Hope for Hearts II | PG13 | Grey's Anatomy/Gilmore Girls
Title: Hope for Hearts II
Prompt: What happens after Erica and Lorelai meet at the support group?
Fandom: Erica Hahn/Lorelai Gilmore, Grey’s Anatomy/Gilmore Girls
Requested by: magicmumu
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1395
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: This story is a sequel to a drabble I wrote a while back. You don’t need to read the first part to understand this; I just wanted to get into Erica’s head for a while and see how she and Lorelai might interact a second time. I hope I did all right…writing both of these characters always makes me nervous. Let me know what you think!
-
Erica Hahn peered around the cafeteria as it bustled with activity and moved toward the coffee as if on auto-pilot. Her gaze never wavered from the row of coffee pots, giving off the unmistakable air of a woman who did not want to be bothered. It was an attitude that Erica had perfected over the years and today it emanated from her effortlessly.
She poured herself a cup and mechanically added in creamer and sugar, sighing with disgusted annoyance at having to substitute sweetener because her preferred sugar was gone. She considered making an issue with the cafeteria staff and decided against it, instead taking a seat at one of the few empty tables in the corner. She realized she’d forgotten a lid but she couldn’t be bothered to get up. She wasn’t even thirsty, but there was something comforting about circling the wooden stirrer around the cardboard cup. The scalding brown liquid swirled around, each turn mixing in the too-sweet sweetener that floated on top.
Like the scalding contents of her cup, everything about Erica Hahn screamed “caution!”. In moments like this, she was glad she had managed to uphold a certain social ineptitude that kept everyone from getting too close. No one would bother her now, not when she was in a mood like this. For that she was grateful. That was the problem with Seattle Grace-no one respected personal space or privacy. Here, in Connecticut, people left her alone and allowed her to brood in silence.
Losing a patient never got any easier, even after years of surgery and years of therapy. That day had been no different. It should have been a routine bypass. Gary Burton should have been in his hospital room at that very moment, talking to his wife and four children about when he’d be discharged. There was no good reason for his body to be lying in the morgue, or for his family to be left inconsolable in the waiting room until a taxi arrived to bring them to a house he would never see again. One minute his heart was beating, and the next it wasn’t. Sometimes it was as simple as that. And, no matter how much medication she pushed or shocks she administered, Gary had seen the light and wouldn’t come back from it.
A wave of nausea rolled around her stomach while she remembered the way his wife’s face simply fell when Erica had given her the news. She’d seen that face hundreds of times. It never got any easier. She hated breaking hearts as much as she hated not being able to fix them.
She took a sip of coffee, hoping to push back the nausea. She recoiled as the bitter liquid scalded her tongue. If one thing was for certain, it was that cafeteria coffee never got any better either. She had another half-hour before she had to return to work-plenty of time to replace this muck that called itself coffee-but didn’t have the energy to move. She simply stared at the cup and tried not to go over the surgery for a fourth time in an attempt to figure out her mistake. She’d done nothing wrong; it was a surgery she could have performed in her sleep. His was just a heart that wasn’t meant to continue beating.
Without thinking, Erica took another gulp of the coffee and nearly choked as it skidded down her throat. She coughed, hoping to clear her mouth of the offending taste that lingered. With a sneer, she pushed her cup away.
She reconsidered the possibility of complaining to someone but knew that she’d only be displacing her anger. In the few years since she left Seattle, Erica Hahn had at least learned to keep her temper in check.
That is, until someone asked for it.
Before Erica could protest, a woman sat across from her and pushed a tall cup of coffee towards her. She looked at the logo. Luke’s. She’d never heard of it. She raised an eyebrow at the cup and glared at the woman, her eyes sparkling venomously. “I’d prefer to be alone.”
“I figured that,” the woman said, smiling gently, “but I also thought you could use some real coffee.”
Erica looked back down at the cup.
“It doesn’t have germs or anything…I didn’t drink any of it. I thought maybe you needed it more than I do…and believe me, I always need coffee. Consider it a sacrifice for the greater good.”
“Look, I appreciate the offer-“
“Lorelai.”
“What?”
“My name is Lorelai. We met last month at that support group. You probably don’t remember me, but I remember you.”
Erica didn’t remember this woman, though it was no fault of her own. Lorelai, she noticed, was unspeakably lovely, but Erica hated that support group and vowed to leave each meeting in the past where it belonged. She couldn’t carry those heartbreaking stories with her; she had a difficult enough time with the ones she faced every day. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“That’s okay. My dad wasn’t one of your patients or anything. He had surgery. He’s doing okay. Really okay, actually. You’d think they replaced his heart with a machine the way he’s up and moving around.”
Erica was surprised to find herself flooded with relief to learn that Lorelai was not another woman relegated to the spectrum of heart-related tragedies. “That’s good news.”
