I will not allow myself to think like that.

Dad had tried to sound calm on the phone, but I knew he was upset. The slight tremor in his voice and pause every time he had to say the word 'cancer' spoke silently to me. I wanted to hop on the first plane, I really did, but cases had to be wrapped up.

Now, three days later than what I'd wanted, I'm pulling into dad's driveway. Dad had said I didn't have to come out immediately. He'd said mom was just about to start chemo and that she didn't want him to miss work unnecessarily. That's mom. Worried about everyone else's well-being but her own.

Walking up to the front door, I pull out my key and let myself in. The first thing to strike me is the silence. A tingly feeling started working it's way out from my gut. What had happened?

"Dad? Mom?"

Only silence answered me. Hearing my heart pounding in my ears, I hurriedly walk into the kitchen and find a note in the middle of the kitchen table.

Donnie,

I've taken your mother to her first round of chemo.
Will be back around 3.
Your brother is in the garage. Please check on him.

Dad

Dad's letter sounded kind of ominous. I had a feeling as to what Charlie could be doing. If dad wanted me to check on him, he must not be handling this very well. But, was anyone? How was anyone supposed to deal with the fact their mother was dying from a slow and debilitating illness?

True to dad's word, Charlie was in the garage frantically scribbling on one of his many blackboards. The last time he did this was when he returned from Princeton. We didn't talk much back then, but I heard my parents talking. I knew he had it rough there.

I watched him for a minute, waiting to see if he'd acknowledge me. Obviously not.

"Charlie." My voice is quiet.

"Oh, hi Don." He doesn't even turn around as he replies, never mind the fact we haven't seen each other in years. I don't know what I was expecting. It wasn't like I'd left on good terms. It seemed he was once again choosing his numbers over me. At least his numbers couldn't hurt him. I couldn't say the same about myself.

"What is all this, Charlie?"

"P versus NP." He still didn't turn around.

"P what?" I asked as I walked over to examine one of the boards more closely.

"P versus NP. Polynomial versus non deterministic polynomial. I'm trying to determine if every language accepted by a non deterministic algorithm is also accepted by-"

Charlie had barely started talking and he was already going way over my head. I never knew if he did that unintentionally, or on purpose to make it obvious how much smarter than me he was. I hoped it was the former. "In english, Charlie?"

"Basically, a P type problem is a simple math equation. An NP problem is a problem that's so difficult to solve, it would take all the supercomputers in the world working together on it. If a computer can solve the NP problem by trying all possible solutions simultaneously, then P equals NP, and all digital encryptions would be worthless. This equation is said to be unsolveable," Charlie explained as though he were talking to a five year old.

"If it's unsolveable then why are you working on it?" I changed tactics. "Mom's going to be back soon from chemo. She's going to feel pretty crappy. Have you got her room all ready for her?"

His response was so quiet I couldn't make out what he had said. "Say that again, Charlie?"

"I won't need to. She's going to get better."

Charlie still hadn't turned around and I was starting to get pissed. What the hell was the matter with him that he couldn't look at me during a conversation?

"I know you want her to get better, buddy. I do too, but you have to face the fact she might be sick for a while." Or die. "Now would you turn around and look at me? Charlie!"

The chalk shatters like ice as it hits the pavement, the only sound in the garage is Charlie's heavy breathing. He spins, and I am taken aback by the anger in his eyes and his appearance in general. Three days. It's only been three days since mom's diagnosis, and Charlie is already falling apart. His face is pale, his clothes hang on his too thin frame. How is he going to survive this?

"She's going to get better," Charlie ground out. "If I solve P vs NP, I'll get something back. I'll be doing something good. Something everyone says is impossible. That means something good has to happen to me. To mom." That last part was whispered as he turns back and picks up another piece of chalk.

My eyes start to tear as I watch him. He's bargaining. I know the stages of grief. The next one is depression. How are we going to survive this?

That night at three in the morning, I begged and then threatened him to get some sleep. He told me he was fine. I didn't believe him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Charlie almost got killed today. I thought maybe becoming a teacher and taking responsibility would have tempered his stubborn streak. I thought maybe he'd do as he was told. I thought wrong. That sniper certainly didn't think twice before taking a shot.

I got into the driver's side of the SUV and slammed the door, feeling pleased when Charlie flinched. Serves him right. He didn't have any problems walking into the line of fire. Something needs to frighten him.

"I'm sorry, Don," Charlie whispered, his voice shaking. "I didn't think-"

"Damn right you didn't think!" I yelled, hitting the steering wheel. "You didn't think and you certainly didn't listen!"

"I said I was sorry."

"Well sorry doesn't cut it this time! Do you know what I felt when I saw that gun pointed at you? What I thought? I thought I was going to have to explain to dad why his mathematician son was shot to death surrounded by FBI agents!"

Charlie remained hunched, his hands held firmly between his knees. It wasn't working. He was shaking so hard no amount of restraint was going to stop it. It's that damned adrenal response he was so proud of before. Well, he certainly isn't proud of it now.

A lone tear tracks down his pale face. What was he seeing in his mind? Was he imagining what the bullet would have felt like tearing through his body? Was he seeing his funeral? Or maybe he was wishing he could have finished his calculation before the sniper's interruption.

Moments later, my anger faded into something a little more constructive: concern. Anger would get me nowhere with Charlie, and would only cause him to respond in kind. Concern might get through to him.

"Are you hurt, Charlie?" He'd hit the ground pretty hard. I had been so concerned with not letting him get killed that a trivial bruise or cut hadn't mattered.

"I'm fine," he answered, sounding like a child who had just lost their first pet.

Clenching my jaw, I really tried to not yell. Instead, I reached over and tugged on his sleeve, pulling one of his hands up from between his knees. Gently turning his hand over, I wasn't surprised to see the palm of his hand raw and abraded, fresh blood slowly oozing. Lord knew I'd taken more than one swan dive like that one before, and I knew exactly what kind of injuries it could cause.

Gently, I wadded up a bunch of kleenex and pressed them into his palm, closing his fingers around them. I then repeated the process with the other hand.

"Where else are you hurt, Charlie? Did you hit your head?"

His deep ragged breaths were the only response I was going to get. Looks like I was wrong again. Concern does not make him open up.

Charlie say's he's fine. I don't believe him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Life is like a game of Chance. All it takes is one split second, one bad decision, and it's game over. It doesn't matter who you are, how good you are, how diligent you are. We are all going to meet our end whether we're ready to or not. A mother and child found that out the hard way today. Charlie almost did.

"David!" I barked. "Are you sure this is the right parking lot?"

"Charlie said it would be here."

Someone whose parents obviously didn't give them enough love as a child had decided blowing up cars was a better way to make a living than working at the corner mechanics shop. Charlie had been called in to help predict when and where the next bomb would be. He'd been right before. 'There's a pattern,' he'd said. 'Predicting the next attack is like child's play compared to some of the other cases I've helped you out on.' Little did he know that particular simile would hold much more meaning after the days events.

"Everyone split up!" I ordered. "I want every car checked. Make sure you go down the rows one at a time and don't check the same car twice! We don't have a lot of time."

The bombs simplistic nature made them easy to find. Almost like this person wanted to get caught. One turn of the key in the ignition, and it's game over. I was just about to help join the search when I heard a familiar voice calling my name, and excitement and something else apparent in the voice as well. Fear.

"Don! I know which car the bomb is in! There's a second pattern this guy is using!"

Charlie was running in my direction, sheer determination on his face.

"Row six, the car on the end!"

A car door slammed behind me, and time stopped. I heard Charlie's terrified yells, but all I could focus on was the car. It's light blue exterior, dented side fender, rolled up windows, the child sitting in the back, and the woman's hand turning the key in the ignition. Game's up.

Charlie tried to fly past me, but he was too late. We were too late. Grabbing him around the waist, I spun and flung him to the pavement, using all the strength I possessed. This was not Charlie's game.

I fell on top of him, covering his lean body with my own as a searing heat burned my back and the sound of two lives ending deafened me.

Charlie shook violently below me, as though his body was trying to shake off the knowledge of what had happened. I could feel each gasping breath, the tickle of his hair against my face.

Slowly, I rolled off and sat beside him. He immediately sat up, looking over at the car as if by some miracle someone could have survived the carnage. Charlie's naive and hopeful thoughts would only serve to disappoint him time and again.

"Don, why didn't you do something? I told you which car! We could have gotten them out!" he yelled.

"Charlie, there wasn't any time. I'm sorry, buddy."

"I should have been faster," he whispered. "If I'd driven 2.4 miles an hour faster I would have been here six seconds earlier and that would have been enough time. No, I should have phoned. You've told me you want me to phone. Why didn't I listen?"

Grabbing Charlie by the shoulders, I turned him so I could look into this pale, tear-streaked face. His normally vibrant and beautiful brown eyes were dull; looking through me.

"Charlie, listen to me. There is nothing we could have done, you hear? Blaming yourself is not going to help. Believe me, I know." Charlie continued to look through me. The familiar gnawing of fear in my gut started to take hold again. "Charlie, are you hurt?" His lack of response was starting to scare me. What if he was hurt?

Letting go of his shoulders, I ran my hands through his hair, felt around each of his shoulders and then down his arms to his cold and clammy hands. I checked his back, and then around to his chest and stomach. He still wasn't paying attention to me. It wasn't until I pressed against his slim hips that I got a reaction.

Pulling my hands back as though I'd been burned, I noticed a smear of blood on my left hand.

"I need some help over here!" I yelled as panic started to set in again. Charlie was still sitting there like a statue, probably reliving the event over and over again.

"Charlie, why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" I exclaimed as I lifted his shirt and gently tugged on the waist of his pants to take a look. The pale skin bore a minor scratch, but was bleeding quite heavily. "Charlie, answer me, damn it! Are you all right?"

Slowly, his eyes focused on me and widened as though he'd discovered the biggest secret in the universe. "No, Don. I'm not."

Charlie said he wasn't fine, and I believed him.

The End
Megan - March 2006

Here's the full and technical definition of P vs. NP: A problem used to determine whether every language accepted by some non deterministic algorithm in polynomial time is also accepted by some deterministic algorithm in polynomial time.

My P vs. NP info came from: www.claymath.org/millennium/P _ vs _ NP/Official _ Problem _ Description.pdf (if you are interested).

Thank you for reading. Comments welcome.

FIC: Inner Demons 2/2

2006-08-06T22:13:13Z

The angst continues...

The character of every act depends upon the circumstances in which it is done.
-Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. (1841 - 1935)

"Hey Dad," Don called as he slammed the front door behind him and walked into the kitchen. His worry for Charlie had kept him from stopping off at his apartment to change and grab a bite to eat after work, which was unusual because after an extended stake out all he wanted to do was crash. He could still hear Larry's words clearly in his head and knew he wouldn't rest until he'd had a talk with his brother.

"Donny! Well this is certainly a surprise. What brings you by?"

"I'm here to see Charlie, is he around?"

Alan's smile faded at the mention of Charlie. "He's out in the garage."

"Oh no. He's not working on that P thing again, is he?" Don hesitantly asked as memories of Charlie's retreat into the world of P vs NP came back to him.

Twice, while trying to cope with an emotional trauma, his brother had become obsessed with P vs NP, and twice he’d had to pull him out to make him see there was a world beyond the numbers where sometimes bad things happened, and people got hurt. He’d love to shield his brother from the hurts in the world, but knew to do that he’d also take away that which made him human: the chance to experience emotions and grow as a person.

"No. Now that you mention it, I haven't seen him working on any math problems recently. Would you do me a favour?"

Don shrugged, relief lightening his mood somewhat. "Sure."

"Take this out to him." Alan passed him a sandwich. "He's not eating."

"Of course he's not," Don muttered to himself as he grabbed the sandwich and started towards the garage.

"Oh, and Don?" his father called to him, while motioning for him to come back to the counter. "I realize now this is really bad timing, but Art Stanley and I will be leaving tomorrow for a four day trip. It's been planned for months now and I can't back out."

"Really? What kind of trip?"

"Well, it's more of a road trip than anything. But with Charlie behaving the way he is, I don't think..."

"No, Dad. Just... don't do that. You get time for yourself. Charlie is almost thirty and doesn't need to be baby sat." Don glanced down at the sandwich in his hand. "Usually. Listen. You said yourself he's a grown man. I'll be here to check in on him. You go and enjoy yourself, okay?" Don could see his dad was excited about the trip, and wasn't going to allow Charlie's selfish behaviour to get in the way.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. You will keep an eye on him, though?"

"Of course."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Charlie stood in the garage in front of one of his beloved blackboards. His face was creased in one part concentration, the other part pain. He'd started the equation on the board four days ago, and had only stopped because his dad had hauled him off to bed. Now, no matter how hard he thought about the problem, the numbers wouldn't come.

The last three days had been awful. If he wasn't nauseous and throwing up, the aching in his muscles made trying to stand in front of a blackboard, or in front of a class, a lesson in torture. If not for the increasing pain in his hip, he'd have thought he had the flu.

His thoughts strayed from the black board to the disastrous day at Cal Sci. His harsh words directed at the student during his lecture, and then at Larry, rang in his mind. He'd felt horrible after, but apologizing wasn't something he'd felt like doing at the time. Not once could he remember feeling like this. The smallest annoyance sent him off the deep end and it was starting to scare him. He was supposed to be in control of things like this. Everything happened for a reason, followed a logical pattern. Everything except this. It was possible he'd returned to teaching too soon. Maybe that was the cause. Asking for a few more days off probably wouldn't hurt.

A loud knocking on the door startled him, causing him to jump slightly and jar his sore hip.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Charlie? I know you're in there. Open the door." No response. "Charlie! Open this damn door before I break it down!" Enough with the childish behaviour, he thought to himself.

As he was about to yell again, he heard the lock slide followed by shuffling sounds as Charlie walked away from the door. Grumbling about younger brothers always having to be difficult, Don opened the door and entered.

"Charlie, what the hell's the matter with you?" Don demanded, his brother's haggard appearance not getting past him and tempering his anger somewhat.

"Nothing." He pointedly ignored Don and stared at his black board again.

"Nothing? Do you think I'm an idiot? Dad is worried about you, Larry, and now I am too."

"Larry?"

