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SEATTLE GRACE MERCY WEST HOSPITAL - August 1st
It it neither unfortunate or useful that interns need names. For the purpose of locker possession, key card identification, and then of course to place fault upon. Perhaps if they came in terms of flocks, kindles, troupes, or rafters the necessity would be made easier. The simplicities of herd and pack denoted conflict, herd being docile plant eaters while packs were traditionally cut throat carnivores.
Interns were more akin to pestering groups, prodding at objects and tasks with an unjustified ownership and self righteousness. They carried themselves with muttering verses of medical history and complaints, making note of their successes like proud little drones. They were a species that buzzed their confidence to negate their insecurities.
Interns came in swarms.
OR NURSE'S STATION - 10am August 1st
The first new swarm of interns took through halls of Seattle Grace Mercy West like a heavenly plague, striking terror into the nursing staff (fear for the corrections they will be making on patients after such newbies made unsuccessful diagnosis).
It is the unfortunate, but ultimately rather useful, event of Dr. Cora Hale that her first shift of August (intersecting to the nose of her last shift of July) gave her the least annoying wasps of the swarm.
Bright and happy medical students were her preference. Their idiocy was commendable in that their smiles eventually dissipated into slack jawed stares after the first shift. The insects she was assigned were exceptionally pessimistic with a glaze in their eyes that fore saw the absolute worst they would be going through.
It was that lack of excitement that annoyed her the most. They neglected to even attempt introduction when showing up to their first shift, making a semi-circle of five in front of the nurse's station.
"I don't care enough to remember your names, keep that in mind before you expect me to hold your hand when you kill someone for the first time," She sifted through charts, slamming them closed and deploying her first tactful monologue for intimidation, lovingly appropriated by every 2nd year surgical resident over the years.
"Of which you will, just make sure its not one of my patients. I've got five rules, learn them, write them down, tattoo them on your face, just don't ask me to repeat them. 1. I already hate you, no amount of sucking up is going to change that," She crosses her arms over the charts and tilts her head to the nurse's station. "Trauma protocol, charts, page numbers are here. The nurses will page you in emergencies of which you answer at a run," Cora starts off toward the on-call rooms, throwing the rest of her monologue over her shoulder, "Change out of your Tory Burch flats and into your Jordan's, I've got no sympathy for blisters. Make sure you don't piss the nurses off and you won't spend slow nights running around for no reason."
"Of which will happen, at some point, because you are interns, bottom of the surgical food chain and worth no sympathy as you will find when we tell you no eight times a day no matter how much you beg and whine to scrub in. Weaving through more important hospital staff, Cora leads them like a line of ducklings to an on-call room of bunk beds. She props the door back with her heel, waving a hand back and forth. On-call rooms are self explanatory, you come here to sleep when you can and don't take advantage of that. Your first shift is 48 hours and that goes by very slowly. Sleep depravity comes with the job, don't electively stay awake clocking kiss-ass time with me or any other doctor. You have time to yourself you spend it in the skills lab, doing charts, or practicing medicine; otherwise get some sleep. Which brings me to rule 4, if I'm asleep I expect to stay asleep. Crack open a book before you ask me how to do a simple suture. Are we clear?" She lets out the question like a deflating balloon, knowing well enough that the bags under her eyes explained her job better than she could.
One of the interns, a curly haired girl with heavy eyeliner, raised her hands, "That was four rules;you said five. "
"Rule number 5," Cora paused, "...why are there five of you;there should be four." The extra intern went mostly unnoticed before in her mid-morning fury. Of the three notable interns, there was a curly haired girl, a sunken eyed and lip-biting white guy, and a stubble headed curvy faced black guy. The problematic interns were two identical, notable only in their occasional smirk, boys whose facial features and bodily statures could be described as sharkish. Appropriate for their chosen field of work but equally obnoxious given the confusion.
"There was a mix up," One of the said, "Our paperwork says we're Ethan Aiden and not Ethan and Aide-"
"I suddenly don't care anymore. If it's enough of a problem someone else will fix it. I expect you to do the equal work of two people. You're, ugh, Thing 1 and 2 for now and, I don't have time for this,"
Cora pushed past them, flicking off the lights in one harsh movement. "When I move you move, that's rule 5 and it's the most important. If I'm paged you better be at the scene, I don't escort you places."
Rushing down the halls with heavy footsteps, she leads them to the front of the elevator, jamming her thumb against the down button. "We're down in the pit today, no holidays, no major accidents reported. It should be slow, which you will show gratitude, means there will be minimal tragedies and no gaping wounds for you to fuck up. Stick by me, listen to the other residents and any attendings if they need assistance. But don't talk to the ER interns. They're unhepful and...weird." The elevator doors opening with hospital staff spilling out, leaving a perky nurse in pink scrubs who was checking her phone. Cora led her interns in, having them crowd behind her like ducklings with their mother.
"Will we be assisting in any surgeries today?" The sunken eyed intern asked, looming over Cora's shoulder like a hawk.
