In the Search for Nathan Chase
by elfin


The lights were down low.  They'd switched on the television, found a baseball game in the hope that Charlie's brain would automatically pick up the simple math involved and work the calculations, keeping occupied.  He'd switched it off as soon as they'd put the remote down but continued to stare blankly at the dark grey screen from his self-hugging position on the sofa; knees bent, bare feet on the cushion in front of him, arms wrapped around his legs, almost but not quite rocking where he sat.

The small white slithers of tape on his face hid the couple of tiny butterfly sutures in his cheek and the other scratches covered to keep infection out.  They belied the amount of blood that had seemed to cover Don's hand as he'd held his brother tight to him while the world had exploded all around them, their only protection from flying debris the desks above them which had shifted and shaken but hadn't disintegrated like the rest of the building had appeared to do.

Don moved into the doorway from the kitchen.  "How's he doing?"  He was holding himself in much the same way his brother was doing, but he was physically hurting - a broken rib from an unfair fight.  In his own head at least he was fine though, coping a hell of a lot better than Charlie and so he should be doing.  He'd been trained for situations like the one they'd found themselves in.  

When no answer was forthcoming, he dragged his eyes from Charlie's partially catatonic pose and met his father's accusing stare.  "Dad…."  

"How do you expect he's doing, um?"  Alan's voice was low, the words no less powerful for being rasped out.  "I told you, didn't I?  He's not like you, but you expect him to survive in your environment.  You almost got him killed when you promised me he would be safe.  I would never choose between you, Donnie, you know that.  But you opted for this life, he didn't.  He's only doing it to impress you."

Raising one arm to press his fingers into his eyes, Don sighed softly.  "He's stronger than you give him credit for.  He was strong today."

"Does he look strong now to you?  Does he?"

He was saved from answering by the doorbell.  Terry and David he assumed, unless Larry had by some weird telepathy picked up on some unconscious, silent cries for help issuing forth into the ether from Charlie's miracle mind.  He went to let them in.
 

Alan gave them the kitchen, going to sit with Charlie, once again trying the baseball game in an attempt to get through to wherever he'd retreated.  Don wasn't at all sure a simple ball game was going to reach that far, that deep, but he left them to it for now and sat down at the breakfast table with the two agents he trusted most in the world.

Afterward the explosion, after getting them out, he'd stood in the dirt next to the ruins of the fabricated building, in the red and blue-hued darkness of the disused site on the outskirts of town, feeling like he was in some overtly patriotic nightclub, eyes unintentionally fixing on the sight of his younger brother hunched in the back of an ambulance, blanket around his trembling shoulders, looking more fragile than Don could ever remember seeing him.  Terry had tried getting the details of what had happened from him right there and then, just doing her job, but he'd been unable to think about anything but the danger he'd placed Charlie in - bright and vivid in his head; too raw, too close this time to just brush it aside.

"I need to get Charlie home," he'd declared, his tone assuring her that there was no alternative, that no argument would change his mind.  And she'd relented, of course she had.  She would grab David and be over to Charlie's place in an hour, she'd said.  It was just gone midnight now.  Don had made coffee and all three of them sat with the coloured mugs in front of them; orange, red and yellow - bright and cheerful in stark contrast to the blacks and greys of suits and shirts, the dark expressions on all their faces.

"How's he doing?" Terry asked, mimicking Don's earlier question to his father without knowing it.

Don didn't repeat Alan's answer.  "He's retreated into himself."

Terry knew them well enough.  "This isn’t his usual coping method."

"No.  He'd usually be in the garage, working on his unsolvable math problem, or at the university scrawling on blackboards, rubbing it all out, starting again…."  He let his voice trail off, unable to keep his eyes roaming to the open doorway into the lounge, just able to see his Dad talking softly to Charlie, able to see enough of his brother to know he wasn't responding; probably wasn't hearing him.  He sighed and tore his gaze away, looking first at Terry then at David.  Time to give his statement, time to tell the story on his and his brother's behalf.  Because if and when Charlie was questioned depended on how quickly he came back to them, and Don suspected that might take some time.


