You Might Die Trying
AN:So, it didn't take me as long. I have to thank my amazing friend A for all of her help. She rocks my world and keeps me in line. I got mucho writing done while I was traveling this past weekend, so... the good news is that I have another update written already. It just needs to be read over. Also, I really want to thank everyone who has taken the time to review. You guys make this story keep going...and you inspire me to write faster. So thank you.
Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's... if I did you can bet your butt the show wouldn't be where it is now.
Chapter 26: Gravedigger
"Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies,
Ashes to ashes, we all fall down.
Gravedigger,
When you dig my grave,
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain?"
- Dave Matthews
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What had she done?
Cristina pressed her back up against the wall in the stairwell. After Burke had pushed Derek back inside of Meredith's room, she had left. She had abandoned her best friend, her person, in her time of need. And it wasn't because she couldn't handle it. She could. She knew she could. She was tough. She was Cristina Yang. No, this was because it was Meredith, and Meredith had almost died. It was because if she heard Meredith scream for Derek one more time she might go into Dr. Taylor's room and kill him herself. It was because of the nightmare that she had just witnessed in which she couldn't wake Meredith up from. A long sigh escaped from her lips. This would change her. It probably already had. Meredith would never be the same.
Her mind drifted. The stairwell a quiet reprieve from the busy hallways and the gossip of the hospital. Thoughts ran through her head as to what could have possibly made Meredith scream so loudly. What could have happened to her while she was with Dr. Taylor? A shudder ran through her body and goose bumps prickled her skin. Her best friend had just gone through something that she couldn't understand fully. She couldn't tell her that there was an answer. She couldn't tell her to just drink her tequila. This was something that had to be dealt with or else it would control her. It would rule her life, and she would live in fear every waking moment, which was no way to live. She knew that from experience.
After she had witnessed her father's death, it had taken her mother months to send her to a therapist. It wasn't until her mother had accidentally dropped a pan onto the kitchen floor, that her mother realized something was wrong. After that moment, she lived in fear and in nightmares. Fits of rage and anger became a part of her every day life. It wasn't long before her mother had had enough and took her to her pediatrician, who promptly told her mother that she needed therapy. That she was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. The moment of the pan clashing on the kitchen floor had sounded like the metal of the cars colliding together in Cristina's brain. It had triggered the memories of the event to awaken, and she was reliving it. Every painful, heartbreaking moment that she had witnessed at the age of nine, she was reliving. All because of a pan hitting the wooden floor of their kitchen.
It had taken Cristina a year to recover, but even still, there were moments when under intense stress, that if she hears a loud bang, the memories come back. Luckily for her, that year helped her deal with it. She learned the skills that were necessary to remember where she was. To remember that she was living in the "now," and not the past. The past was over.
That moment in Meredith's room, the uncontrollable nightmare that she had witnessed, had reminded her of what it was like to live with post-traumatic stress disorder. And she knew that it would be a miracle if Meredith didn't suffer from it. But if she did, she would be there. She'd lived through it. She knew how to deal with it. And if Meredith refused to listen to Derek, if she refused to seek help, than she could help. She could help her friend the same way her mother had finally realized that she had needed help.
She pushed herself off of the wall and moved towards the stairs, needing to distance herself from the situation more. When Meredith needed her, she would be there, but for now, she realized that all Meredith needed was Derek. Derek was the one that Meredith had turned to in her mind while she was with Dr. Taylor. Derek was the one who had the power to help Meredith get through these first few days, and that was okay. Now she knew. Now she knew that she couldn't ask Derek to leave the room so she could have a moment alone with her. Derek was Meredith's lifeline now. He would keep her grounded. He would keep her safe.
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Izzie paced the floor of the pit. She was itching to get out of here. To go upstairs and find Meredith, to make sure for herself that Meredith was in fact alive and breathing. She hated the fact that Cristina could be there; that once again the special bond that Cristina and Meredith shared was getting in the way of her making sure that Meredith was in fact okay. She was Meredith's friend too. So were Alex and George. They all cared, and for the Chief to ban them from Meredith's room was absurd. It was like telling them that they couldn't practice medicine. Meredith was a member of their family. They were a unit, a team. And teams had to stick together. They couldn't let one fall behind. They couldn't let one suffer alone. Everyone had stuck by her. They had helped her with Denny, and it was Meredith that had pushed for it. It was Meredith that kept them glued together. They all needed to be there for each other. That was the bottom line.
She turned on her heels and walked by George and Alex again. They were standing against the nurse's station. Their shoulders were hunched over and a defeated look rested on their weary faces. As she moved past them for what seemed like the hundredth time, she stopped suddenly, and turned to them.
"I don't care."
"What?" George asked confusedly.
