He was nine when his three-year-old brother could do his math homework.

He was sitting at the kitchen table. His math textbook was open, and his assignment consisted of multiplying two digit numbers. He remembered being distracted. He had Little League tryouts the next day. His mother was washing dishes and trying to get him to focus.

Charlie sat on the floor, occupied by some blocks.

The problem was forty-six times nineteen. Don was no slough when it came to math, but he hated his nine times tables and the sun was shining. He wanted to practice.

"Donnie," his mother said, turning off the water and wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She came up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "You're almost done. And your father won't be home for another hour. He promised to help you prepare for tomorrow."

"An hour's a long time. You could help me practice, Mom," he told her and she smiled.

"A ball player, I'm not. That's your father's department. Math homework, now that I can do." She lifted her hand and pulled out the chair next to him, sliding into it and turning his text so she could read it. "Now, forty-six times nineteen..."

"Eight, seven, four!"

Both of them had turned at the exclamation. It had come from Charlie, who was standing up. He'd managed to stack all his blocks up into some sort of tower. He grinned, then proceeded to put his thumb in his mouth.

"Charlie," his mother warned, reaching out to pull Charlie's thumb away.

Charlie squirmed to avoid her grasp. "Eight, seven, four," the toddler repeated around the digit.

He frowned. His mother got up to grab Charlie. He stared at the math problem and picked up his pencil.

Six time nine is fifty-four, carry the five... four times nine is thirty-six, add the five... place holder zero, forty-six times one equals forty-six to make 460... add that to 414 and...

874.

You got 874.

Charlie had just solved his math problem.

"Mom..."

When Mom returned back to the table, Charlie in hand, they soon discovered that Charlie could also multiply three and four digit numbers in his head.

Don was excited and proud of his little brother. When his father got home, he dragged Charlie into the living room and showed him off.

Before he knew it, Charlie was being taken to doctors and teachers. Charlie was called a "gifted child." Exceptional. A genius.

Don was thrilled because it meant his little brother could help him with his homework and he'd get more time to play baseball.

The novelty wore off, and wore off quickly. His parents had appointment after appointment to take Charlie here, there, and everywhere. Another IQ test, another gifted program, another afternoon where he went to a friend's house or carpooled to Little League practice.

They started eating out more often, and at first he liked the idea of having pizza every night. But that, too, soon got old. He started getting used to not seeing his mother when he got home from school. She was always upstairs in the solarium with Charlie and some new tutors. New tutors always seemed to be coming. And the teaching sessions didn't stop after they left. Charlie had to be stimulated all the time, he'd heard one tutor say to his mother. So flash cards joined the routine. So when his father got home from work and it was straight to the flash cards and Charlie.

Charlie, for his part, was all smiles whenever he would see Don. Flashcards, tutor, blocks, books or toys, all would be forgotten until he hugged his big brother. Only after Don returned the hug and pried Charlie's arms from around his legs would he go back to the task he had been doing.

Charlie needed his approval; Don wasn't sure why Charlie always needed his approval. Charlie was way smarter than he was. Heck, Charlie was already reading at a fifth grade level.

And Don had just started the fifth grade.

His parents were trying. His mother snuck an extra cookie or two into his lunch in the morning and his father bought him a new glove. And while those things were nice, all he really wanted was their time. Or for things to go back to the way they had been.

Charlie's education was daunting. He needed to be encouraged and stimulated. Before Charlie's high IQ had been discovered, the toddler had already been so full of energy that it had been impossible to contain him and now that his brain was going even faster than his body, it was tiring.

Everything was numbers now. Charlie started writing simple equations across his coloring books. A color-by-number's normal instructions were ignored; instead he began using the numbers to calculate things Don couldn't even begin to understand.

Don wasn't stupid. He brought home A's and B's. His teacher praised him. But next to Charlie, his accomplishments were small potatoes. His parents seemed pleased. The report card still went up on the fridge and they still went out for ice cream to celebrate, but it was different. His achievement was overshadowed by Charlie's growing genius.

When Don was fourteen, he started high school.

So did Charlie. Charlie was eight.

High school made life a little easier for a while. His mother kept Charlie out of the classroom freshman year, choosing a special tutoring program. Don made new friends and joined the baseball team. He got decent grades and even managed to get his first very first kiss.

Yet, all Charlie wanted was to go to school with his older brother.

"Please, Mom."

Don sat at the kitchen table, his algebra homework spread out in front of him. He didn't need Charlie in high school. In high school he was Don Eppes, not Charlie Eppes' older brother. Apparently fourteen-year-olds hadn't gotten wind of Charlie's genius and Don liked it that way. Besides, Charlie was eight. Eight-year-olds should not be in high school. He'd be eaten alive.

His mother looked up from the stove and shook her head. "No, Charlie."

"But I'm just as smart as those kids. And it's boring at that other place. Don does cool things. Like kiss girls."

Don looked up at that. His mother met his eyes and smiled. "Oh, does he, now?" She shifted her gaze back to Charlie. "You, little boy, are entirely too young to be thinking about kissing girls. There will be plenty of time for that when you're Don's age."

Charlie pouted. "When I'm Don's age I could be done with high school. The girls will be too old then."

Mom shot him a look. "Too old, huh? And exactly what is too old?"

"Twenty-five," Charlie said with a nod. But a grin stretched across his face and their mother gave him a playful hit on the shoulder.

"Well, then, I must be positively ancient," she said. "Any of your numbers tell you that? Because I think I've got too many of years ahead of me to be classified as ancient."

"Mom," Charlie responded. "You can't calculate someone's lifespan. Too many variables."

Don rolled his eyes. Charlie was the only eight-year-old he knew that used words like "lifespan" and "variable." Don didn't even know if he even understood what the word variable meant when he was eight, let alone used it in daily life.

"So, Mom...?" Charlie had adopted what his father called the puppy dog look.

She shook her head. "No, Charlie. Those kids are six years older than you. Where you are now is better, the kids are closer to your own age. You can make friends."

At the word 'friends' Charlie's face fell and Don knew why. Charlie didn't do friends.

"Right. Friends," Charlie agreed, softy.

Don laid his pencil down. Despite all the attention Charlie got from mom and dad, he still hated to see him upset. Don had friends. Thanks to sports and a naturally outgoing nature, he never lacked a pal or two after school or on the weekends.

Mom sighed. "Oh, honey, you'll make friends."

"Really?" Charlie looked up at her, hopeful.

She nodded. "Really. Right, Don?"

"Right," he muttered, his gaze slipping back down to his algebra book.

Charlie, the math wonder, couldn't stay a secret forever. Eventually Charlie started attending a few classes here and there at high school. Their parents said it was because Charlie had begged, but Don knew that wasn't true. Charlie had been begging for two years and his mother never gave in that easily to something she was so firmly against. No, Don knew that Charlie's private schools cost money, lots of it. Their dad made a decent living as a city planner, but mom didn't work. Don didn't need Charlie to figure out the math on this one.

He also knew he needed a scholarship if he ever planned on leaving Los Angeles.

Charlie and high school didn't mix. Well, not at first. At first Charlie appeared to handling the transition well. Succeeding. Maybe that was the reason that everyone's guard was down.

That is, until he corrected a teacher in the middle of a class. Not only didn't the teacher take it very well, but he was also one of most liked faculty members, not only among the student body, but also among the administrators. So soon the students were talking about the "freak" that crossed the line.

When Don found Charlie, the nearly twelve-year-old was in their garage, writing prime numbers across a battered blackboard that Dad had set up for him. The board was nearly full. A step stool stood next to it. Another one of Charlie's downfalls was his stature. He was short and most likely not going to receive that wonderful growth spurt many boys hoped for to rocket them towards six feet. Don himself fell slightly short of that goal at 5'10".

"Four hundred ninety-one," Charlie muttered and scribbled the numbers across the board. He paused. "Four--"

"Ninety-nine," Don finished. "Right?"

Charlie turned. "Right. Then five hundred three and--"

"Five oh nine," Don supplied. "You've written them out so many times. It's a wonder you don't have them memorized. I think I might. Actually, I think I do. Just by osmosis."

"It's a lot of numbers."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"It makes me feel better to see them." Charlie blinked, chalk still in mind air. "She was wrong, Don. I was right. So why does that make me wrong?"

"Charlie, it's complicated."

"No, it's not. She was wrong. Every other teacher told me I shouldn't be ashamed that I'm smart. Mom and Dad tell me to be proud. She was teaching it the wrong way. Am I supposed to let her do that? The kids won't learn."

Don sighed. This wasn't easy. Sometimes, Charlie didn't understand why everyone didn't like being corrected, or why they didn't see things the way Charlie did. Charlie didn't have patience for them. He was too busy absorbing and sharing what he knew. Don figured that Charlie never tried to be condescending, but understood why people would think he was.

No one wanted a twelve-year-old to tell him that he was wrong. Frankly, Don didn't want that either, but Charlie was the brother he got and he loved him. He could admit Charlie was smarter, better at most things, yet he would never ask him for help. He learned that wasn't going to work back some time ago.

Which is how Don understood why the teacher was upset. However, he knew that still didn't make her actions right. Charlie saw right and wrong in black and white. For him there was no gray idea. He was naive, and perhaps would be for a long time. Mom and Dad sheltered him, surrounded him with people who pushed him to succeed, but they failed to acknowledge that there were plenty of people out there that just might do the opposite.

Charlie was friendly, there was no question about that, but more often then not he was so absorbed into his own little world that he didn't always see what was in front of him, including a new social opportunity. He was awkward with kids his own age; they didn't understand why math was so cool. Frankly, never did Don, but Charlie loved it, thrived on in. Therefore, he was quickly branded as "weird" and such a description was never a good thing on the playground.

Don wondered how Charlie would fair in college. If it would be any different with people that might just understand and share Charlie's passion.

"Not everyone wants to learn, Charlie. Some people just like thinking they're right. They don't want help from..." He trailed off. He didn't know if there was a way to say it without crushing Charlie's spirit.

Charlie's eyes narrowed. He got the message, but he obviously didn't comprehend it. "I'm right," he repeated and wrote 521 on the blackboard.

Don listened to the chalk hit the slate. Charlie was clearly avoiding the truth.

Was else could a twelve-year-old do?

Mom worked out a deal with a private tutor two weeks later. The only time Charlie stepped foot back into the high school was when he graduated -- on the same day, during the same ceremony, as Don did.

High school opened a few doors. His athletic abilities brought him a baseball scholarship and he planned to use it to explore outside Pasadena and LA and get away from home for a while. He would stay in California, but decided to attend a school that was far enough away to escape.

Charlie was crushed. He sat on Don's bed while their mother fussed over Don and his suitcase. Dad stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a small smile on his lips.

"One duffle bag. Honey, you definitely need more than that." Mom frowned at the pile of clothing next to Charlie on the bed.

"Maggie, if it was up to you, you'd send his whole room with him," Dad teased. "And there's no way it's all fitting in the car. Not if you plan on sitting in it, at least."

She waved her hand. "Well, he certainly needs more than a duffle bag, Alan. What kind of mother would I be if I sent him off into the world unprepared?" She started picking up clothing and refolding it.

"Off into the world? You make it sound like I'm going half-way across the globe instead of northern California," Don complained. "And I don't need more, Mom. I can take care of myself, you know."

She stopped and set down a half-folded T-Shirt. "I know. But I worry."

He gave her a smile. "You don't need to."

"It's a parent's job to worry," his father put in. "You can't stop us no matter how old the two of you get."

"Do you have to leave?"

Don almost jumped. Until this point Charlie had been silent.

"I do. Besides, you and Mom are going to Princeton in a couple of weeks. So you'll be gone, too. Dad'll be left to fend for himself."

"Oh, how will I survive?" Dad mocked.

Charlie didn't even crack a smile. "What if I don't want to go to Princeton? What if I stay here and you stay, too. Then Dad won't have to cook."

"Dad's a good cook," Don pointed out. "And Princeton is a good place for you. You get to rub elbows with those just as smart as you are."

"New Jersey's far," Charlie commented.

"Not that far," Don pointed out. Charlie needed this. He needed this. He needed to get away from home, overachievement, and Charlie's sad eyes. The only thing setting him apart from his brother right now was baseball and Don intended to explore that possibility to the furthest extent he could.

"It's a different ocean. And it's cold in New Jersey."

"Not all the time," Don countered. "You'll be fine." He looked up at his parents. "Right?"

He watched his parents exchange a glance and for a split second he saw worry in their eyes. A much deeper worry than the fuss her mother was making over his leaving. Mom smiled and nodded and Dad stepped into the room to ruffle Charlie's hair.

Don dumped another sweater into his duffle bag. In forty-eight hours he'd be out of LA and on his own.

College was a blast. No rules, no parents, the option of eating ice cream for breakfast if he really wanted to. Sure, there were a few drawbacks, like doing your own laundry, but after he dyed the first load pink, he sorted it out. And he refused to call Mom when it happened because she'd only use it a reason he should come home.

He called home once a week, or tried to, at least. Spoke to Dad, then hung up and dialed New Jersey and spoke to Mom and Charlie. Most calls were short, things sounded fine. Though some calls were harder to read.

"How's Princeton?" he asked mom a few weeks after she and Charlie were settled in an apartment near campus.

"It's very pretty," she told him. "The leaves are changing color. I've been living in California so long that I forgot what that looked like." Don could just hear a smile in her voice.

"Charlie likes classes?"

"He's... adjusting. We've only been here three weeks." He could sense the uncertainty in her voice and wondered if he should press the matter. But it might turn into a long conversation and he wasn't sure he wanted that right now.

He settled for a topic change. "And you? How are you spending your days? You must miss dad. I know he misses you."

"I do miss him. And you," she answered. "But I've started a new job. It fills the day when Charlie's on campus. It's only part-time, of course--"

"Wait. You got a job?" he asked, interrupted. As long as he could remember, his mother had never worked.

"Yes, I got a job. Why is that so surprising?" She sighed. "You sound like your father."

"But, Mom, you've never worked."