Terry and David both knew why he and Charlie had been outside Hatcher's so-called 'offices'; a dirty, white-walled fabrication in the middle of a long-abandoned industrial park in one of the roughest districts on the hem of L.A.  A large, uninviting, single storey building; mesh grilles in the filthy windows, time-worn graffiti covering the walls and door, looking for all the world as derelict as the larger warehouses and built-in office space surrounding it.

They'd been directed there by evidence in a case that had already gotten too personal, too close for Don's liking, even before they'd become so directly involved.  Nathan Chase, a world-renowned Crytographer, visiting CalSci for a series of lectures and workshops on cryptanalysis and unbreakable keys, had gone missing between his hotel and the institute two days ago.  He was an old friend of Charlie's from Princeton University; despite there being five years between them in age, when they'd first met Nathan hadn't believed Charlie telling him he was only fourteen years old and eventually their Dad had sent over Charlie's birth certificate to prove it.  Obvious problems such as Charlie being underage for the student haunts of cinemas, bars and pubs had been overcome swiftly with fake IDs and they'd become firm friends, keeping in touch when Charlie had returned to L.A. and Nathan had stayed on to do further study, to specialise, and to take up a teaching post at Princeton - quickly giving that up and starting to lecture, as Charlie tended to, when other commitments, other work, other thoughts allowed.

The night before he'd vanished, Chase had been over for dinner with the Eppes family, and Don had found himself standing back to witness a rare event: true happiness on his brother's face.  Chase's friendship and admiration for Charlie had been as obvious as Larry's love for him was day to day.

For the two days since his disappearance Charlie had been obsessed, chasing the evidence with more determination and drive than Don had ever seen him do anything, and where his baby brother was concerned that was really saying something.  The man had more passion than most of the people Don worked with all put together.  Teeth well and truly into the case, Don had had little choice but to follow his lead, and to his rapidly sinking heart and stomach, his lead had led to Bob Hatcher.  He knew Hatcher of old.  As soon as the name had come up he'd known immediately what had happened to Nathan Chase and why.  But he hadn't told Charlie and perhaps that had been his greatest mistake.

"It was quiet, when we arrived," he started, watching David start to take notes while Terry just listened - she would remember all the salient details without the aid of a pad and pen.  "There was no one around, I'd swear to it.  I told Charlie to stay where he was, drew my weapon and went around to the back of the building.  I walked all the way around, didn't see or hear anything.  But when I got back to the front there was this guy… around five-nine, short dark hair, dark eyes, slightly overweight, muscled like he used to work out but hadn't in a while.  Not that he was having any trouble with Charlie.  He was standing behind him, had one arm locked around his throat and a gun to the base of his neck," Don tapped the hollow between his own neck and shoulder, "just here.  Before I could react he was telling me to put my gun down on the ground and kick it away.  I did what he said and next thing I know this white van pulls up out of nowhere, the back bursts open and four men jump out."

It had all happened so fast.  Don's first instinct was to kill the guy manhandling his brother; no thought, no hesitation.  His first thought was that Charlie had no hostage training: there was no way to predict how he was going to react under this kind of pressure.  Actually, there probably was, but by the startled expression moving towards fear on Charlie's face he wasn't in any state to calculate it.

"They were all wearing ski masks.  Two of them grabbed Charlie from the first guy and started dragging him into the back of the van.  He was… struggling, I told him to stay calm but you know how he hates violence.  Remember that time he helped us out with those three who'd stolen that nuclear waste?"  

"He was fine.  He was impressive…."

Don nodded quickly, in total agreement.  "But the moment one of them kicked off he backed himself into a corner.  It scares him.  He was suddenly… a liability.  I asked them to take me instead although I knew - I thought I knew - if they were the same crew who'd taken Chase they'd have no interest in me."

"But they took you too."  Terry's voice was quiet, and Don supposed that was for Charlie's benefit rather than his own dubious sensitivities.

