("Tangerine"
by Led Zeppelin

Measuring a summer's day, I only finds it slips away to grey,
The hours, they bring me pain.

{Chorus}
Tangerine, Tangerine, Living reflection from a dream;
I was her love, she was my queen, And now a thousand years between.

Thinking how it used to be, Does she still remember times like these?
To think of us again? And I do.

{Chorus})

CHAPTER 2: Calm Before the Storm

It felt like any other normal night in the Tokyo General Hospital, at least to Greg it did. After four years of interning at the hospital, he could tell when it was going to be a bad shift or a good one. The surprise call from O-Ren was in fact a surprise. He had no reason to suspect that things were going to be bad. It was only a few minutes until his shift ended, where he would go home to his still slightly messy apartment. He hoped to finish cleaning it and still had enough time left to enjoy his free day. He pulled on his black leather jacket and closed the door to his locker at the same time, knowing that night hung over outside. It wasn't as cold as he expected it to be, even for the winter.

O-Ren still lingered on his mind, even though it had been a couple of weeks since he last saw her. Despite the fact that she may have been hurt, it was something she brought onto herself. He did feel a bit guilty about the way he treated her, but that's how all relationships end, with guilt and pain. They were both adults. It sure wasn't fun when she showed up at his apartment, which was for sure. It also wasn't fun being shot with a dart full of...

What was that stuff called again?

He shook his head, not being able to remember what it was that she said Bill called it. Whatever it was, it pried the truth out of him like a hot knife through butter. Greg picked up his bag, exiting from the men's locker area and entering into the break room. Dr. Kiia Shibata was there, enjoying a small bit of hot coffee and watching the news. She had lost her first patient the day before, a victim of a gunshot wound, direct to the heart. He had comforted her, knowing the pain of losing a patient. He himself suffered that same pain. She looked to have been doing better at that moment than yesterday.

"Hey, Kiia."

She turned her head from the TV and looked at him. She smiled lightly at him, a sweet and innocent smile that only a child would have.

"Hello, Greg. Are you about to head home?"

"Yeah," he said, "It's night time and it appears things have slowed down."

"What do you plan to do with you free day?"

"Catch up on my sleep, do a little cleaning and maybe go shopping."

There was a brief moment of silence in between each other, as he tried to make sure that he had everything in his bag.

"Don't you hate that?" Kiia asked.

"Hate what?"

"Uncomfortable silences?"

"Not really. It gives you a moment to think about what the other person is going to say."

"Were you going to say something?"

"I actually don't know. I was wondering what you were thinking."

Kiia was silent for a brief moment.

"I want to thank you for yesterday. I felt terrible for losing my patient."

"It was nothing. You just have to realize that when it comes to certain situations, some things can't be helped. Some people too."

She seemed so innocent to him, almost like how O-Ren was when he had first met her. No matter how hard he tried to forget about her, she still came back up. He did still have some feelings for her, but he couldn't let himself go back to her, nor allow her to come back to him. He had been put through enough and was somewhat glad that it was over. He wondered why O-Ren had called him to tell him that she would no longer call or disturb him. Frankly, he couldn't care much, but he felt a bit empty in his heart where O-Ren had been. Not all the work or the truth or anything else for that matter could take his mind off of that.

Kiia pulled the chair next to her out, patting it lightly. Greg figured he should go ahead and have a seat.

What are a few minutes of overtime?

He placed his bag on the table, settling down into the seat next to Kiia. She was appealing, even for a first year resident. Though, he didn't really feel comfortable, seeing that he didn't know any more about her except from work. But, then again, knowing that much was okay with him.

"Are you okay, Greg?" she asked, "You've seem a bit sad the past month."

"Have I?"

"Yes. From what I had noticed, it started when we had that woman here, the one with pneumonia. Ms. Fatale, I believe her name was."

"Yes, it was."

"Was she a girlfriend of yours?"

"No. She was an associate of a girlfriend of mine."

"So, that would explain the sad look you've been having. What did this woman do to you, this girlfriend, associate of Ms. Fatale?"

"She lied to me."

"What about?"

Greg lowered his head down a bit, but managed to answer.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you."

"Too painful?"

He looked at Kiia, who seemed to be an angel behind the dark eyes she had. He closed his eyes, thinking that she may have been able to see into his soul.

"I just can't tell you."

"Have you been alone since?"

"For four years, yes."

"It must be difficult."

"It is."

