𝙄𝙓.
DEREK, INDISPOSED

──────

"ARE YOU GOING to drink that?"

I was staring at the glass in front of me, my face emotionless as I ran my fingers softly across the bar-top. I'd been sat here for a while, becoming part of the background in the busy bar. I'd been caught in my own thoughts, silent and wistful, too distracted to register the woman who sat beside me; I didn't notice that I was being spoken to until I noticed her out of the corner of my eye--

I recognised her from the hospital. Dark hair, dark eyes and an eager smile as she leant across the bar and ordered her own drink. Slightly disorientated, I stared at her, watching as she tilted her in anticipation. Her dark, but striking eyes glittered in the moody lighting, striking me back into my place. As quick as a camera shutter, I blinked, turning around almost robotically to look in between the glass and the woman who'd adopted the chair at my side.

"Oh."

I sighed, realising that I'd been sat here, motionless for a while; even the bartender (who I assumed was Joe of Joe's) shot me an odd look as I let out a deep breath. 

Good, I deserved odd looks: I was supposed to be a recovered alcoholic. 

After a few seconds of internal debating and realising that maybe this wasn't how I needed my night to go, I gently slid the glass towards her.

The original plan had been to meet Meredith here for drinks. Her offer had (to my delight) actually progressed through to a plan to come to Joe's and talk about how the world was just being a bitch this week. She was yet to show and, in her absence, I'd nearly relapsed once again.

"Go ahead," I said, but my voice was caught at the back of my throat as the woman shot me an odd side-glance. She looked down at the small shot-glass that had been enough to perplex me into a stoic trance. "It's probably a bad idea anyway..."

"It's not spiked, is it?" She joked with an easy laugh, making me smile (it was strained). She lifted the drink to eye level, as if to search it. "That would really just be great."

My lips twisted into a smile and I watched as she shrugged haphazardly, before taking the shot. It was the lack of hesitation that made my eyebrows raise. 

I had to give it her... she really was approaching things with reckless abandon. I watched as her face contorted and she slammed the glass back down onto the bartop. I almost flinched, expecting the shot glass to shatter.

"Damn, I needed that." She groaned, just as Joe served her another round. My eyes bounced across the array of drinks. "I've had a really long week..."

Same, I wanted to say but I didn't really know whether she needed to hear about the little drama my life was turning out to be. 

Instead, I just smiled at her, a slight shadow of bewilderment as she looked as though she was trying to put a name to my face. I did the same-- I swore that I recognised her from the hospital... maybe from after I'd watched Derek beat the shit out of my ex-boyfriend? I ordered a lemonade and checked my phone.

"I recognise you from somewhere..." She squinted at me as I read a text-message from Charlie. When I looked back up at her, she was frowning deeply. "Do you work at Seattle Grace?"

"Oh no," I shook my head, "I, uh, I'm just visiting a patient." Joe slid my beverage towards me and I gave him a good tip. "Do you work there?"

"Yeah" The stranger said; she didn't look up at me, just concentrated on trying to get as drunk as humanly possible in the shortest amount of time. I tilted my head to the side, stirring my soft drink with a straw. "Orthopedic surgery."

A slow grin crossed my face. "I love Ortho. It's a lot of fun."

Her eyebrows raised, head swinging to blink at me in surprise. "You do surgery?"

I paused.

"Used to," I said softly, feeling my mood drop slightly. Clearing my throat, I averted my eyes down to my glass. "I, uh-- I didn't make it past my internship."

I'd really liked Orthopedic surgery; I'd liked the grit of it, the practicality to piecing bones together and tearing apart joints. It had been more than fun, it had been a rush. 

If it hadn't been for Addison's constant nagging I would've probably concentrated on it more. I'd never been a family-oriented person, the thought of treating kids or birthing babies broke me out in hives. Doing something like Ortho or Trauma Surgery sounded far more my sort of thing.

"That sucks," The woman said, knocking back another shot. I gazed at her, impressed with her speed. It reminded me of some very questionable nights in Manhattan. "Sometimes it's just for the best, right? I mean-- I love my job but sometimes... sometimes it's just a bit..." She paused, looking over at inclining her head. "I'm Callie, by the way."

"Beth." I introduced myself with a soft smile.

"I'm sorry for stealing your drink," She sounded sheepish. I chuckled and told her that it was no problem with a wave of my hand. It really wasn't. In all honesty, she'd done me a favour. The last thing I needed was a relapse-- having the mentality of 'oh, it's just one glass of wine on a flight' was really not what I needed. "If it's any consolation... I really needed it. I've had a shit week."

I stirred my non-alcoholic beverage with a sigh. "I'd probably give you a run for you money, actually."

I didn't even want to think about the last three days of my life. So much had happened that just thinking about thinking about it made my head spin. 

How the hell had I ended up here? Here in a bar on the other side of the world, two seconds away from undoing four and a half years of rehab and therapy?

"I don't know about that," Callie's voice was a sigh. I was pleasantly surprised that she wasn't drunk already; I was all too familiar with the potency of shots and, by the looks of things, she was on tequila. "I did something stupid... I'm just stupid."

"Oh believe me," I pursed my lips, drawing the straw of my drink to my lips and grimacing as the bubbles sharply hit the back of my throat. "I'm really nailing the whole stupid thing at the moment--"

"I kissed a Paeds surgeon." As if she hadn't even registered my words, she just announced it into the universe. I glanced over at her, watching as she cradled her head in her hands. "I kissed a really pretty Paeds surgeon and now I just don't know what to do. I... I just--"

I chuckled to myself. 

Now that also sounded very familiar; I'd kissed a lot of people I shouldn't have kissed over the years. It'd become one of Drunk Beth's favourite hobbies (well, that and pretending to be sober), one that I seemed to be very, very enthusiastic about. Being drunk and reckless had dragged me into a lot of shitty situations, for example, the butterfly effect that led to me dating Mark Sloan. Kudos to my alcoholism for that kicker.

"To be fair, from my experience, Paeds surgeons are good kissers," I turned my head towards her and she raised an eyebrow, seeming to be surprised as I let out a breath. My lips twitched into a smile "I'd also recommend EMTs, Phlebotomists and..." I faltered slightly, rolling my eyes. "Plastic surgeons."

"Good to know," Callie said; my recommendations seemed to perk her up a bit, but then a dent appeared between her eyebrows and she shot a look across the bar. "She was a very good kisser." A pause as she frowned to herself. "I don't think I'm a good kisser."

"I don't have much experience with kissing Orthopedic surgeons," I said, shrugging, "But you guys are always good at throwing parties." In all honesty, maybe I had kissed an Ortho surgeon. Who knew what the hell I'd gotten up to during some of those blackouts? "If it helps, my high school boyfriend said that I kiss like a fish and that sometimes keeps me up at night."

"She called me a baby lesbian," Callie sighed, running a hand through her hair. "A baby lesbian. Who calls someone a baby lesbian? I think I'd be an amazing lesbian."

"Honestly I'm beginning to wonder why I'm not a lesbian," I mumured to myself, thinking about the headaches I'd had over men over the years. It was something that kept me up at night too: the fact that I'd paid so much money on a PHD only to cry over boys who only had birth certificates. Mark, of course, had been a lovely exception. I looked over at Callie, watching as she took two shots consecutively and slammed her palms into the bartop. "I think you'd be a great lesbian."

It was a weird way to cheer someone up but it seemed to work. Callie shot me a very thankful smile but the expression withered when she looked over towards the back of the bar-- I followed her gaze, turning to see a perky blonde who seemed to be on a date. 

Callie let out a long sigh.

"I know I'd be a great lesbian," Callie said confidently. "So I just told her-- I told her that I'd be a great lesbian and... embarrassed myself in front of her date..." As we both looked over at her, the blonde caught her eye. Immediately, Callie looked away, clearing her throat. She held up a shot glass, offering me one. "Want one?"

"Oh no thanks," I said, taking a mouthful of lemonade and waving a hand. I spoke nonchalantly. "I'm supposed to be a recovered alcoholic."

Callie froze. "Shit."

She instantly put the glass she'd lifted to her lips down, as if it had burned her. Her eyes widened, like a deer caught in headlights and instantly, she looked as though she'd committed a crime. 

A smile flickered over my lips as she looked aimlessly around trying to find out how to save this situation.

"Shit." Callie repeated. "Shit- I'm sorry- Wow that was so stupid of me-"

"You had no idea," I shrugged. She seemed to think about it for a few moments. Her eyes drifted back to the shots in front of her. "Don't stop on my account. I can say that... from experience getting drunk gives you a... 75% chance of finding another pretty surgeon to kiss."

I watched her shoot another wanton glance over at the pretty blonde in the corner of the bar. I wasn't exactly sure what was going between the two of them, but I could tell that Callie really didn't want to find another pretty surgeon to kiss. 

She let out a light sigh, picked up another shot and tossed it back. 

I cheered, chuckling as Callie gagged slightly, eyes watering.

"You're right about one thing," Her face was still contorted as she looked over at me. I leant my head against my wrist, gazing at the way she wobbled on her stool, the alcohol very slowly settling in. "Plastic surgeons are amazing kissers."

My smile strained slightly. "Aren't they?"

"Paeds surgeons are prettier though," Callie said softly. She copied my position, leaning her head against her hand and sighing. "I mean, I haven't made out with many Plastic surgeons but the one I've slept with was really good... like really good."

I just hummed lightly, twirling my straw around my drink. A little voice at the back of my head started singing; How much money do you want to bet that we're thinking about the same guy? I really didn't want to be thinking about the same person, but luck and fortune didn't seem to be on my side much lately. I just watched as Callie chuckled to herself, a wide, slightly drunken smile on her face.

"They are amazing kissers," She repeated softly, and then shook her head as if she hadn't thought about it before.

"You know what they're not good at?" I questioned; she shook her head. "Dating."

Her eyes widened and she let out a low whistle.

"Horror story?"

Another shrug. "Nervous breakdown."

"Oh wow," Callie exclaimed, just tipsy enough to find it funny. She laughed, rubbing at her eye as I smiled. Across the bar, Joe glanced between the two of us as he went to serve another customer. I'd nearly finished my lemonade. "That bad, huh?"

