A/N: Hello everyone! I've finally got something new for you here. Sorry for the huge gap, I've been trying to keep my head above water with school and wasn't able to find the time to make much headway with this.
I've still got a major admissions test next week though but I'm hoping to have the next chapter up by next Saturday.
Once again, brand new story here. No ties to any of my past ones despite any coincidences here and there because of where my knowledge base exists and what fit in best with the story.
Without further ado…
Disclaimer: I don't own Pitch Perfect. If you haven't figured that out yet… Well…
I had finally hit it. I had finally hit the point where I was too exhausted to sit for even a few minutes without falling asleep. It wasn't the first time in my life I had come to this, I was a surgeon after all. I had gone through medical school and shuffled through the days of my residency where sleep was simply a contrived and distant memory.
But I was an attending now and, quite honestly, much too old for this shit.
After spending the past four hours in the OR, I had taken a seat in a plush office chair to fill in the chart detailing the surgery. My eyes fluttered in an attempt to stay awake. Then suddenly, my blinks became more about the closing action than the opening.
I was battling to stay conscious, nodding off only to catch myself before my head slammed into the desk beneath it. After having to reread a line in my notes several times and still not comprehending it, I forced myself to stand up.
Abandoning the empty and distraction free room, I walked over to the busy nurse's station, planting my feet in front of the high counter. I picked up where I left off, welcoming the hustle and bustle around me as it kept me from drifting off. For the time being, at least.
It was a losing battle, of course, and I already knew that. I told myself that I would get through this paperwork and take a power nap.
It was unfortunate that was all I had to look forward to. There wasn't a soft and warm, plush bed I could fall into for the next twelve hours. There were only the crappy twin beds in the on-call room with their lumpy pillows and too starched sheets. And even that was only for a couple of hours or until my pager inevitably drew me from sleep.
I heaved a heavy sigh, contemplating why exactly I had decided to be a doctor again. Was it the long hours that pulled me in? The lack of social life that resulted? Or maybe the fact that I had spent almost my entire life in school to work towards this position?
Realistically, I knew the true reason. The true reason tied with the rush that could be found each and every time I held a scalpel in my hand.
I saved lives. The irony always glared back at me. I saved lives while slowly erasing any semblance of the life that I once had.
But now wasn't the time for that. There was never a time to consider the past. The past was a dark remembrance of why I was here.
It was for the best, I told myself once again.
Because that's what my life consisted of: making decisions to better the lives of those around me while never considering how truly neglected that left my own life.
"Dr. Mitchell, there was a man on the phone asking for you," one of the nurses grabbed my attention. I raised my head warily, spotting Karen, one of the new hires in a scrub coat with dogs on it.
I had never really understood those. Sure, they were practical in peds, but this was emergency medicine. This was fast-paced and break-neck situations. This was blood and guts and snap decisions. This was the front lines of medicine. There was no room for puppies on the front line of medicine.
I had always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie, probably what had brought me to my chosen specialty of trauma surgery in the first place. But I wasn't sure how Karen had found herself here.
She was new and fresh-faced out of college. She walked in with a smile on her face and left with what seemed to be the exact same smile fixed to her lips.
You could see it. You could look into her eyes and still see the wide-eyed innocence, the same wide-eyed innocence it was almost impossible to remember every veteran in the department had once waltzed in with.
"You were in surgery so I gave him your cell number," she told me, her voice cheerful while tapped away on the computer's keyboard with the bottom of her flower pen. Flower pen? What was this, the dentist's office?
"You gave him my cell number?" I arched an eyebrow as she ceased her motions. She slowly lifted her eyes to where I was propped in front of the desk.
"Yeah," she said confidently, her expression falling upon noticing my less than impressed reaction. "Was that something I wasn't supposed to do?"
I gave her an incredulous look. She was acting like this was a common practice in the department or something. "Well, who was it?"
"He didn't say," she replied shortly.
I squared my shoulders in her direction. "Was he a doctor, a patient, someone from the lab," she shook at her head at each of the suggestions. "Well, was he a serial killer?"
"I don't… I don't know," she stuttered out and I almost felt a little bad for her before remembering she had given my personal cell phone number out to some random person without asking for credentials or even a name.