"Yeah, Larry. He came to see me at work today because of your behaviour these past few days. Looking at you now, I can understand why he was so concerned."

"It wasn't any of his business."

"Yeah, I can see how worrying about his friend is none of his business. He told me you've been short with people-"

"He shouldn't have told you anything! I have it under control." Charlie threw down the chalk he'd been holding, his anger once again clouding his common sense. Feeling an uncontrollable urge to lash out at Don, who he knew deep down was only trying to help him, he made a move to leave. The first step caused his hip to flare.

Don didn't miss the flash on pain on his brother's face, or the way he favoured his leg. Charlie had been making excellent progress. Even walking without a cane. Why was his leg bothering him now?

"If things were under control, Charlie, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Don growled. "Come on, Buddy. Talk to me."

"Don't call me that!" Charlie snapped, all attempts to conceal his anger forgotten in a haze of pain. "I'm your brother, not your friend."

Don recoiled as though he'd been slapped, Charlie's words striking a chord. What was worse, Charlie's face showed no remorse. Angry brown eyes stared into Don's, jaw set. Don felt his own anger spike.

"How dare you, Charlie! I've done nothing but help you and this is how you treat me?"

"Help? The only thing you did was help me into the line of fire!"

Don stiffened, silence blanketing the room as Charlie's hurtful words hit home, slicing through his heart like a hot knife through butter. Normally Charlie's angry words during fights didn't affect him like this, but the truth behind them this time both angered and saddened him. Charlie's injury shouldn't have happened, but he doesn't have to treat me like crap.

Pulling himself together before he said something he'd really regret, he replied using the only ammunition he had left to make Charlie see how bad his behaviour had become. "Fine. You're so damned good at taking care of yourself? Here's your sandwich. I'd imagine it's the first food you've seen in three days."

Don tossed the sandwich onto a small table by the door and left before the fight progressed so far he couldn't undo the damage.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The FBI office was quiet for once, allowing Don the opportunity to speak with Mrs. Culverson, the mother of the girl that had been kidnapped. In order to type up his final report and satisfy Merrick, he'd needed her to clarify a few things.

"And how much time had passed before you realized your daughter was missing?"

"It was only a few minutes. I don't usually talk on my cell phone, but my husband needed to discuss something with me. I was distracted for such a short period of time."

"The man that took her. You hadn't seen him anywhere before?"

Don patiently listened to all her answers, jotting down notes at the appropriate times. Glancing up, he saw the familiar slight figure of his brother limping down the hall, cane in hand. He groaned inwardly, figuring with Charlie's mood he'd come to argue about something. The last thing he needed right now was a fight with Charlie. Especially in front of his colleagues and Mrs. Culverson. Of course, Charlie continued right on over and interrupted his interview.

"Uh, Don? Could I speak to you for a minute?" he quietly asked, only glancing at Mrs. Culverson.

Don glared at Charlie, before smiling apologetically at the woman he'd been interviewing and took Charlie off to the side.

"Charlie, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to ask you something," he replied, looking everywhere but at Don.

When no further explanation was put forth, Don prodded him on. "Yeah? And?"

"Well, Dad's gonna be out tonight, and I wanted to know if you could stop by the house after dinner so I could speak with you about yesterday."

"Charlie, you came all the way down here to ask me this? How did you get here?" Don's curiosity was piqued. The last thing he ever expected after the fight yesterday was an open invitation to talk. Neither he nor Charlie were good when it came to communicating their feelings. In fact, he avoided talking about them or deflected emotionally charged conversations with a joke. If Charlie wanted to talk, it must be important and he wasn't going to turn it down.

"Dad drove me. He needed to pick up a few things before his trip and I convinced him to stop by. Well?"

Before Don could answer, they were interrupted by Mrs. Culverson.

"Excuse me," she said, walking over to them. "Did you say his name was Charlie? Is this Charlie Eppes?"

Don's eyes widened. With Charlie's mood as of late, he could only hope his brother wouldn't say anything stupid. "That's right. Diane Culverson, this is my brother Charlie. Charlie, this is Diane Culverson. She's the mother of the girl you saved."

Charlie smiled, unsure of what to say. In all his dealings with people, he'd never encountered a situation quite like this before and didn't know what he was supposed to say, or what this lady wanted to hear. This was Don's area, not his.

"I was hoping I'd get the chance to meet you in person, Charlie. There's no way I could ever adequately express my gratitude for what you did. It is the single most selfless act anyone could perform. Thank you." Diane finished thanking Charlie by giving him a gentle hug.

Feeling even more awkward, Charlie simply hugged her back and asked the first question to come to mind. "How's your daughter doing?"

"She's slowly coming to terms with what happened. It'll take time, though."

Noticing his brother's stiff posture and sensing his discomfort, Don intervened. "Mrs. Culverson, if you could excuse us for a few minutes? I'll be right with you."

She gave Charlie one last smile before going back to her seat, and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Diane's words had felt good. Really good.

"I think I'm starting to understand why you like your job so much. You really do make a difference in people's lives, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do, Charlie. Listen, I've got to get back. I'll see you tonight, all right?" he said, giving Charlie a quick pat on the back.

"Yeah, sure." Charlie gave him a small smile before leaving.

Don watched Charlie go, a puzzled expression on his face. Would the real Charlie Eppes please step forward, he thought to himself. He had been expecting a lot of things from Charlie, but a smile wasn't one of them. Perhaps things weren't as bad as he was assuming.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Charlie felt good about himself. He'd never had a thank you as heartfelt and deep as Mrs. Culverson had given him. Given what he knew now, if he could go back to the day of his injury, he'd do it over again. Sure, he made a difference in people's lives everyday while teaching, but knowing that he'd been responsible for saving a life when he had almost been killed himself went far and beyond anything he'd ever felt before.

Sitting in the kitchen listening to the crickets outside, he marveled at how lonely the house felt with his father away. He contemplated what to have for dinner , but minutes later decided not to eat as his stomach still wasn't very agreeable to the idea of food. Instead, he sat deep in thought, cataloguing and analyzing the things he'd been experiencing.

It was almost like he had a really bad version of the flu. He had chills and shakes, nausea, muscle aches, even a runny nose. The only thing that didn't fit was the lack of a fever, and the moodiness. He knew his behaviour was wrong, but he couldn't help it. The smallest things would cause him to snap, and he couldn't do a thing about it. Maybe it's just the pain, he thought to himself. Frustration. It all started when-

His line of thought was interrupted by the shrill ring of the phone. Lacking the motivation to answer it, he let the machine get it. He wasn't really surprised when Don's grainy voice emerged from the speaker; just disappointed.

"Hey Charlie, you there? All right, I guess you're just away from the phone. Listen, Buddy, something's come up and I'm gonna have to pull an all nighter. I'm really sorry about this. I'll call you tomorrow."

Charlie sighed. He should have expected that. Not that he was too upset; he wasn't really looking forward to the conversation.

Going back to his previous train of thought, Charlie realized all his symptoms had started right after his doctor had pulled the Percocet prescription. Without the drug, he was no longer able to focus long enough to do his math, or teach. His mood had been all over the place, and he could feel his relationships with family and friends starting to break under the pressure. Then there were the physical problems. In other words, he was no longer able to function in his world.

He knew what he had to do. It was the only thing that made sense.

Some prices are just too high, no matter how much you may want the prize. The one thing you can't trade for your heart's desire is your heart.
-Lois McMaster Bujold

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, bathing Los Angeles in a warm, pink glow. Don drove down the familiar and nearly deserted streets to his apartment. He had planned on stopping by to see Charlie, but he'd finished work earlier than expected and didn't want to disturb his brother if he was actually sleeping. Lord knows he could use it.

Parking in his designated place, he stepped out and took a moment to enjoy the cool morning air. Last night had been tough. His team had been tracking the movements of a bank robber with a propensity for killing bank tellers that gave him resistance. A hot tip had come in as to his location just before dinner time, so he and his team had geared up and moved out.

Somehow, the suspect had found out they were coming and had fled with all the cash he'd stolen. The Assistant Director had then insisted everyone get a few hours rest and approach the case with a clean slate later the next day. That was easier said than done as Don could still feel the anger and adrenaline surging through him. Rest was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

Once at his apartment, Don tried to slide the key into the lock, only to have the door creak open before the key was fully inserted. With a jolt, he realized the door hadn't even been latched. Fearing the worst, he cautiously drew his gun and entered the apartment with instincts on high alert.

Looking to his left, he saw a dark figure slumped on the couch in front of the TV and immediately relaxed. Charlie.

"Charlie!" he barked as he quickly holstered his weapon. "What the hell are you doing here? How'd you get in?"

"You gave Dad a key two months ago," he quietly answered.

Something in Charlie's tone put Don on edge. He sounded drained. No. Defeated.

"Charlie?" he asked in a softer tone. "What's going on?" He slowly walked over to the couch and stood a few feet from Charlie's left, taken aback by his appearance. "Did something happen to Dad?"

His hair was uncombed, and for the most part falling in front of his eyes as his head was bowed. Don could see the pale tinge to his skin, and the way his hands trembled. He was even wearing the same clothes he had been yesterday. It was obvious something big had happened and Don temporarily forgot his anger.

There was a moment of silence before his brother answered, a barely detectable hitch in his breathing. "I almost did it."

"Almost did what?" Don quietly coaxed, afraid to ask.

Without answering, Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out a white envelope. Wincing slightly, he leaned forward and set it on the table.

Curious, Don glanced at Charlie's carefully composed face before reaching forward and grabbing the envelope. His breath caught in his throat when he realized what the envelope contained. Money. A lot of money.

"Charlie, what are you doing with all this money? Charlie, talk to me." Don was scared now, and making no attempt to hide it.

Charlie's neutral expression faded slightly. "Last night. I... I needed something. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't think I had a choice. It was only logical." His voice had that broken quality it got whenever he was stressed over something.

"What was only logical, Charlie?" He walked around the table and sat beside his brother, noticing his eyes starting to tear.

"When the doctor told me no more, I got sick. I still am and I can't... I can't function. I'm hurting the people I love. I can't do what I love. I needed it, you see?" he forcefully intoned, still not making eye contact.

"What did you need, Charlie?" Don had a pretty good idea now, but was refusing to believe it. His little brother would never do that. His little brother that loved knowledge and logic and abhorred any sort of self destructive behaviour because it didn't make sense would never do that. Never.

For the first time, Charlie turned his head and looked directly at him. The sadness, pain and confusion in his eyes blatantly obvious. "I was going to buy drugs, Don. But... but I couldn't. All I could think was how disappointed you and Dad would be. The thought of letting either of you down..." his voice trailed off as the tears started to flow.

"My god, Charlie." Don reached over and pulled his brother to him, wrapping his arms tightly around him and feeling warm tears soaking into his shirt. He couldn't help but notice how small Charlie felt in his arms. His baggy clothes had obviously been hiding the loss of weight he could ill-afford to lose.

The anger he was feeling was indescribable. His brother had been about to do the stupidest thing in his entire life. How long had Charlie been considering obtaining drugs illegally? Charlie had people he could talk to. He knew that, so why the hell didn't he ask for help? The relationship with his brother was strained, but he never thought it was so bad that Charlie would rather risk destroying his life than talk to him.

He shuddered to think what could have happened. At its best, but still not good, Charlie would have become a drug addict, illegally using street drugs for years. At its worst, Charlie would end up in jail, or worse, in the morgue, the victim of an overdose. Don knew exactly the type of world drug addicts and dealers lived in, and the thought of his little brother becoming involved in it scared and angered him. Especially when it so easily could have been prevented.

Don did not like the flood of images in his mind and pulled back. Placing his hands on Charlie's shoulders, he turned him so they were face to face. "What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, his anger bubbling near the surface now. Not only his anger at Charlie, but from the disastrous night before. "You could have gotten yourself killed! Why the hell didn't you come to Dad or I? Or Larry? We could have helped you, damn it!"

"I didn't think-"

"Damn right you didn't think!" He jumped off the couch and angrily paced the room. "Why, Charlie? Why didn't you ask for help?"

"I didn't think it was that bad."

"You were about to buy narcotics, Charlie! Illegally! How could you not think there was a problem?" Don incredulously asked.

"I thought it was the flu. The pain got so bad, and the doctor wouldn't help. He gave me a weaker prescription."

"Did it help? The weaker drug?"

Charlie looked at his feet.

"You didn't take it, did you. Did you?" Don implored.

Charlie didn't look up.

"I'll bet you also didn't tell the doctor you were doubling your Percocet dose either." Don made no effort to hide the disappointment on his face.

His brother glanced up, surprise on his face. "How did you know?"

"It's what I do, Charlie." One of his brother's earlier statements came back to him, Charlie's naiveté showing through. "You're going through withdrawal, Charlie. It's not the flu. I'm willing to bet not only is the withdrawal causing the pain to be more severe, but your expectations as well."

Charlie looked inward, mulling over his brother's statement. If possible, he looked even more broken. "You're telling me, I've been in pain and about to break the law because of something that's all in my head?"

Quickly wiping his eyes, Charlie looked everywhere but at Don. He knew what he'd see there. Anger. Frustration. Possibly guilt. But worst of all, pity. Pity because he'd let the situation get out of hand. For years, he'd never understood why people would break the law and destroy their lives. Especially when the problem's solution simply involved speaking with a family member, friend, doctor, counselor. Any number of people. Well, now he understood.

All he'd ever wanted was to be seen as a grown-up. He lived with his dad in his childhood home, sought his brother's approval with each FBI case he assisted on, and was blessed or cursed depending on how one looked at it with a youthful appearance. He wanted to be seen as someone capable of taking care of themselves. He could take care of himself all right. He would have taken care of himself right into jail.

Now, he was being told there was nothing wrong with him? That his imagination had essentially run wild?

"I don't doubt for a minute you're in pain, Charlie. I think you let it get out of control. If you had just swallowed your pride and come to one of us, or told your doctor, none of this would have happened!" Don stated, almost echoing his thoughts exactly. "It shouldn't have happened at all."

That last part was said so quietly Charlie almost missed it. "Don?"

"You never should have been there, Charlie. I should have let you out of the car a block away and-"

"And lose precious time?"