Izzie took several steps forward until she was standing right in front of George and Alex. "I don't care what the Chief says," she breathed. "I don't care if he kicks me out of the program. I don't care if he bans me from the operating room. I don't care."
"Okay…" Alex shrugged. "So?"
"So I'm going to go see Meredith," Izzie said excitedly.
"Izzie…" George frowned. "You heard what the Chief said."
"I don't care," Izzie yelled. "Don't you get it? Meredith stood by me with Denny. She was there. Now, it's time for me to be there for her." She turned her gaze towards Alex. "Alex, she was there for you when you needed to study to retake your exam. She helped you get through that." Her gaze shifted to George. "And George, well…" she swallowed. "You loved her. At one point you did. I know stuff happened. I know. But, it's Meredith."
"Izzie, we can't leave," George said, attempting to reason with her. "If we leave we'll spend the rest of our intern year in the pit."
Izzie shook her head. "I don't care." She took a step backwards. "I'm going upstairs. I'm going to find Cristina."
"Izzie…" Alex said lamely. "She's going to be fine."
Izzie took another step backwards. "I need to know, Alex. I need to be there for her." Her eyes caught Alex's gaze. "She doesn't have a family. She has us. We are her family. We need to be there for her. I'm not letting her do this without her family." She turned and began to walk away from them before she stopped again and tossed a glance at them over her shoulder. "She needs you guys whether you believe it or not. She needs all of us."
And without any further hesitation or thought, Izzie began to move towards the stairwell, figuring that she was less likely to be caught by the Chief there. It took less than 20 seconds before she heard the sounds of feet behind her. She smiled then; her first smile in what seemed like days. Five people that had entered the program as strangers were now a family. They were all each other had. It was time for all of them to step up to the plate.
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The Chief stood just outside of Dr. Taylor's room. He didn't face the door; afraid that the anger that was pumping through his veins would cause him to do something drastic. The two cops that were stationed in front of the door attempted to ignore the man that wore the lab coat with the name "Chief of Surgery" etched above his left breast, but every so often his breath would hitch and his body would stiffen. It became readily clear to them that the man who was standing with his back to the door was crying. Curiosity filled both of them. Who was this man in the room? What could he have possibly done to warrant this level of emotional response from the hospital's Chief of Surgery?
Without any warning, the Chief turned. Tears lined his eyes. Moisture was clear on his face, but he didn't care. He looked at the two cops and grimaced. "I need to check on this patient."
The officers looked at each other. The older one, Officer Jensen, shook his head at the younger officer, signaling to him that they had no right to question the Chief of Surgery. He stepped away from the door. "Go right ahead, sir."
The Chief hesitated in front of the door. His emotions were getting the better of him. He knew that. He took a step forward and then another, before stopping midway through the door. He turned and looked at the officer that had spoken to him. "Besides the nurses, has anyone else been by this room?"
The officers looked at each other again, clearly confused. Officer Jensen nodded. "Two men came by earlier."
"Doctors?" The Chief asked.
"One was a doctor and one appeared to be a patient," Officer Jensen replied.
"He was a doctor here too," the younger officer piped in. "Dr. Shepherd if I remember correctly. Said he wanted to say goodbye."
"Thanks," the Chief said abruptly before he turned and charged into the room, fearful that Derek had done something he would regret. Rationally, he knew that Derek wouldn't. He knew that the nurses would've paged him if something had alerted them to Dr. Taylor having problems. But irrationally, he wasn't so sure. He and Meredith had just been through hell, and if he was feeling the urge to murder Dr. Taylor, he couldn't imagine what Derek was feeling.
His nerves immediately eased as he walked further into the room and heard the sound of the heart monitor signaling that Dr. Taylor was indeed still alive. The Chief marched around the room, unsure of why he was here exactly. A nurse had just been by; he had seen her come in and then out. Everything was fine…at least inside of this room.
His gaze remained trained on Dr. Taylor as he slowly took a few steps towards the bed. He stared down at his body, watching his chest rise and fall. His thoughts wondered, and he found himself thinking about what Derek had achieved by coming in here. Had he found peace? Had he realized that killing a man wasn't the answer to the problems that resided in life? Had he realized that he was stronger than he thought?
At the moment, the Chief didn't feel very strong. At the moment his hands moved towards the intubation tube, wanting nothing more than to pull it out. He struggled with his inner demons. His desire to help Meredith. His need to be the father that she never had. The illogical side of him told him that maybe this would help. Maybe if he killed Dr. Taylor, Meredith would see how much he was sorry for tearing her family apart, that she would see how much he loved her. But the logical side, the side that was generally always right, told him that Meredith would have to decide that on her own. He couldn't push that on her. He couldn't make her think one way, and there was no guarantee that she would be grateful to him for killing Dr. Taylor. His hand withdrew instantly and settled back at his side, but his gaze remained trained on Dr. Taylor.
