Okay, so this is a weird fic. I wrote it not really thinking about posting it, then I finished it and thought what the hell, maybe someone out there enjoys it. It's mostly Mad Men, with canon relationships, but starts to feature a couple of House M.D. characters as it goes on. You can skip those parts, or just roll with it. You don't really need House MD background to understand it, they're just my stand-in doctors. The crossover part was fun, though.
This a long story, but it's finished. I'll be posting it every few days until it's all here.
A few disclaimers:
- I based most of the medical stuff off of a fic of my sisters' (which is strictly a House MD fic. If you don't mind spoiling yourselves, you can look for it as "The Man with no Face" by Kaelan, at fanfiction dot net. She in turned based hers in a book she lists in her fic.
- I've tried to be accurate but I am not a doctor, nor was I alive in the 70s.
/
DON
Wednesday Noon, December 1, 1971
/
"Mr. Draper, I've got Mr. Francis on the phone. He says it's urgent."
Don straightened up on his chair and cast a panicked look towards Peggy, who was just laying out her storyboard.
"I'll call you later. I have to take this," he said. Peggy frowned, eyeing him closely, but she folded up her leather book and stepped away. Before closing the door behind her she turned towards him, a wary droop in her eyes, and Don guessed she could imagine the reason for that call.
He breathed in deep, his hand shaking, and picked up the phone.
"Henry," he said. It happened, he expected to hear. She's gone.
"Don, I need you to pick up Sally. She's at home. She says she wants to stay with you for a few days."
Don dropped his hand and instinctively started to reach for his drinks cart, then remembered it wasn't there. He sighed. Thank God.
"Of course. I'll come by at lunch. Is there any, uh..."
"It's a good day," Henry knew what he meant. "She was stronger this morning. She's a fighter."
A fighter. He would've never believed it before all this.
"Henry, I... I thought Sally wanted to be... She said she wanted to stay..." He didn't want to say it.
"She did... Don," Henry's voice got lower, and Don leaned in towards his desk, the receiver stuck to his ear. "This has been really tough on her."
"I know—"
"No, you don't. Look, I know you talk to her, but she lives here, and she's been behaving really strangely this last week."
"What do you mean, behaving strangely?" Don raised his voice. "Her mother's dying."
"Betty's been like this for months, she's actually a little better, trust me this is something else. She's been having night terrors. I wake up in the morning and I find her sitting in the living room staring at the ceiling, she says she can't sleep... And she's been cruel to the boys and to me, which is very unlike her."
"Does she want to come and stay with me, or do you want her to?"
Henry sighed, probably realising what he must've sounded like.
"She asked me. I think... She says she's been feeling off, that it's just stress and the whole college thing, but... I think she's realised she's scaring her brothers. She asked me not to tell you but... I thought you should know. You need to keep an eye on her."
"I will."
Don hung up the phone and stood from his desk. He breathed in deep for a few seconds, then looked towards his door.
"Meredith! Get Peggy in here."
Mere seconds later, Peggy knocked and walked in. She looked anxious.
"Close the door," he said, and she did. "Peggy I need you to stand in for me this afternoon at the meeting."
She nodded, though stayed still, expecting an explanation.
"What should I say?" she asked, when he was silent.
"Say I had a family emergency." He started putting his stuff away, then he raised his eyes towards Peggy again. "It's Sally. She's staying with me for a while, I have to pick her up."
"Oh," Peggy said, seemingly relieved.
"Don't mention that please."
"Of course not."
"Keep working on that board, I'll call you tonight and we can discuss it."
"Sure," she turned to leave, "Good luck, Don."
He tried to smile.
"Thanks."
/
The drive to Rye felt much shorter than he remembered, and he found himself doing a couple of laps of the block before finally stopping at the Francis home. He walked slowly to the front door and held his breath while he rang the bell. He knew Betty would be in the hospital at that time, but he was surprised at how much dread he felt at the prospect of seeing her. They talked on the phone, but seeing her… Seeing her would make it real.
"Hey, Dad."
Sally opened the door with her hand clutching a small suitcase, and she stepped out.
"I'm all set, you don't have to come in," she said, when he peered curiously inside.
"Isn't Henry…?"
"He's not in. He probably thought you would take a bit longer to get here. Aren't you working?"
Don frowned - there was something strange about the way she spoke to him. It almost felt like an accusation.
