This is a scene from Grey's Anatomy--The End of the World as We Know It. The dialogue and characters belongs to the writers of GA. The rest is mine.
"Look at me, Meredith. Look at me! I know this is bad, and I know that I'm this ass who's been yelling at you all day. So you pretend that I'm not; you pretend that I'm someone you like. Whatever you need." Dylan Young's voice was low and he tried to sound calm. He had the urge to reach out to steady Meredith's hand but suppressed it. Touching her now wouldn't be good.
"I'm scared." She sounded like a frightened little girl and her face had softened. Whoever she was pretending Dylan was, must be someone dear to her.
"I know. You can do this." He hoped that it was the right answer. She remained still, almost in a daze for another few seconds before blinking; her eyes once more focusing on his.
Dylan stepped forward, arms extended. Her fear was palpable and he didn't blame her. His own instincts cried out to him to either yank the live weapon out of the victim himself or to run from the room. He fought an internal battle to do neither. It took every single nerve he had to remain calm but he had years of training to fall back on. This young resident had no such history.
She pulled the ordnance free, the soft sucking noise loud in the surgical suite and they both froze. The shell was long and pointed and he was relieved that she had remembered to keep the nose cone level. He strove to keep his breathing even, knowing that holding his breath would only cause him to be less steady.
The protective gloves stole some of his dexterity but he was used to them and hardly noticed. Still, he knew that if it weren't for the gloves, the others in the room would see the slight tremble of his hands. Some of the shakiness was a natural reaction to the adrenaline charged through his veins, but he wasn't above admitting that some of it was just flat out terror. It was always this way when he was faced with a live bomb. Then, when it was over, the natural high was worth it. It was what he lived for--the thrill of danger.
Meredith set the bomb ever so carefully in his hands. It was heavier than it looked and he wondered exactly how much explosive the amateurs had used. At least with criminal bombs, they tended to be more careful in how they built them.
He took his eyes off the explosive only for an instant, to look into Meredith's eyes. He'd told her earlier that he didn't much like her either. He'd lied. Even as he'd said it, he knew it was a lie but it was what Meredith needed to hear at that moment. She had needed someone to be angry at and he was willing to bear the brunt of her anger.
"You did good." He swallowed and took a deep steadying breath before moving in measured steps out the door.
He looked down at the black object in his hands, blood still dripped from one end. Dylan knew his partner was waiting by the disposal unit. They had both wanted it closer to the bomb, but the oxygen lines had complicated matters and they chose a small changing area instead.
The hall was longer than he remembered it being. He guessed carrying live explosives tended to do that to perceptions. Just a few more steps and he'd be home fr--