It's the beginning of Meredith Grey's 3rd week back at Grey Sloane Memorial since recovering from the trauma caused by her postictal patient and it's started off well. ZoZo, thrilled to see her friends again, stayed at preschool without hanging onto her mother's legs and both Bailey and Ellis stayed in childcare without tears or screaming. Meredith sipped her coffee and checked the surgical board. Barring any incoming traumas, she had just a routine appy this morning and a whipple scheduled for after lunch. She shook her head, a slight smile playing around her lips. Miranda was easing her back in, despite her protests that Callie had cleared her to stand on her healed leg for as long as she needed, and that she had truly missed surgery. She grabbed her charts from the nurses' station, smiling warmly in response to the "good to have you back, Dr. Grey" murmured by the woman who handed them to her. She flipped through her patients' information as she prepared to start her morning rounds, nearly colliding with Jackson, who was rushing around the corner fumbling with his phone. "Meredith!" He exclaimed, when she let out a surprised noise and he finally glanced up. He reached out a hand to steady both her and himself. "I was just about to page you. I need a consult on my patient when you can. Trauma two." Meredith felt her stomach clench and a wave of panic, black and thick, slowly begin to swell inside her chest. Jackson gave her a quick smile, oblivious to her rising discomfort, and continued down the hall. Toward the pit, she assumed. Toward his patient in trauma two. Her stomach rolled again and suddenly the smell of her coffee seemed nauseating rather than inviting. She dropped it in a bag of trash left on an unattended housekeeping cart as she continued down the hall to round on her pre op patients. She struggled to keep her face neutral as she fought the wave of fear that threatened to drown her, but despite her best efforts she could feel her hands shaking and her breath quickening. She hadn't been inside trauma room two since she'd been back to work. She hadn't been inside trauma room two since she'd left it 6 months ago: carried out strapped to a backboard, barely conscious but completely terrified. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. There was no need for this kind of reaction. Everything had turned out fine, she rationalized with herself. She had seen Lou, shaken his hand, accepted his apology. He'd been discharged. She was back at work and, she had thought until now, none the worse for wear. She was tempted to put the consult off, keep too busy until Miranda or Richard were free and could take over for her. But- she frowned. If they knew she had been avoiding the trauma room, if they suspected the truth- that even after 6 months of recovery and three weeks back at work she was still struggling to stay afloat on this wave of irrational fear- they could bench her again, like they had after the shooting several years before. They could force her to see the hospital shrink, who would try to make her bright and shiny all over again. Determined now, she shook her head and turned around, following the path Jackson had taken to the pit. Better to get it over with, she thought. I'll make it quick.

The patient- Marjorie, she learned from the chart Jackson's intern handed her as she walked in- was a small middle aged woman with penetrating trauma to her upper right thigh. Rebar, from a motorcycle crash. It had barely missed the femoral artery. She was lucky to be alive. Jackson only wanted Meredith's input on the best method for removing the metal without further injuring healthy surrounding tissue. Everything about this case was different than the one she'd worked on the last time she had been in this room. A small woman instead of a big man, penetrating trauma to the leg instead of blunt force trauma to the head. The patient was sedated and clearly harmless rather than seizing violently. There were no similarities between Marjorie's case and Lou's. Rationally, Meredith knew this. And yet, every time she looked at Marjorie it was Lou's face she saw. When she turned to grab supplies off of the tray, she could hear the instruments on it clattering to the floor amid her own strangled screams. Hands shaking and heart racing, she fought to focus on this patient, tried to remember what her recommendation was for Jackson. But the room swam through her blurry vision and there was a rushing in her ears that kept growing louder and louder. "... Meredith? Did you hear me? Meredith? Mer! Are you alright?" Jackson's voice sounded far away and muffled, garbled like she was underwater. The same way everything had sounded up until just a few weeks ago when her hearing had slowly begun to return. And just like that, she felt the tenuous control she had been struggling to keep over her mind snap. She was hyperventilating now, but the tightness she felt around her throat was no longer caused by her body's adrenaline response, it was Lou's big hands wrapped in a stranglehold around her neck. The hands that reached out toward her and firmly gripped her upper arms in an attempt to support her and call her back were no longer Jackson's gentle surgeon hands offering the reassuring touch of a friend; they were Lou's hands grabbing her and lifting her roughly over his head to slam her against a wall. She was thrashing and choking and terrified and black spots danced before her vision. She was going to pass out. She vaguely heard the door open and slam shut, and two male voices yelling. But she was too lost in her fear to recognize Jackson yelling in panic for someone to page Alex, too far gone to realize that what felt like hours of desperate struggle alone was really only minutes. Her knees buckled and she heard another swell of gruff voices as the arms that had been only supporting her now took her full weight, tensed to keep her from falling, and lowered her softly to the floor.