I sighed lightly, leaning back on my stool. 

I crossed my ankles and debated whether it was worth sharing my swan song with a stranger in a bar. I thought about what Derek had said before; I'd become a ghost story to Mark, I'd become the sort of horror story that was too forbidden to even speak about. I let out a breath, one that felt as though it'd been hiding away for the last five years and mustered my most nonchalant smile.

"Yeah," My voice was far more airy than I'd intended it to be. "I can safely say that it's really not even worth it. Maybe you should stick to kissing pretty Paeds surgeons, just stay away from Plastic surgeons, okay?" Callie laughed, but nodded all the same. I leant forwards on the bar. "Especially.... Especially if they look like they're going to cheat on you with your sister."

"No way?" Her second exclamation was full of shock and disbelief. 

Another loud laugh fell through her lips and her agape mouth caused me to nod, exasperated. I confirmed it again with self-pity, clasping my head in my hands at my own stupidity. Beside me, Callie seemed to stare at me, her mind rolling. 

"No way."

"I know," I said, head still in hands as I groaned to myself. I'd loosened up through this surprisingly nice conversation, it was nice to be able to just joke about the stupid mess my life had become. "I mean... I found out that he was sleeping with loads of women by the end. So I really shouldn't have been surprised-- but I still kind of was, you know? It just... completely caught me off guard--"

I cut myself off, catching the look on Callie's face. She was staring at me still, the smile fading as if some sort of realisation was settling in. I just glanced between her and the shot glass that was frozen in front of her mouth. She blinked at me, once and then twice.

"Oh shit," Callie remarked, "You're Mark's Beth."

I blinked back at her. 

Once, twice, thrice. 

I couldn't exactly describe the feeling that went through me as we just stared at each other. My body felt as if I'd just been doused in some very cold water; my skin ached and my jaw started to feel heavy. Callie's words caught me off-guard and I looked over at her, my eyes widening as she smiled sadly. My stare was unwavering, my stomach twisting. After a few moments of being stuck in some time loop, I swallowed uncomfortably, blinked and turned away.

A very low, slightly bitter chuckle fell through my lips. "Well fuck."

Maybe staying in Seattle really is a very, very bad idea.

Callie could tell that she'd said something very wrong. It was in her eyes, in the way that she suddenly appeared extremely sober in the conversation. She placed her shot glass back down and paused, letting a slightly awkward silence play out between the two of us. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, but mostly focused on finishing my soft drink-- once I was staring at the bottom of the glass, I ordered a second.

I couldn't get drunk but I might as well pretend like I'm trying to.

"I'm sorry I just--"

"Oh no it's fine," I said briskly, clearing my throat as I felt my chest tighten. It was as if someone was standing on top of me, pressing their foot down and down and down on my cardiovascular system. My voice was a bit pitchy as I chuckled to myself. "Derek said that he doesn't talk about me, I'm just surprised I guess..."

"He doesn't," Callie replied quietly. "I didn't mean to--"

I cut her off with another shake of my hand.

She sighed slightly, feeling the need to explain.

 "You're Addie's sister, right?" I slowly nodded, really not liking either of the labels that were floating around at the moment. I couldn't decide what was worse: Mark's psycho ex-girlfriend or Addison's estranged addict sister. "I was good friends with her when she first came to Seattle. She, uh, she used to talk about it sometimes--"

I could imagine it; Beth Montgomery reduced to a lunchtime topic in the hospital cafeteria. 

I could picture Addison and Callie sat at the same table that I'd sat at a few days ago. The conversation would lightly brush on Addison's life before Seattle and there it would begin: Oh I have a sister, a really messed up sister who just couldn't get anything right. I sent her to rehab and then I fucked her boyfriend. I lost my husband and boohoo now he wants a divorce. How nice it must've been for me to just be small talk.

Callie must've noticed how uncomfortable I was. My fingers twitched as I transferred my old straw into my new drink, my jaw was tense, muscles clenched. She watched as I paused for a moment.

Being Mark's Beth was something I really, really didn't want to be introduced as. 

I didn't have the energy to be that person anymore; someone who was able to turn a blind eye to things, able to fight for someone they weren't entirely convinced was worth fighting for, able to pretend everything was fine while lingering at the bottom of a wine glass-- I remembered how desperate I'd felt on that flight into Seattle, how strong the itch had been, how desperately I'd wanted to scratch it. I hadn't felt that way in years.

"She mentioned that Mark had a girlfriend back in New York," I didn't like how she kept talking, but I didn't really have the energy to respond. I was exactly how I'd been the last few years: tired. Exhaustion was pretty much my default setting these days. I really, really wanted a cigarette too. "It surprised me... I thought that Mark didn't--"

"Date?" I interjected, causing Callie to pause. I could tell from the way that she just stared at me that I'd perfectly finished her sentence. A dry chuckle fell through my lips. "Imagine my surprise..."

Should I have expected this? I'd made the impromptu decision to enter a biosphere that was already built by Addison and Mark-- they had their roots here, they'd grown friendships and planted their seeds of reputation deep in the soil. 

Oh fuck, I was going to put up with a lot this, wasn't I?

"I'm good friends with Mark," I glanced over at her, my eyebrow bouncing as we both recalled the whole 'good kisser' thing. After a pause she rolled her eyes, "Okay, but we are just good friends... and he won't talk about New York at all."

I didn't exactly understand why people kept telling me that; was it supposed to be a reassurance, as if to say that Mark wasn't going to make Seattle difficult for the both of us? Was I supposed to be some sort of dirty little secret? Was I supposed to be something that wasn't supposed to resurface-- 

Again, thinking about all of these things just gave me a very mild headache, one patterned with exhaustion and the yawn that threatened to fall through my lips.

"There's not really anything to talk about," That was a lie: there was a lot to talk about, a lot that I'd avoided when I'd decided to leave New York abruptly instead of talking things out. Packing my bags and hopping on the flight had been great until I realised that it held off the inevitable. "I don't really talk about it either."

Another lie. I hadn't been able to stop talking about it. For years it had been all I'd been able to think about. I couldn't pinpoint the moment I'd become such a liar but I was pretty sure it was around the time that Mark had started lying too.

"Okay," Callie said softly. "I'm sorry for--"

"It's fine," I repeated again, shaking my head and heaving a breath. I felt like a record player stuck on repeat. It's fine, I'm fine, It's fine, I'm fine, everything's fine. "Just know that I'm not just his ex and I'm not just Addison's sister either." My words were slightly strained; I shot her a weak smile. "I'm Beth. Just Beth."

Just Beth was the product of nearly five years of therapy and a lot of self reflection. 

It was a Beth that was sober, had a PHD in psychiatry and worked as a trauma counsellor helping people who really needed a moment to readjust. 

This Beth was happy, she was dating a guy back in Indonesia who was too good for her and seemed hellbent on supporting everything she did. She had a life all the way in Boston, one that was currently on pause. She was able to tell Mark Sloan to fuck off and not feel bad about it-- I liked this Beth. 

What I didn't like was New York's Beth. I didn't want to call any iteration of me Mark's, or Addie's either. That Beth was self-destructive and cruel and reversed all of the work I'd done over the past few years.

She'd made a very brief cameo in this very bar when I'd stared at that drink and I'd found her at the bottom of my wine glass during that flight into Seattle.

"Okay," Callie repeated, nodding slowly. "Well, uh, it's nice to meet you Beth." Another pause. She held a shot glass in her fingers and held it tightly. "I feel like an asshole now... I know you've had a worse week than me."

I chuckled. "Yeah..." A second chuckle, one that dragged around my chest. "Well, at least I didn't kiss a pretty Paeds surgeon, huh?" She smiled.

Callie watched me, her dark eyes burying themselves into a twitch that started flickering in my cheek. I felt an insurmountable weight on my chest. 

We fell into a very soft silence, one that didn't feel as uncomfortable as I'd expected it to. The Ortho surgeon seemed to resume her crusade to get as drunk as humanly possible; idly, I wondered what her shift had been like today. In a way, being here, being surrounded by Derek and Mark and all of the hospital staff, it made me very nostalgic for the surgical career I left behind. I really had loved Orthopedics a lot. I was too exhausted to be jealous.

"I'm sorry about your brother," She was noticeably intoxicated, the conversation having reset to her slight slurring. I offered her a very soft, thankful smile. "I figured that it got really bad when I found your sister in the chapel in the hospital. I didn't take your family as the religious type."

"We're not," I shook my head, my lip twitching at the thought of Addison praying. It'd been weird to think of her praying then and it was weird to think of her praying now. "But I think at some point everyone gets desperate enough to try anything." I chewed my bottom lip. "It must have worked, to be fair... either that or Derek is a much better surgeon that we all give him credit for..."

She didn't say anything, just seemed to ponder over that. Her head turned away and we both watched Joe as he bustled up and down the bar, serving out drinks and making small talk with customers. 

My head was full of thoughts: Why did Addison talk about me to her friends? Was she proud of the fact she'd screwed us all over? Or was it part of her woe is me speech? I couldn't tell-- all I knew about my sister is that I'd accepted her crappy apology and she was in LA thinking that everything was fine between us.

(I wouldn't, specifically, call it fine.)

I didn't look up until someone adopted the barstool beside me. I was too submerged in a cloud of self-reflection and scathing distaste towards my sister and ex-boyfriend. 

There was the sound of the stool dragging against the floor, a long, laboured breath as someone sat down, it laid underneath the busy music that filled the bar. I looked up, onto the opposite side to Callie, and raised my eyebrows as I noticed a familiar face.

"Room for one more?"

Meredith's voice was dry as she shoved her jacket over the back of the barstool. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Callie rose upwards, cheering as the tequila shots went straight to her head. I grinned at her-- but my ex-brother-in-law's sister just looked miserable.

"Joining our swan song?" I asked, cocking my head to the side.

At first, she didn't reply. She just dropped onto the stool tiredly and ordered the biggest glass of wine on the bar menu. I watched as it was pushed across the bar towards her. 

