𝙇𝙑𝙄𝙑.
SIX DOCTORS IN A ROOM BITCHIN'

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IF YOU WERE to ask Elizabeth Montgomery how the last two months of her life had been, she would've answered with this:

Shit. It had been shit.

Andrew asked her that question two hours before her dinner party. 

She'd finally managed to get into his office (despite the very visible falter at the sight of him at Katherine Wyatt's old desk) and fixed him with her intense, heavy gaze as he asked her how she'd been for the past few months. She'd replied with a wide smile and a slightly manic glimmer in her eye-- and that word: shit. 

He'd chuckled, nodded and said that that was to be expected. 

Apparently, that was the general consensus of being shot and dying from a pericardial effusion: it was shit.

"Yeah," Beth had said, a certain tightness in her voice as she shuffled in her chair. "I'd agree."

What struck Andrew, during the session, was how nonchalant Beth appeared to be with everything. It was their first face-to-face meeting and, not only had Andrew asked if she'd be more comfortable with a different therapist (seeing as she was engaged to his brother, thus, his almost sister-in-law) but she'd just brushed it off. 

He'd raised an eyebrow, watching as she chuckled and shook her head.

"I trust you more than I trust my own family."

She'd brushed her hair behind her ear, crossed her ankles and looked far more interested in one of the support pamphlets at the edge of his desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Andrew scrawl a note, toying with the corner of a pamphlet on PTSD.

"Well," Andrew had said, "We'll be family soon so that won't be the case— Congratulations on that, by the way." Beth had lifted her head and smiled at him. "I don't think I've spoken to you about the engagement yet. You've made my brother a very happy man."

"Thanks," Subconsciously, her hand had fallen to rub at the ring on her finger, "He's made me happy too."

He hadn't spent much time with Beth. They knew very little about each other; what Andrew did know had been communicated through phone calls and text messages. He'd first learnt about her through Calum, who'd randomly sprung up one evening twenty years ago and revealed that he was suddenly engaged to a girl he'd been dating for six months. 

He'd introduced her as Beth: medical student Beth, a girl who was bright-eyed and enthusiastic and approached everything with both her head and heart. She'd been introduced as a very strong-willed woman, and that's exactly what met him. 

Absently, Andrew's eyes dropped to the discharge sheet, catching sight of her signature.

He should've seen it coming, really. Charlie had told him that Beth wasn't going to be an easy patient to handle; not only that, but she knew the process as well as they did. 

She'd worked with so many patients over the last few years that she could anticipate everything he was going to say before he'd even opened his mouth. She was already openly discussing the last two months before Andrew had even uttered a word: for the record, she was sleeping well but was in a lot of pain, she was recovering well, she didn't feel particularly sad or stressed—

"So, what do you feel, if not stressed or sad?"

Andrew had proposed the question, fully expecting Beth to say something along the lines of restless, antsy, ready to get back to work— but her answer caught him off-guard. Beth smiled and he'd been able to see the shadow in her eyes. 

In fact, there was a lot going on in her head that she wasn't vocalising. She was distracted, playing with her engagement ring as he organised some of his papers. He could see her thoughts just writhing away, manifesting a weight that very slowly descended on his shoulders.

"Angry."

She'd said the word as if it was something she'd been thinking about a lot. Andrew didn't doubt it (He'd been a psychiatrist for long enough that he was able to hide the surprise that rose in him). He'd blinked at her, watching as she wiped her palms across her thighs, as if to distract herself further from her own voice.

"In what way?" He'd approached it attentively, cocking his head to the side as she let in a long breath. Andrew had watched as she shuffled a lot, crossing her arms over her chest and chewing on the inside of her cheek.

She'd thought long and hard. 

He'd been able to tell that she wasn't sure how to vocalise what was happening inside her brain; in all honesty, it was familiar to him, the way that Beth seemed to leave an ample pause and then stare off into thin air. It reminded him of how Mark Sloan had lingered in the office, struggling to make sense of his thoughts as they floated across his subconsciousness.

"I don't know," Beth had said carefully, "I think it's displacement. Textbook stuff. I just feel... angry."

"I don't think I need to tell you that it's very natural to feel that way," Andrew had leant back in his chair, watching as the other psychiatrist just gazed back at him. He'd been able to track the stiffness in her posture, watch the clench of her jaw as she nodded slowly. "I want you to know that all of your emotions are valid. Sometimes as psychiatrists ourselves, we forget that. We become so fixated on fixing things that we forget that not everything has to one-hundred-per cent perfect."

Beth had seemed to let that sink into her pores for a moment. 

She'd parted her lips and let out a very small sigh, one that made Andrew drop his eyes to the floor. In that moment, Andrew thought about what Charlie had explained to him, exasperated and pacing the floor; the younger Perkins brother was concerned about Beth, it was one of the reasons they hadn't had this session sooner.

 Ever since she'd woken up from her surgery there had been something slightly different. Charlie had described it as passivity, but today had proved them both wrong. Andrew had glanced at the discharge sheet again.

"How do you feel about that?" He had been able to tell that Beth found his method amusing; a light smile flickered in the corner of her mouth, even behind the strain of her own thoughts. She grinned, pushed her hair behind her ear and shrugged. "I think experiencing what you experienced is good enough reason to be angry—"

"No, I've been angry before," Beth had felt the need to distinguish from the rest. "Believe me— I spent years just consumed by rage. I spent years just angry at everything, at the universe, at the fact that I couldn't control my own mind or body. I know angry. But usually I second guess my anger and then I just get upset-- I think this is different."

"How so?"

"Well," Beth had shrugged and, with a slightly manic laugh, she shrugged again. She grasped the arms of the chair tightly, digging her painted nails into the fabric and holding on for dear life. "It's gotten to the point where I don't want to be nice anymore. I don't have time to be upset and sad about things. I don't want to just let people walk over me— I want to set the whole of Seattle on fire."

Andrew had found that surprisingly difficult to translate into her session notes.

***

Charlie was almost fine with being the nice guy.

He wasn't exactly sure when it was that he got that title (Maybe it was France? He was sure it was probably France, he'd been especially nice to everyone during that time of his life, mostly out of the sheer guilt of putting everyone through all of that), but it'd stuck around long enough for him to recognise it. 

It was the sort of thing that people would mention about him in the same way that they mentioned Andrew was successful, or Beth was charming: Charlie's nice.

Never angry. Never upset. Never unpleasant. Just nice.

It was never meant in a mean way either, it was never an insult. 

Sometimes it was dismissive (Charlie? Never, he's a nice guy) and sometimes it was descriptive (No, not the older brother— he's a bit mean. I mean the nice guy, the younger one). Either way, people seemed to find it synonymous with Charlie Perkins.

Don't get him wrong. He liked having a good reputation. 

He'd been raised to see social reputations as something that you needed to protect at all costs— but Charlie figured that he'd never truly understood the importance of it until he'd come to Seattle. Having a good reputation was a breath of fresh air. He'd spent so much time being a bad person to so many people, to having that ruined reputation, that to be the nice guy was almost welcome. It gave him the chance to make good first impressions and greet people without the wait of their pre-conceived ideas and opinions on his shoulders. 

Entering Beth's life had meant it exactly that; it'd meant that he was an unfamiliar face with new impressions to relay. Sometimes, Charlie hated first impressions. He always found a way to mess them up. He couldn't afford to here, not with Beth's friends, Beth's family, so he made a conscious effort— the same effort he'd been making for the past two years:

Charlie was a nice guy.

However, on the other side of the spectrum was Mark.

Mark wasn't a nice guy.

Being the nice guy was nothing compared to being the cheating bastard ex. 

Charlie was sure that to many people in the universe he was that crappy guy, but in this biosphere, in the hospital and his apartment, Mark Sloan was theirs.

Maybe it was refreshing? Charlie couldn't exactly decide. 

To his exes he supposed that he was an asshole (he hadn't always been a saint when it came to dating, that was for sure), but Mark seemed to completely eclipse everything bad. He was the apex predator of shitty people—

And there he was, sat at their dining table.

"Mark," Charlie inclined his head towards the plastic surgeon as he sat down. 

Mark gave him a friendly nod as the tried to navigate the weird nomads land; ah yes, the totally normal conundrum of socialising with your ex-girlfriend's fiancé.

"Charlie."

Surprisingly, Charlie didn't feel as uncomfortable as he thought he would. Of course, he would've loved if this was just something he could've Googled: How to make conversation with the ex who fucked over your fiancé. 

He would've deeply appreciated some sort of guide, some sort of step-by-step pamphlet or laminate. He didn't feel uncomfortable about the thought of Mark, he had no reason to be threatened by the man, no reason to be jealous— he just wished that he knew how to approach this untrodden territory between them.

"Great weather today," Charlie said. 

He jerked his head towards the window. Mark, who was in the middle of folding his jacket over the back of his chair seemed caught off-guard by the attempt at conversation. 

It seemed as though Charlie wasn't the only one who didn't know what to do. The man sat at the dining table paused, raised his eyes to Charlie's easy smile— a sharp nod.

"Yeah," Mark kept nodding and nodding and nodding. "It's been... surprisingly good these past few weeks."

"It has," Charlie agreed. It struck him that he hadn't really thought ahead of the weather topic. He almost felt panicked at the thought of having to... fuck, maybe he was more uncomfortable than he'd realised. "It's nice.."

"It is." He was still nodding, even when Charlie decided that maybe conversation wasn't their strong suit.

He wouldn't have classed it awkward, per se, maybe just mutually uncomfortable. Charlie had been given the impression that Mark Sloan was extremely charming, that he was the sort of guy who could bend time and opinions and fly past first impressions. 

But, sat in front of him (Charlie placed out a plate in every space, making up for lost time) Mark seemed to be a lot... less than he'd expected. He wasn't really saying anything at all and looked extremely on edge. It was as if Mark was constantly expecting the world to explode around him— he kept glancing over towards where everyone else stood, hanging around Beth as she poured drinks. 

In fact, every time their eyes met, (it happened in sporadic, borderline awkward intervals) Charlie could tell that Mark wasn't thinking about him at all— something told him that they were thinking about the same thing.

I'd give anything for that Wikihow article right now.

"So, uh," It surprised Charlie when Mark cleared his throat. It was his turn to be caught off-guard. The psychiatrist paused, looking over expectantly as Mark rubbed the back of his neck. "It's nice for you guys to invite us over..."

"Sure," Charlie answered, smiling hesitantly. He could appreciate a conversation topic, maybe Mark was better at this than Charlie had originally given him credit for, "Well, it was all Beth's idea so... I can't take all the credit."

At the mention of their unlikely hostess, Beth appeared beside Charlie, smiling as she brushed against his arm, setting out a handful of wine glasses. 

Absently, his hand trailed down her arm as she greeted Mark. Charlie liked having her close and smiled at the familiar scent of her perfume. Over her shoulder, he could see Mark being polite and nice, acting as the two of them hadn't been so decimated by their past— Charlie looked between the two of them.

They must've been a good looking couple.

"Charlie was just saying that you should take credit for this dinner," Mark jerked his head in Charlie's direction, causing the psychiatrist to slowly pivot back to earth. 

He found himself grounded in the way that Beth's eyebrows rose as she looked back at him, a slow smile unfolding over her face. She squeezed his arm, laughing as Mark surveyed the two of them.

"So I'm a scapegoat?" Beth questioned lightly, amusement flashing through her eyes. "It's not going to be anything fancy, I'm afraid— we have takeout pizza and Derek bought some wine so... it's classy dining."

("Let me get this straight," Archer had begun slowly, squinting over at the Chief of Surgery as he held out the bottle. "You bought red wine... to a recovered alcoholic?")

"Sounds like a party," Mark said, referring to the pizza boxes as Beth placed them down the centre of the table.

Charlie recognised the smile on his face; it was smart, polite and shaped, like a perfectly groomed shrub. He knew that expression well; Charlie had grown up around those sort of expressions. It was like second nature— after all, being nice like that, especially in this circumstances required a sacrifice of the genuine. 

He wondered whether Mark had practised it in the mirror. Charlie had always been too familiar with fake and disingenuine.

A dinner, on the other hand, to Charlie, had always been a very genuine and almost sacred thing.

His mother had sworn by a family dinner. She'd built her empire on a family meal, published cookery books on a stable family dinner table dynamic. In return, it was the sort of grounding day-to-day domestic activity that Charlie actually swore by. 

He liked the sentiment of it: each family member sat at the table, each placemat set, each meal set out. He liked the organisation, the execution and the conversation. He enjoyed it. He chased the warm feeling from his childhood as avidly as he could.

