𝙓𝙓𝙓𝙑.
OH, BABY!

──────

"YOU DISGUST ME."

My words had fallen to deaf ears— he fixed me with a heavy glare and crossed his arms over his chest. I sucked in a little surprised hiccup of breath, my skin bristling with the heat of his voice. 

I couldn't help but shrink away from him, taking a long breath— my cheeks burned and I raised my hands.

"Hear me out-"

"No-" 

He looked away, visibly trying to keep his temper together. I'd grown to recognise his emotional ticks; he kept his attention down on the medical chart he was updating. We were in an office, the door shut behind us as I attempted to push forward a certain topic as carefully and gently as I could. 

From his reaction, I'd failed.

"I-"

"No," His mouth was in a thin, curt line and panic raced through me. This had gone exactly how I'd feared. "I don't want to hear it—"

"No- Listen-"

"How could you even—" 

He paused for a second, his voice faltering. For a moment, I thought he was going to cry. I moved forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off— He pinched his nose and exhaled loudly.

"I'm sorry-"

"Sorry doesn't even begin to make up for what you've done."

I bit my bottom lip, knowing that he was right.

The door softly opened behind us and I turned to find a frowning Derek, tentatively peering into the room. He looked between the two of us, opened his mouth and then closed it, seeming to not know what to say. 

The air was tense, I could see him bristle with the atmosphere— mood slightly fouled, I gave my ex-brother-in-law a questioning look, eyebrows pitched almost into my hairline.

"What?" My tone was hard and scalded.

Again, Derek looked between the two of us, looking very cautious. "Is everything okay?"

"Nope." He still refused to look at me.

"Everything's fine," I insisted with determination.

"No, it's not." Another angry interjection.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"Yes-"

"She's not," Finally, he looked at me. "Do you want to tell him what you did?"

My blood froze. 

My eyes suddenly fixed on the wall in front of me, my skin suddenly growing very warm. My heart stuttered in my chest— Did I want to tell Derek? 

No, no. Honestly, it was a mistake telling anyone. 

Addison's reaction had been jilted; she'd stared at me for a while over a coffee this morning, not quite knowing what to say.

I took a deep breath. It was my turn to avoid people's eyes.

"Fine— I'll tell him what you did—"

"No-"

My words fell to deaf ears. 

I stared at him, hurriedly shaking my head back and forth. Derek was the last person I wanted to know. If he knew then I'd never heard the end of it. Addison had been a risk as it is, but she'd just sighed and shrugged after a prolonged moment of inner musing as if there were more pressing things to designate her disappointment towards. 

Meanwhile, Derek leant forwards, looking very interested in what we had to say.

"I leant Beth my car and she got in a fender bender with a fire hydrant."

Derek looked miffed. 

He stared at Eli, the owner of the Nissan Micra that I had, yes, unceremoniously crashed within moments of getting into the driver's seat. The way Eli had uttered those words, you would've thought that I'd murdered his unborn child— he looked at me with an unhinged madness in his eyes. 

I grimaced, fiddling with his car keys, the key fob spinning around my index finger.

My voice was extremely small. "I can explain-"

"No I can explain," Derek said briskly, his brow now furrowed as he caught sight of Eli's car keys in my hand. I shot him a tepid frown. "You can't fucking drive."

Another grimace. "Well," I muttered, looking down at my nails. "I mean there's that and-."

Eli made a sound that reminded me of an angry cat. "You told me you knew what you were doing."

His accusing little eyes followed me as I gently placed his car keys down onto the desk he was leaning against. 

I'd never been to the nurses' office, it was actually really nice— but I couldn't quite focus on my surroundings when Eli was just so angry. He had the sort of temper that would fill the room and suffocate you. It was so wild to see when he was usually so calm and composed— it reminded me of Mark.

"I told you Charlie was going to be giving me a driving lesson." Was my diplomatic reasoning to Eli's anger.

I had. I'd managed to find some time this past weekend to try and refine my driving skills (well, what little skills I had). Charlie had been up for it and Eli had given me his car keys on my promise that I'd take good care of his car. 

He really liked his car and was very, very protective over it. It was dear to his heart and he treated it like his firstborn child. He had proudly driven it since he first moved to Seattle. Meanwhile, the most I'd driven (successfully) was a gentle cruise around the Hamptons in Addison's old Camaro and that had been nearly 20 years ago.

"Yeah, driving," Eli seemed to have calmed down a little bit. "Not crashing."

"It came out of no where!" I insisted.

"Fire hydrants don't move." Derek said.

"Fine- It wasn't too bad, it was more of a scratch. Your car got off better— you should see the other guy." I huffed. "Bill me for the damages— Send me the bill, I'll pay for it to be fixed."

"Maybe you should actually invest that money into driving lessons," Eli commented sharply. I just scoffed, rolling my eyes.

"Is your driving permit even valid anymore?" Derek questioned, looking as though the thought had only just struck him. I didn't say anything as I, honestly, had no idea. He didn't like my lack of an answer. "Well, that's rather irresponsible—"

"Yeah, okay—" I cut him off with a bright, wide smile, hurrying to change the subject. The look on Derek's face told me this wasn't over. "I assume you wanted something, Derek?"

Eli mumbled something in the background about how I was hopeless. I chose to ignore him instead of starting another argument. It felt oddly childish, Eli glaring at me over the desk while Derek stood between us, hands on hips. 

It felt as though I was living the teenage fantasy I never had: a teenage who stole and scratched their parents car and was in the middle of being reprimanded.

"Addison wants you," He said finally, causing me to frown.

"She wants me?" I repeated, sounding very confused.

Today was Addison's big day. Sloan was being prepped for surgery and Addison was already in the OR, setting up her assorted baby-saving utensils. After our impromptu brunch last week, Addison had dedicated her time to planning; Sloan's baby was in a precarious position and she didn't want to compromise any of his limbs. 

