Chapter Text
When Five was Amelia
Amelia looked in the mirror, double checking everything. An ingrained habit after years of attending all the best schools her father’s money could lock her away in.
Hair: Perfect.
Makeup: Perfect.
Clothes: Perfect.
Mask: Perfect.
She then checked, again, making sure her mom’s cross was hanging at her neck, carefully tucked behind her top. Every day, almost hourly she would guess, she reached to reassure herself it was still there. Just like her mom had been, always there, quiet and steady. One more check in the mirror to make sure there were no terrible wrinkles or anything not quite zipped all the way, and then she grabbed her purse, keys, and a smoothie.
Amelia was now ready for another day at the hospital. The fanciest, most elite hospital in Los Angelos. She had been hired, she thought, because she was the top of her class back at NYU and then again in Med school. Only the best was expected by her father, which he made clear even long-distance.
To her surprise, on her first day she learned that her father had made a call to suggest she be hired over another surgeon. Her boss also made no secret of the fact her competition had almost been exclusively male and white, while she ticked off two minority boxes for them in the HR department. He had not said that in the official meeting when he took her on a tour and introduced her to her new colleagues. He informed her at a New Year’s party, a month later, after he had imbibed in a few too many shots. Two of her male coworkers, fellow surgeons, had laughed along as they drunkenly complimented her on out-minority-ing the other doctors.
She had been very tempted to leave. There were plenty of other places who needed surgeons. Sometimes she even thought how delightfully spiteful it would be to send her father a business card for her working in a free clinic someplace that normally couldn’t afford someone with half her background. However, her very next thought would be the ever-growing stack of bills for her mother’s medical care.
Elaina Armaz had tried to hide her illness from everyone for almost a year, denying the growth that was draining the life from her every day. If Amelia had been living closer, she might have noticed sooner. She hoped she would have. As it was, she found a bill her mother had not gotten around to hiding. That was how she learned her mother had lung cancer. End stage, no hope, palliative care only. She had broken straight down onto the floor when she read the bill and realized what it meant. Her mom found her on the kitchen floor, crying hysterically and shaking.
Her mom held her for hours. Hugging Amelia and apologizing for the fact she wouldn’t be there to hold Amelia’s children someday, that she would never see her marry, or be able to see her through so many of the adventures she was sure life had in store for her daughter. Elaina may have been a maid with a thick accent and a love of the old customs of Guatemala but she had always been sure Amelia was destined for great adventures, ones Elaina never would have dreamed for herself. That had always broken Amelia’s heart.
Now, sitting in the car as she headed for work, Amelia wondered why she was still at the hospital in too hot, too sticky, too wealthy L.A. She nolonger had to worry about making sure her mom had the best, round-the-clock care. She took a shuddering breath as she rubbed the thin gold cross just under her bright red blouse. It had been three months and the ache was not getting any easier to breathe through.
Amelia had been a good daughter, she took her mama back home to Guatemala to be buried with her family. No one there recognized Amelia. Apparently, she took after The Father’s Side, according to her uncles and one cousin. Her aunts wouldn’t even speak to her. They all took one look at her when she got off the bus and turned away from her. The priest had been a bit more kind, explaining that the Arnaz family believed their daughter had been stolen by her fancy American, only to be misused and thrown away in favor of a leggy blonde with a few less wrinkles and a lot more privilege in her background. Amelia, looking like her father’s side of the family and arriving in nicer clothes with her M.D. at the end of her name, had been far too much like her father. He was also a doctor, wore nice things, spoke with an American accent, was not someone they knew well. As soon as the funeral was over, Amelia had been on a plane back to New York. She stayed there for a week, in her old bedroom, at her mom’s little apartment. The neighbor, an elderly woman with a thick, Italian accent, came over once a day to check on her and make sure she had eaten something. She even insisted on seeing the dirty dishes to make sure Amelia wasn’t faking it. Her last night before she left for L.A., her mom’s neighbors all showed up, each with a tubberware container with some kind of dessert that didn’t need refrigeration. All wished her well, hugged her, and told her to eat cause she looked too thin and not to hesitate to call them if she needed help with her mom’s things or a renter for the apartment.
