𝙓𝙄.
IF WE WERE VILLAINS

──────

SEATTLE

I'M OVER HIM.

I swear.

***

───Romance sucked ass.

I was usually light on it, but sometimes, it really sucked a lot.

I'd had my fair share of movie romances, the sort that truly swept you off your feet. I'd dated a lot, I'd tried a lot. I'd tried to do the whole 'end of movie grand gesture' before and it'd fallen flat on his face. I'd tried to believe in it too, believe that romance was the sort of thing that I needed-- but I'd failed with that too.

The movies made it out to be so nice, so sweet and mushy and full of spontaneous romantic gestures and heart-to-heart confessions. They made it out to be some sort of miracle where the man would let the girl lie on the door and die in her place, or where the guy would come to the table, stick his hand out and say 'Nobody puts Baby in the corner'.

There was always a lover and another lover and a conflict and a problem and a solution and then the end. The lovers kissed, the title reel ran and happily ever after happened off-screen--

From experience, that wasn't usually how it went.

Often, movie romance didn't really translate to real life. I'd been a hopeless romantic once but then I'd realised that, half the time, men just wanted to get laid. They didn't want to get involved with the mushy stuff-- in reality, they didn't want to dance around the kitchen to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack or, if they did, they just really wanted to get in your pants. Romance, for all intents and purposes, was a scam.

I wasn't the only one who seemed to share that sentiment.

Romance, it seemed, happened to suck for a lot of people.

The man opposite me, for example, seemed to have a pretty shitty hand of cards. I was sat there, in an office in the middle of the Psychiatry department, watching as he folded his arms tightly across his chest, troubled deeply by the sick joke of a romance he was currently stuck with.

My eyebrows wavered, bunching together as I sat in my first-ever session as a doctor of Psychiatry at Seattle Grace, my first ever attempt at this job.

I'd practically been shoved into the room by Dr Wyatt. The last few days had been my 'training' which had consisted of a short tour of the Psych floor, a rundown on policies held by the hospital.

This was, apparently, my test-run, a half an hour session with a man who looked as though he would rather hit me around the head with the armchair he was perched on, than talk to me. I licked my chapped lips, knowing that not soon after this, I'd have to be introduced to the Hospital Board.

As Alex Karev, my newest patient, let out a huff and leant back heavily in his chair, I wondered what it was, exactly, that had persuaded me into becoming a Psychiatrist in the first place.

    "So, how are you feeling today?"

My tone was nonchalant, my eyes dipping to the blank notebook that was resting on my knees.

A pen wobbled in between my fingers, tapping it against the lined paper ever so often like some sort of timer.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock—I had half an hour to make Alex Karev actually say something valuable enough for me to scribble down.

There's something so awkward about a new job and a new office. I felt as though I had been placed and posed in this chair. These clothes were not my own, they were straight off the rack and not even washed, these shoes were more Addie than Beth, and my hair smelt of Meredith's shampoo. I didn't feel as though I should've been there at all and yet, here I was--

I'd been prying casually, with my head tilted to the side as I sat pin-straight.

The man, who was sitting directly opposite me and had one hand-rolled into a fist, was probably one of the hardest first hurdles that I could have been thrown. Just from the few times, I'd met him, I'd gotten the impression that he was rather distant, emotionally shut off and defensive when it came to facing his emotions. And it wasn't just my training which told me that—Meredith had confided it to me in a hushed tone as soon as Alex had taken one look at me and glared. I'd gotten the impression that Alex didn't like me much, but Meredith had shrugged it off, saying simply that 'Alex didn't really like anyone'.

Well, other than his girlfriend. His terminally ill, really perky, really dying girlfriend.

    "You've asked me that five times already." My patient chipped in my direction stiffly, his eyes narrowing as I looked at him with round, attentive eyes. "Aren't you Psych guys supposed to be able to know about that sort of crap?"

    Alex's word caused my lips to twitch. "Unfortunately, I didn't have enough money to get the mind-reading upgrade."

He didn't seem to appreciate the humour.

This wasn't going to be as easy as Dr Wyatt had made it out to be; she'd breezed into the Attending Psychiatrist's lounge (a coffee machine and a vending machine that consisted of nothing but Vegan Snacks and some Cheetos) and plucked me out as I was just hanging up my jacket.

I'd been fresh off a ride into work from Meredith, with a slight perkiness to my walk and had blinked at her, slightly astounded as she proudly proclaimed that today I'd be served, my first patient.

Hint: my first patient was angry, bitter and didn't like it that I was sleeping rough on his couch.

    "Look- the only reason I'm here is that the people in Oncology referred me for these free sessions they give to staff." Alex gave me a long look, which implied that there was no way that he was ever going to return."They said that I needed emotional support, so go on- do whatever the hell it is that you do and give me some emotional support!"

I gave Alex a long, scathing look, my eyebrows rising very slightly as his harsh tone lashed out between his lips. I held his gaze for a while, watching as an offensive front bubbled away in his dark eyes. After a few, tense minutes, I averted my gaze down to the page, my grip tightening around the pen. With a perfectly calm manner, I gently wrote a few notes on the page.

Appears hostile while addressing his own mental health.

Aren't we all?

    "I understand that you're going through a lot at the moment." I began tenderly, "And, because of that... the people in Oncology were right to refer you—people who are under great deals of stress need emotional support. But... emotional support requires emotions."

Alex fell silent as I candidly looked up from my notes. I used the classic trio of Psychiatry 101; tender voice, direct eye contact, patience. Hook, line, sinker.

    "So, Alex," I left a pregnant pause between my words. "I'll ask you again- how are you feeling today?"

Alex wasn't feeling great, apparently.

Over the steering wheel of her car on the way to the Hospital, Meredith had been waving her arms expressively, telling me all about Alex's girlfriend, who happened to be the blonde doctor called Izzie, whom I'd come across numerous times.

Unfortunately for the two of them, Izzie had recently been diagnosed with a brain tumour, which had then unravelled to reveal "Stage IV metastatic melanoma with metastasises to the liver, brain and skin"—which meant nothing to me at all. It wasn't until Meredith had slowly and sadly informed me that the happy, go-lucky doctor who had whisked me about on my first day in Seattle, had now found herself with a 5% chance of survival through this cancer diagnosis, that I'd actually paused and sat still and silent in my seat.

