Title: "Two By Two"
Fandom: General Hospital/Grey's Anatomy
Rating/Classification: SAC/adult for language, crossover, various 'ships/gen.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of either show.
Summary: Alright, so this is mostly just a chance for Robin and Patrick to mock Meh and Derek with a side of 'shipper developments.
She looked over the faxed pages for the thousandth time, even though she nearly had them memorized. Her eyes were growing blurry and she desperately wanted an in-flight cocktail but had to resist. She'd taken her protocol before leaving for the airport, lining up the rows of pills and choking them down like a pro. And even though she wasn't piloting the plane, adding vodka with a twist of lime to the mix was a bad idea.
So, she had to survive almost five hours on a plane completely awake and painfully sober. Then she was being met by a car service and taken straight to Seattle Grace. No down time. No cushion. Get in, do the consult, get out. Normally just the way she liked it.
But since when was anything normal for her anymore?
Robin stared out the window, at the clouds and the impossibly bright sky.
She looked anywhere but at the man slumped in the seat beside her, his nose buried in the New England Journal of Medicine.
He was having a cocktail. Of course. Johnnie Walker Black and soda.
*He* was apparently having no problems with this trip at all.
He turned a page. Loudly. With a crinkle. She knew he was grinning, the dimples in his cheeks arrogantly gorgeous, and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing she noticed.
"You're not afraid of flying are you, Robin?" he wondered, smugly.
"Please!" she snorted, taking a sip of her Sprite. "I was traveling the world when you were still wearing Superman underoos."
"Then you're still mad that I'm coming along for this consult, aren't you?" he concluded, lowering the Journal onto his tray.
She finally turned to look at him, and it was kind of like staring directly at the sun and risking blindness. Patrick was just that ungodly good-looking. And didn't he know it, too? "They have a top notch neurosurgeon on staff. This is supposed to be a consult about my drug regimen so, yes, I don't see why you had to come along, too. It undermines my authority. I don't need you to hold my hand."
Patrick stared at her for a long moment and then he leaned in to brush a few strands of hair from her face. "You ever think, maybe, that I *want* to hold your hand? That I just wanted some alone time with you, Dr. Scorpio? Away from killer viruses and our fathers and good old Port Charles?"
She arched an eyebrow. "Frankly? No."
"Pity. 'Cause it's true," he chuckled, staring at her mouth until she was forced to find refuge out the window again. "And by the way?" he murmured, tantalizing and seductive against her ear. "I'm wearing Superman underoos right now.
Seattle Grace Hospital was really well lit. That was an inane thought to have as they strode from the elevator into the primary surgical wing, but she was envious. Port Charles GH always looked on the verge of a power failure, like it was running on backup generators. And if the floors themselves were this bright ...imagining the ORs almost made her moan in ecstasy.
She was keeping any and all moans to a minimum as long as God's Gift to Women and Neurosurgery, Patrick Drake, was around.
She set the pace, walking briskly as he lagged behind, probably ogling the nurses and interns. A harried looking RN was manning the books at the nurses' station and Robin made a beeline for her, preparing to ask for Dr. Shepherd to be paged...when a man in a white labcoat and scrubs stepped into her path.
Nearly as tall as Patrick and equally good-looking, in that meathead fraternity boy kind of way, he flashed her a dazzling smile. "Are you lost, Little Girl?"
The ID badge hanging haphazardly off his breast pocket heralded him "Karev, Alex. Surgical intern." Oh, lovely. Robin actually found herself smiling back at him. She'd been getting this since undergrad... and after the millionth joke about standing on apple boxes or coming in for Take Your Daughter to Work Day, she was more than prepared to dish it back.
"I'm not lost," she assured, in her haughtiest, stick-up-her-ass, voice. "I'm Dr. Robin Scorpio and my credentials are, I assure you, more extensive than your ego."
Karev's dazzle dimmed and he choked. "Oh. Um. I'm sorry!" It was amusing to watch him backtrack as he looked at her again and noted that looking like the girl on the Little Debbie snack cake boxes was balanced with a very grown up business suit and a medical bag. "Can I...uh...find somebody for you?"
"Maybe you should concentrate on extracting your foot from your mouth first," A tall, curvaceous blonde twinkled over his shoulder, whacking him with a file folder. She reached around him, extending her hand. "Hi. I'm Isabel Stevens. People call me 'Izzie.' I'm one of the more tactful interns."
