𝙑𝙄.
SO IT GOES...

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NEW YORK

SOMEHOW, LINGERING IN a college mixer in the middle of campus hadn't been how I'd envisioned my evening to go.

Originally, I'd planned to stay behind at Archer's clinic and work a few hours doing some admin for him. I'd been doing that lately, helping him get some things in line as a thank you for allowing me to shadow him through some of his consultations. But then I'd heard about a recruitment mixer filled with some of the biggest faces in the Manhattan medical scene and I'd instantly dropped everything. I'd never been one for cocktails and a fancy looking function room but it didn't seem too much of a bad idea when a networking opportunity was involved.

So I stood there, wearing an outfit that I'd completely ripped from Addison's closet, feeling like a mannequin that had been coerced into an approachable position. My smile was extremely forced and my hand was holding my champagne flute a little too tightly. I winced at the thought of having to speak to so many people in the span of two hours. There were so many old white men surrounding me that I thought, for a moment, that I'd stumbled into a country club.

And then I saw a familiar face.

"Aren't you a little too old for a college event?"

The question caused him to raise an eyebrow. He'd materialised out of the chaos of the mixture, holding his own drink and with a name tag pressed against his dress shirt. It said Mark Sloan: Plastics Fellow. My tone had been teasing but I seemed to hit a nerve. He approached me as if I'd just challenged him, a brief laugh escaped my lips.

"You're Addisons sister, right?" He seemed to vaguely recognise me and I just smiled, my glass lingering on my bottom lip. Out of all of the people in the room, he was the only face that I recognised. When I nodded, he seemed to sigh out of his nose. "It's always nice to see a familiar face."

We hadn't had a full conversation before. At Archer's clinic opening, he'd very briefly asked about my college and that had been it. But now, he was dog-earing me as a familiar face and smiling at me in a friendly way. In all honesty, this whole vibe of this event was reminding me of the clinic opening, was this the sort of world people like Mark lived in? Corporate events and shiny dress shirts and shoes? He was wearing the same blazer as he had at the clinic. I was wearing the same shoes.

"Of course," I replied, looking around at all of the unfamiliar people. There were representatives from every single surgical department in every hospital in the city, all clamouring around and talking about medicine. "I love nothing more than to turn up to events and chat with my sister's friends."

As if to punctuate my sentence, I took a mouthful of champagne.

"Ah," Mark's face contorted, "I don't think Addie would consider me one of her friends."

I let out a very breathy laugh.

"Oh, that's true."

Addison had never said anything in Mark's favour. Neither had Archer. Both of them seemed to be completely aligned in their distaste for him. The only person who seemed to sing his praises were Derek. My sister's boyfriend was very much the sort of 'ride or die' friend type that I'd always wished for. It was clear to me that Mark was a very polarising person. Addison's frequent way to describe him was 'asshole', and I gathered that from a slight gleam in his eye.

Oh, he was definitely the sort of person to hook up with you and never return your calls afterwards.

A few of the people in my classes already knew him. His reputation was that palpable, people knew him, people spoke about him at length. Teaching assistants seemed to loathe his presence and some of the college seminar leaders winced at the thought of him— but here he was, approachable and friendly and with his hair only a tiny bit askew.

"Seen anything you like?" Mark cleared his throat and gestured over towards the stalls that were scattered throughout the hall. His question was almost suggestive. Each one was equipped with an old white man who looked as though they'd rather be somewhere fishing. I followed his gaze, chewing on my bottom lip. "Have anything in mind?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, crossing an arm over my chest. "Addie wants me to go into Paeds... Archer wants me to go into Neuro..."

My siblings didn't seem to understand the whole 'it's my choice thing'. The only conversation they liked to revisit more than my love life was my career, with both of them constantly bombarding me with their specialities. It made me laugh, almost-- the constant reminder that they were successful in their own areas was enough to propel me in the opposite direction. I would not be able to survive in their shadows, I knew that much. Maybe that was the problem I was digging myself into by choosing the exact same career as my siblings— no matter how hard I worked or what I chose to do, I was always going to be compared to them.

"How about Plastics?" He grinned over at me, looking like a commercial spokesperson. He was met with another shrug.

"Could you imagine what Addison would think?" I winced at the thought of it. She seemed to frown upon anything that wasn't what either her or Derek were doing. Any surgery that didn't involve brains, kids or vaginas seemed to be completely out of the question. Mark covered his chuckle with a mouthful of champagne.

His expression told me that he knew exactly what Addie would think. Even though she didn't regard Mark as one of her friends, he clearly thought of her as one of his. He seemed to know her well enough to know that me putting time into any speciality that didn't involve an Addie stamp of approval was a waste of time.

"Well, what do you think?" He countered. "What do you want?"

His question made me falter.

No one had asked me what I thought. No one had asked me what I wanted. Throughout this whole process of selecting medical courses and surgical programs, no one had once stopped to ask me what I wanted. I felt almost ambushed by the sudden appearance of it— what did I want? It almost completely blindsided the spectacle of Mark Sloan being the person (out of everyone in my life) to ask me that.

Do I even know what I want?

I didn't. I didn't know what the fuck I was going to do.

Hell, I was in medical school, I had no idea what my life was going to be like when it actually came to choosing my speciality. All I knew was that surgery was what I wanted and surgery was what I was going to get, come rain or shine. I figured that I was going to gravitate towards an area of surgery when I went through my surgical internship, that was what I was banking on.

He was staring at me, watching the cogs churn in my brain. I stared back, feeling like a kid who'd just been caught out charading as an adult. It felt like one of those moments in a movie where the adult is exposed as two kids in a trench coat. My cheeks burned under the weight of his raised eyebrow. After a few passing moments, I just sighed.

"I don't know," I felt almost foolish repeating those words. There was nothing more shameful in my family than being indecisive or confused. "I'm hoping I figure that out before Addison disowns me."

Mark laughed at that. "Funny."

Thanks for noticing, I felt like saying. I constantly felt like my own source of comedic relief.

I just rolled my eyes. "You think that's a joke?"

