(no subject)

[slybrunette]

Title: Narrow Escape
Fandom: Lost. Crossover with Grey's Anatomy.
Characters: Kate. Appearances by Meredith Grey.
Prompt: #99 - Weird
Word Count: 1,951
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After the rescue, the survivors end up at Seattle Grace. Kate POV. 

The lights here are too bright. I’ve spent the past few months in the sun so you’d think a little electricity wouldn’t bother me. You would be wrong. Somehow I have to squint to be able to see under the harsh fluorescent lights that seem to be everywhere. I don’t get why they need so many, the glaring only makes everything look worse than it is.

 

Bad weather diverted the plane that was supposed to take us to Los Angeles. The one place that is perpetually sunny is getting rained on like we did on the island. The only thing more ironic is where we were diverted to. Seattle. Where it always rains, or at least it did when I lived here. Today the skies are clear and blue, and they people in the airport were upbeat and cheery. They’re not now but then again I am sitting in a hospital, and that’s not exactly the happiest place.

 

Most of us are stuck in the ER, so they can fix whatever physical injuries we have. I’d be just fine on my own, without any medical help. I’ve only got a few cuts and bruises, although there’s one deep scratch on my cheek that will probably need stitches. But I didn’t say anything, I just went with everyone else. I don’t need to draw any unnecessary attention to myself because then they might get curious. They don’t know who I am. It’s been so long since they stopped looking, and wrote us off as dead that they’ve managed to misplace the manifest for the time being. You would think they would be a little more careful what with a fugitive on board. Not that I’m complaining.

 

There’s been so much hustle and bustle that no one’s bothered me yet. Other people, some survivors mixed in with what I assume is the hospitals usual traffic, are much worse off than I am. Scott, or Steve, nobody can remember which is still alive and most don’t bother anymore, has a broken arm. Charlie’s going to need those stitches taken out since Jack never got around to it. Someone should probably look at Sawyer’s shoulder and make it sure it healed okay. And I don’t really mind. I never liked doctors when I was a child, and that didn’t change as I got older. Jack thinks it’s funny, and reminds me all the time that he is one. He’s not a doctor to me though; I don’t see him as one. Doctors give bad news, and put on fake smiles to say that everything will be fine when it really won’t. Jack knows I hate that, so he just gives everything to me straight now. No sugarcoating.

 

When I think of doctors, I think of grumpy old men in white lab coats, with charts full of useless information. But it’s a woman who first spots me, dressed in blue scrubs, her dirty blonde hair tied back. She starts over toward me and I curse myself for making eye contact with her.

 

“No one’s gotten to you yet?” The woman asks, when she comes to a stop in front of the bed I’m seated on. She looks tired, and I wonder how long it’s been since she’s had any sleep.

 

“I’ve been avoiding everyone pretty well.” I reply, and I must sound like I’m being sarcastic but I’m not. There’s been several times where I almost bolted to the door and ran.

 

She looks me over, noting the numerous marks that mar my skin, her eyes falling on the cut that needs stitches. She nods, knowingly. “You don’t like needles?” Next to me she starts looking for the things she needs to sew me up.

 

“I don’t like doctors.” I’m not afraid to admit it, even in the face of one. She actually laughs, kind of stilted, like she thinks she shouldn’t, but a laugh all the same. “Sounds childish, doesn’t it?”

 

“A little.” She says it in a way that’s not poking fun so much as agreeing. “What’s your name?” Her hands move to my forehead to examine the wound.

 

“Kate…” I pause, about to give my last name but I think better of it, remembering that they don’t know me. I can be anyone I want to be. “Kate Shephard.” I could’ve said Kate Ford. But he’s been in jail before and this woman is jotting down the name I gave her on the chart. Jack is safer as far as I know. He’s a doctor for God’s sake, and far too much of a perfectionist to have done anything wrong. So I say Shephard.

 

Her hands still before they begin writing and she looks at me like she’s about to ask something that’s going to sound weird. I don’t care what it is as long as she keeps on thinking that I’m Kate Shephard and not Kate Austen. “You don’t know a Derek Shepherd, right?”

 

I don’t even know anybody named Derek. I shake my head, furrowing my eyebrows slightly in curiosity. “No.” She writes my name down, and then goes back to work on my face. I wince the first time the needle pricks my skin, but not any time afterwards.

 

There’s a long pause where neither of us say anything, and she’s chewing at her lip in a such a way that tells me she wants to explain herself. I kind of want to hear it, if only to take my mind off the needle going in and out of my skin. Finally, she says, “Sorry, it’s just that was my ex’s name and the last person who showed up here with the name Shepherd turned out to be his wife.”

