Warm Bodies: The Little Brown Bear

The Beginning

The day dawned brightly in the small apartment and Rowan stared up at the ceiling, watching the pattern of gold light rippling there, bouncing up from the glass of water on his nightstand. The sunlight fell warm across his shoulder, tingling against his skin as he took in a deep breath and smiled.

The smile stretched into a wide grin.

Today. This was it.

Holy crap.

It wasn't so much that he was nervous, though... yeah, he was a little nervous. It was more excitement. An excitement that made his head buzz. Or maybe that was just lack of sleep? They'd put him on late shifts at the hospital, and he hadn't crashed until after three, and even then it'd taken a while to relax, he was so keyed up for today. Julie had stayed at her own place last night because he was working late, the only downside to this new talent of his.

It'd been amazing. Hard work, but, incredible. Helping people felt awesome, whether it was comforting someone in pain, stitching up cuts big and small, mending a broken leg. Nothing had been as intense as Stephen's surgery, but it was all still incredibly... good. The relief and gratitude he could see in people's eyes when he was done, knowing he'd made a difference, was worth everything.

Rolling over in bed onto his stomach, he peered out over his window sill at the city, and the mansion across the street. The doors leading out to the balcony he'd stood under that one night were closed and dark. Julie probably wasn't even awake yet, but he watched the curtains for a moment, looking for any sign of movement. Above them, the sun was just peeking brilliantly over the tops of the surrounding skyscrapers, and the sky was a beautiful clear blue.

Perfect.

Blowing out a nervous mouthful of air, Rowan twisted off the bed and sat there for a moment, trying to run through the plan for the day. Tapping his fingers against the edge of the bed, he suddenly stood and moved to the record player, now sitting on the new shelves they'd brought back from home. Ducking to the shelf underneath, he thumbed through his record collection, finally pulling out a well worn Doo-wops & Hooligans album, and placed it on the turntable.

As the music filled the small apartment around him, he felt himself relax a little, started nodding to the beat, and wondered what in the hell he was going to wear.

Something cool. Something not too formal, but not too sloppy. He pulled the wardrobe wide open and stared at everything he had. A new jacket, two pairs of jeans, four t-shirts, one plaid button down, some khakis, and a Christmas sweater with a giant cat on it that his brother had got him as a joke.

The nervousness returned with a vengeance, and he instinctively fumbled at his wrist for the rubber bands to flick, then smirked at himself as he grabbed only skin. Julie had helped him quit that little habit months ago.

His gaze rose to the ball of clothes wedged into the corner of the top shelf. With a small sigh, he reached up and pulled them down. A tattered and stained pair of dark blue jeans, a grey t-shirt that was falling apart (and not just because of the bullet holes and knife slits)...

...and a red hoodie.

Dropping the other two to the ground, he held the hoodie up, turning it back and forth, then draped it over his finger and poked through one of the bullet holes.

Then he pressed his finger against the faint scar on his chest where the bullet had passed.

Insane. Life was just... insane.

And there was no way he was wearing that. Particularly today.

Balling it into a careless lump, he threw the pile back into the far corner of the shelf, and pulled out the button down shirt and a pair of jeans. He tried them on, then pulled the jeans off, muttering to himself, and pulled on the khakis. Staring at himself in the mirror, he pulled the button down off and pulled on a t-shirt. Scowling back at his reflection, he put the khakis on again, and threw on the Christmas sweater, which actually... didn't fit him too bad.