A/N: Sorry this is so late! I'm stuck on jury duty and it's eaten up a lot of my time lately. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this latest installment of the story!
Chapter Nineteen
"We're quarantined until further notice?" April said, panic creeping into her voice. "What does that mean?"
"That means it's not something we should worry about right now," Baiely answered firmly. "What we need to worry about is fixing this patient's pancreas and closing her up. Now, any more questions, or can we move on and be doctors?"
"No more questions," April said, tucking her chin to her chest as she focused on suctioning. Elbow deep in the patient, though, Meredith had other ideas.
"Marburg hemorrhagic fever," she said. "That's like Ebola, right? Only with a higher fatality rate?"
April's eyes widened and her hand shook. Bailey stepped in immediately, grabbing the suction from April. In a tight voice she said, "No more questions. From either of you."
Code yellow.
Owen Hunt's stomach dropped when he heard those two words. They were relatively innocuous on their own, but when strung together they could only mean one thing. Trouble.
His first question had been who was in the OR. He knew that it was his job as chief to handle to situation, but he found his first priority revolving more around finding out whether or not his wife was in danger. He breathed easier when her name was absent – but the relief was short lived. Those were still his people in there.
"Cut the ventilation to the floor," Owen said, thinking through the lengthy list of protocols that a code yellow demanded. It wasn't the sort of thing that he worked through often, and he found himself struggling.
"Call CDC and we'll find out what else we need to do," he said, shaking his head. Despite all of his training in trauma and crisis management, this was out of his depth. "For now, no one comes in or goes out until I say so. Go to the pharmacy and order rounds of immuno-suppresives for anyone in there. Anyone exposed is in danger."
He began pacing, trying to think of anything else.
"I want you to call Bailey," he said. "As her how the patient is doing. We are limited in what we can do in there, so let's get the patient stable and keep her that way."
"Yes Chief," the nurse said, walking from his office to make the phone calls. Richard walked in a moment later, closing the door behind him.
"I hear you have a code yellow on your hands," Richard said.
"Yeah, you heard correctly," Owen said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Marburg Hemorrhagic Fever."
"Who's in there with the patient?" Richard asked. Owen's jaw tightened. How was that already public knowledge? He had just heard about it himself. Richard read Owen's exasperation and said, "I heard rumblings."
"Why am I eve surprised?" Owen said. "It's Bailey, Kepner and Meredith Grey."
"You ordered the round of immuno-suppresives?" Owen nodded. "Alert CDC?"
"Someone is calling now."
Richard stepped forward and laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder.
"Well, Dr. Hunt, welcome to your first crisis as chief. Believe me, it will not be your last."
Jackson walked into the pit, looking around for April. It stuck his somewhat odd that he hadn't seen her since the morning. The hospital was a small space for the doctors. They often moved on the same tracks and schedules, passing each other countless times in the hallways and operating rooms. He typically ran into April three or four times before lunch even began. Callie was standing with some charts, and he went over to ask if she'd seen his wayward girlfriend.
"Hey, Callie, have you seen April?"
"No, not since her surgery," Callie said.
"Oh, she's in surgery still?" Jackson said. "Guess I'll be eating lunch without her. To be honest, I don't mind. That girl eats all of my chips." Callie looked at him strangely as he spoke, and he said, "What?"
Callie's eyed him warily as she said, "You haven't heard, have you?"
"Heard what?"
"Oh boy," she murmured, grasping the counter. "Okay. Did you hear about the code yellow?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I got the page. Something about Marburg fever? It's actually pretty cool when you think about it – minus the whole highly contagious and deadly part."
Callie grimaced. How had he heard about all of this, but not who was in there?
"Uh, Jackson, there's more."
Jackson caught for the first time that something was wrong, and he rested his elbow on the counter, setting himself up for whatever bad news he had coming. "What more?"
"They found out about the Marburg when the patient was in surgery. Protocol for contagions is quarantine and…"
His mouth went dry, vision shifting for a moment as he caught what Callie was trying to say.
