Chapter Two: Burnt Coffee
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy and its characters obviously do not belong to me.
Trigger Warning: Anxiety/Panic Attacks
May 13th, 2005
Luck could be the only explanation for the on-call room being vacant at five in the morning on a Friday the 13th. Eve was endlessly grateful for the privacy as she locked the door behind her. She fought the urge to collapse on the bottom bunk, finally shut her eyes. Rounds were in two hours, and she knew that if she tried to nap, it would be that much harder to get up and drag herself through the routine.
Of course, she would be glad to see her current favorite patients: Betty Mercer, an eighty-year-old great-grandmother that Eve had performed two other spinal surgeries on in the past year, and, on the other end of the age spectrum, Sophie Turner, a six-year-old ballet dancer had taken a bad fall out of an oak tree her mother had warned her over and over not to climb and shattered her leg in the process. Sophie was the youngest of five children, a scrappy little towhead. She reminded Eve of a puppy, hungry for a chew toy, an adventure. Eve knew that Sophie would try hard to be compliant, but PT would be a nightmare for such a squirmy child. Eve was thinking through ways to tailor some exercises for her, or ways to foster some focus and patience. Either way, Sophie would need at least two more surgeries on her leg, and the dizziness she was complaining of would need to be addressed. The CT had been clean during the trauma intake, showing no more than a mild concussion. But Eve had asked Derek for a consult after rounds. There was something she was missing.
Eve had been in surgery nonstop since the night before, multiple traumas from a public bus crash. Routine stuff, but dirty and arduous. From the pocket of her scrubs, Eve pulled out a compact mirror that she had snatched from her locker not long ago. She didn't dare check her reflection until she was in private. When she saw herself, she thought she looked positively ghastly. Dark circles, flyaways, the whole nine. She sighed, closed the mirror with a definitive snap. After redoing her braid, she needed some coffee. And fast.
. . .
The entire surgical floor was deserted save for one figure on the walkway above. Even the nurses were absent, all attending their morning meeting before the surgeons arrived for rounds. Heavy rain poured beyond the floor to ceiling windows, the sky far more dark than it should have been for the moment just before sunrise. The coffee cart guy hadn't arrived yet. As strong black coffee brewed in the ancient pot of the attendings' lounge, Eve peeked her head through the doorframe. Dr. Shepherd was exactly where she'd seen him after she left the on-call room, standing perfectly still on the walkway. Dr. Shepherd, too, had had a busy night. She had seen two craniotomies appear for him on the board in between her own surgeries. He was bracing himself with both hands on the railing, stance tired and tense. He was still wearing his scrub cap.
Instead of pouring one cup, she poured two. She almost turned back about a hundred times on her way up the steps. Luckily, her shoes were silent from daily wear and tear, and Derek was, apparently, utterly absorbed in watching the thunderstorm rage beyond the window. He didn't look over until she was a few feet to his right.
Of course, he thought, Dr. Sullivan still looked perfectly put together even in the wee hours. Her french braid was immaculate as usual, her posture straight, her scrubs and lab coat wrinkle-free. She smiled shyly when she saw him notice her. He was used to that smile now. That polite smile that usually preceded detached clinical analysis or compulsory greetings and goodbyes. So, he was surprised when she stopped a couple paces away from him instead of passing by completely. His surprise grew further when she held one of the cups in her hands out to him.
"I saw two craniotomies on the board for one night. Figured you might need this," she said.
"My hero," Derek said, his grin appearing despite the fatigue in his green eyes. "Thank you."
Eve nodded and turned to face the storm. "You're welcome. I don't know how you take it, so it's just black. I was fighting a losing battle anyway, since I assume you're more accustomed to Manhattan lattes."
Derek chuckled. "This is fine. Even us Manhattanites get desperate after spending a whole night knuckle-deep in gray matter."
"Well, I appreciate your willingness to lower your standards," she said, the corner of her mouth quirking up.
"How are the bus passengers?" Derek asked.
"All of them are still alive, though some just barely," she said, her voice tight. "A couple are still on ventilators, nowhere near out of the woods."
"Well, I have no doubt they'll pull through," he said with a smile between sips. "You're a miracle worker."
Eve scoffed. "That must be Manhattan talking. In Seattle, we don't do miracles, just elbow grease."
He raised his eyebrows, smile shrinking a bit but not disappearing completely. "Fair enough."
"What about you? Did you fix that gray matter that was up to your knuckles?"
"I did," Derek said. "They should both be awake by rounds."
"Good for you," Eve said, taking a long sip of her coffee before speaking again. "I expect you to maintain that optimism during your consultation with my patient this afternoon."
"The Turner girl?"
"Sophie," Eve corrected, a slight bite in her voice. "Fell out of an oak tree yesterday morning. She told me she was trying to climb high enough to see the East coast. Did a preliminary repair on her leg; it's shattered. But she needs to be able to dance again at least a little by her ballet recital at the end of the year. And she can't do that if she's too dizzy to pirouette."
"Got it," Derek said with a nod, his smile still lingering. "We'll have her back in her leotard in no time."
Eve raised her eyebrows at the easy confidence she'd witnessed more than once over the past few weeks. She had seen it before in male attendings, especially ones from places like Manhattan. But, try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to loathe Derek quite like she did those others. She was irritated by him, surely, with his poorly-masked pride during surgery and the fact that the interns had nicknamed him "McDreamy" (or so she had overheard at the nurses station). But she didn't loathe him. And that was saying a lot. She wanted to roll her eyes at herself.
Instead, she cleared her throat and took another long sip of the burnt lounge coffee. The caffeine was beginning to clear the fog in her brain, her thoughts coming sharper, faster. "So, Brooklyn, what's this I hear about a trailer in the woods?"
Derek raised his eyebrows at the nickname and tilted his head at her. "Been gossiping, Dr. Sullivan?"
"Hardly," she said. "The new interns have big mouths. They think I can't hear them whispering. Karev especially. Grey too."
"Well, the rumors are true. Big land, tiny trailer."
Eve laughed, short and quiet. But he saw her dimples appear for just a moment.
"Something funny?"
Again, she cleared her throat and took a sip. "I'm sorry. Just can't imagine someone who wears a designer watch living anywhere besides a penthouse."
"I'll have you know I'm becoming quite the outdoorsman, watch and all," he said, turning to look at her rather than the storm. "I caught two fish last weekend."
When she glanced at him and saw he had turned to her, she swallowed hard before mirroring his stance, her cheeks heating up a little. But within a moment, her expression turned grave. "Be honest. Were they sardines?"
Derek scoffed. "You wound me."
"I mean no offense. You city folk are just usually better at getting eaten by bears than successfully roughing it."
"Us city folk, huh? And where does Dr. Sullivan hail from that gives her the right to pass such judgment on a novice Brooklyn fisherman?"
