/

DON

/

He wrapped up a meeting, and headed for his office just before one.

"Sally's inside, Mr. Draper," Meredith told him as he approached, and he smiled but paused the moment his hand touched the door knob. He could hear a voice inside, Sally's voice, and there was a high-pitched ring to it that made the hair rise in the back of his neck. He slowly turned the knob, just enough so more sound leaked through, and he stuck his ears against the frame.

"…not going to be okay. It's happening again, Pat… I… I can't help it. No, it's like… Like music now. Like violins, almost. I… I don't know how to say it. I think… I think they're lying to me. I don't know if my dad's in it but I know they're not saying—"

Don finished opening the door, his hands shaking.

"Sally?"

She immediately hung up the phone and stepped away from the desk, and her face made an eerie shift from almost teary to stone cold. The record player, Don immediately noticed, had been covered over with Sally's coat, and all the records were gone.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked.

"A friend."

Don stepped closer towards her, and shut the door.

"Pat?"

"If you already know, then why do you ask me?" she raised her voice. Don squeezed his hands shut.

"What's going on with you?"

She didn't look at him.

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing. You were not telling that boy 'nothing'. Tell me."

"Or what?"

She grabbed back her coat and her purse, and headed for the door, but Don stopped her.

"Sally, look at me."

"Let go."

"Sally—"

"Let. Go."

She said in a way that made her think she was about to start screaming at the top of her lungs, so he moved out of the way. She remained fixed in her spot for a few moments more.

"I've changed my mind. I want to go and see mom."

Don took a deep breath, and reached for his hat and keys.

"Okay," he said. "We can do that. "

/

The second they stepped into the car, Sally started pressing the dials in the car radio, which was already turned off. Don watched her with a sickening feeling in his stomach but remained quiet, though his hands gripped the wheel so tightly he could see he was leaving marks with his fingernails.

"We'll—We will stop at the apartment first. I left my checkbook there and I need to stop at the bank." And to call Henry, without her knowing. Somehow. As he spoke he glanced to his side, and imagined she could see right through his lie. "Do you want to grab your stuff or…?"

"Why?" Her voice, now uninhibited by the fact she was in his office, sounded louder and combative. "Are you kicking me out, too?"

"No, I just thought… Sally, Henry didn't kick you out."

"Yeah. That's what you think."

Don frowned.

"He said you wanted to come over. He said you'd asked him to."

"Well, he's a liar." Again she reached for the radio, then seemed to catch herself. "He's a liar, and you're going to find out soon enough."

"What the hell does that mean?" He tried to stop himself from shouting, but couldn't do it. Sally looked away from him, then fixed her eyes on her window.

"Betty's dead, Dad."

"That is just ridiculous."

"It's true. She's been dead a while. You'll see for yourself today."

Don started breathing fast, and he struggled to keep his eyes on the road. A more rational part of him told him he shouldn't engage, he should just try to keep things calm, but that part of him was not in control.

"Why would you say that? Why would you even say that, Sally?"

"You all just want to keep me in the dark so that you can go on with your lives without me."

"What?"

Sally seemed to react to his voice now, and she made herself small in her seat and kept staring at the window. Don reached his building and parked the car with a hard brake.

"Sally… Sally!"

But she did not reply nor turn to look at him, and he got out and opened her door.

"Come on," he said. She kept quiet and did not move. "Sally, get out."

"No," she said. "I'm not setting foot in this building again."

"Well, suit yourself," he said. He strutted up to the ground floor, intent on using the doorman's phone, but halfway up he was struck with a strange fear and he ran back down. She hadn't moved. He'd talk to Henry later, and as far as he remembered they didn't need an appointment for the hospital. He got back into the car, back into the road, and headed out of the city.

/

Betty's hospital was actually a hospice, but Don hated that word almost as much as she did, and they never called it that. She could've been able to hire a nurse for at-home care, but Betty had insisted on not staying there, knowing that the kids would be constantly around her. She had visits now, which didn't last that long when she wasn't feeling that well, and when it was really bad she could keep everyone but Henry from seeing her. Don understood the arrangement, sometimes even better than Henry did. She was helping them all to move on.

He tried a couple of times to start a conversation again, but he couldn't really fake calmness in his voice, and she never even turned to look at him. He found himself making plans to stop and get a drink, maybe leave her at the hospital for a while and head down the road, maybe stop at a shop before and say he was getting cigarettes… He searched for his pack in his jacket pocket and found it wasn't there, and he started to feel sweat soaking through his shirt.

"Stop that," Sally said suddenly. Don turned.

