Disclaimer: Alas, The Walking Dead is not mine. New characters are my own creation. Quote at the beginning of the chapter is from Lorde's "Buzzcut Season" which I listened to approximately 62 times on repeat writing this chapter. The story title is based on the Eric Church song of the same name.
Authors Note: Why hello there. It's been a few... years? Yup, years since I've published any multi-chapter stories. But since my pre-season 5 marathon watch I've had this story rolling around in my head, and I figured I'd take my chances and get back into writing again now that grad school is over, I have a job with (semi) sane hours, and I have time in my life again!
I don't normally put author's notes at the beginning of a chapter, but I wanted to orient you guys a bit. This story picks up during the season finale of season 2 (yep... we're back to the farm). Everything after is considered AU. I got this idea based on both my rewatch and number of message board discussions wondering what would have happened if Shane fell in line, or if he had survived past the night on the farm. Was there any redemption left for Shane? So I figured I'd take my chances and run with that idea. This story is Shane/OC and possibly Daryl/OC later. The characters we know and love will start showing up come the first actual chapter. But for now, here's the prologue for you!
Prologue
And I'll never go home again
(Place the call, feel it start)
Favorite friend
I live in a hologram with you
"Dead to the world I see?"
Jessica Tranell shot up with a start, the nap she'd chosen to take on her keyboard interrupted. The dim fluorescent lights flickered back on- she'd been out long enough that the motion-sensitive lights thought the room was empty. Glancing at her computer screen, she discovered a long string of semicolons added to the end of the text-box on her PowerPoint slide.
"Mother fucker," she muttered, blinking hard. She grabbed the coffee that had been piping hot five minutes ago and gulped down the ice cold liquid, face contorting at the taste. Looking at the clock in the corner of her computer, she drank some more. She needed the energy, and there was no time to grab a fresh cup, finish her rounds, print her poster, and catch her flight to Atlanta. Rubbing her eyes, she felt the imprint of the keyboard on her face.
"And they let you work with children." A smile passed over the doctor's face he stepped into the room. "Whatever will become of the youth of our nation?"
A steaming paper cup was plopped down in front of her, along with a chocolate chip scone. Jessie looked up at her mentor with a grin. "I will totally forgive you for that last comment if this is a dirty chai."
"So dirty an obsessive compulsive cleaner would cry." Dr. Morris Schwartz replied, settling in a rolling chair and propping his feet on the desk next to her laptop.
"And they let you work with children?"" Jessie shot back. Turnabout was always fair play. She took a sip. "Oh this is to die for."
Morris laughed, removing his surgical cap to reveal graying red hair and a wrinkled forehead. "You work too hard, kiddo. How's the poster going?" He took a sip of his own coffee- black, one Splenda, and two shakes of cinnamon- and leaned over the computer. "Layout looks great. And the data looks fantastic, as always. You're missing the statistical analysis from the mouse studies though." He pointed at the red and black bar graph on the screen with a bandaged finger.
"Crap. Must have grabbed it from my first seminar. It's the preliminary data."
"Stop worrying, Jessie. The researchers at AACR are going to love you and loathe you. You and Cece are working miracles. Completely changing paradigms. There's going to be resistance, but the data is irrefutable. They're going to be climbing over each other to offer you a tenure track position."
For a moment, Jessie let a smile emerge. This was why she adored Morris. Her MD/PhD advisor back at the University of Iowa had been a tyrant, had nearly squelched her love of research. In her four years as a student, her boss had shot down every original idea she had, telling her it was completely unfeasible, and that if she ever wanted to be a successful tenure track professor, she was going to have to work a hell of a lot harder than the 70 hours she already put in a week. Seemingly every day was the same- she wasn't working hard enough, wasn't good enough- she'd nearly broken. As she'd headed out the door to her residency at the University of Virginia, she was done with research. She would hone her skills as a pediatric oncologist and never step foot into a lab again, unless it was to get blood test results from the technicians.
At least, that was the plan, until Morris, the head of the pediatric oncology department, had cornered her at lunch two days into her residency. He was a practicing doctor with a lab, and had seen her previous work. After an intense question answer session- him the questions, her the answers- he insisted she do a trial fellowship in his lab. No commitments, no limitations, no cost. He had funding from the National Cancer Institute to use before his grant ran out, and wanted to use it to develop the next generation of cancer therapeutics.