"Never? Don, I did have a life before you and Charlie came along. In fact, I even worked briefly when you were old enough to go to pre-school. It was when Charlie came that I stopped completely."

"You worked? I don't remember that..."

"You were very young. And you liked going to the childcare center. You liked all the kids. Why I think you made six new friends that first day. You were never one to shy away. Now, Charlie..." she trailed off. "Anyway, I am working part-time as a receptionist at a doctor's office. Passes the time, earns some money."

Don frowned at the word money. "Money? Do you and Dad--"

"Our finances are just fine, Donnie, and even if they weren't, it is none of your business." There was a heavy air to her tone.

Don knew she was lying. He'd heard hushed arguments between his parents right before he left. Though Charlie had a scholarship and Princeton wasn't costing a dime, renting an apartment in New Jersey cost money. Flying back and forth between New Jersey and California cost money. And lots of money had already been spent on Charlie's tutors prior to college. So Don knew the baseball scholarship was important and got his own part-time job the moment he stepped on campus. He didn't want to ask for his parents' help. They had too much else to worry about. They had Charlie.

The conversation ended and Don held the phone in his hand, thinking. Then a friend popped his head in and the phone was returned to its cradle. Don made a mental note to call again in a few days.

Two weeks passed before he thought of it again.

Two semesters down, six more to go. Don had survived freshmen year, and more importantly, survived his freshmen college baseball season. He'd impressed the coach -- he'd even made a mention or two about minor league opportunities. Don knew his parents wanted him to finish college, so he filed the information away. Besides, he needed to step up his performance if he ever hoped to make it.

He had busted his hump working in between practices, saving his money toward the ultimate goal: a car.

Of course, it was used and not all that new, but Don got a great deal and did his homework. He knew exactly what he was getting. It was his father that was surprised.

"Your mother and Charlie are coming back on the twenty-fifth," Dad told him.

Don shifted the phone as he tossed the contents of his dorm room back into the bags they came in. "Okay. I'll be home on the twenty-seventh."

"The twenty-seventh? Donnie, I can't pick you up on the twenty-seventh."

"I don't need you to pick me up. And Dad, it's Don. I'm not four anymore."

"What do you mean you don't need me to pick you up? And you let your mother call you Donnie. Why can't I?"

"Mom is different," he explained. And she was. Besides, he knew no matter how many times he told her not to, she'd do it anyway. His father had a better chance of actually listening.

"I'm your father. That gives me the right to call you Donnie if I want to. Now, again, what do you mean you don't need me to pick you up? Did you find another ride?"

He picked up and sniffed a T-shirt. Oh, yeah, that was going into the dirty pile. He'd need to do another load before he left. Maybe tonight. "Sorta. I bought a car, Dad."

"You what? Bought a car? Without me?"

"Yes, Dad, without you. I can do things on my own. I've been doing it for some time."

"I would have helped." Dad's tone sounded slightly hurt, and Don sighed and forgot about packing.

"I know. It's just both you and mom have other things on your mind. I mean, Charlie--"

"I have two sons, Donnie." There was silence for a moment. "We -- your mother and I -- we don't mean to--"

"You don't need to say it, Dad," Don said, interrupting. He could imagine his Dad pacing back and forth across the living room. They never discussed this and Don didn't want to do it on the phone. "Charlie takes a lot of time. He needs help. I don't really need help anymore."

He could picture his father stopping in his tracks. "But you do, you just don't realize it."

Don got up and opened a drawer full of even more clothing to pack. He didn't remember coming to school with so many clothes and he most certainly didn't want this conversation to happen. "I do just fine, Dad. Really. And it's a decent car. You'll see. I'll take you for a joy ride when I get home."

Dad sighed and Don knew the subject was dropped. "All right, Don. The twenty-seventh?"

"Yep. The twenty-seventh."

"Good. We'll all see you then."

Don listened to the click, hung up the phone, and went back to packing.

He drove home, showed off the "new" car, hugged his mother. Charlie eagerly dragged his stuff out of the car and into the house. He wanted know all about Don's semester at college.

"College is fun," Don said with a smile and ruffled Charlie's hair. "But what about you? You blowing 'em out of the water like you always do?"

Charlie's face fell. "Ah, yeah," he said, his tone subdued.

Don looked and locked eyes with his mother. She shook her head. Don frowned.

"It'll get better next year," he told Charlie, but Charlie shook his head.

"No, it won't," Charlie said matter-of-factly.

"We're going to try CalSci in the fall," Mom admitted. "I don't think Charlie or I liked Princeton much. Charlie was right, it's too far."

"Dad must be happy," Don mused.

He watched his mother shoot an uncertain glance in towards the kitchen, where Don knew his father was starting dinner. She gave him a somewhat forced smile.

"He's thrilled."

That first summer was the only summer Don spent at home. He spent the summers after that practicing and hanging with friends. He got a job so he could rent an apartment that would have given his mother nightmares. He decided to major in criminal justice because it had the best professors and lectures. He found the course work easy which left more time to concentrate on baseball.

"Baseball," one of his professors said when he came to pick up a paper during her office hours. "Such a shame. You have a knack for this." She pointed to the white sheets in his hand. The "A" across the front page was plain as day.

"I like baseball," was his answer, but even that sounded hollow. Still, back to practice he went.

He was having a good season his senior year. Some might even say great. But something nagged him.

His father drove up and saw as many games as he could on the weekends. Sometimes he brought Charlie, who spent the entire game analyzing pitches and scribbling numbers down in a notebook.

He met the two after one game. Mom hadn't been able to make it this time, but she'd still sent another package with Dad. It was probably for the best; they'd lost. But Dad insisted it had been a good name none-the-less.

"You had that great catch in the third inning," Dad pointed out. Charlie was staring out at the field. He'd grown an inch or two since Don had last seen him and that was good, especially if he was going to be teaching undergrads next fall when he went for his master's.

"Yeah, but we still lost," Don pointed out.

Charlie tapped his pencil against his notebook. "You can't lay off the low, outside pitches, Don," he said. "And you only actually hit one of them eight percent of the time. I've run an analysis and--"

"Whoa, an analysis? On my ability to hit the ball?"

Charlie nodded, tapping his pencil faster. "Yes. And if you can see--"

Don held up a hand. "You're saying math can predict my batting average?"

Charlie blinked. "Well, not really your batting average, but math can help determine how many home runs you may hit in one season. It's not one hundred percent accurate, but it can come fairly close. It's called sabermetrics. The study of baseball performance using statistical analysis."

"Sounds lucrative," Dad put in. "But you're too young to gamble, Charlie."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "It is not that simple, Dad."

"Fine. Then I'll tell you what is simple. Dinner. It's getting late and I promised your mother we'd be home tonight. It's a long drive."

"Right," Charlie muttered, but tucked the notebook another his arm.

"Can't Charlie help you drive now, Dad? I thought his road test was last month."

Charlie turned beet red. "Ah, yeah, about that..."

Don's eyes widened. "Don't tell me you failed. You never fail a test."

"I passed the written part," Charlie defended.

"That he did," Dad agreed. "It was the actual driving part he had trouble with. He hit a--"

"Dad!"

"--mailbox. And a few other things. Luckily, only the mailbox truly suffered."

"I was distracted!"

"You can't be distracted when you drive, Charlie."

Don started laughing. "A mailbox? Do you want him on the road?"

"The mailboxes on our street should quiver in fear," Dad teased. "Besides, Charlie, you're taking it again next month."

"I don't need to drive," Charlie said. "I can manage. I have a bike."

"Charlie, you need to learn how to drive. You can't take a girl out on a bike," Don told him, smiling. Of course Charlie wouldn't pay attention. His brain was going a mile a minute twenty-four hours a day.

"And who says I can't? Maybe a girl will find that attractive."

Don and his father exchanged a glance. "She'd be one special girl."

"Yeah," Charlie echoed and started kicking the dirt with his feet. Like driving, social skills weren't one of Charlie's strengths, nor were they high on his list of priorities. How those two things weren't important for a sixteen-year-old, Don couldn't comprehend, but he rarely comprehended what made Charlie tick. Honestly, if he tried, he'd spend way too much time dealing with angry and jealous feelings and that got him nowhere. It was much safer trying to set himself apart from the genius.

"So, dinner?" Dad asked. "Your choice, Don, but faster is probably better. Charlie's got an eight a.m. class and I have a nine o'clock meeting tomorrow."

They ended up at a small little diner, and two hours later, Don was back at the dorm.

The next day his coach called him and the next weekend he found himself in a minor league scout's office, talking about the possibility of playing for the Stockton Rangers.

He wasn't sure when it hit him. It could have been during the seventh inning stretch of the game against San Jose. Or maybe it was the error he made during the ninth inning of the Modesto game. Whatever it was, the revelation was still the same.

He was mediocre. He could play the game, yes, but he'd never make it out of the Class A league. He wasn't good enough to even be considered for major league ball. And to be honest, he wasn't sure he'd be happy playing baseball as a living.

Baseball used to be fun, but now it was work and it was tiring. Away games meant hotel stays. He'd seen all of California and he wanted a change of scenery. His trips home had dwindled and his father wasn't able to make it to as many games. Charlie was knee deep in Master's work and Mom's way of seeing him came in the form of monthly care packages that always included cookies made with Grandma's recipe. Don smiled every time he saw her flowery script on the label, yet it didn't bring him back to LA.

He was shifting through his tiny apartment in Stockton, rummaging for something he would later never recall when he found the last paper from his senior level criminal justice course.

"Good luck in the minors" was written across the top. Underneath it said "A" and "call if you change your mind."

Criminal justice had been fun. Challenging. Thinking about the structure of crime and the evidence needed to bring in a suspect. He'd dabbled in a few forensic classes as well, and he'd liked them, too. But he wasn't about to go to law school.

The next day an ad for the FBI caught his eye at the post-office.

He signed himself up for the entrance exam. He had no idea if he'd even pass, but he figured if he could solve the crimes before Perry Mason could on TV, it might be worth a shot.

He didn't tell anyone, just did it, played his last game of the season and headed home for a long overdue visit.

His mother was in the garden, separating tulip bulbs when he approached her. She jumped but her face broke into a smile when she saw him.

"Donnie." He was enveloped in a hug a moment later. "You didn't say you were coming."

"I wanted to surprise you. I'm only here for a day or two."

"A day or two is more than I've seen you in a year. You can stay in your old room. Your father keeps wanting to convert it into something else, but I won't let him." She started packing up her gardening tools.

"I'm twenty-five, Mom. I think it's safe to say I'm not moving back in."

"You never know," she told him. "Your dad should be home by six. And Charlie's teaching a lab, I think, until seven. Hope you don't mind dinner waiting until then."

"Seven's hardly late. What are you making?"

She grinned. "Brisket."

His eyes lit up. "Really? Guess I picked the right night to visit, then?"

"You always had a sixth sense when it came to dinner," she teased. "Now go upstairs and get settled. You can help me."

"Mom, I burn things. I think Dad and Charlie would prefer if I stayed away from the kitchen."

She shook her head. "Have you learned nothing from me? Cooking is skill that will get you far. Did I ever tell you that your father cooked for me on our first date?"

Don shook his head. "No, you didn't. Must have been nice then."

She laughed. "It was terrible! The meat was so tough that a knife couldn't enough get through it."

"But you married him."

"Well, he tried. And often it's the thought that counts. Besides, he was a fast learner. Imagine how many young ladies you could impress if the food you made them was actually eatable."

Don shrugged. "You can try, Mom, but I guarantee nothing."

She gave it her all and Don did manage to toss one hell of a salad. He'd seen lots of girls eat that, so perhaps such a talent could be useful. Dad was surprised to see him when he came home at six, but it was Charlie that gave him the biggest greeting.

"Don," he said, nearly dropping the stack of papers he walked in with. A couple loose sheets made their way out of the pile and floated to the floor.

Don reached down to pick them up. "Perhaps you ought to set those down first, Professor. What is all this stuff anyway?"

Charlie maneuvered the stack over to the dining room table, setting the majority right next to his place setting. "Quizzes from my Honors-Level Differential Equations class. Oh, and my thesis draft is in there somewhere, I think."

"You think?"

"Well, it was in there earlier." Charlie lifted a few papers to study them, picked up a red pen from behind his ear, and circled something before setting them down again. "It's always the second-order equations that throw them off. Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"Visiting. Why?"

"Um, no reason." Charlie shifted, and to Don he seemed a tad embarrassed that he asked. Though Don had no clue why. "It's just you haven't been home in almost eight months."

"Baseball season."

"Baseball season isn't that long."

"You're forgetting about spring training."

"That still doesn't equal eight months."

Don rolled his eyes. "So the math is off. Quit it. You sound like Mom." He knew he sounded a bit curt, but he needed need Charlie to make him feel guilty. Not Charlie, the genius, who stayed home and never missed a holiday.

"And that's a bad thing?" Mom walked in, carrying a bowl of potatoes. "Charlie, take those papers off the table. We don't grade papers during dinner. Your brother's home and I doubt your students would appreciate food on their exam."

"I don't spill," Charlie defended. "And I can multitask."

She shot him a look. "Move them. Now." She headed back into the kitchen.

Without a word, he scooped up the stack and moved them into the living room. Don had a feeling this was a regular argument between the two of them.

"So, thesis huh?" Don asked. "How's that going?"

"So far, okay. Larry's optimistic." Charlie came back into the dining room, hands empty.

"Larry? Is he still your advisor? I thought he was a physicist."

"He is, which is why I think my calculations are off."

"Why not get a math person to be your advisor then?"

"Because Larry's who I got when I came in and I like him. I have two other math professors on my defense committee."

"Defense? I thought you didn't need to defend a Master's thesis."

"I already finished my master's. This is for my PhD."

Don blinked. "Finished your Master's? When did that happen?"

Dad came in from the living. "Last year, Don. You were just starting the season. The weekend of the Bakersfield games."

"Oh. Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"I only picked up my master's on the way towards my PhD. Most students don't even go to graduation for that. I filled out paperwork after I passed my qualifying exam, that's all," Charlie said with a shrug.

