-

He managed to get a hold of his father. Or rather, his father got a hold of him as he was boarding the first flight he could catch to Los Angeles.

"How is she?"

"They don't know." His father sounded calm, but Don knew he was anything but. "She woke up. Knows where she is. They've admitted her and are running some tests."

"I'm getting on a plane as we speak. How are you, Dad?"

"Me? I'm okay." Don didn't believe it for a second. "Your mother doesn't want me to jump to conclusions, so I'm trying not to. But Donnie, these tests they're running...when does your flight get in?"

"Nine-thirty, but don't worry. I'm going to catch a cab from LAX. Dad...how's Charlie? He said he drove."

He heard his father sigh. "I know. He's, well, not so good. Are you sure I can't pick you up?"

"Yes, Dad, I'm sure. Stay with Mom. I'll be there as soon as I can."

--

Don had six messages on his cell phone when he got off the plane. One was from Dad. Five were from Kim. Damn. He realized he hadn't even bothered to leave a note. He had to call her. She wasn't happy.

"Don, where the hell are you? The ice cream melted all over the counter and you didn't finish putting away the groceries. I thought I was going to have to call the FBI because I thought you were kidnapped!"

He rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry. I kind of left in a rush."

"Left? Don, just where are you?"

He sighed. "Los Angeles. LAX, to be specific."

"LAX? Don, what are you doing in Los Angeles?" There was a pause. "What's wrong?"

"My mom's in the hospital. And, no, I do not know how she is. I'm about to get in a cab and head to Huntington Memorial to find out. Listen, Kim, I could be here for a few days."

"Of course," she said. "Do you need me to...well, I could always-"

"You don't need to come out here. My mother doesn't even know you exist yet and this doesn't seem like the right time."

"Wait, she doesn't know about me? Don, we have been living together for over two years!"

Great. He didn't need this. "That came out wrong, Kim. Of course she knows about you. But she doesn't know we're engaged. That's what I meant."

"We've been engaged for three months!"

"And I've been working most of time, if you haven't noticed. That long gas station stake out. Kim, I don't want to discuss this in the middle of an airport on my cell phone. Right now, I'm going to hang up and go see my mom. I'll call you."

He heard her sigh. "Promise?"

"Of course. I love you."

There was a slight pause. "I love you, too. Go see your mom. I'll...go buy more ice cream."

He heard a click as she hung up, stared at his cell a moment before shoving it back in his pocket, and headed up towards the taxi stand.

--

He had time to think on the cab ride to Pasadena. Thinking about Kim, his not talking in depth with his family for months, his mother's illness. The latter, he hoped, was nothing, and she'd be smiling and back on her feet in a few days.

Somehow, though, he didn't think that would be the case.

He felt guilty.

He and Kim were happy and he was ready to take the plunge down the aisle, yet he hadn't found the time to make a simple phone call.

"Mom, I'm getting married. Her name is Kim..."

It would have been easy. But he was busy, busy doing a job he knew he didn't practically enjoy anymore. The thrill was gone. He had called more when he worked at the field office, got more satisfaction from a closed case there.

He considered those facts as he searched the emergency room. Around him was the hustle and bustle of a busy hospital. There were other people, waiting for their own news. Other families.

He found his father and Charlie sitting on a pair of chairs in the hallway. Charlie was staring straight ahead and didn't budge when Don approached. Dad got up.

"Don."

"Hi Dad. Hi Charlie." Charlie still didn't move. Don waved a hand. "Charlie?"

"He's not talking," Dad said. "He's lucky he didn't kill himself and your mother on the way over here. Charlie. Say hello to your brother."

That got a reaction. Charlie blinked. "Don?"

Don gave him a small smile. "Hey."

"Mom's sick," Charlie said.

"I know. What did the doctor say?"

Dad sighed. "Nothing. More tests tomorrow. They're admitting her. But by the time they get her upstairs...well, visiting hours are already over. We could get a quick look. But I can't go home until I know something."

"Of course," Don agreed.

"I feel fairly useless. You mother will be happy you're here, though. I'm happy you're here. How was the flight?"

"Okay. They're really said nothing?"

"Cancer," Charlie, his voice soft.

Don frowned. "What? Dad?"

"No, Charlie. He's speculating. You know your brother."

"Not speculating. Three different doctors saw tonight, Dad. The last one, well, calculating the odds...no." Charlie swallowed. "You're right, Dad. I'm wrong."

Don exchanged a glance with Dad. "No news can be good news."

"Yeah," Dad agreed. Charlie didn't answer; he just looked away, his eyes staring at the wall. Fixed, unmoving.

