I just need a mini-break from Winding Road. I'm thinking that writing something new will re-motivate me.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It felt like something was crushing her lungs, like she was suffocating because all the oxygen had been depleted from the atmosphere. Her throat burned, her eyes wide with shock as she watched the gurney being pulled out of the ambulance. All semblance of professionalism left her with the slumping of her shoulders, a muted whimper flying across her lips.

She swallowed through the thick swell of bile rising to her esophagus, trying to find her voice as the gurney was wheeled across the ambulance bay. "What . . . what happened?"

Her strangled whisper caused Bailey's eyes to rise with concern, her face sympathetic as she paused in front of the emergency room doors. "Motorcycle accident."

She shook her head fervently. "No, that's not right! He doesn't ride motorcycles anymore! See that scar on his head? That's why! He doesn't ride them anymore, I swear! This is all a mistake!" But no one looked at her as they continued to wheel Derek's gurney into the building, and Meredith suddenly realized that she hadn't even uttered the words, that they remained lodged in her throat, trapped under the weight of her fear.

Her feet felt like lead as she followed them into the ER, numbly pushing through the stampede of interns fighting for the chance to get in on the Head of Neurosurgery's case. She wanted to scream at them for treating him as though he was a prize to be won, to push them out of the way as she blocked the door to trauma room two. No, you can't get in on his case! You'll kill him! You can't even do a fucking intubation!

But in the end, it was she who was blocked from entering trauma room two, Bailey's stern stare mixing with concern as she shook her head gently, her hands on her hips as she thwarted Meredith's effort to follow them into the room. "You need to stay in the hall, Grey. We can't use you in here."

Meredith's face fell, her head shaking from side to side. "But what if . . . I just . . . Dr. Bailey."

Bailey's face softened, her eyes narrowing with sympathy as she placed her hand on Meredith's arm. "You don't need to be in there, Meredith."

The urge to flee the scene in favor of the nearest bottle of tequila was strong as Meredith watched Bailey disappear through the door of trauma room two. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched Derek's head being tilted back, his jaw being lowered as Bailey inserted a tube into his lungs. She watched helplessly through the window as orders were called out with frantic urgency, Meredith's forehead pressed to the glass as her gaze followed the movements of every doctor on the other side of the door.

The thickness of the wall wasn't enough to mute the yelling of the doctors when Derek's heart monitor began to beep with alarming intensity. Meredith closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of Bailey pumping on Derek's chest, trying to block out the sound of an intern announcing that he was going into V-fib. Suddenly her daddy issues seemed shamefully trivial, her fear of commitment frighteningly unreasonable.

She didn't look up when she felt Mark approach, when she sensed his body next to hers as he pressed his hand against the glass of the window. She could hear his uneven breathing as he watched the defibrillator being brought to the table by Derek's body, his breath hitching in the back of his throat as he watched the nurse charge the machine.

A stifled cry escaped Meredith's throat as three hundred volts of electricity were delivered to Derek's heart, his body convulsing under the force of the current. A tear escaped her eyelid as she felt Mark's hand fall limply across her wrist, his fingers trembling as his eyes searched the scene in front of him. A rush of air filled her lungs when, almost instantaneously, signs of normal sinus rhythm showed up on the heart monitor. She could feel an increase in the trembling of Mark's fingers as he leaned his body against the wall beside the door, the heavy concrete supporting his weight as his shaky knees threatened to give out.

With haunted eyes, he turned to Meredith, his expression wary. "What happened?"

Meredith pretended not to hear the hoarseness of his voice, pretended not to see the tears that hovered just beneath his eyelids. "Motorcycle accident."

Mark swallowed, his eyes roaming back to the room where doctors continued to scramble around. "But he doesn't ride motorcycles anymore."

She felt weak as she shook her head, her stomach taut with fear as she followed Mark's gaze until her vision landed on Derek's motionless body.

XXXXXX

George walked quickly through the hallway of the tunnel, his eyes focused on the labs in his hands as the sound of his footsteps echoed against the concrete walls. He didn't notice the person quickly approaching him until his body collided with hers, the papers escaping his hand and scattering about the floor at his feet.

"Sorry," he mumbled, crouching immediately to the linoleum to gather the file, messily piling it together before straightening back up. For the first time, he looked at the other victim of the collision, his eyes widening when he found Callie's teary stare gazing back at him. He began to fidget, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stared at the floor. "Callie. I . . . I'm sorry. I didn't see you there. I was-"

"It's fine," she whispered, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She knew she caught him off guard when his shoulders tensed up, his eyes wide as they pulled apart. "I'm just glad that you're okay."