Eve paused, the coffee cup she had been turning slowly in her hands stopping. No one at Seattle Grace had ever asked her where she was from. She quickly resumed the movement of her coffee cup, glancing at the storm before her eyes returned to Derek's face. "A shoebox on the edge of the woods, in a little North Carolina mountain town that you've never heard of."
"North Carolina?" he repeated, head tilted in askance. He'd expected her to say Connecticut or Massachusetts or somewhere else that often bred surgeons with freshly-pressed scrubs who became attendings right after residency.
"Mm-hm," Eve hummed. "Single mother who was always working. I was an only child. So, I spent most of my time hiding in the woods, reading. Semi-feral. Practically raised by wolves, really."
"Is that so?" Derek asked, brows slightly furrowed.
She nodded. "Classic white trash."
"I don't know if I'd use those words."
Eve shrugged. "It's alright. It's what I am. But it means I know a thing or two about avoiding bear attacks and catching more than sardines, if you ever need any pointers."
Derek took a sip of his coffee and smiled again. "I might take you up on that. But growing up with four sisters prepared me for bear attacks in my own way."
Eve couldn't hide the look of surprise on her face, the moment of unguarded emotion making her look a little younger. "Four?"
"Nancy, Kathleen, Liz, and Amy," Derek confirmed. "And I'm in the single mom club too. She raised all of us in Brooklyn on a high school teacher's salary."
"Impressive woman," Eve said. "But now I see why you might need a bit of a Walden experience out in the trailer."
Derek hoped she couldn't see in his expression that his stomach seized just a little. If only she knew why he was Waldening out in the woods, spending his nights staring into a campfire, nursing bottles of the cheap beer he used to drink back in Brooklyn, before meeting Addison. "It's definitely more peaceful."
"Well, I'm sure the fishing is especially peaceful when you just sit there and don't catch anything."
"I resent that," Derek said warmly.
Suddenly, Eve's pager went off at her hip. She looked down and grimaced. Mrs. Mercer was complaining of pain. She gulped down her coffee in record time. "Gotta go."
Derek nodded. "Thanks for the coffee."
"You're welcome," she said, straightening up and getting ready to move. "And Dr. Shepherd?"
"Yes?"
"Let's keep this conversation between us? I have an Ice Queen mystique to maintain."
He laughed. "Your secrets are safe with me."
"They better be. Semi-feral, remember? I know all the best places to bury a body."
. . .
Eve arrived in Sophie's room before the interns and Dr. Bailey. The rain continued, but had grown softer. Sophie's mother, Laura, had opened the blinds, allowing the grayish morning light to mix with the harsh fluorescents. Sophie and Laura were watching a small brown bird hop along the windowsill outside as Sophie's father, Bill, dozed on the uncomfortable vinyl couch with a baseball cap over his eyes. Eve knocked softly on the open door as she approached, careful not to startle anyone in the room. They'd had a miserable twenty-four hours, and she felt guilty disrupting their moment of calm. But Eve always liked to debrief patients before the batch of young, inexperienced faces arrived, especially scared pediatric patients and their exhausted parents. She had experienced firsthand how overwhelming rounds at a teaching hospital could be for patients and family members alike.
"Good morning," Eve said softly, slowly making her way beyond the threshold.
Laura smiled politely and reached over to shake her husband's knee, jostling him awake. "Bill, get up, Dr. Sullivan's here."
Bill, a large man who Eve had learned worked in construction, slowly became alert. After removing his baseball cap and opening his bleary eyes, he smoothed down his thinning hair with a sheepish glance at Eve.
"I'm sorry to barge in like this, but I wanted to check on you and ask if it's still okay for the interns to come in here and present on Sophie's case?" Eve asked, mostly looking to Laura.
Laura nodded, raking a hand through her hair. "No problem. Just…not for too long? We've all had a long night."
"I'm sure you have," Eve said. "I'll get them in and out quickly. Did anyone get any sleep?"
Sophie's parents exchanged looks that suggested neither of them had.
Sophie herself, however, nodded. "I did! But I didn't have any dreams, which was lame. And the medicine you gave me yesterday made everything fuzzy."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that about your dreams. That is definitely lame," Eve said, coming right up to Sophie's bedside and crouching down beside her. "Once we get your leg fixed, I promise your dreams will come back. I know the medicine can be weird, but it does make things hurt less."
Sophie nodded again, slower this time, eyes widening just a touch. "How many more times are you going to put me to sleep? Is it gonna keep hurting this much?"
Eye furrowed her brows a little. "You'll need to wear that laughing gas mask a couple more times. And, I hate to say it, but it's going to hurt again."
Shrinking back against her pillows, Sophie grabbed her mother's hand. "But I don't want it to."
"I know," Eve said. "But I promise we'll keep giving you the strong medicine. And you know what? What makes it hurt is that your bones are growing back together, like magic. And when they're all grown back, your leg will be even stronger for your dance recitals. Remember how I told you about the broken bowls they fix with gold in Japan?"
Sophie nodded. "What are they called again?"
"Kintsugi. Your leg is like that; everywhere that's broken is going to heal with fresh bone, like the gold that fuses broken pottery back together. It'll be even stronger than before."
Laura smiled softly, weariness coming through in every aspect of her appearance. She smoothed down Sophie's wild blond hair with a slightly shaky hand as the small girl nodded again, trying to believe Eve, but still clearly skeptical.
Eve rose from her spot where she was crouching and glanced at Sophie's IV poles, the monitors. "I know it's scary, and I know that when all the doctors come in in a second, it's going to be a little overwhelming. But, can you try to remember how much fun you're going to have dancing on your golden leg when it's all over?"
"Okay," Sophie agreed. "Golden leg."
"Golden leg," Eve said. "That's very brave of you. Now, before everyone else comes in, would you mind telling me how you're feeling? How we did yesterday? How much does it hurt from one to ten?"
Sophie hummed thoughtfully for a moment, theatrically tapping her tiny finger on her tiny chin, which had gotten scraped during the fall as well. "Five. I think."
"Okay, that's good. That's the fuzzy medicine working. We'll try to keep bringing that number down. Is everything still spinny?"
"Yeah, it's really spinny when I move my head too much," Sophie said with obvious disappointment.
Eve furrowed her brows a little. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know you don't like that you have to stay in bed and move so slowly. A little later, my friend Dr. Shepherd is going to stop by and try to figure out what's making everything so spinny. Before that, you'll get to take another ride in the spaceship so we can take a picture of your head."
"Another doctor?" Sophie asked incredulously.
"This Dr. Shepherd, is he the real deal?" Bill piped up from the couch, looking more awake now as he smoothed down his chambray shirt.
Eve smiled. "Dr. Shepherd is very talented. He can still even the spinniest of brains," she said. Then, she faced Sophie again: "I know it's been a lot of doctors in the last day, but I promise Dr. Shepherd is very nice."