"You don't know, but you decided to give him my cell phone number?" I queried, hoping the stupidity of the situation would wash over her.
"I, erm, I won't, uh, I won't do it again," she said, her eyes cast downward toward her shoes.
I rolled my eyes at her, "You damn well better not. This hospital isn't a dating service. You don't just give out doctors' numbers to any person that asks for them."
She nodded shortly before scurrying off. I glared at the miniature dogs on the back of her scrub coat and turned my attention back to the chart I wasn't anywhere near finishing. A light laughter reached my ears, its owner closing in on where I stood.
"What crawled up your ass today?" She asked, placing two fresh cups of coffee on the counter next to me.
I drew my eyes up to see my best friend untying her scrub cap and shoving it into her lab coat pocket. She pushed one of the coffees in front of me. I nodded in thanks, bringing it to my lips, wincing when it was too hot. I was always too impatient to wait until it was cool enough.
"A GSW from a replica circa the civil war era and two men who decided to play catch with a nail gun," I replied shortly, ignoring the amused look on her face as she blew over the rim of her coffee.
"What are you even still doing here? I thought Davis was supposed to be in for you like four hours ago?" She asked, pulling out a chart of her own and beginning to document what must have been the surgery she had just come from.
"Davis' wife went into labor conveniently five minutes before his shift was supposed to begin," I sullenly informed her, setting the coffee back down and watching her do the same.
She laughed, "Oh yeah, because women can completely control that. He probably asked her to hold off until just the right moment to land you in a double."
"Triple," I corrected.
"Sorry?" Her eyes flicked up from her chart.
"I'm currently on hour twenty-two of what is shaping up to be a lovely 32 hour shift," I said with a saccharine grin in her direction. "Davis' wife is in labor and Sanders is in the Florida Keys. So, being the only available attending trauma surgeon on staff I get the privilege of working a 32."
"Geez Mitchell, it's no wonder you looked about ready to kill that nurse," she said, sympathetically giving my shoulder a short pat. "What was all that about anyways?"
I sighed, shifting my stance so I was facing her. "That nurse just informed me that a random man called for me while I was removing six nails from an idiot's chest. Instead of asking for a number or a name, she simply gave him my cell phone number."
"What community college did they pull this trainee out of?" She asked casually.
It was part of the reason we got along so well. She didn't mince her words. If I had met her at any other time in my life, I was almost positive that we wouldn't have gotten along. She was harsh some of the time and abrasive almost all of the time.
I doubted any former version of myself would have seen eye to eye with her. But now… Now I needed the honesty. I needed the clear-cut comments and straight forward answers. Over the past year that we had been working together we had become quick friends. And I valued her honesty.
"I can rest easy now that the great Aubrey Posen has approved of my actions," I sarcastically shot back.
Aubrey was one of the most promising cardiothoracic surgeons of her generation. The idea that Aubrey Posen choosing a hospital like High Point Regional for her residency had to be one of the most confounding decisions in the history of medicine. She was from a long line of surgeons. The Posen name was synonymous with a higher standard of care.
Her grandfather was a surgeon in the war and settled back to open his own practice upon returning, both of her grandmothers were retired RNs, her father was arguably one of the best neurosurgeons of all time. He pioneered many of the procedures that are considered common place today. Her mother was also a neurosurgeon although she was more involved in clinical trials. Her team was the first to pioneer endoscopic tumor removal leading to less invasive procedures and a highly desirable minimal infection rate.
It was assumed that when the two wed and had a child she would follow in their footsteps. Posens were brain surgeons and why would this be any different. So when she entered into Harvard Medical School as a first year and told each of her professors she was interested in cardiothoracic surgery, there were small ripples in the medical community.
When she denied the offers from Johns Hopkins, Mass General, and Mayo for one at High Point Regional Hospital in North Carolina there were waves. She told me choosing cardio and High Point were her acts of rebellion. They were, in fact, the only rebellious acts she deemed acceptable since they still protected her career.
She truly had her choice of any hospital in the country and any program for that matter, but she chose High Point for the chance to work under a cardio legend named Dr. William Wilkins.
