Bad Blood

Chapter 3

A/N - Hello again! So, I really wasn't expecting this chapter to go the way it did, but I think it's an interesting one.

GAGAGA

May 25th, 2014 - 10:36 AM

Meredith opened her eyes and immediately shot out of the bed she was laid in.

The last thing she remembered was having a panic attack because - oh god. Did the plane crash? She looked down. Her clothes were replaced with a white hospital gown, and had a plastic band on her right wrist that made her skin itch. She then examined her body for injuries, but there were none. It seemed that maybe...the plane hadn't crashed. If it did, she got away without a scratch. How would that be possible?

Her second thought was Mark. Where was he? She looked around the room. Everything was white. The ceiling, floors, walls, the door. It was a little strange. No hospital rooms were ever that white. Did she come into contact with some disease that caused her to be placed in quarantine? That was the only possibility she could come up with. What other reason would there be for her being in an all-white, non-traditional hospital room?

There was a small mirror on the wall and she went to examine her face for possible cuts that she might not have felt. It wasn't until she saw her reflection did she realize that her hair was significantly shorter. Cut so her honey colored locks just barely laid on her shoulders. She had been thinking about getting a trim, but she didn't expect to get it this way.

After remembering the reason she walked over to the mirror, she saw that there was a small cut on her cheek and another on the right side of her forehead. Meredith couldn't tell if the plane crashed or not. The cuts couldn't have come from nothing, which made her think...she shook her head lightly, and was again reminded of her shorter hair from the difference in its weight. She resumed her thoughts: One would expect to have greater injuries from a plane crash than just a few bumps and bruises. If she hadn't had any scrapes, she wouldn't have even considered the fact that she and Mark might have crashed into an endless ocean of trees...

She sat back down on the bed and rubbed her forehead, trying to remember what happened. It seemed that there were only two possibilities for her not remembering. One; her mind blocked it out, or two; she gained a concussion. She certainly didn't feel concussed, so she ended up going with option one.

Meredith continued rubbing her forehead until she felt her skin burning, realizing she'd rubbed it raw. She internally chastised herself for letting her thoughts take her to a faraway place in her mind.

She laid back down on the uncomfortable bed and stared at the ceiling. It was quickly becoming a hassle to keep her eyes open. At first, she tried to fight it when her eyes stayed shut for longer than a blink, but then she realized that the somewhat peaceful feeling engulfing her was the calm before the storm. So she let the darkness take her.

A few doors down, Mark was coming to.

He jolted awake and sat upright. He was about to stand up, but something tugged at his hand. His eyes traced the small tube that led to an IV pole. Mark groaned, knowing that something required the annoying little tube to be attached to him. Nothing hurt, so he thought that maybe he had just been dehydrated and needed fluids.

One of his hands gripped the pole as he stood up and took a few steps forward. The annoying sound of the pole's wheels scratching against the floor made him wince. The sound hurt him, in his soul. He looked at the pole, which was the current bane of his existence, with his eyes ablaze. Granted, it wasn't the smartest move, but he carefully pulled out his IV, and let it fall to the ground. He was glad to no longer hear the incessant squeaking of the wheels behind him and grinned in satisfaction. One would think he just slayed a dragon, not an abiotic piece of metal.