A Friend in Need III: Crash and Burn
By Somogyi
Epilogue
Jean felt Scott squeeze her hand encouragingly even as she felt his lovesupportwonderjoyreassurance flooding through their rapport. She spared a glance toward where he sat beside the exam table on which she lay. He did not seem to notice her scrutiny as he gazed at the screen, enraptured. She smiled, enjoying the expression of awe on his face almost as much as the sight that was the focus of his potent emotions. His distraction came of no surprise. After all, it was not every day that you saw the first images of your unborn child. Still grinning, Jean briefly glanced downward, watching the way Hank's massive hand guided the ultrasound probe over her belly with a dexterity and gentleness that belied its blue-furred, clawed appearance.
A sudden movement on the screen caught her eye, and she quickly gave it her full attention.
"You two see that?" Hank asked, left hand making adjustments on the monitor as his right moved ever-so-slightly at the wrist, adjusting the field of view.
"Yeah," Scott said, even as Jean nodded.
"I would hazard to say reciprocal gesticulation is in order."
Puzzled, Scott looked at Jean, who appeared equally confused. "Come again?"
Hank rolled his eyes heavenward above his reading glasses, shaking his head as a teacher might at a remedial child. "Wave back to your child," he translated.
Jean laughed aloud. "That's the baby . . . waving?"
"Say cheese, bambino-you're on candid camera," Hank announced, pressing a button to capture the image on film. "I'm going to take some measurements of the fetus now," he said, "starting with the cranial circumference."
At first, Scott interrupted him after he recorded each number, questioning whether it was appropriate. Sensing Hank's frustration, Jean quickly spoke. "Scott, darling, let Hank take the measurements, or we'll never get done. You know as well as I do that he'll let us know if anything is out of the ordinary."
"You're right," Scott said, bringing her hand to his lips. "Sorry, Hank. I'm a little anxious."
"As is to be expected. Thus far, everything looks perfectly normal."
For the next ten minutes, Hank continued to scan, completing the measurements of the fetus, stopping now only to print various images. Each time he made a notation, Jean's hold on Scott's hand became tighter. When Hank then proceeded with an anatomic survey-everything from the head, brain, spine, chest, and heart to the abdominal organs, as well as the umbilical cord and extremities-Jean felt her heart rate increasing in anticipation. As Hank finished by noting the location of the placenta and estimating the amount of amniotic fluid, Jean let out a breath she had not even realized she had been holding.
He had no sooner replaced the probe in its holder when Jean bombarded him with questions. "Does everything look okay?" she asked. "Have you seen any indication that the baby was adversely affected by what they did to me?"
Hank chuckled as he caught Scott's small grin. "Jean, everything looks great. Judging by this ultrasound, the baby is at the appropriate size and stage of development for our estimated stage of gestation of fifteen weeks."
"And what about the rest of your tests?" Scott asked. "What about Jean herself?"
"The tox screen was negative. I found no evidence of Jean having received any foreign substances."
"Nothing detectable, anyway," Jean pointed out.
"Jean, other than a mild level of dehydration-which I suspect was due to your time on the run and your having slept for most of the past twenty-four hours-your PE was unremarkable. You're in good health. Your baby appears perfectly healthy. I suggest you both put this entire incident behind you. Focus on the positive. And if you must worry, then do so regarding more mundane matters: whose nose will the baby have, whose hair, will it be a boy or a girl, or-if you must, heaven forbid-will the child's powers be of a more psychic or physical nature."
"You're right, Hank," Scott conceded.
"Ever the voice of reason," Jean added.
"Good, at least on this matter we can all concur." He used a towel to gently wipe away the remaining transmission gel from Jean's abdomen before busying himself sorting through the pile of photos that were printed.
The motion triggered the memory of the ultrasound she had received by Sinister a few days previously. Lord only knew what would have happened if she had gone through with the amniocentesis. At the very least, he would now have a genetic sample of her unborn child. But who knows what the madman may have injected into her womb; she did not consider various forms of genetic engineering above him. She shivered at the thought.
Picking up on her distress, Scott touched her shoulder, even as he gave her hand another reassuring squeeze.
His gesture generated a second memory-this time of the kindness she had received while being held prisoner.
"You're thinking about Isabella?" Scott asked her.
Sadly, Jean nodded.
"Oh, yes, Scott, I meant to ask you how that search concluded," Hank said. "Someone went back to the clinic to look for this ersatz nurse, Isabella?"
"Logan and Nathan went back to investigate. There was no sign of anyone-no doctors, no nurses, no patients. The place was completely cleared out."
"What about all of the laboratory equipment? The multitude of clones of which Jean spoke?"
Scott sadly shook his head. "Nada."
Jean sighed. "I hope that Isabella managed to get away. I only wish I had had the opportunity to scan her mind. Then I could search for her using Cerebro."
