Book Grey's Anatomy Novels & Stories

Skylar A yawn left my lips as I lazily blinked my slightly glossy eyes. Watching Grey’s anatomy is never a bad idea, maybe it is seeing how they killed all of my favorite characters, okay not all but still. Why the hell did Derek die? Or George? I could never wrap my head around why the writer must kill one of the most important characters, to depress the watchers? Isn’t life depressing enough?

It took four male nurses to restrain Grey from beating up a doctor when he opted to unplug the life support two days after. "Good morning Mr Grey!" Hannah the day nurse filled the room with her lively spirit. Her hand holding a bowl with soap and towels to her waist. "Morning Hannah is it time for her bath!?" Grey turned to her hoping to avoid a lecture. Hannah had been he's nurse when he was in that same bed, she held a happy spirit behind hospital scrubs and a dome of red hair. She had an angelic smile but Grey knew she can turn berserk in a split of a second.

She quickly glanced at me. “Do you have her credentials? Her IDs, passport? No. And the hospital will immediately flag it as red, which means unnecessary questioning and paperwork, and guess who isn’t going to be happy and will find more reason to cut you off?” She allowed the silence to pass through, where I didn’t have to think about the person she was referring to. Grey. She passively smiled. “Yeah, Grey. And besides, it’s just high fever. If I can manage to bring it down, she will regain consciousness by morning or tomorrow midday.”

And then I hear Siobhan go unusually quiet behind me and I turn to see why. Seraphina is at the top of the stairs. Black dress. Dark hair down. She descends without holding the railing — never needs to hold on, I noticed that last time too, she's never off balance and there's a moment, just a moment, where Siobhan leans slightly toward me and says under her breath: "Oh. You are going to have your hands absolutely full." "Siobhan."

He groans and I quickly stand from my chair and head over to the door, I unlock it and I find him wearing a black hoodie and he doesn't look good at all. "Nathan," I say and he reaches for my hand, he can't stand straight. I help him up and I get him inside, I close the door. "Nathan, what's wrong?" I ask but he doesn't answer that's when I see blood on his stomach, lots of blood. "Jesus Christ," I mutter then I help him sit on the couch as I unzip his hoodie I quickly put my hands on my mouth when I see the deep wound on his stomach.

Grey laid her down, his hands covered in her blood. "Save them," Grey grabbed a doctor's arm, his grip was hard. "Do whatever it takes." "Sir, you need to step back," the doctor said, pushing him away. They wheeled her down the bright, sterile hallway. Grey stood under the harsh fluorescent lights, staring at his red hands. He could not breathe. ............. Two hours later, Abigail lay in a private hospital bed. The room was freezing, She stared blankly at the white ceiling. The physical pain had dulled to an ache, but the emptiness inside her chest was expanding, swallowing her whole.

Grey’s POV New York again. I was back in this darn city again. Just me, back in my office at 2 a.m, surrounded by over twenty years old case files like they're gonna suddenly rearrange themselves into something that actually makes sense. They never do. I've read this shit so many times I could recite it in my sleep. Autopsy report. Witness statements. Photographs I wish to god I could unsee. And every single time, it comes back wrong. Not sad wrong. Not tragic accident wrong. Just… wrong, like someone handed me a puzzle with pieces from three different boxes and told me to shut up and be grateful it looks like a picture.

On the outside looking in at his own life falling apart. People were moving around them. Doctors and nurses rushing past. Other patients being wheeled through. The organized chaos of a hospital emergency room at night. But Grayson barely noticed any of it. His entire world had narrowed down to Shayla and that pregnant belly and all the questions he could not stop asking himself. The emergency room doors swung open with a loud whoosh. A doctor walked out. Older man. Late fifties maybe early sixties. Wearing surgical scrubs that were covered in blood. Fresh blood, still wet. Ayven's blood.

While I personally find this notion a bit archaic, I understand that our parents hold these beliefs dear, and I'm willing to keep with tradition for them. Sabrina and I are currently enveloped in an emotional episode of Grey's Anatomy. The tears flow freely from our eyes as we watch the tragic death of Derek Shepherd unfold on screen. The sorrow stems from a doctor’s oversight in failing to give him a CT scan, missing a crucial brain bleed. The scene is utterly heartbreaking, and I find myself shedding a series of ugly tears. Suddenly, there’s a gentle knock at the door. Leaping up, I anticipate that one of the guys has come to check on us.

I am training to be a Dr, so it isn’t like I don’t see sick people quite regularly. But seeing Gabe like this was not something I was prepared for. The colour of his skin was sickly pale, almost grey. I did not like it. I crossed the room as quickly as I could and held his hand, desperate for him to open his eyes, acknowledge I was here, but having heard everything the Dr had just said, I knew it was unlikely.