“Yeah.” Lorelai smiled again, this time looking at the coffee. “Seriously…you should drink that, or I might just have to be an Indian giver.”
Erica smiled. Who said things like that anymore? Without consciously realizing it, she curled her fingers around the cup and brought it to her lips. She sipped and was surprised to find that it was good-very good, in fact. Her thoughts must have been evident on her face.
“I told you it was delicious.”
“It is. Thank you, Lorelai.”
“My pleasure.”
“Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”
Lorelai laughed. “Coffee and I go way back-we’re soulmates, you see, but I know when to share.”
Erica searched for something to say and settled for a smile.
“You’ve got that radioactive ‘bad day’ glow about you. Do you have a case of the Mondays?”
Erica cleared her throat, biting back the scathing dismissal that was readily available on her tongue. “I lost a patient this morning.” Lorelai gasped. “He was only 43. He-it was a difficult morning.”
“Oh God, I can’t imagine…” The other woman’s hands fidgeted on the table. “I’m so sorry.”
Erica took a bracing breath. “These things happen.”
“Yeah but…you can’t just dismiss it like that.”
“I’m not dismissing. I’m processing.”
“And I’m totally stepping on your processing time. I should go.” Lorelai stood and promptly sat back down. “I went to the meeting last night and you weren’t there. I had hoped you would be because what you said really hit me, you know? You weren’t all stuffy and caught up in doctor babble and mendacity like everyone else I’ve had to deal with in this whole process. Maybe I’m overstepping my bounds, but it looks like maybe you could use that group, or at least someone so you don’t have to ‘process’ all by yourself.”
“Are you suggesting I don’t have friends?”
“Not at all. This may be stupid to you because you’re this rockstar heart surgeon and I’m just an innkeeper but you were there for me, and I saw you over here and I wanted to be there for you.”
The surgeon tucked aside a strand of her blonde hair as it fell across her cheek and peered at the woman sitting across from her. This whole interaction was exactly what she hated: the presumptions and the small talk and the ulterior motives. But Lorelai hadn’t sought out Dr. Hahn; she’d sought out Erica. For all of her chatter, Lorelai seemed completely authentic, a quality she’d been desperately missing in her peers.
“I appreciate it.”
“How about lunch? Are you free?”
“I have an appointment in a few minutes…”
“What about after?”
Erica wasn’t sure what prompted her response; perhaps it had been Lorelai’s pleading eyes or the sorrow in Mrs. Burton’s. Like her coffee, Erica discovered that she had cooled and perhaps needed a little company after all. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”
---
Prompt: What happens after Erica and Lorelai meet at the support group?
Fandom: Erica Hahn/Lorelai Gilmore, Grey’s Anatomy/Gilmore Girls
Requested by: magicmumu
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1395
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: This story is a sequel to a drabble I wrote a while back. You don’t need to read the first part to understand this; I just wanted to get into Erica’s head for a while and see how she and Lorelai might interact a second time. I hope I did all right…writing both of these characters always makes me nervous. Let me know what you think!
-
Erica Hahn peered around the cafeteria as it bustled with activity and moved toward the coffee as if on auto-pilot. Her gaze never wavered from the row of coffee pots, giving off the unmistakable air of a woman who did not want to be bothered. It was an attitude that Erica had perfected over the years and today it emanated from her effortlessly.
She poured herself a cup and mechanically added in creamer and sugar, sighing with disgusted annoyance at having to substitute sweetener because her preferred sugar was gone. She considered making an issue with the cafeteria staff and decided against it, instead taking a seat at one of the few empty tables in the corner. She realized she’d forgotten a lid but she couldn’t be bothered to get up. She wasn’t even thirsty, but there was something comforting about circling the wooden stirrer around the cardboard cup. The scalding brown liquid swirled around, each turn mixing in the too-sweet sweetener that floated on top.
Like the scalding contents of her cup, everything about Erica Hahn screamed “caution!”. In moments like this, she was glad she had managed to uphold a certain social ineptitude that kept everyone from getting too close. No one would bother her now, not when she was in a mood like this. For that she was grateful. That was the problem with Seattle Grace-no one respected personal space or privacy. Here, in Connecticut, people left her alone and allowed her to brood in silence.
Losing a patient never got any easier, even after years of surgery and years of therapy. That day had been no different. It should have been a routine bypass. Gary Burton should have been in his hospital room at that very moment, talking to his wife and four children about when he’d be discharged. There was no good reason for his body to be lying in the morgue, or for his family to be left inconsolable in the waiting room until a taxi arrived to bring them to a house he would never see again. One minute his heart was beating, and the next it wasn’t. Sometimes it was as simple as that. And, no matter how much medication she pushed or shocks she administered, Gary had seen the light and wouldn’t come back from it.
A wave of nausea rolled around her stomach while she remembered the way his wife’s face simply fell when Erica had given her the news. She’d seen that face hundreds of times. It never got any easier. She hated breaking hearts as much as she hated not being able to fix them.