"It's just as well," Scott said. When she looked at him crossly, he quickly explained himself. "Don't get me wrong, Jean-I'll be forever grateful to Isabella for caring for you and helping you escape. I just meant that I think it's best that you focus on other things right now. That you think of yourself first for a change."
"I second that motion," Hank piped in.
"Any special orders?" Scott asked as Hank rose.
"Get plenty of rest, drink lots of fluids, eat healthy, take your vitamins, and get some low-impact exercise."
"And for Jean?"
Hank shook his head. "You've been hanging out with Bobby too much, Fearless. I'll leave your copies of the photos on top of the monitor. Jeanie, I shall let you dress. Let me know if you have any other questions." Grabbing her medical record, he took his leave.
"Thanks, Hank." Jean sat up as Scott retrieved her clothing from a nearby chair. "Feel better?" she asked as she began to remove the hospital gown.
"Much. You?" Scott asked as he wandered over to the pile of pictures.
"I'm very relieved," she said, pulling on her sweater. "So, did I miss much else while I was passed out yesterday?" When there came no reply, she glanced over toward her husband. He was flipping through the photos, a goofy grin on his face. "Scott?" Still, no reply. Scott?
"Hmm? I'm sorry, Jean, did you say something?"
She shook her head in exaggerated exacerbation. "I was just asking what's been happening since we got back," she explained as she shimmied into her jeans. She had to hold her breath to close the zipper.
"Time to go shopping?" he asked with a teasing smile as he walked over to her.
"Unfortunately," Jean replied, looking down at her middle. "Think anyone will notice if I don't fasten this button?"
"Nah. Your sweater will hide it," Scott assured her, tugging it down over her hips before drawing her close for a kiss.
"What was that for?" she asked several breathless moments later.
"Just because."
"Because what?"
"Because I love you," he said simply.
She smiled. "I love you, too."
"Now, c'mon," he said, handing Jean her boots. "The sooner you finish getting dressed, the sooner we can show off these photos."
"So I'm just going to have a nurse pull some blood to run those tests we were talking about, and as soon as we get the results, we'll have a better idea of what we're dealing with, okay, Mr. Johnson?" Dr. Foxx said to her elderly patient as she scribbled something in his chart.
The gray-haired man nodded wanly at her.
"Any questions?"
"My son. . . ?"
"I've already had a nurse call him. He's on his way in. We'll have him come see you once he arrives."
That knowledge seemed to reassure him.
"All right, Mr. Johnson, I'll be back to check on you in a bit, then," she said with an encouraging smile.
"Thank you, Doctor."
"You're welcome." As she emerged from the curtain, she handed the tinback to an approaching nurse.
"What'cha need, Dr. Foxx?"
"CBC, chem screen, UA and culture. I'm going to want to monitor his 'lytes. . . ."
"No prob."
"And notify me when his son arrives."
"You got it. Anything else?"
"That's it for now. Thanks, Paula. I'm going to go look at the rads for the Morris girl."
"She hasn't been brought down to Radiology yet."
"Great." She ran a hand over her hair in exacerbation. "It'd be quicker if I took the films my damned self!"
"Go have Debbie call down for you. It'll make you feel better."
"What'll make me feel better is to go throttle someone in Radiology."
"Trust me." With a wink and a devilish grin, Paula disappeared behind the curtain. "Hi there, Mr. Johnson. My name is Paula. . . ."
Perplexed at the nurse's comment, Dr. Foxx made her way across the exam area and over to the nurse's station, ready to make heads roll. As she approached, she noted one nurse duck her head to whisper to another, both women suppressing smiles.
"Could someone please get on the phone to Radiology and see what the hell is the back-up?" she grated, picking up a chart. "I've got a girl with a fractured foot sitting here for two hours already."
"Sure thing, Dr. Foxx," the receptionist, Debbie, said as she reached for the receiver. She gazed at a nurse and nodded ever-so-slightly as she dialed the appropriate extension.
"Dr. Foxx, something came for you while you were in with Curtain Four," the nurse told her.
"Hmm?" She looked up from the file she was perusing. "Whose lab results are in, Kristi?"
"No, I mean something was delivered for you," the petite woman replied. "Come see."
Brow furrowed, Dr. Foxx followed Kristi over to the far end of the nurse's station. On the counter, next to a stack of clipboards and a fax machine, stood a bouquet of flowers. But not just any flowers. A dozen yellow roses were arranged amidst a generous spattering of baby's breath in an elegant crystal vase.
Dr. Foxx stopped a foot from the counter, staring at the bouquet in bewilderment.
"Aren't they gorgeous?" the nurse asked. "And they smell heavenly," she added, poking her nose into one of the golden blooms.
Dr. Foxx regarded the raven-haired nurse for several moments. "These are for me? Seriously?"
"Here, look at the card," Kristi insisted, carefully turning the vase to reveal a small cream envelope pinned amongst the arrangement.