"Is he scary?" Sophie asked.
"Not at all," Eve said, shaking her head. A flash of brown caught her eye outside the window, behind Laura's head. "Oh, I think your bird is back."
"Really?" Sophie blurted, both she and her mother turning back to the window. "I named him Stanley."
"Oh, she definitely looks like a Stanley," Eve said seriously.
"No, Dr. Sullivan, it's a boy," Sophie corrected, eyes locked on the bird.
"That's a brown cardinal," Eve explained. "You know red cardinals? Those are all boys, and brown cardinals are all girls. But she can be a boy if you want, and girls can certainly be named Stanley."
"You're silly, Dr. Sullivan," Sophie said with a disbelieving giggle.
Eve smiled a shy smile this time. "I just really like birds."
Just then, Eve heard the unmistakable voice of Dr. Bailey nearing the room. She took a few steps back from the hospital bed and straightened her posture a touch. While Sophie was still focused on Stanley as she hopped along the windowsill, occasionally flicking droplets of morning rain off her wings, Eve cleared her throat and watched Laura and Bill stand, getting ready.
"We'll keep it short and sweet," Eve assured them.
In filed Dr. Miranda Bailey and her group of new interns. Eve had worked with all of them sporadically, still saving most of the procedures for the residents she had spent over a year teaching as an attending. This was the first morning this particular group of interns was joining her for rounds. The Chief had made a few comments about her "expanding her professorial horizons," and she knew she was expected to let at least one of them scrub in on the Sophie Turner case. But this was Sophie Turner, and they would have to prove themselves during rounds if any of them wanted in on the action. Sophie needed her golden leg.
"Good morning," Eve said, her hands in the pockets of her lab coat, her posture perfectly straight. She stood next to Sophie at the head of the bed, facing the interns as they gathered around. "Please make sure we're giving Sophie space to breathe."
"Good morning, Dr. Sullivan," Miranda echoed, standing with the interns behind her. She smiled a warm smile at Sophie. Eve had seen this expression on Miranda's face only during other peds cases. "Dr. Grey, go ahead."
Meredith stepped forward, her bangs pushed aside and her bun nearly falling out. She had sharp eyes but a smirk sometimes came over her features in moments that made Eve pause. "Sophie Turner, age six, admitted twenty-four hours ago after a fall from approximately twenty feet—"
"What did Sophie fall from?" Eve interrupted smoothly.
Meredith paused, exchanging a glance with Cristina. "I'm sorry, Dr. Sullivan?"
"Oh, did you not hear my question clearly?" Eve asked, her voice perfectly controlled. "What did Sophie fall from?"
The silence that followed was telling.
Eve smiled thinly. "Next time you want to scrub in on one of my surgeries, review all of the notes I provide. All. Not just the gorey details of the injury. Now, Dr. Stevens, did you also fail to review all of my notes?"
"Sophie fell from an oak tree in her front yard," Izzie answered immediately, pausing to throw a warm expression in Sophie's direction.
"Correct. Please continue."
"She sustained a comminuted fracture of the right tibia with multiple fragments, as well as complete fracture of the fibula, with displacement of the—"
"Also correct," Eve said. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Dr. Stevens, but Mr. and Mrs. Turner would like to go get some coffee after we're done here. I think they could use some caffeine as quickly as possible. Dr. Karev, what are the specific concerns with pediatric tibial fractures that make them different from adult cases?"
Alex stood up slightly from where he had been leaning on the wall. "Uh, growth plate involvement. You have to watch for—"
"Be specific, please, Dr. Karev. What kind of growth plate displacement are we monitoring with Sophie?"
He furrowed his brows at her interruption. "Salter-Harris classification…"
"Dr. Yang, I trust you will be more precise than Dr. Karev?"
"Salter-Harris type IV fracture," Cristina piped up, her eagerness bubbling over even through her monotone voice. "The fracture line extends through the epiphysis, physis, and metaphysis, which could affect future growth if not properly reduced."
"Correct. Good, Dr. Yang. What additional surgeries are necessary following the procedure performed yesterday?"
"Initial external fixation has been placed, but the patient will require ORIF with careful attention to fragment alignment. Multiple surgeries will likely be needed for optimal reduction and fixation."
"And why are we utilizing this approach, Dr. O'Malley?"
George always had a deer-in-headlights look, Eve had noticed. She didn't know if this expression was on his face only during work, or if it was omnipresent. Despite his widened eyes, he spoke clearly and precisely. "The comminuted nature of the fracture makes it impossible to achieve perfect reduction in a single procedure. Staged surgeries allow for better visualization and manipulation of the fragments while minimizing soft tissue trauma."
"Yes, Dr. O'Malley. Now, who can tell me why Dr. Shepherd will be coming to meet Sophie later today?"
"The patient presents with unexplained dizziness, with the initial CT revealing only mild concussion," Cristina jumped in instantly.
"The patient's name is Sophie, Dr. Yang. Now, who can tell me what Sophie wants to be when she grows up?"
Everyone faltered, save for Izzie, whose expression immediately grew into a wide smile as she looked back at Sophie. "A ballet dancer."
"In the Nutcracker," Sophie offered nervously, excitement still lacing her tiny voice.
"In the Nutcracker," Eve agreed. "Now, Dr. Stevens, what are the primary concerns for surgical repair in a young dancer?"
Izzie's expression fell just a touch and she clutched her notebook tighter. "Um, maintaining proper length and rotation of the bone to ensure normal gait and function?"
"Are you asking me or telling me, Dr. Stevens?"
"Telling you, Dr. Sullivan. We need to maintain proper length and rotation."
"Excellent," Eve said. "Sophie's next procedure is scheduled for nine o'clock tomorrow morning, if no additional intervention by Dr. Shepherd is needed. Stevens, you'll scrub in with me."
Izzie's brown eyes lit up. "Thank you, Dr. Sullivan."
"Thank you for reading my notes, Dr. Stevens," Eve replied. She turned to Sophie. "I know that was a lot of doctor talk. They're just saying we need to fix your golden leg a little at a time, so that it can heal perfectly for dancing." She looked at Laura and Bill. "Do either of you have any questions I can answer?"
"So, how many more surgeries?" Laura asked, her voice a sigh.
"At least two for the fractured leg, but we'll be able to give you a more concrete estimate after Dr. Shepherd's consultation and the procedure tomorrow. Anything else?"
Laura and Bill shook their heads.
"Alright, we'll move on. Please, get some coffee. And Sophie?" she said, looking straight into big brown eyes that stood out so starkly in a tiny blond head. "Watch for Stanley. You'll have to let me know what she gets up to."
"I will, Dr. Sullivan!" Sophie assured her, some of her energy returning.
"I appreciate that," Eve said.
