A Scripta

Kelly jumped almost ten feet in the air when she heard the buzzer. She blinked, stared at the computer screen in front of her for a moment, then up at the clock. Three a.m.? I already brought the records down to ER...

She hoisted herself up from the chair. A heavy set woman with stringy dark brown hair, she had worked at medical records for six years. Many physicians came to MR in the wee hours of the morning - some bore gifts, most ignored her. She knew the on call docs and residents weren't doing any research, which would be the other reason someone would buzz the door.

She approached the door at the end of the hallway. She saw the back of someone's white-haired head. She looked at the doorhandle and opened the door. She looked up at the doctor.

And stared into the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever seen.

"G'mornin'!"

She found herself letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Good morning, doctor," she said, and let him in. He wore the usual white smock, but wore a t-shirt and jeans, and boots underneath. Unconventional, but maybe he was like House.

"Tough f'r us t' be up this late a'night," he said. She couldn't place his accent. She'd never heard or seen him before. Small klaxons went off in her head - "Check his ID" - as he walked in, heading right toward some research that was pulled for the University.

"Hm, 'sain' wha' I axed f'r," he turned to her. "I been lookin' f'r a sp'cific person."

"I'll need to see your ID, doctor," she said.

He patted himself down. "I done lef' it upstairs."

She folded her arms across her chest. She'd been her long enough to stop other doctors from taking the files out of the office - and she actually followed a physician to his office and watched him read whatever it was he needed.

"I'm sorry, doctor, but I don't know who you are."

"I ain' takin' it." He smiled, and the light reached his eyes. "Jus' lookin' 'sall."

"What's your name?"

"Rogers. Jim Rogers. I'm an intern."

"Your request needs to be countersigned by a physician you've worked directly under."

He put his fingertips to the bridge of his nose. "A'right. Who's th' doc on call?"

She went deeper into the record room to her desk, turning her back on the doctor. When she turned to her desk, facing the doctor, he was looking at the on-call schedule posted. He followed it with his finger, then stopped. He smiled warmly at her again.

"I'll be right back."



"Nate, it'll be my license!"

"No, it won't. I'm assessing this man for a potential Kheldian bonding. That's all you have to tell her."

Marc Young, newly a resident at Steel Canyon, stared at Nathan. He shook his head. "Breaking Federal laws suck, Nate. You go to jail, I go to jail, that poor secretary goes to jail."

"I'll take full responsibilty and say that I coerced you."

"Sure, we'll walk back in there and you're holding a gun to my head."

"Actually," he gripped the metal railing of the stair and squeezed. His fingertips popped into the hollow metal and the metal curled as he squeezed. He pulled his hand out of the hollow and brushed it off.

"Nate, you'll go back to jail."

"Not if we do this right, Marc."

Young glared at Nate. "I'm not doing this for you, you know. I'm doing this for Jack."

He nodded, "And he appreciates it."

"Whatever," he snarled, as they got back into the elevator. A female nurse came in with them. She looked at Nathan and smiled at him. "Are you new here?"

"Yes'm," he said, as Young whirled around in shock. Jack's voice! My God, that's Jack's voice!

Nathan - Jack? - turned to Marc and smiled. "Our floor," he said just moments before the door opened.

The two men walked out of the elevator, and Marc turned to him. "Jack? Is that you?"

"Hey, Mousie."

Marc threw himself at him and hugged him tightly. "Jack! You didn't even say good bye!"

"No time, Mousie. I hadda help 'im immediately." He raised Marc's head. "Y're helpin' a good man, both this'un an' th' man whose records we need."

"Stay here, Jack, please. For a little while."

"After this."

Marc wiped his face and took a deep breath. "Okay." They approached the MR office again.

Kelly opened the door to see the white-haired doctor and Dr. Young, who looked like he'd been crying. She looked from one to the other, wondering if the white-haired doctor had beaten up Dr. Young somehow.

"Hello, Dr. Young. Dr. Rogers."

Marc spoke, "Hi, Kelly. Listen, get whatever chart he wants."

"Will you be taking it anywhere," she asked as she headed toward her desk.

"No ma'am," Jack said, "Jus' lookin'."

"Then you don't have to sign it out. What's the name?" She poised her hands over the keys.

"Pace. Jason Pace."

"Oh, Doctor Pace? I know him," she said, typing his name in. "What do you need it for?"

When the white-haired doctor widened his eyes, Young said, "She has the right to ask the question, N--Roger."

She glanced at him, noticing the wrong name. Young flushed under her gaze.

"It's for a bonding. A Kheldian bonding."

Kelly knew from experience that when super heroes were involved, it was entirely different level. Most other clerks would have been impressed and given in. Kelly had never been one of them.

Until now.

When she looked up into the pure blue eyes of the white-haired doctor, almost with a twinkle in them, she could almost read his pleading, his sorrow. Pace meant something to him.

She nodded, wrote his number down and went to fetch it. As they stood near her desk - the computer was locked so he couldn't look any further - they heard her call from the file room.

She thrust a thick file at them. "You can sit right there."

Young took the folder from Rogers's hands and went to the table. He opened it and glanced up at Kelly. "Got anything recent? This is last year's."

"Not unless he's admitted."

Young handed the folder to Rogers. "Can we check and see?"

Rogers skimmed it and didn't know where to put it. "Just leave it there," Kelly said, "I'll put it away."

The two of them followed her again to her desk. She called up on her computer who was admitted. "Nope, he's not admitted."

"Of course," Rogers said. "'Course he ain't."

"Do we have any John Does?"

She punched that in. "A couple. One's in ICU. The other one's in the Garrahy Wing."

Rogers looked expectantly at Young. "I can get you to ICU. That one's in his 80's." Young said. "But I can't get you into Garrahy."

"Why not?"

"It's a locked unit, government subsidized. Need all kinds of security to even get in the foyer."

"He's there," he said. "They've got him there." When he looked up, his eyes were blazing white.

She jerked back from him. He turned to her, closed his eyes, snuffing the white fire, then opened his eyes to show that pure blue.

"Jack, c'mon," Young was saying. "You can't go barging in there like gangbusters. They have Q guns there."

Jack, she thought, with a raised eyebrow. He introduced himself as Jim.

"I've survived Q guns before," he said, and smiled. "But you're right - no, you are right. They wouldn't let him out for heroing if he was held against his will - possible that he doesn't realize it - "

She listened as the voice had changed from the heavily accented one to something approaching clinical. His whole carriage changed, too, from being slightly bent to standing straight, almost in a military position.

He nodded his head in finality. "We know where he is. Patience, Nate." He turned to Young. "So, Marc, take ya downstairs f'r a grilled chicken?"

Young's voice was cold. "The kitchen's not open, Jack."

"We'll sneak in."

"I'm not hungry," Young said suddenly. "Thanks for your help, Kelly."

"Marc." Rogers put a hand on Young's shoulder.

He shrugged it off and started toward the door. Rogers followed. "Mousie."

He whirled around and yelled, "Don't you call me that!" Then he threw open the door and stormed out.