"And more beautiful, too, I see."
Oh. Great. Patrick had caught up. And right on schedule, too. His palms were warm against her shoulders and although Dr. Stevens seemed like a nice young woman, Robin was suddenly struck with the uncharitable urge to beat her very tall blond Amazon personage with a blunt object.
Isabel rolled her eyes, letting go of Robin's hand. "I see you have an arrogant womanizer of your own."
She took the blunt object thoughts back, trading a laugh with the other woman as the men stared at them in abject horror. "I asked for an oozing rash," she confided. "They were fresh out."
"Do you ever stop?" she scowled at Patrick, once Karev had followed his colleague, trying to make apologies and gesturing emphatically.
"Are you questioning my stamina, Robin? Because I can give you a demonstration any time you like." He waggled his eyebrows lewdly, patting his pockets for the Altoid gum she knew she couldn't live without.
"Why are you here again?" she wondered, pulling the small metal container out of the side pocket of his sports jacket and handing it to him.
"Airplane peanuts and quality time with the woman I love."
His breath was a burst of peppermint...and maybe a dash of truth.
And she kept on walking before she choked on it.
Did every doctor in this hospital come paired two by two? Robin knew that it was ludicrous to make that judgment call...especially when she'd come with her own carry-on baggage full of romantic and professional entanglements...but when it came to meeting the indomitable, famous, hotshot Derek Shepherd face to face, it was the first and most obvious diagnosis.
Because he had his own intern shadow. Blond-ish, vaguely long-suffering-ish. Basically a whole lot of "ish." How did he get any work done?
Patrick elbowed her in the ribs, actually more in the collarbone region, and she hoped and prayed he wasn't checking Dr. Shepherd's shadow out. If he was, they were officially over. Kaput. Pull the plug and DNR.
"Ah, Dr. Scorpio. Dr. Drake." Shepherd beamed, politely, shaking both of their hands. "This is Dr. Grey, one of our interns. She'll be assisting."
"Assisting." Is that what the kids were calling it these days?
Patrick elbowed her again and she obligingly shook Dr. Grey's hand. She could be nice. She could be professional. Look how well she was doing with Patrick.
Alright, so that wasn't the best example.
Niceties over and done with, Robin flipped open the charts. She could feel Patrick reading over her shoulder, standing entirely too close. He smelled like mint and aftershave. Drs. Shepherd and Grey probably assumed exactly what she'd assumed about them. Of course, they'd be wrong.
She wasn't sleeping with her colleague.
The price was way too high.
"Have you seen the consultings?" Izzie hopped up on the gurney, where Cristina was hunched over a stack of charts and hoarding a stash of Yoo-Hoo and Snickers. "I hear they're in for the night. Maybe tomorrow."
"McDimples?" Cristina quizzed, without missing a single notation. "Saw him on the way in."
"Oh, good one." Izzie nodded her approval. "I hear he and Dr. Scorpio helped fight off an encephalitis epidemic that quarantined their entire hospital last month."
"Overachievers," Cristina laughed, shortly. "You're making that up."
"I am not. Honest!" Izzie raised her hands and then snaked a bottle of Yoo-Hoo while Cristina was otherwise occupied. "George pinned a write-up about it onto the fridge a couple of days ago."
"Why can't we have encephalitis?" George wondered, sauntering in and dropping into the wheelchair that had begun to double as his Barcolounger. "I bet we'd be good at encephalitis."
"We had a bomb," Cristina pointed out. "Trumps it."
"Besides, it's non-operable," Izzie added, taking a long gulp of chocolate drink, effectively tainting it with backwash so Cristina couldn't have it back. "We wouldn't see much action."
The others murmured agreement, ruefully. Yeah, they had their own brand of excitement at home sweet Seattle Grace.
"I don't think the consults like me." Meredith made this announcement from the doorway, leaning her forehead against the wall and sighing heavily. "I think they can tell I slept with McDreamy. Can you tell things like that? Is it that obvious?"
"Were you standing next to him?" Cristina wondered. At Meredith's tired nod, she confirmed, "Yeah, then it's obvious. You get this...Look."