He paused for a second, despite not seeming to need much time to think about it. Mark just shook his head gently. We both knew that Addison took these sort of things far too seriously. I could only imagine the sort of hell I'd get if I decided to switch around and go into something like psychiatry instead. There was only one thing that surgeons hated more than other surgeons and that was psychiatrists.

"No," Mark said. "I don't. Your sister is... uh..."

"Pushy?" I supplied, watching as he seemed to struggle to find the perfect way to describe her. His face contorted slightly.

"Well," He shrugged, "I was going for more..."

"Ah.. Bitch," I concluded, nodding. "Yeah, that's a family thing. Genetic, if you'd believe it."

He laughed again. It was a nice relief to have someone respond nicely to all of my jokes. In this room of sourfaced old men, I wasn't getting far with my smooth-talking. I glanced down at my alcoholic beverage, maybe I needed to be drunk. I hadn't been so into alcohol before I'd arrived in New York, but this city was beginning to make me insecure— my solution: Champagne that was so expensive that I was pretty sure it was where my tuition was going.

"I can't say," Mark said, eyes sparkling. His mouth twisted into a smirk and he tilted his head to the side. "I don't know you well enough to know if you're a bitch or not." Then he paused. "You seem nice enough..."

It was said in a very flirtatious way. There was something about how his vibrant eyes swum and drifted down my outfit that made me sense a change in ambience. My eyebrows raised very slightly. It was then that I was reminded of all of the things I'd heard about him. He was a charmer, he was a smooth talker, he was probably far better at this whole schmoozing thing than I was, sober. Suddenly, I was second-guessing his friendliness. My breathing hitched very slightly and I distracted myself with a mouthful of bubbles.

Was this the sort of person he was? Shamelessly flirting on a medical school student? Something told me that recruitment and career advice wasn't the only reason Mark Sloan came to these sort of events.

"You'll have to take my word for it," was all I said. He seemed to like that response, despite the fact that the thought of falling into his little rolodex of women displeased me.

He gave me a very wicked smile. "I will."

He told me to have a good night and disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared, leaving me to make conversation with people who honestly didn't seem as they wanted to be there. I caught sight of him across the room as I spoke to a Paeds fellow from Mount Sinai, he was talking to a pretty woman, face done up in the same signature smirk. He appeared in fractures throughout the evening, each time with a different woman, talking about different things— it made me sigh through my nose.

Didn't it ever get exhausting?

I was exhausted after talking to three people, and yet Mark was going around the room, charming every woman in his path. He was clearly very good at it— he caught my eye as he breezed past and winked. Addison was good at it too, she was always the hostess type, forever throwing social plans into every box on her calendar. Don't even get me started on Derek-- They all seemed to thrive off of the energy in the room. The only person I had on my team of introverted tendencies was Archer; my older brother hated small talk.

But Mark was a different level of charming. There was something about the way he could just make someone dedicate their attention to him, something about his crooked grin and his sparkly eyes that made you submerge yourself into his words. He was a different level of charismatic to Addison, he was borderline dangerous. He was the sort of witty, flirty and intense that could be militarised into a biological weapon.

I finished my glass of champagne and made a very quiet note to myself: don't get involved with that man.

A fellow from ManWest was trying to talk to me about Orthopaedic surgery, but I was all too busy glancing at Mark out of the corner of my eye. He had a very specific blonde that was hanging onto his every word. I had a feeling that they were talking about something other than the practicality of Plastic Surgery. I took a brochure from the stall and flicked through it, forcing myself to concentrate on the information that was being presented to me. Everything sounded pretty cool, but I couldn't help but approach everything with a tiny bit of dread.

I didn't know what I wanted.

There were too many options, too many things to take into account. I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. How the hell was I supposed to choose a career pathway when I couldn't even decide what cereal I wanted for breakfast? Or what colour I wanted to paint my toenails? My track record when it came to commitment was notoriously shit— I couldn't even get a tattoo, talk about a surgical speciality.

"So, do you have any idea of what you want?"

Mark must've had the whole magic trick thing down perfectly. An hour of conversation and awkward schmoozing had passed and he was in front of me again, smiling breezily as if no time at all had passed. I looked down at the brochures I'd acquired through the evening, debating whether or not to give him an honest answer— but I hesitated a little too long. He chuckled under his breath, nodding.

"Is it worth me trying to pitch Plastic Surgery?" He sounded amused, which caused me to roll my eyes.

It was weird. Usually, with Addison's friends, I felt pressured to make them like me, to be careful with what I said or how I acted. I didn't feel that same pressure with Mark, just as I had with Derek. I had the feeling that no matter what I did, he'd still find some dumb way to be charming. So I just let the champagne do the talking for me, helping me roll my eyes and drop my shoulders. I let out a sigh that was long enough to make Mark's eyebrows raise.

"Give it your best shot."

What did I have to lose?

Mark did give it his best shot. He was pretty good at it too. Mark seemed to have this whole 'we change people's lives' speech all planned out. He lead me in the direction of his hospital's stall and started pointing at pictures of kids that they'd put onto their boards. I listened politely, nodding my head absently with his every word. Mark used a lot of big words, shot me a lot of handsome smiles and by the end of it, seemed pretty proud of his case. But when he glanced at me, looked at the slightly disengaged look in my eye, and rolled his eyes.

"You're not impressed, are you?" He seemed to challenge my audacity and I just smiled.

"Oh no," I nodded towards the pictures and the brochures and the squeaky clean logo. "I'm very impressed."

I was impressed. Mark was very passionate about his work. He had the same look in his eye that Addison had about kids, Archer about brains. He spoke about cleft palettes, ear reattachments and sinus surgeries with fondness as if they were very beloved friends of his. Honestly, it was as if I'd third-wheeled the whole topic the whole time. But to be completely honest, I'd felt a little estranged from everything. It wasn't the sort of surgery I could envision myself doing.

"Good," Mark said, "I've been told that I'm very impressive."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'll take your word for it."

There it was. A flash in his eye. It was just a tiny bit exciting, like a live wire crackling a few steps away from me. I could feel it, it was the exact same thing that had had that blonde woman hanging off of his every word. I decided to just smile through it, averting my gaze and becoming very interested in the picture of a baby receiving a skin graft.

