S3 EP15, 16 & 17

[CW: blood, description of injuries, slight PTSD]

"TIMOTHY, WIPE THAT bloody look off your face," Norah snarled.

"Your fridge is fucking depressing," Timothy complained as he stared at the contents of the refrigerator, horrified. "Don't you ever go grocery shopping?"

"I'm a surgical intern, you sod. I quite literally eat hospital food for a living."

He took out the few ingredients from the fridge and laid them on the kitchen island while Norah watched him from the living room couch. "Well, I think I can muster something up," he said.

"Go for it."

❦ ❦ ❦

"I LIKE HAVING COMPANY. It keeps this place less quiet," Norah stated, "Hey, you should visit more often, you know? You're welcome to stay here anytime you want."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind," Timothy grinned. "You know, the first thing I noticed when I arrived in Seattle is the ferryboats," he spoke up from the kitchen as he washed the few utensils in the sink; Norah cocked a brow at him.

"We should take a trip," he suggested, "I bet you've never been on one either."

"Ferryboat?"

"Mm-hmm," he lifted his head to his sister, who was flipping through a medical journal. "Come on, Nor, how often do you get days off?"

Norah turned to him and thought dramatically, "Every time I got shot, a bomb goes off, or punched a co-worker in the face, apparently."

"That took quite a turn..." Timothy narrowed his eyes at her. "So, ferryboat, tomorrow?" he asked; he could see that she was hesitating, and he let out a sigh. "I'll pay."

"Oh, in that case, absolutely, then."

The doorbell rang, and the siblings turned their heads to the door.

Norah shrugged at her brother before she walked over and peeked through the peephole, then twisting the doorknob open; Cristina pushed through her and immediately slumped onto the couch, groaning loudly.

"You cannot believe my day-" she cut herself off when she saw an unfamiliar man standing there, smiling politely back at her. "Norah, why is there a man in your kitchen?"

"That's my brother, Timothy," she introduced as she closed the door of her apartment. "Tim, Cristina Yang, fellow intern from Seattle Grace." He gave her a wave and a notably awkward smile.

"Oh, he's cute and tall," Cristina commented. "What does he do?"

"He," Timothy spoke up, "is in his last year in med school."

"And smart," Cristina added. Norah rounded to the kitchen, where he had bent down and removed a smoking tray from the oven-the aroma that filled the house made her hungry.

"How'd you managed to bake that?" she questioned, clearly impressed with her brother's dinner; Timothy gave her a smug wink. The lasagna was quite a surprise to muster, considering the depressing amount of ingredients she had in her fridge.

"And he cooks!" Cristina added in awe. "Wow, where do you buy one of them?"

"Adoption centre, apparently," Norah shrugged.

"Similar to taking your pick with dogs in animal shelters," Timothy added.

Cristina was amused. "Does dark humour come with the package, too?"

"Along with trauma as a free gift," he smirked. "Will you be staying? I'll get out an extra plate."

"Oh, yes. Yes, please," Cristina nodded and leapt off the couch, "I love lasagna."

❦ ❦ ❦

THE WIND WAS MILD IN THE chilly morning, the air fresh and the sea clear, though there was a layer of fog covering the distance view.

Norah stood next to Timothy as they both leaned against the railing on the top deck of the ferryboat. The siblings pointed out fishermen boats and shapes of clouds as though they were little kids lying at the playground again.

"I think I'm starting to like it here," Timothy said, and Norah snickered.

"You hate the West Coast," she recalled.

"True," he shrugged as he walked back into the deck, where benches were laid out and dropped himself into one of them, resting his head against the wall behind him. "But Seattle isn't too bad, I guess."

She shook her head and turned back to face the sea. Several seagulls swooped down from the sky and landed on the deck of the ferryboat, where some passengers fed them with breadcrumbs. The view of the large body of water was calming... the waves move and splash against each other... the little bubbles forming on the surface...

Suddenly, she got thrown backwards, and she fell onto the deck; the seagulls squawked and flew away. Screams and cries filled her ears, and she stood up shakily, catching her balance. She snapped her head to her brother, who was holding the back of his head in pain, having to smash it onto the wall he was leaning on.

"Tim-are you okay?" she rushed over and immediately did a quick check-up, exhaling in relief when she saw that there was no bleeding whatsoever at the back of his head.

