CHAPTER 1: Meet Jillian Sinclair

Have you ever stopped and wondered what the last thing, or person or place you'd get one final glimpse at before you died would be? Your loving (or not so loving) mother, your adoring (or abhorring) father? Maybe some kin, a lover, an enemy you wished too make amends with? A son, daughter, pet.. Maybe your favorite eatery, or the place you went to calm down after a fight or something tragic. Perhaps it was that small park you sat in and watched the stars those many years ago, or the mountain you bravely traveled up in order too catch a glimpse of the towns below you.

I often wonder what I'll see, because I've seen so many of the brief glimpses of the others, when someone takes their final breath, when their heart stops beating and their body ceases to function.

The day they cease to exist. Physically, anyway. There will always be memories.

My name is Jillian Sinclair. I am a surgeon. My specialty? The human brain; its functions, its feelings. Everything you are or ever will be in a three pound mass of synapses-filled tissue in your head. I am one who has always been fascinated by human emotions and how we work, as a whole. Each individual's function is fascinating on it's own, but I would never get any work done if I focused solely on that.

Besides, my mutation wouldn't let me. I am empathic, so it makes staying with one person at a time hard. I hate being able to literally physically feel their emotions. It makes me feel manipulated, and unsure of myself. I am better at blocking it out now, thank god, but if I ever became emotional, it hits me full-force.

So, I move around a lot, from patient to patient, catching up and making sure they had everything they needed.

And when I felt one emotion waver within the masses, I knew what was going to happen. It's odd how people know, often in the back of their minds, when they're about to expire and are-generally-accepting of their fate.

..Anyway, back to the business at hand...

It was a cold morning. Incredibly cold. Ice clung too my car's windshield, and snow had started to fall from the sky. I knew I probably shouldn't have gone to work that day, but I decided to go anyway. If the roads froze over and I couldn't get home, I'm sure Jack (my boss) would let me sleep in one of the on-call rooms.

So, there I was, dressed in my 'STANFORD' sweatshirt, jeans, and mid-calf boots, sitting inside my car in my driveway with the heater blasting. My radio was serenading me with the tunes of 'Thunderstruck' by AC/DC. I hummed along, pulling down the mirror, and gazed into my bright green eyes.

Most people knew something was off about me when I made eye contact. It's not like my eyes were weird or anything- they were just beautiful, as many before had told me. My friends in medical school said people knew because of the intensity of my gaze that I was different, coupled with their light, pretty emerald color. Along with intensity came a sense of security, although they and myself are unsure why that is.

My eyes moved too my face. My nose was smooth, celestial in form. A square/heart face was covered with pallid, slightly creamy skin. Not flawless. I had a few blemishes here and there, small but not invisible. Deep, chocolaty brown hair cut in the pixie style framed it. I was average looking; to say the least, the only really different and unique thing about me were my eyes.

With a heavy sigh, I flipped the mirror back up, and checked my surrounds once, twice, then a third time, before carefully exiting my driveway. The roads were, luckily, void of ice, so I did not slip on the small hill that was my road. A shaky breath was released, and I drove.

"Doctor Sinclair!"

I paused, flicking the chart closed and turning to see my group of interns running towards me. There were three of them: two men, and one woman. The one who had spoken- Keith Jones- was an African-American man who stood about 6'2", towering over my 5'7". He had deep amber eyes and, yes, he was attractive. Chiseled features toned body.. He belonged in a magazine, modeling underwear, not dealing with bloody patients.

But I guess surgeons need eye candy too.

"Good morning." I smiled softly, taking off my glasses. The woman, named Lillian Richardson, had light blue eyes and tan skin. Her soft blonde hair was kept up in her usual bun, and she was clad in her normal blue scrubs, as were the other two.

"Good morning, doctor Sinclair.."

I nodded at Shino Akutabi, who gave me a sly smirk and handed me a chart.

"We have an early birthday present for you."

"Oh?" I already knew what it was. I'd been alerted of it before. I flipped the chart open, pretending to be surprised.

"W-who gave me this?"

"Chief Peterson. He wants you to observe. And help. And.. Seeing as how we are your interns.." Keith grinned. "Are we allowed to watch?"

I pursed my lips, reading the information. The patient's name was Olivia Johnson, and she was eight years old.

I grimaced inwardly. Eight years old, and having half of her brain removed..

"Um." I scanned the chart again. "How is Mister Livingston doing?"

"He is stable." Shino relayed, obviously taken with the idea of watching a hemispherectomy.

"Good, good." I said while exhaling. "Have you finished this morning's rounds?"

Silence. I peered at them over the chart.

"I'll take that as a no? Well, then," I snapped it shut, smirking. "Better go start on those."

"Ma'am, the surgery starts in two hours!" Keith protested, but silenced himself when I shot him a glare.

"One once-in-a-lifetime surgery does NOT out-rank the health and well being of the other patients under my care. Under OUR care. Go. Do it. Be thorough. You may catch the second half of it if you don't slack off. Page me if anything happens."