 

And I thought I had baggage. Well I do, but this woman could probably give me a run for my money. I want to say something to that, it’s just what do you say. I mean I don’t even know her name. My eyes search for a name tag and it’s a few seconds before I find one. Meredith Grey. Mouthing the name, I commit it to memory. Not that I think I’ll ever need it again because as soon as she’s done here I’m leaving and I’m not turning back for anything. Jack’s going to hate me for it. Sawyer might understand but he won’t like it either. They’re not enough to make me stay. Almost but not.

 

“This is a pretty bad cut. How did you get it?” Meredith presses a little too hard and I grit my teeth. I recognize that she’s making small talk to distract from her earlier example of too much information and, ordinarily, I’d do my best to help that along but now she was inquiring about the island and I’d be happy to just forget it even though I know I never will. “I mean you’re one of them, right? One of the survivors.”

 

Slowly, I nod, my eyes darting down as I speak, “I hit my head a week ago. We had a doctor on the island, but supplies were running low do I didn’t bother to do anything with it.” Anything but let my hair fall into my face anytime Jack was around so he didn’t see, and didn’t ask.

 

“How did you hit it?” She asks an awful lot of questions. It’s her job though, so she can be thorough. There’s suspicion in her voice, and the scrutinizing look in her eyes makes me think she’s thinking it was someone and not something that did this to me. I was on an island, to escape unscathed is near impossible.

 

“I was getting fruit from the trees. All the low growing stuff was already picked clean, so I had to go pretty high. I lost my balance reaching for a piece of fruit and I fell. It wasn’t bad—I’ve fallen farther—but it was like a ten foot drop. Maybe more.” It was more, or it would’ve been had not caught another branch on the way down.

 

“Are you sure all you got was a scratch? That sounds like a bad fall.” There’s concern in her voice and I wonder if all doctors are like this. Constantly worried, thinking in terms of the worst case scenario. “I can get someone to take a closer look and make sure that’s all it is.”

 

Great. More attention. That’s not what I want or need. “I’m fine, really. I just want to leave.” My fingers tap nervously on the metal slides on the bed, nails making light clicking noises against it.

 

“You can’t. They want everyone to stay here.” Meredith tells me. “I think they’re looking for somebody.” She doesn’t realize she just gave me the heads up that I’m about to be caught, until I stiffen. That tiny reaction must have been all she needed because her eyes meet mine, and surprise flashes through them. “So you know what I’m talking about.”

 

I don’t show any signs to back up her statement. I’ve already given away too much. But she’s already sure of herself. There’s really no way out of this, because she just called me on my charade, and the police or the FBI or whoever deals with this stuff, are probably either here or on their way. They know there was a fugitive on the plane and they’re going to find out it was me. It’s the first time I can’t think of a way out.

 

“I think we’re done here Ms. Shephard,” she glances up at me, carefully, and then continues, “You’re free to leave if you want.” Meredith stands, and takes off her gloves, tossing them in the trash. She gives me a look as she does so, and it’s pointed: I’m letting you go, so run now or get caught. A second later, and she’s tossed my charts into the trash as well. It’s like I never came here. I don’t understand why she’s doing this. “Have a nice day.”

 

Rising easily, I walk calmly to the door of the ER, on my way out, but look back at her before I leave. She’s already moved on to another patient, this one unfamiliar, and therefore obviously not from the crash. It doesn’t seem like she’s even thinking about the fact that she just contributed to the escape of a felon. I want to say something to thank her, but somehow that would make this different. This way she could still pretend she didn’t know. Maybe that’s how she can live with what she just did. So I don’t say a thing, I just go, keeping a steady pace as I walk through the corridors and out the main exit. To anyone else it would seem I like I didn’t have anywhere particularly important to be. I don’t look like I’m running.

 

By the time I’ve found a car with no alarm system, and that’s old enough for me to hot wire it without a moments pause, I can see the cops pull up. The cars are unmarked, and they don’t wear uniforms, but I know who they are. I can just tell. They don’t notice me as I drive off down the road, and it will be a few hours before they figure out that I’m not in the hospital at all. I won’t get caught yet, and I owe that to a woman I knew for all of ten minutes. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m not sure how I feel about anything. But I murmur a quiet thanks, cross my fingers that they never find out what she did, and hit the gas, aiming to hit the Idaho border before nightfall.