Eighteen hours and five surgeries later, I'm done with my share of fire victims. I could go home, but I have to talk to that idiot attorney again in four hours. I could still go home, but she seems new, which means determined! And ensuring justice! And blah, blah, blah, stalking me until I talk to her.

You'd think they'd make some sort of note that I kick all kinds of ass at testifying (indictment and conviction in every single case I've been involved in, not that they've thanked me) and to just leave me the fuck alone. But oh no, far too hard.

The smart thing to do would be to go to the on-call room and sleep, but that would make it far too easy for Beck to find me when he gets out of his latest surgery. And he'll want to defend his new pet, and I'll get pissed off at him for defending his new pet, and then he'll be pissed that I'm pissed, and eventually we'll have to get into angry sex and I'm just really not in the mood.

So, I wander my way to the pediatrics ward. I go here late at night sometimes, talk to the kids who are up from nightmares. I'm pale enough that with the white coat, parents think the kid's making up stories about a ghost the next day.

First awake kid I come across is a little boy with brown hair and striped pajamas. I could read his chart, but that would probably be sad or whatever, so I just walk in.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"I'm a doctor. Who are you?"

The kid says a bunch of syllables, which I guess are supposed to be a name, but I have no clue.

"Great, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

Again with the incoherence. I clearly picked the wrong kid.

"How much money do you have?" Maybe it can handle numbers.

"Four!" And he's excited now so that's... something.

"Tell you what, if you talk to me and keep my friend from finding me, I'll give you ten bucks and you can buy whatever you want. What do you want?"

The kid just spits out more syllables.

"You know what I want? I want to be left alone. I sucked it up through med school and residency and now I'm a trauma surgeon, so people are supposed to leave me alone. People come in half-dead, I fix them, and then they and the socializing are someone else's problems. But oh no, there are court dates and idiot attorneys who can't handle their liquids and start rubbing all over people they should not be rubbing... you don't understand any of this, do you?"

The kid just stares.

"Whatever, go to sleep."

Next room has a kid with white blonde hair and plaid pajamas. He doesn't say anything as I come in and sit next to his bed.

"Hi, I'm a doctor. What do you like?"

"Swimming in the ocean." Oh, great, one that can talk coherently.

"Did you know that oceans are actually filled with industrial toxic waste? And even the clean ones are filled with fish poop. So, do you really like swimming in industrial toxic waste and fish poop?"

"You're scary."

"You think so? Because I can be way scarier than this."

"Jade?"

I spin around. And greaatt, Beck is joining us.

"How did you find me?"

"Dr. Festus said he saw you come up here. He assumed you had a case."

"Well, I do!" I turn back to the kid, "What's wrong with you?"

"Jade, you need to stop."

"I'm just talking to him!"

"He's a little sick kid... it's just not right."

"Then who am I supposed to talk to?"

"I don't know, me? Or maybe another adult?"

I roll my eyes, "Whatever." I turn to the kid, "You're having a nightmare."

He shrugs, "Okay."

I raise my eyebrows at Beck, "See, I haven't traumatized him."

He rolls his eyes and drags me out into the hall, "So, why are you torturing small sick children?"

"I'm just talking to them!"

"And why can't you talk to me?"

"You're plastics," I spit the word out because really, "You're surrounded all day with 'Do you like my new face, Dr. Oliver?'" I squeak, "'Dr. Oliver, come feel my new boobs!' 'Oh, Dr. Oliver, you did such a good job on my skin graft. Look how smooth it is!'"

"That last one was a burn victim."

"Whatever, she didn't have to go shoving her new skin in your face. I'm not dealing with coffee girl too."

He rolls his eyes again, "So, if I don't ask coffee girl out, you'll be nice to her, stop torturing sick children, come to the on call room with me and get some sleep?"

"I'll be tolerant of her and I was never torturing the children. God knows, they probably need attention."

He sighs, "Fine. Come on."

I swear we've barely laid down when a pager goes off. I untangle myself from Beck's arms, rummage around, and yep, of course, it's mine. It's also 7:15. Ugh.

We both get up, Beck promising to bring me coffee. I stumble out to the lobby to find coffee girl sitting there perkily in her suit, clutching another massive pile of files.

"Haven't you heard of a briefcase?"

She stands up, and ignoring my comment, sticks out a hand, "Hi, I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I'd love to start over."

I glare at her until she puts the hand down. Rolling my eyes, I put on my professional voice, "I was the on-call trauma surgeon in the New York Presbyterian emergency room during the night shift of June 13th to June 14th. At 3:47am in the morning on the 14th, three victims of a shooting were brought in. To the best of my knowledge, they were later identified as Claire and Michael McCullen and Office Ryan Brentwood of the NYPD. All three suffered extensive bleeding as a result of gun shot wounds, the details of which I will be happy to go into while testifying, but I have better things to do right now. I personally performed surgery on Ms. McCullen and supervised the care of the other two victims, again, you get details when I'm testifying. Unfortunately, they did not survive, and in my professional, medical opinion, the direct cause of death was trauma resulting from the gunshot wounds. I've testified in three previous trials and you can find my credentials in those transcripts. Anything else?"

She blinks and stares at me for a second, "I'd really like to go over those details actually... it's really important we get an indictment."

"I don't do that. When do you need me?"

"I don't think you understand."

"No, you don't understand. You tell me when and where, I'll show up and testify and you'll get your indictment. Unless you screw it up, which you probably will, but if you somehow manage to get it, you will then leave me alone until trial. Anything unclear here?"

She sighs, "Day after tomorrow, 10am."

"Great, now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go save people's lives while you do whatever it is you do with your files."

I stalk off back to the ER before she has a change to answer.

I should mention that literally all I know about surgery comes from Grey's Anatomy and Scrubs. Law I'm a little better on because my sister works at a public defender office (as a social worker, but better than asking myself "What would Meredith Grey do?"). Let me know if anything is offensively inaccurate...