She glared back at him, watching as he sulked back in his error. "Yes, the attending running the OR will pick the most promising intern of your class. Which is why you should be on your toes. If you're in over your head, bow out before you do any damage. Do not stand around waiting for anyone to fix your mistake. Ask for help, ask questions, demand answers. It's the only way you're going to survive this program. You know nothing now so l.e.a.r.n. something," Their floor came suddenly, the ding of the bell punctuating Cora's last sentence. With heavy footfalls she exited, dodging past a gurnied patient who looked ready to vomit. Her interns followed suit, occasionally hitting one another with their elbows in accident or on purpose.
The pit was quiet, an effective series of coughs and groggy exclamations of pain resounding through to all exits. "Pick a patient, check their chart, see what you can do to help. Rile up the ER interns, but do it in good fun. You three, you're with me," She pointed to the twin possibly named Aiden, curly hair girl, and sunken eyes guy. "We're waiting in the ambulance bay, got a call about an incoming trauma 45 minutes out at 9:50am." Pushing through a throng of nurses, making a bee line for the trauma gowns and gloves, suiting herself up. Her expectant underlings did the same, tying each others gowns while Cora did her own.
She noticed a colleague in the bay, wispy brown hair tied back with a black scrunchy.
"Anything back from the ambulance yet, Allison?" Cora asked, coming up behind and readjusting her gloves.
Allison stood-by, trying to keep herself from biting the latex stretched over her fingernails. "Heard that its a GSW. Not police related so I'll have to make the report myself."
"Sounds boring, I'll assist and then let you take over."
"Are you that behind on post-op papers that you wouldn't even stick around till its printed?"
"Better believe it. And you assholes won't stop moving around the schedule days on my calendar."
"I remember you encouraging Scott and Dennis to mark days they wanted."
"Assuming they aren't doing it just to annoy me."
"Their brain capacity isn't strong enough for that, trust me I live with one of them."
"Oh that's news, when did you move in?"
"A month ago." Allison stated, slight aggravation in her back of her throat and staring off to focus on the patients who went in and out of the memorial clinic. The clinic seemed slow, only a few sniffles and solemn looking men in suits holding back what had the intensity of whooping cough.
Allison turned back to Cora, forcing a thin lipped smile. "How's chief resident treating you?" It was a back handed question, of course. They both had been in the running for the position, attempting trial and surgical feats that ended in utter failure at times. Yet, Cora had come out on top for reasons that Allison was too jaded to appreciate.
"It's more paperwork than anyone expected but being able to yell at the 1st years is enjoyable. That's pretty much the only perk, honestly. It's been a few weeks, can't expect it to be perfect from the start."
The sympathy Allison felt for her was rivaled only to her pleasure of enjoying the frustrations and stress it must be bringing. She'll enjoy it while she can. She and Cora were of course friends. However, they mainly kept that rivalry concerning one another to work.
Cora was aware that Allison saw herself as cut throat. However, her facade was veiled behind jokes of her taking a neonatal fellowship or changing her specialty to OB. In their second year, Allison taught her every attending level stitch she managed to adopt from Dr. Yang and Dr. Bailey.
Allison was aware that Cora began her pursuit for plastics after assisting on a facial reconstruction surgery by Mark Sloan. Cora had requested additional case files Sloan had successfully completed while at Seattle Grace Mercy West and the horrific damage he had corrected left her in tears, leading her to then become a supporter of his expanded burn unit (as well as Sloan's gopher for paper work on it).
Cora had enveloped herself in Allison's guilt when they both learned they were Dr. Hale and Dr. Argent, easing out of the discomfort created for one another over the course of their intern year. After one fall out during a multi specialty surgery for a woman who had come in after being doused in gasoline by her abusive husband, correcting tissue damage and previous bone breaks, ultimately having to pack her abdomen due to an unfound bleed, they laughed at the absurdity and wiped away each others tears through the exhaustion of those 9 hours. When updating the patient's mother and son, hands were kept on each other's shoulders and they both collapsed in front of their lockers together that next morning.
Allison chuckled, relaxing her stance. "Got any good interns? One of mine's down for the count and two others just cower." She glanced over her shoulder at Cora's interns, fully expecting them to shudder or turn away to feign eye contact. They all three flashed forced half smiles, coning their disinterest in being there. The curly haired girl gave a little wave.
"Mine aren't happy;its annoying," Cora snapped the latex wrist of her glove.
SURGICAL FLOOR - 11AM August 1st
The vending machine on the third floor was perhaps the most outdated piece of equipment in the entire hospital. Thankfully, its merchandise was not. Unfortunately, it ate quarters faster that ER Interns could eat Snickers bars in between incoming ambulances.
All Laura Hale wanted was a single serving pack of red twizzlers to tide over her nerves before she met Katherine Wyatt. Her first day in a brand new seldomly sunny city and the crawling sensation of hunger and acid snaked up her throat like a backed up sink. It was decidedly unpleasant and she was wondering if her brother was boding any better down in the Chief of Surgery's hot seat.
The psychiatric ward was supposedly, as directed to her by a talkative nurse, one of the quietest in the hospital, nestled near the top floor like a pigeon nest. Passing patients were solemn and slow moving, doctors meandered along at lazy paces. The environment reinforced a sickening image and rammed into Laura's stomach like a swift punch. In the history of Seattle Grace she was expecting a tad more excitement.
The surgical floors were much more impressive. Constant streams of chaotic coding, residents speeding past at a dead run, and the slew of gurneys flying around at every moment. This brand of stress somehow calmed her.
