Cycling 2/?
Title: Cycling
Author: darsfebruary
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Summary: Hahn has a very busy day.
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy and its characters and locations are the property of ABC and Shonda Rhimes. No copyright infringement intended.
Part 1 here:
http://community.livejournal.com/ga_fanfic/1196249.html#cutid1
Securing her locker, Erica gives a cursory glance about the changing room. There’s one of the bouncy young things from her class and an older woman with her swimsuit around her hips, toweling off after her early morning laps. Erica’s noticed her before - there aren’t too many regulars at this time of day. The woman catches Erica’s eye and turns tighter into the row of lockers for modesty. “Oh please, lady,” Hahn thinks, but instead of cracking smart about having seen better, she tosses a “Good morning” in the woman’s direction as she heads out. That’s one less strike against her.
Whereas her tenure at Mercy had been a steady test of endurance, an opportunity to craft and improve upon her surgical technique and not much more, the past few months at Seattle Grace have ratcheted up her compulsions. She’s been lashing out in inappropriate ways, helpless to stop herself. She’s been downright cruel to Yang. And after trying to make peace with the brown-nosing resident and being left with nothing but silence and a sour taste in her mouth, she understands she’s doing permanent damage. To herself, and to others. Doctors, she chides herself, are meant to heal, not to harm.
Pushing into the lightening Seattle mist, Hahn realizes that she knows what to do. Anything, she decides, is better than this crippling inaction. She scrolls through her cell phone directory and finds the name she needs. She punches ‘call’ and waits for the inevitable kick to voicemail.
“Dr. Wyatt,” she intones in her steady professional voice, “this is Erica Hahn. I’d like to move up my appointment. Are you free at all this morning? Please let me know at the number on file.” She hangs up and looks around. Across the street and a few buildings down, a clique of bleary-eyed interns are pushing exhaustedly through the rotating doors of the hospital. She adjusts her purse on her shoulder and starts walking. She fills her lungs. Her heart steadies itself. It helps a little bit, that gesture. Reaching out. It’s a new sensation that makes her, perhaps undeservedly, hopeful.
***
Erica shrugs off her lab coat and lays it over the back of Dr. Wyatt’s hideous couch. She isn’t quite comfortable here yet, and sits back against the cushions stiffly.
“Erica,” Wyatt greets her, settling nimbly into her own chair opposite, “I’m pleased you called.”
“I can’t quite believe I got away. Walter Tapley’s here.”
Wyatt looks blankly across. “Who?”
“Walter Tapley.” Nothing. Erica’s taken aback. “He’s a…you really don’t know who he is?”
“Apparently not.”
“He pioneered the double bypass technique, among other things. He’s, he’s a cardiothoracic god.”
“Fascinating."
“I’m supposed to kill him later.”
Wyatt perks up a bit at that. Erica explains Richard’s connection to Tapley and Tapley’s condition, that the surgery he’s demanding will almost certainly kill the man, and that despite her absolute refusal to wield the scalpel that claims his mentor’s life, Richard’s insistence.
Wyatt follows the story, nods, and lets the silence hang between them. Without realizing it, Erica has relaxed against those damn embroidered pillows.
“Erica,” Wyatt finally pipes up, “You’re leaving out the most important part.”
“What? What part? I’m telling you exactly what happened not even an hour ago.”
“The part where you won’t admit it but you’re absolutely dying, pardon the expression, to do it. To do the surgery. To test your skills. To test your boundaries.”
“What?”
“That’s not a very productive response, Erica.”
Erica narrows her eyes. “I told you, I put my foot down. I said no.”
“Hmm.” Wyatt studies Erica’s expression, the tightness around her eyes, her clenched jaw. The woman was made of determinism. “There can be, don’t you think, a difference between what you insist on, and what you want?”
At that, there’s an angry rap on the door. Erica’s eyes fly to source of the sound.
“Erica?” Wyatt insists. There’s more pounding, and louder. Wyatt telegraphs an apology and stands up to answer. “Let me just send them away.”
***
“So what if you’re right?” Erica recrosses her legs. “So what if I would give my left nut to cut open Walter Tapley? If he died, which he will, my reputation would go down the shitter.”
“Your reputation.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s the worst that could happen?” Wyatt’s casual dismissal of something Erica has spent years to build is infuriating. Hahn sits forward again, channeling all of her frustration in the shrink’s direction.
“You mean, besides a man dying? Losing one of the true giants of the field?”
“It’s what he wants, isn’t it? Tapley doesn’t want to give in and wait to die. He wants to try. And he’s asking for your help.”
“I’m not discussing this anymore. I’ve studied his charts, I’ve made the logical decision. I’m not doing it.”