She took another sip from her cup, sitting it down next to the remote for the TV.

"Would you like to go out with me to lunch some time?" Kiia asked.

Greg looked at her for a moment before he cracked a smile.

"Are you asking me out on a date, Kiia?"

"No. It's just that we both are lonely. And I don't have anyone to be frank with. I was hoping that we could get together, as friends and co-workers, and have a nice talk over some food. You don't have to if the request seems a heavy burden on you and how you feel right now."

"I'd have to think about it. I mean, I've got a lot of stuff to sort through in my life right now. But I'll let you know."

Greg took a brief glance at the TV screen, noticing that Kiia was watching the news, it apparently reporting live, showing what appeared to be a massacre.

"Kiia," Greg said, pointing towards the TV.

She turned and noticed it too, picking up the remote from the table in front of her. She turned up the volume as the report was on its way.

"From what reports claim, an American woman is currently the suspect and is consider dangerous. Tokyo police have reason to believe that it may have been crime related due to the victims and their leader. Names are currently being withheld, pending notification. Those that were seriously wounded have been sent to Tokyo GeneralHospital."

Greg looked back at Kiia, whose eyes were as big as his in surprise. He knew that they were on their way here and that they were currently shorthanded at the moment. Both quickly exited out of the break room, heading up through the narrow halls of the emergency room towards the front desk. The hallway was nearly a light blue, the hospital using a light blue florescent lighting. He could only wonder what they would be facing there at the emergency room in the not too distant future. They made it to the front desk, just as the EMS buses had just signaled in over the CB.

"Home base, this is bus one. We've got about twelve wounded in all four buses. We are inbound, E.T.A. to hospital, seven minutes."

Greg pulled off his jacket, moving around behind the desk to drop it off. He looks over at the nursing assistant who had just come out of the back.

"We've got twelve wounded on the way here, seven minutes," he explained, "I need you to get everyone in the hall and ready for an explanation of the situation, now."

He quickly picked up the CB radio and called in.

"Home base to bus one, we read you. We'll be ready."

He sat the radio down, looking over at Kiia.

"Greg, you can still go," Kiia said, "We won't burden you with this."

"You're going to need all the help you guys can get. Needless to say, I'm a bit of it."

He headed back into the hall, where the active twelve people were standing and waiting. Greg paced as if he were a drill instructor of the United States Marine Corps.

"All right, listen up," he began, "We've got twelve, I repeat, TWELVE wounded people. Some of these range from minor cuts to severed limbs. We are a bit short, but I'm breaking us up into teams. The first team will deal with the minor cuts and examination to see if there injuries are any more severe, the second will deal with the major injuries, like any injuries to the upper gastric area or the abdominal area. The third team will deal with those that are the most terminal patients. Triage, ladies and gentlemen, if you haven't experienced it before, you sure as Hell will in about five minutes. Get yourselves prepped and ready. Nurse Giga will head team one, Dr. Shibata will be team two, I'll be on team three. Remember to scrub and wear gloves. Let's move!"

He all of them began to scatter, Greg following Kiia to the sinks. They began to scrub their hands as good as they could, getting ready. Some of the nurses got the necessary medical supplies ready, clamps, sutures, the defibrillator kit, bandages, cotton swabs, syringes, extra on everything they could think of to each of the three rooms that they were going to be using. As soon as they were all scrubbed down, a few of them donned black aprons and black latex gloves. Greg didn't have time to put on an apron, the sound of the EMS sirens coming up outside. He quickly jogged up to the front, just as the first two patients were rolled in. Greg recognized who they were right away, seeing that he was familiar with the Kato mask and the black suits that they were wearing.

Jesus Christ, O-Ren, he thought to himself, what the fuck have you done?

"What do we got?" he asked the driver, who wheeled in the first one.

"One female, suffering impalement from some sharp object through the thoracic cavity, one lung is deflated. Entry started in the anterior of the body. Her arm was severed in between the wrist and elbow, cutting through both radius and ulna."

"Okay, take her to room three, the other one?"

The driver wheeled the girl to the third room, where his team was ready to get to work.

"Male, suffered severe lacerations to the chest and abdominal area, mostly anterior and near the traverse. Also, his right foot is missing, cut off right at the ankle."

"Take him to room two."

Greg began to head to room three when the driver came out. Greg caught him by the arm.

"After you're done unloading your third patient, we're going to need you here."

"I'm afraid we can't stay here long sir," the driver said, "There's about sixteen more with injuries we have to get from the House of Blue Leaves."