Wilkins took her under his wing and helped her prime her skills. When Wilkins retired shortly after appointing Aubrey to an attending position, there was hardly any transition period for the department. She seamlessly picked up where he left off performing at a level most first year attendings could only dream of.
"I prefer Posen the Great, MD, but I'll let it slip this one time." I rolled my eyes in her general direction. "Who was the guy anyways?"
"I don't know. Hasn't called or anything yet and nurse no brain over there didn't ask for a call back number," I told her.
Aubrey hummed out a response. "Speaking of not calling, are you ever going to call Peter to set up that date?"
"Posen, I've already told you a million times: I'm not going on a blind date. I'm not going on any date for that matter." I emphasized my point with a firm, "Period."
"Oh come on, Mitchell. You've been here almost a year and I know for a fact you haven't gotten any since you basically live in the hospital and have dodged every one of my attempts to set you up," she tersely told me.
"You know if you spent a little more time focusing on your own love life instead of trying to orchestrate the resurrection of mine, you might not be single right now," I reminded her, my eyes fixed on the chart in front of me.
She huffed. "I am single by choice at the moment. I have taken a sabbatical from the dating world to become more in touch with myself."
I gave her a look, waggling my eyebrows before shooting her a smirk.
"Not like that, you perv," she squeaked out indignantly.
"Hey," I started, holding my hands in front of me in surrender, "I'm not the one who wants to 'become more in touch with myself…'"
She paused, thoughtful for a moment. "There was probably a better way to phrase that, wasn't there?"
"Probably," I agreed, flipping to the lab section on the chart in front of me. "You do know there are plenty of men in this very hospital who would very much enjoy helping you make that solo activity a duet. Perhaps a certain male nurse..."
She sneered at me, "I am not- That is not- That man-" I laughed as she tripped over her words. "No. Just no."
"Oh c'mon Posen, why not?" I queried. "He's a good guy and you've been saying that all you do is date jerks. That man would treat you like a queen," I provided, a light lilt to my words.
She rolled her eyes at me, "Please. That man, and I use that word very loosely, is more interested in sleeping with me than having a substantial relationship."
"It wouldn't hurt for you to go on a single date with him," I interjected.
"Go ahead and ask some of his past conquests if that's the case. You weren't here back when he was working his way through the entire float pool of nurses," she argued before holding her head high in a truly Posen fashion and straightening her posture before telling me, "Besides, I am not dating a male nurse."
Her arguments weren't without merit. He was a male nurse. I had heard the rumors when I first arrived and he did have a bit of a reputation of being a man-whore. In his defense ever since he had started pursuing Aubrey, he had kept his scrub pants firmly tied at the waist. It was sweet, in a way. If he remained persistent, I think he might actually get through. I was rooting for him, really.
"I'm perfectly happy functioning on my own. I don't need anyone else."
"We both know that's just bullshit single people say when they've given up on the likelihood of finding a decent human being," I leveled with her.
"Is that why you won't go on the dates I have taken the little free time I possess to set you up on?" She countered.
"No," I told her shortly, wishing very much for the conversation to end. "It isn't."
"Then what's the reason? C'mon Mitchell, give me one good reason why you won't go on any of the guys I've tried to set you up with," she urged at the same moment a sharp beeping broke through the air.
I reached instinctively for my pager, pulling it to eye level but not seeing it flashing. I looked over to see Aubrey glaring at the one in her hand. Her gaze flicked to mine as she gathered the chart up in front of her.
"My thoracotomy patient is crashing. The hell if I spent the afternoon with my hand in his chest for him to die on me now," she said offhandedly. She began walking backwards, throwing what was meant to be an intimidating hand gesture in my direction before turning back around, "Don't think this conversation is over."
I let my gaze drop back to the papers in front of me.
The words began to meld together and I knew it was time for a break. I pulled the chart with me as I navigated the busy hospital halls with my head down. I wasn't in the mood to interact with my many coworkers for the time being.
I slipped into the on-call room and let out a breath realizing I had the room all to myself. I shrugged out of my lab coat, laying it across the chair in front of the beds.
Then I settled into the bottom bunk and let the exhaustion from the shift overtake me, quickly pulling me to a dream world where 32 hour shifts didn't exist.