"It's my fault you got hurt, Charlie. If that had never happened, then you wouldn't be where you are now."

Charlie didn't realize Don had felt that way. His angry words from the day before came back to him in a rush and he felt his stomach drop even further. He hadn't thought that would even be possible. "Please, Don. Don't say that. I didn't mean what I said. I never blamed you."

Wishing he could give Don a bit more reassurance than the words could, he stood, but at the same time a sharp pain tore through his hip taking his breath away. With his vision clouding, he swayed dangerously on his feet.

"Charlie!"

He could feel Don's hands grabbing at him before he planted himself face first into the carpet. "I'm all right, Don."

"No, Charlie. You are definitely not all right. Has the pain been this bad the whole time?"

Grabbing onto Don's shoulder for balance, Charlie righted himself before answering. "This is the worst it's been. I left my cane in the cab and I guess I kind of stiffened up from sitting here so long. I just need to sit down."

Don's arm around his waist tightened slightly as he moved back towards the couch.

"I'm taking you to the doctor's, Charlie. Don't sit down or I might not be able to get you up. What about some aspirin before we leave to take the edge off?"

Not only was his stomach not about to accept anything in it, but he seriously doubted it would do anything. "Not unless you want it to make a reappearance in your truck," he jokingly replied.

"When was the last time you ate?" Don realized with a sickening feeling that not only had Charlie been losing weight because he felt too sick to eat, but any pain medication he might have tried wouldn't have stayed down long enough to give him any relief.

"There's a difference between eating something and keeping it down," Charlie stated.

"In other words, it's been too long," Don answered while he tightened his grip around his brother's slim waist, careful not to place his hand too low and press into his hip. At the same time, he started steering Charlie towards the door.

"Isn't it kind of early to be going to the doctor's?"

"There should be someone on call. If not, then I'm taking you to the hospital."

Step by step they made their way down to the truck, Don supporting Charlie in more ways than one.

As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live.
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 - 1832)

The sound of Charlie's gentle breathing filled the otherwise silent living room. Fast asleep on the couch, Charlie lay on his right side looking more peaceful than he had in weeks. His brown locks had tumbled down over his face hiding the colour that had returned to the previously too pale skin.

Even though Don was dismayed with the fact Charlie was sleeping on the couch and not in his own bed, he didn't have the heart to wake him. Don had argued with Charlie about it, but by the time Don had run out to the car to grab his brother's prescription, he was dead to the world. Don opted to cover Charlie with a blanket and keep his noise level to a minimum, though he seriously doubted anything would rouse Charlie from his deep sleep.

As he sat and watched Charlie sleep, he replayed the scene from the doctor's office over in his mind. After helping his brother into the office, the nurse had taken one look at the distress emanating from Charlie and ushered them immediately to a room. The doctor on call had not been the one who had treated Charlie originally, so they'd had to wait while he pulled Charlie's chart and consulted with Dr. Haberson over the phone.

To say Dr. Haberson was upset was a serious understatement. After learning Charlie had been doubling his Percocet dose, and because he'd been on it so long, the two doctor's had decided on a course of action that had surprised Don.

A quiet moan interrupted Don's reverie, and he focused on his younger brother. "Charlie? You okay?"

Blinking owlishly at him, Charlie nodded. "What time is it?"

"After six."

"You mean I've been asleep since ten this morning?"

"I'd say that's cause you needed it, Buddy." Standing up, Don walked over to Charlie and offered him his hand. "I made you some soup. Come on."

Charlie's hand in his was warm and strong. The exact opposite of the way it had been earlier in the day. As he followed Charlie into the kitchen, he felt himself finally starting to relax. While he was still shaky, Charlie's gait was much improved. Only occasionally would Charlie reach out for the wall to steady himself.

Placing his hand on the small of Charlie's back, Don guided him into a chair and went to serve them both a bowl of soup and slice of bread.

"Smells good," Charlie remarked.

Don smiled to himself. "I'm glad you think so. All those... minutes I put into making it were tiring."

Charlie watched Don fill both bowls to the rim. "No, no. Not that much, Don. I'm not that hungry."

"Charlie," Don started as he placed the full bowl in front of his brother. "You heard what the doctor said about taking care of yourself."

"I know," Charlie replied.

"You'd better take one of these before you eat as well." Don placed a prescription bottle on the table beside the bowl of soup.

Charlie eyed the bottle warily. Of all the things he'd expected the doctor to do, this wasn't one of them. Because he had been doubling his dose and had been on the drug longer than necessary, he had become physically addicted. At Charlie's sullen expression, the doctor had elaborated. He was physically addicted, not mentally. A true drug addict abuses pain killers when they are not in pain. In his case, his body had become used to high levels of the drug, and when that drug was suddenly stopped, his body rebelled. Given the withdrawal was relatively minor, the doctor had thought it best to put Charlie on a low dose of the narcotic and reduce it slowly. That way, instead of his system being shocked by the sudden discontinuation of the drug, it would adjust to the decreasing dosage until no more was needed.

At least this way he didn't have to experience the withdrawal symptoms that could have lasted as many as five more days. No more nausea, runny nose, excruciating pain, nothing. All he felt was an all-consuming need to collapse anywhere, but preferably somewhere warm and soft, and not move for a week. There was also an ache in his hip, but that was nothing compared to what he'd been feeling earlier.

Charlie didn't know what was worse. The fact his inability to ask for help had led to this, or that he had been about to do something incredibly stupid and illegal. The past few weeks were a blur to him. A seemingly distant memory hazy around the edges from pain, exhaustion and little food.

"Charlie," Don started as he watched his brother eat. "I want you to know that in the future, you can come to me with any problem, all right? Anything at all. I promise I won't judge you or give you a hard time. This was close. Too close. I'd hate to see anything happen to you that could have been prevented with a conversation."

"I suppose any problem I have in the future couldn't be any worse than this, huh?" He smirked as he said this.

Don smiled back. "I suppose not. I know I haven't been the easiest person to get along with." Charlie snorted, but Don continued. "I know we didn't talk for a long time there, but I want that to change. Promise me, Charlie. Promise me that you'll come to me with anything. Or Larry, or Dad, or even Terry. You have a lot of people that care about you."

Charlie looked at Don and saw the raw emotion on his face. His brown eyes were openly conveying his concern, something he didn't do often. There was no disgust over what had just occurred; no judgment. This was genuine, and Charlie wasn't going to screw this up.

"I promise, Don." He looked Don directly in the eye as he this, and saw one thing he almost never saw on his brother's face. Faith. Faith in him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You don't think given that this equation is inversely proportional to x, that y would still hold true?"

"Possibly, but the student failed to take into account all the variables. It should look like this." Larry took the pen from Amita and demonstrated his point. They both sat at his desk, grading papers and amicably debating the smaller details of each students work. A soft knock at the door caught their attention, and two pairs of eyes gazed curiously at the new comer.

"Charles!" Larry exclaimed, rising from the chair to greet his friend. "Come in, come in. Amita and I were just grading papers. What brings you by our little gathering?"

"Well, I thought I'd drop by and let you know I'll be returning to teach day after tomorrow."

"That's great!" Amita replied. "And look at you, no cane."

Charlie raised both hands in the air as though demonstrating they were indeed empty. "That's right, I'll be ready for the hundred yard dash in no time," he joked.

Larry watched the interchange between the two, a smile gracing his lips. He hadn't seen the younger man in a while, and it was amazing what a few days off had done for him. He positively glowed with energy, his brown eyes bright with the knowledge that shortly he'd be in front of the class once again. There were still faint smudges under his eyes and his clothes were a tad loose, but on the whole he looked good.

"I trust that Amita, myself, and your impressionable young students are safe from anymore displays of strong emotion then?" he asked, a knowing gleam in his eye.

Charlie paused, a pained expression briefly crossing his features. "About that. Larry, Amita, I owe you guys an apology. My behaviour over the past few weeks was inexcusable."

"You don't have to apologize, Charlie. We know you were going through a rough time and weren't yourself," Amita patiently stated.

"But you don't know the exact cause for my behaviour. How can you forgive me so willingly? I treated you guys horribly." He'd made Don promise not to tell anyone about what had gone on. Even Larry and Amita.

"We're your friends, Charlie. It's what we do for one another. It doesn't matter that we don't know the details. All that matters now is you're better."

Feeling the emotions in the room starting to get strong, Charlie smiled and made a quick conversation change. "So, can I give you guys a hand?"

Pulling up a third chair to the desk, the three of them fell into the familiar pattern of debating, teasing, and teaching each other, much like they had many weeks earlier.

The End
Megan - December 2005

There is an alternate ending up as well.

FIC: Inner Demons 1/2 (Numb3rs)

2006-08-06T22:12:10Z

Title: Inner Demons
Beta: LetterstoElise, lostinwonderland1226
Disclaimer: Characters you recognize belong to Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci. No money is being made.
Rating: T
Setting/Season: Season 1 after SZ
Spoilers: Minor for SZ, maybe vague other Season 1 tidbits.
Warnings: This story deals with minor drug abuse, although nothing illegal is done. If this bothers you, please don't read. There is also a lot of angst and one act of violence in the beginning.
Summary: After a serious injury, Charlie's life takes a downward spiral that will slowly destroy it unless Don can help him in time.
Author's Note: This story started as a response to a challenge posted by D. Lerious to have one of the Eppes' become addicted to pain killers. I couldn't quite make it work, so this is what I got instead.
Author's Note 2: I am nervous about posting this because it deals with a sensitive topic that has not always been openly received. This story is a character study that deals more with Charlie battling his inner demons than drug abuse. I have done my research and tried my best to make this realistic.

All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion, and desire.
-Aristotle (384 BC - 322 BC)

"Charlie, whatever happens, I need you to promise me you'll stay in the car, all right?" Don wanted to make it clear to Charlie that he wasn't going to tolerate another 'consultant in the line of fire' incident. The memory of the sniper's attack was still too fresh in his mind. He still woke up in the middle of the night from nightmares that left him believing Charlie had been killed.

"I will. I have all the data I need so there's no reason for me to go anywhere," replied Charlie.

Charlie had been assisting Don with tracking the movements of a kidnapper. Three children had been taken in the past week and no one had seen anything. At least no one had until now.

An hour ago, a frantic mother had called and reported her child had been taken from a public park. There were witnesses this time, and as luck would have it, someone saw the man and child enter a condemned building minutes from the park. Charlie had been riding with Don when the call came in and there was no time for Don to do anything with Charlie except take him to the building.

"Suspect spotted on building main floor, west end. No sign of the child. Over," came the static-filled voice of a police officer over Don's radio.

"Nobody goes in until I get there, is that clear?" Don ordered. He'd worked too many kidnappings and knew things could go south quickly.

Don pulled up beside the LAPD cruisers and hopped out, gun drawn.

"Stay here, Charlie!" he ordered once again.

Charlie watched as his brother joined the group of officers. By Don's hand gestures, he knew he was giving out clear instructions as to how to enter and retrieve the girl, and any of the other kidnapped children if they were still alive. One by one, Don and all of the officers, except one, entered the building.

What happened next did so with such speed that Charlie didn't have time to process it. Someone shouted, followed by a flash of movement as the young child ran from the building. The officer that had remained on the outside moved quickly to intercept her, but not before Charlie saw the sun glint off what could only be a handgun poking out of one of the windows. It was aimed at the little girl.

With a speed born of terror, Charlie was out of the car and running before he even realized what he was doing. He was so certain he wasn't going to make it in time. Pushing hard with his legs, he jumped the remaining distance and grabbed the girl at the exact moment the crack of a gunshot, followed by another more muffled one, echoed off the neighbouring buildings.

He felt his body jerk, followed by a hard landing on his left side with the girl safely enveloped in his arms. His heart hammered wildly in his chest. He only thought of the scared little girl in his arms.

"Are you all right?"

Charlie couldn't see who had spoken, but knew it had to be the police officer. He felt the little girl being removed from his arms.

"Sir, are you all right?"

"I think..."

"Charlie!" Don's frantic voice called out. "Charlie! Are you okay?"

Charlie had taken a few deep breaths and was trying to ignore the numbness creeping down his left leg and into his lower back. He tried to keep his fear in check.

"I think I might have pulled something," he shakily answered.

Don quickly started visually assessing Charlie for injuries. Cold tendrils of fear had started seeping into him when he realized Charlie was making no move to get up. He dropped to his knees next to him. "Where are you hurt, Charlie?"

"I... I don't know. What happened?"

"It's all right, Charlie. Don't worry about that now." He had run his shaking hands through Charlie's hair looking for blood, and was working his way down his chest and back. "Is this hurting anywhere?"

"No." Charlie's voice was getting weaker. One of the officers behind him could be heard requesting an ambulance.

Don continued his search, and was completely unprepared for the howl of agony that escaped his brother when he pressed his hand into Charlie's left hip. Jerking his hand back as though he'd been burned, he felt panic starting to grip his mind.

"Oh god!" Charlie yelled, curling in on himself.

Don thought his heart was going to stop when he noticed the blood pooling underneath his brother. "Damn it! Where the hell's that ambulance!" he yelled. "Charlie, I have to roll you over and take a look, all right?" he stated with urgency.

Charlie shook his head no. He was in too much pain to try and form a response.

"I'll be as gentle as I can." He motioned for one of the other officers to help, and together they rolled his younger brother onto his back.

Charlie's face was ashen, and his eyes tightly shut. Don was vaguely aware of someone putting a rolled jacket under Charlie's legs. The wound was low on Charlie's left side, only inches above where his leg joined his body. Blood was steadily seeping out; staining the ground.

"This is gonna hurt, Buddy," Don said as he placed one hand on the other and pressed them both as hard as he could against the wound.

Thrashing, Charlie was so weakened from the loss of blood there was no way he could have dislodged Don's hands. Slowly, the fight drained out of him and his muscles slackened as he mercifully lost consciousness.

Feeling the moment Charlie went limp, Don was about to yell for the ambulance again when he heard the sirens, followed by the screeching of tires as it arrived and came to a stop.

He felt firm hands grasp his shoulders and pull him out of the way, but refused to move any further than was absolutely necessary. With a detached fascination, he watched as the paramedics cared for his brother. IV's were quickly started, a pressure dressing was applied to Charlie's hip, and he was on the back board and being rushed to the ambulance in no time at all.