"It looks..." I gestured towards the diagrams of burn regeneration and hospital turnovers. I grimaced as I met the eyes of another crying burnt kid that I'm sure was supposed to sway some hearts into some form of work or donation. "Impressive."

"It is," Mark rubbed at his chin. I noticed that he was still holding the same champagne glass from earlier. He hadn't drunk at all, which in all honesty, was probably a good idea seeing as this was a professional event. Meanwhile, I was extremely aware of how the bubbles were going to my head. "It's a good speciality."

"Right," I said. I was having a staring match with a picture of a man with a severed nose. An absent nodded bounced my chin up and down. "It sounds it..."

There was a brief pause. While I was staring at the picture, Mark seemed to be watching me, watching as I looked down at the pamphlets in my hand and chewed on my bottom lip. Inside, I was wheeling over how overwhelming the future felt. There were so many options in surgery, so many things-- I felt dizzy thinking about it.

Beside me, Mark seemed to sense the need for a change in subject.

"Y'know, when Addie said that she had a sister, I didn't think that you'd be..."

I frowned at his sentence. Wishing that I'd grabbed a second glass of champagne, I waited for him to continue. Instead, he seemed to just trail off, deciding that it was best not to finish what he'd started. That wasn't good enough.

"Be what?" I asked, watching as Mark shrugged. I really hoped that he wasn't going to say what I thought he was about to say. "Career-focused? Driven?"

"Hot."

Ah. Yep, there it was. I met his gaze head-on, my mind rolling pretty quickly as I told myself all the reasons I should just turn on my heel and leave it at that. I'd let Mark crack on with another woman and just go on with my life— but then I reminded myself that Mark wasn't just some random guy at a surgical mixer. He popped up at Addison's social events, lingered at the back of their apartment when I came to visit. He wasn't just a Plastic Fellow, he was Mark Sloan, the best friend of my sister's boyfriend.

"That was impressive," I said, shaking my head. I seemed to be doing that a lot tonight. Mark's eyes bounced between my breathy laugh, stunned smile and swinging ponytail. He cocked his head to the side. "I'll have to give you credit for that..."

"What?" He asked, humouring me. "Was it not smooth enough?"

"Not by a long shot," I answered.

"Damn," Mark sighed. He whistled lowly as if I'd just broken his heart. "I thought it was a good one."

I laughed, shaking my head and wondering why the hell he'd even tried. I got the impression that Mark just had to try, otherwise, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. I grinned at him, the bubbles making my laughter come out slightly pitchy. I continued to just laugh, shake my head and pine after a second glass of champagne.

"Has it worked before?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow and watching as he rolled his eyes. To my surprise, he took a single mouthful of champagne and then seemed to grimace. "How many women have you charmed with that one?"

"I can't say I've had any takers," Mark replied, making me tilt my head to the side. I did my best to hold in the chuckle that threatened to slip out. "Although, it's not everyday people introduce me to their little sisters... I'll have to get back to you when I try it on another one of Addison's sisters..."

My lips flickered into a smile at his joke. "I'd pay to see you try it on Archie."

"He'd deck me," said Mark. I didn't disagree.

Between Mark's clothing, his smooth voice and the twinkle in his eye, I could tell why so many women fell under his spell. He spoke to me with such natural confidence that it felt as though we'd known each other for years. The grin he offered to me across his champagne glass was warm, friendly and the sparkle in his eye dulled into an amused spark. I understood immediately: his flirty joke was part of him, he was a shameless but harmless flirt by design.

Two could play at that game. I'd been called a flirt before. If I was enough drinks in I could flirt my way through a city if need be. It would've been so easy to just play along-- but if there was one thing that I knew, it was that a stupid rendevous with a bachelor playboy was the last thing I need. I had much more pressing things to address like my future career and the possibility of Addison chewing me out for getting involved with Mark Sloan.

"Y'know... when Addie said that she had this player friend..." I trailed off, letting out a disheartened breath that seemed to thrill him. I tried my best to copy the way he'd said it, his canny awkwardness. "I didn't think you'd be so..."

"Hot?" He supplied confidently, smirking from ear-to-ear.

The ego was truly unmatched.

"Underwhelming."

My words caught him off-guard. I took great joy in watching his eyebrows raise. His mouth opened, then closed, and then split into a grin. I watched him, pressing my lips together and rolling my eyes. His ego was endearing in a way— in the same sort of way you'd be endeared by a kid crushing on a teenager. He seemed to approach everything with such confidence, such audacity.

"Wow," he said. He paused further. A beat passed. Then, very slowly, he nodded. "You're giving me a run for my money, aren't you?"

I gripped the pamphlets in my hand a little harder, kissing my teeth. An indifferent shrug and I was trying my best not to laugh again, "It's not my fault you're slow."

It was in that moment that he had the brazen audacity to look me up and down. His eyes scathed over me, head-to-toe. From my scuffed formal heels, Addison's dress (that read far more matron than potential hookup) to the red lipstick I'd bought last-minute in a very dodgy drugstore downtown. I didn't like the way his eyes glimmered, as if with deadly electricity-- I felt it briefly zip across my skin. I could tell he wasn't thinking about the family resemblance.

"Do I need to even bother reminding you that I'm Addison's sister?"

"You remind me of her," Mark said, nodding. Unsurprisingly, I didn't consider that a good thing. I saw my sister as a very neurotic socialite who was always two seconds away from a stress-induced migraine. I liked to think of myself of something a little less... social. When he gauged that I didn't consider it a compliment, he chuckled. "I think it's that genetic thing you were talking about--

It was my turn to be caught off-guard. My brow lifted and a slightly hesitant grin opened across my face.

He'd just called me a bitch.

"Thank you for noticing," Now that was a compliment I could take. "I have to say, that's a comparison that I really don't mind."

My feet were beginning to throb. My eyes wandered over his shoulder, over at all of the people in the room. There were so many career-driven sharpshooters, so many boring old white men who'd dedicated their lives to medicine-- no wonder women seemed drawn to Mark like moths to a flame. As much as I hated to admit it, Mark was probably the most interesting conversation I'd had this evening. Not to mention, probably the most interesting person in the room--

My thoughts were cut short by Mark raising his hands as if he was a soldier surrendering in war.

