My contribution to the, hopefully, growing Code Black fanfiction community. Hope you enjoy.
She's standing in the parking lot, level B4, when Dr Pinkney first sees her. She's facing away from the glass doors, but her thin frame and black hair - although it's free from the usual low ponytail, falling loosely to her waist - give away her identity. It's been a few weeks since Heather had last spoken to her and guilt stings a little as she realises she had no idea that the other doctor had returned to the hospital. Even working on separate floors, news travels quickly across Angels, and there's an unspoken acknowledgement that the extreme conditions they worked in brought all the staff closer than just colleagues. Even more so between the Surgical Department and the ER, considering their roles in the hospital overlapped so often (admittedly a little more than the Board would like).
It dawns on Heather, suddenly, the length of time she's been standing there, torn between turning around and heading back into the building and desperately constructing a last minute 'welcome-back-hope-your-doing-alright-it's-been-so-busy' speech, is equal to the amount of time the other girl has been standing in a cold, empty carpark staring at nothing. Keen eyes, carefully conditioned to pick out damaged goods in a flood of red, take in the stiff posture, tensed shoulders and clenched fists.
There's a soft peeling sound as the surgical resident pushes the door open but the other doctor whips round as if a gunshot has been fired.
"Dr Pineda?" Heather starts slowly - and albeit a little wary - noticing the panic twisted in the girl's features. There's no reply, but the other girl's eyes widen and her muscles freeze tense.
"Malaya, are you alright?" The surgeon tries again, taking notice of her breathing quickening. She takes a step towards the doctor but Malaya immediately begins to back away.
"Get away from me." It's hardly above a whisper but the syllables ring clearly across the stone walls.
"What do you mean?" Heather asks in confusion, hurt that the other doctor would talk to her like that - they'd always been on good terms and she couldn't think of anything that might have changed that. She takes another few steps, closing the distance between them even further.
"Get away from me." Malaya repeats, and as the words waver, Heather notices the glazed look in the other girls dark eyes. In the corner of her own, she vaguely spots the yellow print stating 'B4' and she instantly realises where they are: this is where Malaya was attacked.
"I told you…" the smaller girl continues, still recoiling backwards and it becomes evident that she is acting purely on blind fear, completely unaware of her actual surroundings.
"Malaya, it's me." Heather says quietly, trying to pull her from her memories. The words don't register to the other doctor and she's raised her fists from her sides.
"Listen to me Malaya, you're here. It's over now." Despite her efforts to keep her words steady, Heather's tone fluctuates, pained to see the often perky and hard-working doctor in so much distress. Apprehensively, she takes another step forwards.
"Leave me alone." This time, it's no longer a threat but a plea and as Malaya's voice breaks, it's like a stab wound to Heather's chest. Swiftly, she wraps her finger around the residents thin wrists, forcing her to focus. The cloud of fear disappears and her features soften and melt immediately.
Then there's a moment of complete stillness; both of them silent and frozen and Heather swears she can feel Malayas intense gaze boring into her retinas. The moment breaks as Malaya slowly turns to stare in bewilderment at her hands, which have slowly uncurled from their tight fists, panting heavily.
"Heather?" she breathes out shakily, and suddenly her legs give way. Heather's grip tightens as she moves her hands to ease the doctor to the ground. Once she's steady, the surgeon collapses beside her, both of them leaning against the far wall of the parking lot, the yellow letters now out of view.
For a few minutes she stays quiet, catching her breath as she allows Malaya to process what just happened. The other girl is curled over; her knees pulled up and her head resting on her arms. Somewhere along the line, she had clasped a hold of Heather's hand with her own and their fingers lay intertwined between them. The smaller doctor's skin is ice to the touch and it makes Heather wonder how long she had been standing here.
Eventually, Malaya pulls their hand apart and mumbles something into her arms. Heather glances to the side to find that her shoulders are rising and falling evenly.
"What did you say?" she asks, briefly noticing that her own heart rate is still slightly accelerated. The other doctor lifts her head up to look at her.
"I'm sorry." the word is cut slightly short as she gulps. "I'm sorry about that. I…I don't…"
"Don't apologize." Heather interrupts, sternly. Instantly, she internally cringes at the harshness in her tone as Malaya's eyes begin to glisten.