She'd morbidly lamented over the phone to me just last night: "Sloan's freaking out," were her exact words, "Mark's not happy either— She said that the kid is already going to be alienated because of his Mom and he'll never have a chance if he's missing a leg." I'd just listened to her mutely, mouth curving down into a frown.

It'd given me a stab of deja vu. Just like Derek with his spinal case. I was in no position to help. I didn't know enough.

"Yes," Derek nodded. With a brief glance at his watch, he grimaced and held open the door for me. "She's asked me to sneak you into the viewing balcony— you in?" I stared at him for a prolonged moment or two, processing what he was saying.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Beats me."

Behind us, Eli let out a groan. "Surprised they want her anywhere near an OR. She's got a trend of fucking things up this week-" I let out a miffed laugh.

"It's Monday."

"Prove me otherwise." He bit back.

"I'll come—"

 I ground my teeth, doing my best to ignore Eli. Derek looked extremely relieved at my answer as if he'd expected for me to turn him down completely. Was it the forever present bad blood between me and Addie that had put Derek on edge? Possibly. But all I could focus on was the rush of adrenaline that settles in whenever you sit around an operating room. 

"But I'll need to get Mable to cover—"

"I'll sort it out," Eli interjected despite his stormy mood. He waved a hand dismissively as if to waft me out of the door like a bad smell. "One of the Psych Nurses lost a bet to Olivia ages back— I'll be damned if I can't call in the favour even if Olivia doesn't work here anymore."

"You sure?" I enquired, not quite sure why Eli would want to do anything nice for me, seeing as just five minutes ago he was at my artery.

"Yeah, it's whatever." He spun around to face us in his chair, leaning back so he could cross his arms over his chest. Eli fixed Derek with a very pointed look. "Just don't let her in that OR— she's the sort of person who would take out the brain instead of a kidney."

"That's rude," Was my last remark as I was navigated out the door by a bemused neurosurgeon. "You're rude."

"Bill me for emotional damages." Eli called just before his door shut.

Our trek to the OR floor was mixed with Derek looking very laboured in regular intervals. He was stressed, or so he said. Things were really heating up with his surgeries and he was now having to play man-servant at the beck and call of his ex-wife— 

"No offence." He added as an afterthought.

"None taken." I mumbled back, too distracted by Sloan's case to take offence. 

In a way, I was used to being scut, the sort of work my siblings, Derek or even Mark would push onto their interns. For years, my birthday gifts from Archer had been bought from Manhattan department stores by this one intern/eventual resident, who had an intense proclivity towards silk scarves. 

Addison had taken to using her interns like fax machines whenever her secretary was on leave and the replacement just wasn't good enough for her. Mark had ordered his secretary to constantly do his dry cleaning and occasionally tell me that he wouldn't be home for dinner.

"Meredith's distracted." Derek suddenly said. 

We were stood side-by-side in the elevator (which was oddly empty for this time in the morning). Quickly, my head turned towards him; I stared at his profile. I swore people needed to start paying me for the number of impromptu therapy sessions I was taking on.

"What about?" 

I had a nasty feeling I knew exactly what it was that was distracting her. The exact same thing that had kept me occupied for a while. But I also had a nasty feeling that Derek still didn't know.

"Something," He replied vaguely, face contorting with clear discontent. "Anything— I don't know, she won't talk to me about it—"

"How is Webber?" I asked brazenly, cutting Derek off and making him look over at me, ruffled by my interjection. 

I met his eyes.

"He seems fine." Derek didn't seem to get what I was trying to imply. I exhaled in irritation but didn't say anything. "He's spending a lot of time with my wife."

"Is it possible.... That that is what's distracting her?"

"Richard?" His eyebrows raised and his voice went pitchy with disbelief. "You think Meredith is sleeping with Richard Webber?"

My reaction was nothing less than a full-body retch.

"Oh god no."

Derek looked mystified. 

I was thankful that the elevator opened onto the OR floor, spilling the awkward atmosphere out into the business that was the hub of activity in this hospital. Immediately, we had to duck out of the way of an outgoing bed that was en route to the ICU. 

At the helm, a stormy-looking Cristina stomped along, flanked by Teddy who smiled nonchalantly in our direction. I watched them pass, musing silently about how that must have been an interesting operation to witness.

"What are you saying?" Derek finally said as we fell in step with each other, passing through the OR waiting room. 

I watched with anticipation as Derek flashed his clearance badge at the door, a red light flickering as he shoved against the door. My smile was minimal as he held it open for me in his wake.

"I'm saying... you need to talk to your wife. I have a feeling that something's not right."

I wasn't in the mood to expose an alcoholic. 

I know I'd gone on a witch hunt before, but the world's most stressful weekend, brunch from hell and near-death-fire-hydrant-experience (well maybe I was being a little too dramatic, the weekend hadn't been that crazy) had mellowed me out. 

I knew that if I was Richard Webber, being called out like that would have set me back years in my recovery rather than accomplished anything.

Derek didn't like my vague answer. He grumbled under his breath, stalking along as I picked up my pace to keep up. We passed the crew of scrub nurses all sat on benches, waiting anxiously to be called up to bat, hoards of anaesthesiologists all preparing for their surgeries and the odd intern excitedly and nervously appearing around corners. 

The OR floor always had a different energy to the rest of the hospital; a bundle of nerves and hope, hunger for healthy bloodshed and accomplishment. I found myself drawn to it like a moth to a lamp— we reached a certain door and Derek pointed towards it with a stilted smile.

"Just up those steps."

"Will you be joining me?"

"No," Derek said, and then suddenly an intern I vaguely recognised was stood beside him, a chart was in his hands and a scrub cap was thrust over his curls. I blinked, looking at Derek as if he'd suddenly become a superhero. "I'll be in the OR next door."

"Oh wow." I commented, clearly not jealous at all.

"Good luck up there."