He nodded.  "Yeah.  The first guy vanished but the other two from the van were armed.  I was told to drop my cell phone, backup piece, radio, badge…."

"They knew you were an FBI agent?"

"They knew exactly who we were.  That's why they wanted Charlie, that's why they wanted me."  He'd dropped everything except his trousers, leaving his cell till last, flipping it open and pressing '1' then call as he dropped it into the dirt.  "They didn't check me, which was odd, just herded me into the back of the van where they had Charlie on his knees on the floor, one man either side, sitting up on benches, gun still pressed into his neck, his hands on his head.  I swear… I've never seen him looking so scared in all his life, but I don't think it was for him.  I think he thought they where there for me and he was the bargaining chip.  I wished then I'd told him about Hatcher but I hadn't, because I'd been hoping to find Chase alive."  

He tiredly dropped his head into his hands, the adrenaline was leaving his system, morphine, the exhaustion of three consecutive 5 am starts and the high stress of the night finally threatening to catch up with him.  Standing, he poured himself another mug of coffee from the pot and offered it to the other two, getting shaken heads in response.  He sat down again, drinking it black.

"As soon as they grabbed Charlie I knew that wasn't going to happen.  I just didn't expect…."  He took a deep breath, eyes rising to rest on the inert form of his brother; still staring at the muted television, their father still talking away to him, rubbing his arm, stroking his hair in a way that was always a comfort when he'd been a young boy.  "Sorry."  He was starting to recognise in himself that very thing which privately irritated him about interviewing witnesses of stressful or tragic events at or close to the scene - the shock that took away their ability to focus on the facts, on what had actually happened or what they'd really seen.  Of course it was the best time, before their imaginations filled in the true blanks and painted fantasy over reality because it was often too terrible to remember how things had honestly played out.  But they were traumatised, they lacked concentration.  He'd never thought he would be the same.

"They had me kneel down facing Charlie - didn't say anything to either of us at that stage but the slammed the van doors behind me and we drove away at high speed, I could feel the van lose traction on the dirt for a second, it veered and Charlie almost toppled forward.  He put his hands out to break his fall and the two guys flanking him grabbed his wrists so hard he cried out and I thought they'd broken bones.  The guy to my left shouted at them not to harm 'anything important' so the guy to his left aimed his gun down at Charlie's knee and all four of them laughed.  He looked over at me just for a second then away, like he was sorry or ashamed or something."  His focus was slipping again, but neither Terry nor David was calling him on it.

Instead, she asked gently, "Where did they take you?"

"Around in a circle - or more a square.  We both clocked it.  They took a lot of twists and turns but we ended up back where we started, around the back of the building, after about ten minutes.  They bundled us both out of the van and into the place so fast I doubt they were expecting us to know where we were.  We were pushed along a corridor and into the main, open plan space.  And that's when I saw him."


Up until that moment he'd been splitting his thoughts between keeping Charlie alive and getting them both out of there in one piece.  The corridor from the back door led through into what had apparently once been office space.  Cubicles lined the far wall, each big enough to house two desks but all of them empty now.  To their right desks had been stacked one on top of the other, the higher ones blocking the windows although he doubted if the accumulation of dust and dirt allowed any visibility through the wire-meshed glass. Light was coming from four bare light bulbs hanging in a square pattern from the ceiling.  In the open space there was a 'T' shape of desks, 3 up, four across, with a few uncomfortable wooden chairs scattered around.  On one of the desks sat an open laptop, a chair in front of it, the guy that had first grabbed Charlie standing guard over it.

Don saw the blood on the LCD screen before he saw the body.  Nathan Chase had been shot through the head and dumped in one corner of the room, the vivid red of his dried blood on the stained and dirty flooring in stark contrast to the dull grey of the fixtures and fittings.  He heard Charlie's groan of pain and for a moment thought he'd been assaulted, even though he'd taken the harsh treatment so far with stoic silence Don could only hope was coming from a determination not to show weakness in front of his older brother and not a slow retreat into himself.

