Home (Grey's Anatomy Series)

Survival Or Death

Standing in front of the Nurse's station, I grabbed my tablet when I feel someone tap my arm.

"Oh, hey...you're back? Aren't you supposed to be at counseling?" I asked Edwards as I walked away from the counter.

"I went. I went three times."

"Mm." I sighed.

"I barfed up all my childhood sadness. I told them all my demons. I participated. I feel like I got enough out of it."

"Edwards..."

"What I did was wrong. I know. I'm sorry. But I don't think I should miss out on another day of education because I didn't get a stupid piece of paper signed." She told me as we stood in the middle of the hallway.

"You feel calm? You feel controlled?" I asked.

"Yes, I am."

"How's your throwing." I chuckled.

"Retired."

Taking a deep breath, I give in and ask her for her paper.

Signing the paper, I stick my pen back in my coat.

"Now get back to work."

"Oh, Dr. Shepherd...you signed it under Webber's name?" Edwards said to me.

"Yeah, so?"

Slowly smiling, the both of us turned the corner.

"Can you teach me that?" She asked me.

"Yeah, I'll teach you how to do Bailey's."

"Cool." She laughed.

~

"Talk to me!" Bailey said as she walked into the trauma room, where DeLuca, Edwards, and I were helping a patient.

"Male passenger, 30's, unconscious and intubated at the scene. Vitals are stable. Uh, large bruises, right chest, and abdomen." Edwards said.

"Was he dressed?" She asked.

"Yeah, except for his pants," I added.

"So, these two were not driving. They were parking."

"The theory is they got overexcited and popped the car into gear," DeLuca whispered.

"Premature acceleration. You know, it happens to a lot of guys." I chuckled, checking with pupil dilation.

"People need to get busy where God intended...parking lots, where it's flat." Bailey hissed as she walked out of the room, leaving the three of us behind.

~

"No hemotympanum. A battle sign behind the right ear. He needs a head CT."

"I need you to explain why you're here, Edwards." Minnick hissed.

"Yeah, I got a sis-centimeter oozing forehead lac here. I'm gonna need a suture tray when you're done." Jackson ordered as I check for his liver.

"You assigned counseling. I've been counseled." Edwards added.

"Lactate 2.1, crit is 42, labs are good."

"I'm seeing fluid in Morrison's pouch," I whispered, as DeLuca wrote it down.

"You went to counseling for a minute."

"My paper's been signed by Dr. Webber," Edwards said as she glanced over at me.

"Oh, of course, he did."

"We need to clear him for a liver lac. And until we rule that out, DeLuca, we need to keep him on close observation." I told him.