Of course, over the years as he moved away from Boston and became an adult, the tradition had fallen away. He liked to reprise it, however, in little ways; he'd tried his best, since coming to Seattle, to spend as much time in the evening with Beth as possible. 

He'd grown to really love cooking for the two of them; it felt as though he was doing his mother proud.

Over the past few weeks, with Charlie working at the hospital, it'd been especially tough. They'd resorted to takeout for the nights that Charlie worked late and Beth had been prepping the odd meal when she felt adventurous. 

It was because of his long work hours and scrambled mind, that the thought of not offering a home-cooked meal tonight almost didn't break him out in hives. He'd been raised better than that but he was so tired that he couldn't find the capacity to care.

Beth, on the other hand, seemed to care about this dinner a lot. 

She'd gone to the extent of making sure that everything was meticulous— it was the curse of having too much time on her hands where Charlie had none. Somehow, in the absence of work, she'd adopted Charlie's tendency to overthink. 

She'd set places, scrawled little names by each of the six seats; he'd watched her set them out with fire in her eyes and a dent in between her brows: on one side of the table, Derek, Addison and Mark, on the other, Archer, Beth and Charlie.

As people sat down, Charlie very briefly wondered what Beth was thinking. He knew that expression on her face. He could tell that there was something very intentional about the way she sat in between him and Archer, across from Addison. 

He found himself opposite Mark, wondering, for the second time this evening, whether anyone on the internet had thought to write a crash course for this sort of scenario— he glanced at Beth out of the corner of his eye.

Under the table, she sought out Charlie's hand and squeezed it tightly, thumb running over his knuckles. 

She flashed him a smile, one that made his chest feel a little bit looser and his head a little bit clearer. 

But, then he caught Mark Sloan's eye from across the partition of condiments and he couldn't help but ask himself: Why the hell are we still in Seattle?

Another thing that was strange: sitting at this table surrounded by people who were so familiar with each other.

The only person Charlie was familiar with was Beth, the woman who was holding onto him as if it was keeping them both from flying into orbit. 

As aforementioned, she seemed intent on making sure that Charlie didn't feel out of place, and he appreciated it deeply. It was so easy to get swept up and lost in conversation that, with Beth trying his best to accommodate him, Charlie felt a little bit more grounded with an occasional glance in his direction. 

Ever so often, she'd give him a little smile, squeeze his hand a little tighter and turn back into whatever LA anecdote Archer was launching into—

Charlie enjoyed Archer's company; the eldest Montgomery sibling was full of stories and little jokes that were dry and often backhanded (directed towards the two men seated opposite him). Beth's brother seemed to like him, which was not only a relief but a welcome surprise. 

Archer approached him with nothing but welcome, open arms, commenting on how he was glad that Charlie was there for his sister when he couldn't be.

Meanwhile, he hadn't really spoken to Addison at all. On her last visit to Seattle, they'd just had passing conversations, little chats that didn't really impact any sort of brother/sister-in-law relationship. All he knew about Addison was what Beth had said about her: she appeared very self-involved, a stark contrast to Archer, whose priority this past few weeks had been making sure that everything in Seattle was okay. 

In all honesty, Charlie didn't know what he would've done if he had had a sibling like Addison; maybe he would've spiralled that quickly too?

But that left the two others: Mark and Derek. They were two people who Charlie knew possibly the most about but had spent so little time with. Out of the two, Charlie could easily imagine a friendship with Derek. 

It felt almost natural, the rapport and ease of becoming friends. Derek appeared personable, friendly and wholly unproblematic compared to the other alternative— sometimes, when Charlie thought about Mark in detail, he gave himself a migraine.

The dinner table felt as if it'd been taken from Manhattan and placed in their apartment. Sometimes, Charlie felt more like a spectator than a participant— he glanced over at the other side of the table and wondered whether it felt familiar to them just as it felt unfamiliar to him. 

If his chair was empty would they think it was New York?

Would it look like some forgotten picture? 

Did Beth look at the people sat around her and get transported directly back to some elusive Upper-East Side haunt?

The further into conversation the dinner went, the more and more Charlie felt like he didn't belong. The only exception was the pressure of Beth's fingers against his leg as she traced patterns into his skin— that, that was what reminded him, between the ring on her finger and the warm invitations from Archer, Derek and Beth into the conversation—

Charlie didn't have to belong. It was his girl. 

It was their table and chairs that they were sat on. He didn't have to belong with them; it was just Beth he belonged with.

***

"Do you enjoy your work?"

Beth had relaxed into her chair after admitting her anger. 

It had resulted in a slip in her tense muscles, a sudden blaze in her eyes and rigidness in her neck as she lingered on the feeling a bit too long. She had averted her gaze to her fingers, trailing them across the front of Andrew's (well, Beth didn't quite know when it stopped being Katherine's and started being his) desk. 

At the mention of her job, Andrew had noticed the perking up of her mood; she seemed extremely intent on making a case for her getting back to normality, getting back into her career. He also noticed how she rolled her eyes at the word 'if', and he was immediately reminded of how Charlie had told him that Beth didn't take No for an answer.

"I do," She'd repeated with a slight hesitation in her voice; it was barely noticeable but Andrew picked up on all micro-movements like a hawk. "Working in a hospital just gives me a rush. It's almost nostalgic. It's a good feeling... Dare I say the best rush that an ex-addict like me can get." Beth ended with another chuckle, but it appeared slightly bitter.

"Would you consider the job to be physically tolling? Or, in any way, stressful or overbearing?"

Beth had scoffed lightly, brow furrowing. "I think everything in the world is stressful, Andrew, it just boils down to how you cope with that stress."

He didn't disagree with her.

"And before you talk stress coping strategies, I have them memorised," She'd said it with a wary glance over at one of the pamphlets on the desk: one with a cartoon of a sad businessman who looked two seconds away from a mental breakdown. 

The title had said 'So you're feeling stressed?' and Beth had fantasied, very briefly, about shoving the stupid thing into a shredder.

 "Other than that, the job isn't really physical," Beth shrugged, "I've already spoken to the staff in the department and some fo the ER nurses and they've agreed that it would be fine for me to respond to all consultations from my office if needed. Not that I need it, physically I'm good as new."

It had almost impressed him, how prepared she was. All of his other patients were so new to this (of course they were, trauma wasn't exactly an exam you could study for) but Beth had spent hours pouring over the rehabilitation process. 

She'd perfected an answer to his every question, prepared for every possible direction to each conversation-- two months, it appeared, had been long enough for her to make flashcards, highlight passages and cram revision notes onto her forearms. He'd almost felt tempted to ask her whether she was using a cheat sheet.

"These stress coping strategies..." 

Andrew had turned to his notes, flipping through them and reminding himself of what he'd previously written in preparation for his session. Said preparation had consisted of a consultation with his brother over the phone as Charlie ran him through everything that Beth had said and done over the past two months, just in case something popped up. 

"Are they helping you with your recovery?"

"They're helping enough for me to feel ready to come back to work," Beth's reply had been very curt and matter-of-fact.

"Have you found your recovery particularly challenging?" Again, his question had made her scoff.

"I got shot, Andrew," Her eyes had seared into him, an incredulous chuckle falling through her lips, "I was dead for under four minutes. I was in a lot of pain for a long time. It wasn't exactly a walk in the park... But the world goes on. We persist."

The lack of emotion in her words hadn't struck him as healthy.

"I don't mean physically..."

He'd been writing words on that page, jotting down the phrases that Beth said with all of the rage that was trapped in her bones. Sat across from her, Andrew had been able to see the emotions that rattled at her; she kept clenching and unclenching her jaw, answered things with almost impatience. 

"Recovery from a traumatic experience like that can have very heavy mental effects—"

"I know," Her eyes had closed very briefly, a hand coming up to wave some stray hairs out of her face. "As I said, it hasn't been easy but I've made incredible progress. I feel completely comfortable with returning to work—"

"Can you give some examples?"

Beth had stared at him, inhaling deeply. "Well, uh, when I was first discharged from Seattle Pres, I struggled a lot with sleep."

"That's completely natural."

"Yeah," She'd bristled slightly. "At first, I thought it was because of the lack of pain medication. I've had to do everything on low strength medication because of... my history. But, we figured out that it was because I couldn't stop thinking about... about everything that happened-- I'm better now, though. I've been focusing on wedding planning and Charlie and... I'm better now."

"And are you enjoying your wedding planning?" Andrew's lips had flickered into a smile, "I've heard that it can be quite stressful in its self."

"It's a distraction," had been Beth's reply. She'd scratched at her arm. "It's something to do, it's not particularly helpful with dealing with the anger thing but..."

"So you'd describe it as stressful?"

Another chuckle. "It's probably one of the most stressful things I've ever done," Her eyes had followed the way that Andrew underlined something on his sheet of notes. When he had met her gaze, her face had contorted into a slightly miffed smile. "... and I've been to rehab three times."

There had been a brief pause, one in which Andrew updated his notes and left Beth to ponder over her own thoughts. It had been a window of silence, the sound filled with Andrew tapping at the keys on his (Katherine's old) computer and occasionally glancing over at his ex-employee. 

Slowly, Beth had leant forwards in her chair, eyes trailing over the sea of pamphlets and mind racing ahead at full speed.

"Compared to the wedding planning... do you think that coming back to work would be more of a... beneficial distraction?"

Andrew had proposed the question lightly, despite the fact that he knew the whole session rested over this one decision. It was the only reason Beth was here. 

This wasn't anything other than what he'd been doing for the past few weeks: a bid to make sure that the hospital staff were okay to get back to their day-to-day lives.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

It had felt obvious. Of course, she believed that she was fine to come back. Andrew had asked the question to try and gauge her response; she had appeared incredulous, an eyebrow raised and eyes cutting. 

His response had been a gentle nod, a very insipid smile on his lips. Beth's attention had flickered between the ample notes he'd written from her very short response and the way he seemed to be vaguely amused by her reply.

She was bothered by him, bothered by his professionalism and nonchalance.

"I appreciate your patience..." Andrew had said, "I'm sure I don't need to tell you how damaging a premature return would be for your—"

"It's not premature," Beth had cut him off, head shaking as she pressed a hand to her lips. She'd come so far forwards out of her seat that she was hanging on, eyes stuck on his writing and typing. "I've been waiting for two months, Andrew—"

"Premature," He'd repeated. "You have to be ready."

"I'm more than ready."

They'd held each other's gazes for a very tense second. 

The question he'd asked previously seemed to unsheathed a desperation that writhed at the bottom of her eyes— Beth needed this, whether she was ready or not. He'd been able to read her erratic tendency in the way that she tapped her top lip, limbs too restless to do anything but move in a constant flow. 

His eyes had searched her face and then, once the pause had gotten uncomfortable, Andrew had shifted in his chair.

"I understand that a week before the incident, you suffered from a bout of migraines," He hadn't been able to miss the look of brief surprise that flickered across her face. She'd drawn back into the chair, hands going downwards to resume their knocking against the sides of the seat. It was an anxious movement that Andrew had noted. "Do you suffer from a lot of migraines?"

Beth's reply had been slow, wariness in her eyes. "Did you read my record?"

"Briefly," He'd nodded, "I know you have a history of stress-related—"

"It's nothing," She had been very dismissive, shaking her head, "When I had my last migraine I was... I was working a lot. I had... I had a lapse in my judgement and I got very overwhelmed..."

"Does that happen often?"

Beth hadn't replied. Her silence had spoken far more than words; it was in the way she had shifted in her chair and rubbed at her eye. The glimmer of her engagement ring as it caught on the light had accented her every movement.

"Do you work long shifts?" His head had tilted to the side, watching the twitch of Beth's muscles with his trained eye. "Just out of curiosity— what is the longest shift you've ever worked?" When she'd asked if he just meant Seattle, he'd shrugged. "No, it can be at any time."

She'd thought for a few moments, seeming to debate her response with herself. He'd been able to watch the thoughts as they battled in out in her brain, the victor coming forwards with a very unsettled breath.

"59 hours."

Andrew had been able to pick out her discomfort at this particular topic. Beth's hand had run through her hair and tug at her ear, all classic signs of distress. She clearly didn't like to talk about this. He'd noted that down.

"That's a long time."

"I wouldn't recommend it," Her eyes had flickered down to stare solemnly at her fingers. She'd played with her engagement ring, lips in a thin line. "Although I can't say that I remember much of it— I was tweaked out my mind the whole time. I used to stack shifts a lot, back during my surgical internship. I didn't really sleep at all... Staying awake for forty hours straight is no joke, that's for sure."