Charlie had gotten a whole degree while he was off playing a game he just discovered he wasn't even really good at. "It's more than paperwork, Charlie. It's a degree. I bet Mom made you go to graduation."

Charlie sighed. "She took a million pictures."

"There's in the album in the living room," Dad offered. "And one is on the mantle. Charlie looks very nice."

"As nice as you can look while your cheeks are red."

"Red is a good color on you," Mom interjected as she brought the main course in. Don and Charlie took a seat and Don tried to smile.

He left two days later without uttering a word about the FBI.

The FBI was interested in him. Obviously he must have scored well on the entrance exam because he knew he didn't have as many qualifications as other applicants. He supposed a degree in criminal justice and the three summers spent working for a DA's office had helped -- or at least the off and on hours he put in between baseball had helped. He hadn't thought much about the job at time; it had been a way to pay rent and his mind had been too focused on baseball to think about anything else.

But he liked the idea of putting criminals behind bars, as opposed to trying to defend them. Before he knew it, he was on his way to becoming a Special Agent.

Which meant his next stop was sixteen-weeks of intensive training at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia. There'd be classroom instruction and other academy curriculum including specialized physical fitness, defensive tactics, and the use of firearms. He didn't relish telling his mother he was about to take a job where he would carry a gun. He also didn't want to tell her he was going to Virginia for four months. And after that, it would be off to a field office somewhere in U.S. or even in one of thirty-eight countries the FBI worked in worldwide.

It didn't seem like appropriate dinner conversation or something he could just mention over the phone.

He packed his apartment into his car, and figured he might be able to make one last trip home before he drove cross-country. Sure he could fly, keep his apartment, try and see if they'd place him with a field office in California, but to be honest, it was a big world out there and he'd hardly explored it. He was twenty-five. The timing seemed just right.

The timing is right he tried to convince himself as he sat in his car and gazed up at his parents' house. It still looked the same, just the way it looked every time he dropped by. The visits had become less frequent, so it felt strange when he realized that the last time he'd been here was only a month ago.

The sprinkler was on, and Charlie's bike was propped up against the stairs. Don almost laughed at that. Charlie had yet to pass his driver's test, and when he started doing radar experiments with his learner's permit and racked up a great deal of speeding tickets the DMV had intervened, and yanked that piece of paper away as fast as they could. Don wondered if Charlie would ever be able to drive, but as he stared at the mailbox, a replacement for the one that spent nearly twenty years in their front yard, Don figured keeping Charlie off the road might be in everyone's best interest.

And, although he hated to admit it, secretly he liked the fact that Charlie failed in at least one aspect of his life. It was a sign that his younger wasn't the best at everything.

The tulips were still in bloom and he smiled when he saw them. He sighed and glanced back into his backseat. Taped boxes, complete with labels stared back at him. He needed to get out of the car.

He pushed open the door, muttering.

"I got a job with the FBI," he said, locking the door. Yes, he just needed to say it. He was twenty-five. It was his life. He'd been taking care of himself since he was nine.

The front door opened and Charlie walked out, his bag in hand, papers poking out from it. He reached for his bike when he looked up and saw Don. He ginned.

"What are you doing here again? You were just here last month."

"I'm not here for long. Got an appointment," Don answered.

Charlie appeared to mull that over. Don watched his gaze move to the car. Charlie turned back to him.

"What's with the boxes? You moving?"

"You could say that."

"Back here?"

Don almost laughed. "No, Charlie. Definitely not back here. Is Mom home?"

"She's in the living room. I have a class, but--"

Don waved him away. "Go. CalSci's a least a ten-minute bike ride. You'll be late."

"Will you still be here?" Charlie asked.

Don looked at his watch. He wasn't sure how long he'd be here. He could stay through dinner, if he didn't mind driving at night, which he didn't. "What time do you get back?"

"Class ends at three. Then I have office hours till four."

Four. He could stay that long. Dad wouldn't be home until six most likely, Don knew, and he'd be livid if he heard Don's news second hand. Dinner it would have to be.

"Go," he told Charlie. "I'll be here."

He watched Charlie ride off and went inside. He found Mom in the living room, dusting. She was surprised to see him and he felt guilty. Since when had his dropping by become so surprising?

"I saw Charlie on his way out," Don told her.

She nodded. "He has class. How long are you staying? I thought your father said you had some baseball thing this weekend."

He took a deep breath. Perhaps it would be easier if he just told her. "I quit."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Quit? But you love baseball."

"Yeah, I do." He sat down on the couch.

Mom looked even more confused. "Did something happen? Did you get hurt? I mean, you look fine, but I haven't seen you in a month. You should have called! I would have--"

"Mom," he cut her off. "I'm fine. I just quit."

"Okay," she said slowly. "Forgive me, Donnie, but I don't think I understand. Why? What are you going to do?"

"I have a college degree, Mom," he said. "I took the FBI entrance exam. And I passed."

"FBI?" She sat down next to him. "Well, you did major in criminal justice and always loved watching Perry Mason with your father. But I thought you might go to law school. Don't FBI agents carry guns?"

"All law enforcement carry a gun," he pointed out. "And I don't think I'd enjoy being a lawyer."

"All law enforcement jobs are dangerous. You could..." she trailed off. "I don't like this, Don."

"I'd be surprised if you did," he admitted. "I'm going to Virginia. For training at Quantico. For the next four months."

"Virginia. Well, this keeps getting better," she said. "You're not going to stay there, are you?"

He shrugged. "It depends on what field office they send me to. Mom, I want to do this. I think this might be what I'm supposed to do. Maybe it will even be something I'm good at."

"You're good at a lot of things, Donnie. You're good at baseball. I may not know as much about the game as your father does, but I do know your face lights up when you play."

He sighed. "Yeah..."

"But clearly I'm wrong. You're not happy with baseball."

He rubbed his forehead. "Baseball doesn't last forever."

"Nothing does." Mom reached out and touched his hand. "Don, I don't know if I understand why, but I don't think that matters. You do what you want to do. I'll worry. You're my son; worry and parenthood go hand-in-hand."

He blinked. "I know." He let out a breath. "I'm going to stay for dinner, talk to Dad, Charlie. Then I have to hit the road. I have to be in Virginia by Monday."

"All right," she said. "You can help with dinner."

Telling Dad was easy; it was Charlie that didn't understand. He was subdued throughout dinner, and only gave Don a reluctant hug after the dishes had been cleared.

Don let it slide. After all, maybe he'd find himself back in California after Quantico. He had no clue.

Mom hugged him so tightly he thought she'd never let go. Dad walked out with him to the car.

"Virginia, huh?" Dad said. "The FBI..."

"Dad, not you too. I though after dinner that--"

Dad shook his head. "I understand, Donnie. I don't like it, but I understand."

Don was surprised. At dinner, Dad had defended the decision, but Don thought it had been all for Mom's benefit only. "You do?"

Dad shrugged. "You're twenty-five. You love baseball, but something was missing. I could never put my finger on it."

"Yeah," he agreed. "It's funny, I did this because I saw an FBI ad at the post office. Something clicked."

Dad smiled. "And I became a city planner because of a civil engineering course sponsored by the Army. Sometimes it just hits you."

"Like Charlie and math?"

"Now, Charlie and math, that's something I'll never understand. The numbers never stop." He paused. "I really just want the best for my children. The FBI is dangerous. But if it turns out to be your passion, well, I guess I have no choice but to accept that."

"That's what Mom said. Earlier. But I didn't think she gets it."

"She doesn't need to, Donnie. She loves you."

Don reached for the front door of his car. "She does." He sighed. "Now Charlie... he..."

Dad smiled. "He'll survive. He just doesn't want his big brother to leave again. He didn't want you to go college. Or play baseball in Stockton. He wants you close -- you're a role model to him."

Don let out a short laugh. "He doesn't need a role model. He's smarter than I am. He'll probably get a tentured teaching position after he graduates. I, for one, just figured what I really want to do with my life."

"So? Charlie may be light years ahead of the game when it comes to intelligence, but maturity is in a whole other ballpark. He's so proud of you, you know. Brags about you to Larry, to his students."

"No way." Charlie bragged about him? But Charlie was the gifted one.

"He does, Donnie. As he should. Don't forget to call along the way, okay? Your mother will worry."

Don pulled the car door open. "Just Mom?"

Dad smiled. "And me. And Charlie." He grabbed the door just as Don was about to close it. "Good luck."

"Thanks." Dad let go and Don slammed the door shut.

Quantico was intense, to say the least. Don knew it would be, but knowing and the participating in the intensity of daily life were two completely different things. It was called one of the most disciplined, blood-and-guts law enforcement training experiences in the world for a reason. Practical application of the training learned in the classroom was put to use in a theater-like obstacle course. Trainees and actors played out real-life arrest and response scenarios before the rookie's observant eyes.

Don also found out he was a fairly good shot when he fired a gun.

That's when he knew. His palms were sweaty, his pulse racing. The adrenaline just followed when he thought about being the one to handcuff a prime suspect and bring them in. To a dirty mind that sounded almost sexy.

The majority of his class was male, with only a few women, but Don decided he did not want to cross any of them. They passed the test for a good reason.

Terry Lake was one of them.

"A profiler, huh?" Don leaned over the textbook she had opened on the library table.

"Yes," she said. "I'm a forensic psychologist. One, who at the moment, is trying to read, actually."

Don wasn't ready to give up. "Read what?"

She smiled, nodding her head. "You're persistent, aren't you?"

"Are you going to profile me?"

She closed her book. "Not unless you want me to comment about your method of flirting."

He laughed. "Not impressed?"

"Depends on what you're looking for."

"A date, perhaps. Dinner."

"I have to do my laundry."

"Ouch," Don responded. "That's right up there with washing your hair. You could have just said no."

"I really have to do my laundry." She held up her hands. "I swear."

"Oh. Well it so happens I need to do my laundry as well. Laundromats are boring and lonely. I'll bring pizza."

"Okay, just we get this straight, is this your idea of a date?"

He shrugged. "You and I both need to get your laundry done. And I don't know about you, but watching my clothes spin dry always works up an appetite."

"I'm from Los Angeles, well, Pasadena, if you want specifics."

An hour later, Terry was sorting her whites while Don picked up another slice of pizza. It was Saturday night and the Laundromat was empty, leaving them a sense of privacy. Don never felt more relaxed on a date in his life.

"Los Angeles. Hoping to get sent back there when we're done?" She picked of a pair of socks and rolled them into a ball.

"I don't know. My parents would be happy if that happened. My brother would be ecstatic."

"Most parents would love it if their children stayed close. I know my dad would, but I needed to get away from New England. You have a brother?"

The timer buzzed on a washer. "Charlie. He's six years younger. And a math genius." He selected a dryer and opened the door, before heading to the washer. He started to pull out the wet articles of clothing.

Terry raised an eyebrow. "A math genius?"

"Prodigy, if you will." He closed the dryer door, dumped a few quarters in the slot, and pressed start.

"You don't sound too excited about that. I sense sibling rivalry."

Don shook his head. "Stupid me, I should have known better than to mention family around a psychologist. Charlie and I are close. And sibling rivalry exists between any pair of brothers."

"True," she agreed. "My older brother and I argue every time I see him. Of course, the dynamics are different between a brother and a sister." Terry bent down to pour the detergent into the proper slot.

"I don't know. Either way, older or younger, brothers can still be a pain in the ass, right?" Don approached her and stopped behind her.

"Right." She whipped around and found herself almost face to face. "Didn't see you," she said.

"Sorry," he muttered. It was now or never, he figured. She didn't seem to be backing away, so that was a good sign.

He leaned in, hoping she might meet him halfway.

She did.

His mother had told him nothing lasts forever. And he and Terry were the perfect example. He loved spending time with her, but they both had to face reality when their assignments came in. She was going to Washington state. He was going to Albuquerque, New Mexico.

They spent their last night together at her apartment. The boxes were packed and they sat on the floor, a pizza box and a bottle of wine between them.

"When does the moving van come?" he asked.

"Tomorrow morning. Hopefully they'll beat me to Washington." Terry picked up her glass. "You ready for New Mexico?"

"Yes, actually. I'm looking forward to it." He really was. He couldn't wait to start his FBI career.

"It's not California. Disappointed?"

He studied the pizza box a minute. "No. Does that make me a bad person?"

"That you want to get away from your family? Hardly. I think it makes you normal. Besides, New Mexico isn't that far."

"Tell that to my mom. She says I'll never come home."

Terry raised an eyebrow. "Is she right?"

"I don't know." Don picked up the wine bottle and refilled their glasses. He raised his own. "To the unknown." He clinked his glass with hers.

"To the unknown," she agreed with a smile. "I'll miss you, you know. No one else picks up pizza quite like you do."

Don laughed. "I am good at it. I did try and cook though. Remember, that one night after the counter terrorism seminar."

"Right," she said. "And we ended up having pizza that night, too."

"It's not my fault I didn't hear the timer," he defended. "Besides, isn't it the thought that counts?"

"I suppose," she teased. She set down her wine glass. "Don..."

"I know," he said. "Long distance would never work." It wouldn't. Besides, both of them were serious about their careers and he had a feeling the FBI would soon become his number one priority.

"It really is better this way," Terry said.

"Maybe we'll run into each other again. Washington isn't so far."

"Maybe," she agreed. "I stripped the bed, you know."

He smiled. "Who needs a bed?"

New Mexico was hot and dry.

And dangerous. Don was as green as they got, but he was a fast learner. Twelve to eighteen hour days became second nature and solving the puzzle gave him such a thrill that he never really thought about the possibility of not living through the next bust. But most rookies didn't think about such things.

It was a routine cornering of a gang. Tips had let them to a warehouse. The gang's MO, oddly enough, wasn't one of outrageous violence. He should have known better. Nothing tricks someone more than a false sense of security.

The bullet grazed the top his head and sent him careening to the ground and he blacked out a minute. Next thing he knew, there was paramedics staring down at him and two other agents were dead. Don would later learn that the bullet that hit him was one of three fired, which meant his was the only one that missed its mark.