It was tough to hear, but I could barely compare to how it must feel to deal with it.

He spent the whole appointment with his fists clenched, shoulders hunched and spine stopped as if he was constantly debating whether he should leave or fall back into the armchair and sleep. His body language spoke more than his words; just in the tension in his jaw and the stiffness of his limbs, I could tell that he was stressed. But the slight sluggishness of his movements, his words and his general manner told me that he was completely exhausted, probably plagued by Izzie's condition far more than he was letting on.

Alex wanted me to think that he was perfectly fine and that he was just some strong figurine who didn't need the emotional support he'd been sent here to receive, but really I could see the cracks underneath the plaster and the porcelain and chipped away at it slowly. Piece by piece, I began to write more and more notes down onto the paper; by the time the clock above the door chimed with half-past, Alex was slightly less ill-mannered, but still held a strong glower.

Sighing softly, I pushed my notebook onto the desk, standing upwards as Alex ghosted my movements. Without a single word, Alex allowed me to open the door for him but was off like a shot as soon as the corridor had come into view.

I hesitated in the doorway, not sure if I should go after him, and instead settled on watching him as he zoomed off towards the nearest stairwell. My lips slipped downwards, into a sure frown.

    "How was it?"

I turned my head to the left, watching as the light-haired, shorter but wizened woman ambled towards me. I didn't say anything initially, just kissed my teeth with my tongue and turned back to glance in the direction Alex had left. After stewing in my own thoughts for a while, I shrugged harmlessly.

    "Difficult."

That was an understatement, although I could handle difficulty. I'd seen difficulty in many forms: wailing widows, vengeful victims, traumatised tremors. Alex's case, unfortunately, was exactly like some of the others I'd seen back in Indonesia, back in Iraq- however, sometimes the cases weren't cancer, but body-bags of assorted body parts and rubble. I was sure that Alex hadn't found the emotional support that he'd needed, but he had received the support of some sort, whether he liked it or not. He knew that the Hospital would fund these little sessions- he knew that Oncology would continuously refer him if he didn't get better. He knew that this little space and my little ears would be here for him, and that was whether I liked him or not.

    "Yes," Dr Wyatt mused softly, her eyes meeting mine as soon as I'd turned around to go back inside the office that she'd fixed up for me. "But I assume that you, of all people, can handle a bit of difficulty when it comes to patients."

It wasn't the most charming of offices, it had nothing on her clean and glossy digs—and I didn't even start on the Head of Surgery's pad—but it had a homey quality to it, well as much of one that a Hospital consultant office could have. Everything was dressed in monotonous colours, everything seriously scrutinised by the health and safety team and everything so bland and colourless, to avoid any external triggers or factors.

In the corner of the office, a plastic potted plant sat there, looking rather sorry for itself, shortly accompanied by an ensemble of ugly pillows. A desk was positioned in the dead centre of the room, with a pair of arm-chairs and a neat coffee table. A stack of papers, and a single pen rested on the wood, all of which I grabbed hastily to be put away before my lunch break.

    "You're right about that," I said, chuckling with feigned hilarity. "I've seen my fair share of difficulties over the years. Alex isn't anything that I can't handle. I've, I've seen and had worse."

It was then, that I noticed that Dr Wyatt had closed the door sharply behind her.

    "Are you talking about your professional and personal history?"

My whole body paused, my head grinding to a halt as her voice registered in my head. My fingers were suspended over the folder which I had fished out of one of the drawers within the desk. A cold chill ran down the entire length of my body, my shoulders hitching together tightly as Dr. Wyatt folded her arms shortly across her chest.

She seemed to wait for me to say something, but I avoided her heavy gaze, instead busying myself by stowing my pen deep inside my coat pocket and running my tongue across my top teeth. I very carefully manoeuvred myself down into my chair, taking my time as I crossed one leg over the other and looked up at her slowly.

    "I didn't hide that in the interview," I told her with a rather level-headed and calm air. "I don't like to keep many secrets. It was rough, but I already gave you all of the paperwork about that. Along with my CV, my cover letter, I gave the Hospital Board all of the necessary information about my recovery and my therapy."

Dr Wyatt looked at me long and hard. Sometimes, I felt like the woman had the ability to gaze right through me, as if she had some uncanny superhuman ability- it made me wonder whether I really had missed upgrade day at some Psychology conference. She didn't sit where Alex had sat, she made her stance clear- she wasn't my patient, she was my boss, she was looking over at me with authority and power and I wasn't quite sure whether I found that deeply unsettling or not.

    "I never said that you had hidden anything," Katherine said rather simply, keeping her posture perfectly straight and her eyes fixed on me as she gazed over her glasses. She'd pushed her spectacles down the bridge of her nose, accenting the blaze of her all-knowing eyes and the shadows that clung to every crinkle of her face. "I was simply stating that it's something that the Hospital Board has taken into consideration while hiring you."

    I sighed inaudibly, bringing my fingers through my hair and snagging at the knots I'd failed at catching when I'd bolted out quickly this morning. "I'd appreciate it if that was where it stayed and not water cooler gossip."

Starting at Seattle Grace had been a figurative new beginning, it had been an open door that I'd run straight through with a bright yellow parka and half-empty suitcase.

That new beginning, however, was something that I didn't want including whispers and stares as people realised that I was so ex-drug addict that had been put in hand-cuffs too many times for comfort.

I wasn't proud.

    "Patient-doctor confidentiality isn't the only thing we take pride in, here in the Psychiatry Department." Dr Wyatt answered, and for a moment I could sense warmth in her tone that I hadn't been exposed to for a while. "After all, I can appreciate a good comeback story, it's an admirable act. You must have worked so hard to get here.... So, that's why I'm here to talk about keeping you here, keeping you at the top of the world."

    I raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

    "I'm referring you to support," She said simply, making my forehead crease slightly. "Just like with the surgical staff, the Psychiatry staff have free sessions with a therapist. It's not immediate action, but if you need it, I have an old colleague downtown and they're offering support to all Psychiatry staff here if need be. I know that it may not be what you need right now, but, as I said a few seconds ago, it is a way to stop you teetering off and into your darkest place again."

