Alex sat quietly in the waiting room, reading a magazine as Bobby paced nervously. Other patients in the room watched him warily from behind their own magazines. She knew better than to tell him to sit. Restless Bobby pacing a room could be unsettling. Restless Bobby trying to contain his energy was worse.

When Wendy, Bergman's nurse, called him back, there was a palpable feeling of relief in the room. Alex offered a small smile to those closest to her as she rose to follow him. A little gray-haired lady in the chair beside hers patted her arm and offered an understanding smile. Not for the first time, Alex considered putting tranquilizers in his coffee.

Wendy took his vitals, weighed him and led them to an exam room. "You've lost more weight," she scolded, knowing the doctor would be unhappy.

Bobby scowled, but said nothing. The nurse looked at Alex, who shrugged. "Dr. Bergman will be in shortly," Wendy said.

"Thank you," Alex replied.

Great, more waiting. On a stakeout, Bobby had the patience of Job. He could sit all night, waiting, watching, all of his restlessness settled into a potential energy, like that of a cat, waiting to pounce. But he had no patience for doctors, and he was annoyed that Alex was with him, annoyed that he had let her coerce him into being there. Neither of them spoke.

Bergman didn't keep them waiting long. He came into the room, reading Wendy's notations in Bobby's chart. His brow was furrowed into a frown. "You've lost another seven pounds," he said with concern. "I told you I didn't want you to lose more weight."

"I've been busy."

"You need to take time to eat properly, Bobby. Has the marijuana helped?"

"Some."

"Increase the frequency. You need to eat. My next step is going to be your job."

Bobby's eyes blazed with anger. "Don't. We had an agreement."

"We had an agreement if your condition remained stable. A seven pound weight loss isn't stable. And don't start diving into the wrong food. You need to maintain a healthy diet—lean meat, lots of vegetables, fruit. Stay away from fried and fatty foods. Increase your caloric intake, but with the right food."

"You mean with vegetables? How the hell am I supposed to increase my caloric intake with carrots? I'm not a goddam rabbit."

Bergman sighed and offered Alex a patient smile. "Hello, Alex."

"Dr. Bergman."

He looked back at Bobby. "Increase your starches. Pasta, potatoes, rice. You're not on a weight loss diet and you're not diabetic. Just steer clear of fried foods and empty calories."

"So whiskey instead of beer?"

Bergman huffed. "You're trying to antagonize me today, aren't you? If scotch is your weapon of choice, so be it. Just...shoot for moderation, okay? The main thing I want you to do is relax, try to minimize your stress. If you need a couple of fingers of scotch a couple of times a week to accomplish it, then enjoy. Wine isn't a bad choice either, but make it red, and beer does have some benefit—lots of B vitamins. Just don't overdo it. Toss in a joint in the evening and maybe we'll finally be on the right track."

Alex watched the sparring match between patient and doctor, and she knew that the fire she saw in her husband also fueled his determined will to live. "Are there any other treatment options?" she asked.

Bergman nodded slowly. "There's at least one more, aside from just waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Other shoe? You mean a major cardiac event?" she asked.

"Yes. It's on the horizon. I can't predict exactly when it will happen or how severe it will be, but expect it within the next six to nine months. My gut tells me it will likely be the end. I don't think it's something that you're going to come back from, Bobby."

Alex felt her breath catch in her throat. "You never told me that," she accused them both.

"You want honesty; you want my unadulterated medical opinion? I'm giving you that. I've already offered all the hope I can. There is no miracle cure for a damaged heart."

"So there's nothing else we can do? No way to minimize the damage a heart attack will do?"

Bobby was getting agitated listening to them. He shifted in his seat and Alex rested her hand on his thigh. He settled, despite himself.

Bergman tapped his pen on the folder in front of him. "The damage is done; his heart can't handle any more. A heart attack, however potentially mild, will destroy enough of the healthy heart tissue that is left to make his heart incapable of working correctly. There's no way for me to change that. Medicine will help put it off, but not forever. And there are side effects to be managed." He paused. "There is another treatment, but it's drastic. Very drastic. And very expensive."

"Will the insurance pay for it?" she asked, not caring about the details at the moment.

