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Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, I believe that NBC has the official right to manipulate these characters, but like others, I like to wonder what they would do in *my* world. Please do not archive without my permission. (at the very least you'll guarantee another hit on your site :)
Author's note: I'd like to thank Imagine first and foremost because it is from her story that I created this one. Also, I'd like the thank Schuyler for helping me w/ some wording and for bouncing ideas with me. The poem is "Nature" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Dec 15, 2000
Note:Takes place before Imagine's 'Passing Glance' Please read this story!
~~~~~
Inspired by 'Passing Glances' by Imagine which can be found here
First Glance
By Gables
The car ominously rolled to a stop in the graveyard. Most black cars carry those in mourning; driving slowly for respect to the dead, and to the living, but this car did not carry mourners. Her attention was distracted by the sudden presence of this car, and the two people who it carried. Like the car, they were dressed in black, and also like the car, their approach was not slow and respectful.
She stepped away silently to address them, to ask that they leave and not to shatter the fragile atmosphere with their harsh looks. Down the gentle slope she walked, showing confidence on this questionable day. Her soft nature was being tested today; as she had to watch her two loved ones enter the ground. She would win though. She was stronger than the wind that teased her black skirt and against her own ankles, stronger than the grass that absorbed her heels as she crossed it, stronger than the glares that she received from this woman.
"Have you seen this man?"
She nodded. A gentle smile came over her face when she recognized the brown eyes and stubbed chin. She had seen the man before. Though she had not quite believed that he was real.
"Do you know where he is?" Shaking her head, she reached out for the photo. She ran a thumb down the side of the face, in a gesture of tenderness.
The elder gentleman spoke, "May I ask what he did for you?"
She looked back up from the photo to the pair in front of her. She scanned each face, letting them see the grief in her own, in exchange for seeking out their true nature. "Everything."
~~~~~~~~~
Jarod adjusted his ID tag and entered the hospital. Inside, a father and son both lay in critical condition, the results from a severe car accident. He was not their doctor; he was going to become their nurse. That was all he could do for them, comfort them while providing the wife time to accept the fact that she had lost her husband and son. For three days, she spent that time with her son, the nights devoted to being at her husband's side. Jarod, however, did the opposite, making it a point never to see her. He knew that she wanted to be alone for this short time with her family. He did not even know her first name - something that she purposely asked to be kept out of the newspapers.
And so, right before 8:00 am, Jarod would leave his vigil at the boy's side, and slip out, going down three flights of stairs to the adult ICU, where he would watch then over her husband. At the end of three days, she acquiesced to the doctors and signed the organ donor papers.
Jarod made a few calls to ensure that he would be asked to be the transplant doctor for the son's heart. On his way to the airport, still dressed in his nurse's scrubs, Jarod saw the back of a woman sitting by the fountain in front of the hospital. She held a rose in her hand, and gently dipped it into the water, swirling its soft petals in the liquid. She lifted the flower from the water as she rose from her perch, and laid its wet petals to glisten in the sun on the spot where she had just sat. Jarod reached for the door of the taxi - the contact with the metal sped time to a faster pace. He jerked the door open and flung his body inside, slamming the door shut. As the car circled out of the parking lot, he turned his head to watch the woman reenter the hospital, hoping to catch a glance of her face. Two steps shy of the entrance, she stopped and turned her head towards the drop off bay. Jarod held his breath at the sight, just as the angle of the car took her image out of his line of vision.
~~~~~~~~
The woman in the black dress coat reached out for the photo. "When you say everything, what exactly does that mean?" She sized up the widow in front of her, rating her neediness in her controlled postured and careful hand movements.
"He was around, following my life, picking up all the shattered pieces, and passing them out, new and shiny to those nearby."
~~~~~~~~
At the end of a successful operation, Jarod took a step back from his patient. He inhaled deeply, and exhaled just as powerfully. He looked at the heart monitor and smiled behind his surgical mask. It was beating; it was bringing new life to the 8-year-old girl on the table. His mouth smiled, but his eyes were ready to tear. He looked beyond the operating room to the prep room. There on the table still sat the cooler that had held the heart that now pumped life again. The cooler that brought the heart of a little boy who had died in a car crash, whose broken body he had nursed for 3 days. Jarod looked at the girl on the table once more, and then to the clock - it was time to tell the family.
