pretty please ✵ derek shepherd.

chapter eight.

"This guy belongs in psych." Florence told the guy who brought the supposed "neurology" patient down to her and Cristina. "What are you doing turfing him here?"

"He's my gift to you," The male smiled in return, clutching his clipboard, frankly intimidated by the two women in front of him. "He had a seizure two days ago and another one this morning."

"What are you talking about?" Cristina read the chart. "It say's right here, he talks to dead people, his family thinks he's dangerous, and they had him committed. That's psych - not neuro."

"Man, didn't you go to Med School?" Florence scoffed in disbelief. 

"Yes, and unlike the correspondence school you attended-"

"-oh that would be Johns Hopkins, right-"

"-I learned not to jump to conclusions. Sorry, ladies. We can't take him back until he's cleared." And with that the male began to walk away. "He think's his seizure's are visions."

"Hello!" The patient called from inside the room. "They're not seizures. I'm psychic." 

"Of course you are, and I'm a chicken." Cristina fed into the man's delusions. 

"Ok, Mr. Duff, we're gonna start our work-up now." Florence told him, starting standard medical procedures, as she shone a her medical flashlight in the male's eyes. 

"Work me up, work me down. I'm telling you it's a waste of time." 

"Can you grip my finger's please?" Cristina prompted the male, holding out her hand. But just as he started to, he grip loosened and his stare went blank. "Mr. Duff?"

Shaking him a bit, Florence asked, "Mr. Duff, are you okay?"

Snapping back into reality, he nodded before exhaling deeply. "Someone," He trailed off his sentence. 

"Someone what?"

"Someone's gonna check out. Bye-bye." He waved at the two doctors in front of him. 

"The man - he's nuts." Cristina rolled her eyes. 

"I'm dizzy, not deaf, lady." Duff snapped back. "And I'm telling you, someone on the fourth floor is gonna die."

Suddenly out in the hallway, there was a man voice over the intercom that said, "Code blue, fourth floor. Code blue, fourth floor." And then a bunch of nurses and doctors sprinting past the room to the elevators. 

And in fact there was a patient who checked out on the fourth floor. 

"Fourth floor - dead guy." Alec smiled as Cristina approached him. "The psychic predicted the fourth floor dead guy. That's so fucking awesome."

"I need someone to cover me on the sixteenth, you in?" Cristina asked the male in front of her, no regards for the words that just came out of his mouth. 

"I'm thinking about letting my hair grow," Alec seethed as he saw Derek and Florence walking down the hall together. So far, him and George were the only two that knew, but Florence didn't know that. "And maybe I won't shave - go for the stubble effect. What do you think?"

"The sixteenth, Duquette." Cristina deadpanned. "Can you cover me or not?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. I guess. Why?" The male questioned his co-worker. 

"It's none of your business." 

"A thank you would be nice?"

៚ ......... ˁᱸᲲᱸˀ ............ ༄

"It's just that I don't know anything about you, Shep." Florence told him as they walked down a secluded hallway of the hospital. 

"You know that I'm from New York, and I like ferry boats." Derek told her, giving her absolutely no new information at all.