"Thank you, Dr. Sullivan," Bill said, sticking out his hand.
Eve shook it, feeling his careworn calluses. "No thanks necessary, Mr. Turner. I'll see all of you in a couple of hours."
Back out in the hall, the lack of windows magnified the buzzing harshness of the fluorescents. Eve moved with smooth surety, Bailey beside her as they reviewed the rest of the morning's cases. Izzie was writing notes furiously in her small book, wanting to capture on paper everything she needed to review before the procedure. George was beside her, as always, anxious, as always. Cristina followed closely behind Bailey and Eve, hoping to overhear anything that might help her excel more in the next presentation. She couldn't understand why Izzie was scrubbing in, given the technical knowledge she herself had clearly displayed. She told herself she didn't care; it wasn't as if Dr. Sullivan was a cardio god. Alex and Meredith trailed the group, both freshly chastised.
"What does it matter what kind of tree the kid fell from?" Meredith whispered.
"It doesn't," Alex whispered back. "Maybe you need to study the extra details in ortho because there's no heart, or brain, or skin to keep it exciting. Just bones."
"Shut up, Alex," Izzie chimed in quietly. "It's not 'just bones.' We're rebuilding a leg."
Alex rolled his eyes, still whispering. "Yeah, have fun with Tiny Tim. We're checking in on Shepherd's patients next; I guarantee he'll give me the craniotomy on the Alzheimer's guy."
At the front of the group, Eve stopped abruptly, standing near the nurse's station. She turned around to face them, eyes cold fire. Bailey looked over in askance; she hadn't been listening like Eve as she went over the rest of the patient files. Eve's gaze zeroed in on Alex, who didn't have the decency to blanche or look embarrassed; he only crossed his arms over his chest.
"Dr. Bailey, I believe the pit needs coverage, does it not?"
"Always," Bailey confirmed, still unsure of the interruption's cause.
"Good to know. Dr. Karev, would you please tell Dr. Bailey how you just referred to Sophie Turner?"
"You couldn't have possibly heard what I said from up there," Karev argued.
"Dr. Karev, what did you just call the six-year-old ballerina with a catastrophically broken leg?" she asked, her face expressionless, her voice level.
Alex sighed dramatically. "Tiny Tim."
"You said what?" Dr. Bailey asked, raising her voice.
"That's what I thought," Eve said. "Now, Dr. Bailey, do you agree that Dr. Karev is not ready to be on my service and interact with my patients? Do you agree that his talents are better suited to stitching lacerations and administering flu tests in the pit?"
"I agree on both counts," Bailey said.
Eve's eyes still had not left Alex's face. "You heard Dr. Bailey. You're needed elsewhere. And you will also be sure to maintain proper posture the next time I have the misfortune of seeing you during rounds, Dr. Karev."
With another roll of the eyes and a gigantic sigh, Alex turned in the direction of the elevator. He muttered something that to all of them, especially Eve, sounded like "bitch," but Eve didn't acknowledge it at all.
Instead, Eve's eyes narrowed as she turned her attention to Meredith. "Dr. Grey, I would advise you to steer clear of Dr. Karev's influence. I would also advise you to consider that on all of my cases, you will be expected to remember all the details I provide, all of which directly impact treatment plan. I will not tailor my notes to your juvenile boredom with anything unrelated to blood and trauma."
Meredith only nodded.
Eve's eyes flickered to Cristina. "And Dr. Yang, you will refer to all my patients by their names while you are speaking with them. You will call the children by their first names, unless they or I request otherwise. And you will call the adults by their last names, using Mr. and Ms., unless they or I request otherwise. Understood?"
"Yes, Dr. Sullivan."
"I should hope so," Eve said, starting to walk again. They were nearing the corner room of the orthopedic wing. "We're about to visit Mrs. Mercer. I trust you will all be ready to answer the appropriate questions."
. . .
"Would you all please excuse us?" Eve asked, raising her eyebrows at Dr. Bailey and the interns.
They left without a word, shoes squeaking on the polished tile floor. Outside, the storm had picked up again, thunder rumbling loud enough to make the walls and floors of the hospital vibrate. Eve's head was pounding in her exhaustion, and she knew she would need to sleep at least a little before Derek's consultation with Sophie. Her heart was now stuttering though, as Mrs. Mercer had just insisted she did not want the surgery, after agreeing only this morning.
"Dr. Sullivan, I hate to do this after all the work you've put in, but it just doesn't make sense for me to have the surgery," she said, her eyes serene and slightly behind her Coke bottle aviator glasses. "I'm eighty years old. Why put everyone through this again when I probably don't have much time left?"
Eve took a deep breath, glancing at Mrs. Mercer's granddaughter, Tenisha, who was almost always present in Mrs. Mercer's room. She had followed in her grandmother's footsteps, teaching kindergarten at a school about a ten-minute drive from the hospital. Most everyone else in the family—Mrs. Mercer's four children, eleven grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren—lived on the other side of the country. She had lost her husband nearly twenty years ago in a car accident, and often talked of seeing him again if a surgery didn't go well.
"Mrs. Mercer, we've talked about this before every surgery," Eve began, stepping closer to the bed. "You have degenerative spondylolisthesis with spinal stenosis, caused in part by osteoporosis. All of that basically adds up to a long life of excruciating pain. Especially when the screws in your spine are loose, like they are now. I've done this revision surgery dozens of times. Almost all my patients come out feeling like their spine is twenty years younger."
"Almost all your patients," Mrs. Mercer repeated.
"There are risks to every surgery. But, in this particular case, you have a ninety percent chance of survival. I'm particularly confident because you've responded so well to the previous surgeries," Eve explained, trying to keep her voice smooth and soft. Mrs. Mercer's cross necklace glinted golden in the harsh lights.
"But it always takes so long before I feel like my old self again, and Tenisha has to do so much for me," Mrs. Mercer argued, now raising her hand to fiddle with the necklace as she spoke.
"It's not a problem, Granny," Tenisha piped up. Eve always thought she had the perfect wardrobe for her job, all rainbow colors and long skirts and button-ups and her own thick glasses. "You always fixed me up when I was little. It's just time to pay it forward."
"There's a big difference between a scraped knee and a spine full of screws," Mrs. Mercer argued.
"Mrs. Mercer," Eve cut in again. "I can't make this choice for you. Only you can. But, as your doctor, I recommend surgery. I would hate to see you spend what could turn out to be twenty more years in pain after you spent your whole life carrying babies around and taking care of everyone else."
For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the room. Lightning cracked outside; Friday the 13th, indeed. Eve had to keep her teeth from going to her lip. In the pocket of her lab coat, she rubbed at her old ace of hearts playing card. Mrs. Mercer seemed to turn the options over in her mind before sighing a bit and letting a smile take over her wrinkled face.