"Maybe don't tell Addison that I hit on you..." For the first time since I'd met him, he seemed to falter. I noticed this with an impassive expression, just an subtly cocking an eyebrow. Mark swallowed some champagne and continued. "She'd probably go after me with a pitchfork--"

He trailed off, looking briefly very uncomfortable. I was sure that he was thinking about the wrath of Archer and Addison if they ever found out he'd even blinked in my direction. The chuckle I let out as I reached out at a passing waiter and grabbed my second glass of champagne, was laced with mirth.

Oh, how we'd both be in so much shit.

"That's nice, thank you," It wasn't particularly nice but I could tell that it was something that resembled morals in him. I spoke to the floor, enjoying the feeling of bubbles passing through my body. "For the record, I'm not interested anyway. I spent too much time in high school chasing guys like you..."

A look flickered over his eyes, one which told me that maybe he didn't hear that phrase a lot. I'm not interested. A rejection that I was sure he barely ever heard-- or maybe he did hear it a lot. I'd heard enough accounts of him being a sleazeball to know that while people were charmed and enamoured by him, many others were completely polarised. When I raised my head to smile at him in a friendly, 'no offence' way, his brow was furrowed.

"Really?" He said as if it was the most interesting thing I'd ever said to him. "Sounds like you've been hanging around with the wrong people, Montgomery."

"I have," I agreed with him wholly. I'd dated some really questionable guys during high school. I seemed to have a history of wrong guys, one which was probably extensive enough to have it's own essay exam paper. "But luckily, I'm actually kind of seeing someone at the moment... So you don't have to worry about... the whole Addison thing." I let out a laugh as the bubbles maybe went a bit too much into my train of thought. "She's convinced that I'm going to get married to Calum anyway, so..."

My laugh was definitely unhinged. It was a bundle of stress and anxiety and the realisation that Addison really was convinced that I was going to get married to a guy I barely knew.

It was funny, Addison's idea of my life. For as long as I could remember, she'd had such a sure idea of her future. She'd planned everything out in calculated steps: High School, College, Med School, Career, Husband, Apartment, Kids... I was pretty sure she even had all of her kids names planned and had had her wedding dress selected since she was 8 years old. It'd reflected onto my life too, so when I'd mentioned that I'd started to see a guy that I'd met at one of her parties, a lawyer no less, she'd already started picking out wedding venues.

My laugh was a little bit too unhinged for a conversation with a guy that I barely knew.

"Huh," Mark said, clearing his throat. "Sounds like you have it all planned out, huh."

I didn't reply, just drank an alarming amount of champagne and fixed my eyes on a picture of a family over on the paediatrics table a couple of heads over. I looked away as quickly as I could. When I blinked, they looked like a very passive-aggressive reminder to get my shit together.

"You're like... twenty-something right?" Mark's tone was odd, as if he was struggling to figure out what was racing through my head. I nodded, tearing my eyes away from the pictures. "That's the most painfully Addison thing I've ever heard. If I remember rightly, I think she was trying to get engaged to Derek from the moment they'd met..."

"Yeah," I said quietly. "Addison's always been a go-getter."

"She's wishing her life away," Mark said. Her determination was something that I found both astounding and terrifying. She'd made it very clear since she'd left Connecticut that she was going to live her life on her own terms-- now the only problem was that she expected me to fall in line. "If I was you... I'd live a little, you're far too young to get married--"

I cut him off, shooting him a weird look.

"Live a little?" I echoed. He just shrugged. "Like what?"

"I don't know," Mark dismissed, running a hand through his hair. "Date a bunch of terrible guys... do some questionable drugs... get drunk-- experience life."

What a shit mantra.

"Huh," I said, as if life had just struck me out of nowhere. He had a very different idea of life to what I did. A life experience, to me, was what Addison was currently hurtling toward. It was a life-size model built in the style of my parents little suburban home. People didn't really do drugs in suburban Connecticut. They drank dry white wine and their idea of a high was the painkillers they administer during dental or plastic surgery.

"You know what..." Mark said. He turned to me with an expression on his face that I didn't like. It was as if he'd just formulated the most exciting and amazing idea-- my brow furrowed. "I take back the whole thing-- if you want to experience something other than Addison's grand plan, then all you have to do is ask--"

I choked on a mouthful of champagne. The alcohol burned the back of my throat causing tears to shove their way out of my tear ducts. I blinked, coughing slightly as I struggled to come to terms with what he'd just said. I grabbed a napkin, realising that I'd just spilt half of my flute down the front of Addison's dress. I looked up at Mark with alarm and surprise in my eyes, mascara already smudging on my lashline.

"I am not sleeping with you."

"Wow," Mark said, scoffing slightly, "You don't have to sound so offended by it. I didn't mean it like that. Just if you ever--"

I couldn't believe him.

"God no," I wrinkled my nose. "Never."

"Never?" He repeated, both of his eyebrows raising. "That sounds very final-"

"Never," I confirmed. "Not a chance in hell."

"That's not what I--" Mark said, shaking his head very slightly. "I'm trying to be nice."

I had half a mind to laugh. He was so confident, so arrogant, I completely understood why Addison had so eager to make me aware of exactly who he was. I didn't know whether he wanted me to thank him and compliment him on how thoughtful and tentative he was. Instead, I just averted my eyes away.

The way he looked at me, the way goosebumps rose on the backs of my arms, it was enough for me to want to bury myself six feet under.

"You've got a weird way of being nice," was all I could say. My eyes strayed upwards to the roof of the ballroom. The ceiling was so far away and the sight of it almost made me dizzy. Huh, maybe it was the champagne, not the height. Maybe I was just a bit more drunk than I'd anticipated.

Mark hummed lightly. "I've been told I don't play well with others so I'm trying to improve."

I shot him an incredulous look. "So they thought you should be the face of..." I squinted at his badge. "Mount Sinai Plastics?"

"Apparently I'm charming," He said off-handedly as if he'd never thought about it before. I snorted into my glass.

"I would've never noticed," I replied, not sure whether my sarcasm translated. Either way, Mark lifted an eyebrow, fixing me with a pair of swirling, bemused blue eyes.