Jarod paused right outside the doors to the waiting room, clothed in his operating garb and a lab coat. He paused to make sure that a happy smile was on his face before he presented himself to the family. When he opened the doors, they knew. They knew that their daughter would live. His eyes covered the room, out of habit, before they came back to the parents, crying as they held each other in happiness. He smiled at them, but kept his eyes on the room. On the opposite side, a woman was walking away, carrying a cloth bag tucked tightly beneath her arm, as though she felt a sense of protection in holding something so tightly. Jarod wished to go after her, to see her and ask why she looked familiar, but the smiles and the hugs of gratitude from the family in front of him prevented it. He looked back down at the happy mother, and never saw the woman turn the corner, and look back briefly to smile at the fortunate family.
~~~~~~~~
The gentleman spoke again, "Where exactly did you see him?"
A languid arm took the photo once more, and eyes, brimming with tears tried to memorize the face it held. "He was everywhere, but always in the shadows. In the shadows, keeping them back."
~~~~~~~~
Jarod pulled out his red notebook. The newspaper's inside bore the words he hated most to see: "Father and Son Die". The pages behind it were the headlines he created to help give the situation some peace: "Danielson Girl Gets Heart" and, "Factory Super Ok-ed Faulty Parts." Jarod looked up around him. He wore a white hard hat and a business suit. He tapped the hat once more time with his fist and a satisfied nod, then walked down toward the front steps of the car factory. Yesterday, the police had arrested Allen Daily, a supervisor at the plant who had underestimated the fault of his product. By getting paid off for what was "not a big deal" and would only cause "a few incidents at no harm to the public before being recalled," he allowed 27 car crashes to happen, 4 of which had fatalities.
Jarod walked away as the mass of media arrived. He spotted out of the corner of his eye, a woman. She looked familiar, in her determined stride, and how she held her cloth purse tucked neatly under her arm. He briefly looked down as he began to descend the steps, but looked back up just as quickly. She was gone though, just another body in the surging crowd, all rushing forward to the steps for the press conference. Jarod turned back to the road, with a sad smile.
The woman saw Jarod walk down the steps. She moved to approach him, the talk to him, but he was gone a moment later, absorbed by the same mass of people crowding the building.
~~~~~~~~
Finally, the she returned the photo. She looked directly into the gentleman's eyes. "Why do you search for him?"
The woman answered the question, "He helped us before, and we are looking to thank him." The gentleman's face was unreadable. "And you don't know where he was going?"
"I don't even know his name." Before the other woman could answer what she took to be a question, the gentleman touched his colleague on the shoulder. "No, we have nothing more to say here. Thank you Ma'am. I'm sorry for interrupting you today."
The pair walked back to their car, though not as callous in their manners. She did not watch them enter the ominous black car and drive away. Instead, she walked back up the slope to say a farewell to her son and husband.
On her chair by the graveside sat a book. She lifted the tome from the seat and flipped to the book-marked page. She had first read this poem on her last day in the hospital. There was a man who watched over her son and husband when she was not there; she knew that. Twice, she saw him slip out of her son's room to the stairs when she stepped out of the elevator. She never asked the hospital about the man, and never sought him out for herself. When she entered her son's room for the third day there was a book lying on the bedside table. Sitting down, she reached out a hand, hesitantly picking it from its last position. She ran her fingertips over the gold pressed words of the author's name: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Following the gilded edges of the book, her finger came to the bookmark at the top. Dangling off the maroon silk ribbon was a small golden charm of a dove. It was the charm that she had given her best friend and neighbor, Patty. Patty's family moved away when she was 10, and she never thought she'd have a friend as close. The family who moved in did not have a little girl, but a little boy. She fell in love with that little boy, and it was now to his body that she read.
As a fond mother, when the day is o'er,
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to the rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.