"And have you 'stacked' shifts since coming to Seattle?" She'd been able to anticipate the question from the moment he'd touched the topic. "Do you have the same mentality towards your work now?"

A pause. A reluctance to answer. Beth's had almost squirmed in her seat as if touched by a shiver down her spine-- Andrew had been surprised by her physical reaction. 

He couldn't tell whether it was the temperature in the room or Beth's reaction that maybe she wasn't as different from the person she used to be, as she'd first thought.

"Once," Beth had said quietly. "I stacked two shifts. I needed to get some urgent paperwork completed—"

"And how did that go?" Andrew had asked.

She'd sighed. "Migraine."

Ah. He'd caught her out. He'd exposed the unhealthy pattern in Beth's work ethic and it was shining through on her face-- Andrew had been extremely happy to scrawl a note. 

That was something that they were going to need to address; he'd been able to tell from the look on Beth's face that she knew he wouldn't let her back to work unless he was sure that she tried to balance her work.

"Right" Andrew had let out a breath, "How would you describe your relationship with your career?"

"Healthy." She'd said it a way that made Andrew gravely doubt that that was true. "It's very different now--"

"Would you elaborate?"

She hadn't elaborated. It'd caused Andrew to pause, visibly. There was something off about the way that she'd just stayed silent. It reminded him of the conversation that Andrew had had with his brother; Charlie had exhibited concern over Beth's tendency to overwork herself. He'd compared it to an obsession, that often Beth found herself so focused on her career that she compromised her health. 

Slowly, Andrew had leant back in his chair, he'd lifted his pen and waited for Beth speak-- she didn't. Her eyes had just blinked at him, watching as he'd tilted his head and come to his own, silent conclusion.

"To what extent do you find yourself agreeing to this statement?" He didn't miss how her face twitched as he spoke. "I exhibit unhealthy behaviour when it comes to my career."

"In that past, yes, but now, I disagree."

"Okay... Agree or disagree: 'I often forfeit my physical/mental health for my job'?"

"Disagree."

Her answer was almost too fast.

"'I experience more negative than positive emotions during the workday'."

A soft sigh had fallen through Beth's lips. "Define 'negative'?"

"Well, sadness or high levels of stress?" Andrew had listed them off, shrugging lightly as Beth squinted over at him. "Anger or discomfort, perhaps?"

"Neither agree nor disagree." Beth had answered. "It's impossible to give a blanket statement about every day. Some are good, some are bad. When I had my migraine a few months ago, it was bad. But for every bad, there's a thousand good."

She was being difficult. Even so, Andrew had been able to appreciate how hard she was trying to bend around his questions. Between her bid to force his hand and the sparkle in her eye, Andrew had had his work cut out for him. It was as if she was going out of her way to make it hard for him to come to an undesirable judgement. 

Beth was smart, he'd give her that, but he'd also written stand-offish and difficult in her notes. Whenever conversation paused, Beth had appeared uncomfortable and unsettled, a fumble of movements out of the corner of Andrew's eye. 

It had been subconscious, like the playing of her fingers or the drag of her foot against the floor-- he absently stared at her trembling leg, wondering whether it was the conversation or the setting that was causing her such strain.

"You're very insightful," Andrew had noted, giving her a tender smile. It was half sarcastic and half meaningful, either way, Beth's eyes had glowed almost amusedly. She'd smiled a half-smile, a single eyebrow rising as Andrew complimented her. "I appreciate that. It's incredibly helpful."

"It must be the years of psych training and working for you," Beth had replied, trying her best to hold back a miffed laugh, "Either that or the countless therapy sessions I've had in the last ten years-- if there's one thing that being a psychiatrist has taught me, it's that communication is extremely important."

He'd just chuckled. "Almost a perfect textbook response."

"What can I say?" Beth had looked at him almost challengingly, "I'm good at what I do— after all, you hired me because I was good."

Andrew hadn't been able to respond, just shook his head at how off-topic all of these questions seemed to get. He couldn't exactly tell whether Beth was lying through her teeth; Charlie had mentioned that Beth wasn't particularly happy in her career or in Seattle. 

Had her feelings changed? Did she feel differently now? 

Or was she just desperate for an out? 

Andrew wasn't sure whether she'd answer those questions.

"It says on your record that you're on a temporary maternity-cover contract," Andrew's eyes had traced the words at the top of her staff sheet. Out of the corner of his eye, he'd watched Beth's head bob slowly in a nod. "Do you know what you're planning on doing once your contract has ended?"

"I don't know," She'd said, shaking her head slowly and appearing thoughtful.

"Would you stay here if they offered you a contract extension?" At the back of his head, Andrew had thought about how Beth seemed to suit a city like this. She suited this hospital too, he'd already heard Charlie talk about how much she seemed to enjoy working here.

"I don't know," Beth had repeated, brow creasing very slightly. "I'd have to think about it."

"Were you considering returning to the family business?"

She'd chuckled. "Seeing as Charlie quit, I don't think it would be the same without him."

Quit? Andrew had been caught off-guard by that, but he knew better than to ask. He knew very well that Charlie had not quit at all. Charlie had never been able to quit anything; his hand always needed to be forced. Maybe that was something he and Beth had in common.

"Ah," Andrew had said instead, dismissing his brother's lie with chilling ease. Sometimes the inconsistencies made him dizzy. "I can't say I'm surprised-- but are you considering staying Seattle? How does this city make you feel?"

Beth had just heaved a sigh. "Angry, just like everything else."

"What don't you like?"

"The people," She'd replied without a moment of thought.

"Anyone specific?"

Beth, again, had chosen not to answer. She'd just sat there, eyes sparkling and a slightly bitter smile on her face. There had been something about that look, about the volatile simmer in her veins that had made extremely easy for Andrew to guess exactly who she'd meant.

"Oh," Beth had breathed out, as an afterthought. "I don't really like rain."

***

Let's have dinner felt like a coded spy message.

It was the language of the Montgomery children, siblings who had grown up on a dining chair that felt more like an execution belt than a family gathering. They'd watched far too many arguments over a hot meal to consider this time anything but a war cry.

Back in Connecticut, their mother had been a stickler for family dinners: everyone sat down, a home-cooked meal, a muscle in her jaw that would flex whenever their father dripped to speak. 

Back in New York, it had been Addison's way of trying to keep everything together, it'd been the equivalent of child reins, attempting to organise everything and stop people from falling apart. 

She'd tried to extend their childhood traditions, but they hadn't translated well on their busy adult schedules. Instead, it'd just reminded them all of the tensions and strains within their family home. 

Now in Seattle, it felt awkward and out of place.

Let's have dinner was so much different from Let's get brunch. 

Brunch, to Addison, symbolised a casual setting, a nice floaty conversation that was as digestible as an avocado toast or a lightly buttered croissant. Sure, there would be gossip, enough of it to make Blair Wardolf truly thrive, and the odd mimosa and scandal— but it was nothing compared to dinner. 

Dinner was intimate. Dinner was family. it was backing them all into a corner and serrated smiles over a set of cutlery. 

Dinner, to Addison, symbolised raised stakes, a lot of lethargy that simmered away to leave some tense conversations.

Addison didn't want to have dinner. Hell, she didn't want to be in Seattle. From the moment she stepped over the threshold of Beth's apartment, she could feel the weight rearrange itself, baring heavy on her shoulders. She really, really didn't want to have dinner. She wasn't hungry, in all honesty, she felt a little sick.

She'd got the impression that Beth wasn't in the mood for playing nice; it was clear from the text messages and the way that Beth seemed to just smile at her bitterly from across the room. 

The whole set up, the long gazes, the silence of Beth's temper-- it all reminded Addison of their mother. Bizzy had always been silent in her anger. Beth was more like her than she thought.

Now, sat at the dinner table, Addison had never felt so out of place.

It felt as though there was a partition. She had Derek to her left, Mark to her right, and the three others across from her. It almost felt like a chessboard, where Beth had provided with all of the pieces that she needed to move. 

She couldn't decide whether it was some sort of sick joke? 

Was Beth trying to be funny or petty? Addison couldn't tell-- either way, Beth had left her with the two people she'd used as pawns back in New York and the thought of playing games exhausted her.

Conversation was slow. Archer was doing most of the talking; he sat across from her, beside Beth. Addison couldn't help but think about the argument they'd had yesterday; whenever Archer would speak, she'd just think back to how loyally Archer had fought for Beth. 

It was as if Beth had quite literally turned Archer against her-- Addison wondered what sort of conversations they'd been having while she was hiding in LA. 

Had they shit-talked her? It was likely-- fuck, was this what Beth had felt for the past five years? 

Addison had truly never felt so isolated and on edge.

Maybe that's why Addison felt the need to fight for her survival at the dinner table?

Whenever Beth caught her eye, she could almost hear the becoming, the insistence.

Move the pawn, Beth's gaze said, flickering between the two men Addison had used so happily in New York. Why did this suddenly feel like a game? Her eyes left a burn on Addison's cheeks. Move the pawn.

Addison had never been good at chess. It'd always been one of those games that she didn't have enough patience to sit out; she'd been more of a snakes and ladders person, or maybe a checkers at a stretch. She'd never enjoyed the game, she'd only won maybe once-- she knew that Beth enjoyed things like that, games where you had to strategize and stay for the long haul. 

Was five years long enough?

"How are you finding Seattle?"

Eyes turned to Charlie at the bottom of the table as Derek made space for him in the conversation. He cut across Archer, his ex-brother-in-law, whose sharp eyes chased him down with a silent loathing. 

Despite this, Derek just grinned sheepishly over at the psychiatrist, watching as Charlie seemed to find his footing in the unfamiliar setting— Addison reached for the bottle of wine, which acted as the solemn divider in the centre of the table. 

Her movements were wooden. She hadn't spoken in any of the conversations. Instead, the whole time she'd just been meeting Beth's stare in a constant stand-off, waiting to see who would speak first.

"It's a great city," Charlie said, appearing appreciative that Derek had asked, "But... uh, as a loyal East Coaster so it's definitely something new. I'm sure you've felt the same. After all, It's a lifetime away from New York."

Addison noticed how Beth seemed to twitch at the mention of New York. 

Throughout the dinner so far, past the small talk and the light drinks (Beth nursed a non-alcoholic cocktail and joked with her brother without a care in the world), she'd appeared nothing but calm and composed. But her muscles clenched at the mention of the city they'd all ruined for each other; Beth busied herself with a mouthful of her drink. 

If Addison squinted, she was almost reminded of Beth's tendency to distract herself with alcohol.

"It is," Derek agreed, seeming unbothered by the mention of his hometown. On Addison's other side, she noticed how Mark seemed to be keeping to himself. He hadn't spoken at all during small-talk (Addison had honestly forgotten what it was like to experience a silent Mark Sloan, it was almost unnerving). "I have to say I've grown to love it here. Maybe you will too?"

"Maybe," Charlie answered; his eyes drifted towards Beth again, catching the way she smiled vaguely into her cocktail. 

It was a strained expression. She clearly didn't agree on the sentiment.

Addison's eyes flickered between the two of them. She didn't miss how they held each other's hands under the table-- it reminded her of long winter dinners with a happy Mark and Beth sat opposite her. 

Beth had always been so physical in her affection; Addison hoped that she wasn't physical in her anger. At least, not anymore.

"You'd suit Manhattan," Derek continued, he took the wine bottle from Addison and filled his glass. She didn't miss how Beth, once again, bristled at the mention of the city. "It's a fantastic city— have you ever been?"

"I haven't," Charlie replied; the woman beside him was far too busy distracting herself to see the look exchanged between Mark and Addison. It was a very brief look, one that seemed to unsettle Charlie slightly. At the end of the table, Archer cleared his throat and Addison looked away. "But I've heard that it's so busy it never sleeps."

She liked Charlie. He seemed nice. 

He was the sort of squeaky-clean guy that Addison had always wanted Beth to end up with; she knew that he'd get along with their mother perfectly, probably charm their father— Charlie was just nice, perfect and nice. He was handsome too. She was honestly happy for the two of them. 

However, the thought of anything existing in New York amused her; he was too soft for the sort of stuff that happened back then. She thoroughly doubted that he would've been sat there if he had.

Beth let out a dry chuckle. "Never sleeping? Always busy? Sounds like my New York, alright."

Addison didn't find the joke very amusing. 

The only person who seemed to find it the slightest bit funny was Mark; he smiled at his plate, recognising the humour that Beth seemed to throw out whenever she was stressed. 