He was very charming. Maybe even too charming.

"Addison says you're an asshole," I said as if I was quoting a highly reputable source. Mark laughed at that, his eyes dropped to the floor and he took a very long sip of his champagne flute. "Are you an asshole, Mark?"

"Probably," He replied. The sparkle in his eye returned as we both prepared to talk to other people. Mark made the move to leave but gave me one last stupidly handsome smile. "Rumour is though... Addison's a bitch."

***

─── My sister, although a bitch, seemed to single-handedly hold up the Manhattan social calendar.

With one hand, she was working tirelessly in her position as an Attending Pediatric Surgeon at Bellevue, and with the other, she was training for her certification in Neo-Natal Surgery. Even then, she seemed to find the space in her palm to host as many parties as she could, boosting her up into the Desperate Housewives League of the New York social scene.

I didn't know how she could do it. Watching her plan and put together things exhausted me, and I got even more exhausted when it came to watching her socialise. Just like everyone else in this city, she seemed to take schmoozing and conversation in her stride. She reminded me of our mother, intent on smiling so hard that she'd need botox at the age of 28. She dressed like a character from the First Wives Club and seemed intent on living her life as Stockard Channing-- every time I received an invite through the mail I just swallowed my sigh and tried to find an excuse not to go.

A fun game I liked to play was 'What Excuse Can I Pull Out Of My Ass This Week?'. It was the most gripping part of my day, standing by the phone in my apartment and trying to brainstorm something that would get me out of the small talk and hors d'oeuvres. Usually, it was something school-related; Ah shit, I totally forgot about a paper on epigastric pain that's due tomorrow, sorry next time. But then Addison caught onto the fact that I was having finals every other week and she started making disheartened noises down the phone line.

Eventually, I just told her that I had things to do, things that weren't wearing heels and walking ass if I had a stick wedged up my ass. Another disappointed noise-- she was good at those, she'd developed them from Bizzy Forbes' classic 'displeased sniff'. I had medical school to concentrate on, I had work to do and things to study-- but Addison wanted me to turn up and socialise for only one night a week? What an asshole I was to not want to sacrifice one night--

"You look happy."

Derek was watching me as I unloaded drinks into a cooler. His head cocked to the side as I just groaned under my breath, shaking my head from side to side. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught his chuckle as I begrudgingly shoved a bunch of champagne bottles into ice buckets. We were swamped by staff, cramped into Addison's kitchen as the two of them hosted some fancy soiree that I hadn't been able to get out of.

His sarcasm was not appreciated.

"I look unpaid," I corrected.

My sister's boyfriend just grinned, handing me a champagne bottle that I'd missed. I straightened and shot him a look as I accepted it from him. I watched as Derek directed some hired catering staff towards the dining area, wiping the slight perspiration that had gathered on my forehead with the back of my hand.

When he turned back to me, he was faced with the sight of me shoving a glass under the faucet in a half-hearted attempt to cool myself down. He quirked an eyebrow.

"I should be revising human anatomy right now," I said flatly. I eyed a waiter as they wiped down a table, wondering whether they had anything they'd rather be doing too. "I should be reading about the thorax and viscera functions."

Derek gestured towards the various unopened bottles of champagne. "Would you like a drink?" It was said in an amused tone as if was perplexed by the idea of me drinking water in the middle of a room of alcohol.

I just sighed.

"I didn't drink before I came to New York," I eyed the champagne bottles. I honestly didn't know how the hell Addison could spend all of this money without wanting to scream into an abyss. She'd splashed out on everything, and seemed to every week without even batting an eyelash. Derek picked up a bottle and studied the label. "And I've been drunk twice already this week."

"Oh yeah," Derek said, his voice becoming strained when he realised exactly how much money Addison had thrown into this event. "I heard about the college mixer from Mark. Isn't it kind of counterproductive to give out free alcohol when you're trying to get people to pay attention..."

I just shrugged. "I'm not complaining."

"They always try to get me to go along to those events," Derek continued, frowning as he placed the champagne bottle back into it's bucket. As soon as he placed it down it was whisked away by a server as guests started arriving outside. He seemed to sigh to himself, turning and leaning against the counter-top. "But I don't know... college students just make me feel old."

"You are old," I said without a moment's hesitation. He looked over at me, eyebrows raising as if he'd forgotten how young I actually was. I met his gaze with a wide grin.

"You're a child," he said in response. The immediate expression that followed told me that he didn't think it was a good comeback either.

"Good form, old man."

"Thank you," Derek rolled his eyes and stole an entree from a passing tray. Outside of the kitchen, we could hear the evening beginning, half of New York's Upper East Side dragging their heels into the apartment. We both exchanged a look, one that conveyed exhaustion.

"I've got an exam tomorrow morning," I confessed, staring grimly at the bottom of an ice bucket. "I should be cramming flashcards and post-its, but instead I'm here bartending a fundraiser for my sister."

"Ah," He said, "Yeah, that doesn't sound good."

"Mhmm," I hummed, "I brought some notes and I'm planning on hiding in one of the bedrooms when no one is looking—" I paused and then realised that maybe I didn't always need alcohol for over-sharing. I looked up and grimaced. "Shit, please don't tell Addison that I'll never hear the end of it."

Derek's mouth twitched with a bemused smile that I wanted to scratch off of his face. I just sighed, shaking my head and stuffing a bottle into an ice bucket, handing it to a waiter that needed a refill. I shot him a look that was caught between exasperation. It was a look that was returned.

"I won't say a word," Derek replied, placing his elbows onto the countertop and tilting his head. "I don't think she'd be mad about flashcards—"

"Have you met my sister?" I questioned as if it was completely obvious that she was an appearance over substance person. And it was, undoubtedly. I watched the hesitation bloom in his eyes, my words infect his brain. Addison took after our mother and I was very adamant on not following in their steps. Derek pressed his lips together, seemed to linger on it for a few moments and then conceded, shrugging. He let out a very exhausted sigh and massaged his forehead as if he couldn't even find the energy to think tonight.