"Don. Don, are you okay?" A distinctly feminine voice pierced the fog that was rolling into his mind. He tore his gaze from the retreating ambulance and locked onto the concerned face of his partner and friend, Terry Lake.

"What?"

"I asked if you were okay." She gestured to the blood staining his hands and clothes.

"Oh. It's... it's Charlie's," he quietly answered. The horror of the past few minutes hadn't caught up with him yet. He was surprised his voice was as steady as it was.

"There are other field agents on the scene now that can handle this. I'm driving you to the hospital."

Don looked one last time at the spot where Charlie had lain. All that remained was discarded medical equipment and scarlet blood.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Terry expertly pulled the SUV up to the emergency department beside the ambulance that had delivered Charlie. Don was out and running for the ER before Terry had come to a complete stop. She knew he hadn't heard when she told him that she was going to park the vehicle.

Don ran into the ER. Pulling out his badge, he stopped the first person wearing scrubs to enter his line of sight and demanded to know where Charlie had been taken. The startled young orderly had hesitantly pointed Don in the direction of the trauma rooms.

The chaos that was the ER didn't register with Don. Charlie was his only concern, and he was going to find him. Dodging people and medical equipment, Don heard yelling coming from a room at the end of the hall. Stepping up his pace even more, he sprinted to the double doors and peeked inside. He almost died at what he saw.

The naked form of his little brother burned itself into his mind. Charlie's bloodied clothes has been hastily cut off and shoved into a white plastic bag. There was a sheet pulled up to mid-thigh, providing no protection from prying eyes or the cold.

His pale complexion stood out in stark contrast against the blood covering the left side of the gurney and most of his lower body. With a jolt, Don realized Charlie's eyes were open. A sharp cry of pain was jerked from his little brother's throat when the doctor probed a tender area.

Not able to stand helplessly while his brother suffered, Don shoved open the doors. Five startled pairs of eyes, and one confused pair, locked onto him. Before he could reach Charlie's side, a rather large nurse blocked his path.

"Sir, you can't be in here," she forcefully stated.

"Like hell I can't. That's my brother!" he emphatically stated. No one was going to take him from Charlie's side again.

The nurse was about to physically remove him from the room when Charlie softly called his name.

"Charlie, I'm here," he responded.

"It's all right," the doctor told the nurse.

Don was immediately at Charlie's side, gently taking his hand. Tears pricked at his eyes as he took in Charlie's frightened expression. He'd give anything to take away the pain his brother was feeling.

"It hurts," Charlie breathed.

"I know, Buddy. I know."

"You said you're his brother?" the doctor addressed him.

"That's right."

"Does he have any allergies or medical conditions?"

"No, none."

The doctor had applied a dressing to Charlie's hip, and was pulling off his gloves. One of the nurses pulled the sheet up to his brother's chest and removed the brakes from the gurney, preparing to move Charlie.

"Your brother is going up to surgery now to have the bullet removed. The waiting room is on the fifth floor, south end. It'll be a while."

"Charlie?" Don squeezed his hand to get his attention. "They're taking you up to surgery now. I'll be waiting for you when you come out, okay?"

"Don.... sorry." His brother's eyes slipped closed as he once again lost consciousness and was swiftly taken from the room.

Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.
-Helen Keller (1880-1968)

Five. It had been five hours since Don had last seen Charlie, and it felt like an eternity. The last images of Charlie had been of him scared and covered in blood. Don knew those images would haunt his nightmares for years to come. He was an FBI agent. It was his job to protect those around him. How was he supposed to adequately do his job now that he had failed his own little brother?

Four. Four hours had passed since his dad had arrived, frantically demanding to know what had happened while at the same time trying to enter the off limits surgical area. Don hadn't seen his dad this anxious in a long, long time. Hugging his father tightly, both of them allowed their tears to fall.

Three. Terry and David had left three hours ago to wrap up the kidnapping case. Quietly squeezing Don's arm, Terry told him she'd be back as soon as possible.

Two. It was only two hours ago he realized he was wearing Charlie's blood. A nurse had given him a green scrub top to wear. It didn't help. He could still smell the sharp metallic tang of blood and could see it on his hands. He had clenched his teeth as his stomach churned, bile rising in the back of his throat.

One. He'd finally stopped pacing one hour ago and joined his dad in the hard plastic chairs. He had put his hands between his knees and squeezed, trying to control to tremors that wouldn't seem to stop. What was taking so long?

Now, he sat. His anxious brown eyes were glued to the set of double doors. He said every prayer he could think of. Before he realized his prayers had been answered, the doors swung open and a short, balding man strode into the room.

"You're here for Charles Eppes?" he addressed them. There was no one else in the waiting room given the late hour.

"How's Charlie?" Alan demanded, immediately on his feet.

"He came through the surgery well and is now in recovery. If all goes well, he'll be in a room on the orthopedic floor within the hour."

"Can we see him?" Alan anxiously asked.

"Not yet. Once he's in a regular room, I'll let you in to see him for a few minutes, but only a few minutes. Visiting hours are over, but I'll make an exception for you. Now, I wanted to discuss Dr. Eppes' -"

"Charlie," Don interrupted him.

"I wanted to discuss Charlie's injury with the two of you. If you'd follow me, please."

Exchanging looks, Don and Alan followed the doctor through the double doors to an empty exam room. They watched the doctor as he flipped on a light board with an x-ray clipped to it. Don was no doctor, but knew what he was looking at was bad. He could clearly see the fracture lines where the bone should have been solid, and the bullet embedded in the bone.

"This is an x-ray of Charlie's hip before the procedure. As you can see, the bullet entered one inch below the ilium, or hip, at a downward trajectory where it impacted the greater trochanter slightly below the joint. In other words, the bullet has fractured the very top of Charlie's femur just outside of where the femur meets the hip. He was lucky the joint itself wasn't involved. We removed the bullet and repaired the trochanter with a series of pins and a plate. I know it sounds bad, but with physical therapy he should make a complete recovery."

"Are you sure? I mean look at the damage there!" Alan stated.

The doctor suppressed a smile. "This is a very common procedure, Mr. Eppes. Granted, this procedure is usually performed on an elderly person that has fallen and broken a hip. This is the first gun shot related hip fracture I've repaired. Due to the fracture being caused by a gun shot wound, there was also damage to the muscles and surrounding tissues which will slow his recovery slightly."

Alan was having a hard time taking this all in. "You're telling me, after all this, my son will be able to walk normally?"

"Provided there are no complications, there's no reason your son shouldn't be able to return to his pre-injury state eventually, although he may have a limp. Charlie is young and in excellent physical condition. I wouldn't recommend he take up any rigorous sports, though."

Don's breath rushed from his lungs as he released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Charlie was going to be okay.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I take it you're Don and Alan Eppes?" a kindly, older nurse asked.

"That's right," Don answered her.

"Dr. Haberson has allowed ten minutes of visiting time for the two of you. We just got Dr. Eppes settled in his room, so when you're ready you can follow me."

Don and Alan followed the nurse down the darkened halls to a private room at the end of the hall. Glancing at the clock, Don noted it was now past midnight. He couldn't remember seeing a hospital so quiet. The nurse stopped outside Charlie's room and addressed them.

"Charlie was conscious when he returned from the recovery room, but because of the nature of his injury, he is on a morphine pump. Don't be surprised if he is asleep and stays that way for the next few hours. His body's been through a lot. I'll be back in ten minutes to retrieve you."

Alan was the first to enter the room. Despite the darkness of the hallway, the bright overhead lights in Charlie's room were turned on, fully illuminating everything. Even the sights he and Don didn't want to see.

Two IV's dripped fluid into the backs of Charlie's hands; one fluid was red, the other clear. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his upper right arm, and a clip was on his index finger. Both were attached to a small machine sitting beside the bed. The button for the morphine pump was clipped to the front of Charlie's gown. Don didn't want to think about what the other tubes were for.

"Oh, Charlie. What have you done to yourself?" Alan quietly asked him, while laying a hand on his forearm. Don had explained everything to him. He just couldn't believe Charlie had done what Don said. He had no trouble believing Charlie would go out of his way to help someone; he did it all the time. Jumping in front of a bullet was a whole new ball game.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Two days later found Charlie sitting up in the bed, pushing his food lazily around the tray, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his hip. Food in general was unappealing to him, and hospital food even more so. He picked at what was supposed to be beef stew, certain whatever gruel they were feeding him wouldn't even pass as canned dog food. Just thinking about the food made his stomach clench.

When he had initially awoken, his father and Don had been there. To say he was surprised to see Don smiling was an understatement. Don had explicitly told him to stay in the car and he had not listened. As a result, he had been injured. Don had patiently explained to him he had saved the little girl's life, a fact his drugged mind had forgotten, and was not mad in any way. Just the realization that he had not let his older brother down allowed him to rest peacefully.

After that, the pain had started to get to him. He'd never had surgery before, but hadn't expected the pain to be so bad, or the morphine to feel so good. They had taken away his pain pump earlier in the day, telling him it was time he switch to oral or injectable pain medications. He didn't care. After two doses of the morphine, he'd felt foggy and was unable to concentrate, and that scared him. On the other hand, if he didn't take the morphine, the pain interfered with his concentration as well.

"Hey, Charlie," Don quietly called as he entered the room. "You're looking good, Buddy."

"Glad you think so," he morosely replied. In frustration, he threw the fork down and pushed the tray aside.

Don pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. "You know, they'll never let you out of here if you don't start eating."

"Would you eat this?"

Don grimaced. "Probably not, but that's not the point. I know that when you're in pain, food is less than appealing."

Charlie sharply glanced at him, his brown eyes staring hard into Don's. How did he know?

"I've been hurt on the job, Charlie. I know. Your nurse also stopped me in the hall on the way in. She said when she took away the morphine pump today it was almost full. She also said you haven't asked for any painkillers since. What gives, Charlie?"

"I don't know, Don. I just..."

"No. Don't give me that. You have a reason for doing everything. I also hear the physical therapist isn't very happy with you. You know they want you up and walking as soon as possible, but if you're not going to take the painkillers they will get you up without them. No one wants to have to do that."

Charlie mulled it over before answering. Lying was something he just couldn't do, and Don wouldn't leave it be without a satisfactory answer.

"It makes me feel weird."

"Weird? Like how."

"Foggy. I can't think, do math, function..."

"Charlie, you're in the hospital. You're not supposed to do math; you're here to recuperate!" Frustration was evident in his voice.

"Don, you know how important math is to me. Not being able to think scares me."

"It's what narcotics do, Charlie. It's part of the reason they're so addictive. What about something not as strong as morphine?" Don leaned forward, as though his proximity to Charlie could help him see reason.

"I hadn't thought about that." Charlie's gaze looked inwards, and his eyebrows raised as he considered that option.

"I didn't think so. I'll go talk to the nurse and see what I can do, all right?"

"Yeah, sure."

It was only minutes later when Don returned with the nurse in tow. Charlie surmised that she must have been waiting in the hall for Don to give her the go ahead.

She handed him a paper cup containing one white pill, explaining what it was. "This is Percocet, Charlie. It is still a narcotic, but not as powerful as morphine. Hopefully, this won't cloud your thinking as much, but will still take care of the pain. The dose can still be cut in half if you feel this is too strong, all right?"

He nodded his acquiescence and swallowed the pill. He was just glad she didn't give him the 'pain control is important, we don't tolerate macho behaviour here' speech like the previous nurse had. Granted, it was an effective way to get the point across, but macho was not what he was trying to be.

"I'd also highly recommend you eat along with this pill or you'll be throwing up within the hour. Pain killers are very hard on the stomach." As though reading his mind, she glanced at Don. "The cafeteria has a variety of soup available. I can see getting him to eat this might be a lost cause."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I'll be back shortly, okay Charlie?"

"I'll be here."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Charlie had been presently surprised by the Percocet. Not only did it dull the pain to a minor throb, it also didn't cloud his mind like the morphine. He could still do his math while at the same time move from his bed to the chair with only some discomfort. The drug also evoked a feeling he couldn't put his finger on. He felt almost peaceful, which was an emotion he was seriously lacking as of late.

Only one day had passed since Don had given him the pain killer lecture, but it felt like weeks ago. With his appetite slowly coming back and sleeping patterns returning to normal, he was told it was only a matter of days before he'd be released into his father's care. The physical therapist had even had him use a walker to walk across the room.

He'd sweet talked Larry into bringing his laptop so he could still work, and Amita would stop by to update him on how his students were doing in his absence.

A dull throb in his hip was starting to make itself known. Looking at the clock, he realized it was just about time for his next dose of Percocet. After pressing the call bell, he patiently waited for it to arrive.

Actions lie louder than words.
-Carolyn Wells

"Hey Don, how's Charlie doing?" Terry asked from her desk, looking up from her paperwork.

"Oh, he's doing great. If all goes well with the physical therapist today, he'll be home by supper time." Don was glad Charlie was doing so well. Everyone had been surprised at how quickly he'd started to recover once he'd agreed to take the pain killers.

"Already? Isn't it kind of soon?"

"Nah, the doctor tells me most people are only in the hospital a few days after this type of surgery. Charlie just had to stay a little longer because of the extra damage done by the bullet."

"How's your dad doing with all of this? It must have been a shock to hear Charlie had been shot. Especially considering you're the one with the dangerous job."

Don winced. This was still a sore subject. His dad had told him exactly what he thought about Charlie being taken to crime scenes. Alan had been immensely relieved to hear Charlie would be all right, and was proud of his son for saving the life of a young child. That didn't mean he wasn't angry Charlie had been put into that situation in the first place. When he said he'd be all right with Charlie going out and doing 'slightly dangerous things', this wasn't what he had meant.

"Dad's doing all right, but I think he's going to need some time to forgive me. I mean, I can't say as I blame him."

"You think this was your fault?"

"If I hadn't taken him, then this wouldn't have happened."

"You're right, it wouldn't have. Instead, a little girl would be dead. You had no way of knowing this was going to happen. What's important is that Charlie is going to be fine. Have you talked to him about it yet?"

Don's eyes focused on a point across the room as he thought about his brother's out of character behaviour.