However, the vending machine still continued to eat her change and she was down to her last dime.
The light pressure of a kind hand set on her shoulder and suddenly there was fifty cents in her palm. "This is the only machine in the building that needs adds 40 cents to everything, gives it back but that doesn't really serve much of a purpose," A grinning brunette with a button nose said, patting her shoulder.
Laura deposited the coins and hit H6 on the pad, watching as the plastic-looking strips of red fell into the holding tray. She muttered an amused thanks, laughing at the clash of the two quarters as they were returned. "You seem to be pretty knowledgeable," She grabbed down for the candy, immediately tearing down the side strip of cellophane. "Do you know the story on 304? I saw some doctors arguing outside and it got pretty heated."
"That would have been Dr. Torres and Dr. Sherwood. Dr. Torres consulted Dr. Sherwood after the patient came in with a sprained ankle and she found a ligament misplaced. Torres was convinced that it was a botched previous surgery, not knowing who botched it, which turned out to be Sherwood." She grinned again, leaning against the lined up soda machine for the cool sensation it spread over her back. "Everyone's always on edge in August, to be fair. It's kinda of the yelling month."
Laura had a bit of a weakness for sweet frail girls with brown hair and Seattle Grace was not disappointing in that. She stuck out her hand, "Laura Hale, new fellow in Psych."
"Lexie Grey, 3rd year surgical resident." Lexie complied, wrapping her fingers around Laura's like she spends time practicing introduction etiquette. "Hey, Hale's not that common a name, is it? Our chief resident has the same last name."
Pointing the open package in offering, Laura replies, "I'm sorry if Cora has ever called you names or made your life hell."
Cora's first year as a resident had been a particular circle of hell for three unnerving interns that all collectively resigned to different specialties within the first four months. Lexie received some abuse during that time by way of association but not to the extent that Dr. Greenburg had been the victim to. Cynicism comes with being a doctor but the kind Greenburg carries with him requires its own medical attention.
"She luckily wasn't my resident during Intern year but she did threaten to shove gauze down my throat once," Lexie slides a long twizzler out of the plastic, biting it softly with tiny precise chews.
"As long as she's not doing irreversible damage I hope you'll forgive her. And it would have been an empty threat back in med school. She couldn't staple term papers together without attaching them to her fingers."
Lexie laughed in soft huffs, playfully tapping the back of her fingers against Laura's coat, "Don't tell her I said it but we all notice when she can't figure out how the white-out pens work."
Laura chuckled along with her, moving in to the touch of Lexie's hand. She thoughtfully quircked her head and asked, "You ever been to that bar across the street? Emerald City or something."
"Joe's! Yeah, it's a favorite around here. Best place to go and really embarrass yourself now that I think about it actually." Of which was true. There had not been a doctor at SG/MW lacking some brand of horror story they caused at Joe's bar.
"Come and find me when you're off. I'll buy you a drink to pay you back," Laura smiled, tilting her head to the awful vending machine before glancing at her watch. "Sorry, I have to take off. I still have no idea how to get past the creepy nurse in the Psych ward and I'm a late to meet Dr. Wyatt."
The hem of Laura's lab coat brushed against Lexie's leg as she walked past. Stowing the twizzlers into her coat she hears Lexie call out to her, "He won't bother you when he's doing the crossword."
"You're really earning that drink," Laura called back, disappearing through the double doors to the stairwell.
THE PIT - 1pm AUGUST 1st
The first responsibility Erica Reyes is given, very first, oh god her very first, she doesn't even have any candy striping or volunteer experience under her belt, is to convey to a newly admitted patient she was there to help.
A burly stoic male, 55, was brought in by EMTs at 11;49am from an emergency call stating his complaints of severe stomach cramps and vomiting. After accessing his condition, an identified roommate told paramedics he suffered from a trauma to his abdomen the previous night after heavy drinking. It was then revealed by the roommate that there had also been heavy fistfights and attempted amateur wrestling in addition to the heavy drinking, possibly due to it.
Erica made attempts of her own to have the patient confirm where his pain was localized. This, of course, was when he puked on her. Possibly the most foul selection of bile that she had ever been in contact with, and she went to college for what felt like a decade. The vomit emitted a handsome aroma of mint leaves and stomach acid, with a bland green, oh god it was green, so disgustingly green, hue that soaked into her scrubs and white penny loafers, so very white shoes too.
In med school, Erica had seen some horrible dissections and read of ominous accounts depicting technology barren surgical history, rough stuff really, but being puked on had a subtle ick factor she could not process as an event that happened to her. Her frozen stature did not bode well when a black haired woman in clean deep blue scrubs pushed past her yelling, "Don't just stand there!", in an effectively upset tone.
Isaac, her peer and overly Adonis sculpted, oh god that was the word she was looking for, sculpted, fellow intern aided the confident doctor who probably just lost all the respect she had planned on giving Erica.
They ranted off important diagnostic assessing jargon that definitely did not matter to Erica now seeing as Isaac would be taking that case. She was more concerned with getting the horrible liquid substance she didn't want to think of as puke anymore off her before it soaked into her undershirt anymore than it already had. This had to be a first bad day, not the norm for surgeons.