It felt as though I had only just closed my eyes when a beeping tore my eyes open. I threw my hand blindly toward where my lab coat lay. I reached into its pockets pulling both my phone and my pager free. Upon a quick perusal I realized it was my phone and not my pager. I swiped at the touch screen without another look to the caller.
I answered with a cursory, "Dr. Mitchell."
"Erm, hey," a male's voice replied. I pulled the phone from my ear to look at the screen. It was a number I didn't recognize. "This is Dr. Mitchell, the trauma attending at High Point Regional Hospital in North Carolina?"
"This is. Listen, I'm not sure what you said to convince our nursing staff that giving out my number was protocol, but I can assure you that if this is some sort of a prank I can and will have your number blocked," I cut the pleasantries.
"No, no! It's not a prank or anything," he nervously laughed out. The laugh was familiar, I furrowed my brow.
"Who is this?"
"It's Benji," the man replied and I pressed my hand into my forehead, not knowing why I hadn't recognized the voice earlier. "Benji Applebaum." He waited a second. When I didn't say anything, he continued, "You know, from Barden." Another pause. "Where you went for undergrad?"
I let out a short laugh, "I'm familiar with the place I went to undergrad and I know who you are Benji."
He let out a bitter laugh. "Sorry, it's just surprising is all. I would have thought you had forgotten about all of us by now." I sucked in a breath, my lungs tightening at his words as the anxiety built. "You just left. You left her and maybe you were too busy thinking of yourself to realize you left the rest of us here too."
"What do you want, Benji?" I breathed out, certain I didn't like where this conversation was heading.
"Sorry, I… I, erm, I didn't call for that reason," he apologetically started, sounding more like the boy I used to know. "I found your number months ago and I guess I didn't really see a reason to use it. I mean, by the time I found it, it was clear you didn't want to be found and she was finally starting to get back on track. I guess I just… filed it away…"
"And you're using it now…?" I prompted, keeping my tone purposefully light.
"She's in town, well, she's in your town at least, the town the hospital you work at is in," he rushed out and I felt my blood run cold at the knowledge he relayed to me.
Did she know I was here? Did she come here because I was here?
"She doesn't know," he told me as if reading my mind. "If that's what you're wondering. I haven't told her where you are. I mean, I should have, but I haven't."
"She's here for work then?" I asked.
"Yes, she's there for work. Got in this morning and will be there for the next couple of days."
"Benji, why are you telling me this?" I asked, genuinely curious why he was sharing the information.
"Because… because when you left I thought she was gone for good too. I thought she would never be the same. There were months where she could hardly get out of bed, but now…. Now she's getting better. But I know that there's still something she needs and it's something that only you can give her."
He paused, letting his words sink in for a moment before continuing, "Closure. She needs closure and you're the only one that can give it to her. You left without another word and without any kind of forwarding address or anything. The next day your phone was deactivated and through it all…" He paused again, "I just, she needs closure. And even if you don't deserve it, I think you need closure too…"
He sighed into the speaker as I imagined him running a hand through his hair in that Benji-esque manner that caused it to stand hopelessly on end.
"If you loved her half of what you made her believe, you'd give her that."
His words had the desired effect: my voice caught in my throat, my heart dropped to my stomach. This was exactly why I didn't dwell in the past. This was exactly why I couldn't even think of it.
"I don't have her number," I said in a small voice.
He let out a bitter laugh, "I think we both know that you do. If you lost every other person's number from the place you used to call home, you'd still have hers. Just call her."
"Benji, I-" But he was already gone. I dropped my phone onto the bed beside me, dropping my head into my hands. I was exhausted, completely and utterly exhausted. And now I had to think about this? It hardly seemed fair.
"If you loved her half of what you made her believe, you'd give her that."
His words echoed around my head. I grabbed my phone from beside me and hastily clicked to contacts. I scrolled down, finding her name all too easily in my short contact list.
He was right, of course.
When I went in for a new phone and number, there was only one number I had asked to be transferred. I wasn't too sure why I had kept it. There were those moments of weakness where I scroll down to her number and just pretend for a moment that I could allow myself to do it. I would pretend that I could call her and everything would be back to normal.