I spent a moment just frozen in my seat, my arms placed on either side of the chair and my face completely impassive. It was a stance that I'd perfected, the look of complete serenity, of calamity and stoic gesture. Dr Wyatt ran her gaze down the length of my face.

    "Who spoke to you?" I asked tenderly.

The first thought that hit me was that someone had concerns about me. It had happened before; hell Addison had gone through hell and high-water trying to get me into therapy back in New York, and I'd even tried to go to couples counselling with Mark in the last year of our relationship and that had been utterly unsuccessful. Maybe Derek had approached her? Addison before she left? Mark?–

    "It's just a concern," Dr Wyatt replied patiently, "Is it something that should be brought to my attention?"

Shaking my head rather abruptly, I ran my fingers along the arms of the armchair.

    "This is simply a concern for an employee of mine. You have not given me any reason to doubt your strength." She paused, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Yet."

    "Oh," I said, drawing out the simple phrase with a slow smile as it appeared on my face. "I won't disappoint, don't worry, boss."

Dr Wyatt paused, her smile became more prominent. "Good, that's what I'm banking on. In fact, I'm banking on that so much that I have a new assignment for you—the Chief of Surgery requested a Psychiatry consult. I know that we were going to let you get to know the hospital a bit more before letting you wander into the surgical department... but I read your file and saw that you had a history as a surgical intern, maybe that'd be something you'd be interested in doing?"

    "Oh- yeah, of course." My eyes widened and I got to my feet, making sure that my desk was clear as Katherine turned around and walked towards the door. I patted myself down shortly, before realising that I was all ready to go.

    "Good. If you go to the Reception the nurses' will tell you where to go. I'm sure you know how to do a whole Psychological work-up, after all, that's what you had to do in Indonesia, right?" I bobbed my head along to her words, taking the keys from the draw and walking up behind the senior doctor. But just as I went to open the door for her, Dr Wyatt stopped, turning around and holding up a small rectangular object in front of her. "Oh, and you'll need this."

My eyes caught onto what she was holding up; a small key-card, identity card that had a rather distinctive face printed in an even smaller box.

For a second, my breath was caught on a hitch, my eyes widening as I read the words 'Hospital Employee' and 'Elizabeth Montgomery M.D PSYCH' in block capitals. Dr Wyatt smiled wryly as she passed it over.

    "This key-card gives you clearance to most areas of the hospital, but not the O.R floor or any other private areas in other departments. I'm sure you'll find it useful, especially as our security team aren't too familiar with you yet." Once again, I silently nodded along to her voice, my eyes fixed on the small card as I held it in my slightly clammy hands.

    "I thought it felt official with the lab coat," I admitted slowly, my eyes ripping away to watch as she chuckled lowly. "But now, I feel as though I've just been knighted into Arthur's Round Table."

    "Not quite that glamorous," Dr Wyatt shrugged indifferently, going to exit through the door and out into the corridor; but she hesitated on the threshold and turning to give me a crooked grin. "But twice as much fun."

***

───The surgical floor was as much of a maze as it had been the last time I'd ventured into it.

The past few days, I'd refrained from going anywhere near it—although that was half because the romance was a pain in the ass and the other half was because Archer had been in the process of being assessed so visiting hours had been restricted. I'd also been busy with introductory training, and had gotten to know some of the other doctors in the Psychiatry department; we'd all gotten along fine but it was tough to say whether or not I'd make friends as I'd only been in the department for a blink of an eye.

A nurse escorted me all the way across the floor, all the way from the set of lifts where I'd first entered the Seattle Grace Surgery Department, and to a small room that had its blinds closed tightly as if they were worried that someone would look in and see something. I pursed my lips as the nurse gestured in the direction of an unfamiliar doctor; she was stood outside the door, seemingly waiting for someone, all while holding a chart to her chest.

She was tapping her foot against the floor in a rather irritated manner, making me sigh under my breath as I thanked the nurse and approached the doctor who had paged for a consult.

    "Hi, you paged for a Psych consultation?"

The woman turned around and looked at me, instantly looking me up and down as I stood there earnestly. She was a slightly stout woman, dressed in the signature Seattle Grace lab coat but with a yellow printed top underneath. She gave me a sharp once over, before holding out a hand.

    "I'm Doctor Swender from the Surgical Oncology Unit."

Her introduction was short-lived as she seemed to be pressed for time. Her dark eyes trailed between me and the door fleetingly, before the chart of her patient was passed over into my arms. I bit down on my lip, not even being able to open the folder before she was ushering me in the direction of the private room.

    "I need you to do an assessment of my patient, she's newly admitted and is currently under a lot of pressure. I want to know whether she can cope with it or not."

    "Okay, sure, that shouldn't be a problem."

I gave her a (what I hoped was a confident smile) but Dr Swender barely gave me any recognition. She just turned, shoving me in through the door and towards the hospital bed in the centre of the room. I swayed slightly on my feet, but lifted my head up, my eyes widening as I recognised the patient opposite me.

"Izzie?"

The blonde doctor was sat there, in a hospital bed with her sheets bunched around her waist. She was wearing a hospital gown, with the same pattern as Archie had been stuck in for the past few weeks, her blonde hair was pinned back, her face gaunt and slightly paler than it had been the last time I'd seen her.

Her blue eyes fixated on me instantly as I gathered my wits; I noticed that she'd been knitting, her fingers working with the yarn in her lap rather furiously, but all animation stopped as soon as I blinked at her in surprise.

    Her eyes widened too. "Beth?"

Her gaze dropped down from my face to my outfit. Alongside my lab coat, I was all dressed up in a pencil skirt and a pale pink blouse, my newly acquired staff ID card was attached proudly to my waistband and I had my favourite ballpoint pen neatly secured to the inside of my breast pocket.

Izzie seemed to drink in every detail of me, her eyebrows raised in complete shock.

    "I didn't know that you worked here?"

    "I've just started, actually," I admitted slowly, the words coming out rather choppier than before. "You're my first surgical patient to consult."

    "You're consulting me?"

Izzie's eyebrows bunched together in confusion and I instantly knew that there wasn't something quite right with her case. I nodded slowly, cautiously, but focused on sitting down on the armchair by her bed; it had been drawn closer to the hospital bed than usual, so I assumed that this was the one which Alex had spent the last few hours before his appointment with me in.