Behind the admission desk a decidedly calm attending with lightening fast penmanship was filling out admission forms, occasionally glancing at the exit doors. She looked confident with an air about her that suggested she knew where to de-vomit articles of clothing.
"Hi, it's my first day here, do you know where I can get something to clean my scrubs?" Erica pointed to the gooey
"Ye-OH My god, that's-There are baby wipes back here," The attending handed Erica some wet naps, "What resident are you assigned to?"
"Doctor Hale," Erica replied moving to scrape the vomit into a nearby garbage can.
"At the end of your shift she'll show you what you're required to do with your scrubs but if you need replacements before then the intern locker room will have extras in odd sizes near the bathrooms,"
She said, finishing the admission for a chart on a recent patient currently waiting for a CT scan. "Dr. Yang just took a patient so you can help me right now. I need you to inform Dr. Shepherd that the patient he has was just identified as Kimbra Louis and her mother is in the lounge area. We're waiting on medical history from her last private physician in Ohio." She pulled out a massive binder with little paperwork enclosed from behind the desk, handing it to Erica with a definite thunk on the counter top. "However, we know that she is allergic to morphine and has Rhett Syndrome. She's been unconscious since arrival so Shepherd might want to get a psych consult first for course treatment if he's unsure how to proceed. Say that Kepner sent you," She pointed with the plain black pen she wrote with to her badge, the same photo from her Chief Resident year adorning the front just under her full name, April Annabelle Kepner.
"Rhett's is neuropathy, is Shepherd up in neuro?" Erica asked, running her fingers over the edge of the binder, marveling at how slightly worn it was and that it would be her first ever case. Way better than Sir Repair-a-Bowel and his vomiting drunken dragon.
"Yes, he's the on-call attending, but she's not here for Rhett's, she collapsed outside a laundromat without any ID. She's being treated for a head trauma, possibly a brain bleed." Kepner was already back to filling out additional charts, mapping the her route to three other patients and the best way to grab a muffin from the coffee cart on 3.
Erica paused, considering the possible brain surgery (OH GOD, BRAIN SURGERY) she might have just scored herself to scrub in on. "Sooo, would it be safe to assume that I can be in on that?"
Kepner, as unimpressed as she was with this girl, considered giving a short speech on the importance of patience during intern year but decided that is was best left to the devices of Hell Hound Hale.
"You impress Shepherd and you can assume anything you want." She put her pen back to paper, an unspoken signifier that she was done speaking with a dream happy intern.
Striding backward with a spring in her step, Erica tucked the chart under her arm and did her best to hid the fading puke stain underneath her lab coat. Neuro couldn't be that hard to find, hoping that the map on the first floor elevator was not the only map in the hospital.
OR 2 - 2:45 pm August 1st
"Hale Hound," Christina yelled out to Cora, her back held the scrub room door open while she waved her over. "I've got one of your interns holding a GSW wound closed on a perforated aorta, you wanna assist?" Requesting Cora's presence suddenly on cases became a habit of Christina's. She was the only resident in the hospital who could push paperwork and identify an aortic aneurysm apart from a heart attack. She never complained about charts, she barely even spoke save for reprimanding interns. Christina was very fond of Cora.
"Yeah, I'll look over the chart on my way in," She said back, stacking binders behind a nurse's station and checking her watch. Her brother asked to meet her at 5pm to catch up since she'd been avoiding him the entire first week of his and Laura's stay. Being held up in surgery wouldn't be an excuse enough for him, by any means.
"Don't bother, its a quick in and out repair," Christina pushed loose strands of hair up her scrub cap and smoothed down the front. "Come scrub in." She ducked through the door and it swung closed behind her.
It was a good six minutes before Cora joined. "Which intern did you grab?" She attempted to recall the faces she saw that morning, jutting into the scrub room and immediately washing her hands.
"Didn't get his name, he's got this like puppy dog sunken eye thing going on," Cristina waved her hand over her own face, emphasizing on the description.
"I have no idea who he is. I spoke to them this morning and then went back to post-op charting. I remember there's these twins or something." Cora scratched the top of her palm and sniffled, feeling the need to rub her nose.
"Haven't even given them names yet? You're usually quicker about that." Cristina was Cora's resident in her intern year, impressed with her apathy even then. It was the misfortune of Cora that she had worked with Cristina in her Smurf phase, being permanently known as Sassette for her first two years of the program.
"Well there's Thing 1 and 2?" Cora tried to remember their faces, difficult despite the fact that they had the exact same face.
"Oooh, Dr. Suess theme? I can get into that...the one in here's a McBoingBoing for sure. Ahhh, this should be fun." She laughed to herself, knocking the faucet off with her arm and entering in the OR.
Cora cracked a smile as she finished digging out the bottoms of her nails, running them under the warm water.
"Alright, you, Gerald McBoingBoing," Cristina pointed with her elbow to the intern she came in with, noticing the wagging of his foot and the unwavering expression in his eyes of either terror or the rush of panic. He was bemused by the absolute awe from standing in an OR, having fingers shut an open wound, and being stained with blood that marked his saving a life. That kind of rush never fades from a surgeon.
But he was confused, doing a double take and pointing to his chest as if he thought she was mistaken.
