Fight, Flight, Freeze. Those are our options in emergency situations. We all like to think we would fight. We'd kick the serial killer in the face, we'd grab the hose and put out the fire, we'd push our friends out of the way, etcetera. I like to think I'd fight too. You don't survive med school, your medical internship and your first year of residency being a push-over. I'm competitive, I have a type A personality; I am definitely not a push-over. I would fight. That's what I tell myself.
But let's be honest. I once stared at a bomb while it exploded, I didn't even cover my face. I, Meredith Grey, freeze on the spot when in danger. It's what I did when I walked out of Joe's two days ago. The weather was nice, it was still light out and I hadn't been running in two weeks. I needed the exercise. It's hard to recommend a healthy diet, daily exercise and plenty sleep when you're surviving on caffeïne, old pizza and jogs to a code blue.
So there I was: not drunk and not scantily dressed. The complete opposite of college, if you will. Or last week. And yet this is the moment it all went to hell. I was walking on the sidewalk, halfway home, when he grabbed me by my hair and dragged me into this old, beatdown red car. I didn't struggle, I didn't scream. He just pushed me down into the old, moldy upholstery while the other guy drove away. I guess nobody saw it happening, it all went very quickly.
The rest of it went quickly too. They drove to this abandoned lot. They forced me to sit up in the backseat, the one who grabbed me had a knife. It didn't really scare me, I wasn't really there. They talked to me and I didn't respond. The one who grabbed me was clearly the leader. He went first. The other one, the younger one, didn't seem like he wanted to do it but the older one berated him until he went. It hurt, obviously, I wasn't ready. But it went quickly. It was still light out when they drove away. Not a scratch on me but with shaky legs, I walked home. When I was home, it wasn't light out anymore.
The house was quiet, it had been quiet since George moved out. I had hated it at first but now it was a welcomed silence. When I went to shower, I locked the door. It may not seem very significant but I never lock the door. I keep many doors locked but the bathroom door is not one of them. I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time, hoping to see a bruise. Hoping to see something physically wrong with me. But there was nothing. Maybe if I had fought or mouthed off, I would have been beaten and for some reason that feels like the better option. Now, the only evidence that this really happened and not just in my head, is the slickness between my legs. And when I shower, that will be gone too.
When Allison came in, the girl who was assaulted and wore the same shoes as I did, I imaged how much her life would change if she woke up. She would be a statistic: one out of three. People would look at her with pity even though they called her a survivor and a warrior. Allison was a fighter, she fought and she survived. I wonder if she feels like a fighter too. Or did she feel the same way I do right now, does she still? Do we all feel the same? The whole 33 percent of us? And does it ever go away? Or is more like grief and will the feeling become less severe but never really go away?
I feel different and yet completely the same. I go to work and nobody treats me differently. I still change in the locker room, Alex still stares at me in my bra. Izzy still jokes and George keeps ignoring me. Bailey treats me differently though, but she treats us all differently. Becoming a mother has really brought out the motherly side of her.
"Grey" She says, "If you're done daydreaming, you and Izzy may go to Montgomery-Shepherd."
I want to object. "I..."
But Bailey is quicker. "Objections and suggestions may go into the suggestion bin" She says, as she points to the trash can. "Now go."
Izzy talks, as Izzy does, and it's about nothing in particular. She finally shuts up when we reach Addison and for a moment I think there might be quiet but Addison just continues the incessant chatter. I suppose she has the right though, especially because it involves patient care.
"Grey?" She says, "Are you awake?"
"Yes, Doctor Montgomery-Shepherd." I say, completely aware of my tone of voice. I suppose it can only be described as 'lazily' or 'tired'.
She shakes her head. "Just go get an anamnesis for bed five. I believe her sister had a miscarriage so especially ask about that."
"Yes, Doctor Montgomery-Shepherd." And with that I am on my way. Bed five contains a stressed and angry women, who tells me a stressed and angry story about her previous hospital experience. As with most hospital experiences, it's not a positive one. She probably expects me to care or to be apologetic, or maybe she just wants a promise of improvement but I am, in no way, inclined to promise anything of the sorts so I just ignore it and ask about the sister's miscarriage. That's all I care for now anyway and 'care' is a big word. She tells me about the miscarriage in a stressed and angry manner too. I write it all down and leave. The chart I leave at the nurses station.
