"Upstairs or downstairs?" Alan asked his oldest son as he eased him through the front door. Don pointed to the sofa. "You want the couch?" A nod. "Donny, we discussed this. Can you please try to say couch?"

Don glared at him and shrugged out of his father's grip, almost doubling over in pain as his ribs screamed in protest. Alan slid his arms around his son again and eased him through the living room, depositing him on the sofa. An embarrassed Don gave a half-hearted wave of thanks.

"Don," Alan said firmly, waiting until his son met his eyes to continue. "Practice, okay? You need to practice speaking so you'll get better faster."

"Right," his son replied bitterly. "Happen not, not... same bad." Don stretched out on the couch, turning his back to his father and burying his face in the cushions.

Alan watched as his son's body tensed and his shoulders shook slightly. He knew Don was embarrassed and getting more and more discouraged and he was at a loss on how to get through to him. Sensing that Don might need some alone time now, the older man decided to give him some space. "I've got some yard work to do, Donny. I'll be outside if you need me, okay?" Don nodded against the couch cushions but made no other attempt to acknowledge his father's words.

Alan wearily made his way through the house, silently praying that the moment of privacy would help ease Don's anguish. Personally, he thought Don needed to be fussed over, but he knew his son would not react well to that in his current state. Yes, best to just let him be for now, Alan told himself. Maybe he'll feel better by the time Charlie gets back from his apartment with his things.

Once in the backyard, Alan surveyed the landscape and frowned at the mess the crime scene techs had left behind. He knew they'd had a job to do, but the devastation was almost complete. Grass was trampled and ripped up in places, and his flower garden looked like an unruly pile of dirt with an occasional colored petal poking through. Somehow, he thought he might feel better about the yard if they had actually caught the people responsible for Don's attack.

"Oh well," he sighed aloud. "At least it'll give me something to do."

Deciding his first course of action should be to salvage the flower bed, Alan moved to the tool shed to retrieve his rake and shovel. He reached through the shaded doorway, his hand automatically going to the spot where the tools hung from the wall. Alan frowned as his fingers came up empty. What the...?

He quickly poked his head into the cool interior of the shed and studied the wall. All of his tools were still there except the shovel. I wonder if Charlie used it and forgot to put it back? I gave him a big lecture the last time he did that, but maybe he wasn't listening. Alan grew angry as he considered the possibility that Charlie had been so careless again. The shovel had been Margaret's housewarming gift when they'd moved in and it was one of his prized possessions. "I want a flower garden to make the entire neighborhood jealous," she'd told him with a warm smile on her face. She'd always known about his 'inner gardener' and was thrilled that he would finally have somewhere to really express himself.

He smiled at the memory as he grabbed the rake. Might as well get started, he thought to himself. I can tear Charlie a new one when he gets home.

After an hour of backbreaking work, Alan heard Charlie's voice coming through the back door. "Out here!" he called.

His curly haired son materialized on the back steps, smiling as he took in his father's dirty appearance. "Trying to get things back to normal?"

"Key word – trying," Alan smiled tiredly. "They really did a number out here."

"I know. I think I'd feel better about it if they had-"

"Caught the people," Alan finished. "I was just thinking that earlier."

"So, Don's sacked out on the couch," Charlie told his father. "I think he's pretending to be asleep. Didn't answer when I whispered hello to him." The young man sank onto the back step, immediately scooting over as he recognized the rust-brown stain he'd sat on. "I'm worried about him, Dad."

"I am too, son. I tried to make him talk earlier and he pulled away from me as fast as he could. I want him to get better, but there's a fine line between pushing him forward and pushing him away."

"Exactly," Charlie nodded as his eyes drifted back to the horrible stain. "Need to clean the steps."

Alan followed his gaze and felt his chest tighten. "The pressure washer's in the shed. You want to get started on that?"

"Yes," Charlie quickly agreed, springing to his feet and trotting to the small building.

"Hey," Alan stopped him. "That reminds me – I thought I asked you to put my tools up if you used them."

"You did," Charlie replied.

"Really?" his father asked skeptically. "Then what did you do with my shovel? You know how important that is to me."

"I didn't do anything with it," the young man protested. "After learning what it meant to you, I went out and bought my own." He disappeared into the shed and popped out a minute later, holding up a new shovel. "See?"

"I see. Well… mine's missing," Alan told him.