"Bounce on over here and I'll let you make the first incision; I'm feeling generous," She said, watching him immediately comply and become unsure of where he should start. "Call for your scalpel, you'll need a 10 blade," she guided, the blade placed in his open hand without hesitation from a scrub nurse. Your cut will start beneath the sternum and run 5 inches, apply enough pressure to get through the tissue. You'll feel a comfortable give without hitting soft tissue."
He lined the blade at the in between point where the lungs would meet, measuring out with his fingers for a precise cutting point. Feeling the dense flesh give way to the slicing blade, his hands shook but created a single line, pinpricks of blood appearing on both sides. And it was the first mark he ever made on a human being as a doctor.
"Thank you, Dr. McBoingBoing, you did fantastic." The grin under Christina's white mask was apparent and it took all her strength not to call for a round of applause in such a marvelous display of
'Baby's First Surgery'. She let it go, allowing him to have his moment, especially after the way he held his composure on a four stop elevator ride with fingers keeping a gaping wound closed.
"Dr. Hale will now assist," The scrub nurse announced, tying the back of Cora's gown.
"Keep on your toes, Meredith Grey is running the OR." Christina said as he took a step back, placing the blade on the instrument tray. "Go impress her if you want to lead your own surgery by the end of the day," She batted her eyebrows up, trailing off to focus on opening the chest of her patient, noticing that she'd have to cut deeper into the flesh after the intern's timid stroke. He was gone by the time she looked back up, most likely racing to find anyone who could point out Dr. Grey to him.
"I should have given him something to do," Cora chewed her bottom lip, "I've been avoiding my brother all week and now he's here, wanting to play catch up at the end of my shift."
"You have a brother?" Cristina took a 10 blade, redoing the cut deeper and then opening the incision with her fingers.
"Yup, and a sister."
"Is he here, in the hospital waiting around for you?" The bone saw was warm in her hands having been sanitized before the procedure. She placed it in between the patient's ribs, set perfectly in the groove underneath the sternum.
"No today's his first day."
"What specialty?"
"Surgical... Cardio."
The thought clicked in her head right as the chest was cracked. Cristina had seen the file very briefly, having been too busy to research her prospective fellow as the Chief of Surgery had been the one to hire him. His credentials and schooling were exquisite, having completed his residency at Johns' Hopkins and studied overseas at Leeds for his MB ChB. D. Hale suddenly made perfect sense. "Your brother is my new Fellow."
"Yup." Cora put emphasis on the pop of the word, pressing her lips closed in her own anxiety under her surgical mask.
"Family of surgeons, huh?" With Cora's interest in Plastics, a Cardio Fellow brother, and a prestigious Talia Hale working with Dr. John Pepper and Tal Golesworthy in the forefront cause of aortic valve replacements, the Hale name seemed to be a lineage of nothing but A class surgeons.
"My sister's a psychiatrist" Cora added, pulling the suction tubes into place, "Today is her first day here, too."
"Surgeons and one mental defect." Cristina glanced up to see Cora's sickly expression.
MEZZANINE - 3pm August 1st
The nervousness that comes with meeting a new boss is normal, very normal. The nervousness in being a boss, meeting a new fellow is not normal, very not normal.
Callie Torres has held the excitement for meeting fans of her work at bay since her ground breaking TED Talk where an influx of emails, phone calls, and tweets barraged her daily life for a good two months. Some time after, a few messages would occasionally pop up speaking praise while others were interested in furthering their work. However, one individual had been sending her pm's on
Facebook, at least one per week, that became a steady conversation from regularly saving Seattle's finest athletes to an autobiography to the inevitable realization that she could invite him to Seattle for a fellowship. He had been finishing his final year of residency, miraculously interested in pursuing ortho with focus on sports medicine.
And then there he was, gelled hair framing a face that had a jawline sharp enough to puncture a balloon.
"Dr. Torres! Realized I never asked you how you take your coffee, hope doused in sugar and creamer is okay," He called out, walking in a cartoon like stride and a visitor's badge.
"Stilinski! God, its good to finally meet you." Callie clapped to herself, the relaxing at the sight of coffee and his argyle sweater.
"Call me Stiles, Callie, and its good to finally see you in person. You gotta excuse me if I slip up and call you Callie every once in awhile."
"Wow, you're nice, ah erm, not that I didn't expect you to be nice, surgeons can be nice, especially Sports M surgeons but you know, sometimes they're cut throat and rude-"
"Am I the first Fellow you've ever had?"
"Well, yes actually. I'm sorry, I'm just a little nervous being the boss of someone who is actually capable in their field. I mean, I've been resident to interns, and chief resident!, I was chief resident for awhile too to very not good first year residents."
"You basically have been a good boss to shitty people, right? I get that, can't really pick your employees in our line of work. I swear to you though, from here on out it'll be professional and respectful,"
"That's-that's why I'm glad you're nice! It's going to be very hard to hate you when you're nice and good at what you do," She trailed off on the last few words, unsure that she'd even said the right thing.
"Callie I've been wooing you for months with my charm. I'm insulted that you think I'd be some cut throat asshole." He laughs and downs about half his coffee while Callie cradles hers, still hot and insulated too well to drink.
"Seriously, glad you're here, got a case that came in last night," Callie added, motioning for Stiles to follow her out of the mezzanine.
