zephiey
Telly Talk Member
The back-story for this one shot is JR was involved in an accident. The result of the accident is he suffered memory loss and a severely injured leg. Slowly memories begin to return and those memories lead him to Southfork. A place he hopes might give him answers.
Title: Memory
Author: zephiey
Rating: K
Pairing: None
Category: One Shot, AU, Drama
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Dallas and its characters are the property of CBS, Larry Katzman and Warner Bros Studios. No infringement is intended from this work of fiction.
Summary: Memory is a tricky thing.
Author Notes: I may add more to this story idea in the future. But now this one shot stands alone.
Memory
The big man picked up his duffle bag, placed his battered cowboy hat on his head and limped across the concourse toward the taxi stand. As he walked, he looked around hoping something would spark a memory.
Nothing did.
It seemed the flood of disconnected memories that had started three weeks ago was now nothing more than a trickle. He just hoped this trip to Dallas wasn’t in vain.
Reaching the taxi stand, he waited. A vacant taxi pulled up and he opened the back door tossing his duffle inside before removing his hat and gingerly sitting down on the back seat. His leg was throbbing and he knew he should take one of the muscle relaxers but he also knew if he did, he would sleep for at least twelve hours. He didn’t have the luxury of sleep now. Setting his jaw against the constant pain in his leg, he closed the door to the taxi.
“Where to beau’?” asked the driver. He could tell the man wasn’t a native of Texas, probably from Louisiana. He had become adept at figuring out where people were from in the two years he had travelled.
“Do ya’ know the Southfork Ranch?” he asked in a lazy Texas drawl.
“Yeah,” the driver answered. “Its bout forty miles outside town,” he added.
“That’s where I need to go,” answered the man.
“It gonna be a ‘spensive,” said the driver, looking in the rear view mirror at his blue eyed passenger, his Cajun accent lending his words a musical cadence.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” the blue-eyed stranger answered, reaching into his jeans and removing his billfold. He pulled a hundred dollar bill out and handed to the driver. “That should cover it,” he said.
“Dat it will,” said the driver, jotting down the destination, clipping the money to the clipboard and starting the metre before he eased the taxi into the exiting airport traffic.
Skilfully manoeuvring the taxi through the traffic then onto the expressway the driver looked at his passenger through the rear-view mirror. “Got family at Southfork?” he asked as he watched the man rub his leg. He knew the Ewing family owned the ranch; everyone knew the Ewing family owned the ranch.
“Not sure,” answered his passenger. “That’s what I am tryin’ to find out.”
Surprised at the man’s answer the driver didn’t respond immediately. Seeing the grimace of pain on the man’s face and the way he kept shifting the driver said, “I’ve got some Tylenol if you need some,” holding up the small bottle to show the man.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the bottle from the driver’s hand, shaking out two pills, and popping them in his mouth swallowing them dry.
“Here,” the driver said, handing a small can of pineapple juice back to his passenger. “I keep a couple of cans in a cooler,” explained the driver.
“Thanks,” he said again, pulling the tab off the can and drinking down the cold juice. Finished he set the can down on his leg, leaned his head back, closing his eyes. The driver didn’t say anything as he watched his fare slip into a light doze. Giving the afternoon traffic his full attention, he decided he would wake the man once they reached Southfork.
“Hey beau, we here.” The words penetrated the sleep-fogged mind of the blue-eyed man and he lifted his head from the back of the seat. Staring at the front of the house the man felt a tingle of recognition for a brief moment before it faded.
“Do I owe you anything more?” he asked, as he opened the back door.
“Naw beau, dat hundred took care of it. I owe ya some change though.”
“Keep it,” said the man as he levered himself up from the back seat.
“Thanks beau. Need any help?”
“No thanks, I got it,” the man said, reaching inside and grabbing his duffle and placing it on the ground. Straightening, he placed his hat on his head, and watched as the taxi drove away. Turning he picked up his duffle, and with a deep breath he limped toward the front door, grimacing at the pain in his leg.
Reaching the front door, he rang the bell and waited. A few minutes passed and he rang the bell again, this time pressing on it for a few minutes. The door opened and he was greeted by an older woman, her eyes wide.
Suddenly nervous, he took his hat off, fingering the brim. “Umm…ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you but…um…do you know me?”
Miss Ellie stood transfixed, her hands raised to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears, before her stood her oldest son. The son she had prayed to see again. The son she thought dead for two years.
“Ellie, who is it?” asked Clayton walking to the door, suddenly stopping in shock. “Oh my god!” he breathed out.
“Sir…I…” the man who knew himself only as John began, surprised to suddenly find himself pulled into a fierce hug by the woman and man standing in front of him. “ Oh JR…oh my son…,” cried the woman while the man just held him tightly.