As soon as she had it in her hand, Meredith seemed to deflate slightly; she looked exhausted and emotionally drained-- when she met my eye, I could only frown at her lightly.

Eventually, she heaved a long, weary breath.

"Derek was going to propose to me."

Derek remarrying? That was funny to me. Addison and he had always been the endgame until they weren't. They were the couple that you would always look over at and think 'maybe one day I'll have someone who looks at me like that.' I'd been very motivated to build my own relationship in their image. 

The words 'congratulations' were on my tongue, ready to express my happiness for the next chapter of Derek's life. I was too caught up in my train of thought that I almost missed the dip of Meredith's lips as she grimaced at the floor— my eyes widened in realisation.

"Shit, did you say 'was'?" My voice pitched slightly as I tried to figure out what the hell was happening. Meredith just sighed and shrugged, holding her wine glass so tightly that I almost mistook it as a lifeline. "What did that bastard do, now?"

My ex-brother-in-law, it turned out, had been kind enough to have a mental breakdown a few days into my stay in Seattle. I'd arrived just in time to see him crumble apart over a stack of medical files. He had a lot of losses, apparently but that was mostly because he worked in Neurosurgery and Neurosurgery sucked ass. I'd heard about it in the hospital; Archer had been very confused when his post-op checked had been lead by Doctor Kher and not Doctor Shepherd-- I'd asked Meredith about it and she'd just sighed.

Ever since he'd given me that impassioned speech about staying Seattle, all I'd received was radio silence. Derek had quite literally disappeared off of the face of the earth. And now, asking Meredith about her evening trying to drag her boyfriend back to work, appeared to be extremely tolling.

"Richard Webber told me," Meredith said softly, screwing up her nose. She spoke with intent, as if she was very intent on not getting upset about it. "He told me that Derek was out in his trailer and that... he was planning on proposing the night that Addison brought Archer into Seattle... but then he got pulled into a meeting with the hospital lawyers and he's just gone Chris McCandless... I thought I could talk to him..."

"Maybe he just needs space," I commented off-handedly. Isn't that what everyone says? They just need time? They just need space, to think things through? It spoke wonders about me: a psychiatrist picking her words out of shitty rom-com.

"That's what I thought." A mouthful of red wine acted as the punctuation to Meredith's stence. "But then he took the engagement ring he bought for me and hit it across his plot with a baseball bat."

Well shit.

I'd seen it coming. I'd noticed the change in Derek's mood. I was pretty sure that his decision to beat the crap out of Mark had not been on my behalf, nor had it been just because Mark was a little bit too pretty and needed something to level out his ego. His complete mental breakdown and decision to take off into the forest seemed to be a complete algomation of the stress we'd all been put through lately.

"Oh." My eyebrows pulled together and I frowned. "You know... I miss well-adjusted Derek."

"Tell me about it."

Apparently, Derek decided to cope with things by becoming a recluse drunk. The last few days had been dedicated to daydrinking and ignoring the world outside of his dumb little mind. That bastard. He was doing exactly what I'd done throughout my time in New York, shutting people out, burying myself in a hole built exclusively by my own self-hatred and disgust. I scoffed lightly to myself.

Get your own party trick.

"You don't treat people like that." I finished softly and Meredith glanced at me briefly, being reeled back into the conversation as I shook my head at myself. "You don't treat the people you love like that..."

"I don't know what to do."

Her words were small, her eyes fixated on the ground in front of her. I titled my head. I hadn't known Meredith for long, but in that small amount of time, I knew that she loved Derek, very much and he reciprocated those feelings with every part of him.

She reminded me of exactly how I'd been when I'd stood in front of Derek and wracked my brain over a reason to stay in Seattle. I'd said that I didn't know what to do. I'd begged Derek for a solution, for him to tell me what decision to make-- now Meredith was sad and thinking about the man who she loved.

Derek was an acquired taste. He was a tragedy waiting to happen. Addison had been an electric storm that was just screaming for attention. He was a stormy cloud just brewing for the purpose of bursting, the only give away being the darkness that leaked through ever so often.

Meredith smiled sadly. "I told him that we're in this together and that I'm not backing out—but with everything-"

"There is no 'but'," I interrupted sharply, leaning forward in my chair. "You and Derek, you don't find that love very often. I haven't been with you guys for a while, but I know Derek. I know that he doesn't just date people and sleep with people- Derek invests. Derek is serious."

I knew my ex-brother-in-law well enough to see right through him. He didn't just have one night stands. He didn't just flirt shamelessly-- maybe he'd slept with Meredith that night after leaving New York as a way to strike out at Addison, as a way of levelling the playing field, but he stuck around and he eventually, down the line, he proposed. Derek was serious.

"You don't have a choice whether you're in it or not." Meredith was stuck in this as much as I was. Fuck, my sister had divorced the man and yet here I was; I had a very blind loyalty to him. We'd yet to bond over how our significant others had screwed us over simultaneously. Meredith wasn't going to get out so easy. "You just are. No buts. No second-guesses."

"But-"

"You're part of this dysfunctional family." I insisted. "Derek's having a dark moment right now. It's the price he has to pay to do what you guys do."

"He's like your brother, isn't he?" Meredith observed, her eyes tracing the way I leant back against her couch- which was notably extremely comfortable. I gave her a small smile. "Despite everything, with his and Addison's divorce; you're his sister."

"Archer hates it, but yeah," I answered without a moment of hesitation. "Derek's done a lot for me. He's still my brother even if he divorced Addie's ass. I think he knows my mind better than I do..." I paused. "But I have no fucking idea what he's thinking... that's for you figure out now..."

"I didn't realise I'd have to decode some sort of ancient language," Meredith muttered over her wine glass and I let out a bark of laughter. "I was shit at Latin at school."

"Me too," I agreed. "I was more into French."

"Maybe I should just go back to Derek and scream at him-"

"It just makes me think about Addison," I confessed with a deep breath. "Derek was so in love with her, he was so invested— and he held onto her so tightly, even when he had his doubts about her fidelity." Meredith looked as though what I was saying was the most interesting thing she'd ever heard. I gave her a weak smile. "Derek pushing people away isn't natural- believe me."

For a moment, she was going to respond, but she seemed to think better of it— her brow furrowed and she shook her head. Instead, her head turned towards Callie, who had been zoned out throughout the whole conversation; the Ortho surgeon was busy staring back over towards the blonde woman in the corner of the bar. 

I let out a light sigh, watching as she absently ordered another set of shots. 

My brow folded-- is this how I'd looked? Getting drunk to avoid any inconveniences?

No wonder I'd barely survived New York.

"How's the blackout going?" I asked, just as Meredith noticed that Callie had been sat there the whole time. 

The look that flickered over her face made me chuckle; Callie didn't look very happy. I would've been able to tell that to her from the start: alcohol never made things better, it only made things messy.

"It's not working," Callie muttered into her palm, slumped against the bartop. "Before I was embarrassed and now I'm just embarrassed and sad and drunk."

"Seems fitting to the atmosphere tonight," I commented idly, raising my soft drink to my mouth and bitterly enjoying how the bubbles burned at the back of my throat-- man, I really wanted a drink. Meredith eyed me, watching how I just rolled my eyes. "We're allowed to all feel sorry for ourselves, okay?"

"Really?" Meredith asked skeptically, as if she didn't really agree.

"Look at us," I said, gesturing to the three of us as we sat at the bar. "Callie's sad because she was called a baby lesbian, you're sad because Derek's having a mental breakdown and I'm sad because I made the dumb decision to stay in Seattle instead of leaving when I had the chance--"

"You're staying?" That was the one thing that she picked up on.

"Yeah," I said, grimacing deeply. Meredith seemed to pick up on that too; she tilted her head to the side and watched as I drew my arm closer to my chest. "I decided that someone should probably stick around to look after Archer... I'm starting to regret it."

Meredith raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but was unceremoniously cut short by Callie as she raised her chin, looking between the two of us and snorting.

"We kiss people we're not supposed to," At this point, the alcohol was doing a great number on Callie; she jerked her hand in between the two of us and I just shrugged. She wasn't wrong. My life would have been so much easier if I had higher standards. "And we date people who are just bad... and... get married in Vegas and..."

I blinked at Callie. Vegas was a new one.

"The more I think about it, the more I would rather just gargle bleach than be in the same space as him," I was mostly thinking out loud, my face contorting as I really addressed the dread that was coating every single one of my organs. "I'd rather... skin myself alive or... become abstinent."

"I think we all need to stop being sad over boys," Meredith said quietly, looking disgusted at the vibe of the room. She cradled her wine glass tightly and ran a hand through her hair. "I'm tired of feeling shitty all the time."

"Men suck." I mumbled to myself. "Men pretend they care and they dump you on your ass for your older sister."

"Men marry you in Vegas and then leave you for Izzie Stevens," Callie's words were sloppy but I caught every single one of them. I raised my eyebrows, not expecting that from her. She just grumbled. "And then you kiss Cardio surgeons and... Paeds surgeons and up a sad, drunk baby lesbian in a bar."

I gave her a sad smile. "At least they're pretty Paeds surgeons." Callie rolled her eyes and did another shot; my head turned back to Meredith and I shrugged. "I'm not sad over men, I'm just... frustrated that I'm some ghost story that doesn't even get a mention. Talk about erase me from the narrative--"

"You gotta force your way back in," Callie said loudly, with determination, lit with a passion that only tequila could instill. I glanced back over at her to see the moment that Callie threw up a hand as if she was the star of Evita. "Rewrite the dumb narrative."

"That sounds exhausting," I muttered. "I'm exhausted."

"Tell me about," Meredith said, shaking her head. "I just want to sleep but I don't think I can---" She seemed to pause, as if she'd just realised something. "Where are you living at the moment?"

"Uh, no where." I shrugged, "I'm really considering checking back into the hotel that I had booked... it's a long story," I added once Meredith raised an eyebrow at me. "I had a room at the Warwick downtown..."

Meredith's eyebrows rose. "That's a nice place."

"Yeah," I muttered, disdain caught in the corners of my mouth. It was too nice of a place for my liking. I hadn't spent a lot of time there, only for the shower and for a place to lie down, nothing of particular interest. "Pretty nice price tag too."