"Oh?"
"16 year old female with a femoral shaft fracture, her third one in the past four months. She doesn't play sports, do any kind of movement that involves rigorous activity save for her school's theatre, and I'm mostly sure she's got a cartilage or bone disorder. I'm waiting to for the results of a DXA before speaking with her parents again but I'd like you to take a look at her and consult."
"Sounds good, I didn't work too much with Peds cases while at Hopkins so I'd be glad to flesh out. Does she show signs of eating disorders or malnutrition?" Stiles followed with springing
"No signs of irregular eating or dieting, she's not that thin and doesn't seem like a ED. "
"Not a diet pills is she? Those carcinogens can lead to bone loss in anyone under 25."
Callie hit the up button, "See that's the thing, she doesn't seem like that kind of kid. I asked the parents and they both say she's way too in to her acting to care about anything else. She goes to school 8am to 3pm, then a writing class from 3pm to 5pm, then 5:30pm to 9pm she's in rehearsals. On the weekend she takes a masterclass at NSC for six hours a day."
The elevator opened, pouring out lab coats and scrubs hung on drained doctors, save for the always woefully chipper Chief of Surgery. "Dr. Hunt! Hey, have you met the newest Ortho fellow?" Callie pointed as if suddenly possessed by Vana White, even straightening her posture as if she were standing in pumps.
Owen Hunt carried bags under his eyes, usually subdued but a little glossier than usual, and a toted small blue folder of registration papers in his hands. He gave a little nod, stepping out with an obligatory smile and going in for a firm handshake, "Stilinski, right?" An unsure rise in his pitch made it clear that Owen had no idea how to pronounce Stile's first name, despite having stared at his faxed over history for a good fifteen minutes before giving up. Luckily, his last name was phonetic.
"Feel free to call me, Stiles." He grabs hold of Owen's hand, giving back as much of a grip as he can. "Good to meet you, Chief. Very glad to be starting today, thank you, sir."
"It's good to have you and perfect timing," Owen turned back to Callie, moving out of the way to introduce an overly stoic guy intently staring at his smartphone as if it was made entirely for the purpose of pissing him off. "Torres, Stilinski, this is Dr. Hale, our newest CT fellow. Russel had been tied with with a thorocatomy this morning so I'm giving him the shortened tour before handing him off again."
"Derek Hale, pleasure to meet you," Derek pocketed the phone, nodding his head as they exchanged formalities. The unemotional smile he flashed paled in comparison to the genuine toothy grins of Stiles and Callie. It was obvious they were Ortho and he didn't need their specialty embroidered on their lab coats to know that. "You wouldn't happen to be Callie Torres, would you? My mother was set to speak at the TED Talk you teleconnected in on and your presentation on articular cartilage was all she could talk about for a week."
Callie's beaming eyes and wider grin stated clearly enough she was one in the same, "Oh she caught that? Exciting, righ- wait, Hale was giving a talk on ExoVasc! Oh I really wanted to talk to her, that tech is so ground breaking."
"Well, Chief Hunt has asked six times whether my mother would be around in the Fall for a possible lecture so I'll mention you the next time we speak," He glanced toward Hunt then ducked hands back in his pockets to check his phone for its occasional vibration.
"That is definitely something I'd like to encourage, but if you will excuse us I have to get Dr. Hale to Human Resources for some last minute paperwork. Good to meet you, Stilinski. Callie." Owen directed Derek to the mezzanine entrance, whereupon they both gave similar nods in exit.
Stiles slicked his fingers through the front curve of his hair, tracing a thumb nail in between hair lines and sighing deeply as he and Callie waited for the next elevator. "Question, yeah he's new and all, but are all the doctor's here that good looking?"
The only response Callie could muster was a kind of mocking deep toned grinning laugh when she swatted her hand against the call button. Pursing her lips she said, "You're going to fit in perfectly here."
NEUROLAB - 4pm August 1st
Lydia Martin was set to meet world class renowned Derek Christopher, yes she knew his middle name, Shepherd F.A.C.S. M.D. at 3:30pm today. That was the scheduled plan. Seattle had not been very forgiving of schedules as she found out first hand.
Half an hour of waiting was pushing her expectations for leniency in tardiness and wasting her time when she could be setting up her schedule for the next week. She knew how surgical boards worked and was fully capable taking an afternoon to show herself around, not a forced complimentary tour the chief of surgery had insisted letting Shepherd guide her on.
She was excited to be here, in this particular hospital. The residency program she completed at UCSF had been nothing but frustrating, filled with capable attendings who mentored her in the wake of peers that deemed her too demanding of fairness. Her skills surpassed theirs and created tension, often resulting in the accusations that her instructors spent far too much time giving lectures in on call rooms.
She had been extremely grateful to leave, though hesitant to abandon fine mentors, even after garnering 10 glowing references letters.
Yet, Washington was tiring with its constant downpour and bone chilling humidity. The skills lab on the 4th floor was heated, luckily, and the soft red cashmere she wore soothed the aching in her chest every time her hand brushed against the plush collar. Even with overflowing confidence, the hum of nail biting nerves was not satiated.
