Author's Note: Thanks for your patience (and not throwing raw veggies at me for doing this to Evan - for all the "whumping" that goes on with this poor guy, I'm a little surprised no one beat me to the punch on this particular "whump-agent"). School is back in session, and I have a more hectic teaching schedule than usual, involving teaching on two different campuses. I'm hoping I will be able to post a chapter a week now that things have settled into their routine.

It's definitely AU by now - when I began this, it was post-Cuba arc, but I didn't know there would be a Paige, or anything like that. I think we can safely say that it's gone up through "In Vino Veritas" but then veered off into it's own world. There MIGHT be Peck, but I doubt there will be Paige, if that makes any sense. Let me know if it doesn't. ;)

Still Hank's POV for this chapter.

Hank

I take some time to pull myself together before venturing out of the stairwell and back into the intensive care ward. I still feel very drippy, though. I could probably stand a visit to the men's room – splash a little water on my face, fix the hair and the clothes, and see if I can't adjust my expression into something halfway resembling bravery. When I see our various friends and loved ones, I would really prefer that they didn't take one look at me and assume Evan had a massive coronary and croaked in their absence. As I head in the direction of the restrooms, I am brought up short when a familiar voice calls my name. I turn to see Boris Kuester von Jurgens-Ratenicz, of all people, approaching me.

"Boris," I acknowledge, unable to disguise my surprise. "I wasn't aware you were back."

"I actually just arrived." And he came straight here from his jet to Hampton's Heritage? "Dieter contacted me yesterday evening to report some sort of medical crisis at Shadow Pond. He was a bit unnerved at seeing the ambulance and then finding the guesthouse deserted. He said he tried to contact you, but you were nowhere to be found." I dimly remember tossing my phone aside yesterday when I finally reached Evan. I picked it up when I went home to change this morning, but I neglected to actually check and see if I had any messages or missed calls. I figured Divya was fielding any HankMed business, and I just assumed that would be the only reason anyone would call. Aww, Dieter… "After hearing his report, I made arrangements to return home first thing in the morning. I must say, I'm relieved to see you in good health, Hank – clearly the ambulance wasn't for you." He frowns and searches my face, which must look physically and emotionally drained. "Your brother…?" he asks quietly, letting the unspoken question linger in the air.

I close my eyes and nod wearily. "Yeah. He's… sick."

"I hope it isn't serious?" Here we go. For a man who values privacy as much as Boris does, he sure does like to pry. Then again, I suppose he has to wonder if Evan suffered some crazy accident on his property, making him vulnerable to a lawsuit or something.

"Well, I might as well tell you. You'll probably find out eventually anyway – you've got more connections than an airport," I mutter. Better he hear it directly from me, rather than some inflated piece of gossip from the Hamptons rumor mill. I'm slightly perplexed by the fact that the first person I'm technically telling about my brother's condition is Boris. He has always been graciously tolerant of my brother, I think mainly because he's my brother, but I've never gotten the impression that he bears much affection for Evan on his own. It's not that he hates Evan, or even that he dislikes him – I don't think that's the case. I think it's more that Evan doesn't serve his purposes, so he doesn't bear much notice. I steel myself. "Evan… has cancer." I need to practice not stumbling over "the word" – hopefully, by the time I tell Eddie, I will exude confidence and optimism. I need some more practice, though, because it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I visibly wince at the feeling.

Boris exhales slowly and studies me, but his fundamental expression does not change. It rarely does. There is no indication of shock or horror on his face, but I can tell from the exhalation that he is stunned by the news and perhaps is not sure how to proceed with me. "I know people, Hank," he says at last.

"Um, yes, I'm aware of that," I reply, a bit confused. That was not what I was expecting. "You probably know most people."

But he continues as if I haven't spoken. "As I told you previously, I have been all over the world in an effort to treat my own illness. The doctors I have met have important colleagues; they have many connections and access to all sorts of clinical trials and research. I have heard of an oncology clinic in Norway which has an experimental procedure in the works; there is a renowned surgeon in Montreal, one facility in Switzerland that has made great strides in cancer-treating drugs..." He lists these things on separate fingers. Then he looks at me and sees my blank gaze, realizing I still haven't gotten the point. "Hank, I can make introductions for you, pull a few strings. I can aid you financially, if you require it. And of course, you and Evan may have unlimited access to my jet – anywhere you need to go to obtain the treatment he needs…"

I stand silent and stunned. He would offer all this to me… to us? Of course, he doesn't even know that Evan's prognosis makes such a magnanimous offer unnecessary. "Wow. Boris," I manage to say. "I don't know what to say. That is incredibly kind of you, and I'm so amazed and… gosh, just grateful that you would be so generous and openhanded with us…"

"It is the least I can do, after the attention and care you have given me."