The first thing he'd said to me tonight was that he'd just spent eight hours on his feet in an OR. Apparently he'd had a very hefty trauma come in that had demanded his whole schedule. He'd also mentioned that he really wanted to have a shower and watch the football game that was currently airing on television. I'd taken great joy in telling him that I shared his disappointment at the idea of floating around a room of Desperate Housewives trying to raise money for whatever niche charity Addison had gotten her hands on. But it was a for a good cause and I'd finally perfected the coveted socialite smile.

At least I wasn't the only one who didn't want to be here tonight.

"Champagne?" I asked, mimicking the way Derek had gestured to it before.

He let out an exasperated breath and seemed to take my suggestion seriously. I watched as he grabbed an unopened bottle and opened it over the kitchen sink, asking me to grab two spare glasses. I made a mental note to not let him pour any drinks at any of Addison's other parties— for a surgeon he had a shit hand when it came to getting champagne into a flute.

"A viscera teaching moment," Derek handed me the second glass and toasted to me, causing me to grimace. I watched as he drank half of it in one go. "Liver functions... a live demonstration."

"I swear," I said, having no intentions of joining him. My fingers were sticky from the split champagne. "By the end of this medical degree, I'm probably going to be an alcoholic."

Derek chuckled, "At least you'll get your money's worth."

It was then that the kitchen door flew open and some strolled in. At first, the two of us were alarmed, seeming to share the same fear that it was my sister, catching onto some sixth sense that a rogue bottle of champagne had been opened. Our heads turned so fast that we almost gave ourselves whiplash ("That would've been another prime demonstration," Derek pointed out later in the evening) and I had to grab the counter-top to stop myself from keeling over in my heels. To our relief (well, to Derek's mostly) we met the eyes of a jolly-looking Mark, who arrived in the exact same outfit he'd been wearing at the college mixer.

"Don't tell me I'm late to the party," Mark said as he smoothly bypassed oncoming waiters and looked between the glasses in our hands. "I see you've both got a head start. So much for being fashionably late."

I caught a glimpse of the guests and schmoozing as the kitchen door swung behind him. Addison had truly gone full out on this whole ordeal, but unfortunately, that wasn't a good omen. I knew my sister a little too well to be comforted by her spontaneous dive into philanthropy. She only threw herself into event-planning as a distraction, there must have been something very troubling on her mind.

"Addison imported a case of champagne from Spain," Derek said airily, passing the bottle along to his best friend. I watched as Mark seemed to study it just as Derek had. I was pretty sure that neither of them knew anything about alcohol but I figured that it was probably just some weird guy thing so I didn't interject. "So I'm going to make this a teaching moment about liver functions for the medical student."

Derek jerked his head in my direction and I just shook mine, wrapping my arms around my chest. Mark seemed to follow Derek's movement and grinned at me, placing the bottle down. In the brief time that it took him to replace the bottle and run a hand through his hair, Derek was already refilling his glass, having thrown the whole thing back. We exchanged a look, eyebrows raising as Derek seemed to spill a lot of alcohol over the countertop once again.

"Here," I said, holding out the sticky champagne flute to Mark. The plastic surgeon frowned at me and I sighed. "I'm not drinking and it'd be rude to let Derek drink alone."

I watched as Mark hesitated (with a brief interlude of Derek making a very brief and brash comment about how I was a buzzkill).

"C'mon Sloan," A smirk flickered across my lips. "Live a little."

A look of amusement danced across his face. "Touché."

Admittedly, I really did want to drink but I was like that at every single one these events. My skin itched with awkwardness, one that would go away with a couple of mouthfuls of whatever was passed my way. I didn't particularly like the feeling of being drunk, it made me loosen up and say things that I shouldn't say. That had been the one thing I'd been taught while growing up, the importance of keeping a stiff upper lip and not speaking out of turn. Alcohol made that go completely out of the window for me. I got careless and I got loud and would've made my mother break out into a cold sweat. I also had the tendency to get awful hangovers, which made doing important things the day after absolutely impossible.

So I gave Mark my glass, not even having the energy to grimace when our fingers brushed. I'd gotten the impression that Mark wasn't a big drinker either. I'd noticed it at the mixer, how he seemed to hold the champagne and carry it around for show. I met his eye as he resumed the position he'd held throughout that night.

"I'm not a champagne person," He said as if to answer my unspoken question. I just shrugged, wiping my sticky fingers against my thighs.

"I'm not a social mixer person but here we are," it was said with more bitterness than I'd intended, but I just flashed a disgruntled smile and fished a can of lemonade out of Addison's cooler. I'd spent the last twenty minutes stacking soft drinks, it would've been rude to not crack one open. "I think this whole situation is an adapt and overcome moment."

"Biology," Derek commented in the background. "Very educational."

I looked over at him, noticing how he was noticeably perkier than he had been five minutes ago. He grinned over at me, disconnect in his eyes and half a glass of champagne in his hands. I heaved a sigh and refrained from rolling my eyes.

"Derek... you getting drunk because you don't want to put up with this fundraiser is not a teaching moment," I stated plainly, causing him to grumble under his breath. While Derek looked disgruntled, Mark just continued to chuckle, looking extremely amused. "If anything you're being a terrible role model for someone," I pressed my hand to my chest and sighed loudly, "so young and impressionable."

"Impressionable my ass," He mumbled to himself, although I could hear him clear as day. "You're the most stubborn person I've ever met— and that's compared to Amy."

I didn't feel inclined to argue. I'd always been the most stubborn and unreasonable person I knew; well, other than maybe my parents, they were both far too up their own asses to take other people into account. I hadn't spent much time with Derek's sister Amelia, but I knew her reputation just as I knew Marks. She was notorious for marching to the beat of her own drum, but apparently was a little bit too rebellious for Derek and Addison to handle. I just rolled my eyes and considered that maybe drinking tonight was a good idea— no, no, don't fall for it Beth, you have an exam tomorrow and you will regret this in the morning.

Let the record show that I actually paid attention to my common sense that night.

"I'm happy to help you prepare for your exam," Derek said, shrugging once he'd got himself back together. He leant against the counter-top, watching as I begrudgingly helped place hors d'oeuvres onto a platter. I glanced up at him, shaking my head very slightly. "I might be old but I'm smart—"

"You've got funds to raise," I pointed out, gesturing towards the battleground behind the kitchen door. We could hear the thrum of energy, catch the rise and fall of conversation.