“The logical decision. Your reputation. Those are very interesting words.”
“Are you calling me a robot, Dr. Wyatt?”
“Erica, I don’t care if you do it or not. Kill Tapley! Don’t kill Tapley! I. Don’t. Care.”
“Then why are we still discussing this?”
“Well.” Wyatt looks so pleased with herself, Erica can’t stand it. “We’re discussing it because you’re the one who moved up your appointment. We could have talked about anything, but you chose to tell me about Tapley. We’re discussing it because you won’t discuss Callie Torres. And lastly, Erica, we’re discussing it because until you give yourself a fucking break, you’re going to keep finding yourself in this exact situation, sitting across from me and doing battle with yourself.”
Erica says nothing.
“I think that’s enough for a morning, don’t you?” Wyatt is unfolding her legs. “Good work today!”
Erica snatches up her coat and pulls it back on. Wyatt stands and smiles as Hahn walks forward. “And eat something, for godssake Erica, you’re too pale.”
“I’m from New England,” Erica clips as she tugs the door handle and strides through, “that’s just the color we are.”
***
Hahn is in her office, and she’s sitting there with her elbows on the table and her charts everywhere, and her hands over her eyes, and she’s crying like a baby. And that’s how Callie finds her.
“Erica!”
Erica hurriedly wipes her eyes and stands, starts restacking her clipboards, trying to conceal the evidence.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
Callie doesn’t know how much she’s allowed to push with Erica, how much she can ask. “It looks like something’s wrong,” she says, softly. Erica stops and captures her eye. How quickly she can right herself, Callie thinks. The only giveaways are the glittery salt tracks drying across her cheeks.
“I saved Walter Tapley’s life today,” Hahn states matter-of-factly. “I didn’t want to, but I did.”
Callie can’t help it, she’s smiling, and then Erica’s smiling, and it’s all right after all. “That’s great,” she says. “That’s wonderful.”
Erica is quiet, she’s looking at Callie, and she knows Callie’s right, and she can see so clearly that the woman standing across from her is honestly relieved. Honestly, deeply relieved. It’s written across her face. I wish, Erica thinks, that I could do that, that I could give myself away with such ease. And she decides, with absolute certainty, the way she likes to decide things, that she will try harder.
"You ready to head out?" Callie asks.
"Definitely."
Author: darsfebruary
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Summary: Hahn has a very busy day.
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy and its characters and locations are the property of ABC and Shonda Rhimes. No copyright infringement intended.
Part 1 here:
http://community.livejournal.com/ga_fanfic/1196249.html#cutid1
Securing her locker, Erica gives a cursory glance about the changing room. There’s one of the bouncy young things from her class and an older woman with her swimsuit around her hips, toweling off after her early morning laps. Erica’s noticed her before - there aren’t too many regulars at this time of day. The woman catches Erica’s eye and turns tighter into the row of lockers for modesty. “Oh please, lady,” Hahn thinks, but instead of cracking smart about having seen better, she tosses a “Good morning” in the woman’s direction as she heads out. That’s one less strike against her.
Whereas her tenure at Mercy had been a steady test of endurance, an opportunity to craft and improve upon her surgical technique and not much more, the past few months at Seattle Grace have ratcheted up her compulsions. She’s been lashing out in inappropriate ways, helpless to stop herself. She’s been downright cruel to Yang. And after trying to make peace with the brown-nosing resident and being left with nothing but silence and a sour taste in her mouth, she understands she’s doing permanent damage. To herself, and to others. Doctors, she chides herself, are meant to heal, not to harm.
Pushing into the lightening Seattle mist, Hahn realizes that she knows what to do. Anything, she decides, is better than this crippling inaction. She scrolls through her cell phone directory and finds the name she needs. She punches ‘call’ and waits for the inevitable kick to voicemail.
“Dr. Wyatt,” she intones in her steady professional voice, “this is Erica Hahn. I’d like to move up my appointment. Are you free at all this morning? Please let me know at the number on file.” She hangs up and looks around. Across the street and a few buildings down, a clique of bleary-eyed interns are pushing exhaustedly through the rotating doors of the hospital. She adjusts her purse on her shoulder and starts walking. She fills her lungs. Her heart steadies itself. It helps a little bit, that gesture. Reaching out. It’s a new sensation that makes her, perhaps undeservedly, hopeful.
***
Erica shrugs off her lab coat and lays it over the back of Dr. Wyatt’s hideous couch. She isn’t quite comfortable here yet, and sits back against the cushions stiffly.
“Erica,” Wyatt greets her, settling nimbly into her own chair opposite, “I’m pleased you called.”
