Faith belongs to Whedon, Mark belongs to Rhimes.
And this picture belongs to the photographer who took it.
Enjoy and please review!!!
When Mark was paged into an incoming case in OR Two, he had way too many problems bogging down his mind to really look at the patient that was being brought in. Oh sure, he took in her overall injuries, consulted on the possibilities for her recovery, but he never *looked* at her. If he had, he would have pronounced her features unsalvageable. Lying there, on the hospital bed, she looked like raw meat that had been stretched into a human like shape. All he knew about her at that moment was that she saved Miranda Bailey’s life. She and her unborn baby now owed their lives to Jane Doe who had less that a ten percent chance of waking up due to the severity of the injuries sustained when she pushed Bailey out of the way of an oncoming Mack truck.
*Where am I?...Oh Jesus, what did I do?...
Is that pregnant chick ok?
Am I dead?
Please, somebody help me…
Am I dead?..*
Her wallet was lost in the chaos and passersby’s weren’t able to identify her or who she might have been with at the time. When the ambulance brought her into the OR, they had to cut away her clothes. The leather had gotten so mangled into the flesh and bones it took both Karev and Yang to carefully remove pieces of it from where it had melded into her body. Numerous broken bones, a punctured lung, skin ripped off her back from being dragged across the asphalt, gashes running bone deep, bruising on every surface of skin that managed to survive the collision. Jane Doe could have served as a medical encyclopedia for trauma residents. Mark Sloan was sure that the young woman in front of him would not survive through the night.
*Oh God it’s dark…
If I died I don’t think it would be this dark and quiet…
Please somebody help me! I don’t want to be alone in the dark…
For fuck’s sake, I keep Christmas lights in my house year ‘round, I don’t like the dark.
Please somebody help!!!
Hail Mary, full of grace…*
The next morning he got the shock of his life when Derek, almost hopping with excitement told him that not only was Jane Doe alive, but her brain function signaled no long term damage. It was a miracle, one that Sheppard was planning on fully exploring.
*I can hear voices around me…
I can smell the people sitting by me, the antiseptics in the air…
I’m in a hospital, I’m not dead, thank you, I’m not dead…
Wake up Faith…
Open your eyes.*
A week of very close monitoring and the whole of Seattle Grace was watching the progress of Jane Doe with bated breath. Seven days after flatlining during one of her numerous surgeries, the young woman began breathing on her own. Ten days after that, when the Chief of Medicine was checking out her charts he almost had a heart attack when in the silence of the hospital afternoon, Jane Doe took a deep, shuddering breath. It was like hearing a swimmer break through the waves after almost drowning.
As she began to recover, Mark started noticing just how beautiful the young woman was. It seemed like he had reproduced her individual features on thousands of patients, but had never seen them together on one person. One afternoon, when he and Bailey were checking her stats they began discussing her options for reconstructive surgery. Mark was sure that she would need it, after having an up close and personal meeting with the front of a truck. Just as he started waxing lyrical on the joys that his services would bring to the girl’s life, her hand shot out and pulling him down towards her with surprising strength, she rasped out “You touch my face, I break yours. Understood pretty boy?” Besides being beautiful, and now having seen her violent tendencies, Mark found that she was also quite smart. Intelligence shone in her eyes as she warily watched him go about his duties. Three weeks to the day of her admittance, she spoke to him, her voice raspy from trauma and disuse.
“Dr. Sloan? Where am I?” it seemed that she had actually kept track of the people around her. Smart cookie.
“You’re in Seattle Grace Hospital. You were brought in three weeks ago with massive blood loss and trauma that we, frankly speaking, didn’t think you’d survive. Can you tell me your name?”
She breathed out “Faith Lehane. Is the pregnant woman alright?”
“She’s fine, she’s better than fine actually. She’s a doctor here, she’s been to see you every day. She’s part of a very large number of people that want to see you get better. Now do you have somebody we can contact for you?”
The young woman smiled, relief evident in her features. Mark, his face inscrutable was startled to discover that he felt a growing protectiveness of his newest patient. She almost died and the second question out of her mouth was whether Miranda was okay.
“Dr. Sloan, I need you to get some salt and chalk for me. Please, it’s urgent.”
Mark raised an eyebrow at her, “why would you need chalk and salt?”
“It’s for a religious practice, ummm, just making sure to stay alive and healthy.”
He could tell she was lying, but decided to comply anyway. He was curious for one thing.When he got back with what she asked for, she took the chalk from him, drew a little circle on her palm and sprinkled salt inside of it. Then she began speaking in a low tone, Latin it sounded like. As she finished, she lay back down on her bed, a smile creasing her battered face.
“My friends are coming; Willow will be here by tonight.”
Mark raised an eyebrow again, wondering whether Sheppard missed brain damage in his previous assessments. Just then, a phone began to ring nearby in the nurse’s station, urgently, frantically. The young woman turned her head towards the window that looked out at the station; the night nurse who was now speaking in hushed undertones was periodically looking at the direction of her room. A smile graced her lips and she went back to sleep.