Shit!

"Okay, after you get them, get back here and get ready to get your hands bloody, you got that?"

The driver nodded as he ran out. The driver and EMS nurse from the second bus began to wheel in the next two in.

"Nurse Giga," Greg ordered, "You know what you're to do, examinations and minor injuries. If you need me, you'll know where to find me."

He briefly looked into the second room, watching as Kiia got a syringe ready to inject a sedative into the male gang member. She tied off his arm, getting a vain so that she could inject him.

"I've got bad news," Greg said as she finished the injection, "This is the calm before the storm. Sixteen more are on their way after the buses drop these off."

"Sixteen?!"

"I know, 'The shit has hit the fan'."

He began to head to room three, getting in there just as one of the nurses secured the stump that once had an arm and hand. Greg pulled out a syringe, prepping the patient to be sedated. If he was going to rein late her lung, he couldn't risk having her awake while doing it.

This is going to be a hell of a time.

---------------------------------------
Three hours later.
---------------------------------------

Greg's shirt was splattered with blood, not just his shirt but undershirt as well. Through out the 28 that were brought in, seven of them died. Those were the severe injuries. He pulled the gloves off of his hands, the talcum powder leaving some residue on his hands, tossing them into a nearby trash can. He ran his hands through his hair, a bit glad that things had finally slowed down again. There were only a couple of patients left to deal with, but other than that, the chaos was over. He walked back to the break room to pick up his bag before heading to the front desk. He peaked in at Kiia, just as she had finished stitching up a young man's face, his right eye missing. He could only think about what had happened. There was a report that came in for the buses to come back, so that bodies of the dead and severed limbs could be retrieved. That was more than an hour and a half ago. One of the drivers said it looked like something out of a 70s samurai movie.

O-Ren, what happened? What did you get your crew into?

At that moment, one of the nurses ran in, getting a hold of a stretcher, wheeling it quickly out the door. Greg didn't pay it any mind. He pulled his jacket from behind the counter, stuffing it into his bag. He looked down at his shirt.

This is the second time I've messed up this shirt with blood.

Just at that moment, the emergency room doors blasted open, two of the EMS nurses and the nurse from earlier wheeling in someone on the stretcher. It was a woman, her left arm missing, the cut made a little ways down from her shoulder, through the humerus. As they passed by, Greg got a good look at her. He recognized her right away, just as he had recognized that the gang members he had helped were the Crazy 88. The woman that had been wheeled in, missing arm and light bruising on her face, was Sofie Fatale. Greg dropped his bag from the shock of seeing O-Ren's associate, the one he treated no more than a few weeks ago. He began to follow them, as they turned into room two. Kiia was a bit caught off guard, quickly grabbing a pair of new gloves to put on.

"I'll help," Greg said, getting a pair himself, "She's my patient."

Greg tossed his bag aside, moving over to Ms. Fatale. One of the nurses had put on an oxygen mask for her, she was hyperventilating.

"Ms. Fatale," Greg said, "Do you remember me?"

She appeared to be a bit dazed and confused, almost as if she was unaware of her surroundings. It took her a minute, but she finally responded.

"Dr. Lowndes."

"That's right, I treated you a few weeks back."

"You're O-Ren's boyfriend."

"Was," he corrected her, "What happened to you? Where's O-Ren?"

She motioned for him to lean closer, and he did. And through the mask, she whispered to him. The revelation had been like a pinprick to the heart, but some sort of delayed reaction with it. He leaned back straight, adjusting himself. He couldn't think about that at the moment.

"Don't worry, Ms. Fatale," he said, "She may be, but you're not. Not as long as I can help you."

Kiia injected Sofie with a mild sedative with a little bit of morphine, a means of keeping her calm and to help with any pain, as Greg began to get to work on cleaning and securing her injury. That was until EMS could bring all the missing limbs to the hospital so that they could be reunited with their proper bodies. Sofie would have to wait her turn; the surgeon they had called in to help was already on the fifth patient with twenty three left to go. Greg kept the message that she whispered in the back of his mind, it buzzing against his thoughts like a wasp. He helped Sofie getting a room by herself and got her prepared for surgery, so that when it came time she could just be wheeled in. The arm had been put on ice after it was found, sometime soon to be reunited with its owner.

"Greg," Sofie said to him, "I'm sorry about O-Ren."

"Don't worry about it."