But I couldn't. I couldn't do that.
My thumb hesitated over her name, almost tapping down several times before I gave a frustrated sigh and tossed my phone back into my lab coat. My pager began vibrating and beeping loudly. I reached for it, rising to my feet.
Sliding my lab coat on, I ventured out of the on-call room. Making my way down to the emergency department I walked up to the nurse's station.
"I got a page," I said simply.
"That would be from me," I heard a voice say from the corner of the desk. I turned, rolling my eyes when I saw a man in scrubs leaning against the wall there, a Styrofoam container in his hands. "Well if it isn't my very favorite doctor in the whole emergency department…"
"What do you want, Jesse?" I cut him off, holding up a hand.
He placed a hand to his chest and scoffed, "Dr. Mitchell, I am shocked and appalled that you think the only reason I would page you was if I wanted something." He dramatically added, "Shocked and appalled.
"You know I could have called you for a patient, one of my patients. I am here as a professional. I didn't become a male nurse to be disrespected for anything other than my gender in a female dominated profession," he proclaimed.
I rolled my eyes again, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "There's no patient, is there?"
"Nope," he shook his head shortly, beckoning me closer. "But I did get you a sandwich from your favorite deli down the road when I was on break."
I cast a suspicious glance at him, warily reaching forward for the box in his hands. "What's the catch?"
"No catch," he handed me the box.
"Oh, there's totally a catch," I surmised, opening the box's lid to notice he had actually gotten my order right. By the looks of it, he had gotten it right down to the last extra pickle, dressing on the side. I was mildly impressed.
"No catch. But maybe…" He began, stretching the word out.
Oh here we go, I thought.
"Maybe you could begin to casually mention how caring I am to the other attendings," he offered. "Just in passing… Casually."
I snorted out a laugh, raising an eyebrow at him. He was so obvious. "Any doctors in particular you want me to casually mention this to?"
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Oh, you know, maybe a certain cardiothoracic attending with killer legs and a stunning smile. Or, you know, anyone else too."
I laughed at him, throwing a quick, "Thanks for the meal, Jesse," his way before walking away.
"Wait!" I heard his voice call from behind me, "Does this mean you'll do it?"
I chuckled under my breath and made no attempt to reply looking very much forward to having a little bit of alone time with the delicious sandwich in my hands.
I think he might actually have a chance with Aubrey if he was putting in enough effort to bring me into his attempts at winning her over.
I cut a right into the nearest breakroom and pried open the lid on the box. The smell immediately caused my mouth to water.
When was the last time that I had eaten?
I realized I actually couldn't remember. In medical school you were always told again and again how you were supposed to eat a solid meal before going to the hospital. It was easier to keep your composure and not lose the contents of your stomach when you had something in there. After working so long in the field, there wasn't much that threw me anymore. I could see an evisceration and barely blink.
Some people call veterans of medicine cold and unfeeling for losing that instinct to run away from the blood and guts. I liked to think of it as a form of evolution. We had evolved past it so we could help others survive it.
I couldn't deny how hungry I was now that I was allowing myself to acknowledge it. I licked my lips as I picked the sandwich up. Opening my mouth, I brought the sandwich closer.
My pager went off before I could even take a bite. I resisted the urge to bang my head against the table when I noticed the emergent quality of the code my pager was showing. This was incoming and it was bad. I folded the sandwich back in its box and slipped it into the fridge in the room before taking off back toward the emergency department.
I followed the flock of nurses back towards the ambulance entrance and pulled a gown from the container there. Tying the back up, I walked over to the emergency doctor on shift.
Dr. Kaler was one of the most experienced doctors on staff having spent the better part of twenty years in internal medicine before transferring to the emergency department. She was adjusting her glasses when I approached.
"What've we got?" I asked, slipping on a pair of gloves.
"MVC involving a car and a semi. Two patients, one from each. The drunk truck driver fell asleep and rolled right through a red. T-boned the car, poor girl never had a chance to stop it," she informed me, shaking her head as she spoke about the driver.
"And I'll bet he barely has a scratch on him," I replied, securing my gown into place, having realized that I had missed one of the ties in back.