Scowling, she walked over to the counter, glancing at the envelope. Sure enough, written in blue script, were the words 'Dr. Ashley Foxx'. Eyes widening, she shook her head. "Th-there must be some mistake," she whispered. "Who on earth would send me flowers?"
"That's what everyone's dying to know," Kristi giggled. "Open the card and find out."
"Hey Kristi, you don't happen to have the most recent labs from a Martin Murphy, do you?" came a woman's voice from the other side of the counter.
"Let me check for you, Dr. Philips," the nurse replied. "I'll be right back."
As Kristi left, the surgeon whistled loudly. "That's some spread," she said, smiling admiringly at the flowers. "I didn't realize you were seeing someone, Ashley."
Dr. Foxx flushed. "I'm not," she hastily muttered.
"Well, then, that's one grateful patient," Dr. Philips remarked with a grin. "Sure beats the bar of scented hand soap I got last week. Who's it from?"
"I-I don't know," Dr. Foxx replied.
"Geez, Ashley, you've got a hell of a lot of self-restraint. I'd've ripped that card open two seconds after I saw the flowers. Listen, I've got to go finish this consult. I'll stop by later, and you can tell me all about it."
"S-sure thing, Heidi."
Laughing, Dr. Philips left to finish her quest for blood results.
As soon as she was alone, Dr. Foxx reached for the envelope, surprised to see that her hand was shaking ever-so-slightly. She pulled the faux-pearl adorned straight pin from the note and turned the envelope over, unfastening the flap. Inside was a matching cream notecard with the words "Thank you" printed in gold embossed lettering. She unfolded the card, and began to read the note written inside:
Doc,
Your job is to mend broken bones, to fix ailing bodies. But earlier this week, you went above and beyond the call of duty. You took the time to talk, to reassure, to comfort. For what reason you singled me out as the recipient of your kindness, I may never know. But I am nonetheless grateful for the compassion you showed me. The way you embraced the implausible, offering your support and most importantly your trust, means more than any words could ever express. I just want you to know that I will always count you among my friends.
Bobby Drake
P.S. There's going to be an improv performance at one of the best coffee houses in the city Friday night. I realize you may have to work, and that you may not even like jazz, but on the off chance you're in the mood for a caffeine fix, give me a call. 555-2653. No obligation.
Blinking, she re-read the note twice more before silently closing it, returning the card to the envelope, and slipping it into the pocket of her lab coat. Silently, she picked up the vase and carried the bouquet into the doctor's lounge, ignoring the stares and knowing smiles of the other hospital workers she passed. Finding the room thankfully empty, she placed the arrangement down on a small round table for safe-keeping. Then she bent to smell the roses, closing her eyes as the sweet aroma from the blossoms permeated her senses. A smile slowly curled her lips.
She started to head for the door, but instead walked to the small desk that sat against the far wall. Hand sliding into her pocket, her fingers closed around the small note card. Slowly, she approached the desk, eyes focused on the phone that sat on the back corner.
Pulling the card from her pocket, she stared down at it, considering.
Taking a deep breath, she reached for the phone, but stopped abruptly, fingers hovering mere inches above the receiver. She held it there for several long seconds, her hand-like her thoughts-in limbo. Funny how she spent much of her days making split-second decisions, how she prided herself on her ability to think under pressure, and to trust her judgment. Now, though, one simple choice had her uncharacteristically irresolute.
With a resolved sigh, she began to move her hand. . . .
"Dr. Foxx-there's a multi-victim MVA about to pull up!" Kristi called, poking her head into the lounge.
"On my way," she replied, turning to sprint after the nurse. As she reached into her pocket to pull on a pair of latex gloves, she placed the small envelope back inside, her mind focusing on the more urgent task at hand.
End Epilogue
Crash and Burn
Darren Haynes and Daniel Jones--Savage Garden
When you feel all alone
And the world has turned its back on you
Give me a moment please to tame your wild wild heart
I know you feel like the walls are closing in on you
It's hard to find relief and people can be so cold
When darkness is upon your door and you feel like you can't take anymore
Let me be the one you call
If you jump I'll break your fall
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night
If you need to fall apart I can mend a broken heart
If you need to crash then crash and burn
You're not alone
When you feel all alone
And a loyal friend is hard to find
You're caught in a one way street
With the monsters in your head
When hopes and dreams are far away and
You feel like you can't face the day
Let me be the one you call
If you jump I'll break your fall
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night
If you need to fall apart I can mend a broken heart
If you need to crash then crash and burn
You're not alone
Because there has always been heartache and pain
and when it's over you'll breathe again
You'll breathe again
When you feel all alone
And the world has turned its back on you
Give me a moment please
To tame your wild wild heart
Let me be the one you call
If you jump I'll break your fall
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night
If you need to fall apart I can mend a broken heart
If you need to crash then crash and burn
You're not alone
03/24/02 - 05/21/03