Don sat down in an empty chair. A moment of silence passed between the three of them.

"She'll be fine," Charlie finally sat, his gaze not shifting from the wall. "I was wrong."

"Right," Don muttered, and wished he could believe it.

--

Two days later, the news came. And it was far from good.

Cancer. Ovarian. Stage III.

"In Stage III, there's the survival rate isn't as strong as Stage I or II. But it's not Stage IV and medical breakthroughs have increased the five-year survival rate greatly."

Don watched the doctor, watched her deliver the news without batting an eyelash. Dad stood next to Mom as the woman spoke. Charlie was facing the window, facing the sunshine streaming through the window, his arms crossed.

"Increased? By how much?"

"In 1975, the chance of an ovarian cancer patient surviving past the five-year mark was 37. Now a patient has a 50 chance."

"Fifty-fifty, huh? That's not so bad," Mom said, trying to smile. She squeezed Dad's hand. "Could be worse."

"Fifty-fifty is a flip of the coin," Dad muttered.

"You said stage III. What about stage III?" Charlie didn't turn when he spoke.

"21 percent," the doctor replied. "I wish I had better news. But this doesn't mean it's beyond treatment."

"What kind of treatment?" Dad asked.

"In the short term, surgery. Long term, chemo. Honestly, we won't get a good picture of the disease until after surgery. Then we can evaluate how much of it we were able to remove and properly map out the chemotherapy plan. I won't lie. This is going to be a fight and it could be long."

Long. Don had leave gathered. He'd need to use it, but even then he knew it might not be enough. He gave Mom a smile.

"Mom's a fighter, right?"

Mom shook him a grateful look. "Right, Donnie. Not giving up that easily."

Later, when the doctor had left, and Mom had finally convinced the three of them to go home, get some sleep and some dinner, Don found himself sitting in the living room, staring at an old family photo.

"You were seven there. Charlie was barely a year old. Your mother insisted we needed a family portrait," Dad commented.

Don turned. Dad was standing across the room. He looked more tired than Don had ever seen him, and for once, Don realized his father had gotten older.

"I made dinner," Dad continued. "Spaghetti. It's not much, but we don't have much in the house. Your mother was making a grocery list when she... I'll need to go to the store."

"Spaghetti is fine." Don paused a moment. "Dad, what do think they'll find tomorrow?"

"I have no idea." Dad sunk into a chair across from Don. "And that scares me beyond belief. Your mother's a strong woman. Anything that happens to her, she could care less. The minute you or Charlie so much as skined a knee and she started pacing. I mean, when Charlie had appendicitis, she practically wore a hole in the waiting room floor."

"She never got sick," Don commented. "We all got the flu and she was fine. She was making soup and stirring the bubbles out of ginger ale. I should have realized when you told me she got the flu from Charlie a few months ago that something was wrong."

"You don't live here, Donnie. And Charlie and I didn't notice. Your mother doesn't complain. Come to think of it, neither do you." Dad sighed. "All her genes."

"Funny, I always thought Charlie got most of Mom's genes. I mean, the curly hair, the never-ending supply of energy..."

Dad smiled. "Yes. She's full of life."

"She can fight this, Dad. I mean, remember that bad call the umpire made in the eighth inning of the Champaign Little League game when I was twelve?"

"He said you were out, when you were clearly safe. I told her that."

"And she took your complaint to heart and wouldn't give up until the call was reversed."

Dad laughed softly. "She made a scene. I thought that umpire was really going to hit her when it was over."

"See? Mom doesn't give up so easily." Don turned and looked back at the photo. In it Charlie was trying to squirm his way out of Mom's arms. Charlie...Don knew Charlie wasn't taking this well. "Where's Charlie?"

"He went to CalSci. Said something about rearranging his classes tomorrow. You know Charlie."

Did he? Or had Charlie changed in the last few years? His little brother's coping mechanisms may have not improved, but he had no clue about anything else. "Yeah, I know Charlie. This is going to kill him."

Dad shook his head. "No. If she loses this fight, it will kill him."

"What about you?"

"Me? I don't know what it would do to me. Your mother and I have been together over thirty years. I'll feel better when she comes home."

Home. Again, the doctor's words echoed in Don's brain. A long fight. He needed to call Kim. He closed his eyes when he thought of their semi-fight.

"Dad?"

"Donnie?"

"Just so you know, I've been seeing someone."

"Oh. Still seeing that Kim? Is it serious?"

Yes, it was, although he wasn't sure it would remain that way after he made another phone call. He knew what he needed to do. What his mother needed. What Dad and Charlie needed. And maybe, just maybe, it was what he needed.

"It's serious. I need to make a phone call."