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Nighttime in the ER

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Seattle Grace is nothing if not busy, bustling with the sick and the wounded and the slightly disturbed. Bailey’s not sure where the…creatures in front of her fall, but she’s almost certain one of her interns has to be to blame.

Sloan glances at Bailey from across the counter, pretending he’s reading the chart in his hands, though Bailey knows full well he’s not even close. He’s watching her and going to follow her lead, which would make her laugh if she wasn’t well aware right now that the bastard would probably turn it around to his advantage and pretend it was his own damn idea.

“Excuse us.”

Bailey looks at the blue, fuzzy, hook-nosed creature in front of her. “Yes?”

The green frog gives the blue creature a look that, as far as Bailey can tell, is largely ignored. Bailey turns her attention to the frog, as he takes a step closer, seemingly in charge. “Are you Miranda Bailey?”

“I am.”

“We heard you were the best.”

“The best.” She nods, not sure what she’s exactly agreeing to. “Who said that?”

“Our friend Elmo. He knows George. George said you were the best.”

“I…” She shuts her mouth as she catches Sloan’s smirk out of the corner of her eye. “What do you need?”

“Well, it’s our friend. Sweetums.”


“Yes. He needs…well, he needs help.”

“There were berry bushes. And a cow.” The brown bear in the porkpie hat shakes his head. “Horrible. Horrible.”

“And you want me to help your friend. This…Sweetums.”


“You brought him in?”

“Er, yes. He’s…well, he’s right over there.”

Bailey turns her head and stops, eyes frozen wide. A giant, lumbering creature smelling of cow dung and covered in red scrapes where she can see skin under his ragged clothing comes toward her, his hand held out and a large, vicious looking thorn in his…hand? paw? “Oh.”

“He’s very nice.” The frog assures her.

“Right. Just put him on that bed…er, no. Have him sit in the…er, no. Have him stand right over there and if you could tug that curtain closed.” She nods as the…animals or creatures or whatever they are scurry off to do as she asks. “I’m going to kill O’Malley.”

“Bet the tall guy,” Sloan frowns, “…monster thing might do it for you.”

“His name is Sweetums. Doubt his bite is worse than his bark.” She smiles and looks at Sloan. “You know. That looked pretty nasty. I bet he’s going to want a plastic surgery consult.”