"Possible fracture for him and probably a concussion, but we'll need all hands on for the girl," Dr. Kaler calmly informed me as the sound of impending ambulance sirens closed in. Two ambulances approached in a flurry of lights and sounds.
I matched Kaler's stride toward the first ambulance which came screeching to a halt, the driver tearing to the back and swinging the doors open. Looking in, I saw his partner with one hand trying to control a bleed and the other performing ventilations through the already established tube in the patient's throat.
"We've got a female patient, any identification she might have had is still in the wreck."
"Was she wearing any jewelry? Any allergy alert bracelets?" Kaler asked, aware the difficulties lack of identification could provide in situations as severe as this.
"Nothing besides a necklace," the medic shook her head.
Dr. Kaler asked for vitals which the paramedic quickly began listing in a practiced manner. My mind caught the important numbers and trends as I surveyed what I could see of the patient.
She was small, I thought as they pulled the stretcher out of the ambulance. She couldn't have been taller than 5'2" and she looked quite thin. Her neck was in a c-collar and she was strapped to the board where she lay completely emotionless. Her brunette hair fanned out around her, trapped beneath the foam blocks holding her head in place.
My eyes surveyed her face as we began to walk her into the emergency department. Her face was unrecognizable from what it must have been, lacerations and swelling telling the story of trauma that had been inflicted. Her shoulder was bent at an unnatural angle and there was gauze stained red directly below it on her chest. The paramedic's gloved hand was pressing down, fighting a losing battle to stop the bleed.
Metal stuck out, sharp from her quad on her right leg, gauze padded carefully around it and a tourniquet tied expertly above it. A femoral bleed. That wasn't a good sign.
We angled the stretcher into the nearest open room, immediately transferring patient to the hospital bed on the call of the paramedic. We moved quickly from there, me to the head and Kaler to the chest bleed since the tourniquet was controlling the blood flow in the leg. A nurse took over respirations and the paramedics moved their equipment out of the way and out of the room.
I pulled a penlight from my pocket, and peeled open her lids. Shining the light there I noted the unequal pupils and lack of reactivity to light surrounded by a deep blue cornea. A concussion, if she was lucky it would only be a concussion. Thankfully neither pupil was blown or overly constricted, yet. She would need a CT immediately to confirm that she wasn't bleeding out in her skull.
"What have you got up there, Mitchell?" Kaler asked as I palpated the area around the head after carefully removing the head blocks.
I looked up, watching as she cut away the patient's clothing with a pair of trauma shears while trying to locate the source of the bleed. "A pretty nasty concussion I would say, multiple lacerations to the face. Glass shards embedded in the lacerations," I moved down to the neck, removing the collar with a nurse's help. I felt along the neck, no bones clear and out of place. "No obvious fractures in the cervical vertebrae. Will need an X-ray to confirm. I'd like a CT as well, stat. Pupils haven't blown yet but they're unreactive and unequal. Tracheal deviation to the left."
She nodded, her eyes fixed on the task at hand. "I've got a sucking chest wound here. Sal, page cardio, and neuro. Someone get Dr. Mitchell a chest tube. Medics suspected a tension pneumothorax, I'd confirm."
I moved swiftly to Kaler's side taking the offered chest tube and prepping the area with iodine solution. A nurse tied a mask around my face from behind me. I moved with practiced hands, making the proper cuts and inserting the tube in with little problem. I removed stopper just as Aubrey entered the door.
"Stealing my job now, are you Mitchell?"
I smiled beneath my mask, taping the tube in place, "This is only temporary, Posen. You ought to know that. She'll still need your magic touch to repair the damage done to her chest."
Aubrey leaned down, listening to breath sounds on the left side of the patient's chest. Her hand pushed the fabric of the patient's tattered clothes aside to get a clearer listen. As she did such, she exposed the top of a blue and white patterned bruise on the patient's shoulder.
The smile slipped off my lips as I walked around the table to get a closer look. My hands traced the coloring there, finding it to be engrained in the skin there.
It wasn't a bruise, it was a tattoo. My finger traced the pattern there.
"Dr. Mitchell?" I heard a distant voice addressing me, but ignored it, my eyes already panning down to find a delicate scar on the patient's abdomen.