"There's no reason to panic," Callie said immediately, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure they're starting them all on immuno-suppresives. And we don't know for sure that any of them were actually infected."
"I-I need to go," Jackson said. "I have patients."
She could see what he was doing. He was distracting himself with work, something they all could relate to, but she didn't want him to bottle up the worry. When someone did that, it often came uncorked at inopportune times.
"Jackson, if you need to talk-"
"I'm fine," he interrupted. "I'll talk to you later."
"You have to admit, this would be a good way to go," April said, sitting with Bailey and Meredith against the side of the OR. The patient was stable on the table, a surgical mask over her mouth to avoid further transmission. Meredith looked over at her with a slight grin while Bailey audibly scoffed.
"Kepner, what is wrong with you? None of us are going anywhere. We are staying here. Alive."
"I'm just saying, "April argued. "If you had to die of something, Marburg hemorrhagic fever is pretty up there."
Meredith smirked. "You have a point. Not just anyone can say they died of Marburg hemorrhagic fever."
"Exactly. Total bragging rights." April paused for a moment as she considered this, and then added, "Except for the fact that you're dead, so you can't really brag in the first place."
"We are all going to be fine," Bailey repeated. "We'll take the immuno-suppressives. Take some fluids. And go on with our merry lives, you hear me?"
"You know, this happens to me a lot," Meredith mused, stretching her legs out.
"What happens a lot?"
"Crises. Disasters. My friends used to call me Death back in college. I think the name should have stuck."
"Grey, stop talking," Bailey deadpanned.
"No, think about it," Meredith continued levelly. "The WWII bomb. The near drowning. The shooter-"
"Do. Not. Mention. The. Shooter," Bailey bit out, voice tense.
"I'm just saying. I am present at a disproportionate amount of crises."
"You're kidding," Cristina said, laughing out loud. "You're kidding, right? This has to be some joke."
"It's not a joke, Cristina," Burke said. "They're quarantined with Marburg hemorrhagic fever."
"That's almost never seen outside of Africa."
"Their patient just came back from a mission trip, I believe," Burke said. "She must have caught it there."
"And now she's here. In one of our ORs. With Meredith." She began laughing again, holding her sides as the laughter racked her body. Burke approached her tentatively.
"Cristina, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she said, waving his concern away with a flit of her hand.
"Are you sure?"
"Really, I'm completely fine."
"You look like you're having a nervous breakdown," he returned. "What with the inappropriate laughing and all."
"It's what we do," Izzie said, joining them. She glanced at Burke and said, "You should have seen us at George's funeral."
"Do you know how they're doing?" Cristina asked, calming down from her laughing jag. She wiped at her eyes, sniffing slightly.
"I think they're sending antibiotics soon," Izzie said.
"Cristina, are you alright to head into surgery?" Burke asked. "If you need some time-"
"I'm fine," Cristina said, smoothing down her hair. "Meredith gets herself into life threatening situations every other year. I'm used to it."
Izzie snorted. "She can take it, Burke." She clapped Cristina on the shoulder. "This one's a trooper."
"Yes, I remember. Alright, Yang, if you're ready…"
"Yes, surgery," she said. "Cutting things. Let's go."
The three surgeons and nurses sat in the quarantined OR, silently staring at the opposite wall. Conversation had long run dry, and they kept themselves company with their own personal worries and fears. Bailey was thinking about Tuck and Ben and the family that she could have if she only let herself. Meredith was thinking about Zola and the smell of her skin. April was thinking about Jackson, and how she really should have taken him up on a quickie earlier.
Their reveries were broken by the door to the OR opening. A man walked in, clothed in protective gear, with several vials of medication in their hands. Bailey stood first, stepping forward to meet the man.
"I have your first round of antibiotics here," the man said, his voice distorted from the mask. "Everyone is to take them." He passed around the pills and asked, "Is the patient stable?"
Bailey nodded. "Yes. We repaired the pancreas and closed him up. His vitals have been stable for the past hour."
The man watched them take the pills, making sure they all complied.