"Thanks." It didn't pass me how ironic it was for Derek to wish me good luck for just sitting on a balcony when he was about to open up a fucking human body. "Right back at you buddy—" 

Derek gave me a surprisingly stellar grin and turned to walk away. 

But then a thought hit me.

 "Oh Derek hey—" He turned to look back at me. "Do you still do that thing— the beautiful day thing?"

My ex-brother-in-law chuckled and I found myself staring at the ferry boats on his scrub cap.

"I've never missed it once."

***

Sloan's unconscious body was already prepped and laid out when I finally completed the climb into the OR balcony. It was a small room filled with chairs and lined with glass, a full window that gazed down onto a brightly-lit room that was already crowded. 

The balcony itself, however, was almost empty.

I wasn't sure whether it was vertigo that caused me to freeze or just the sight of it all, but I faltered. A bitter taste started to bite at the back of my throat, causing my eyes to water slightly. I swallowed, my throat aching like it was full of sand, and bit down tightly on my back molars, blinking away the cowards' tears that obscured my vision. 

When I blinked, Sloan's pale, illuminated body was imprinted on the back of my eyelids almost like a tattoo. With a slightly jaunty step, I moved down the balcony and towards the front, where a single lonely figure was sat, his attention entirely devoted to the activity below.

I sat a row behind, just to his right and nearer to the door. I didn't want to disturb him.

Instead, I followed his gaze, staring intently down into a room I'd spent most of my life idolising. I sucked on my tongue, picking out things I recognised, things I didn't. 

The anaesthesiologist had taken his place at the heart monitor, glasses pitched low down his nose as he kept an eye on Sloan's vitals. Just beside him, Charles, the resident from the welcome mixer, was surveying the foetal heart-monitor, his eyes moving with every peak of the line. 

I stared at it too, for a while.

"Okay, we all ready?" 

In the corner of the room, Addison appeared, walking swiftly and with purpose as she cleared the floor. The scrub nurses and technicians all seemed to scatter as she raised her cleansed hands and was dressed by one of the nurses. Behind her, Lexie followed suit; I raised my eyebrow at the choice for Lexie to assist.

"Okay..."

I could tell from the way that Addison surveyed the room that she was focused and in the zone. We used to joke and call it her auto-pilot mode; she was that good at what she did. At a certain point, her nerves would dissipate and she'd fall into the rhythm of surgery like second nature. I both envied and loathed it. 

She turned towards Lexie, offering the intern a small smile and then her eyes rose towards the balcony.

In front of me, Mark noticeably stiffened, as if he was suddenly hit with the reality of it all. 

They locked gazes for a prolonged moment; Addison's stare seemed to convey just three words and I could hear them all, loud and clear. I've got this. Addison's eyes swept over him and then moved onto me— I shifted in my chair.

She smiled at me.

"Time is 10:43 am." 

The medical technician in the corner looked over at the clock just as Addison took her position at Sloan's side. She stood back as the scrub nurse washed the incision site, then leant forward to accept her first scalpel.

"Let's do this."

I'd lost count how many surgeries I'd seen my sister do. I truthfully believed at some point I'd surpassed Derek in how many babies I'd seen Addison deliver, how many ovaries I'd seen her probe or zygote's I'd watched her examine. 

When it came to surgeons, Addison was a sure bet. She would get the job done and she'd get it done well. I had nothing but faith in her when it came to saving Mark's grandson. However, Mark was restless and we hadn't even gotten five minutes in.

"You made a good decision, you know?" 

My voice was louder than I'd anticipated in such a quiet environment. I'd had the sneaky suspicion that Mark hadn't even realised I was there, but now I was sure. His shoulders hitched very slightly in surprise but he didn't look around at me. No, he was completely devoted to the surgery in front of him. 

"Flying Addison out here... You made the best call."

"I know." His voice was subdued and gravelly.

The first incision was made; in unison, both Mark and I drew forwards in our seats, transfixed by the sight of Addison's scalpel smoothly cutting through the pale skin of Sloan's lower abdomen. I tilted my head, goosebumps racing down my back. 

I didn't care for Sloan much as a person, but boy, did would I have killed to be in that OR.

The balcony was linked to a comms system, one that allowed us to listen to Addison's every command. Lexie followed her instructions closely, bringing forwards an ultrasound wand, pressing it into every position Addison pointed towards. 

Within the first hour of surgery, Addison had successfully located the first band, barely even faltering despite all of the nerves she'd expressed to me.

Idly, I wondered whether Mark knew how much pressure Addison had on her shoulders. Ever so often, my eyes drifted towards him. His composure progressed throughout the surgery and it suddenly hit me how much Mark Sloan cared. I almost didn't recognise him.

He'd removed his coat and seemed to wilt as time ground onwards. As we tiptoed into the second hour, he was growing painfully restless like an unruly child. The same question floated into my head: Did Addison know how much pressure Mark felt on his shoulders? The answer to that was a definite yes.

When Mark started gently pacing, I found my patience thin slightly.

Over the last hour, I'd slid further and further down my chair, my knees eventually knocking the chairs in front of me. My neck was in a position that I knew I would regret tomorrow and my arms were folded across my stomach. 

I was a contrast against Mark's rigid form; if anyone had looked at me, they would've thought I was napping. But in reality, I don't think I'd ever been so awake.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I stared into the OR's soul. I swore that every movement in that room was caught by my vision. In that brief period when Mark would pass in front of me, I'd move out of his way to prolong the view. Ducking and weaving out of his way, I must've looked like a madman. Forehead furrowed in concentration and head cocked to the side, I eventually sat up in my seat, folding my legs underneath me— just in time to see Addison remove the first band.

A slow smile spread across my sister's face. "Got the first band."

Once the band was out, I realised Mark was talking to me.

"Do you miss it?"

His question caused mixed emotions to rise in me. My skin flushed as if I was inclined to feel ashamed by the slightest thought of it. 

Missing it. Missing surgery, missing the feeling of those OR lights burning your eyes. 