"He hasn't really said much to me much past commenting on the hospital food. He's been a little withdrawn, but he is getting over a major injury. I'm heading home for dinner tonight so maybe I'll get a chance to talk with him then."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

As the weeks passed, Charlie progressed from using crutches to a cane. The physical therapist was starting to talk about Charlie's returning to work in the near future. Unfortunately, Don hadn't had a chance to talk with Charlie. He'd cleverly side step the conversation every time. Charlie might not be good at lying, but he was a pro at avoiding important conversations.

Don arrived at the house after a long day at work to find Charlie headed from the living room to the kitchen with his stilted gait. It was odd seeing someone so young relying on a cane to get around. Trying to quell the guilt he was starting to feel, he greeted his brother.

"Hey, Charlie."

"Don. Are you staying for supper? I think there's enough left over stew if you're interested."

"Sure, sounds great, Charlie," Don replied, following his brother into the kitchen.

He watched with interest as Charlie reached for a prescription pill bottle on the counter and expertly popped the top off, pouring two pills into his hand. He was dismayed to realize it was Percocet.

"You're still taking that?'

"Hm?" Charlie looked up at him, confusion on his face.

"The Percocet. Haven't you been on it for a long time now?"

"It's none of your business, Don," Charlie nonchalantly stated.

"None of my business? Charlie, I'm just concerned about you is all. You never talk to me anymore. How am I supposed to know how you're doing?'

Charlie sighed before answering with a less than amused tone. "The pain has been bad, all right? The doctor said it might be because of all the damage so he's letting me stay on this a little longer."

"Okay. Was that so hard?"

Charlie ignored the question. "I'll be in the living room preparing a lecture. Dad should be home in an hour to help prepare supper."

"Preparing a lecture? You're not going back to work already, are you?" Don didn't want to see his brother's recovery hindered by the stress of returning to work.

"It's been five weeks. The physical therapist said at six weeks he'd see how I was doing and consider letting me return to work." With that, he limped into the living room leaving a confused Don standing in the kitchen.

Curious, Don reached for the pill bottle, reading the label. Take one tablet every 6 hours as directed by a physician. He felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. Maybe it was nothing. Charlie had said he was in pain. It still didn't stop the suspicious part of his mind from kicking into gear.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sitting in his SUV outside the doctor's office, Don patiently waited for his brother. Charlie had a follow up appointment at two, and had asked Don to pick him up after. Two weeks had passed, and Charlie had returned to teaching. The physical therapist had finished up with Charlie, telling him to still be careful and walk with the cane when necessary. Don hadn't seen him use the cane at all in the past week. In fact, Charlie had been pleasant and even talked to him occasionally. Maybe things were getting back to normal after all.

He watched with worry as Charlie emerged from the building wearing a less than thrilled expression on his face. He limped down the steps towards Don, clutching a single sheet of paper in one of his hands.

"Is everything all right, Buddy?" he asked once Charlie was seated in the passenger seat.

"Fine," Charlie snapped. No further explanation was forthcoming, so Don decided to leave it for now.

Charlie stared at the piece of paper in his hand, and tried to tamp down the disappointment flooding him. A prescription for an anti-inflammatory. A lousy anti-inflammatory with no narcotics what so ever. The doctor had been firm. Charlie had stayed on the Percocet for longer than needed and he was not going to prescribe any more.

"We need to stop at the pharmacy on the way home, Don," he morosely stated. Looking out the window, he tried to ignore Don's concerned glances at him.

"Sure, Charlie. No problem."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

That night, Charlie lay in his completely darkened room staring at the ceiling. In the back of his mind, he knew something was wrong. His stomach roiled, and it took all his will power not to give in to his stomach's demand and run for the toilet. Sour bile burned the back of his throat, and the room spun wildly around him.

He pulled the blankets tighter around himself to ward off the cold seeping into his bones. The fact it was a balmy summer night didn't register with his hazy mind. All he knew was that he was cold and not feeling well. Stray thoughts, and bits and pieces of the days events came and went. It was like watching a movie that overlapped tracks and distorted the sound.

By the time morning rolled around, he'd only gotten two hours of sleep. Much to his disappointment, he'd lost the battle against the nausea and had barely made it to the bathroom in time. The movement hadn't done much for his hip or aching muscles, but the throwing up did help the nausea somewhat. He hoped he wasn't getting the flu. The timing couldn't be worse.

After standing in the shower for almost half an hour, he had started to feel better. The tension had fled his muscles, and the water washed the sticky sweat off his skin. He still felt tired, but his mind was clearer.

The smell of pancakes wafting into his room was doing nothing for his stomach, but he knew if he didn't make an appearance at some point his dad would come looking for him.

Pulling on the first set of clean clothes he could find, he ran a comb through his hair without bothering to put any sort of product in it, and took one last glance at himself in the mirror. The slightly pale tinge to his skin made the dark smudges under his eyes stand out. Shrugging, he gingerly made his way downstairs. He'd looked worse than this weeks earlier.

"Good morning, Charlie. How many pancakes would you like?" Alan asked without turning around.

"Thanks, but I'm actually not very hungry," he replied, swallowing convulsively.

Hearing the exhaustion in his son's voice, Alan turned around and got his first good look at Charlie.

"Are you, all right? You don't look very good, Charlie."

"I'm fine. I just didn't sleep well last night."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Uh... dog. The neighbour's dog wouldn't stop barking."

Alan skeptically eyed him. "Uh huh. I didn't hear any dog."

"Well, maybe it's because our windows face different directions. I've gotta get ready, Dad."

Alan worriedly watched him leave, not buying a word of what had come out of Charlie's mouth. The speech he had given Don came sailing back into his mind. Even though sometimes Charlie didn't act it, he was a responsible adult and could take care of himself. That didn't mean his paternal instincts couldn't kick into gear.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Charles, I was wondering if I could borrow your expertise for a few minutes? If it's not too inconvenient of course. Charles?"

Since Larry had entered the classroom, Charlie had yet to acknowledge his presence. He was hunched over, appearing to be deeply engrossed in the papers he was grading. What disturbed Larry was the fact Charlie's eyes weren't moving. He just stared at a point in the middle of the page.

"Charles," he again prodded as he went over and touched the younger man's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

He wasn't prepared for the anger in Charlie's eyes when he abruptly turned and pinned him with his gaze.

"What, Larry! Can't you see I'm trying to concentrate?" he all but yelled.

The surprised and hurt look that crossed Larry's features immediately cooled his temper.
"Sorry, Larry. I'm a little stressed right now. What do you need?"

"No, it's all right. I'll come back. I can see that you're otherwise engaged." Larry backed towards the door as he said this, and was out the door before Charlie could call him back.

Larry was deeply disturbed by Charlie's behaviour. Amita had told him Charlie had been snappish all day, even telling a student stupid questions had no place in the classroom. This was the third day Charlie's behaviour had been like this, and he didn't like it. Not at all. If Charlie wasn't going to talk with him, he'd have to go to the next best person.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Larry!" Don couldn't keep the surprise off his face. "What are you doing here? Is everything all right?" The surprise quickly turned to a frown.

"Actually, it isn't. Is there someplace private we can talk?" Larry asked as he nervously intertwined his fingers.

"Uh, sure." Don directed him to the conference room and closed the door. Larry had never come to the FBI office. In fact, Larry had never sought him out before.

"Have you noticed anything unusual about Charles' behaviour as of late?"

"Unusual? He's been kind of quiet, but he seems okay. Mind you, I haven't seen him in three days. I've been on a stakeout. What's going on?" Leaning against a desk, Don crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Well, I'm not sure where to start. I've never seen Charles behave like this."

Don was truly puzzled now. What could possibly have happened in three days?

"Amita and I have both noticed he is extremely short with people, snappish and distracted. Also, there's the fact he looks like he hasn't slept in days, and I don't think he's eating. He's turned down every lunch invitation, and I never see him with any food throughout the day. I'm afraid something might be seriously wrong."

"Have you tried asking him?"

"I have. Today's conversation, or lack thereof, was extremely off-putting. That's why I came to you."

"Thanks, Larry. I'll see what I can do, all right?" He and Charlie would be having a talk when he got home.

FIC: Inner Demons~Alternate Chapter 5

2005-12-28T20:32:32Z

This was going to be the original chapter 5, but I just didn't like it. I felt it was overly dramatic to the point of possibly not being believable, and in this version Charlie actually was going to buy the drugs but Don stops him. In the one I published on ff.net, Charlie realizes his mistake and goes to see Don before attempting to buy drugs. I felt that was more true to character. Anyways, you can decide which ending you prefer.

This starts the morning after Don cancels his dinner discussion with Charlie and continues until Charlie confesses to Don he was going to buy drugs. After that, it's the same as the published version on ff.net. Also, Alan did not go on the road trip.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Awareness slowly returned to Alan as he awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of birds singing outside his window. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, mulling over the events of the past few days. An uneasiness had settled in his stomach.

Charlie's behaviour was starting to scare him. At first, he'd put it down to a delayed stress reaction from the trauma he'd endured. He'd known people that had served in the military and had seen terrible things, and Charlie's behaviour didn't fit.

Next, he had assumed Charlie had some sort of blow out with Don, or even Amita or Larry. Both Amita and Larry assured him nothing of the sort had happened despite Charlie's rather volatile temper of late. Don had been evasive, but promised any words he may or may not have had with Charlie did not cause his behaviour.

He had considered the idea Charlie may be doing a classified consulting job for some government agency, but the lack of math indicated otherwise.

Deciding it was time to get up, he felt his joints creak as he rose from the bed. When he walked past Charlie's room, he glanced in and saw his son sitting quietly on the side of the bed. Pausing, he took a moment to study Charlie.

Unruly hair framed his too pale face. His shoulders were hunched, and he wore only a dark pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, both of which seemed too big for his small frame. He had suspected Charlie was losing weight, but the multiple layers he usually wore had hidden that. Until now.

Without consulting Charlie, Alan had scheduled a doctor's appointment for him shortly after lunch. Knowing his son would not appreciate the going behind his back, Alan knew it was the right thing to do. One look at Charlie confirmed that.

"Good morning, Charlie," he started, coming into the room.

Charlie glanced up, a brief smile crossing his features, but not quite reaching his eyes. "Hey, Dad."

"You're up kind of early. Did you have something planned for today?"

"You could say that," was the evasive answer.

Alan paused, waiting for Charlie to elaborate. "Something to do with the college?"

"Yeah."

"Uh, huh." Charlie obviously didn't want to share any further information. That was fine, he was a grown man. "I'm making french toast for breakfast. How many pieces would you like?"

"I'm actually not very hungry."

"Charlie, I consider myself a tolerant man. One thing I will not tolerate is one of my sons slowly starving himself. How many pieces?"

"One," Charlie answered, his jaw clenching.

"Very good. I'll call you when it's ready."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Don took the steps up to the front door two at a time. Last night had been worth it. At four in the morning they'd apprehended the man he'd been hunting for for just over a week. He'd finally finished interviewing him, and decided he'd better speak with Charlie before heading home to bed. Charlie was making an effort to reach out to him. It was only fair he reach back.

Using his key, he opened the door and strode into the kitchen, following the wonderful smell of breakfast.

"Hey, Dad."

"Donnie!" his father exclaimed, surprised. "What are you doing here this early? Are you on your way to work?"

"I'm actually on my way home from work." He elaborated at Alan's confused look. "Long night, don't ask. Is Charlie here? I need to speak with him."

"He's in his room. Have you had breakfast yet? There's plenty here."

"Oh, no thanks, Dad. I just want to go home and crash."

"In that case, tell Charlie breakfast is just about ready."

"Sure thing."

Don headed up the stairs and down the familiar hall to Charlie's room. The familiar creaks in the floor boards, the imperfections in the paint, even the smell all came together create the illusion of time travel. Simply walking down the hallway transported him back in time to his carefree childhood. If he closed his eyes, he could almost forget the past few weeks.

Approaching Charlie's door, Don could see it was ajar. It emitted a pained groan as it was pushed open.

Charlie, who had been hunched over the bed, jumped and quickly put whatever he'd been working on into his pocket. A guilty expression passed over his face to be replaced by an uneasy smile.

"Don! I, uh, didn't hear you come in." He clasped his hands behind his back, stance rigid.

"Charlie, what was that?"

"What was what?" he shrugged.

"Don't play games, Charlie. I'm not in the mood. What did you put into your pocket?"

"It was nothing." Charlie's smile started to slip. "It's personal, okay?"

"No, Charlie. Not 'okay'. What's going on with you?" He didn't miss the way Charlie's eyes kept darting to the clock on the wall. "Going somewhere?"

"I am actually. Now, if you don't mind..."

Charlie started to limp past him, but Don reached out and grabbed his arm. Before Charlie could respond, Don reached around behind with his right hand and grabbed the object from his brother's pocket.

"Hey! Don, give that back! Don't..." Charlie trailed off. It was too late.

It had been an envelope in Charlie's pocket. Don turned his back to Charlie and opened it, floored by the contents.

"Charlie..." His voice was low. He'd worked at the FBI long enough to figure out what was going on, and it scared him. Charlie's behaviour over the past week clicked into place. The irritability, weight loss, not sleeping, painful movements, and now secretive behaviour all made sense. "What are you doing with this?"

"Give it back, Don!" Charlie grabbed for it.

Don held the envelope out of his brother's reach. He was used to using his height advantage when dealing with his brother.

"What are you doing with this?" he asked again, his voice dangerous, taking a step towards Charlie. "Where are you going at seven in the morning with an envelope full of money, Charlie?"

Charlie glared at him, jaw set. There was a pause before he once again lunged for the envelope. Don's lightening reflexes kicked in. Dropping the envelope, he grabbed his brother's wrists and spun, pushing him face-first into the wall. Don leaned into him, using his larger body to smother his struggles.

"No, Don! You don't understand! This isn't what it looks like!"

"Not what it looks like? I'll tell you what it looks like, Charlie. It looks like my younger brother is going to buy drugs!"

"It's not like that!"

"Well tell me what it's like, Charlie, 'cause I sure as hell don't understand!"

The sound of Charlie's heavy breathing filled the room, and he once again struggled against Don's grip which only caused him to tighten it further.