Charlie had been too nice to pay for that sort of place— but I knew his family and knew that it was probably given to him on the recommendation by his brother. Sleeping in those sheets felt bittersweet. Here I was, draining his bank account dry with absolutely nothing to give in return. I'd literally abandoned him on the next continent.

He was too good for me.

I could remember the conversation I'd had with him over the phone. I'd stood outside the hospital in the rain and told him that I was staying longer in Seattle, that I'd cancelled my flight back to Vancouver. I'd said that I was sorry and that I needed time and that I needed to be there for my brother. 

Charlie, forever the angel, had said that he understood. Just before the call had ended, he'd told me that he loved me. But I hadn't been able to say it back.

I tuned out of my thoughts to find Meredith staring at me, her wine glass clutched a little too tight in her hands. I recognised the haze of alcohol in her eye, that little watery sheen that was set in place by the half-empty bottle in front of her and instantly knew that she was about to say something stupid.

"Stay with me."

Instantly, my heart squeezed tight, too as if it was trying to outdo her iron grip. I shook my head, the words slipping out of my lips like a trigger had been pressed in my brain. 

"Oh no-"

I'd planned on turning her down, at first. My suitcase felt like dead weight as I'd rolled it into a taxi and up her porch. I'd started the conversation with the words, "I'm not too sure about this, this is just in case—" and Meredith had been able to tell I was considering bolting from the first glance.

"You said it yourself," Meredith interjected, cutting me off with a wave of her hand. My eyebrows drew down, tight over my eyes. "I already knew that Derek was planning on letting you use his trailer—" I raised an eyebrow. "He's your brother. I'm not going to let you suffer--"

I grimaced. "I think it's impossible to suffer in Millesimo sheets."

"Derek mentioned Addison cut you off in New York," Meredith's tone dragged awkwardly and I rerouted my gaze. I was far too interested in my cuticles. "Get good pay doing charity work in Indonesia?"

I glanced up at her, recognising the look in her eyes. 

It was the same mentality that drove me out of New York the first time. A suspicion was ticking over in Meredith Grey's head; it seemed as though she had an ulterior motive for an evening of drinks. 

It was always funny to me that people always seemed to have the ability to insert themselves in my life. It'd always been something Addison just loved to do, spring random people into the arena of my life and wind them up like little metal soldiers, sending them into my little war with myself. I kissed my teeth. Derek was more like his ex-wife than he thought.

"I've become a bit of a charity case myself."

"Someone's paying for the room?" Meredith seemed to catch on super quickly. I nodded, eyes wandering to the bottle of wine in between us. My throat felt tight and dry despite the coffee she'd given me.

"Well, uh a friend." A friend was a funny term for Charlie, and it felt equally funny on my lips. He definitely wasn't a friend. But still, I felt uncomfortable saying anything else.

Meredith nodded. "Stay."

"It's a lot to ask of you," I drawled tightly, tension rising in my shoulders. I watched as Meredith frowned at me, unhappy with my words. "I don't want to make things difficult-"

"Don't worry about that." Meredith dismissed. "You're not asking anything from me— You don't exactly have any other options..."

There was a bit of a running theme in my life, it seemed. 

Running, in general, was my forte. Running away from things, Running out of energy-- Running out of options even more so. 

I'd run so much that I'd actually forgotten what it was like to stay. Maybe that was what felt so unfamiliar and uncomfortable about Seattle-- not Mark, not the city itself, but the thought of staying somewhere for longer than a fortnight.

I finished my lemonade and gave Meredith a strangled smile. "You've got me there."

***

─── I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing.

I was sure that I'd misheard her- No, certain. I had a knack of misunderstanding things when it came to these sort of moments. Make or break moments rarely ever went well for me. I'd been sure that my brain had had a major hallucination- fuck, maybe all of the years of drug abuse has finally hit me?

But no. The paper on the desk confirmed my wildest fantasies.

"You're offering me the job?"

My voice was choked and cautious, my eyebrows raised high up my forehead as I acted as though I wasn't sure of what my mouth was saying. I really did think that I might be having a fever dream.

The woman opposite me smiled at my disbelief. "Yes, we're interested in hiring you for the position."

Dr Katherine Wyatt spoke with a tiny glimmer in her eye. I stared down at the paper wordlessly, not quite sure what to say. I was too shaken up to properly fathom anything other than the fact that it had been barely a week and here I was, with a job proposition right smack bang in my hands.

"Okay," I said slowly.

The psychiatrist let out a soft laugh, her head nodding as if to show that she understood my erratic behaviour. She was sat across from me at her desk, dressed in a relaxed jumper with a lab coat over it, her glasses nestled away in her breast pocket.

Early on I'd established that I liked Doctor Wyatt. She was an easy-going woman who I'd been told (from Meredith) knew how to bring the thunder when necessary. She was older than I was, with a weathered face and earnest but piercing eyes. Her jaw was set into a calculated line and her eye twitched slightly every time she spoke. There was something about her that seemed so calming. The fantasy-driven part of my brain thought her to be magical, while the logical part just saw the years she'd spent perfecting her craft.

"We have a good team here in Seattle. I'm sure you'll find it very welcoming here," She followed my every movement as I rubbed my chin, eyeing the pen that was placed in front of me. "I understand if you need some time to think about this-"

"I don't need to think about it," I mumbled almost inaudibly, but Dr Wyatt picked it up instantly. "I've done way too much thinking this week- I need to do less thinking and more... doing."

What would Charlie say if he saw me signing up for a job? I'd told him that I was finding everything a bit overwhelming and that I needed time to be with my family (Archer exclusively) and to get myself back into order. He'd told me to take all the time I needed. 

I was pretty sure that his idea of time didn't involve me signing a contract to keep myself busy.

"We need a signature on the last dotted line." Dr Wyatt gently took the paper from me and turned to the last page, revealing the line that I'd been staring at for a few moments. The psychiatrist across from me paused, "Once you sign this, you'll go through a brief training period, then you'll be assigned patients and then you will officially become an Attending Psychiatrist Consultant here at Seattle Grace Hospital.."

My lungs demanded a long breath and I took the pen off of the table, holding it in my clammy, sweaty hands.

"Right, okay." My voice quaked slightly and I placed the pen above the dotted line. "So, I just sign, and then that's it?" Dr Wyatt bobbed her head, leisurely. "I sign and then I have a job- it's that easy?"

I rolled to a mental hiatus, my line of vision falling on the glass wall behind her, the window that looked across the front plaza of Seattle Grace Hospital.

It was raining, something that I definitely was impartial towards, the sky was grey and there was a certain gloominess about the whole day, to the point where Dr Wyatt had had to turn on the lamp on her desk in order to light up her room. 

From here, I could see the flag that donned the front of the plaza, alongside the parking lot where Lexie had dropped me off only a week or so ago. I bit down on my lip, wondering profusely why everyone had chosen to work here.

Addison had done well here, she'd worked as the head of both Neo-Natal surgery and Paediatrics. She'd flourished, all while pursuing Derek, but then decided to leave following their divorce and work back at the Wellness Centre Naomi and Sam had founded. 

Derek was doing fantastically too. He was the Head of Neurosurgery and had found his own little friend group and support system. 

Even Mark had gotten off to a great start, he was the head of Plastic Surgery and single-handedly running one of the most successful Plastic Departments in the country.

They were all successful, so why couldn't I be?

Years ago, I'd considered myself to have a very linear plan. I'd envisioned myself signing hospital contracts and shaking hands with hospital directors-- but not in the psychiatry department. I'd also envisioned myself being successful. And here, despite how wildly off-track my plan had gone, was my opportunity to try and hold onto that.

With bated breath, I signed my name on that line. It was a swirly E, then a scribble that somewhat said Montgomery- I'd never been able to do proper signatures, so I usually just attempted to write my name in completely illegible handwriting. I supposed that it was good practice for the career I was about to take on.

"Fantastic!"

She beamed at me. Bashfully, I returned the gesture, shaking her hand when she offered it.

"Welcome to the department, Doctor Montgomery."

***

─── "I might've just done something stupid."

I was cross-legged, sitting on the armchair beside my brother's bed as I dug a plastic spoon into a pot of bright, neon green jello. Archer, who had moved onto what seemed to be the five-hundredth medical journal, was propped up slightly and looked over at me flatly as I sighed. He elevated a single eyebrow, watching as I swallowed a mouthful of the dessert.

"What did you do?"

Archie sounded as though he dreaded my reply. 

My lips twitched, but I kept my whole behaviour nonchalant and dismissive, glancing at him in the corner of my eye as I stabbed my jello pot with disinterest.

Archie sighed.

"I might've just accepted a job," I said in the smallest voice I could muster. "You're looking at the new Attending Psychiatrist, here at Seattle Grace Hospital."

Archer, who had been mentally hacking me apart with a scalpel, suddenly dropped his journal against the sheets. His eyes were wide, a grin crossing his pale lips.

"Beth, that's fantastic!" Archie exclaimed, making my face flush as he proudly beamed at me. His delighted expression had a warm, mushy feeling rise in my chest, causing all of my worries to subside gradually into the back of my mind.

After I'd left my meeting with Dr Wyatt, I'd taken a moment to sit outside, underneath the sheltered entrance of the Hospital while the rain cleared up. I'd sat there for at least half an hour, just watching the city around me. 

I'd held a cup of coffee in my hand and thought about the past. I'd thought about how I'd been so afraid of my future. I thought about that kid that went around surgical mixers in that hall at Columbia, acting as if she had her whole life planned out--

You innocent dumb bitch, I'd said to my past self, You were worried about the wrong things.

The prospect of working in a hospital, an actual fully equipped hospital like this one, was bizarre. I hadn't worked in a hospital for at least a few years- the last place where I'd worked in such an environment had been New York. 

In Indonesia, there weren't many high-tech hospitals like these; the clinic I'd been based in had been basic, created in a school building just outside of what had been the epicentre of the earthquake that had caused so much grief. My resources there had been a small office that I shared with five other people and a rubber stamp that declared whether or not the person I'd be assigned to review was mentally stable.

