The Apples

As Dr. Cox wandered through the produce section, glaring at everyone that looked at him and picking up the occasional vegetable, his thoughts began to turn to just why he was spending his lunch break in the produce aisle. After about five minutes and a knock on the head from a hanging scale (thank something that Newbie wasn't here, he'd probably never hear the end of it), he came to the conclusion that he was too nice. Way too nice.

If he really was as mean as everyone said, would he be spending his entire lunch break in the produce section in the local hellhole of a supermarket, just to find the right apples for Jordan?

And of course, the first store he had gone to didn't have the ones he knew she liked--Granny Smith--(and when he thought about it, the apple fit the woman perfectly, sharp and sour, but with an underlying sense of sweetness), since they weren't in season. Neither had the second. Now he was on his third, and, there they were--Granny Smith apples, bright green and shiny and looking absolutely delicious. And, more importantly, his for the taking.

As soon as he had paid, Dr. Cox hurried home, both eager to get out of the store and to get Jordan those apples she'd been craving for, upwards of about a week (that's what she said, anyway). As soon as he made it through the door (jumping and all, just to prove his point), he went to the kitchen, intending to deposit the apples in the fruit basket. What he found, though, would have crushed his soul if Jordan hadn't stolen it years ago--a basket full of those God forsaken apples.

He sighed, left the bag on the table, and went back to the hospital. Typical.