"Don," Charlie gasped out. "You're hurting me." Not only was Don gripping his wrists with bruising force, but his hip was being pressed into the wall from Don leaning on him so heavily.

A pang of guilt tightened his gut as Charlie's words penetrated his anger-fogged mind. He hadn't come here to hurt his brother.

Immediately loosening his grip, Don put one of his hands on Charlie's shoulder and turned him around. He watched as Charlie's face blanched and he slowly started sinking to the floor. Placing his hands under his brother's arms, Don tried to catch him, but Charlie's legs weren't supporting any of his weight so the best he could do was soften his landing.

"Charlie? Are you okay? What's going on?"

Eyes closed, Charlie's reply was quiet. "It's all right. My hip just couldn't take being pressed into the wall like that. It'll pass."

"Oh god, Charlie. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get out of hand like that."

"My fault, Don. I should have known better than to go after you like that."

"Charlie, what are you doing with all this money? Charlie, talk to me." Don was scared now, his previous anger forgotten..

Charlie's breathing slowed slightly before he answered. "Last night. I... I needed something. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't think I had a choice. It was only logical."

"What was only logical, Charlie?" Had he been right? Was his younger brother really been about to buy drugs?

"When the doctor told me no more, I got sick. I still am and I can't... I can't function. I'm hurting the people I love. I can't do what I love. I needed it, you see?" he forcefully intoned, still not making eye contact.

"What did you need, Charlie?" Don had a pretty good idea now, but was refusing to believe it. His little brother would never do that. Never.

For the first time, Charlie turned his head and looked directly at him. The sadness, confusion and pain in his eyes blatantly obvious. "I really was going to buy drugs, Don. I... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for you to find out...." his voice trailed off as the tears started to flow.

"My god, Charlie." Don reached over and gently pulled his brother to him, wrapping his arms tightly around him. He couldn't help but notice how small Charlie felt in his arms. His baggy clothes had obviously been hiding the loss of weight he could ill-afford to lose.

The anger he was feeling was indescribable. His brother had been about to do the stupidest thing in his entire life. How long had Charlie been considering obtaining drugs illegally? Charlie had people he could talk to. He knew that, so why the hell didn't he ask for help?

He shuddered to think what could have happened. At its best, but still not good, Charlie would have become a drug addict, illegally using street drugs for years. At its worst, Charlie would end up in jail, or worse, in the morgue, the victim of an overdose. Don knew exactly the type of world drug addicts and dealers lived in, and the thought of his little brother becoming involved in it scared and angered him. Especially when it so easily could have been prevented.

Don did not like the flood of images in his mind and pulled back. Placing his hands on Charlie's shoulders, he turned him so they were face to face. "What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, his anger bubbling near the surface now. Not only his anger at Charlie, but from the disastrous night before. "You could have gotten yourself killed! Why the hell didn't you come to Dad or I? We could have helped you, damn it!"

"I didn't think-"

"Damn right you didn't think!" He jumped up off the floor and angrily paced the room. "Why, Charlie? Why didn't you ask for help?"

"I didn't think it was that bad."

"You were about to buy narcotics, Charlie! Illegally! How could you not think there was a problem?" Don incredulously asked.

"I thought it was the flu. The pain got so bad, and the doctor wouldn't help. He gave me a weaker prescription."

"Did it help? The weaker drug?"

Charlie looked at his feet.

"You didn't take it, did you. Did you?" Don implored.

Charlie didn't look up.

"I'll bet you also didn't tell the doctor you were doubling your Percocet dose either." Don made no effort to hide the disappointment on his face.

His brother glanced up, surprise on his face. "How did you know?"

"It's what I do, Charlie." One of his brother's earlier statements came back to him, Charlie's naiveté showing through. "You're going through withdrawal, Charlie. It's not the flu. I'm willing to bet not only is the withdrawal causing the pain to be more severe, but your expectations as well."

Charlie looked inward, mulling over his brother's statement. If possible, he looked even more broken. "You're telling me, I've been in pain and about to break the law because of something that's all in my head?"

"I don't doubt for a minute you're in pain, Charlie. I think you let it get out of control. If you had just swallowed your pride and come to one of us, or told your doctor, none of this would have happened!"

Charlie took it all in, nodding his head. "What happens now?" he quietly asked, the drama of the moment catching up to him.

"I'm taking you to the doctor's. We'll get this sorted out."

"Isn't it kind of early?"

"We'll see whoever is on call. Where's your cane?" Don asked, glancing around the room.

"I lost it," he sheepishly replied.

Don walked over and extended his hand to Charlie, who gripped it tightly and slowly pulled himself upright, groaning as his stuff muscles spasmed. Sitting on the hard floor had been too much for his hip to handle. His vision clouded as he stood up straight, but Don's firm grip on his bicep kept him from teetering over.

"Can you walk, Charlie?"

"Yeah, I was just kind of dizzy for a moment."

"When was the last time you ate?"

There was a moment of silence. "There's a difference between eating something and keeping it down," Charlie stated.

"In other words, too long," Don answered while he wrapped his arm around his brother's slim waist, careful not to place his hand too low and press into his hip, and helped him out to the car.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

End of part 5

FIC: In Time (Andromeda)

2005-10-15T21:02:58Z

Title: In Time
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. They belong to Gene Roddenberry and I'm making no money from this (darn).
Rating: PG
Setting/Season: Season 5 (mid)
Spoilers: So Burn the Untamed Lands and minor spoilers from throughout the show.
Warnings: None
Summary: Beka tries to restore the tattered remains of her relationship with Harper. My take on So Burn the Untamed Lands.
Author's Note: I really did not like the way anyone treated Harper in this episode. This story picks up part way through the ep, and then takes off in a slightly AU direction. As an aside, I know that one of the things mentioned here didn't occur until after the episode, but it still works.
Feed the author, send feedback!

o-o-o-o-o-o

"Ok, what are the readings on the um, ah, the up and down thing," Harper asked while walking back and forth between machinery, trying to figure out what he was supposed to be doing.

"The vertical?" Beka supplied.

"Right."

"Ah, spiking at plus or minus 5."

"Okay, so, ah, magnetic interference, we need more magnetic interference," he said, without conviction. What was wrong with him?

"We have plenty of interference, Harper, that's kind of the problem."

"Right, of course. Insulation? We need insulation."

To Beka, it sounded almost like he was asking her if they needed insulation. If there was one thing Harper made sure everyone knew, it was that he was a genius. Then why was he having such a hard time even forming simple sentences? She had originally been annoyed at his apparent ineptness, but that was quickly turning into concern.

"Did you sleep enough?"

"Yeah, yeah, why?"

"I don't know, you're just not your usual quick and quippy self. What's going on?" She put down the instrument she was holding and gave him an appraising look. It could have been the lighting, but she thought Harper's neck looked a little red.

"I'm just trying to concentrate, ya know? Oh, what are the readings on the vertical?"

Alarm bells started going off. This wasn’t at all like Harper. Sure his thought processes had always been jumbled, and when he was on a rant not even Rommie could follow him, but when doing an engineering job, he never forgot anything. Engineering was his life. It was his ticket off that hell hole earth, and he’d never screwed it up.

"Harper, just stop and look at me. What's bothering you?"

"Uh, nothing. Nothing. It's nothing. What are the readings again?"

"Listen. I know we haven't had a chance to talk recently, and for you it's been three years since you've seen any of us, but that doesn't mean I still don't care about you."

"Hey, did I ask you? Now are you going to help me?" Harper snapped.

Her eyes hardened. One thing hadn't changed. He could still be a jerk. She'd give him a little time to think and then try asking again.

"I'm going to get a roll of insulation."

"Fine, whatever." He paused to scratch madly at his arms and chest. "Take your time!" Getting fed up with the itching, he yanked his top over his head and was shocked to find an angry rash covering his left arm and chest, and from the feel of it his back as well. A nagging worry started at the back of his mind. The last time he'd had a rash like this, he was told it would have eaten his skin off. What he wouldn't give for Andromeda's knowledge and medical deck right now.

"Oh my God, Harper!" came Beka's shocked exclamation as she rounded the corner and found the engineer topless. It wasn't only the rash that surprised her, but also the fact he had taken his shirt off in the middle of the Maru. In all the time she'd known him, he'd never stripped if there was the chance someone would walk in on him. Three years on Seefra might have changed him, but she thought it was pretty far fetched it would do this to him. She moved closer to get a better look. "What happened?"

"Do I look like Trance?" he sneered. "It's nothing."

"It is most certainly not nothing." She reached out to touch his arm, curiosity guiding her actions. She immediately pulled her hand back when Harper hissed and jumped out of reach.

"Don't touch me! I don't need your help."

"Like you're doing such a good job taking care of yourself! After we pick up Dylan and Rhade I'm taking you to Andromeda. Maybe Trance will know what this is."

"I'm fine." He grabbed the insulation from her and tried to get back to work. A part of Beka was angry with him for being so short with her when she was only trying to help, and another part mourned for their lost friendship. After not seeing him for months, and him not seeing her for three years, the first words out of her mouth after finally coming together again had been filled with disgust and derision when she’d seen Rommie. Right then she'd noticed Harper close up. She cursed Seefra. Survival was foremost on everyone's minds, causing interpersonal relationships to be locked in the closet. Maybe he had a right to be angry with her.

Giving Harper time to cool off, she headed to the cockpit to prepare to pick up Rhade and take on Dylan and the refugees.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Rhade, something's wrong with Harper."

"No kidding. You're just noticing this now?" He didn't even look up from the console he was working at.

She bit her tongue to refrain from saying something stupid. Only for a second though. "His personality has changed. He's forgetful, rude and short tempered."

"And this is unusual how?"

"And he's covered in a rash."

Rhade's hand paused in midair, a worried look washing over his face. "Red and itchy?"

"Yeah," she replied slowly. "Do you know what it is?"

"It sounds like the illness affecting the slaves working in the mines. Exposure to the crystals causes a rash and aggressive behaviour. Where is he now?"

"He should be back in the engineering section preparing for the refugees. Harper hasn't been on that mining planet, how did he get exposed?" Her worry increased ten fold. If Rhade was concerned, she knew something must be really wrong.

"Doyle said something about a still blowing up. I wasn't really paying attention. Contact Dylan and explain the situation to him. I'm going to see how Harper's doing." Mumbling to himself about things never being easy, he stopped at the entrance to engineering and observed the young man hard at work, or at least trying to work. He was speaking in a hushed angry tone, occasionally accenting his frustration by slamming a tool into the railing. "Harper, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Harper turned an annoyed face in his direction. "No." He went to back work.

Rhade smiled, but wasn't really amused. "Listen little man. That rash you're doing a terrible job at hiding? It's going to going to make you go crazy. Knowing you, it'll probably kill you as well."

The engineer stomped right up to Rhade, and breathing rather heavily spoke right to his face. "I'm only going to say this once, but I'll do it slowly so your Uber mind can comprehend it. Leave me the hell alone!"

Gritting his teeth to suppress the urge to pound Harper, Rhade looked him straight in the eyes and tried again. "Harper, you're sick, which is why I'm going to overlook that. I'm going to take you to the crew quarters until Dylan gets here." He reached to take the younger man by the arm.

"Get your filthy hands off of me!" Harper jumped back, and grabbed the first weapon he saw, which happened to be a piece of wood. Swinging with as much force as his cloudy mind could supply, he aimed for Rhade's side. Rhade grabbed the wood one-handed and jerked it from Harper's grasp, throwing it out of reach. "When I get my hands on you, stupid Uber, I'll..."

"Tell me another one." He grabbed Harper's hand as he threw a punch, and holding onto it, jerked it behind Harper's back and pressed him face first into the wall, using his body to pin the smaller man. His futile struggles and death threats only serving to drain his energy. He felt Harper's muscle's start to relax, but whether it was from exhaustion or the illness, he didn't know. "Are you through?"

"When I get my hands on that nano welder..." he trailed off, eyes starting to lose focus.

"Come on, Harper. Let's get you settled before company gets here." Not wanting Harper to come to and attack a refugee, or hurt himself, Rhade decided it would be best to restrain him with something. The only things in the immediate vicinity were the plastic cable ties. He shuddered to think of the damage those would cause to Harper's wrists should he struggle, so he opted for a coil of thick electrical wire. He laid Harper on the deck on his stomach and tied his hands behind his back, and shifted him over to the railing and tied the other end of the wire to it, leaving only three inches room for Harper to move his hands.

"Ahem." Rhade turned and found Beka with her hands on her hips, an annoyed look on her face. "Is that necessary? This is Harper here. I don't think he's that much of a threat."

Rhade gave the wire a final tug to make sure it was secure. "You have no idea. Mind you, on a good day he still wouldn't pose much of a threat, but this illness causes violent, irrational behaviour. I'm not taking any chances. We might be able to physically overcome him, but he could still damage the ship or hurt himself."

Beka didn't enjoy seeing Harper tied up like an animal, but knew Rhade was right. The young man was currently mumbling and pulling weakly against the wires, eyes drifting open and closed.

"Keep an eye on him for a minute. I'm going to command to speak with Dylan."

Alone with her wayward engineer, Beka took a seat on the deck beside him, but still out of reach should he decide to kick at her. "Harper, I'm not sure if you can hear me or not, but I'm sorry. For all of us. We've treated you horribly since arriving here, and you've done nothing to provoke it." His only response was a groan and shift in position.

"Beka." Rhade's grainy voice over the comm system derailed her train of thought. "Dylan's ready for us."

She smiled sadly at Harper before getting up and heading for the cockpit.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Where is he?" Dylan asked once all the refugees had been settled.

"Rhade tied him to the railing in engineering. He was out of it last time we checked."

Dylan appeared to digest this information before indicating for them to lead the way. He carried the small container of salve and hoped it would work. By the sounds of it, Harper's illness was fairly advanced. Yelling and swearing could be heard clearly floating out from behind the steel door to engineering. Sounded like Harper had woken up.

He wasn't particularly surprised that Harper was tied up, it was the force with which he fought the restraints that was disturbing. Harper's eyes were glassy and unfocussed, but he was conscious enough to know they were there and start yelling profanities at them.