"It's terrifying." Archie frowned as I bit down on my lip and scraped about at the bottom of the small jello container. "I'm bad at careers and hospitals... we all know how Manhattan West Hospital ended out."

I avoided his gaze and instead focused on the fact that I'd been so intent to start my life up again, that I'd completely bypassed all of the logistics behind it. As I sat down and really thought about it, I realised that maybe being so impulsive and throwing myself into this environment was wrong-- maybe I didn't need a change.

Charlie had always said that change was a key part of life, but sometimes change, for me, swung me far closer to death.

"It is terrifying," Archie agreed, "I remember when I opened up that clinic back in New York," I raised my head and looked over at my brother. He shot me a fond smile. "It was terrifying."

Out of my siblings, I related to Archer far more. He seemed far more human than Addie did. He looked at me with empathy and understanding, lips pressing into a line as he reflected on his own career. At the end of the day, however, he was still successful, he'd still followed out the plan he had for his life. 

I was the only sibling who hadn't been able to stay on the straight, linear line they'd envisioned for themselves.

"Addie's never terrified," I said. It was said as if I wished that I was my older sister. I hadn't wished that in years. Archie raised an eyebrow.

"That's not true," He said, "She was terrified of this place."

I let out a empty chuckle. "Yeah, that's what she gets for cheating on her husband."

"She's terrified of you, too."

"Good."

I liked the idea of Addison being terrified of me. Archer laughed at that, recognising the snuffed out fire in my eyes. I'd always been an underdog in this family, the little siblings that they'd always dismissed without much thought; I was determined to show all of them that I was far more

"It's only a temporary position," I continued, dropping my eyes to play with the hem of my shirt. I was dressed formally for my meeting. I'd managed to outsource a pencil skirt and a pair of very uncomfortable heels. "It's crazy... they even approached me with the position... I thought that I could do some work while I'm here, y'know?"

"It's the Montgomery in you," Archer teased me softly, "All we can do is work. The fact that I'm stuck in bed is driving me insane. I was supposed to be doing a big surgery today... and instead I have..." He jerked his head towards the tv set in the corner of the room. "Everybody Loves Raymond reruns."

"Don't forget me," I said, my tone only just betraying the amount of effort I was using for him and him only. "I've been told that I'm very entertaining... not neurosurgery-level entertaining... but I've known to crack a few jokes."

The only reason I'd accepted this job was to distract myself and stop myself from constantly thinking about Mark Sloan. If I wanted to keep Archer company, I also needed to keep myself busy.

"Yeah," He said, offering me a kind, grateful smile. "Have I mentioned how happy I am that you stayed?"

I shrugged. "Once or twice."

He'd been very vocal as had Derek. They'd both been so happy that I'd made the decision to stay. There were only people who didn't share the same sentiment were Mark and Charlie; I was sure that Derek had told my ex somewhere down the line that I'd changed my mind and, as for Charlie, he appeared supportive but I could tell that he was very concerned about me.

I hadn't even told him that Mark was here.

"I'm hoping I don't self-destruct," I averted my eyes to the television, watching Ray Ramano crack some witty joke, triggering fake, canned laughter. "I really can't deal with another nervous breakdown. My therapist will kill me."

"Well, that's the attitude." Archer teased me softly, chewing on a slice of apricot. I just rolled my eyes. "I know you don't need to hear it from me... but I'm proud of you. I feel like we don't say that enough to you. This is a big deal--"

"Well, it's not that big of a deal," I said, shrugging slightly.

"Last time I checked you were running around an earthquake epicentre in Indonesia," Archer pointed out, causing me to chuckle. "That's the most 'Beth' thing I've ever heard. You really don't like to go after the easy jobs, do you?"

"I like the rush of it," I admitted, shrugging. "And as a recovered addict, you take whatever non-lethal rush you can get." Then I paused. "And between you and me, it's not like people are lining up to hire me. I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to work..."

"That was back in New York," Archer said, shaking his head. "You were a different person back then."

"Tell that to the surgical board," I said plainly, remembering how many rejection letters I'd received when I'd tried to appeal their suspensions. "I'm still suspended from practicing surgical medicine in forty nine states--" When Archer shot me a questioning look, I just sighed. "Jersey... everything's legal in New Jersey."

"Psychiatry..." Archer trailed off, but I just chuckled, raising my eyebrows. "That's still exciting, right?"

"I like my work. It keeps me on my toes, keeps me thinking," I said quietly, shrugging to myself when I thought about my failed career. "But I managed to train in surgical triage through the non-profit organisation. So... basically I'm like a very underqualified shrink with no proper surgical qualifications."

Archer paused, after a beat, he held his arms up in a enthusiastic cheer. "And we're proud of you for it!"

His exclamation didn't exactly fit the mood; I just squinted at him, my hands on my knees. I didn't exactly feel that proud about my career, but if Archer was going to be proud, I figured it would be the polite thing to let him just get on with it. I shot him a fond smile.

I really appreciated him. He was the cheerleader I needed for this city.

"I would have never imagined you going into Psychiatry," My brother admitted as I scooped my hair into a ponytail. It was a force of habit. "Isn't one of Derek's sisters a child psychiatrist back in Manhattan?"

"Yeah, Kathy," I nodded, remembering Derek's chaotic family dinners that we'd had back in New York. "But she got away with it because she married that diplomat... Addison was able to look past the whole Psych thing because she managed to get diplomatic immunity--"

"What do you mean get away with it?" Archer's eyebrows rose.

"C'mon Arch," I chuckled. "Surgeons hate Psych. They think it's all crap."

My brother paused. He seemed to think long and hard about what I'd said. I raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth and then closed it.

"Surgeons don't hate Psychiatrists," He insisted eventually, but his voice was pitchy, indicating that he was lying between his teeth. "All doctors are very invaluable. I don't think it's fair to say that anyone hates any specific types of doctors..." But then he trailed off, under my sharp gaze. "Well... Plastic Surgeons suck but I think I might be biased..."

"That's because they're all conceited assholes," I said, completely agreeing with him. "I'm yet to meet a Plastic Surgeon that doesn't have a superiority complex."

"That's surprising seeing as you seem to date all of them."

I shot Archer a look.

He chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. "Back to Psychiatry..."

"Thank you," I said tightly, trying my best to ignore the comment he'd made. "Honestly no one was more surprised about me going into Psychiatry than I was. I didn't expect to enjoy it as much as I do... but it's actually cathartic to help people work through their problems. I also really love not having to launder my clothes constantly... the amount of blood I used to get on my scrubs was terrifying. I'm pretty sure the guy at the laundromat thought I was Dexter."

"What does Charlie do?" Archer said suddenly, as if he was still thinking about my disastrous dating history. I blinked at him.

"Not Plastic Surgery," I leered at him as a way to stop him from making fun of my bad love life choices. "Charlie's a psychiatrist too."

"So you guys... bond over CBT or something?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, we find it very romantic."

"I'm just happy you're happy," Archer said, waving a dismissive hand. "It's nice to see you happy."

"Psychiatry makes me happy," I said warmly, "It's nice to feel like I'm giving back. God knows I've had enough therapy over the last ten years... Thought I might as well pass on the favour."

The conversation came to a very nice ending note. I got to my feet and threw my trash away, briefly noticing that it was a lot later in the day than I'd thought. I turned towards the door, grabbing my purse from the bottom of Archer's bed. From his bed, my brother watched me with clear bewilderment.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go and get coffee," I said lightly, tapping a text message to Charlie as I brushed my hair over my shoulder. "I would ask if you wanted anything but..." I raised my eyes to grin at him. "I think you've got a three course hospital meal coming your way anytime now."

The groan Archer let out was fuelled by pure dread. "I'd rather starve."

"Oh, I can sort that out for you," I chuckled, wondering how the hell Archer was the eldest sibling. He sure didn't act like it. "Or I can do you one better... I'll get you a magazine so you can stop complaining about how bored you are. Do us both a favour--"

"You know..." My brother started, his face contorting in (what I sure as hell hoped was) faux annoyance, "On second thought, you leave Seattle now. I'm fine."

I wagged my finger at him as I exited the door.

"Oh no, you're not getting rid of me that easily," I quipped with a grin. "I'm here to stay, old man."

***

─── Mark was in the elevator again.

This time, the doors parted and revealed him stood in the back corner. Again, the elevator was deserted, all aside from his bright eyes. He shamelessly stared. I shamelessly hesitated, just as he had the day before. For a split second, we just stared and stared and stared until the sight of him made me feel sick.

I really should just take the stairs.

Briefly, I envisioned myself throwing something at his stupid handsome face. I felt my good mood deflate and my heart pick up a bit; No, No, No, No, This wasn't how my day was going to go. Today was a nice day: full of good decisions, good coffee and conversation. Today was not (and I repeat: not) the day to get ambushed by Mark Sloan.

I just sighed and turned on my heel, thinking that it was definitely a better idea to just take the stairs. It was something that I was going to have to keep in mind while I worked here: avoid confined spaces with people you had particularly homicidal feelings towards.

I'd accepted this when I'd made my decision to say in Seattle. I'd accepted that seeing my ex-boyfriend was going to be a recurring thing... but why did Mark have to just everywhere at all times? I felt as though I was going to go insane slowly. At least if I was locked in the Psychiatry department I'd be able to avoid him.

Even without a single word passing between us, the sight of Mark was enough to make my muscles tighten, my bones ache and my tongue feel too big for my mouth. He was staring at me again. I'd always been able to tell the difference between the weight of his gaze and others. At this point, it almost inflicted physical pain. I felt the intense urge to flinch. He kept staring at me until the doors have closed and he was gone-- I just kept walking with only one thought in my mind--

Men really do suck.

***

─── Meredith was a very accommodating host.

Her couch was comfier than I'd expected. 

Her house, despite being overrun by so many doctors that I'd lost count, was much homier and organised that I'd expected too. I had a lot experience when it came to couch surfing (being a financially irresponsible adult that had to be cut off due to a pill problem had really curbed my style) and, admittedly, I slept better in Meredith's family room than I had on a dozen couches back in Toronto.

