A/N: This was supposed to be a quick action/adventure, but somewhere along the way it got sort of introspective.

Chapter 2

When Don entered, the house was silent and had an empty feel, but he called a greeting anyway, just in case. No answer. Just as well - a little quiet time sounded good. As long as he could keep his eyes open.

He tossed his clipboard and papers on the dining room table and pulled out a chair. It was funny how that simple action, repeated so many times over his lifetime, immediately started his mind working, just as standing at home plate and swinging a bat immediately set a stance and certain muscles into motion.

He spread his papers out and got to work, things moving smoothly now in the quiet cocoon of the familiar walls. After a while, he leaned back to stretch and survey his progress. Okay. That was better. The change of venue had helped - Megan was right. He smiled. Not that he'd tell her that.

He stretched again, more luxuriously, allowing his yawn full reign this time, then paused, his eyes stopped by two trophies on the sideboard, standing tall amid the clutter of photos. He should probably collect those. It was one thing for them to be there when this was the family homestead, but this was Charlie's house now - Charlie didn't need them taking up space. Still, they'd sat there for so long - it was funny to think of the sideboard without them.

After a second, he pushed back his chair and strode over for a closer look. I wonder…dropped into a crouch and eased open one of the doors underneath. He hadn't seen it among his mother's stuff when he and Dad had packed everything away. Of course, it could be anywhere - it could even be lost…he ran his finger along the row of spines, recognized the one he wanted and dragged it out, dusting a hand over the embossed surface before rising to carry it back to the table.

He swung open the cover and smiled. God. Was he ever really that young? His mother's handwriting marched neatly underneath the photo. 'Donnie's First Baseball Game'. It was like looking at another life.

"I remember that one."

He wasn't quite sure how his father had entered without him noticing - he really must be tired. Or distracted. Or something.

"Seems like a million years ago, huh?"

A shadow darkened the page as Alan leaned over his shoulder for a better look. "Must be perspective. Because it seems like only yesterday to me. Look - I'd taken you for your first trip to the barber the day before. He cut off most of your curls - I think your mother cried about it for two nights straight."

Don frowned. "She did? I don't remember that."

"Oh, not in front of you," Alan pulled up a chair and got comfortable. "You were so proud of your 'big boy' haircut."

"Yeah. I do remember that part. Maybe that's why Charlie still won't cut his, huh? Of course, that doesn't explain that slicked-back do he wore in High School."

"I think he thought that made him look older."

"Yeah?" Don turned the page. "Dream on."

'Donnie's First Homerun' stared back at him.

"Look at that smile."

There was a half-wistful note in Alan's voice that made Don smile a little then and there, just to hear it. He tapped the photo with one finger.

"I thought those front teeth were never coming back in." He chuckled faintly at the way his arms were raised over his head in a cheer, a smudge of dirt bridging his nose, then turned the page, running a palm over the yellowed newspaper clippings pasted there.

It was amazing, how neatly organized and catalogued everything was…and there was the photo of him with his MVP trophy, in junior high, looking accordingly awkward and self-conscious, too cool now to show how pleased he was. Underneath was printed, 'The Best Baseball Player in the World'. He felt a suspicious tightness in his chest.

"Mom and her captions, huh?"

"What, you don't think she believed that?"

Tons of photos of High School baseball, but they thinned out abruptly around college. He skipped through those quickly, still not ready to admit how badly he had missed his cheering section. Well, what could you do…she'd been on the other side of the continent…and Dad had come as often as he could.

The newspaper clipping announcing his recruitment by the Stockton Rangers was there, though, and a copy of his Rookie card. This one still looked as bright as the day he'd mailed it.

"What made you pull this out?"

He looked up in surprise. He'd almost forgotten his dad was there. "Saw one of my rookie cards today."

"Oh, really? Where?"

He hadn't actually meant to mention that, and now he was stuck. He really must be tired. He hesitated. He was the king of prevarication, but he avoided out and out lying. Still, the explanation "at a crime scene" seemed unnecessarily frightening and cruel.

"Uh - eBay." Thanks, Colby.

Alan laughed. "What were you doing on eBay?"

"Thinking about selling my baseball card collection. Those things can be worth a fortune, you know." Oh, what a tangled web we weave…

"Correction, my boy, they're worth a fortune in mint condition. Yours were not in mint condition. You counted them, played with them, stood them up in the sand, and probably wiped your nose on them."

"Yeah, well, there's no point in owning them if you can't have fun with them. Maybe I'll just keep them anyway. They have a lot of good memories." He glanced at the next pages, chronicling his pro career. "You mind if I borrow this?"

"Keep it."

"Oh, Dad, I don't think - "

"No, I mean it." Alan closed it gently and pushed it across the table toward him. "She always meant for you to have it. But first she said she'd wait until you were through Quantico and knew where you'd be stationed, then she said you wouldn't have any place to keep it while you were doing Fugitive Recovery, and then when you started running your own office in Albuquerque and seemed to be settling in she ran out of excuses, but somehow it still didn't make it into the mail. I think she liked to look at it whenever she missed you. She'd definitely want you to have it now."

Don stared at it wordlessly. It wasn't so much the photos inside that moved him, it was this tangible reminder of his mother intertwined in his life, carefully preserving pieces of his growing up, ordering them, writing her thoughts on them…

He cleared his throat. "Thanks." Maybe it was his turn to look at it whenever he missed her.

"So. What brings you here anyway, in the middle of the day? Your baseball card?"

"Naw - no - just - needed a little break, I guess."

"Oh." His father eyed him shrewdly. "Want to crash for an hour or so? I'll wake you."

"No - thanks - I should - " his phone trilled and he grabbed for it. "Eppes." He listened for a minute, then stood, stacking papers with the phone flattened between his ear and shoulder. "Okay. I'll be there in about twenty. Thanks, Megan." He scooped up the album and his papers and clipboard and slapped Alan lightly on the shoulder with his free hand. "Gotta go. Thanks, Dad."

TBC