𝔱𝔢𝔫 (𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔱𝔴𝔬)

ᴀ/ɴ - ʙɪɢ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ sᴏᴏɴ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ, ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪ'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀs ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴅᴅ sᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴊᴀᴄᴋsᴏɴ ᴡᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ɪᴛ.

ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴛᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴏʟғ, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ɢᴏ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴏᴋ 'ʟᴇᴛ ɢᴏ', ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ ɪs ᴜᴘ ɴᴏᴡ!

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ, ɪᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴs ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. sᴛᴀʏ sᴀғᴇ!

"I heard you were looking for me?" I ambled to the bedside of an ICU patient where Alex stood, setting up the young boy's IV.

"What? Oh yeah, Arizona-"

"Is there a reason our son is in ICU?" An enraged man entered the room with his wife.

"Did you figure out what's wrong?"

"Uh, not exactly," Alex replied.

"Why does he have a tube in his chest?" The boy's mother examined her son from afar. "You said you were doing abdominal surgery."

"Brad became briefly unstable in surgery, so we had to put on a central line. Well, it's got a little kink, so his lung, it started-"

"Alex," I tapped his shoulder, my sudden need to stare at the floor being of use as Brad's chest tube went from clear to red.

"It's George! It's George! John Doe is George!"

"We have you, O'Malley. You hear me? We have you. We'll fix this. Just stay with us. "

"You're not going anywhere. You understand me?"

"Hang on. Are you saying you cut into our son for nothing and caused more damage?"

"Blood!" I breathed again. "That's a lot of blood."

"What? Oh, my god," Alex immediately tended to the patient while I stumbled backwards and slammed the button on the wall.

"Okay, get a chest tray and some gloves."

"He's already put out..." my vision blurred at the sight, but I quickly recovered. "700...cc's of blood."

"Damn it, O'Malley. Come on. Live. Just live."

"He's hemorrhaging into his brain stem."

"Is it too late for steroids?"

"What's going on?" His father demanded.

"You need to leave, now!"

"Like hell we're leaving."

"Somebody tell us what's going on," the mother pleaded.

"You need to give us some space," I soothed, stepping in between them and their son's bed.

"He's crashing, page cardio and Robbins," Alex threw on a sanitary gown. "We can't wait for cardio. Crap!"

"What the hell is going on?"

"I need to open him up," I raced over to bedside opposite of Alex. "Scalpel."

"Get away from our son!"

"He's trying to help your son," I replied, my eyes set on the blade as Alex cut into his chest.

"He's herniating."

"George? Oh god. George!"

"There, I think I got it," Alex sighed, and quickly after, Dr. Altman appeared from behind me, releasing me of my suction duties as I stepped aside.

"Let me in, what happened."

"He put out more than 2 liters of blood in the last five minutes, but I think I found the source, 'cause the bleeding started to calm down.

"All right. Jump on. We're moving to the OR," Dr. Altman ordered.

  Alex pushed himself onto the hospital bed and the cardio goddess, along with a group of nurses, raced them down the hall.

  My eyes wandered down to my bloodied gloves, leaving me with an unfamiliar nauseous feeling in my stomach as clear droplets fell onto the latex gloves. I took a breath as I pulled the gloves off, throwing them in the waste bin, along with the sanitary gown that was tied around my waist.

"Don't stop. Why did you stop?" Autumn breathed her tears back as she gripped George's mangled hand.

The room was silent other than the constant noise of the monitor that Autumn had drowned out and the start of Callie's hyperventilating.

"You have to live, George...you're going to be a trauma surgeon...George? You have to get better...so-so we can eat pancakes and...we can have parties-and we'll eat all the mint chocolate chip ice cream you want. Okay? George?"

"Anybody know if he's a donor?"

I sauntered into the empty resident's lounge, unsurprised at the colorful birthday decorations making a mess of the cubby assigned to my name. My smile was temporary as I glanced at George's old locker space. I let out a breath of air, sliding my hands down my thighs as I sat down on the bench in front of my locker.

"Knock, knock."

  I turned with a bright smile as Arizona stood in the doorframe of the lounge.

"I have to assume you're responsible for this?" I accused.

"Oh yeah," she nodded playfully with furrowed brows. "Every year."

"I was just getting ready to head out," Arizona added. "You wanna' grab a drink at Joe's? We can have everyone meet us there-"

"Actually I think I'm just going to head home," I nodded with my most convincing smile as I stood slowly and made my way to the middle of the room. "My sleep's been messed up since Christmas."

"Well you have to do something," Arizona pleaded. "You can't go to bed early on your birthday...it's like, an unwritten rule."

"Really, Arizona. It's alright. We can do something this weekend."

"Well, why don't Callie, Mark and I just come over for a few minutes?" Arizona's face was bright. "I got you a cake. It was supposed to be a surpri-"

"I don't want a stupid cake!"

The outburst was sudden, and unexpected by the both of us. I breathed in a gasp as Arizona watched me in horror.

I ran my hands through my hair anxiously. "I—uh... oh—I'm—I-I'm sor- I'm sorry-"

Arizona watched me cautiously with a clenched jaw. "Autumn...are you all right?"

I nodded with sucked in cheeks. "I'm sorry, Arizona...I'm sorry. I'm just tired."