I sat down shortly, smiling at Izzie earnestly- although the whole charade was completely fake, I was in fact completely shaken up by the fact that the woman in front of me had once seemed so perky and bright.

Now, Izzie looked pallid and frightened by the thought of me coming in here and asking her a few questions.

    "Yes, if that's okay?" I answered softly, keeping my tone light so I didn't alarm her. Izzie's large, round eyes were latched onto mine tightly, like a child holding onto an adult's arm. She swallowed nervously. "Dr Swender arranged it, and I know that I'm probably not the best person for the job- seeing as we're not total strangers and I'm sleeping on your couch- but I'd like to give it a shot if that's okay with you."

    "Oh, uh, sure."

She sounded hesitant but watched me as I gave her a smile, bowing my head to rifle through the sheets of paper in my lap. The file was an assortment of papers, assessments on Izzie's diagnosis, her body stats and information about her treatment plan.

My eyebrows rose significantly when I saw the name 'Dr. Derek Shepherd' printed across the top of the surgical form.

    "Okay, so I'm going to be assigned to your case just to see you through the process." My attention flickered in between Izzie and the papers, my French manicure- that was actually a bunch of crappy cheap fake nails glued on with nail glue- balanced what seemed to be brain scans. "I'm here today to do a quick check-up for Dr Swender. Do you think you could managed it?"

I paused, running my eyes over them, I swallowed curtly, recognising what Meredith had spoken about this morning.

Stage IV metastatic melanoma with metastasis to the liver, brain and skin. I grimaced, that didn't sound like a comfortable diagnosis.

Hastily, I put the scans back in the file, just in time to look up and see Izzie staring at her lap sadly. Her knitting needles were strewn across her thighs, mouth in a thin line as she barely acknowledged the way I pushed the file aside and instead brought out a pad of paper and the pen from my pocket.

    "So do you have any concerns about your diagnosis or treatment plan?"

I decided that I didn't have time to skirt around the subject of Izzie's cancer. The woman in front of me was running on thin ice; the bubbly, happy woman with who I'd been acquainted only a few days ago, had slowly peeled away to reveal someone who didn't look as though they wanted to take part in Intern games or bake anything anymore.

She didn't answer instantly, just continued to stare at her hands.

    "Is there anything that you would like to talk about? About emotional support, or about your general worries about the impact on your day-to-day life."

    "Well- uh-"

     Izzie spoke until she was cut short by the surgical team. She spoke about her emotions, about her hesitations and her worries.

I wrote them all into my journal. Spearheading the movement, was Dr Swender who looked over me and gave me the clear look, "You're going to have to continue this later."

A slight frown crinkled my forehead, but then my gaze turned to the other faces that were slowly welling up around Izzie's hospital bed. I made brief contact with Derek, who eyed me shortly before he took the chart that I had discarded beside me.

Tearing my eyes away from Derek, I watched Meredith and Alex trail in behind him, closely followed by Dr Bailey. Her eyes flickered over me, a slightly disgruntled look appearing in her eyes.

Izzie, on the other hand, was avoiding prying eyes. Her gaze was firmly stuck on the knitting she'd been doing prior to my consultation.

Her arms moved furiously as she continued to knit what looked like a disfigured scarf. It was only when Alex came and stood next to her, with his dark eyes shadowed with concern, that she stopped, turning her attention up to Bailey, as the older doctor approached her gently. But before she could begin what I guessed was Izzie's presentation, Bailey pursed her lips.

    "Doctor Montgomery you can leave."

After being shooed out of Izzie's hospital room, I'd fully intended on checking on Archer before I went to lunch. His room was on the next ward, which meant that I'd be able to schmooze my clearance card before picking up my daily overdose of caffeine. I'd already been five steps in the right direction, when Derek's voice followed me past the nurses' station, causing me to sigh softly.

I turned, my sensible heels making a rather disgruntled sound on the floor. With my hair sweeping across my shoulders, I looked over to watch Derek pass Izzie's file over to a mildly irritated Meredith, and hurry to catch me before I disappeared. I folded my arms over my chest.

Suddenly, I felt really angry. Angry for various different reasons. Angry because Izzie was dying, angry because Archie was still ill—and not at all furious because Mark Sloan was making out with other brunette's these days. And then, came Derek Shepherd.

    "Hey." Derek's blue eyes blazed into mine, having taking a miraculous turn over the past few days. He ran a hand through his hair, giving me a slightly nervous and guilty smile, before biting down on his lip. "I need to talk to you about the other night-"

    "What do you mean?" I asked plainly, cocking my head to one side.

Every time I blinked, I could see Derek all dishevelled and drunk, slurring insults at me as I attempted to drag him back to the place which he'd called his workplace. Derek paused as the clear message that I knew exactly what he was talking about, came ricocheting throughout the building.

    Derek eyed me cautiously. "The whole thing with the-"

    "What when you insulted me?" The man who I'd relied on so much when I'd been back in New York, seemed to blanch at my words. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, knowing that I was about to start talking and be hard to stop. I gave him a sweet smile. "When you attacked me for trying to kick your sorry ass into gear? The whole patronising holding out a beer thing?--"

   "Beth-"

    "Don't you Beth me," My eyes narrowed. "I wanted a clean slate. I wanted to pay you back for all of those times when you'd helped me and you called me out for being an addict—that's not something that friends do when friends want to bleach the fuck out of their slate."

    "If you'd just-"

    "Did you talk to Katherine Wyatt about me?"

That caught him off-guard. He stared at me, trying to read my eyes as I placed my hand on my hips and chuckled dryly. I could tell from the way that he bit his tongue that he hadn't. He had a giveaway tick that was buried at the back of my brain-- he hadn't spoken to her, but it meant he knew exactly who did.

"It was Mark, wasn't it?"

Again, Derek didn't answer.

Great.

    I shook my head stiffly, "You're my friend, Derek- you're damn well one of the only friends that I have left, so for god's sake act like it." Derek stood there solemnly, watching me almost sadly as I ranted at a moderate volume.

One of my many talents was that I could get angry without actually screeching- it was handy when it came to being pissed off in public places, which was more common than you would've thought.