"Fucking hell-I was just starting to like it here," Timothy groaned, "What the fuck happened?"

Norah stepped to the side of the deck, and her eyes widened almost twice their size; Timothy frowned and followed suit, cursing multiple times under his breath.

The passengers were panicking, screaming and running in all directions as black smoke rose through the white fog into the bright blue sky. She could see a faint figure of another object at the side of the ferry-a container ship had crashed into the ferryboat.

Norah felt like throwing herself off into the sea there and then.

Oh my fucking god. Seriously?

"What do we uh... do?" Timothy asked.

"We can either evacuate with the rest, or we can stay and provide first care to those who need it," she replied.

He turned to her. "We are staying, right?"

She sighed, "Seems like it." Clipped on the waistband of her pants, her pager went off.

911 - ER - STAT

"You had your pager with you?"

"I'm a surgical intern," she stated as she read the page. "Yeah, I think they're sending teams here now... Okay, here's what we're gonna do," she turned to her brother, "Search and Rescue will need a while before they can start evacuating, which means it'll take longer for medical personnel to get in. We work our way from the inside, help those we can, try to... I don't know, get their heart rate or something and write it down on their... arms? Legs? Anything. We don't have medkits with us, so we oughta be improvising."

"But I'm only a med student..."

Norah glared at him. "This'll be a good thing to add when you're applying for your residency program," she rolled her eyes, "Tag them as green, yellow, red, and black if possible. And I can't be arsed with babying you around right now. So, stop faffing around and go, help people!"

"I'll meet you at..."

"The triage centre when they set it up. And hey-try not to head to the bottom deck."

Timothy nodded, and the siblings went in different directions.

❦ ❦ ❦

"HELP! HELP! ARE YOU A doctor?" a man asked shakily as he approached Norah.

"Uh, yes, sir..." Norah turned to the man and saw burn marks all over his arms and legs, "Are you-you're hurt, let me get you checked out in a bit-"

"No, no, no..." the man shook his head, "My buddy's trapped. He's trapped under a car. I've called Search and Rescue, but they're backed up." Norah frowned at him, conflicted on whether or not it was a good idea for her to help since she had no medical supplies on her. "Please. He's my best buddy. Please."

"Alright..." she sighed as she wrote a bolded word 'GREEN' on a teenager's arm. "Listen, kid, you evacuate now and show them this word on your hand, okay? Your arm is only dislocated. You'll be fine."

The boy nodded and took off along with his friends. Norah stood up and followed the man down the decks of the ferryboat, where the cars were all crashed into each other. Smoke fumed out of vehicles, and the air was hot; people were still evacuating from the ferry.

Norah saw the man, who was trapped in between two cars as she approached them. Oh, god. She was about to breathe out something along the lines of being sandwiched, but decided against the improper timing of it.

Obvious injuries to his chest and leg. A dislocated arm. Very likely that there's damage to his spine and pelvis as well-considering the fact that he's trapped in between cars.

"I'm not gonna sugarcoat this, but there isn't much I can do until we get him out of... there," Norah informed as she assessed the man's injuries. "Sir, what's your name?"

"Rick..." he panted faintly.

"Okay, Rick, I'll try to do everything I can until Search and Rescue arrives," she stated before turning to his friends, "Go get more help! Find someone with a triage kit and bring it to me-stat!"

❦ ❦ ❦

RICK WAS SCREAMING IN pain after Norah had relocated his arm to help relieve some of his pain. His friends winced at the sound of the bone-cracking back into place, but nevertheless, they were around him to provide support and all the help they could give.

Norah stared at her hands-bad idea. She did not have any gloves on, only a shawl that she had picked up from someone who had dropped theirs along the deck. And the shawl was... bloody.

No, no, no, no. Not now.

"What happened to not heading to the bottom deck?" a voice called from a distance. Norah sighed in slight relief as she saw Timothy jogging towards, his face covered with sweat and soot.

"I don't tend to take my own advice," she answered. "Where'd you get that?" she asked, referring to the medical kit over his shoulder.

Timothy dropped the kit beside them and quickly unzipped it. "Um... one of the ambulances. Doesn't matter. How can I help here?"