"I was, I left early." They both started walking towards the car. It was a second-hand Volkswagen, and his hair brushed against the ceiling, but he liked that Sally couldn't push herself to the far side like she'd done in the caddy. "I've got the rest of the day," he said, and started to drive away from the house. "Where do you want to have lunch?"
"Don't you have food at home?"
"I do, but I thought…"
"Just drop me in the apartment, I've got homework to do. You can go back to work."
Don stared. There had been a time when this sort of exchange would not have surprised him, but it hadn't been like that in a long time. He had made amends, and his relationship with Sally had been a priority ever since he came back. He didn't understand the spite in her voice.
"Sally… Is everything all right?" he asked. She scoffed.
"Of course it's not."
"You know what I mean."
"Since when do you care?"
Don braked hard and pulled over on the shoulder.
"Since you were born, Sally. What's going on? I thought —"
"What? That you could be nice to me for a couple of months and that would erase sixteen years of being a shitty dad?"
Don opened his mouth, just about to start shouting, but managed to stop himself. He had an urge to get out of the car, just walk away, but he forced himself to breathe for a moment, and then he silently pulled back into the road.
/
They climbed up the stairs to his apartment on the sixth floor, and Sally reached the door two full flights ahead of him. Once there she turned back towards him, with a playful smile that made him stop in his tracks.
"You're going to have to quit smoking it you ever want to beat me to the top," she said, and there was no trace of bitterness in her voice or in her face. He half smiled back at her, and tossed her the key.
"I've cut back. Down to two packs a week," he said, and made a point of remembering to throw away that half empty one he'd left in his nightstand.
"The doctor says cutting back is no good. He says it's all or nothing," Sally said. She was back to her usual tone, though, not berating, so he took her suitcase from her and led her inside.
"Well, one step at a time."
They ordered Chinese and ate from little boxes while perched in front of the TV, which Don knew was something Betty and Henry didn't usually allowed them to do - although who knows if that's changed now. He asked her about school and her plans for the future, but then shifted to more immediate subjects when she didn't seem comfortable with that.
"So how's everything with Pat?" he asked. She blushed, and he knew he'd hit gold.
"Good," she said. He smiled.
"Good?"
"Yeah. It's good. Did I…?" she frowned. "I've never told you about Pat."
"You haven't?"
"You know I haven't… I'm never telling Bobby anything again."
"Oh, come on," Don reached for her and teasingly pulled at her arm. "He let it slip, and I squeezed it out of him. So… am I ever going to meet this Pat?"
"No."
"Ever?"
"Dad, we're just going out."
"Has Henry met him?"
She squinted at him.
"Dad," she said, and he understood the warning. They had talked about these sort of comments before.
"Well, I'm happy if you're happy," he said, and noticed a slight deflating in her face as he did so. He grabbed her hand. "Is there something else going on?"
She immediately turned towards him and her frown deepened.
"Why?" she asked, and her tone from when he'd picked her up seemed to return. "What did Bobby say?"
Don took a deep breath.
"Bobby hasn't said anything, okay? Don't turn on him. I'm just… I don't know, you just seem a bit on edge."
"And do you really need to ask why that is?"
"Is that the only reason, Sally?"
She huffed, annoyed.
"Of course it is. You think it's not enough?"
"No. I don't."
"Then stop asking me about it."
She stood from the couch and left for her tiny room, closing the door behind her. Outside it was not yet dark. He stared at her door a while, searching a sound of her, or signs of movement, but everything was quiet. Sighing, he threw away the remaining boxes of fried noodles and he went for the phone to call Bobby and Gene. He thought of speaking to Henry as well, and asking for more details on Sally, but she was too close and the acoustics were terrible in that place.
When he went to his bedside to toss the cigarettes, he saved one and smoked it by the window.
/
He started shivering while he slept, and in a state of half-awareness he couldn't understand why he felt so cold. He pulled the duvet tight against him, but as his hands hugged the fabric he noticed beads of frost lining the edge of it. He pushed it away and opened his eyes, fully awake now, and saw the door to his room was open, the windows were open, the heating was off, and he could see the wind blowing in the curtains. It had snowed at some point, and there was a heap of it, lining the open window edges and starting to melt over the carpet.
He got out of bed with the duvet draped over his shoulders, and walked stiffly towards the living room.