"Is the quarantine over now?" Meredith asked. If so, this was the least painful crisis she'd ever experienced. As if to answer her unspoken thought, the man shook his head.
"We're preparing a room for the patient," the man said. "There are rules that we have to adhere to from the CDC. It shouldn't be much longer, though."
The man walked out and April sunk back to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. "Why do I have a feeling thathis much longer is different from ours?"
Jackson wasn't fine. No matter how many times he told people that, and told himself, it remained untrue. His girlfriend was quarantined with a patient carrying a highly contagious and deadly disease. He was not fine.
After his surgery he sought refuge in the stairwell. With the hospital's penchant for elevators, it was the one place where he was almost guaranteed to not see anyone and have to convince them that he was fine. Alone with only his thoughts and fears, he no longer had to convince himself, either.
He kept telling himself that she would walk out of that OR the same way she walked in. Healthy. Safe. Just a bit of a smart ass. She had gone through enough, after all. The shooter. The boards. If anyone deserved to leave the room unscathed, it was her. It was all those doctors, in fact. All those nurses and orderlies, too.
He just wanted to fast forward to some time in the future, when all of this was just a bad memory. He wanted to get to the part where they would make bad jokes about it and laugh over cartons of Chinese food and beer. He could skip the whole in between part that was riddled with indecision and doubt. Because no matter how much of himself believed she would be alright, an equal part feared that she wouldn't.
"You shouldn't be hiding," Mark Sloan said from behind him. "Unless you're crying. Then, yes, you made the correct decision."
"I'm not crying," Jackson said.
"Good. No matter how many times women say it makes a man look sensitive, it really only makes you look like a wuss." He sat down beside Jackson. "So, how are you holding up?"
"I'm fine."
"So I've heard," Mark returned. "Honestly, though, it's okay if you're scared."
"Look, I don't need some pep talk," Jackson said irritably. "I just wanted to get away for a bit. Everyone keeps talking about it, as if talking will solve anything."
"They're trying to help," Mark said. "Their efforts may be misguided, but they mean well."
Jackson rested his forearms on his knees, clasping his hands together. "I just want her out of there."
"I know you do."
"Sorry about snapping there," Jackson said, shaking his head. "I-"
"It's forgotten," Mark said smoothly, clapping him on the back. "Besides, I'm a man. I can take a few snaps here and there." Jackson laughed slightly, the sound empty. "Look Jackson, she's going to be okay. She's going to be fine."
She didn't notice it at first. It was a tickle in her throat, like when you need to cough. She cleared her throat once, and felt something prick in the back of her mind when she didn't have the breath to do so again. She didn't seem to have any breath at all. Inhale. Exhale. Each one seemed insurmountably difficult and her hands clawed at her throat as she tried to coax some air through.
Her vision began to swim, and she thought through her panic that swimming vision had to be one of the worst things she had ever experienced. She fought to push forward, but the room seemed to be closing in on her and she could only gasp for air so much more before it all became too much and her body gave in. Feeling her last bit of resolve drift away, she slipped into the darkness.
"She's in anaphylactic shock," Meredith said quickly. "She must have been allergic to the antibiotics."
"We need to get her breathing again," Bailey said, moving over to the side of the room where the extra supplies were. She tore through the supplies frantically, trying to find what she was looking for. All she could think about was how another one of hers was circling the drain, and she refused to give up another. She felt a touch of relief when she found what she needed. Armed with the intubation tube and ambu bag, she rejoined Meredith at April's side. Meredith opened April's mouth wide before taking the intubation tube and inserting it into the mouth.
"Damn it," Meredith said, pulling the tube out. "Her throat is completely closed. I can't get it in."
"Here, let me try." Bailey found herself with much of the same problem and for a moment both surgeons stared silently at their colleague, eyes wide with horror. They were losing her. The moments stretched longer with each absent breath sound, and then they both knew what had to be done. Meredith glanced at Bailey and the older woman murmured, "I'll need a ten blade."
A/N: Cliffhangerrrrrrr. Don't hate me. I promise next chapter will finish off this little story arc :D Anyhoo, let me know what you thought of this!