"Alright, Dr. Sullivan. You've made me an offer I can't refuse. And even if it doesn't work out, at least I'll get to see my Fred again."
Eve smiled a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Well, I'm sure he'd love to see you, but it's my job to delay your reunion as long as possible.
. . .
Eve sat in the chair by Sophie's bed where her mother had been sitting during rounds. She wondered how, after hospitals being around for thousands of years, civilizations had not demanded better chairs for bedsides. The room smelled of disinfectant and the remnants of hospital breakfast left half-eaten on Sophie's tray. She'd told Eve the oatmeal tasted like Elmer's glue; Eve had to agree, but encouraged her to at least eat the banana. Bill and Laura sat on the couch, craning their necks up in the direction of the large box TV that hung from the beige wall (in this room, the TV was always stuck on the channel that exclusively played The Price Is Right). Laura had just gotten off the phone with her mother, who was at home taking care of the four other Turner kids. Eve was anxious for Derek to arrive and do the consultation. She had looked over the new films from this morning after waking from a brief nap in the on-call room, and she already knew they would have to put Sophie under within a matter of hours. But Eve was glad Derek was still coming by to do the consultation. If nothing else, he would at least get to meet Sophie before he had his hands on her brain.
Though the room stunk of ammonia, Eve could almost smell the rain-soaked pavement through the window. She and Sophie watched for Stanley, who had come and gone more than once in the twenty minutes Eve had been sitting there. She was early for Derek's consultation. Sophie was clearly not feeling as well as she had been during rounds, the dizziness certainly more pronounced. They had dosed her with more heavy painkillers for the headache, but not enough to totally knock her out. She lay still now, back against her pillow, head carefully stationary as she faced the window. Despite her clear discomfort and the sedatives, Sophie's mind was still very awake, her rapid-fire questions about birds keeping Eve on her toes. Eve was glad she had taken a nap after her consult with Mrs. Mercer, who was scheduled for later in the afternoon. Running on no sleep, she probably wouldn't have been able to effectively explain the difference between a black-capped chickadee and a chestnut-backed chickadee as the two of them hopped along in the parking lot. They bathed in potholes as the storm raged on.
"Why are they taking a bath in the parking lot? Isn't it dirty?" Sophie asked, her eyes only a little glazed.
"To us it's dirty, but to them it's fun. Do you ever splash in mud puddles or look for worms in the front yard?" Eve asked, fixing Sophie with her full attention.
"Oh yeah," Sophie said, and Eve could tell she was being careful not to nod.
"I figured you did. I used to do both of those things all the time, and some people said it was gross. But I always had a good time. It's the same for them."
Sophie hummed thoughtfully, still staring at the birds. "Are they brothers? They look like twins."
"They're slightly different species of chickadees, so they're more like cousins than brothers. You see the one who looks like he's wearing a black beret? That's the black-capped chickadee. He's braver than his friend, more outgoing. His friend, the one who looks like he's got a red sweater on? He's a chestnut-backed chickadee. He's shyer. He won't come up to any bird feeders until one of his black-capped chickadee cousins checks it out first."
"Dr. Sullivan, how do you know so much about birds?" Sophie asked.
Eve crossed her arms over her chest, turning to look out the window as she spoke. "When I was little, I really liked to play outside like you. I spent a lot of time in the woods, and a lot of times I took a field guide from the library with me. Do you know what a field guide is?"
"Uh-uh," Sophie said, then accidentally shook her head. A little whimper escaped. Laura looked over in worry. "Everything's spinning."
"Okay," Eve said, then grabbed the water bottle from the tray hovering over Sophie's bed. She shot Laura a small smile. "Can you take a little sip? That might help. Dr. Shepherd's supposed to be here any minute. He's going to make the spinning stop."
"Okay," Sophie whispered, then took a drink of water. Eve was still waiting for Sophie's dizziness to subside when the little girl piped up again: "What's a field guide?"
"A field guide is a book that tells you all about the birds and plants and fungus growing in the woods where you like to hike or play."
"Fungus like mushrooms? I love mushrooms. They're like fairy umbrellas."
Eve's smile widened and her dimples popped out for just a second. "You're right. They're exactly like fairy umbrellas. I bet the fairies are really happy they have them on a day like today. How about tomorrow I bring you a field guide and we can talk about the birds here in Seattle?"
Sophie's eyes briefly lost their dullness. "Can we find Stanley in there?"
"Of course," Eve said with a nod.
Just then, there came a knock from the open doorway. Derek stood in his navy scrubs and lab coat, his expression soft and his eyes on Eve and Sophie. Eve straightened her posture, and both of Sophie's parents stood to greet him, as well as size him up.
"Dr. Shepherd," Eve said.
He smiled his McDreamy smile at the parents and stuck out his hand. "Mr. Turner, Mrs. Turner."
Then, after greeting them and shaking their hands, he turned to Sophie. "And you must be Sophie. I'm Dr. Shepherd, but you can call me Derek if you want. Dr. Sullivan tells me that you're the best ballerina in Seattle."
Sophie smiled a little as Derek pulled over a rolling stool, sitting on Sophie's other side. Sophie carefully moved her head to face him, her eyes flickering down to the impressive contraption on her leg holding the bone fragments together. "I'm not gonna be the best for a while."
"Oh, that's not true. You can still be the best even when you're not feeling well. And Dr. Sullivan and I are going to get you back on the stage as soon as we can, okay? But first, would you like to see a magic trick?"
Sophie's smile widened. "Yes please."
"Excellent," Derek said, then produced his penlight from his breast pocket with a flourish. He clicked it on and off in demonstration. "See, this is my magic wand. It helps me see inside people's brains and find out what's making them dizzy. You're feeling pretty dizzy right now, huh?"
"Yes," Sophie said. Then, her voice trembled a little as she asked: "Does it hurt when you look inside their brains?"
"Not at all," Derek said, his smile ever-present, then perked his head up and looked at Eve. "How about we test this trick on Dr. Sullivan? You'll see it won't hurt her at all, okay?"
"Can we, Dr. Sullivan?" Sophie asked, her eyes flicking back to Eve.
"Certainly," Eve said softly, a smile ghosting over her lips again.
Derek performed the demonstration, holding the light up to Eve's eyes as she focused her gaze on him. She could see it had been at least a day since he'd shaved, stubble darkening his jaw. He nodded at her slightly, his smile conspiratorial, then instructed her to follow the light with her eyes.
"You see?" Derek asked Sophie once he clicked off the light. "Now, I can tell that there's nothing inside Dr. Sullivan's head that's going to make her dizzy. Did that hurt, Dr. Sullivan?"
"No," she said, shaking her head a little. She looked at Sophie. "It's actually kind of cool. It's like when you look at something really bright, and then you close your eyes and you can see all those shapes in your eyelids. Do you do that?"
"Oh yeah, all the time," Sophie said emphatically. "Is it my turn, Dr. Shepherd?"