The open click of the door startled her, dropping the pen she had been mindlessly twirling in her hand. She was expecting Dr. Shepherd but she wasn't really expecting it to be Dr. Shepherd (why not let him go the full hour over and use it to gloat later on?) and her expectations were met as a curly haired intern excused the slam of the door behind her.
No need to introduced herself since Lydia held no power until she was properly assigned cases and instated as a physician here. Until then she was a strawberry blonde in a cashmere sweater with an unsightly lanyard instead of a clipped badge. This however, did not stop the unnamed intern from asking questions.
"You wouldn't know where Dr. Shepherd is, would you?" The intern looked nervous, most likely having faced the wrath of residents and threat of rectal exams. There was no reason to take out any frustrations out on her, even if it would be easy and rewarding.
Lydia glanced over her shoulder briefly, silently judging the frizzy ends of her permed curls, "I've been here since 3pm, wondering the exact same thing."
"Oh, right" She trailed off, making it seem like she had already failed. Her voice perked, "It's just, a patient came in with a possible brain bleed and I had to find someone in neurology for a consult."
"I'd love to help you but, what the hell, I might as well make an effort," Lydia pushed herself off the stool, smoothing down the sides of her wool pencil skirt. "I'm Shepherd's newest fellow, or should have been an hour ago. Lydia Martin," She stuck out her hand, greeted by the intern's when she was meaning to grab the chart tucked under her arm.
"Erica Reyes, it's my first day here too," Erica gave the kind of over reaching smile expected by a kindergarten teacher. Her handshake was firm, although a little clammy.
"Right, the chart?" Lydia's hand remained outstretched and unmoving.
"Of course! It's um, Female, 28, with possible brain bleed after a head trauma. She took a fall in her laundromat." Erica handed the chart like it burned her fingers, spying over its edge when Lydia began reading it over.
"She's a Rett's patient?"
"Yes, she came in unidentified and then the owner of the laudromat phoned in her state id information and medical card. She's been unconscious but responsive since arrival."
"Good," Lydia huffed, closing the chart and passing it back over, "how would you proceed?"
"Sorry, what?" Erica fidgeted at her nails, picking at the uneven ends.
"She's your patient, how would you proceed?"
Erica delicately took back the chart, clutching it to her chest, "I would..get an MRI to check for bleeds."
"Good, do that, but get a CT scan first. They're faster and get less backed up than MRI, but they compare the same and you'll need them both anyway." She flipped it closed, handing it back, "When you're done, study the scans and get then page Dr. Shepherd, if he can spare his precious time. If not, Jim Nelson should take the case, whoever he is."
"Wait, are you not neuro?"
The quizzical looks intern gave still warmed Lydia's heart. She sighed, "I am but I'm also not technically a physician here until I'm signed off by Shepherd, which is why you're only running labs to save my ass and your patients'."
"Right, thank you Dr. Martin, thank you," Erica waved herself out, shutting the door silently behind her.
With the downtime, Lydia regretted not packing some kind of embarrassing novella or a sodoku booklet. All that could be really done was mindless meandering around tables and feigned attempts to find interest in ongoing projects littered throughout the lab. Some appeared abandoned, marked as a year or so old, while others were relatively new. One particular forsaken looking binder in a far corner had Shepherd's name on the spine, labeled 2008. She quelled the temptation to flip through it, examining the possible neuro science studies that had been tossing about in Shepherd's head.
The sudden intrusion of the open door ran up her spine like a chill. Lydia expected it to be the intern again, having some question that she deemed unable to have answered by anyone else. She should have expected Dr. Shepherd, fervidly perfect curled black hair peeking out of a scrub cap and a delicate smile that wouldn't quit. Her definitely non-heterosexual heart dipped in to a swoon but recovered as soon as they made eye contact. He didn't look apologetic considering it was now far past four o'clock.
Dr. Shepherd quickly glances at her, darting a hand to his breast pocket for a pen and clicking it ready. He leans over one of the middle tables, a clip board in his arm with loose papers attached at the top of which he begins filling out.
"Dr. Martin, I would not have pegged you for cashmere after reading through those references." His approach was to make light of the conversation, establish a professional friendship fight of the bat.
Lydia was having none of that nonsense, "You show up forty five minutes late and your first sentence is a critique on my outfit?" A glare took over her expression, intensifying the heavy black eyeliner she sported.
"Right I'll...try to," Shepherd clicked the pen a few times, avoiding direct eye contact again. "I apologize for being late and I'm sure your wardrobe is not vindictive of your experience." It sounded sincere enough.
"Say that to my Dartmouth socks," Lydia curled a tress of hair around fingertips, pulling it taught to bounce back. She softened her glare, pursing perfect red lips, genuinely making an effort now to be polite. She saunters over, sticking out her hand and correcting her posture, "Dr. Shepherd, pleasure to meet you."
"And you, Dr. Martin." He complies, shrugging off the tension and melting back into a loose smile. "And I am sorry for the wait, a patient of mine in the icu was finally awake after surgery. We did a craniotomy to remove a large pituitary adenoma yesterday and so far, looks like she's in the clear."
"I haven't seen an adenomas big enough for a craniotomy before. How big were they?" Lydia peeks down at the papers, assuming they're from his previous case but pauses when she sees her name.