Death and close calls were a learning experience, to say the least, and while some newbies might have been frightened away, Don found himself even more determined.

He didn't tell his mother when she called the next day to say hello. When he found himself on the receiving end of a knife fight six months later, he also kept that to himself.

Until he got a call from home.

Charlie was in the hospital. His appendix had burst, and Charlie being Charlie, he had been so busy putting the final touches on his PhD thesis he'd ignored the physical symptoms until he had passed out from the pain.

"Is he all right?" Don said into the phone. He had to be; his father's voice had been fairly calm.

"He'll be fine," Dad said. "Your mother, on the other hand, probably lost ten years of her life last night. He'll be in the hospital for a week. Out of school for another two after that."

"He must be loving that," Don said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. He fingered the bandage across his arm. The timing was almost comical -- his latest brush with death happened at almost the same time of Charlie's collapse. He thought of his own close call and suddenly had a need to see his brother.

"Oh, yes. I think we'll need to take away his bike. Anyway, Donnie, I just wanted to let you know. You don't have to come home--"

"I could come home," Don put in. He was a medical leave for a couple of days because of the arm. He could catch a flight out that evening, see Charlie for himself, and be back in Albuquerque by Monday morning.

"You don't need to," Dad insisted.

"I want to." He'd missed Thanksgiving because of a case. He could remember the disappointment in his mother's voice when he called to tell her. He'd have to figure out how to hide the knife wound, of course, but a button-down long sleeve shirt should do the trick. "Let me see if I can get a flight. I'll call you back."

Two hours later, he packed a duffle and left for the airport.

Visiting hours were almost over when Don made his way into the hospital's hallway. His father had picked him up directly from the airport and he was exhausted. But he had to see Charlie before he could sleep.

He'd spent the short flight thinking. Thinking about the case files sitting on his desk, the very case that earned him his own brush with death not even a day ago.

It was a serial murderer case. The latest victim had been a twenty-two year old male, a senior at the University of New Mexico. The suspect had been caught, the evidence was rock-solid, but he couldn't help but think about Charlie.

Charlie, nearly the same age, had almost died at nearly the same time. Okay, that wasn't exactly true. Charlie was fine, but he couldn't help worrying. Charlie was his little brother and he hadn't had an actual conversation with him in almost four months.

That bothered him, yet he wasn't exactly sure why. After all, his family seemed to understand. He was busy; his precious free time was spent with some guys from the Bureau. They had a basketball team and rarely talked about deep personal matters. Because, really, most of their lives were work and nothing else. Don hadn't had a true romance since Terry had left for Washington.

Had he forgotten about his family? Was FBI work already getting to him?

It hadn't before, or at least he thought it hadn't. Detaching himself wasn't easy, but it had to be done. The first time he saw a dead body at a crime scene, he nearly threw up. Thankfully, he was able to compose himself enough to make it back to the office and the semi-privacy of the men's room. He hadn't reacted in such a way since.

"It's room 112," his father said. "I think your mother's in there. Do you want something from the cafeteria? I told her I'd bring coffee. I could use some myself."

"Tea," he answered. "With sugar." Dad walked off and Don headed down the hall. He paused a moment at the door, then pushed his way in.

The TV was on low. Mom was sitting in a chair next to the bed. She smiled at him.

"Hi Donnie," she said. "It's good to see you."

"I know," he said, lowering his bag. He finally took a look at the bed. "Hi, Charlie."

Charlie was pale, with the exception of two dots of red on his cheeks. His eyes were barely open, and there were more tubes than Don would have liked to see. But Charlie was intact and Don was sure he probably looked better than he had earlier. Charlie's eyes opened wider at Don's greeting and he gave Don a small grin.

"Don," he muttered. "You're supposed to be in New Mexico." Or at least that what Don thought Charlie said. His words were a bit slurred and soft.

He raised an eyebrow. "Someone's had a few painkillers, I think."

"The nurse was just in a few minutes ago," Mom said.

"That explains it." Don lowered himself into another chair next to Mom.

"How was your flight?" she asked.

"Fine. Dad says Charlie will be out of commission for a few weeks."

"No way." Charlie waved a sluggish hand in the air a moment before it fell back to the bed. "Tell Mom I need a notebook."

"What you need, Charlie is rest. The thesis can wait a little while."

Charlie moved his head. "The numbers can't."

Don got up to meet Charlie's eyes. "They'll have to," Don ordered. "Your only responsibility now is just get some sleep."

Brown, heavily drugged eyes blinked at him. "Okay," Charlie whispered, and his eyes slid shut.

"He always listens to you," Mom said softly. "More than he ever did to your father or Ime

"Does he?" Dad had told him Charlie viewed him as a role model, but he'd never stopped to think his brother listened to him so intently. Charlie always seemed to know all the answers, he certainly didn't need Don, or anyone really, to supply them.

"Yes. Thank you." She patted the chair next to her. "Sit. Tell me about New Mexico. The FBI."

He sat down again. "I can't really talk about work, Mom. I've told you that."

"I know. I'm not looking for details. Besides, if I knew details, I don't think I would let you go back. So tell me about your personal life. Is there anyone special?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Donnie, you haven't dated anyone since... what was her name? Terry, I think?"

"Yeah, Terry. I don't have a lot of free time, to be honest. Some of guys started a basketball league. I joined that."

"And how many single women are there in this league?"

"Well, none."

She shook her head. "I don't think I'm ever getting grandchildren."

"Mom, I'm twenty-seven. I have time. Besides, you have Charlie. Maybe he'll meet someone."

She sighed. "His priorities are in a different place. Come to think of it, maybe both your priorities are in different places."

"Maybe," Don said, his gaze falling back to Charlie. Charlie had different priorities all right, but Don could hardly compare them to his. He and his brother couldn't be more different. "He looks so pale."

"I know," Mom agreed. "At least the fever is finally coming down. I almost called you during his surgery, but your father convinced me to wait."

Don frowned and turned his eyes back to her. "Why didn't you call?"

"He said you have your own life and we didn't have any concrete news. Anyway, Charlie's going to be fine and you're here. That's all that matters to me." She patted his arm and Don hissed. She released her hand. "Don?"

He rubbed his arm. "I'm okay. Just had an accident a few days ago."

"Accident?"

He sighed. "Slight run-in with a suspect. I got a few stitches. It'll be fine."

She didn't look as if she believed him. "That hiss didn't sound like a few."

"It's not serious, Mom. Trust me."

She nodded. "Fine. But I don't like it."

"I know," he said, looking down at Charlie. "I know."

The next six months flew by and Don found himself climbing the FBI chain of command. After only being with Bureau for three years, he was given his own op to run and to his great pleasure, it went well. The suspect was found and apprehended before more damage could be done. It was all he could have hoped for.

Soon he started running more and more operations. He started living at his desk. His coffee mug -- the one Charlie had bought and sent him from CalSci -- was never completely empty. He started to forget exactly what his apartment looked like, and found he didn't care. When he could completely close a case file on his desk, there was a sense of accomplishment that he'd never, ever had experienced before.

He wondered if this was how Charlie felt when he solved an unsolvable math problem or when he finished his thesis, or stood in front of his own class.

The thesis portion of Charlie's life happened shortly after Don wrapped up a grueling case. The right man was dead, but not before taking three hostages with him. It had been a long week and Don had barely slept the entire time. He spent the flight home nodding off, but the would jerk awake at the slightest noise. The sound of gunfire still echoed in his dreams and several times a concerned flight attendant asked if he was all right.

He was a mess when Dad greeted him at the airport and Dad told him as much.

"Tough case," he responded, not able or wanting to go into much detail.

"I'll say," his father said, but worry colored his tone. That ever-so-slightly worried, one that fathers just seemed to perfect.

Don needed to change the subject. "So is Charlie excited?"

It seemed to work. His father smiled. "Charlie's Charlie. Of course he's excited. He's been bouncing off the walls since he defended the thing last month. Your mother's just happy to see him at home more instead of on campus or in the garage writing across those blackboards of his."

"Blackboards?"

"Sixteen of them, I think. I lost count. He kept dragging more home. I think the entire garage is covered in chalk dust."

Don grinned. "Sounds like Charlie."

Dad nodded. "He'll be thrilled that you're here, you know, so brace yourself."

"Thrilled? Doesn't he know I'm coming?"

"You weren't sure if you could make it last week. Your mother didn't want to be disappointed."

"Right," Don muttered. That made sense. Last week he'd been tracking a robbery/murder suspect. He'd barely had time to return Mom's phone call and could offer her no guarantees. When the dust had finally settled thirty-six hours ago and he'd been able to make it home and take his first long hot shower in what felt like ages, he'd called the house and said he would be there. Mom was happy and started muttering about dinner reservations.

"You have any baggage to claim, Don?'"

Don shook his head. "No. Let's just go home."

Don never thought he'd seen such a big smile on his brother's face since he was four and Don had let him look through his baseball card collection. When Don let him keep a few, Charlie had looked like Don had offered him the moon. Charlie had always wanted to use Don's things when they were growing up. What a child prodigy obsessed with numbers wanted with a few beat-up baseball cards Don had never quite understood.

"You came," Charlie said. Dad was right; there was an even greater bounce in Charlie's step then normal.

"Of course I came. You think I was going to miss my little brother's graduation? Again." He ruffled Charlie's hair.

"Hey." Charlie reached up a hand to stop him. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal, huh? Says the guy who's glowing here."

Charlie grinned. "I may be a little excited." Don arched an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe a lot excited."

"I'll say," Don agreed. "A PhD is a pretty big deal. So where now, Dr. Eppes?"

"Doctor..." Charlie muttered. "Now that sounds weird. CalSci offered me a job, actually. Which is remarkable because I was sure I'd have to do some post-doc work or teach high school classes while I developed theories or--"

"Whoa, slow down there, Professor. Huh," Don mused. "Guess that title will fit now, won't it. I assume you are taking the job, right? Or are there any better offers?"

"I love CalSci. I can't imagine another place I'd rather teach at. I mean, after Princeton..." Charlie trailed off. Don had never gotten the whole story about what happened at Princeton but from what he'd pieced together from unspoken words and raised eyebrows, Princeton and Charlie had not meshed well. CalSci had truly been a blessing.

"Anyway, that's all tomorrow's news. How's New Mexico?"

"Hot," Don replied. "Busy."

Charlie's smile faded a bit. "That's it? Any interesting cases? Shoot outs? Anything?"

"First off, Charlie, you listen too much to all that media hype. And secondly, I can't discuss cases with you. You need security clearance."

"Oh." Charlie was silent a moment. "You know mathematicians consult for the FBI all the time. You might need my help someday."

Don sat down on the couch. For a brief second he heard the echoes of gunfire. Nothing could have stopped that outcome. "Numbers can't solve crimes, Charlie."

"How do you know that? Everything is numbers."

Don smiled at the thought. Of course Charlie thought math could save the world. And while Don was well aware that a mathematician or two had been called in on a bank fraud case he'd worked on a few months back, he didn't see how they could've helped save three hostages from a madman. If only it was that easy.

Everything might be numbers, but they were numbers he'd rather his little brother never saw.

"Don?" Charlie had moved and was looking at him.

"Numbers can't stop violence," he said, and then sighed. Time to change the subject again. "So what's Mom making for dinner?"

Perhaps he realized it halfway through the hooding ceremony. Or maybe it was when Charlie introduced him to Professor Larry Fleinhardt, the man that had been Charlie's thesis advisor. But two days later, when Mom put up some new pictures on the sideboard of the whole event, Don found himself, yet again, feeling slightly inadequate.

And wondering why he still felt that way.

He had the FBI, a whole new life in New Mexico, separate from his brother and his accolades. Word on the street was that the head of FBI field office was transferring to Maryland in a few months and Don might get his big chance to run an entire field office, a feat nothing short of remarkable, given his age. He was gaining his own triumphs just as quickly as Charlie had.

So why was he thinking this way?

He glanced across the sideboard at the various photos. There were a few from Charlie's previous graduations. A few of his parents. Some from vacations, holidays. A lone picture from his baseball days.

He picked up that photo. It was of him and Charlie. Don was still in uniform and Charlie had a notebook tucked under one arm. They were both smiling.

"That was nearly seven years ago. Amazing how time flies, doesn't it?"

He almost dropped the frame, only keeping it from slipping at the last second. "Yeah..."

His mother smiled and reached out to take the photo from him. "You know, this is the most recent photo of you I had, you know. Until this visit." She set the frame down and picked up another. He and Charlie, again, from two days previous. Charlie was ginning from ear to ear. Don was smiling, but it was far more subdued. He studied the photo.

He realized he looked uncomfortable.

"You should come home more often, Donnie," Mom said with a sigh.

"Home," he muttered and that's when he knew.

That's what was missing. Home.

He was pretty sure New Mexico wasn't home. At least, not yet. Maybe it never would be.

Charlie had his home. He'd never left. He had a sense of security Don lacked.

He stared back down at the photo and listened to his mother retreat, her footsteps taking her into the kitchen. He heard a cabinet open. The one to the right of the stove, he knew; he recognized the squeak the hinges made. A second later, a couple of pot clanged.

Mom never kept pots there. Pots were three cabinets over.

That's when he knew. Things had changed. This house -- the very one he'd grown up in -- wasn't home either.

Another six months flew by. Don found himself running a field office and his personal life disappearing. Visits home didn't happen and even phone calls were far and few between.

He vaguely knew what was happening at home. Charlie had started teaching and apparently loved it. Dad was considering retirement and this year, Mom's tulips weren't growing as well as she'd hoped. But the events seemed a bit surreal compared to the events going on in his daily life.

His desk was drowning in paperwork and he was considering changing his path in the FBI, at least for a while, when he laid his eyes upon her.

"Her" was Kim Hall. Agent Kim Hall. Secret Service.

He was working another bank fraud case that had called for more expertise and undercover investigative work. She walked in and they got to business.

He knew he was in trouble when he found himself searching his brain for a reason to see her outside the office.

Luckily, the FBI owed the Secret Service a couple of rounds. A few drinks at a local bar and he was feeling a bit braver.