My response was a steely silence; I ignored him until I'd managed to put together an answer.

"Kind of." My tone was far more casual than I felt. It was a nonchalant shrug in speech form.

Sometimes if I closed my eyes really tight, I could envision it. I could see myself in Addison's place, flowing along with the piques and falls of the heart monitor, lips pursed against a mask and eyes peering into the bottom of a patient's chest cavity. 

Sometimes I smelt it too— the sharp nick of antibacterial cleanser at the back of your throat, the smell of burning flesh from the cauteriser. It felt like a distant memory, something I couldn't quite focus on but would always feel.

Mark nodded, exhaling loudly and finally grinding to a halt. He stopped just in front of the seat he'd previously occupied, shoulders hunched and arms crossed. 

We both watched as Lexie passed the amniotic band to one of the OR technicians; it was almost terrifying that something so detrimental to the further of Sloan Jr. would be just tossed aside as medical waste.

"Why are you here?" I couldn't quite gauge his expression.

"Beats me." He didn't like that answer, but I didn't quite care. Instead, I coughed and looked around pointedly. "Is this balcony always empty?" As if he'd only just noticed, Mark glanced around.

"Not usually." He cleared his throat. "I managed to pull some strings— it didn't feel right to make this a teaching moment."

"Addison wanted me here." His words made me feel as though I was making a spectacle of Sloan's surgery by being here. I felt the pressure of an unasked question hinge on my skin. Mark hadn't asked, but I felt like it needed to be said.

For the second time, he nodded. "I know." 

Then he seemed to tilt his head, his tone rising into a question. 

"You came?"

"I did."

"Hm." Mark responded thoughtfully, "You two getting along now?"

I pressed my lips into a thin line. "Kind of."

This time, I didn't sound nonchalant.

"How was brunch?"

"Do you really want to know?"

To my surprise, Mark shrugged. "Kind of."

"Well, I didn't kill her, clearly, despite how tempting it is."

"Thanks for that." He nodded towards Addison, who currently had her hands inside the uterus of his teenage daughter.

"You're welcome."

I wanted coffee but I also didn't want to leave. 

The magnetism of surgery pinned me to my seat. I didn't want to leave in the fear of losing out— I felt pretty impartial to Sloan Riley, a perk of being a cold-hearted bitch was that you cared little whether someone bled out in front of you. The thought was oddly morbid but it was true: I didn't want to leave unless something went wrong and I wasn't there to see it.

In my opinion, that is when surgery truly gets interesting. When suction is fruitless and skills really come under fire. I'd witnessed Addison lose patients before, that was for sure, but I'd also seen her get it back under control plenty of times too. 

Watching a surgeon hurriedly attempt to regain the reigns was like watching a jockey get bucked from their horse— horrific but just irresistible to watch.

"Do you remember Addison's angel baby case?" 

Mark's attempt at conversation caused me to sigh very slightly. I tugged at the roots of my hair but answer anyway. His refusal to turn away from facing the front was only mildly annoying; it allowed me to stare unabashedly at him whenever I was perturbed.

"The one with Derek?"

"Yeah." Mark nodded and I stared at the crown of his head. To my disappointment, his hair was not thinning at all. "It was the case that really launched Addison's career, her milestone moment— I keep telling myself that it was worst-case scenario and that child survived—"

"And that was the beginning of her career," I said quietly.

Addison hit it big first: a child with a birth defect that Addison managed to reverse in vitro, breaking boundaries for a new technique that she managed to eventually patent. 

Derek followed in suit with a string of successful, groundbreaking surgeries and talks at big events. Mark lagged behind but managed to stir up his reputation on the East Coast with his delicate and complex reconstructive procedures. Even Archer had a stint in medical journals, headlining various publications and talks as a leading neuro-expert. 

Their shadows had been large and cold, something that I'd shivered through and now stared at reproachfully.

"Brunch?"

"Hm?" I lifted my head, drifting out of my heavy train of thought and looking over at Mark. He was still gazing forwards with determination.

"At brunch- What did you talk about?"

I scrunched my nose, sinking back further in my chair.

"Oh you know—just girly things."

"Mhmm." He didn't sound convinced.

"If you're really that interested I'm sure Addison will tell you all about it..."

Mark sensed a shift in my tone. "Oh, so you spoke about me, huh?" 

I rolled my eyes. He wasn't wrong.

"Why are you so interested in knowing?"

He didn't reply, just averted his attention back to the surgery. It had progressed far, Addison was hunting for the second band, Lexie loyally following her every movement with the ultrasound. Both of them look vaguely dissatisfied— Addison's brow was furrowed as she looked around Sloan's uterus. I shifted forwards into my chair— something wasn't right. 

Their voices were muffled and Addison kept glancing up at the unsettled father in front of me. 

Mark sensed the shift in tone and suddenly, he was on his feet. He approached the glass window and stared down, watching as his girlfriend grew pale. 

Very slowly, I rose too. Addison was talking to the anesthesiologist, she was talking to the scrub nurse— she was talking to everyone in the room, everyone but Mark as he swiftly made a beeline for a panel at the end of the room. He punched the intercom with a restrained desperation that bubbled like a hot pot on the verge of overflowing.

"What the hell is going on Addison?"

My sister seemed to flinch at the sound of his voice; she kept him waiting for an answer, her eyes following Lexie's hand as she guided the ultrasound across Sloan's pallid skin. Behind her mask, she was talking in an undertone. 

The microphone overhead picked up a brief exchange between her and Lexie, just before she decided to respond to Mark— "Like that?", "Good," "Why can't I grab his leg—"

Again, Mark's fist pelted down onto the panel. "Problem?"

Addison looked up at the balcony, her hands slick with Sloan's blood. She let out a soft breath.

"No," Addison sighed, "it's just that one of the bands is holding the leg in place. It's a little difficult to get around." 

