Chapter one.

Annabeth

"Oi Annabeth! Want to come out for celebratory drinks with us?" Michael asks. I look up from my clipboard to see most of the gang with their scrubs and goats off, and their normal clothes on.

"Sorry guys, I'm filling for a night shift in the emergency room," I said with an apologetic grin, tapping my pen against my half-filled clipboard.

"Aw c'mon Annabeth! You barely ever come out with us, it can be really fun!" Amy begs. Amy is probably the nicest of the group, even looking adorable, the now engaged girl bewildered us all by choosing a life of blood and guts when her favorite past times are knitting cat sweaters and baking.

"Next time, I promise guys! I already said I'd work this shift and you know it's going to be crazy in there, I mean with everything happening and it being Friday." I said, referring to the fact that it was a full moon, there where three sporting events, and several concerts all in one night.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow." Harry says in a disappointed tone. I nod, waving goodbye to them. Once their gone I sigh in relief. I do not want to go out drinking. Ever. At least with my co-workers. I start out towards ER.

I think they're all cool, in fact they all seem to be amazing people, but some of the higher up doctors think rather lowly of me already and I can hold my liquor real well, something none of them have yet to discover. Just the ditzy blonde doctor who knows how to drink. Real professional.

Despite the fact I have a %94 retention rate, and I graduated Valedictorian three times from highschool, college, and med school, they still judge me by my hair. And the fact I'm a woman.

"Annabeth! You're on for a shift right?" Bea stops me in the hall just before I get in the ER, looking harried, her usually neat hair a complete mess.

"Yeah going in now, going to be a crazy one," I reply, fidgeting with my clipboard under my arm.

"You got that right, and thank god you are, there was a bad crash on the highway, some sort of fight at a concert and all sorts of shit going down. Here." She stuffs several clipboards into my arms.

"These are your patients, should all be on this level," Bea checks her watch, "I have to be in the OR, I'll see you later!" she calls as she rushes down the hallway.

I glance down, five of them but there will be more soon I can say that. Oh I hate the ER on Friday...

I tackle a broken finger, twisted ankle, some kid had a mental breakdown which made them break out in hives, AIDS, a guy with a lego embedded in his foot, allergic reactions, asthma, panic attacks, one case of cutting, a kid who swallowed several mouthfuls of mouthwash, about fifteen colds, six flus, seven over protective mothers, and then finally, my last case I'm taking on for the day, a guy who sprained his wrist. Apparently the singer at one of those concerts. Greeeeeat. I hate celebrities. Or people who think they're celebrities.

I check my watch before going in. 3:12 AM. Oh god, I just want to go home.

I find the room he's in, one of the nicer private ones where he sits on the bed talking to an older man sitting in a chair next to him. "Mr. Jackson, correct?" I ask him. Black hair, Sea-blue eyes, vaguely familiar. He wrote that song that was really popular right? I don't have time for pop culture. Oh yeah, I remember it now. Very good beat.

"That's me. You're-" I cut him off with a sigh.

"Yes, Yes I'm blonde, and I'm a woman. As to answer your question I've answered several hundred times, I did get my degree the normal way." I say. I'm a bit irritable, at three in the morning, having answered this question four times today already.

"Well I was going to tell you that your mascara was smeared." He says.

I glance in the mirror above the sink. "Merda Cazzo non di nuovo." I mutter to myself, quickly grabbing a wipe and removing the smudges. "Thank you." I tell him, turning back to him.

"Now what were you doing to hurt your wrist?" I ask after snapping gloves on I walk over to where he's sitting, and he puts out his right hand.

"I had just finished up my concert, and I was outside talking to my fans, there was some sort of conflict, I got knocked over and when I put my hands out to break my fall and I hit my wrist." Well this shouldn't be too hard, he's rather informative.

"Mhmm. And what did you fall onto?" I ask, studying the underside of his wrist which is slightly more swelled.

"Concrete."

"Rate the pain when I put pressure in certain places from one to ten." I press, he doesn't go higher then a seven.

"And your rating this truthfully?" I ask him, locking eyes with him. He's lying.

"Yes."

"Have you ever been kicked in the balls Mr. Jackson?"

He makes a face "What does that have to do with my wrist?"

