Next Exit
Pairing: None yet, but who knows? ;)
Rating: PG, cause someone dies
Last Ep Seen: Home
Legalities: Do not own WB, Everwood, etc.
Muse: Okay, so as you know, there is a very talented writer floating around here named Visbot, who has more originality and creativity that normal people do. This was Visbot's 'what if' idea that I'm just borrowing, it's not mine! Thank you so much!
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"Ephram! You're gonna be late again."
The boy trudged down the stairs at his fifth call, mumbling an excuse. His mother smiled at him, dressed in his usual black, and he couldn't help but give a little smile back. He quickly shifted back to his apathetic look before grabbing a breakfast bar.
His father was already seated at the breakfast table, reading his morning New York Times with coffee cup in hand. He looked up from the paper to see his son enter the room, somewhat like a shadow yet somehow lighting it.
"Good morning," Dr. Brown greeted, anticipating a sarcastic remark from his fifteen year old son that was full of nothing else. He got no response, however, as Ephram continued his way to the fridge, and pointed to a brown paper bag lunch left out on the table.
"Someone is unusually quiet this morning," he ventured, knowing he was crossing into the uncharted territory of conversation.
"Someone is unusually interested," Ephram replied snidefully, not skipping a beat at he started to pack his schoolbag. His mother sensed the tension that was present whenever the two men where within fifty feet of one another, which unfortunately was every holiday and occasional moments in the morning. She gave her husband, Dr. Brown, a 'what can we do?' look shared between many parents at one time or another, before walking toward Ephram and reconciling.
"Don't be nervous about tonight. Your dad and I will be there to cheer you on," she encouraged, placing a light touch on Ephram's shoulder and a big smile that tried to assure him his father's attendance.
Ephram looked like he believed it for a moment before resuming his tormented attitude and retorted, "Yeah, I'm sure. See ya."
He stalked out of the room with his backpack slung over one shoulder, until he reached his bicycle with which he started his 1/2 mile ride to school.
Dr. Brown got his head out of his newspaper and asked, "His recital is tonight?"
Mrs. Brown let out a quiet but exasperated sigh before replying, "I only told you ten times."
He checked his watch, confirming the time to be almost seven-forty, and mentally reviewied the day's schedules and appointments.
"What time?" he asked urgently, already thinking there was no way he could postpone Mr. Smith's spinal surgery or the meeting with the MediCare representative.
"Eight, but Ephram's leaving early to go with a friend. You and I are leaving at seven to make it to Jersey on time."
"Will someone tell me why, with all the piano teachers in Manhattan, my son has to study in New Jersey?" He shook his head, confused.
"Because the best one is in Jersey," she replied, looking rather smug.
Dr. Brown shrugged and said, "I didn't know Jersey had the best of anything."
Little Delia, diligently nibbling away at her toast spoke up and responded, "The Giants play in Jersey and they're the best."
The doctor and his daughter proceeded to start their weekly debate over baseball, lighthearted and ending with a bad joke that still made Delia smile. At least he could make someone smile, he thought, finishing his coffee.
He picked up his briefcase and put on his lab coat, and stepped to his wife to give her a short kiss.
"Be home on time." The brief statement had a condescending aftertaste as she looked at him incredulously.
"I will, I will," he reassured, "I'll be home, don't you worry. I'll see you later. Bye Delia! Love you." He took last look at his watch before rushing out the front door. His wife wistfully smiled, for it was all too predictable.
"Doctor, you asked me to remind you when it was seven o'clock," said a nurse, peeking her head into his office later that day. Dr. Brown was on the telephone, reiterating the effects a certain surgery had on motor skills.
He put his hand over the phone, asking, "It's seven, already?"
The nurse retorted, "No, it was seven a half hour ago, when I reminded you the first time."
Dr. Brown sighed. This was what, Ephram three-hundredth recital since he was named piano prodigy at age 4? And there would be plenty more in the future..
The nurse continued, "She called already and asked me to tell you that you're a lousy husband slash father."