"Do you want me to take you home?"

I shook my head. "No. No, I'm good."

Grabbing my home clothes from my cubby as Arizona left the room, I threw them on and grabbed my purse, along with the gifts that were left in my locker by my friends.

  While Lexie was convinced George was safe and well, others weren't. Though, Autumn was neither; at that point in the day her brain was on autopilot.

  As the group of residents and attendings stood outside unconfirmed George's hospital room, Autumn laid on the bench behind them as they spoke.

"He wrote in my hand."

"What does that mean?"

"In your hand?"

"With a pen?"

"What did he do?"

"No, he grabbed my hand and he squeezed it, and he wrote with his finger."

"He wrote with his finger?" Derek clarified.

"You know, in my hand. He wrote, '007'."

"Well, give-" Dr. Bailey grabbed Meredith's hand forcefully, making circles and lines on her palm. "Okay, what'd I write?"

"Joe?"

"N-no! No, I did not write 'Joe'!"

"Are you serious."

"Did anyone try and call O'Malley?" Dr. Webber asked loudly. "Can we get him on the phone?"

  As everyone frantically took out their cells, Meredith continued. "I'm telling you, he squeezed my hand."

"Just sh-shut it. You don't get to talk anymore," Bailey held up her hand. "You don't get to talk ever again."

"I could've sworn it was George."

"He's not answering."

"He has a freckle on his right hand," Callie spoke up. "It's shaped like Texas. I used to tease him about it...I'll check."

  Callie made her way to the now renamed John Doe's bedside, perking Autumn's interest, giving her the smallest bit of hope, but only enough to sit her head up.

  Autumn watched Callie hold George's hand as her heart broke all over again, which broke her's even more.

  A couple stray tears fell from Autumn's face as her head hit the bench below her.

Bolting for the exit, not even the sound of my name stopped me. Though when a blue eyed resident slid in front of me, I had no choice but to stop and put on a brave face.

"You look like you could use some help," he offered.

"I can handle a few bags," I hummed with a smile, taking a step, eager to get by.

"You sure?" he questioned, cockily furrowing his brows as the small stack of cards fell from my arms.

"Yeah," I struggled to move the bags all to one side as I squatted to the ground, though, Jackson beat me to it. "I got it."

  Slowly standing up, I watched as Jackson examined the front and back of the unopened cards with my name on them. His blue eyes glanced down at the bags in my arms that had the words 'happy birthday' on almost every single one.

"Huh," Jackson fanned himself with the only card I had decided to open tonight, scared they might get worse.

     I didn't really                           you want a little
     know what to                    icing for that cake, you
     get you but if                   know where to find me ;)

"Guess my invitation got lost in the mail," Jackson furrowed his brows, tucking the cards in one of the tipping bags.

"There was no," I shifted my stance to better my support. "Party."

"Oh, so these presents," he grabbed the two large bags from my arms, leaving me with a small one and my purse. "And cards with your name on it are just..."

  Jackson began for the exit.

"A formality," I joked with a serious nod and expression as we exited the large hospital and were met with a cool breeze.

"A formality, huh?" He chuckled.

"Oh yeah," I nodded with a grin, my heels tapping against the concrete as I neared my car door. As the Station Wagon unlocked, I motioned for Jackson to set the bags in the back of the car.

"So when is the party?" He pried.

"Like I said, there is no party," I watched his taller figure from the other side of the car. "If plans change, I'll hand deliver your invitation myself. Thank you for the help." I half smiled, pulling open my car door.

"Happy Birthday."

Autumn made her way into the living area, once belonging to Ellis Grey, with two tubs of ice cream and two spoons hanging from her mouth, in hopes to cheer up her friend.

"Mmm," Autumn leaned her head towards George's, gesturing for him to take his spoon, as her hands were full with their dessert.

"That's-that's unsanitary-" George's nose scrunched as he shook his head.

"Oh, wipe it off," Autumn replied, setting George's container of ice cream down in front of him. "Mint choc-olate chip," she clicked her tongue with a gag.

"I don't appreciate your tone."

"Shh! Enough talking. Time to wallow in our self-pity and eat this ice cream before Meredith and Izzie get home because I didn't get them any."

"Why? What's your problem?" George laid his head on the back of the couch, Autumn mocked his actions. "Did you get syphilis too?"

  Autumn couldn't help but giggle.

Sulking into the quiet apartment, I tossed my purse on the hard wood floor next to the door, along with the presents from my friends and co-workers.

With a convenience store grocery bag swinging in my hand as I made my way to the kitchen, I pulled an inappropriate sized spoon out of the sliding drawer and sauntered over to the sofa.

Can you deny
that you're in denial?
Is that a thing?

  I plopped down on the padded couch with a quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream in my cold hands and tossed the lid on the coffee table that I kicked my legs up on.

How do you find your way out of denial
when you don't even know you're in it?

As I scooped out a bite too big for my mouth, I glanced back over at the counter, my eyes stopping on a chocolate cake with a pack of candles beside it.

What if you never make it
to stage three
or four.

With a sigh, I shoved the ice cream in my mouth with a blank expression.

"It's not good, George. It's disgusting," I spoke aloud, taking another bite, this time with a disgruntled look.

What if you never make it past the first one?

"IT'S NOT GOOD."