She hoped that someday, she would see the stranger once more, be able to touch him, to know that he was real, and thank him for his role in helping her to this day.
~~~~~~
Author's note: I'd like to thank Imagine first and foremost because it is from her story that I created this one. Also, I'd like the thank Schuyler for helping me w/ some wording and for bouncing ideas with me. The poem is "Nature" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Dec 15, 2000
Note:Takes place before Imagine's 'Passing Glance' Please read this story!
~~~~~
Inspired by 'Passing Glances' by Imagine which can be found here
By Gables
The car ominously rolled to a stop in the graveyard. Most black cars carry those in mourning; driving slowly for respect to the dead, and to the living, but this car did not carry mourners. Her attention was distracted by the sudden presence of this car, and the two people who it carried. Like the car, they were dressed in black, and also like the car, their approach was not slow and respectful.
She stepped away silently to address them, to ask that they leave and not to shatter the fragile atmosphere with their harsh looks. Down the gentle slope she walked, showing confidence on this questionable day. Her soft nature was being tested today; as she had to watch her two loved ones enter the ground. She would win though. She was stronger than the wind that teased her black skirt and against her own ankles, stronger than the grass that absorbed her heels as she crossed it, stronger than the glares that she received from this woman.
"Have you seen this man?"
She nodded. A gentle smile came over her face when she recognized the brown eyes and stubbed chin. She had seen the man before. Though she had not quite believed that he was real.
"Do you know where he is?" Shaking her head, she reached out for the photo. She ran a thumb down the side of the face, in a gesture of tenderness.
The elder gentleman spoke, "May I ask what he did for you?"
She looked back up from the photo to the pair in front of her. She scanned each face, letting them see the grief in her own, in exchange for seeking out their true nature. "Everything."
~~~~~~~~~
Jarod adjusted his ID tag and entered the hospital. Inside, a father and son both lay in critical condition, the results from a severe car accident. He was not their doctor; he was going to become their nurse. That was all he could do for them, comfort them while providing the wife time to accept the fact that she had lost her husband and son. For three days, she spent that time with her son, the nights devoted to being at her husband's side. Jarod, however, did the opposite, making it a point never to see her. He knew that she wanted to be alone for this short time with her family. He did not even know her first name - something that she purposely asked to be kept out of the newspapers.
And so, right before 8:00 am, Jarod would leave his vigil at the boy's side, and slip out, going down three flights of stairs to the adult ICU, where he would watch then over her husband. At the end of three days, she acquiesced to the doctors and signed the organ donor papers.
Jarod made a few calls to ensure that he would be asked to be the transplant doctor for the son's heart. On his way to the airport, still dressed in his nurse's scrubs, Jarod saw the back of a woman sitting by the fountain in front of the hospital. She held a rose in her hand, and gently dipped it into the water, swirling its soft petals in the liquid. She lifted the flower from the water as she rose from her perch, and laid its wet petals to glisten in the sun on the spot where she had just sat. Jarod reached for the door of the taxi - the contact with the metal sped time to a faster pace. He jerked the door open and flung his body inside, slamming the door shut. As the car circled out of the parking lot, he turned his head to watch the woman reenter the hospital, hoping to catch a glance of her face. Two steps shy of the entrance, she stopped and turned her head towards the drop off bay. Jarod held his breath at the sight, just as the angle of the car took her image out of his line of vision.
~~~~~~~~
The woman in the black dress coat reached out for the photo. "When you say everything, what exactly does that mean?" She sized up the widow in front of her, rating her neediness in her controlled postured and careful hand movements.
"He was around, following my life, picking up all the shattered pieces, and passing them out, new and shiny to those nearby."
~~~~~~~~
At the end of a successful operation, Jarod took a step back from his patient. He inhaled deeply, and exhaled just as powerfully. He looked at the heart monitor and smiled behind his surgical mask. It was beating; it was bringing new life to the 8-year-old girl on the table. His mouth smiled, but his eyes were ready to tear. He looked beyond the operating room to the prep room. There on the table still sat the cooler that had held the heart that now pumped life again. The cooler that brought the heart of a little boy who had died in a car crash, whose broken body he had nursed for 3 days. Jarod looked at the girl on the table once more, and then to the clock - it was time to tell the family.