"Rhade, hold his legs so I can apply this. I'm going to lie him on his side so I want you to hold his shoulders down Beka. This has to be applied wherever the rash is, and I don't want him head butting or trying to bite me." He turned his attention to Harper. "Harper? I've got something for that rash, but you have to let me touch you to apply it." He wasn't expecting him to agree, but wanted him to know what was going to happen.

"Go to hell you stupid spacers! Especially you, Uber!"

Rhade held the engineers legs while Dylan pushed him onto his side, ignoring the hurtful words spewing from his mouth. He started by applying the cream to the visibly affected areas on his neck and arms. Pulling up his shirt, he winced when he saw the full extent of the rash.

"Easy, Harper," Beka soothed as Harper threw his upper body back and forth, trying to break free of her grip.

Working quickly, he liberally rubbed the cream into the skin of his back, chest and stomach. Harper flinched from his touch as he rubbed the cream into the open sores, but he stomped his feelings of guilt and kept going. It had to be done.

"There. All finished, Harper." He backed away and Beka and Rhade released him. "It'll take a few hours, but he'll be all right."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Beka made her way back to engineering after finishing with the off loading of the miners. It had taken three hours to transport them, but she was never more grateful to get a load of people off her ship. Various pieces of garbage and discarded items coated the floors, and anything belonging to her that had been sitting out had been knocked over from the ship being so overcrowded.

She tensed as she approached engineering, expecting to hear yelling. Instead, she was greeted by silence. Feeling encouraged, she opened the door and relaxed when she saw Harper lying bonelessly on the deck, either asleep or unconscious; she couldn't tell.

"Harper?" she quietly called. He stirred and slowly opened his eyes. "Harper? Can you hear me?"

"Beka?" he whispered. He gaze was still unfocussed, but it had lost that dangerous glint.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she knelt down next to him. She wanted to be sure he was better before untying him.

"Like I've been standing behind the Maru's engines during take off. What happened?" A frown washed over his face as he tried to move his hands but found he couldn't. "Why am I tied up?"

"Long story short? You contracted an illness causing general insanity and nastiness. I didn't think that tying you up was totally necessary, though. You're not much of a threat as it is." She immediately regretted her words as that hurt look she'd come to know too well appeared. Damn. She'd done it again. When did it become so easy for her to hurt the people she loved? "Oh, Harper. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

"You didn't have to. I know how you feel about me. Just untie me so I can get out of here."

She leaned over him and had to use her knife to cut through the wire. Rhade had tied an impossibly tight knot. Harper's wrists were a multitude of blues, purples and reds. She gently touched his wrist, but he jerked out of her reach and sat up, rubbing the circulation back into them.

"Harper, please stay and let me explain. We really need to talk." She stood up and offered him a hand. Ignoring her proffered hand, he shakily got to his feet and started shuffling towards the door. "Harper! Where are you going?"

"Home," was his simply stated answer. She didn't know what hurt more. The fact he was walking out on her, or that he no longer considered the Maru home.

o-o-o-o-o-o

"Let me past, Doyle. I have to speak with him." Beka was face to face with the android. She’d learned that it was not only impossible to match wits with an android, but even harder with one Harper had built. She wasn’t going to let that stop her.

"Why? So you can push him around and demean him? He doesn't want to see you."

"Listen, Doyle. I don't need you telling me what I can and can't do with my own crew!"

"Crew!?" Doyle incredulously exclaimed. She accented that statement with a short laugh. "If this his how you normally treat your crew, I'd hate to see how you treat them on a bad day!"

"What do you know, Doyle. I've spent the past three months doing things I never though I'd do to survive. It was hell!"

"And Harper's spent the past three years doing the exact same thing! You don't see him treating his former crew mates like dirt. In fact, he's the only one of you with a sense of decency. I can't blame him for wanting to isolate himself from the likes of you."

"Harper grew up on earth. He's..."

"Don't you dare say used to it. I've watched him suffer for the past three years. I've heard him wake up in the night screaming from one of a variety of recurring nightmares he has. I've seen him withdraw and not speak for days because he believed all his friends had died. I've nursed his wounds when he came back beaten for trying to get food. I've watched his physical condition frequently deteriorate from malnutrition and depression. So don't you dare tell me he's used to living in poverty. No one gets used to it."

Beka could feel the fight draining out of her. She knew exactly what Doyle was talking about. Harper had been the same way when she'd found him on earth. Before she could say anything in her defense, the door behind Doyle opened, and Harper's defeated voice could be heard.

"It's all right, Doyle. She can come in."

Doyle's jaw clenched, but she stepped aside.

Harper's little room was just as Beka had expected. A small bed with a lumpy mattress sat against one wall, and the rest of the room was filled with various unfinished projects and tools. It was strangely reminiscent of his room on the Andromeda.

"How are you feeling?" She decided to open the conversation with a neutral topic. Hopefully, Harper wouldn't become defensive right off.

"Save it, Beka. I know you really don't care. Just say what you came here to say so I can assuage your conscience for you, then run back to your precious Maru." He picked up his tools from the floor so he'd have something other to do than look at Beka.

"That's not fair, Harper."

"Fair?! You want fair?! How about you sitting with Dylan and Rhade while two guys beat the crap out of me. How about pushing me out of the way like I'm totally worthless, or not defending me when Rhade referred to me as a kludge! The last thing I need is a lecture from the Beka Valentine School of Fairness."

"I thought you were dead. The last image of you I had in my mind was of you hiding in that tunnel from the Magog and scared out of your mind. I thought you'd died the type of death that haunted your dreams every night on the Maru, and it damn near killed me, Harper."

"Funny thing, me too."

She ignored his sarcastic comment and continued. "I found I didn't care about anything anymore except survival. I changed, and not for the better. You can only imagine my shock when I saw you alive."

"You have a strange way of showing that you care about me."

"I know. You know I have a hard time opening myself up to people. I've been betrayed by so many people that have I've trusted; Bobby, Rafe, you get the idea. I decided it wasn't worth it anymore. After I thought you had died I just went through the motions, prepared never to open up to anyone again. Then when I saw you alive, it was such a shock, I just couldn't open up again. I just need time."

"That doesn't explain why everyone else is treating me so badly. It hurts, Beka." Harper sat down on the bed and Beka joined him.

"You're right, Harper. There's no excuse for it. I hope you'll give me a chance to make it up to you."

He eyed her for a moment before replying. "And if you blow it again can I sic Doyle on you?"

Beka's smile widened, and it was the best thing Harper had seen in three years.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Outside the door, Doyle smiled to herself and walked away. There was still a lot of healing to do, but it was a start.

FIC: Of Wolves and Regrets (Andromeda)

2005-08-24T20:23:17Z

Title: Of Wolves and Regrets
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Gene Roddenberry, not me.
Rating: M
Spoilers: BAMSR
Category: Harper & Beka & Dylan friendship
Summary: Harper tried to warn Beka and Dylan about Bobby. They should have listened. Now, he will pay the price.
Warnings: violence, attempted rape, language
Author’s Note: After watching BAMSR for the 50th time during the summer, this little idea popped into my twisted little mind and wouldn’t go away until I did something about it. This story starts half way through BAMSR, and continues from there in a different direction.

Of Wolves and Regrets
by: Megan

Dylan felt an indescribable rage flood through him as he watched the sad excuse for a man, Bobby Jensen, run his hands down the young man’s body. From his vantage point under the deck grating, he could only see the engineer’s back, but it was more than enough to know what was going on.

He should have listened. His engineer had tried to warn him. He’d said over and over Bobby was not to be trusted. That Beka was too loyal for her own good, even to scum. The recording should have been enough. Bobby had struck Harper. And what did he do? Joke. It was not a hard hit, but a hit none the less. If Tyr or Beka had been the ones warning him, he would have listened. Why not with Harper? Was it his young age? The fact he never seems to take anything seriously? Or maybe because he always exaggerates everything? Either way, Harper was paying the price. In a way so was he.

He could only sit there helpless as Bobby Jensen raped Harper.

“Hey!” he yelled for all he was worth, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. “Get your filthy hands off my crew member!”

A gauss gun being charged behind him drew his attention from the scene. Bobby’s current girlfriend, what was her name? He didn’t bother to try and remember, was pointing the gun at his forehead, a smirk gracing her dark lips.

“I’d be careful if I was you. Angering Bobby’ll only make it worse for your little friend over there.” She accentuated her I-could-care-less tone by loudly snapping her gum. A whimper from the front of the ship drew his eyes back.

Bobby’s large hand gripped the back of Harper’s head like a vice, while he enveloped the young man’s lips in a crushing kiss. Harper whimpered again and tried futilely to pull away. Once Bobby released him, he turned his head away and said in an unsteady voice, “Get the hell away from me, you sick freak.”

Inside, Dylan cheered. The sharp sound of flesh hitting flesh made his blood boil. “Hey! When I get out of here...”

“You’ll what? Say anything more and you’ll be breathing through your forehead. I’m the one with the gun.”

“Weapons don’t necessarily make someone powerful.”

“Yeah, like I care.”

“So you’re going to stand there and let your boyfriend force himself onto another person?! You must not be very important to him.”

“Hey! He loves me! He just has needs that I can’t satisfy for him. Someone like you couldn’t possibly understand,” she sneered.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Seamus Zelazny Harper. Been a long time,” Bobby drawled as he came up behind the engineer.

“Not long enough,” Harper shot back. “Now why don’t you do yourself a favour and let us go before Andromeda gets here and blows you to hell.”

“Some things haven’t changed, kid. You’ve still got a helluva mouth on ya. But other things have.” He slowly raked his eyes over Harper’s body, starting at his feet and working his way up. “I can see time has been kind to you.” He inched closer with every word, until Harper could smell the stink of his breath

“Hasn’t been kind to you,” he scoffed. Bobby’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he didn’t strike him. Not yet.

“When I first saw you, I knew there was something special about you, and given time I’d grow to like you. You were a scrawny, foul smelling mudfoot, but still one hell of a prize. Then Beka ruined it. Kicked me off the Maru and let you of all people stay. Well guess what. Now I have my chance. And this time, no one is going to ruin it.”

“Screw. You.”

“Actually,” Bobby’s lips were inches from his. “It’ll be the other way around.” Pressing the palms of his hands to the young man’s chest, he applied enough pressure to feel the heat of his body through his thin shirt. He dragged his hands down his sides and brought them to rest on his stomach, inches from the waist of his pants.

Harper shut his eyes tightly. ‘This is not happening. This is not happening.’ Beka would protect him from Bobby like last time. Throw him off the ship. Somewhere in the distance Dylan was yelling. But at who? The feeling of hot lips pressing into his encompassed his world. A whimper escaped his throat. Dylan yelled again. Where was Beka? His mouth was harshly released. What would Beka do in a situation like this? She wouldn’t take this kind of crap. He spoke. Of what he wasn’t sure, but a sharp pain followed, which was accompanied by another yell in the distance.

o-o-o-o-o-o

He didn’t know whether to yell or cry. There was nothing he could do to help Harper. The young man squirmed, trying to get as far away from Bobby as the bonds on his wrists would allow. His hands slowly turning blue from the lack of circulation. Dylan couldn’t hear what Bobby was saying to Harper, but he knew it couldn’t be pleasant.

Bobby slid his rough hands under the waist of Harper’s pants. Dylan thought the engineer was going to jump out of his skin. Harper thrashed back and forth, but Bobby used his hands to pull the smaller man’s body flush against his, effectively stilling his struggle while whispering something into his ear.

How to get rid of a loser boyfriend in five easy lessons by Seamus Harper. One, two, three, four, five. In his usual less-than-subtle way, Harper had hinted at what Bobby was really about. By the time Harper had gotten to ‘five’, he was pointing his gun at the groin area. He’d said ‘five’ with such derision. And he’d completely missed it.

Noticing his guard had momentarily left him, he started frantically searching for something to use as a substitute key. Coming up empty handed, his anger boiled over and he slammed his fist into the deck grating, taking little comfort in the pain now pulsing up his arm. More helpless vocalizations from Harper drew his attention once again to the front of the ship. In the short period of time Bobby had managed to unbuckle the belt on Harper’s pants. Fearing what would happen if he didn’t act now, Dylan took a deep breath, preparing to yell for all he was worth.

Hurried steps on the deck above sharply drew his attention. Looking up, he saw Lem come furtively into view, hesitate, then drop something metallic through the deck and run off again. The key! Maybe Beka had been able to convince Lem to let him go, wherever she was.

Pulling himself out of his prison, Dylan was more than ready to take on Bobby. “Hey! I thought I told you to take your filthy hands off of him!” Marching up to the half human, Dylan grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him off of the young man, anger fueling his strength. A quick glance at Harper told Dylan all he needed to know. Bobby had seriously damaged him. That’s all there was to it.

“You think you scare me Dylan Hunt? You can’t do anything to me. With this new body, I’m stronger than anything you’ve ever encountered before.”

“You’re certainly not any smarter, though.” Bobby had a short fuse. That was his weakness. Side stepping as Bobby lunged at him, he twisted and grabbed Bobby, using his momentum to propel him face first into the wall.

Pushing off the wall, Bobby jerked his head back, connecting solidly with Dylan’s jaw. He stumbled, and Bobby used that to knock him to the ground and wrap one massive hand around his throat, cutting off his oxygen supply.

“Did you honestly think you could beat me? You really are arrogant. Let me tell you what’s going to happen. First,” his voice quieted, and he leaned closer to Dylan’s face. “I’m going to snap your neck like a Than grub. Second, I’m going to finish what I started with your precious engineer over there, and there’ll be nothing anyone can do to stop me.” The feral look in his eyes chilled Dylan to the core.

With the last little bit of oxygen he could suck in, the captain spat into Bobby’s face, loosening his grip enough for him to gouge Bobby’s remaining eye and scramble out from under him.

“What’s wrong, Captain,” Bobby growled as he drew himself to his feet. “Want him all for yourself?”

Appalled, but not particularly surprised Bobby would say something like that, Dylan replied, “Not everyone thinks like you Bobby. You’re sick.” Trying to keep him occupied, he looked for anything that could be used as a weapon. He wasn’t stupid. He also knew there was no way he could beat Bobby Jensen in a fair fight. The thick electrical cable caught his attention. He wasn’t sure how many volts of electricity were pumped through there, but he knew it would be more than enough.