Derek went on with the exam, explaining each step as a magic trick, part of his act. Eve watched carefully as he worked, noting the subtle flickers in his twinkling eyes, the moments when his smile faltered slightly. They hadn't had the time to discuss it yet, but they had both seen the films. A small hemorrhage had formed beneath the large bump on Sophie's head, having not been noticeable or severe enough to show up on a CT immediately after the fall. They could see as the exam went on that Sophie was favoring her left side, a progression of the dizziness. He caught Eve's eyes more than a few times, saw that she was chewing on her bottom lip.
After a few minutes, Derek had seen all he needed to. He placed his 'wand' back in his breast pocket. "Thank you for letting me practice my magic, Sophie. You're an excellent assistant. And the best part is, now I know how to make everything stop spinning. In a little while, you won't be dizzy anymore, okay?"
"Are you sure?" Sophie asked.
"I'm sure," Derek confirmed. "I'm going to talk to your mom and dad about how we can fix the spinning for you. But before I go…"
He reached by Sophie's head and pulled a quarter from her ear. Again, Sophie's brown eyes lit up with a little shine against the glaze. Derek handed it to her.
"That's for you. Only my best assistants get magic quarters at the end of the magic show. Magic quarters bring you good luck, you know."
"Thank you! Does Dr. Sullivan get one too?" Sophie asked, holding the quarter up to her eyes as if it was made of gold.
"Well, why wouldn't she? She was very brave, just like you," Derek said after pausing briefly. He adjusted the penlight in his pocket before he reached over Sophie's narrow bed and performed the trick again. Eve watched Derek's brow furrow almost imperceptibly as his fingertips accidentally brushed the shell of her ear and he produced the quarter.
"Thank you, Dr. Shepherd," Eve said as he handed her his own quarter, trying to ignore how her face warmed slightly.
She cleared her throat before starting to explain to Sophie that she and Dr. Shepherd were going to go out in the hall for a moment to talk to her parents. She was not looking forward to explaining to Bill and Laura that their baby would need a craniotomy, no matter how routine it was.
. . .
In the gallery, Eve rubbed at the playing card in her pocket, feeling the spot in the corner where it had grown smooth over time. She bit at the inside of her cheek to spare her lip, though she was beginning to taste blood. In the two months since he'd arrived, Derek had never had to intervene with one of her pediatric patients, and certainly not one who had come in with a scrape on her tiny chin and a million questions about birds. Of course, Eve had known about Derek's surgical prowess before he arrived, and she had seen it on display in the gallery before. But now it was Sophie Turner under his knife. And now Derek was starting to decompress the right side of Sophie's brain before the left, and the flesh clamped between Eve's back molars was the only thing keeping her from pressing the intercom and intervening.
She could hear a faint lightning crack even in the gallery, though it might have been her imagination. Taking a deep breath, she took her fingers away from the playing card and grabbed her chapstick, smoothing it over her lips absently. Her heart was in her throat, and she had to swallow thickly to force it back down. But when she caught a hiccup on the monitor, her heart dropped all the way down, straight into the pit of her stomach.
Eve rose quickly from her seat, glad that barely anyone else was watching this surgery (too routine for most of the hungry surgeons stalking the halls of Seattle Grace) and witnessing the slight shake of her hands as she pressed her finger to the intercom.
"Dr. Shepherd," Eve began.
Derek didn't jump, but did hold some surprise in his voice as he glanced up over his surgical glasses and caught Eve's eyes in the gallery. "What is it, Dr. Sullivan?"
"The midline shift suggests benefits to decompressing from the left side first," she said, careful to keep her voice measured. She wished more than anything that she had had the time between the consultation on Sophie and the pre-op notes for Mrs. Mercer to go over the details of the procedure with Derek.
Derek's gaze had shifted back down to Sophie's brain, and he kept them there as he spoke. "The bleeding pattern indicates the right side is more urgent. Contrary to what you may believe, I know what I'm doing."
Eve's eyebrows rose. She had disagreed with him on cases before over scans in the conference room, but not in the OR. Apparently, once Dr. Shepherd entered the OR, he could no longer be questioned. "With all due respect, the pressure gradient shows—"
"This is my OR, Dr. Sullivan," Derek said, not looking up from his work. His voice had an edge that made Eve's jaw tighten. "Would you like me to criticize your technique from the gallery during your next intervention on Sophie's leg?"
"If I'm increasing the risk of rupturing a child's subdural hematoma, then yes, I would like you to share your thoughts," Eve shot back, her tone still neutral.
In the OR, the scrub nurses exchanged glances. George, who stood silently next to Derek, looked back and forth between the two attendings with his eyes wide.
"I assure you, I am doing no such thing. Now, I would appreciate a moratorium on any further distractions," Derek said, his voice tight.
"Very well," Eve said, pausing to take a deep breath before she said: "I'll be up here if you happen to need anything."
"Got it," Derek said.
Redness crept up Eve's neck and burned the tips of her ears, but she said nothing more. For two more hours, she stood with her arms crossed next to the intercom, her posture ramrod straight. Her head was pounding behind her eyes, her brain hot and tired inside her skull. But she never took her gaze off Derek, feeling a mixture of white-hot frustration and queasiness churning inside. Just as the procedure was winding down to the final steps, the monitors went berserk. Eve's breath caught and her hand immediately found the ace of hearts again, her arms uncrossing.
Derek seemed unphased. "O'Malley, watch this."
A few more seconds of agonizing, frenetic noise passed before Sophie's blood pressure returned to normal, and Eve let out a long sigh. She swore she saw a little smirk behind Derek's mask as he glanced up, then back down.
"See, O'Malley? The right side was compressing the brain stem. That's why she was favoring her left side."
. . .
The evening was bleeding into night. Derek was drinking black coffee. He was halfway through his forty-eight hour shift, but feeling alert as ever as he listened to Eve recite Dylan Thomas again. She stood over Mrs. Mercer's spine with rigidity, despite her fluid movements. Over the past few weeks, he had heard snippets of other poems, many that he did not recognize. But something about watching her return to this particular poem over and over made him lean forward in his seat. He was buzzing after saving Sophie Turner, and still feeling hot and bothered over Eve's interruptions. It was rare that another attending questioned his technique, especially during a procedure so routine. Most attendings didn't bother watching from the gallery unless there was something especially unique about the case. Usually, Derek wouldn't have.
But today, he made an exception. Izzie and Meredith were a couple rows back, watching the procedure at the behest of Miranda, who was on Derek's right. She hadn't said much to him since sitting down, but she had noticed how he had moved slowly closer to the edge of his seat over the past few minutes, as Eve was performing a particularly difficult portion of the surgery.
"Gunning for revenge?" Miranda asked.