She took a sip of coffee, hoping to push back the nausea. She recoiled as the bitter liquid scalded her tongue. If one thing was for certain, it was that cafeteria coffee never got any better either. She had another half-hour before she had to return to work-plenty of time to replace this muck that called itself coffee-but didn’t have the energy to move. She simply stared at the cup and tried not to go over the surgery for a fourth time in an attempt to figure out her mistake. She’d done nothing wrong; it was a surgery she could have performed in her sleep. His was just a heart that wasn’t meant to continue beating.
Without thinking, Erica took another gulp of the coffee and nearly choked as it skidded down her throat. She coughed, hoping to clear her mouth of the offending taste that lingered. With a sneer, she pushed her cup away.
She reconsidered the possibility of complaining to someone but knew that she’d only be displacing her anger. In the few years since she left Seattle, Erica Hahn had at least learned to keep her temper in check.
That is, until someone asked for it.
Before Erica could protest, a woman sat across from her and pushed a tall cup of coffee towards her. She looked at the logo. Luke’s. She’d never heard of it. She raised an eyebrow at the cup and glared at the woman, her eyes sparkling venomously. “I’d prefer to be alone.”
“I figured that,” the woman said, smiling gently, “but I also thought you could use some real coffee.”
Erica looked back down at the cup.
“It doesn’t have germs or anything…I didn’t drink any of it. I thought maybe you needed it more than I do…and believe me, I always need coffee. Consider it a sacrifice for the greater good.”
“Look, I appreciate the offer-“
“Lorelai.”
“What?”
“My name is Lorelai. We met last month at that support group. You probably don’t remember me, but I remember you.”
Erica didn’t remember this woman, though it was no fault of her own. Lorelai, she noticed, was unspeakably lovely, but Erica hated that support group and vowed to leave each meeting in the past where it belonged. She couldn’t carry those heartbreaking stories with her; she had a difficult enough time with the ones she faced every day. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“That’s okay. My dad wasn’t one of your patients or anything. He had surgery. He’s doing okay. Really okay, actually. You’d think they replaced his heart with a machine the way he’s up and moving around.”
Erica was surprised to find herself flooded with relief to learn that Lorelai was not another woman relegated to the spectrum of heart-related tragedies. “That’s good news.”
“Yeah.” Lorelai smiled again, this time looking at the coffee. “Seriously…you should drink that, or I might just have to be an Indian giver.”
Erica smiled. Who said things like that anymore? Without consciously realizing it, she curled her fingers around the cup and brought it to her lips. She sipped and was surprised to find that it was good-very good, in fact. Her thoughts must have been evident on her face.
“I told you it was delicious.”
“It is. Thank you, Lorelai.”
“My pleasure.”
“Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”
Lorelai laughed. “Coffee and I go way back-we’re soulmates, you see, but I know when to share.”
Erica searched for something to say and settled for a smile.
“You’ve got that radioactive ‘bad day’ glow about you. Do you have a case of the Mondays?”
Erica cleared her throat, biting back the scathing dismissal that was readily available on her tongue. “I lost a patient this morning.” Lorelai gasped. “He was only 43. He-it was a difficult morning.”
“Oh God, I can’t imagine…” The other woman’s hands fidgeted on the table. “I’m so sorry.”
Erica took a bracing breath. “These things happen.”
“Yeah but…you can’t just dismiss it like that.”
“I’m not dismissing. I’m processing.”
“And I’m totally stepping on your processing time. I should go.” Lorelai stood and promptly sat back down. “I went to the meeting last night and you weren’t there. I had hoped you would be because what you said really hit me, you know? You weren’t all stuffy and caught up in doctor babble and mendacity like everyone else I’ve had to deal with in this whole process. Maybe I’m overstepping my bounds, but it looks like maybe you could use that group, or at least someone so you don’t have to ‘process’ all by yourself.”
“Are you suggesting I don’t have friends?”
“Not at all. This may be stupid to you because you’re this rockstar heart surgeon and I’m just an innkeeper but you were there for me, and I saw you over here and I wanted to be there for you.”
The surgeon tucked aside a strand of her blonde hair as it fell across her cheek and peered at the woman sitting across from her. This whole interaction was exactly what she hated: the presumptions and the small talk and the ulterior motives. But Lorelai hadn’t sought out Dr. Hahn; she’d sought out Erica. For all of her chatter, Lorelai seemed completely authentic, a quality she’d been desperately missing in her peers.
“I appreciate it.”
“How about lunch? Are you free?”
“I have an appointment in a few minutes…”
“What about after?”
Erica wasn’t sure what prompted her response; perhaps it had been Lorelai’s pleading eyes or the sorrow in Mrs. Burton’s. Like her coffee, Erica discovered that she had cooled and perhaps needed a little company after all. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”
---