Notes: "Uncertainty Principle" is one of the eppesodes I can almost quote by heart. There might be more missing scenes coming up at some point, but this one wanted to be written first.

The Weight Of The World
by Jules

Don's mind was swirling as he marched back to the house, leaving Charlie and his misplaced guilt behind, while his own emotions were still hovering too close to the surface. It was getting harder to keep it all contained, he'd nearly slipped just now, almost telling Charlie how hard this really was for him.

The door snapped shut with more force than he'd intended and he almost winced. Almost. He had to get out of here. He almost made it to the front door until his father blocked his way.

Don threw a look over his shoulder at Terry, who was still standing by the bay windows, a coffee cup held in her hands, watching Charlie puttering around the koi pond. Not exactly ignoring him, but not looking at him either. He'd felt her glances on him since yesterday, but she hadn't said anything yet. She didn't have to, it was clearly visible in her eyes.

His father had moved nearer, one hand reaching out, palm upwards. They'd probably both had seen his outburst, maybe even heard his words.

"I'm gonna go for a walk," he stated, eyes straight ahead.

Alan sighed and moved another step nearer, his upturned hand still hovering between them while the other one found Don's upper arm in a surprisingly soft grip. "Donnie..."

And all Don wanted to do was smash something into little pieces.

He couldn't look at his father if his life depended on it.

"I'm gonna go for a walk," he repeated, "Clear my head."

"I'll wait here." Terry finally had turned around.

"No. Go back to the office." Blindly, he reached into his pocket and held out his car keys to her, waited until she hesitantly took them.

And with that, he pulled his arm free of his father's light grip and walked out.

--00--

He had been still at the site of the shooting when it had caught up with him the first time. When the paramedic had checked out his arm and it suddenly felt so good to sit down because his knees felt like jelly and the ringing in his ears became more than just a reaction to the bomb concussion.

He'd propped his head on his other hand, trying to concentrate on the throbbing in his arm and waited for the dizziness to pass, but it didn't. It just didn't, because it wasn't a shock that wore off quickly.

An agent under his command was dead. McKnight, of all of them. Just turned 27 two months ago. Just transferred from Denver. Matt, with the easy going nature and the sharp instincts. Matt, who always beat them at poker. He'd been a great agent. And now he was dead.

Before that turmoil had a chance to transform into something he really couldn't stop anymore, Charlie had suddenly appeared beside him, with that completely shell-shocked expression on his face, Terry right behind him and he'd snapped back into the present, focused on what had to be done, ignoring Terry's worried looks.

And when he'd gotten up and stretched and rolled his bruised joints and felt gravity pull at him the right way again, he'd just pushed it down, out of the way. A trick that worked almost every time.

But it had caught up with him again, when they were back at the office a couple of hours later, he and David and Terry, talking about the case. It had virtually crashed into him that time, because he was forced to deal with it. He had to go see Matt's parents later that day, had to inform them about the details of their son's demise and express his condolences in the name of the whole bureau. As a team leader, it was his duty.

And it wasn't the task itself that had suddenly terrified him. It was the sickening feeling of guilt that he couldn't get out of his mind. Had he been at the wrong bank? Would it have made a difference if he'd been at the Central LA Savings Bank with them? And most importantly, should he have anticipated that the bank robbers might return with that much firepower? Could Matt still be alive if he'd done anything differently?

So many questions and not enough answers.

He'd taken a moment that time to let the anguish and doubts wash over him, propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands, waiting for the flood of emotions to taper off. Terry and David both had stayed silent, but the worried looks he felt from them spoke louder than any words could have.

And he'd pulled himself together again, forced himself to focus. He was in charge, he had to be in charge. Had to function. Had to fulfill expectations. He could do that. He always could.

And he could. He could take the lead again.

He'd made it through the day, investigating, collecting leads and information, doing his job. He even made it through the evening, driving out to the airport to meet up with Matt's parents. Remembered to stay professional. Remembered to keep his jacket on so they wouldn't see his blood-splattered shirt that he still wore because the day had been so hectic that he'd never had a chance to spend a thought on changing. By the time he'd left their hotel, the throbbing in his arm had almost grown out of proportion.

While it was late and all he really wanted to do was go home, crash on his bed and try to forget the gory details of the day and gather strength to face the next, he really had to talk to Charlie, needed his help to catch those bastards. Only Charlie wasn't talking to him. Charlie was in hiding and all he had to offer were naked facts and an unhealthy dose of self-doubts that only mirrored his own.

And he'd envied him, oh, had he envied him in that moment in the garage. For that hiding place. For the ability and the chance to simply jump off the train and let life pass by him for a while. It seemed so easy for him to just ignore what was happening around him. Don had been standing there, watching Charlie being busy with his equations, and all he really wanted to do was sink to the floor and declare defeat. But he couldn't. Hiding was the prerogative of the math genius, not his.

And he'd gone home, had taken a couple of Tylenol to make his arm stop hurting and fallen asleep in front of the TV. Only to wake up even more cramped and hurting the next morning.

As the day had gone on, he'd become more and more frustrated because nothing seemed to pan out the way he wanted to. His last lifeline, the only chance he saw to catch the bank robbers was Charlie. And even that last attempt, in which he'd done everything but pound common sense into his brother, had failed miserably. He'd even gone as far as begging his little brother for help and all Charlie had done was looking at him and repeating over and over again that he couldn't.

