Hahn character study of a sort
Title: Cycling
Author: darsfebruary
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Hahn does spin class.
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy and its characters and locations are the property of ABC and Shonda Rhimes. No copyright infringement intended.
My first ever fanfic. I guess I felt...compelled. Hahn is just too intense.
Gripping the bars and pumping her legs, Erica pushed forward and powered through the cycling instructor’s bark to give it her all. She didn’t need any more encouragement. Any good cardiothoracic surgeon knows the importance of heart health and exercise, and any good dyke knows when she’d better blow off steam before she does something rash and irreversible. Her custom shoes hooked to the pedals, Erica gave in to the burn in her upper thighs, the pounding of her heart, her audible breaths. She closed her eyes and dipped her head, focused on the steady swish of the stationary bike’s caged tire. All this effort and going nowhere. Despite her attempt to visualize the climb up a hill, reaching its crest, last night in Joe’s unspooled in her mind and her pace spun out of control. That dumb laugh of denial. Callie’s discomfort and ultimate relief. The whole fucking scene was an embarrassment.
“All right class!” the instructor shouted, “Dial down and give yourselves a break. Great job!”
The eager twenty-somethings flocking Erica’s sides groaned with relief and sat up in their seats, stretching out their arms and enjoying the sudden ease of their task. Erica barely slowed before she unhooked her feet and swung her leg over the bike frame. She toweled down her seat and bars, met the instructor’s drilling look with her own “I could care less” glance, and pushed out the door into the gym proper. In a matter of minutes she was in the changing room, out of her spandex, and in the shower. She cranked the handle until the water steamed and stepped under. “Damn,” she said.
Spin wasn’t her favorite activity, but she couldn’t risk injury to her hands and therefore boxing was out of the question. Which really sucked, because she could have done with punching something. Repeatedly. For Erica Hahn, there was no greater disappointment than disappointing yourself, and as of late, Erica Hahn did not approve of Erica Hahn’s behavior. And maybe worse than the constant self-reproach was the fact that she had found no way to empty her head, to get to that place where she did her clearest thinking, her best work. She wanted it. The automation of a surgical procedure, the utter confidence that she was doing exactly what was best for her patient, that she controlled everything - the nurses beside her, the pace of the surgery, the beat of the human heart.
Meanwhile, her own was rollicking in her chest. She caught herself holding her breath for far too long, getting dizzy for lack of oxygen. “Breathe,” she chided herself, “breathe.” She turned the tap and wrung out her hair. She looked herself over. Her body betrayed her. Even the scalding shower had failed to relax her, down to her tensed, perfect toes.
Erica Hahn wasn’t getting any. This was par for the course. Erica had come to accept her lifestyle as a byproduct of her own decisions. She went to medical school, she avoided time-draining friendships, she had priorities, and sex was not one of them. When she got too lonely, she hit a bar, had a few glasses of wine, and picked someone up. At first it was men, then, somewhat surprisingly, it was women. That was better, and it was so easy. She knew what it was - not her effortless blond curls, not even her height. It was her voice. She exploited it, that sarcastic gravel. Those undertones. In the cab, on the way back to her apartment, she would whisper in the chosen woman’s ear, she would let herself be…imaginative. For a night. And the next morning, she would get up, shower, make her fling a cup of coffee and have her out the door as soon as possible. Because any longer than that, and the women thought she owed them something. And the only person she owed was herself.
She hadn’t hit up a bar since she started at Seattle Grace. Not with that intention anyway. Instead, she had made an error in judgement. She had invited Callie Torres into her life. And now, she wanted her. She wanted a straight, divorced colleague.
Comments and suggestions greatly appreciated!
Author: darsfebruary
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Hahn does spin class.
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy and its characters and locations are the property of ABC and Shonda Rhimes. No copyright infringement intended.
My first ever fanfic. I guess I felt...compelled. Hahn is just too intense.
Gripping the bars and pumping her legs, Erica pushed forward and powered through the cycling instructor’s bark to give it her all. She didn’t need any more encouragement. Any good cardiothoracic surgeon knows the importance of heart health and exercise, and any good dyke knows when she’d better blow off steam before she does something rash and irreversible. Her custom shoes hooked to the pedals, Erica gave in to the burn in her upper thighs, the pounding of her heart, her audible breaths. She closed her eyes and dipped her head, focused on the steady swish of the stationary bike’s caged tire. All this effort and going nowhere. Despite her attempt to visualize the climb up a hill, reaching its crest, last night in Joe’s unspooled in her mind and her pace spun out of control. That dumb laugh of denial. Callie’s discomfort and ultimate relief. The whole fucking scene was an embarrassment.
“All right class!” the instructor shouted, “Dial down and give yourselves a break. Great job!”
The eager twenty-somethings flocking Erica’s sides groaned with relief and sat up in their seats, stretching out their arms and enjoying the sudden ease of their task. Erica barely slowed before she unhooked her feet and swung her leg over the bike frame. She toweled down her seat and bars, met the instructor’s drilling look with her own “I could care less” glance, and pushed out the door into the gym proper. In a matter of minutes she was in the changing room, out of her spandex, and in the shower. She cranked the handle until the water steamed and stepped under. “Damn,” she said.
Spin wasn’t her favorite activity, but she couldn’t risk injury to her hands and therefore boxing was out of the question. Which really sucked, because she could have done with punching something. Repeatedly. For Erica Hahn, there was no greater disappointment than disappointing yourself, and as of late, Erica Hahn did not approve of Erica Hahn’s behavior. And maybe worse than the constant self-reproach was the fact that she had found no way to empty her head, to get to that place where she did her clearest thinking, her best work. She wanted it. The automation of a surgical procedure, the utter confidence that she was doing exactly what was best for her patient, that she controlled everything - the nurses beside her, the pace of the surgery, the beat of the human heart.
Meanwhile, her own was rollicking in her chest. She caught herself holding her breath for far too long, getting dizzy for lack of oxygen. “Breathe,” she chided herself, “breathe.” She turned the tap and wrung out her hair. She looked herself over. Her body betrayed her. Even the scalding shower had failed to relax her, down to her tensed, perfect toes.
Erica Hahn wasn’t getting any. This was par for the course. Erica had come to accept her lifestyle as a byproduct of her own decisions. She went to medical school, she avoided time-draining friendships, she had priorities, and sex was not one of them. When she got too lonely, she hit a bar, had a few glasses of wine, and picked someone up. At first it was men, then, somewhat surprisingly, it was women. That was better, and it was so easy. She knew what it was - not her effortless blond curls, not even her height. It was her voice. She exploited it, that sarcastic gravel. Those undertones. In the cab, on the way back to her apartment, she would whisper in the chosen woman’s ear, she would let herself be…imaginative. For a night. And the next morning, she would get up, shower, make her fling a cup of coffee and have her out the door as soon as possible. Because any longer than that, and the women thought she owed them something. And the only person she owed was herself.
She hadn’t hit up a bar since she started at Seattle Grace. Not with that intention anyway. Instead, she had made an error in judgement. She had invited Callie Torres into her life. And now, she wanted her. She wanted a straight, divorced colleague.
Comments and suggestions greatly appreciated!