"She told me, once, that losing you was like the sky losing the sun, knowing that there would never be a beautiful day again."

Greg was silent as he inserted an IV needle into her remaining arm, making sure the drip was running.

"If it hadn't been for you, O-Ren never would have been my friend. I guess I should be thanking you, because you've saved my life twice."

He paused for a moment, not sure about what she meant by twice. Greg had picked up the call remote, placing it in Sofie's lap. He placed his hand on her shoulder, seeming to care for once in the whole night about someone. Though it was his doctor side that cared, his normal side almost reflected that same feeling.

"If you want, I'll go swing by your place before I come back to work two days from now. I can pick up some clothes for you."

She nodded silently, almost as if she had suddenly been overtaken by shame. He began to leave, turning back one last time to look at her before he went. He could hear her sobbing lightly, trying her best to keep it in. It began to remind him of O-Ren, about how foolish he had been to hate her. As always, in life, you never really know what you have until you lose it. But in Sofie's case, there was a possibility that she would get her arm back and working again. For Greg, he would never have such a luxury. He would never be able to have O-Ren back and never get a second chance at saying that he was sorry. He wouldn't be able to be with her again. Only after you've lost something, you realize its true worth.

As he walked down the hall, he spotted another familiar face. It wasn't hard to notice him, seeing that he was carrying the sword that Greg first thought was decoration when he was first shown it. He made eye contact with him right away, and something inside him went cold.

"Well, if it isn't Billy Badass himself," Greg said, catching his attention."

"Dr. Greg Lowndes," Bill began to say, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm interning here. What's a cold-hearted motherfucker like you doing here?"

This made Bill chuckle a little bit.

"How about we just skip the nice chat and start kicking each other in the balls, eh?"

"Go fuck yourself, Bill!"

Everyone turned towards them, Bill noticing the attention and the serious attitude that Greg had. He must have known that Greg was deeply angered. He straighten himself up, his soft tone being taken over by a serious one. He had to have noticed the fire of hatred behind Greg's eyes at that point.

"Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

Greg looked into the nearest room, finding no patients inside. He motioned for Bill to come into the room. Greg locked the door as he closed it, Bill taking a seat on the bed. He sat his sword next to him and patted the hilt as if it were his girlfriend. Greg resisted the urge to throttle him, to knock the sword away from Bill's reach and choke the life out of him.

"I know that you're upset about O-Ren's death. I myself feel the loss. I understand that anger you are harboring, that is how I felt when Budd and I lost our parents when we were younger. But I am not the one to blame for the tragic loss of O-Ren. [BEEP] is, but for what reason is unclear. She was the one who sent you all of those victims that you had to deal with earlier. If you wish to vent out your frustration over your loss, you can take it up with her, if you are so incline."

"No, Bill," Greg responded, stepping towards him to where he was within arm's length, "I'll take it up with you. Why? Because YOU killed her. You killed her when you shoved that sword through her father and allowed Matsumoto to use it to kill her mother. [BEEP] only put her out of the misery YOU caused her. You took a nine year old child, stripped her of her innocence and any chance at a normal life."

Bill stood up, apparently Greg's words cutting deep.

"I helped her."

"No, you HELPED yourself. Why else would you have planted the necessary weapons in Matsumoto's room unless you were looking to advance yourself? You took her innocence like the serpent tempting Eve to eat the apple. You took away O-Ren's innocence and made her into a monster, like Frankenstein."

Bill shook his head, pacing away from Greg, spinning around on his heels.

"You seem to be hell bent on blaming me. What about you? You should blame yourself for this as well. You ran out on her when we came back from El Paso. You broke her heart."

"I didn't break her heart. I hurt her feelings but I never broke her heart."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because she told me!" Greg was already at the point of tears, willing himself to hold them back, "I want you to see what you've done, Bill. I want you see what damage YOU have brought."

Greg opened the door, Bill following after he picked up his sword. Greg held Bill back as they looked in on Sofie. Greg noticed that Bill's manner had soften up a bit at the sight of the one-armed Sofie Fatale. Greg turned to him, looking right into Bill's eyes.

"There's a sixty/forty chance that her arm may work again, with the odds against her," he explained, "And if it does work, it will take two years before she gets it back to the way she was. So, you see, Frankenstein, one of the monsters you made doesn't only hurt the people you are hired to kill. And when it comes knocking on your front door, I hope she gets you where you LEAST expect it: in the heart."