"Yeah," it was Derek's turn to roll his eyes. "But Mark's here now. He's Addie's money-ticket."

In unison, the two of us looked over at the Plastic Surgeon who was just stood on the other side of the kitchen, minding his own business. He didn't seem to be following the conversation, his eyes stuck on his hospital pager, but his head snapped up at the sound of his name, eyes lazily wandering to us. He raised an eyebrow, catching onto the end of Derek's sentence.

"Ah," Mark scratched behind his ear, "Yeah, I was wondering why she keeps inviting me to these things. She doesn't even like me."

Derek frowned. "She likes you—"

"She hates Mark," I corrected them both. The look my sister's boyfriend was framed with exasperation. It was a familiar look, one that told me I was being a pain. I just sighed out of my nose— was I really wrong? Addison would've been trailing around on the floor after him bleaching every kitchen tile he walked over if she had the time. "Sorry... she... she just wouldn't consider you her friend."

I was trying to soften a blow that Mark and I had already spoken about at length. I was trying to appease the neurosurgeon who was already half a bottle of champagne now. Out of the corner of my eye, I precariously watched him pump himself full of liquid courage; or maybe he was trying to keep himself awake? Either way, Derek Shepherd was in a state.

"Friends are overrated," Derek shrugged as if he was helping. Mark and I exchanged a look; it was a weird look, one that was a fusion of my indignation and Mark's amusement. The man seemed to be permanently amused no matter what was thrown at him.

"Okay," I said simply, shrugging. "Derek... I'm sorry we can't be friends anymore--"

The sound that he let out was another tell-tale. It was an exhausted sigh, the one that a parent would let out after having to put up with their misbehaving smile. Another glower from across the brim of his champagne flute. I just chuckled to myself, as did Mark who appeared to be enjoying the conversation.

Derek shook his head, finally putting down his glass, "I think I'm going to go and talk to people that are actually nice to me."

"Oh, give my sister my love won't you?"

I watched as Derek rolled his eyes and made his way out into the battleground. I noticed the change in his body as he walked through that door; his posture perfected itself and his face set into a very charismatic smile. It was as if his hosting abilities had just kicked in, in a matter of seconds his character had completely flipped. It was almost creepy, but I recognised it. It was the same sort of drive that Addison and my mother had. Addison and Derek were quite literally made for each other.

It was the same with Mark too, he seemed to smile brightly as he went out into the fundraiser. But his smile was flirty and outrageously attractive, a saunter in his step and a mischievous but irresistible glimmer in his eye. It was clear that he was the one who was going to charm his way into people's wallets and get the biggest draw of cash. It made me uneasy to think that that was the only reason Mark got invited to these events; Addie was using him as a cog in her social agenda machine just as she was using me.

I was beginning to get why she invited me to her parties.

Call it a sneaky intuitive thought or a conspiracy theory but I was pretty sure that she equated me to free labour. I was convinced that she'd figured that I'd be a pushover and let her convince me to help where I could... and she was right. So much for being stubborn. Here I was filling the place of a caterer that Addison couldn't be bothered to spend money on, yet she was perfectly happy spending a couple of hundred dollars on imported champagne-- I shot a dirty look at the bottles in the corner of the kitchen.

Addison was more like our mother than she realised.

She didn't even come to check on me when I'd finished in the kitchen. I didn't find that as tragic as it sounded; I spent a measly fifteen minutes making small talk with a bunch of socialites and then found my way into Addison's bedroom with a pile of textbooks that I'd smuggled into the apartment. With the door closed and the world muted, I could concentrate on the flash-cards and notes that I'd prepared. That's how I spent my evening, benefiting off of my sister being distracted. It was weird that that was my definition of peace: the muffled sounds of socialite New York thrumming behind a wall and a stack of human anatomy diagrams.

I managed to fly under the radar for a few hours, working my way through some practice questions and half a platter of hours d'eouvres that I'd smuggled out of the kitchen. I found myself making rare appearances as I floated through the packed room, trying to make the fact that I'd put on makeup and a dress worth it. I only wore heels outside of Addie's bedroom, kicking them off as soon as I was hidden behind a door. Once the door was closed I had my reading glasses on (only reserved for moments when concentration was demanded and my head was achy) and my shoulders were able to fall from their tense position.

I looked good but I didn't feel it. I'd found a dress at the back of Addison's closet and a pair of heels that didn't make me want to cry. It was a great dress, probably too great for me to have wasted on a mess of an event like this; it was red and comfy and I wished that Calum, the guy I'd started seeing, was here to see me looking put together. I looked hot but I felt like shit-- I was stressed and tired and, as the evening progressed, the thought of throwing back a bottle of champagne sounded more and more like a good idea.

Maybe I was wrong before... Maybe it wasn't medical school that was going to drag me into alcoholism. Maybe it was just everything else.

I was completely undisturbed until... well, I wasn't.

The door opened, causing me to freeze in the pure fear of Addison appearing in the doorway— my head wearily lifted, squinting through the overcast space towards the intruder. The only light in the room came from the lamp on Addison's dressed (which I was using as an impromptu desk) and what filtered around the figure in the doorway. For a split second, I was overcome with panic that it was what I feared, Addison had caught onto my disinterest and, in true Bizzy Forbes fashion, was about to lecture me about how important our social standings were-- but no, the figure in the hallway was distinctively male.

Not one person, but two.

The light flickered to life overhead, causing me to flinch very slightly at the sudden exposure. The two people seemed to bypass me, not aware that I was hidden away in the corner of the room. Through the night I'd progressed to sitting cross-legged on the floor pouring over my flashcards and now, it allowed me to blink stupidly at the backs of their heads. One girl, one guy, grabbing jackets off of Addison's bed— oh, of course.

I heard Mark's shameless flirting before I saw it. As soon as I realised, oh this was him heading off for the night with some poor girl, my interest dropped and I averted my eyes back onto my notes. He was smoothly sweet-talking, eliciting a giggle out of a woman I'd never seen before. I was perfectly happy to leave him too it until there was a pause and the beginning of a very scandalous make out session. Before I knew it, Mark and this pretty socialite were kissing and I was feeling very uncomfortable--

"Oh, don't mind me," I said, mostly because I really didn't feel like watching two people have sex on Addison's bed. My discomfort translated into a very sarcastic but nonchalant comment. I glanced up almost boredly, watching how the girl seemed to flinch and wheel around, staring at me with round, alarmed eyes.