"No, Charlie…."

It was pointless.  Charlie had broken away from the two men at his arms to flee only as far as Chase' s lifeless form.  He stood still, heart aching for his little brother as he watched Charlie's hands press uselessly against his dead friend's throat - pointlessly searching for a pulse - before sweeping over his chest and stomach and coming away covered in blood.  It took Don a moment to get it - he'd been shot more than once - and he recalled their threat in the van to shoot Charlie in the knee if he didn't co-operate.

They needed his mind, needed him alive to do whatever it was that Chase had been unable or unwilling to do.

Charlie's two goons grabbed Charlie by the arms and hoisted him to his feet.  He put up no resistance, just asked them why they'd killed his friend, a question to which he got a full and frank answer.

"He didn't do what he was told and he couldn't think straight with bullets in his legs and stomach.  Think you can?"

Charlie's head swivelled as he was dragged to the chair in front of the laptop and deposited.  Don let his brother's wide-eyed gaze lock with his own and realised the idea that he was the intended target here and his big brother was the bonus was only just starting to penetrate the usually lightening-fast brain.

The same guy pointed to the laptop with his gun.  "Your predecessor there was supposed to decrypt that information for us, which he did before re-encrypting it.  That earned him a bullet in the head.  Don't make the same mistake.  And don't think about stalling."

"I don't function well with bullet holes either."  Despite the tremulous tone of his voice Don felt a bright spark of pride of his brother.  It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling.

"Don't you worry about that.  It isn't you we'll be putting the bullets into."

Only then did Don see panic brighten Charlie's eyes.  "It's okay, Charlie, just do what they ask."

"But… I'm not a Crytographer."

"You can do this."

"Shut up!"  Don was rewarded by a blow to the head, sharp and painful but once his vision had cleared he didn't feel any lasting damage.  "He's right.  You can do it.  You have to do it.  Your brother's life depends on it."


"He was so scared.  I sat there as they tied my hands behind my back and watched his hands shaking above the keyboard, watching him try to think through his fear, and I kept… blaming myself for bringing him in on any of this.  I know he loves working with me, and I feel guilty about that too.  I mean, how starved of his brother's love does he have to be to… to need to risk his life just to spend some time with me?  How bad a brother am I?  Dad was right - I put him at risk.  I put him into situations he isn't trained for."

Don once again glanced through into the lounge and felt a sudden surge of love for his brother it took his breath away just for a moment.

"Don…."

He breathed in deeply and pulled his eyes away.  "Sorry.  I'm sorry."

"Don't be.  So… they held you and Charlie at gunpoint while he worked?"

"Yeah.  But he was getting frustrated.  He doesn't work on a laptop, he didn't even own a laptop until I bought him one a couple of Christmas' ago.  He likes to scrawl on paper or on a board.  He thinks out loud with his hands, he needs to see his working, to go over it in his mind so he can spot mistakes.  At one stage he pushed his chair back, he was just moving, just thinking… one guy yelled at him, asked him if he was trying to get his brother hurt.  They hit me again and Charlie just looked horrified, like he'd been the one to punch me.  Didn't help my lip split and bled.  He hates the sight of blood, especially my blood.  But he tried to keep it together.  He told them he couldn't work like that, asked it he could have a pen, so he could scribble on the desks or the walls I guess….  The guy with the gun on him just yelled at him again and the guy next to me put his weapon to my shoulder and took off the safety.  I thought he was gonna shoot me, set an example to Charlie… Charlie did too apparently, pulled it together, promised them he was making progress and that he could do it he just needed a little more time.  Saved me from getting a bullet through my shoulder."

"Didn't save you from a broken rib."

"It wasn't his fault!  He's not a Cryptographer!"

Terry lifted her hands.  "Hey, hey… I wasn't blaming him, believe me."

"Why did they hurt you?"  It was the first time David had spoken since they'd arrived.