"What?"

"Stop it!"

She still wasn't looking at him, but she started to claw desperately at the radio.

"Stop what? Sally? Stop what!"

"You're humming."

"No, I'm not."

She covered her ears with her hands and started groaning.

"Make it stop!" She leaned back and started kicking at the dashboard.

"Sally, don't do that."

Don slowed down, and tried to hold her with one arm, but she kept at it. Her face contorted and all of a sudden she was sobbing, hitting the window with her hands and crying, completely hysterical.

"Sally, you need to calm down. Calm down." He tried turning right to stop at the shoulder, but he was in the highway now, and there were trucks coming behind him on both sides. "Everything… Everything's fine, your mom… she's waiting for you…" She didn't stop, and he didn't know what to say.

"I need to get out of here," she said, abruptly stopping her thrashing. "I need to get out…"

"Sally—"

"I need to get—"

"No, don't—" Don saw her lift up the lock and open the door, and he threw himself to her side, grabbing on to her as tightly as he could. He felt the car swerve on its own while he still held her, and then heard the skidding breaks of another vehicle. He closed his eyes, heard the impact, but felt nothing at all.

/

PEGGY

/

They took the subway together after work, uptown towards her apartment, and Stan stopped before getting there to get some groceries to fill her fridge. He'd taken to staying with her most of the week, and he always made a point of filling up on groceries even though she always said it wasn't necessary. He had announced he was making paninis that day (as if that was a huge culinary achievement, but she couldn't complain) and he emerged from the store with a bagful of still-warm ciabatta bread.

"Just look at these beauties," he said. Peggy smiled.

"Halfway to a panini already."

"Oh, you faithless woman. You are about to have your mind blown."

They chuckled, and walked up to her floor, but when they settled down and Peggy dropped her bag in her couch, Sally's notebook slipped out and she started feeling uneasy again. Stan carried on cutting up cheese and salami for the sandwiches, the grill was on and it smelled delicious, but it all didn't feel right to her, staying there. Her calls to Don's house all through the afternoon had gone unanswered, and insistence with Meredith had revealed there had been some sort of discussion between Don and Sally when they left. She had made the decision not to go there, to wait it out, but she was regretting that now.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep," she said, after they had eaten. They stretched out in her couch with the TV on but she stared past it, thinking of Sally getting buzzed by the projector. Stan seemed about to try a joke, but then he appeared to understand what she was talking about.

"Peggy, he's clearly not home. What good will it do for you to go there?"

"I don't know, I just… I just need to make sure."

"Peggy..."

"If she does something, I don't think I could live with myself."

"Do you really think she'd..." Stan trailed off. Peggy slowly pulled away from his arms, and went to get her things.

"I can't, Stan. I can't just stay here."

"What will you do? He's not home!"

"Then I'll ask his doorman. His neighbors, someone! I can't just let the whole weekend pass." She opened the door and stood outside. "Are you coming with me or not?"

He sighed.

"Oh dear. Yes. Yes, I am."

She nodded in agreement, and started downstairs.

"Do you know where he lives?" Stan asked, following her. Peggy didn't turn.

"Yep."

"And may I ask how you know that?"

"Nope."

"Peggy!"

"We met there when he came back. Before he started working again. I helped him out on getting the Coke thing on paper." She was aware of the pride in her voice as she said that.

"Really?"

"Yes."

She had also helped him get rid of every bottle of liqueur and set up his recovery goals somewhere along the process, but there was no need to mention that.

"How come you didn't tell me?"

They made it to the ground floor, and Stan hailed a cab. Peggy got in first.

"He asked me not to. I respected that."

"But you're telling me now."

"Yes. I am."

Peggy told the cabbie the address, and they headed downtown. Don's new apartment was quite far from the upper East side, and it was a whole lot smaller and older than the one Stan and Peggy had been to for that party, what seemed like ages ago now. Still, it had a doorman.

"He's really stepped down, though," Stan muttered, when they walked in. "It's a walk-up. And not a second floor."

"It's still very nice…"

"Everywhere is nice compared to your place... You would've imagined Draper still had enough though, have you seen the car he drives now? It's like he's trying too hard to be modest."

"Well, he's twice divorced and with three kids in private school."

"I heard Megan got a big cut..."

"Shhh."

They approached the doorman, and Peggy stepped forward to talk first.

"Hi, I'm Peggy Olson, for Mr. Draper?"

She had seen the man before, but it had been a while, and he didn't recognise her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "He's not in."