"Yes, it's covered. It's a last resort for a failing heart, but it's a well-established practice."

"What is it?" Alex asked and Bobby looked away.

Bergman looked directly at Alex. "A heart transplant. I can start the work-up right away, get him on the list within the month. Time is short. A decision will have to be made soon. And there's no guarantee we can find a heart in time. The demand far outweighs the available organs we need in every area. More people die waiting for organs than receive them."

Alex realized that Bergman was speaking directly to her. Bobby knew. He'd heard all this before, and she grew furious. The doctor watched the couple, Alex angry, Bobby withdrawn, and he decided to try one more approach, one he hoped would finally break through the reticence he'd been getting from Bobby for weeks. "How old are your children?" he asked in a soft tone, although he knew the answer.

Bobby remained silent, not looking his way. Alex managed her temper and answered, "Six, six, almost three and almost one."

Bergman did some quick calculations in his head, and when he spoke again, his voice was still soft. "The way we're going now," he said, looking directly at Bobby. "You may not be around for Christmas. I can almost guarantee you won't see another spring."

Bobby didn't react, and Alex knew for certain this was not a new argument between doctor and patient. Bergman went on. "If we can find you a new heart, which is by no means a given, then you may be around for plenty of Christmases...for holidays and birthdays and graduations. Bobby, you'll be around to watch your kids grow up."

"This isn't the first time you've discussed this," Alex accused tightly.

Bergman shook his head. "It's not, and we're wasting precious time. If this is something we're going to do, Bobby will have to be strong enough to handle the surgery. If he suffers a heart attack before we find a heart, we will be out of time."

"How long ago did you first bring this up as an option?"

"A month or so. As soon as I realized we may not have another option."

"The damage has gotten worse?"

With a nod, the doctor explained, "It's progressed quickly over the past six months, much faster than I anticipated. Add in the car accident in Texas, the shootout in Massachusetts—I admit Bobby has been a challenge for me. But the time has come to make some hard decisions. You can try to tough it out, but not even John Wayne could deny the Grim Reaper his due."

Alex's tone was tight with anger. "A transplant will fix him?"

Bergman shook his head. "Not entirely. Bobby's heart damage has been progressive, but it's injury-related. It wasn't caused by a disease process that could destroy another heart. Transplant is not a cure, but it's the best treatment option I have for you. There is going to be a regimen of powerful drugs that will need to be taken every day, without fail. But, a healthy heart is a new lease on life, Bobby. It will give you years you would never have had with your own heart."

Bobby's first instinct had been to say no. He looked at Alex. He wasn't prepared for the stunned expression that lurked beyond the anger on her pretty face.

"And you didn't say anything to me?" she accused the doctor.

"Bobby only gave me limited permission to talk to you. I told you everything I could. The rest had to come from him."

She glared at her husband, who had the good sense not to look at her. "I got nothing from him. That was why I came to you."

"As I've told you from the start, I am bound by confidentiality. He specifically told me I could not present transplant to you as a treatment option. He wanted time to think about it after he initially told me no. He wanted to do some research."

"Of course he did. I was not one of his resources." She turned to Bobby. "You told Mike, didn't you?"

Bobby shook his head. "No, but he may be suspicious because I asked a lot of specific questions about his father's transplant."

"This is big, Bobby. You should have come to me."

"I would have, but I needed to think without you putting pressure on me. If I decided against it, then I wanted to avoid a major argument."

"So you have made up your mind? That's why you brought me with you today? Because you made your decision, all on your own?"

"It's my decision to make, Alex, and I tried to be as rational about it as I could. You would have responded with an emotional opinion, and that's not what I needed."

She was too angry to talk to him any more and she turned away. Bergman watched the interaction and decided he wouldn't trade places with Bobby for all the money in the world. "So you have made your decision?" he asked.

"Start the work up," Bobby growled.

With an approving nod, Bergman wrote in his chart. "Wendy will be in to take some blood and we can do an ECG and an echo today. I'll have Carol set up everything else, and I'll have her put a rush on it. I hope we haven't waited too long to take action."

He slapped the file closed and left the room.