She sounded deeply troubled by what she was saying, despite the words that she was forcing out of her mouth. Sluggishly, I made my way through the rows of chairs, plodding down the stairs so I could take a closer look. 

From the front of the balcony, I could make out the footage that Addison was watching on the ultrasound. 

"Can you move the ultrasound up here?"

Lexie followed her instructions, eyebrows drawing down low over her eyes as she did so. I watched the shapes move and spin on the monitor— my stomach twisted. I didn't look good.

"Oh come on."

Addison was exasperated. She took a step back from the operating table and took a closer look at the scan, leaving Lexie looking forlorn beside Sloan's body. To the left of me, I saw Mark stiffen his teeth, another click as he spoke into the speaker.

"What's the matter?"

Addison's voice was slightly muffled by her mask but it rang like a scalpel through the air. "Her uterine arteries are engorged. But the only way in is in between them." 

Her eyes probed into every inch of that scan until she'd practically engraved it into the back of her eyelids. 

Beside me, Mark rubbed a panicked hand over his face and up into his hair, exhaling loudly. Addison only needed a few moments to reassess her method. She turned and made a nondescript gesture to one of the scrub nurses. 

"Okay, I'm going to need another trocar. Hold this-"

She extended a surgical instrument to Lexie.

Holy shit, she was going to do it. 

I felt my eyebrows rise in surprise and the slightest bit of admiration bloom at the back of my head. Addison was taking risks in such a sensitive surgery, despite everything that she had on the line, despite all of the weight on her shoulders. 

I crossed my arms, my heart aching for the adrenalin that I was sure Addison felt boiling in her veins.

  Holy shit, I miss really surgery.

"Wait-" Mark sounded incredulous and in intense panic. "You're going to do this?" He'd been watching the same ultrasound steam as I had, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at the OR floor. "You sure you have enough room? Those arteries are huge."

"That's why," Addison spoke while she was preparing her work station, pausing to swap out the tray of instruments and scrub her hands. "—I'm going to be very, very careful-" She held her hand out to the scrub nurse. "Scalpel."

"What happens if you nick them?" Mark asked thickly.

"Doctor Grey?" What an iconic teaching moment.

"She could bleed out." Lexie didn't sound very comfortable. Her gaze was strictly plastered on her gloves. "They both could die." That was a lot of emotional baggage to put on such a young girl— being idle while her boyfriend's daughter and grandson both bled out in front of her.

"It's dangerous." His voice cracked. "I don't like it— it's too dangerous." 

Finally, Lexie looked up at him, her doe eyes catching the light. I glanced over my shoulder at him, watching as Mark seemed to beg her to step in and change Addison's mind. For a split second, I thought Lexie would say something, but she hesitated— then nothing.

Addison was completely oblivious to the whole exchange. "Mark, I've assessed the risk factors. I'm 95 per cent confident I can get around the arteries— I'm choosing to continue the surgery."

"I don't like that other five per cent." Mark had always been stubborn. Mixing stubbornness and panic was like a dizzying and volatile cocktail. "You hit any one of those, she bleeds out right on this table."

"Look I get you're nervous—" Addison began but Mark shook his head as if to discourage her from even trying. My older sister let out an angry sigh. "I get that. I'm a surgeon, and I'm looking at a time bomb in a uterus."

A surgeon's judgement held hefty weight to it. I knew that Addison wouldn't make a call without having given it ample thought— I looked between Addison and Mark, my arms falling to my side. He was on the edge, Addison was at her last length and Lexie— well, the younger Grey sister looked as though she just wanted to evaporate into thin air. 

I gazed down at my sister and she looked back at me, communicating something. Communicating hope. She believed she could do this. She just needed people to believe in her.

"Angel baby."

The words passed my mouth almost like a breath but Mark seemed to understand them perfectly, his head snapping over to look over at me. It was the first time he'd actually looked at me while I was speaking to him. 

His gaze caused a shiver to run down my spine: he looked so deeply disturbed, so desperate and panicked all at the same time. His hand was still deep in the button for the intercom, filling the air with the soft crackle of static.

"You said it earlier," I continued, my arms pressing tightly against my chest. "Worst-case scenario- Angel baby. Addison pulled it off—"

"But this isn't just a baby, Beth." Mark sounded pained, his eyes held so much emotion that I almost felt my eyes sting. I hadn't seen him this emotional since New York; since drunken plunders where 2 am pillow talk had turned into therapy. "This is my baby and her baby—"

I felt my chest tighten. I'd felt what he'd felt. 

The crushing feeling of hopelessness when you could do nothing but watch a literal part of you hang on the line. The scar on my waistline seemed to prickle just at the thought of it— I swallowed thickly and cleared my throat.

"Addison's got this."

Mark didn't respond, just shook his head in the same manner he'd dismissed Addison's attempts to convince him otherwise. He solemnly turned to the panel, his voice steady and intent as he spoke those intent words: "Shut it down."

"Mark-"

It wasn't what Addison wanted.

"Now!" His voice raised in the angry way that Mark seemed to get when things went pear-shaped. "Now, Addison! Let's close her up."

***

I knew Seattle well enough to know that grey skies this dark weren't good news.

I'd taken to a bench outside the Hospital when I wanted a little bit of peace and quiet when I needed to take a breather. It wasn't in the most charming of places; a little alcove in between the cafeteria trash cans and the outpatient's allocated smoking area, but it was usually reasonably quiet, especially in this sort of weather. 

I sat, propped up in a thick coat that was Charlie's from one of our expeditions. It had his company written on the pocket, making me feel only slightly like a walking advert— I chuckled to myself as I stabbed a jello pot.

The air was chilly, almost Canadian chilly, while made sense seeing as I could get to Vancouver within 4 hours. The sky was threatening to spill a blanket of snow over the city, to replenish what was only black sludge under my tennis shoes (I wasn't dumb enough for heels on black ice), I welcomed it. I liked the snow. 

It felt familiar to me.