"You don't have to be sorry, Malaya." She says in a softer voice, willing the pain welling up in the smaller girl's brown orbs to vanish. "None of this was your fault."
To Heather's dismay, Malaya averts her gaze, staring down at the concrete between her knees. She watches as the ER resident worries lower lip between her teeth to desperately fighting back tears, and the doctor in her is concerned she'll bite hard enough to draw blood.
"I was coming to get my car." Malaya finally chokes out, glancing briefly up at the other doctor, before letting out a small laugh. It lacks any humour though, and comes out strained. Heather stares quizzically at her, sensing that that isn't the end of the story.
"They cleared me to drive. But my car was here so I got the bus." The young resident's tone runs flat. As is reciting a monologue. "Then on the night I convinced myself I was too tired to drive, so I got the bus back home as well. Then the next morning. And the next."
There was a pause and Heather watches as she clenches her jaw.
"I think people Dr Rorish noticed; so I said I just hadn't had the time. And it was true for a while...but then there came a point when I couldn't use it as an excuse anymore. But every time I got in that elevator, he…he was there with me, breathing down my neck."
The surgeon places a sympathetic hand on her shoulder and she can feel the other girl's bones trembling through the thin t-shirt material.
"But it's not just in the elevator;" her pupils fixate on something on the distance as she continues - something that intensifies her shaking but remains invisible to the rest of the world. "if I'm in the corridor, he's walking behind me; if I'm with a patient he's watching me." Short, quick breaths begin to punctuate the sentence. "Everytime a door opens, he's on the other side; everytime someone calls my name, it's his voice and everytime I close my eyes, I can see his face...feel the knife."
Heather swallows back the lump in her own throat, nausea crawling through her stomach at the mere thought of seeing the man's face again. She couldn't bring herself to imagine what the doctor was feeling.
"That's normal Malaya," Heather begins feebly, wracking her brains for the right thing to say. Is there even a right thing to say? "You've experienced a massive trauma, both mentally and physically, and what you're going through now is completely understandable. Nobody expects you to be totally fine after something like that Malaya, and nobody expects you to go through it alone…"
"Well they should!" The other doctor snaps suddenly, startling Heather. "They should…" she repeats softly, pain seeping into the syllables.
"I knew something was wrong." As Mayala continues, at the other doctor, Heather watches a single tear fall from the dip in her eye and run down smooth skin to the bow of her lip. "I knew the minute he hugged me in the ER; I could still feel my skin crawling when he let go. At first I thought I was just being paranoid and it was just because he was a guy."
Another shaky laugh escapes her paling lips.
"But then I kept seeing him; he was everywhere. I should have said something.I'm not some victim of PTSD. " Gradually, the pieces begin to slot together in Heather's mind; the next sentence confirming her suspicions: "I could have done something… but I didn't and now Dr Perello is dead."
"No, that's not what happened." the surgeon intervenes, squeezing the resident's shoulder as her breaths continue to become shorter and more frequent. "There's no way you could have known what was going to happen. It's… it's not as simple as that."
"But what if it is?" the smaller girl asks, desperately. "What if I had done something. What if I had just...just been braver."
"Stop." Heather twists her torso to face her, "Malaya, you are one of the bravest, strongest, kindest people I have ever met. And if you think for one second that I am going to sit here and let you blame yourself for something that you had no control over; then you are very wrong. The only person to blame is that sick bastard Gordon. And he deserves everything he got and more. Personally, I think death was too low a price to pay after what he did to Dr Perello - what he did to you."
The taller girl leans in slightly, her confidence increasing as Malaya stares intently at her, hanging onto every word for dear life. "Listen, I don't know how you can possibly believe, even for a minute, that Dr Perello's death was even a fraction your fault, but if you ever need anyone to talk sense into you; me, and the entire hospital, are right here."
The darker girl has sucked her lip into her teeth again but she's not biting down as hard now.
"Thank you." she whispers hoarsely, after taking a moment to swallow the thickness in her throat. Weakly, the corners of her mouth relax into a wobbly smile.
Heather beams warmly back at her and stands up, stretching the tension from her back and legs.
"You don't live too far from me; why don't I drop you off home tonight?" She offers out a hand.
"I'd like that." Malaya looks up at her, smile widening ever so slightly, and takes a hold up it for the other girl to help her up.