"…. And if the situation were direr, I would probably take you up on it, but Evan's prognosis is actually really good. It's treatable. With the crisis we had yesterday, they were able to catch it very early, and they've actually already removed the whole tumor. He'll need a course of radiation, but the doctors are very confident he will beat this."

"And are you confident, Hank?"

"Y-Yeah, I am," I answer, nodding quickly. I feel as though Boris is taking in my red eyes and tear-stained face and shirt, and I wish that my appearance didn't so blatantly betray how badly I took the news. "We literally just found out a little while ago. Evan and I… we're a little shell-shocked from the whole thing, but he's optimistic and ready to fight it with all he has. So that's really the most important thing. It's very treatable –"

"Yes, you've mentioned that." Boris eyes me with that discerning gaze of his, and I wonder if he believes my adamant, rambling insistence that Evan will be fine. "I'm very sorry to hear of this news, but I am glad he is in good spirits. I would imagine nothing less from him. Human beings are creatures of hope at their cores, and I believe your brother will find a well of untapped strength to see him through this. There surely will be moments of fear, of despair, and of frustration for him, but if he can still maintain his usual… buoyancy… in the midst of this unfortunate event, then I think you have every reason to be optimistic."

It amazes me that Boris seems to have pinpointed Evan's behavior so accurately, given how little he really knows him. "Yeah… he actually took the news much better than I did," I admit with a sheepish smile. Boris nods in understanding.

"I know what it's like to get a frightening diagnosis, and I also know what it's like to stand by and watch a loved one suffer. There are moments when being the witness can be the harder role, wouldn't you say?" I realize it's a rhetorical question. I recall what Evan said earlier, that he knew this was harder on me than it was on him. I can't say if he's right, though. I don't dare presume to elevate my position in this drama over Evan's, or to minimize what he's feeling about all of this… he's the one that has to deal with all the aspects of this illness: the physical AND the emotional. There's no way I can compare my turmoil and fear with his. I can only regret that I am not being as strong for him as I wish to be… as I should be. That is the only point on which I would say I am suffering more than he is – in my disappointing lack of courage.

Boris must soon take his leave, but not before insisting that if we require anything at all, he and his entire staff are at our disposal. I am overwhelmed at his show of support – it is not something that I had expected from him. I mean, Boris is a gentleman, and a certain general level of sympathy and well wishes is kosher at times like this, but the offer of his assistance and the readiness with which he was hoping to provide that assistance is far more than I would have ever asked for. I know Evan will be flabbergasted – he doesn't think Boris even knows his name.

I take a moment to check on Evan, peering through the window into his room. He is still asleep. I watch him for a long time from the hallway. Evan is peaceful for now, blissfully able to find a temporary refuge from the stress of the day, thanks to all the medication he's on. But, as I'm looking at him, he seems so… young. And fragile. My brother is NOT a fragile guy. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before. His health has always been sound – he's had his wisdom teeth out, and broke his wrist when he took a tumble off the jungle gym in elementary school, and had a bout of mono in high school, and of course, recently knocked the crap out of his head while scuba diving in Cuba, but despite some bumps and fumbles his medical file is remarkably (and thankfully) slim. Especially when you consider he's something of a klutz. He's one of those types who "takes a licking and keeps on ticking."

We faced our mother's illness and death, but we've never confronted our own mortality. At least, I haven't, neither his nor my own. You'd think I would have at least contemplated such a subject once in a while – being an ER doctor, I have seen far too many people cut down in the prime of their lives, whether by illness, or violence, or accident. As tragic as it was, I always knew that the patient on the gurney in front of me was not Evan. It was never Evan. I always managed to keep that separate from my… our lives. On some level, because we endured our mother's loss so early, and because I eventually became a doctor based on that event, did I think nothing would ever attack us again? Did I think that he was immune to sickness now that I had a medical degree? This time the patient in the bed is my little brother. And it's not like a cold or the flu. Even with the optimistic prognosis, it's still a serious illness. One that I can't fix. I'm still not entirely sure how we found ourselves here, and it's very disconcerting.

I stop my musing, and again think I should visit the men's room and splash some water on my face. Maybe some coffee would help my nerves, too. I turn from the window and begin to walk slowly in the direction of the restrooms. And then I see him. Oh, great. Here we go…

Eddie scurries down the hall at a brisk pace, with several canvas shopping bags dangling from his arms. Seeing me, he grins widely, talking quickly before I have a chance to say a thing. "Well, Hank, my boy, I went to three different stores and I think I have completely emptied the greater Hamptons area of orange Jello. It's all in here-" he raises the bags as an indication. "I may have gone a little overboard, but if this is all Evan can have right now, I want to make sure he has enough to last him a while." With an impish look he winks at me. "I also got one thing of lime Jello, just for fun. I just want to see what he'll say."