I also liked living around other people far more than I would've admitted; there was something about the constant energy in the household that made me excited. Sure, it wasn't the greatest thing in the world to be woken up by Alex Karev bickering with his pick of the day... but it sure beat sitting in my hotel room staring at the wall.

I arrived at the hospital, the next morning, ready for orientation and with a brilliant smile on my face. Rejuvenated and having just car-pooled with a very perky Lexie Grey, I waltzed into my brother's hospital room looking as if Manhattan had never ruined my life-- Archer had looked up from his medical journal, spied the turtleneck, the pencil skirt and the heels and chuckled.

"You look like Addie."

My grin had immediately shrivelled up, good mood disappearing in a blink of an eye. I shot Archer an incredulous look, suddenly extremely uncomfortable. He watched as I looked down at my outfit (I'd really tried my hardest to find an outfit that was professional without being too outspoken). 

Apparently, in the process of trying to look ready to seize the day, I'd crossed into Addison territory-- the comparison literally gave me heartburn.

"Thanks Arch," I sighed, brushing the remnants of the Seattle rain off of my skirt. He just chuckled from behind the medical journal he was reading. I'd borrowed one of Meredith's umbrellas and I'd spent the hike up to Archer's room (I would be avoiding elevators for the foreseeable future) shaking out the water.

"It's a compliment," My brother claimed, causing me to roll my eyes. I didn't feel like one. I hadn't aimed to look like an uptight bitch. "You look very professional."

He was sat in his bed like he had been for the last week and a half, growing noticeably stronger as time progressed. He still looked exhausted; a bandage still covered his incision site on his head and there was traces of sleepless nights underneath his eyes-- but he still put on a strong front. The grin he shot me was crooked and his head tilted to the side as he watched me wobble about in my heels.

"So what are you saying?" I countered, eyebrows raising as he sat up in his bed. "Do I usually dress unprofessionally? Do I usually look like a hooker or something--"

"Beth, the last uniform I saw you in was scrubs," He tilted his head to the side, his interjection causing me to pause visibly. Wow, that was a long time ago. "I'm just saying... you know how Addie likes to dress up for work... you look very nice."

A very slight smile played at the corner of my mouth. This time, I was genuine. "Thank you, Archie."

Somewhere between setting out my bed for the night and passing out in Meredith's living room, I'd decided to take a quick run out to the stores in downtown Seattle before they closed. 

I'd rushed through a boutique, blindly grabbed some reasonably professional-looking clothes and charged them straight to the remnants of my bank account. Admittedly, Addison had been the exact style inspiration that I'd been aiming for-- but I'd have rather died than admitted that out loud.

The lab-coat that they had given me was officially mine, embroidery and all. It had the hospital logo on one side, alongside the words 'Dr. E.Montgomery, Psychiatry Department'. I grinned sheepishly, jokingly giving him a rather dramatic pose before laughing dismissively at myself.

 The moment Katherine Wyatt had handed it to me, I'd gone weak at the knees. Seeing the warm look in her eye as she watched me shrug on the lab coat for the first time and say the words, 'I look forwards to working with you' was as close as I was ever going to get to sober happiness.

"I don't like to brag, but I'm feeling pretty great about my life right now."

"That's a low blow." Archer scoffed, but I could see the pride almost dripping out of his eyes. "Here I am, all bedridden and sorry for myself and you're becoming Mother Theresa."

"I'm going to be busy," I raised my arms and gestured to myself. Busy! How I loved that word. "Look at me, all grown up and actually working in a big ass, important Hospital for once, who would've thought?"

"We always knew you had it in you."

"Oh shut up." I scowled jokingly, slapping his arm with rather gentle but violent haste. "You told me when I was kicked out of ManWest that I was going to become a stripper- in fact, people agreed with you."

It was needless to say Archer hadn't been able to make eye contact with either of us for weeks afterwards.

His nonchalant reply had a scoff falling through my lips. "Whatever you say, old man." Archer glared at me playfully but didn't make any movement as I turned to leave. "I would stick around, but I've got things to do, patients to see, lives to correct and make brighter with my infectious personality."

"More like infectious sexually transmitted diseases." Archer murmured in an undertone.

"Love you too."

As he snorted loudly behind me, I closed the door, my heels clicking loudly against the Hospital Floor as an air of professionalism hung above me. A few Nurses who had been looking after Archie for the past few weeks did a double-take, their eyebrows rising as I swanned past. I just grinned in their direction, letting my footfalls and their perky clicks take me in the direction of the elevator.

My plan for today was to go through my induction training, drink possibly over eight cups of coffee, get hooked up with some of the jello from the cafeteria and meet the Hospital Board, who had graciously decided to hire me alongside Dr Wyatt. 

"It looks as though you've found something a little bit more permanent than a hospital cot bed..."

A wry voice caused me to blink stiffly, my head panning back into reality. His little smug voice caused me to turn around and watch him as he gave me a look over from across the desk. A pair of dark eyes, paired with a head of ink-black hair skimmed across my vision I raised a single eyebrow.

"Yeah, about that- I don't think I'm going to be around for your little Midnight check-ins anymore, shame," I said, without a moment of hesitation, "But you'll live without me, won't you Eli?"

The nurse, who I'd grown to know as the one who had been assigned to look after Archie and his recovery, smiled at me widely as he sat in front of one of the many computers within this hospital. I placed my hands on my hips, picking my way across the corridor to lean against the desk and grin at him smugly.

"Feelings doctor, nice." There was a wicked sparkle in his eye.

Eli was a mischievous but determined guy. He was very straightforward and seemed to like to be in control constantly- ergo waking me up before the sun and making me beat Archer's beck and call. 

He seemed like the sort of guy that would shun someone for a thousand years if they looked in his direction a weird way. Now that, that was the sort of person I got along with. We were cut from the same cloth.

"It must suck to spend years in medical school just to ask people how they're feeling and writing squiggles down on paper."

"Um, I might need to correct you." I leant forwards, tapping my fingernails against the desk. "I ask people how they're feeling and write squiggles down on paper- for a pretty solid wage.." My lips drew down in a pout and I drew in a tight breath in a moment of fake sadness. "However will I live with myself?"

"Yeah, that's the way to do it," He hummed to himself lightly, nonchalantly dragging his attention back to his computer as his fingers danced over the keys. "Just keep thinking about all of those poor, innocent mentally ill people you're taking advantage of."

My smile fell and I cast a stupefied expression across my face, holding a finger up to make him pause. "Hey- do you hear that?" There was a pregnant pause before I frowned. "I can hear something- huh, wait a minute- it sounds like- hmm- it sounds like intense jealousy."

"You know, I see your mouth moving but all I can hear is 'I'm robbing the vulnerable and giving it to the corporate companies."

I grinned at him, slapping a hand chastely on the wooden top before I turned on my heel. To put it quite serenely, I was on fire today. Eli didn't have a witty comment to supply, just shook his head, a slight smile on his lips as I stalked away. I chuckled to myself, finally making it to the elevator.

Damn, doesn't it feel great to have my shit together?

I couldn't remember the last time that I'd been so genuinely excited to work. I was much more excited than I'd anticipated; as I made my way up to the Psychiatry department (taking the stairs this time, I didn't want to risk it) I felt my anxiety and nervousness fade into a determination to make the most out of my first day. I was on my to get my first patient... on my way to my first case-- it was exciting, I was excited!

I passed Callie in the hallway; she gave me a small, friendly smile which I returned. 

Ever since I'd listened to her painstakingly ramble in Joe's over tequila shots, we'd always said Hi to each other whenever we got the chance. In all honesty, I was just surprised that she still remembered me, that was a lot of alcohol that she'd put into her body.

Maybe Seattle wasn't going to be as bad as I---

I halted in the doorway as a familiar sound filled the hallway. There was something buzzing in my pocket-- my hand dropped down, grabbing the small device. It was new (well, at least new to me) and was making the exact same sound as what had fallen from Mark's pager when we'd stood in that elevator... I held the pager to my face, squinting down at the message.

A giddy rush went through me. God, I love the sound of a pager. It meant one thing:

Looks like I've got my first patient.

***

Okay, so maybe I didn't have my shit together, at all.

The page wasn't to the Psychiatry department at all. It lead me to the surgical department, deep into it, to the point where I"d almost got lost trying to find the right room. I'd asked countless staff members for the exact directions, and then a nurse over in the surgical reception had given me a good set of steps: East wing, across the patient reception and follow the signs to the main lobby, you should find it no problem---

That led to me standing in the middle of the Chief of Surgery's office.

He was standing in front of me, his face made up with a look of intense scrutiny, arms folded across his chest and eyes searing through every inch of me. 

To his right, a small, stout woman who I recognised as Dr Bailey (the one who Sam had smooth-talked into giving us Archer's room, and the one who had shared rather pessimistic thoughts about me) gave me the same striking look, making me blanch tightly at the edges. I just clasped my hands in front of me and wondered, idly, what the fuck was going on.

Dr Webber, who had been nice enough when he'd introduced himself on my first day in Seattle, was turning out to be a man capable of an incredibly heated presence. My fingers were interlocked, palms clammy and face pale as I looked at the pair of them. 

They were both intimidating in their own right; they gave me big 'able to detonate your whole career' vibes, and from experience, that never bode well.

Suddenly, Bailey turned to Dr Webber. "Did Grey tell you why this would be a good idea, or is this just you thinking outside of the box again?"

I was completely lost in the purpose of me being here. I looked between the two of them again; Dr Wyatt had just told me that Dr Webber needed to see me, there had been no subject exchanged. Heck, I'd had to have a handful of doctors and nurses point me in the right direction. And now, here I was, standing rooted to the floor as the pair of them spoke as if I wasn't even in the room.

"She didn't quite tell me this was a good idea." Dr Webber confided to his employee slowly; Bailey's eyebrows rose. The older and more experienced doctor seemed to pause substantially as if he'd made some sort of mistake and was lying it on Bailey slowly and carefully. "Actually, he doesn't know about this at all."