“I can’t quite believe I got away. Walter Tapley’s here.”
Wyatt looks blankly across. “Who?”
“Walter Tapley.” Nothing. Erica’s taken aback. “He’s a…you really don’t know who he is?”
“Apparently not.”
“He pioneered the double bypass technique, among other things. He’s, he’s a cardiothoracic god.”
“Fascinating."
“I’m supposed to kill him later.”
Wyatt perks up a bit at that. Erica explains Richard’s connection to Tapley and Tapley’s condition, that the surgery he’s demanding will almost certainly kill the man, and that despite her absolute refusal to wield the scalpel that claims his mentor’s life, Richard’s insistence.
Wyatt follows the story, nods, and lets the silence hang between them. Without realizing it, Erica has relaxed against those damn embroidered pillows.
“Erica,” Wyatt finally pipes up, “You’re leaving out the most important part.”
“What? What part? I’m telling you exactly what happened not even an hour ago.”
“The part where you won’t admit it but you’re absolutely dying, pardon the expression, to do it. To do the surgery. To test your skills. To test your boundaries.”
“What?”
“That’s not a very productive response, Erica.”
Erica narrows her eyes. “I told you, I put my foot down. I said no.”
“Hmm.” Wyatt studies Erica’s expression, the tightness around her eyes, her clenched jaw. The woman was made of determinism. “There can be, don’t you think, a difference between what you insist on, and what you want?”
At that, there’s an angry rap on the door. Erica’s eyes fly to source of the sound.
“Erica?” Wyatt insists. There’s more pounding, and louder. Wyatt telegraphs an apology and stands up to answer. “Let me just send them away.”
***
“So what if you’re right?” Erica recrosses her legs. “So what if I would give my left nut to cut open Walter Tapley? If he died, which he will, my reputation would go down the shitter.”
“Your reputation.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s the worst that could happen?” Wyatt’s casual dismissal of something Erica has spent years to build is infuriating. Hahn sits forward again, channeling all of her frustration in the shrink’s direction.
“You mean, besides a man dying? Losing one of the true giants of the field?”
“It’s what he wants, isn’t it? Tapley doesn’t want to give in and wait to die. He wants to try. And he’s asking for your help.”
“I’m not discussing this anymore. I’ve studied his charts, I’ve made the logical decision. I’m not doing it.”
“The logical decision. Your reputation. Those are very interesting words.”
“Are you calling me a robot, Dr. Wyatt?”
“Erica, I don’t care if you do it or not. Kill Tapley! Don’t kill Tapley! I. Don’t. Care.”
“Then why are we still discussing this?”
“Well.” Wyatt looks so pleased with herself, Erica can’t stand it. “We’re discussing it because you’re the one who moved up your appointment. We could have talked about anything, but you chose to tell me about Tapley. We’re discussing it because you won’t discuss Callie Torres. And lastly, Erica, we’re discussing it because until you give yourself a fucking break, you’re going to keep finding yourself in this exact situation, sitting across from me and doing battle with yourself.”
Erica says nothing.
“I think that’s enough for a morning, don’t you?” Wyatt is unfolding her legs. “Good work today!”
Erica snatches up her coat and pulls it back on. Wyatt stands and smiles as Hahn walks forward. “And eat something, for godssake Erica, you’re too pale.”
“I’m from New England,” Erica clips as she tugs the door handle and strides through, “that’s just the color we are.”
***
Hahn is in her office, and she’s sitting there with her elbows on the table and her charts everywhere, and her hands over her eyes, and she’s crying like a baby. And that’s how Callie finds her.
“Erica!”
Erica hurriedly wipes her eyes and stands, starts restacking her clipboards, trying to conceal the evidence.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
Callie doesn’t know how much she’s allowed to push with Erica, how much she can ask. “It looks like something’s wrong,” she says, softly. Erica stops and captures her eye. How quickly she can right herself, Callie thinks. The only giveaways are the glittery salt tracks drying across her cheeks.
“I saved Walter Tapley’s life today,” Hahn states matter-of-factly. “I didn’t want to, but I did.”
Callie can’t help it, she’s smiling, and then Erica’s smiling, and it’s all right after all. “That’s great,” she says. “That’s wonderful.”
Erica is quiet, she’s looking at Callie, and she knows Callie’s right, and she can see so clearly that the woman standing across from her is honestly relieved. Honestly, deeply relieved. It’s written across her face. I wish, Erica thinks, that I could do that, that I could give myself away with such ease. And she decides, with absolute certainty, the way she likes to decide things, that she will try harder.
"You ready to head out?" Callie asks.
"Definitely."