Author's Note:
The first version of this story was missing the scene with Carol, Linda and Dan, but thanks to H.J. Glory's incessant bugging, I decided to add a scene where we do get to know about what happened to Linda. :o)

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The water made bubbling sounds in the electric kettle Adam was using to boil water for tea in his kitchen. He switched it off and took the water tank from its base to pour the hot water into a tea pot in which two teabags with a pleasantly smelling and tasting herbal tea blend were placed. Steam rose from it as Adam put the lid on to let it stand for a few minutes.

He and Joan had gone to his apartment after having decided to get some clean clothes and other necessities for Joan from the hotel first. Both had gotten cleaned up, licking their wounds. Joan had spent a good ten minutes in front of Adam's bathroom sink mirror, being appalled at the cuts and bruises on her face, now covered by small skin-color sterile strips. Briefly, she wondered if they were going to leave scars, but none had needed stitches, so she was confident that they might not mark her for life. What she dreaded were all the innocent questions of the kids and the curious looks of the parents that she would be working with.

In the kitchen, Adam took two mugs out of one of the kitchen cupboard overhead, but hesitated whether to take the sugar sprinkler. He couldn't remember if Joan had her tea with sugar or not. And even if he did remember, habits sometimes tended to change. He himself used to drink his coffee milky and sweet. Nowadays, black and strong was what he preferred.

Sugar sprinkler it is, he thought, adding a teaspoon to the assortment of items he was assembling. He carried mugs, spoon and sugar from the kitchen into the living room, where Joan had made herself comfortable on the couch. He wordlessly placed the two mugs and sugar sprinkler on the couch table before he bustled back to the kitchen.

Joan looked around curiously, taking in Adam's apartment, the living room in particular. Does not meet expectations, she thought. But in a good way. She had imagined something small-ish and modest, maybe decorated with modern furniture, something undistinguished and ordinary.

But the spacious room that greeted her was anything but. Two light-brown clinkered pillars stood tall throughout the room and flowed seamlessly into the high ceiling, fitting perfectly with the walls made up of the same light-brown brick. The furniture was partly antique, partly modern, but all either wooden or going well with it. The walls were decorated with framed movie and theater play posters, both in color and black & white. The dark blue painted window- and doorframes also fit perfectly to give the whole apartment an air of coziness and comfort. The moment she had set foot in here, she had been fairly sure that she didn't want to stay at the hotel by herself tonight.

"Okay, tea's ready," Adam said when he came back with a silver thermos teapot. He sat down in the armchair next to the couch and poured steaming tea into Joan's mug first, then his own. "Sugar?" he asked her.

Joan shook her head. "No, thanks."

No sugar sprinkler next time, then. Adam made a mental note. They sipped their tea in silence for a minute before Joan said, "This is a great place. How'd you find it?"

"Oh, I got lucky, actually. I lived in this kinda shabby place for a while, but then a colleague told me a friend of his was moving out of Chicago and asked if I was interested. I fell in love with it the first time I saw it. It used to be an old fire station a long time ago before they refurbished it."

"Yes, I can sort of see that," Joan said, studying the walls and pillars again. Then she realized something that struck her as odd. "Adam, why aren't there any of your paintings or sculptures here?"

Adam suddenly looked uncomfortable. He put his tea mug down on the table where it made a clanging noise when it collided with the varnished wooden surface. How could he explain this to Joan? "I..." he started, finding it hard to express. "I used to do so much sculpting and painting in high school and in college, I guess I got sick of them. You know, I haven't painted for a while."

Joan's gaze pierced him with a questioning intensity he was not prepared for. "Why not?"

"I can't really say. Maybe it had to do with what happened before... you know... I left Arcadia. Maybe it just reminded me too much of the life I had before college. Maybe I just wanted to start over, leave the past behind." A frown formed on his face. "Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah, I think it does," Joan said softly, understanding all too well. After she and Adam had separated for good, she had put away everything that reminded her of him, even in the most remote of ways, away and out of sight.

She took another sip from her tasty tea before she stated, "So, this," she pointed at the apartment's interior, "is the new Adam. The one who designs art with the computer and wears business suits to work. Is he any more interesting than the old one?"

Adam couldn't help but smile. "I don't know. Guess you'll have to find out for yourself. Is there a new Joan as well?" he countered.

