Miranda Bailey was the consummate surgeon: Think first, feel later. Lives depended on that simple equation. Accidents happen, emergencies happen. But mix in fear, or anger, or even excess compassion, and you have a recipe for disaster. Her experience in emergency medicine had prepared her for almost anything. Still, as the harsh ER lights flashed across the knife raised to her face, she found herself awash in a feeling eerily close to panic.
"Sir," she repeated, stumbling shakily backward, "we're trying to help you."
"I'm not going with them," he yelled, glaring at her as backed her toward the wall.
"But you're injured," she stammered, motioning to the jagged cut on his arm that she had been suturing moments before. She could see the muscles of his forearm twitch along the tail of his dragoon tattoo, and reflexively counted the tell tale track marks that trailed up toward his shoulder, drawing her sight to his blazing eyes. "They're not taking me with them," he repeated, his voice deceptively calm as his breath mingled with hers. She could feel the heat radiating from his lanky body as a trickle of sweat dampened his sandy hair.
The ER stilled to a deadly quiet, the usual din of activity blurring into the background as her eyes fixed on the knife's serrated edges. She vaguely heard someone scream, but registered nothing but the knife until she was jarred violently back against a supply cart, a flood of metal tools pouring down around her as she slammed to the ground.
Someone had seized her patient from behind, and was grappling frantically with him. "Son of a bitch," she heard the familiar voice curse, drawing her instant attention. She tried to rise on trembling legs, watching her patient tangle with the blue clad figure several meters away. She struggled to move forward as they fought, their blows spewing blood across the floor as the knife clattered to the ground. She watched them grapple for it furiously, and saw a hand close around the handle.
"Karev," she screamed, the sound of her voice muffled as a burly security officer dove head long into the fray, knocking them apart and the knife clattering across the room. She watched stunned as the patient was pinned to the ground, his head slammed viciously against the floor. She heard someone calling for restraints and a psych resident. Still shaking, she felt a hand on her elbow, and heard two nurses asking her if she was okay. She watched distantly as they turned the supply cart upright, the usual ER bustle picking up as order reasserted itself. She watched Meredith Grey sit Alex Karev on an exam table, and begin stitching the cut above his left eye.
"What the hell is going on down here," Chief Webber rumbled as he charged into the ER. "Miranda," he asked, gripping her arm a little tighter than he'd intended, "are you alright?"
"Yes, sir," she insisted automatically, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto the sight in front of her. "We had a situation," she said, deliberately trying to slow her breathing, "but it's under control now." He eyed her warily, knowing he'd get nowhere with her until the ER settled back into its usual routine. "Dr. Bailey," he snapped, dragging her attention back to his question, "when you're done here, I want you in my office. I want to hear exactly what happened."
"Yes, sir," she agreed, "I'll be up there as soon as we sort out the details down here."
"Fine," he said, "I'll expect you in my office within the hour."
Bailey watched him leave, making every effort to control her anger as she stalked across the crowded room. "Dr. Karev," she shouted, so sharply that several people around her nearly jumped, "you want to tell me what the hell that was about?" Karev glanced up at Meredith, who was still suturing his face, but said nothing.
"Chief Webber wants to know what happened down here in my ER," Bailey raged. "So what do I tell him? That one of my interns, one of my idiot interns – who I just explicitly told not to get physical with patients – decided to slam someone's head into the floor. Did we not just discuss this, Dr. Karev?" she demanded, all eyes in the room now on them. "Answer me!" she shouted, glaring at him as her hands locked onto her hips, daring him to move.
"He had a knife," Karev snapped, and was rocked backward as she slapped him hard across the face. "Don't you ever, ever, take that tone with me again, you understand, do you?" she seethed, her face inches from his. "Yeah, whatever," he sneered, his face reddening as the entire room watched the exchange.
"Get up," she commanded, forcing herself to step back away from him as she motioned for him to move, "we're going to talk to the Chief right now."
"Dr. Bailey," Meredith said quietly, "I haven't finished…"
"He'll live," Bailey snapped, cutting her off, "move, Karev, now."
Pushing himself off the table, he followed her out of the ER and down the corridor, where she abruptly pushed him into a remote supply closet. "Hey," he objected, pulling away from her, "what the hell...?"
"Shut up, Karev," Bailey snapped, fighting to contain her anger. "We need," she said, struggling to control her breathing as she paced the small room, "we need to discuss this like rational adults. We're doctors. Let's act like it."
"He had a knife," Karev repeated through clenched teeth.
"Yes he did," Bailey said quietly, letting loose a loud sigh.
"He could have killed you," Karev said, his tone deliberately more measured.
"Yes, he could have," Bailey said sarcastically, "I saw that up close. Some knife, sharper than a 10 blade, could have carved me up good."
"He," Karev started, suddenly turning away and slamming his fist into a huge box of paper towels. He pummeled the box, until rolls of white paper towels were spilling out around him. As the huge box crumpled, he stalked the room frantically, seizing a laundry cart and heaving it against the wall. Suddenly claustrophobic, he desperately wanted to escape, but could not turn to face her. "He had a knife," he repeated, lowering his pounding forehead against the steel shelves as he struggled to regain his composure.
"Alex?" Bailey asked, her voice softening somewhat as she took a tentative step toward him. "He had a knife," Alex repeated breathlessly, a hint of desperation strangling his voice. "Yes he did," she acknowledged, pursing her lips as an uncomfortable silence chilled the air around them.
"But Alex," she continued, taking another tentative step, "when you two were on the floor, who was holding it?"
"I didn't," he insisted softly, his words trailing off as he retreated further from her.
"But you wanted to," she said, moving toward him and willing her eyes to meet his.
"But I didn't," he insisted, his face reddening. He tried to turn away from her, to retreat further into the dimly lit room, but she blocked his path.
"You almost…" she started, searching his bewildered eyes.
"But I didn't," he implored, his voice quavering.
"No, you didn't," she sighed, "praise the Lord, you didn't."
"It was his knife," Alex pleaded, averting his eyes.
She nodded, closing the short distance between them. "And he, and you…" Alex whispered breathlessly, his tone that of a frightened child, "…he had a knife."
"I know, baby," she said, her voice trembling as she reached up to delicately touch his face, "I know he did, and he always will. But Alex, you can't, not like that, not here, not and be a doctor. Do you understand me?" He nodded wordlessly, studying the floor for several moments as she leaned heavily back against the wall, willing her legs to steady as she watched him.
"Okay," Bailey sighed, shaking her head and exhaling sharply, "now get out of here." He eyed her quizzically, but she just motioned him toward the door. "Go on," she said, "I'll go talk to the Chief. Go have Grey finish stitching you up," she muttered, shaking her head again, "you're still bleeding."