-

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.

--