"Hm, maybe." She hesitated before she added, "Probably."

"Tell me about her. All I know at this point is that she saves injured people from exploding cars, almost getting blown up herself in the process."

"Yeah, that Joan was new to me herself," she admitted. "What do you wanna know about her? She has a masters degree in psychology. She works as a counselor, specializing in parent-children care. She has an apartment not half as nice as this one in Brooketown and, as you know, drives a red VW Beetle."

"And does she still keep trying out new things?"

Joan looked at Adam, a smile playing on her lips. "You mean does she still flake out the way she used to? No, I don't think so. She's learned to keep that in check."

"That's certainly an improvement," Adam said with a humorous undertone.

"And the new Adam, does he still hide out in his shed? Or whatever goes as the shed nowadays." Joan studied Adam's face to try and read his answer there instead of waiting for his verbal answer. She had always found Adam's shyness somehow endearing, but sometimes she had wished he'd have more confidence. In others as well as himself, but himself most of all.

"The new Adam doesn't have a shed anymore. But if you mean if he's still a bit of a loner, yeah, I guess so. It's not like I don't have any friends to hang out with, but sometimes I like the solitude of being on my own, you know? I talk to so many people at work all day. My colleagues, customers, sponsors. Sometimes I just like to come home and not talk to anybody for a while. Don't you feel that way sometimes?"

Joan thought for a moment. "Hm. To be honest, no, not really. I guess growing up with two brothers never really gave me a chance to have a lot of privacy. You learn to live with constant chatter around you. Sometimes I hated it, sometimes I appreciated it. I don't know if I would have liked to grow up as an only-child."

There was silence for a few seconds, and then Joan asked Adam, "Do you sometimes wish you had stayed in Arcadia? You know, if things had been different?" She looked him in the eyes, but Adam didn't meet her gaze.

"I don't know," Adam replied, uncertain. "Sometimes I think it was the right thing to leave, no matter what. And sometimes I miss that place, there's some memories you can't erase or replace. But ultimately, it was the right decision to get out of there. I really like it here."

"How can you like a city this cold?" Joan asked, incredulous.

"Oh, it's really not so cold. It's all about the clothes, that's what it comes down to." Adam explained.

"Oh, really," Joan said sarcastically. "No way, Adam, I don't think a 100 scarves can protect you from temps below 10 degrees."

"You'd be surprised," Adam told her. "Lamb's wool gloves, that's the secret." When Joan raised an eyebrow, Adam laughed. "I swear. They work wonders."

"Not in a hundred years, not for me." Joan waved a hand, explaining. "I think it's a female thing. Cold hands, cold feet. And once they're cold, they're cold. No lamb's wool gloves or socks will help, believe me."

"Oh yeah, now I know what you're talking about. Maria used to have these ice chunks for feet in the winter."

Joan frowned. "Maria?"

Adam looked slightly sheepish, suddenly very self-conscious. "She was an English major. We met in college. We were together for about a year. For a while it was great, but in the end we both realized that we weren't made to last."

That was all Adam wanted to disclose to Joan at this point. He wondered if she had gone out with anyone since. He remembered Grace telling him about someone, but he couldn't remember any details. But he didn't want to pressure Joan into talking about something that she would feel uncomfortable about. If she wanted to talk about it, she would have to make the first step.

Adam filled his mug with fresh tea again to bridge the silence and see if Joan would pick up on the subject, but she didn't. He didn't push, but instead just sipped his tea. "Want some more?" he offered, just to lighten the awkward moment.

"No, thanks," Joan declined. To change the subject, she indicated the couch she was sitting on. "So this is where I'll be sleeping?"

"The couch? No, you'll get the bed, of course."

"No, Adam, really. I can sleep on the couch. You said it was quite comfortable," Joan tried to negotiate.

Adam's voice was determined. "No way. I insist you take the bed. You're the one with the bruised hip, you need a decent mattress."

Joan had no choice but to relent. She lifted her arms in an I-give-up stance. "Okay, Dr. Rove. I'll take the bed."

"Good," Adam agreed, satisfied. "I'll go and quickly set things up for you in the bedroom."

Joan made a move to get up. "Let me help."