Don rubbed his face.  "Charlie might have given them the impression he was making progress but in reality he wasn't.  He can't work like that, and according to what he's told me in the past it takes a long time to de-crypt… anything complex.  They got impatient, started to hurry him.  When he told him he was working as quickly as he was able, my guy kicked me a couple of times, broke a rib.  No biggie but I took my time getting my breath back so it didn't hurt like hell and by that time Charlie was losing it, close to real panic."


He couldn't work under these conditions, Don understood that.  But they were getting really antsy.

"Finish it or your brother dies!"  He watched the butt of a gun raised to strike Charlie's head, heard one of the other guys yell out no to hurt him, felt the hard, sharp metal of the gun jabbed into the side of his own head and watched the terror and despair increase ten fold on Charlie's face.

"Charlie," the gun was stabbed into his skull and he flinched but didn't quit, " just do it, okay?  It'll be all right."

But inside he knew it was too late, the signs of Charlie's agitated state were all too clear; the clawing of his hands, fingers dragging through his tight curls, down his face leaving red scratch marks and white chalk lines.  He was beyond reason like this.

Don strained against the bonds holding him to twist to look at the guy to his right.  "Listen.  He's going to pieces.  He can't work like this."

"Shut up."

"Which is more important to you?  Killing me or getting your answer?"

They appeared to think about that, then the three guys waiting in the wings nodded at the two with them and his hands were released roughly, blood flowing back into his fingers, the slight discomfort nothing compared to the broken rib.  When he stood up he did it gingerly, breathing carefully, and when he crouched next to Charlie's knee he was just as careful.  "It's okay, Charlie.  It's gonna be okay, just… take a couple of deep breaths, okay, buddy?  Come on, just relax, just…."

He didn't get any further.  The walls exploded inwards.


"We found your cell phone," Terry explained, "we saw the tyre tracks but we decided to take the building just in case.  We had no idea it was booby-trapped."


He followed his first instinct, grabbing Charlie and diving under the desks dragging his terrified brother with him.  The explosions were momentarily deafening, showering the room with debris; glass, metal and wood.  Don wrapped Charlie in his arms, holding him tight to him, sheltering him as best he could, putting one hand to his cheek and feeling splinters and blood.

His own ears were ringing, his chest protesting the rough treatment and the heavy weight pressed against it, but right at that moment Don didn't care.  He had to keep Charlie alive.  He had absolutely no idea what had just happened but the problem had unexpectedly, suddenly changed.  He momentarily found himself inside Charlie's mind.

His brother was trembling against him while the building rained down on itself.  For the first time in as long as he could remember he had no idea what to do so he sat there, being Charlie's anchor and shelter, until he heard the blessed tones of David Sinclair.  "FBI!  Everyone put your weapons down and come out slowly with your hands on your heads."

The falling debris was starting to ease up.  Looking around them he could see the lifeless hand of one of their assailants, the body under several inches of plywood, but nothing of the other four.  Carefully he eased Charlie away from him.

"Come on, buddy, let’s get outta here."  It was a case of manoeuvring them both out from under the desks, getting them both across the minefield of debris and out into open darkness - how long had they been in there? - without getting shot.

As soon as they were spotted in the settling dust Sinclair was yelling at them to get their hands on their heads.

"Don't shoot!  Agent Eppes!  Don't shoot…."

"Don…."  The relief in Terry's voice was palpable.  "Oh, God… Charlie."

They were quickly herded out of danger, away from the ruin and the aim of firearms.  Reluctant to give up the physical contact with his brother, Don kept an arm around his waist to stabilise Charlie and balance himself.  

"Ambulance is on its way," they were told and Don nodded, taking Charlie over to the steps of a nearby office and sitting them both down slowly and carefully.  As soon as the idea of being safe had chance to settle in Charlie's mind he was turning, looking up at Don with dust-filled, reddened and watering eyes.

"I'm so sorry."  His voice sounded like he'd inhaled half the building as it fell.