The people around us worked perfectly like a clockwork, despite the fact I was here talking to their Head of Neurosurgery in a venomous tone which oozed threats and agitation. Over Derek's shoulder, both Meredith and Bailey watched from a safe distance, with Dr Swender too busy with her surgical notes to notice how Derek was stock-still and my face was contorted in a thousand different places.

I met Meredith's eye fleetingly, watching as the younger surgeon smiled at me shortly. The message from her was clear: whatever hell I could unleash, Derek deserved it, but not now, not just as he was getting back to his good place.

    "I'm sorry about everything I said," Derek said in a low voice.

I avoided his eyes, instead just staring at my fingers as I remembered how beaten down Derek had been, sat outside his trailer with a beer in one hand and self-hatred in the other. He'd been so drunk, so careless that it had been like staring into a mirror.

    "It was bad," Derek continued. "I know- all of those things that I said about you and Mark and about your past- I'm sorry. I know that apologies are completely useless with you, but I am sorry, I really am. I wasn't in the right mind- the whole thing... with the beer too that was just-- I wasn't in the right mind."

I looked up at him, allowing myself to meet his gaze. His blue eyes sparkled in the hardcore hospital lighting, spilling a sad undertone and a sense of sincerity. My forehead folded, my eyebrows dipping downwards as I listened to what he was saying.

    "No, you weren't," I interjected firmly, looking at him with a long, hard look. Inside, I was running around in circles, taking all of the anger that I had built up aside and tossing it into a deep, dark hole.

(Starting afresh meant making new things, making changes and alterations. I had to start somewhere, right?)

    "You convinced me to stay," I said firmly, briefly averting my gaze to the floor as I realised that, with this new job, I was probably going to be here a lot longer than I thought. At the mention of staying, Derek's eyes seemed to zero in on my doctors coat. His lips parted with a light breath. "Act like you want me here."

    "You're still staying?" Derek was staring at the name on my coat, staring and staring as if he was trying to commit it to memory. "I'm glad, I thought I'd spook you--"

    "I don't get scared easily," I said. Although, it was definitely some semblance of a lie. Derek seemed to sense it too, his lips twitched as he nodded his head lightly, chuckling to himself. "But, staying means you need to stop Mark from doing shit like getting me fired--"

He tilted his head to the side.

    "You can handle Mark."

I could. I agreed with him. I was perfectly capable of handling a manchild who hadn't known how to love.

He acted out in the most obscene of ways and his favourite way had been to fuck me over. He'd gotten me fired from a job before, specifically, my internship. I'd handled that. I could handle whatever that asshole threw at me.

    "But I shouldn't have to," I shrugged, my shoulder rising and falling awkwardly. I caught the slight twitch in Derek's face as he realised I was right. I shouldn't have deal with this crap. It'd been half a decade, for fucks sake. "I can handle him," I repeated it and then paused, throwing out another shrug. "Maybe it's Mark that can't handle me."

    "I told him to not get involved," Derek said softly, suddenly looking on the grave side. I sighed loudly, just shaking my head. "But you know what he's like--"

    "Mark does what the hell he wants," I said shortly, knowing the man far better than what I would've liked. We both did. I could see the muscle as it clenched in Derek's jaw. I let out a redundant laugh, feeling as though I've shaken my head more in the past five minutes than in the past five years. "I know that. You know that. We both learnt that when he decided to fuck Addison and say hell to us both--"

Derek pulled a face.

    "Yeah, we probably should have seen it coming."

    "Yeah," I sighed, "We should've."

There was a pregnant pause, characterised by the way that the world around us kept moving.

What a bizarre sensation it was to stand in the present while you were so submerged in the past. I cleared my throat and pushed Izzie's chart back across the table to a nurse. The mood had gotten a little too real; I felt the hairs on my arms bristle and I felt a lot more tempted to get in contact with that shrink that Katherine had recommended earlier, much more than I would've liked to admit.

    "How long are you here?"

    "Contract is a maternity cover," I replied quietly, eyes stuck on the psychological report that I'd hastily scribbled over my pad. "Temporary.... Flexible--"

    "How long?"

I held my breath.

    "Eleven months."

Eleven months was a long time. I had a feeling that I wasn't going to see the whole of it-- at least, not conscious. I couldn't imagine having to fit myself into this little box. If Mark could talk to Katherine Wyatt... who knew who else he'd be able to get his stupid hands on?

In my peripheral, I saw Derek nod. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, watching the movement of my hands as I added a few last-minute notes in the margins. It'd taken me a hot minute to organise my notes, after all, it'd been a hot minute since I'd been in the situation; standing in the middle of a hospital talking to Derek as if I'd just waltzed straight into a distant memory from New York.

    "I'm sorry."

     "I accept your apology."

Somewhere between the look on Derek's face and the expression that had plagued Addison's, I found myself swallowing my predispositions and pursuing something better. He nodded again and then, just when I thought this conversation couldn't get any worse, he started speaking again.

     "You said that you relapsed on the flight over," God, I really had hoped he'd forgotten about that. I hummed to myself, hoping that this conversation wouldn't last so long that I felt like I needed to run back to Indonesia for a hug. "Callie said that I tried to get you to drink--"

    "You weren't in the right mind," I repeated his own words back to him and even managed a third shrug, just for good measure. "It's fine. I'm fine. It was just one drink--" ("It's never just one, Beth, you know that.") I sighed. "Derek, I was clean for four and a half years before that glass of wine. If I feel myself slipping, I promise, I'll let you know."

He seemed satisfied with that answer.

    "I'm sorry I shouldn't have done that--"

    "It's fine," I repeated, "I'm not a hypocrite. I've done worse."

That, on the other hand, didn't satisfy him at all.

It was then that Meredith approached the pair of us, looking at us with a slightly guarded expression. She'd watched every second of our little exchange and had Izzie's folder gripped tightly to her chest. I gazed over her blonde locks, catching the eye of Bailey as she lingered about.

The general surgeon looked at me shortly, before turning and wandering out of my line of sight, she had her lips pulled into a more nonchalant expression, but her eyes spoke volumes.