Greg noticed that Bill appeared to be ashamed, his eyes now lowered. Greg stepped out of the way and watched Bill as he entered the room. He sat his sword on the bed before moving over to the chair Sofie sat in. He placed both of his hands on her shoulders. Greg hoped that his words had hit the right nerves, because he did hold Bill accountable for all of it.

"Sofie... Sofie," he heard Bill say in a soft tone, "My Sofie. I'm so sorry."

"Please," she responded, "Please forgive my betrayal."

"No more of that."

"But still, I..."

"'But still,' nothing," Bill cut in, "Except my aching heart over what she's done to my beautiful and brilliant Sofie."

Greg knew, or at least hoped, that Bill got his point. He turned and headed further into the hospital, leaving Bill to remain with the damaged Fatale. There was one final thing he felt that he needed to do before he could leave, something to put any doubts to rest.

He found himself heading down the long hall that lead to the morgue. He had never been down that hallway before, it being barely lit with the exception of the occasional overhead light above. He could feel the temperature slowly drop as he walked, almost as if he were descending into the coldness of the Earth's dirt. He finally paused at the double doors at the end of the hallway, being able to build up enough courage before he could pass through them.

Inside the morgue, there was cold steel, white covers and the stench of bleach that had been recently used on the floors. The place gave off the feeling of something from a Dario Argento film. He could hear a radio off some where, playing "Last Kiss" by Wayne Cochran. It was coming from the office area, which Greg assumed the coroner on duty was currently at. He headed towards the door to the office area, the desk light being the only one on in there. As he stood in the doorway, he looked at the man behind the desk, looking like a Japanese version of Alfred Hitchcock. He looked up from some paperwork her was doing, his eyes almost piercing.

"Pardon me," Greg asked, "May I have a look at the body of O-Ren Ishii?"

The coroner was silent for a moment, still looking at Greg for a moment before he looked down at Greg's ID badge. He nodded.

"She's at the end, Locker 2A."

"Thank you."

Greg turned around looking at the row of storage lockers, where the bodies of the recently dead have been placed and waited for one reason or another. He followed them down towards the end, feeling as if he were floating and not walking. He finally came to a stop at 2A. He slowly became afraid, wishing that O-Ren was alive and this was some sort of prank to make him feel bad. But a part of him, he guessed it was his soul, compelled him. He opened the door with a small tug on the latch, reaching in until he could feel the slab. He pulled it out slowly, as if he didn't want to awaken the dead. Greg only pulled it out a little ways, up to where the waist would be before moving around to the left side of the slab. He could make out the body underneath as a woman, the curves being much so. He reached forward to grab a hold of the cover, but snatched his hand back.

She can't be dead, he thought, O-Ren always made it back home. She's got skills and knows how to walk away alive.

He knew he was lying to himself. That was what denial mean, and it was a normal reaction to someone who didn't want to fact the facts. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to grab a hold of the white cloth. He pulled it down a little ways, opening his eyes when he stopped. For a moment, he stared out into space, not wanting to look. But something drove him, finally giving into doing so.

There she was, O-Ren Ishii, looking as beautiful in death as she had in life. Greg noticed the cut on the top part of her forehead, a fat rubber band stretching from under her jaw to the top of her head, in an attempt to keep her scalp on and in place. Throughout all the chaos that had been her life, Greg thought she had finally found peace. Other than the paleness of her skin, she looked as if she were sleeping.

Tears began to silently flow down Greg's cheeks, his pain being silent as he cried. He began to wonder if it had been his hatred or fear that had lead O-Ren here.

I know she said it wasn't my fault, but I still feel guilty about it.

He retrieved a small Swiss army knife from his jacket pocket, flipping open the scissors that came with it. He twirled a small amount of her hair around with his finger, finally cutting a few strands. A locket of her hair would be the only thing he'd have left of her, the only piece of evidence that was proof that she was real. He shoved the knife and the locket of hair into his pocket. This was going to be the last time he was going to be near her. He leaned over her and gave her a kiss on her left cheek.

"Goodbye," he whispered, the word almost being stuck in his throat as he said it.

He pulled the cover back over her and pushed the slab back into place. After closing the door, he placed his hand on the cold metal for a moment, trying emotionally to sever the connection. He finally found strength to move, heading towards the double doors. He had gotten half way down the hall before his knees gave out from under him, both him and the emotional wall collapsing at the same time. He fell to his knees, tears rushing like damn that had finally broke. And there he was, alone in the hallway, like the future ahead of him.