Classified

Chapter 7 - "You're still avoiding the issue!"

Donovan watched as his target crossed the street, keeping up a steady pace. Waiting a beat, Donovan followed him. At six in the morning on a Saturday the city still slept as did the sun, only a few rays peeked over the horizon. Donovan used the low morning light to hide as he drew closer to the unaware man. He wore headphones, a mistake. Why impair one of your strongest senses?

As the man ran towards the Lincoln memorial steps, Donovan sped up. He closed the distance between himself and his target before the man even registered his presence. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline fueling his blood. With one extra spurt of speed, Donovan collided with the man, tackling him into the grass. They rolled and Donovan used their momentum to gain the upper hand, pinning his target.

But despite the man's appearance of unawareness, he reacted swiftly, nailing Donovan with a hit to his head, disorientating him. In a blink, Donovan was thrown over the man's head and landed on his back. He breathed hard, his head still ringing from the blow. The man peered down at Donovan.

"That," Brock said, "was pathetic."

Donovan swung his leg out, knocking Brock off his feet and onto his back. Scrambling up, Donovan grinned down at him.

"Really?" he asked. "Because I tailed you for five miles without your notice, you old grandma."

Brock shook his head reprovingly. "If grandma Thalia heard you, she'd smack you so hard on the head you'd be dizzy for a week."

The image of his seventy-year-old Greek grandmother hitting him when she could barely reach his head made Donovan snort. Though if she did hit him it would hurt, the woman had a strong arm.

Donovan stretched out his hand, offering it to Brock who accepted it. Donovan heaved his brother up and the two of them set off. They left the Mall behind knowing pretty soon earlier riser runners would invade. They kept a quick rhythm and Donovan could almost imagine they weren't in DC but back in California on the Marine base.

Where Clint and James had hated early mornings, Brock loved them. To get to spend any alone time with his oldest brother, Donovan had forced himself to love them too. Love might be a stretch but at least he got to be with Brock.

Despite being years older than Donovan, Brock had always accepted his little brother's company on the morning runs. Donovan would never admit it, but Saturday morning runs helped keep him going since Brock moved to DC two years ago.

"So," Brock said. "You talk to mom yet."

Donovan shoved Brock and he narrowly avoided running into the corner of a building.

"You know I have, you told her to call," Donovan asked.

"Still doesn't mean you wouldn't find a reason to avoid answering. I'm looking out for you."

Donovan let a heavy breath. "I know you are, man. I still don't like you for it."

"Did she have any insight on how to help you?"

To that, Donovan didn't have an answer. He'd used studying Carter as an excuse to avoid talking about himself. He knew he should have asked for her advice, but what advice was there to give besides lower his head and force himself through that last two years?

"Something else came up," Donovan said.

"You mean you avoided the issue."

Sometimes it was annoying how much of their mother was in each of his brothers and how well they knew him.

"I needed help going over a student's file and she had a client," he said. He smacked Brock's arm. "Speaking of, can you come over at twelve and help read through some files with me."