Derek startled a little, then turned to her and blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Waiting for a mistake you can correct over the intercom?" she said, raising her eyebrows.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't," Miranda said. "You remember who you're talking to, right? I'm Dr. Bailey. I know everything that goes on during the procedures my interns scrub in on."
Derek narrowed his eyes at her before sighing, leaning back in his chair, and running a hand through his hair. "Dr. Sullivan is too cautious. And she wasn't correcting a mistake, she was questioning my approach, as I had my tools in a child's brain."
"Dr. Sullivan wants to protect her six-year-old patients from McDreamy's recklessness."
"I'm not reckless, Miranda. I'm just not afraid of a little risk if I think the outcome will be better for the patient."
"Well, that's you. That's not her. Not everyone thinks like you."
"I'm aware of that, Dr. Bailey," he said pointedly.
Miranda shrugged and crossed her arms, eyes carefully following Eve's movements again. "You're not acting like you are."
"The screw is almost secured…" Eve was saying down below.
Derek opened his mouth to respond, but the tense voice of the scrub nurse below interrupted him.
"Dr. Sullivan, O2 sats are dropping."
Eve looked up sharply, but even still, her voice was perfectly calm. "Push one hundred percent oxygen, please. What's her BP?"
"Systolic's seventy and falling," the scrub nurse answered, just before the monitors began to screech.
Eve finally stopped her work on the spine and stepped back. The residents mirrored her movements. "It's a pulmonary embolism."
Derek's heart dropped as he heard her assessment of the situation, which was undoubtedly correct. He'd only experienced this complication a few times, all with geriatric patients. Only one of them had ever survived, and it would be even harder to address the clot during a spinal surgery, he knew. He put a hand over his mouth. She had been almost ready to close.
"Push ten thousand units of heparin!" Eve ordered the scrub nurse, still not yelling, but certainly insistent.
The gallery was silent and the air was thick. Everyone watched and waited, as Mrs. Mercer's heart rate continued to drop.
Eve quit waiting within thirty seconds. "She's thrown a massive clot. Prep for thrombectomy, we need to aspirate this embolus immediately."
Derek, Miranda, Izzie, and Meredith watched as Eve worked, her movements still rhythmic but her poetry absent. A furrow of concentration wrinkled her brow. The monitors blared. Even as Eve maneuvered the aspiration catheter at lightning speed, Mrs. Mercer's heart rate became dangerously unstable, the beep of the monitor increasingly erratic.
"Come on, Mrs. Mercer," Eve said, then looked up at the anesthesiologist. "Page Burke now, please!"
But it was no use. Not two minutes later, Mrs. Mercer's heart ceased rhythm at all, despite Eve pushing five thousand more units of heparin. Eve then spent another half hour fruitlessly trying to repair the sudden and catastrophic damage of the clot. Derek swallowed thickly as he watched her finally step back from the bed, wisps of her hair sticking to her damp forehead. She pulled off her gloves with steady hands, eyeing the clock.
"Time of death: nineteen fifty-three."
. . .
Derek was on his way to the on-call room, having just finished his post-op notes, when he caught a figure in navy blue scrubs pacing out of the corner of his eye. Without thinking, he neared the window facing the old garden, and saw Eve under the moonlight. The storm had finally passed, and the silvery light snuck through the breaks in the clouds, shining against the wet pavement and the raindrops collected on fresh May buds and dying leaves. He watched as Eve moved through the garden, her body shaky and unsure in a way he had never seen it. Before long, he saw that she had her right hand pressed to her chest. She was pacing back and forth, periodically facing up at the sky. He vaguely observed her breath coming out as whitish clouds, fast and jagged. She was in the middle of a panic attack, he realized all at once, watching her chest rise and fall in erratic bursts as she eventually stopped in her tracks. Her lips were moving, but he couldn't hear her words, and her hand remained on her chest as she stood and faced the moon. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and he could see a tear slip down her freckled cheek as he viewed her profile in the glow of the moon.
He wanted to go to her. He wanted to give her privacy. But he found he was incapable of doing either, instead standing frozen in his spot. There were only a few others milling around him on this floor, and no one besides him witnessing her moment of distress. He was glad to see that he had caught her on the tail end, though, as within a couple of minutes her breathing appeared to have evened out and she opened her eyes at the night sky. In another moment, she had disappeared behind the trunk of the maple tree, presumably to go sit on the stone bench that he could now tell was her favorite. Despite knowing he probably shouldn't, Derek crept through the door to the old garden. After the day she'd had, she deserved an apology for how he had spoken to her earlier. And the doctor in him needed to be sure she was alright.
When she was in his view again, he saw that she was trying and failing to light a cigarette. She had shed her lab coat, left in nothing but her wrinkled scrubs and a black long-sleeve t-shirt underneath. On the bench, she sat hunched over, one shaky hand cupped over her cigarette, the other fumbling with her lighter. Whether she was shaking from the chill in the air or the anxiety, he didn't know, but he suspected it was a bit of both. He cleared his throat, and she didn't startle, only kept trying to light her cigarette, glancing briefly in his direction.
"Please go away, Dr. Shepherd," she said around the cigarette, her voice rough and watery and as shaky as her hands.
Derek drew closer.
"Derek. Not now."
"Okay, I'll go. Can I help you first?" he asked, holding his hand out and looking pointedly at her lighter.
Eve huffed in frustration, trying a few more times to strike a flame. When she couldn't, she heaved a big sigh and handed the lighter to him, muttering: "Dammit!"
With one flick, Derek lit the flame, holding it up to the tip of her Marlboro Red. The tip glowed amber in the dim light, and Derek watched her hold the first cloud of smoke in her lungs for a long time. The sight made his chest hurt. He handed her the lighter back silently.
"Thank you," she said, her words coming out in a blue-gray stream. Then, before he had a chance to leave: "That was quite a magic trick you pulled with Sophie Turner's craniotomy today."
"Eve—"
"No really, look at you. Magician inside the OR and out. All pulling quarters and striking flames and decompressing the right side."
Derek said nothing, only stood there before her, hands in his pockets.
"You were right. A murderer like me has no business having opinions in your OR."
"Eve, about earlier—" Derek tried again.
She stopped him with a wave of her hand, smoke forming a curlicue as she moved. "Don't apologize just because she died."
"Okay," Derek said, nodding. He sensed she had more to say, watching her take another long drag. "Can I sit down? Or do you still want me to go?"
She blew the smoke out her nose in two parallel streams, looking up at him, thinking. Then, she gestured vaguely to the spot on the bench beside her.
"Thank you," he said quietly, taking a seat next to her.
They sat together as she smoked, the faint sounds of sirens blaring from the ambulance bay on the other side of the hospital. Crickets were singing somewhere in the mess of dead leaves and overgrown rose bushes that the garden bed in front of them had become. Derek could hear her breathing even out and slow further as her cigarette got shorter. Soon, she tossed the butt into the trash can to their left, and lit another without his help. She didn't apologize for the cigarettes this time, but consistently blew the smoke away from him. She shivered suddenly on one long inhale, and then she coughed clouds into her fist.