"Sally?" he called, though he couldn't see her. He always left one light in the kitchen on but everything was dark now, and every window was open. There was ice covering the marble and tile of the kitchen area, and over the metal appliances. Beyond the living room, the door to Sally's room was open. "Sally!"
He stepped forwards and his bare feet slipped in melted snow, and he fell hard on his back. Huffing, he dropped the duvet and stood again, then he turned on the lights. He saw her then, beyond the door, in her bed, with no blanket over her. He rushed to her side and softly touched her shoulders, and was startled when she immediately opened her eyes.
"Dad?" Her voice was calm, and didn't sound sleepy, but she seemed to only just notice the cold. She wrapped her arms around her chest. "Why is it so cold?"
Don stepped back and started looking around him, fear creeping up his throat. He peered around the room and then retreated to the door.
"Stay here," he said, and closed it behind him. He finished turning all the lights on and strode around the apartment, looking behind every door and checking the locks. Nothing looked forced. Then she checked the windows, and the fire escape. Someone could've climbed up through the metal ladder and then grabbed on to the windows, but there was snow there, and no footprints. He closed everything and cranked up the heating before returning to Sally's room. She was under all her blankets now, peering up at him through the covers.
"What's going on?" she asked. Don looked at her closely.
"Nothing, I... I thought we had a break in, but it's okay."
"A break in? Did they take something?"
"No, no one was here. I was wrong... Did you open the windows?"
"No..." She seemed genuinely puzzled by the question.
"Oh... Okay. I'm sorry I woke you up."
He went back to his bedroom. It was still barely four in the morning, but he tossed and turned until the clock read five thirty and then he got up to shower and change. Sally was in Christmas break, and he didn't like the idea of her staying in the house alone all day, so maybe she'd agree to come with him to the office. Except it was no longer "his" office or "his" company, and Sally was no longer a little girl. She could work, though. Maybe she'd like to join in on the brainstorming for the day… He remembered then that he'd told Peggy he would call her and he hadn't. Damn it. He needed to stop doing that.
He got ready, but it was still dark outside. When he emerged into the living room, wrapping his tie around his neck, he flinched and nearly crashed against the wall when he bumped into Sally.
"Jesus," he hissed. "You scared me. What are you doing up?"
"What are you doing up?" she retorted. The coffee kettle was on and something looking like grilled cheese was starting to burn in the stove.
"I couldn't sleep," he said. "Made something for me?"
"There's coffee," she said, and scraped her sandwich off the skillet. He sat down in the kitchen table and poured himself a glass of milk. When he'd moved into the place the table had been in a tiny dining room area, but he had never gotten used to eating there and he'd dragged it inside the kitchen. Most days he ate alone, and eating alone in a dining room somehow made it a lot worse.
Sally sat down next to him and fiddled with her burnt sandwich, while Don finished the milk and poured coffee for the both of them. He expected her to ask him about the open windows first thing, but she didn't even look at the snow stains on the carpet.
"Any plans for today?" he asked. Sally shrugged.
"None of my friends are in the city," she said.
"Well," Don said. "You could stay here if that's what you want… Or you could come into work with me."
She rolled her eyes.
"Drawing and pestering your secretaries doesn't really appeal to me anymore."
"You could be an intern for a day. There's a bunch of them now, you know, only a couple of years older than you."
"Yeah but I'm sure none of their parents work there."
"You'd be surprised… Anyway, it was just an idea. It's not as if you're going to get paid."
Sally seemed to think about it for a moment, then she raised her eyes again.
"Can I intern with the art people?"
"Sure."
When they stood to go an hour later, Don noticed her sandwich still in her plate, untouched.
/
PEGGY
Thursday Morning, December 2, 1971
/
She was avoiding work, hiding out in Stan's office tossing a tennis ball into the wall — much to the annoyance of the office-dwellers on the other side — when there was a soft knock on the door. She attempted to stop the ball bouncing and it clattered into the desk, knocking papers down. Stan snickered.
"I told you they'd complain."
Peggy hid the ball inside a drawer, then stepped away from the door.
"Come in!" she said, and grabbed a few papers as if she'd just wrapped up a meeting. When Don peered inside she let them fall back to the desk.
"Peggy. What a surprise, finding you here…" he muttered, and Peggy blushed and went to get her folder and boards.
