Note-And so it begins, the first chapter of my sequel! Now, I know it's kinda been done before, but when I thought of it, it was still fresh, so please forgive me! And forgive me for the long update. I have approximately five stories on the go. Thanks to all my lovely readers and reviewers. Sorry if Cox is a little OOC in this chapter. It was very hard to write him confused. And…we're live!

Song-Long And Winding Road by The Beatles.

Murphy lays a blanket over his head as he wheels the gurney out of the room. I sit there, blankly, staring at the spot. He was there a minute ago…he was. Where did he go? The plastic chair is too small, and my ass is going numb. My hands grab at my curls, and my shoulders tense. A steady hand is placed on my shaking back, and I jump. Her face is calm and collected. How can she be? Doesn't she know what just happened?

"Carla…"

"Are you ok?" she asks, full of motherly concern.

"What happened?" I ask. "Where did he go?"

"Perry?" she asks, her voice seeping through every atom in the room. "I…I…"

She trails off, and breathes slowly. Sunlight seeps into the room through a crack in the curtains, casting a knife-like shape on the floor. He can't be gone. He was here a minute ago, telling me I was going to get into heaven. Doctors surrounding him: Beardface, Mickhead, Slawski…and me, yelling at them to get away from him, don't they know this isn't what he wants, and he was calling out for me. I see the shadows of all these people in front of me, clear as if they were real.

"Perry?"

I jump up, startling Carla as I do so. I can't be here. I just can't. I take off through the door, Carla yelling after me, and make for the exit. People pass as I walk, whispering as I walk. I make for the exit, and then a whirl of blonde hair and tear-streaked mascara blocks me. Her face is blotchy, her hair messy and her eyes swollen for tears and a late night in the doctor's lounge, waiting and wondering. I wonder if anyone's ever told her she's ugly when she cries.

"D-Dr Cox…" she stutters. For a moment she looks lost, and then she remembers something, and her eyes flash with white-hot rage. She raises her hand, and slaps me across the face. I feel pain momentarily, but then it sinks into my cheek. I can't muster any anger. My heart is numb.

"Why didn't you tell us, jackass?" she hisses shakily, and stalks off. The hallway is silent. I press a hand to my cheek, shocked. Then I take a deep breath, and walk on, out of the hospital, and away from the staring faces that inhabit it. The pavement is specked with dark grey spots from last night's rain. Maybe it's just what happened reflecting on everything I do or say, but they look like teardrops.

I walk. The pavements seem to stretch on forever, twisting and turning. I almost keep bumping into people, and with my current appearance, people are probably mistaking me for a drunk. He can't be dead. Not him. He's far too alive to die. This is all a dream. I've fallen asleep, and I'm gonna wake up and everything'll be good again. Yeah, that's right. Of course he isn't dead. Not my Newbie. Not him. Not him. Not him.

A mother sharply pulls her child from my path, giving me a disgusted look. It's only then I realize that I've been speaking out loud, muttering those two words over and over, like some sort of crazy-person's mantra.

"Sorry…" I mutter, attempting a side-step, but she blocks me.

"Perry?"

I take a good look at the mother, and then the child.

"Jordan…"

"Where the hell were you?" my ex-wife says. "I called you like five times, and you weren't at the apartment!"

I look at her, her sharp, botox-ed face, her flowing coppery hair. Jack clings onto her leg, looking as if he's forgotten who I am. Jennifer is clamped firmly to her chest, sleeping against her shoulder contentedly. I blink.

"Perry? Perry!" she snaps angrily. I shake my head.

"I…gotta go…" I mutter, and push past her. She yells my name behind me, her voice enwrapped in a blanket of fury. I continue on my way down the street. Eventually, I get back to the apartment. I start to run, in panic, up the stairs. It's like some force is pulling me, leading me towards the door. I hastily ram the key in the lock, and throw the door open. A smile stretches across my face.

"Thank God you're here"

He smiles at me gently. "Of course I am, Per. Where else would I be?"

He's sitting on the couch, waiting for me. I shut the door and sit down next to him.