It simmered there, just underneath the rising anticipation.

Everyone felt it.

Silently, Addison was wondering how long it would be before the tension in the room broke. It was everywhere, thick and deafening and made her skin feel a little too hot, her blood a little too warm. 

The air felt stagnant and heavy. The pauses in between sentences felt too long. Addison looked down at the slice of pizza on her plate and mourned decorum (god, she really did regret agreeing to come to dinner.) 

The cutlery felt uncomfortable in her palm, her shirt was stuck to her skin and Addison just really felt like going to bed. She'd been fantasizing about her hotel room for far too long now...

Had Archer been truthful when he'd said that this was how Beth had felt about her socials back in Manhattan? Had she felt uncomfortable and forced? Had she felt like this, like some sort of prop? 

Addison hadn't appreciated being dragged across the country just to help some sort of agenda-- she was pretty sure that it was clear that Beth didn't want her there. She'd almost encouraged Archer to pose her like a mannequin or coach her on what to say or do or drink.

The thought of Addison directly making her little sister unhappy always left a vaguely acidic taste at the back of her throat. She'd never meant to cause harm. She was a doctor, after all, she'd been trained to minimise--

"How have you been?"

At first, Addison didn't know who Beth was talking to.

She'd been distracted, lost in a train of thought, and at that moment, Beth took it as an opportunity to spring conversation on her. 

Perfect timing. 

Beth had always had the best moves in chess; she operated with sneak and ease and Addison had been momentarily blindsided. She raised her head, squinted over at her younger sibling and let out a long breath-- she held a glass of wine in her hands tightly and thought about her first move.

"I've been meaning to ask you the same thing."

The tremble of the tension thrummed through the air. Archer turned his head and looked between the two of them almost warily; Addison wondered whether he was replaying their conversation in his head, thinking about how she'd been so adamant that Beth was going to draw blood. His reassurances hadn't really lasted long. 

Now he was piquing up, as if the thought of the two of them actually talking was something he hadn't really thought through.

In reply, Beth chuckled again. 

This time it was low, dry and did nothing to curb the static in the air. She, very clearly, didn't like Addison's reply. 

For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other, a long prolonged moment in which no one else seemed to find the words to speak over the tension-- on Beth's left, Charlie looked as though he was dreading what was about to happen. In contrast, Mark's eyes lit up considerably.

"Good, I was wondering when you were going to ask," Beth spoke almost lazily, eyes hooded and lips pulled back into a smile that was too sweet. Her head cocked to the side and she rested her elbows on the table. "I was actually wondering when you were going call at all, actually."

"Last time I checked, you weren't picking up."

Addison wasn't exactly sure when she'd decided to not play ball, but her tone curved into a snide tone that was all too familiar for their arguments. 

Another thing that was familiar: Beth's eyes flashed, in the same way, that a light would flicker during a storm that threatened a power shortage. 

At the end of the table, Addison caught Archer groaning to himself softly-- he massaged his forehead and seemed to severely regret thinking that this was going to be a peaceful evening. 

Even Derek seemed to wilt slightly; he caught Mark's eye from behind Addison's head, leaning back to pass the wine bottle-- that damn wine bottle was a bitter symbol of all the shit that had gone wrong, and yet it bounced about the room as freely as Addison's audacity--

Beth flashed a smile that was all teeth.

"And here I was thinking you didn't take no for an answer..." There was something extremely dark writhing behind Beth's eyes. She had their fathers eyes, two brown stones that were too hard for her still young age. They glittered with malicious intent; the sight caused Addison to tense. "Or at least that's what you told me when you forced me into rehab, right?"

She punctuated her sentence with a mouthful of her mocktail, the serrated smile on her lips not even wavering as she swallowed. 

Addison stared at her, well aware that people were looking between the two of them. She didn't appreciate being made into a spectacle. Addison had always been a woman of composure-- although she supposed that she'd lost everyone's respect the moment she'd decided to waltz into Mark's bed.

"Do you remember the little speech you gave me?" Beth looked intrigued. 

She had the floor, not even Archer seemed eager to launch into another one of his anecdotes. She finally placed her glass down and clasped her hands together, both appearing above the line of the table. 

"It was something about doing this because you care about me, remember?" Her head cocked to the side, Beth's eyes shining as she spoke: "That you were going to stand by me and never give up. It was pretty convincing, really..."

Addison didn't speak. 

She just continued staring at her sister, watching the bitter, backhanded amusement swim through Beth's eyes. Beth paused to glance very briefly over at Derek, who was far from getting involved; the neurosurgeon had been so vocal back then, but now he had nothing to say. 

She laughed through her nose and shook her head.

"It was bullshit."

Everyone at the table paused. 

Those three words felt incredibly heavy to place into the universe. It was the acknowledgement that apologies had fallen through and were now flaking at the edges. Beth's tone had been matter-of-fact and straight forward, as if she was relaying a universally known fact. From the look on everyone's faces, they all agreed. 

They were all stuck in their seats, pinned under the heaviness that came from the twist of emotions on Beth's face. The only person who moved was Charlie; he placed a hand on Beth's leg just as she grew restless.

"You're a good liar, you know that?" Beth's head twisted to the side, looking Addison up and down. It was an invasive gaze, Addison almost felt naked and vulnerable. It was an alien and very violating feeling. The youngest Montgomery sighed and shook her head. "You had me fooled-- I thought you'd actually turn up."

"I'm sorry."

Addison knew that saying sorry was quite possibly the least effective thing that she could've pulled out of her ass, but Archer was staring at her from the other end of the table, gesturing with his head so desperately and subtly. It was what she'd flown from LA to do, to try and make everything okay. 

She at least owed Beth that.

On the scale of Addison's apologies, it ranked pretty low.

Two words and an estranged tone that hinged on the verge of mystery. She glanced at her brother again and saw the very subtle way disappointment welled up in him; he'd expected more, he'd expected some sort of Shakespearean-style speech where Addison compared Beth to a summers day that could forgive her. S

he hadn't been able to supply that, not while she had a lump of greasy pizza on the plate, her least favourite people on either side of her and her sister's burning gaze searing into her cheek-- it stung like a cigarette pressed against skin, a very concentrated amount of heat in a small area.

Historically, Beth had always been good at accepting apologies, but then again, Addison had always been really good at them. She'd learnt it from their father, learnt how you could force people to forgive you through persistence and false conviction-- but tonight the words seemed to just get stuck at the back of her throat.

All eyes slid to the hostess of the evening.

Beth tutted very softly, shaking a finger. "Not good enough."

***

"Let's circle back to this anger you're experiencing."

Beth had gotten to her feet. 

He'd watched her pace lines into the carpet for the last ten minutes, whirling back and forth as they'd discussed Seattle as a city. Beth had ranked it pretty low on the table of cities she'd lived in ("It doesn't hold a candle to Toronto. I don't know why particularly, but it's almost as bad as my hometown.") and Andrew hadn't quite gotten to asking why, in that case, she was still here.

 He had been sure whether Beth and Charlie planned to build their life together here or whether, come the end of her contract, they'd be blown back across to Boston with the West Wind.

"You mentioned always feeling angry? Can you talk about that?"

Her head had turned and she'd shot him a miffed look.

"I mean... what's there to talk about?" Beth had approached the topic with slight bewilderment. "Everyone experiences anger. It's normal... it's natural like you said-- It's just... I've always been taught to second guess my anger. I think there's some sort of internalised female expectations to constantly be like... placid and be scared of my own emotions. Historically, I've always been sad or some bullshit, I've hurt before I've been angry. Crying before yelling. It's... it's not the same now."

"You're not upset?"

A flicker of a heated grin. "I'm fucking furious."

He hadn't doubted her. He didn't need to-- he could tell from the way she seemed to smoulder and almost burn circles into the carpeted floor. 

It had been like watching a fuse being lit, very slowly working its way down a cord that was attached to some very dangerous explosives. Comparing his patient to a weapon of mass destruction, more or less his sister-in-law-to-be, was not how he'd envisioned his afternoon going.

"But this specific anger, it's more related to... displacement, you said?"

A short laugh. "Well yeah, there's no point being angry at a dead guy."

They'd known the statistics like the back of their hands; more likely than not, the culprit of a mass shooting was dead by the end of their 'run'. 

They both knew that the lack of justice was something that really stuck with survivors.

"I know that what I'm experiencing is all linked to the fact that I experienced something that was highly traumatic.... I mean, I literally died, right? That's not normal..."

She'd started talking so quickly that Andrew had to pause everything to follow her words. Back and forth on the carpet. Back and forth. Almost like a tin soldier with it's back wound up. There were a lot of thoughts in her head, a lot of things that were spiralling through her unconsciousness. 

Andrew hadn't felt the need to prompt her, he'd been able to tell that she was almost buffering in her emotions, her words.

"But I'm coping with it." Beth had insisted, "I'm processing my emotions-- I mean, tonight I'm having this dinner... I'm hoping it's going to help... find closure on some shit that's happening in my personal life."

"Closure?" Andrew questioned, "What do you need closure on?"

"How much time do you have?" 

She'd turned and joked so easily that it was almost too easy to look past the clear distress in her eyes. Beth had appeared uncomfortable. She'd scratched at her arms with nails that had been gnawed at and paused in the centre of the office. 

"Too many things," Beth answered, off-handedly, "Everything. I would keep a list but.. god, that sounds like too much work even to me."

"So do you think this anger is far more personal than it is... uh, how do I put it? Trauma-related?"

"Probably," Beth had snorted, her discomfort shedding as she seemed to approach it with amusement. "Have you seen my personal life? I feel like half the time I exist in a really shitty medical drama-- one where I'm constantly disappointed that George Clooney hasn't been cast as my love interest. I was really into Doug Ross."

Andrew had just decided not to comment on that.

"At the moment, Charlie and my job are the only two things that I can count on," She'd heaved a breath, barely bothered by the look of vague amusement on Andrew's face. "Archer's amazing but he wouldn't stay in Seattle. I wouldn't ask him to stay. I don't want him to stay— I don't expect people to stop their lives for me."

"Do you find yourself emotionally relying on people?" Andrew's eyes had flickered between his notes and the intense expression on Beth's face.

"I try not to," Beth had sighed, "Sometimes you need to. I've definitely put a lot of strain on Charlie these past few months... He's a good sport too, he deserves a lot of thanks but... I like to think I'm independent. I've spent enough time in therapy to know that you need to one your shit and stand by yourself." She'd chuckled to herself. "I actually made it my New Years resolution to stop relying on people... Men.. especially."

"Ah," He'd nodded with a flicker of a smile on his face. "I, uh... I wanted to go to the gym more."

She'd laughed and rubbed at the corner of her eye. "Yeah, I should've gone for that one too."

It felt weird, in retrospect, to think about how much time had passed since the shooting. 

Beth wasn't wrong; two months had been a long time but had passed so quickly and slowly at the same time. Andrew had been in Seattle for a long time, yet he couldn't have told anyone about anything the city had to offer. 

His days had all consisted of work; when he wasn't working he was sleeping in his hotel room down the street. He'd been out for drinks once, flirted with a cardiothoracic surgeon... but other than that he couldn't really comment on how his New Years resolution had gone or whether he'd achieved anything outside of his career at all.

"So before... before the incident," Beth had prickled at the word. Incident. Andrew wasn't a fan of euphemism but saying 'when you died' felt a little too harsh for a first session. "Did you feel angry?"

"I would say so, but as I said, I've felt uncomfortable with anger so I tend... tend to divert it to hurt and feeling sad," Beth had replied. She'd resumed her aimlessly wandering around the office, eyes trailing across the walls. "I've I had a... conflict with another staff member... one of the um, interns in the surgical department. It set me a bit on edge... I was second-guessing... well, everything really--"

"Doctor Grey, right?" 

Her pacing had stopped almost as quickly as it had begun. 

There had been a very visible falter. She'd been looking away from him, head turned in the direction of the door, so Andrew couldn't gauge the reaction on her face. He'd read Lexie's name off of his notes and watched as the muscles in Beth's back tensed. 

"Was it a professional conflict?"

Beth had paused for a second.

"No," She'd answered finally. 

Her tone had been raw and almost guttural, a long breath flushing out the words in one big exhale. Her shoulders had rolled, her foot had twitched. In the span of a second, Beth was suddenly very small, her fire reduced to a few snuffed embers. The hurt had resurfaced. 

"It was personal..." Beth said, "Very personal."

Personal ran deep, Andrew had been able to tell from the way she turned to him with round eyes that glimmered slightly. 

