"Donny?" Alan called as he finished putting away the groceries. He looked through the house, coming up empty, and checked outside. He found his oldest son standing just outside the back door, staring intently at the rust colored stain that covered the steps. Cursing himself for not making sure that he or Charlie had washed away the dried blood, Alan gently asked, "Donny, are you okay?"

"Hard," Don whispered. "Memory bad."

"Oh," Alan replied softly as he moved to stand beside his son. "Right."

"Agent should memory."

"Remember," Alan gently corrected him.

"Re…member. Right." Don's shoulders sagged and he wearily looked up at his father. "Maybe not agent?"

"What?" Alan exclaimed. "You're the best FBI agent this state – no, this country – has ever been blessed with."

"No," Don shook his head vehemently. "Not best… no remember."

"Come with me," the older man said, gripping his son's elbow and guiding him through the yard to the old swing he'd given Margaret for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. He carefully helped Don get settled and then lowered himself beside him. "Donny, you were hurt – a head injury. You've seen enough in your line of work to know that head injuries cause short term memory loss."

Don gave a non-committal shrug.

Alan slipped an arm around the younger man's shoulders and intently studied his face. "So, what's really bothering you?"

"Not talk about."

"I think you should," Alan told him. "You'd be surprised how much that will help."

"Doubt," Don snorted in disgust.

His father gently gripped Don's chin and turned his face so that they're eyes met. "Just try it, Donny. For me?"

"Not better," Don sighed wearily. "Ten… four… weeks?" He silently pleaded with his father to give him the correct number.

"Almost two weeks since the attack," Alan answered.

"And not remember." Alan started to speak, but Don quickly shook his head. "No… wrong said. Remember not yes. But talk better now." He closed his eyes and concentrated. "Should talk better now."

"But your speaking has improved," Alan argued. "Before you could hardly come up with the right word and now you do most of the time. The occasional word still escapes you, but that's getting better, too. The only thing you have left to really work on is getting your words in the right order and then your sentences will get better and more complex." Alan patted his cheek affectionately. "You'll be good as new then."

"Should already."

Alan sighed and let his hand slip back to his son's shoulder. "Patience, Donny. I know that's a four-letter word to you, but you have to be patient."

"Hard," Don protested. "Too hard."

"I know it's hard, but that's why Charlie and I are here – to do whatever we can to support you. And you know how we do that?" He gently prodded Don's shoulder until he shrugged. "By listening to you – to what you're thinking and feeling. It helps you unload your burden, while at the same time giving us something to help you practice your speaking. But that means you do actually have to talk to us, okay?"

Don nodded and gave his father a small smile. He slowly turned away from his father and let his gaze roam around the back yard, finally coming to rest on the flower garden. He lifted a hand and pointed. "Fixed it."

"I did," Alan nodded as he remembered his earlier thoughts. Deciding perhaps this was another lesson he could impart to his son, he quietly added, "It doesn't look as good as it did before. Some of the flowers are wilting and their colors aren't as bright, but I replanted them anyway. Know why?"

Don looked back at his father, his eyes dancing in wonder. "Grow back?"

"That's right. With patience, a little hard work and a lot of love they'll be good as new in no time."

Don's face lit up and he patted his father's arm. "Understand, Dad."

Neither man spoke, but both of them realized the significance of Don's last word – it was the first time since the attack that he had correctly identified his father as 'Dad'.

--

"This is the place," Colby muttered as he and David pulled into a driveway three houses down from Randy Wilcox's residence. He clicked on his radio and called, "Hines, Patterson – you two in place?"

"Roger," Hines answered. "We've got the back entrance covered."

"Hold tight while we knock and announce, but be ready for him to bust through the back door. Remember, this guy is probably armed and definitely dangerous."

"Copy."

"You ready to do this?" Colby asked David.

"Get Don's attacker? You bet your sweet-"

"Wait!" Colby cut him off. "That's Wilcox, isn't it?"

David looked toward the house and saw a skinny man matching Wilcox's description heading across the front lawn. "That's him, alright."

"Hines," Colby radioed. "Change of plans. The kid's left the house, walking down the street away from our location. Can you circle the block and head him off?"

"We're on it," the agent radioed back.

"Follow in the car or do you want to hoof it?" David asked.

"You know he'll run – they always do." He gave a melodramatic sigh and unfastened his seat belt. "I'll go on foot and you keep close behind me." Colby slipped out of the door and started a casual stroll down the sidewalk. Well… he tried to look casual, but the truth was any white man in a suit was going to stand out in this neighborhood. He nodded amicably at an elderly man in a rocking chair as he passed in front of his yard.

"Lookee here," the old man laughed humorlessly. "If it ain't the po-lice."

"Protecting and serving, sir," Colby said as quietly and politely as he could.

"Right," he cackled. "Hey, Wilcox!"

The yell was loud enough to catch the young man's attention, and he looked around over his shoulder. His eyes landed on Colby at the same time the old man yelled, "Cops!"

Wilcox took off in a dead sprint, his skullcap slipping from his head. Colby paused only for a second to glare at the old man before taking off after his prey. "FBI!" he yelled as he sprinted after the young man. He could hear the SUV's engine gunning behind him and soon David was flying past him after the suspect. He was just about to reach him when Wilcox ducked off into a hidden alleyway. Too small to fit the vehicle through, Colby watched as David jumped out and took off after the young man. He had just reached the alley, too, when he saw the other FBI vehicle come to a halt next to David's.

"Alley!" he called. "Cut off the other side!"

Hines obediently backed up and sped down the street, tires screeching as he took the turn. Colby turned into the alley, frowning as he saw David walking back toward him. "Where is he?"

"Lost him," David said in disgust. "Little punk had a getaway car hidden by the dumpster. Got in and going before I could catch up to him."

"Plate?" Colby asked.

"None. Blue or black four door sedan," David told him. "I think it was a Ford. Throwaway car, so I wouldn't expect an APB to do any good."

"You're probably right," Colby sighed as he watched Hines and Patterson's car slowly driving up the alley. "But I'll put one out anyway."

"I identified myself as a Federal agent," David related. "Should have shot him in the butt when he didn't stop."

"We'll get him," Colby promised. "Let's get that APB out and start scanning the streets around here."

--

"'Bout time you got here," Wilcox snapped. "You forget what a 911 text means?"

"I was occupied," Rock shot back. "Besides, you seem to be in one piece."

The little man slipped into the passenger seat and slammed a hand on the dashboard in frustration. "They were damn Feds!"

"No way," Rock growled. "We got the Feds on us?"

"At least two of them about to knock on my door," Wilcox snapped.

"We gotta call it off, man."

"No! We ain't calling nothing off. We get this shipment in and we're in control of the game. I ain't giving that up because of two Feds."

"You sure?" Rock asked nervously.

"Yeah," Wilcox nodded. "You ain't had nobody knocking on your door, right?"

"Nah, no one."

"Then here's the deal – I'm out and you're in charge." Randy eyed his companion. "You ready for that, Rock?"

The heavy set man grinned and nodded. "Been waiting all my life."

TBC