Reverberation - Guns N Roses Fanfiction

ONE - the page

September 2nd, 1991

My days would typically start with me slamming my hand onto my alarm clock and running out of the house. The latter of which usually while I was in the middle of doing something, like buttoning my jacket or securing the top of my coffee cup.

That's right. I drank coffee now, even though I used to despise the taste. However, eventually, I realized that keeping my eyes open while talking to a patient about their well-being is more important than petty tastebuds. Needless to say, I now drink the caffeinated liquid as often as I can.

Not much else had changed, after these six or so years, though, for me.

Actually, that's a lie; almost everything had changed since my time with the guys of Guns N Roses.

In September of 1985, I continued what I'd started before I'd moved to California, and I began my second year in medical school to become a surgeon. Today, in September 1991, I began my third day as a surgical resident, after completing my first year as an intern. I'd be doing more hands-on work--the thought of which had me practically squealing with joy. Especially now, since for the past few days it's been mostly orientations and information meetings, but today I get to do real work with patients.

As I hurried out of my apartment, still stuffing my feet into my shoes, I couldn't help but think about where I was six years ago compared to where I was now.

I'd found where I belonged, where I could be challenged and feel like I was doing something worthwhile, rather than sitting in a stuffy room naming the next song that would be played. I was being kept busy and surrounded by people, instead of being so bored and lonely that I allowed five ragtag strangers to live with me.

Still, it was those people who entered my mind much too often--especially as I would listen to the radio on my way to the hospital everyday. When Guns were mentioned, it's usually the DJ talking about Axl and his lateness and behaviour. Or the band's drug use.

But that isn't my problem anymore, I would keep telling myself. And it wasn't, but that doesn't mean I couldn't still worry about the people I lived with for several months.

Soon enough, I found myself wondering how much longer it would take for them to fall apart completely.

-

On any ordinary day, I would get to work at six or seven and check up on patients. Then, I'd proceed to draw stat labs, accompany patients to tests and scans, and see to various consults. With no outside interruptions whatsoever.

Today, however, was different. Not particularly in a good or bad way, either--I'm actually not sure how to interpret this person's presence.

I hadn't seen him in six years. Hadn't heard from him once, and yet here he was, walking through the front doors of the hospital as if this were any other day--how did he even know where to find me? Did he keep my note from all these years, with my aunt's phone number? Had he called her and she told him where I would be, or did he have other... resources? He was, I supposed, a multi-millionaire now.

I stood frozen in my place at the nurse's station, my pen perched atop a patient's chart. I blinked, my mouth slightly agape. Was I imagining this?

No, he was definitely here, heading towards the information desk, pausing to look around, looking for someone--

Looking for me! I realized with a jolt.

Unbelievable--my hair, I hadn't showered yet today, and my scrubs... had not been washed recently, and had I brushed my teeth this morning? I couldn't recall.

I had to leave before he saw me.

Head down, head down, head down--

I passed the chart off to a nurse and tucked the pen into the pocket of my scrubs as I took off in the opposite direction.

Just before I cut around a corner, I heard his sweet, lullaby-like voice asking who I assume must have been the nurse or clerk at the help desk, "Would you happen to know where Cassidy Goodwin--er, I mean, where doctor Goodwin is?" There was no mistaking that voice; low and cool like the wind's whisper on a summer's night spent under a roof of stars.

I was already in the supply closet by the time my pager went off, calling me to the exact location I had just fled.

It wasn't that I was hiding because I was scared... not entirely.

The thing was: I had just gotten settled. I'd found the perfect apartment, the best job, a good car--and, above of all, I had a stable life. It was much better than what I'd had in Los Angeles; the life that Guns N Roses had managed to destroy.

And that was the question, wasn't it? Had he come here to ruin me once more?

So, I suppose, that was why I'd run in the other direction upon spotting him. However, I couldn't exactly just ignore the page--it was practically illegal in a hospital setting; since, you know, people could die if you didn't respond immediately. Plus, if I didn't arrive where I was paged, they would just page me again in a couple minutes. And after that, they might resort to calling me on the intercom.

Which was why I waited until my heart calmed down, grabbing some gauze and bandages from a shelf--just to be sure no one asked questions, plus it would make it seem like I had somewhere to be, in case he really wants to talk for a bit--to set off to the information desk, where the beautiful, mysterious man awaited my arrival.

I took a deep breath before turning the corner, my sneakers squeaking lightly on the checkered white and cerulean floor.

My heart was the jarring beating of hooves inside of my chest, as if in a desperate attempt of escape--but the man was nowhere to be seen. Had I imagined him? No, that's not possible; I was paged... maybe it wasn't for him, though.

I went up to the desk and managed a friendly smile, "I was paged?"

The aging, blonde-haired woman responded, "Yes, there is a man who seems to be looking for you. I told him he could take a seat in the waiting area and that you should be with him shortly."

I nodded and offered her my thanks, then made my way down the hall and around the corner toward the lobby.

My heart jumped at the sight of him; yes, definitely him, with his stringy chestnut-brown hair tucked beneath a fading, dark blue bandana--which matched (unintentionally, if I knew anything about the guy) with his jean-like button-up. He wore discoloured black pants and the same slightly-pointed-toe shoes he'd had six years ago. And as he sat in that cube-like chair--an ankle resting on his knee, with his foot jumping to an inaudible beat--I swear, it was like I'd been transported to 1985, and the breath was knocked out of me.

I was also pleasantly surprised to see that he didn't seem strung out--so, the news was true: he'd cleaned up his act. Pride, or something of the sort, blossomed in my chest.

I stopped several feet away from him--unspeaking, not quite smiling.

The man from my past stood up, his expression holding a story of its own--sorrow, worry, glee, disbelief, remorse.

Something told me he wasn't just here for a quick hello.

"Cassie," my name was nothing more than a breath of his being set free. As he took a step toward me, I didn't move; didn't even blink an eye.

"Hi, Izzy," I said, a bit tentative. "It's good to see you."

--

Hahahahahahahahahhahahahhahaha what do u think's gonna happen? What's he here for???
Updates will probably be sporadic for a lil bit but I'll try to get things sorted out asap. But shoutout to those people who were like "hi hello yes I'm still waiting over here pls update" bc this is for u lol
+ thanks for reading!

-megan xx