She'd dug her fingernails into her forearms so deep that it left moon-crescents over her skin. He'd pressed his lips together, feeling the shift in the ambience—

"I understand she was present when you were hurt," He'd used his therapist voice. The very calm, attentive voice that he knew Beth could feel the shift in his voice too. She had the same tone in her own work. It signified the touch of deeper subjects. "When I spoke to her, she told me that you protected her... Do you want to talk about that?"

A light smile had wavered on Beth's lips— it was brief, short and appeared pained. Her eyes had avoided him, her pacing had resorted to tireless circles as she attempted to organise her thoughts. Her smile had drilled deep into him, however, he wrote a few lines about how affected she seemed to be about the events of that day— Andrew hadn't expected anything less. 

As much as Beth could prepare for this session, with all of her discharge papers and her years of psychiatry training... none of it could stop her from facing the trauma of what she'd been through.

Even the people who were trained to handle and deal with it weren't immune. It was painfully clear from the way she tried her best to hold herself together.

"I..." 

For the first time this session, Beth had seemed to scramble with her words. She'd blinked back a strong sense of despair, chest tight and heart beating a little too hard in her chest. 

"She was just there and I..." A pause. Andrew had watched the very subtle tremor in her lip as she rubbed at her eye. "No, I didn't protect her."

"I understand that you stood between her and--"

"It wasn't like that," She'd shook her head so insistently. "It wasn't like I threw myself in the way of the bullet or anything— I just didn't see the point in two people dying. It wasn't personal--"

"It wasn't stupid," Andrew had denied, shaking his head. "Nothing is stupid in that sort of situation. We can't be judged for our actions. In this case, I don't think it's stupid at all. You thought like a doctor, you thought professionally and without any personal feeling-- you put yourself first. It's not stupid. It's not far from what you're trained to do."

She'd just blinked at him.

"Not stupid?" Beth hadn't liked that. "I died."

"You did."

"I was shot."

"You were."

He would've continued this for hours. It had intrigued him, how quickly her emotions flipped around— within a blink of an eye she was angry again. 

Not just angry, but furious. 

It was interesting, it was noteworthy; he'd let her pace with her own, undisrupted thoughts as he scrawled a few words in a box.

"I bled out on the fucking floor in front of my ex," She'd said each word as if she couldn't comprehend how any of that wasn't downright stupidity. "It's stupid— this whole situation is just the dumbest shit I've ever had to put up with... And I've done... I've done a lot... Now I can't even work... or get back to normal... all because of some dumb trauma— all because some asshole turned up with a gun. It's not fair."

He'd watched her pause for a breath.

"Okay," Andrew had agreed finally. "It's stupid. I agree. It's not fair at all."

"It's not."

She'd burnt herself out a bit— maybe that was the consequence of burning so brightly. Her anger had seemed to come in waves, ebbing and flowing and almost playing the idea of overflowing. 

Andrew hadn't seen anything quite like it. In that moment, he'd been able to recognise the sort of flame that had drawn Charlie to her like a moth. 

It'd been clear from the moment Beth exhaled, a breath that sounded as if it had been trapped for a thousand years, that she had more control and patience with herself than Andrew had anticipated.

"It kinda feels ironic," He hadn't expected her to keep talking, but he didn't want to interrupt. "All of this because I... because I 'protected' Lexie even though she made it very clear that she... I don't know? Hates me? I think she hates me. She kinda has reason to— but I got.. I...I was injured 'protecting' someone who hates me."

Beth had paused to laugh. If Andrew hadn't of been in a very professional headspace, he would've found the sound heartbreaking.

"Now I know that's worse than stupid or dumb..." She'd heaved a breath, shaking her head to herself and looking at the ring on her finger. "That's textbook self-sabotage."

"I feel the need to remind you that self-diagnosing isn't helpful," The look Beth had shot him had been scathing; a single eyebrow lifted. "It's my job to cover the specifics, don't forget that."

Her head had tilted in another subtle challenge. "Okay..." Her nonchalance had been enough for Andrew to waver for a moment. "What would you diagnose it as— a patient prioritises someone else's safety over their own, and.... dies? What would you call that?"

Beth had just sat there and waited for his reply. 

Andrew had cleared his throat; he'd glanced down at his sheet as if it would help him. He hadn't thought it was possible, but Beth's eyebrows seemed to rise even higher up her forehead. It had been his turn to be flustered; he supposed that he would have felt disastrously unprofessional if it hadn't been for the fact that Beth was eventually going to be family. 

He'd just shrugged, sniffed and clicked his pen against his thumb.

His voice had been small. "Probably, uh, self-sabotage, actually."

"Wow," Beth had nodded slowly, face in a faux look of surprise. Her lips had parted in an 'o' and she'd appeared extremely impressed by his expertise. "You're so right... I wouldn't have thought of that at all... Thank god you're here to help me."

"Maybe we should get back to Lexie..." 

Andrew had been quick to divert the conversation back to the topic at hand. It'd resulted in a very long sigh and the quick darkening of Beth's mood. The mention of the young surgical intern had seemed to irk her— Andrew found it interesting how quick the process was. 

"I'd really like to unpack the situation behind your decision to... sacrifice yourself--"

"Lexie seems like she's a good person," Beth had gnawed on her bottom lip. "But I... I do kind of regret... regret helping her. I can't be asked to fight with her. I can't be asked to give her the part of my anger-- she's not really worth my time. She's fighting a battle all to herself because I really don't want the prize at the end..." 

She'd gone off-topic and Andrew had only wondered what the prize she was talking about was. 

Eventually, Beth had been able to reposition herself. "I regret 'protecting' her... Which then makes me feel shitty because as doctors we're supposed to be selfless, right? We're not supposed to regret our decisions—"

Andrew had grimaced slightly. "I'd say there's a difference between a professional decision and putting yourself in direct danger, but I understand that it's a very complex process. Sacrifice really "

"You're acting as if I dived in front of the bullet," Beth had appeared miffed. "I didn't. I actually failed... I tried to talk him down and he just shot me instead-- so I'm really not the employee of the month."

Andrew had wondered whether jokes were just Beth's knee jerk reaction. He had also wondered whether she allowed herself to feel and whether her aforementioned 'internalised' emotions were far more than an institution trait. 

He'd thrown in another nod for good measure, trying his best to work up to his question. However, just like with everything else, Beth had appeared to know exactly what direction he was swaying in.

"Sorry, what I meant to ask was do you think there could have been an ulterior motive behind—"

"I didn't do it for Mark," Her answer had been fast. It'd almost given them both whiplash. There she'd stood, hands on her hips and fire in her eyes as Andrew barely managed to finish his sentence. "I didn't do it for him if that's what you're asking."

It wasn't what he'd intended to ask at all.

***

Mark, admittedly, was having a very enjoyable evening

He hadn't expected it. 

In fact, he'd been very close to faking a sudden illness from the moment he'd sat down on the table (in retrospect, doing that in a room full of doctors was not the smartest idea he'd ever had (ranking just behind the whole sleeping with Addison thing)). He'd taken one look at Charlie's approachable, nice guy smile and planned out a whole Mission Impossible escape route. 

He didn't want to talk about the weather, he didn't want to talk about their impeccable hosting skills— but Mark didn't really know what he wanted either, so he'd just floundered in the uncomfortable grey space in between.

Then people had taken their seats and Mark had had a very hard time trying to position himself in this timeline; with Archer talking and Derek occasionally throwing in commentary, Beth just lingering the in the background... it all felt so much like New York. 

It was as if they'd all be transported back in time and dragged onto a table in a dimly lit restaurant on the Upper East Side.

It'd taken him one glance at Addison's face to realise that maybe tonight was going to be fun.

Beth was talking now; she'd provided a nice break from Archer's constant drawl about LA. Everyone was watching as Beth started addressing the radio silence, arms folded over the table and lips pursed— Mark couldn't be bothered to gauge Addison's expression, but he watched her clench a serviette out of the corner of her eye. 

Instead, he looked at Beth, noticed the hellfire that was rising in her eyes. There was a specific point where Addison had responded ("Last time I checked, you weren't picking up.") and it was as if a surge of electricity had driven through Beth's body. 

Her hair had practically crackled with energy. Her eyes had gleamed with malicious intent, temper rising to the challenge--

It was exciting. It was like watching a thunderstorm rolling in and Mark, for once, wasn't caught up in the rain.

"Not good enough."

Those three words had echoed around the table. It'd clogged Mark's ears and caused a very subtle fall in Addison's shoulders. Across the table, Mark and Archer met eyes; it was a very rare moment of understanding. 

They both knew that those three words had a lot of weight to them. You could tell from the way that Beth's lips flickered almost bitterly, how her chin raised and her teeth flashed between her red lips. They were the same words that the eldest Montgomery sister had thrown around back in New York. 

Beth and Addison had been close sisters, but there had always been room for criticism. 

There had been so many exchanges, mostly one way, so many moments of disheartening conversations that had left Beth crushed;

Not good enough. Beth had thrown Addison's words back at her.

"Beth..."

Addison's reply was caught in a sigh; it was an ambiguous sound, Mark couldn't decide whether it was disappointed or just slightly rattled. She was still staring at her sister, a muscle in her jaw twitching as she contemplated her move. Beth appeared unaffected. 

"I mean it," Addison half whispered, shaking her head, "I've been extremely busy over the last few weeks and I admit that I haven't stepped up like I should have--"

"You had plenty of time to call three months ago?" Beth barely batted an eyelash. "Remember.. when you were spamming me with phone calls constantly, trying to apologise for some..." She rolled her eyes, "...some lovely little inconvenience that you decided to drop on me. I can't be specific there's too many to really... address right now--"

"I've been extremely busy," Mark wasn't sure why Addison thought her redundant insisting was achieving anything. "I would have called if I could—"

"Oh I heard."

 Beth clasped her hands under chin and just smiled; Mark knew that look better than most, it indicated that she was one hundred per cent sure that Addison was lying. She'd always been so in tune with people's tells, lying to Beth had felt like a police polygraph test.

"You went to Alaska, right?" The brunette asked.

The woman beside him shifted. "I did, yes."

"Must've been stacked out there," From Beth's tone, he could tell that she'd spent the whole day fine-tuning her sarcasm. There was a very subtle cut to it, one that left him a little singed, even though she wasn't directing it at him. "So many people in Alaska... just all having kids at once... I can imagine how busy it must've been."

"There were actually," Addison's eye twitched slightly. "I was swamped with surgeries. I was extremely busy."

"You must be so in demand," The twinkle of fake surprise in Beth's eyes almost made Mark choke on his wine. "It sounds exhausting, I'm surprised you made time in your schedule to come to visit us. It must be a special occasion."

"It is," She sounded tired, "Of course it is-- God, Beth... I wanted to come and see how you were doing. I've been so worried about--"

Beth's chuckle was cold. "Really?"

"Beth, I really mean it—"

"I don't believe you."

She meant it. 

Her delivery was cold and callous, gaze slipping only a few moments to watch how Addison clenched a hand against the table. Mark didn't miss how Beth's jaw clenched; she reached out for her glass (in what he could only guess was a reflex) and drained the rest of her mocktail. 

She slammed the glass back down on the table with a fury that Mark could only class as palpable-- as soon as the glass was down, she looked over at her fiancé and sighed, clearly dissatisfied with whatever Addison had tried to feed her. 

Mark didn't miss how Charlie's brow crumpled. 

The two of them communicated non-verbally, speaking through their eyes as Addison tried her best to get back to her feet--

"I don't care if you don't believe me," Addison began, clearly not reading into Beth's anger enough to know that it was really not the time. "It's true and I think we all know that so I just want you to know that I--"

"What We Know, Addie, is that you could fly to Alaska, but not to Seattle," Beth was still looking at Charlie when she started speaking. "You managed to get on to an 18-hour flight to Alaska... but not a 2-hour flight to Seattle..."

"I had an urgent patient," No one understood why Addison was still trying to justify herself. It was as if she was the captain of the Titanic, desperately trying to keep afloat in the control room as the ship sank deeper and deeper into the sea. Mark almost pitied her. Almost. "One of my patients from LA was out there- they were in a completely critical condition and I

"Oh right," Slowly, Beth turned to face her. She came armed with a light exhale out of her nose, a soft shrug and a nonchalant smile. Beside her, Charlie placed a hand on her arm; Beth shook him off, leaning forwards as if she was zoning on a target. "Because your sister being in critical condition wasn't urgent?"

"Beth," Addison interjected sharply, her tone rising to meet her sisters in the levels of heat. 