It couldn't be.
I scanned to the patient's right arm, another tattoo standing out against the pale, blood stained skin there.
I shook my head.
No… No, this kind of thing didn't happen.
"Dr. Mitchell?"
My feet moved swiftly toward the door. I pulled my gloves free, tossing them into a hazard container on the way out. My hand moved up, untying the top of my mask, letting it drop onto my chest.
I looked to the right, seeing the paramedics still there. I ran toward them.
Trying to catch my breath I stopped in front of them, "The patient's belongings, where are they?"
"Like we said before, all she had was a necklace," one informed me, "We dropped them off at the nurse's station."
I nodded in acknowledgement before taking off for the station. I tore open the drawer filled with ambulance crew's patient drop forms. I sorted through the plastic bags there, labeled by patient number. My hand reached for the bag on top, the last bag placed there.
I pulled it out, taking a deep and uneasy breath. Releasing it, I opened the bag. There was only one item in the bag, a necklace. What was once a shining silver thread now was stained dark in blood, a silver circle resting on its crest.
I grasped for the chain, bringing it closer for inspection. My breath caught in my throat at what I saw.
A ring. A silver ring. A simple cut diamond at its focal point and elaborate designs etched in its sides.
"Chloe," she drawled out, turning the ring over in her hands. "I can't."
"You trying to hurt my feelings here, Mitchell or are you really turning down what I must say has been a wonderfully executed proposal?" I asked, arching an eyebrow playfully.
"Oh no," she backtracked, "I'll marry you I just… This is your grandmother's ring."
"It is," I nodded concisely.
She looked up at me. "Chloe, I can't take your grandmother's ring. This thing means the world to you."
I smiled at her, "My gran told me to give it to somebody that meant everything to me. You mean everything to me. That ring gets to tell everybody just that so I can stop bragging."
She grinned at me, pulling me closer. "That," she started, "was probably one of the corniest things you have ever said." I pulled back, playfully pushing her shoulder.
She kept me close, laughing. "But also the sweetest," her tone serious now.
My thumb traced the grasshopper tattoo on her forearm while her lips pressed to my forehead.
"I'll never take it off," she said softly, her arms holding me tight.
The chain fell from my hands, the bag following closely behind it. What I had hoped was a mere coincidence was surely no longer that.
I rushed back to the room, the world around me blurring. Pushing the doors open, all eyes drew to where I stood.
"No penicillin!" I shouted. "She's allergic to penicillin."
No one moved, their eyes still trained on me. The nurse hanging a bag of IV antibiotics pulled the bag free swapping it for another on the tray instead.
I could feel Kaler and Aubrey's eyes on me.
"She's allergic to penicillin?" Kaler asked.
I nodded.
"Nice catch," Aubrey concluded, her focus elsewhere. "Did you find a medical alert bracelet after all?"
"No," I stated clearly.
Her eyes cut to mine. Confusion was evident on her features. "Did a family member or friend arrive?"
"No," I shook my head.
"Did the nurses find her in the system?" Kaler's voice popped up.
"No."
Aubrey placed her stethoscope back around her neck, sending me a critical look. "You're going to have to be a little clearer here then, Mitchell. How do you know about the patient's allergy?"
"Her name is Beca," I said, my voice hollow.
"Okay then," Aubrey drawled, her eyes fixed on the vitals screen and the plummeting BP. "How did you know about Beca's allergy?" She asked, placing emphasis on the name as though it would placate me.
It didn't.
"Her name is Beca," I firmly repeated.
"You're going to have to tell us how that's relevant," Aubrey informed me.
"Dr. Mitchell?" Aubrey's voice floated toward me, taking on an authoritative tone when I didn't answer. "Chloe!"
My head snapped up to meet her concerned eyes, "Her name is Beca Mitchell." I took a breath. "She's my… She's my wife."
A/N: Yes, I'm leaving you with that. Nothing like a kickstart to the story, huh?
What did you think? Did I have you all going, thinking you were going to get a Dr. Beca story? Sorry to disappoint if that was the case. I hope you all enjoy this direction instead.
Chloe's a bit OOC here but it will all make sense in good time. Please take the time to let me know what you think in that fancy little box below.