"What look?" She scoffed, skeptically, coming in to grab a Snickers bar from the dwindling stash.
"That look." Izzie pointed at George, who was looking bitterly and somewhat waifishly at Meredith. Kind of like the kids in the Sally Struthers commercials.
"Thanks, Izzie," he grumbled, wincing and rolling backward.
"Well, it's true!" Intern solidarity or not, facts were facts. George and Meredith had made the beast with two backs and neither Izzie nor Cristina was going to let them forget it any time soon.
It was all about the shared trauma. At least it was whenever they had the spare minutes for it.
Candy appropriated, Meredith headed back to her rounds. Izzie quickly departed with her Yoo-Hoo. Which left George wheeling around as Cristina simply glared at him.
"What?" he demanded, defensively.
"Get over it, George," she warned. "Doctor's orders."
He watched her work, noting with an immeasurable excess of pride that she was in her element. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled as she explained the dosing procedures to Dr. Shepherd. The last time he'd seen that flush, that glitter, she'd been feverish, on the verge of death. But this...this was Robin on the verge of life.
Hell, even Shepherd noticed. He kept staring down at her like she was the Holy Grail of Neurology and the Second Coming of Florence Nightingale packed into one tiny package. And if he kept looking at her that way, Patrick was going to have to punch him.
You have your own medical munchkin, he thought, darkly. Lay the fuck off of mine.
He hadn't fought for her to live, holding vigil by her bedside, and chased her across the country only to lose her to some smarmy Guy Smiley knockoff with overrated hair.
Yes, Dr. Stevens was undoubtedly gorgeous and even Dr. Grey had something moderately appealing about her -- probably the desperation -- but aside from the fact that flirting came as naturally to him as breathing, he'd only noticed them because it pissed Robin off. And pissing her off meant she acknowledged him, meant she *felt* something for him, and got her that much closer to admitting it.
Didn't she get it?
He didn't want to undermine her authority.
Just her defenses.
Robin checked the patient's IV, making sure the needle wasn't causing undue irritation. Much like Jason's case, like Manny Ruiz's case, Caitlin Williams had experienced a severe personality shift. She'd gone from being a sweet, vivacious, cellist in a youth symphony to a moody, violent loner with no interest in music whatsoever. Now, there was extensive pressure and fluid build-up in her brain that, if not reduced, would lead to clinical brain death. Dr. Shepherd was hoping that surgery was a last resort and she didn't blame him one bit. For her, surgery was always a last resort.
Dr. Grey was watching her. So intently that it was actually kind of annoying. The intern had been watching her like this for the last two hours, cataloging her every move. She was beginning to feel like an animal at the zoo.
"Can I help you, Dr. Grey?" she asked, politely, tucking Caitlin's chart back into the slot at the foot of her bed.
The younger -- and unfortunately not shorter -- woman blew at a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes, looking pinched and depressed. "You don't like me, do you, Dr. Scorpio?"
"I'm not here to like you, Doctor. I'm here to treat a patient," she pointed out, dryly. "I'll be back in New York tomorrow and my like or dislike of you will be completely irrelevant to how you live your life."
"You're right. I don't...and, to be honest, it's not exactly my priority right now." And what she couldn't fathom was why it was Dr. Grey's. What did being liked by a visiting physician matter in the grand scheme of things? Was Meredith one of those people who had to have everybody's adoration just to feel worthy? Just to *smile*?
Oh, God. Was this how people at GH viewed *her*? Robin made an immediate note to smile more often and to quit acting quite so much like the world owed her something. Even though it did.
"I don't need to be judged, Dr. Scorpio," Dr. Grey snapped, bitchily...and Robin blinked. Where had she been judging her? Aside from the initial judging in the hallway earlier, of course. "I resent the implications that you're...implying!"
Robin had been on her way out the door but she paused on the threshold, turning to stare at the woman like she'd grown two heads. "I'm not implying anything. If you want to sleep with your attending physician, that's your business. Frankly, I have plenty of other things to worry about." She exhaled, sharply, raising one hand to stop what was probably an immediate protest. "I'm sure your life is terrible and I don't understand you and you can *feel* me judging you unfairly, but my father just came back from the dead after 15 years in deep cover with the government, I just recovered from encephalitis, I have HIV, and the man I'm falling in love with wants to have wild sex with me despite the fact that he could contract it, too. I think I'm full up on 'implications,' Dr. Grey."