It had been six years now- three years beyond the end of her residency- and everything had finally come together. Everything she'd ever hoped to accomplish when she started out as a biochemistry major at 18, she had finally achieved, thanks to Morris's belief in her.
"I just wish we knew if the paper was accepted or not before we present," she replied with a sigh. She took another sip of the chai latte and popped a piece of scone in her mouth, savoring the sweet taste of chocolate. "I feel like there would be fewer questions if we could show this passed through peer review."
They'd aimed high with the paper, sending it to Cell. It was one of the most competitive, highest impact scientific journals in the world. She'd been thrilled just to make it past the initial review without an outright rejection. She and Cece, the graduate student Morris had allowed her to hire, had submitted the required revisions almost a month ago, with no response.
Morris smirked, leaning over to steal a piece of scone. "Well I wasn't going to say anything, but…"
"You heard? They e-mailed?"
She wasn't even going to try and hide her excitement or her nerves.
"Not quite," he said with a chuckle. Reaching for the shelf above her desk, he pulled down a thin periodical.
"Congratulations Dr. Tranell. You and Miss Jacondin are the cover story."
She stared at the cover of the next month's edition of Cell in awe. The photograph- a bioluminescence image of brain tumors in mice- was covered in bylines describing the most recent and novel research. The largest one, in bold face white font, read "Back to the Future: Retooling Conventional Chemotherapeutics to Cure Childhood Neuroblastoma."
Looking from Morris, to the journal, and back again, she felt her hands shaking. "That's our paper."
"That is your paper." He took the journal and opened to a page he'd marked with a post-it note. "And this is a full profile on you and Cecily." He pointed to a page long article on her and her grad student.
"You told me you took this picture for the department newsletter!" she said with a squeak, pointing to the photograph at the bottom of the page. She and Cece stood with a family of four outside the campus rotunda. Alexander Morgan, an adorable six year old who almost didn't see seven, sat on Morris's shoulders beaming. His mother stood arm-in-arm with Cece, while his father and older brother struck a pose. Jessie stood apart from the rest- nothing new. With pediatric oncology, she'd learned early on to keep a healthy distance.
The bad days didn't hurt quite so much that way.
"I lied." Morris grinned. "One of my old student's is an editor for Cell. Got an advanced copy for you."
"Thank you," she said. "This never would have happened if you hadn't cornered me by the cheap sushi my first week here." She grabbed his hand and gave it a meaningful squeeze.
He flinched away with an apologetic smile. "You're welcome. And watch the hand, kid!"
She pulled her hand away quickly, looking down at the bandage. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Eloise Morgan happened."
Jessie laughed. Eloise, who was named after her gram-gram, thank you very much, was a precocious five year old with Wilms tumors and a penchant for biting everything- animate and inanimate. "What happened?"
"We almost lost her today, actually," Morris said soberly, running the bandaged hand through his hair. "Not even the cancer. She came in with a fever and signs of sepsis. Looks like she got bit by a dog or something earlier this week and didn't tell her parents. Hell of an infection. They called me in since they were afraid the antibiotics might affect her chemo. She coded on the table, but they brought her back. And of course, what is the first thing she does? Takes a chunk out of my finger."
"Poor thing," Jessie replied. "Though seriously, she does love snapping at you Morris. Must be your personality."
"Ha. All the ladies love my charm. Particularly my wife, who will be throwing a party for you once you get back from Atlanta. Just let me know what day you get back from the conference, and we'll work from there. She's going to invite her nephew, so she can play yenta."
"Ooh lucky me. We'll pawn him off on Cece, right?" She turned back to her computer, flicking through files to find the updated graph that Morris pointed out earlier.
Morris shook his head. "She'll wear you down someday, Jessie."
"Say things like that and I may never come back from Atlanta."
With a chuckle, Morris patted her on the back. "Now I'm going to go finish my rounds and get out of your hair. Congratulations again kiddo. Give 'em hell."
"I will. I promise."
With the journal tucked soundly in her backpack, she knew she had the confidence to take Atlanta by storm.
They wouldn't even know what hit them.
Thank you so much for taking a chance and reading. I hope you enjoyed the prologue, and appreciate any constructive criticism or encouragement you guys might have. Wishing you all the best this holiday season! - Jac Danvers