"Thanks," Dr. Brown said sarcastically, still holding the whole in his left hand, Mr. Smith on hold. He looked at the phone to the picture sitting on his desk.
It was taken a few months ago, during the summer during their vacation in Paris. Delia, still wearing her baseball cap. It was a blue one, but she owned too many to try and identify. Ephram was behind her, hands on her shoulder in a protective big brother way. Dr. Brown smiled to himself, because no matter how much the two fought, they always were closer than anything.
Ephram's attempt at a smile at least gave the facade of happiness, but Dr. Brown knew what he was really thinking. It was the vacation from Hell, if he remembered correctly, so many fights the concierge sent up security to investigate if everything was alright.
The doctor took another look at the photograph, a candid shot into their lives, the way he was always seen. There he was to the left, turning away from the person taking the picture. He was thousands of miles away from his office, in the city of lights, he was in front of the stupid Eiffel Tower, and he was talking on a cell phone.
Even when he was on vacation, he wouldn't leave his work, and that pissed Ephram off.
What could he do? He was a doctor, a brain surgeon. Could he postpone a surgery, leave a patient hanging in between life and death? What would he say?
"I have to go to my son's piano recital."
Dr. Brown managed a small smile, because he liked the way that sounded.
He realized the patient was still on hold, but he really didn't care. He redirected all his calls to another poor soul still stuck in these small rooms on a Friday night.
Getting up from the desk he had spent most of the afternoon in, he grabbed his winter coat and began closing his office.
He started to turn off the lights when the phone started to ring again. His first instinct was to pick it up, of course, because it was probably those representatives from the pharmacy, or maybe even a long-distance client, which could mean very good business. But he shook his head, determined to start becoming the father he never was, but could start being.
He turned off the lights, locked up, and made his way to his car, still leaving the phone to ring, for some other man to get. Not him. He was a father first.
His cell started to ring once he made it to the highway, and he recognized the number as Julia.
"Hi honey!" he greeted, genuinely excited.
"Andy, where are you?! The recital's about to start in twenty minutes, and the last time I called you were still knee deep in paperwork, I'm supposed to make some 'opening remarks' that I had no idea about, and--"
"Julia," he interjected, his voice calm, "don't worry about it. I'm coming."
"This has to be..wait, you're coming?"
"Yes."
"You're coming to Ephram's recital? What about that thing with the senator?"
"Cancelled. Cancelled all appointments for the entire weekend. I'm planning on calling Schuller first thing in the morning to re-work my hours..or maybe I'll just sleep-in, and we can go out for breakfast. And after, we can take Delia to Macy's, buy her some clothes, and Ephram to that comic book store, and maybe a picnic in Central Park.."
Julia was silent, unbelieving of what she was hearing.
"Andy, are you serious?" she asked, gently and lovingly.
"I am, Julia. I'm starting over. I've waited too long to do this."
Julia forgot all her tirades she had prepared in defense to Andy's tardiness, and couldn't help but smile.
"Just, get down here, okay?" she said, trying to be firm, but failing miserably.
"I'll be there."
Andy felt like a new person. He shed the formality, Dr. Brown, and pitched his lab coat to the backseat. He twiddled with the radio station to get rid of news briefings, and replaced it with a silly Beach Boy song. Moonroof open, doing sixty on a traffic-free lane, ready to take the next exit.
One minute, he was singing along to 'Good Vibrations', and planning the weekend ahead of them, complete with ponies and whatever it was that Ephram called his comic books.
And the next, he was swerving, hit on the side by a truck driver under the influence while taking the next exit.
And he was twirling into the concrete road dividers, spinning and losing control of the wheel and hitting at full sixty miles an hour impact.
And he was showered in glass and buried under steel frames and metal hunks and sparks and tattered cloth.
The new Andy Brown was gone before he could be presented.
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A/N: Well, what do you think? I love feedback, so please review. If you like it, this will hopefully my first chapter fic in a while ;) Pretty please, review? [Gives puppy-dog look, and you *know* you cannot say no to the puppy-dog look]
Pairing: None yet, but who knows? ;)
Rating: PG, cause someone dies
Last Ep Seen: Home
Legalities: Do not own WB, Everwood, etc.