The rant left her breathless...and the other lucid occupant of the room thankfully silent.
She waited a few moments for a response and, finding none, turned to leave the room.
Only the doorway was now blocked.
Who, judging by the pained expression on his face, had heard every word.
He reached for her. "Robin..."
For once, Robin was glad she was so short. She ducked under his arm and fled.
Meredith was whistling as she plopped onto the gurney next to Cristina...who had replaced her Yoo-Hoo supply with a venti caramel macchiato from Starbucks -- and God help anyone who tried to steal it. "Why are you so damned happy all of a sudden?" Cristina wondered, automatically suspicious. "It's not natural."
"Perspective!" Meredith sighed, airily. "I was just reminded that there are people whose lives suck worse than mine."
"You work in a hospital. I would think you're reminded of that on a daily basis."
"Stop sounding so smug and superior," Meredith pouted, making a play for the coffee and getting rewarded with a smacked hand. "Ow!"
"I can't. I was born this way. Besides, Burke thinks it's sexy." Cristina grinned.
Meredith shuddered. "Why do you get no grief about him, huh? Why do I get all the pointing and the looking and the assuming? It's not fair!"
"You're kidding, right?" Cristina lowered the chart she was flipping through. "You really want to talk fair? Aside from the fact that my attending isn't married, wasn't sneaking around with me, and would probably break up with me if I ever labeled him a 'Mc' anything, I only have one ovary and one fallopian tube. How's that for fair?"
"Well. You certainly didn't lose the PMS." Meredith noted.
Cristina slide off the gurney, gathering up the charts and grabbing her Starbucks. "Maybe you forgot this, Meredith...but you know what you lost? Friends."
It was probably a breach of etiquette to hide in other people's on-call rooms, but Robin was far too frazzled to think about propriety. She slammed into the small room, throwing herself onto the nearest bunk and burying her face in the hospital-issue pillow in the hopes that it would suffocate the mortification right out of her.
Not only had she vented oh-so-unprofessionally at some fourth-rate intern she would forget about tomorrow, but she'd done it while Patrick listened.
And how was she supposed to handle that?
Robin prided herself on her control and she'd blown it. Maybe she could blame Seattle, with its rain and gloom and aura of emo rock.
The door inched open and she groaned. Great, so she'd forgotten to lock it. Chalk up one more inadequacy. Patrick didn't copy her mistake. He flipped the lock before leaning on the closed door.
"You want to tell me what that was about?" he asked, softly. Good Lord, but when had he developed a bedside manner?
"No." Except it was muffled against the pillow, so it came out, "Nphhno."
The bunk sank with his weight and she felt his hand in her hair, firm and strong. Had she imagined him touching her this way while she was sick? "How is it that you can admit how you feel to a total stranger but not to me? I don't get you, Robin. You preach compassion and understanding and empathy but you're totally shut down."
She raised her head just enough to scowl. "So, I should be like you? So open that it practically violates prostitution laws?"
"No. You should let me *risk* you." He grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "You're not the only one falling here," he reminded, gently. "And I'm not some naive teenager or a brain-damaged mobster. I understand the implications of HIV. I understand *you*. You can't run from that forever."
"I can if it keeps you safe!" she cried before she could stop herself.
"You're a piece of work, Dr. Scorpio," he laughed, tenderly. "Who ever said I wanted to be safe?"
It was probably a breach of etiquette to kiss in other people's on-call rooms, but when Patrick lowered his mouth to hers, Robin didn't much care.
"Don't look now, but I think Dr. McDimples and Dr. Scorpio kissed and made up." Izzie slapped down Mr. Henderson's chart from 612, watching the two guest doctors emerge from one of the on-call rooms.
"Were they in a fight?" George wondered, furrowing his brows.
"Does it matter?" she chuckled, impishly. She eyed the pair critically, noting, with some bit of envy, how they managed to look perfect together despite the height difference, how they walked at the same exact pace, and how they each shot death glares at whoever happened to be checking out their partner.
They were...comfortable. No, no that was too simple.
"Why are you smiling like that, Iz? It makes me nervous."
She leaned back against the desk, shaking her head. "I was just thinking...those two could probably take over the world."
February 27, 2006.