"Uh..." Norah looked back at Rick, who was still losing blood and wailing in agony. "Okay, give him as many painkillers as you can..." Timothy immediately flipped through the kit to look for the painkillers while she took a pair of gloves and put it on before grabbing the bandages and gauze to help stop Rick's bleeding. "And uh... um..."

Not now.

"Nor, there won't be enough gauze for all this bleeding," he spoke up.

She nodded. "Okay, okay... Uh..." she looked around, searching for something... an improvisation... "Tim, give me your flannel!" Timothy took off his flannel and passed it over to his sister, who covered it over a bleeding spot over Rick's shoulder and applied pressure.

"Why the bloody hell are you back by yourself?" Norah questioned as she saw Greg hurrying in their direction.

"Search and rescue-they're buried," Greg replied, "They said they'd come when they can."

"Well, did you yell at them?"

"Nor," Timothy shook his head.

❦ ❦ ❦

LEFT PUPIL BLOWN; RIGHT dilating. The patient's consciousness is altered. Seizures-

"Fuck," Norah muttered as she shone the light at Rick's eyes.

"What's wrong?" Greg asked in concern; Timothy lifted his head to his sister while he held Rick down from seizing.

Norah lifted her head to Rick's buddies, who were all pale and sweating, pacing and biting their nails as they stood around their injured friend. "His pupil has blown, and he has a depressed skull fracture... He doesn't have much time..."

"Oh..." Timothy blinked, "That is a fuck."

She gulped before speaking again unsurely. "There... there isn't much I can do if he's still stuck here-"

"No! You've got to help him," Vince bellowed, "You said you'd do everything you can. Please, you have to save our buddy. Please. He has five children and a wife to get home to! He was trying to help people. Please save him."

"Okay, okay... I need a minute... to think. Tim, keep him steady." Norah walked to the side of the car and took deep breaths to clear her head. The whole situation was driving her insane.

The morning of a supposed-to-be relaxing and peaceful rest had turned into yet another horrifying disaster. She felt like her brains were melting as Rick's condition and injuries were playing in a loop in her head; she was racking her brain and shovelling out any information she had ever read and studied while linking it to the patient...

Okay, Norah. Think. Seizures, increased pressure, limp body, blown pupil, depressed skull fracture, possibly an intracranial bleed-

"Burr holes," she gasped as she found the temporary solution; at the same time, the colour of her face drained.

"Burr holes?" Timothy stared at her, "Out here?"

Norah rushed back and kneeled beside Rick as she accessed his pupils once more. There was not any other choice left. "Someone pass me a phone!"

❦ ❦ ❦

"OKAY, YOU'VE MADE THE right call, Lawrence," Webber said through the phone, "I need a minute to check something out in the book, and then I'll talk you through it."

"A book?" Norah deadpanned, listening to the shuffling noises on the other end. "Chief, I'm gonna drill through a man's skull-and you're gonna read through a book?!"

"I'm not a neurosurgeon, Lawrence. And I want to make sure we get this right," Webber stated before raising his voice in the hospital, "Somebody find me a copy of Boardman's Neurosurgery!"

"What about Shepherd? Where's Derek?" Norah questioned.

"He's at the scene, but you don't have the time to look for him. You gotta do this, Lawrence."

She grumbled under her breath while she went through the procedure in her head. "H-Have you done this before?" Vince asked as he handed the drill to her.

"Burr holes? Seen twice, done zero," she shook her head weakly, "With a power drill? I need a raise if your friend lives."

"Everything okay?" She heard Mark's voice through the phone.

"You know anything about making burr holes?" Webber queried.

"Done it a couple times."

"Good, don't go anywhere," Webber nodded at the attending, "Lawrence, listen to me."

"Hold on-Lawrence?" Mark questioned, "Isn't she-"

"The universe hates me, Sloan," Norah chuckled bitterly, "So yeah, I'm on the bloody ferryboat right now."

❦ ❦ ❦

"NOW, REMEMBER, LAWRENCE. That drill isn't just gonna stop like a neurosurgical drill," Webber reminded, "So, as soon as you feel the release in pressure, stop the drill, or you'll pierce his brain."

Norah had gone quiet while she sterilised Rick's scalp again before aligning the drill to his head; Timothy crouched in front of her, holding the phone between them.