Muse: Okay, so as you know, there is a very talented writer floating around here named Visbot, who has more originality and creativity that normal people do. This was Visbot's 'what if' idea that I'm just borrowing, it's not mine! Thank you so much!
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"Ephram! You're gonna be late again."
The boy trudged down the stairs at his fifth call, mumbling an excuse. His mother smiled at him, dressed in his usual black, and he couldn't help but give a little smile back. He quickly shifted back to his apathetic look before grabbing a breakfast bar.
His father was already seated at the breakfast table, reading his morning New York Times with coffee cup in hand. He looked up from the paper to see his son enter the room, somewhat like a shadow yet somehow lighting it.
"Good morning," Dr. Brown greeted, anticipating a sarcastic remark from his fifteen year old son that was full of nothing else. He got no response, however, as Ephram continued his way to the fridge, and pointed to a brown paper bag lunch left out on the table.
"Someone is unusually quiet this morning," he ventured, knowing he was crossing into the uncharted territory of conversation.
"Someone is unusually interested," Ephram replied snidefully, not skipping a beat at he started to pack his schoolbag. His mother sensed the tension that was present whenever the two men where within fifty feet of one another, which unfortunately was every holiday and occasional moments in the morning. She gave her husband, Dr. Brown, a 'what can we do?' look shared between many parents at one time or another, before walking toward Ephram and reconciling.
"Don't be nervous about tonight. Your dad and I will be there to cheer you on," she encouraged, placing a light touch on Ephram's shoulder and a big smile that tried to assure him his father's attendance.
Ephram looked like he believed it for a moment before resuming his tormented attitude and retorted, "Yeah, I'm sure. See ya."
He stalked out of the room with his backpack slung over one shoulder, until he reached his bicycle with which he started his 1/2 mile ride to school.
Dr. Brown got his head out of his newspaper and asked, "His recital is tonight?"
Mrs. Brown let out a quiet but exasperated sigh before replying, "I only told you ten times."
He checked his watch, confirming the time to be almost seven-forty, and mentally reviewied the day's schedules and appointments.
"What time?" he asked urgently, already thinking there was no way he could postpone Mr. Smith's spinal surgery or the meeting with the MediCare representative.
"Eight, but Ephram's leaving early to go with a friend. You and I are leaving at seven to make it to Jersey on time."
"Will someone tell me why, with all the piano teachers in Manhattan, my son has to study in New Jersey?" He shook his head, confused.
"Because the best one is in Jersey," she replied, looking rather smug.
Dr. Brown shrugged and said, "I didn't know Jersey had the best of anything."
Little Delia, diligently nibbling away at her toast spoke up and responded, "The Giants play in Jersey and they're the best."
The doctor and his daughter proceeded to start their weekly debate over baseball, lighthearted and ending with a bad joke that still made Delia smile. At least he could make someone smile, he thought, finishing his coffee.
He picked up his briefcase and put on his lab coat, and stepped to his wife to give her a short kiss.
"Be home on time." The brief statement had a condescending aftertaste as she looked at him incredulously.
"I will, I will," he reassured, "I'll be home, don't you worry. I'll see you later. Bye Delia! Love you." He took last look at his watch before rushing out the front door. His wife wistfully smiled, for it was all too predictable.
"Doctor, you asked me to remind you when it was seven o'clock," said a nurse, peeking her head into his office later that day. Dr. Brown was on the telephone, reiterating the effects a certain surgery had on motor skills.
He put his hand over the phone, asking, "It's seven, already?"
The nurse retorted, "No, it was seven a half hour ago, when I reminded you the first time."
Dr. Brown sighed. This was what, Ephram three-hundredth recital since he was named piano prodigy at age 4? And there would be plenty more in the future..
The nurse continued, "She called already and asked me to tell you that you're a lousy husband slash father."