"We were just… throwing around some ideas on the Nabisco pitch…"
Don chuckled, and Peggy made a mental note not to keep justifying herself. She only reverted to her old ways with Don.
"It's okay. Actually I'm here for Stan."
Stan pushed his rolling chair so as to have a view of the door, just as Don opened it more and a smartly dressed young woman came into view.
"Sally, you remember Peggy," he said. Sally, older, wiser, taller Sally, came into the office and shook Peggy's hand, then Stan's. Peggy couldn't help it but stare a bit. God. She felt old. "Stan, she's here to help you today. Get her tracing paper or... whatever it is you do."
"Sure thing," Stan said. Don waved goodbye, and closed the door behind him. Peggy grabbed her things and followed him.
"Don."
He turned immediately, as if he'd expected this.
"I'm sorry, I forgot to call. How did it go, yesterday?"
"The meeting was fine, nothing important really. I do need you to sign on the boards today."
He nodded.
"Get the team, and see me in half an hour. We'll get it done."
"Okay."
He turned to leave, then stopped. He made a gesture towards Stan's door.
"Could you check on her? From time to time?" he said, lowering his voice. Peggy smiled.
"I'm pretty sure she's past needing a sitter, Don."
"No, not like that, just…" he shook his head. "Never mind."
Peggy frowned, but didn't get a chance to ask again before he walked away. She returned to Stan's office and found him showing Sally a timeline of the evolution of print ads from the early 1960s through the start of 1971.
"Have you heard of photo editing?" she heard him say, and smiled.
She had the meeting with Don and the team and then spent the rest of the morning working on getting down the results of that meeting into new storyboards. Stan had Sally trace and clean up his sketches, then set up the boards for the second meeting. When Don came to fetch her for lunch he found her down in the studio, looking through the camera lenses at the elaborate set up of a ham in a dinner table.
"Does it ever get weird?" Sally asked her, when she returned to Stan's office. Stan had left for a meeting, and she was using his illustrator's table to do a mind-map. Her own office was bigger than Stan's, who shared his with another illustrator, currently on sick leave, and it had the benefit of windows, but Stan's was tucked away in a corner away from foot traffic. It was easier for her to concentrate there. That day, taking advantage of the sick coworker, she even had her secretary rerouting her calls there.
"What gets weird?" she asked, feigning ignorance. Sally cast her a knowing glance.
"You and Stan. I heard some companies don't even allow it."
Peggy smiled.
"We're in separate departments. We don't compete with each other."
"And does everyone know?"
"I guess they do," she said, shrugging. "Those who care anyway, I mean, I've been here almost a year and I don't know half of the people in this company. It's huge."
Sally went back to ordering the set of printed images Stan had left her, setting aside those she thought made the best ten. In the corner of her eye Peggy saw her approach the projector, which had been set up in the corner of the other artist's desk — then she recoiled as though she'd been struck.
"Sally? Are you okay?"
Sally retreated from the projector, tightening her hand to her chest.
"That thing buzzed me."
"Buzzed you? Like electricity?" Peggy bent down, searching for the cable, but it was tucked away behind the furniture, out of sight. She stood to have a closer look but saw all the lights were off. She stretched a hand towards it.
"No, don't!" Sally said, and Peggy pulled her hand back.
"But it's not turned on…"
"Don't touch it."
"There are no lights on, it means it's…" Peggy hesitantly pushed the button to turn it on, and it whirred to life. She then lay a hand over it, timidly, then touching every part of it. She felt nothing. She turned to Sally, who was watching her with her eyes wide in horror. "Maybe it was a static spark."
"No, it wasn't like that." She still had her hand tucked against her chest, and she almost looked as if she could cry.
"Are you hurt?" Peggy asked, but Sally didn't volunteer her arm for inspection. She seemed to breathe in deep a few times, then she shook her head and sat down with her photos again.
"No," she said. "I'm fine. It just…" she paused, breathed again. "Maybe it wasn't a buzz. I… I don't know the word."
"I'll turn if off."
When Peggy brushed past her, and pressed the button again, she was pretty sure she saw Sally flinch, and later she caught her giving the machine odd looks. However the next time she spoke, she got into a long talk with Stan over photo manipulation and design, and her hand returned to its normal position. After Don came for her in the early evening, though, she asked Stan to unplug the projector.
/
DON
/
"Stan said you were pretty good today. A quick learner," Don told Sally on the drive back home. Sally leaned against the window of the car, and seemed not to have heard him. "Sally?"