It hurt to admit it, but he felt like he was at the end of his rope.

Walking away from his father's house, Don wasn't sure at all where he was headed. All he knew was that he needed space to breathe.

--00--

Alan tried to concentrate on his crossword puzzle, but his thoughts strayed over and over again, until he put the newspaper clipping aside and stared out of the window.

Charlie had retreated upstairs to his bedroom after their little talk. He didn't know how successful he'd been to calm some of his younger son's anguish, but he did seem a little more at ease. Well, time would only tell. And at the moment, Charlie wasn't the son Alan was really worried about.

While Charlie still was working through all those emotions the loss of his mother had poured upon him, Don had always been the one to shut emotions out, to concentrate on what had to be done and dealing with everything else in private. Alan knew that his parenting, or maybe his lack of, surely was partly responsible for that. Don had to learn to look after himself too early while their main focus had been on Charlie and as parents, they should've been there for him more than they were. Alan tried to remember, but he couldn't even tell if Don had cried at all after his mother's death.

Don's rather sudden exit earlier in the day hadn't only surprised him. Terry had seemed just as worried as he'd been as they both stared after Don. She obviously had strong feelings for him and Alan wondered, not for the first time, if there had ever been anything more between those two than he knew.

He'd fought with himself for a little while and finally gave in and tried to reach Don, but only got the voice mail on both his landline and cell. That left him feeling uneasy. He could still be back at the office, working. He could have called it an early night and turned off his phones. No, Don never would have turned off his cell.

But then, Don was a grown man and there wasn't that much he could do.

As much as both his sons resembled one parent in their appearance, Don having inherited his mother's looks and Charlie being almost the spitting image of a younger Alan, they were quite the opposite in their personalities. And knowing that, he couldn't help but worry about his oldest. The way he was bottling up his emotions definitely wasn't good. He had recollections of times from his own past, times he wasn't so proud of in hindsight. Times in which he could have needed a helping hand and probably never would have accepted it. And Don probably wouldn't accept it either.

Then, the phone rang and broke into his thoughts.

--00--

Don could feel the bark of the tree he was leaning against through his shirt. He wasn't sure where his jacket was, he probably left it back at his father's house earlier when he walked out. He shivered slightly in the cool night air and pulled his legs up.

His arms and shoulders were hurting fiercely, muscles cramping after hours of abuse, and he would probably feel it tomorrow and maybe even the day after. But at last, his head was free, at least mostly. Now he only had to muster the energy to get up and go home. Take a shower. Sleep.

He leaned his head against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. In a minute, he would do all that.

It was funny how he would always gravitate back to this place. Not exactly this place, he'd had others over time, back east during training and in Albuquerque as well. But whenever he needed to think, or rather, not to think, the batting cages were the best place to go. It always worked like a charm to exert himself hitting balls. But he hadn't been back here for some time. The last time had been after the funeral...

No, better not go there now.

The soft sound of tires was coming nearer and when Don opened his eyes, he was only slightly surprised that he recognized the car driving up. A sense of déja vu washed over him. The car stopped on the other side of the street, right across from where he was sitting.

"Need a ride?"

Don rubbed a hand over his face. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"Pete Chorley phoned me. Said you were trying to wreck the place."

Don chuckled tiredly. "I wasn't wrecking it. Pete knows that."

"Whatever. Get in here, you're going to catch a cold sitting around like that."

Don smiled and got to his feet. Parental logic was hard to beat. And a car seat a lot more comfortable than the lawn in front of a sports center.

They rode in silence, but Don could feel the sideways glances his father was throwing him periodically. He would never admit to it, but it felt good. It would always feel good to be scrutinized by his father, even when he didn't like it. It had felt good every time his father had collected him from Chorley's in his youth, when he'd walked out after a fight to go there and bat the anger out of his body. They'd never talked about what had happened then and Don didn't feel they needed to talk about it now. That very well might have been the evasive part of him speaking, but to him it felt like a mutual understanding between them.

When they reached his apartment complex, Don was surprised when his father turned off the engine and looked at him.

"You know, when I started to work for the city, there was a bad accident at one of the construction sites I was responsible for..."

"Dad..."

Alan raised a hand. "No, let me finish. Three workers were seriously injured, one of them never recovered fully. It was later ruled an accident, but for the longest time, I tormented myself over it. Had I done everything right, had I regarded every safety aspect prior to the accident. I felt responsible for it and for those long weeks in which I couldn't let my doubts subside, I wasn't the easiest person to get along with. Your mother, she got mad at me at some point."

Don smiled, but the memories rising to the surface clawed at his heart. "It's okay, Dad."

Alan toyed with his key chain before he continued. "What I'm trying to say, Donnie... the weight of the world is a heavy load to carry around, for any man. It can crush you pretty fast if you try to shoulder it alone."

Don stared out the window, his eyes burning. "Thank you. For the ride. And..." He had to swallow.

Alan nodded. "You're welcome. Go get some sleep."

Don fingered for the door handle without looking. "You too."

He got out of the car and walked away without looking back. But he felt his father's eyes following him all the way. And he hoped he always would.

-The End-