From my seat, I could see the distant outline of the ambulance bay, just a sliver of activity in this otherwise peaceful bubble. 

The taste of cigarettes caught at the back of my throat, biting like a cat swinging at a fish in a bowl. To my left, a lady in a wheelchair accompanied by a disinterested Psych nurse was smoking silently by the lamp-post to my right. That too was familiar. 

I'd been a social smoker in High School, again throughout College. I hadn't smoked a cigarette in a decade at the most— my eyes followed the smoke as it unfurled into the sky. On my other side, an off-duty doctor took his last few drags before his shift.

How ironic it was for a doctor to do the one thing he discouraged: self-destructive habits. I bit my bottom lip, shaking my head lightly at my judgemental thought. Was I really one to judge? At least a nicotine habit wasn't snorting oxytocin in questionable Manhattan night clubs.

"You're hard to find." Someone said suddenly.

It burst the surface tension of peace, my head ricocheting upwards to stare at a newcomer who had appeared from, what seemed like, thin air. I smiled warmly up at them, moving the rest of my lunch out of the way and allowing him to sit beside me. It was then that I picked up my phone, the little device buried deep in my pocket— the screen lit with missed calls, all from Charlie.

"Ah shit," I stated plainly. "I'm sorry- I completely forgot about lunch, huh?"

Charlie smiled, a chuckle condensing against the air into a cloud. He had his patriots hat on and a pair of glasses, presumably to hide the bags under his eyes from the long nights he'd spent working at his computer. 

He leant over and pressed a kiss to my forehead, murmuring tiredly about how it was no problem. I looked up at him with a tender gaze, my lips fixing into a frown as he stifled a yawn.

"You should take a full lunch hour today, babe— hell, take the whole day." My words were soft. I gently caressed his jaw with my thumb, watching as he surveyed me tiredly. "You've been working too hard— I don't know what the hell Andrew's thinking giving you all that work."

"It's the least I can do to lighten the load."

He was too kind for his own good. His daily routine was occupied by staring down at his laptop and sorting out the family business from 3,000 miles away. 

He'd begin in the mornings on the dining table, getting up before I'd even risen for my earliest alarm/shift, and then spend the whole day just typing away, taking phone calls and noting emails. I'd been hard pushed to get him out of the apartment.

"Andrew's secretary is on maternity leave and budget cuts are making his life hell. And besides," he chuckled before continue. "He said I was too happy."

The corner of my mouth twitched. "Too happy?"

"Yeah," He seemed bemused. "He said that I needed to be miserable, that I was having too much fun with you."

My smile was soft around the edges. 

My chest felt very squishy and warm, my cheeks just briefly lukewarm. I liked Andrew, something that was rare when it came to my boyfriends. My past pick of guys had been all very emotionally unavailable with side offerings of family discourse, unrest and issues that very much reflected my own. 

I liked to consider Charlie a fluke, a radical change to what I was used to.

"Hmm," My flirting skills were rusty and barely there but I still managed to rise a grin on Charlie's face. "What sort of fun?"

He went to respond but we were cut short by the sound of an incoming ambulance, the flashing lights flew past in my peripheral. I turned my head towards it, listening to the blare of the intercom on the other side of the door, attracting trauma surgeons to the pit like moths to a flame. 

I found myself thinking about Addison, thinking about the surgery I'd just sat through— when I turned back, Charlie was watching me closely, his dark sunglasses covering the knowing glimmer in his eyes.

"Addison let me watch her surgery today."

If it hadn't have been for the shades, I'm sure I would've seen his eyebrows raise. Instead, his head tilted to the side and he looked over my shoulder, over at the incoming trauma and the doctors that swamped it.

"Wow, that must have been an experience."

"Yeah," I commented idly, trying to appear less affected by the experience than I was. Charlie watched me intently. "It was pretty cool watching Addison do her thing. It's been a long time since I've seen the inside of an OR room. Kinda felt like deja vu, you know?"

Slowly, Charlie nodded, as if he understood perfectly. I thought briefly about how he'd once wanted to be a surgeon too, but then he'd discovered his passion for mental health, found a duty in that rather than what he'd once thought he'd wanted to do.

"You miss it, don't you?" He said it with a soft tone. I stared at the brick wall in front of us.

"Yeah," I said, not feeling the pressure to be as vague as I'd felt with Mark. 

Admitting that I missed surgery felt like forfeiting the work I'd done for myself, the career I'd built. I didn't feel the instinct to be dishonest with Charlie— it was easier with him, it always had been. 

I paused, looking down at my shoes.

I shrugged and sighed, "I think it's impossible not to."

"Was it Sloans surgery?" I quirked an eyebrow and pressed my lips together. He smiled sheepishly. "She told me all about it-"

"Ah," I twisted my head to the side. "You spoke to Sloan?"

He shrugged. "I ran into her when I took out the trash— she seemed happy to talk to anyone that wasn't her dad." Charlie paused, looking down at his hands. "She was pretty nervous about it— that's why Addison is here, isn't it?" He waited a couple of beats and when I didn't respond he smiled. "You're a good doctor."

"Mhmm," I mused softly.

"Sloan was super nervous, said she's never had surgery like that before." He sounded sorry for her; I still hadn't quite figured out my feelings towards my ex-boyfriends spawn. "She also said that her child already had a failure for a mother and would have it even harder if he only had one leg— it's sad really—"

"Mmm."

"I feel sorry for her," Charlie scratched his nose and exhaled messily. "I can't imagine what it's like to —" I shifted on the bench and Charlie seemed to realise something. "It's a lot for her at a young age. I can't imagine how Mark is coping."

"I don't think he is."

Charlie took a moment to scrutinise my face. "That's unfortunate."

I didn't say anything.

"You could probably do it, you know?" He continued, clearing his throat as he leant forward on the bench. Behind us, the doctor finished his smoke break and the patient was wheeled back through the doors. They were curtly replaced by other figures; a medical technician shot a glance over at the two of us as she lit her first cigarette of the day and a patient waddled out of the doors while towing an IV in their path. "You could do it."