Which made L.A. seem all the more cold and colorless by comparison. Everyone here seemed so…fake. She almost laughed to herself. Tinsel town being full of people pretending to be someone else- what a novel concept. And tonight she would have to put in her own performance. Two doctors, both who had relatives at the hospital and sat in high ranking seats, were getting married to each other in a few days. Of course, the hospital was throwing them a party tonight. After she saw to her patients, did some surgery, and crammed a couple meals in, she was expected to go home, change, come back, and make chit-chat with the other doctors, with a present in hand for the couple, and probably to make some cliché toast at some point with the stinking champagne. Amelia wanted to vomit. It was such a show. A stupid one. No one really cared about the two doctors, their happiness, or the romance being cemented in ceremony. They cared about looking good while offering well-wishes and expensive gifts the couple didn’t really need.
“Dr.Armaz? You alright?”
Barney, the ticket man in the booth at the Doctor’s Only parking garage. He was probably her favorite person at the hospital, besides Mr.Alverez who cleaned the nurses’ stations on the night shift. Barney was in his late 70s with neatly trimmed white hair, a thick mustache, and kind, soft green eyes.
“Yes, I’m sorry. Off on my own planet today, Barney.”
“No worries, Dr.Armaz. Just don’t want to do too much of that behind the wheel. Especially with all these crazy drivers, all on their phones, taking selfies for Instacram.”
She smiled, not correcting him on the name of the social media platform.
“So true, Barney. Had to sew one of those back together yesterday.”
He shook his wise old head, letting out a sigh only someone of his age could manage without earning a laugh.
“Well, you take care and have a blessed day, Dr.Armaz. And don’t forget to eat something good. Can’t go thinkin’ about how to patch people back together on an empty stomach.”
She smiled up at him as he handed her back her card.
“Thank you, Barney. You make sure to eat something good, too.”
He smiled with a wave as she pulled through. Honestly, she figured if she ever did quit, he and Mr.Alverez were the only ones she would miss. Banishing such thoughts, Amelia took a long breath and made her way to her designated parking slot. Between a new European thing she didn’t recognize and an antique Porcha, she slid her neon orange electric car into place and shut it down.
Ten minutes later, she was walking into the morning meeting and to find a spot. The only available slot was next to Dr.Franks. She sighed. It wasn’t worth the effort to pretend she could stand the man. If you could call him a man. Last year, she had walked in to find him fixing a medical chart to make sure no one would know a senator’s daughter had been in to have an abortion. Not an hour after her discovery, Dr.Franks had walked into her office with the hospital’s lawyer, explaining the party line to her about keeping the Senator happy and keeping his and his daughter’s names out of the rag mags because he didn’t want people to know how bad things were at home for his daughter. Amelia had checked in on the girl, once they left, Googling the family. The daughter had been 19, living at home, and ‘taking a break from school due to some undisclosed health issues with rumors circulating that she had kidney problems’.
Ever since, Amelia had watched Dr.Franks much more closely. Being a trauma surgeon, she did not generally interact with a gynecological doctor. But after the whole thing with the Senator’s daughter, Amelia listened to the nurses and orderlies as they talked. Dr.Franks had a reputation for talking his patients into needless procedures, he got them to get loads of tests, and he scared them out of second opinions. He was a bully and con-man, in her opinion, and not anything like what a Doctor was supposed to be.
“Dr.Armaz?”
She looked up from her seat to Dr.Albin, more of an office manager these days than a physician. He had white hair and a toothy grin, paired with suits cut far too youthfully for his saggy frame.
“Dr.Armaz, are you with us?”
The more dramatic part of her wanted to stand, say ‘No’, and walk out to some defiant, power ballad. Her sensible side was dominant, however.
“Yes. I was just doing some figuring, sorry.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about figures, honey. That what we have bean counters for!”
