Chapter 2

Don downed the dose of Cipro with a bottle of water he'd picked up in the drugstore, and stepped out of his SUV. It was nearly one-o'clock, he noted, as he strode across the FBI parking deck toward the elevator. He felt strong, energetic. 'There's no way it's malignant,' he told himself. 'I feel too good.' He stepped into the elevator with a nod at the clerk already inside, and faced the door, chin up. 'No sense making a deal out of this until I know anything. It's probably nothing.'

Off the elevator into the bullpen. Business as usual.

"Hey," Megan greeted him. "How was your appointment?" None of them knew about the CAT scan; they were aware that he'd been struggling with the kidney infections, and he let them think it was just a routine appointment with his physician. Hell, that's what he had thought, that morning. Just a routine test.

"Okay, took long enough. I had to stop to get a prescription filled," he said nonchalantly, breezing past, nodding at David and Colby. He glanced through the notes on his desk, still standing. "What do we have?"

"We've got a meeting at one, to go over the Santini case," she said. "Forensics are back."

They gathered in the conference room. It was business as usual – almost. He listened as the results were presented; participated in the resulting discussions, set the plan of action for the next part of the investigation. All the while, however, he was aware of the wall – transparent, invisible to the others in the room. He was on one side, and they were on the other. They were fully engaged in the case, immersed in the details without distraction. He found that he was able to do that also, to concentrate on the case, but now there was something else there.

His own mortality was something he rarely thought about, except for brief occasions after a dangerous raid, or chase. Even then, it was different – in those cases, he never had time to think about it during the event, it was always after it was over, and by then it was a non-issue. This was different; the possibility of his own death loomed like a roadblock ahead, casting a shadow, a different perspective on even the most fascinating or mundane conversation. It created a distance from the here-and-now. He looked at his team animatedly discussing the next avenue of investigation, and felt suddenly, strangely alone.

As he came out of the conference room, he caught a glimpse of Liz, across the office. His heart always did a funny little flip when he saw her, but today it twisted, in an odd contraction, half pleasure, half fear. She looked across at him and smiled, tentatively, and he smiled back, his face belying the emotion. He had been turning around in his head whether or not to tell her what was going on, and the sight of her made up his mind. He wasn't ready to tell her. What was there to tell? He didn't know anything yet.

He sat at his desk, and a few moments later, she walked over, and leaned against it. "Hey," she said softly. "Doctor appointment go okay?"

He leaned back to look at her. "Yeah," he said. "Just needed a stronger antibiotic."

She nodded, and looked away, with an odd look on her face, then looked back at him. "I need to take a little time off," she said, "I need to go back home for something. I was wondering if I could take a week and a half of my leave – all of next week, and the following Monday and Tuesday. I'll be back on the next Wednesday."

Don nodded, with a questioning expression. "Yeah, I think we're pretty good here right now."

She ignored his unspoken question. "I'm going to have to take a rain check for tomorrow night – I'm flying out in the morning."

"No problem," said Don, feeling, guiltily, a bit of relief. He was wondering if he'd be able to keep up the façade with her for the length of an evening. He frowned in concern at the look on her face. "Everything okay?"

She raised an eyebrow and scratched at it lightly, as if thinking, and looked away. "Yeah." She looked back at him with a half-smile. "Thanks. I'll tell you about it when I get back."

She rose from her perch on the desk, and Don watched her walk away. "Yeah," he said softly to himself. "Me too."

It was three o'clock before he could break away and call his physician. Maybe he could even get in at the end of today, he thought, glancing at his watch. Yes, they had received the results, the receptionist on the line told him. No, they didn't have any appointments today; in fact, there wasn't anything available until Tuesday morning. A surge of frustration ran through him. He had a goddamned tumor, for God's sake. They couldn't squeeze him in ahead of Joe Schmuck and his sinus infection? He tossed off the momentary self-pity. "Tuesday's fine," he said.

He laid the receiver down, and it suddenly hit him. The weekend was ahead. Dad, Charlie – he was supposed to go over to Charlie's tonight. What in the hell was he going to tell them? He had a sudden vision of Charlie's face when their mother was dying - lost, in agony, his eyes filled with torture, with desperation, suppressed only, barely, by P. vs. NP, by the calculations whirling in his head. Numerical Valium.

He knew the answer even as he asked himself the question. Nothing. The answer was nothing – for the same reason he had decided not to tell Liz. No sense saying anything until he knew for sure what this was. No sense pulling anyone else, anywhere near the other side before he had to. He set his jaw, pushed the demons away, and began organizing his case files.

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He showed up around seven, noting with dismay that his father had waited to order dinner until he got there. Dinner meant sitting together, facing each other, conversation.

"I'm ordering calzones," Alan said briskly, heading for the phone. "Pepperoni okay with you?"

"Yeah, Dad, fine," mumbled Don. "You guys didn't have to wait for me."

"Nonsense," returned Alan, as he dialed. "Playoffs are on tonight – Indians and Yankees. They've already started. We'll eat in front of the television." He relayed the order into the phone, and hung up. Don felt a twinge of relief. Good. The game would occupy their minds; monopolize the conversation.

"Grab yourself a beer," said Alan, as he turned from the phone.

"Nah, that's all right. I'm on antibiotics again," said Don. He opened the refrigerator anyway, snagged a bottle of water, and turned to find his father eyeing him sharply.

"Again?" asked Alan. "Kidney infection again?"

"Yeah." Don shrugged, noncommittal, and leaned back against the countertop. "He gave me something stronger this time. Cipro."

