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"Legacy"
A Fan Fiction Message Board Writing Challenge
Legacy
This is a (very) short story written in response to the secondary LFN character December Writing Challenge at the FFMB and alludes to the Season One episode 'Rescue'.
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My feet ache as I walk down the long, brightly lit corridor. Pausing at the nurses' station on the pretext of checking a chart, I ease one throbbing heel out of its leather prison. I am never wearing these shoes again. As soon as I think this, I smile ruefully, knowing that it is a hollow vow. I spent half a week's wages on these shoes. No doubt I will be putting up with them for a little while longer.
I have been on duty for almost six hours, and I can feel the sticky strands of weariness pulling at me, weighing me down. It has been a very busy morning, much more so than usual, thanks to an 'unfortunate accident' overnight at the nearby research facility.
An unfortunate accident. I do my best not to snort out loud at the official term. I know full well that the most innocuous words can sometimes hide the darkest of secrets. As is the case after every 'accident', our emergency ward is overflowing with injured workers, but only a select group of senior doctors are permitted to tend to them. This is the way it has always been, and sometimes I fears that nothing will ever change.
I shake my head, knowing that such thoughts will only make my heart heavy, then a pang of hunger gnaws hotly at my empty stomach, bringing me back to the mundane reality of the present. It has been a long time since breakfast.
Mindful of the sharp eye of the hovering Charge Nurse - and the subsequent danger of being accused of shirking one's duties - I check my watch discreetly. Of course, it would be easier to be discreet if I wore a wristwatch, but I prefer to wear my old-fashioned nurse's fobwatch pinned to my pocket. Not only is it the most reliable timepiece I have ever owned, it was a graduation gift from my father. As foolish as it sounds, it makes me feel as though I am always carrying a little piece of him over my heart.
The time checked, I resign myself to the fact that I must endure another ten minutes of aching feet until my main break for the day. My mouth is already watering at the thought of the leftover beef soup waiting for me at home, and once again I am grateful that I live so close to the hospital.
Ten minutes. I tidy the linen trolley.
Five minutes. I gently admonish the junior nurse for not keeping the key to the drugs cabinet around her neck.
Finally, when the large clock above the nurses' station shows 13:00, I sigh with relief, sign off the duty roster and make my way to the 'staff only' area. Collecting my handbag from my locker, I nod a greeting at two of my colleagues. As usual, they are having a slightly ribald conversation, discussing their respective male companions. I usually enjoy their banter, but today a strange melancholy comes over me. It's been a very long time since I had anything to contribute to such a conversation, and the realisation makes me a bit sad, and more than a little lonely.
Breaking off in mid-sentence, Katya turns and flashes me a bright smile. "Angie, come and eat with us."
I smile and shake my head. "Thank you, but I'm going home for lunch today." I peer out the window of the staff room, trying to gauge the temperature by what people outside are wearing. Coat or no coat? Deciding to be safe rather than sorry, I drape my heavy coat over my arm. There is no point in risking a chill.
Katya's companion, Paulina, chimes in. "Going home again?" she asks, grinning. "Anyone would think you didn't like the food here."
The three of us share a weary chuckle. The standard offerings of the hospital canteen leave much to be desired. Shutting my locker door, I smile at them. "Thank you, but as tempting as our wonderful hospital canteen food is..." The two women roll their eyes, still laughing. "I will take my chances with my own soup."
Paulina pouts playfully. "I wish I lived so close to work. It would be very nice not to travel so far each day."
"Well, it is good and it is bad." I tuck my handbag under my arm, then walk alongside them as they head for the staff dining room. "It is good that I can go home during the day if I want to, but it is bad that the doctors and the charge nurses know that I am so close by in case of emergencies. Sadly, I am a very popular choice for being rostered 'on call'."
As I speak, I pull my watch from my pocket, then frown. Almost ten minutes of my lunch break is already gone. I hesitate, wondering if it is really worth going out in the cold and rushing home, just for a bowl of soup that wasn't made in the hospital canteen. At that moment, a few chattering nurses stroll past us, carrying lunch trays. I see the watery stew in their bowls and smile to myself.
Yes, it is definitely worth it.
Katya wiggles her index finger at me, grinning. "You love it, Angie, and you know you do. The doctors like to have you working with them because you love being a nurse. The patients adore you because you are their friend, their sister and their mother all rolled into one." She doesn't notice my wince. "Me...I just like to pay the bills."
I smile politely, then make my excuses, gladly leaving them to their chatter. A few minutes later, I stride through the hospital entrance doors as quickly as my tired feet will allow, the cold air hitting me like a slap in the face. This morning was so crisp and fresh, and now the day is gray and bitter. To match your mood, I scold myself.
Walking toward my car, I say a quick prayer for it to be cooperative and start within a reasonable amount of time. It has been rather temperamental lately, and I don't have time or the energy to coax it into enthusiasm today. A cold winds gusts through the hospital car park and I pull my coat tighter around my body, unhappily aware that it feels a little more snug lately. So does my uniform, for that matter.
I sigh. Just one of the brutal facts of getting old, I suppose. I shake my head. No. I am not old. Forty-five is not old, not these days, even if those two girls do see me as a mother figure. After all, they are young and carefree - to them anyone over thirty is an ancient crone.
Mother figure, I think again, and a dull ache wells up deep inside me. I press my hand over my heart, my palm curving over my fobwatch, my legacy from my father, but the ache only pierces deeper. My father left behind so much more than a simple watch, and I can't help but wonder what it is that I will leave behind when I am gone. I think of my empty apartment, my empty bed and my empty heart, and I suddenly find myself blinking back unexpected tears.
Today, forty-five feels very old indeed.
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