As he pulled on his shirt and buttoned it, Bobby watched his wife, who would not look at him, and he wondered, in hindsight, if he'd made another mistake, kept one too many secrets. Now he wondered if her anger would outlast his life, and he was worried, very worried, that it would.

Bobby suffered through the testing in silence, and Alex offered no words of comfort or encouragement. Each was trying to process what was happening.

They left the office as they'd arrived, in separate vehicles. Alex had barely said two words to him.

Alex drove to her sister's to pick up the kids. Bobby went for a walk in Central Park, struggling to come to terms with what was happening. He called his partner, who hadn't left the squad room yet, and Mike met him in the park.

"Shouldn't you be home?" Mike asked.

"Soon. Not yet. I...I have a lot to process."

"What happened?"

"Remember that I told you things had gotten worse with my heart?"

"Yeah."

"They, uhm, they're listing me for a transplant, Mike."

Mike stopped walking. "Really?"

Bobby nodded and kicked at a pebble on the path. "The doctor is on the fence about me working. He doesn't like it, but he hasn't pulled the plug on me yet."

"They're listing you soon?"

"As soon as the work-up is done. Couple weeks at most."

"That was quick."

"Not really. He first mentioned it to me about a month ago."

"And you were researching, like you always do. That's why you were asking all the questions about my dad. Why didn't you say anything?"

Bobby shook his head, but didn't offer an explanation. They continued walking.

"You're scared," Mike said after a few minutes of silence. "And you don't know what to do with that feeling."

"Bergman is good at getting to the heart of things. He's been using the kids to persuade me and he's pretty damn effective. Without a new heart, I probably won't be here for Maggie's next birthday. With it...there's a chance I'll be around when she graduates high school."

"Smart argument."

"Alex is pissed."

"She's been pissed, or haven't you noticed?"

"No, I've noticed. But she got her way and she's still pissed."

"What did you do?"

"She's mad because I've known about this transplant option and she hasn't."

"Who have you told?"

"No one. I've been working through it in my head. I needed to get everything straight in my mind before I could bring someone else in on it. I knew that Alex would pressure me to do it, and I didn't want that kind of pressure. I didn't want to tell her until I decided to do it."

"And if you'd decided against it?"

"Then it would have just gone away with no one the wiser. I wouldn't have told her. I wouldn't want to spend the end of my life fighting with her."

"That's valid."

"But it may be too late, Mike. Dr. Bergman is going to scramble to get me on the list as fast as he can, but my number is just about up. I wasn't exaggerating that."

"So what swayed you? If you were taking that long to decide, what convinced you to do it?"

Softly, Bobby answered, "Last Sunday, I was sitting on the couch, kinda watching the Giants play. I, I was a little stoned because my chest was really tight. Tommy was sitting with Molly, teaching her to build with blocks. He would build a tower, and she would knock it down. He'd say 'Oh,' and then he would start all over. Two hours, Mike. I watched them do that for two hours, and he never got upset, never lost patience, just like Maggie has always been with him. Then Maggie and Harry came in from playing outside with Zeus. Tommy scurried off to play with Zeus, Maggie crawled up into my lap and Harry took over the blocks. The first time Molly knocked over his building, Harry got mad. He scolded Molly, and Maggie scrambled down to calm him, to show him the fun in the game she'd always played with Tom and Molly. Harry settled, and he apologized to the baby. Then he built a tower and watched her destroy it. They giggled and began building a new tower for the baby to destroy. And I tried to imagine those children, my children, as adults. I couldn't do it. I saw them being raised by someone else in a troubled world, one without me in it. And I realized what a huge mistake I made. Now, I'm trying to fix it and I hope like hell I'm not too late."

"You do have a tendency to look at your life and miss the big picture."

"But...Alex is mad at me. Really mad. And I don't...I don't know how to fix it this time."

"I don't know what to do, Bobby. I'd help you, if I could, but this time..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. No one can help me with this one." He sighed, impatient and angry with himself. "Go home, Mike. Go home to your wife and your son."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Think some more."

"You gonna hang out here in the park?"

"For a little while. I'll see you tomorrow."

Mike reached out and squeezed his friend's shoulder. Then he walked away, leaving Bobby alone with his thoughts in Central Park.