Author's Note: This will be a multi-chapter fic. I know this chapter presents a lot of questions, but they will be answered in time. Thanks for reading! Please review, and tell me what you think!
I would also like to thank my beta, semisweetie50, who has been great even though this beta reading thing is entirely new to me! Seriously, thank you so, so, so much! Especially for correcting my bad grammar!
Summary: In the hospital on her deathbed, a ninety-seven year old woman tells stories of spies and her past in a series of flashbacks.
Pairing(s):None have really been decided yet, but there will be multiple pairings.
Once Upon a Time
Introduction
"How's Mrs. Solomon?" A young nurse asks another, looking up from the magazine in her hands. She has short, choppy brown hair, and freckles that makeup could never cover. She sits at a receptionist's desk in the center of a hallway.
The other woman, an older woman with a blonde hair that comes from a box, sighs before replying, "The same as usual."
The younger woman frowns, closes her magazine, and puts it on a shelf under the semi-circle-shaped desk. "It's so sad."
The older woman shakes her head at the younger woman's naiveté. "It's Alzheimer's."
The brunette continues to lament, "She's ninety-seven years old. She's lived such a long life. Oh, the memories she must have made! And for what? To be robbed of them by her own body!"
"Penelope," the nurse places a hand on her young colleague's shoulder to silence and calm her. "Remember, the Alzheimer's isn't why she is here. It's not our job-"
"I know, Renée. She has pneumonia, but-"
"No, Penelope, you cannot do this to yourself. I know that it is very sad, but you cannot allow yourself to get this attached. It will kill you in this job. Mrs. Solomon is a very lovely woman, and I truly feel sorry for her and the hand that she has been dealt, however…" Renée trails off as a man walks up to her.
"Renée, I need you to help me with-" The man points to a room.
"Again?" she huffs. "All right, I'll be right there," she nods to him. Once he leaves them, she looks at Penelope. "I was just like you when I first became a nurse, but it's a horrible, horrible place to be because sometimes there are no happy endings. And Mrs. Solomon is a very sick woman, but she has lived a long life and has family who loves her. Let us just be happy for the life she has lived."
Penelope looks down but looks up a moment later, hopefully. "Has Ms. Ridley been in yet?"
"No, Ridley hasn't been in yet, but Penelope-"
The woman sighs, "I'll try to be impartial from now on."
Renée gives her a sad smile before leaving her.
"Mrs. Solomon, is there anything that I can get for you?" Penelope stands at the doorway of the room, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
The curtains and blinds are open, the way that the elderly woman prefers them, and it gives the room a sense of openness, but the sight is still pitiful. The room, although one of the largest on the hall, is still small, and the machines that surround the headboard of the bed make it smaller. A tiny woman lies on the bed with her small, fragile frame almost completely obscured from vision by the covers wrapped around her.
The woman struggles to roll over. "No, no, no," Penelope murmurs. "Don't move. I was just wondering if you needed anything."
The woman coughs harshly, causing her entire body to shake violently. Penelope moves to stand at the foot of the bed. She almost gasps at the sight of the woman. The woman has been pale since she was brought in the week before, but her skin seems almost translucent in the sunlight. Her cheekbones are sunken in, and the shadows under her eyes make her look as if she was already dead. At the pathetic sight, Penelope frowns.
This time, instead of being confused about her surroundings, as Penelope had seen her several times, Mrs. Solomon appears lucid. Mrs. Solomon smiles at her, her wrinkled skin stretched in what seemed to be a painful way across her cheekbones. Seeing this, Penelope winces.
"Oh, I'm fine. Thank you for asking," The woman finally answers in a throaty voice. "But tell me just one thing: what did you just call me, dear?" She asks with a raised eyebrow, moving her head to face Penelope.
Penelope tilts her head. Her eyebrows knit together. "Um," she pauses for a moment, thinking back, "Mrs. Solomon."
The woman bursts into laughter for a few minutes before breaking off and coughing. "Why would you call me that?" She asks, finally, after composing herself.
"Because," Penelope frowns, "It's your name."
The woman laughs again. "That is most certainly not my name!" She exclaims and adds after a moment, "I don't even think I dared to dream of it before."
"But Mrs.-"
The woman ignores her, stuck in her own world. "There was that one time," she ponders, "But that was a very, very long time ago." She smiles, perhaps at a memory.
Penelope murmurs, "Do you know where you are?" Penelope thinks she sees her patient roll her eyes, but after a moment, she realizes that she must have imagined it.
"Of course I do!" Mrs. Solomon, or whoever she thinks to believe herself to be, sounds almost outraged. "That damned Alzheimer's hasn't robbed me of every lucid thought no matter what you people and my daughter choose to believe!"
"I'm very sorry." Penelope is quick to backtrack. "Since you couldn't remember your name, I thought that you were maybe having one of your episodes."
The older woman shakes her head rapidly from side to side, which does nothing but cause her to cough again. She takes a heavy, ragged breath after that. "I do remember who I am. I am completely lucid, thank you very much."
"I'm sorry, ma'am."
Mrs. Solomon nods curtly. "What is your name?"
The young brunette stares at the ground as she murmurs quietly, "Penelope."
"You must speak louder. My ears are not at all as they used to be."
Penelope introduces herself again.
"Well, Penelope, please come help me sit up better." The woman is slouched at an awkward angle.
"Of course," she rushes to help adjust the bed's settings and the woman's position.
"Thank you very much," Mrs. Solomon tells her as she moves back to the foot of the bed. The woman coughs again. "That is the worst thing about aging: losing your independence."
"I'm so-"
"Don't you apologize," Mrs. Solomon chastises before she can even get the words out of her mouth. "I'm almost ninety-eight years old. I've lived a wonderful life. Don't apologize. It's to be expected."
The nurse nods and looks at the door. "Are you sure you don't need anything, Mrs. Solomon?"
The woman in question shakes her head. "I am fine, thank you. I understand that you must go. My daughter should be here soon, anyway."
Penelope nods again. "She always comes at six."
"Yes, yes, she does, even though I tell her how unnecessary it is." Mrs. Solomon smiles, "She's stubborn, like her father."
Penelope smiles.
"You need to go, don't you?" She asks. "Well, before you do, allow me to introduce myself. My real self. It's about time everyone knows, anyway."
The nurse meets her eyes, a bit confused. "Ma'am?"
The old woman smiles again, revealing a set of pearly white teeth, happy to learn that she could still surprise people. "My name is Cameron. Cameron Morgan."
Penelope blinks in confusion, and Cameron's smile widens.
"It's wonderful to meet you, Penelope." The nurse turns to walk out the door. "And Penelope?" Mrs. Solomon, or Cameron Morgan, or whoever she is adds after a moment. "Send my daughter in immediately once she arrives please. Tell her we have a lot to discuss."