"Missed by a faint(ing) margin" (a New Amsterdam ficlet)
Title: Missed by a faint(ing) margin
Fandom: New Amsterdam
Characters: John Amsterdam, Eva, the doctor.
Author: PG-15
Rating: Mature
Warning: I’ve seen all of the pilot episode except for beyond the “not everything - I’ve got great instincts” scene near the end.
Spoilers: 1.01
Word Count: 169
Summary: In the (near) future, John visits the grave of the one who’d captured his heart.
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Every time they came near one another, John collapsed. Five heart attacks, four respiratory distress, seven dizzy spells that came *that* close to blacking out…
Always, every single time, she was gone when he recovered. Tried sending her flowers, birds, chocolates, furs, music, everything that a good little 17th Century modern Dutch-American does to woo the object of his affection.
And every time, it all went to shit on his end.
Two weeks ago, she’d died, struck by a sleep-deprived driver (blood alcohol 1.5). And where had he been? On the curb, having a seizure.
Amsterdam’s nostrils widened in appreciation of the fragrance wafting up from behind him: Eva. She was standing right there. Could’ve put a hand on his shoulder - John wouldn’t have minded. But she knew he was busy right now, and he knew she knew it - and he appreciated the consideration.
“And Eva says hi,” John said. Behind him, Eva smiled and nodded. In front of him, he could almost imagine a ghostly smile answering him.
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The End
Fandom: New Amsterdam
Characters: John Amsterdam, Eva, the doctor.
Author: PG-15
Rating: Mature
Warning: I’ve seen all of the pilot episode except for beyond the “not everything - I’ve got great instincts” scene near the end.
Spoilers: 1.01
Word Count: 169
Summary: In the (near) future, John visits the grave of the one who’d captured his heart.
-------------------------------------------
Every time they came near one another, John collapsed. Five heart attacks, four respiratory distress, seven dizzy spells that came *that* close to blacking out…
Always, every single time, she was gone when he recovered. Tried sending her flowers, birds, chocolates, furs, music, everything that a good little 17th Century modern Dutch-American does to woo the object of his affection.
And every time, it all went to shit on his end.
Two weeks ago, she’d died, struck by a sleep-deprived driver (blood alcohol 1.5). And where had he been? On the curb, having a seizure.
Amsterdam’s nostrils widened in appreciation of the fragrance wafting up from behind him: Eva. She was standing right there. Could’ve put a hand on his shoulder - John wouldn’t have minded. But she knew he was busy right now, and he knew she knew it - and he appreciated the consideration.
“And Eva says hi,” John said. Behind him, Eva smiled and nodded. In front of him, he could almost imagine a ghostly smile answering him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The End