"When's the last time you used it?"

"A couple of months ago. It started raining, so I put it up and came inside." Alan wracked his brain, trying to remember if he'd had any other occasion to use it.

"You think Don borrowed it?"

"He knows better," Alan stated. "And your brother doesn't exactly like to garden."

"He has a couple of plants at his apartment," Charlie pointed out.

"An air plant and a cactus," Alan told him. "Not exactly high maintenance." He turned his gaze to the shed and eyed the ground around the small building. Something caught his eye and his gaze trailed back to the steps. "Oh my God," he whispered, his knees threatening to buckle.

Charlie was at his side within seconds. "What is it?"

"Look at the grass, how it's flattened in a path straight toward..." Unable to finish speaking, he weakly pointed at the back door.

Charlie was silent as he tried to comprehend what his father was saying. "Wait – you think that was what they used to hit Don?" The younger man was horrified at the thought of his brother being struck in the head with something as potentially deadly as a shovel. "Oh, Don."

"We'd better let Megan know."

"She'll probably want a description."

"Right," Alan said as he returned the rake to the shed. "What about you?"

"Larry's packet of information finally came in today. I ran by and picked it up so I could go ahead and get started reading. I thought I'd sit with Don while I did in case he needs something."

"Good idea, Charlie." Alan knew Charlie was feeling as useless as he was about how to help Don and decided a quick pep talk was in order. He draped an arm around his son's shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze. "We'll get through this, you know. We're a tough family."

"I know," Charlie answered with a note of confidence in his voice that hadn't been there earlier. "Together we can do anything."

"Right," Alan assured him as he followed his son into the house. He cast one last look over his shoulder at the devastated backyard and thought about how well it symbolized its owners. It was once a beautiful, perfect thing and now it's in a complete state of chaos and disarray, just like our family. But, with a lot of love, hard work and patience, it'll be back to normal in no time – just like our family.

"Dad? Are you coming?"

"Right behind you, Charlie," Alan answered, his mind finally clear and ready to face the challenges ahead.

--

"Second delivery went as planned," Heavy Set man told his companion. "Not a hint of cops anywhere."

"Good," Skullcap responded. "I think it's time."

"Already?" the other man asked. "You sure?"

"Hey, who's the boss around here?" Skullcap demanded angrily.

"You are, man," Heavy Set answered. "But it's only been two shipments."

"Yeah, well if teacher-boy was on the case again, those two deliveries wouldn't have gone through, right?"

"Guess that's true."

"It is. My business, my call. You ain't forgetting that, are you?"

"Course not." Heavy Set pulled out a cell. "Call Marcus?"

"Yep," Skullcap said with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Tell him end of next week."

"Right."

"Yo, Rock?"

Heavy set man looked up from the phone. "What?"

"This is the big time, now." Skullcap flashed his trademark gold-toothed smile. "Time to become the most powerful gang in the city."

"Word," the other man grinned greedily.

--

"A shovel?" Megan repeated into the phone.

"It's gone," Alan told her again. "I think that may be what they used to hit Don."

"I'll put it in the report, but a common shovel isn't going to be all that useful."

"It's not common," he informed her. "Margaret gave it to me when we first moved into the house. There's a small plaque on the handle with an inscription engraved on it."

"Oh?" she asked, her interest piqued. "What does it say?"

"'To Alan, May our family flourish in the garden of our heart and home. Love, Margaret.'"

"That's beautiful," Megan said as she copied the words down.

"She was a wonderful woman," Alan replied wistfully.

"I can tell," she said. "Anyone who falls in love with you and has two fine sons must have been quite a woman."

"Thanks," he whispered.

"This information could be very important," Megan said, her professionalism taking over. "The fact that the shovel is an older model and it's personalized will make its discovery significant, if and when we find it."

"I hoped that would be the case."

"So," she quietly spoke. "How's Don doing now that he's at home?"

"Not much better, I'm afraid. He's still reluctant to speak at all. Doctor Mayfield warned us about the possibility of depression and I'm afraid that's what we're approaching at full speed." Alan let out a weary sigh. "We're letting him get settled for the next few days – working all of our schedules out – and then Don will be meeting with a speech therapist to hopefully get him back on track."

"If you need anything at all..."

"I know, Megan," Alan said warmly. "I appreciate the offer and I promise I'll let you know."

TBC