Mark, on the other hand, looked as though he was perfectly comfortable. He simply looked over at me, tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows as if he was about to ask me why I was there. He was holding the girl's waist, his jacket in his other hand. His eyes dipped between the textbooks in my lap and the notes scattered around the room.

"Hi," I said to his friend brightly. I used my big socialite smile that I'd been working on. She just blinked at me. "I'm Beth."

I didn't know her, she wasn't someone I recognized from the hoards of usual socialites that came to these events. She was, however, very pretty and gave me a very bashful and hesitant smile in response. Clearly, they hadn't expected anyone to be in here, but I also hadn't expected them to burst in and start getting handsy. I averted my attention back down to my notes and shuffled my flashcards; out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mark press his lips against the shell of her ear, saying something in an undertone. He straightened his shirt and stepped back, watching as she very quietly left the room.

"Maybe don't..." He began.

The girl had left the door open, filling the room with the sound of music.

"Tell Addie?" I finished for him, flipping a page in my textbook. "It's none of my business. I just would prefer not to, uh," I paused, gesturing to the bed wordlessly and meeting his eyes. I couldn't be bothered to put it into words. "Just don't tell her that I'm hiding from her."

He stepped towards the bed to collect the jacket that the girl had left, stopping to look over the cards that I'd spread across the floor. I had everything colour-coded and ordered, perfectly in place according to each system and exam question. It was quite an impressive sight; it made me think that maybe I was less chaotic than I thought. When I put my mind to things, they usually came out pretty well.

"She'd give you hell for revising?" Mark seemed surprised.

"Have you met my sister?" I found myself questioning, just as I had to Derek a couple of hours previously. However, this time Mark appeared confused.

"Apparently not," Mark said, looking very slightly bewildered. "The Addie I knew in Med School was always cramming and revising. She used to ace all of her exam papers."

"Yeah, she's smart," I said, distracted as I helped a waiter distribute a bunch of appetisers onto a tray. "Both her and Archer are... god forbid I'm not too, right?" A slightly bitter chuckle fell through my lips, but I was shaking my head before it could sink into my pores. "The Addie I've known my whole life thinks that I can multi-task..."

"Well, you are multi-tasking," He pointed out, jerking his head towards the display.

I just shrugged.

"Shouldn't you be out chatting up some billionaire for a donation?" Mark asked.

"Not really my kind of thing... I would honestly rather drink bleach," was my response. His chuckle caused me to roll my eyes, setting aside my notepad and getting to my feet. I stretched out my legs and walked towards the window, cracking it open so a breeze could play through the room. When I turned back, Mark was flipping through one of my binders. "But you know all about that right?"

There was a brief moment of confusion as he didn't know what I was implying. I jerked my head in the direction of the door and he let out a laugh. "It's one of my many talents."

Then a beat passed.

"I'm not sleeping with people for a charity fundraiser."

"I wasn't thinking that at all," I said. That was a lie: I definitely was.

Mark looked impressed that I'd even remembered his little speech from a few nights ago. It hadn't been spectacular or noteworthy, but admittedly, I hadn't stopped thinking about it. In fact, I'd spent a good half hour before arriving tonight wondering what my life would be like if I went rogue on my plan— what if I didn't go on a straight road to my destination, what if I got a bit risky and threw in some bumps? Mark's chilled and borderline-chaotic take on life had seeped under my skin and settled there like a silicone filler, bridging the space between reality and common sense.

I frowned at him. I didn't like the look on his face, it was almost smug. It took everything within me to refrain from rolling my eyes. I took off my reading glasses and finished a coffee that I'd stealthily made in the kitchen (I'd crept in while Addison had been in a lengthy conversation with some business upstart mogul about her noble cause).

"I get the impression I'm a bit hard to get rid of--"

"Sure," I said flatly. "Like an STD."

He shrugged and chuckled. "I'll take it."

Mark turned to leave but I couldn't help myself. There was something about him, about his energy that I couldn't help but almost play with. There was something so fun about getting under his pristine skin. He always so calm and indifferent to everything but we shared a common discomfort, something that was enough to make him squirm slightly; I opened my dumb mouth.

"Y'know, I'm keeping a lot of things from Addie for you," He paused in his step, turning to face me with a frown on his face. I leant against the dresser, crossing my arms over my chest. "I might need a favour..."

"Well," He said, clearing his throat. "I won't tell Addie about you hiding from socialites—"

"And I won't tell her that you hit on me at the mixer."

"Right," Mark said. He seemed to have forgotten about that. "So.. that's what? One to two?"

"Mhmm," I said, tilting my head to the side, "No wonder Addison doesn't want to be your friend."

I hadn't lied before. I did know guys like him. I'd dated a player in high school, back when I'd been naive to think that I could be the cure to a bad boy. The relationship had not last long and neither had my resolve. They all had the same look in their eye, the same fire that seemed to dance, inviting you to burn yourself and go skittering into a bottomless abyss— Mark wasn't new, to me he appeared as a carbon copy to all of the guys that had come before him. When he grinned I saw the same boy who'd dumped me for my high school best friend and then proceeded to completely shatter my perception of love.

"Like Derek said," Mark's eyes sparkled. "Friends are overrated."

I didn't agree with either of them. I didn't really have friends in New York like I did back home. At school I'd had an endless stream of people to talk to, I was pretty popular even though I'd been a cheerleading reject and spent half of high school in band. Even back in Riverside I had friendly faces around me. In New York, I had a very limited list. If anyone knew better they would've figured out that half the time I came to these events to feel seen— even when Addison pushed me aside into the kitchen as free labour.

Friends weren't overrated, at least not to me.

"Good luck with your exam," Mark said, inclining his head towards my notes. I smiled.

"Good luck with your charity prostitution."

"Not for charity," He said without a bat of an eyelash before he left, "And not prostitution."