He looked confused, glancing around as though to make sure she was actually speaking to him. "Oh. I, uh, didn't run into you that hard. I mean, you know, I probably won't even bruise."

Callie smiled a bit, his endearing nervousness suddenly making her heart ache. "No, that's not what I meant. I was worried about you. I've been looking for you since I heard about the accident." Her hands began twitching nervously at her sides, her gaze carefully avoiding his eyes. "I heard people saying that some guy on the hospital staff was brought into the ER. I was just, well you know. I was nervous because I haven't seen you all day and I started to freak out. But then I found out it was Dr. Shepherd and I felt relieved. And then I felt guilty for feeling relieved because what kind of person feels happy that someone-"

"Callie," he interrupted, his eyes narrowed as her mouth clamped shut. "What're you talking about? Dr. Shepherd was in an accident?"

She stared at him, seemingly surprised that he hadn't heard the news. "Yeah, OR one's being prepped for an emergency craniotomy. I thought, I mean I figured you would have heard by now."

He shook his head, his eyes still wide with surprise. "Wow. Oh my God. So it's, uh, it's serious?"

She nodded, feeling almost guilty for having to tell him the news. "Acute subdural hematoma." He didn't say anything, his jaw merely dropping slightly as he walked to the gurney that was pressed against the wall of the tunnel. She followed him, sitting down beside him as she placed her hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged, his eyes rising to meet her gaze. "Yeah, I just . . . I'm just surprised."

Her fingers comfortingly squeezed his forearm. "You can't really prepare yourself for something like this." When he just nodded in response, she sighed, her gaze turning to her lap. The silence seemed loud in the empty hallway, her feet nervously tapping against the edge of the metal gurney. "I really was worried, you know." She kept her gaze fastened to her lap, but she could feel his eyes rising to stare at her, his gaze intent as he studied her face while she continued to speak. "And maybe I don't have a right to be worried but . . . well I'm still technically your wife. And I love you George. And I hate myself for still loving you because you don't love me. Because you love her. But I am your wife. So I was worried."

He swallowed, guilt eating at his chest as a tear fell down her cheek. "Well thanks," he said quietly, using his thumb to swipe away the moist droplet before it could disappear down her face. "Thanks for being worried about me."

She smiled slightly, unable to keep from inclining her head toward his palm. "You're welcome."

George frowned as she pressed her cheek against his hand. "Callie . . ."

Her gaze locked courageously with his, her eyes daring him to look away. "I really do hate myself for loving a man that doesn't love me back."

He shook his head. "It's not that I don't love you, Callie. It's just . . . our marriage . . . it . . ."

"What?"

"It happened too fast. And it happened at the wrong time. And I know that it was my fault; I accept all responsibility, but-"

"Wait, you still love me?" Callie interrupted, her eyes wide with hope. "I mean, you said that, right? Well, you sort of said it."

George's eyes searched her face, his throat thick with emotion. He couldn't help but picture Meredith, couldn't help but wonder how she must be feeling as she waited for news about Derek's prognosis. He didn't know what he would do if he had to face the same situation with Callie. If he had to face the same situation with Izzie. "I . . . yeah, I do. Of course I still love you, Callie. You're my wife. Love like that doesn't go away over night. But that doesn't mean that we can make our marriage work."

"But maybe it does. Don't you think we owe it to ourselves to try to make it better? We haven't even tried, George. We still love each other; we shouldn't just throw it away."

Around the corner, Izzie cursed as her pager went off. Silencing it, she pushed away from the wall, daringly sparing one last glance at Callie and George before heading toward the pit.

XXXXX

Bailey frowned, reasonably sure that Meredith wasn't listening to her as the younger woman continued to stare off into space. "The hematoma isn't very large, but we need to get in there right away to decompress it. The good news is there're no signs of cerebral contusions, but-" Bailey sighed, stepping forward and placing her hand on Meredith's shoulder. "Meredith? Are you listening to me?"

Turning her eyes to Bailey, Meredith stared at her blankly. "I have a fear of commitment. I couldn't give him what he needed."

Tilting her head to the side, Bailey stared at her sternly, shaking her head. "He loves you, Meredith. He needs whatever you can give him. He needs you to hold it together. He needs you to believe in him."