She turned.
"What?"
"So, how was it? Did you like the art department? Do you want to try with copywriting tomorrow?"
"Why does every conversation I have with an adult has to be about what I'll do? Is it the only thing they can think of?"
Don sighed.
"I wasn't asking about the future. I was just wondering about tomorrow."
"Well, I don't want to decide yet."
"That's okay, you don't have to."
Sally reached for the car radio, and started pressing the lowering the volume button until no music sounded.
"What Stan does seems more interesting than what Peggy does," she said, then.
"You do know that what Peggy does is what I do, right?"
"Yes, I know.
She pressed the lower volume button again.
"It's already off, Sally."
She stopped, and sat over both her hands and started biting her lower lip. Don slowed down a little.
"You know," he said. "You don't have to go to work with me. You can stay home. Or go back to Henry's, if that's what you want."
"It's not," she snapped. "I don't need you to number my choices, I know what they are."
"Hey." His voice became serious, and rose in volume, but Sally just looked away.
They reached the apartment, and started up the stairs. Don made a mock attempt at a race, but this time Sally lagged behind, and when he tossed her the key she didn't catch it.
"I'm tired, Dad. I'm going to bed."
Don frowned.
"Before dinner?"
"I'm not hungry."
She walked dragging her feet, and went inside her room and closed the door while Don still stood by the main entrance. The couple of times he had spotted her in the office, and at lunch, she had seemed chipper and enthusiastic, but that was all gone now. He settled down to call the boys, and then once he had spoken to them he lingered a little on the call with Henry. He thought, as he waited for him to pick up, if that was how things were going to be like, after Betty. The two of them, the step father and the shitty dad, talking about kids neither had actually raised.
"Did she ever sleepwalk?" he asked Henry, the moment he heard him back on the phone. Henry took a moment to reply and Don heard movement, as though he were walking to a more private location. Neither was very comfortable with the conversation, but it was one they needed to have.
"Not that I saw," he said. "Has she, with you?"
"No… I don't know. I think she might be. I woke up today and all the windows were open, but she said she didn't do it."
"I've seen her up at night," Henry said, "but if she was sleepwalking she didn't look like it. Has she been okay today? Betty's asked if she could come see her, tomorrow or the day after."
"Today was fine. I'll talk to her in the morning."
He hung up, and stopped for a moment by the cabinet where he'd kept his booze. If he went down now, he could still catch the closest store before closure and get a bottle. He looked up again towards Sally's door, and shook his head. After dinner, he dragged his duvet and pillows to the living room and slept in the couch, with his head closest to her room.
/
In the morning, when he opened his eyes, he found the TV already on in mute, and Sally sitting on the far edge of the couch with his headphones on.
"What are you doing?" he asked her, dragging his feet down to the floor. She turned towards him and removed the headphones.
"Just trying them out," she said.
"Were you listening to anything?"
She shrugged, and stood and went for the kitchen. She was already dressed, Don noticed, and the rims of her eyes were reddened, as if she had been staring at something bright for two long. He turned off the TV and picked up the headphones. The cable was loose and unattached, and there was no record placed on the player.
"Want some eggs?" he asked her. In the kitchen counter he found a box of cereal, completely empty. The coffee machine was untouched.
"No, thank you. I already had something."
"How about coffee?"
"I don't like coffee."
"You had some yesterday."
She shrugged again. Don kept watching her as he fried an egg for himself, then when he sat down in front of her he noticed she kept touching her ears, like she'd just gotten out of a swimming pool and had water stuck there. While he ate, she folded a napkin in half over and over again.
"I spoke to Henry yesterday," he said, but even then she did not raise her eyes. "He says your mother's up for a visit, today or tomorrow. Do you want me to drive you there?"
She looked up then, eyes looking even redder.
"Is that all he said?" she asked. Don wondered if she had overheard them, but he'd made a point of keeping his voice very low, and her door had been closed.
"Yes," he said. "Why do you ask?"
"Did he say why?"
"No, but he did mention she was feeling better."
Sally scoffed.
"That's such bullshit."
"Sally!"
"It is. You know it is. She didn't even want me to see her get sick."