John blinked the tears from his eyes. He had finally found home.
The End
Title: Memory
Author: zephiey
Rating: K
Pairing: None
Category: One Shot, AU, Drama
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Dallas and its characters are the property of CBS, Larry Katzman and Warner Bros Studios. No infringement is intended from this work of fiction.
Summary: Memory is a tricky thing.
Author Notes: I may add more to this story idea in the future. But now this one shot stands alone.
Memory
The big man picked up his duffle bag, placed his battered cowboy hat on his head and limped across the concourse toward the taxi stand. As he walked, he looked around hoping something would spark a memory.
Nothing did.
It seemed the flood of disconnected memories that had started three weeks ago was now nothing more than a trickle. He just hoped this trip to Dallas wasn’t in vain.
Reaching the taxi stand, he waited. A vacant taxi pulled up and he opened the back door tossing his duffle inside before removing his hat and gingerly sitting down on the back seat. His leg was throbbing and he knew he should take one of the muscle relaxers but he also knew if he did, he would sleep for at least twelve hours. He didn’t have the luxury of sleep now. Setting his jaw against the constant pain in his leg, he closed the door to the taxi.
“Where to beau’?” asked the driver. He could tell the man wasn’t a native of Texas, probably from Louisiana. He had become adept at figuring out where people were from in the two years he had travelled.
“Do ya’ know the Southfork Ranch?” he asked in a lazy Texas drawl.
“Yeah,” the driver answered. “Its bout forty miles outside town,” he added.
“That’s where I need to go,” answered the man.
“It gonna be a ‘spensive,” said the driver, looking in the rear view mirror at his blue eyed passenger, his Cajun accent lending his words a musical cadence.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” the blue-eyed stranger answered, reaching into his jeans and removing his billfold. He pulled a hundred dollar bill out and handed to the driver. “That should cover it,” he said.
“Dat it will,” said the driver, jotting down the destination, clipping the money to the clipboard and starting the metre before he eased the taxi into the exiting airport traffic.
Skilfully manoeuvring the taxi through the traffic then onto the expressway the driver looked at his passenger through the rear-view mirror. “Got family at Southfork?” he asked as he watched the man rub his leg. He knew the Ewing family owned the ranch; everyone knew the Ewing family owned the ranch.
“Not sure,” answered his passenger. “That’s what I am tryin’ to find out.”
Surprised at the man’s answer the driver didn’t respond immediately. Seeing the grimace of pain on the man’s face and the way he kept shifting the driver said, “I’ve got some Tylenol if you need some,” holding up the small bottle to show the man.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the bottle from the driver’s hand, shaking out two pills, and popping them in his mouth swallowing them dry.
“Here,” the driver said, handing a small can of pineapple juice back to his passenger. “I keep a couple of cans in a cooler,” explained the driver.
“Thanks,” he said again, pulling the tab off the can and drinking down the cold juice. Finished he set the can down on his leg, leaned his head back, closing his eyes. The driver didn’t say anything as he watched his fare slip into a light doze. Giving the afternoon traffic his full attention, he decided he would wake the man once they reached Southfork.
“Hey beau, we here.” The words penetrated the sleep-fogged mind of the blue-eyed man and he lifted his head from the back of the seat. Staring at the front of the house the man felt a tingle of recognition for a brief moment before it faded.
“Do I owe you anything more?” he asked, as he opened the back door.
“Naw beau, dat hundred took care of it. I owe ya some change though.”
“Keep it,” said the man as he levered himself up from the back seat.
“Thanks beau. Need any help?”
“No thanks, I got it,” the man said, reaching inside and grabbing his duffle and placing it on the ground. Straightening, he placed his hat on his head, and watched as the taxi drove away. Turning he picked up his duffle, and with a deep breath he limped toward the front door, grimacing at the pain in his leg.
Reaching the front door, he rang the bell and waited. A few minutes passed and he rang the bell again, this time pressing on it for a few minutes. The door opened and he was greeted by an older woman, her eyes wide.
Suddenly nervous, he took his hat off, fingering the brim. “Umm…ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you but…um…do you know me?”
Miss Ellie stood transfixed, her hands raised to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears, before her stood her oldest son. The son she had prayed to see again. The son she thought dead for two years.
“Ellie, who is it?” asked Clayton walking to the door, suddenly stopping in shock. “Oh my god!” he breathed out.
“Sir…I…” the man who knew himself only as John began, surprised to suddenly find himself pulled into a fierce hug by the woman and man standing in front of him. “ Oh JR…oh my son…,” cried the woman while the man just held him tightly.
John blinked the tears from his eyes. He had finally found home.
The End