The Scientist
Wow. It's been almost 5 years since I last wrote fanfiction on here. With the new fantastic season 5 out, I decided it was time I made a comeback. This is an idea I've had since 2016, but I truthfully couldn't figure out how to weave this web. Now, I think I do. Please enjoy, this really is my baby.
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Beth woke me up in my workroom at around 6am, just a little bit before heading off to school. She usually did this, as she had more motivation to cook us breakfast than I did. I was surprised to see a stack of pancakes sitting on the table when I came downstairs. She had set the table so perfectly, it never failed to make me smile. I rubbed my eyes and sat down, ready to dig in when she came back into the dining area from her room. She handed me some papers with a gleeful smile on her face.
âDad, could you please sign these papers?â she asked me.
I raised an eyebrow as I looked at them, âvolunteer work?â
She nodded, âyes, usually itâs a graduation requirement, but since I'm only a sophomore I need a parentâs permission to get it done early.â
Pulling a pen out of my pocket, I sighed, âDonât you already have enough extracurriculars? Donât spread yourself so thin, youâre only 14.â
She sat down on the chair across from me with a very stubborn look on her face. She wanted to be a surgeon so badly she was willing to waste so much of her youth on things that would look good on college applications.
âDad, I'm about to be 15. I want to help people. Plus, if I volunteer for the hospital, theyâll know my face by the time I start medical school!â she seemed so excited for this opportunity. I put the pen to paper and signed. âjust make sure your home enough to spend time with your old man.â I told her as I handed her the papers. She smiled at me, with a squeal of excitement escaping her lips. âthank you, dad!â she got up and hugged me.
Iâd do anything to make my baby girl happy, even if it means I will see her just a little less.
Beth seemed to enjoy her time volunteering, coming home with a big smile every evening. She would tell me what she did in the day with a joyous look in her wide eyes. But as the weeks went by, those smiles turned to furrowed brows and worry in her eyes. She stopped telling me about her days. She would often shield me from her emotions, but Iâve never seen her this worked up about something.
âBeth, please. I-I know something is wrong.â I pleaded. We were seated at the kitchen table, after having a wordless dinner.
âNothing is wrong, dad. I have a lot of homework,â she said, avoiding my gaze and my question. She began to gather the medical books she had placed on the table. I still pushed for an answer.
âAre you getting bullied? Are you concerned about your grades? Do you have too much on your plate?â I asked. My intention was to bombard her with questions to overwhelm her, to get her to spill. âis it a boy? Itâs a boy, isnât it? I could take care of him if you need me--â
âItâs not any of those,â Beth stated, her voice full of sorrow. She turned slowly and began heading up to her room.
I was at a loss for words. You could almost see how broken she was. It made me a bit insecure that she felt like she couldnât talk to me about this issue that was clearly weighing heavy on her mind. Granted, since Diane passed away, I had thrown myself into my work, but I always thought I made enough time for Beth. Maybe not.
The next day I reached out to her teachers, and they shared the same concerns.
âBeth is an extremely good student. however, I have seen her slipping recently. Iâm glad to see youâre reaching out, usually, I have to do all that.â her English teacher told me, then proceeded to complain about everything under the sun.
âShe has seemed very depressed as of late. Sheâs been asking about sheet music for The Cure.â her band teacher informed me.
âShe constantly carries a book about rare diseases and reads it during my lectures. We havenât even reached that chapter yet!â her health teacher told me.
That last teacher made me raise an eyebrow. Rare diseases? Why would Beth need to know about rare diseases? I had a feeling and not a very good one.
The next day I took Beth to her volunteer hours, as she was about to get out of the car, I told her âI want to see what they got in store for you today. Mind if I tag along?â
She looked concerned, âIâm not sure if theyâd let youâŚâ
âI promise I wonât cause any suspicions," I said as I got out of the car, grunting a little. These bones sure arenât what they used to be. As I followed her into the large beige building, the stale hospital smell hit my nostrils like a truck, as did the memories. This is the hospital Diane took her final breaths in. Beth may be too young to remember, but I sure as hell do. Some of the orderlies even look familiar, as they glance at us with what seem to be knowing eyes. They look at Bethâs dismal eyes, then look at mineâthey just know something happened that shook our family.
We turned a maze of several corners which lead to a large orange elevator with the words âelevate your health!â printed in big white letters. I rolled my eyes. Hospitals arenât really places for much healing when itâs really needed. When we got in the spacious elevator, I got my first good look at Beth since we got out of the car. Worry as written all over her, she was desperately avoiding my gaze. Her small fingers twisting themselves in knots as she fidgeted. It was something here, it became blatantly clear. Her worry was contagious, as I suddenly felt a sharp stab of thoughts hit me.
The elevator dinged, I followed Beth toward a nurseâs station. The woman behind there smiled at us as we approached. Her red curls bounced as she got up from her rolling chair. Beth mustered a brave face, âHello Nurse Bernice, this is my father, he wanted to see what I do here.â
The nurse looked at me, her deep amber eyes complimented her dark complexation, her smile lines very pronounced. She was probably late 30s, early 40s at the most. I almost forgot to introduce myself, âIâm Rick Sanchez. I just wanted to see what itinerary you have laid out for my daughter. Sheâs been coming home stressed recently.â
âWell, Mr. Sanchez, I donât think we have too much on her sweet little shoulders,â she said as she grabbed a clipboard and handed it to Beth, who was smiling sheepishly. âNow Beth, youâre going to be checking in on your regulars this afternoon. Mr. Opiman got discharged this morning, so itâll only be Mr. Marion and Ms. Doe.â Bethâs smile slowly faded, she nodded as she put on her badge. She looked up at me and motioned for me to follow her.
Her first âpatientâ, Mr. Marion, was fast asleep. âHis chart mentions they upped his dosage of morphine as his surgical site had to be reopened today,â she said in a quiet voice, as not to wake him. She checked his vitals on the monitor next to his bed, and it suddenly became clear to me that she knew exactly what she was doing. She knew what all these terms and numbers meant. I stood there almost slack-jawed because I never realized how much of a genius my daughter was. I also realized Mr. Marion was probably not what has gotten her so worked up. She made notes on her clipboard and even gently checked on his surgery site, which was on his right foot. The blood had appeared to seep through his bandages earlier, leaving a stain on his sheets. The bandage on his foot was now clean. We left the room without waking her patient up.
We headed to the next patient room, and I could see that Beth was walking much slower. She opened the door, and the sunlight hit our faces hard. The woman was sitting up on the edge of her bed, staring out the window at the bright orange and purple sunset. Upon hearing us enter, she peered over her shoulder. Once she saw Beth, she turned toward us and beamed a big smile.
âOh Beth, Iâm so happy to see you!â Ms. Doe said cheerfully. Her voice was slightly deep and seemed very strained as though she had been screaming for hours. She had bruises all over her, including a black eye and what looked like handprints on her neck. She looked up at me and her mouth closed but kept a smile. Upon looking over at Beth, I was surprised. All those worries melted away, she seemed remarkably happy. âYou must be Bethâs father. Iâm Jane Doe, or at least thatâs what they call me around here.â
I stood there entirely confused about what was going on.