"Thanks," Dr. Brown said sarcastically, still holding the whole in his left hand, Mr. Smith on hold. He looked at the phone to the picture sitting on his desk.
It was taken a few months ago, during the summer during their vacation in Paris. Delia, still wearing her baseball cap. It was a blue one, but she owned too many to try and identify. Ephram was behind her, hands on her shoulder in a protective big brother way. Dr. Brown smiled to himself, because no matter how much the two fought, they always were closer than anything.
Ephram's attempt at a smile at least gave the facade of happiness, but Dr. Brown knew what he was really thinking. It was the vacation from Hell, if he remembered correctly, so many fights the concierge sent up security to investigate if everything was alright.
The doctor took another look at the photograph, a candid shot into their lives, the way he was always seen. There he was to the left, turning away from the person taking the picture. He was thousands of miles away from his office, in the city of lights, he was in front of the stupid Eiffel Tower, and he was talking on a cell phone.
Even when he was on vacation, he wouldn't leave his work, and that pissed Ephram off.
What could he do? He was a doctor, a brain surgeon. Could he postpone a surgery, leave a patient hanging in between life and death? What would he say?
"I have to go to my son's piano recital."
Dr. Brown managed a small smile, because he liked the way that sounded.
He realized the patient was still on hold, but he really didn't care. He redirected all his calls to another poor soul still stuck in these small rooms on a Friday night.
Getting up from the desk he had spent most of the afternoon in, he grabbed his winter coat and began closing his office.
He started to turn off the lights when the phone started to ring again. His first instinct was to pick it up, of course, because it was probably those representatives from the pharmacy, or maybe even a long-distance client, which could mean very good business. But he shook his head, determined to start becoming the father he never was, but could start being.
He turned off the lights, locked up, and made his way to his car, still leaving the phone to ring, for some other man to get. Not him. He was a father first.
His cell started to ring once he made it to the highway, and he recognized the number as Julia.
"Hi honey!" he greeted, genuinely excited.
"Andy, where are you?! The recital's about to start in twenty minutes, and the last time I called you were still knee deep in paperwork, I'm supposed to make some 'opening remarks' that I had no idea about, and--"
"Julia," he interjected, his voice calm, "don't worry about it. I'm coming."
"This has to be..wait, you're coming?"
"Yes."
"You're coming to Ephram's recital? What about that thing with the senator?"
"Cancelled. Cancelled all appointments for the entire weekend. I'm planning on calling Schuller first thing in the morning to re-work my hours..or maybe I'll just sleep-in, and we can go out for breakfast. And after, we can take Delia to Macy's, buy her some clothes, and Ephram to that comic book store, and maybe a picnic in Central Park.."
Julia was silent, unbelieving of what she was hearing.
"Andy, are you serious?" she asked, gently and lovingly.
"I am, Julia. I'm starting over. I've waited too long to do this."
Julia forgot all her tirades she had prepared in defense to Andy's tardiness, and couldn't help but smile.
"Just, get down here, okay?" she said, trying to be firm, but failing miserably.
"I'll be there."
Andy felt like a new person. He shed the formality, Dr. Brown, and pitched his lab coat to the backseat. He twiddled with the radio station to get rid of news briefings, and replaced it with a silly Beach Boy song. Moonroof open, doing sixty on a traffic-free lane, ready to take the next exit.
One minute, he was singing along to 'Good Vibrations', and planning the weekend ahead of them, complete with ponies and whatever it was that Ephram called his comic books.
And the next, he was swerving, hit on the side by a truck driver under the influence while taking the next exit.
And he was twirling into the concrete road dividers, spinning and losing control of the wheel and hitting at full sixty miles an hour impact.
And he was showered in glass and buried under steel frames and metal hunks and sparks and tattered cloth.
The new Andy Brown was gone before he could be presented.
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A/N: Well, what do you think? I love feedback, so please review. If you like it, this will hopefully my first chapter fic in a while ;) Pretty please, review? [Gives puppy-dog look, and you *know* you cannot say no to the puppy-dog look]