Afraid her knees were going to buckle beneath the weight of her anxiety, Meredith allowed herself to fall backwards in the seat behind her. "I love him, Dr. Bailey. I know that sometimes he might think that I don't, but I can't . . . I don't think I can live without him again. I can't live without him looking at me the way he does."

"Meredith . . ."

"He doesn't know."

Frowning, Bailey sat in the seat beside her. "He doesn't know what?"

Suppressing a sob, Meredith brought her shaky hands over her eyes, pressing her palms against her lids. "He doesn't know that I want it, too. That I want to marry him and have kids with him and grow old with him. That I want to settle down and die in his arms when I'm a hundred and ten. He doesn't know that, Dr. Bailey."

XXXXX

"Time of death: 5:47"

Izzie sighed, removing the latex gloves from her hands and throwing them in the trash. She pushed passed her intern who was staring wide-eyed at the face of the man mutilated by his own gun, the intern's expression unnaturally pale. "But Dr. Stevens, there has to be something more that we can do."

"There's not."

"But-"

"There's nothing more we can do, Graciella. Sometimes no matter what you do, it isn't enough."

Her heart was heavy as she left the trauma room, walking quickly through the hub of the ER without so much as a sideways glance at her colleagues. She took in a shaky breath, reaching her destination in record time and pushing against the heavy door of the stairwell. She swallowed as the door swung shut behind her, filling her lungs with a therapeutic breath of oxygen as she leaned against the wall.

Her eyes narrowed when her vision landed on the beastly man sitting on the stairs, his body hunched over as he pressed his head against his knees. Izzie thought about turning around, about leaving him to have what was obviously meant to be a private moment, but the sight of his shaking shoulders prevented her from doing so.

She took a step forward, not stopping until she was directly in front of him. "Dr. Sloan? Are you . . . are you okay?"

He sighed, rubbing his cheeks against his knees in a way that left dark, moist stains on the pants of his navy scrubs. Izzie swallowed, looking away to give him a moment to compose himself.

Clearing his throat, Mark finally met her gaze. "Is there something you need, Stevens?"

She frowned, trying not to be put off by the gruffness of his voice. "No. I just . . . I just wanted to make sure that you don't need anything. I heard about Dr. Shepherd and-"

"Give it a rest, Stevens." He stood up, suddenly towering over her with a scowl on his face. "I don't need you hovering over me like I'm one of your little charity cases. I'm fine."

Pursing her lips together, Izzie nodded. "Okay, I'm sorry. But if you need someone to talk to, I can listen. You know, if you want. I mean, I understand what it's like to worry about losing your best friend and I-"

A bitter laugh escaped Mark's lips, his eyes angry as he stared down at her. "Don't compare the possible consequences of you fucking George O'Malley to the possible consequences of Derek's head slamming into the concrete."

Izzie winced, tears filling her eyes. With a soft nod of her head, she turned around and left the stairwell.

XXXXX

Cristina's back was pressed against the wall as she sat next to Meredith in the hallway of the surgical floor. She couldn't help but notice how eerily quiet it was as everyone held their breaths in anticipation of any news about Derek's surgery, walking around gravely as though it would be irreverent to smile while the Head of Neurosurgery's skull flap was being removed in OR one.

"Do you need anything? I can get you a cup of coffee. Or a cup of tequila. Or a whole bottle. Do you want a bottle of tequila?"

Meredith didn't answer as she fidgeted beside her, nervously twirling her fingers as she tried to keep her body from shaking. Cristina sighed, looking back down at her lap. "America has great furniture, you know. For a dollar. It helps to go shopping. We can go shopping if you'd like."

"Is this how you felt?" Meredith asked, ignoring Cristina's nonsensical tirade. "After my near-drowning or whatever, is this . . . did you feel like this?"

Cristina took a breath, her eyes turning to meet Meredith's gaze. She recognized the pain and fear etched on her features, and she sighed, knowing that nothing she could say could make it better. "What do you mean? Did I feel like what?"

The floor felt cold beneath Meredith's legs, the chilly linoleum penetrating the thin cotton of her scrubs. She brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she tried to fight off the frozen feeling that was quickly spreading through her body. "Like you want time to stop. Like you don't want the next second to come because in the next second, the person you love might be dead."

Cristina looked away, hiding her unshed tears as she stared fixedly at the wall in front of her. "Yeah," she whispered, wanting to suppress the burn of emotion in her chest. "Yeah, that's what it felt like."

XXXXX

Love it? Hate it? Please review.