Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs. I am making absolutely no money on this. They belong to Cheryl, Nick and any other designated right holders.
Don walked through the door of his brother's craftsman house. It used to be the family home and in a sense it still was, although Charlie owned it. He still treated it like he always had.
He took he jacket off, hung it on the coat rack by the door. The gun, he put in the drawer. He then turned to walk over to the the round table in the foyer. He tossed his keys on the table like he always did when he came over.
Don was tired; he had a look that was not his average "I'm tire" look. This time he looked like a man who had the weight of the world on his shoulders. This was not Don; this was a man in a "Don" shell. This man put his hands on the table, as if to keep himself upright. This man just kept breathing in and out, in and out, in and out.
Don heard his dad call out, "Donnie, is that you?" as Alan walked through the kitchen door.
Alan stopped short. His hands went up to his face. Fear was evident on his countenance.
Don look up. "Don't worry Dad. It's not mine. Can I borrow a shirt? I have to get back to work."
Alan absently nodded at Don, all the while his eyes glued to the blood covered shirt Don was wearing.