The air in Seattle Grace-Mercy-Doom Hospital smelled of antiseptic and sexual tension.
Elara Vance woke up standing. She was running. Why was she running? She looked down. She was wearing blue scrubs that fit perfectly but were somehow incredibly flattering. A stethoscope hung around her neck like a heavy, rubber albatross.
"Move it, Intern!" a nurse screamed, shoving a clipboard into Elara's hands. "We have a Code Blue, a Code Red, and a Code Beige in the E.R.! And Dr. McSteamy is crying in the elevator again!"
"Where am I?" Elara gasped, skidding around a corner.
She crashed into a gurney. Lying on the gurney, looking pale and tragically beautiful, was Aldren Vance.
"Elara," Aldren whispered, clutching a hospital gown that was open in the back. "I am dying."
"You're a vampire," Elara panted, checking his chart. "You're already dead."