Hospitals are loud. The employees are running, the patients are snoring, the visitors are talking, crying, screaming or laughing. Sometimes all at once. It's never quiet and it never bothered me. I liked the hospital; I grew up here. While my mom was on rounds I learned to read in the O.R gallery, I played in the morgue, I colored with crayons on old E.R charts. The hospital was my church, my school, my home. The hospital was my safe place, my sanctuary. I love it here. Correction, loved it here. I don't like the everlasting loudness of the place anymore. Nor do I like the people, who are always chatty and happy, even in the face of complete misery. I can't fathom it.
So I go where I've gone before. The supply closet on the third floor. The second one in a large hallway. It's well-stocked because everybody always uses the other one, it's closer to the action, it is bigger and it has better needles. This one only has the smaller kinds. Try doing a Lumbar puncture with anything smaller than a 20 gauge needle, I dare you.
And so here I'm going to sit, alone and in the dark, around a bend so people won't see me immediately, should the door open. I want to sit and enjoy the silence but my pager apparently despises it because it goes off within a minute of me sitting here. Addison. The walk back is, if possible, even louder and longer than the walk here. It probably has something to do with Doctor Isabella Rossellini took-my-boyfriend, at the end of it.
"Grey, what is wrong with you?" She asks me. "I ask you to get a patient history, you upset the patient, dump the file with the nurses and disappear? Honestly?"
"Sorry." I say. And it was apparently the wrong choice of words.
"Sorry?" She repeats. "Go to Doctor Bailey, just... go."
And so I do, gladly. Doctor Bailey has already been informed when I get to her, I guess I was in that closet for longer than I thought. She has me doing scut. Two enemas, a whole lot of charting and she makes me listen to this old lady, who is waiting for a kidney transplant but let's be honest, she is going to die here. I don't tell her that and apparently that's a lesson learned and all the punishment I get for my behavior. I think Bailey thinks I don't like Addison, which obviously I don't, and that's the reason behind my unprofessional behavior. I wonder what she would do if she knew. Maybe she'd become all motherly and she'd want to protect me, kill the bastards. She'd probably just think I'm weak for not doing anything, for not fighting. Or maybe for not reporting it. Derek would kill the bastards. Cristina would kill the bastards. Alex is a jerk but he'd probably kill the bastards too. Izzy would cry and hug me and George... I don't know what he would do.
I want none of it.
Weeks go by and by now the whole hospital has speculated about what has gotten Meredith Grey so down. Most of them assume it's a broken heart and I gladly play the part. I do my work but only the bare minimum and I'm hardly anybody's favorite intern anymore. Most interns and attendings sigh when Bailey assigns me to them. Even during flu season, when Izzy, George, Alex and a couple other interns are out for the count. The physicians rather do the work themselves, if a moody, dark and twisty intern is the alternative. Cristina has tried to talk to me and she has been rather unsuccessful, she says I'm throwing my career away and I suppose she's right.
Today, instead of assigning me, Bailey sends me to the chief. Richard tries to talk to me too, he's all fatherly and concerned at first and then he becomes strict. He says big words like "suspension" and "reassignment" but they don't scare me, nothing scares me much lately, least of all Richard. He doesn't even know how scary real life can be.
Today, Derek tries to talk to me as well. He pages me to an on-call room and sits me down on the bed. "Meredith, talk to me," He said. "Is it something I did?" It's not surprising that he thinks this way. Our friendship had been blossoming, long walks with a dog will do that for you. He and I both knew it would only lead to heartbreak, probably mine and I was fine with that. If it meant we could talk and laugh and be together, even in that small of a way, then so be it. Maybe he thinks the crushing severity of reality set in and I realized I had nothing to gain and everything to loose.
"No." I tell him. "It's nothing you did. It's not about you at all."
"Then what is it?" He asks. "You can talk to me, nothing leaves this room." I remain quiet. "Meredith, please. Richards is seriously thinking about suspending you. Please, talk to me. We are friends right? As a friend, I'm asking you to talk to me."
I sigh. "Okay." I say. "I suppose I have been feeling a bit down lately and I know it's been affecting my work." I say, a perfectly professional answer. "I'll try to do better, I promise." As I've promised many before him.
"Really?" He asks.
"I promise." I hold out my arms. "Hug? A hug will make me feel better." And he smiles and he hugs me. He still smells the same. When he moves away from me, I lean in and press a peck to his neck, just below his jawline, then to his cheek and finally his lips. He lets me and for a moment, everything does feel better. I move to deepen the kiss but then he pulls away.
"Meredith..." He says. "I'm with Addison. I'm trying to make it work with Addison." He doesn't sound sure at all.
I shake my head. "She'll never know. Nothing leaves this room." But apparently that was a lie because next thing I know, he leaves the room.
A/N: Oneshot or two parter? Please R&R