Categories > TV > Joan of Arcadia > Fall of the Sparrow
Chapter One
0 reviewsThe second episode for an imaginary season three. Ryan's changing relationship with Joan has not altered his approach to life. Joan realizes that sometimes, even painful connections should not be s...
0Unrated
Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor setting belong to me, and no money is being made from this fanfic.
Dedication: I'd like to take this opportunity to thank sg1niner, TJ-TeeJay, Tanya13, dizzily-luving-tom, Pamie884, jumping-jo, house-dragon, Ysissa, aaron de l'encre, Coriel, ProcrastinationQueen and Parisienne At Heart for encouraging me to continue. This episode is for you guys.
In the nightmare Joan is younger, much younger, and her face is still babyishly chubby. She is standing upright, but she isn't standing on anything. There is water all around her. Down, down, down, the dream Joan says, and it is either a command or a description, because she is sinking, the light growing fainter, the tug of the waves lessening as she retreats beneath them. Finally her feet touch sand, and she looks up, realizing in that terrifying moment that she is cold through, and in complete darkness. I'm at the bottom, she says, and her tiny voice echoes, emphasizing that she is utterly alone.
At that moment the real Joan sat up in bed, her pyjamas drenched with sweat, and screamed.
Later
"Girardi, you look terrible," Grace said as they headed to class. "You're pale, and not a romantic pale. More a sort of pale green."
"Thank you, Grace," Joan said. "You have a real future ahead of you in the greeting-card industry."
Grace shrugged. "I'm just saying," she said. "You have that whole 'Night of the Living Dead' thing going on."
"I didn't sleep well last night," Joan said shortly.
"I want to talk to you," said an annoying, all-too-familiar, voice from behind her. Joan turned.
"And this morning's shaping up to be its own form of nightmare," she said to no one in particular.
"I'm serious," Iris said shrilly. "How can you live with what you've done?"
Joan blinked. "What I've done?" she asked, amazed. "I'm not the one who-," she broke off in mid-sentence, shaking her head. "No," she said to herself, "this is not worth getting into." She turned and began to walk away.
"Don't turn your back on me," Iris said, reaching for Joan's shoulder, and then everything happened at once: she tripped, her extended hand smacked into Joan's shoulder and knocked the books from her arms, and Joan fell forwards, catching herself with her hands but still whacking her forehead against a corner locker.
Grace turned to Iris, and gave her a funny little smile. "I'm going to enjoy this," she said.
Later
Helen was leafing through the folder, looking for clues, when a tap at the door interrupted her.
"Mrs. Girardi?" Ryan Hunter said, stepping into the room and shutting the door as he spoke. "Are you busy?"
"Not really, no," she said, and smiled at him. "I've finished grading everything, and I'm expecting students to drop by and pick up their portfolios." Her voice trailed off.
Ryan gestured at the folder in front of her. "A promising student?" he asked. "Or a hopeless case?"
"A very promising student--at least, I thought so," Helen said, a small frown breaking through the polite smile. "I mean, she's really good, and I thought she could make a lot of progress." She shrugged and tried to speak lightly. "Turns out she's dropping art after this semester, so I guess I didn't have as much to teach her as I thought."
Ryan studied her face carefully. "You're disappointed," he said. It wasn't a question. "She disappointed you," he clarified.
Helen pushed her fingers through her hair. "I am disappointed," she said. "I feel like I'm being frozen out, and I have no idea why." She shook her head. "Enough of me babbling. What brings you here today?"
At just that instant there was a loud knock at the door, which swung open before she had time to move. "Mrs. Girardi, you're needed down in my office," Mr. Price said irritably, and then caught sight of Ryan. "Ah, Mr. Hunter. Good to see you. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important?" His tone indicated that he very much doubted he was, but would defer to the other man's judgment.
"Mr. Price, what do you want?" Helen asked tiredly.
He smirked at her. "Joan's been in a fight," he told her, sounding pleased.
Helen looked taken aback. "You mean like an argument?" she asked.
"No, I mean like a catfight," Price replied. "The three girls involved are in my office. And your daughter is one of them-I can't say I'm surprised."
Helen looked horrified. "Mr. Hunter, can I get back to you?" she asked, already on her feet.
"Go, go," he said cheerfully, waving her towards the door. She followed Price outside, not seeming to notice that Ryan made no effort to get up, but remained seated in her office. Once they had gone, he reached across the desk for the folder she had been examining, and began flipping through the vivid pictures of flames, looking highly amused. "This," he said to the empty room, "will be too easy."
