Title: Remembering Floyd Nightingale
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Jess is a nurse, with a doctor for a girlfriend. He's older, more mature, and has made friends with people he works with. So, the one thing to sour his life? Rory Gilmore. However, she doesn't seem to remember much, seeing as she might have amnesia.
Spoilers: Very slight for November 1st. (Jess comes back!)
Rated: T for later chapters.
A/N: I know nothing about the medical profession, besides what I've learned from ER reruns and my own research on the internet. So anything glaringly wrong, point it out to me and I'll fix it. Also, I need a beta, so anyone interested, please e-mail me. Link's in the sig.

He knocked on the door to the conference room upstairs. There was a soft, "Come in," and so he pushed the door open and loped into the room.

"Mr. Mariano, I presume." The reporter at the head of the table held out her hand; he shook it. "Please, be seated," she said, gesturing toward the chairs on her right. He pulled out a chair, leaving an empty one between them, and sat down, leaning back and crossing his legs, his right ankle over his left knee.

"So, how are we doing this?" he asked, lacing his fingers together and resting them just above the waistband of his scrubs.

"I'm going to ask you questions, and you, the best male nurse in the emergency department, are going to answer."

"Ah, but if I were the best, would I be doing PR?"

The reporter paused, and smiled. "I hadn't thought of that. Perhaps you're just the one they thought could give the hospital a good name."

"Perhaps."

"Do you mind if I tape this?" she asked, pulling out a handheld tape recorder. He shook his head, and she set it on the table between them, microphone pointed at him. "Alright," she whispered, before turning fully to him and smiling. "State your full name."

"James William Mariano the third."

"The third? Really?"

He nodded. "My grandfather was the first, and went by William. My maternal grandfather's name was William as well. My father went by Jimmy, and I go by Jess."

"How do you get Jess from James William?"

He shrugged. "My mother picked it out of her ass."

The reporter raised her eyebrows, but nodded, jotting something down. "Didn't you write a book called The Subsect?" she asked, looking back up at him.

"Yes, a long time ago. I published it, and it did fairly well, but it wasn't as satisfying as I always thought it'd be."

"And so you became a nurse?"

"Well, it wasn't quite a one or the other option, but yeah."

"So, what's the story behind the career jump?"

Jess dropped his leg to the ground and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning towards the reporter. "So one day, I was standing in the subway, staring into space and thinking how writing was all about deadlines, and editing, and how it wasn't as easy as I thought it was. I had offers to get my second story published, as long as I came up with a synopsis and a first chapter by a certain time. I was about 22, 23. I didn't know if I wanted to be a novelist anymore, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to commit.

"So I'm thinking all of this while standing near the doors in the subway, and it's not too crowded 'cause it's ten in the morning, but there's still no place to sit. And this guy, this young guy only a little older than me, suddenly collapses. Now, after the fact, everyone says that they saw him get on, and they noticed he wasn't looking too good, but they were all standing so there's no way they could have offered him their seat." He shakes his head. "They didn't all see him get on. It's New York, he was quiet, no one cared. So he falls on the floor, and he's seizing, and people gasp and move out of the way, and he hits his head on a metal pole, and nobody moves toward him to help him at all. And so I did.

"Now, my extent of medical training at this time was ER reruns. So, I tried my best. I straddled him across the chest, and held his face down, and tried to keep him from biting his tongue. Eventually, he stopped seizing, but he stopped breathing, too. And the train pulls to a stop, and people all rush off, and no one really rushes on, and by this point I'm really freaked out, but I'm almost working on adrenaline. I point at this one guy who looks like he's disgusted and can't move, and I scream, 'You! Get on! Dial 911!' And he's scared, but he does as I say, and I move off of the other guy, and start pumping his chest and performing CPR, but I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm scared out of my wits, and I was relieved beyond measure when we pulled up in the other station and paramedics rushed him off. But I was also on an adrenaline high, and I got to thinking. You know, wouldn't it be cool to do this kind of stuff all the time?"

Jess shrugged, and leaned back in his chair, re-crossing his legs and placing his hands above his waist again. "So, since I had a GED, I started a paramedics course. I got the basic EMT training, and decided I never wanted to do it while moving ever again. So, I found a school, went for three years, and became a nurse."

"Wow," the reporter said softly. She was leaning towards him, enthralled as she was with his story. He gave her a smile, and she realized what she was doing. She cleared her throat, sat up straight, and asked the next question. "So, how old are you now?"

"Thirty-one," he answered.

"And why did you decide to be a nurse, and not a doctor?"

He scoffed. "Are you kidding me? I had a hard enough time in high school. I was not going to college for eight years." He shrugged. "Three seemed a little more manageable."

"And you've been a nurse for how long?"

"Five years. And, before you ask, I've been here, in the emergency department, the whole time."

The reporter opened her mouth to ask another question, but there was a knock on the door to the conference room, and a petite blonde doctor stuck her head in.

"Excuse me, Ms. Guy," she said in a slight Southern drawl, smiling, "but we have a trauma coming in, and we need all hands on deck."

Jess looked at the reporter. "We all done here?"

She sighed, but nodded. "I've probably got enough."

"Any follow-up questions, you know where to find me," Jess said, leaving his chair and striding towards the door.

"Yes, sir," the reporter called as Jess disappeared. "Good luck!"

Jess didn't acknowledge the reporter's words, and instead followed the doctor into the empty elevator. When they got there, he backed her up into a corner, put both of his hands on the wall above her head, and kissed her fiercely.

"How'd you like that rescue?" Camille asked against his mouth, smiling.

"Perfect," he murmured, moving from her lips to nibble her neck.