She'd said it in that sisterly way, a warning that meant that Beth should stop immediately or suffer the consequences.

Back in New York, it'd worked. It'd been enough to stop her in her tracks. 

In Seattle, it just made Beth chuckle.

It made them all collectively wonder whether their panache for arguments had been genetic. Maybe not, Archer looked perfectly comfortable sat to the right of them, just watching the two of them with his dark eyes. 

He had the same eyes as Beth, but they were warier than hers had ever been. He seemed to regard his siblings with fatherly exhaustion that made Mark tired from just looking at it...

Finally, Mark actually found himself able to look at the woman he'd left Beth for (he supposed that he should just start calling it what it was, no matter the amount of self-disgust it caused him). Her eyes were flickering around the table. It appeared that she didn't particularly like being made a spectacle of; she was uncomfortable, holding onto her wine glass with white knuckles and a slight tremor in her hand. 

On the other side of her, Derek was chewing very solemnly on a slice of pizza, squinting over at the two of them with slight bewilderment.

Throughout the whole dinner, Beth hadn't removed her eyes from Addison. Not once.

"No Addie," This time, she spoke sweetly. It caused goosebumps to rise on Mark's arms, a chill to settle in his bones. "You don't get to Beth me. You don't get to..." A pause, Beth took a breath as if she couldn't finish. "Just Don't."

There was something so interesting about Beth's temper-- Mark had forgotten how enigmatic it was. 

He'd become so used to the Drunk Angry Beth, the one who'd been so reckless and aimless with her rage. She'd always fought with tears and felt so guilty about it afterwards if she could recall it. He'd narrowly missed a cell phone to the head when she'd found out that he'd slept with a girl in the West Village. But this Beth... 

Sober Angry Beth was so much clearer.

Of course, he'd felt her anger since she'd come to Seattle. He'd withstood all the hellfire she could throw at him without cracking in two-- but this was so different. 

It was as if the past two months had flipped a switch or... Mark couldn't place it. It was the same thing he'd seen in Beth as she stood in outpatients, staring after Charlie as he told her Addison was coming to visit. Her anger was focused, it was logical and it was hotter than he'd ever--

Heat wise. He meant that it was heated and fiery and... obviously--

The only give away was the slight tremble in her hand as it twitched underneath her chin. She seemed to realise it at the same time as Mark. 

The hand was hidden back under the table, Beth clearing her throat as she repositioned herself.

"There's something that doesn't add up..." Beside Mark, Addison let out a long, exhausted breath. He didn't like it. "You see I've always been shit at geography but I'm pretty sure that you have to fly over or at least in the direction of Washington, right?" Mark had never seen Addison so uncomfortable. "So I searched it up... I've had a lot of time on my hands... and funny enough, most flights to Alaska actually layover in Seattle—"

"Beth-"

"Nope," Her interruption was quick. "No. I've been thinking about it for ages. I thought to myself, why would Addie come to Seattle and not come visit me, not once? Even though I almost died in this horrific way— and then... and I had the idea-- I thought to myself... I debated whether it was all a lie—"

"Please don't."

This time, Addison was the one who appeared to be intent on dissuading. 

Tired, she still sounded so tired-- 

Mark found himself staring at her as she lifted up a hand. Everyone was looking at her. All eating had paused. 

From his seat, Mark could see Archer, bewildered and slowly thinking over what Beth had said.

"Don't what?" Beth asked innocently but her eyes swirled with spite. He could only imagine the sort of thoughts that were swimming around in that head of hers. "Don't confront you for lying about going to fucking Alaska just so you were too busy to come here?" When Addison didn't respond, she just laughed. "I thought you were smart... Alaska, really? I would've believed New York or... literally anywhere else... but Alaska? Alaska?"

"Is that true, Addie?" Archer decided to join the conversation-- now that was something that Mark hadn't expected. He didn't look happy. "Did you lie about going to Alaska?"

It was in that moment that Mark questioned why, exactly, he was there. He felt as though he was a spectator in the room watching the three Montgomery kids fight over wounds that were clearly not healed. Between Archer's folded brow, Beth's clenched jaw and Addison's rising stress levels, Mark felt extremely underqualified to sit at the dinner table. 

One look over at Derek and Mark knew that he felt the same-- they briefly caught each other's eye as Addison leant forwards, cradling her forehead in her hands. 

That look was loud and clear: we're not going to make it to dessert. At least without one of them killing the other.

Mark put his money on Beth.

"It's not a lie," Addison seemed pretty adamant on standing her ground despite the fact that she appeared to be in despair. She was talking quickly, moving in jerky movements that they all recognised as originating from deep discomfort. "I'm not lying. Like I said, I was extremely worried about you. We both were, it was just unfortunate that I haven't been able to come until now--"

"Jeez," Beth laughed again, she rolled her eyes. "Did you rehearse this on the flight over or something? Did you write flashcards?"

"Look... I know you're hurt—"

"Oh," Mark could tell from that single exclamation that this was going to be interesting. "I'm not hurt. I'm just disappointed... and disappointed in myself for expecting you to actually step up to the plate for once."

"Really?" The comments had rubbed Addison's skin raw; the angry flush was appearing on her skin, rearing to go toe-to-toe with Beth's. Mark wondered whether the apartment had a sprinkler system— someone at this dinner table was going to burst into flames. "Because you seem to be extremely hostile and emotional right now—"

The laugh that left Beth's lips seemed to stall time itself.

"I don't know why it took me literally getting shot to realise this... but I'm allowed to be angry." Her words caused Addison to very visibly shift in her chair; maybe it was the passion in her voice, the realisation in her eyes and the intent in the way her lips curled, but something struck a chord inside her older sister. "I'm not going to spend the next five years regretting being angry because it's all dismissed it as some sort of drug-induced reaction— I have reason to be emotional.. to be furious. I don't need to feel bad about being angry— I don't have to regret this, not this time."

"You're just upset—"

"No," She cut Addison off, shaking her head, "Don't pin this on me being hurt and upset— this isn't me being a problem by feeling sad. You've made me feel bad for being angry and hurt in the past. That shit... it ends today. This shit, this heat you're under... this is the real deal."

No one knew what to say.

"You made me a pushover, Addie."

Each word seemed meticulously selected with the intention of (Mark highly theorised) maximum damage. Beth would've made an amazing politician or lawyer, she'd always been capable of such a solid and emoted argument. 

"I've second guessed all of my emotions for the past twenty years," Beth said, "I've forgiven people who don't deserve my forgiveness—" Mark wondered whether he was one of those people. He didn't doubt that he was. "––and I've treated the people I love like shit. I've second-guessed the people that care about me just because there's people like you who don't know how to... how to care in a healthy way that doesn't screw the other person over..."

He wasn't sure whether it was supposed to scald him, but he couldn't help but feel deeply wounded by those words-- there was something a bit too bright about the fire in Beth's eyes for it just to be for one person.

"Don't peg me as hurt because I'm actually following through with my anger, for once. Think of me as a debt collector— I'm here to take what you owe me." Beth leant back in her chair, seemingly satisfied with the gaunt look on Addison's face. No one spoke. No one even breathed. Beth ran her eye up and down the table. Mark could hear the moment she decided that this whole hostess thing really wasn't her calling-- she looked at her sister again and scoffed. "Shut up, eat your pizza and just stop pretending, Addie."

How anyone could follow that... Mark had no idea.

But the conversation, did, seem to continue onwards from the sharp detour. 

Addison resumed her silence and Beth seemed happy to divert her furious energy into a functional conversation that wasn't about Addison's failings as a sister. 

Mark even contributed a joke that had elicited a chuckle around the table.

The world continued as if nothing happened at all but the tension still remained. It lingered in the way that Addison sat stiffly, like a mannequin who had been shoved in their seat and just instructed to moodily linger. 

It was weird seeing her in his peripheral; ghostly and eyes never leaving her dinner plate. It was as if Mark was sat beside a very sad-looking statue, one that had been dumped in a garden and left to disappear into the undergrowth. She stared down at her pizza with a look of disdain on her face, most likely thinking back over everything that had been said so far. 

Mark almost felt bad for her. Almost.

It wasn't until Derek and Archer were having a very unlikely conversation about their mutual friends that Addison seemed to reanimate. She treaded the wary waters and piped up on the topic of Sam and Naomi. Beth asked how they were doing and Addison replied. 

If Mark could've said something to her, it would've been: Don't. Just don't even bother. 

It was clear that Beth had three words for every syllable Addison planned to speak.

"They're doing good," She didn't sound as if she'd intended an argument to start, but Mark didn't miss how her eyes bore into Beth's attentive smile. "They're busy, of course, but they seem to be doing well... Naomi's got a lot of patients and she's very busy with the clinic--"

"They sound busy," Beth said without missing a beat, "Must've been vacationing in Alaska, I hear it's lovely this time of year."

Holy shit, Mark thought to himself as he took a mouthful of wine and watched Addison bristle out of the corner of his eye, Beth's going to murder her.

In a way, he supposed that he should've seen it coming. 

He'd been telling people for years that Beth was the more outspoken of the pair, but placed up against Addison and her tendency to just shrink into the shadows, no one had ever believed him. Mark supposed that he'd figured long ago that they'd end up in some sort of situation... was situation even the right word? 

Before they'd all left New York, he'd half expected to get a phone call in the middle of the night asking him to hide Addison's body-- or vice versa.

There had never been a physical fight between the two of them. Mark couldn't decide who would be more likely to win.

"How about I clear some of the plates, make some room?"

Contrasted against the atmosphere was Charlie. 

He got to his feet and offered everyone a very earnest smile. No one responded, he just squeezed Beth's shoulder and leant across, gathering spare plates and setting them aside. It was a very clear attempt to dissuade the ebb and flow of the tension but it achieved very little. 

Even as he bustled into the kitchen, leaving the seat beside Beth empty, her eyes didn't lift from her sister and Addison's shoulders didn't fall.

Mark leant back in his chair and followed him with his eyes, noticing how Charlie very clearly had no idea what was going on. The Boston native seemed to hum with nervous energy. He could only imagine what was going on in that head of his... Mark couldn't even remember what his first Montgomery family dinner had been like. 

Either way, Charlie seemed to be caught out, staring around like a deer caught in headlights. Mark hadn't known what he'd expected, but it wasn't this; the guy was absolutely blindsided by the amount of p that was in this room-- 

Again, Mark could only imagine having to sit at this table and having the realisation that this was the sort of dynamic you were marrying into.

"Is it?" 

Addison shot her ex-husband a look that was miffed and bitter. Derek had complimented the evening. Addison seemed to disagree. 

She scoffed and took a large mouthful of wine. Derek's bottle of wine made its rounds around the table as Charlie returned to his seat.

"It's not exactly the Rainbow Room," Addison said.

"And who's fault is that?" That comment was from Archer, who murmured tightly into his hand with a grumble.

"Is there something wrong?" Charlie asked, his attention piquing at the sound of displeasure. He looked over at Addison as Beth patted his arm, dissuading him from continuing. Her eyes burned holes in her sisters stupidly perfect skin— Mark seemed to hold the wine bottle hostage, watching as Charlie bristled with hosting-anxiety that reminded him so much of Addison. "We can sort something else out if you don't like the food—"

Beth frowned. "Babe, it's..."

"I'd like that actually," Addison was smiling a plastic smile too, but it was slightly burnt at the edges from the heat Beth had already thrown at her. "If you have any—"

"Charlie, don't pay attention to her, it's fine. She's just being difficult—"

"Actually I think—"

"C'mon," Mark cleared his throat, interjecting Addison as she tried to take advantage of Charlie's niceness. And here he'd been, thinking that Beth couldn't get any angrier. She was trying to get Charlie to sit down, shaking her head at him as Mark tried his best to try and kick some sense into Addison. "You're ruining a perfectly good meal."

Addison didn't even bother looking at him. "I'm vegetarian."

"Bullshit. Since when?" Beth looked flabbergasted.

"Since right now."

"I'm surrounded by children" Archer mumbled to himself. 

He had to agree with Archer. It felt as though they were watching two toddlers squabble; hadn't he said the same thing in therapy with Beth? Hadn't Mark accused Beth of being a kindergartner?

Mark hadn't expected to watch Beth and Addison fighting over Charlie-- maybe he should have seen it coming too. After all, they'd all seen how it'd gone with him; was it a knee jerk reaction for Addison to go for the boyfriend, or in this case, the fiancé? 

Obviously, she wasn't trying to sleep with the poor guy, but she seemed to know full well that trying to pry into Charlie was a way to get under Beth's skin... and it was working.

