Chasing Cars | A Grey's Anatomy Fanfiction

.- E I G H T E E N -.

2 D A Y S L A T E R

I push myself out of bed, and change into a ratty old Stanford T-shirt accompanied by athletic shorts. I gave up on looking decent. I look at my arms. On my left, stitches line my limb, from my wrist up to my shoulder. 97 individual sutures hold together my now close to healed wounds. They come out tomorrow, as that marks my fifth day within the confines of this hospital. I don't know if I will miss them or not. My right arm is still covered in bandages, which hide my blistered burn that runs down my shoulder to my thumb. For one full week my arm is supposed to be covered by large white squares of gauze. The sutures closing the hole in my head at 10 days in will get pulled out. I should be able to walk out of here at two weeks.

Back to my dark and twisty life most likely. I doubt that I will be a kid saved by the miracle of the adoption process. Dark and twisty teenager doesn't bode well with happy married couples.

I lift myself up into my crutches. I wave to the interns, the residents, and an attending. I have gotten to know everyone in the past few days. I grab a peach from a fruit basket given to me from my physics teacher and walk outside.

"Think fast." I toss it to an intern. "I got a fruit basket yesterday, and I know how obsessed you guys are with practicing on fruit species. I don't judge. It is in the room, just don't take the strawberries. I like to eat more than hospital cardboard," I add.

I walk by the ICU. Ava is asleep. She just had another heart surgery a day ago, as the bullet caused a tear in her heart, which the doctors have been trying to fix. It has been a crazy four days. I get in a bus crash because my biological father shot up the bus, and my brain explodes, I turn out okay, because in fate possible fosters that I have overlooked saved my life. Then a small version of me, Sarah, shows up. Her brain explodes, and she dies. I freak out. So I tell these possible fosters, Dr. Shepherd and Dr. Grey, that I know the secret Eileen and many others have been keeping from me right under my nose. I honestly don't know what will happen next. So I wait and heal.

I inch my way across the hospital to physical therapy. I like to get over my torture in the morning hours, as the rest of the day is clear for me to be the witness of the soap opera in this hospital, roaming around on 4 legs, two metal, one mangled, one healthy. I cannot be stuck in that bed anymore. The ICU nurses station is boring and stale in comparison to the drama all over the hospital. I think it spreads faster than disease.

I push open the door of the PT room. A therapist is waiting, with these stretchy giant rubber band things apparently supposed to help my ligaments and muscles. I don't work out, besides running. They say it is like the gym. I don't do gyms. The unknown torture vectors scare me, but somehow help me.

"Okay, we are going to get started," the therapist says.

. . .

I look out off of this catwalk, in the main lobby. Not many patients or visitors know where this is, as most of the people here are doctors or nurses. I like it, it is serene and calm, not filled with worry from scared parents or family, and no fear is present from patients, like me, although I have been through so much I don't have time for fear. It is ironic, because I am standing on a catwalk only held up by the east and west wing of the hospital. Seattle fog takes over the large glass window spanning from the first floor to the ceiling of the third floor. An american flag waves outside, in front of a treeline and mountains. I inhale, and listen to the bustle of the hospital. I am familiar with it. A person on the P.A. is paging a doctor to an operating room. Doctors chat, and nurses gossip. I glance over to the side.

I see Shep, and Grey talking. I hone in, as they haven't noticed me.

"You know Gary Clark, right? He is suing. Mounds and mounds of paperwork. He couldn't just let it go. I haven't seen the inside of an O.R. in days," Shepherd says.

"Yeah. His wife was the life support patient that Lexie was talking about. If it makes you feel any better, I got to see scissors being pulled out on a craniotomy with shadow Shepherd," she responds.

"I'll jam scissors in my head just so I can see the inside of an OR. I have something to tell you tonight, over dinner," he responds.

"Chief Shepherd? Mr. Clark is waiting in conference room one," an assistant notes, as she interrupts the conversation. I look over quickly, and I see her in a pantsuit, handling mounds of paperwork, and then turn my head back to go unnoticed.

"Good morning Dr. Grey," she says, as she whisks Shep, off to be a prisoner to administrative paperwork, or as he describes it, as the 9th ring of hell. Power comes with a price.

. . .

I sit myself down in my hospital bed. The lights are dimmed in my room, as to facilitate the healing of my once pressurized brain. A nurse pops in every hour, as to make sure I still have a pulse. Not dead. I put my nose in a book for a hour, as that is all I am allowed to have a day as to make sure my brain doesn't explode or something. I then drift off, because that is the only thing I can do here rather than watch crappy hospital television for thirty minutes.

I wake up to scribbling on chart. I lift my head up, and I see the familiar raven curled hair that has accompanied me for the last few days.

"Hey," I say smiling.

"Good evening, sleep well?" Shep responds, as he unwraps the old bandages covering my sutures.

"I am starting to like the idea of hibernation. Sleeping 24/7 is nice." He places a new piece of gauze on my wounds, and wraps a piece around it, securing the gauze in place.

"Don't get used to it," he responds. My phone buzzes.

" Sorry, we can't make it tomorrow. Band competition :/ "

I frown, and slide the keyboard out.

" Its okay. Maybe some other time "

"Are you okay?" I hear Shep ask. "My friend Delaney can't make it. Band competition," I respond. "And yes, I know I am one of those social rejects who hangs out with the band nerds and the mathletes."

"Believe it or not, I was a social reject too. In high school, I was covered in acne, I did not know how to use hair product, so I looked like a nerdy version of Bob Ross, and, I wore a band uniform. Saxophone." He brushes his fingers through my brunette bed head, pushing it away from the gauze so he could finish wrapping up my wounds.

"Thank god for hair product?" I say.

His pager buzzes, and he flips over my chart and places it on the end of my hospital bed.

"Admin stuff," he says, as he opens the door to leave.

"Have fun," I respond, as his scrubs rush out the door. This is my life for the rest of the week. Boring, but beats bus crashes.

Thanks to everyone who has voted on my fic! I am sorry for being gone for a bit, but I intend to write more! I am so in love with this story, and I am beyond shocked that it even got to 1k reads! I love you guys ❤ -Penmanshipped