First Day, Second Year: This is probably going to be a rather dark and twisty view of the first 48 hour shift of the second year. I'm writing it because I've had it in my head all summer and I can't seem to clear it. It just feels like it wants to be told. I will finish this story before the S4 opener.
Rated PG13 for language
Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's Anatomy.
I Know How You Feel
Chapter 1
Scene 1
Cristina and Meredith walked in together. They didn't chatter or snark as they had so many times before. Instead, their faces reflected a grim determination to get through it with an endurance of spirit that could handle anything, no matter what.
They were surgeons; women, hard core, tough, fighters. As they crossed the lobby, Cristina faltered once at the sight of a flowered scrub cap, but was bolstered by a light surreptitious touch of support on the wrist from her best friend. No one but Mer had noticed, she knew – and Mer didn't count as a critic. She could be relied upon to support Cristina with no judgment. Both women roiled and seethed indefinably underneath it all, though they put on a good show.
"Double take, double take, walk into the wall, trip over feet," Meredith finally murmured beneath her breath as they approached the main elevators, so only Cristina could hear.
"I feel like a trip to snark city," Mer added.
"Raised eyebrows (at least mine are growing back), finger pointing times two, make that three, open mouths times four," Cristina sarcastically raised the bid.
Her hair was standing out from her head in wild snarls that she hadn't bothered to tame. It suited her mood.
"That one is actually fanning herself, and that one is backing away like we're contagious. I win," said Meredith.
"No, the dunderhead from accounting is laughing. I win," declared Cristina stabbing their floor with a sharp finger.
They got to the dressing rooms early, at a quarter to four in the morning. Even so, they were not the first ones to arrive. Yang was avidly examined for signs of wear and tear. The few, scattered second and third years immediately gossiped in not so hushed tones. Many were pleased that the Stanford hotshot had gotten her comeuppance, others were curious to see the freak who'd been left at the altar, others were merely uncomfortable in her presence. Grey gave the backbiters Ellis Grey's patented stare – cold, blank, supercilious – to stop their wagging tongues. Did what seethed deep in her eyes have an element of violence to it? The other residents certainly seemed to think so.
"Cowards," Meredith said softly.
"Why, Mer, you're downright scary," Cristina was darkly amused.
"Chalk it up to Ellis on my shoulder," Meredith said with an inflection learned at her mother's knee.
The women silently, with synchronous movements, unpacked their bags into their lockers and systematically dressed as they had hundreds of times before, in light blue scrubs, the color of freedom, and crisp white lab coats. Each doctor checked her equipment, piece by piece, and clipped it on, pocketed it or draped it. They were ready – at least, they were as ready as they'd ever be. They exchanged bolstering glances, and both sucked in air in a suddenly airless space.
"I can do this," Cristina affirmed, looking into Meredith's eyes.
"You can do this," Meredith answered firmly in return, "And so can I."
They went to find Dr. Bailey.