𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 ━━ 𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐝

thirty nine | dancing

I'm awoken by the sight of Meredith and Cristina prancing around my bedroom to whatever the radio is playing at six in the morning.

"Starting the day off with a little bit of dancing, huh?"

"Complaining?"

"More like agreeing."

The early dance session quickly turns into a different kind of session that prompts an empty closet, a locked door, and no clothes.

Derek hooks his fingers around my waist band. "You do want to date. . .don't you?"

"I still wanted to date you even after you broke up with me." I fix the collar of his scrub. "Which was completely uncalled for, by the way, because —"

And to cut me off, the attending now dressed and ready for the day plants a gentle kiss on my lips, smiling into it when I return the touch.

". . .kissing doesn't solve all problems."

"It seems to shut you up every — hey!"

"And hitting you shuts you up."

As I grab the last of my things, I look back at him one last time. That same shit-eating grin I'd fallen for appears on his face, and for once. . .all is right.

Until one ambulance crashes into another in the ambulance bay. I swing open the back door of the upright vehicle.

"Everyone okay in here?"

"No. . ." The single paramedic in the back grunts. "But I'm not as bad off as this guy. He started coding after we picked him up. Mary had some kind of seizure."

Torres moves to the front of the vehicle to check on the driver, Mary, while I tend to the victim.

"No pulse. I'll have the coroner come up here." My tongue clicks against my teeth. "Okay, sir, I need to check your injuries."

But he pushes me away. "N-No. Is she dead?"

"No, but she looks postictal. She's also got a bad elbow dislocation and a weak pulse."

"She was driving, she was talking to me. She just started convulsing, and then we slammed into that other rig."

"Can you move?"

"Yeah."

When I go to wrap the collar around his neck, the paramedic bats my hands away. I shoot him a stern look.

"My c-spine's clear. I can walk."

"Alright, tell me where you're injured."

"My gut. Upper abdomen." He clutches the rails to climb down. "Listen, I know this is gonna sound weird, but do you think you could get me a. . .guy doctor?"

A couple nurses wheel him off on a gurney. Closed off in a curtain area, the paramedic, Shane, still refuses to let me assess him as he writhes in pain.

"You're gonna have to let me examine you if you wanna start feeling better."

"I can wait. I'll. . .wait for a guy."

"Okay, so you're shy. That's fine. You can't be shy if you want to feel better."

"No. . .do n-not touch me."

"For the love of all that is good, just let me —"

"Dr. Phoenix."

The curtain swings open to reveal Dr. Bailey, the newly appointed chief resident after Torres' fiasco in the position.

She pulls me to the foot of the bed. "You have an emergent situation?"

"The S.O.B. wants a male doctor." I mutter to her aggressively. "Apparently, my hands are too feminine for him."