She made sure not to show her shiver of discomfort at his term. She had always hated being called ‘honey’ under almost any circumstance.
“Well, that’s about it for today’s meeting folks. Don’t forget the party tonight. It’s my niece, so I expect short toasts and shiny presents. Don’t be late!”, he added with another toothy grin. Amelia gave a polite nod, then got up and made a break for the exit.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Amelia pulled at her sleeves. She had taken a car to the party, not wishing to walk through the parking garage at night with all her buzzed and drunk coworkers following along or making out in the shadows around her. As such, she hadn’t bothered with a wrap or jacket, just her phone in her purse, with her least favorite gold heels and black dress with gold accents that shimmered as she walked. It was beautiful and not uncomfortable to move around in, unlike most of what she wore to parties.
Now, as she walked down the street to try to catch a cab since her phone was too dead to use her car-service’s app, she was regretting her choices. Clothing, shoes, phone brand, evening plans, jobs, careers, and even country at the moment. There had been a job offer to a place in Italy. She should have taken it, left her father’s legacy in the dust at LAX.
“Hey lady, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?”, a man slurred as he leaned against the door of the office building she passed.
Before she could react, another, taller man came to stand beside her. Well dressed, he had trimmed hair and a beard to match, dark eyes, and a way of standing that was meant to make people step back and take notice. She would guess maybe some military training, with that posture and hairstyle. He either came from money or had lucked into it sometime in adulthood, based on the jacket and shoes.
“Sleep it off, Gordon Gecko.”
Turning to her, he offered an arm.
“Getting away from Dr.Franks and his horde?”
“How did you know where I was coming from?”
“Oh, well, I’ve been watching you for a while. Wow, that sounded even creepier out loud. Let me explain. Dr.Franks, gynecologist, used to be a plastic surgeon specializing in female breast enhancement. Nearly killed a patient about…ten years ago? Yeah, well he is well connected, both by marriage and blood, so his daddy made it go away with some money and getting Dr.Franks to move to LA and get this job here, with a new specialty and only minimal re-training. Amazing what enough money and sleaze can do, am I right? Well, anyway,”, he continued as he walked alongside Amelia. “Dr.Franks was ripe for the plucking to get him to dance to his master’s tune. Pretty much the whole group there outside the ER and Trauma people, are here for political stuff, gaming for power and all that, like some kind of surgical GAME OF THRONES rip-off. But you, you’re not like them are you, Dr.Armaz?”
She arched an eyebrow up at him while continuing to walk at full steam trying to give him the hint. If she were in a more crowded area, she might have told him off. Alone, this late, on a mostly empty street, she was playing it safe for now. Also, he weirdly did not give her a bad vibe. He seemed more like one of those people who were so smart that they never quite learned how normal people interacted, so they came out like hyper-active Vulcan Academy drop outs.
“What do you want?”, she asked.
“You. If you’re interested. Wow, again, creepier out loud than it sounded in my head. Okay, so I run a group. You’d be our latest recruit. We fix things. Actually fix them, not just sit back and talk about it, throw some money at it, get our pictures in the paper, and move onto the newest charitable craze on Twitter. We take out dictators and mobsters and slave traders and monsters, without worrying about politics or legalities. We get in, take out the bad guy, get out, move on. But this is a hazardous job, as you might expect. This is why we need you. See, we can’t just hit up your local ER and wave our insurance cards. We don’t exist anymore. We don’t have social security numbers, driver’s licenses, names, families, real jobs, permanent addresses. Things that administrators and billing people get very pesky about when you try to get help from medical people.”
“Why does this concern me?”
“Because you’re different. You volunteered with people who really made a difference, not just a show.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Amelia Armaz, daughter of Elaina Armaz- maid, Guatemalan immigrant, Catholic, by all accounts a very good woman, deceased due to lung cancer, you took her home to bury her. Father- Dr.Isaac Arvon, former New Yorker turned Carolinian, filthy rich, womanizer, alcoholic, absentee father who had a lawyer cut a check every month to pay for your expensive schooling and a car to drive you, total prick. You graduated top of your class from both NYU and the med school, got hired here straight out of training, kept your head down and mouth shut to make sure you could take care of your mom, who you flew home as often as possible to spend time with and whom you called nearly every night to talk to for a few minutes. Do you believe I know you now?”