"Do you need some water?" Derek asked carefully.
"No, thank you. What I need is to go write out my notes explaining how I took what could have been two more decades of life away from my patient today," she said, then flicked ash from her cigarette into the tray atop the trash can. "She didn't even want the surgery. Did you know that? Said she didn't want to be a bother. It wasn't worth it when she didn't have much time left. But I pushed her. I pushed her, even though she was eighty and she was happy enough."
Derek listened, his face solemn. Even with his lab coat on, he could feel the chilly breeze biting at him.
"But, no, I just had to fix the screws, had to make her spine perfect. I wanted her to be able to pick up her grandkids," she continued, voice growing huskier with the smoke. He'd never heard her spit words out this way, not even as she disciplined interns. "Tenisha…um, her granddaughter asked me to pray with her. Can you imagine? I killed her grandmother and she asked me to pray with her."
"Did you?" Derek asked.
Eve let out a short, bitter laugh. "I did. I tried. But I'm not a very good actress. And I haven't had to pretend to pray since I was sixteen. I'm rusty." She paused for an inhale, then continued with smoke clouds. "I got cocky. I should've been more careful. I should've left well enough alone."
"Eve, you couldn't have predicted that clot. There's no way to fully prepare for something like that. You know that."
She uttered another scoff of a laugh. "The way to prepare for something like that is to not push an eighty-year-old woman into a spinal surgery she doesn't want or need."
"She did need it, and I know for a fact you didn't push her. That's not how you are. You told me about the kind of pain she was in. That's no way to live."
"Yeah, well, now she's really got no way to live," Eve said bitterly.
"I'm sorry," Derek said in a quiet voice, then decided it was best if he shut up.
Eve cleared her throat. "Thank you for saving Sophie."
Derek closed his eyes for a moment, his guilt growing. "Please don't thank me."
"Why shouldn't I? You saved her. Worked your Manhattan magic, knew exactly what to do. I promise I'll never interrupt you again, Dr. Shepherd." She breathed in another long inhale and held it inside, her second cigarette now burned down to the orange filter.
He sighed at the ice creeping into her voice, turning to her. "Eve, I'm sorry. It was unprofessional. I shouldn't have—"
"Not tonight," Eve cut him off, tossing her second cigarette into the trash. Slowly, she rose from the bench and donned her lab coat again, smoothing out her front as best she could. She wiped away the mascara that had pooled under her eyes and trailed down her cheeks during the panic attack. Then, she tipped him a calm, professional nod, and went to finish her notes.
. . .
May 14th, 2005
Mercifully, no one else had needed a craniotomy overnight. Derek felt as refreshed as he could when he emerged from the on call room at around six the next morning. The sun was breaking through the lingering grey clouds. He would only be on shift for around twelve more hours. The first floor of the surgical wing was bustling, the nurses having just come back from their morning meeting, and shift change occurring for many on the floor. He ducked curiously into the attending lounge for a moment, but found it empty. He went out to the courtyard to grab coffee from the cart, gearing up to prepare for rounds and go check on Sophie Turner and his other post-ops. He knew from the nurses he had checked in with at their station that Sophie had woken up a couple hours earlier and was doing very well. To his surprise, he saw Sophie's parents in line at the cart, soft morning sunlight shining in their fatigued eyes.
"Mr. and Mrs. Turner," Derek said, approaching them. "Good morning. I was just about to come and check on Sophie."
"Good morning, Dr. Shepherd. Dr. Sullivan is already up there with her, sent us to go get something to eat. Should we wait for breakfast until after you check on her?" Laura asked.
Derek's eyebrows raised a little in surprise. "Oh, no need. I'll also be back later in the afternoon just to check in. Right now, you two can take a breather. She's going to be alright."
Bill stuck his hand out for Derek to shake. "Thank you, Dr. Shepherd."
"You're welcome, Mr. Turner," Derek said, shaking the man's hand. Then, after a moment of thought: "Sophie's first on my list this morning. I'll see you both later."
Skipping the coffee for now, Derek went back inside and up the stairs to the pediatric wing, his sneakers silent on the floor that the cleaning crew had waxed overnight. At this hour, Eve was usually standing rigid at the nurse's station or nursing burnt coffee in the attending lounge, reading up on the notes she had distributed for rounds, rather than checking in on patients. As he neared Sophie's room, he began to hear Eve's voice through the cracked door. She sounded impossibly soft and soothing, a far cry from her broken rasp the night before. He peeked in, not able to see Eve, only her hands holding up a book so that Sophie, who lay drowsy in the hospital bed, could see.
"That's how you know Stanley's a girl, remember? From her color," Eve said, pointing at a bird. "There's lots of other birds with colors that tell you things."
"What about the fairy umbrellas?" Sophie asked, subdued but enraptured.
Derek's brow furrowed.
"Oh, of course, the fairy umbrellas," Eve said, flipping through the pages that had clearly been flipped through many times before.
Derek began to recognize it as a field guide. His mother had sent him one, mostly as a joke, when he had first told her he had moved to the trailer in the woods. It was still sitting untouched on his small coffee table.
"Well, there's lots of fairy umbrellas we could talk about," Eve began, holding the book up again with steady, delicate hands, pointing at various images. "I love all the names they have. Where should we start? Chicken of the woods?"
Sophie giggled. "That's not real. You're silly."
"It's real, I promise. They call it that because it tastes like chicken."
"Really?" Sophie asked, seemingly shocked.
"Oh yeah, but you should never eat a mushroom that you find outside. You should only eat mushrooms that Mommy or Daddy cook for you."
"I know," Sophie said. "Mommy already told me that once."
"Well, Mommy's very smart," Eve said softly, flipping through a couple more pages. "Ah! Here we go. This is a chanterelle mushroom. There's tons of them in Seattle. Lots of people really like this mushroom. Can you see why?"
"It's pretty," Sophie said.
"That's right. It's gold. Just like the parts of your leg where the bone is growing back."
"And I'll have a golden leg that won't hurt anymore!" Sophie said, animation growing.
"Yes, you will. Now, let's see, do any of these other fairy umbrellas catch your eye?" Eve asked, leaning forward in her chair for Sophie to see the mushrooms displayed on the page.
Derek caught the briefest glimpse of Eve as she shifted, seeing that she had redone her braid neat and tidy. Still, though, she wasn't wearing her lab coat. He decided he simply couldn't interrupt, moving Sophie down to the bottom of the list of post-ops in his head. Clearly, Sophie was just fine for now. Eve had made sure of that.
. . .
Author's Note: No one asked for this story but somehow the second chapter became 10K words.