Betty had been ill for almost a year, but she had only recently started staying over night in the hospital. Don had been proud of how Sally had handled everything, and he had known it was hard on her but she'd never once complained or wallowed in self-pity as he was sometimes wont to do. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be where he was now without her, and though things were hardly perfect, or even close to it, she hadn't been this hostile since before he left for California. This seemed too sudden for it just to be about Betty.
"She just doesn't want to put you through that," he said. Sally rolled her eyes.
"Well it's not as if it won't happen if I don't see it. It doesn't stop being real."
"I know that."
"Just because you don't talk about it doesn't mean I stop thinking about it."
"I know…"
"She could already be dead and buried for all I know."
"She's not dead, Sally," Don stood from the table. "Look, I'll get changed, and we can go see her right now."
Sally turned away.
"No."
"Then tomorrow I can drop you off so you can go with Henry…"
"Didn't you hear me? I said no. I don't want to go."
Don gritted his teeth, and finished his egg and coffee in silence. He wasn't sure if that meant she was staying with him, going back to work with him, or just doing her own thing, but he found himself afraid to ask. Every time he asked her something she seemed to get more agitated, and there was a brittle quality about her that reminded him of Midge, of that time they'd met in the ground floor of the Time Life building and she'd tricked him into her opium den. He shook his head to try to rid himself of that image.
Then, when he was leaving his dishes in the sink, hat already in hand, she spoke again, still from the table.
"When was the last time you spoke to her?" she asked, and for half a second Don thought of Midge instead of Betty.
"Uh… it was a couple of weeks ago," he said.
"And did she sound better?"
He thought about lying, but somehow he was sure she'd know.
"No. She didn't."
Sally's eyes seemed to bulge, and her voice sounded off.
"Then how do you know she's not dead?"
/
PEGGY
Friday Morning, December 3, 1971
/
She had watched the preliminary cut for the new Oreo ad so many times she knew every frame of it, but the cast still didn't seem right to her. The parents were okay, but the kids just didn't strike her as authentic, and they kept glancing at the camera in odd moments. The senior TV guy would pop a vein if she were to ask to redo the shoot, though. He already seemed to hate her.
When she arrived in her office her phone had just started to ring. In her desk by the secretaries pool, the girls were busy going through an Avon catalogue.
"It's okay, I'll get it," she muttered, though no one was actually listening. On her desk was a cup of coffee and a little note on coloured paper from Stan. 'Long lunch today?' She smiled, and saved it in a box in her first drawer before picking up the phone.
"Peggy Olson's office."
"Sally's on her way to you right now," Don said on the other line, and Peggy bit her tongue.
"Don… I'm actually pretty busy today."
"I know. Just give her something at the bottom of your list, let her work at it."
"Stan has some stuff she could do…"
"Peggy, I'll owe you. She's uh…" There was a change in his tone, making Peggy frown. "She hasn't been herself."
"Don, it's always a weird time, leaving school and all those decisions…"
"No. That's not it. Please, just keep her busy, and call me if there's anything off."
"Off? What do you mean—"
"Thanks Peggy."
He hung up, and Peggy put back the receiver just as it started to buzz again.
"Miss Sally Draper here to see you," her secretary announced.
"Come in!" she called. Sally opened the door and stepped inside.
"Wow, your place is a lot bigger than Stan's…" she muttered, coming closer to the windows. She seemed to be exactly as she'd been the day before, only she looked as though she had not slept much. Still, that did not strike Peggy as odd for a girl her age.
"You can sit down over there in that desk," she told her, pointing towards the little table where she usually did some brainstorming with the team. From her bottom desk drawer she fished out a folder of background research on a small brand of sunglasses - the lowest in her list of priorities. "You use sunglasses, Sally?"
"Sure," Sally said.
"Okay, great. This is the research for a new brand. Look it over, make note of the main points, and when you're done we can bounce off some ideas for it."
"Okay."
Sally didn't seem particularly enthusiastic about it, but she got right into it without a word and Peggy returned to her Nabisco notes. All through the morning she heard Sally's pen scratching the pages of her notebook, and she was surprised at how satisfying it was to watch her work. She didn't speak or stand or fiddle with anything, but when Peggy went to get coffee, she returned to find her stepping back from the radio under the windowsill, as though she'd been trying to turn it on.
"Should I put music on?" Peggy asked her, and Sally looked back at the radio a moment with widened eyes, before sitting down again.
"No, it's okay."
