A/N: Hey everyone. Sorry for the delayed update... I received a bit of feedback that kind of discouraged me from posting for awhile. But hey, I'm over and past it, so it's all good. :)
Welcome to Part Two! Not sure how long it'll be, concerning chapters... But I speculate it'll be the size of Part One, or maybe a bit longer. I spent my almost-two-month break from this thinking about its storyline a bit more, and now I've planned everything out (thus, the new separation of parts). So I hope I can continue to update this more frequently.
Second-longest chapter, haha. Enjoy!
PART TWO
Chapter Seven
A Few Days Later
Andrew Cook was awakened by the sound of the train wheels screeching to a stop at the station. He got up from his seat, smoothed down his overcoat, and soon found himself filing into the line of people that was leaving the train. Within moments, he'd walked down the steps on the back of the train car and was on the ground of the station.
Smiling to himself, Andrew observed the hustle-and-bustle of the surroundings that greeted him. It was a relief to see that Boston hadn't changed—everything and everyone was always rushing here and there in a mad haste to beat the clock that was ever-ticking. The murmurs of people exchanging gossip and hurried words, and the yells and calls of the numerous conductors flooded his ears. He closed his eyes and breathed in the thick scent of pollution, then reopened them. He was home.
Now, to find my way out, he thought.
The station was large and magnificently built, its walls made of the finest and sleekest metals to provide a nice indoor shelter that protected its inhabitants from any state of weather. Kiosks selling train tickets lined the walls, and to his right were the enormous tunnels that held the railway cars.
Peering a bit past them, Andrew's gaze fell over a doorway where the late-afternoon light was streaming in. He was about to smile in satisfaction once more, when he realized the real reason for his visit to the city. Immediately somber, the young doctor set off for the exit.
EDWARD COOK, M.D.
The words were very familiar, but Andrew hadn't realized how much he'd missed seeing them until he traced his fingertips over their inscription on the sign in front of him. Taking a deep breath and gathering his thoughts, he raised up his wrist to rap on the door of his father's old clinic.
A man with dark blond hair and brown eyes opened the door. "Hello, little brother," he said, a slight smirk crossing his face. "I had a feeling sending you that letter would've gotten some sense into your head. Nice to see you're finally back."
"Edward," Andrew answered stiffly, shifting uncomfortably at the sight of his father's namesake. He raised his gaze to fully view his older brother, biting his lip at how their eyes were never at an even level. Edward would always be taller.
"You've gotten shorter, I see," the latter said. There was a beat of silence before he spoke up again. "Oh, I'm forgetting my manners… Come in, come in." He didn't bother to step aside or hold the door; instead allowing it to close with barely enough time for Andrew to grab it. Letting out a small grunt of irritation, the youngest Cook followed his brother as he was led through the large clinic and into one of the back rooms, where the boys' father's office had been.
It was still there, Andrew discovered, as he surveyed the papers thrown hastily across the desk; the still-open drawers; the shifted curtains; the medical tools thrown out of their cases. The sight was rather odd—Dr. Cook had always been extremely particular about keeping everything in its exact order.
Edward noticed Andrew's frown as the latter observed the scene. "He was trying to find the cure," he said. "Didn't know what was killing him."
Andrew walked over to the desk in the center of the abandoned room and fingered a dusty sheet of paper, squinting in an attempt to read its contents.
"Never told us he was dying," Edward continued quietly. "He was always good at hiding things, you know."
His converser nodded in remembrance of all the presents that had been under their Christmas tree each year; both of them had always wondered where their father had managed to stow away each gift. Afternoons had been spent digging through hundreds of storage chests and rifling through dusty shelves in their parents' wardrobes, each of them in mad pursuit of the location where their father smuggled their goods.
That was when the two brothers got along; before their personalities developed and interests separated them. Before… everything.
"You arranged the funeral, I assume?" Andrew asked, pushing the distant memories away.
"Yes." Edward walked over to the window and pulled the curtains closed. Dust particles flew out from the sill. "It was held the day before yesterday. You were gone, of course. Found it necessary to stay in the west. How is the little town, anyway?"
Dead, Andrew longed to say, but that was only in his mind. It was actually very lively, with dozens of newcomers arriving each day on the train. But to him, nothing could be the same as it was when Dr. Mike was present.
"It's… growing," he finally got out. He let go of the piece of paper in his hand, realizing he was no longer trying to read it, and it fell silently back onto the desk.
"So, more business for your own clinic?" Edward questioned, seeming for once genuinely interested in making conversation.
"Actually, I sent in a letter of resignation before I left. I decided it would be best to stay here for a little while."
"Good man." His older brother smiled, walked over, and placed a hand on his lower back. He gently guided them both out of the room. "It appears you've grown a bit more sensible in my absence."
The two walked down a long hallway and found themselves in the front room where Andrew had first been ushered in.
"You must be starved after your trip," Edward told him. "I would invite you to dine with Margaret and myself, but we already had our meal around an hour ago, and I'd hate for her to feel the need to make another."
Margaret had been the boys' housekeeper (and former nanny) since their mother died when they were little. The woman was now in her late years but still apparently in good health and spirits.
"There's a little café just down the street. Small and homely, as you'd probably be most comfortable with… Brown's, I think it's called?" Edward walked over to the front door and, this time, held it open for his younger brother.
"Thank you," Andrew said, once again tilting his head a bit upwards to meet the man's gaze. He took the suitcases that he'd set down beside the door and prepared to exit, when his brother's voice stopped him.
"Andrew?"
He tensed up slightly. "Yes?"
"He's buried in the old cemetery by Saint Mary's, right next to Mother. If you want to see him, I mean." Then the door was closed and the young doctor found himself alone.
By this time it was night, and the sky had grown even darker from the rainclouds that were beginning to open up and let down droplets that pattered against the street. The reflection of the moonlight was clearly visible through the puddles that had started to collect against the sides of the road. A thick coat of silence had settled in the normally-busy town, save for the occasional carriage that thundered past or the distant shouts of drunken men.
Andrew shivered from the cold rain droplets and wore on through the steady drizzle, determined to get to the end of the block as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, his line of sight hindered his sense of direction and perception of depth, and the next thing he knew he'd slipped and fallen into a puddle larger than the others.
Horses pulling another carriage drove past, and the wheels sprayed water across his already-wet body. Breathing heavily, Andrew struggled to regain his senses and stand back up.
A hand that seemed to come out of nowhere was suddenly in front of his face. Without a thought or care as to who it belonged to, Andrew latched on and allowed it to pull him up.
"It's all right," a soft voice said. "Everyone takes a spill now and then."
Andrew had begun to reach for his suitcases, which were lying in the road where he'd fallen, but froze as soon as the words greeted his ears. He'd heard them once before, but couldn't quite put a finger on when or where.
He looked down to meet the gaze of the person in front of him, and was face-to-face with dark, shining eyes that were all too familiar—eyes he thought he'd never see again.
I said before that Andrew's father's name was Jacob, but I was re-watching the episode where Andrew first came to Colorado Springs, and Mrs. Quinn mentioned that his father's name was actually Edward. So I went back and changed it.