"I'll show you the scans myself down in radiology. I planned on consulting you on a CT scan from a case that just came in for a spinal column repair." Dr. Shepherd scribbled his name a few final times and mashed the papers back down flat. "You're now obligated to practice medicine, welcome to Seattle Grace."
FOURTH FLOOR HALLWAY - 5pm August 1st
The reason Cora had refused to acknowledge the presence of her brother and sister until the predetermined time of 9pm was simple; she didn't want to work with them.
The Hale Household at a younger age was fueled by obnoxious tiffs, constant squabbling, and inferiority complexes. The three of them, along with two other siblings, all vied for the affection of their mother in constant streams of rivalry to decide who had the better science project, or halloween costume, or what name for the family dog suited the beast the best. Their family home was full of shouting before the fire and now there was simply loud phone calls to one another across the continent.
During medical school at Brown, Cora buried herself in studies, barely ever coming up for air or socializing and creating a tumultuous relationship between her dorm mate and her mother, both of whom were hell bent on getting her to go home for every holiday. Yet, Cora refused, keeping her nose to the grind during Christmas, Thanksgiving and even deciding to volunteer as the University's swim and diving team equipment manager during summer break, citing it as a necessary obligation for her transcripts.
In reality, she wasn't even on the swim team. She dated a member who vouched for her presence and told her multiple times that the team didn't have equipment that needed managing.
It was partially her own fault, fearing for the close presence of her family and wondering why the crumbling of her childhood home didn't cause to clutch her siblings like security blankets. If her sister refrained from analyzing her state of decision, she might actually pursue the reason for her evading. However, Laura was an annoying butt-face and she wanted to avoid her.
When Laura eventually found her that evening, at 5:30 before her hands were even dried after scrubbing out, the only course of action she felt necessary was to evade.
"It's not 9 o'clock yet," She projected, uninterested in repeating herself and refusing to make eye contact. The autumn themed scrub cap, adorned with jutting aspen trees and heavily exposed maple leaves, still tied to her head, exposing single stray hairs of black.
"Really? You blow me off every day this week and I don't even get a 'hey, how's your first day?', 'got puked on yet?', 'is psych full of pansies like everyone said it is?'. Christ Cora, is it really that painful to talk to us?"
Cora didn't answer, checking the screen of her pager for the time and becoming determined to find an excuse to vacate the floor.
"You're seriously not going to ask me how my first day has been, are you?" Laura huffed, frustration rising to her face like a roadmap of pissed off freckles and blushing peaks. "Nine o'clock was a meeting time, not a mandatory court date, you know that, right?"
"I know you have a lot to say, so I want to let you say it all."
"Wow, I'm touched." She placed a hand over her heart, egging on the sarcasm. "That's the most genuine bullshit I've heard all day and psych has two pathological liars." She turns her heel and left, throwing over her shoulder, "See you at nine."
There wasn't much Cora regretted in moving to Washington, specifically doing so for the intern and residency program. But Laura can't say that. Laura moved for entirely different reasons.
INTENSIVE CARE UNIT - 5:40pm August 1st
"Guess what I have." Cristina threw down a set of charts on the Nurse's station, flipping one open and clicking back a pen. She mostly ignored whatever face Meredith was making at a patient's window across the hall where an attending neither of them interacted with on a daily basis was speaking to three nervous family members. The magic of medicine, yadda yadda, the white family with the probably-no-longer sick kid looked happy, there would be hugging.
"My own Derek," Cristina scribbled dosage solutions and stat assortments.
It took Meredith a moment to register, glaring over to decipher what she meant. "Are we collecting them now?"
"Hale's brother is my new fellow. Haven't met him yet, Owen's running him around the hospital in some grand tour like he needs to be impressed or something," She punctuated her name on the paper, closing the chart and passing it off to the nurse at the desk.
"Her brother? Are siblings a qualification now? This place is like a family restaurant," Meredith says, half expecting Lexie to pop out of nowhere as she's often so compelled to do.
"We can get Anthony Bourdain to shoot an episode in the cathlab," Fixing her coat Cristina joined Meredith's peanut gallery, leaning against the counter top and staring at the open room. The hugging was starting. "What's up with that room," She waved her arm in a fleeting effort to point, "you're looking all weary eyed at them."
"Osteosarcoma, she's 12 and very sweet and Gilbert is moving to Latvia for...I don't know why." Meredith sighed.
"Is she staying here for treatment or transfering?" Cristina asked, her voice softening.
Meredith lightly shook her head, "I don't know, I've just been eavesdropping while waiting for labs." She exhaled like it was a chore and redirected, "So new Derek?"
"New Derek. Hale is apparently a prestigeous family of doctors."
"Hm, well, so is old Derek. Don't tell him I called him that."
"And New Derek has four sisters." Cristina added.
"So does old Derek..." Meredith caught sight of Cora in the corner of her eye, "Dr. Hale! Does your brother fish?"
Cora stalled, a ipad with patient records in her hand and cafeteria soda in the other with her pinky outstretched to navigate the tablet. She stared at them both for a moment, shook her head in disaproval, and continued walking toward the elevators.
"I bet he fishes. Make sure your husband doesn't talk to him about trailers or a offers a spot on his land. We have enough sulking mountain men." Cristina mocked, chasing after Cora with the intent of discussing medical jargon and lung tissue.