    "Are you guys okay now?" Meredith asked slowly as if she was expecting me to suddenly launch myself at Derek and tackle him to the ground just like Mark had. I chuckled lightly, Derek smiling in amusement. "Great, I'll take that as a yes. Watching you guys argue is like watching a medical drama."

Derek and I exchanged a look.

    "I think we're good," Derek said, but then crinkled his brow and looked over at me as if to ask for my clarification. I just shrugged. He promptly rolled his eyes. "We get along like a house on fire."

    "Right..." She drew out each syllable slowly, so her breath halted for a moment as she continuously looked in between us. My lips turned upwards into a smile. "Well, hopefully, that house isn't mine seeing as that's where Beth and half the Surgical Internship is sleeping..."

     "I might be a maniac but I'm not a pyromaniac." I chuckled, causing Derek to open his mouth as if to disagree. Instantly, I shot him a glare.

I was cut off by Derek as he shook his head slowly. He inclined his head in my direction and told me that he had to go off to look at information for Izzie's surgery later today.

Taking the files from Meredith, he told me to go "easy on the coffee" (like I would listen) and took off down the hallway. I watched him leave, before turning to look at Meredith flatly.

    "Anything else about this family that I should know about?" Meredith commented, just as Derek disappeared alongside Dr Swender. "You're better with him than with Addison."

I was about to reply, but I stopped, the thought of siblings flashing an image across my mind. I blinked violently, my brain rippled with the image of Mark kissing Lexie, and for a moment, I felt that level-headed mentality tear at the edges. I'd completely zoned out, causing Meredith to frown, her eyebrows drawing downwards as she moved closer to me.

     "Earth to Beth?"

     "Sorry..." I blinked again.

My head tilted upwards, eyes focusing on Meredith's pale face as the elder Grey sister displayed a mixture of concern and caution on her face. I took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling to try and steady myself.

"I don't know- did you know?"

     For a moment, Meredith was completely bewildered. "Know what?"

     "About Mark," My voice was barely audible. Meredith still looked completely confused, glancing over my shoulder and towards the nurses' station. I swallowed thickly, finding it hard not to get violent. "About Mark and your sister?"

Meredith's face was completely blank.

Her eyebrows were low on her brow and she looked as though she was preparing herself to hook me up to a drip and take me up to Psych. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly as she shuffled from one foot to another. I sighed; she didn't know- I wasn't exactly sure whether I wanted to be the person to tell her this.

The subject of Mark had come up a few times while Meredith had been drinking.

She'd told me that, quite frankly, that I was better off without him, that he was an asshole and no good piece of trash. She'd told me that the first time she'd met Mark, he'd hit on her and Derek had punched him in the face. She'd told me that Mark had come across as an arrogant man who would flirt with any pair of boobs he could find—I'd chuckled with an emptiness in my chest and agreed.

    "I- uh," I bit down on my lip, slowly shaking my head. "Never mind."

I didn't want to be the one to tell her that the asshole Plastic Surgeon that her boyfriend had attacked only a few days ago, was dating her sister.

It might've hurt for me to find out, but I could imagine Meredith having a rather violent and abrupt reaction. I didn't want to be the one who was responsible for anything that Meredith might do—I'd only known her for a week or so and I knew she was capable of firing words at the same speed as a bullet from a gun.

That wasn't the sort of shit I was trained to handle.

***

─── Archer's room, as always, was far more peaceful than the outside world.

My heels clicked curtly with my every stride and I let my face fall into a slightly disordered grimace as I turned the corner and approached the next section of the surgical wing. Running my fingers across the top of my head, I took a deep breath, passing Eli, the nurse who was busily attending an elderly woman across the hallway.

His head rose as I passed and I managed a half-hearted smile. But soon, he was behind me and Archie's door was millimetres away from my outstretched hand.

My older brother was propped up in his hospital bed with a tray of food on his lap and a trashy magazine on his calves. The bandage was still tight around the top of his head and he was reading the double-page spread in front of him intently, all while eating his lunch.

He barely even glanced up at me as I entered, the door loudly opening and closing as I entered and let the door close behind me. My heels gave a fanfare for my arrival, just as I powered my way straight to his bedside and plucked the pot of jello straight from his tray. That was when Archer looked upwards, his eyebrows raising as I collapsed into an armchair by his bed and popped open the jello almost violently.

     "So," Archer asked nonchalantly, looking back down at his magazine and flipping onto the next spread. "How's work going?"

    "Romance sucks," I said bitterly, shoving my spoon into the swallow container and scooping it out. "I'm giving it the middle finger and stuffing my goddamn heels up its ass."

If he hadn't been talking to me, I would've thought Archer had been ignoring me as his eyes didn't even leave the magazine. I kicked off my heels, pulling down the hem of my skirt as I sat with my knees pulled to my chest and leant heavily backwards. He let out a light sigh, turning the page and nodding to himself.

     "I'm taking that as a 'Not great'." He answered himself, idly sipping on a polystyrene cup of water. I threw a glower in his direction. "It's nice to know one of my sisters is taking advantage of her freedom."

    "It's not that I don't like romance," I continued, completely blindsiding my brother as he spoke calmly and quietly. "I love romance, I love love. I love making out... Fuck, I love sex- I love Dirty Dancing, you know? The movie? I think it's great..." A pause. "It just sucks."

    "I take it you saw Mark," Archer said simply as if he was discussing the weather.

I froze in my ramblings and watched as my brother nonchalantly chomped down on a stick of celery. As his eyes wandered around an article on Tom Cruises' new girlfriend, I was staring at him as if I'd been struck by lightning.

He nursed a polystyrene cup full of water and, when I didn't immediately answer, his head dipped upwards to blink at me. "How is he?"

There was something unsettling about my pause.

    "Still a jackass," I muttered, wondering if I was truly this predictable. (Was I easy to read? Was he still under my skin?) I slumped to one side, holding my head on a propped up hand. I chewed on my bottom lip. My brain slowed for a second. "A jackass that's got a girlfriend."

In my peripheral, I saw how Archer's eyebrow arched upwards. The same surprise that had been tumbling through me for the past twenty-hour hours flashed across his face in very fast succession. I watched as he seemed to pause before speaking, choosing his words very carefully.

