AN: This is just a little one shot based on an idea that I posed in another piece, "Who He Might Have Been"; the idea that Don had choices after college beyond baseball or the FBI. Now, if this story continued on, Don would still join the FBI, he just would have done it through a slightly different route. Of course, we don't really know what Don really did in college or other than taking the FBI exam after he quit baseball, what his route to and through the FBI was, so…Here's an option. Enjoy!

December, 1991

He sat on a stool in the kitchen, examining the various types of cookies in front of him. It had been their tradition as long as he could remember; his mother baking cookies as gifts for coworkers, friends and family and he acting as her assistant. Of course, he was useless with regards to the actual baking, but he could hand her things as she needed them and he was certainly as good a taste-tester as she could hope to find.

He reached for one of the cookies that had just come out of the oven.

"You don't want that," his mother said. "It's one of the anise-flavored ones that you don't like."

He dropped the cookie and made a face. He hated licorice.

She laughed. "Oh, by the way, I didn't get the chance to ask you last night. How did finals go?"

"They were fine but I'm glad that they're over," he said, picking up a different cookie, one on the opposite of the counter from the dreaded anise ones.

"And do you know you're final grades for the semester yet?"

He waited to answer her until he finished the cookie in his mouth. "Good one," he said, indicating the cookie. "I'm pretty sure about most of them."

"And? Are they ones that I'll want to hang on the refrigerator?" she asked, turning towards him.

He rolled his eyes. "Really, I think I'm past hanging up my grades like they were some kindergarten picture."

"What about the grades?" she asked again.

"They're fine. If they are what I think they are, then I should make the Dean's List again."

She smiled at him. "Excellent." She watched him roll his eyes again.

She sighed, wondering why he sometimes had a hard time accepting a compliment. "So, now that the semester is over, you only have one left before graduation. Have you thought about what you're going to do then?"

"I plan on playing baseball," he said, a little bit of tension in his voice.

"And what is the backup plan, in case baseball doesn't work out?" she asked.

"Mom…"

"Don," she began. "I hope you do get to keep following that dream. You've worked hard for it. But I just need to know, as your mother, that you've thought about what your other choices are. That if somehow it doesn't work out the way you want it to, that you have a plan."

"I have a plan, okay?"

"Would you like to share it?" she asked, curious as to why he was making this difficult.

"No, I don't want to. Just don't worry about it, Mom. I've got it under control."

"I'd feel better and I think your father would too, if you would give us some idea…"

"I don't want to talk about it. My plan is to play ball. If I don't, can't, then I'm going to do something else." He got up. "I'll go pick up Julie from school," he said.

"Don…"

"You worry too much, Mom. I've got it under control."

Spring, 1992

He peeked into his mailbox and saw a couple of envelopes resting inside. He gave a couple of turns to the knobs, setting the combination. The door opened and he pulled out his mail. He took a deep breath as he examined the logos on the envelopes, the first two that he received. He resisted the urge to open the letters right then and there, wanting to not just rip them open. He hurried up to his room, taking the steps two at a time. He entered, noticing that his roommate wasn't around. He dropped his bag on the floor and sat down at his desk, pulling his letter opener out of the top drawer.

He took another deep breath and slipped the letter opener under the first envelope's flap. He carefully opened it and gently pulled out the letter inside. He read it, smiled and read it once more. He put the letter back in the envelope, put it down and picked up the other letter. He repeated the procedure, again reading the letter twice and again pleased with what it said. Two for two. He leaned back in his chair. It wasn't really what he wanted, but for a backup plan, well, it gave him options.

A few days later, another envelope sat in his mailbox. He again raced up to his room and opened the letter. Another successful response. Three for three.

Over the next week, four more letters arrived and each received the same careful treatment as the previous responses. Each was read twice, put back in its envelope and slid in to his desk drawer in the order in which it had been received. Seven for seven. That was all of them.

Now, there was just one more thing that he was waiting for. To hear about whether he was going to get selected in the first-year player draft and play rookie ball.

And then the draft came and went without him getting the phone call he wanted. The phone call he did get was from his parents. They wanted to know if he could come home for the weekend. There were things that they now needed to discuss, decisions that needed to be made. He agreed to come home, knowing that if he didn't, his parents would likely show up at his door and they would have the discussion anyway. At least if he went home, there would be a couple of homemade meals prepared by his mother.

He threw some clothes and stuff in a bag and carefully put the letters in the front pocket. He left a quick note for his roommate so he'd know that he had their room to himself this weekend, grabbed his car keys and took off. Depending on traffic, he'd be home in less than an hour, in time for dinner with his parents and sister; Charlie was still at Princeton, having decided to stay there to do his graduate work.

Just under an hour later, he pulled his VW into the circular drive in front of the house. He grabbed his backpack, hopped out of the car and headed up the front steps. "I'm home," he called as he entered.

"In the kitchen," his mother responded.

He dropped his bag and followed his mother's voice to the kitchen. As he pushed through the door, he stopped, smelling the lasagna that she'd made. "Mmm. That's worth coming home for."

She laughed. "Gee, thanks."

He went to his mom, wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a kiss. "Aw, Mom. You're worth it, too."

She shook her head. "You think you're charming, don't you?"

He shrugged. "Where's Dad?"

"He discovered that he had a bunch of junk in the trunk of his car and decided that this was the time he wanted to deal with it."

"Okay…" He paused for a moment. "Where's the baby girl?"

"Julie is actually at a sleepover. Do you remember the Hendrickson's, down the street?"

"I don't think so. Should I?"

"They moved in several years ago." She noticed that he still didn't seem to know who they were. "They moved into the Carter house. Well, they have a daughter, Kayla, who's in Julie's class. So, tonight they are having a sleepover."