"You're unbelievable." Beth sounded exasperated.

"Just add that to the other things you've called me tonight," Addison replied, eyes sharp and tone ever sharper. She seemed to draw back her dignity, building it piece by piece as she drew in a long breath. She was far more rattled than Mark had realised-- unlike Beth, who appeared like the eye of a storm, Addison seemed to teeter on the edge. "What was it... Liar? A bad sister? Difficult? Might as well throw unbelievable in as well."

"Addie," Archer said lowly from across the table. "I don't think..."

"Would you like me to write them all down?" Beth asked patiently, "Laminate it, maybe? Frame it—"

Addison scoffed, throwing down her napkin. "Oh, so I'm the unbelievable one?"

"And I'm the one who's not in their right mind... apparently—"

"No," Addison said sharply, her hand balling into a fist and her voice sliding down the slippery track to fury. "I'm questioning whether you're in your right mind... this is all whole situation is insane." She threw up her arms and, for a moment, Mark could tell exactly what was about to happen. "I mean look at this— this is supposed to be a dinner, not an intervention— I don't understand what's—"

Addison had never coped well with her self-pride going up in flames. Maybe that's why Mark should've really been able to predict what happened next. 

But unfortunately, the wine was making his psychic skills a little bit lacklustre today... Before he knew it, a finger was being pointed in his direction.

"You talk about being angry at me and misplaced forgiveness and yet you invited Mark," She sounded baffled and hurt, all of the things Beth had said she wasn't personally. Mark's surprise at getting dragged into this argument was masked by the sound of Archer huffing. "What were you thinking?"

Well, shit. 

As much as she had a point, Mark kind of wished she'd just shut up. 

He felt the need to let her know that:

He cleared his throat, "I don't think—"

"No it's okay," Beth said breezily, smiling over at her sister. She waved Mark away, her serrated grin causing the surgeon to get the memo (Oh no, this wasn't going to be good). "I don't know what I was thinking really..." She let out a laugh; it was a laugh that made the hairs rise on the back of Mark's neck. "I guess I thought you might want to see him... seeing as you guys fucked over Christmas, right?"

Well, shit (x2)

Across the table, Derek choked on a mouthful of wine. 

It punctuated the prolonged suspension of disbelief. Her words seemed to trigger some sort of chemical reaction in the room. Suddenly, Addison was speechless and she was just blinking into blank space. 

Mark, who seemed to have just accepted that this was going to happen, reached to refill his glass. 

To be honest, he'd expected the topic to come up sooner and was pleasantly surprised that he'd at least got a drama-free appetiser. He opted to just keep to himself, continuing with his meal as if nothing had ever happened— no one else chose the same approach. 

In the far corner, Archer let out an exasperated breath.

"Dear god," he mumbled, pressing his face into his hand. 

Mark could only wonder what sort of things was happening in his mind. 

Either way, he figured that he was not Archer's favourite dinner guest.

It was clear that Addison hadn't expected it either, or maybe she had? Honestly, Mark was surprised that she hadn't seen it coming from a mile away. He couldn't tell whether he just knew Beth that well (specifically angry, spiteful Beth) and could anticipate the patterns in her anger-fuelled logic, or whether Addison was just a bit too jet-lagged from her flight. 

With all the nonchalance in the world, Mark offered to refill her wine glass, grinning widely when she shot him the dirtiest look possible.

What is it, Addie? He wanted to ask, Not enjoying dinner?

Mark would've never admitted it to anyone but a very well-paid therapist, but he was really enjoying himself. The drama, the tension... it reminded him of some pretty good nights back in New York (awful arguments but an amazing amount of angry sex afterwards). He'd always adored that about Angry Beth, drunk or not, she knew how to put on a show.

"Beth—"

Addison started off with this very low tone. Everyone at the table but Charlie recognised it— oh here we go, Mark thought to himself, here comes the 'woe is me' speech. This really was something he'd been looking forwards to. 

What excuse was Addison going to pull out this time— Oh, I just fell onto Mark's dick. We just happened to blah blah blah. Mark had never liked the fact that Addison never took responsibility for her actions— even when they'd been caught out the first time. 

She'd tried to shove it all on him and the weight had been awful. She was the worse freeloader he knew.

"No," Beth cut her off, wagging a finger in the air. "It's fine, honestly, Addie. I understand completely— you just wasn't thinking, right?" The number of rhetorical questions in this space was deafening. "Just like the first time and the second time and the third time—"

Oh shit.

"That's not fair," Addison interjected, her eyes narrowing. "I apologised for all—"

"Yeah," The psychiatrist had nothing but pure fire blazing away in her eyes. 

She held her glass to her lips (if Mark stared hard enough, he could see it being filled with wine and the apartment transformed into a Manhattan four-star socialite haunt). It felt familiar. 

"And then you did it all again," Beth rolled her eyes, "So excuse me if I don't believe any shit that comes out of your mouth..."

"I meant it," Addison said sharply. "What I said—"

"So do I," Beth countered, "I don't accept your apology. Consider it revoked."

The older sister appeared flustered for a moment. 

Her eyes bounced between Beth and as if to seek some sort of moral support, her brother. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark watched Archer very subtly shake his head. 

He wasn't getting involved, not her behalf anyway. 

Addison was on her own.

Even Derek looked as though he was going to be sitting this one out; that was who was usually behind Addison during these sort of arguments. 

This was different. It might've felt like New York but it certainly wasn't; people often forgot that Beth wasn't the only person who'd been hurt when Addison and Mark had gotten together. Instead of raising his voice, Derek just opted to ask Archer to pass the salt.

Addison was alone. 

The only person who didn't seem to be aware of that was Charlie; he sat beside Beth and just gazed around at everyone, caught somewhere between shell-shocked and terrified. Mark almost (almost) empathised with him; an argument at a Montgomery dinner honestly deserved its own militarised warning. 

He'd been at his fair share so nothing seemed to faze him, even five years on— Charlie, on the other hand, didn't seem to be enjoying his first.

"Beth," Mark, again, almost felt like warning Addison against speaking but he decided that it was best to stay out of the way. "I don't understand what I need to do to show you that I'm sorry about what happened, but if you need to hear another apology after all this time.. I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry..."

It sounded heartfelt, Mark had to give her that.

"I don't want your apology."

It was the exact same sentiment Beth had extended to Mark— it almost made chills run down his spine. He watched as she leant back in her chair and tilted her head to the side. It looked powerful; Mark realised that he hadn't breathed in the past few minutes. He let out a loud breath and, in a split second, Beth's eyes flickered over towards him. 

It was as if she'd forgotten that he was there-- their eyes met in a very brief, very scathing way. Her words overlapped their gaze and for the second time that evening, he had to wonder whether they were partially directed towards him.

"To be honest, Addie, I don't want anything from you at all."

"Really?" Addison asked tepidly, eyebrows raising, "Everyone seems to want something from me these days so why not put in your request?"

"Okay..." Beth nodded. "Is there a character limit or... admin fee or something?" Addison didn't seem to find it funny. "How much for you to give a damn about anyone but yourself?"

Mark liked that one.

***

"I would invite you to dinner but I get the feeling it isn't going to be very fun."

Beth had found her way back to the chair. 

Her eyes had glittered with knowing as they came to the end of the session. 

Her eyes had traced the way that Andrew finished her notes. She couldn't get over how much he and Charlie were alike, both so sure of themselves and their purpose in each session. She couldn't help but cross-compare herself, just as she had done with Laurel. 

They were better at this than she was.

She had to give Andrew credit. She'd tried to make this difficult for him-- just playing ball was boring and she was perpetually bored these days.

 She wasn't dumb. She knew that he wasn't going to let her back to work. She just needed something to do, something to work towards. Beth had his attention and now she was going to use it to get her foot back in the door.

"I actually have plans, this evening," Andrew had answered, not looking from the document as Beth perked up. As if he'd been able to sense her interest, he'd shaken his head warily. "This session is about you, not me--"

"At least tell me if you need a plus one for the wedding," Beth had sighed, her chest tight as she thought about all of the things that she still needed to organise.

  Oh god. She hadn't had to think about these things with Calum, her engagement hadn't lasted long enough. Yet Charlie seemed to still be around. He didn't seem to be going anywhere.

"Sure" Andrew had conceded with a light chuckle, but immediately put forward a question he'd mulling over for a while. "Do you consider yourself to be happy?"

Happy. 

The way Andrew had said it reminded Beth so much of his brother. Charlie had been so tender when she'd sat in bed and filled out the incident report before Christmas (That felt like a lifetime ago). He'd told me that her that she wasn't happy. 

He'd said it with such tenderness even though she'd denied it, it'd resonated deep within her. Happy. Happy. Happy. Charlie had seen her happy and that (this) wasn't what it looked like.

"I do."

***

Addison didn't like liars.

She didn't like sitting at this table either. 

She felt extremely uncomfortable, extremely stripped and raw. No one was talking. No one had spoken on her behalf. People weren't meeting her eye. Derek was staring at the wine bottle in the centre of the table, Mark was gazing somewhere over Charlie's shoulder. Beth was continuing on with her life as if nothing had happened.

Addison didn't feel great. Her chest stung and her lungs hurt from the effort of breathing. But her blood still boiled at the thought of letting Beth get the last word.

She could tell from Archer's face that he was exasperated with her. He couldn't understand why she was still fighting, she could just taste his disappointment in the air-- was it sick to say it tasted better than the crappy pizza? 

Every time Addison looked at the plate in front of her she just wanted to hurl.

"If you've got something to say, Addie, say it."

She'd expected Beth to try and antagonize her. 

Her baby sister seemed to have an inexhaustible stream of hatred against her-- the thought of it was enough for Addison to feel awful, so deeply awful that conceding wasn't an option. 

Addison didn't want Beth to hate her. She was hoping desperately that some point the watershed was going to break and she was going to be able to breathe--

But Beth wasn't the one who had spoken.

Mark tilted his head towards his ex-fling. 

The sound of his voice, with Beth's eyes resting so heavily on her, made Addison wonder what sort of dimension she'd fallen into. She could've sworn the last time she was in Seattle, Beth and Mark were still estranged, throwing glares at each other and fighting through the mess they'd made. 

She didn't exactly have the energy to be surprised when Mark, just like everyone else at the table, seemed to appear against her.

"I've said all that I wanted to say," She replied tightly. "I've got nothing more to say."

The sound of Mark's snicker made her blanch, "That doesn't sound like you."

She stared at him. 

She glowered deep into his skin, eyes narrowing as he drank wine and smirked at her despair-- she'd never liked Mark. 

Conceited, smug asshole--

"I don't want to say anything more to upset people," Addison's voice was far pitchier than she'd intended it to be. Her eyes swung around the table and she sniffed loudly, feeling her dignity sweep the floor. She eventually found herself able to look at something other than Beth— to everyones surprise (Well, Mark wasn't that surprised), she reverted back to the man sat to Beth's left. "I'm sorry Charlie... I'm not usually like this."

Beth scoffed. Charlie just meekly nodded.

"I feel awful," Her voice cracked slightly, "I usually like to make a better impression on my sister's boyfriend..."

That was a very audible pause in the room; people seemed to notice Addison's mistake, one that she was completely oblivious to. 

The only head that turned was Charlie's, he seemed to gauge the look on Addison's face, add it to her tone and run the math equation for the answer— very slowly, he looked over at Beth and she just smiled at him. It was an empty, ugly smile. 

There was a brief moment in which Charlie seemed to falter slightly, but then he realised what had happened— he took Beth's hand and turned his attention back to her estranged sister.

"Fiancé," Charlie corrected her, his voice rising. "I'm her fiancé."

Addison had had no idea. No one had thought to tell her. She'd been left out of this extremely important life milestone and was left none the wiser.

Everyone else at the table knew; even Archer who stared across at Addison with those dark bottomless eyes. It was as if her father was staring right at her twice-- she hadn't realised how heavy her two siblings could be when they bore down on her. A red hue slashed across her cheeks. 

Her face seemed to burn, mortified by the reveal— but then Beth very slowly and innocently leant her head against her palm and flashed a bride's smile across the table. It was a calm, almost angelic gesture but it caused Addison to get thrown completely off-guard.

The engagement ring glimmered on her finger like it was taunting her.

"Engaged?" She echoed, her head whipping up and down the table to read people's faces, "Beth... you didn't tell me you said yes."