    "You sure?" His voice sounded sceptical. It was the sort of tone that you'd use for a delusional patient or someone who had a very weak grasp on reality. I just sighed. "Mark doesn't date."

   "You think I don't know that?" I cut back at him, my voice a little sharp.

He grimaced to himself and looked down at the magazine again. I almost felt bad, but the truth was that I was very painfully aware of Mark's tumultuous relationship with monogamy and relationships and really didn't want to spend a lot of time thinking about it. God knows why I'd even bought it up.

I sighed, shaking my head.

"I saw him making out with Meredith Grey's younger sister in the middle of the hospital..."

    "Oh," Archer murmured, pulling a slight face, "Someone's got a thing for little sisters."

His comment made me let out a slightly exasperated laugh; it fought it's way through my body, deep-rooted from the bottom of my stomach and my diaphragm.

It worked a path through my lips, almost making my face split in two. I shook my head slowly and laugh so loudly, in a tired way that made Archer glance up at me, slightly bewildered by how I found it so funny-- did I find it funny? Or did I just find it vaguely painful in a way that made all of my internal organs squeeze and squeeze and--

My brother blinked at me.

    "He does," I pressed my hand over my mouth, finally refinding my voice. "Holy crap. Is it a weird fetish thing or--"

    "God knows," His gaze drifted away again and he suddenly looked very bored. "Who fucking knows what happens in that man's head--"(I thought I'd know for a long time. I'd been wrong.) "-- Probably all thoughts about himself and getting his own dick wet--"

    "I don't want to be bitter."

Again, I caught him off-guard.

It was as if the whole world had come to a stop. The world, suddenly, was so still, but my brain so full, moving fast and unable to stop, I took a breath and tried to hold it, but my lips trembled, my whole body ached a little bit as I tried to make sense of the same thoughts that had plagued me for the past day, there were too many, none of them particularly made any sense, all I knew was that I didn't like the fact that Mark was kissing some brunette who looked a bit too much like me from the back-- Archer met my eye.

I grounded myself on the sight of him. He looked tired.

    "Shit," He breathed out, realising that I wasn't particularly okay. His brow crumpled and he set his magazine aside. "You're going through the ringer?"

I pursed my lips and averted my gaze to the floor. I supposed I was. The past few days had been a lot. I'd packed up everything, hauled ass into a different country and gotten a job.

It all seemed very impulsive and sour to me. I'd always been so anal about planning. I'd waltzed into a hospital full of people who would only bring me pain. I'd signed a contract for eleven months of work. I'd left Charlie behind.

    "I don't know what I'm doing," I said after a long pause, "But whatever it is... I think I'm jealous of the fact that Mark is fine. He's just..." I wrinkled my nose. "He's fine."

Archer didn't speak.

   "I want him to fucking hurt, you know?" I ran my fingers through my hair, gently tugging at the roots as if to play with my pain receptors. "He just ruined everything... He ruined my career... He ruined my ability to fucking trust people... He ruined my family..." At that, Archer very slowly inclined his head, as if in a moment of remembrance, "He treated me like trash and now he's just... He's Mark."

My throat felt tight.

    "I know," He said softly in response and I wondered how many times I'd be reduced to this.

Was this what happened when you repressed feelings for such a long time? Did you just latch onto whatever people you find and just break down every five fucking seconds? If so, it was exhausting.

He repeated it:

"I know--"

He didn't, though. No one really did, and that was all on me.

I'd run away from New York with my little suitcase in the middle of the night and I'd put such a distance between the people in my life and me. He didn't know what sort of shit that had happened, leading to my recovery and through it. He didn't know that I'd gotten myself into such a mess, one that had taken a lot of money and therapy to get me out of. I pressed my lips together and just exhaled heavily--

Archer didn't know that I was pretty sure the only reason I'd agreed to eleven months of work here, was because I was running again.

I knew the signs. I was taking this as an excuse. Run from what? Oh, just my inability to love and trust and the man who'd gotten down on one knee.

Yeah, let's change the subject.

    "So, has Addison contacted you?" I cleared my throat and moved onto my second favourite subject, flattening my skirt as I folded one leg over the other. My eyes ghosted over the way that Archer was still frowning at me as if he wasn't quite finished talking about Mark Sloan. I, on the other, was. "She said that she'd talk to you about going back to LA and your care plan."

     "Mhmm," Archer hummed, seeming to look me over as if looking for visible damage. "She talks a lot. Can we get back to the whole Mark dating thing–"

      I shook my head and pulled a face, "I'd rather not–"

      "–But are you sure he's dating?"

      "I know it's Mark but I get the feeling that he's not the type to just make out with a girl in the middle of the hospital," My words were fast and clipped, exasperated by the fact that I seemed to be constantly talking about him. "Sure, he's whore but I think he likes to think he's got at least a little bit of class."

In the corner of my eye, I saw Archer shoot me a very flat look, the type that told me he was not convinced at all.

      "Is she nice?"

      "Who?"

      "The sister."

I dragged in a breath.

         "I guess."

        "You guess?"

        "She seems it–"

        "Can't you use your little Psychy powers to figure her out–"

My brow folded as I stared at him. He said everything so nonchalantly, making me wonder what exactly Derek had done to that brain of his during that surgery. My head shook from side to side.

         "Arch, people call me a bitch not a witch," His lips twitched behind that magazine of his and he looked very amused with the connection. Great. "And I'm not going to psychoanalyse Mark's new girlfriend. She seems nice and I've spoken to her maybe once–"

           "I'm just saying," Archer quipped lightly, looking between the pages of whatever article he'd been reading. "Nice does not sound like Mark's type."

A beat passed.

       "Well sure," I said curtly, "If I had to guess from Mark's history, she's probably an alcoholic work-obsessed bitch with a pill problem and a tendency to exhibit very self-destructive behaviour... like believing him when he tells them that he's going to try and commit to a relationship, he actually will."

There was another pause.

My brother looked up from his magazine and just blinked at me, as if what I'd said was completely out of nowhere. I stared back, eyebrows raised and silently asking what else he'd expected.

Archer seemed to let those words settle with him for a moment, allowing the silence soak up what I'd been pretty sure was a very solid self asssessment of what exactly Mark's type seemed to be. I crossed one leg over the other and waited for it all to be properly digested–

        "Yeah," Archer murmured to himself, "You're not nice."