Suddenly there were warm hands on her face, in her hair. And even in the midst of her terror she recognized their touch. Alex.

The floor was cold against her cheek and she grabbed hold of the reality of that small detail. She fought to focus on Alex's words, but she could hardly hear him over the ringing in her ears so she focused on his presence instead. "This isn't real, it's not real. It's not real." She wasn't sure if the words she was saying were really leaving her lips or were just in her head, but she knew they were true. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real, because when Lou had attacked her she was all alone, and she was not alone now. She was lying on the cold floor of trauma room two again, afraid and unable to breathe again, but this time Alex was here. She was sure of it; she could smell his aftershave and feel the callouses on his palms as they brushed tears she hasn't realized she was crying from her face and smoothed back her sweaty hair. His words continued to wash over her like a very different kind of wave, and the dark one within her chest began to recede.

"You're safe, Mer. I got you. It's not real, whatever you're seeing is not real. I'm here, I'm right here."

Gradually the crushing weight of Lou's hands around her neck lifted and she could breathe again. Slowly, the rushing in her ears faded and she could more clearly hear the soft murmur of Alex's voice. As she came back to herself a bit more, she registered the various hospital noises outside the door of the room, which she was grateful to notice had emptied except for the two of them. The last thing she needed was the hospital gossiping about Dr. Grey's panic attack in front of a patient and the whole ER. She felt one of Alex's hands move from her hair to her wrist as he tried to surreptitiously check her pulse.

"That's right, Mer, that's good. You're ok. Take as long as you need." She flipped her hand over to thread her fingers through his, squeezing as she began to muster the courage to push past her lingering emotion and embarrassment at his seeing her like this and meet his eyes. It took a moment, and she let him slip a hand gently behind her neck to help her sit up first. She winced as she felt her pulse pounding in her temples, but she managed to meet his concerned gaze for a beat before quickly glancing away.

"I'm fine." She murmured softly, staring at their intertwined fingers, confused by the tear tracks she had noticed on his usually stoic face. His thumb rubbed comforting circles on the back of her hand and she realized he still hadn't untangled his fingers from her sweaty hair. "I know" he answered. The smile he gave her was both genuine and sad. She inhaled a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. "I'm fine." She repeated, more audibly this time.

"I know" Alex said again, and there was a steady confidence in his tone now that infused her with a little confidence as well. At least enough to get up off of the freezing floor. "Help me up." She directed, working to school her face into what she hoped was a collected expression. He obliged, but once they were on their feet, he stood there just a moment too long, still holding her hand, seemingly reluctant to let her go. "Mer..." He began, then trailed off. She read the strange mixture of concern and admiration in his eyes, and guessed the things he wanted to say to her, but couldn't bring himself to speak aloud again now that he knew she was listening.

. ...I'm right here. I got you. I'm right here...

He didn't need to say anything else. She smiled up at him in response and it was a bit shaky, but real. "I know." She softly echoed his words from just a second ago back to him. "And thank you." He gave her hand one last squeeze, then checked his pager and opened the door. As soon as he turned the handle, she heard his name called by three different interns simultaneously and her stomach clenched. She hadn't thought about everything he must have just dropped to run to her, or the pages he must have ignored to stay with her. How long had they been in there anyway? 40 minutes? An hour? The door clicked closed behind him, shutting out the noises of the hospital again as she watched him take off at a jog toward the ambulance bay. Her own pager vibrated at her hip and she checked it by reflex. Incoming trauma. She moved to follow Alex, pausing at the door to quickly swipe a hand across the tears drying on her cheeks and smooth down her disheveled hair. Before she let the door shut behind herself, she glanced back at the room that held no fear for her any longer. And she wondered at exactly what moment Alex had become her person... And why she felt so warm inside... And why the hand that he'd been holding wouldn't stop tingling.