I feel a weight landing on my shoulders in the wake of his enthusiasm. Dad is really good at this part: ostentatious shows of affection. He's always been a lavish gift-giver, even if the gifts were gotten by less than legitimate means. I'm not in the least bit surprised that he has gone out and hoarded orange Jello as if we're preparing for apocalyptic rationing conditions. That's the thing about Eddie R. I know that he loves us in his own way. He always has. He never treated us or Mom badly. I've actually never doubted his love for us. But it isn't the right sort of love; it isn't a father's love – not what I would expect a father's love to be, anyway. Even as kids, he wanted to be our pal more than anything else. And God help me, from what I remember, he was actually pretty fun to be with. But he simply has no idea how to be a dad; he had no idea how to be a good husband and provider either. That was the biggest part of the problem – that he left us when being a pal was no longer enough. He bailed once we needed something greater, I guess because he realized he was either incapable of being more for us, or because he was too afraid of failure.

Eddie could be less than wholesome sometimes, with an unhealthy but halfway understandable obsession with money, and because of that obsession he frequently got in over his head and you couldn't trust anything he said. But even if he was seedy, he was never evil. He was a louse, but not a devil; a sorry excuse for a father, but not a villain. Sometimes I think it would have been far easier for us if he had been a horrible drunk/drug-user or an abusive man or something like that, something really horrible, because then we would have rejoiced when he left us. Maybe I wouldn't have become quite so bitter.

I'm really not looking forward to this. I guess my expression is too obvious, because his eager smile dims abruptly, and he lowers the surplus of Jello he was so excited to show me. He crinkles his brow studying me. "What's up with you?" he asks suspiciously.

"Dad, we need to talk."

"Evan needs his Jello," he says stubbornly. He can sense that I want to speak of something unpleasant and he wants no part of it. He attempts to walk around me, but I stop him.

"Evan is sleeping right now, Dad. We need to let him rest. He can have it when he wakes up. Let's sit down and talk, ok?" I feel as if I'm speaking to a child.

He allows me to guide him to an out-of-the-way nook in the waiting area. No one else is around. As he sits, setting his bags of Jello in front of him like a protective wall, he looks at me warily, like he's expecting me to chastise him for something. I sit across from him, nervously tearing at one of my fingernails. He's rather fidgety too. The tension is so thick I can nearly see it. "What's wrong, Hank? I know that look, I know something's wrong – what is it?"

"Dad, while you were gone, the doctors came by to see Evan. They got his test results back."

"O-kaay…."

"They had taken some biopsies of the gland they removed during the surgery, and also some samples of surrounding organs and tissues. They wanted to see exactly what caused the gland to rupture. You know, so if Evan needed any special medication or anything they could give it to him, to prevent this from ever happening again."

"Yeah… you told me all of this last night, son," Eddie says, somewhat impatiently.

"Ok. Well… the rupture was caused by a tumor on his adrenal gland. They removed it with the gland, so it's out now. But the tests showed that it's… it was malignant," I say gently, careful to change the tense so that he will understand that the tumor is truly gone, no longer in Evan's body where it would continue to spread and grow.

Dad's face goes ashen. "Tumor," he repeats, chewing the word and deciding he doesn't like the taste. I don't blame him; I didn't like it either. He holds onto my gaze, his eyes pleading for me not to say the words that I have to say. "Don't…" he says in a harsh whisper.

"Dad, listen…"

"Don't, Hank. Don't you dare tell me that after all of that insanity yesterday, Evan is…" he trails off, unable to complete the thought. He doesn't have to though – I understand what he's saying. He doesn't want me to say that after everything we went through, Evan is still going to die. I had no intention of saying such a thing, however, and I hurry to correct him before the idea that Evan is dying takes hold in his mind.

"No – Eddie, listen to me! Listen to what I'm saying. Yes, it is cancer, but it is very treatable. The surgery got it all out; from here, he'll only need a bit of radiation and he'll be fine."

"It's never that simple," he whispers, balling his hands into fists. Then he mutters something else that I don't catch, but when I ask him to repeat it, he doesn't respond. He's beginning to crumble.

I've never seen such a look on my father's face before… no, wait. Yes I have. I suddenly remember when we had all gathered together for Mom to explain to Evan and me that she was sick. She had done most of the talking; Eddie had remained silent with this look on his face, the same one he has at this moment. I didn't give it much thought then, but I know it now – it was the look of utter defeat. He had given up on Mom once she was diagnosed, even before the treatment began. Seeing this look once again, I think he's giving up on Evan at this very moment. Oh God, if he shuts down now on me now, I won't be able to bring him back. "Dad? Are you listening to me?"

He begins to shake his head vigorously, and he abruptly stands up. I jump up after him, but he waves me off, refusing to let me touch him. "Don't… I can't… Hank, I'm sorry… but I just can't…."