By the end of the morning, when Stan popped in for lunch, Sally was still wrapped in scribbling notes in a small pad while staring at the charts in the folder.
"What is that?" Stan asked her. Sally raised her eyes towards him.
"Sunnies Sunglasses market research."
"Sounds fun."
"Yeah."
They both chuckled, and Sally found herself feeling strangely annoyed at this exchange. Stan then looked up at her, his coat on his shoulder.
"Should we get going?" he said.
"Sure," Peggy said, then she turned towards Sally. "You dad's waiting for you in his office."
Sally left her notes, and Stan opened the door for her. Peggy followed, but Stan seemed to hang a little longer inside, looking down at the little table. Peggy went back for him.
"What is it?" she asked. Stan picked up Sally's notebook, and started flicking through the pages. Peggy could not read it from where she stood, but saw pages upon pages of neat but tightly scribbled notes, constantly overlapping each other. The pen had been pushed so hard and so many times into the pages that they were broken in parts. She felt her face freezing up at the sight of it.
"Jesus," Stan said, in a hushed voice.
"Can you read what it says?"
Stan kept on flicking, then stopped at a clearer page.
"'Sunglasses protect your eyes from the sun. You see the sun through the glass but you shouldn't look at the sun because of blindness. If I look at the sun without sunglasses I see nothing. Seeing nothing is like seeing everything all at once, which is like not seeing at all. If there is no light on in a room I see nothing if there are no lights on no one can see me. If I can't be seen then I can't be heard. I put the sound back in the room. If I am silent then I am also invisible, I am invisible if it's too loud. If I turn off the sound to zero then the sound diminishes, but does not—"
"Stop," Peggy said. She could still hear Ginsberg's senseless rambling in her head, and her lips shook in panic. She took the notebook from him and closed it, then went back to her desk and picked up the phone.
"What are you doing?" he asked. She started dialing.
"I need to tell Don."
"What if she's pranking us?"
Peggy paused, then shook her head.
"She's not. Don was saying this morning that she had not been herself, and yesterday…"
"She was totally normal yesterday."
"Mostly yes, but… There was a moment while you were out. She touched the projector and said it had buzzed her. But it wasn't even on."
"Maybe it was static."
"I told her that, but she said it was different. She seemed really upset about it…"
The phone rang on the other end, but at the fourth tone Don's secretary picked up.
"He's out for the day," she said. Peggy hung up.
"Shit. He's gone. Should I call him at home?"
"He's probably not there yet. If that's where he's going."
"Oh my God. Then what do I do?" She started pacing around the room, coat still on. "Do I go to his apartment? What if she opens the door? What if he's not even there?"
Stan followed her and stopped her, placing his hands on her shoulders.
"You don't know if there's anything wrong. She could've just been bored to death with the research you gave her, maybe she was doodling…"
"Stan, no. That is not what this is, just… just look at this!" She started flicking through the pages, scratched out words jumping out and tearing through the paper, whole pages filled with repeating sentences. Stan lowered his head and sat down.
"But she seemed so normal," he said, rubbing his eyes. Peggy did not sit again.
"We need to show this to Don. I think he already suspected something." She lifted her phone again and called Don's secretary again. "Meredith, did he say where he was going? This is very important."
"I'm sorry, he-"
"Say it's life of death," Stan said.
"It's life or death, Meredith. "
"He just said he'd see me on Monday."
"He didn't have anything scheduled? Did he get any calls just before leaving, did you hear him say anything?"
"No, I'm sorry. He was with his daughter. I think…"
"What?"
"I think she might've mentioned Mrs. Francis, but I don't know the context. Is everything—?"
"Thank you Meredith. If he calls, tell him he needs to contact me immediately."
She stared at Stan for a moment, hoping he'd volunteer some line of action she hadn't thought about, but he was still sitting down looking at Sally's notes.
"Should we go to his house?" she said. Stan shook his head.
"I think we should wait till he comes back."
"But he's not going to come back, it's Friday, we won't see him until Monday."
"I know, but… Is it really that urgent? If they're talking about his ex, then maybe they've got other more serious things to deal with this weekend."
Peggy shook her head, but knew she had to consider that possibility. She steadied her breathing, and left her coat back in her seat.
"I'll call his house after lunch," she said. Stan nodded.
"Let's do that. Now, let's get something to eat."
Thanks for reading! Do tell me what you think. More added soon.