Bailey's lips drew downwards and her eyes narrowed, gaze fixating back on me sharply. I knew she didn't like me; just by the look in her dark, scrutiny-riddled eyes, I knew that whatever 'idea' it was that Dr Webber had, she didn't want me anywhere near it. 

I didn't know much about Surgeons, but I definitely knew that Surgeons at Seattle Grace was peculiarly different from all of the ones I'd met in the past. To put it tenderly, they all seemed outrageously spontaneous and not at all calm and collected like the sort of thing I'd been aiming for.

"Bethany, right?"

Bailey addressed me tightly, her voice dribbling across every syllable in my name. The way her eyes flashed slightly made me think that the statement she'd used to attract my attention wasn't a question at all, rather just a way to push me down into a state of bewilderment once again. 

As she used her hands to pull the lab coat on her shoulders closer to her body, I knew that she perfectly well knew who I was- after all, wasn't I that Montgomery sister who no one had expected to turn up?

"Uh, it's Beth," I replied but instantly knew that I shouldn't have even opened my mouth. Bailey's eyes were in slits, her lips in a thin line as I bit down on my lip, hard. "Or.. Elizabeth if you have to..."

"I'm Doctor Webber, we met a few days ago." Webber decided to interject himself in between Dr Bailey and I. Thankfully, his intense look of deliberation had unravelled into a more toned out, warmth which I appreciated immensely. "I'm sorry to bring you here on such short notice-"

Bailey made a noise that seemed to be caught at the back of her throat, something that sounded like half a scoff and half a subsided snort. I drew in a deep breath.

"'It's no problem... " I put on my best, charismatic smile. It glittered with Montgomery charm. "Over the past week I've become accustomed to short notice."

I looked rather shortly in Bailey's direction, watching as the Surgeon folded her arms tightly over her chest and reverted to staring at me with a heated look of dislike mingled with scrutiny. 

Her eyes seemed to assess my every movement, watching as I kept my ankles tight against one another and posture straight; just as I stood there, she nit-picked at my behaviour. But she'd clearly chosen the wrong person, it just happened that I had taken years of behaviour choreography seminars, I could practically look calm and collected in a hurricane.

"Excellent," Webber stated slowly, rather awkwardly. He seemed to be aware of the unseen tensions between myself and the doctor to his right, so filled the silence with a sigh. "Don't worry- it's nothing bad, we just need a favour, on a rather unprofessional matter-"

My eyebrow rose. Bailey turned around and scowled at her superior.

"Nothing bad? Nothing bad?" Her eyebrows rose and her voice lifted. I watched with alarm, realising what was happening. "Your Neurosurgeon is having a midlife crisis and you call it 'Nothing bad?'"

Derek. Of course. 

My close friend who was currently on the edge of insanity, of course, they wanted me to get involved. I stood there silently as the two Surgeons exchanged a few select words, ending in Bailey letting out a sharp huff and turning away. Well, it seemed as though I wouldn't be doing much work on my first day.

Here I was thinking I'd actually get a patient. That I'd get given some exciting case that I could really dig my teeth into and stop myself from feeling shitty about staying in this city. Something that made my excitement make sense--

"Now we have this cleared up," Dr Webber shot a look in Bailey's direction. "I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but we need help getting Dr Shepherd back into the OR. Meredith mentioned something about you two being close..."

Derek had helped me many times.He was the type of guy that would hold your hair while you vomited into the toilet, all while cracking wise jokes about how alcohol does something terrible to your brain. 

He was the type of guy that left Advil and water at your bedside when you passed out, the type of guy who drove you home when you couldn't walk in the straight line. Derek Shepherd was the sort of guy who'd leave the light on for you just so you made your way back to where you were supposed to be.

I chewed on my bottom lip, deep in thought. From the look on Bailey's face, I knew that she severely doubted that I'd say yes. But I exhaled sharply through my nose and drew my attention back to the Chief of Surgery as he stood in front of me with a vaguely hopeful expression. My voice was dry and impassive as I replied.

"What do you need me to do?"

Admittedly, this wasn't how I'd expected my first day at work to go. I had to trade my new heels for a pair of shoes that was Chris McCandless-proof. I shoved a jacket on, locked my new office and hauled my ass into a taxi. 

All the while, I told myself over and over that this was just going to be part of the job... or at least a repayment for the pep talk he'd given to me a few days ago.

Rogue Derek scared me a lot more than I was willing to admit. 

Again, Derek wasn't the sort of person who crashed and burned-- Mark and him were both built the same. They were both extremely secretive in their emotions, never the type to ever show anything other than anger and happiness. In fact, the only time I'd seen him sad had been on that phone call five years ago-- Sad Derek terrified me.

"I'm not sure what's sadder," I began, clearing my throat as I approached the Derek Shepherd pity party. "The fact that you look like you haven't showered in a week or the fact that you're literally out-drinking an alcoholic."

My flat statement as I walked towards what I could only assume was the infamous 'Shepherd Trailer' was the only thing that attracted the attention of the three people sat amongst a sea of empty bottles and self-pity. 

I had a thick coat over my shoulders, my shoulders hunched as trudged across the plot of land Derek had bought, my heels getting caught slightly in the water-logged mud.

Derek's head lifted as he watched me approach, gaining distance from the taxi that was now pulling away from here. In my pocket, my fist clenched around the address Webber had scribbled onto a post-it-note, and I found myself wondering very strongly why I'd decided to venture out into the wilderness just to drag Derek back to his day-job.

My face contorted as I saw him, a dishevelled shadow sat in a deck chair with a beer in one hand and an insufferable weight in the other. In fact, the weight seemed to drag down every part of him, he was slumped and very much drunk, something that just made me want to sigh and yell explicitly.

I couldn't describe the surprise that went through me at the whole scene; between Derek's glare that seemed to pick me out of the forest-gloom and the surprise cameo of Callie (the Orthopedic surgeon had just appeared beside him, hunched and stormy in one of Derek's camping chairs). She seemed to have reprised her sadness from Joe's bar; it was a stark contrast to the bright smile she'd given to me in the corridor. 

It made me realise that Derek wasn't only bitter and sad today-- he was also dragging everyone down me.

The person sat on Derek's other side was someone who I recognised but did not know. When I glanced across at him, my mind was submerged with the image of him crossing the skywalk and ripping Mark away from a flailing Derek. 

His heavy eyes fleetingly washed over me, a slight confusion hinging one of the muscles over his brow bone. His tousled ginger hair was muted in the overcast light, and the shadows seemed to cling to every chiselled crevice of his face. I turned away from him eventually, trying to pry his name out of my head, but we'd never been introduced, so my thoughts were stalled in their tracks.

I raised a hand, coming to a stop. I gestured towards the three of them and shook my head. "Derek, this is why no one would go on your shitty camping trips back in Manhattan."

The way I said his name brought me back to the days where my Mother would look at me in pure discontent when I did something stupid or out-of-line (which naturally with my family was everything that wasn't simply breathing) and I knew that I'd nailed the voice down. Yet Derek barely squirmed in his chair—of course, he didn't; he grew up with sisters, he grew up in a field of chastising voices. 

If I wanted to get a rise from him, I needed to get his attention.

My ex-brother-in-law just scoffed.

Was this what I looked like back in New York? All sorry for myself and drunk out of my mind, waiting for Derek to come and save me? The parallels were almost uncanny. I paused, just where I could see the lanterns strung across the top of the trailer and smell the stench of alcohol as Derek barely gave me a second glance, finishing his beer with a bitter expression. 

A light sigh fell from my lips before my attention strayed to the other people at Derek's little party.

"Go home, Elizabeth."

Derek sounded like a bitter old man.

I very briefly had a vision of my father, sat in that exact chair: brooding and boozy, calling me by my full name and glaring at the wall. My father had been a very angry man. I didn't doubt that Derek was the angry type too, it'd sat through enough of his arguments with Addison to know that he wasn't afraid to yell when he needed to.

His voice was full of sharp intensity that had my head snapping towards him instantly. He avoided my gaze, instead of bending over and popping open another beer bottle with a bottle-opener. My stare seared through his little icy mask, causing him to pause as I crossed my arms over my chest. 

I hoped that I somewhat embodied Miranda Bailey as I did so, but knew that I'd never be able to capture that level of disappointment.

"I'm not going anywhere," I replied in a short and almost feverish tone. "Not until you get your ass out that chair."

I'd decided to play bad cop on the taxi ride over here. After all, I'd gathered that I wasn't actually expected to play Psychiatrist in the middle of the wilderness; I'd been sent here not because I was amazing at my job (which, by the way, I am) but because Webber was under the impression that I might be able to talk some sense into this depressed dumbass. 

I folded my arms over my chest, squared my shoulders and tried to evoke a big 'Get your shit together' persona that was as far from my therapy method as I could get.

I sighed. "This isn't you--"

"No, this is you." His words were serrated, causing me to take in a breath, my eyes widening as Derek held up the beer bottle, waving it around. My chest tightened but I played it off with a roll of my eyes. "Go home, Beth. I don't need you here."

Well fuck you.

"Yeah, you're right, you are acting like me at the moment," I said as flashes of New York threatened to leave me dumbstruck. My voice was slightly strained as I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my coat. My heels made a disgusting squelching sound that had shivers rolling down my spine as I walked closer to my fallen brother in law. "You're being a self-deprecating, twisted asshole. And guess what? it's my turn to drag you out of your own vomit and fix you the fuck up."

He didn't even move an inch. "Go away."

"No," I said tightly, "Not without you."

If there's anything that Derek had taught me, it was his hero complex. He was a ride-or-die, he was a 'fight to the death' sort of guy. He never gave up. He never left people behind.

He'd spent so many nights trying to get me and his sister to be better people, to get us into rehabilitation centres. It'd been the one thing that he and Addison had, towards the end, actually agreed on. 

Derek really didn't leave people behind. He'd loved Addison until she'd strangled him. He'd held onto Amy until she'd scratched herself free. He'd dragged me through hell until I'd got my footing back.

Now, I was going to put on my white hat and give it one hell of a shot. The problem was... I didn't know how to handle drunk people. I'd always been the out-of-control one. Case in point: Derek shot me a long, rather reproachful look as I let a bitter and callous smile light my face. 

