Redamancy ['red-a-man-sE] noun : the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full.
Charlie Hawthorne has worked her ass off to get here....
Well, she worked hard enough. A genius level intellect, and a legacy bigger than you are can...
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For someone with clinically diagnosed depression and PTSD, Charlie Hawthorne really didn't have that many bad days anymore. She exercised regularly, drank like a sailor on most days, had great sex with people she didn't know, and got to be a surgeon.
Basically, she was living her dream life.
Except for days like today, where she woke up with a sense of foreboding, deep in her bones. Heart hammering against her ribs, and breath shaky, she reached for her phone and checked for the time, noticing it was 3 am, before throwing on a large hoodie and grabbing her car keys and going.
She needed her person, she needed Mer.
Sneaking into bed beside her, the older blonde groggily looked at her friend, noting her shaking form, and with no words exchanged, threw a leg over her own, and promptly went back to sleep.
v^√√v^─√v^√v^─
"We're just not going." argued Meredith for the fifth time, arm holding the younger woman tightly against herself.
Charlie wasn't talking. She didn't know what was wrong, all she knew was that wanted to find a hole and bury herself in it, never to emerge again.
But apparently, George and Izzie disagreed.
"You have to go to work. You're interns. Saving lives is not optional." Stated the former model.
"Yes it is. We're staying home."
From her spot, face buried in the covers, she could hear Izz whispering, "You're supposed to be helping."
A weight beside her, a warm hand stroking softly through her hair, before Georgie's kind voice offered, "Uh Char? Maybe um there'll be a horrible accident nearby the hospital. Cut a bunch of people open. Sternotomies, Craniotomies. That'd be fun, right?"
She shook her head, remaining quiet, apart from the gasping breaths she was taking, and Mer gave them the implied answer, "We don't care about surgeries."
They'd left them alone after that, with the older woman calming her person down from the brink of a panic attack.
But clearly, while they'd won the battle, their friends had decided to pull out the big guns, aka, one severely pissed off Cristina Yang.
"You have a feeling?" She questioned disbelievingly.
Both blondes nodded, the youngest having finally revealed her face to the world, with swollen eyes and cheeks devoid of colour.
"Ok, what kind of feeling?"
"Like I may die." Mumbled the youngest quietly, biting harshly into her lip.
"Today? Tomorrow? In 50 years? Cause we're all gonna die eventually! But now we're late. Let's go." She stated, attempting to pull both of her people off the bed.
