Disclaimer: Sadly, I can claim no ownership over these characters.

Unseen

She'd stepped out of Greg's room for a cup of coffee. He'd squeezed her hand and said that he'd be fine. The regular, reassuring beep of his heart monitor had followed her through the quiet corridor and to the elevators.

When she came back, the hallway wasn't quiet. Shoes slapped hard against linoleum. A cart, full of equipment, rattled as it flew past. Voices shouted over alarming beeps.

No one had pulled the blinds, but she couldn't see his face. Machines and nurses crowded the space. Despite the closed door, she could hear all of the activity with sickening clarity. Frantic beeps. An electric buzz.

"Paddles." Dr. Cuddy's voice, demanding but calm. Then, "Clear!"

She whipped around and pressed her back against the glass, twisting her hands together. She shut her eyes against prickly tears as she listened to the flat, screeching tone of the monitor and the hitch of her own breath.

"Clear!"

Her head spun and vision blurred. She slid to the floor, where she hugged her knees tightly to her chest, rocking.

"Clear!"

She felt her throat burn, choking down hard, scratchy bubbles of air. Tears traced searing paths down her cheeks, smearing her make-up and dripping from her chin. She swallowed a sob.

"Clear!"

She slammed her forehead against her knees, pressing hard against the thoughts racing through her head. Greg wasn't dead. He wouldn't leave her. He loved her. He wouldn't leave her. Please, don't let him be dead. She loved him. She loved him.

"Clear!" Again. And again.

Finally, calm.

Greg never saw her stumble into the room, blinding pushing through the cluster of nurses, mascara streaking down to her trembling jawbone. He never saw her doubled over the edge of his bed, her wet face pressed against his shoulder. He never saw her grab fistfuls of his hospital gown, holding tightly until her hands cramped.

Trapped behind thick, black clouds of pain and morphine, he never saw her suffer, too.