"Do what?" I asked softly, inhaling the nicotine that drifted lightly in the air.

"Get your fellowship." His words caused my muscles to all tense as if he'd ran an electrical current through my body. "Imagine it, Beth- Addison watching you do surgery. You in there instead of her, running that OR."

I let out a rather unsettled laugh. "That's a long shot."

"It's possible." Charlie corrected me, smiling graciously at me when I managed to meet his eye. My gaze wandered, lost in a rather incoherent train of thought. He wasn't wrong. Had I considered it? Undoubtedly. Did I want to set myself up for possible inevitable failure? Undecided.

Sometimes it was painful to think that if I'd just tried hard enough, then I'd have the career I'd dreamt of by now. I wouldn't be like an awkward afterthought in this hospital, someone who just seemed to chase the action instead of being the focus of it. 

If I'd just stayed away from the shit you're supposed to stay away from, paid attention to the warnings and the horror stories and the tales of ruin— I should have really paid attention in the anti-drug ads in high school. I let out a pathetic breath and leant back heavily against the wall.

"You think?" I replied in the smallest voice humanly possible.

I'd once hypothesised that Charlie was the most hopeful man in the world. His world was so different to mine; he took risks for the hell of it, for the slimmest chance that it'd go right. I avoided them for the chance everything would go to hell. 

The smile that bloomed across his face was very on-brand for this way of thinking.

"I do." His arm came around to hug me from the side and he pressed his lips against my forehead. "I think you could do anything— you're fucking incredible." 

My cheeks burned, only so many people could make me feel bashful in the world and Charlie was definitely one of them. He was definitely being generous. 

"I'm not kidding-"

"Uh-huh," I mused softly, my smile slightly less sure than his. 

Turning my face towards his, I was bombarded with a kiss. It was short, sweet and tasted like cherry hard candy. It was nice, it was almost a reminder: Charlie saying I'm here, I'm sat beside you. I gazed over at him, watching as he smiled sweetly. 

"You could probably do it too, you know," I said to him.

There was solidarity between us: we'd both wanted careers that we'd failed at achieving. Unlike me, Charlie seemed to take it at the universes way of saying things weren't supposed to be that way. 

He looked sideways at me as he listened to what I said, but as soon as the sentence left my lips I knew that he was like me, completely ambivalent towards the subject. He lifted his sunglasses, scratching at the corner of his eyes— I got a glimpse of a bloodshot pupil, bags under each eye, overworked. I squeezed his arm tightly. 

The sight reminded me of my days as a medical intern, viciously undernourished and burning the candle at both ends. He shook his head and smiled sadly.

"Nah, my time has passed." I couldn't imagine Charlie as a surgeon. Sure, I'd seen him do triage in the field, but I couldn't imagine his eyes meeting mine over a cracked chest and a medical mask. His face turned away from mine. "Besides— I love my job, I wouldn't change it for the world." I was glad that Charlie was looking away, otherwise, he would have seen the grimace on my face. I didn't exactly feel the same. "I can't imagine doing what your sister does—"

Charlie loved his job unconditionally, even if it was doing paperwork a thousand miles away from where he needed to be. He loved his job like you were supposed to love a person really-- but I don't think I've ever loved anything like I've loved surgery.

"It is a lot," I said, small.

"Yeah," Charlie said, then seemed to get distracted. "Hey, B-"

"Hmm?"

"That Eli thing, did you manage to catch up with him?"

Around me, Charlie's arms tensed in apprehension.

"Yes, I offered to pay-" Charlie's face turned to mine. "Yes, I know you'll pay— but I offered. He's totally chill with it, it's not a big deal, it's just a little mistake—"

His chest deflated in relief. "That's good—"

"It is."

"Thank you so much for covering for me." He sounded sad.

I pressed my hand against his cheek, frowning as I thought about the dark circles under his eyes. "Of course— you're too overworked to drive, it was silly of me to have made you—"

In my pocket, my cellphone buzzed.

Addison: Are U Around?

I sighed, a cloud of warm air condensing into a mist in front of me. I tapped out a reply as Charlie looked over my shoulder; out of the corner of my eye, I saw his mouth twist but he didn't say anything. 

Instead, he just kissed me again once I'd finished, letting my head rest against his shoulder. We sat in comfortable silence until the doors beside us spilt open with my sister; she looked rather anxious, her hair still under its scrub cap, and arms crossed over her midriff. 

For a moment, she appeared caught off-guard and spun around a bit, trying to find the two of us— it wasn't until she'd locked eyes on me that I realised she wasn't alone.

"Doesn't he have better things to do?" I heard Charlie mumble under his breath, mouth millimetres from mine.

My sister stood in front of us, foot tapping on the floor, hands poised on her hips and eyes blazing holes into my soul. 

Her shadow seemed to be right on her heels; Mark, too, looked thunderous, in fact, looked exactly the same level of pissed as he had been in the surgery. 

For a moment, they both stood there like a smouldering flame on the verge of exploding; reluctantly, I sat upwards, shrugging off Charlie's arms. He sat back in his chair, viewing the two of them from behind his dark shades.

"Isn't it a little dark for sunglasses?" Mark questioned almost coolly, but he was rubbing his hands together and his jaw was clenched. 

He was a bundle of angry energy that was just waiting to unravel; I gave him a look which dissuaded him from taking it out on Charlie. My boyfriend just smiled and looked away, sensing that Mark was just picking on him as a way to channel the brewing tension. I let out a long breath once as Mark looked away, swaying from one foot to the other.

Meanwhile, Addison kept giving me incredulous looks, as if to say "look with what I have to deal with?!". I recognised those looks because I'd been giving them once upon a time, and a lot of them. 