"He said yes actually," Beth almost drawled, lips flickering as Charlie seemed to loosen up a fair bit. It seemed as though he was catching on to what shitshow this dinner was turning out to be— it was becoming clear that this had been a suicide mission from the beginning. Beth hadn't wanted dinner, she'd wanted court and jury. "I proposed... Call me progressive."

Or a control freak, Addison almost felt like saying. 

They were too like each other. Beth seemed to forget that Addison knew her game better than she did, she'd had 8 years more experience than her. Every move Beth made in this fucked up chess game had been made by Addison's design. 

No matter how much Beth could throw at her, there was always something Addison could volley back.

"Five months," Beth said calmly, When Addison looked at her, she felt nothing but frustration. "You would've known if you'd come to Seattle... you know... when I was on my death bed and everything."

"Were you even planning on telling me at all?"

She sounded incredulous. She sounded exasperated. 

So many emotions all in one sentence, all emoting from a place that recounted how excited Beth had been to tell her about her engagement to Calum. Addison could so vividly remember the time where she'd been Beth's closest confidant-- they'd been so close in New York, they'd been so happy for each other. 

She couldn't pinpoint where it had all gone wrong.

"Were you even going to invite me to the wedding?"

"I can make you an invite if you want," Beth's eyes had sparkled. "I'll even help you out— I'll add an extra two months to the date on the invite so maybe you'll actually turn up on time."

A beat passed.

"Funny," Addison commented dryly. "This all one big joke on me-- isn't it?"

"Oh, I think the joke started when Beth almost died and you didn't even leave a voicemail," Mark's voice came creeping out of nowhere again and Addison felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "I think you should stop right there, Addie—"

"Really?" She turned to face him, nostrils flaring. "Funny for you to talk about me not leaving a voicemail... weren't you the one who literally killed her in the first place—"

"Addie..." Derek finally decided to step in, reaching out for her shoulder. "I really don't think—"

"At least I didn't just fuck off to Alaska," Mark remarked back, bristling visibly at the conversation Addison had pulled out of the gutter. "Or wherever the hell you went off to-- probably some fancy hotel in Malibu for a detox face mask or something--"

"I can't believe this..." Addison said, turning away from him, all while shaking her arm free of her ex-husband's hold. "This is not fair—"

"What's not fair is you cherry-picking when to care about people," Beth murmured mutely from the other side of the table. Addison didn't like the smug look on her face— it was the look of someone who knew that their anger was well invested. It was the first time Addison had ever seen an expression so vile. "How can you attack Mark even though you didn't really seem to care about me in the first place, that's... that's rough, Ad—"

"That's not fair, Beth—"

"I'd say it's fair," Mark scoffed.

Addison was upset. She was hurt. She was angry. 

She had so many feelings that she didn't really know what to do with herself. She could feel her own fury reflected in Beth's eyes, those round plates that sparkled so viciously that Addison had no option but to rise towards. 

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so overwhelmed: how was it that she'd walked into this dinner and found it to be some sort of courthouse. It felt as though she was being unfairly prosecuted; no one wanted to hear what she wanted to say.

If she was a good liar, Mark was miles better.

"Is this a new thing?" Addison asked quietly, although her voice tremored with the same Montgomery temper that simmered in Beth's veins. 

Her eyes bounced between Beth and Mark in an accusing fashion; the latter just appeared mildly confused, Beth letting out a breath as if to say 'what crap is she going to come up with now?'. 

They were tired of her. Tired? Addison was far from finished.

They hadn't let her say her piece yet.

"What thing?" Beth asked, elbows sliding across the table as she brushed crumbs off of her lap.

"This whole, Beth and Mark protecting each other thing..."

Addison didn't like the way that Beth's face twisted slightly and Mark just seemed to roll his eyes. They weren't taking her seriously. 

"I think it's cute..." Addison said intently, "Beth, you say all of this stuff about forgiveness and apologies being revoked— and yet I'm not the only one that fucked up New York that's sat at this table right now. Why am I the only being attacked? Why not Mark too... instead of defending him?"

It was the most focused stare yet. 

Beth's eyes bore into hers, deep and close and almost soul-crushing. It teemed with unspoken fury, a bottomless pit of words that Beth had yet to say. Sometimes, Addison felt like their rage was genetic. It had to have been. 

How could the two of them feel so much anger towards each other and not combust? She'd struggled with her temper in the past. She'd been called a bitch, she'd been called mean and unnecessarily brass— but she'd always been able to understand it.

But just because she could understand her own anger did mean that she'd been able to understand Beth's.

In fact, Addison had spent years just mystified about Elizabeth Montgomery. 

She'd known her longer than many people on this planet, watched her grow and teeter and develop. She'd watched Beth's life run its path and eventually run into the ground. She'd watched Beth get sad, get angry and get happy. 

She'd watched Beth be successful, watched Beth trip and fall. And yet, after everything that had happened, she still struggled to understand her. Not just her anger but her... Beth. 

The sort of girl who could fall so many times and still get back up again—

Beth was frustrating. She angered Addison beyond words. 

It was just the things that made her. Her thoughts, her fears, her proclivity to self-sabotage by doing things that Addison really couldn't understand. The drinking. The drugs. Mark. 

She was made up of so many pieces, some that had been shoved to the side and discarded. Beth consisted of so many little interlocking puzzle pieces that Addison had spent the last 30+ years just pulling her apart and putting her back together again. There was a final picture somewhere, one that showed Addison exactly what the hell was going on in that brain of hers...

It'd been fine until Addison had realised that, somewhere along the line, Beth's puzzle had lost one of it's pieces— that's where the true frustration lied. She wasn't ever going to find out what made Beth tick.

"Unlike you, Addie," Beth began, trailing her finger around the rim of her empty glass. "I've acknowledged that some people around here are having a pretty rough few months. If there's anything being a psychiatrist has taught me... it's to cut people slack because it's going to make things worse..."

Everyone noticed how Mark leant across the table and very nonchalantly refilled his own wine glass. Even Beth very briefly followed him with her gaze; it was a sweeping motion, her eyes resting on the bottle in his hands for a split-second longer than his face.

"I'm not trying to hurt anyone," Beth continued, and then she smiled a smile that was far colder than it was earnest. "You being hurt by these things... at least it shows that you still kind of care... so.. that's new and exciting." 

Her voice dragged and drawled— and it made Addison mad.

"New?"

"Mhmm," Beth said breathily. She was almost lazy in her anger now. She'd burnt right through the core of it. She leant against Charlie's arm and just seemed to revel in how worked up Addison got. "New. I don't get to see it much... especially these days."

"New?" Addison had struggled to process the word. New? As in...? Was she serious?

They paused as Archer let out a low groan. He'd progressively got lower and lower in his chair through the evening, sinking with regret and exhaustion. "I'm pretty sure we all heard Beth say 'New'. I think that's been well established, Addie."

Addison just glowered.

"Do you really think that low of me?"

"Sure." Beth shrugged.

"Elizabeth." Addison must've been truly angry for that one to make an appearance. They'd all been waiting for it all evening; the one for sure way to assert some sort of authority— it, however, had the undesired effect. Beth lifted her empty glass and tipped it towards her sister. "You can't say that I don't care— it's not new—"

New.

"Addie.. just whatever," It seemed as though Beth didn't feel like participating anymore.

Addison didn't like that.

"No--"

"The thought of you actually, selflessly caring is very new to me," Beth was full of sighs. Hot steam that escaped through her nose, the remnants of the fire that burned and burned and burned. "I'm thinking that maybe I should just... stop trying. Stop asking and expecting you to care-- because that I won't need to be disappointed every time."

New.

"Really?"

"Yep."

"You're acting as if I didn't ask at all about you," Addison shook her head slowly, a very slow, low laugh falling past her lips. "Archer kept me updated and... I even spoke to Derek about—"

"You spoke to Derek?" Repeated Beth, eyebrows raising as she looked between the divorced couple. "You spoke to your ex-husband but not to me? You asked him... you asked, again, your ex-husband, how I was? But you didn't even— Wow. There you go... finding new ways to... just fuck me over, huh? Derek? And not me—"

Something ticked over in Addison's brain. 

It was something ugly. Something that has roused the same chemical explosion in Beth over the past few months-- it was founded in the same tension that hovered through the room, the same tightness in Mark's shoulder's and Derek's neck. 

In a split second, Addison decided that she didn't want to be the punchline of the joke anymore--

"I'm glad that you're discovering new things today," Addison said, nodding with mirth in her eyes, "Let me tell you about something new that I discovered a few weeks ago--"

Beth barely fluttered an eyelash-- But she should've. She really should have. 

She should've made an indication to show Addison that she should've stopped talking. In retrospect, Beth would consider this dinner to be far more disastrous for herself than it was for her sister.

Addison wished she could stop talking but she really couldn't. It was the same momentum that Beth had built previously. She was talking and talking and talking. It was a dangerous momentum that would make things very messy.

"I had a great conversation with Amy..."

She watched a muscle clench in Beth's jaw.

"So while you talk about discovering new things that no one else knows..." Addison cocked her head to the side. "Is it exactly like the fact that no one knows that you tried to get Mark back? That you almost didn't go to Canada because you wanted him back, right?"

The blood drained out of Beth's face. Addison watched it go with little guilt. 

In fact, it kind of felt good, watching the light flare at the back of Beth's eyes, the fire rekindled and come back full force— the only problem was that, as Beth ground to a halt, fixated by the sudden reveal, so did a certain plastic surgeon a couple of chairs down.

Now that was new information.

Suddenly, everyone at the table was frozen. 

It didn't happen one by one but in a crescendo. It was another moment in which time seemed to just pause-- Addison's words were enough to make everyone just freeze, like a VCR frozen on a picture. 

The world ground to a halt and everyone was staring at each other as if they didn't know what was going on— Addison's eyes were dead-set on her sister, her eyes hard and mouth in a thin line as she drilled into Beth's soul.

The only movement in the whole room was the turn of Mark's head; he very, very slowly looked over at his ex-girlfriend, watching the low chuckle as it came straight from an icy region of her heart.

"Fuck you," Beth said, with all the conviction she could muster, eyes locked on the woman directly in front of her.

***

"I have a lot of reasons to be happy. I am happy. Behind all of this angry shit." Beth had said in the therapy session, fingers trailing across the arms of the seat. "For one, I have accomplished a lot in the last few years. I managed to pull off this crazy full 180 in my professional life— I was so convinced back in New York that I'd lost everything I'd worked for... that I'd just destroyed my own life. But here I am... working in a hospital.. and yeah, it's fucked me over a bit but..."

She'd paused.

"I think I'm a bit scared... with leaving Seattle," She'd cleared her throat and she'd leant forwards, elbows resting on her thighs. "I know it's not great here, but it's better. It's better than Toronto, which was constant relapses and... a lot of extremely dangerous thoughts and... the baby shit and..." A noticeable pause.

"It's better than New York... which when I think about— when I think about that fucking city I just... I feel like crying. It.. was my favourite place for so long and it just... it just fell apart so quickly— and I loved the people and... I loved..." She swallowed uncomfortably as she struggled to stop herself. "That was the worst years of my life and some of the best as well. I wish I could forget about the bad."

Another breath.

"But Seattle... I got the job, I got the apartment— I got the man of my dreams... Charlie... I'm scared that if I leave Seattle... I won't have this again. I won't have stability and... a job to go to... because not a lot of people are going around hiring ex-addicts that have little to no psych training. I'm fully aware that Derek or someone intervened and helped me get this job," She'd paused, she'd chuckled. "They always do. I've had easy sailing. But... I don't want to lose it. And sure... I got fucking shot by some depressed asshole with a gun... but as far as I'm concerned, this isn't the worst thing that's happened to me in one of these dumb fucking cities."

Then she'd smiled. She hadn't teared up once. She'd just looked at Andrew and smiled.

"If you're asking whether I'm depressed," Beth had dragged in another very long breath, "If you're whether I wish I'd died... or suicidal... or whatever you want to peg me as because I decided that I didn't want to get Lexie killed over some petty thing like Mark Sloan... That my asshole cheating ex would drive me to get some innocent person killed I;.."

He'd sighed through his nose and tilted his head to the side. It hadn't been easy to work up to it during therapy with any of his patients but Beth, his future sister-in-law had been so much harder. It wasn't hard to look at her medical record and ask questions-- Andrew had been tasked with finding those replies.

She'd seen it coming from a mile away, and with her sad smile, she shook her head.

"I'm better than that." She'd said firmly, not aware of anything her dinner plans what bring. "I'm Beth Montgomery and I do not give a shit about anything that that man does, or drama that he causes."