"Eddie, stop it! You need to understand what's going on-"

"I don't think I can do this, Hank… You can't ask me to watch him die."

"Evan is not going to die!" I growl in frustration. "Not from this, and not anytime soon. That's what you need to understand! It's treatable; it's practically cured already. The tumor is gone now, and all he needs is a couple of months of radiation. Radiation, not chemo. They're confident it won't come back. He will get through this, and – God willing – this will just be a little bump in the road in the grand scheme of things." But Eddie is still shaking his head, as if he thinks I'm lying. I grab his shoulders, and I stare hard into his eyes. "Look, Dad, I know you're upset. I'm upset too. I'm completely freaked out that this is happening to Evan, and I'm not able to have any sort of control in the situation, because this is an area of medicine I'm not an expert in. So I have to trust the doctors who do know about it, and they say Evan is going to be OK. They are not going to lie to us. I trust them, and Evan trusts them, and you will have to trust them, too!" I can feel him trembling as I lecture him, but I have no idea if anything I'm saying is registering in his brain. I need to make sure he hears me, because I do not want to let him see Evan if he's going to be this upset, because then Evan will get upset, and I will get upset that he made Evan upset. And then everybody will just be upset!

"Hank?" I turn at the sudden interruption and see that Divya has arrived and managed to sneak up on us. I let go of Dad's arms, and face her awkwardly. I see her eyes nervously darting like hummingbirds between me and my father, wondering what on earth she has just walked into. "I got your message; I was already finished with the last visit of the day, so I just came directly back here. What's going on?"

I glance at Dad who shifts uncomfortably away, rubbing his tense forehead. I step a little closer to my PA. "Divya, we found out why Evan's gland ruptured."

I think it hits her before I even say anything. She begins to blink rapidly, and she murmurs a shaky, "Oh, God, it's bad, isn't it…"

"Divya, it's cancer," I say quietly, and her hand flies up to her mouth to hold back whatever was about to pour out - a sob or a wail, a gasp or a curse – and her eyes squint as they quickly fill up with tears. I immediately launch into the second part of the spiel, hurrying to reassure her that all is not lost. "BUT it's going to be all right. He'll be ok. They got it all out, and it hasn't spread. It's out."

A tear manages to sneak out of the corner of her eye, and she impatiently wipes it away, concentrating on my voice. "They're absolutely sure they got it all?" she asks brokenly, barely allowing herself to look hopeful.

"Yes. A course of radiation, and he'll be just fine. They're very optimistic."

She gives a shuddering sigh, and sort of blindly nods her head. She seems to be regaining her calmness, though a few more shining tears drip their way down her cheeks. Again, she wipes them away. "I'm so sorry, Hank…" she whispers as she wraps her arms around my neck. I return the hug tightly, grateful for her embrace and her clear head. After a moment, she pulls back and, wide-eyed with worry, she asks, "God, what am I thinking – is Evan ok? Does he know?"

"He knows." Divya winces. "He's ok, though. I mean, he's scared, of course. But Divya… it was incredible. The way he stayed so calm and clear-headed… and I don't mean 'Evan-calm.' I mean like 'regular people-calm.'" Despite her weepy eyes, Divya rewards me with a smile and a breathy giggle at that. I continue, "And once he had asked his questions, he immediately shifted into trying to make me feel better… I was a mess, and I still am, technically. But Evan…"

"He's strong," Divya finishes for me, tearing up again, but retaining her wobbly smile. "Stronger than we give him credit for. He's being strong for you. For all of us." She sniffs, and runs a hand through her hair, lifting it back from her face which is overheated with emotion. "And we need to be strong for him, too."

I squeeze her arm, so grateful for her calming presence, so grateful that this strange summer brought her friendship to me and my brother. She has truly proven indispensible to us, and not just as an employee. I don't know what we'll do when she marries Raj and leaves us behind. Especially now. "We will be strong for him. We have every reason to hope that he'll get through this and it won't ever come back. You hear me, Dad?" I say pointedly, and turn to see what he will say.

And he isn't there.

The sacks of Jello are still where he set them, by the chairs. But Dad isn't anywhere. Nowhere that I can see.

My face falls. I whirl back to face Divya, and ask, "Where'd he go?"

Surprised, she looks around us in confusion. "I don't know. He was just here. When did he leave?" Seeing the look on my face, which must appear to be a weird combination of panic, anger, frustration, and complete disbelief, she hurriedly says, "Maybe he just went to the men's room. He didn't look too good – maybe he just needed to take a moment to pull himself together?"

Sure, it's possible. I was planning on doing the same thing. But... what if he's not in the bathroom? Why would he step away without saying anything, even a simple 'Be right back'? This is exactly what I was afraid of.

I send Divya in to sit with Evan. I need to find our father before he makes a move that neither of us will be able to forgive him for.

To be continued...