She kept tilting her head and again, I knew exactly what she was trying to say— I didn't want to give in to this conversation. I knew what was going to happen; I was going to ask that question and then that would happen and then they'd happen and then I'd be stuck. Stuck with it like I always am.

But the thought of just letting them stand there exhausted me.

"What's the problem?" I asked finally.

"Him," Addison answered immediately.

At the same time, Mark scowled and said, "Her."

Both in accusing tones.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charlie smirk. I could see what was amusing about it. It was like watching toddlers argue. Before I'd even said another word they were off, squabbling. Fighting like kids would, like siblings who had grown sick of each other would. Addison had only been in Seattle for just over four days— I couldn't imagine what they'd looked like as a couple when I'd left New York. 

Nevermind their child. 

I looked over at Charlie and he just shook his head subtly; we'd had it all over the years, as psychiatry students we'd had to sit in on some interesting couples therapy sessions. The way he just chuckled under his breath and poked my arm made me think that it was completely different to anything he'd come across--

And it was all my problem apparently.

The basis of the argument was this: Mark was mad because Addison almost 'killed' his daughter in the OR and Addison was mad because Mark didn't let her 'kill' his daughter in the OR. 

Mark believed that Addison wanted to kill Sloan just for the hell of it and for payback because he ruined her relationship with Derek. 

Addison believed that Mark just didn't trust her. I believed that the both of them just needed to get a fucking grip.

They'd really come all the way down here from the OR floor just so I could mediate this fight? I almost scoffed at the audacity. 

It'd been happening too often now, Derek or Mark would drag me into the situation just so I could oversee and crown some sort of victor. Was this all my doctorate was to them? Some sort of badge so I could smash a gavel and anoint the winner? The thought of it made me want to slap them both silly. 

If this was the case they were shit at making cases— they spoke over each other, fumbling for words and occasionally throwing accusing fingers at each other like the other wouldn't notice. Equally, they ran out of breath and towards the finish, paused to take a deep breath. They finished almost at the same time.

"Okay." I said unsteadily, eyes narrowing. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

All of the air seemed to deflate out of Mark. He blinked at me.

"Do what you usually do." He said the words slowly as if I was dumb. I tilted my head to the side. He didn't seem angry anymore, just confused.

"And that is...?" I trailed off, looking between the two of them.

Mark shrugged. "That thing—" He looked to Addison for help. She looked exhausted and uncertain.

"Mediate?" She offered the word with a jilted frown. Beside me, Charlie snorted.

"Ohhhh...." I said, drawing in a deep breath. "You mean do my job?"

Mark jumped onto the balls of his feet. "Exactly!"

"Okay." I inhaled before sitting straighter, rolling out my shoulder blades. "So, who's writing the cheque?"

The two of them slowly exchanged a look. 

Uncertainty passed between them. In sync, they looked around at me, grimacing and peering as if I'd suddenly grown a second head. It was clear to me that they hadn't even thought about this.

"Pardon?"

"Paying." I rephrased, stopping dead and looking between the two of them as if they were dumb. "Who is paying?"

"I don't understand-" Addison began.

"Well, if you want me to do my job, you need to pay me for it." I explained tightly, watching as Mark and Addison seemed to catch on. Both of them looked miffed, Mark huffing slightly as he scratched the back of his neck. "I don't work for free unless this is a crisis— the only crisis I see right now is a) a violation of patient confidentiality and b) that fucking outfit Mark, this is a hospital not The Rainbow Room." 

Again, Charlie snickered.

"Beth-"

"No, you two need to figure out your own problems." I cut Addison off briskly, feeling my temper peak. I was sick and tired of this bullshit. "I'm a psychiatrist but I'm not your psychiatrists. Get a shrink— hell, I can recommend one. Get a partner. Get someone to deal with your bullshit that is not me— as far as I'm concerned both of you are in the wrong and I feel sorry for Sloan."

"What?"

"I can't believe I have to spell this out to you guys but—" I leant forward, gesturing to each with a wave of my hand. "Mark, listen to Addison, she's the surgeon. You brought her to Seattle for a reason, use her fucking mind, it's better than yours when it comes to this shit— angel baby and all that." I turned to my sister. "Addison— he's the father, he has a say, Sloan was unable to consent to such an invasive surgery. It was a violation to go further than they said you could— and you know what?? All of this is a breach of patient-doctor confidentiality."

Looking sheepish and dissatisfied, Addison and Mark didn't know what to do with themselves. I stared at them, hands posed on my hips. 

Eventually, Mark let out a hot, angry breath, turning and storming straight through the door back into the hospital. Addison was more ginger; she politely apologised for 'taking advantage of me', thanked me for what I had to say and swept into the hospital with an air of debonair, all after greeting Charlie with a gentle smile. 

As soon as they'd left, Charlie pressed his lips against my ear.

"I love it when you're assertive."

"I had to be." I moved away from his kiss, agitated by the argument I'd just been forced into. Charlie just gazed at me, watching as I attempted to reel in my temper. "They're fully grown adults— how are they not capable of sorting this shit out themselves?"

Charlie didn't reply immediately, he just sat beside me silently. We both enjoyed the last few rays of the sun that Seattle had to offer; it broke through the clouds like a divine hand, shining down and actually putting his sunglasses to good use. I saw the flash of a dimple as Charlie leant his head back, basking in the warmth that the sun had to offer— but as soon as it'd appeared, it was gone again. 

Hidden away for the rest of the year. Almost immediately, little flurries of ice came dancing down from the heavy clouds overhead.

"You'd be a fucking kick-ass surgeon."

He said it firmly as if it was fact. As if he knew it as confidently as he knew his own name. In that moment my heart fluttered and my cheeks burned red, not from the cold, but from the love and appreciation that rushed through my veins. I looked over at him, feeling his gaze heavy on me. The corner of my mouth twitched upwards.

"You think?" My voice was small.

Even from behind his sunglasses, I saw his eyes glitter.

"I know."