Her mind replayed the times she had watched Derek and other neurosurgeons drilling burr holes into a patient's skull. Of course, they were using a high-speed pneumatic neurosurgical drill, not a power drill that function was to drill holes into people's walls.

"Lawrence, talk to me," Mark spoke through the phone.

"She's here," Timothy replied when Norah did not respond. "Just er... quiet, but she's listening."

There was a short silence between them before there came a curious voice. "Who's with you?"

"Hi... sir? I'm Timothy."

"Okay," Norah suddenly exhaled loudly, startling Greg and Vince, who were already more than anxious. "Three fingers above the ear and two or three fingers in front of that..." she recited to herself as she measured her fingers on Rick's scalp, "I need to make a vertical scalp incision down to the skull. But there isn't a scalpel in the medkit, so I'm stuck with using a penknife..."

"It's fine, Lawrence."

Blood started flowing out of the incision and onto the gloves on Norah's hand. Her mind went blank, staring at the pool of red that was slowly forming, the crimson liquid staining on her hand. The image of her hand covered in her blood resurfaced in her mind; gunshots, screams, cries of help, pain-

"Nor?" Timothy called out. "Norah! It's just some superficial bleeders, right?"

Mark was anxious on the other side of the phone; he was thinking about her-worried about her more than the patient. Hell, it was driving him crazy as he paced in the room before he snatched over the phone speaker.

"Timothy, right?" he asked, "Are there any more gloves over there?"

"Uh... yes, yeah, a few."

"Okay, I want you to take one and put it over her hand," Mark instructed, "Double-layer it."

Timothy did as told and picked up one side of the glove, reaching for Norah's hand when she stopped him. "No, stop, stop," she shook her head. Now is not the time, she told herself, It's just blood, not yours. Just blood. It will be alright. "I need to feel the incision," she stated, "Two layers will be too thick."

"Lawrence-"

"I'll be okay, Sloan. Trust me," she muttered as she picked up the drill from Greg. "Okay, I'm gonna start drilling a hole in the middle of the incision..."

As the drill powered up, the loud noise caused Vince to jump and yelp. Norah shot him a glare. "I'm about to drill your friend's skull, so you best shut the hell up because I don't wanna be the person who kills him here and now," she snapped, "Are we clear?"

Vince nodded while gulping nervously. "O-Okay, I'm good, Doc."

"The temporal bone's only gonna be a couple millimetres thick," Mark reminded.

The drill powered up again in Norah's hand, and she took a deep breath. She placed the drill right in the middle of the incision that she had made and began carefully drilling her way through the skull. She took a quick look and narrowed her eyes. "Dura looks fine," she informed. "I'm going in the frontal lobe."

"Just behind the hairline, a few centimetres off the midline," Webber stated.

"This bone will be thicker, about five times as think as the temporal bone," Mark added.

She exhaled heavily and cracked her neck side to side. "Everything's alright, right?" she mumbled to herself, "It's either I save this man's life, or he dies in my bloody hands. Brilliant. No biggie, really, no pressure at all-oh, did I forget my filter? My bad."

The men around her shared a concerned look; Mark and Webber, too, did not know what to say.

"Think about the beach," Timothy spoke up, "The warm sand between our toes and the sound of the waves... Cloudy morning, fresh air, the sun that, hopefully, doesn't toast our skins. Two little kids running around the sand, jumping and squealing like there's no tomorrow-peace, as we knew it."

Mark frowned on the other side of the phone.

Norah took another deep breath and made another incision before drilling down a second hole. "I see blood in the frontal lobe," she informed.

"Okay, now this is important. Drill around the hole to expand the opening. You have to try and relieve the pressure," Webber instructed, "Try to evacuate as much of the clot as you can."

"With what?" Norah questioned.

"Use your finger, gauze, anything," Mark replied.

What a fun day. Norah immediately began scooping out the blood with her finger, removing the clots and simply tossing it aside. Greg and Vince grimaced at the sight while Timothy remained calm and passed her some gauze. When she finally saw the dura underneath the clotted blood, she exhaled in relief as a smile grew on her face.

"What-why did you stop? Doc?" Greg panicked.

"The dura is pulsating regularly with the heartbeat," Norah let out a relieved breath, "Which means that blood and oxygen are entering the brain. He's gonna be okay for now."

"That's great, Lawrence. Now, pack it with gauze so you can minimize the