"She's old enough to be at a sleepover?" he asked, his voice full of doubt.

She laughed again. He could be such an overprotective big brother. "Yes, she's old enough to be at a sleepover four houses down the street. She's fine and if something did become a problem, I can walk down there in five minutes. Don't worry about her."

And that's when he realized that it was just going to be him with his parents. No siblings. No family. No friends. Just the three of them. He wasn't even sure when the last time that had happened, especially at home. He smiled just a little. The three of them.

"Don," he heard his mother say, snapping him out of his moment. "Can you set the table, please?"

"Yeah. Sure." He went to the cabinet, pulled out three plates, stacked the silverware and napkins on top and headed to the dining room to set the table.

A short while later, the three of them sat down at the table to eat. He'd only gotten through one mouthful before his parents started with the questions that he knew were coming. His dad started.

"Donnie, I know that the draft didn't turn out the way that you wanted and I'm sorry about that. I know that you worked hard for that chance…"

"Yeah," he responded, slightly wary.

"You kept reassuring us that you had a backup plan," his mother added. "But you still haven't shared it. Don't you think that it's about time that you do?"

He looked at his mother and then at his father. He got up from the table and went to his bag that was still sitting in the middle of the floor where he'd dropped it on the way in. He opened the front pocket and took out his letters. He held them in his hands, considering them again. He exhaled and turned back to the dining room. He brought the letters to his mother, set them in front of her and then returned to his seat.

Margaret looked at her eldest and then at her husband. She didn't quite understand why he'd handed these to her instead of actually saying something. So, she looked first at the top letter. She could tell that it had been very carefully opened, probably with a letter opener. For a moment, she considered the fact that Don actually possessed a letter opener. She pulled the letter out of the envelope and read it. She looked up at Don. He wasn't looking at her, instead, he was staring at the table.

She put the letter back in the envelope and then in succession read each of the other letters, her expression never changing. After returning the last letter to its home, she got up and brought them to her husband, who'd watched her silently the entire time. He gave her a questioning look. Still, she didn't change her expression, wanting him to see for himself what the letters contained.

He shifted his gaze from her to the envelopes that she'd handed him. He repeated what she'd done, reading each letter in turn before returning it to the envelope from which it came. He looked up to his son. "So, this is the backup plan?" he asked softly.

Don nodded, again looking from his father to his mother.

Alan and Margaret looked across the table at each other. "And you're going to do this?" his father asked.

"Yeah," he responded.

"I think this is a very good thing," his mother said. "I'm proud of you for doing this."

Alan noticed that Don's cheeks flushed slightly at Margaret's comment. This made him smile. Poor Don. Caught between wanting to seem like he was too grown up, too cool to care about what his parents thought and the fact that well, he did care. He liked making his parents proud.

"Do you know which one you're going to choose?" he asked.

Don looked at his father. "I think law school instead of grad school. I'm not exactly sure what you do with a master's degree in history except for teach and I don't really want to do that."

Alan saw that Margaret was trying to keep from showing how happy that made her. That it very much seemed like that he was going to follow in her footsteps and become a lawyer. "Well, you've got some great choices for law schools here. Have you chosen one yet?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. I've got a couple of weeks before I need to make a decision."

"You'll let us know when you decide? You won't make us summon you again?" he asked.

He rolled his eyes. "Summoning is not necessary. I'll let you know when I know."

Alan nodded. "Good."

August, 1992

He walked along the brick paths admiring the beautiful, classic campus. He'd arrived in town a couple of days earlier after his cross country drive and had quickly moved his stuff into the Gradplex. He'd thought about getting an apartment away from campus, but with all the time he was going to spend in class, studying and such, it just made more sense to stay there.

His mother had actually made the drive out with him in the "new" Honda Civic they'd gotten him to replace his VW, which no one believed would survive the cross country trip. He'd insisted that he could do the drive alone, promising to stop often to eat and sleep, but his parents weren't buying it. She'd drive out with him, help him get settled and then fly back home.

They'd loaded the car, his little sister sitting on the porch watching, unwilling to help. He'd had to make countless promises to her that he'd make sure that their mother would come home quickly. He understood. He knew what her experience was with regards to her mother going off to school with a brother. When the car was packed, he'd gone up to the porch and scooped her up. "I promise she'll be back in a couple of days, a week at the most," he'd whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"Pinky swear," she'd responded.

"Pinky swear." He held up his finger. It was such a little kid, little girl thing. But he humored his baby sister. "Don't worry. She'll be back before you start first grade."

She'd rolled her dark eyes at him. "I'm going to be in second grade, Don."

He'd laughed. "Then she'll be back before you start second grade."

She'd pressed her face into his shoulder. "I'm going to miss you," she whispered.

"I'll miss you, too." And strangely enough, he would miss her, even though he didn't spend a lot of time here with her.

He'd kept his promise. He'd dropped his mother off at the airport this morning. She was already on her way back to LA.

He looked at his watch. If he headed back now, he'd have time to take a shower and clean up before he had to be at the first part of his orientation. He returned to the parking lot where his car sat. He got in, turned the car on and cranked the air conditioning. It's not like he was from somewhere cold, or even cool, but the humidity here, that was something entirely new for him.

He drove back to his place. He showered then contemplated what he was going to wear. He wasn't sure how dressy or casual he was supposed to be. After all, this was law school. He finally decided on khakis and a polo shirt. He got dressed, put on his watch, which he then proceeded to check, again. Close enough to the start time that he could head over.

He walked over to the law school, checked in and took a seat. He watched people file in and find their own seats. A short time later the presentation began.

"I would like to welcome our new first year law students to the Marshall-Wythe School of Law at The College of William & Mary…"