“I think you’re the one that’s sick, Captain. Ya know, it’s not healthy to ignore those feelings. I tried suppressing it. Didn’t work. Come on. I know you want to try.” Bobby eyed Harper again with, what was that, lust? Wanting to draw this out no longer, Dylan jerked the cable from the wall and pushed it into Bobby’s side.

Sparks flew, and the half robot body started to convulse as thousands of volts of electrical current flooded through it, frying and fusing together all the electrical circuits. The distinct tang of burning flesh filled the air as the non electrical parts also burned. Jumping clear as the body fell heavily to the deck, Dylan grabbed the cable and shoved the open end of it behind the railing, out of the way.

His heart leapt into his throat when he looked at Harper. The young man was pale, his eyes wide, chest heaving. He was frozen to the spot, transfixed by Dylan.

“Harper?” He spoke softly to the engineer, making sure his attention was focused on the here and now. He moved towards him, intent on untying his wrists.

“No, no, no.” Harper’s head slowly shook side to side as he softly repeated the single syllable over again. “Please, get away from me.”

He stopped in his tracks. Of all the reactions he’d been expecting from Harper, fear wasn’t one of them. He held his hands out infront of him in a placating gesture. “Harper, I just want to untie you.”

“No. Please go away. Don’t hurt me anymore.”

Trying not to show the distress he was feeling on his face, Dylan tried a different approach. “Harper, do you know who I am?”

“You’re Bobby. Please leave me alone.”

“No, I’m not Harper. My name is Dylan Hunt. You’re captain. I’m not going to hurt you. Do you understand?”

There was a moment of silence as Harper contemplated this new information. The name was familiar. It didn’t evoke any feelings of fear in him like the name Bobby did. He knew who Dylan was. Of course he’d never hurt him. “Dylan?”

The relief on Harper’s face as he realized who Dylan was caused the breath to whoosh from his chest. He was slowly making progress. “I want to untie you, okay?”

Seeming to think this over, Harper hesitantly nodded. Slowly moving to untie the bonds, Dylan tried to make as little contact with Harper’s hands as possible, but he couldn’t help but notice how cold they felt. Damn. He’d need something to cut these wires with.

“Hey guys, you back here?” An obviously feminine voice called out. Beka. He’d completely forgotten about her.

“Boss, don’t let her see me like this, please,” Harper pleaded, indicating to his pants, which loosely hung from his lower hips, barely covering him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“What’s wrong with Harper.” It was a statement, not a question. She’d seen Harper hurt. She’d seen him sick. She’d seen him at his most excited or scared, but she’d never seen him like this.

The feral young man she’d first brought aboard the Maru had been skittish and fearful, but at the same time had possessed a sarcastic sense of humour and was a survivor. A fighter. Now, he was a shadow of his former self. Since she’d come around that corner to the cockpit and had seen Dylan move quickly away from Harper, she’d known something was terribly wrong. Harper had been pale, unfocussed, and for the most part unresponsive, giving only one word answers and never making eye contact with her.

Then there was the flinch. She had approached to uncut the wires binding him when he’d shied away from her. Fine tremors moved through his slight body. Then Dylan took the knife from her. Took it away from her! What did he think she was going to do with it?

Dylan had ushered Harper away and she found herself piloting the Maru back to Andromeda, feeling sore, empty and alone. The love of her life, dead. Her muscles burning from having to deal with Margot. Her best friend acting like she belonged to the Drago-Kasov. Getting answers from Dylan was less likely to happen than a Nightsider tossing a throne to a homeless human.

“Harper had a run in with Bobby.” She had been able to figure that part out for herself.

“Yeah, and?”

“That’s something he’s going to have to tell you himself.”

“What?! Dylan, I have known Harper way the hell longer than you have! He’s practically a brother to me. If there’s something going on with him, I have a right to know!”

“Beka, I can understand you’re upset. Really, I do. But would you have me break Harper’s trust? Would you expect me to break the trust of any of my crew simply because another crew member asked?”

“I am hardly ‘another crew member’. I was, still am, his captain. He tells me everything.”

Dylan’s subdued, “Not this time,” effectively quieted her. She blinked, and a single tear traced its way down her pale skin.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Harper sat in his quarters, staring numbly at a shelf of assorted tools, not really seeing them. The arrival back at Andromeda was like a dream. Dylan had quietly escorted him to his quarters, telling him to rest and that he’d be back to talk. Tyr had shot a curious look at them as they passed him in the hall, but didn’t say anything. Harper was glad Trance was away on a mission and wouldn’t see him like this.

“Harper, what are you still doing up?” Andromeda materialized into existence next to his bed. He nearly jumped out of his skin. “It’s two in the morning.”

So Dylan hadn’t told the ship about his encounter. Would wonders never cease? “I couldn’t sleep.”

“No kidding. You know, Harper. If you spent half as much time sleeping as you do tinkering with machinery or trying to get girls into bed...”

He tensed at the ship’s implication. Getting someone into bed meant having sex with them, and that would make him vulnerable. Like he’d been with Bobby. Vulnerable and helpless. Well he just wouldn’t let that happen again.

“Leave me alone,” he whispered, pulling his knees to his chest.

Andromeda frowned. This was not like her engineer. “Harper, is there something you want to talk about?”

“Engage privacy mode.” He looked at his feet so he wouldn’t see the hurt expression he knew would be visible on her face. The last thing he wanted to do was try to explain to a computer the emotional turbulence caused by his encounter with Bobby.

o-o-o-o-o-o

The constant chattering of dozens of voices, glasses chinking and incessant alien instrumental music was only barely drowned out by the high-pitched voice of Tashi Yonn, quite possible the most beautiful woman Harper had ever seen. Except for the fact she wanted something from him that he could no longer give. Something he might never be able to give again without seeing, hearing, or worse yet, smelling Bobby Jensen. The mind’s eye could act as a gift, replaying happy scenes from ones past, or as a curse, replaying nightmares. More specifically, the same nightmare he’d had each night for the past two weeks.

Beka stood with Dylan, politely smiling and pretending to look interested as the ambassador to the planet Kalienne explained all the factors currently causing the planets economy to slowly decline. If there was one thing she hated, it was attending these frequent gatherings in an attempt to restore the lost Commonwealth.

She turned her attention to her young engineer, who stood with Tashi, and frowned. There were two constants in her life. First, the knowledge that when she got up in the morning, space would still be a vacuum. Second, Harper will chase anything with curves in all the right places. Then why did he look like he was being forced to drink poison and not wine? His body language was all wrong too. He was tense, like he was expecting a Magog to jump out from under the table, and everytime she moved closer to him, he’d take a step back.

“Hello... Andromeda to Beka, do you read?” She blinked. Apparently the ambassador had left and Dylan was trying to get her attention.

“What?”

“I asked if you heard a word the ambassador said. I think I just got my answer.”

She had the good grace to look ashamed. But only for half a second. “I was watching Harper. Does he seem alright to you?”

Dylan glanced over at him. His discomfort was being broadcast in waves. “He does look a bit nervous.” Was that ever an understatement.

“Not just that. Have you ever not seen him throw himself at a beautiful woman? It’s more than that though.” She took a moment to look more closely at him. “I know for a fact when he first got that suit last year it fit him perfectly. Now, it’s too big. He’s even punched an extra hole into the belt to keep his pants up. And I haven’t seen him eat anything all evening. I’m not blind, Dylan. Spill it.”

He too had noticed Harper’s weight loss, pale skin tone, and personality change. He’d hoped that Harper would recover. He’d given up on trying to talk to him. It seemed Harper had developed a generalized fear of men. There was one thing Harper had reiterated during every broken conversation. It was that he not tell anyone.

He was saved from having to stave off Beka’s inquiries by the sudden death of the music as somewhere a glass broke and Harper flew from the room, leaving an angry looking Tashi behind.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Harper! I know you’re in there!” She knew it was futile, but was hoping that by some fluke, Harper would come to his senses and open the door. She had left the party while Dylan tried to explain to Tashi the fact that not all humans were attracted to her, which she felt was hard to believe. Since then, the engineer had locked himself in his quarters. The sound of tools being thrown around only heightened her concern. “Open this door before I pull it open with my bare hands and pound your scrawny ass into the deck plates!”

“Like you care!” was the reply she got. Harper might be able to lock a door, but she sure as hell was able to open one.

The sight that greeted her was one she hoped never to see again. Tools were haphazardly strewn all over the deck, tables overturned, and Harper himself was a mess. Perspiration mixed with tears as it ran down his face. His eyes were red-rimmed and overly bright, standing out in frightening contrast to his pasty complexion. His suit tie had been discarded, and his shirt partially unbuttoned. His chest heaved with the exertion of destroying his room.

“Harper, I want to know what’s going on and I want to know now. And don’t tell me it was something Tashi said, you’ve been acting strange since the Maru and Bobby.”

If possible, he seemed to pale further at the mention of his name, but seemed to respond to the angry tone in her voice. “You want to know? All of a sudden you’re interested in what I have to say?! I don’t believe you!”

“What are you talking about? I always listen to what you have to say!”

He laughed humourlessly. Dull eyes staring into her confused ones. “I tried to tell you. Dylan too. But no one listened! Look what happened.” His lip started to quiver.

She started to remember a similar conversation. “Wait. Is this about Bobby? Is this why you’re upset? This is one hell of an overreaction, Harper. So Bobby betrayed my trust and I didn’t pay attention to your paranoid ramblings in the first place. How many times have I brushed off your paranoid ideas? There’s no need for this childish behaviour.”

Her words ignited a sharp pain in his chest and tightened his gut. She really had no idea why he was so upset. “Bobby did this! I told you and Dylan what he was about! No one listened, look what he did!” His voice started to tremble.

“I don’t get it, Harper! What is it he did?” She didn’t understand why he was reacting so badly to this.

“He... he raped me!” His voice broke.

No. God no. Her words died in her throat. There was no way Bobby would have done something like that. She would have known! She knew each and every one of her crew members. She especially knew Bobby. How could she have been so blind? His sudden aversion to any female that showed an interest in more than friendship, his skittish behaviour around Tyr and Dylan, it all made sense now. Tears welled in her eyes.

He stood in the middle of the room, starting to openly sob. It was the most heart-wrenching sound she’d ever heard. Without thinking twice, she walked the last few steps to him and enveloped him in a powerful hug. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

“I couldn’t stop him! I tried to fight back, I really did. I didn’t want him to do that, I swear!” he sobbed into her shirt.

“Oh god, Harper. I’m so sorry this happened to you!” She could feel his body slacken as he released his grief, and lead him over to the bed. Sitting him down, she rubbed his back in soothing circles and made soft noises until he quieted. Slowly, the tremors subsided and he slumped against her. Weeks worth of fear, exhaustion and little food won out and he only had the energy to rest his head on her shoulder.

“Harper, why didn’t you say anything to me? You’ve been going through this alone ever since?” No wonder he was in such bad shape.

“Bobby was the love of your life. Between him or me, a worthless mudfoot from earth, you picked me. It eventually lead to Bobby’s death. I didn’t want to burden you with the knowledge of what he did to me.” She started to voice a protest at his excuse. “And I was ashamed.”

She couldn’t help her sudden intake of breath. “Harper. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Do you understand?”

“I... I couldn’t defend myself. I couldn’t make my case about Bobby to you or Dylan, and I couldn’t fight him off. Dylan would have been able to.”

“Stop that thought right there. Do not compare yourself to Dylan. Not even he could have stopped something like that. He barely got away with his life considering Bobby was half android. You might be small, but you are the strongest person I know. I mean that, Harper.”

She sat for what seemed like a year, thinking about how blinded by love she had been, and how guilty she was going to feel once the whole thing sunk in. When she was sure Harper was asleep, she asked Andromeda to leave a message for Dylan not to disturb them. Not wanting to go back to her quarters, or leave her engineer alone, she gently lowered him to the bed and bent over to pull his legs up. Positioning him on his side, she lay down behind him and tightly wrapped her arms around his middle, pulling his smaller body flush against her. Resting her chin a top his head, she heaved a sigh and closed her eyes. There was nothing sexual about her act or her intentions. Harper was a little brother to her, and it was time he started to remember that touch could heal.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was early the next morning a quiet tapping roused her from a dream-filled sleep. Disentangling herself from Harper, she went to the door and found a concerned looking Dylan there. Stepping into the corridor, she allowed the door to close behind her.

“How’s he doing?” he quietly asked.

“As well as can be expected. He’s resting right now.”

“So I gather he told you what happened?”

She quietly nodded, biting her bottom lip.

“And how are you doing?”

“How did this happen? How could we have allowed this?”

“Don’t blame yourself, Beka. Unless you have psychic powers and can see into the future, you couldn’t have prevented it,” he tried to reassure her.

“I may not have special powers, Dylan, but I, we, should have listened to him.”

Dylan sighed. That same problem had been nagging at him. With Harper being from earth, he naturally had paranoid tendencies which were usually ignored.

“Have you ever heard the story about the boy who cried wolf?”

Her jaw hardened as she became angry. “He’s not some little boy trying to play tricks on people. It’s not like he’s been telling lies to...”

“I know, that’s not what I meant. Just that the principles are the same. If someone says something often enough, people stop paying attention. He’ll be alright, Beka.”

o-o-o-o-o-o

Dylan entered the mess hall a week later and was glad, if not surprised to see Harper sitting at the table picking at what looked like a piece of chicken.

“You know, I don’t think that chicken will taste any better if it’s aerated,” he joked, coming up beside Harper. He immediately regretted not announcing his presence as the engineer gasped, and jolted upright, a flash of fear flitting across his eyes before recognition set in.

“Rommie wants me to eat more. Truthfully? I’m not hungry. I’m sick of this disgusting auto-chef crap.”

Dylan grinned. “What don’t you tell me what you really think about the ships food. You do look kind of thin, Harper. But, I have the perfect solution for that.” Harper’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Chocolate. I keep a few bars in my quarters. Come on.”

‘It’s a start,’ Dylan thought as Harper excitedly followed him through the corridor. Harper was showing more trust in him and Tyr, and was recovering faster now that Beka was able to offer him comfort. Maybe things would be alright after all.

*Fin*

**bree1387/Megan**
**November 2004**