"Well, listen..." She read his name tag. "Listen, Victor. It is really, really important that I speak with him. I've been trying to call him all day. It's an emergency—"

"Life or death," Stan added.

"Yes, life or death. So is there anything you know about where he might be right now?"

The door man shuffled, uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, ma'am... I can't really..."

"I know you're not supposed to say. But Victor, you've seen me here before, haven't you? You know we're friends. Please, anything..."

Stan rested his hand on the reception desk, a roll of bills visible inside it.

"Anything at all," he added. The man stared at him, and then at Peggy, and she imagined her distraught looks and messy hair helped sway him, because then he pushed Sean's hand away and looked at her.

"They came around two in the afternoon. Parked the car but didn't come out, then drove out again five minutes later."

"And they haven't been back? Since two?"

"Peggy, maybe it's... What was going to happen," Stan said. Peggy turned back to the doorman.

"Do you have any other contact number for him? Or for the kids?"

"No. I'm sorry."

Peggy stepped back and pushed her hair away from her face.

"Shit. Shit!"

"Ma'am?"

"Peggy, let's just go."

Peggy started following Stan, then returned to the doorman.

"If he comes back or calls, tell him to call me back. Say it's urgent, and that it's about Sally."

The man frowned at that.

"About Sally?"

"Yes. Remember that!"

She opened her purse, rummaged through her things, and found a pen and one of her cards She wrote her home number and message there, and gave it to the man.

"From Peggy Olson," she stressed, then followed Stan out the door.

Outside it had started to snow again, and a few cabs passed by them without stopping. A cold snap was coming, according to the news, and Peggy stuffed her hands in her pockets and shivered, looking around the half empty streets.

"Do you think…?" she turned towards Stan. "Do you think Meredith has his ex wife's number?"

Stan sighed.

"Do you even have Meredith's number?"

"I do, actually."

"Come on. You have to let it go. She's probably asleep by now, anyway. "

Peggy looked at her watch - it was already almost midnight. She leaned in towards Stan to keep warm while he kept trying to flag down a cab.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just think about Mike. I knew something was off, but I didn't say anything."

"You couldn't have known."

"But I know now."

"You've exhausted all options. We can try again tomorrow, but I don't think it will make that much of a difference. She's not alone, she'll be okay."

Peggy nodded, and really tried to believe that, but still felt sure that there would be no sleeping for her that night. Stan tightened his arms around her, and then practically jumped into the street to stop a cab. The weather was getting worse and it took a while for them to get back to her place, but they didn't speak on the way there. When they finally stopped beneath the building, Peggy opened the door but Stan remained inside.

"I'm think I'm going to head home," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I… I need to catch up on sleep and get some laundry done. It's been a long week. I'll come by for breakfast tomorrow," he said, and they kissed goodbye. "A late breakfast."

She smiled.

"Okay. Thank you, Stan."

"Got nothing to thank me for. Except those paninis."

"They were amazing."

"Of course they were. And go to sleep, please, stop working yourself up. Everything's fine."

"Okay."

She closed the door, and waved goodbye as he was leaving. She was smiling for a while as she climbed her way up to her apartment, but the anguish was back the moment she walked in. She got into the shower, hoping to clear her mind a bit, but halfway through her washing her hair the phone rang, and she let out a scream.

"What's going on?" she heard one of his neighbours call, through the walls. "A rat, again?"

"It's nothing!" she called out. Why was she so on edge? It was probably just Stan, checking up on her before sleeping. She washed the suds out of her hair and got out, dripping all over the floor, and picked up the phone on its fifth ring. "Hello?"

"Where the hell were you? I've been calling for hours." The voice was rough and distant, but still recognisable.

"Don? I've been trying—"

"I need you to come to St. Peter's hospital, right away."

"Don, there's something—"

"I can pay for the fare, just get in a cab right now."

"Are you okay?"

"No."

He hung up.

Peggy kept the phone stuck to her ear, her mind racing, for at least a minute before she stood again, still wrapped in a towel with her hair dripping wet. Immediately she started playing worst case scenarios in her mind, and she had to stop herself in order to focus and remember what she had to do. She had to leave right away… But should she call Stan first? Should she tell him all of it, half of it? Should she ask him to come with her? No, she could handle it. She could call him first thing in the morning, once she knew more. Yes. That would work.

She went for her phonebook, and looked up St. Peter's hospital. It was way up in the Connecticut border - she would have to pay a double fare, or at least Don would have to. She tore the page, changed into the first jumper and pants she found, grabbed her bag and winter coat, and raced downstairs.

Author's Note: Anybody out there?