"Answer the question."

"Yes."

"%87 of men when asked rated that as a seven. What I think has happened to you is higher than a seven, so either you just don't want to appear weak or you have an incredibly high pain tolerance, which you don't have."

He then gets defensive "Because of my hair?"

I give an exasperated sigh. "No, not because of your hair sir. And the fact that it takes years to build up a high pain tolerance."

"How would you know?"

"I'm a doctor. And my sister who has been doing martial arts since she was six. When she went into labor with twins she rated it as a six. Now answer the question truthfully and stop trying to change the subject." I suddenly press again and he winces.

"Eight."

I continue his exam.

"Okay, I'm going to have somebody come by and take you to radiology, then as I'll be back as soon as I can to check up on you a bit and see on your diagnosis." I tell him.

"Wait so you're not coming straight back? Aren't X-rays instant?" Mr. Jackson asks.

"I have ten other people I have yet to examine, four I have to get back to and I've been working since six in the morning, haven't had a coffee in five hours, and have been insulted and judged fifteen times today because I'm a woman, blonde and not a hag. Don't try me Mr. Jackson." I warn him.

I give a polite nod to the man and begin to walk out. "It's Percy." Mr. Jackson mutters.

"Don't try me Percy." I say over my shoulder as I leave his room.

I stop by the nurses station and tell the nurse there (Emma) to have somebody lead him to radiology and to get X-rays on both of his wrists looking for a break.

Forty-five minutes later I re-appear at Mr. Jackson's room.

"Mr. Jackson, you have what we call a grade two sprained wrist." I say looking at his clipboard again.

"Percy. And how long is the recovery time?" He asks eagerly.

"It could take anywhere from a week to a month, Percy." I say.

His face falls. "A month! I'm on tour!"

"Well your lucky, if you had hit the ground a little harder you would've snapped the ligaments in your arm, and then you would not be able to-do whatever sort of instrument you play."

"Acoustic guitar." I wince in sympathy.

"Used to be fair myself. Broke my thumb, just couldn't play the same way after that." I say, wiggling my hand.

"Is that what made you decide you wanted to be a doctor?" He asks.

"No, it wasn't."

"What was it then Doctor Chase?" He asks.

"That's personal."

"So is asking if I'd ever been kicked in the balls."

I look around. "Where's that man who was here?" I ask, evading the question.

"Pete? Buying coffee. If you won't tell me why you're a doctor at least tell me your first name."

"Annabeth. Now to have this heal properly you have to-" I tell Percy exactly what he has to do to have this heal properly.

"If you don't then it could result in some loss of use in your arm." I tell him.

He nods. "Thanks." He isn't really listening though.

"Percy. Mr. Jackson. You need to listen, if you don't do as I said and use your arm while it's healing and you're going to severely hurt yourself." I warn him.

He nods. "I know, I understand," he said, but he sounded bored.

I shoot a look at him. "Well once your friend comes back go to the nurses station and schedule an appointment."

"I will, and he's my manager," Percy corrected me.

"Good. Nice meeting you."

I make my exit. God he is not going to listen.

I start humming a tune as I leave, because he was my last patient. Very unlike me, but I'm finally off shift.

"That's my song!" He calls from his room sticking his head out.

I look over my shoulder at him and shoot him a grin. "I know!" I call back, then go on my way towards the outside so I can sleep.

After thirty minutes on the subway I stumble into my apartment, not even turning on the lights dead on my feet and go into my room and fall onto my bed and kick my shoes off immediately sleeping. Hope I didn't wake up Jennifer.

Ehh. I'm not so sure on this story. As some of my fans may know, I went on a witch hunt/scourge of my computer to find that last chapter for TBH and found a thirteen thousand word document. This was it. I don't remember writing it. I don't remember coming up with the idea. I don't remember this fic in any way at all. I had to re-read the whole thing.

Anyways, first chapter, hope you enjoyed. Oh, and acronym for this will be HTSAL so when I say that instead of How to save a life don't be confused unless you know-*Wipes away a tear* Nobody read's my ANs! (Which I am starting to sorely think at this point.)

Right, please review, makes my day or my night or whenever I check my email :)

-Id out!

Edit 6/4/15: Gave the chapter more length, spruced it up a bit!