Kim cocked her head. "So what are you waiting for?"

He smiled. "Who says I'm waiting for anything?"

She laughed. "Of course you're waiting for something. I'm thinking it's the right time to ask me out."

"Who says I was going to ask you out?" He didn't want to give her the upper hand, although he thought she might already have it.

"You aren't going to ask me out?" She leaned in a little closer to him. "Shame. I would have said yes."

He raised an eyebrow. "You would have? Well, that changes things, then. You free Friday night?"

"I might be. What do you have in mind? Dinner? I know a great place."

He shook his head. "Forget going out. I'll cook."

She looked surprised. "Cook? Well, that's a first. You're on."

Unlike his cooking experience with Terry, he managed not to burn dinner to crisp. A last minute call to Mom helped.

"You're cooking?" she had asked. "What's her name?"

"Why do you assume there's a girl involved? I could just be making dinner here, Mom."

He could just see her smile. "Uh huh. So, I repeat myself, what's her name?"

Don revealed Kim's name but nothing else and managed to hang up the phone just as the buzzer rang.

Dinner was wonderful and Kim seemed impressed. He found some women were hard to read and he had to admit, he hadn't had much time for a serious relationship after he and Terry had gone their separate ways. He was married to the FBI.

And Kim was attached to the Secret Service. This could really work.

Before he knew it, months had passed and he was carrying boxes of Kim's things into his apartment.

"You have entirely too much stuff," he told her as he let the last box drop onto the couch.

"Hey, watch it. That could be fragile."

He looked at the label on the box. "It says pillows."

"They're very special pillows. Down," she said, sliding her arms around his waist. He twisted and kissed her.

"Ready for this living together thing?" he asked when they part.

"Oh yeah. First thing I thought we could do was integrate both of our CD collections."

He laughed. "CD collections? You're a wild one."

"I know I am." She reached down to open a box next to the couch. "But you realize something. When you get down to one joint CD collection, there's no going back."

He sat down on the floor next to the box. "I think I could deal with that."

One CD collection didn't work. Kim shoved CDs in every place; Don had a perfect system. Yes, he realized it might be slightly anal, but he liked being able to find the right Billy Joel CD when he wanted it. Kim also never put the right CD in the right CD case.

But Kim also surprised him in the shower, made a great plate of scrambled eggs, and didn't might spending a Friday night on the couch vegging with a movie. And when he needed to work, there were no questions asked, as she often had to work herself.

Besides, after a long week of not seeing each other the sex was amazing, if they managed to stay awake enough to enjoy it, a fact neither of them advertised.

He was even contemplating bringing her home to meet his family, which for him, was a big deal. He'd mentioned Kim to his dad, maybe even let it slip that she'd moved in, but he wasn't sure. He didn't want to tell his mother because he thought it might further entertain the idea of grandchildren in her head and he wasn't ready to head down that road yet.

Or was he?

He found himself stopping by a jewelry store or two just to look. Marriage was a huge step and he wasn't sure if Kim even wanted that.

So, instead, he took another step in another direction. He shifted careers. Fugitive Recovery was an interesting realm he'd been wanting to try. Running a field office wasn't exactly what he saw himself doing for the next ten years.

"What do you think?" he asked Kim. They sat on the couch. Don was sprawled across the cushions, his back wedged into the cushion corner. Kim sat on top of him, her head resting on his shoulders.

"Honestly?"

"Of course honestly."

She shrugged. "It's dangerous, but so is every FBI job. And I work for the Secret Service. Who I am to talk? Still, I am your girlfriend here, so as your girlfriend, I suppose it's my job to talk you out of such a decision."

He grinned, shook his head, and starting playing with the ends of her hair. He liked long hair and Kim always wore hers long and down. "So does mean you'll hate me if I do it anyway?"

"It is part of the girlfriend job description. Comes along with three nights on the couch."

"No way. Only married couples can use the 'sleeping on the couch' card."

She tilted her head up at him. "I guess we'll have to get married then, because I like having that card handy."

His smiled faded. Was she teasing? "You serious?"

"About the couch thing?" She shook her head. "No. I prefer sleeping next to a warm body, argument or not."

"No, not about the couch. I meant about marriage."

She was quiet a moment. "I'd like to get married. Someday."

"Any day soon?"

"Fishing for a hint here, Don? The timing has to be right. We're been living together less than six months."

"Yeah," he muttered. "I love you, you know. Just in case..."

"Just in case what? I forget?" She turned her eyes to the TV and snuggled deeper into his shoulder. "I could never forget. If Fugitive Recovery is something you want to try, go for it. Get some thrills. They're fun. Oh, and I love you, too."

"Thanks." He stared back at the TV and felt content.

Change was good. At least he thought it was, at first anyway.

Don found himself paired with an Agent Billy Cooper. Cooper knew the ropes and was happy to take Don under his wing. After running a field office, it seemed nice to spend weeks staking out a single location to find a lost fugitive.

It also meant long days, constant takeout that was often left unfinished on the dashboard of the car you happened to be using for the stakeout. The letter of the law was often thrown out the window in order to find a convicted felon. There was no doubt here; these fugitives were guilty, armed, and always dangerous.

He made the mistake of telling his father about his shift in his career.

"Fugitive recovery? I don't like the sound of that, Donnie," Dad told him over the phone during a brief stop to his and Kim's apartment. It was the first time he'd called home in three months.

"It's not that bad," he replied, letting his weary body sink into the sofa. He could feel the bruises on his hip from his latest case. Cooper tended to bring out the especially reckless side of him and he wasn't too sure he liked it. He knew Kim didn't. She called him thorough, yet careless, which seemed an oxymoron in itself. He wondered how Charlie would break down that statement. Never mind, Charlie'd just start off on a tangent and right at this moment Don didn't have the energy to think about that.

"Not that bad? Don, we haven't heard from you for nearly three months! Your mother was convinced you were dead and the FBI wasn't telling us. I finally get a phone call and you sound like death warmed over. If this what you working Fugitive Recovery is like, well, I think you'd be better off back at the Albuquerque field office."

Don rubbed a hand across his face. He didn't need this. "Dad, I'm tired. I just called to say hi, not get the third degree. How's Mom and Charlie?"

"Charlie is fine. Mom is sick. She has this flu she can't seem to shake. Charlie brought it home with him from school. He had it first, I got it next, now it's your mother's turn."

"Sounds like fun." A yawn escaped him and he sighed. Thursday. It was Thursday, he realized. The last time he stopped to think about day it was it had been Saturday.

"Don, get some sleep. Call me tomorrow. Tell..."

"Kim," he supplied. So he had told his father she moved in. He could never quite keep track these days.

"Kim to make sure you get some sleep."

"I'm fine, Dad. I don't need anyone to look after me."

"Of course you don't," Dad retorted. "Don't forget to call every one in while, okay?"

"I won't," he promised. He hit end on his phone and closed his eyes.

"So this Kim... what's keeping you from making it legal? Most women would be on your back after living together for two years."

Don shook his soda can and shifted his gaze from the graveyard a moment. He and Cooper had been watching this cemetery for nearly two weeks and the husband had yet to show his face.

"The timing never seems right." He looked out the passenger side window. "You sure this guy's gonna show?"

"Of course he's gonna show. Anniversary is in two days. He killed her, but his MO screams respect. And the timing's never right. You love her?"

"Yes, I love her. And respect? The guy killed his wife because she was cheating on him."

"He couldn't bear to see her with another man. He's sick, but that doesn't mean he didn't love her. In fact, I'd say he loved her to death."

"Ha, ha. He has to know we're watching."

"Oh, he does. But he'll still come. You ever think about buying a ring?"

Don mulled that over. "What does it mean if I did?"

Cooper shrugged. "That you got it bad. Not that I blame you. Kim's hot. And there is the added good fortune that she will bring her own set of handcuffs into the marriage."

Don shook his head. "Of course, you'd jump right to that."

"And you wouldn't? Come on, Don, don't tell you've never role-played."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"What else are we going to talk about to pass the time? Besides, who's listening? Our killer? Something tells me he probably had his own set of handcuffs in the bedroom."

"Yeah, the ones he used to cuff his wife to the bed so he could slowly stab her to death. Can we talk about something else?"

"Fine. You scared?" Cooper turned and squinted through the car window.

"Scared? Of what?"

"That she'll say no." Cooper frowned.

"No," Don defended. He just wasn't sure it was the right time. He'd taken Kim's first hint to heart. He figured he'd be able to know when it felt right.

"Then, it's like this. You love her. She loves you. You live together and I get the impression you don't exactly hate this marriage thing. She works for the Secret Service and you both own your own set of handcuffs. I know what I would do. Ah." He held up a hand. "There's our guy. And he's got roses. How sweet."

Thirty minutes later, they had their guy, right where Cooper thought he'd be -- laying flowers on the grave of the woman he'd killed.

The next day, Don bought an engagement ring.

It took Don two months to find the right moment to propose, but the timing must have been right because Kim said yes. He'd been planning on calling home and sharing his news when he got a phone call.

It was just after six in the evening. He'd enjoyed a rare day off, gone grocery shopping, done laundry. He even ran the dishwasher, something both he and Kim were notorious for forgetting.

"Mom's sick."

The voice was so low Don wasn't sure he heard correctly.

"Charlie?" he asked. "What did you say?"

There was a swallow on the other end of line followed by a heavy pause. "Mom's sick. I'm at the hospital... I can't find Dad... she passed out on the kitchen floor, Don. I..." There was a slight gasp and Don had a feeling Charlie was trying desperately to hold it together. He felt a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.

"Charlie," he said. "What happened?"

He could picture Charlie shaking his head back and forth, swallowing, trying to get his emotions under control. "I found her when I got home. She wouldn't wake up. I couldn't find Dad, so I took the car..."

"Took the car? Charlie, you don't have a driver's license."

"911 was busy. She needed help." Charlie stated it so simply, as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

Don knew he needed to go home. Now.

"Okay. Listen. Charlie, stay where you are. Find Dad. I'm coming home."

He left the groceries on the counter, threw together a bag, and darted out to door.

He managed to get a hold of his father. Or rather, his father got a hold of him as he was boarding the first flight he could catch to Los Angeles.

"How is she?"

"They don't know." His father sounded calm, but Don knew he was anything but. "She woke up. Knows where she is. They've admitted her and are running some tests."

"I'm getting on a plane as we speak. How are you, Dad?"

"Me? I'm okay." Don didn't believe it for a second. "Your mother doesn't want me to jump to conclusions, so I'm trying not to. But Donnie, these tests they're running... when does your flight get in?"

"Nine-thirty, but don't worry. I'm going to catch a cab from LAX. Dad... how's Charlie? He said he drove."

He heard his father sigh. "I know. He's, well, not so good. Are you sure I can't pick you up?"

"Yes, Dad, I'm sure. Stay with Mom. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Don had six messages on his cell phone when he got off the plane. One was from Dad. Five were from Kim. Damn. He realized he hadn't even bothered to leave a note. He had to call her. She wasn't happy.

"Don, where the hell are you? The ice cream melted all over the counter and you didn't finish putting away the groceries. I thought I was going to have to call the FBI because I thought you were kidnapped!"

He rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry. I kind of left in a rush."

"Left? Don, just where are you?"

He sighed. "Los Angeles. LAX, to be specific."

"LAX? Don, what are you doing in Los Angeles?" There was a pause. "What's wrong?"

"My mom's in the hospital. And, no, I do not know how she is. I'm about to get in a cab and head to Huntington Memorial to find out. Listen, Kim, I could be here for a few days."

"Of course," she said. "Do you need me to... well, I could always--"

"You don't need to come out here. My mother doesn't even know you exist yet and this doesn't seem like the right time."

"Wait, she doesn't know about me? Don, we have been living together for over two years!"

Great. He didn't need this. "That came out wrong, Kim. Of course she knows about you. But she doesn't know we're engaged. That's what I meant."

"We've been engaged for three months!"

"And I've been working most of time, if you haven't noticed. That long gas station stake out. Kim, I don't want to discuss this in the middle of an airport on my cell phone. Right now, I'm going to hang up and go see my mom. I'll call you."

He heard her sigh. "Promise?"

"Of course. I love you."

There was a slight pause. "I love you, too. Go see your mom. I'll... go buy more ice cream."

He heard a click as she hung up, stared at his cell a moment before shoving it back in his pocket, and headed up towards the taxi stand.

He had time to think on the cab ride to Pasadena. Thinking about Kim, his not talking in depth with his family for months, his mother's illness. The latter, he hoped, was nothing, and she'd be smiling and back on her feet in a few days.

Somehow, though, he didn't think that would be the case.

He felt guilty.

He and Kim were happy and he was ready to take the plunge down the aisle, yet he hadn't found the time to make a simple phone call.

"Mom, I'm getting married. Her name is Kim..."

It would have been easy. But he was busy, busy doing a job he knew he didn't practically enjoy anymore. The thrill was gone. He had called more when he worked at the field office, got more satisfaction from a closed case there.

He considered those facts as he searched the emergency room. Around him was the hustle and bustle of a busy hospital. There were other people, waiting for their own news. Other families.

He found his father and Charlie sitting on a pair of chairs in the hallway. Charlie was staring straight ahead and didn't budge when Don approached. Dad got up.

"Don."

"Hi Dad. Hi Charlie." Charlie still didn't move. Don waved a hand. "Charlie?"

"He's not talking," Dad said. "He's lucky he didn't kill himself and your mother on the way over here. Charlie. Say hello to your brother."

That got a reaction. Charlie blinked. "Don?"

Don gave him a small smile. "Hey."

"Mom's sick," Charlie said.

"I know. What did the doctor say?"

Dad sighed. "Nothing. More tests tomorrow. They're admitting her. But by the time they get her upstairs... well, visiting hours are already over. We could get a quick look. But I can't go home until I know something."

"Of course," Don agreed.

"I feel fairly useless. You mother will be happy you're here, though. I'm happy you're here. How was the flight?"

"Okay. They're really said nothing?"

"Cancer," Charlie, his voice soft.

Don frowned. "What? Dad?"