But Adam was back to his commanding tone. "Under no circumstances. You will just sit there like a good dog and let yourself be tended to. I won't have it any other way. Think of this as your hotel room with room service for the night." Adam flashed her a big smile and bowed. "Mademoiselle."

Joan sighed in mock resignation. "Oui, garçon," Joan acknowledged jokingly.

And with that Adam vanished into the bedroom to leave an amused Joan waiting in the living room.

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Carol Pickens sighed in relief as she hit the Return key on the keyboard, having just entered the last patient chart report of her working day into the computer. She quickly handed her colleague, whose silver name tag read 'Maggie Dermot', the few patient charts that still needed following up on, explaining in a few practiced words what had been done and what still needed to be done. Maggie was, just like herself, an old hand in the nursing business at County General, so the hand-over of tasks and duties was swift and professional.

Just as Carol was about to go to the locker room, a note lying on the Admittance Desk next to the computer mouse caught her attention. It was then that she suddenly remembered—it was the note that one of the patients, an attractive, young lady, had left today, asking to be delivered to some unknown woman who had been in an accident. Carol tried to rack her brain. Lucy? Linda? Linda, yes. No, Melinda, the woman had said.

She fought with the decision. It would be so easy to just throw the note in the trash and go home, but she also remembered something about the young woman having saved the other woman's life, probably getting injured herself in the process. She didn't have to think twice when she imagined that if she would have been in an accident and someone had saved her life, she would at least like to thank that person.

Carol took the note into her hand and accessed the patient database. She opened the search query template and entered the name 'Melinda' as first name. There were about 20 entries that popped up, but after some scanning of medical terminology in the patients' electronic charts, only one that was admitted today and fit the characteristics of a car accident victim.

The computer also told Carol that Melinda had had surgery on her spine and was upstairs now, having been moved from Recovery to one of the rooms in the neurosurgical ward. Carol pocketed the note into her light blue nurse's uniform and made her way to the elevator to ride up to Neurosurgery.

As she approached the door to room 406, she rapped on it to announce her presence. When she didn't hear anything, she entered the room, carefully peeking her head in first. Only one of the beds was occupied by a petite woman with a distinctly red and swollen cut on her forehead, looking very fragile and pale. Next to the bed a chair was pulled up, which was occupied by a man, maybe in his early 30's.

As Carol stepped into the room, both the woman and the man looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and weariness. Carol asked, "Melinda Cartwright?"

The woman in the bed nodded ever so slightly and the man next to her answered for her, "Yes, that's us."

Carol went closer and looked at Linda more than at what she assumed was her boyfriend or husband. She held the note that Joan had left out to the man, since Linda looked too fragile and weak to do much with it, explaining, "A young woman asked me to give this to you. She said she may have saved your life."

"Joan," Linda whispered.

The man's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Joan? You know her?" he asked Linda.

Linda closed her eyes for several seconds, as if the sheer uttering of an explanation tired her, before she said, "She and her friend Adam got me out of the car. If it hadn't been for them, I don't think I would be here right now." She lifted her arm slightly, wanting to indicate the note, but then let it sag back onto the bed exhaustedly. "What's it say?"

The man unfolded the sheet of paper and read aloud what Joan had quickly scribbled down, "'Linda, this is Joan Girardi and Adam Rove. We wanted to let you know that we're both okay. We hope that you will be all right since they couldn't tell us anything in the emergency room. If you want to get in touch, these are our numbers. Please get well soon.' It's signed 'Joan'."

Linda sighed a small sigh of relief. She turned her head to look at the man next to her, even if it was a bit of an effort for her. "Dan, they saved my life. I need to call them."

But Dan told her in both a determined and soothing tone, "Honey, first you need to get well. Can we concentrate on that first of all?"

Linda whispered tiredly, "Yeah."

The man called Dan got up from his chair, telling Linda lovingly, "I'll be right back. Get some rest."

He walked over to Carol and indicated for her to follow him out of the room. When they were both outside, he said to Carol, "Thank you, we really appreciate it."

Carol nodded, "Just doing my job." Although, strictly speaking, it wasn't part of her job to deliver personal notes to patients that weren't even her patients. But seeing how it might give both involved parties peace of mind, the free time she had spent on this task was a small sacrifice to make.

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