"You're a selfish son of a bitch, Taylor," the Chief snapped. "We all tried to help you. Me, especially. I've been there. I've been down that road and I know how hard it is to climb out of it. But you didn't hear any of it. You blamed others for your life and for your decisions because you were too much of a chicken shit to admit that your problems stemmed from within. You are the root of this problem. Not Derek Shepherd and not Meredith Grey. They did nothing to you. They did not deserve this."
His voice trailed off. The man was in a coma. He knew that it was unlikely that he would ever wake up, but there was something about speaking the words that were harbored inside of him. It was like he was saying goodbye, except he was really releasing the anger that had resided inside of him since this had all started.
"You deserve to die, Taylor," the Chief breathed. "I shouldn't have even kept you alive, but I did anyway. I did because I wanted to see you prosecuted for everything that you've done. I wanted to see Meredith testify against you and put you away for life. It was selfish of me. I know that, but you deserve to see your day in court. You deserve to have that brave woman say what you did to her just so that you can live with it for the rest of your life."
He spun around, unable to look at Dr. Taylor's form any longer. He had thought he knew what it was like to hate someone before. He thought he understood fully what hate was, but he knew now that he didn't. This was hate. This desire he had to completely see this man's life ruined. This desire for him to see this man behind bars, to see him convicted for the crimes that he committed. This was hate. Festering, overwhelming hate.
Without another word, the Chief moved back towards the door, suddenly feeling the urge to be anywhere but inside of this room. And as he reached for the door handle, the sound of Dr. Taylor's heartbeat on the monitor changed. His pulse was dropping. He instantly turned and pressed the call button on the side of Dr. Taylor's bed, alerting nurses to the code blue. In less than ten seconds, Dr. Taylor's heartbeat stopped and the sound of him flatling filled the quiet room.
Nurses charged into the room with a crash cart as the Chief moved beside Dr. Taylor's bed, lowering his body down so that the bed was completely flat. He grabbed the paddles that the nurse was holding for him.
"Charge to 250," the Chief demanded before slamming the paddles down against Dr. Taylor's exposed chest.
Dr. Taylor's body lurched as the shock waves ran through his body, but there was nothing.
"Charge to 300," the Chief grunted and then slammed the paddles down again.
Dr. Taylor's body jumped again, but there was still nothing.
The Chief stared down at Dr. Taylor, wondering if Taylor was doing this himself. If he was choosing to die instead of living. If he was doing this to spite them all.
"Sir?" The nurse asked.
The Chief handed the paddles back to the nurse. It wasn't even worth trying. He was essentially dead when he first came in here. If he didn't die now, he'd die within the next die. He looked up at the clock. "Time of death 9:06pm."
He didn't wait for the nurses to say anything. He didn't wait to hear the monitor be turned off. He simply walked out of the room. The officers looked at him as he pushed through the door. He stopped momentarily. "He's dead. You should tell the lead Detective." And then he kept moving.
His feet carried him down the hallway. A few curious glances came his way as he moved seemingly out of body towards the room that only a few people were given access to. When he was just outside of Meredith and Derek's room, his legs suddenly stopped moving forward. He was frozen. This could go poorly or it could go well. It all depended on what Meredith wanted. It was all about what she needed to find closure. He prayed that it wasn't him behind bars, because it would never happen. Not now.
He glanced inside of the room and saw Derek and Meredith curled around each other, holding on for dear life. Meredith's body was tiny in Derek's arms. Her slender frame overwhelmed by his size. He couldn't tell if Meredith was asleep or awake, but he could see Derek's eyes staring at Meredith. Concern was written all over his face, and the Chief couldn't blame him because he was concerned too. Everyone was. This simply did not happen to one of their own, especially when it was by one of their own. It was unacceptable and inexcusable. Things like this just weren't supposed to happen in his hospital.
He swallowed past his fear, past the unreasonable side of his brain that told him that they didn't need to know. They did. This was their life. This had happened to them. If anyone deserved to know, it was them. So, his hands settled on the door and he pushed it open. Derek glanced at him and shook his head, as if telling him to remain quiet.
"Derek…" the Chief whispered.
Derek shook his head again. "Not now."
"It's important, Derek."
"She's finally sleeping," Derek frowned. "Why can't this wait?"
The Chief stepped further into the room, taking a deep breath as he neared the bed. His gaze fell upon Meredith's sleeping form before moving back to Derek's. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. "He's dead, Derek."
"What?" Derek growled as softly as he could.
"Dr. Taylor is dead."
I just wanted to thank you all for reading. Another chapter has been written, so it shouldn't be long. In the meantime, drop me a line and let me know what you think!