Don forced himself to drop his hand from his brother's shoulder, instead stroking it down his back, feeling the tremors still driving through the slim, narrow frame.

"You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.  You were great, Charlie, and I'm proud of you."

"I lost it… I panicked, Donnie."

"No, you didn't.  You didn't.  You held it together when you needed to.  You did good."  Without thinking, he pressed his lips to Charlie's hair.  "You did so good.  And we're both alive, thanks to you."

He watched his team arrest three of the men, dragging them out of the wreckage covered in debris, couldn't bring himself to move though, to leave Charlie alone on the step.  If he'd walked off and turned around, the sight alone might have broken his heart completely.  So he sat until two ambulances turned up, led his brother over to one of them, let them tape up his ribs while he watched a fourth man being hauled out of the ruins on a stretcher.  Only when Charlie was safe in the hands of a medic tending to his face, warm in the back of the ambulance with a blanket around his shoulders, did Don feel able to join his team for a couple of minutes.  And even then he couldn't help but look back over his shoulder every thirty seconds.


"Listen, guys, it's late and I need to get Charlie to get some sleep before I can get some myself…."  Terry and David nodded and stood in unison.  "See you in the morning, yeah?  Not too early."

"You could take the day off, you know," Don was about to protest when Terry added, "to take care of Charlie, make sure he's gonna be okay."

"I'll see how it goes.  Thanks."

He watched them drive away from the house until the tail lights vanished around the corner.  Then he closed and locked the door and wondered quietly into the lounge.  Charlie was still in the same place, the same pose.  Alan looked up, saw him standing there and got to his feet, shooing him back into the kitchen.  

"He's retreated into himself.  It's been a long time since he's done this.  You know, the last time…."

He didn't have to finish.  Don knew.  "Let me try, okay?  Get some rest, Dad."  Alan hesitated, and he thought another lecture was coming, but instead his father just nodded and headed for the stairs.  It was such a surprise that he couldn't let it go.  "Dad... I took care of him as best I could."

The older man shrugged.  "I'm certain you're beating yourself up enough, Donnie.  You don't need me to add to it."

Don nodded.  "Goodnight, Dad."


He sat down on the sofa next to Charlie.  The baseball was still on - an old game from the previous season - he couldn't tell for sure whether his brother was watching or not, but at a guess he'd say he wasn't.  

"I know what this is."  He spoke quietly, no amount of yelling or screaming would pull Charlie from this - he knew that of old.  "This isn't because you were scared, isn't because you panicked.  This is because you think you're to blame for me getting hurt.  And you know, you're not.  I'm an FBI agent.  I knew the risks and the dangers when I signed up and I still signed up because it was what I wanted.  I'm blaming myself for you getting hurt today, but I know neither of us are to blame.  The fault lies with Hatcher and his guys, with those who took us and murdered Nathan.  And I know it'll be a while before you're able to grasp that with the same certainty that I do but I will make you believe it eventually.  I won't let you tear yourself apart over this.  I won't let you tear us apart over this."

Resting his hand around the nape of Charlie's neck, the tight curls tickling his skin, he squeezed gently before easing it down his back, pressing gently but firmly.  "I'm here for you, I just want you to know that, to be sure of it.  Okay?"  He nodded for the both of them before standing up and turning to kneel on the carpet next to Charlie's knee.  He pushed the fingers of one hand between Charlie's clasped palms and held on as reached up to comb through the black hair much he'd watched their Dad doing earlier.

"Get some rest now, okay?"  Moving his hand to one shoulder, he eased his brother down on to his side across the sofa, tucking a cushion under his head, turning his legs, settling at his head and keeping up the gentle, rhythmic stroking of his hair until Charlie's unfocused eyes finally dropped closed, continuing until his breathing evened out.  Only when his rib started to protest through the morphine did he rise.  He collected Charlie's duvet from his room and draped it over him before switching out the light and going to bed.  Sure, it would take some time to get through this, but he had faith in his brother, he always had.  And he had faith in himself.  Together they'd work it like, just like everything else.


fin

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