"But you'll be performing surgery." Akutabi retorted.

"I'll be OBSERVING. Big difference. Now, Go. And don't forget to change Mrs. Hawthorne's bedpan and robes."

They all scrunched up their noses, but nodded. The charts were collected, and the three stooges went along their way.

"Doctor Sinclair, to office fifteen. Doctor Sinclair, office fifteen..." the intercom blared. What, no page? I placed the chart under my arm, turning on my heel. Today would, hopefully, start becoming more eventful.

"Hello, Mr.. And Mrs.. Johnson." Jack said in his beautiful British accent as we went through the door, smiling gently.

"Doctor Peterson." The African American man with gray hair and aged brown eyes rose, holding out his hand. The timid woman at his side shook it next, pushing her graying black hair from her dark face.

"I've brought a co-worker of mine. This is Jillian Sinclair. She is one of the most brilliant surgeons I've ever seen."

"Will she be in the operating room when..?" Mrs. Johnson trailed off. I nodded slowly.

"I will be observing." I said gently. "And reporting back to you during the procedure."

"Mommy?" Came a raspy voice behind them. They parted and turned, giving me my first view of our patient.

She had dark chocolate skin, like her parents, with curly black hair that reached just past her shoulders. Her wide, blue eyes were scared and confused. I smiled.

"Hi, Olivia, How are you?"

"Who are you?" She asked quietly. I held out my hand.

"Jillian. You can call me Jill. Is that okay?" I could sense her apprehension, mixed with relief. Jack always said I was good with kids. She took my hand, squeezing.

"Can I call you Jilly?"

I chuckled, nodding.

"Of course. As long as I get to call you Olivia."

"Good, 'cause I don't like being a miss." She replied snidely. Her eyes suddenly glazed over, and she threw herself back, convulsing violently. Jack and I leapt to her side.

"Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, please, step back." I asked sternly, propping her on her side with a pillow beneath her head. Jack took out a syringe and grabbed a bottle by her bedside, filling it a quarter of the way, before injecting it into her thigh. Olivia's eyes rolled into the back of her head, and, moments later, the seizure ceased.

"Baby!" Her mother cried, running to her side. I stepped away, taking out my stethoscope and checking her breathing and heart. She was breathing raggedly, but deep enough that I wasn't too concerned. Her heart was racing- but that was to be expected.

Slowly, her eyes opened.

"Mommy? Daddy..?"

"We're here, baby." He said softly. Jack and I exchanged glances, before I moved back, allowing them to go to her side.

"Olivia, on a scale of 1-10, 1 being not at all, 10 being really, really horrible; how badly does your head hurt currently?" Jack inquired. Olivia exhaled labouredly, before answering:

"..4.."

Jack jotted down some notes, nodding.

"Are you thirsty, Olivia?" I asked gently. She nodded, so I grabbed a cup and filled it with some cold water. Her mother took it from me, smiling weakly, before handing it too her daughter.

"Sit up, babes."

She did so, her face now void of emotion as she brought the cup to her lips.

"May I ask you both a few questions while Dr. Sinclair gets her ready?" Jack questioned, motioning to the door when they nodded.

"We'll be right back. Jilly will take care of you."

"'Kay." She said monotonously. I flipped open her chart, scanning it momentarily, before giving her a reassuring smile.

"You are one of the bravest girls I've ever met. Did you know that?"

Olivia's eyes flickered for a moment, before she very gingerly shook her head.

"I am?"

I nodded, coming to sit by her side.

"You're very mature for your age, you know."

"Mommy always says that." She breathed, pulling her legs up to her chest. "Jilly, Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Olivia."

Her blue eyes were intense as the bore into my green.

"Am I going to die?" Her voice was curious, not at all afraid or worried. I tilted my head.

"Why are you asking me this?"

"Because. I.. I don't want to be a burden on mommy and daddy. The treatments, hospital stays, the surgery- it's too much money. And afterwards, I'll be.. Different." Her eyes were filling up with tears now. "I-I don't want to be a burden."

I stared at her in shock, my heart weighing heavily in my chest. She thought of herself as a burden to her parents? A normal eight-year old shouldn't think such things!

"Olivia, why on earth would your parents think of you as such? You're their daughter- they love you. And.. As for the money thing.. I'm sure the hospital could work something out, so you shouldn't worry about that. Your well being is our top concern. You shouldn't concern yourself with things like that, okay?"

"B-but.. I think.. It would be easier if I just.. Died." She admitted softly. A lump grew in my throat, her raw shame and guilt weighing my body down. I felt like I was in a fog.

"Olivia, Don't think that. It's not true. You are a beautiful girl, and your parents love you very much. They would be devastated if they heard you saying this." I gently took her hands. "You will be fine. I promise you. I'll be by your side the entire time, okay?"

Hot tears streamed down her face as she clutched my hand.

"W-will you hold my hand? Please, Jilly?"

I swallowed back tears, nodding my head.

"I promise."

Her lower lip was trembling.

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

I gazed into her brilliant blue eyes, smiling gently.

"Of course, Olivia."