"Jess," she giggled, pushing him away. "Last time I got a hickey."

"Just one? I must be losing my touch." He paused just long enough in his attack to smile devishly at her. She pushed him away from her neck, and took his lips in hers again.

"Wanna go out tonight?" he asked into her mouth.

"Dinner?"

"Maybe more," he said, shrugging.

"Okay."

He finally pulled away from her, and, breathing hard, with a glint in his eyes, asked, "Pick you up at ten?"

Almost disappointed, she shook her head. "I don't get off 'til eleven."

"So," he said, leaning in to kiss her softly, "you'll pick me up."

"Okay," she said, smiling. She gave him one last quick kiss before the elevator doors slid open, and they emerged, not as Jess and Camille, but as Dr. Watts and Nurse Mariano.

The rest of his shift passed without incident. Though Camille had tempted the fates by making up a fake trauma, there was no real trauma for the rest of the day. Jess even managed to make it out of the hospital by 7:30, after ending his shift at seven.

With at least four hours before Camille would be free, Jess decided to take the guys up on their daily offer and headed to the bar a block down the street. As soon as he entered, a large group of already half-drunk men in scrubs sitting at the bar screamed his name.

"Man, I feel like I'm in an episode of Cheers," he said to Ben Sugarman, his best friend. He leaned over the bar and ordered a beer.

"Mariano!" Ben yelled suddenly, slinging an arm over the other man's shoulder. "You're here!"

"Yes, I am," Jess said, laughing. "Why are you all still in your scrubs?"

"Ha!" Ben practically screamed. "We like to pretend like we're going off to surgery or whatever after we get piss-ass drunk."

"Did you start earlier than everyone else?" Jess asked, leaning closer to him.

Ben laughed. "Oh, you know it!"

Jess nodded knowingly. "Alice pissing you off again?"

Ben grimaced, and repeated, "Oh, you know it."

Jess shook his head. "You need to do something, man. Divorce her or sweep her off her feet or something. Hanging around bars and slowly becoming an alcoholic isn't helping anything. Thanks," Jess said to the bartender, accepting his beer.

Ben scoffed. "Is that light beer?" He shook his head. "What's wrong with you, man? Why don't you ever forget about things and just let loose once in a while?" He slapped Jess on the back. "Be a real man! Drink real beer!"

"Light beer's better for you, Sugarman."

"Well, at least drink more than one," Ben said grudgingly.

Jess shook his head. "I'm going out with Camille later."

Ben made a whip noise and flicked his wrist. "Talk about an unhealthy relationship."

"My relationship with Cam is just fine."

"She doesn't acknowledge you in public, man! That--that is sucky."

Jess, unable to disagree, just nodded and took a sip of his beer.

He stayed at the bar for two hours, and switched to Cokes after his first beer. The slightly smaller group of more-than-half-drunk men was sad to see him go, but he ignored their peer pressure to stay for one more drink and headed for his apartment. He took a shower, dressed in clean slacks and a button-down, and fixed dinner. He was lighting the candles in the middle of the table when the doorbell rang.

"Hey," he said when he opened the door, and leaned to kiss Camille. She returned it half-heartedly, though, and shrugged off his other advances as she walked into his apartment.

"I am exhausted," she said, her slight accent thicker, as she dropped into her chair at the table.

He did nothing but kiss her sweetly on the forehead, before heading to the kitchen to pick up plates. When he re-entered the living/dining room, Camille's head was thrown back, her eyes were closed, and she was breathing regularly. He deposited the plates at their places, and then moved to wake her.

"Cam. Cam, wake up."

"Huh?" She suddenly snapped to. "I'm awake. What do we got?"

"cam, how long were you on shift?"

"Um," she asked, blinking at Jess and just realizing where she was. "Twenty...seven hours, maybe?"

Jess shook his head. "Go to bed. We'll have dinner another time." Jess moved to pick up the plates, and before he left the room, she was sleeping again.

She was small–barely five feet and only a hundred pounds–and so when he returned he scooped her in his arms and carried her to his room. He slowly yet unceremoniously laid her on his bed, where she immediately spread-eagled, taking over the entire thing. He sighed, and managed to wrangle a pillow from her, and moved into his study, where he had a small futon shoved against one wall. He tossed the pillow on the futon and moved to his bookcases, which were full and covered two full walls. There was also a small computer desk and his laptop, on the wall with the door. There was a window in there somewhere, too, but it was hidden behind bookcases.

He pulled out a book, grabbed a ballpoint pen from his desk, and settled on the futon to read.

–

She was wearing an ankle-length hippie skirt and an oversized off-white sweater that swallowed her and made her hands disappear. Her dark hair was duller than it had ever been, and she'd pinned it back with two bobby-pins, but it was mostly free. She was wearing cloth Mary Jane shoes, and skipped in them down the street.

Her single piece of jewelry was a tiny diamond ring. It was almost too small to constitute a diamond, but she loved it, and it was the reason she felt giddy enough to skip down the streets of New York early on a Saturday morning.

She turned a corner and found a taxi, just sitting there as if waiting for her. She could hardly believe her luck. She walked up to the car and stuck her head in the open passenger window.

"Hi," she said. "Got a customer?"

The cabbie shook his head, and said, "He's running upstairs to get his waller. I'll be free after that."

"May I?" she asked, moving towards the back. He nodded, and so she slipped in. The man came downstairs quickly, and gave the cabbie an extra ten dollars for waiting. The driver was in a much better mood after that, and happily drove her from Brooklyn to Midtown in Manhattan. They even struck up a conversation, and were laughing so uproariously as they turned their final corner that neither noticed the car speeding through the red light to the right of them.