"No, Charlie. He's speculating. You know your brother."

"Not speculating. Three different doctors saw tonight, Dad. The last one, well, calculating the odds... no." Charlie swallowed. "You're right, Dad. I'm wrong."

Don exchanged a glance with Dad. "No news can be good news."

"Yeah," Dad agreed. Charlie didn't answer; he just looked away, his eyes staring at the wall. Fixed, unmoving.

Don sat down in an empty chair. A moment of silence passed between the three of them.

"She'll be fine," Charlie finally sat, his gaze not shifting from the wall. "I was wrong."

"Right," Don muttered, and wished he could believe it.

Two days later, the news came. And it was far from good.

Cancer. Ovarian. Stage III.

"In Stage III, there's the survival rate isn't as strong as Stage I or II. But it's not Stage IV and medical breakthroughs have increased the five-year survival rate greatly."

Don watched the doctor, watched her deliver the news without batting an eyelash. Dad stood next to Mom as the woman spoke. Charlie was facing the window, facing the sunshine streaming through the window, his arms crossed.

"Increased? By how much?"

"In 1975, the chance of an ovarian cancer patient surviving past the five-year mark was 37%. Now a patient has a 50% chance."

"Fifty-fifty, huh? That's not so bad," Mom said, trying to smile. She squeezed Dad's hand. "Could be worse."

"Fifty-fifty is a flip of the coin," Dad muttered.

"You said stage III. What about stage III?" Charlie didn't turn when he spoke.

"21 percent," the doctor replied. "I wish I had better news. But this doesn't mean it's beyond treatment."

"What kind of treatment?" Dad asked.

"In the short term, surgery. Long term, chemo. Honestly, we won't get a good picture of the disease until after surgery. Then we can evaluate how much of it we were able to remove and properly map out the chemotherapy plan. I won't lie. This is going to be a fight and it could be long."

Long. Don had leave gathered. He'd need to use it, but even then he knew it might not be enough. He gave Mom a smile.

"Mom's a fighter, right?"

Mom shook him a grateful look. "Right, Donnie. Not giving up that easily."

Later, when the doctor had left, and Mom had finally convinced the three of them to go home, get some sleep and some dinner, Don found himself sitting in the living room, staring at an old family photo.

"You were seven there. Charlie was barely a year old. Your mother insisted we needed a family portrait," Dad commented.

Don turned. Dad was standing across the room. He looked more tired than Don had ever seen him, and for once, Don realized his father had gotten older.

"I made dinner," Dad continued. "Spaghetti. It's not much, but we don't have much in the house. Your mother was making a grocery list when she... I'll need to go to the store."

"Spaghetti is fine." Don paused a moment. "Dad, what do think they'll find tomorrow?"

"I have no idea." Dad sunk into a chair across from Don. "And that scares me beyond belief. Your mother's a strong woman. Anything that happens to her, she could care less. The minute you or Charlie so much as skined a knee and she started pacing. I mean, when Charlie had appendicitis, she practically wore a hole in the waiting room floor."

"She never got sick," Don commented. "We all got the flu and she was fine. She was making soup and stirring the bubbles out of ginger ale. I should have realized when you told me she got the flu from Charlie a few months ago that something was wrong."

"You don't live here, Donnie. And Charlie and I didn't notice. Your mother doesn't complain. Come to think of it, neither do you." Dad sighed. "All her genes."

"Funny, I always thought Charlie got most of Mom's genes. I mean, the curly hair, the never-ending supply of energy..."

Dad smiled. "Yes. She's full of life."

"She can fight this, Dad. I mean, remember that bad call the umpire made in the eighth inning of the Champaign Little League game when I was twelve?"

"He said you were out, when you were clearly safe. I told her that."

"And she took your complaint to heart and wouldn't give up until the call was reversed."

Dad laughed softly. "She made a scene. I thought that umpire was really going to hit her when it was over."

"See? Mom doesn't give up so easily." Don turned and looked back at the photo. In it Charlie was trying to squirm his way out of Mom's arms. Charlie... Don knew Charlie wasn't taking this well. "Where's Charlie?"

"He went to CalSci. Said something about rearranging his classes tomorrow. You know Charlie."

Did he? Or had Charlie changed in the last few years? His little brother's coping mechanisms may have not improved, but he had no clue about anything else. "Yeah, I know Charlie. This is going to kill him."

Dad shook his head. "No. If she loses this fight, it will kill him."

"What about you?"

"Me? I don't know what it would do to me. Your mother and I have been together over thirty years. I'll feel better when she comes home."

Home. Again, the doctor's words echoed in Don's brain. A long fight. He needed to call Kim. He closed his eyes when he thought of their semi-fight.

"Dad?"

"Donnie?"

"Just so you know, I've been seeing someone."

"Oh. Still seeing that Kim? Is it serious?"

Yes, it was, although he wasn't sure it would remain that way after he made another phone call. He knew what he needed to do. What his mother needed. What Dad and Charlie needed. And maybe, just maybe, it was what he needed.

"It's serious. I need to make a phone call."

Don told Kim he was taking some time off. He called into work and said the same. Both were understanding and Kim again asked if she should fly out. But Don said no. He knew she had just started a case and Kim hated handing cases off to another agent, no matter what the circumstance.

He stayed that night in his old room. Of course, it wasn't his room anymore and his mother had boxed most of the things that he'd collected over the years. She'd sent a few his way and he knew the rest were probably in the attic or the garage, carefully packaged and labeled. Mom could never throw anything away. Even if Don insisted. He was sure if he opened a few of those boxes, he'd still find the picture he'd drawn her for Mother's Day back in kindergarten.

The next day yielded another waiting room and another set of uncomfortable chairs. Dad paced back and forth, trying not to worry and failing miserably, while Charlie scribbled numbers across a tattered notebook.

Don picked up the newspaper, tried not to stare at the clock, and found himself contemplating apartment listings.

He wondered if Kim would understand. Vacation and personal time only lasted so long and he knew his father was going to need help. Dad wouldn't ask, and Don didn't want him to have to anyway. He knew how hard asking for help was.

All the Eppes men had a strong sense of pride.

Even Charlie. But Charlie was...

Don could put in for a transfer. He'd put in enough time to make such a request.

It was the only thing he could do. Mom would do nothing less for him.

"What? Don, I don't understand what you're saying."

He listened to her voice and the surprise lurking within it. He shouldn't be doing this over the phone, but Mom was starting chemo the next day and he just couldn't fly back to New Mexico. Not yet.

"Kim, please don't make me repeat it."

"Repeat what? Don, you just implied you want to move back to Los Angeles."

"I'm not implying. I'm serious."

"Serious? Listen, Don. Your mom's sick. I understand. But she might not be sick forever."

"She has cancer, Kim. Stage III ovarian cancer. She's not going to be cured overnight and My father won't want to ask me to stay."

"Then why are you?"

"Because I don't want him to have to ask." He had to stay. If his mother... well, he'd never forgive himself.

"You have a brother, Don. You've talked about him. And you have an apartment, a job, hell, you have me, out here." She sighed. "You need to let me help. I should come out there. Stay for a while. Then we could both come back."

"You shouldn't come out here."

"Why not? God, Don, you obviously need help."

"No. My father needs help. Mom needs help. Charlie needs help. I don't need help."

"You're wrong. You and your father must have a lot in common, then." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"They're my family. This is my mother. And my brother... I don't think you understand."

"I don't understand? Don, your mom's sick. You need to be there now. But you don't need to move right away. What you need to do is stay for a couple more weeks, then come back home. We can talk then." He heard the exasperation in her deep sigh. "Listen. Hang up. Go see your mom. We can't have this conversation over the phone."

"Right," he agreed. "I'll call later."

"Good." There was more silence for a few seconds. "I love you."

"I know," Don said and hung up before he realized he'd forgotten to say, "I love you" back.

It wasn't until Charlie failed to visit Mom after her first chemo session that Don knew his brother was truly not dealing.

"He should be here," he said.

"He has classes," Mom said, closing her eyes.

Don didn't care. This was their mother. Charlie could cancel classes, get someone to cover. He saw his father purse his lips.

"He'll be by," Dad insisted.

Don didn't believe it.

Four hours later and Mom was puking her guts out. Dad was rubbing her shoulders and Charlie was nowhere to be found.

Charlie didn't come home either, not when Don ran back to the house to water the plants because Mom insisted they needed it and not when he retrieved Mom's favorite blanket. She was cold and tired. It had been one week since the diagnosis and already things had changed. It would only get worse, the nurse warned. It was better to be prepared.

Prepared. Better to both think about and avoid the worst case scenarios. But it was best to strategize. Just like Don did every time he worked a missing persons case.

But his mother wasn't a missing person.

Charlie, however, was.

Don didn't sleep well, and Charlie still hadn't made an appearance by morning. Dad headed off to the hospital; Don did the dishes, planning to follow shortly. He noticed the overflowing laundry basket on top of the washer. Mom never left a basket on top of the washer.

He tossed the clothes into the washer, starting the cycle before he headed out the door.

Don planned on driving straight to the hospital, but found himself taking a detour past CalSci. He wasn't sure why he did it, but when he saw Charlie's bike chained outside the building Don knew housed the math department, he pulled over.

He wasn't sure what he intended to do. If he would drag Charlie out, if he would yell, if he would tell his little brother Mom needed him on the first day of chemo. Charlie was Mom's little boy and Charlie knew that just as well as Don did.

Don entered the building and realized he had no idea where Charlie's office was. The last time he'd been here was the day Charlie got his PhD. And that was nearly four years ago. Or had it been five? Don couldn't remember.

He needed to check the directory. Professor Charles Eppes, room 303. Charles. That seemed so foreign to Don. Charlie was Charlie. No one called him Charles, except Mom, and that was only when she was pissed.

"Charles, I don't think I understand what you are trying to achieve with all of this."

Don paused at the door, surprised. Apparently someone did call him Charles, after all. Did Charlie have a whole different life at the university?

Charlie was scribbling numbers across a white board. The dry erase marker squeaked. The man Don remembered vaguely from Charlie's PhD ceremony -- Larry, Charlie's thesis advisor -- stood watching him, one hand on his chin, the other in the air.

"I'm not trying to achieve anything, Larry." The marker stopped a moment. "It's statistics. There's not enough data to do an analysis." Charlie tapped the marker on the board. "Or maybe there's too much."

"Hmm," Larry replied. "Now there's a question. How much is too much? When does any analysis collect an overabundance of data? Does the study that has only thirty subjects become any less relevant then one that has three hundred?"

"Do they yield the same data? Results?"

"The very same. Perhaps whatever you are trying to achieve here is being oversimplified."

Don watched Charlie take a deep breath and run a hand through his hair. "Oversimplified. That really is the question."

"Well, it would be if I knew what you're working on." Larry scratched his head. "And why it was deemed important enough to cancel your eight o'clock class. This is no ordinary statistical analysis."

"No, it's not," Charlie agreed. The marker rose again and that's when Don noticed the abundance of open texts scattered across a desk. Suddenly all the random numbers made perfect sense.

It was just like the string of prime numbers all over again.

"Charlie."

Charlie jumped at his voice. Larry turned.

"Hi, Don," Charlie said. "I didn't realize you knew where my office was." He gestured towards Larry. "This is Larry Fleinhardt. I think you've met him. Larry, my brother, Don."

"Ah, the elusive older brother you've mentioned." Larry offered Don a hand. "We did meet. Once."

Don stepped into the room and shook Larry's hand and gave him a nod. "I read the directory downstairs. Charlie, Mom needs you."

Charlie moved across the room to his desk, staring down at one of the open books. He flipped a few pages and read for a moment. "Mom's fine. She doesn't need me."

"Fine?" Don repeated. Had Charlie just said that? "She's in the hospital, Charlie! She's as far from fine as you can get. For someone so smart, you can certainly be dense."

Charlie's head snapped up. "Dense?" Charlie repeated, shaking his head. "I can't be there."

Larry started backing towards the door. "I have a quantum field theory seminar to prepare."

"Larry, you don't need to leave," Charlie said. "Don, Mom's fine. She's just a little sick. She'll come home soon."

There was the word "fine" again. But Don noticed something different this time. Charlie believed it.

"Does your statistical analysis say that? Do all those numbers say that?" Don walked to the blackboard, picked up a marker. "You need to visit her today."

Next to the door, Larry shifted, clearly uncomfortable. "My seminar..."

Charlie looked back down at the book in front of him. His finger tapped the pages. "25,000 new cases diagnosed annually. Estimates indicate that 1 in 70 women will develop ovarian cancer in her lifetime. 1 in 70. Last year, the census reported that there are 106.7 million women in this country." Charlie lifted his gaze again. "106.7 million. 25,000 cases. 14,300 deaths. " Charlie was silent a moment. "Mom's an anomaly. Or she will be."

Charlie's eyes were so determined that Don knew Charlie wasn't coming with him. Not that day.

Mom came home three days later, on a Thursday. Charlie was home then, at least, even if home meant sitting at the dining room table, red pen and test papers in hand. Don wished his brother would have gotten up, at least greeted Mom at the door.

Mom didn't seem to care. In fact, Mom insisted on sitting at the table instead of the couch and Dad wasn't convinced that was a good idea.

"I'm not make of china, Alan," Mom insisted. "I want to sit with Charlie. I always do the crossword when Charlie grades papers."

Charlie looked up at that and smiled. "No hints, Mom."

She laughed and let Don pull out a chair. "It's not a hint if you can't spell the answer correctly."

"I'm insulted. My spelling is just fine."

At least Charlie was speaking to Mom. Now that she was home it was easier to pretend she wasn't sick, and Charlie seemed more at ease. But Mom wasn't fine. She was weak and pale. Don could see it as she reached for paper and her hands shook ever so slightly. How could Charlie ignore it? Don decided that trying to understand his brother, the genius enigma, made his head hurt.

Besides, he had a few of his own headaches to deal with.

He and Dad made their way into the kitchen. Dad filled the teakettle and placed it on the stove.

"I'm going to move back to LA."