"I knew they were lying. I knew you couldn't be…"

He reaches up, and touches the red mark on my left cheek. His fingertips are cool and soft. I wince, and he frowns, a speck of anger in his blue eyes.

"Who did this?" he says quietly.

"Elliot…"

"I'm sorry" he mumbles simply. "She shouldn't have. That wasn't right"

I shake my head, and his hand drops. "It's ok. She was confused. So was I. But…I mean, I knew you couldn't be…I mean this is…"

I trail off, and he nods understandingly.

"Don't worry. This…" he gesticulates to us with his hands. They move freely, fluidly, like small birds. "Is gonna last forever"

"Ya girl…" I say. He laughs. I laugh. In a small, empty apartment, we sit and laugh, for the past, present, and the future that never was.

"You're right, Perry. I am a girl" he says, in a voice of goofy sincerity, and a calmly mocking smile playing on his lips. "But at now I'm here, right?"

"Yeah" I mutter. I look at his face. He looks better than I've ever seen him. Colour in his face, his eyes sparkling blue. He looks as if he's never even been ill.

"I'm glad" I continue. "Because, when I thought you were gone…I mean, I couldn't take that. I knew there was a mistake, though. You were always gonna get better again, weren't you"

He sighs, and looks down at the floor. Is that a sign of sadness? No, it can't be. How can he be sad when everything's alright again? He looks back up at me.

"You'll be ok, you know" he mutters. The words fall like honey from his lips; heavy, sticky, falling to the floor one by golden one.

"What?"

His sparkling eyes suddenly look sharper, more scrutinizing.

"Nothing, Per"

Then the moment passes, and he's back to himself again. He beams in my direction. I roll my eyes, trying to keep my dignity by not smiling back. I fail.

"Is your cheek still hurting?" he asks. Automatically, I reach up and touch it, and it stings. I wince, and he nods.

"Go and put some antiseptic on it" he says. Grudgingly, I stand up, and walk into his bathroom. His medicine cabinet is full of half-full pill jars. I rub the stuff on my face, gasping at the momentary shock of the smart. Barbie sure knew how to use her nails. Then something catches my eye. I bend down and pick it up. It's his favourite shirt, thrown carelessly over the side of the tub. I grin, and turn.

"See? If you were really gone, you'd have never left this shirt behi-"

I stop, staring at the couch, where my Newbie has vanished.

Tears hit the back of my eyes.

He's really gone.

I stand in the middle of his empty apartment, holding his shirt, and I feel like gagging.

I drop the shirt where I stand, letting it clumsily fall to the floor. I walk into his kitchen, and open the fridge; pulling out the bottle of Scotch he unwillingly bought for me two…three? weeks ago.

I pour a glass and down it, feeling the familiar, comforting whack of hard alcohol explode in my throat. Then I down another. How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man? How many alcoholic drinks must one man down before he realizes that his conscience has been lying to him, and that someone he cared for deeply is dead? How many times must I go through this?

Then, his phone rings. The sound reverberates harshly around the apartment, hitting the walls and subsiding, before repeating itself again. I let it ring seven times before I hear the answer phone click and the mechanical voice starts.

"Dr Cox?"

I freeze.

"It's Dr Hedrick. I've been tipped off that you might be here. I heard about the recent loss of Dr Dorian…terrible, terrible tragedy…"

I snarl. How dare he have the right to call here and call JD's death a tragedy?

"Anyway, I was just wondering if you needed to talk to anybody. I have a bereavement session in the hospital on Thursday's at four, uh, if you're interested. You may be experiencing what we call the five stages of grief…"

Do you think I don't know that, jackass?

"…starting with denial…"

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

"So if you're interested, please, give me a call. Again, I'm very sorry for your loss"

No you aren't. You're being paid to be.

"Dr Dorian was, uh…a wonderful man, and I know you two were very close…So if you need someone to talk you, you have my number. Um…bye"

The phone clicks again.

I go into the kitchen, and down another scotch. Then I walk into his bedroom, and lie in his bed. My eyes leak onto his pillows.

He's really gone.

He's become past tense.

My Newbie, my JD.

Somehow, I don't think I'm going to get over this quickly.