Jarod paused right outside the doors to the waiting room, clothed in his operating garb and a lab coat. He paused to make sure that a happy smile was on his face before he presented himself to the family. When he opened the doors, they knew. They knew that their daughter would live. His eyes covered the room, out of habit, before they came back to the parents, crying as they held each other in happiness. He smiled at them, but kept his eyes on the room. On the opposite side, a woman was walking away, carrying a cloth bag tucked tightly beneath her arm, as though she felt a sense of protection in holding something so tightly. Jarod wished to go after her, to see her and ask why she looked familiar, but the smiles and the hugs of gratitude from the family in front of him prevented it. He looked back down at the happy mother, and never saw the woman turn the corner, and look back briefly to smile at the fortunate family.
~~~~~~~~
The gentleman spoke again, "Where exactly did you see him?"
A languid arm took the photo once more, and eyes, brimming with tears tried to memorize the face it held. "He was everywhere, but always in the shadows. In the shadows, keeping them back."
~~~~~~~~
Jarod pulled out his red notebook. The newspaper's inside bore the words he hated most to see: "Father and Son Die". The pages behind it were the headlines he created to help give the situation some peace: "Danielson Girl Gets Heart" and, "Factory Super Ok-ed Faulty Parts." Jarod looked up around him. He wore a white hard hat and a business suit. He tapped the hat once more time with his fist and a satisfied nod, then walked down toward the front steps of the car factory. Yesterday, the police had arrested Allen Daily, a supervisor at the plant who had underestimated the fault of his product. By getting paid off for what was "not a big deal" and would only cause "a few incidents at no harm to the public before being recalled," he allowed 27 car crashes to happen, 4 of which had fatalities.
Jarod walked away as the mass of media arrived. He spotted out of the corner of his eye, a woman. She looked familiar, in her determined stride, and how she held her cloth purse tucked neatly under her arm. He briefly looked down as he began to descend the steps, but looked back up just as quickly. She was gone though, just another body in the surging crowd, all rushing forward to the steps for the press conference. Jarod turned back to the road, with a sad smile.
The woman saw Jarod walk down the steps. She moved to approach him, the talk to him, but he was gone a moment later, absorbed by the same mass of people crowding the building.
~~~~~~~~
Finally, the she returned the photo. She looked directly into the gentleman's eyes. "Why do you search for him?"
The woman answered the question, "He helped us before, and we are looking to thank him." The gentleman's face was unreadable. "And you don't know where he was going?"
"I don't even know his name." Before the other woman could answer what she took to be a question, the gentleman touched his colleague on the shoulder. "No, we have nothing more to say here. Thank you Ma'am. I'm sorry for interrupting you today."
The pair walked back to their car, though not as callous in their manners. She did not watch them enter the ominous black car and drive away. Instead, she walked back up the slope to say a farewell to her son and husband.
On her chair by the graveside sat a book. She lifted the tome from the seat and flipped to the book-marked page. She had first read this poem on her last day in the hospital. There was a man who watched over her son and husband when she was not there; she knew that. Twice, she saw him slip out of her son's room to the stairs when she stepped out of the elevator. She never asked the hospital about the man, and never sought him out for herself. When she entered her son's room for the third day there was a book lying on the bedside table. Sitting down, she reached out a hand, hesitantly picking it from its last position. She ran her fingertips over the gold pressed words of the author's name: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Following the gilded edges of the book, her finger came to the bookmark at the top. Dangling off the maroon silk ribbon was a small golden charm of a dove. It was the charm that she had given her best friend and neighbor, Patty. Patty's family moved away when she was 10, and she never thought she'd have a friend as close. The family who moved in did not have a little girl, but a little boy. She fell in love with that little boy, and it was now to his body that she read.
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to the rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.
She hoped that someday, she would see the stranger once more, be able to touch him, to know that he was real, and thank him for his role in helping her to this day.
~~~~~~