“You’re a stalker.”
She backhanded him with her purse. He stood there for a second, letting out a long sigh.
“Sorry, yeah. I didn’t do that right. I’ve never been good at the whole Recruitment Poster thing, I’m not Uncle Sam. Alright, I look into people. People who spark my curiosity. Most of the time, I figure out they are normal, boring people who had a moment of being cool or brilliant or thoughtful. A flash in the pan. Some people though, they intrigue me more and more. And rarely, one of those people will really make me sit up and take notice. You made that cut, Dr.Armaz. You’re someone who wants, desperately, to make a difference and to… how should I put it, live outside the lines, not always have to color inside of them. I’m offering you that chance, Dr.Arnaz.”
“What would I have to do?”
“Patch up my team, travel with us- since we’d never know when we’d need you, make sure we’re up to date on our shots, keep track of old injuries to know if I need to be worried someone can’t do the job anymore or for a short while, help me sometimes with planning or being a get-away driver maybe.”
“I meant what would I have to do to sign up?”
“Die.”
“WHAT?”
“We’re ghosts, we don’t exist anymore. All of us faked our deaths and left out old lives behind us.”
Crazily enough, she found herself standing there, nodding.
“Makes sense, in an insane way.”
He nodded.
“There’s no way to do what we want to do, if we’ve still got ties to our old lives, our old selves. We have to be apart from it all. We’re outside the law, we don’t answer to a government, we have no citizenship, no boundaries, just some very simple rules.”
“Which are?”
“No contact with your old life- no going to places you used to frequent, no contacting old boyfriends, no hitting up your high school reunion, no dinner at Grandma’s, no stalking exes on Facebook, no Facebook. No relationships. No names. No ties. We leave no traces, have no connections.”
“How long do I have to think about it?”
“I’ll find you, after lunch. If you want to join up, we’ll talk. If you don’t… I’ll just walk away.”
She nodded, about to ask his name as a cab pulled up.
“Here you go, this guy should get you home safely. Goodnight, Dr.Armaz.”
“Thank you, Mister?”
“One.”
“Right.”, she said somewhat sarcastically as she slid into the backseat of the cab.
A month later, Dr.Armaz died in an accident while on vacation in Spain. Barney, whom she saw her last day before she left, was retiring and would be unaware of her demise. Mr.Alverez, as she arranged, would be working in a nice hospital closer to where he and his wife lived with their granddaughter. He would probably never hear about her death either. Amelia didn’t want to hurt either of those sweet old men, and no one in her life would have noticed them being gone except her, so she doubted it was breaking one of her new rules.
Dr.Amelia Armaz slid her ID, a final will and testament for the team in case she died for real, a card with her finger prints and medical records, and her mother’s cross all into a lock box. One slid it into place and put the lock on, closing it to secure her old life.
“Well, Five, welcome to the first day of your afterlife.”
She slid a hand over the front of the box.
“Wish I could have kept my cross.”
“No ties.”
“I know, One. I wasn’t arguing. I was wishing out loud. Get used to it.”
He nodded. She realized he intended for her to leave first. There was no way he was risking her picking the lock and getting her necklace back.
“Now what? Eat? Have a monthly meeting?”
“I was thinking Target Practice. Four already volunteered to teach you some basics. I would have Two do it, but she scares the crap out of people so Four might be a little less intimidating. He talks a lot, and fast. If he annoys you, just smack him. We don’t have an HR person to yell at you for it.”
She nodded, then turned and walked out. Dr.Amelia Armaz was dead in Spain, never to be seen or heard from again. Five was the Ghost Team medic, and would never have to deal with Dr.Arvon, hospital politics, or anything like that ever again. Now, she would go on those adventures that Elaina Armaz always dreamed of for Amelia.