Dedication: I'd like to take this opportunity to thank sg1niner, TJ-TeeJay, Tanya13, dizzily-luving-tom, Pamie884, jumping-jo, house-dragon, Ysissa, aaron de l'encre, Coriel, ProcrastinationQueen and Parisienne At Heart for encouraging me to continue. This episode is for you guys.
In the nightmare Joan is younger, much younger, and her face is still babyishly chubby. She is standing upright, but she isn't standing on anything. There is water all around her. Down, down, down, the dream Joan says, and it is either a command or a description, because she is sinking, the light growing fainter, the tug of the waves lessening as she retreats beneath them. Finally her feet touch sand, and she looks up, realizing in that terrifying moment that she is cold through, and in complete darkness. I'm at the bottom, she says, and her tiny voice echoes, emphasizing that she is utterly alone.
At that moment the real Joan sat up in bed, her pyjamas drenched with sweat, and screamed.
Later
"Girardi, you look terrible," Grace said as they headed to class. "You're pale, and not a romantic pale. More a sort of pale green."
"Thank you, Grace," Joan said. "You have a real future ahead of you in the greeting-card industry."
Grace shrugged. "I'm just saying," she said. "You have that whole 'Night of the Living Dead' thing going on."
"I didn't sleep well last night," Joan said shortly.
"I want to talk to you," said an annoying, all-too-familiar, voice from behind her. Joan turned.
"And this morning's shaping up to be its own form of nightmare," she said to no one in particular.
"I'm serious," Iris said shrilly. "How can you live with what you've done?"
Joan blinked. "What I've done?" she asked, amazed. "I'm not the one who-," she broke off in mid-sentence, shaking her head. "No," she said to herself, "this is not worth getting into." She turned and began to walk away.
"Don't turn your back on me," Iris said, reaching for Joan's shoulder, and then everything happened at once: she tripped, her extended hand smacked into Joan's shoulder and knocked the books from her arms, and Joan fell forwards, catching herself with her hands but still whacking her forehead against a corner locker.
Grace turned to Iris, and gave her a funny little smile. "I'm going to enjoy this," she said.
Later
Helen was leafing through the folder, looking for clues, when a tap at the door interrupted her.
"Mrs. Girardi?" Ryan Hunter said, stepping into the room and shutting the door as he spoke. "Are you busy?"
"Not really, no," she said, and smiled at him. "I've finished grading everything, and I'm expecting students to drop by and pick up their portfolios." Her voice trailed off.
Ryan gestured at the folder in front of her. "A promising student?" he asked. "Or a hopeless case?"
"A very promising student--at least, I thought so," Helen said, a small frown breaking through the polite smile. "I mean, she's really good, and I thought she could make a lot of progress." She shrugged and tried to speak lightly. "Turns out she's dropping art after this semester, so I guess I didn't have as much to teach her as I thought."
Ryan studied her face carefully. "You're disappointed," he said. It wasn't a question. "She disappointed you," he clarified.
Helen pushed her fingers through her hair. "I am disappointed," she said. "I feel like I'm being frozen out, and I have no idea why." She shook her head. "Enough of me babbling. What brings you here today?"
At just that instant there was a loud knock at the door, which swung open before she had time to move. "Mrs. Girardi, you're needed down in my office," Mr. Price said irritably, and then caught sight of Ryan. "Ah, Mr. Hunter. Good to see you. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important?" His tone indicated that he very much doubted he was, but would defer to the other man's judgment.
"Mr. Price, what do you want?" Helen asked tiredly.
He smirked at her. "Joan's been in a fight," he told her, sounding pleased.
Helen looked taken aback. "You mean like an argument?" she asked.
"No, I mean like a catfight," Price replied. "The three girls involved are in my office. And your daughter is one of them-I can't say I'm surprised."
Helen looked horrified. "Mr. Hunter, can I get back to you?" she asked, already on her feet.
"Go, go," he said cheerfully, waving her towards the door. She followed Price outside, not seeming to notice that Ryan made no effort to get up, but remained seated in her office. Once they had gone, he reached across the desk for the folder she had been examining, and began flipping through the vivid pictures of flames, looking highly amused. "This," he said to the empty room, "will be too easy."
Sign up to rate and review this story