Alan's brow furrowed with concern. "If this round doesn't get rid of it, you'd better get in to see him."

Don shrugged again. "Yeah, I will." No sense telling him he already had an appointment Tuesday. No sense telling them anything, yet. He straightened up from the counter, just as the kitchen door banged, and turned to see Charlie. His brother's eyes were glinting with pleasure, and he wore a wide smile. It hit Don like a blow, and a tendril of fear wrapped around his heart. 'God, don't make me take that smile from him,' he thought. 'Don't make me do this to them. Not cancer, please, not cancer…'

"Hey Don, it's about time you got here," said Charlie, with a light punch to Don's shoulder. The gesture was affectionate; a little awkward; a little geeky, just like his brother. His knuckles left a dusting of chalk on Don's shoulder. Charlie pushed past him, toward the refrigerator, and grabbed a bottle of water for himself. "How was work?"

"The usual," said Don dryly, and they trooped out to the living room. "Turn the tube on, let's check out the score."

He needn't have worried that they would notice. The weekend passed uneventfully; neither of them suspected a thing. Don decided at first that he must be a consummate actor, but realized as the weekend wore on that they didn't suspect anything primarily because he wasn't acting sick, and the thought that there was anything wrong never entered their minds. He told himself it was a good sign – the fact that he seemed so healthy must mean that there wasn't anything seriously wrong with him. By the time Monday rolled around, he had convinced himself of it. There was nothing to worry about. He chided himself for being a big baby, and walked into work Monday with a grin on his face.

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The good feeling lasted through the week. His own doctor was no real source of information, but he wasn't a specialist, so Don really didn't expect too much from him when they met on Tuesday. He sent Don for blood work, and gave him the name of a specialist in renal oncology, a Dr. Atvani, who was associated with Cedars-Sinai. The CAT scan results and the blood work were sent on ahead to the doctor's office, and a consultation was scheduled for Friday. Just the thought of having to meet with an oncologist was unnerving, but Don buried it in the back of his mind. The Cipro was managing the infection nicely; he felt good, there was no pain. This thing had to be benign.

At work and at home, the wall was still there, but it was thinner, and most of the time he was able to reach around it. The fact that he was dealing with this alone – that no one else knew, hit him once in awhile, but the firm belief that it wasn't cancer made it less of an issue. If there was no cancer, this would at most be a blip in the radar of his life – his family's lives. He knew he was most likely facing surgery, and there would be recovery from that, but there was a future beyond it. He'd recover, they'd get over this, and move on. The idea made it easier to concentrate on the details of daily life, to feel and act normally. He was sanguine, in good spirits, and as he walked into his appointment Friday morning, he had not a clue that his optimism was about to be derailed.

Dr. Atvani's offices, which he shared with two other oncologists, were located in a stylish block of sculptured concrete near Cedars Sinai. Don strode down the hallway until he found the right door, and stepped into a tastefully decorated office, swathed in muted grays and blues. He checked in with the receptionist, gave her his insurance information, and sat. There were three other people in the room, a woman with an older man, who was obviously the patient, and another woman, middle-aged, who sat by herself. Don felt their eyes on him for a brief moment, speculating. He knew they had the same question in their minds that he did about them. Does he have cancer? Does she? His gaze flickered over them again, the old man and the middle-aged woman. They looked normal. Is that what cancer looked like when it started?

He reflected back to his mother's battle. He had returned when she was already well into it – he had returned to L.A. because of that. She was already sick, and hadn't seemed 'normal' by then. He wondered with sudden unease how long it had been there before she knew. Maybe she'd felt normal too, at the start. He could feel the doubts rising up to squelch his optimism, and he pushed them firmly back. His good mood was gone, however, and he was suddenly fiercely impatient to get on with this. One way or another, he had to know.

He looked away from the others, his eyes moving around the room. Many plaques and awards dotted the walls, along with certificates of continuing study, most of them belonging to Atvani. At least the guy appeared to know his stuff. Don's doctor had recommended him, highly. He took a deep breath, and leaned back in the chair, trying to relax.

He was surprised, and felt a little guilty, when the nurse came to the door and called him first. The old man and the woman were there to see the other doctors, obviously. He rose, and stepped through the door confidently, his shoulders back, head up. The nurse led him into an exam room, and asked the perfunctory questions about why he was here. He tossed something back in a confident voice about a CAT scan, and a mass in his kidney, watching her look at the paperwork in front of her. She had the damn test results right there, he thought, a little irritated. Why was she even asking him that?

She nodded, her face sympathetic, and took his blood pressure and temperature readings. She glanced at his ringless hand. "Do you have family?"

"I'm not married, no kids," replied Don. "My dad and my brother live in the area."

She smiled, with a commiserating look. "They're probably pretty freaked, huh?"

Don felt his gut twist. What's wrong with her? Doesn't she realize that this might be benign? Why in the hell would she just assume… "I haven't told them yet." The words came from somewhere, of their own accord.

She nodded. "All right, the doctor will want to examine you. Please remove everything but your underpants, and put on the gown, tie in the back," she handed him a pale blue garment, "and he'll be right in."

She left, and Dom complied with the instructions. There was something dehumanizing about a hospital gown, he thought absently, as he put his arms through it. The garment turned a person into a specimen, a thing to be examined, manipulated; studied, like a lab rat. He sat on the edge of the exam bed, a sudden shiver passed through him, and he wrapped his arms around his torso, and waited.

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End Chapter Two