I rolled my eyes.

       "Are you going to warn her?" He asked, making another very tired sigh get caught up at the back of my chest.  There was something about that word, about Archer's very tender 'warn' as if I was somehow implicit in something. I looked over at him with a light frown, watching as he shrugged off my bewilderment. "I mean... if she's nice you don't want her to... y'know... get ruined–"

       "Was I nice before Mark?"

Archer snorted. It wasn't a very encouraging reply to my question.

       "We're not allowed to be nice," was his response. He looked back at his magazine and flipped a page. "It's not in our genetics."

I chuckled to myself, bobbing my head up and down lightly in agreement, but the sort-of-smile on my face faded into something forgotten. I found myself stuck, once again, on the knowledge that Lexie resembled something that I'd tried to drag into my past.

Warn? Was it my duty to warn her about everything Mark brought with him? The paranoia, the mistrust, the long arguments that seemed to go on for days and days–– the way that he never seemed to know what to say to he just didn't. Lexie was an adult, couldn't she figure out all of the red flags before she passed them–

Well, I didn't.

        "The things I could say," was how I began, the tip of my tongue trapped between my teeth. Across the room, Archer chuckled too, amused by the way that my head tilted the side and I suddenly became wistful. I smiled over at him. "Remember the 'Mark Speech' back in New York?"

       "The 'this man will ruin your life' TedTalk?" Archer quipped, eyebrows raised, "You actually listened to that? Wouldn't have been able to tell..."

        I hummed lightly, "I had it memorised."

It was the verbal form of an NDA, the line where you became aware of exactly what would happen and what would go wrong.

I'd passed it. I'd passed the point of no return where the sympathy became less 'oh you poor thing' and more 'she had it coming'.

If I had to rank all of the things I'd done, loving Mark Sloan had to be my post potent self destructive behaviour.

I crossed my ankles and shook my head slowly, wondering whether Lexie had been subjected to the same speech. She must've, right? Someone must have said something along the way.

I could imagine Meredith stood in the kitchen of her house, hands on her hips and brow drawn as she recited the words that had passed through the lips of way too many women. Women beware...

It was almost like a bad bedtime story: the Little Shiny Grey and the Big Bad Sloan. I could tell that Archer was thinking about it too; his lips were pressed into a strangled half smile, probably thinking about all of the chaos that I could rain down on Mark's life.

Did he deserve it? Undoubtedly.

           "Y'know, usually the older siblings are supposed to keep the peace," I looked over at him, half amused by his dry inclination to thrive off of chaos. I knew Archer all too well, not even four years could make me forget exactly how much Archer liked to watch people suffer. He might've been a tired old man at times, but dear god did he enjoy it when Mark suffered. "Anyone would think you're an anarchist."

          "I think it's been well established that your two older siblings don't really know what they're doing," Archer commented dryly and I laughed through my nose, "unless Addison sleeping with Mark really did kickstart world peace and end world hunger."

          "Well it ended something," I said, sounding very briefly bitter.

My brother's smile faded very slightly. I averted my eyes.

         "I could ruin him," I said quietly, my knees folded up against my chest. My fingers were rooted in the sleeves of my blazer, knotting in my nails in the fabric with the same grasp I'd take on the narrative. "The shit I know about that man... the things I could tell Lexie..." I shook my head and sighed to myself, "It looks like he's built himself a pretty good life here in Seattle... but me... the shit I could say... it'd be up in smoke."

It was something I'd thought about a lot. It'd left me unable to sleep in my hotel room, staring holes into the ceiling until I'd done the same into Meredith's crown moulding.

Envisioning it all was something that like to stir up this feeling in my chest, some sort of fanatical knowledge that I could make everything burst into flames– No wonder Mark wanted to talk.

I knew what he thought of me, I knew what he remembered of me. (When I blinked, I was greeted with a very short film reel: pictures flying off the walls and my throat screamed dry into a scratchy drawl that barely sounded human.  The floors shaking as I lost myself in the fine lines of soberity and the other, vegence hailing from my every pore and my bones creaking from the weight of all of the hatred I carried in my soul. I cleared my throat.)

I had cards that I could play right into Lexie Grey's lap. It would be crazy, even I knew that, but boy, wouldn't it feel good. My lips twitched very slightly. I shook my head and sighed through my nose. It was a dismissive but amused sound.

I was a threat.

       "You gonna do it?"

Archer's question didn't seem as wary as I'd expected it to be and it made my gaze drift back to him. From my position, Archer's head was perfected place inside the valley between my knees, his eyebrows aloft as if it was a very serious inquiry.

I didn't answer immediately, just sucked on my tongue and tried to decipher his expression. There was a shadow there, one that hollowed out the already gaunt features in his face.

A second film reel decided to set itself in my consciousness. It was one we both seemed to watch in unison, a series of memories half dusted in soot and dust. I caught the way his eyes glazed over very slightly as we both reminisced over things that had felt forgotten: tables moving with the sound of frustrated fists, doors slamming so hard that the glass trembled in the window panes.

Somewhere inside of me, a very young Beth watched her father drunkenly swing a bottle, face contorted into something so unlike a parent. My skin prickled with the echo of a broken glass and a deadpan Bizzy and I, as if fighting my way to the surface after a prospective drowning, let out a very sudden breath, leaning forwards in my chair.

Archer just looked back at me, the foundations of a perculiar, hesitant dent already forming between his eyebrows.

My chin turned away and I felt my throat close up slightly. I averted my eyes to the window and shrugged, wondering whether I looked as small as I very suddenly felt.

My shoulders twitched  and I had to stifle my second sigh with the back of my hand, feeling the breath shudder slightly against my skin. The hairs had risen on the back of my neck and I found it very hard to shake the image of my father's anger from my mind.

Like father like daughter.

       "Take care of yourself, Beth," was all my brother said and he returned to his magazine as if nothing had happened.

This was nothing but a blip in the moment, a very short detour from a family life that had always appeared so perfect. I closed my eyes for a moment of peace.

Archer cleared his throat and, almost out of earshot, I heard him mutter to himself, "And to that fucking douchebag, hell hath no fury like a Montgomery scorned."