Eighteen years later...

"There. That's the last of it." Mrs Meyers locked the door of the apartment. The new tenants would be here in a couple of days. Apparantly, they had been eager to start their new jobs. The young woman she had met and had finalized the details of renting the apartment with was nice enough. The name on the lease was G. Dale Rogers, but the woman was called Gerry. She hoped her husband was just as nice.

She looked up as her favorite tenant came ambling down the hallway towards her. "Hi, Johnny." She smiled up at the lanky young man.

"Hello, Mrs. Meyers," he said, giving her a quick hug. "Someone's finally moving into the apartment, I see."

"Yes. She's not single, though." She laughed at the slightly dejected look on his face. "It's rented to a G. Dale Rogers."

"Oh." His mood sank even lower. His last date hadn't went so well, so he had been hoping that there would be somebody to take his mind off of that. Who would have figured that the whole time he was out with the girl, all she would talk about would be her ex. Nothing about her, or him, but 'Jim this' and 'Jim that'. It made him wish that tomorrow would just hurry up and get here so he could go back to work and swear off women...for a few hours at least.

"So how did your camping trip go," Mrs. Meyers asked, changing the subject.

He gave a broad grin. "Good. Really helped things."

"That's good, dear." Privately, she thought the boy worked too much, but also knew it wouldn't do any good to say anything. Besides, he had a good, level-headed partner who looked out for him. She'd met Roy a few times and genuinely liked the man. "Can I ask a favor of you?"

"Sure."

"I need some help fixing a loose railing up on the third floor. Would you care to take care of it for me?"

"Sure." He went and got the tools and followed her up the stairs.

Gerry Rogers kicked off her shoes as soon as she got into the motel room and flopped down across the bed. She started as a nurse at Rampart in the morning, so she really needed to hit the sack. She cracked a half smile at the events of the past couple of weeks. She had resigned her position as charge nurse at the small hospital in Iowa that she had worked in since she'd graduated college five years ago, moved out here to LA, gotten a job and an apartment, and in general tried to start a new life. Since she had lost the last of her second set of parents eight months ago, she had felt out of place in Iowa, so she had come to the decision to move. She had thought about maybe moving back to Montana, but there really was nothing for her there. Sure, she had kept in touch with the MacAllisters, but when Bill had died three years ago, Kate had moved to California and they had lost touch. So she had thought of maybe moving to California and looking her up. She had decided to move to LA on an impulse. Despite being in a profession that required level-headedness and good judgement, she could still be very passionate and very impulsive.

She shook her head as she recalled her visit to Rampart today to meet the people she would be working with. The first adjustment was that she had to do a bit of well-timed arguing to be permitted to wear white slacks and a white uniform-style shirt rather than a dress. She just found dresses to get in her way, and had always felt so, even as a child. The only time she ever wore a dress was if she had to, and even then, it was often under protest. The other issue, and not an unusual one for her, was establishing that she preferred to be called Gerry, not Geraldine. Nobody called her Geraldine, unless it was an extremely grave or an extremely formal situation. She'd rather be called Dale, her middle name, before being called Geraldine. She did believe that she would like working there, though. The staff she would be working most closely with seemed friendly enough, and she sure was glad that the head nurse was a no-nonsense type. She had worked under her fair share of head nursed who were wishy-washy or that liked to pit members of the staff against each other, and had hated every minute of the confrontations, the wrangling to get things done, and the general bullshit of it.

She started whistling to herself as she laid her clothing out for the next day and got her stuff ready to take a shower. Yes, tomorrow would be a fresh start for her. There was nothing in Iowa for her now. No family, no really close friends. So she was starting over, and loving the challenge of it.