Dad turned. "You don't need to do that, you know. Your mother's just getting settled. She, the doctor, everyone, says we need to go on with life. Besides, Charlie's here. You have a job and a life in New Mexico." The words "and it's one that doesn't include us" dangled in the air, but Don knew his father would never say them. He didn't have to; Dad always had a way of making his message loud and clear. "Although, it wouldn't hurt if you called more often."

Don felt guilt stab at him. While Mom was probably the guilt champ, Dad was no slouch. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Charlie wouldn't come back to the hospital. You do know that Charlie doesn't believe she's that sick. I don't understand him." Don busied himself getting down some mugs for tea. "I have a meeting at the FBI field office later this afternoon. I'm planning on heading back to Albuquerque this weekend, but I should be back in time for Mom's next chemo session on Tuesday. None of us can pretend this isn't happening, Dad."

Dad turned the burner on, and for a second there for only the sound of the flame flickering to life. "I know. Your mother has this very sunny, optimistic attitude that makes you want to believe it will all be just fine. And frankly, I can't think it won't be."

"And it could be. Or it could not. I need to come back. I think I'll find my own place, but if you don't mind me staying here in the meantime..."

"You're always welcome here, Donnie. How could you think otherwise?"

"Mom boxed up my stuff. I haven't spent a night here in, well, I'm not sure I remember."

"Doesn't matter when the last time you came home was. The door's always open. What about Kim? You said it was serious. Just how serious is it? Grandchildren serious?"

Don couldn't help grinning a little. Mom and Dad had a one-track mind, it seemed. "I gave her a ring."

"You did? That's wonderful! You should tell your mother." Dad turned to head back towards the dining room table, but Don stopped him.

"Dad, not so fast. I'm still moving." He hoped his father might get the hint. "I'm not sure she will."

Dad was quiet a minute. "Don--"

Don shook his head. "Not changing my mind. Please don't tell Mom. Or Charlie. Please."

"All right," Dad conceded. "But, Donnie, when you love someone you make sacrifices."

"Yeah," Don said with a sigh. "You do."

"You're more than welcome to come. I mean, I know you can't right away, but..."

Kim was quiet, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. To Don, her silence spoke volumes.

"Either way, I'm going. I have to."

Kim started walking away from him, pacing the living room in her bathrobe. She lifted a hand and chewed on the end of the fingernail of her thumb. She only did that when she knew things were serious, or when she was deeply involved in a case.

"Yes, I guess you do," she finally said. She stopped in the middle of the room, lowered her hand and lifted her head. "My life is here. I always thought I'd move on, that Albuquerque wasn't going to be forever."

For a brief moment, Don felt a small flicker of hope. But he knew what was coming next. Kim wasn't one to drop everything for love, and that's one of things he appreciated about her. Work was a passion. Plus, Kim had never met Mom. There wasn't any connection and in twenty-twenty hindsight there was no one to blame but themselves. He hadn't asked and she hadn't pushed.

"I can't do it, Don." She ran a hand through her hair. "This is it, then. This can't work."

"Kim. I love you," he tried, but to him it sounded weak. It was true, but love wasn't enough to let him abandon his family.

"I know." She shook her head. "But you're not staying. You love your family more."

"Kim, that's not... this isn't a choice." He walked closer to her, gripped her shoulders.

She moved away from his touch. "That's actually what it is! And I hate it and that's what makes a bitch because your mother needs you and all I want is for you to need me more." She closed her eyes. "But I can't move. I can't. I understand why you need to go, but I can't."

"I don't want to end things this way," he said. "Please don't--"

"No. I could say I'd wait, but I'm over thirty. And who knows what's in LA." She started playing with her engagement ring. "Both of us are married to our jobs anyway. Maybe this is for the best." She pulled the ring off and took his hand. She opened his palm, placed the ring in it, and folded his fingers around it.

The metal felt cold to him and he handed it back. "Keep it. You never know..."

She looked down at the ring. "I can't make promises, Don."

"I'm not asking you to. But it's yours." He didn't want her to hand it back. If she held on to it, their connection remained. The spark lasted a little longer.

"Okay," she agreed, her voice soft. "When are you leaving?"

"Monday. I'm leaving the furniture and I'll take care of the lease. We can work out the rest of the details over the next couple of weeks."

She nodded. "I should help you pack then."

Two weeks later, Don was moving boxes from the garage into his parents' house, when he got mail from New Mexico.

There was no return address on the envelope. No note inside.

Only a diamond ring.

For a while, things seemed almost normal. Don found an apartment and started working low-key cases at the FBI, telling his mother he'd been trying to transfer to LA for months and this just happened at the right time.

She seemed to believe it, and if she didn't, she never said a word. They all did family things, from watching Law and Order on Wednesday nights to dinners in and out. Aunt Eve -- Mom's sister -- visited and Mom was able to convince Don, Dad, and Charlie to go to a Dodgers game.

The Dodgers lost, thanks to an error in the ninth inning that had Don and Dad throwing their hands up. Charlie started taking about the probability of such a play happening and Don just rolled his eyes and patted Charlie's shoulder.

For that one day it seemed like all was right in the world, that Mom was fine, and Don was twenty-three all over again.

Then it was time for another round of chemo. Mom spent the evening following the session in the bathroom.

Don couldn't sleep, the sound of retching echoing in his brain. He found himself spending the night in his old bedroom, laying flat across the bed and staring up at the ceiling.

Charlie was in the garage. If he looked out the window he could see the light peeking out from the cracks in the garage door.

It was a new routine. Mom went for chemo, Dad fretted over her and she let him, Don spent the night, and Charlie disappeared on his bike, returning late and locking himself in the garage, and Don had no doubt he was scribbling a bunch of useless numbers across a blackboard. In the morning, he'd surface, circles under his eyes, chalk-dust on his rumpled T-Shirt. Then he'd smile like nothing had happened. He'd kiss Mom on the forehead and walk upstairs to take a shower.

Don knew Dad's emotions had to be running the gamut with regard to Charlie from anger to out and out annoyance, but when Dad opened his mouth to say something, Mom would put her hand across his and shake her head.

"Maggie," he'd say.

"Alan, don't," she'd respond. "He's copping the best way he knows how." Then she'd smile and pick up the crossword she was currently working on.

Her hand always shook when she turned the pages.

Don blinked at the memory. If Mom could get out of bed tomorrow morning, there was no doubt that the day would yield the same series of events.

He turned his eyes to the hall. In the distance he saw yellow light pooling into the hall. He swallowed and pushed himself up.

Mom was leaning against the bathroom wall, her palms pressed against the cold floor.

"Mom," he started.

"Donnie, please," she interrupted. "Be quiet. Your father finally fell asleep." She sighed. "It's easier sitting here." She lifted a shaky hand and put it to her hair.

That's when he noticed. He walked over and touched her hand. She moved it and a clump of hair came with it.

She smiled. "At my age my hair isn't that pretty anymore anyway."

Don wasn't sure what to say. Mom was well over fifty, but her hair didn't show a strand of gray. Or at least she didn't let it. Her hair was her pride; the curls were always in place or tucked up. Mom always looked put together, no matter the circumstance. Even after each chemo session, she still found her brush and refused to eat breakfast without getting dressed and ready for it.

He couldn't picture her bald.

Mom sighed. "It's been falling out little by little the last couple of days. I've been thinking about cutting it. Getting a wig, perhaps. I always wanted to be a redhead." She lowered her hand and looked at the hair in it.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said, but it didn't seem like enough. Nothing seemed like enough.

"Oh, Don, don't. Don't ever say you're sorry." She paused a moment, her mouth slightly open as if she was carefully selecting her next words. "I should be sorry."

He blinked. "Sorry? For what? I haven't been home in a long time. I missed Thanksgiving. Charlie had to call when you collapsed."

She looked up at him. "I know why you moved. I... your father and I spent so much time with Charlie when you were growing up. I worried about him so much. Too smart for his own good; I was worried the world would eat him alive. Princeton almost did and so I've spent the last fifteen years keeping him closed up from the horrible things the world has to offer. But all that time, I forgot to help you."

Don stared at her. "Mom--"

She held up a hand. "No, please, Donnie, let me say this. While I still can. I know everyone wants to pretend this might get better, but I don't think it will. The tests results are changing for the worse and who knows how much time I have before I can't even have a conversation this long." She took a breath. "You're so special, you know. But you grew up so fast and were out the door before I had a chance to even tell you that. If I have anything in the world to regret, it's that." She turned away from his eyes.

Don shook his head and lowered himself down to the floor. "Mom, don't. Charlie needed help."

"Yes, but you must have hated it. Don, I need to hear the truth."

The truth. Don wasn't sure he wanted to go there, but he looked back at his mother and knew he couldn't deny her request.

"I did hate it. You gave me extra cookies and later bedtimes. Dad bought me a new glove and there were a few times I wished Charlie wasn't so smart. But, in the end, it didn't matter because you still came to Little League games and defended my honor. You taught me how to cook, Mom, and told me it would impress women. And I did it and it worked."

She smiled. "You always listened to me more than your brother did."

"Yeah..." he muttered. "Charlie's different."

"Don't blame him. He's dealing in his own way. He'll make his peace."

"By not admitting you're sick?" Don asked. "Mom, what if..." He trailed off, not being able to say the words.

"I don't know, Don," she admitted. "But I've been thinking about it. I'm so glad you're here. You always have a level head. And you fold laundry better than your father does."

Don let out a short laugh. "That's why you're happy I'm here? At least Dad does laundry. Charlie's lucky if he remembers to put his clothes in the hamper."

"I know." She sighed again. "I can't predict the future. But I'm not ready to let go. Not yet."

Don swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. "Don't ever let go."

"I'll try, but some things aren't up to us," she whispered. She let the piece of hair still her hand fall to the ground. "I think I need some sleep."

Don pursed his lips and nodded. "I'll help you." He extended a hand.

Mom took it. "You already have helped me, Donnie. You're my son."

Don returned to his room that night, stared out the window towards the garage, and contemplated his mother's words.

She wasn't going to get better. It was the beginning of the end.

The fact hit him square in the face the morning she sat on the couch, still dressed in her bathrobe. She met his eyes and he knew.

She was admitted back into the hospital two days later.

It had been almost two years. Two years of chemo, a few months of false hope when the cancer seemed to stand still. She was beating odds left and right, even after the night he found her sitting on the bathroom floor.

"I'm sorry. There's really nothing more we can do..."

The doctor's words were sympathetic, but they seemed empty. Mom was in constant pain. They gave her two months, tops. Two months filled with pain. She might never come back home. She remained in a drugged haze, clicking at the morphine pump like it was the remote. The hair was completely gone.

Dad was a mess. He wouldn't leave her side.

Charlie listened to the news and disappeared. Again.

Don took more personal time and then proceeded to do the things that needed to be done, but that Dad couldn't handle doing. He watered her plants, got her address book, called family members he hadn't spoken to in years. He gathered family albums and brought them to the hospital.

He called the lawyer and during her more lucid moments talked to Mom about her will even though she was no longer sound enough to sign it.

He tried not to cry.

Charlie went back to the garage. This time, however, he didn't surface in the morning. He didn't surface ever. He dragged chalkboard after chalkboard out and started scribbling. He didn't answer Don when Don called him by name. He didn't listen to Dad when Dad came home to shower and change clothes. Instead, he scribbled. If it weren't for the small amount of things disappearing from the fridge, Don would swear Charlie hadn't even left his numbers to eat.

Don didn't understand. Couldn't understand. Started to channel his grief into anger. Anger over the fact that Charlie wouldn't see the truth. That Charlie wouldn't even acknowledge it existed. That Charlie wasn't going to see her ever. Wasn't going to say good-bye.

Charlie didn't listen. When Larry stopped by, Don could only explain why Charlie was absent from campus and direct the physicist to the garage. Larry offered Don his condolences before trying to talk to Charlie. Don followed behind him, hoping Larry, at least, could get Charlie to see reality.

"Charles."

Charlie turned this time. Looked at Larry. "Larry. I'll get to those calculations, I promise. They're on my desk. Monday, for sure. I need to finish this." Charlie had the eyes of crazed man, energy running full speed, the chalk flying across the slate, leaving dust in its wake.

"The calculations can wait," Larry said, his hands moving as he talked. Don figured it must be either a scientist or genius trait. Larry always used body language to convey his feelings. "Charles, Don said your mother is ill. That she is seeking medical attention..."

Charlie stopped, chalk paused in mid-air. He turned. "My mother is fine. She'll be home soon," Charlie said, his voice completely even. Then he turned back to the chalkboard. "It has to be true," he muttered. "Minesweeper proves it."

Don had no clue what he was talking about. "Minesweeper?"

"P versus NP," Larry said, bringing his hands together and gesturing with his two index fingers. "Or so that is the idea. To put it in extremely simple terms, it's a mathematical theory that many consider unsolvable. That one can use a computer to check solutions to a problem, but cannot design the actual program to enable the computer to complete such a task."

"Nothing is unsolvable," Charlie replied.

"Well, yes, I suppose mathematicians have been arguing such a theory for decades," Larry muttered, tilting his head. "But I don't believe you will find the answer overnight."

"You never know."

Don had enough. "A math problem? Damn it, Charlie, Mom's in the hospital and you're working on a math problem! This is not another chemo session. This is the end."

Charlie didn't budge. If anything, the chalk just picked up speed.

"Charlie."

Larry shook his head. "This is not good."

"No, it isn't," Don agreed.

It had to stop.

It didn't.

Mom had made it past the two-month mark, something the doctors found remarkable, yet Charlie hadn't seen her once. In fact, Charlie hadn't stepped one foot off the Eppes' property the entire summer. He had even turned down offer to teach a summer class.

Don was still frustrated. What did P vs. NP how to do with Mom? Why was it more important that seeing her? She was slipping farther away each day. Dad spent every free moment at the hospital.

Don went to work when he had to. But it was hard. He was the new guy on the block, and while he was no rookie, it was still hard getting used to the way the LA field office worked. Some days he found it hard to stay focused on work when he was the one holding things together at home and he tried desperate to not let it show among his fellow agents.