Now, I was directly in front of him, glaring down at him as he sat impassively on his little stupid deck chair. His companions sat on his either side, completely stoic and silent, watching me serenely as I attempted to batter Derek into shape.

"You're being me, Derek," My jaw was clenched. I glanced between his companions; Callie wouldn't meet my eye. "So I'm going to be you- get your ass out of that chair or so help me. Get in this taxi, go get your girl and apologise... okay?"

He didn't move. None of them did. While Derek just stared at me impassively, with heavy eyes that bore directly into my soul, his companions all shifted uncomfortably. 

Callie, who clearly really had been having the worst week, sunk in her chair, feet dragging against the floor. She exchanged a look with the other guy, the two of them silently commenting on how the two of us seemed to be in a very tense stand off. It was as if they were wondering who would crack first-- would Derek drag himself into that taxi or would I be the last sorry person in their budding barbershop quartet.

I was determined to walk away no matter what.

"You keep telling me to go home, but the funny thing is, I don't have one here." I tried to lay on the guilt, hoping that it would make something crack in his brain. Drunk Derek just scoffed. "What happened to being all in this together?"

His offer of a home had been one of my pros when it came to staying in Seattle. I was silently begging him to not make it a con-- then my list would be imbalanced and I'd start seriously regretting signing that hospital contract.

"I'm sure Mark would let you stay with him," Derek drawled rather incoherently, making me severely doubt that he was sober. His words made my teeth clench, and even Callie bristled slightly, her grip around her beer bottle tightening. "Is that how it usually goes?"

Fuck. It was petty for him to bring Mark into this. I reeled from the blow.

Isn't that how it usually goes?

"What about you?" I interjected, my whole body attempting to shake off the crushing blow that Derek had chipped my way. "If you don't apologise to Meredith, you won't have anyone to go back to."

"Give it up, Beth." I could tell he was angry. It flickered in the way that his jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed very slowly. I just raised my eyebrows in a challenge. "You of all people should know that this is pointless--"

"What is pointless?" It felt like a very aggressive therapy session. I was throwing questions at him and he was replying with extremely defensive, deflective little insults that made my skin crawl. "Consider this a repaid debt. I'm just returning the favour for all of those times you've helped me. Let me help you, Derek. This isn't you--"

"It never worked though, did it?" Derek let out a long breath, shaking his head very slowly. I raised my chin, squinting over at him. "No matter how many times i helped you... no matter how things I've done for you... you still ignored everything I said. Consider this a repayment of that."

Asshole.

He wasn't wrong. 

New York Beth had been stubborn (she still was but she liked to think she had a degree of common sense now) and she'd marched to the beat of her own drum. She hadn't changed her pace for anyone; not Derek, not Addie, not Mark. Derek's words made my skin chill with a very brief mortification.

Fuck Seattle. This is stupid--

Derek sighed; he leant over and took a bottle out of the cooler by his feet. My whole body froze, watching him intensely as he went out of his way to hold out a beer in my direction. The muscles in my body twitched, I stared at his slightly wavering hand. 

I watched as he stared at me. There was a dark challenge in his eyes, one that was totally out of line-- he'd crossed a line.

"I might be acting like Beth, but you are Beth."

"Derek..."

Callie leant out and took the bottle from Derek softly, sensing that there was a line that we didn't need to cross. As her fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, a breath escaped my chest and my muscles relaxing like some sort of training toy.

Derek's slightly unfocused but bright eyes flickered across my face before he let out a hand and patted the space beside him. 

I ignored him, feeling my body chill to the core; I stared at him, long and hard. My eyebrows twitched and I found my mouth opening shortly so I could lick my lips uncomfortably.

There was no fucking way I was dealing with this bullshit right now.

I shouldn't have agreed to come here. I wasn't Derek-- 

I didn't do this saviour sort of shit. I wasn't Dan Humphries and Derek wasn't Serena Van Der Woodsen. I should have listened to Bailey.

"We all have made mistakes, Der." He refused to meet my glare, instead of spending his merry time gazing down at the bottle in his hand. So I turned my head to look at the other Doctors that had accompanied him with his little escapade. "But the point of mistakes is that you learn from them, you don't let them drag you down."

Derek still wasn't looking at me and it irked me. He'd always been so capable of all of this amazing, motivational speeches, of being able to rush me into changing my life, getting clean, being the best I could be. I'd just wanted to embody it, for seconds if only, I'd just wanted to be able to pay homage to all of the times he'd done the same for me. 

Derek had been the person who had picked me up in the middle of the night and held my hair back when I'd vomited- he did all of the things that Addison and Mark hadn't.

I owed him this.

His friends were both looking at me, even the doctor who I didn't know. 

Callie had a look of despair on her face, her dark eyes swirling with sadness as she swallowed a seemingly sour taste and glanced down at her lap. The other man cleared his throat, relaxing back into the deck chair heavily and running a hand over his face.

"Derek," I was addressing him directly now, my eyes refusing to budge from his bowed head. "The hospital didn't give up on you. Meredith didn't give up on you. I don't think I ever could—Don't give up on yourself."

Was this what I'd looked like? Was this what Derek had had to deal with? I felt embarrassed. I felt angry.

"It's okay to confess to our mistakes..." I let out a lot of hot air. "I mean... a few days ago I relapsed. I gave in... On the flight here, I made a mistake..." I couldn't believe that I was talking about this in front of two strangers. Callie was looking at me with sadness in her eyes. She was still holding onto the beer that Derek had held out to me. "If I can admit that I made a mistake... you can too."

He didn't look at me.

"It's not okay, Beth," Derek grilled out. "None of this is okay."

"You're telling me," I almost laughed. I felt so exasperated by this whole situation that a tired chuckle got caught at the back of my throat. I almost choked. "I had to leave in the middle of a fucking marriage proposal, haul my ass across the world because my brother going to die... and then I'm stuck here in some sort of alternate universe where I'm supposed to be okay with the fact I'll never forgive my sister--" I cut myself off. "If anyone deserves to be drunk right now, it's me. But I'm not because I'm better than that... and so are you." I looked at the others. "So are all of you."

Callie averted her gaze.

"Spoiler alert," I continued, not able to stop. "Life sucks. I was wrong the other night... it's life that sucks. It gives us all the shitty answers to all of the innocent questions-- but that doesn't mean that you can let it drag you down."

I was thinking about how much I regretted coming to Seattle. I was thinking about how agitating it was that Derek was the one who had convinced me to stay.

"If you need someone talk to, please don't hesitate to make an appointment with me," I felt pathetic, there was nothing more demoralising than talking to people who didn't want to listen. "Phone up Psychiatry, talk to the reception, ask for Doctor Montgomery. I can help you guys far more than a bottle of beer can."

"You're a hypocrite."

Those words came from Derek. They were low, vicious and made me smile. He said it as if it was supposed to make me falter, but in fact it achieved the opposite. I couldn't exactly argue with him.

"I am," I nodded, feeling less agitated than I had before. "I am a hypocrite... I have always been a hypocrite." A beat passed. "I'm also a bitch... a liar... a girl who runs away from things instead of facing them head on... Sure, I'm Mark's ex and Addison's sister... But I'm also a doctor of psychiatry and a recovered addict."

I cleared my throat and gave him a bitter, serrated grin.

"So I'd take my advice, if I were you."

***

It was raining again; Seattle liked to cry a lot.

I was slightly water-logged as I stepped out of the elevator, finding myself in the centre of a rather busy corridor in the middle of the hospital. Tired, exasperated and mildly despaired, I trudged down towards Archie's hospital room, feeling my chest swell with the weight of what had happened between Derek and I. 

I wanted to sleep. I wanted to just go into Archer's hospital room, maybe moan a bit about how the universe seemed to be intent on giving me hell and fall asleep... but my mind couldn't stop spinning with the same thought over and over and over:

Not in a thousand years had I thought that I'd see Derek like that. Dark, twisty and drunk. He'd learnt from me in his absence.

Seeing Derek so hateful and bitter made me wonder what he'd been like after he'd found Mark and Addison in bed together-- that's how it had happened, hadn't it? He'd recounted it all down the phone to me as he travelled to the airport, leaving New York for forever. Had he been spiteful then? Had he acted out? Had he been callous and cruel? 

Before today, I would have never been able to envision such a bitter and twisted Derek Shepherd; I was beginning to realise he was capable of a lot more things than I'd realised.

I figured that times had changed. Time meant that people developed, time meant that cells mutated and brains rerouted and the earth revolved. 

Time meant that I wasn't in New York anymore and I wasn't a budding Surgical Intern, that I wasn't pill-obsessed and charged with alcohol. It meant that Derek wasn't married to Addie, which meant in turn that he'd found Meredith. It meant that the sky was bluer and I wasn't involved with the black hole that had been Mark Sloan--

People changed, they really did. I got healthier, Derek got darker and Addie got more independent. Archie got sicker (but then got alright again) and Sam and Naomi split apart. It was all a revolving circuit, a carousel that never stopped turning—people changed, for the better or the worse.

But, when I rounded that corner, I found that sometimes, nothing changes at all.

Because right in front of me, Mark Sloan was passionately kissing a girl with dark hair.

His arms were wrapped around her and he was holding her so tightly to his chest like he was afraid to let her go. She was melting into his arms like ice on a hot stone, her whole body was moulded to his and her lips were parted in that sweet, cinematic way where the guy got the girl. 

He was so consumed by this moment, as was she, that they completely forget about the world around them- including me as I faltered in my tracks.

Wet and bedraggled, I let out a sharp breath.

Because Mark Sloan doesn't change. Especially when it comes to women. Women like me—and women like the woman he was currently making out with in the middle of Seattle Grace. For a second, I thought she was me-- I thought that this was another divine vision, just like the image of my father sat in Derek's chair, just like the one in the bar. I recognised her and almost blanched when they pulled back.

But Lexie Grey didn't blanch. She smiled at Mark with all the adoration in the world and he looked down at her like she was all he'd ever wanted and needed in life.

It was in that moment that I realised that, compared to Mark Sloan, I really didn't have my shit together at all.