But cases were difficult to juggle around hospital visits, and he knew he could only get so much personal time before everyone started talking and asking questions. Still every night he managed to make it back to Mom's room, Chinese takeout for Dad and him, a small egg drop soup for Mom if she could manage to keep it down. They watched Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy, but something was still missing.

Charlie.

Charlie always rolled his eyes at the questions missed by Jeopardy players, and pointed out the different mathematical strategies a contestant could apply when making their wager in final Jeopardy. He'd also calculate the odds that a contestant would land on the Bankrupt space on Wheel of Fortune. Don, however, always guessed more correct letters. He wondered how Charlie could be a college professor when he thought "beneath" had three e's in it.

It was another night. Another time Don pulled into the driveway after visiting hours were over and saw the cracks of light coming from the garage. Dad sat in the front seat and his weariness resonated.

"She looked good today," he said as Don pulled the keys from the ignition.

"She did," Don agreed. And it was true. Mom was more aware today and seemed to be in less pain. She managed to get through a game of Scrabble and talked about what she'd read in the newspaper that morning. For a second, Don might have even been able to believe the doctor's were wrong and that she was getting better, but he knew that wasn't the case.

It was just too much to take.

"Your Aunt Eve is coming on Friday. Her flight gets in at 4:30. Could you--"

"I'll pick her up," Don promised. "It's late. We should..." Don eyes couldn't help shifting to the garage.

"Your mother isn't angry with him. Why should we waste our time yelling?" Dad reached for the door.

"Because he should be there. Family sticks together," Don insisted.

"Yes, they do," Dad agreed. "I can't say I understand your brother. I probably never will. But your mother made me promise not to harass him. She seems to know what he's doing. I don't know why the guilt isn't eating him alive. Because it's certainly affecting me."

Don didn't answer him. He heard his father open the door, watched him walk past the garage towards the house.

The guilt was affecting everyone.

Charlie needed to wake up to reality. Now.

Don pushed open the door, heard it slam behind him. The car keys jingling in his hand and he shoved them into his pocket.

He yanked the garage doors open.

Charlie didn't notice. Charlie, chalk in hand, stood in front of dozens of blackboards, entranced by the numbers and letters across them.

"Charlie. She's dying! She's in the fucking hospital and wasting away to nothing and you can't even tear yourself away from a stupid unsolvable math problem to visit?" He planted himself between Charlie and his precious chalkboard.

Charlie blinked, but stayed still. "I'm on the verge of a break-through. I need time."

Don saw red. "You don't have time! She's dying now." Before he even realized what he was doing, he grabbed Charlie by his shirt and turned him up against a board covered in his equations. The chalk fell from Charlie's hand and snapped. He heard the pieces roll and then stop, leaving only the sound of their breathing.

Charlie swallowed. "Don, you're hurting me."

Don immediately let go of him and stepped away, surprised at what had happened. He didn't expect such force from himself, yet he couldn't help thinking Charlie deserved it.

He noticed his hand was trembling slightly. He raised it, studying his fingers a moment, then he lowered it back to his side. "You need see her. She's our mother," he pleaded

"I need to finish this, first. I can't go if I can't finish this," Charlie answered, avoiding Don's eyes.

"Charlie, look at me." Don grabbed Charlie's chin and forced the brown eyes to focus on him.

"You need to," he insisted.

"I can't."

Don let go of him. What did he mean he couldn't? How could let her go without saying good-bye? How could he live with that?

"Don."

He turned. Dad was standing in the driveway.

"It's late," he said, his eyes pleading.

Don knew Dad was right. He shouldn't be wasting his time. Her time.

"It is," he agreed and walked away. As he closed the garage door, he saw Charlie bend down to pick up his fallen pieces of chalk.

It rained the day Mom died. The sky was completely gray and long after the monitors were quiet, the raindrops continued to pelt the windows, running down the panes and looking every bit like tears.

Don stood in the corner of the quiet hospital room and listened to the sounds of Aunt Eve comforting Dad.

Don watched the rain and wondered if miles away, still locked within the garage, Charlie even knew she was gone.

Really gone.

Then, and only then, did he cry.

When he pulled into the driveway, the garage door was open. Charlie was sitting in the middle of the concrete floor, staring into space.

Don shut off the car, and got out. He stopped into front of Charlie. Charlie peered up, his eyes sad.

"She's gone, isn't she?" he asked, his voice so soft that Don almost didn't hear it.

Don swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to contain his own emotions. "Yes," he finally said.

Charlie lowered his gaze and put his head in his hands.

A moment later, Don noticed that every single blackboard in the garage had been completely erased.

Dad couldn't pick out a dress. There were several spread out across the bed, each one connected to its own memory or story.

Don sat on the edge of the bed and touched the lace of one.

"She wore that one to services," Dad recalled. "When we went." He pointed towards a faded lilac one. "That one she wore the night of our thirtieth anniversary. How am I supposed to know which one is right?"

"Any one you pick is just fine, Dad," Don told him quietly. "She'd respect any choice you made."

Dad sighed. "Lilac it is. She never looked more beautiful on that night. You know, she wore a lilac dress on our first date."

"Your first date? Mom wore a lilac dress in the cafeteria at work?"

Dad smiled. "No. But that wasn't our first date. That was when I met her. And I found out she was actually dating someone in my office at the time. I'd almost given up, but I'd already took one look at her and knew I'd marry her and it never left my mind. So even though she was still dating Pete at the time, I asked her out."

"And she said yes, right?"

He shook his head. "No. She said she could never date two men at the same time."

"Oh. Well, than what happened?"

"Three days later she broke things off with Pete. Our first date was three days after that. We were married four years later. She was amazing." Dad picked up the dress and studied it.

"She was," Don agreed.

The funeral was hard. Sitting shiva was harder, especially since it had a long time since Don had ever been to services or followed tradition. Family came, cooked, and did the chores for a few days. Charlie left the garage, put on a tie, and looked more uncomfortable than Don had ever seen him look in his whole life.

Dad was coping as well as any could who'd lost his wife.

Don returned to his apartment for the first time in a week.

Despite the cold hard facts, it still didn't seem real. Mom had been in the hospital for so long that when Don didn't see her at the house he didn't think she was dead. He kept thinking she was at the hospital and that he could visit her later, after he'd watered her garden.

It was the first night that he sat down at the dining room table with Dad and Charlie for dinner that he knew it was real. Dad had made dinner, placed it on the table. The place settings were perfect and he even used the right potholders.

Yet the dinner was completely silent as each one of them looked across the table to the empty chair.

They ate quickly and Don cleared his dish as soon as he could. He was loading it into the dishwasher when he noticed Charlie standing in the doorway, his own plate in hand.

"She's really gone, isn't she?" Charlie said.

Don reached for his plate. "Yes, Charlie, she is."

Charlie was silent a moment. "Does that mean you're going to leave again?"

Don looked up from the dishwasher. It was such a simple question, but he wondered why Charlie was asking it. Yet, he knew. Even though Dad was the only he'd truly told, Charlie wasn't stupid. Naive and pig-headed, yes, but he did noticed some things. Whether or not he chose to acknowledge them was a different story.

Would he stay in Los Angeles? He'd moved here for Mom and had spent hours in a house he'd barely seen in years.

Charlie was waiting for his answer. He thought back to what Mom had told him years previous, and the conversation they'd had before her death. Charlie looked up to him. Charlie listened to him. Charlie was proud of him. Charlie needed his family.

If only Charlie had listened to him in the end, but Don knew, in a way he may never quite comprehend, Charlie had.

Don shook his head. "No. I think this is where I belong."

And he knew that somewhere, Mom was smiling at him.

He truly started work a week later, threw himself into the FBI, even got a partner and a team, bringing him back to the cases he loved, the years in Albuquerque prior to Fugitive Recovery, even prior to Kim. He expected long hours, but if they yielded good results, he didn't care.

What he didn't expect was to run into Terry Lake again. As his new partner, in fact.

He was sitting at his desk, his beat up CalSci coffee mug next to him, when he saw a finger tap his keyboard. He looked up.

Terry smiled. "Guess we run into each other again after all."

"Terry. What are you doing here?" He was genuinely surprised to see her.

"I work here. I've been working at this office the last three years. And apparently, for the last year, so have you. Or at least, you were part-time." She paused. "I'm sorry about your mom."

"How you'd know about my mom?"

"Office gossip."

"Right," he said. "I forget the FBI loves to spread personal information." He noticed a ring on her left hand. "So... how have you been? You're married?" He pointed to the ring.

She looked down and quickly slide the fingers of her other hand around the gold band. "Sort of. We're separated."

"I'm sorry. But separated is not divorced."

"True," she agreed. "But in all honesty, it probably won't be long. All we do is argue and that hardly constitutes a healthy relationship."

"Ah, and since you're the psychologist you'd know all about healthy relationships, right?" He grinned.

"Very funny," she replied. "What about you? I don't see a ring."

He shrugged. "Married to the job. We thought it better not to exchange rings."

Terry laughed. "I see your sense of humor hasn't changed."

"Was that a compliment or an insult?"

"I'll let you decide." She leaned against his desk. "So, if you've checked your email, I think you know why I'm here."

"We worked well together in the Academy."

"We were dating at the Academy," she pointed out.

"And all we did was think about work. You implying something, Terry?"

"No," she said. "Not at all. I think we'll be fine."

"Of course we will," he replied. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"You got a bird?"

Don stopped at the cage and watched Dad feed the creature through the bars. "You've been working on a case nonstop, finally get a chance to stop by, and the first words out of your mouth are 'you got a bird.' I had hoped 'hi Dad' might have been in there somewhere."

"Hi, Dad," Don replied. "So a bird?"

"I like birds," Dad defended. "Besides it's too quiet around here when Charlie's at school. I think she adds something, don't you?"

"Yeah, that you need to get out more. Retirement does not mean you need a bird. Go play more golf or volunteer downtown like you used to." Don poked a finger into the cage and drew it back where the bird's beak actually got close.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were implying I don't have a life. And don't tease her. It's just like the hamster all over again."

"Hey, that was Charlie's hamster and Charlie's calculations that convinced him he could fly. And I didn't do anything."

Dad shook his head. "Fine. I see the files on the dining room table. Something tells me you're not just here for dinner."

"Not originally... although what's for dinner?" Don backed away from the cage and started flipped through the folders he'd brought with him.

"Steak," Dad answered. "Shall I set you a place?"

Don mulled it over. "I could stay awhile."

"Of course," Dad said with a grin and left the bird to disappear into the kitchen. He returned with plates. "So you never bring work here. Security risk, I believe was your reasoning."

"It is. But I need a mathematical perspective before I head back to the office."

Dad raised his eyebrows. "Mathematical perspective? You're going to ask Charlie for help?"

Don shook his head. "Not help. Just perspective. It's a stock fraud case. I could use some numbers."

"I'm sure." Dad grinned. "You know, Charlie will be excited."

"Yeah, well, he better not get used to it. Math isn't everything."

"Right. Try saying that around your brother. But you remember how much you complained about Charlie getting into your things." Dad started laying out the plates. "You stayed in Los Angeles. It could happen again."

"One case, Dad. Charlie's world is numbers. We're as different as brothers can get, you have to admit that."

"In some ways, yes. But sometimes you and Charlie are more alike than you think."

"Uh huh," Don replied, rolling his eyes. No way. He and Charlie were part of two different worlds.

He and Charlie were part of two different worlds. At age three, Charlie could do Don's math homework and Don thought it was wonderful because all he wanted to do was play baseball.

Years later, Don's priority, his passion, had changed, and Charlie was still entwined in math, barely exploring the other opportunities the world had to offer.

Don had been there, and yet, here he was back in Los Angeles. Just like Charlie.

They did so many things differently and wound up in same place in the end. There had to be a reason.

Mom told him that Charlie listened to him; Dad said Charlie looked up to him. So when Don laid those things side by side, even considered all things Charlie did that he never understood and added his own jealously into the mix, he came to the same conclusion.

He missed his little brother. Missed looking out for him. Even missed Charlie putting his nose where it didn't belong.

It was all part of being the older brother.

Don checked his watch and climbed the stairs towards the math department. A slight detour to Larry's office had revealed that Charlie had office hours at one. It was a rare day in between time sensitive cases, and Don intended to try and have lunch with his younger brother.

He heard voices when he approached the door. Charlie was sitting with a pretty curly, dark-haired woman. Charlie was pointing to a text and she was nodding. Don figured she was a student and didn't want to intrude, but Charlie looked up and spotted him.

"Don," he said. "What are you doing here?" He appeared to be extremely surprised.

"It's lunchtime. I figured we could, you know, have lunch."

Charlie smiled. "Lunch is good. But don't you have a case?"

"Nothing that can't wait an hour. I needed to get out of the office." Don figured it sounded lame. "But you have a student. I can come back."

Charlie got up. "No. Amita and I were just finishing." He looked at her. "Right?"

She nodded. "Right. I'm going to run some more numbers before tomorrow." She closed the book and pushed it into her bag.

"Sounds good," Charlie told her as she walked out.

Don watched her leave. "She's a student?"

"A graduate student, yes. I'm her thesis advisor."

Don raised an eyebrow. "Thesis advisor, huh?"

"So not happening. It would get me fired. Besides, I thought you were here for lunch, not to play matchmaker like Dad."

"Dad is excessive, isn't he? Him and the quest for grandchildren."

"Yeah, well, I don't want pressure. I mean, you know me and..."

"The opposite sex? Don't worry it's not just you."

"You had problems?" Charlie asked in disbelief.

"Of course not," Don answered. "But I know other guys that have."

"Of course." Charlie shook his head. "So you really came all the way across town for lunch?"

"Yes. You're my brother, Charlie. Why it is so surprising that I'd want to have lunch with you?"

"It's not surprising, it's..." Charlie paused a moment. "I'm glad you came."

Don just smiled. "Me, too. Now, food?"

"Right. Let me lock up."

Don had been nine when his three-year-old brother could do his math homework.

He was thirty-five when he discovered that, between two brothers, such a thing shouldn't really matter.

The End